by R S Surtees
“Well, but who’s been shooting at the Queen now?” inquired Sneakington.
“A villain called Oxford! ‘ord rot him; but if I had him I’d strangle him — I’d knock the very soul out of him, spiflicate him,” replied Willey, his still bright eyes sparkling as he spoke. “The idea of shooting at a beautiful young lady like that — a queen too! But won’t you alight and come in, Mr. Sneakington, and I’ll show you all about it?”
“Stuff and nonsense!” exclaimed Joshua Sneakington, with a sneer and an indignant curl of the lip—” that’s as old as the hills — you’re always finding a mare’s nest. Good day, old boy! good day!” adding to himself as he kicked Dickey Cobden along, “no use bothering with such an old fool as that. He’s too far behind the intelligence of the day for me. Leave him for the Squire.”
Willey then, somewhat shocked at Joshua’s want of loyalty, re-entered his house, and resuming the tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, returned to his reading of -Oxford’s attempt on the life of the Queen.
Before Joshua Sneakington had accomplished the hill leading up to Mr. Mark Heavytail’s farm, Mark having returned from his dinner, had stripped off his coat, and was working away in the fields. Josh owed Heavytail a grudge, and he was a great man for paying his debts — debts of honour at least. He had done some very indifferent mason’s work for Mark, and had charged about double what he ought, which of course made him owe Heavytail a good turn — as people say when they mean the contrary — for resisting the imposition.
Seeing a horse and a low-crowned hat on the sky line of the hill, Mark hurried from his work to greet the Squire as he thought. When he got within hail, and saw it was Josh, he was for turning back.
“HOLLOA THERE!” exclaimed Joshua, waving his arm for Heavytail to come to him.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” roared Heavytail at the extremity of his voice.
“Come and open this gate!” cried he; “I want to speak to you.” —
“OPEN IT YOURSELF! You CANNOT HAVE A BETTER SAR- VANT,” roared Heavytail.
“CONFOUND YOUR IMPITTANCE!” bellowed Josh, “I’ve come with a message from the Squire.”
“WELL, AND WHAT DOES THE SQUIRE WANT, THAT HE’S
SENT AN’ARD BRICKLAYER LIKE YE TO TELL?”
“You had better sink all that,” replied Josh, with an emphasis and look of authority. “The Squire wishes me to look over his estate preparatory to his rent day, to see that the rotation of crops is properly kept, and give him a report as to’ —
“YE!” roared Heavytail, pointing at Josh, and then holding his sides as though he would split with laughter—” YE!” repeated he, “an ‘ard bricklayer like ye! I’d as soon think of setting my ‘ard sow to survey an estate — haw! haw! haw! — he! he! he! — haw! haw! haw!”
Heavytail’s unwonted mirth roused the ire of his dog, who, not exactly understanding matters, but seeing his master was not pleased, at this juncture jumped over the wall with his bristles up, when Dickey Cobden shied off at an angle, and, finding his head loose, set off down hill as hard as ever he could lay legs to the ground, with the colley dog at his heels.
Josh lost his umbrella, and scattered his plans as he went, and the impetus gained sent Dickey and his rider clean through the gate at the bottom of the hill with a most terrible crash of the timber.
CHAPTER XV.
“WE THINK OUR fathers fools, so wise we grow; Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so.” anxiety prevailed among the farmers to hear the grand discovery the “greatest benefactor the world ever saw” had made for making “two blades grow where one grew before;” a number that increased in the telling till they got it up as high as sixteen — sixteen blades, where only one grew before. As Mr. Jorrocks’s rent-day approached, anxiety became quickened, and Joshua Sneakington’s importance increased, by the mysterious gravity he observed in his rounds among the farmers, and the obscure hints he dropped, that he was at the bottom of the secret.
Meanwhile Mr. Jorrocks busied himself reading up anything he could lay hold of upon farming, for the purpose of making them a grand oration on the importance of establishing an Agricultural Association, and of the virtue of scientific farming in general. And here let us observe, that many people talk as if they imagined theoretical — that is to say, book farming — is a thing of modern introduction — that our fathers had no “Books of the Farm,” no “Quarterly Journals,” or other experimental trying works in their times. It is quite a mistake — our forefathers were quite as well off as ourselves in that respect. We have whole book shelves loaded with farming lore of former times, the property of our grandfather, the husband of the old lady we mentioned before, who, at the age of eighty-three, reads without specs. Indeed, we may add, that the old lady herself thinks very lightly of the virtues, of what is called scientific farming.
“Such farming, indeed!” she exclaims, whenever we pump her on the past; “why, a hind nowadays is as good as a farmer used to he in your poor grandfather’s time — driving about in their gigs, with their names painted up behind; and writing nonsense to the papers instead of ploughing their land.” But the wives are what anger her most. “Silks, ay, and satins, and sofas every day; and pianneys skelping at night. Lauk! we never heard of such things as pianneys in my time!” she says. “The chum was the farmer’s daughter’s instrument, and a precious sight better wives they made, than the fine gadabout be-feathered breed we see nowadays.” So much for our granny. But, as we said before, we have yards upon yards of books on every possible subject relating to land, leaving after-comers the chance of starting anything new apparently out of the question. One consolation, however, is, that there are always new farmers coming on — to whom the old theories are new — as our friend B —— —— says, when we tax him with riding the same joke rather often.
We have just run our eye along our book-case, and see what a haul we have made in the way of farming literature. Alongside some twenty vols, of the Farmer’s Magazine, we have Mills’s Husbandry (1762). — Du Hamel’s ditto. — Hunter’s Georgical Essays, in numberless volumes. — Pott’s Farmer’s Cyclopædia, or Agricultural Dictionary of improved Modern Husbandry, in one large quarto. — Anderson’s Essays. — Farmer’s Letters to the People of England, containing the sentiments of a Practical Husbandman, on various subjects of great importance (1768). — The Farmer’s Guide in Hiring and Stocking Farms (1770). — The Farmer’s Instructor, or the Husbandman and Gardener’s useful and necessary Companion, being a new treatise of Husbandry, Gardening, and other Matters relating to Country Affairs, by Samuel Trowell, Gentleman (1747). — A Philosophical Account of the Works of Nature, printed for J. Hodges, at the Looking-glass, over against Magnus Church, on London Bridge. — The New Farmer’s Calendar, or Monthly Remembrancer of all kinds of Country Business, in the New Husbandry, with the Management of Live Stock, inscribed to the Farmers of Great Britain, by a Farmer and Breeder (1802). — Marshall’s Agriculture of the Southern Counties, with a Sketch of the Vale of London (1799). — Curwen on Feeding Stock. — Cully on Live Stock. — Davis on Land Surveying. — Bailey’s Agricultural Survey. — Rennie’s Essays on Peat Moss. — Practical Husbandry, or the Art of Farming with a certainty of Gain, by Dr. John Trusler, of Cobham, Surrey; together with Directions for Measuring Timber (1780) — and no end of pamphlets and letters, and “observations on similar subjects.”
Let us not, however, be supposed to decry agricultural improvement. Far from it. We are quite sensible of the many defects in our present system, which we believe chiefly arise from the want of capital, energy, and observation; but we wish to counteract the evil people in high stations frequently do by talking wildly at agricultural meetings, for the mere purpose of astonishing the farmers, without really knowing or caring anything about what they say. They do far more harm than good, for farmers get confused; and, frightened at their own ignorance, despair of coming up to the mark, and so remain as they were; or else attempt fanciful experiments, which, after endless expense, they find unsuited
to their climate or soil, or unproductive of the anticipated ends. The great difficulty under which farming labours, however, is want of capital; and so long as people look upon it as an exception to all other trades, and requiring no capital to set up with, so long we fear will be the want of energy and taste for improvement. But to our tale.
Mr. Jorrocks having determined that his “let off” should be one of great magnitude, resolved upon inviting the principal neighbours to dinner, and winding up the evening with a ball to their wives and daughters. Accordingly, Mr. Jorrocks and Joshua Sneakington went about beating up for recruits, and, as usual on such occasions, were very successful. Indeed, one of the grand differences between town and country is this — that invitations cannot be refused without offence. By town and country, of course we mean any place out of London for the latter. Now, in London, Mr and Mrs. Brown request the honour of Mr and Mrs. Green’s company to dinner, on Tuesday the 26th of June, at half-past six; and if Mr and Mrs. Green either don’t like Mr and Mrs. Brown, or have reason to think that they may get a pleasanter invitation elsewhere, Mr and Mrs. Green make no bones whatever of saying they are sorry that a prior engagement prevents them the honour of accepting Mr and Mrs. Brown’s kind invitation for Tuesday, June the 26th; and Mr and Mrs. Brown never trouble their heads to inquire whether there was any truth in the story or not: but in the country it is quite another thing. Take a small town for instance. Every small town has a “professed cook,” a sort of brandy-bibbing body, who can cook a little when she’s sober, but who has not what servants call conduct enough to keep in place, consequently she confines herself to making “blows out” for the party givers, among whom a few days’ work will furnish several days’ drink, and victuals too, if she is skilful, which most of them are, in carrying away. Well, these sort of people know every movement and every party in the town — know exactly beforehand who will be at each feed; and if Mr and Mrs. So-and-so are not there, they immediately set to work to ferret out what’s happened that Mr and Mrs. So-and-so are not asked — that they never cooked a dinner there before without Mr and Mrs. So-and-so being there — wonder what can have happened that Mr and Mrs. So-and-so are not there — think Mr and Mrs. So-and-so must have fallen out; for when people of this sort get a thing on their tongues, there is no end to the repetitions they indulge in. If the servants can’t solve the mystery among them, cookey most likely performs the same office of blow-out maker for Mr and Mrs. So-and-so that she is performing for the present party givers, consequently she can drop in the next day (if she’s sober enough to walk) and inquire of their everyday cook, if they had had anybody dining the day before, or if their “people” dined out, and so the story gets afloat, and truth is drawn out of the well.
However, this is a capital world for lending or giving things away inland people need not be much put to, who only want to give others a treat. Mrs. Flather and Emma were the only persons who refused Mr and Mrs. Jorrocks’s invitation. They were sorry that they had a previous engagement. Our readers will perhaps remember that Mrs. Flather had been sadly disconcerted by Mr. Jorrocks’s attentions at Donkeyton Castle, when she wanted to bring the Marquis “to book,” and her anger had not yet subsided. She determined to snub him. Well, as luck would have it, just as her boy in buttons delivered her answer at Hillingdon Hall, a messenger arrived from Donkeyton Castlo with a note from the Marquis.
Jeems had taken it into his head that he would like to see Emma, and under pretence of paying Mr. Jorrocks a farming-electioneering visit, he thought to accomplish that object, and either by accident or design had pitched upon the very day our Cockney Squire had fixed for his party. This was the letter: —
“DONKEYTON CASTLE.
“DEAR MR. JORROCKS, — My papa and you had some conversation about a farming thing that you thought would further our interest in your neighbourhood, and my mamma thinks I had better go over to Hillingdon Park and see you about it if it will be convenient to Mrs. Jorrocks and you to receive me, I shall be very happy to dine and stay all night with you on Thursday next. Pray write me an answer by the bearer, and with compliments to Mrs. Jorrocks, believe me to remain, dear Mr. Jorrocks, yours very truly,— “BRAY.
“To JAMES JORROCKS, ESQ.,
Hillingdon Park.” —
Of course Mr. Jorrocks was too happy to see the Marquis, and he wrote him to that effect, adding that he had better come early, in order that they might talk matters over, as he would have some friends to meet him, and they kept ‘early hours in the country. There was also this postscript.
“P.S. — My name’s JOHN, not James. My place is a Hall, not a Park. If you want wenison, you’d better bring it with you.” —
Mrs. Flather’s boy in buttons having gone into the kitchen to have a game of cribbage with Binjimin, made himself sufficiently acquainted with the “ins and outs” to he able to tell their cook that Jorrocks was either going to Donkeyton Castle again, or that Donkeyton Castle was coming to Jorrocks. This news soon found its way into the parlour, and mother and daughter were uncommonly struck and hurt at the intelligence. Mrs. Flather was sure it would be that the Marquis was coming to the Hall, for she had overheard some of the conversation between the Duke and Mr. Jorrocks at Donkeyton, and she thought she never could sufficiently censure herself for refusing the invitation. How to repair the error was now the consideration. Emma should step down with a bouquet, and see if she could not put matters right. Accordingly, having selected a smart one, she set out on her errand. Mrs. Jorrocks was delighted to see her, and was werry sorry she was not to have that pleasure on Thursday. Emma was very much obliged for their kindness in asking them, so was mamma — the latter rather expected an old friend of dear papa’s calling that day, and if he did call he might stay dinner; but —
Oh, Mrs. Jorrocks “wouldn’t wish to interfere in such a case — of course, an old friend o’ the family must take precedence of them.”
“If, however, their friend did not come,” resumed Emma..
“Oh, think no more about it,” interrupted Mrs. Jorrocks; “any other time would be equally agreeable to Mr. Jorrocks and her; indeed, here was Mr. Jorrocks himself,” added she, as our hero emerged from a laurelled walk, and came suddenly upon them.
Mr. Jorrocks would fain have forgiven the poor girl, but Mrs. J. stood up stoutly, and gave Mr. J. a look that plainly told him he had better be quiet; so as our farmer friend did not care much about the matter, he left them, and went away to stare at some sheep. —
We will not trouble our readers with a recital of the preparations, the borrowing, and joining, and contriving, and managing, nor will we give a programme of the entertainment, but let the thing speak for itself.
The great, the important day at length arrived — clear, bright, sunshiny, and cloudless — a real summer’s day — one that English people appreciate most thoroughly from the circumstance of their coming so seldom. Mr. Jorrocks bustled about, in a terrible stew, reciting his speech, and bothering and running against everybody.
Towards two o’clock, a claret-coloured brougham, with red picked wheels, and a ducal coronet on the panel, drove down the village of Hillingdon, to the astonishment of the natives, who had never seen anything of the sort before. The noble, lofty-actioned iron grey stepped and carried himself with becoming dignity, champing the richly chased bit, and throwing his head about as though he had a bowing acquaintance with all the people in the street. In fact, he went just as he may be seen any day of the season going up and down St. James’s. Street. Horses, unlike dandies, have only one action. Beside the driver, for, we believe, “one-’oss guiders” are not admitted among the fraternity of coachmen, sat the Marquis’s French valet — a profusely-whiskered much-bejewelled individual; and an imperial, containing his lordship’s clothes, covered the roof of the carriage.
Mr. Jorrocks, who had begun to wax uneasy, and had stopped the recital of his speech for some time, listening for the noise of approaching wheels, no sooner heard the sound drum-like roll of the well-built
London carriage, than he shoved his notes into his pocket, and ran to the entrance to greet his guest. The Marquis alighted just as Mr. Jorrocks got to the door. He was dressed in the extreme of the London fashion. A gold-laced, gold-tasselled, blue foraging cap sat jauntily on his well-waxed light brown ringlets; the ample tie of his rich blue and gold satin cravat, secured with enormous pearl pins, covered the wide opening made by a very broad, roll-collared white waistcoat, loose down to the two bottom buttons, while the narrow hem of a collar to his blue coat barely came up to the nape of his neck, and the nippy waist began considerably higher up than nature had put his own. His trousers of lavender-coloured merino were shaped over the instep, and buttoned under a pair of laced lavender-coloured boots, which would have been stockings but for a morsel of patent leather over the toe and round the soles. He carried a gold-headed cane and a richly embroidered lace-fringed handkerchief in his hand.
“I’m werry ‘appy to see you,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, greeting his unagricultural-looking guest; “werry ‘appy indeed — thought you weren’t comin’ — howsomever you’re in plenty of time — only I wanted to have a little talk with you afore and you know — as to what you shall say to the chaps. We must be werry knowin’ — scientific in fact.”
“True,” replied the Marquis, “I’ve got off part of an agricultural article in the Encyclopaedia by heart, and” —
“Ah, but they want facts,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “drainin’, science, and steam’s the ticket — howsomever, come into my sanctum, and I’ll talk it all over with you.”
“Couldn’t we walk, and call on Mrs. Flather, and talk it over as we go?” inquired the Marquis.
“No, no,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “no time to look arter the pettikits. Let’s to business — this way — mind the step — now take a chair, sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it.” The Marquis having complied with Mr. Jorrocks’s request, our friend soused himself into his red-morocco hunting-chair, and folding one leg over the other, turned to the Marquis, and began talking with his fingers and tongue. “You see,” said he, pressing his forefingers together, “ we’re come to enlighten these muffs, and a pretty benighted, bewildered, bedevilled lot they are; and the first thing is to conwince them they are all wrong, and the next to instruct them wot is right. Farmin’ in fact’s in a benighted sort o’ state, and we must break the shell o’ their ignorance, and set the boobies at liberty. Now I’ve got a werry fine composition in my ‘ead, if I can only draw it out when the time comes — for that’s the deuce and all in oratory — one’s so werry apt to lose the thread, and get carried right up among the clouds, just like a chap on a wet mornin’ on the top of Mount Riega; howsomever, I expect I’ve got it pretty pat, and, with the aid of cheers, and referrin’ to my notes, I dare say I shall get through with it; and in course, arter I’ve lathered and soaped the chaps well, I shall want some one to shave them, and there’s when I want you to come in. I shall start by ‘busin’ of them, then do a little instructin’, and finally finish by flatterin’ of them, and proposin’ a ‘Sociation for the encouragement of everything relatin’ to farmin’ — with you for the President, and all that sort o’ thing — with your health — three times three — one cheer more, and all that sort o’ thing. Then in course you’ll get up and make them a werry hoiley oration, say whatever you think will be most palatable, pay them all sorts of compliments, and all that sort o’ thing.” Mr. Jorrocks finished this long sentence by releasing his hands and flourishing the right one about in the air.