CHAPTER II
On Thursday morning our verger rose in unusually good spirits,congratulating himself upon the eminent service he had done to the cityof Hereford by his sagacity in discovering the foreign plot to blow upthe Cathedral, and by his dexterity in having the enemy held in custody,at the very hour when the dreadful deed was to have been perpetrated. Mr.Hill's knowing friends farther agreed it would be necessary to have aguard that should sit up every night in the churchyard; and that as soonas they could, by constantly watching the enemy's motions, procure anyinformation which the attorney should deem sufficient grounds for a legalproceeding, they should lay the whole business before the mayor.
After arranging all this most judiciously and mysteriously with friendswho were exactly of his own opinion, Mr. Hill laid aside his dignity ofverger, and assuming his other character of a tanner, proceeded to histan-yard. What was his surprise and consternation, when he beheld hisgreat rick of oak bark levelled to the ground; the pieces of bark werescattered far and wide, some over the close, some over the fields, andsome were seen swimming upon the water! No tongue, no pen, no muse candescribe the feelings of our tanner at this spectacle--feelings whichbecame the more violent from the absolute silence which he imposed onhimself upon this occasion. He instantly decided in his own mind thatthis injury was perpetrated by O'Neill, in revenge for his arrest; andwent privately to the attorney to inquire what was to be done, on hispart, to secure legal vengeance.
The attorney unluckily--or at least, as Mr. Hill thought, unluckily--hadbeen sent for, half an hour before, by a gentleman at some distance fromHereford, to draw up a will: so that our tanner was obliged to postponehis legal operations.
We forbear to recount his return, and how many times he walked up anddown the close to view his scattered bark, and to estimate the damagethat had been done to him. At length that hour came which usuallysuspends all passions by the more imperious power of appetite--the hourof dinner: an hour of which it was never needful to remind Mr. Hill bywatch, clock, or dial; for he was blessed with a punctual appetite, andpowerful as punctual: so powerful, indeed, that it often excited thespleen of his more genteel or less hungry wife. "Bless my stars! Mr.Hill," she would oftentimes say, "I am really downright ashamed to seeyou eat so much; and when company is to dine with us, I do wish you wouldtake a snack by way of a damper before dinner, that you may not look soprodigious famishing and ungenteel."
Upon this hint, Mr. Hill commenced a practice, to which he everafterwards religiously adhered, of going, whether there was to be companyor no company, into the kitchen regularly every day, half an hour beforedinner, to take a slice from the roast or the boiled before it went up totable. As he was this day, according to his custom, in the kitchen,taking his snack by way of a damper, he heard the housemaid and the cooktalking about some wonderful fortune-teller, whom the housemaid had beenconsulting. This fortune-teller was no less a personage than thesuccessor to Bampfylde Moore Carew, king of the gipsies, whose life andadventures are probably in many, too many, of our readers' hands.Bampfylde, the second king of the gipsies, assumed this title, in hopesof becoming as famous, or as infamous, as his predecessor: he was nowholding his court in a wood near the town of Hereford, and numbers ofservant-maids and 'prentices went to consult him--nay, it was whisperedthat he was resorted to, secretly, by some whose education might havetaught them better sense.
Numberless were the instances which our verger heard in his kitchen ofthe supernatural skill of this cunning man; and whilst Mr. Hill ate hissnack with his wonted gravity, he revolved great designs in his secretsoul. Mrs. Hill was surprised, several times during dinner, to see herconsort put down his knife and fork, and meditate. "Gracious me, Mr.Hill! what can have happened to you this day? What can you be thinkingof, Mr. Hill, that can make you forget what you have upon your plate?"
"Mrs. Hill," replied the thoughtful verger, "our grandmother Eve had toomuch curiosity; and we all know it did not lead to good. What I amthinking of will be known to you in due time, but not now, Mrs. Hill;therefore, pray, no questions, or teasing, or pumping. What I think, Ithink; what I say, I say; what I know, I know; and that is enough for youto know at present: only this, Phoebe, you did very well not to put onthe Limerick gloves, child. What I know, I know. Things will turn outjust as I said from the first. What I say, I say; and what I think, Ithink; and this is enough for you to know at present."
Having finished dinner with this solemn speech, Mr. Hill settled himselfin his arm-chair, to take his after-dinner's nap: and he dreamed ofblowing up cathedrals, and of oak bark floating upon the waters; and thecathedral was, he thought, blown up by a man dressed in a pair of woman'sLimerick gloves, and the oak bark turned into mutton steaks, after whichhis great dog Jowler was swimming; when, all on a sudden, as he was goingto beat Jowler for eating the bark transformed into mutton steaks, Jowlerbecame Bampfylde the Second, king of the gipsies; and putting a horse-whip with a silver handle into Hill's hand, commanded him three times, ina voice as loud as the town-crier's, to have O'Neill whipped through themarket-place of Hereford: but just as he was going to the window to seethis whipping, his wig fell off, and he awoke.
It was difficult, even for Mr. Hill's sagacity, to make sense of thisdream: but he had the wise art of always finding in his dreams somethingthat confirmed his waking determinations. Before he went to sleep, hehad half resolved to consult the king of the gipsies, in the absence ofthe attorney; and his dream made him now wholly determined upon thisprudent step. "From Bampfylde the Second," thought he, "I shall learnfor certain who made the hole under the cathedral, who pulled down myrick of bark, and who made away with my dog Jowler; and then I shallswear examinations against O'Neill, without waiting for attorneys. Iwill follow my own way in this business: I have always found my own waybest."
So, when the dusk of the evening increased, our wise man set out towardsthe wood to consult the cunning man. Bampfylde the Second, king of thegipsies, resided in a sort of hut made of the branches of trees; theverger stooped, but did not stoop low enough, as he entered thistemporary palace, and, whilst his body was almost bent double, his perukewas caught upon a twig. From this awkward situation he was relieved bythe consort of the king; and he now beheld, by the light of some embers,the person of his gipsy majesty, to whose sublime appearance this dimlight was so favourable that it struck a secret awe into our wise man'ssoul; and, forgetting Hereford Cathedral, and oak bark, and Limerickgloves, he stood for some seconds speechless. During this time, thequeen very dexterously disencumbered his pocket of all superfluousarticles. When he recovered his recollection, he put with greatsolemnity the following queries to the king of the gipsies, and receivedthe following answers:--
"Do you know a dangerous Irishman of the name of O'Neill, who has come,for purposes best known to himself, to settle at Hereford?"
"Yes, we know him well."
"Indeed! And what do you know of him?"
"That he is a dangerous Irishman."
"Right! And it was he, was it not, that pulled down, or caused to bepulled down, my rick of oak bark?"
"It was."
"And who was it that made away with my dog Jowler, that used to guard thetan-yard?"
"It was the person that you suspect."
"And was it the person whom I suspect that made the hole under thefoundation of our cathedral?"
"The same, and no other."
"And for what purpose did he make that hole?"
"For a purpose that must not be named," replied the king of the gipsies,nodding his head in a mysterious manner.
"But it may be named to me," cried the verger, "for I have found it out,and I am one of the vergers; and is it not fit that a plot to blow up theHereford Cathedral should be known _to_ me, and _through_ me?"
"Now, take my word, Wise men of Hereford, None in safety may be, Till the bad man doth flee."
These oracular verses, pronounced by Bampfylde with all the enthusiasm ofone who was inspired, had the desire
d effect upon our wise man; and heleft the presence of the king of the gipsies with a prodigiously highopinion of his majesty's judgment and of his own, fully resolved toimpart, the next morning, to the mayor of Hereford his importantdiscoveries.
Now it happened that, during the time Mr. Hill was putting the foregoingqueries to Bampfylde the Second, there came to the door or entrance ofthe audience chamber an Irish haymaker who wanted to consult the cunningman about a little leathern purse which he had lost whilst he was makinghay in a field near Hereford. This haymaker was the same person who, aswe have related, spoke so advantageously of our hero O'Neill to the widowSmith. As this man, whose name was Paddy M'Cormack, stood at theentrance of the gipsies' hut, his attention was caught by the name ofO'Neill; and he lost not a word of all that pasted. He had reason to besomewhat surprised at hearing Bampfylde assert it was O'Neill who hadpulled down the rick of bark. "By the holy poker!" said he to himself,"the old fellow now is out there. I know more o' that matter than hedoes--no offence to his majesty; he knows no more of my purse, I'llengage now, than he does of this man's rick of bark and his dog: so I'llkeep my tester in my pocket, and not be giving it to this king o' thegipsies, as they call him: who, as near as I can guess, is no better thana cheat. But there is one secret which I can be telling this conjurorhimself: he shall not find it such an easy matter to do all what hethinks; he shall not be after ruining an innocent countryman of my ownwhilst Paddy M'Cormack has a tongue and brains."
Now, Paddy M'Cormack had the best reason possible for knowing that Mr.O'Neill did not pull down Mr. Hill's rick of bark; it was M'Cormackhimself who, in the heat of his resentment for the insulting arrest ofhis countryman in the streets of Hereford, had instigated his fellowhaymakers to this mischief; he headed them, and thought he was doing aclever, spirited action.
There is a strange mixture of virtue and vice in the minds of the lowerclass of Irish: or rather, a strange confusion in their ideas of rightand wrong, from want of proper education. As soon as poor Paddy foundout that his spirited action of pulling down the rick of bark was likelyto be the ruin of his countryman, he resolved to make all the amends inhis power for his folly--he went to collect his fellow haymakers, andpersuaded them to assist him this night in rebuilding what they hadpulled down.
They went to this work when everybody except themselves, as they thought,was asleep in Hereford. They had just completed the stack, and were allgoing away except Paddy, who was seated at the very top, finishing thepile, when they heard a loud voice cry out, "Here they are! Watch!Watch!"
Immediately all the haymakers who could, ran off as fast as possible. Itwas the watch who had been sitting up at the cathedral who gave thealarm. Paddy was taken from the top of the rick and lodged in the watch-house till morning. "Since I'm to be rewarded this way for doing a goodaction, sorrow take me," said he, "if they catch me doing another thelongest day ever I live."
Happy they who have in their neighbourhood such a magistrate as Mr.Marshal! He was a man who, to an exact knowledge of the duties of hisoffice, joined the power of discovering truth from the midst ofcontradictory evidence, and the happy art of soothing or laughing theangry passions into good-humour. It was a common saying in Hereford thatno one ever came out of Justice Marshal's house as angry as he went intoit.
Mr. Marshal had scarcely breakfasted when he was informed that Mr. Hill,the verger, wanted to speak to him on business of the utmost importance.Mr. Hill, the verger, was ushered in; and, with gloomy solemnity, took aseat opposite to Mr. Marshal.
"Sad doings in Hereford, Mr. Marshal! Sad doings, sir."
"Sad doings? Why, I was told we had merry doings in Hereford. A ballthe night before last, as I heard."
"So much the worse, Mr. Marshal--so much the worse: as those think withreason that see as far into things as I do."
"So much the better, Mr. Hill," said Mr. Marshal, laughing, "so much thebetter: as those think with reason that see no farther into things than Ido."
"But, sir," said the verger, still more solemnly, "this is no laughingmatter, nor time for laughing, begging your pardon. Why, sir, the nightof that there diabolical ball our Hereford Cathedral, sir, would havebeen blown up--blown up from the foundation, if it had not been for me,sir!"
"Indeed, Mr. Verger! And pray how, and by whom, was the cathedral to beblown up? and what was there diabolical in this ball?"
Here Mr. Hill let Mr. Marshal into the whole history of his early disliketo O'Neill, and his shrewd suspicions of him the first moment he saw himin Hereford: related in the most prolix manner all that the reader knowsalready, and concluded by saying that, as he was now certain of hisfacts, he was come to swear examinations against this villanous Irishman,who, he hoped, would be speedily brought to justice, as he deserved.
"To justice he shall be brought, as he deserves," said Mr. Marshal; "butbefore I write, and before you swear, will you have the goodness toinform me how you have made yourself as certain, as you evidently are, ofwhat you call your facts?"
"Sir, that is a secret," replied our wise man, "which I shall trust toyou alone;" and he whispered into Mr. Marshal's ear that, his informationcame from Bampfylde the Second, king of the gipsies.
Mr. Marshal instantly burst into laughter; then composing himself, said:"My good sir, I am really glad that you have proceeded no farther in thisbusiness; and that no one in Hereford, beside myself, knows that you wereon the point of swearing examinations against a man on the evidence ofBampfylde the Second, king of the gipsies. My dear sir, it would be astanding joke against you to the end of your days. A grave man like Mr.Hill! and a verger too! Why you would be the laughing-stock ofHereford!"
Now Mr. Marshal well knew the character of the man to whom he wastalking, who, above all things on earth, dreaded to be laughed at. Mr.Hill coloured all over his face, and, pushing back his wig by way ofsettling it, showed that he blushed not only all over his face, but allover his head.
"Why, Mr. Marshal, sir," said he, "as to my being laughed at, it is whatI did not look for, being, as there are, some men in Hereford to whom Ihave mentioned that hole in the cathedral, who have thought it nolaughing matter, and who have been precisely of my own opinionthereupon."
"But did you tell these gentlemen that you had been consulting the kingof the gipsies?"
"No, sir, no: I can't say that I did."
"Then I advise you, keep your own counsel, as I will."
Mr. Hill, whose imagination wavered between the hole in the cathedral andhis rick of bark on one side, and between his rick of bark and his dogJowler on the other, now began to talk of the dog, and now of the rick ofbark; and when he had exhausted all he had to say upon these subjects,Mr. Marshal gently pulled him towards the window, and putting a spy-glassinto his hand, bade him look towards his own tan-yard, and tell him whathe saw. To his great surprise, Mr. Hill saw his rick of bark re-built."Why, it was not there last night," exclaimed he, rubbing his eyes. "Why,some conjuror must have done this."
"No," replied Mr. Marshal, "no conjuror did it: but your friend Bampfyldethe Second, king of the gipsies, was the cause of its being re-built; andhere is the man who actually pulled it down, and who actually re-builtit."
As he said these words Mr. Marshal opened the door of an adjoining roomand beckoned to the Irish haymaker, who had been taken into custody aboutan hour before this time. The watch who took Paddy had called at Mr.Hill's house to tell him what had happened, but Mr. Hill was not then athome.
It was with much surprise that the verger heard the simple truth fromthis poor fellow; but no sooner was he convinced that O'Neill wasinnocent as to this affair, than he recurred to his other ground ofsuspicion, the loss of his dog.
The Irish haymaker now stepped forward, and, with a peculiar twist of thehips and shoulders, which those only who have seen it can picture tothemselves, said, "Plase your honour's honour, I have a little word tosay too about the dog."
"Say it, then," said Mr. Marshal.
"Plase your honour, if
I might expect to be forgiven, and let off forpulling down the jontleman's stack, I might be able to tell him what Iknow about the dog."
"If you can tell me anything about my dog," said the tanner, "I willfreely forgive you for pulling down the rick: especially as you havebuilt it up again. Speak the truth, now: did not O'Neill make away withthe dog?"
"Not at all, at all, plase your honour," replied the haymaker: "and thetruth of the matter is, I know nothing of the dog, good or bad; but Iknow something of his collar, if your name, plase your honour, is Hill,as I take it to be."
"My name is Hill: proceed," said the tanner, with great eagerness. "Youknow something about the collar of my dog Jowler?"
"Plase your honour, this much I know, any way, that it is now, or was thenight before last, at the pawnbroker's there, below in town; for, plaseyour honour, I was sent late at night (that night that Mr. O'Neill, longlife to him! was arrested) to the pawnbroker's for a Jew by Mrs. O'Neill,poor creature! She was in great trouble that same time."
"Very likely," interrupted Mr. Hill: "but go on to the collar; what ofthe collar?"
"She sent me--I'll tell you the story, plase your honour, _out of theface_--she sent me to the pawnbroker's for the Jew; and, it being so lateat night, the shop was shut, and it was with all the trouble in life thatI got into the house any way: and, when I got in, there was none but aslip of a boy up; and he set down the light that he had in his hand, andran up the stairs to waken his master: and, whilst he was gone, I justmade bold to look round at what sort of a place I was in, and at the oldclothes and rags and scraps; there was a sort of a frieze trusty."
"A trusty!" said Mr. Hill; "what is that, pray?"
"A big coat, sure, plase your honour: there was a frieze big coat lyingin a corner, which I had my eye upon, to trate myself to: I having, as Ithen thought, money in my little purse enough for it. Well, I won'ttrouble your honour's honour with telling of you now how I lost my pursein the field, as I found after; but about the big coat--as I was saying,I just lifted it off the ground to see would it fit me; and, as I swungit round, something, plase your honour, hit me a great knock on theshins: it was in the pocket of the coat, whatever it was, I knew; so Ilooks into the pocket to see what was it, plase your honour, and out Ipulls a hammer and a dog-collar: it was a wonder, both together, they didnot break my shins entirely: but it's no matter for my shins now; so,before the boy came down, I just out of idleness spelt out to myself thename that was upon the collar: there were two names, plase your honour,and out of the first there were so many letters hammered out I could makenothing of it at all, at all; but the other name was plain enough toread, any way, and it was Hill, plase your honour's honour, as sure aslife: Hill, now."
This story was related in tones and gestures which were so new andstrange to English ears and eyes, that even the solemnity of our vergergave way to laughter.
Mr. Marshal sent a summons for the pawnbroker, that he might learn fromhim how he came by the dog-collar. The pawnbroker, when he found fromMr. Marshal that he could by no other means save himself from beingcommitted to prison, confessed that the collar had been sold to him byBampfylde the Second, king of the gipsies.
A warrant was immediately despatched for his majesty; and Mr. Hill was agood deal alarmed by the fear of its being known in Hereford that he wason the point of swearing examinations against an innocent man upon theevidence of a dog-stealer and a gipsy.
Bampfylde the Second made no sublime appearance when he was broughtbefore Mr. Marshal, nor could all his astrology avail upon this occasion.The evidence of the pawnbroker was so positive as to the fact of hishaving sold to him the dog-collar, that there was no resource left forBampfylde but an appeal to Mr. Hill's mercy. He fell on his knees, andconfessed that it was he who stole the dog, which used to bark at him atnight so furiously, that he could not commit certain petty depredationsby which, as much as by telling fortunes, he made his livelihood.
"And so," said Mr. Marshal, with a sternness of manner which till now hehad never shown, "to screen yourself, you accused an innocent man; and byyour vile arts would have driven him from Hereford, and have set twofamilies for ever at variance, to conceal that you had stolen a dog."
The king of the gipsies was, without further ceremony, committed to thehouse of correction. We should not omit to mention that, on searchinghis hat, the Irish haymaker's purse was found, which some of hismajesty's train had emptied. The whole set of gipsies decamped upon thenews of the apprehension of their monarch.
Mr. Hill stood in profound silence, leaning upon his walking-stick,whilst the committal was making out for Bampfylde the Second. The fearof ridicule was struggling with the natural positiveness of his temper.He was dreadfully afraid that the story of his being taken in by the kingof the gipsies would get abroad; and, at the same time, he was unwillingto give up his prejudice against the Irish glover.
"But, Mr. Marshal," cried he, after a long silence, "the hole under thefoundation of the cathedral has never been accounted for--that is, was,and ever will be, an ugly mystery to me; and I never can have a goodopinion of this Irishman till it is cleared up, nor can I think thecathedral in safety."
"What!" said Mr. Marshal, with an arch smile, "I suppose the verses ofthe oracle still work upon your imagination, Mr. Hill. They areexcellent in their kind. I must have them by heart, that when I am askedthe reason why Mr. Hill has taken an aversion to an Irish glover, I maybe able to repeat them:--
"Now, take my word, Wise men of Hereford, None in safety may be, Till the bad man doth flee."
"You'll oblige me, sir," said the verger, "if you would never repeatthose verses, sir, nor mention, in any company, the affair of the king ofthe gipsies."
"I will oblige you," replied Mr. Marshal, "if you will oblige me. Willyou tell me honestly whether, now that you find this Mr. O'Neill isneither a dog-killer nor a puller-down of bark-ricks, you feel that youcould forgive him for being an Irishman, if the mystery, as you call it,of the hole under the cathedral was cleared up?"
"But that is not cleared up, I say, sir," cried Mr. Hill, striking hiswalking-stick forcibly upon the ground with both his hands. "As to thematter of his being an Irishman, I have nothing to say to it; I am notsaying anything about that, for I know we all are born where it pleasesGod, and an Irishman may be as good as another. I know that much, Mr.Marshal, and I am not one of those illiberal-minded, ignorant people thatcannot abide a man that was not born in England. Ireland is now in hismajesty's dominions. I know very well, Mr. Marshal; and I have no mannerof doubt, as I said before, that an Irishman born may be as good, almost,as an Englishman born."
"I am glad," said Mr. Marshal, "to hear you speak--almost as reasonablyas an Englishman born and every man ought to speak; and I am convincedthat you have too much English hospitality to persecute an inoffensivestranger, who comes amongst us trusting to our justice and good nature."
"I would not persecute a stranger, God forbid!" replied the verger, "ifhe was, as you say, inoffensive."
"And if he was not only inoffensive, but ready to do every service in hispower to those who are in want of his assistance, we should not returnevil for good, should we?"
"That would be uncharitable, to be sure; and, moreover, a scandal," saidthe verger.
"Then," said Mr. Marshal, "will you walk with me as far as the WidowSmith's, the poor woman whose house was burnt last winter? Thishaymaker, who lodged near her, can show us the way to her present abode."
During his examination of Paddy M'Cormack, who would tell his wholehistory, as he called it, _out of the face_, Mr. Marshal heard severalinstances of the humanity and goodness of O'Neill, which Paddy related toexcuse himself for that warmth of attachment to his cause that had beenmanifested so injudiciously by pulling down the rick of bark in revengefor the rest. Amongst other things, Paddy mentioned his countryman'sgoodness to the Widow Smith. Mr. Marshal was determined, therefore, tosee whether he had, in this instance, spoken the truth; and he took Hillwith him, in hop
es of being able to show him the favourable side ofO'Neill's character.
Things turned out just as Mr. Marshal expected. The poor widow and herfamily, in the most simple and affecting manner, described the distressfrom which they had been relieved by the good gentleman; and lady--thelady was Phoebe Hill; and the praises that were bestowed upon Phoebe weredelightful to her father's ear, whose angry passions had now allsubsided.
The benevolent Mr. Marshal seized the moment when he saw Mr. Hill's heartwas touched, and exclaimed, "I must be acquainted with this Mr. O'Neill.I am sure we people of Hereford ought to show some hospitality to astranger who has so much humanity. Mr. Hill, will you dine with him to-morrow at my house?"
Mr. Hill was just going to accept of this invitation, when therecollection of all he had said to his club about the hole under thecathedral came across him, and, drawing Mr. Marshal aside, he whispered,"But, sir, sir, that affair of the hole under the cathedral has not beencleared up yet."
At this instant the Widow Smith exclaimed, "Oh! here comes my littleMary" (one of her children, who came running in); "this is the littlegirl, sir, to whom the lady has been so good. Make your curtsey, child.Where have you been all this while?"
"Mammy," said the child, "I've been showing the lady my rat."
"Lord bless her! Gentlemen, the child has been wanting me this many aday to go to see this tame rat of hers; but I could never get time,never--and I wondered, too, at the child's liking such a creature. Tellthe gentlemen, dear, about your rat. All I know is that, let her havebut never such a tiny bit of bread for breakfast or supper, she saves alittle of that little for this rat of hers; she and her brothers havefound it out somewhere by the cathedral."
"It comes out of a hole under the wall of the cathedral," said one of theolder boys; "and we have diverted ourselves watching it, and sometimes wehave put victuals for it--so it has grown, in a manner, tame-like."
Mr. Hill and Mr. Marshal looked at one another during this speech; andthe dread of ridicule again seized on Mr. Hill, when he apprehended that,after all he had said, the mountain might at last bring forth--a rat. Mr.Marshal, who instantly saw what passed in the verger's mind, relieved himfrom this fear by refraining even from a smile on this occasion. He onlysaid to the child, in a grave manner, "I am afraid, my dear, we shall beobliged to spoil your diversion. Mr. Verger, here, cannot suffer rat-holes in the cathedral; but, to make you amends for the loss of yourfavourite, I will give you a very pretty little dog, if you have a mind."
The child was well pleased with this promise; and, at Mr. Marshal'sdesire, she then went along with him and Mr. Hill to the cathedral, andthey placed themselves at a little distance from that hole which hadcreated so much disturbance. The child soon brought the dreadful enemyto light; and Mr. Hill, with a faint laugh, said, "I'm glad it's noworse, but there were many in our club who were of my opinion; and, ifthey had not suspected O'Neill too, I am sure I should never have givenyou so much trouble, sir, as I have done this morning. But I hope, asthe club know nothing about that vagabond, that king of the gipsies, youwill not let any one know anything about the prophecy, and all that? Iam sure I am very sorry to have given you so much trouble, Mr. Marshal."
Mr. Marshal assured him that he did not regret the time which he hadspent in endeavouring to clear up all those mysteries and suspicions; andMr. Hill gladly accepted his invitation to meet O'Neill at his house thenext day. No sooner had Mr. Marshal brought one of the parties to reasonand good humour than he went to prepare the other for a reconciliation.O'Neill and his mother were both people of warm but forgiving tempers--thearrest was fresh in their minds; but when Mr. Marshal represented to themthe whole affair, and the verger's prejudices, in a humorous light, theyjoined in the good-natured laugh; and O'Neill declared that, for hispart, he was ready to forgive and to forget everything if he could butsee Miss Phoebe in the Limerick gloves.
Phoebe appeared the next day, at Mr. Marshal's, in the Limerick gloves;and no perfume ever was so delightful to her lover as the smell of therose-leaves in which they had been kept.
Mr. Marshal had the benevolent pleasure of reconciling the two families.The tanner and the glover of Hereford became, from bitter enemies, usefulfriends to each other; and they were convinced by experience that nothingcould be more for their mutual advantage than to live in union.
Murad the Unlucky, and Other Tales Page 6