Stories of Comedy

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Here Johnny Darbyshire paused; the words stuck in his throat,--his lips
trembled,--his face gradually grew pale and livid, as if he were going
to give up the ghost. The court was extremely moved: there was a deep
silence, and there were heard sobs from the throng behind. The judge
sate with his eyes fixed on his book of minutes, and not a voice even
said "Go on."

Johnny Darbyshire meantime, overcome by his feelings, had sate down at
the bar, a glass of water was handed to him,--he wiped his forehead with
his handkerchief several times, heaved a heavy convulsive sigh or two
from his laboring chest,--and again arose.

"Judge, then," said he, again addressing the jury, "what a taking I was
in. My boy--but no--I canna touch on that, he was--gone!" said he in a
husky voice that seemed to require all his physical force to send it
from the bottom of his chest. "My wife was for weeks worse than dead,
and never has been, and never will be, herself again. When I inquired
after the mare,--you can guess--when was a broken leg of a horse
successfully set again? They had been obliged to kill her!

"Now, neighbors, I deny nothing. I wunna!--but I'll put it to any of
you, if you were in like case, and a fleet mare stood ready at hand,
would you have weighed anything but her speed against a wife and--a
child?--No, had she been my own, I should have taken her, and that was
all I had promised! But there, neighbors, you have the whole
business,--and so do just as you like,--I leave it wi' you."

Johnny Darbyshire stepped down from the bar, and disappeared in the
crowd. There was a deep silence in the court, and the very jury were
seen dashing some drops from their eyes. They appeared to look up to the
judge as if they were ready to give in at once their verdict, and nobody
could doubt for which party; but at this moment the counsel for the
plaintiff arose, and said:--

"Gentlemen of the jury,--you know the old saying--'He that pleads his
own cause has a fool for his client.' We cannot say that the proverb has
held good in this case. The defendant has proved himself no fool. Never
in my life have I listened to the pleadings of an opponent with deeper
anxiety. Nature and the awful chances of life have made the defendant in
this case more than eloquent. For a moment I actually trembled for the
cause of my client,--but it was for a moment only. I should have been
something less than human if I had not, like every person in this court,
been strangely affected by the singular appeal of the singular man who
has just addressed you; but I should have been something less than a
good lawyer if I did not again revert confidently to those facts which
were in the possession of my witnesses now waiting to be heard. Had this
been the only instance in which the defendant had broken his
engagement, and mounted this mare, I should in my own mind have flung
off all hope of a verdict from you. God and nature would have been too
strong for me in your hearts; but, fortunately for my client, it is not
so. I will show you on the most unquestionable evidence that it was not
the first nor the second time that Mr. Darbyshire had mounted this
prohibited but tempting steed. He had been seen, as one of the witnesses
expresses it, 'frisking about' on this beautiful animal, and asking his
neighbors what they thought of such a bit of blood as that. He had on
one occasion been as far as Crich fair with her, and had allowed her to
be cheapened by several dealers as if she were his own, and then proudly
rode off, saying, 'Nay, nay, it was not money that would purchase pretty
Nancy,' as he called her." Here the counsel called several respectable
farmers who amply corroborated these statements; and he then proceeded.
"Gentlemen, there I rest my case. You will forget the wife and the
child, and call to mind the 'frisking,' and Crich fair. But to put the
matter beyond a doubt we will call the defendant again, and put a few
questions to him."

The court crier called,--but it was in vain. Johnny Darbyshire was no
longer there. As he had said, "he had left it wi' 'em," and was gone.
The weight of evidence prevailed; the jury gave a verdict for the
plaintiff,--one hundred pounds.

The verdict was given, but the money was not yet got. When called on for
payment, Johnny Darbyshire took no further notice of the demand than he
had done of the action. An execution was issued against his goods; but
when it was served, it was found that he had no goods. A brother stepped
in with a clear title to all on Johnny's farm by a deed dated six years
before, on plea of moneys advanced, and Johnny stood only as manager.

The plaintiff was so enraged at this barefaced scheme to bar his just
claim, Johnny's bail sureties being found equally unsubstantial, that he
resolved to arrest Johnny's person. The officers arrived at Johnny's
house to serve the writ, and found him sitting at his luncheon alone. It
was a fine summer's day,--everybody was out in the fields at the hay.
Door and window stood open, and Johnny, who had been out on some
business, was refreshing himself before going to the field too. The
officers entering declared him their prisoner. "Well," said Johnny, "I
know that very well. Don't I know a bum-baily when I see him? But sit
down and take something; I'm hungry if you ar'na, at all events."

The men gladly sate down to a fine piece of cold beef, and Johnny said,
"Come, fill your glasses; I'll fetch another jug of ale. I reckon you'll
not give me a glass of ale like this where we are going."

He took a candle, descended the cellar, one of the officers peeping
after him to see that all was right, and again sitting down to the beef
and beer. Both of them found the beef splendid; but beginning to find
the ale rather long in making its appearance, they descended the cellar,
and found Johnny Darbyshire had gone quietly off at a back door.

Loud was the laughter of the country round at Johnny Darbyshire's
outwitting of the bailiff's, and desperate was their quest after him. It
was many a day, however, before they again got sight of him. When they
did, it was on his own hearth, just as they had done at first. Not a
soul was visible but himself. The officers declared now that they would
make sure of him, and yet drink with him too.

"With all my heart," said Johnny; "and draw it yourselves, too, if you
will."

"Nay, I will go down with you," said one; "my comrade shall wait here
above."

"Good," said Johnny, lighting a candle.

"Now, mind, young man," added he, going hastily forwards towards the
cellar steps,--"mind, I say, some of these steps are bad. It's a dark
road, and--nay, here!--this way,--follow me exactly."

But the man was too eager not to let Johnny go too far before him; he
did not observe that Johnny went some distance round before he turned
down the steps. There was no hand-rail to this dark flight of steps, and
he walked straight over into the opening.

"Hold!--hold! Heavens! the man's gone,--didn't I tell him!--"

A heavy plunge and a groan announced the man's descent into the cellar.

"Help!--help!" cried Johnny Darbyshire, rushing wildly into the room
above. "The man, like a madman, has walked over the landing into the
cellar. If he isn't killed, it's a mercy. Help!" snatching another
candle; "but hold--take heed! take heed! or thou'lt go over after him!"

With good lighting, and careful examination of the way, the officer
followed. They found the other man lying on his back, bleeding
profusely from his head, and insensible.

"We must have help! there's no time to lose!" cried Johnny Darbyshire,
springing up stairs.

"Stop!" cried the distracted officer, left with his bleeding fellow, and
springing up the steps after Johnny. But he found a door already bolted
in his face; and cursing Johnny for a treacherous and murderous
scoundrel, he began vainly denouncing his barbarity in leaving his
comrade thus to perish, and kicked and thundered lustily at the door.

But he did Johnny Darbyshire injustice. Johnny had no wish to hurt a
hair of any man's head. The officer had been eager and confident, and
occasioned his own fall; and even now Johnny had not deserted him. He
appeared on horseback at the barn where threshers were at work; told
them what had happened; gave them the key of the cellar door, bade them
off and help all they could; and said he was riding for the doctor. The
doctor indeed soon came, and pronounced the man's life in no danger,
though he was greatly scratched and bruised. Johnny himself was again
become invisible.

From this time for nine months the pursuit of Johnny Darbyshire was a
perfect campaign, full of stratagems, busy marchings, and expectations,
but of no surprises. House, barns, fields, and woods, were successively
ferreted through, as report whispered that he was in one or the other.
But it was to no purpose; not a glimpse of him was ever caught; and fame
now loudly declared that he had safely transferred himself to America.
Unfortunately for the truth of this report, which had become as well
received as the soundest piece of history, Johnny Darbyshire was one
fine moonlight night encountered full face to face, by some poachers
crossing the fields near his house. The search became again more active
than ever, and the ruins of Wingfield Manor, which stood on a hill not
far from his dwelling, were speedily suspected to be haunted by him.
These were hunted over and over, but no trace of Johnny Darbyshire, or
any sufficient hiding-place for him, could be found, till, one fine
summer evening, the officers were lucky enough to hit on a set of steps
which descended amongst bushes into the lower part of the ruins. Here,
going on, they found themselves, to their astonishment, in an ample old
kitchen, with a fire of charcoal in the grate, and Johnny Darbyshire
with a friend or two sitting most cosily over their tea. Before they
could recover from their surprise, Johnny, however, had vanished by some
door or window, they could not tell exactly where, for there were sundry
doorways issuing into dark places of which former experience bade them
beware. Rushing up again, therefore, to the light, they soon posted some
of their number around the ruins, and, with other assistance sent for
from the village, they descended again, and commenced a vigilant search.
This had been patiently waited for a good while by those posted without,
when suddenly, as rats are seen to issue from a rick when the ferret is
in it, Johnny Darbyshire was seen ascending hurriedly a broken
staircase, that was partly exposed to the open day by the progress of
dilapidation, and terminated abruptly above.

Here, at this abrupt and dizzy termination, for the space of half a
minute, stood Johnny Darbyshire, looking round, as if calmly surveying
the landscape, which lay, with all its greenness and ascending smokes of
cottage chimneys, in the gleam of the setting sun. Another instant, and
an officer of the law was seen cautiously scrambling up the same ruinous
path; but, when he had reached within about half a dozen yards or so of
Johnny, he paused, gazed upwards and downwards, and then remained
stationary. Johnny, taking one serious look at him, now waved his hand
as bidding him adieu, and disappeared in a mass of ivy.

The astonished officer on the ruined stair now hastily retreated
downwards; the watchers on the open place around ran to the side of the
building where Johnny Darbyshire had thus disappeared, but had scarcely
reached the next corner, when they heard a loud descent of stones and
rubbish, and, springing forward, saw these rushing to the ground at the
foot of the old Manor, and some of them springing and bounding down the
hill below. What was most noticeable, however, was Johnny Darbyshire
himself, lying stretched, apparently lifeless, on the greensward at some
little distance.

On examining afterwards the place, they found that Johnny had descended
between a double wall,--a way, no doubt, well known to him, and thence
had endeavored to let himself down the wall by the ivy which grew
enormously strong there; but the decayed state of the stones had caused
the hold of the ivy to give way, and Johnny had been precipitated,
probably from a considerable height. He still held quantities of leaves
and ivy twigs in his hands.

He was conveyed as speedily as possible on a door to his own house,
where it was ascertained by the surgeon that life was sound in him, but
that besides plenty of severe contusions, he had broken a thigh. When
this news reached his persecutor, though Johnny was declared to have
rendered himself, by his resistance to the officers of the law, liable
to outlawry, this gentleman declared that he was quite satisfied; that
Johnny was punished enough, especially as he had been visited with the
very mischief he had occasioned to the mare. He declined to proceed any
further against him, paid all charges and costs, and the court itself
thought fit to take no further cognizance of the matter.

Johnny was, indeed, severely punished. For nearly twelve months he was
confined to the house, and never did his indomitable and masterful
spirit exhibit itself so strongly and characteristically as during this
time. He was a most troublesome subject in the house. As he sate in his
bed, he ordered, scolded, and ruled with a rod of iron all the women,
including his wife and daughter, so that they would have thought the leg
and the confinement nothing to what they had to suffer.

He at length had himself conveyed to the sitting-room or the kitchen, as
he pleased, in a great easy-chair; but as he did not satisfy himself
that he was sufficiently obeyed, he one day sent the servant-girl to
fetch him the longest scarlet-bean stick that she could find in the
garden. Armed with this, he now declared that he would have his own
way,--he could reach them now! And, accordingly, there he sate, ordering
and scolding, and, if not promptly obeyed in his most extravagant
commands, not sparing to inflict substantial knocks with his pea-prick,
as he called it. This succeeded so well that he would next have his
chair carried to the door, and survey the state of things without.

"Ay, he knew they were going on prettily. There was fine management, he
was sure, when he was thus laid up. He should be ruined, that was
certain. O, if he could but see the ploughing and the crops,--to see how
they were going on would make the heart of a stone ache, he expected."

His son was a steady young fellow, and, it must be known, was all the
while farming, and carrying on the business much better than he himself
had ever done.

"But he would be with them one of these days, and for the present he
would see his stock at all events."

He accordingly ordered the whole of his stock, his horses, his cows, his
bullocks, his sheep, his calves, his pigs, and poultry, to be all, every
head of them, driven past as he sate at the door. It was like another
naming of the beasts by Adam, or another going up into the Ark. There he
sate, swaying his long stick, now talking to this horse, and now to that
cow. To the old bull he addressed a long speech; and every now and then
he broke off to rate the farm-servants for their neglect of things.
"What a bag of bones was this heifer! What a skeleton was that horse!
Why, they must have been fairly starved on purpose; nay, they must have
been in the pinfold all the time he had been laid up. But he would teach
the lazy rogues a different lesson as soon as he could get about."

And the next thing was to get about in his cart with his bed laid in it.
In this he rode over his farm; and it would have made a fine scene for
Fielding or Goldsmith, to have seen all his proceedings, and heard all
his exclamations and remarks, as he surveyed field after field.

"What ploughing! what sowing! Why, they must have had a crooked plough,
and a set of bandy-legged horses, to plough such ploughing. There was no
more straightness in their furrows than in a dog's hind leg. And then
where had the man flung the seed to? Here was a bit come up, and there
never a bit. It was his belief that they must go to Jericho to find half
of his corn that had been flung away. What! had they picked the windiest
day of all the year to scatter his corn on the air in? And then the
drains were all stopped; the land was drowning, was starving to death;
and where were the hedges all gone to? Hedges he left, but now he only
saw gaps!"

So he went round the farm, and for many a day did it furnish him with a
theme of scolding in the house.

Such was Johnny Darbyshire; and thus he lived for many years. We sketch
no imaginary character, we relate no invented story. Perhaps a more
perfect specimen of the shrewd and clever man converted into the local
and domestic tyrant, by having too much of his own humor, never was
beheld; but the genus to which Johnny Darbyshire belonged is far from
extinct. In the nooks of England there are not a few of them yet to be
found in all their froward glory; and in the most busy cities, though
the great prominences of their eccentricities are rubbed off by daily
concussion with men as hard-headed as themselves, we see glimpses
beneath the polished surface of what they would be in ruder and
custom-freer scenes. The Johnny Darbyshires may be said to be instances
of English independence run to seed.

THE GRIDIRON.

BY SAMUEL LOVER.

A certain old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose love of the
ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was
wont, upon festive occasions, when opportunity offered, to amuse his
friends by _drawing out_ one of his servants, exceedingly fond of what
he termed his "thravels," and in whom, a good deal of whim, some queer
stories, and perhaps, more than all, long and faithful services, had
established a right of loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and
privileged domestics, who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash
thing in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. If the squire
said, "I'll turn that rascal off," my friend Pat would say, "Troth you
won't, sir"; and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon
the "subject-matter in hand," he was sure to throw in some good reason,
either from former services,--general good conduct,--or the delinquent's
"wife and children," that always turned the scale.

But I am digressing: on such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the
master, after making certain "approaches," as a military man would say,
as the preparatory steps in laying siege to some _extravaganza_ of his
servant, might, perchance, assail Pat thus: "By the by, Sir John
(addressing a distinguished guest), Pat has a very curious story, which
something you told me to-day reminds me of. You remember, Pat (turning
to the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to himself),--you
remember that queer adventure you had in France?"

"Troth I do, sir," grins forth Pat.

"What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise, "was Pat ever in
France?"

"Indeed he was," cries mine host; and Pat adds, "Ay, and farther, plaze
your honor."

"I assure you, Sir John," continues my host, "Pat told me a story once
that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French."

"Indeed!" rejoined the baronet; "really, I always supposed the French to
be a most accomplished people."

"Troth, then, they're not, sir," interrupts Pat.

"O, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically.

"I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the Atlantic?" says the
master, turning to Pat with a seductive air, and leading into the "full
and true account"--(for Pat had thought fit to visit _North Amerikay_,
for "a raison he had," in the autumn of the year ninety-eight).

"Yes, sir," says Pat, "the broad Atlantic,"--a favorite phrase of his,
which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself.

"It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad Atlantic, a comin'
home," began Pat, decoyed into the recital; "whin the winds began to
blow, and the sae to rowl, that you'd think the _Colleen Dhas_ (that was
her name), would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her.

"Well, sure enough, the masts went by the board, at last, and the pumps
were choked (divil choke them for that same), and av coorse the water
gained an us; and troth, to be filled with water is neither good for man
or baste; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the sailors call
it; and faith I never was good at settlin' down in my life, and I liked
it then less nor ever; accordingly we prepared for the worst and put out
the boat and got a sack o' bishkits and a cask o' pork, and a kag o'
wather, and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and any other little matthers we
could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor in,--and faith there was no
time to be lost, for, my darlint, the _Colleen Dhas_ went down like a
lump o' lead, afore we wor many sthrokes o' the oar away from her.

"Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a
blanket an the end av a pole as well as we could, and then we sailed
iligant; for we darn't show a stitch o' canvas the night before, bekase
it was blowin' like bloody murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's
the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae.

"Well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two
good-lookin' eyes but the canophy iv heaven, and the wide ocean--the
broad Atlantic--not a thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky; and
though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth
they're no great things when you've nothin' else to look at for a week
together,--and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be
more welkim. And then, soon enough, throth, our provisions began to run
low, the bishkits, and the wather, and the rum--throth _that_ was gone
first of all--God help uz--and oh! it was thin that starvation began to
stare us in the face,--'O, murther, murther, Captain darlint,' says I,
'I wish we could land anywhere,' says I.

"'More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says he, 'for sitch a good
wish, and throth it's myself wishes the same.'

"'Och,' says I, 'that it may plaze you, sweet queen iv heaven, supposing
it was only a _dissolute_ island,' says I, 'inhabited wid Turks, sure
they wouldn't be such bad Christians as to refuse us a bit and a sup.'

"'Whisht, whisht, Paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be talking bad of any
one,' says he; 'you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in
for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world
all of a suddint,' says he.

"'Thrue for you, Captain darlint,' says I--I called him darlint, and
made free with him, you see, bekase disthress makes us all
equal,--'thrue for you, Captain jewel,'--God betune uz and harm, I owe
no man any spite,--and throth that was only thruth. Well, the last
bishkit was sarved out, and by gor the _wather itself_ was all gone at
last, and we passed the night mighty cowld; well, at the brake o' day
the sun riz most beautifully out o' the waves, that was as bright as
silver and as clear as chrystal. But it was only the more cruel upon us,
for we wor beginnin' to feel _terrible_ hungry; when all at wanst I
thought I spied the land,--by gor, I thought I felt my heart up in my
throat in a minit, and 'Thunder an' turf, Captain,' says I, 'look to
leeward,' says I.

"'What for?' says he.

"'I think I see the land,' says I. So he ups with his bring-'em-near
(that's what the sailors call a spy-glass, sir), and looks out, and,
sure enough, it was.

"'Hurra!' says he, 'we're all right now; pull away, my boys,' says he.

"'Take care you're not mistaken,' says I; 'maybe it's only a fog-bank,
Captain darlint,' says I.

"'O no,' says he, 'it's the land in airnest.'

"'O, then, whereabouts in the wide world are we, Captain?' says I;
'maybe it id be in _Roosia_, or _Proosia_, or the Garmant Oceant,' says
I.

"'Tut, you fool,' says he, for he had that consaited way wid
him--thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one else--'tut, you fool,' says
he, 'that's _France_,' says he.

"'Tare an ouns,' says I, 'do you tell me so? and how do you know it's
France it is, Captain dear,' says I.

"'Bekase this is the Bay o' Bishky we're in now,' says he.

"'Throth, I was thinkin' so myself,' says I, 'by the rowl it has; for I
often heerd av it in regard of that same; and throth the likes av it I
never seen before nor since, and, with the help of God, never will.'

"Well, with that, my heart began to grow light; and when I seen my life
was safe, I began to grow twice hungrier nor ever--so, says I, 'Captain
jewel, I wish we had a gridiron.'

"'Why, then,' says he, 'thunder and turf,' says he, 'what puts a
gridiron into your head?'

"'Bekase I'm starvin' with the hunger,' says I.

"'And sure, bad luck to you,' says he, 'you couldn't eat a gridiron,'
says he, 'barrin' you were a _pelican o' the wildherness_,' says he.

"'Ate a gridiron,' says I, 'och, in throth, I'm not such a _gommoch_ all
out as that, anyhow. But sure, if we had a gridiron, we could dress a
beefstake,' says I.

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