fallen in, the poor lad didn't get Christian burial; and when John was "In the name of the Universal Landlord, Grand Compounder of the Land in Tillage and out of Tillage, I charge you, John of Hang-jew, to furcâ ex-fork out-five shillings." John Hang-jew swore he hadn't a sixpence in the world. 66 Capiam coronam-I'll take a crown, then-I'm not perticular," rejoined the beadle. John Hang-jew thought he meant to allude to a five-shilling piece he had got at poor young Arthur his death, so he began to knock under. After some chaufferie, finding that Pan was stubborn, he groped about in the money-box, and by begging a fourpence here, and pawning his shirt there, he got the money, and handed it over to Pan; whereon, he, a bully withal, took Hang-jew such a kick in the ribs as sent the shillings flying, and all the time the other men of the farm looked on, and never so much as wagged a finger, for Hang-jew was an ill-conditioned fellow altogether. But when Pan, with his fat paunch and blazing red tights, went about on knees, grunting and wheezing, to "pick up the 'bits,"" these honest men did say that he was the meanest, proudest old turkey-cock that ever ruffled his feathers in another man's yard; and I, in great measure, lay the above troubles of our John to this mean rogue's door; but they sarved him out after, for they made him sign a bill binding him down to good behaviour, and preventing him from ever taking on again in such guise. But to return to our John and Madam Scarlet. Manifestly, this state The Scarlet Maof things couldn't last; every year things got worse and worse, and more than other, Madam's temper. She waxed out of long sufferance, so fat, and proud, and haughty, that there was no living with her. Not a joint came to the servants' table, but what she, or her maids, or men-of-allwork, would come and carve them the nicest slice for themselves; not a barrel of beer was brewed in a cottage, but down came Madam's order for a measure therefrom, for the good of the farm, or other false plea. Every shilling of wage paid to the servant-boys must be sweated down to tenpence a halfpenny for repairing the nose of St. Barnabas, or a penny for the sole of St. Crispin, his shoe; and if they grumbled thereat, she would leave off her Latin, as in common talk, and begin to curse in good English, being the only times, forsooth, when she cared to speak in a tongue understood of the people. And such was merrie England in the olden time! dam becometh more audace. But better speed, I trow, was coming to our John and the farm, Ariseth John strange, too, wrought by a pore labouring man (another John), Wicklif, Wicks. or Wicks, as for shortness' sake. A right good painful man was he, honest, and of fair reputation, and so How John Wicks cute a scholar withal, that it was said he would have beaten Madam her- was set a-thinking, self in reading and quilling. He was put to watch the cows down at the Oxenford, and look after the prentice lads; and while they were eating their dinners together he used to say, for the life of him he couldn't and asked for a copy of the lease. Few copies I wot then. Which when found he peruseth. Wicks findeth that Madam's hen was a-sitting on addled eggs. make out this business of old Gregory, and 'twas a shame for a grown man like his master to let that Dame Scarlet take on with her conjuring water, and dolls, and pictures, and other rubbish. He wasn't one of your Chartist folk either, but a right good workman, who took honest wage, and said "Thank you therefore." He did something more than only talk at dinner-time, as many now, for he went up to his master, who knew he was a scholar, and asked if he might be so bold to look over the farm lease. Our John stared, and didn't think there was such a thing on the farm; if he could find one, he might do what he liked with it, only he'd better hold his tongue about it to Madam, for he had heard her say 'twasn't meant for any but lawyers; just as if you or I would like our lawyers to say we must not see what they had been copying, if it was a money-bill, or, may be, a marriage-settlement. Off posts Wicks to the farm buildings at Oxenford, and, rummaging in the lumber-room, soon alighteth on a Latin copy of the least fairly written, the which tongue he understood right well. You should have seen his face when he had read it. Not a word therein about Gregory having a freehold of the farms-no, not his own; not a word about pennies, or conjuring waters, or images, or saints, or pictures barring that it told honest folk to ware themselves of such follies. John Wicks put this and that together, and came to opinionate that Madam W. Scarlet was a humbug; and though he wouldn't for the world say a word against his master, he knew now what the W. meant. Whenever he went up on Saturday nights to be paid with the rest, and heard Madam running on with the men, "that it was unpossible she could be mistaken," and telling another "it was no use going to master,"" she kept the keys, and he had better ax her pardon," and so forth, Wicks used to put his tongue in his cheek, which, if Madam saw, He poketh fun he would blow his nose, saying, "Omnis est oculus meus-it is all my at Madam. eye, mistress." John Wicks was put up to this by a manager like of the farm, Jack Gaunt, or Caunt, the Lancaster champion, who bore small love Madamwards, unless for whom Wicks had been sent a-packing long since. When Wicks had nothing better on hand at Oxenford, he would bestir himself in threshing, and a lusty flail in truth was his. Lots of old ricks stood in the yard, which people called Old Fathers' ricks, put up ever so long back. Turning up his cuffs, he would pull them to pieces, minding not a whit the smut and dust, and all manner of mildew therein, and lustily threshing them, would earn a shrewd penny for his master by getting what corn there was not much, but of good samplethough in sooth chaff did abound. But, what was far better, many good copies made he of the lease, as did others also, though much did Madame fume, you may suppose, at serving-men taking such liberty. He sets to work to see if he can get anything out of the old Fa thers' ricks. They rusty, but some small store of corn. Just afore Wicks was put on the farm, Old Gregory had packed off a A tale about the swarm of dirty labourers, whom he would not feed himself, for our John's Fryers. maintaining. These were tituled "Fryers," because, methinks, they fried so much fishes on Fridays; some of them in black gowns, and some in grey, without an inch of leather to their feet. Well, as they offered to work for nothing, our John and his lazy men folk were willing enough to let these lusty fellows dig, and plough, and run erranding. At first, John offered them so much for the job; but the cunning mumpers said, "Oh, no! Master Francis, or Master Dominic told us No! They get rich, as work do mumpers all. for good man John, and if you're hungry the good people will give you a bite and a sup for sweet charity's sake."" So it surprises not if the you men, women folks, seeing them dig lustily, as at first they did, should say, "Here, churle, a piece of pastie;" or, " Here, villein, a slice of brawn." Are fed plentiThis the more, as the other men lay the whiles snoring under the hedge. fully of kind woA good bellyful got these fryers by simulating such industry. Madam Scarlet, too, greeted them with no disfavour, for that they told her all the news they heard, and much, I wist, they spoke of leasing. At last, they craved far too much, and took an ell for an inch, as Solomon has it, but put on so that deuce a bit could women people sit down to meals, but in came a fryer, so sure as a vulture to a battle, keenly winding the same. Small courtesy they stood on. It was, "By your leave, sweet mother, this flitch;" or, "Dear Christian folks, this lump of cheese;" and no more, but into the wallet both went straightway. Christian folks too greedily. turn. Mightily, therefore, Wicks hated, and stoutly withstood, these begging Wieks does the men. He would be ever talking to his master to rid him of this ungodly Fryers a shrewd fry. To whom our John sorrowly used to answer, that he wished he would do it for him, for he feared Madam Scarlet. Often, then, Wicks would take his flail, and with one or two other stout boys, go round to the goodwives' houses, and where he found a fryer, make him down on his marrowbones, and kick and cuff the lubber man soundly, turning out his pockets and emptying his wallet on the floor; so when he lighted on a good pound of cheese, or a pasty, down came the flail on poor fryer, the while calling, "Ah! would you then?" or, "Get out of that," or, may be, "Drop it"-good English cries, much heard in these days in London town. others. Wicks knocketh Much would it make our dictionary men, that write of the Old Wicks wrangleth Fathers, stare, and perchance some good would it have yielded, could sportively touchthey have heard Wicks talking, when the day's work was over, down at ing Gregory and Oxenford. Eventimes the men would sit under the trees, talking all manner of riddles, and they would try to puzzle Wicks, putting shrewd questionings. One would say, "I don't believe Gregory could make a The lads set up mistake if he tried." Wicks would answer, "I saw him come out into a quaint questhe street one day with his hat on the wrong way; ergo, Gregory is able tion, which to make a mistake as well as you or I;" whereon, a laugh against Mr. down. Questioner. Another would pretend, "I believe Gregory could make any rule he liked for our John's labourers;" whereat Wicks, "If I owe you five shillings, and Gregory says, Wicks, don't pay,' I suppose I stand herein excused?" At which another laugh. Then a third, who had some schooling, would say, "He was sure Gregory's great-great-grandfather had the farm among seven hills;" and he would tell up what old Jeremy had said, or what he had heard Gustive say, and so forth; to all which Wicks would answer, "They were before my A great gun is time; good, honest, I daresay; but that's no reason why they should fired. know more than I. If you want to know all about these things, I'll tell you as true as Gospel." Thereon he would put out the copy the lease, and put his finger here, and then there, and hold it for all to see, and ask them how they got out of that? But nobody laughed now; and the lads, who were sulky at being put down in this fashion, went off muttering that he was only an old Gospel doctor. of a Poor John Wicks!" felem cura necavit," as Phillpotts meekly said. John Wicks Time and hard work wore him out. He wasn't more than threescore dieth, and is foryears when he laid down to sleep in Lutterworth yard. I'm sure it's gotten. shame that the labourers on the farm have never put a tidy tombstone up to mark the spot where a good man sleeps. He copied out the lease -it may be, but for him, copies would be scarce with us now. HESTER SOMERSET. BY NICHOLAS MICHELL. BOOK II. CHAPTER XIII. HESTER AMONG THE PICTURE-DEALERS.-THE BROKER OF THE 'SEVEN Ir was about eleven in the forenoon, when the light figure of Hester might have been seen gliding along Fleet-street. Under her arm she carried a small portfolio, which contained the produce of a fortnight's artistic labour, consisting of four pieces in water-colours, and the little oil landscape of which we have had occasion to speak. She had toiled exclusively on these drawings, having suspended even her nightly occupation of netting purses. To equal, therefore, her former gains, and defray the expense of canvas, paint, and paper, it was necessary that she should receive for her performances about three pounds. On Hester tripped, anxious to learn what success might await her new speculation. Reaching the entrance of the Temple, where the old doors open upon Fleet-street, she turned pale, and trembled. The image of the dreaded Hartley within those walls seemed to rise before her. Mechanically she crossed to the opposite side, and looked over her shoulder, to see that he was not actually following her; and this natural gesture of fear was continued until the black arch of Temple Bar having been passed, that massy relic of by-gone days concealed Fleet-street and the Temple from her sight. The first shops that Hester entered were those of fancy-dealers, whose windows displayed an endless variety of articles of an ornamental nature. Some of the shopkeepers treated her with neglect, and a few with rudeness. In one place, however, she met with courtesy; the master was an elderly man, and, looking kindly at the vendor and her wares, expressed an inclination to become a purchaser. With his spectacles on his nose, he scrutinised the flower-drawings, smiled, shook his head, but still his look was very benevolent. Pretty well-may do for screens," said the fancy-dealer. nice touches; must have taken you, miss, some time. Sorry we can give so little for these kind of things now; but, the fact is, so many artists in the field." "I do not expect a high price," said Hester. "Right-sensibly spoken. High price?-no, indeed. But let me see, you shall have their worth-that is, the trade price. Two fruit pieces; two flower ditto. I'll give you a shilling each." Hester's blank countenance expressed surprise and sorrow. "You don't speak, my girl. Isn't it enough?" "The paper alone cost me half the money. If I sell them at the price you name, I shall have laboured five days for two shillings." "Sorry for that, my dear child, but must learn to paint faster. Quantity, swiftness, that's the order of the day-ha, ha, ha! But come, won't be hard," added the man, taking out five shillings from his till; "say three pence more-fifteen pence apiece-there!" Little as this was, Hester, fearful she might be offered even less elsewhere, received the money with an inward sigh, and, returning her quiet thanks, stepped out of the shop. Her chief hope remained-her oil landscape, representing the Norfolk farm, the cattle, and the peasant boy. This might set all right, and handsomely remunerate her for her labour. There was no lack of picturemarts; the Strand, Pall Mall, Piccadilly, were dotted with them; they abounded in every street; but their showy entrances abashed and daunted Hester, and it was some time before she could muster sufficient courage to open one of the high glass doors. At length she entered a shop in Piccadilly; it displayed bright new paintings, and dingy old ones, and was garnished with great gilded, staring frames. Hester, in nervous agitation, approached him who appeared to be the master, but her hand trembled to such a degree, that it was with difficulty she could untie her portfolio, and produce her painting. As the "great dealer," the man of Titians, Claudes, and Dominichinos, took the landscape into his hand, he just glanced at it, and then politely asked the name of the artist. "Oh! yourself," said the gentleman. "I confess I never heard of your name before ;" and a look of surprise overspread his dark and solemn face. Hester considered this a good omen; he might be surprised that an obscure girl could produce the painting he saw. The connoisseur, whose dignity permitted him to utter but few words, returned the landscape with one hand, and, with the other, pointed at his glass door. "Good morning," he said. "Do you not purchase paintings, then?" "Certainly we do." "Will you not kindly offer something for mine?" The look of surprise increased, and the eyes opened to a staring width. "I am astonished, young woman, at your asking such a question. Don't you know great firms, like ours, never buy obscure pictures. We sell nothing but first-rate names, and therefore, of course, cannot purchase any but them.” "I don't say," observed Hester, rather puzzled by the gentleman's words, "that mine is a good painting; but this, perhaps, is your meaning -however good my performance might be, you could not purchase it.' Certainly not.' "Is that picture," asked Hester, emboldened, for her spirit was rising -" is that little picture which I see against the wall yonder by a high name?" It was a small landscape, somewhat resembling her own, except that the farmhouse was one daub, the cattle like round red spots of ochre dropped at random on the canvas, while the figures resembled ourangoutangs rather than human beings. The gentleman, the servile worshipper of fashion and names, gravely told her the landscape was invaluable-worth at least five hundred guineas; it was a real Hester could not recollect the Dutchman's hard and barbarous name; she only felt assured that were the picture by her hand, the highest sum she should dare ask for it would be about as many shillings as the dealer asked |