"That be my loryer, that air be!"

And then Mr. Prigg would gracefully raise his hat, and Mrs. Prigg would lie back perfectly motionless as became a very languid lady of her exalted position. And when Mr. Prigg said to Mrs. Prigg, "My dear, that is our new client;" Mrs. Prigg would elevate her arched eyebrows and expand her delicate nostrils as she answered,-

"Really, my love, what a very vulgar-looking creechar!"

"Not nearly so vulgar as Locust's client," rejoined her husband. "You should see him."

"Thank you, my love, it is quite enough to catch a glimpse of the superior person of the two."

Mr. Prigg seemed to think it a qualifying circ.u.mstance that Snooks was a more vulgar-looking man than b.u.mpkin, whereas a moment's consideration showed Mrs. Prigg how illogical that was. It is the intrinsic and personal value that one has to measure things by. This value could not be heightened by contrast. Mrs. Prigg's curiosity, however, naturally led her to inquire who the other creechar was? As if she had never heard of _b.u.mpkin_ v. _Snooks_, although she had actually got the case on four wheels and was riding in it at that very moment; as if in fact she was not practically all b.u.mpkin, as a silkworm may be said to be all mulberry leaves. As if she knew nothing of her husband's business! Her ideas were not of this world. Give her a church to build, she'd hara.s.s people for subscriptions; or let it be a meeting to clothe the naked savage, Mrs. Prigg would be there. She knew nothing of clothing b.u.mpkin! But she did interest herself sufficiently in her husband's conversation to ask, in answer to his reference to Locust's disreputable client,

"And who is he, pray?"

"My darling," said Prigg, "you must have heard of Snooks?"

"Oh," drawled Mrs. Prigg, "do you mean the creechar who sells coals?"

"The same, my dear."

"And are you engaged against _that_ man? How very dreadful!"

"My darling," observed Mr. Prigg, "it is not for us to choose our opponents; nor indeed, for the matter of that, our clients."

"I can quite perceive that," returned the lady, "or you would never have chosen such men-dear me!"

"We are like physicians," returned Mr. Prigg, "called in in case of need."

"And the healing virtues of your profession must not be confined to rich patients," said Mrs. Prigg, in her jocular manner.

"By no means," was the good man's reply; "justice is as much the right of the poor as the rich-so is the air we breathe-so is everything." And he put his fingers together again, as was his wont whenever he uttered a philosophical or moral plat.i.tude.

So I saw in my dream that the good man and his ladylike wife rode through the beautiful lanes, and over the breezy common on that lovely summer afternoon, and as they drew up on the summit of a hill which gave a view of the distant landscape, there was a serenity in the scene which could only be compared to the serenity of Mr. Prigg's benevolent countenance; and there was a calm, deeply, sweetly impressive, which could only be appreciated by a mind at peace with itself in particular, and with the world in general. Then came from a neighbouring wood the clear voice of the cuckoo. It seemed to sing purposely in honour of the good man; and I fancied I could see a ravenous hawk upon a tree, abashed at Mr. Prigg's presence and superior ability; and a fluttering timid lark seemed to shriek, "Wicked bird, live and let live;" but it was the last word the silly lark uttered, for the hawk was upon him in a moment, and the little innocent songster was crushed in its ravenous beak. Still the cuckoo sang on in praise of Mr. Prigg, with now and then a little note for Mrs.

Prigg; for the cuckoo is a very gallant little bird, and Mrs. Prigg was such a heavenly creature that no cuckoo could be conscious of her presence without hymning her praise.

"Listen," said Mrs. Prigg, "isn't it beautiful? I wonder where cuckoos go to?"

"Ah, my dear!" said Prigg, enraptured with the clear notes and the beautiful scene; but neither of them seemed to wonder where hawks go to.

"Do you hear the echo, love? Isn't it beautiful?"

O, yes, it was beautiful! Nature does indeed lift the soul on a quiet evening from the grovelling occupations of earth to bask in the genial sunshine of a more spiritual existence. What was b.u.mpkin? What was Snooks to a scene like this? Suddenly the cuckoo ceased. Wonderful bird! I don't know whether it was the presence of the hawk that hushed its voice or the sight of Mr. Prigg as he stood up in the carriage to take a more extended view of the prospect; but the familiar note was hushed, and the evening hymn in praise of the Priggs was over.

So the journey was continued by the beautiful wood of oaks and chestnuts, along by the hillside from which you could perceive in the far distance the little stream as it wound along by meadow and wood and then lost itself beneath the hill that rose abruptly on the left.

The stream was the symbol of life-probably b.u.mpkin's life; all nature presents similes to a religious mind. And so the evening journey was continued with ever awakening feelings of delight and grat.i.tude until they once more entered their peaceful home. And this brings me to another consideration which ought not to be pa.s.sed over with indifference.

I saw in my dream that a great change had taken place in the home of the Priggs. The furniture had undergone a metamorphosis almost so striking that I thought Mr. Prigg must be a wizard. The gentle reader knows all about Cinderella; but here was a transformation more surprising. I saw that one of Mr. b.u.mpkin's pigs had been turned into a very pretty walnut-wood whatnot, and stood in the drawing-room, and on it stood several of the ducks and geese that used to swim in the pond of Southwood farm. They were not ducks and geese now, but pretty silent ornaments.

An old rough-looking stack of oats had been turned into a very nice Turkey carpet for the dining-room. Poor old Jack the donkey had been changed into a musical box that stood on a little table made out of a calf. One day Mr. b.u.mpkin called to see how his case was going on, and by mistake got into this room among his cows and pigs; but not one of them did the farmer know, and when the maid invited him to sit down he was afraid of spoiling something.

Now summonses at Chambers, and appeals, and demurrers, are not at all bad conjuring wands, if you only know how to use them. Two clever men like Prigg and Locust, not only surprise the profession, but alarm the public, since no one knows what will take place next, and Justice herself is startled from her propriety. Let no clamorous law reformer say that interrogatories or any other mult.i.tudinous proceedings at Judge's Chambers are useless. It is astonishing how many changes you can ring upon them with a little ingenuity, and a very little scrupulosity. Mr.

Prigg turned two sides of bacon into an Indian vase, and performed many other feats truly astonishing to persons who look on as mere spectators, and wonder how it is done. Wave your magic wand, good Prigg, and you shall see a hayrick turn into a chestnut mare; and a four-wheeled waggon into a Victoria.

But the greatest change he had effected was in Mr. b.u.mpkin himself, who loved to hear his wife read the interrogatories and answers. The almanac was nothing to this. He had no idea law was so interesting. I dare say there were two guiding influences working within him, in addition to the many influences working without; one being that inherent British pluck, which once aroused, "doesn't care, sir, if it costs me a thousand pound, I'll have it out wi' un;" the other was the delicious thought that all his present outlay would be repaid by the cunning and covetous Snooks.

So much was b.u.mpkin's heart in the work of crushing his opponent, that expense was treated with ridicule. I heard him one day say jocularly to Mr. Prigg, who had come for an affidavit:

"Be it a pig, sir, or a heifer?"

"O," said the worthy Prigg, "we want a pretty good one; I think it must be a heifer."

All this was very pleasant, and made the business, dull and prosaic in itself, a cheerful recreation.

Then, again, there was a feeling of self-importance whenever these affidavits came to be sworn. Mr. b.u.mpkin would put down his ash-stick by the side of the fireplace, and bidding his visitor be seated, would compose himself with satisfaction to listen to the oft-repeated words:

"I, Thomas b.u.mpkin, make oath, and say-"

Fancy, "_I_, _b.u.mpkin_!" Just let the reader pause over that for a moment! What must "I, b.u.mpkin," be whose statement is required on oath before my Lord Judge?

Always, at these words, he would shout. "That be it-now then, sir, would you please begin that agin?"-while, if Mrs. b.u.mpkin were not too busy, he would call her in to hear them too.

So there was no wonder that the action went merrily along. Once get up enthusiasm in a cause, and it is half won. Without enthusiasm, few causes can succeed against opposition. Then, again, the affidavit described b.u.mpkin as a Yeoman. What, I wonder, would Snooks the coal-merchant think of that?

So everything proceeded satisfactorily, and the months rolled away; the seasons came in their turn, so did the crops, so did the farrows of pigs, so did the spring chickens, and young ducks (prettiest little golden things in the world, on the water); so did Mr. Prigg, and so did a gentleman (hereafter to be called "the man,") with whom a very convenient arrangement was made, by which Mr. b.u.mpkin preserved the whole of his remaining stock intact; had not in fact to advance a single penny piece more; all advances necessary for the prosecution of the action being made by the strange gentleman (whose name I did not catch) under that most convenient of all legal forms, "a Bill of Sale."

CHAPTER IX.

A farmhouse winter fireside-a morning drive and a mutual interchange of ideas between town and country: showing how we may all learn something from one another.

I never saw the home of Farmer b.u.mpkin without thinking what a happy and comfortable home it was. The old elm tree that waved over the thatched roof, seemed to bless and protect it. On a winter's evening, when b.u.mpkin was sitting in one corner smoking his long pipe, Mrs. b.u.mpkin darning her stockings, and Joe on the other side looking into the blazing fire, while the old Collie stretched himself in a snug corner beside his master, it represented a scene of comfort almost as perfect as rustic human nature was capable of enjoying. And when the wind blew through the branches of the elm over the roof, it was like music, played on purpose to heighten the enjoyment. Comfort, thou art at the evening fireside of a farm-house, if anywhere!

You should have seen Tim, when an unusual sound disturbed the harmony of this peaceful fireside. He growled first as he lay with his head resting between his paws, and just turned up his eyes to his master for approval.

Then, if that warning was not sufficient, he rose and barked vociferously. Possessed, I believe, of more insight than b.u.mpkin, he got into the most tremendous state of excitement whensoever anyone came from Prigg's, and he cordially hated Prigg. But most of all was he angry when "the man" came. There was no keeping him quiet. I wonder if dogs know more about Bills of Sale than farmers. I am aware that some farmers know a good deal about them; and when they read this story, many of them will accuse me of being too personal; but Tim was a dog of strong prejudices, and I am sure he had a prejudice against money-lenders.

As the persons I have mentioned were thus sitting on this dreary evening in the month of November, suddenly, Tim sprang from his rec.u.mbent position, and barked furiously.

"Down, Tim! down, Tim!" said the farmer; "what be this, I wonder!"

"Tim, Tim," said Mrs. b.u.mpkin, "down, Tim! hold thee noise, I tell ee."

"Good Tim!" said Joe; he also had an instinct.

"I'll goo and see what it be," said Mrs. b.u.mpkin; "whoever can come here at this time o' night! it be summat, Tom." And she put down her stockings, and lighting a candle went to the front door, whereat there was a loud knocking. Tim jumped and flew and thrust his nose down to the bottom of the door long before Mrs. b.u.mpkin could get there.

"Quiet, Tim! I tell thee; who be there?"