Stories of Comedy
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Various >> Stories of Comedy
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"It really _is_ past twelve, thou says?"
"Umph!" grunted the fellow.
"Then, of course, I have nothing more to pay. I would not, however,
advise thee to go to bed to-night, for it is so particularly fine that
I propose to enjoy it by riding to and fro here a few hours."
The fellow, who now saw Johnny Darbyshire's full drift, exclaimed,
"Here, for God's sake, sir, take your money back, and let me get a wink
of sleep."
But Johnny refused to receive the money, observing, "If it _was_ after
twelve, then the money is justly thine; but I advise thee another time
not to be _too_ exact." And with that he rode off.
Such was his shrewd, restless, domineering character, that his old
friend, the neighboring miller, a shrewd fellow too, thought there must
be something in Quakerism which contributed to this, and was therefore
anxious to attend their meetings, and see what it was. How great,
however, was his astonishment, on accompanying Johnny, to find about
half a dozen people all sitting with their hats on for a couple of hours
in profound silence; except a few shufflings of feet, and blowing of
noses; and then all start up, shake hands, and hurry off.
"Why, Master Darbyshire," said the dry old miller, "how is this? Do you
sit without parson or clerk, and expect to learn religion by looking at
your shoe-toes? By Leddy! this warn't th' way George Fox went on. He was
a very talking man, or he would na ha' got such a heap of folks
together, as he did. You've clearly gotten o' th' wrong side o' th'
post, Johnny, depend on't; an' I dunna wonder now that you've dwindled
awee so."
But if Johnny was as still as a fish at the Quaker meetings, he had
enough to say at home, and at the parish meetings. He had such a spice
of the tyrant in him, that he could not even entertain the idea of
marrying, without it must be a sort of shift for the mastery. He,
therefore, not only cast his eye on one of the most high-spirited women
that he knew in his own society, but actually one on the largest scale
of physical dimensions. If he had one hero of his admiration more than
another, it was a little dwarf at Mansfield, who used to wear a
soldier's jacket, and who had taken it into his head to marry a very
tall woman, whom he had reduced to such perfect subjection, that he used
from time to time to evince his mastery by mounting a round table and
making the wife walk round it while he belabored her lustily with a
strap.
Johnny, having taken his resolve, made no circumbendibus in his
addresses; but one day, as he was alone in the company of the lady, by
name Lizzy Lorimer,--"Lizzy," said he, "I'll tell thee what I have been
thinking about. I think thou'd make me a very good wife."
"Well," replied Lizzy; "sure, isn't that extraordinary? I was just
thinking the very same thing."
"That's right! Well done, my wench,--now that's what I call hitting the
nail on the head, like a right sensible woman!" cried Johnny, fetching
her a slap on the shoulder, and laughing heartily. "That's doing the
thing now to some tune. I'm for none of your dilly-dally ways. I once
knew a young fellow that was desperately smitten by a young woman, and
though he could pluck up courage enough to go and see her, he couldn't
summon courage enough to speak out his mind when he got there; and so he
and the damsel sate opposite one another before the fire. She knew well
enough all the while--you're sharp enough, you women--what he was
after; and there they sate and sate, and at last he picked up a cinder
off the hearth, and looking very foolish, said, 'I've a good mind to
fling a cowk at thee!' At which the brave wench, in great contempt,
cried, 'I'll soon fling one at thee, if thou artn't off!' That's just as
thou'd ha' done, Lizzy, and as I shouldn't," said Johnny, gayly, and
laughing more heartily than before.
That was the sum and substance of Johnny Darbyshire's courtship. All the
world said the trouble would come afterwards; but if it did come, it was
not to Johnny. Never was chanticleer so crouse on his own dung-hill, as
Johnny Darbyshire was in his own house. He was lord and master there to
a certainty. In doors and out, he shouted, hurried, ran to and fro, and
made men, maids, and Lizzy herself, fly at his approach, as if he had
got a whole cargo of Mercury's wings, and put them on their feet. It was
the same in parish affairs; and the fame of Johnny's eloquence at
vestries is loud to this day. On one occasion there was a most hot
debate on the voting of a church-rate, which should embrace a new
pulpit. Johnny had hurt his foot with a stub of wood as he was hurrying
on his men at work in thinning a plantation. It had festered and
inflamed his leg to a terrible size; but, spite of that, he ordered out
his cart with a bed laid in it, and came up to the door of the
vestry-room, where he caused himself to be carried in on the bed, and
set on the vestry-room floor, not very distant from the clergyman. Here
he waited, listening first to one speaker and then another, till the
debate had grown very loud, when he gave a great hem; and all were
silent, for every one knew that Johnny was going to speak.
"Now, I'll tell you what, lads," said Johnny; "you've made noise enough
to frighten all the jackdaws out of the steeple, and there they are
flying all about with a pretty cawarring. You've spun a yarn as long as
all the posts and rails round my seven acres, and I dunna see as you've
yet hedged in so much as th' owd wise men o' Gotham did, and that's a
cuckoo. I've heard just one sensible word, and that was to recommend a
cast-iron pulpit, in preference to a wooden 'un. As to a church-rate to
repair th' owd steeple-house, why, my advice is to pull th' owd thing
down, stick and stone, and mend your roads with it. It's a capital heap
o' stone in it, that one must allow,--and your roads are pestilent bad.
Down with the old daw-house, I say, and mend th' roads wi' 't, and set
th' parson here up for a guide-post. Oh! it's a rare 'un he'd make; for
he's always pointing th' way to the folks, but I never see that he moves
one inch himself."
"Mr. Darbyshire," exclaimed the clergyman, in high resentment, "that is
very uncivil in my presence, to say the least of it."
"Civil or uncivil," returned Johnny; "it's the truth, lad, and thou can
take it just as thou likes. I did not come here to bandy compliments; so
I may as well be hanged for an old sheep as for a lamb,--we'll not make
two mouthfuls of a cherry; my advice is then to have a cast-iron pulpit,
by all means, and while you are about it, a cast-iron parson, too. It
will do just as well as our neighbor Diggory Dyson here, and a plaguy
deal cheaper, for it will require neither tithes, glebe, Easter-dues,
nor church-rates!"
Having delivered himself of this remarkable oration, to the great
amusement of his fellow-parishioners, and the equal exasperation of the
clergyman, Johnny ordered himself to be again hoisted into his cart, and
rode home in great glory, boasting that he had knocked all the wind out
of the parson, and if he got enough again to preach his sermon on
Sunday, it would be all.
It was only on such occasions as these that Johnny Darbyshire ever
appeared under the church roof. Once, on the occasion of the funeral of
an old neighbor, which, for a wonder, he attended, he presented himself
there, but with as little satisfaction to the clergyman, and less to
himself.
He just marched into the church with his hat on, which, being removed by
the clergyman's orders, Johnny declared that he had a good mind to walk
out of that well of a place, and would do so only out of respect to his
old neighbor. With looks of great wrath he seated himself at a good
distance from the clergyman; and as this gentleman was proceeding, in
none of the clearest tones, certainly, to read the appropriate service,
Johnny suddenly shouted out, "Speak up, man, speak up! What art mumbling
at there, man? We canna hear what thou says here!"
"Who is that?" demanded the clergyman, solemnly, and looking much as if
he did not clearly perceive who it was. "Who is that who interrupts the
service? I will not proceed till he be removed."
The beadle approached Johnny, and begged that he would withdraw.
"Oh!" said Johnny, aloud, so as to be heard through all the church,
"I'll sit i' th' porch. I'd much rather. What's the use sitting here
where one can hear nothing but a buzzing like a bee in a blossom?"
Johnny accordingly withdrew to the porch, where some of his neighbors,
hurrying to him when the funeral was about to proceed from the church to
the grave, said, "Mr. Darbyshire, what have you done? You'll as surely
be put into th' spiritual court, as you're a living man. You'd better ax
the parson's pardon, and as soon as you can."
Accordingly, as soon as the funeral was over, and the clergyman was
about to withdraw, up marched Johnny to him, and said, "What, I reckon
I've affronted thee with bidding thee speak up. But thou _should_ speak
up, man; thou should speak up, or what art perched up aloft there for.
But, however, as you scollards are rayther testy, I know, in being taken
up before folks, I mun beg thy pardon for 't'arno."[C]
[C] For what I know.
"O, Mr. Darbyshire," said the clergyman, with much dignity, "that will
not do, I assure you. I cannot pass over such conduct in such a manner.
I shall take another course with you."
"O, just as tha' woot. I've axed thy pardon, haven't I? and if that
wunna do, why, thou mun please thysen!"
Johnny actually appeared very likely to get a proper castigation this
time; but, however it was, he certainly escaped. The parishioners
advised the clergyman to take no notice of the offence,--everybody,
they said, knew Johnny, and if he called him into the spiritual court,
he would be just as bold and saucy, and might raise a good deal of
public scandal. The clergyman, who, unfortunately, was but like too many
country clergymen of the time, addicted to a merry glass in the village
public-house, thought perhaps that this was only too likely, and so the
matter dropped.
For twenty years did Johnny Darbyshire thus give free scope to tongue
and hand in his parish. He ruled paramount over wife, children, house,
servants, parish, and everybody. He made work go on like the flying
clouds of March; and at fair and market, at meeting and vestry, he had
his fling and his banter at the expense of his neighbors, as if the
world was all his own, and would never come to an end. But now came an
event, arising, as so often is the case, out of the merest trifle, that
more than all exhibited the indomitable stiffness and obstinacy of his
character.
Johnny Darbyshire had some fine, rich meadow-land, on the banks of the
river Derwent, where he took in cattle and horses to graze during the
summer. Hither a gentleman had sent a favorite and valuable blood mare
to run a few months with her foal. He had stipulated that the greatest
care should be taken of both mare and foal, and that no one, on any
pretence whatever, should mount the former. All this Johnny Darbyshire
had most fully promised. "Nay, he was as fond of a good bit of
horse-flesh as any man alive, and he would use mare and foal just as if
they were his own."
This assurance, which sounded very well indeed, was kept by Johnny, as
it proved, much more to the letter than the gentleman intended. To his
great astonishment, it was not long before he one day saw Johnny
Darbyshire come riding on a little shaggy horse down the village where
he lived, leading the foal in a halter.
He hurried out to inquire the cause of this, too well auguring some sad
mischief, when Johnny, shaking his head, said, "Ill luck, my friend,
never comes alone; it's an old saying, that it never rains but it pours;
and so it's been with me. T' other day I'd a son drowned, as fine a lad
as ever walked in shoe-leather; and in hurrying to th' doctor, how
should luck have it, but down comes th' mare with her foot in a hole,
breaks her leg, and was obligated to be killed; and here's th' poor
innocent foal. It's a bad job, a very bad job; but I've the worst on't,
and it canna be helped; so, prithee, say as little as thou can about
it,--here's the foal, poor, dumb thing, at all events."
"But what business," cried the gentleman, enraged, and caring, in his
wrath, not a button for Johnny Darbyshire's drowned son, in the
exasperation of his own loss,--"but what business had you riding to the
doctor, or the devil, on my mare? Did not I enjoin you, did you not
solemnly promise me, that nobody should cross the mare's back?"
Johnny shook his head. He had indeed promised "to use her as his own,"
and he had done it to some purpose; but that was little likely to throw
cold water on the gentleman's fire. It was in vain that Johnny tried the
pathetic of the drowning boy; it was lost on the man who had lost his
favorite mare, and who declared that he would rather have lost a
thousand pounds,--a hundred was exactly her value,--and he vowed all
sorts of vengeance and of law.
And he kept his word too. Johnny was deaf to paying for the mare. He had
lost his boy, and his summer's run of the mare and foal, and that he
thought enough for a poor man like him, as he pleased to call himself.
An action was commenced against him, of which he took not the slightest
notice till it came into court. These lawyers, he said, were dear chaps,
he'd have nothing to do with them. But the lawyers were determined to
have to do with him, for they imagined that the Quaker had a deep purse,
and they longed to be poking their long, jewelled fingers to the bottom
of it.
The cause actually came into court at the assizes, and the counsel for
the plaintiff got up and stated the case, offering to call his evidence,
but first submitted that he could not find that any one was retained on
behalf of the defendant, and that, therefore, he probably meant to
suffer the cause to go by default. The court inquired whether any
counsel at the bar was instructed to appear for Darbyshire, in the case
Shiffnal _v._ Darbyshire, but there was no reply; and learned gentlemen
looked at one another, and all shook their learned wigs; and the judge
was about to declare that the cause was forfeited by the defendant, John
Darbyshire, by non-appearance at the place of trial, when there was seen
a bustle near the box of the clerk of the court; there was a hasty
plucking off of a large hat, which somebody had apparently walked into
court with on; and the moment afterwards a short man, in a Quaker dress,
with his grizzled hair hanging in long locks on his shoulders, and
smoothed close down on the forehead, stepped, with a peculiar air of
confidence and cunning, up to the bar. His tawny, sunburnt features, and
small dark eyes, twinkling with an expression of much country subtlety,
proclaimed him at once a character. At once a score of voices
murmured,--"There's Johnny Darbyshire himself!"
He glanced, with a quick and peculiar look, at the counsel, sitting at
their table with their papers before them, who, on their part, did not
fail to return his survey with a stare of mixed wonder and amazement.
You could see it as plainly as possible written on their faces,--"Who
have we got here? There is some fun brewing here, to a certainty."
But Johnny raised his eyes from them to the bench, where sat the judge,
and sent them rapidly thence to the jury-box, where they seemed to rest
with a considerable satisfaction.
"Is this a witness?" inquired the judge. "If so, what is he doing there,
or why does he appear at all, till we know whether the cause is to be
defended?"
"Ay, Lord Judge, as they call thee, I reckon I am a witness, and the
best witness too, that can be had in the case, for I'm the man himself;
I'm John Darbyshire. I didn't mean to have anything to do with these
chaps i' their wigs and gowns, with their long, dangling sleeves; and I
dunna yet mean to have anything to do wi' 'em. But I just heard one of
'em tell thee, that this cause was not going to be defended; and that
put my monkey up, and so, thinks I, I'll e'en up and tell 'em that it
will be defended though; ay, and I reckon it will too; Johnny
Darbyshire was never yet afraid of the face of any man, or any set of
men."
"If you are what you say, good man," said the judge, "defendant in this
case, you had better appoint counsel to state it for you."
"Nay, nay, Lord Judge, as they call thee,--hold a bit; I know better
than that. Catch Johnny Darbyshire at flinging his money into a lawyer's
bag! No, no. I know them chaps wi' wigs well enough. They've tongues as
long as a besom's teal, and fingers as long to poke after 'em. Nay, nay,
I don't get my money so easily as to let them scrape it up by armfuls.
I've worked early and late, in heat and cold, for my bit o' money, and
long enough too, before these smart chaps had left their mother's
apron-strings; and let them catch a coin of it, if they can. No! I know
this case better than any other man can, and for why? Because I was in
it. It was me that had the mare to summer; it was me that rode her to
the doctor; I was in at th' breaking of th' leg, and, for that reason, I
can tell you exactly how it all happened. And what's any of those
counsellors,--sharp, and fine, and knowing as they look, with their
tails and their powder,--what are they to know about the matter, except
what somebody'd have to tell 'em first? I tell you, I saw it, I did it,
and so there needs no twice telling of the story."
"But are you going to produce evidence?" inquired the counsel for the
other side.
"Evidence? to be sure I am. What does the chap mean? Evidence? why, I'm
defender and evidence and all!"
There was a good deal of merriment in the court, and at the bar, in
which the judge himself joined.
"There wants no evidence besides me; for, as I tell you, I did it, and
I'm not going to deny it."
"Stop!" cried the judge; "this is singular. If Mr. Darbyshire means to
plead his own cause, and to include in it his evidence, he must be
sworn. Let the oath be administered to him."
"Nay, I reckon thou need put none of thy oaths to me! My father never
brought me up to cursing and swearing, and such like wickedness. He left
that to th' ragamuffins and rapscallions i' th' street. I'm no swearer,
nor liar neither,--thou may take my word safe enough."
"Let him take his affirmation, if he be a member of the Society of
Friends."
"Ay, now thou speaks sense, Lord Judge. Ay, I'm a member, I warrant me."
The clerk of the court here took his affirmation, and then Johnny
proceeded.
"Well, I don't feel myself any better or any honester now for making
that affirmation. I was just going to tell the plain truth before, and I
can only tell th' same now. And, as I said, I'm not going to deny what
I've done. No! Johnny Darbyshire's not the man that ever did a thing and
then denied it. Can any of these chaps i' th' wigs say as much? Ay, now
I reckon," added he, shaking his head archly at the gentlemen of the
bar, "now I reckon you'd like, a good many on you there, to be denying
this thing stoutly for me? You'd soon persuade a good many simple folks
here that I never did ride the mare, never broke her leg, nay, never
saw her that day at all. Wouldn't you, now? wouldn't you?"--
Here the laughter, on all sides, was loudly renewed.
"But I'll take precious good care ye _dunna_! No, no! that's the very
thing that I've stepped up here for. It's to keep your consciences clear
of a few more additional lies. O dear! I'm quite grieved for you, when I
think what falsities and deceit you'll one day have to answer for, as it
is."
The gentlemen, thus complimented, appeared to enjoy the satire of Johnny
Darbyshire; and still more was it relished in the body of the court.
But again remarked the judge, "Mr. Darbyshire, I advise you to leave the
counsel for the plaintiff to prove his case against you."
"I'st niver oss!" exclaimed Johnny, with indignation.
"I'st niver oss!" repeated the judge. "What does he mean?--I don't
understand him." And he looked inquiringly at the bar.
"He means," my lord, said a young counsel, "that he shall never
offer,--never attempt to do so."
"That's a Darbyshire chap now," said Johnny, turning confidentially
towards the jury-box, where he saw some of his county farmers. "He
understands good English."
"But, good neighbors there," added he, addressing the jury, "for I
reckon it's you that I must talk to on this business; I'm glad to see
that you are, a good many on you, farmers like myself, and so up to
these things. To make a short matter of it, then,--I had the mare and
foal to summer; and the gentleman laid it down, strong and fast, that
she shouldn't be ridden by anybody. And I promised him that I would do
my best, that nobody should ride her. I told him that I would use her
just as if she was my own,--and I meant it. I meant to do the handsome
by her and her master too; for I needn't tell you that I'm too fond of a
bit of good blood to see it willingly come to any harm. Nay, nay, that
never was the way of Johnny Darbyshire. And there she was, the pretty
creature, with her handsome foal cantering and capering round her in the
meadow; it was a pleasure to see it, it was indeed! And often have I
stood and leaned over the gate and watched them, till I felt a'most as
fond of them as of my own children; and never would leg have crossed her
while she was in my possession had that not happened that may happen to
any man, when he least expects it.
"My wife had been ill, very ill. My poor Lizzy, I thought I should ha'
certainly lost her. The doctors said she must be kept quiet in bed; if
she stirred for five days she was a lost woman. Well, one afternoon as I
was cutting a bit o' grass at th' bottom o' th' orchard for the osses,
again they came from ploughing the fallows, I heard a shriek that went
through me like a baggonet. Down I flings th' scythe. 'That's Lizzy, and
no other!' I shouted to myself. 'She's out of bed,--and, goodness! what
can it be? She's ten to one gone mad with a brain fever!' There seemed
to have fallen ten thousand millstones on my heart. I tried to run, but
I couldn't. I was as cold as ice. I was as fast rooted to the ground as
a tree. There was another shriek more piercing than before--and I was
off like an arrow from a bow--I was loose then. I was all on fire. I ran
like a madman till I came within sight of th' house; and there I saw
Lizzy in her nightgown with half her body out of the window, shrieking
and wringing her hands like any crazed body.
"'Stop! stop!' I cried, 'Lizzy! Lizzy! back! back! for Heaven's sake!'
"'There! there!' screamed she, pointing with staring eyes and ghastly
face down into the Darrant that runs under the windows.
"'O God!' I exclaimed, 'she'll drown herself! she's crazed, she means to
fling herself in'--groaning as I ran, and trying to keep crying to her,
but my voice was dead in my throat.
"When I reached her chamber, I found her fallen on the floor,--she was
as white as a ghost, and sure enough I thought she was one. I lifted her
upon the bed, and screamed amain for the nurse, for the maid, but not a
soul came. I rubbed Lizzy's hands; clapped them; tried her
smelling-bottle. At length she came to herself with a dreadful
groan,--flashed open her eyes wide on me, and cried, 'Didst see him?
Didst save him? Where is he? Where is he?'
"'Merciful Providence!' I exclaimed. 'She's gone only too sure! It's all
over with her!'
"'Where is he? Where's my dear Sam? Thou didn't let him drown?'
"'Drown? Sam? What?' I cried. 'What dost mean, Lizzy?'
"'O John! Sammy!--he was drowning i' th' Darrant--oh!--'
"She fainted away again, and a dreadful truth flashed on my mind. She
had seen our little Sammy drowning; she had heard his screams, and
sprung out of bed, forgetful of herself, and looking out, saw our
precious boy in the water. He was sinking! He cried for help! there was
nobody near, and there Lizzy stood and saw him going, going, going down!
There was not a soul in the house. The maid was gone to see her mother
that was dying in the next village; the nurse had been suddenly obliged
to run off to the doctor's for some physic; Lizzy had promised to lie
still till I came in, and in the mean time--this happens. When I
understood her I flew down stairs, and towards the part of the river she
had pointed to. I gazed here and there, and at length caught sight of
the poor boy's coat floating, and with a rake I caught hold of it, and
dragged him to land. But it was too late! Frantic, however, as I was, I
flew down to the meadow with a bridle in my hand, mounted the blood
mare,--she was the fleetest in the field by half,--and away to the
doctor. We went like the wind. I took a short cut for better speed, but
it was a hobbly road. Just as I came in sight of the doctor's house
there was a slough that had been mended with stones and fagots and
anything that came to hand. I pushed her over, but her foot caught in a
hole amongst the sticks, and--crack! it was over in a moment.
"Neighbors, neighbors! think of my situation. Think of my feelings. Oh!
I was all one great groan! My wife! my boy! the mare! it seemed as if
Job's devil was really sent out against me. But there was no time to
think; I could only feel, and I could do that running. I sprang over the
hedge. I was across the fields, and at the doctor's; ay, long before I
could find breath to tell him what was amiss. But he thought it was my
wife that was dreadfully worse. 'I expected as much,' said he, and that
instant we were in the gig that stood at the door, and we were going
like fire back again. But--"
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