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first place he is very fat, and dresses something like an old clergymantight-fitting pantaloons and black coat and waistcoat
“ Post-boy! post-boy! I say. By heavens! I'll make you suffer for this !” exclaimed the impatient traveller.
“ His height is about five feet seven-but the surest way to know him is by a prodigious bandage over bis eye, and his perpetual boastings that he is a country gentleman and a justice of peace.”
“ Ha! ha! ha!” said Hardiman; “ he must be an impudent rascal to talk of justice at all : but if he's a justice, it would seem, Sir, he's blind, too; and that's the exact way that every justice is painted I have ever seen in the Book of Emblems."
“ Rascal!" repeated the voice from the outside ; "you shall have three months of Brixton for your insolence. I'll come and fetch you myself.” “ The traveller seems impatient,” remarked Harry.
“ Oh! it won't do him any harm,” said Hardiman; “ if he's such an ass as not to have a pull at the tankard ʼtis too much of a joke if he won't let the poor postilion have a drop."
A noise of the letting down of steps was now heard, and the door opened, and Mr. Dingle hurried angrily into the room.
“ You insolent scoundrel !” he began-clenching his fist at the philosophical postilion, who continued very deliberately to emit huge wreaths of smoke from each corner of his mouth alternately—“ I'll teach you to disobey a magistrate of twenty-five years' standing."
“ 'Tis he, by heavens !-Greenacre himself!” whispered Harry to the wondering circle, and withdrawing himself into a dark corner of the apartment.
“Now then, boys, for five hundred pounds," whispered Morris, stringing himself up for a rush on the murderer; “ let us all help, and divide the spoil. Three of us can manage him, and that will be a good haal for each of us.”
“Wait a while and let us be sure of our man,” hinted Hardiman, dubiously.
“Why, what's the use of waiting ?-everything is exact; heightdress—and did not you hear him talk of being a magistrate at the very first words he spoke?”
In the mean time the postilion's silence added tenfold fury to the traveller's indignation.
Vagabond ! I will get you hanged for this misdemeanour! You have hitherto aided me in my escape
“ Hear him," whispered Morris, " he confesses he has escaped.”
“ I should not wonder if that bloodhound of the law were after me at this moment,
“ Hear! hear! shall we rush on him now?” said Morris, drawing near.
“ And now that I have got out of his clutches I wish to keep free from him.”
Yes, Sir," said the postilion,“ if you can cure Bob the Tinker, my off-hand horse, of the staggers, there would be some use talking."
“ Staggers, rascal ? Here, don't you see what an eye I've got?”
“ Not so bad as the one he gave the poor woman with the Billy-roller," whispered Hardiman.
But Morris now resolved to make sure of the reward, and, touching Mr. Dingle on the shoulder, said, “ Come, come, old man, take it quietly: here we are three of us, and you don't move a peg from this.”
“ How, fellows !” exclaimed the gentleman, in surprise ; "are you robbers or murderers ?”
“ There's only one murderer here, that I know of,” said old Morris; “ and you know who that is as well as I can tell you. What name do you call yourself, you ruffian ?”
“ This to me!-ruffian to me!-agentleman—a magistrate of a quarter of a century !”
“ Humbug?" said Hardiman, “let us have no more jaw, but surrender at once; we know who you are.”
“ I am John Theodosius Dingle, Esquire, of Dingleton Hall. What, then ?" Why, that
you will probably soon change your name to John Dangle, Esquire, of Tyburn Tree-that's all,” said Hardiman. “What do you say to that, Mr. Greenacre ?"
Greenacre !” exclaimed Mr. Dingle: “ what do you mean ?-my name is not Greenacre.”
“Oh! Wiseacre will do as well, and anybody could swear you are that. Are you not ashamed of yourself, you detestable villain ? Come, off with him to Salisbury gaol.”
“ Sir! gentlemen !” exclaimed Mr. Dingle; “ you are on dangerous ground—you shall be prosecuted for an illegal arrest as sure as I am chairman of quarter-sessions." “ Off! off into the chaise with him !"
Gentlemen, there is a lady in the chaise-touch me at your peril.” “A lady!" whistled Hardiman; “ what a hoary-headed wretch ! he will murder her to a certainty, and carry her head on his knee. Come, Sir, you don't budge. Mitchell, help us to carry this villain into the carriage, and tell the post-boy to make all speed into Salisbury.”
Saying this, the whole party laid violent hands on Mr. Dingle, and hurried him to the door ; but great was the surprise of the zealous performers, when they perceived that, in the midst of the squabble, the chaise, the lawyer, and the postilion, had all disappeared.
“ He is gone before us,” exclaimed Morris, in despair,“ to give information, and claim the reward! All that we can do is to keep the miscreant here till the morning, and then take him on in a cart. But the reward ! the reward !-oh, that cunning counsellor ! he has got the reward !”
And true enough it was that the counsellor had got the reward ; but what the reward consisted in may be best seen by quoting a notice that appeared in a few days in the " Morning Post:"_
“Married : Harry Neville, Esq., of the Inner Temple, eldest son of General Sir H. Neville, to Fanny, only child of J. T. Dingle, Esq., of Dingleton Hall. The bridegroom owes the consent of Mr. Dingle to his zeal in extricating the old gentleman from an embarrassment into which he was thrown by the mistake of some rustics, near Salisbury. We are in possession of all the particulars, but from obvious motives refrain from making them public.”
A GLIMPSE AT THE ROYAL PROCESSION
ON LORD MAYOR's Day.
Oh! this is the day! Huzza! Huzza !
It is ten-it is ten - we have been here since eight,
It's eleven--eleven ! an hour, thank Heaven,
Twelve-twelve by the clock-05 ! it seems like a week-
that Sir Frederick Roe's in the suite
It is one —now they come-No, they don't—what a shout!
It is half after two, I can hear by St. Paul's,
(As the Scotch say) that mighty High Constable Lee !
But they come !—they come!
They really do come!
Slowly the car-oh! the antique car,
Like a thing of Louis Quatorze from afar-
I turn to my sisters; we stare—we stare.