ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS FROM THE HISTORY OF JOHN BULL. CHAPTER I. HOW DICK DEVILSDUST WENT UPON HIS TRAVELS; HOW THE JUGGLER MADE A PACTION WITH MOSES; AND HOW HE KEPT IT.

You are, I suppose, perfectly aware of what took place before Juggling Johnny was appointed steward of Squire Bull's household. The story is not a pretty one; and, for the sake of those who are dead and gone, I shall not enter into particulars. Suffice it that Johnny was installed in the superintendence of the under-servants' room through the influence of Dick Devilsdust, Old Hum, the superannuated Quack, Bendigo the fighting Quaker, and a lot more of the same set, who lived in the villages upon the Squire's property, and bore anything but goodwill to the steady and peaceable tenants. Dick Devilsdust, in particular, was a walking pestilence to himself. For some reason or other, which I could never fathom, he had imbibed a most intense hatred to the military, and never could set his eyes upon a Redcoat without being thrown into a horrible convulsion, and bellowing like a bull at the sight of a Kilmarnock nightcap. As he grew up, he took to writing tracts between the intervals of weaving; and one of his first productions was an elaborate defence of Esquire North, who was then accused of having used harsh measures towards one of his tenantry. It is reported that Dick sent a copy of this pamphlet to the Esquire, with his humble compliments and so forth; but whether that be true or no, certain it is that he never received any thanks, or so much as a stiver's acknowledgment for having taken up cudgels against poles—an omission which, to the present day, he remembers with peculiar bitterness. So Dick thought it his best policy, as it really was, to turn his attention to the state of matters at home in Bullockshatch. Dick, you must know, dealt in a kind of cloth so utterly bad that no tenant on the estate would allow it to approach his skin. It was stamped all over with great flaring patterns of flamingos, parroquets, and popinjays, such as no Christian could abide the sight of; and if you took one of his handkerchiefs to blow your nose with, the odds are that its texture was so flimsy that both your fingers came through. He was therefore obliged to sell it to people living beyond the estate—Jews, Turks, heretics or infidels, he did not care whom, so that he could turn a penny; and some of those benighted creatures, having no other way of covering their nakedness, were content to take his rags, and to pay him handsomely for them. For all that, Dick was a discontented man. Did he meet a respectable tenant of Squire Bull going soberly with his family to church, when he, Dick, was pretending to jog to the meeting-house with his associates, (though Obadiah refused to certify that he was by any means a regular attender,) he would make mouths at the worthy man, and accost him thus:—

"So, sir! going to the tithe-eating parson's, I see—much good may it do ye. And if ye don't happen to have any particular sins this fine morning to repent of, I may as well remind ye that the quartern loaf is a farthing dearer than it ought to be just at the present time. Do you know what a locust is, you clod? You're a cankerworm, you base chawbacon!" And so on he would go reviling the honest man, who had all the mind in the world to lay him on the broad of his back in the mud—and would have done it too, had it been a working week-day. Another while, Dick would send the bellman round the village, and having called a special meeting of weavers like himself, he would harangue them, in some fashion like the following:—

"Look'ye, my lads, I'm an independent man and a weaver, and I don't care a brass for Squire Bull. I've got a seat in the under-servants' room, and if I am not entitled to make a row at meal-times I don't know who is. I'll tell you a bit of my mind—you're the worst-used set of fellows on the face of the earth, and if you have the least atom of pluck you won't stand it. Here are you obliged to take your flour from the Squire's tenantry, when you might get it cheaper if you went to the next town and bought it from Nick Frog, or Philip Baboon, or even Esquire North; though I consider his name an abomination, and would not give sixpence to save him from perdition. And then you have to find meal for Dragon the house-dog, and to victual some of the under servants; and it's no joke, I can tell you, what they eat. If you stand this any longer, you are a set of jolterheads, and nincompoops, and asses, and slaves, and base cowardly coistrels. Why don't you get up a stir, rouse the villages, and alarm the tenantry a little? Rely upon it, they will come to reason soon enough if you give them a hint or two about the duck-pond or the pump; and for my own part, I don't mind telling them so in the servants' hall."

And so he would go on, raving and spouting, telling everybody that Squire Bull was a superannuated idiot, with not half the sense of his natural bye-blow Jonathan—a chap whom Dick quoted on all occasions—till he got a kind of reputation as an itinerant orator; and the tag-rag-and-bobtail would come from any distance, if they were certified that Devilsdust was to give tongue.

Now, as to the grievance that Dick complained of, there was none. The tenantry, as you know, were obliged to pay a pretty high rent to Squire Bull for their farms, and to keep up all sorts of watchmen and gamekeepers, and rural police—besides a night-patrol on the canal—not only for the general security of the estate, but for the order of the villages, which hatched the most turbulent, mischievous, and discontented crew that ever an estate was cursed with. When one of these fellows in the villages fell ill, the tenantry were compelled to pay for his nursing and cure. When any of them were out of employment, and lounging about the market-place with their hands in their breeches' pocket, not knowing where to turn for a job, the tenantry, out of sheer goodness of heart, gave them a turn at ditching or draining; and though they worked very ill they got fair wages. More than two-thirds of all the webs they wove—for some of them were really skilful artisans, and not mere botchers like Devilsdust—were taken by John Bull's tenantry: they paid almost no rent to the squire—in fact, they were a great deal too well treated, and this indulgence had turned their heads. They wanted now to have nothing to do with the tenantry—beyond forcing them to take the same amount of cloth as before—and to get all their meat and bread from Frog, Baboon, North, Jonathan, and others, who lived off the estate, and who, they thought, would be uncommonly glad to take webs in exchange for provisions. None of these squires wanted webs, because their own villagers would have made a precious hullabaloo if they had introduced into their estates anything which was manufactured on the grounds of Mr Bull; but they made believe as if they would have no objections, at some future period, to meet the views of Devilsdust; and in the mean time, having a good deal of land which they wished to see properly tilled, they intimated to the villagers of Squire Bull, that they would have no objection whatever to sell them cattle and corn at a rate somewhat smaller than Bull's tenantry could afford.

This scheme never could have been carried into effect but for a difference, in the servants' hall. It is of no use now raking up old matters. Carried it was, to the great disgust of the tenantry, and Juggling Johnny was appointed steward. To do the Juggler justice, he was not altogether in favour of the plan. But he could hardly help himself, as, without the assistance of Dick and his backers, he never would have got the keys; so, being an adroit little creature, and as clever at spinning a pirouette as an opera-dancer, he turned his back upon himself, declared that the tenantry were labouring under an antiquated fallacy, and that he would put all to rights in the twinkling of a bed-post. So, much against the convictions of the Squire, who knew him of old for as incapable a squirrel as ever cracked a rotten nut, he sat himself down at the head of the table, and began to talk to the servants as though he were a second edition of Mahomet or the prophet Nixon.

And where do you think was Dick Devilsdust all this time? If you suppose that he was not looking after his own interest, you are consumedly mistaken. No sooner was the measure which swindled Squire Bull's tenantry carried in the servants' hall, than he went down to the country, called the villagers together, mounted upon an old sugar-barrel—which was now perfectly useless—and, brandishing a billy-roller in his hand, addressed them in the following terms:—

"Friends, Billy-roller men, and brothers! lend me your ears! The victory is won—we have done the trick! Cottonchester and the Mississippi are henceforward laid side by side. (Enormous cheering.) The devil take Bull's tenantry. (Applause.) They are dolts, asses, fools, idiots, chawbacons, and Helots. Bull himself is a blockhead, and we must look after his affairs. We alone, and not the tenantry, are fit to do it. (Cheering.) And I am not going to stand any nonsense about police or house-dogs. (Vociferous applause.) We know very well why they are kept; and I, for one, have no notion of being interfered with. You understand me? (Cries of "We do!") Well, then, I'll tell you what it is—the Juggler hasn't behaved to me at all handsome in this matter. Not that I care about it one toss of a Brummagem farden; but I think they might have paid a little more respect to the voice of the villages. Howsom'dever, d'ye see, I don't mind the thing; only, as my health's a little shaken as it were with doing jobs of yours, I think a slight jaunt would do me good; and as I have been obliged to neglect my business, at an enormous sacrifice, on your account, perhaps you wouldn't consider it an unwarrantable liberty if I were just to send round the hat."

So Devilsdust sent round the hat, and pocketed a lot of browns with some stray sixpences to boot—quite enough in fact to clear him in his projected jaunt, and something more. This subscription—being the first—turned out so well that Bendigo the Quaker, who had been a strong backer of Devilsdust, and, as some thought, was the cleverer fellow of the two, tried to get up a collection on his own account; but, I am sorry to say, made nothing of it. So Devilsdust, having pocketed the blunt, went out to take his holiday.

How do you think he used it? He made what he called a "Practical Tour" through the estates of Don Pedro, Don Ferdinando, Signor Macaroni, and Sultan Koran, advertising his wares everywhere, and entreating them to give him custom. Moreover, he lost no opportunity of abusing his landlord, John Bull, whom he held up everywhere to contempt as the most idiotical, prejudiced, pig-headed individual living. He said that there was but one way of promoting universal brotherhood among all the estates, and that was by admitting his, Dick Devilsdust's, wares free of duty. He pledged himself that, if this were done, there would be no more squabbles or lawsuits; and as he invariably spoke in a dialect which no one who heard him could understand, whilst he did not understand one word which was made in reply to his speeches, the effect, of course, was electric. He came back, swearing that there could be no more lawsuits, on account of his (Devilsdust's) enormous expected consignments; and that all Bullockshatch should unite as one man, to compel Squire Bull to dismiss every policeman, watchman, and bumbailiff in his service. As for poor Dragon, who had long been the terror of tramps and poachers, Dick proposed that he should be poisoned forthwith, or at all events starved to death; but he had not the smallest objection that his skin should be stuffed, and preserved as a specimen of an extinct animal.

Meanwhile Juggling Johnny, the new steward, set about regulating the affairs of the household as quietly as possible. The Juggler was not now quite so young as he once was, and, moreover, he had taken unto himself a wife; so that his wages became a matter of considerable importance to him, and he had no wish to do anything which might induce Squire Bull to give him warning. But he had difficult cards to play. You must know that the lower servants' room was fitted with an entirely new set, and a number of these were fellows bred in the villages, who were ready to say ditto to every word which was uttered by Devilsdust or Bendigo. They had no abstract affection, but, on the contrary, an intense contempt for the Juggler, who they said—and perhaps they had reason for it—was not worth his wages; and they seemed to make it the pet business of their lives to keep him in hot water. One while Hum, the quack doctor, would insist on overhauling his accounts, and made a tremendous outcry if every remnant of candle was not accounted for. The Juggler tried to stop his mouth by giving his son an appointment in the scullery, but old Hum, who was a regular Greek, would not submit to be put off in that way. Another while a fellow would rise in the common's hall, and quietly propose that the villagers should, thenceforward, pay no rent to the Squire. Some wanted to have beer gratis; others complained that they were not allowed to have their stationery for nothing. In short, there was no end to their clamour, so that the Juggler very soon found that he had by no means an easy seat. Then there was another section of the servants, friends of the regular tenantry, who liked the Juggler just one degree better than they liked Devilsdust or Bendigo. They took every opportunity of telling him that he was playing the mischief with the whole estate; that the rents were being paid simply out of capital or borrowed money, instead of profits; and that, if he did not alter his whole system, and clap on a decent embargo on the corn-carts and meat-vans of Nick Frog, North, Jonathan, and the rest, he might wake some fine quarter-day without finding money enough in the till to pay himself his wages. That, however, must have been an exaggeration, for the Juggler was too old a raven not to look ahead whenever his own interest was concerned. The only men who really stuck to him on all occasions were such of the servants as he could provide with places in the household, or furnish with stray pickings on the sly; and, to do them justice, they adhered to him like leeches. The upper servants, though they bore no great love to Johnny, thought it best, in the mean time, to interfere as little as possible, and to let things run their course; only this they were determined upon, that no improper or suspected person should get into the house without their leave.

You may possibly think that the Juggler could have no interest to break this fundamental rule of the household, but if so, you are confoundedly mistaken. It was an old custom in Bullockshatch, that nobody could be admitted as a servant to the lower room unless he should produce a certificate from the village or farm from which he came, to the effect that he was a person of reasonably good character, and unless he swore on the New Testament that he would serve Squire Bull faithfully. Now it so happened that, when the Juggler went down to the largest village on the estate to get his certificate of character, he found, very much to his petrifaction, that Moses the old-clothesman, with three hats upon his head, and a baize bag for cast habiliments under his arm, had put up a candidate of his own persuasion, and was haranguing the villagers in the market-place. Moses was, to say the least of it, a doubtful kind of character. Besides his ostensible calling, and a minor though undisguised traffic in oranges and sponges, he did a little bit of underhand bill-broking and discounting at most enormous percentages. He was suspected, moreover, of being the real owner of the sponging-house, which was actually kept by his nephew, to which all the unhappy lads who were not prepared to cash up when the bills became due were carried, and fleeced out of their watches, rings, and studs, or anything else which they had about them. It was said, moreover, that Moses was a sweater and a slop-seller, and that he was in the habit of kidnapping Christian tailors who had gone astray, and shutting them up under lock and key in stifling garrets, where they were compelled to work for him on the smallest possible allowance of cabbage, without a slice of cucumber to flavour it. One thing there was no doubt of, that, by some means or other, Moses had become enormously rich, so that he was able to lend money to any of the neighbouring squires who might require it, and it was strongly surmised that he even held bonds with the signature of John Bull appended.

You may fancy, from this description of him, that Moses was by no means popular; nor was he. But money will go a great way, and the truth is, that he had so many of the villagers under his power that they durst not say a word against him. Then, again, he had made friends with Obadiah, to whom he talked about liberty of conscience, and so forth; dropping, at the same time, a five-pound note on the floor, and pretending not to notice that Obadiah's splay foot covered it by an instantaneous instinct. So they parted on the best of terms, Moses calling Obadiah "ma tear" as they shook hands, and Obadiah snuffling something about "a chosen vessel." After that they thoroughly understood one another, though Obadiah did not altogether give up his old trick of soliciting the ladies for a subscription to convert Moses—the proceeds whereof never reached the latter, at least under the persuasive form of hard cash.

Great, therefore, was the astonishment of the Juggler when he found Moses speaking in the market-place, and Obadiah cheering him with all his might and main. He would gladly have slunk off, if he had been allowed the opportunity of doing so; but Obadiah was too quick for him.

"Here's a dispensation!" cried our lank-haired acquaintance, the moment he caught a glimpse of the Juggler's wrinkled mug passing round the corner of the lane. "Here's a special vouchsafing, and a jubilation, and a testimony—ha, hum! Make way there, you brother in the fustian jacket! and you fellow-sinner in the moleskins, take your pipe out of your cheek, and let pass that Saul among the people!"—and before he knew where he was, the Juggler was hoisted on the shoulders of the rabble, and passed on to the hustings, where he found himself placed cheek-by-jowl with Moses and Obadiah, and every kind of money-lender and usurer, and hypocritical frequenter of the Stocks, clustering around him, and wringing his hand, as though they had loved him from infancy.

"Three cheers for Juggling Johnny, the friend of liberty of conscience!" cried one—"Huzza for the Juggler and anythingarianism!" vociferated a second—"Down with Christendom!" roared a third—"Make him free of the Synagogue!" suggested a fourth—"Three groans for Martin!" shouted a fifth—"Schent per schent!" screamed a sixth; and, finally, they all agreed upon one chorus, and rent the welkin with acclamations for Moses and the Juggler.

You may easily conceive that the latter was anything but delighted at this demonstration. He had a proud stomach of his own, and was woundily disgusted to find that he was only considered as playing the second fiddle to the old-clothesman. But nevertheless he durst not, for the life of him, show any symptoms of vexation; so he stepped to the front of the hustings with a grin on his face, as though he had been fortifying himself for the task with a dram of verjuice, and began to speechify as follows:—

"Friends, and enlightened villagers! your reception of me this day is the proudest criterion of my life. Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, yet, on this occasion, when liberty of conscience is the grand climacteric menstruum which depends upon the scale, I would be unworthy the name of a thorough indigenous renovator if I did not express, by all the judicious idiosyncrasy in my power, the deep aspirations which vibrate in my unfathomed sensorial region. Yes, my friends, it is true! liberty of conscience is liberty of conscience; and the man who denies that proud and exalted position is, to my mind, no better than a mere residuary instigator. As the progress of opinion moves forward, so move its chariot wheels; sometimes unseen amidst the roar of popular ebullition, but never the less distinctly, that the clear calm voice of conscience illustrates the oscillations of the heart, and marks, beyond the possibility of doubt, those unequivocal demonstrations which control the destiny of empires. Holding such opinions, as I have ever held them—relying upon the quantification of the predicate which dictates irrevocably to the sublime and recondite motion of the spheres—and appealing, moreover, to my own past experience, and your knowledge of my consistorial qualifications, I have little hesitation or dubiety, at the present juncture, of claiming your senatorial suffrages to the proud position which I trust I am redintegrated to occupy!"

At this, some few fellows at the outskirts of the crowd began to cheer; and Johnny, taking advantage of the circumstance, made them a polite bow, and was about to skip off without further question. But a big bumbailiff, who was an intimate friend of Moses, stopped him at once.

"Lookye, master Juggler!" said he, "all this may be very well, and, for my part, I've no manner of objection to make to your principles. They might be a thought clearer, perhaps, but that's neither here nor there. But what we want to hear from you is this—will you stand by Moses at this pinch, and lend his friend a helping hand to get into the servants' hall?"

It was pitiable to see how the Juggler twisted and turned. He had a mouth's mind to say no to the whole concern; but he knew very well that, if he did so, the villagers would have nothing to say to him. For there were two public-houses in the market-place decorated with flags, inscribed with such mottos as "Moses for ever!" and "Vote for the Talmud and liberty of conscience!" and through the open windows you could see scores of fellows within, guzzling beer and gin, and smoking tobacco—all, as you may suppose, at the expense of the old-clothesman. So the Juggler, seeing that he had no chance of getting a character there, unless he made common interest with Moses, stepped up to the latter, called him his excellent friend and beloved pitcher, and said he hoped very soon to welcome his nominee to servants' hall.

"Only," quoth he, "you must be prepared for some of the fellows yonder kicking up a bobbery about that idle matter of the oath. However, I think we shall be quite able to manage that: one book is just as good as another, and I do suppose your friend will have no objection to be sworn on the Song of Solomon?"

So they shook hands again, and the mob shouted, and then both the Juggler and the friend of Moses got their characters certified by the village schoolmaster. There was talk at the time of a private arrangement made between them, whereby Moses undertook to stand the whole expense of the beer; but as I never saw a copy of the document, I won't be positive as to that.

But what, think you, took place after this? One fine afternoon, when the servants were sitting at their commons, up gets the Juggler, and proposes that they should agree to let in his excellent friend and colleague of the tribe of Moses, without taking the usual oath. Whereupon a great row commenced—one English, an old servant of the Squire, and an especial friend of Martin's, protesting that he would not sit at the same table with an arch-heathen and unbeliever; and many others did the same. However, Bendigo, Devilsdust, Hum and Company, this time backed up the Juggler, and a majority of the under-servants were for letting him in. This, however, they could not do without the consent of the upper-servants, who very coolly told them that they would do nothing of the sort; and that Moses and his friends, if they refused to take the oath, might even wait at the outside of the door. When this was communicated to Moses and his tribe, they were in a sad taking. However, they sent word to the Juggler that they relied upon his making another attempt; and in the mean time they got Obadiah to go out to the lanes and bye-ways, and preach sermons in favour of Moses. But nobody cared, in reality, one single stiver for Moses. The very villagers, who had drunk his beer, refused to do anything further in the matter; and the Juggler, seeing this, thought it best to hold his tongue and imitate their example. At last Moses and his friends began to wax furious, and to abuse the Juggler as a traitor, time-server, slippery rogue, and so forth; and some of the more pestilent of the under-servants went down to the village, and persuaded Moses for once to pluck up heart, and boldly to knock at the gate in his own person, demanding admittance. "Time enough," said they, "to boggle about the oath when they put it to you."

So Moses, having figged himself out in a sky-blue satin vest, with peach-coloured trousers, and a velveteen cut-away coat, and no end of Mosaic jewellery, went up to the door, and, when the porter came to see who was there, attempted, with the utmost effrontery, to walk in and help himself to the table-beer. But English was too quick for him.

"Halloa, there!" he cried; "what right has that fellow to come here? Has he taken the oath?" Whereupon Moses admitted that he had not, but that he was perfectly ready, if the gentleman pleased, to qualify himself upon the Apocrypha! At this up starts the Juggler, and, to the infinite consternation of Moses, desires that he shall be shown to the outside of the door, until this matter was discussed. This being done, the row began afresh. Some of the servants said that Moses should be admitted at once upon his simple affirmation; but the Juggler, who had by this time taken a second thought on the subject, would not hear of it. So he proposed that they should adopt a string of resolutions, to the effect that Moses was an excellent character, and well qualified to be a servant of the Squire's, but that neither he nor any of his persuasion could be admitted without complying with the rules of the household, and that the matter must just lie over. "And this, I think," said the Juggler, "will be a noble testimony of our respect for the liberty of the conscience, and also in entire conformity with the customs of the household." At this Hum and others got up in a rage, and said—what was true enough—that it was no testimony at all, but a wretched piece of shuffling; and that the Juggler ought to be ashamed to show his face in decent society, considering the nature of his previous encouragements and promises to Moses. But, nevertheless, there the matter ended for the time; and Moses, when he was informed of the resolution, uttered a melancholy howl of "Old clo'!" shouldered his bag, and from that day to this has never been allowed to put his nose within the door.

CHAPTER II.
HOW PHILIP BABOON WAS EJECTED FROM HIS ESTATE—HOW COLONEL MARTINET BAMBOOZLED HIS TENANTRY—AND HOW THE ROW BECAME GENERAL.

But I must go back a little, and tell you what was doing in other estates which are adjacent to the Squire's. Philip Baboon, who, as you may remember, had succeeded in ousting his cousin Charles, who was the natural proprietor of the estate, was as deep an old fox as ever established himself in a badger's burrow. He contrived to marry his sons and daughters—and a precious lot he had of them—into the best families in the neighbourhood; and whenever a new match of this kind was concluded, what, think you, did he, but call upon his tenantry to come down with a handsome sum, just by way of gratuity, to set up the young couple in the world! Nor could he plead personal poverty as an excuse for this; for it was notorious to everybody that he was the richest old fellow in Christendom, and regularly spent several hours each day in his closet counting over his coin by sackfuls. In a short while, his own people began to detest him cordially, so that at last he could hardly go out to take an airing, without being startled by the whiz of a bullet past his ear; and he durst not even open a letter without precaution, lest it should be filled with fulminating powder. When he first came into the estate, he was considered rather a hearty old buck than otherwise; for he used to drive about in a pony phaeton, popping into cottages about meal-time, tasting the soup-maigre, and patting the children on the head, though he never was known to give them as much coin as might purchase a penny trumpet. But now all that was changed. He had grown morose and gloomy, never stirred abroad, and maintained a large body of police for the purpose of guarding the premises. It is quite possible that he might have kept possession to his dying day, but for one of the most stupid acts of interference that was ever committed by a master. It so happened that some of the servants had agreed to dine together on a holiday, and as each man was to pay his own shot, there could be no reasonable objection. But what think ye did Philip Baboon? No sooner did he hear the clatter of the dishes, than he peremptorily forbade the servants to sit down to their meal, telling them that, if they ventured to do so, he would have them all taken into custody. This was rather too much; so, next morning, when Philip came out of his dressing-room, what should he find but a huge barricade of tables, chairs, washing-tubs, and what not, erected at the head of the principal staircase, and fifty or sixty of the very worst fellows from the village—poachers, ragmen, and coal-heavers—armed with pikes and cudgels, cursing, swearing, and hurrahing like mad. And, what was worse than that, some of the regular servants were backing them up. No sooner did they catch a glimpse of Philip than they set up a yell which might have done credit to a colony of Choctaws, and let drive a perfect storm of chamberpots and other crockery at his head. Philip jumped back into his dressing-room in an ecstasy of terror, bolted the door, threw up the window, and screamed lustily for the police. But the police were not one whit more to be relied upon than their neighbours, for they only nodded and laughed, but did not budge a foot; and instead of collaring the scoundrels, who were by this time swarming round the doors, they accosted them as excellent friends and beloved brethren, and drank their very good healths, and success to them, out of pots of beer which some of the servants had supplied. When Philip Baboon saw that, he knew it was all up with him; so, having caught up as many valuables as he could well carry, he even stole down the back staircase, and made off, leaving his family to shift for themselves as they best could. In fact, the fright which he got had altogether upset his reason. He skulked about the woods for several days, assuming all sorts of disguises, and sleeping at night in barns; and at length crossed the ferry and landed on Squire Bull's estate, as cold and tattered as a scarecrow.

As for Philip's house, after he left it, it became a regular bedlam. The doors were thrown wide open, and every tatterdemalion on the estate rushed in, whooping, hallooing, and yelling, as though they had been at Donnybrook fair. First, they broke open Philip's cellar, and helped themselves to his best wines and spirits; next, they went up to the bedrooms, smoked in the beds, and committed divers other abominations which it is not needful to detail; then, they took his best furniture, heaved it out of the windows, and made a bonfire of it in the court. In short, they acted for some time like regular madmen—the servants standing by and looking on, but not daring to interfere. Indeed, it was questionable what right they had to interfere, if they were never so willing to do it; for the estate was now without an owner, and the mob had sworn a most horrible oath, that no one of the blood of Charles or Philip Baboon should again set foot within the property. However, some of the wiser and steadier of the old servants saw plainly enough that these disorders must be put a stop to in some way or other, and that the house at all events must be cleared of the rabble; "otherwise," thought they, "it will be burned to the ground, or thoroughly gutted, and in that case there is little chance that our boxes can escape." So they issued an order that everybody should leave the house, thanking, at the same time, in the most polite terms, the exceedingly respectable gentlemen who had taken the trouble to assist them in getting rid of old Philip. Then it was that they got a sufficient taste of the quality of the fellows with whom they had to deal. No sooner was the order posted up in the different rooms than it was torn down, amidst the hooting of the mob, who swore that they were the sole proprietors of the estate and the house, and everything in it, and that they would not submit to be dictated to by a parcel of superannuated lackeys and footmen. Nay, it was enough to make the hair of any respectable tradesman turn grey on the spot to hear the language which they used. They said that no man had a right to keep any property to himself, but that every one was entitled by the laws of nature to help himself to whatever he fancied. They averred that the boy of all work, who swept out the shop of a morning and ran the errands, was entitled to demand a half share of all his master's profits; and these damnable heresies, they said, they were determined to enforce in future. So you may easily conceive the taking in which all people were on the estate who had a Sunday's suit of clothes, a stick of furniture, or, mayhap, a bag of money.

In short, matters proceeded from bad to worse, and at last became so intolerable that three or four of the old servants, who had contrived to keep a garret to themselves, sent for one Budge, who had been chief constable in Philip Baboon's time, and told him plainly that, unless he could assist them in turning out this villanous crew, everything must necessarily go to wreck and ruin. Budge was an old soldier, who had seen service—a devilish determined kind of fellow when he took any job in hand, and not at all in the habit of sticking at trifles. It was more than whispered that, if Philip Baboon had not lost head altogether at the first brush, but been capable of giving orders, Budge would have stood by him; and such was his influence over the police that there is no saying what might have been the result.

As it was, he heard them to the end without uttering a word, and then, taking the pipe from his mouth, and knocking out the ashes on the hob, he delivered himself in the following oracular fashion:—

"Harkye, mounseers! If so be as how you want the job done, and them raff utterly scomfished, I'm the man that can do it. The force will stick to me, because I sticks to the force. Moreover, they knows by this time that there ain't no chance of their getting their pay so long as this shindy is allowed. They're ready, and I'm ready. Only this—I is to be allowed to do as I likes. I takes my orders from you, and them orders is to be, that I may shoot, hang, or blow up every scoundrel who stands in my way. Them's my terms; and the sooner you puts it down on black and white the better!"

As there was no help for it, the servants gave Budge the order; whereupon he stepped down to the courtyard, called the police together, and told them that if they did not obey his directions, not one mother's son of them would see a halfpenny of their arrears. He then reminded them, that, if the blackguards who held possession of the house got the upper hand, the force would inevitably be discharged, and most of them thrown upon the parish, the poor-rates being no longer collected. They were all ready enough to join him; but they became readier still, when, just as he was speaking, a quantity of filth was thrown upon them from a window above, followed by the hootings and laughter of the drunken gang who were sotting away as usual. Budge did not lose his opportunity; but, beckoning to his men to follow, he took them to an adjoining cellar, where there were plenty blunderbusses and small-arms collected, and having given each watchman twelve rounds of ammunition and a dram, he bade them fear nothing, but proceed to clear the premises.

It was not so easy a task as you might imagine. Many of the desperadoes within had weapons, and were determined to use them, so that a bloody fight took place at the staircase, where the barricades were again thrown up. But the police, being in grim earnest, fought this time like devils, and at last succeeded in clearing the house, and in capturing several of the ringleaders, who were incontinently shaved in the head, and sent off to hard labour in the hulks. In this way some sort of order was restored; and at last, by the general voice of the tenantry, young Nap, a nephew of the old Corsican who had once given Squire Bull so much trouble, was made provisional head-steward of the estate, and remains so to the present day. Budge died shortly afterwards—whether or not from exertion in the above affair I cannot say—and the number of the police was doubled, much, as you may suppose, to the disgust of the malcontents, who have not yet abandoned the idea of a second attack upon the house.

One squib suffices to set off a whole bundle; and you can have no idea what effect these proceedings on Baboon's territory had upon some neighbouring estates. Nick Frog's people, to be sure, both tenantry and villagers, expressed themselves perfectly contented with their landlord; but a very different scene occurred on the domain of Colonel Martinet. The Colonel—who was usually considered as rather out at elbows—had an immense notion of his own importance, and wanted, at county meetings and elsewhere, to take the precedence of Don Ferdinando, whose lands were twice the extent of his, besides being incomparably in finer order. This sort of rivalry had led to many bickerings in former years, though the two were cousins-german; and these were heightened by the fact that, at the Quarter-Sessions, which they both attended, some thirty small proprietors and yeomen were entitled to vote. Ferdinando had hitherto been invariably elected chairman, a dignity which Martinet would have given his little finger to achieve; indeed, so much store did he set on gaining it that he kept up an establishment far too costly for his means, and, in consequence, took every opportunity of driving a hard bargain with his tenantry. Not that he was illiberal—at least so he said. He was exceedingly desirous that his tenantry should have an opportunity of inspecting the manner in which his accounts were kept; but, somehow or other, he never would give them that opportunity, and great were the complaints in consequence. Privately—there is no use mincing the matter—the Colonel was a weak creature. He had got into an unfortunate habit of issuing orders and then recalling them, solely for the purpose of exhibiting the extent of his puissance and power. The consequence was that you never could depend upon him. At eleven o'clock he would summon his servants, and deliver to them a document regularly signed and sealed, desiring a meeting of the tenantry to be held next day, at which he would announce to them a material remission of rent. Right or wrong, that must be posted instantly. At one, he had changed his mind; the meeting was to be put off, and he intended to charge them twenty per cent additional. At three, there was a new notice, desiring them, under penalties, to attend a Protestant place of worship. At five, out came a placard warning them to conform to the Roman Catholic religion. And if no more notices were given that day, the reason was that the Colonel had gone to dinner. You may therefore comprehend the reason why his people, when they learned what had befallen Philip Baboon, thought it a good opportunity to do likewise, and, at all events, to demand a sight of the books.

It so happened that, when they assembled, the Colonel was in one of his exalted moods; and, on being informed that a large body of men were gathering on the lawn, he immediately gave orders to the gamekeepers to fire upon them. This they accordingly did; and you may conceive the consternation and rage of the poor fellows, who had their faces tattooed with snipe-shot! They retreated, but returned in an hour or two afterwards in augmented numbers, seriously determined on mischief, when, what think you took place? Why, the Colonel, having in the mean time finished another bottle, came out to meet them in a full suit of black, with crape round his hat, and weepers on his wrists, protesting that the whole thing was a mistake—that he loved them as his life—that they were his children, (which might have been the case with some half-dozen of them)—and that, if any of them were going to die from the unfortunate accident of the discharge, he, Colonel Martinet, would be proud and happy to officiate as principal mourner! While they stood staring like stuck pigs at this unexpected announcement, the Colonel began an oration lauding them mightily as the best and foremost tenantry in the universe, protesting that it was a shame and disgrace that they were not allowed to take the wall of Ferdinando's tenants, and hinting that it merely depended upon themselves whether they might not get new lands for nothing.

"At all events, my lads," said he, "one thing is clear—we must have the precedence at Quarter-Sessions. Your honour is concerned in that, as well as mine; and I don't see why we should not have a tidy little court of our own, chosen generally by all the tenantry, to put matters right, and settle any trifling matters of dispute. Don't say one word of apology for what has occurred to-night. I understand the whole matter. Don Ferdinando is at the bottom of the whole mischief, but we'll make him pay for it before long. Is there anything more? I think not. Well then, gentlemen, I insist upon your having a glass of wine all round; and, if you please, we shall drink bad luck to Ferdinando and his tenants!"

You would hardly believe it; but the mob did actually drink the toast, and gave a cheer for the Colonel moreover, and then went peaceably home. But the question about the Quarter-Sessions was by no means settled. Some men held the opinion that neither Ferdinando nor Colonel Martinet had any right to dictate in person, but the whole bench should be composed of persons elected by the tenantry and villagers, independent of the landlords; and, for that purpose, they convened a meeting at the Frankfort Arms—a sort of joint-stock public-house, to which everybody who lived on the estates represented at Quarter-Sessions might come and welcome—to consider what rents should be paid, and what police maintained, and a variety of questions which were utterly beyond their province to decide. Nor had they the sense even to take this step without causing a new outcry, for they summoned to their meeting men from a farm belonging to the estate of Squire Copenhagen, and which had belonged to it since the days of Noah, on the pretext that the flood had unrighteously separated it from their jurisdiction at Quarter-Sessions!

No sooner were they assembled at the Frankfort Arms than they declared the meeting to be perpetual, and voted themselves each a handsome allowance of five shillings per diem at the expense of the landlords; some of whom, like Martinet, paid their share of the subsidy because they could not well help themselves, whilst others, like Ferdinando, told the rascals who called with the subscription-book to go to the devil. Then they set about drawing up new regulations for the management of all the neighbouring estates, of which they now considered themselves the actual proprietors, calling the landlords mere trustees, and declaring that they would make them account strictly for past intromissions. Next, they ordered out a posse of watchmen and gamekeepers, and sent them down the river to occupy that farm of Squire Copenhagen's of which we have spoken, with the full consent of Martinet, who had long had an eye upon it for his own advantage. But they reckoned for once without their host, for Copenhagen was as brave as a lion, and determined to fight to the last drop of his blood before an acre of his estate should be confiscated; and Esquire North, who was a near relation of his, intimated that he should be ready at all times to back him in his reasonable quarrel.

If I were to tell you all that took place in consequence of the proceedings of this villanous gang at the Frankfort Arms, it would occupy volumes. There were no bounds to the disturbances which they created. They were drunk from morning till night, and might be seen staggering about in dresses which made them facsimiles of the ruffians who murdered the Babes in the Wood. They shouted, and wrangled, and fought, and blasphemed, until no peaceable gentleman durst go near the Frankfort Arms, lest he should be assaulted, attacked, or robbed; and at last they grew so bad that they were indicted as a common nuisance. Martinet, and those who had hitherto supported them, gave notice that the supplies were stopped; and so, after a scene of rioting which baffles all description, they were turned neck and crop out of doors, and the Frankfort Arms was shut up. Some of the vagabonds, not knowing what better to do, marched in a body and broke into Ferdinando's mansion—a feat which they accomplished with the aid of the charity boys on his foundation, for those diabolical miscreants had poisoned the minds and perverted the principles of old and young. There they remained for some days, plundering and ravishing; but were at last driven out again by Ferdinando and his watchmen, who, as you may well suppose, felt no manner of scruple whatever in knocking the ringleaders on the head.

These, however, were only part of the disturbances which took place, for there was more or less rioting in almost every estate in the country; even Bullockshatch did not altogether escape, as you shall presently hear. Indeed, many excellent people began to think that the end of the world must be drawing nigh, for such was the beating of drums, blowing of trumpets, springing of rattles, yelling of mobs, and alarms of fire every night, that no amount of laudanum could insure a quiet slumber.

CHAPTER III.
OF THE ATTEMPTED DISTURBANCES AT BULLOCKSHATCH; OF THE OUTBREAK ON THE FARM AT THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POND; AND OF THE GRADUAL ADVANCES OF PETER.

The news of the ejection of Philip Baboon by the tenantry and villagers spread, as you may suppose, like wildfire all over Bullockshatch, and was also soon conveyed to John's detached farm on the other side of the pond. Now, although the greater part of the tenantry had little confidence in the Juggler, and others who occupied situations in the household, they were deeply and sincerely attached to John, and were ready to stand by him to the last drop of their blood. And so, to do them justice, were the vast majority of the villagers who had money in the Savings' Bank: for, besides the fact that the Squire was a kind, upright, and honourable master as ever breathed the breath of life, they knew that, if anything should happen to him, they might whistle for their principal, let alone the yearly dividends. But there was a set of rascals, the same who for years past had been attempting to batter down the Ten-bar Gate which was put up by old Gray and the Juggler in the Squire's avenue, who thought this a capital opportunity to create a fresh disturbance; so they met at a pothouse hard by, constituted themselves into a kind of sham servants' hall, passed resolutions to the effect that they were entitled to occupy the house, and to have the run of the buttery; and in secret set about the purchase of crowbars, picklocks, and other implements of burglary. This, however, was not done so secretly but that a rumour of it reached the ears of the Juggler, who grew as pale as death at the intelligence, and could hardly be brought round by dint of sal-volatile and burned feathers. When he came to himself, and had thought over the subject, he began to see that he was in an ugly fix. None of his own friends were fit to manage an affair of this kind, so he resolved to take what was precisely the wisest course he could have adopted, namely, to step across the way, and take counsel with old Arthur, who still retained a sort of superintendence of the police. He found the gallant veteran with spectacles on nose, reading CÆsar's Commentaries; and being accommodated with a camp-stool, the Juggler even made a clean breast of it, and laid his difficulties before him. Arthur pricked up his ears like a horse at the sound of the hunting-horn.

"Leave this matter entirely to me, Master Juggler!" quoth he. "It concerns the safety of the whole household; and it shan't be said that old Arthur hung back at the last, after having served Squire Bull so long. In the mean time, go you and enrol as many tight lads as you can for special constables; I'll look after the police, and take care to have Dragon the house-dog ready."

So the Juggler hopped down stairs with a heart as light as a linnet's, for he knew that if Arthur took a job in hand it was as good as done. And before evening a whole regiment of tight lads were sworn as special constables. Arthur was at work all night, and, by daybreak, everything was ready. Pattereroes were mounted on the roofs of the outhouses, so as to command the avenue; the regular police was mustered in the Riding-School, and Dragon's collar ready to be slipped at a moment's notice.

The mob, however, did not venture to appear. They had summoned a great meeting to be held on a common, from which they were to march upon John's house; but the hearts of many failed them when they heard tell of the preparations which were made for their reception, and they did not appear at the place of muster. In fact, the whole thing ended in smoke. The meeting on the common broke up. Nobody appeared at the gate save one red-headed fellow, who came trundling a wheelbarrow before him, which he said contained the humble petition of many well-affected villagers; and he requested, quite meekly, that he might be allowed to convey it to the house. No objection whatever was made to this—so the barrow, escorted by special constables, was wheeled up the avenue, and the petition carried into the house, and laid upon the servant's table. When they came to examine it, however, they found what a set of rascals the framers were. "John Bull, his mark," was subscribed at least fifty times to the petition addressed to himself! Mrs Bull appeared to have done little else for a fortnight than go about from booth to pothouse for the purpose of signing her name! If there was faith in pen, ink, and paper, Arthur had committed himself twenty times over, and so had the Juggler, and almost every one of the servants. Then there were names like Bloody-bones, Dirk Hatteraick, Blue-beard, and Swill-gore, which were never borne by any Christian man, in hundreds; so that it became apparent that it was no petition at all, but an infamous forgery; and it was accordingly chucked under the table. And so ended this new conspiracy at Bullockshatch.

Matters, however, looked more serious on the farm on the other side of the pond, which had always harboured the most turbulent set of people on the whole estate. That hoary old sinner, Peter, of whom you shall hear more anon, had been allowed, through the stupidity, carelessness, or good-nature of some of the former stewards, to take such liberties there, that at last he had the consummate impudence to assert that he, and not Squire Bull, was the Lord Paramount. He even appointed deputies, who claimed a sort of jurisdiction; and if he did not venture actually to uplift the rents, he hinted broadly enough that nobody was bound in conscience to pay them to the Squire, or to render stipend to Patrick, who acted as the Squire's chaplain in those parts. Dan, the old Rabiator, as he was called, had been long his chief agent in the farm; but Dan was now dead, and the man who assumed his place was little better than a nincompoop. Nobody, in fact, could have done Peter's business half so well as Dan. He always kept—at least almost always—on the windy side of the law; talked wildly enough, in all conscience, but abstained from overt acts; and knew precisely how to avail himself of the necessities of the steward for the time being, who was often forced to apply to him for a helping hand in cases of strong emergency. In this way Dan was able to provide handsomely for his family, most of whom were located in different situations of indifferent trust in the service of Squire Bull; and he managed, moreover, to secure a snug little income for himself, by levying a kind of black-mail, called Daniel's pence, at all the fairs and gatherings on the farm. But when Dan died, he left no Elisha behind him. One Byrne tried to put on his mantle—a sorry one it was by this time—and he insisted that all the disciples of Peter, and all others on the farm who bore no goodwill to the Squire, were bound to follow him, on the ground that, before the Christian era, an ancestor of his was supposed to have possessed a corner of the farm rent-free. He had a seat in the under servants' hall, but he refused to attend at commons, alleging that he did not get as much as he was entitled to; and, after several acts of foolery, he fairly crossed over to the farm, and called upon Donnybrook and Shilelah, and the other merry lads who used to roar in the wake of Dan, to follow him, and knock the constables of the Squire on the head. A bigger fool than Byrne you never met with on a summer's day. His game evidently was to have played Peter's cards, to keep temporising whenever he could, and to have done all in his power to advance the interests of that stealthy Jesuit. Peter would have backed him to any extent, so long as he stood up solely for the interests and the rights of Peter; but the moment he deserted that principle, and advanced his own preposterous claims, he found the back of Peter's hand turned to him with a vengeance. A sad sight it was to see the poor fellow take to the hill-side, with a handful of misbegotten idiots behind him, dressed in a new uniform ordered for the occasion, and carrying pikes and rusty swords, and pokers, and such other weapons as they could conveniently command. They had not even victuals enough to sustain them for the first twelve hours of their march; and whenever they knocked at the door of any of Peter's emissaries, imploring that, for the love of the saints, he would hand them out a bowlful of potatoes, they were greeted with a formal commination, and told that they were accursed heretics. They tried to storm a tollhouse or two, for the purpose of abstracting money; but they invariably found the shutters made fast, and divers fowling-pieces levelled at them from the windows of the upper story. At last, after being out for four or five nights in the cold mist and rain, they came down to a house kept by a lone widow woman, in which several of the police were stationed, and swore that, if they were not admitted, they would burn down the premises, and massacre every man, woman, and child within. Possibly they never intended to do anything of the kind; for Byrne, though a blockhead, had nothing savage about him; indeed, he was rather soft-hearted than otherwise. He ran round the house, entreating the police to surrender, in order to save the effusion of blood; but they merely answered by a laugh of contempt, and a discharge of musketry, which was supposed to have settled Byrne's business. However, his followers, on looking about, found him squatted in the widow's cabbage-garden, marvellously distressed in heart, and apparently labouring under a painful visitation of the bowels. He escaped for the moment, but a few days afterwards was seized, tried, and sentenced to transportation. And this is the last actual outbreak which has occurred in any portion of Squire Bull's estates.

But you must not, from this, conclude that everything was going smooth. That infernal miscreant, Peter, had acted politicly throughout the latter affair; not from any regard to Squire Bull, but because he knew he could make more of him by seeming to give into his authority, than by backing up a stupid egotistical creature like Byrne, who never had the ghost of a chance. Now, however, when the danger was over, he, through his emissaries, thought fit to claim prodigious credit for the disinterested part which he had acted. One Claretson was at this time ground-steward for the Squire on that farm, and to him the whole retainers of Peter repaired.

"You see," they said, "what immense respect we have for the authority of Squire Bull. Nothing would have been easier for us than to have set up Byrne; but our consciences would not allow it; and so we have settled what might have been an ugly business without any difficulty at all. We don't wish to claim the slightest merit for having done so. It was our duty, and nothing more. Merely, if you think that we deserve well of Squire Bull, we would just mention that certain of Patrick's people are apt to give themselves airs, and to insist upon walking before us out of a shebeen-shop, which is neither here nor there, only it is unpleasant, considering that many of us and our predecessors maintain that we were in the parishes before Patrick was born. That, we allow, may possibly be matter of dispute; but there can be no doubt of this, that Peter is senior to Martin; and, as Patrick has always acted as a junior brother to Martin, we venture to think that it is a reasonable request, that Squire Bull shall hereafter acknowledge Peter's nominees as equal in dignity to Patrick's."

It is difficult to say whether Claretson was really humbugged by this jesuitical oration, or whether he was so far misled in judgment as to consider their views reasonable. Certain it is that he gave them a most civil answer; and reported the matter to the Juggler, who was then in particularly good humour, as his character, and perhaps his place, depended on the suppression of the riot. So he called together several of the servants, showed them Claretson's letter, and begged them to speak their minds freely.

"My own view is," quoth he, "that nothing can be more reasonable. Patrick may perhaps fume and get into a huff about it, but who cares for Patrick? He may be very glad that he is allowed to draw his stipend, and what matters it to him whether he walks first or last?"

"And I think," said Gray—not the old Gaffer, who, as you know, brought in Madam Reform, but his son and successor—"I think we can't do less for Peter, considering his very handsome conduct in this business. I am for going still further. Why not make the rule universal in all Squire Bull's properties and estates beyond Bullockshatch? It may not be altogether convenient to bring in Peter here, just at the present moment; but we can think about that afterwards. Meanwhile let us give him what he wants; and let him walk first everywhere except in Bullockshatch."

"I, for one, am perfectly agreeable," said Timber, who, being a man of exceedingly limited ideas, always made a point of coinciding with the opinions of the rest.

"So be it!" quoth Protocol. "But don't you think we might even go a step further? I find it a main inconvenience that I am not allowed to write direct to Peter whenever I have occasion to know the last quotations of indulgences, holy water, or pardons. Could we not arrange among ourselves to send over some respectable gentleman, who might look after any business of the Squire's in those parts, and occasionally pop in in a friendly way, and take pot-luck with Peter? I own that it would be a great accommodation to me, and I don't see how any one could object to it."

The Juggler, however, who had recently been thinking a good deal on that very subject, shook his head, remarking that Squire Bull had long ago expressed his determination that none of his servants should hold direct intercourse with Peter. "And," said he, "that is precisely one of the points upon which he is most obstinate and fractious. If we were openly to broach this matter to him, it might go far to lose us our places. But I'll tell you what;—there may be a way to get round the bush, and establish a communication with Peter, without incurring the scandal. There's my near connection, Mat-o'-the-Mint, who, between ourselves, is of no earthly use here beyond keeping the keys of a certain place which shall be nameless. Suppose we send him out nominally on a visit to Signor Macaroni, or any other squires in the south, and give him a general roving commission? He'll like the job vastly, I can tell you; for, of course, we shall charge his whole expenses to the Squire; and he can take that opportunity of seeing Peter, and arranging as to future proceedings."

No objection being made to this very convenient arrangement, Mat-o'-the-Mint received his credentials. This individual was one of the most lucky men alive, and seemed born specially to refute the proverb, that service is no inheritance. It was difficult at any time to say what he was fit for, for he rarely uttered words of more value than—"Ay, ay! my masters! this is a fine day, as the ancient philosopher remarked." Or, "In respect to that, my opinion is whatever Providence may please." Notwithstanding this oracular turn of mind, he generally contrived to have himself appointed to some snug place in the household, where there was plenty to get and little to do; and it is fair to add, that he never forgot any of his own relations, when he could contrive to provide for them at the Squire's expense.

Peter, who was always alert and vigilant in doing mischief, had, at this moment, more irons in the fire than usual. In the first place, he was getting up a private demonstration in his own village, for the purpose, if possible, of making himself popular with his people, who used most cordially to detest him. Secondly, he wished to stir up the whole tenantry of Signor Macaroni against Don Ferdinando, who had for a long time held a considerable farm in mortgage. Thirdly, he wanted to make all the world believe that he was an altered character since the days when he presided at hangings, burnings, torturings, and other devilish acts of cruelty. And, fourthly, he was most especially anxious, in one way or another, to get speech of Squire Bull. You must know that there was a quarrel of long standing between the two; John, in his younger days, having been insulted and domineered over by Peter and his emissaries, until his patience could bear it no longer; so, one fine day, he armed himself with a horsewhip, lashed the whole gang of them out of Bullockshatch, and swore the most solemn of possible oaths that they should never again set foot within his property if he could prevent it; nor would he even acknowledge that such a being as Peter existed on the face of the earth. Peter, on the other hand, was resolved that he should get some of his people located on John's estate, in spite of all his opposition; and, by dint of perseverance, he ultimately carried his point. For example, Squire Bull would observe from his window an olive-faced fellow in black clothes and purple stockings, with a surtout down to his heels, no shirt-collar, and a shovel hat, pacing down the avenue, and pretending to be reading from a small book with illuminated characters. At this apparition the Squire would start, and sing out to the nearest of the servants—"Lookye there now! what fellow is that? A spy of Peter's, I dare be sworn! Have I not told you, over and over again, that not one of them shall be quartered here?" Then the servant whom he accosted would put on his spectacles, take a long look at the walking spider before him, and reply quite calmly, "Bless your heart, Squire! you are clean mistaken altogether. I know that person perfectly well. He is a highly respectable foreigner, who has taken lodgings for a few months in the village for the benefit of country air. He is the Bishop of Timbuctoo, I think—or, now that I look again, I see it is the Vicar-Apostolic of New Guinea—a most agreeable, accomplished, gentlemanly man, I assure you." And if this did not satisfy the Squire—which it rarely did, for he used to growl like a mastiff whenever he caught sight of one of those gentry—the servant would put it to him whether it was the part of a Christian and an esquire to harbour ill-will against a gentleman who was merely residing for temporary purposes upon his estate, and who occupied a great portion of his time in visiting the sick and in relieving the poor? On these occasions, John had invariably the worst of the argument; and the upshot was, that one of these temporary residenters was presently located in every village of the estate, and showed no symptom of moving. Very little regard had they for the spiritual concerns of their flocks in Timbuctoo or New Guinea! But to make up for that omission, they took immense pains with the tenantry of Bullockshatch, building chapels in which they burned a mild kind of consecrated incense, erecting schools wherein they taught the children gratis, and wheedling everybody in the most amiable and conciliatory manner possible. They even contrived to make mischief in Martin's family, as I shall presently have occasion to tell you. As for Peter's friends on the farm across the pond, they pretended to no disguise at all, but broadly maintained their intention to support him at all hazards, and to do his bidding. There were no Bishops of Timbuctoo, or Terra-del-fuego there. So many of the tenantry were of their opinion, that they did not care one pinch of snuff for your prÆmunires, or other legal bugbears.

Now, what Peter wanted was to bring Bullockshatch to precisely the same condition as the detached farm. He had got himself, as one may say, firmly established in the lesser spot; and he was determined to move heaven and earth, and mayhap another place, to acquire an equal footing in the bigger one. This he could hardly hope to do, without coming to some sort of terms with Squire Bull, through his servants, and he had been long privately expecting to find an opportunity by means of Protocol, who was a reckless creature, and hardly ever condescended to give a single thought to Martin. Protocol, in fact, was a kind of secular Peter. He was never so happy as when swimming in troubled waters; and the main difference between them was, that Protocol cared for nothing but excitement, whereas Peter never for a moment lost sight of the main chance. You may conceive, therefore, with what joy the latter received the intimation that he might expect, in a short while, to receive a private and confidential visit from no less a person than Mat-o'-the-Mint. Not that Mat was any great acquisition in himself; but being a near relative of the Juggler, and also an upper servant in Squire Bull's household, nothing could be more consonant with the secret wishes of Peter. So he ordered three chapels to be illuminated, and a special prayer to be chanted for the conversion of Bullockshatch; at the mention of which name, it is recorded that some images winked their eyes!

CHAPTER IV.
HOW MAT-O'-THE-MINT UNDERTOOK AN EXPEDITION TO THE ESTATES OF SIGNOR MACARONI; AND WHAT FOLLOWED THEREUPON.

Mat-o'-the-Mint, then, having got his roving commission signed in due form, and his pocket-book well stuffed with bank-notes, set out upon his tour like an actual walking mystery. It is my opinion, up to the present hour, that the excellent gentleman had no precise idea of what he was expected to do; but that his general notion was that he was bound to give advice—at least such advice as he could give—to any one who asked him for it. No man can be expected to accomplish impossibilities: he can merely do his best; and that Mat-o'-the-Mint was prepared to perform quite conscientiously. It was not his fault, if those who sent him did not make him comprehend their design; indeed Protocol, who was a sly fox, and always left a door of escape open for himself in case of emergency, was not likely to be too specific in his instructions, or to commit himself irretrievably on paper.

No sooner was it noised abroad that Mat-o'-the-Mint was on his travels, than there was a considerable stir both among the southern squirearchy and their tenantry, who were then unfortunately at loggerheads. Everybody who had a dispute with anybody else wanted to know what Squire Bull thought of the matter, hoping probably that he would not be disinclined to lend him a helping hand, and mayhap a few pounds; for the fellows in those parts laboured under the delusion that the Squire was made of money. So they were all anxious to get a confidential hearing from Mat-o'-the-Mint, whom they imagined to be a very great man indeed, and a very wise one; arguing, naturally enough, that the Squire would not have entrusted such a mission except to a person of consummate prudence and discretion. Little they knew of the Juggler or Protocol, or of the way in which Squire Bull's business was conducted! But to resume. One fine day Mat-o'-the-Mint arrived on the estate of a gentleman, Don Vesuvius, who was an old friend of Bull's, and was received at the boundary by the ground-steward, who, in the very civilest possible manner, presented his master's compliments, and requested that Master Matthew would drive straight up to the Hall, where a handsome suite of apartments was ready for his accommodation. Privately, and in his heart, Mat would have liked nothing better; but he was not quite sure whether Protocol would approve of his doing so, especially as Don Vesuvius was notoriously on bad terms with some of his own people. So he thought it best to decline for the present.

"My compliments," quoth he, "to your master, and say to him that I am quite sensible that he has done the proper thing in asking me to the Hall. But you see that I am so situated that I can't very well come. My master, the squire, has heard a good deal of what is going on in these parts; and though, as a matter of course, he has no wish to interfere between the Don and his tenantry, yet the fact is that, under present circumstances, I had better put up at the inn. Say to your master that I shall be glad to see him there, any time he may be passing; at all events, I shall certainly make a point of writing him my opinion on the general question, in the course of a day or so."

Now, it so happened that there were a number of lazy-looking fellows, with knives in their belts, loitering around the drosky while Mat-o'-the-Mint delivered this answer to the ground steward; and these were precisely the worst of the whole crew with whom Don Vesuvius was at feud. Who so rejoiced as they to find that Squire Bull's confidential servant was likely to be on their side! They threw up their hats, and brayed, and danced, and cut fandangos, to all which Mat-o'-the-Mint replied by taking off his hat and bowing like a Chinese mandarin. At last, in the exuberance of their joy, the crowd took the horses out of the vehicle, and fairly dragged him to the village inn, leaving the unhappy ground steward as disconsolate as Ariadne on Naxos.

No sooner were they arrived at the inn, than Mat asked a number of the men to step up to his sitting-room; and having questioned them regarding their grievances, which you may be sure they took care to magnify to the utmost, he called for pen, ink, and paper, and sate himself down to write a long epistle to Don Vesuvius. I can't give you the particulars of this document, further than that it contained an intimation that in his, Mat-o'-the-Mint's opinion, the gentleman had been very much misled in the management of his own affairs. That for the sake of restoring peace and tranquillity, it appeared to the aforesaid Matthew that Don Vesuvius would do well to surrender one half of his estate to the tenantry, without receiving any consideration for it; and that if this arrangement, which he merely ventured to suggest, should meet with approbation, there could be no difficulty whatever in reducing the rents on the remaining half. As also that the undersigned was with the highest consideration, &c. &c. Having finished this doughty epistle, which he despatched by the boots of the inn, Mat ordered his equipage, and drove away to another estate, as proud as Punch, amidst the shouts of the whole idlers of the village.

You may fancy the astonishment of the honest gentleman when he read Mat's letter. It was some time before he could believe the evidence of his spectacles. "Good heavens!" he said, "is it possible that Squire Bull can treat an old friend and fellow-sportsman thus? Haven't I dozens upon dozens of letters under his own hand, guaranteeing me possession of my whole estate, and am I now to be fobbed off in this way, and insulted to boot by an old trencherman of whom nobody ever heard? But I won't believe it! It must be some trick of that rascal, Protocol, who is perpetually writing letters without authority in the name of his master—at all events, I won't submit to be dictated to, in the disposal of my own, by the best Squire living!"

By this time, however, the riotous portion of the tenantry were fully possessed with the notion that Squire Bull was ready to back them up to any extent; so they began a regular insurrection, fired at the gamekeepers, beat the watchmen, and barricaded one of the villages, after they had thoroughly plundered it. But they reckoned without their host; for the tenantry on the home farm were to a man true to their master, and having armed themselves, they crossed the canal, (in which, by the way, some of John's barges were lying, it was thought with the connivance of Protocol,) and gave the rascally rabble such a drubbing, that nothing more was heard afterwards about the partition of the property. The rioters, however, believe to this hour that they were deceived by Squire Bull, who, they aver, had promised to support them, and they accordingly hate him like ratsbane; neither, as you may well conceive, is Don Vesuvius, whose property was proposed to be divided, over and above grateful for this impudent interference with his private affairs.

This, however, was a mere segment of the mischief which was effected by Mat-o'-the-Mint. Wherever he went he tendered advice; and whenever that advice was given, rioting ensued. In short, he proved such a nuisance, that well-affected people would much rather have submitted to a visit from the cholera. At last he arrived at Peter's patrimony, a place which was by no means tranquil at the time. Notwithstanding Peter's boasting, and his perpetual attempt to get his emissaries quartered on every estate in the country, he was the reverse of popular at home. He had a very handsome house, which he kept full of friars, monks, Jesuits, Dominicans, Carthusians, and Grand Inquisitors, fellows who did little else than eat, drink, sleep, and conspire at the expense of the working population. This had become so intolerable, that Peter, though the most tyrannical despot upon earth, found it necessary to come down a peg or two, and announced his intention of revising the laws of his household, which, to say the truth, needed mending sorely. But he did not stop there. He began to intrigue for a restoration of the whole estates which were formerly in the family of Signor Macaroni, but which latterly had passed into the hands of other proprietors—for example, Don Ferdinando; and, at the time I speak of, his village was filled with every description of cut-throat, robber, and murderer that could be gathered from the country round, all of them shouting "Long life to Peter!" and "Hurrah for the independence of Macaroni!" They were in the very midst of this jubilation, which sounded more like an echo of Pandemonium than anything else, when Mat-o'-the-Mint drove into the town; and the moment they heard of his arrival, the very worst of them—Massaniello, Massaroni, Corpo di Caio Mario, and Vampyrio degli Assassinacione—congregated under the windows, and whooped and howled, till Mat, in an access of terror, came out upon the balcony, pressed a flag, with a death's-head and cross-bones upon it, to his bosom, and proposed three cheers for the independence of Macaroni! You may conceive what a taking the poor fellow must have been in before he ventured to do anything of the sort.

Mat, being thus committed to Macaroni, was a mere baby in the hands of Peter. They had an interview to discuss the affairs of the neighbouring Squirearchy, and any other little matters which might occur to either; which Mat felt as an honour, whilst Peter was feeling his pulse. Peter, like an aged villain as he was, affected to be extremely straightforward and open in his remarks, and quite confidential in his communications; so that, in the course of half an hour, poor Mat was entirely at his mercy. After they had chatted for a short time, and cracked a bottle or so of LachrymÆ together, Peter claps me down a map of the whole country, whereon Squire Bull's farm was marked out with some twelve or thirteen crosses, before Mat, and asked him whether he thought it was all correct?

"Undubitably," quoth Mat-o'-the-Mint, who regarded the crosses as simply indicative of the villages.

"Then there can be no objections to the publication of a map of this kind upon hierarchical principles?" continued Peter, ogling his victim at the same time, as a fox makes love to a gander.

"Hier—I beg your pardon"—said Mat-o'-the-Mint, who was not overburdened with lore at any time, and just then was rather confuscated. "Hieroglyphical principles, did you say?"

"No—hierarchical principles," insinuated Peter, with a smile intended to convey the utmost amount of indulgence. "Hiero, you know, was one of our earliest geographers."

"To be sure he was"—replied Mat-o'-the-Mint—"and an intimate friend of Leander's—I've read of him in the Imaginary Conversations—There can be no objections, of course. The map's a capital map!"

"I'm very glad to hear you say so," said Peter, sounding a little silver whistle which dangled from his button-hole, "it is always matter of satisfaction to me to meet with a plain, intellectual, honourable, enlightened gentleman, who knows what's what, and is above all manner of prejudice.—You may take away that map, Hippopotamus"—he continued, as an individual in purple stockings entered the room. "Mr Matthew is perfectly satisfied as to its correctness, and you may mention that when you write to your friends at home."

Hippopotamus swept up the plan and retired; but long after he closed the door, you might have heard a sniggering in the lobby.

"And now, my very dear friend," quoth Peter, "let's have a fresh bottle of LachrymÆ, and a little conversation about those affairs of Patrick's."

It matters very little what passed upon that score, for the job was already settled; but Peter probably thought it safest to make this appear the principal topic of their conversation. They sate up a long time together; and Mat-o'-the-Mint found it no easy matter to get home to his hotel, or to ring up the porter when he arrived there.

So far Peter thought that he was carrying everything his own way; but he was labouring all the while under a confounded mistake. Massaniello, Massaroni, and the rest, were glad enough to get into the village, and to throw up their caps for Peter and Macaroni, so long as they received free quarters, but not a moment longer. They had now time given them to peer into the churches and shops, and to reckon what might be turned to account; and they had made up their minds that if they could only get rid of Peter, there was plunder enough to be had out of his patrimony to maintain themselves in comfort for the remaining portion of their lives. Once having ascertained this, they lost no time in carrying their plans into execution. They broke out into actual revolt, stabbed one of Peter's servants on the stairs, shut up the old firebrand himself in his drawing-room, and discharged pistols into the windows, until they succeeded in frightening him out of his seven senses, and drove him out of the village in the disguise of an ordinary cabman. Then they began, as a matter of course, to help themselves to every man's property, and to share upon principles of equality. You have no idea what a row all this made. Even Ferdinando was furious, for though he had no great cause to regard Peter, he liked still less the rascally ruffians who had turned him out of house and home, and he proposed straightway to march a posse comitatus against them. But young Nap, now styled Administrator of the Baboonery, was before him. He had more idle fellows on hand than he knew what to do with, so he sent a whole gang of them off to clear Peter's patrimony of the rioters, and mayhap, if convenient, to bring back the old Jesuit in person. Terrible were the execrations of Massaniello and his friends when they were summoned to surrender by young Nap's people! They said—what was true enough—that if the others were entitled to eject Philip Baboon, they were entitled to turn Peter about his business; and they protested that the people of each estate should be allowed to manage their own matters without interference. But interference was the order of the day. Everybody was interfering; so Nap's men gave them to understand that they did not intend to be exceptions to the general rule. In short, Massaniello and his friends must evacuate or—take the consequences. And, accordingly, evacuate they did, though not without a good deal of burning of gunpowder, levying of subsidies, abduction of church-plate, &c.; and, in due course of time, old Peter was brought back, amidst a discharge of Roman candles, squibs, crackers, and Catherine wheels; and with him returned the whole host of Jesuits, monks, and inquisitors, singing Quare fremuerunt gentes? and ten times more ready for any kind of mischief than before.

And where all this while, you may ask, was Mat-o'-the-Mint? Snug at home. Some of the upper servants in the household of Squire Bull had got an inkling of the business he was after, and put questions, which were neither easy to answer nor agreeable to evade. The Squire himself began to grumble. Protocol could not help perceiving that he had got into a scrape by sending out such an envoy; and even the Juggler did not care to have the matter publicly mentioned, but was willing that it should fall into oblivion. It is, however, easier to open a negotiation with Peter, than to get out of one. The difficulty is not to catch the lobster, but to force him to leave go after he has fastened on you with his claws; and you shall presently hear what took place in Bullockshatch, not long after the time when Peter was reinstated in his patrimony.

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