CHAPTER XII.In which the Magistrate is fuddled by the Baronet.
"Ah! Wittingham! Wittingham!" cried the baronet, stretching forth hishand without rising, as the servant introduced the worthy magistrate,"is that you, my old buck? If you haven't come in pudding-time,you have come in wine-time, and will get what so few men get inlife,--your dessert. Sit down and pledge me, old fellow. What shall itbe in? Here's port that was bottled when I came of age, so you mayjudge that it is good old stuff! Madeira that has made more voyagesthan Cook, Comet Claret of 1811, and a bottle of Burgundy that smellsunder my nose like oil of violets."
"Why, Sir John," replied Mr. Wittingham, taking the seat just leftvacant by Mrs. Clifford, and very well pleased with so familiar areception, when he expected quite the reverse; for to say the truth,although some circumstances had happened to make him resolve upontaking the bull by the horns, and visiting the old lion of TarninghamPark in his den, it was nevertheless with great pain and difficultythat he had screwed his courage to the sticking-point, "why, Sir John,I come upon business, and it is better to transact affairs ofimportance with a clear head."
"Pooh, nonsense!" exclaimed the baronet; "no man ever did businesswell without being half drunk. Look at my old friend Pitt, poorfellow! and Charley Fox, too, Sir William Scott, and Dundas, and allof them, not a set of jollier topers in the world than they were, andare still--what are left of them. Well, here's health to the livingand peace to the dead--Burgundy, eh?" and he filled a glass for Mr.Wittingham to the brim.
The worthy magistrate took it, and drinking Sir John Slingsby's toastwas about to proceed to business, when the baronet again interruptedhim, saying, "Let me introduce you to my friends, Wittingham; there'sno fun in drinking with men you don't know. Dr. Miles you areacquainted, this is my friend Mr. Beauchamp, and this my friend,Captain Hayward. Gentlemen both, know, esteem, and admire HenryWittingham, Esq., one of the ornaments of the bench of the countyof ----, one of the trustees of the turnpike roads, a very activemagistrate, and a very honest man. Sink the shop, Witty," hecontinued, in a friendly whisper to his companion, for Sir John seldomif ever allowed Mr. Wittingham to escape without some allusion to hisprevious occupations, which naturally made that gentleman hate himmortally. "But before we have another glass, my good friend, I mustmake you acquainted with these gentlemen's high qualities," proceededthe baronet. "Here's Ned Hayward, the most deadly shot in Europe,whether with pistol, rifle, or fowling-piece, nothing escapes him,from the human form divine down to a cock-sparrow. The best angler inEngland, too; would throw a fly into a tea-spoon at fifty yardsdistance. He has come down for an interminable number of months tocatch my trout, kill my game, and drink my Claret. Then there is myfriend Mr. Beauchamp, more sentimentally given, a very learned man andprofound, loves poetry and solitary walks, and is somewhat for musingmelancholy made; but is a good hand at a trigger, too, I can tellyou--a light finger and a steady aim; ha! Beauchamp," and the baronetwinked his eye and laughed.
Beauchamp smiled good-humouredly, and in order to change the course ofthe conversation, which was not exactly what suited him, he said thathe had the pleasure of a slight acquaintance with Mr. Wittingham.
Ned Hayward however, somewhat to Beauchamp's surprise, seemeddetermined to encourage their host in his light and rattling talk, andtaking the latter up where Sir John had left it, he said, "Oh dearyes, I dare say we shall have capital sport down here. The old work ofthe 51st, Sir John; clearing all the fences, galloping over all theturnips, riding down the young wheat, forgetting the limits of themanor, letting the beasts out of the pound, making a collection ofknockers and bell-pulls, fighting the young men, and making love tothe young women--Mr. Wittingham, the wine stands with you."
Mr. Wittingham filled his glass and drank, saying with a grave andsomewhat alarmed air, "I don't think that would exactly do in thiscounty, Sir; the magistrates are rather strict here."
"The devil they are," said Ned Hayward, with a good deal of emphasis,the meaning of which Mr. Wittingham could not well help understanding;but the next moment the young gentleman went on: "but who cares a pinfor magistrates, Mr. Wittingham? They're nothing but a parcel of oldwomen."
"Halo, halo, Ned," cried Sir John, "you forget in whose presence youare speaking; reverence the bench, young man, reverence the bench;and if you can't do that, reverence the colonel."
"Oh, you're a great exception to the general rule," replied CaptainHayward, "but what I say is very true, nevertheless: and as I like todefine my positions, I will give you a lexicographical description ofthe magistrates. They should be called in any dictionary, a bodyof men selected from the most ignorant of the people, for themal-administration of good laws."
"Bravo, bravo," shouted Sir John Slingsby, roaring with laughter, andeven Dr. Miles nodded his head with a grave smile, saying, "Too just adefinition indeed."
Mr. Wittingham looked confounded, but Sir John passed him the bottle,and for relief he again fell to his glass and emptied it. Now to mennot quite sure of their position, there is nothing so completelyoverpowering as jest and merriment with a dash of sarcasm. In graveargument, where they have their own vanity for their backer, they willalways venture to meet men both of superior abilities and superiorstation, whether in so doing they expose themselves or not; for inthat case their notions are generally formed beforehand, and they arefully convinced that those notions are just; but in a combat of thewit, it requires to be a very ready man, and also to have all thosehabits of society which enable one to make the reply tart enough, withevery semblance of courtesy. On the bench and in the justice-room Mr.Wittingham would often venture to spar with Sir John Slingsby, andsometimes with a good deal of success; for although the baronet hadmuch greater natural abilities and information, yet he had so manyfoibles and failings, and occasionally such a degree of perversity,that from time to time his adversary would get hold of a weak point,and drive him into a corner. It always ended, however, by Sir Johncoming off triumphant; for when he found that argument failed him hehad recourse to ridicule, and in two minutes would utterly confoundhis antagonist, and overwhelm him amidst peals of laughter.
In the present instance Mr. Wittingham found that Sir John was in oneof his jocular moods, and scarcely dared to say a word lest he shouldbring some of his hard jests upon his head, especially when he had thestrong support which Ned Hayward seemed capable of giving. He wastherefore anxious to proceed to the business that brought him asspeedily as possible; and giving up the defence of the magistracyafter a momentary pause, he said, "Really, Sir John, as I must gethome soon--"
"Not till you have finished your bottle, man," cried Sir JohnSlingsby, pushing the Burgundy to him; "whoever comes to see me afterdinner, must fight me or drink a bottle with me; so here's to yourhealth, Witty--a bumper, a bumper, and no heel-taps."
Now the glasses at Sir John Slingsby's table might well be calledwine-glasses, for they seldom had any other liquor in them; but at thesame time, in size they were not much less than those vessels whichare named tumblers, I suppose from their being less given to tumblingthan any other sort of glass. Mr. Wittingham had drank three already,besides the moderate portion which he had taken at his own dinner; butin order to get rid of the subject, he swallowed another of strongBurgundy, and then commenced again, saying, "Really, Sir John, we mustgo to business. We can sip your good wine while we are talking theaffair over."
"Sip it!" exclaimed his host, "whoever heard of a man sipping suchstuff as this? Nobody ever sips his wine but some lackadaisical,lovelorn swain, with a piece of Cheshire cheese before him, makingverses all the time upon pouting lips and rounded hips, and sparklingeyes and fragrant sighs, and pearly teeth and balmy breath, andslender nose and cheek that glows, and all the O's! and all the I's!that ever were twisted into bad metre and had sense; or else thereformed toper, who is afraid of exceeding the stint that his doctorshave allowed him, and lingers out every drop with the memory of many apast carouse before his eyes. No, no, such wine as this is made to beswallowed at a mouthful, w
ashing the lips with a flood of enjoyment,stimulating the tongue, spreading a glow over the palate, and coolingthe tonsils and the throat only to inflame them again with freshappetite for the following glass--sip it! why hang it, Wittingham, itis to insult a good bottle of wine, and I trust that you may be shotdead by a Champagne cork to teach you better manners."
"Well, then," cried Mr. Wittingham, stimulated to _r?partee_ byimpatience, "I will say, Sir John, that we can swill your wine whilewe are talking of business."
"Ay, that's something like," cried Sir John Slingsby, not at alldiscomposed, "you shall swill the wine, and I will drink it, that'llsuit us both. Beauchamp we will let off, because he's puny, and DoctorMiles because he's reverend; Ned Hayward will do us justice, glass forglass, I'll answer for it. So another bumper, and then to business;but first we'll have lights, your worship, for it's growing dusky,"and Sir John rose to ring the bell.
Scarcely, however, had he quitted his seat, when there was heard aloud report. One of the panes of glass in the window flew in shiningsplinters into the room, and a ball whistling through, passed close tothe head of Mr. Wittingham, knocked off his wig, and lodged in the eyeof a Cupid who was playing with his mother in a large picture on theother side of the room.
"Zounds!" cried Sir John Slingsby.
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