by R S Surtees
Emma dressed herself in what she thought her most bewitching attire — white chip bonnet with a bunch of blue flowers inside, and the new blue silk dress she had got for her visit to Donkeyton Castle, with clean white kid gloves, and uncommonly well put on patent leather shoes, and open cotton stockings — so smart, indeed, that she a good deal over-did it for the country. Thus attired, with a blue and white Chinese-shaped parasol over her head, mamma and she repaired to James’s lodgings, to invite him to take tea with them that evening; and if they happened to find him at home, they — or rather Mrs. Flather, for they had a great deal of propriety between them — would ask him to come out and take a walk.
Emma’s dress was not exactly the thing, perhaps, to angle for a tight-laced, sanctified parson in, but then she had higher game in view; and even as it was, we question whether James, with all his sanctity, would not rather give her absolution for looking so bewitching to him, than have had her come down in a little puritanical print, with a Dunstable straw on her head; stiff-backed parsons are but flesh and blood, notwithstanding all their thunder, sulphur, and pretension. It so happened that James was mixing his sulphur for Sunday, and was sitting, as many parsons do, in his back-room, sans neckcloth, in his dressing-gown and slippers; and the stiff tapper of the door not making a greater noise than a crockery vendor or other itinerant merchant might aspire to, he unceremoniously opened it himself, and stood before the beauty and her mamma in all the homeliness of that comfortable costume.
The parson blushed to find himself in such a situation, but the offer of Emma’s soft ungloved hand, and the bewitching beauty of her smile, put all straight, and drove her right back in his affections. He very soon had on a stiff white starcher, his best black coat and waistcoat, Wellington boots, Sunday hat, and — we blush to add — a pair of lavender-coloured kid gloves. Altogether he was a very passable swell.
Mother and daughter then joined arms, and the mid-day sun being obscured by a passing cloud, Emma put down her parasol, and turned the whole battery of her attractions upon the young parson — now trotting by her side. Her eyes glistened, her alabaster complexion assumed a slight roseate hue, her pearly teeth shone resplendent between her cherry lips; and she really looked remarkably handsome and kissable. The poor parson was vanquished — he forgot all her transgressions; all her cold looks, all her stiff bows, all her iniquitous piano-playing, all her still more flagrant dereliction in dancing. We really believe he could not have refused to dine with them off hot meat the next Sunday. Allpowerful womankind!
Thus they proceeded towards the village of Hillingdon, and as they turned down the street, and Emma’s vivacity was at its height, and her countenance more than usually brilliant — for hers was a beauty that required lighting up — who should they meet but the “Hall” party progress-upwards, as already described. Nothing could be better.
They met with all the extra ardour of people cordially detesting each other. Mrs. Jorrocks was so werry sorry Mrs. Flather couldn’t come (never having asked her); and Mrs. Flather was as much obliged to Mrs. Jorrocks for her kindness in thinking of her; and Mrs. Trotter smiled as she ‘ looked at the Marquis and her daughter; and Emma clung to the parson, as she greeted his lordship with the freedom of an old friend. Altogether it was a most charming business-like meeting; and if each had not the satisfaction of thinking they had “done” the other, at all events they had the gratification of feeling they had done their best to attempt it.
The sequel is soon told. The next day the Marquis’s brougham was seen standing at Mrs. Flather’s door, and no sooner was it gone than Mrs. Flather went down the “town” to tell Mrs. Trotter and Mrs. Jorrocks in “confidence, to go no further of course, for Emma wouldn’t like to have it mentioned,” — that she had reason to think the Marquis was about to become her son-in-law; while Mrs. Trotter was busy paying a similar visit to the Manse, “urged by a strong sense of what was due between friends,” to make Mrs. Flather acquainted with a similar conviction on her part.
The post-mistress observed that the Hillingdon letter-bag was fuller than usual that evening.
CHAPTER XIX.
HE’S A JUSTICE of peace in his country, simple though I stand here.”
— SHAKSPEARE.
“The remainder of the crown was settled on the heirs of the Princess Sophia, the Electress of Hanover; but what this remainder was, when some one else had got it all, we leave our arithmetically-disposed readers to calculate.” — Punch’s “Comic Blackstone.” the Marquis’s arrival at home, he reported so favourably of the Jorrockses and the pleasure he had derived from his visit to Hillingdon Hall, that the Duke and Duchess of Donkeyton were quite taken with their conduct. They made no doubt they were most worthy respectable people, with considerable influence. A few days afterwards Mr. Jorrocks, received the following note from his Grace: —
“DEAR SIR, — I beg to return Mrs. Jorrocks and yourself the Duchess of Donkeyton’s and my thanks for your attention to the Marquis of Bray, who I assure you feels extremely gratified by his visit to Hillingdon Park.
“In looking at the arrangements of the county, I see there is no magistrate in your immediate neighbourhood since the lamented death of Mr. Westbury; and it occurred to me that it might perhaps be agreeable to you, and beneficial to the public service, if you were placed in the Commission of the Peace. Should it be so, and you will have the kindness to notify such your desire to me, I beg to say I shall have great pleasure in submitting your name for the approval of the Lord Chancellor. “With the repeated expression of our thanks,; and with the Duchess’s and my compliments to Mrs. Jorrocks, I remain, dear sir, yours very obediently,— “DONKEYTON, “Donkeyton Castle.
“G. JORROCKS, ESQ., Hillingdon Park.”
Joy shows itself in various ways. Some people run and kiss their wives, some shout, some sing, some dance, some cry, some kick their hat-crowns out, some get blazing drunk, some throw money about, while a few fall on their knees and return thanks.
Mr. Jorrocks’s joy generally went off in a few clumsy pirouettes on alternate legs, and then a sudden subsidence into contemplative reflection in his great arm-chair. Our friend having indulged in a few of his usual antics, sunk, letter in hand, into its roomy recesses, and gave his memory a refresher through the bygone days of life.
He then rang the bell for Benjamin.
“Binjimin,” said he, as soon as the latter appeared, with his usual hang-gallows countenance, for he had just been robbing the larder; “Binjimin,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, not knowing exactly how to begin, “Binjimin,” said he, for the third time, “greatness has come down upon me this mornin’ in a shower — a regular clothes-basketful of honour.”
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin.
“That great man, the Duke o’ Donkeyton, has appointed me one of Her Majesty’s jestices o’ the peace.”
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin.
“And, Binjimin, you have always been an honest, sober, meritorious, and industrious servant, and wirtue shall not be its own reward in your case — I’ll make you my clerk.”
“Crikey O!” exclaimed Benjamin, clapping his dirty hands.
“But,” said Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing his dirty paws, “now that you will ‘ave to do with pen and ink and wite paper, you must contrive to keep your hands clean.”
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin.
“Also your mug,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin.
“And talking of mugs,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “now that we are worshipful, it becomes us to be grave and respectable-lookin’. You are goin’ to be adwanced to a post of honour and distinction above your years, therefore it will be necessary to endeavour to make your years come up to the post, as the post will not come down to your years. I shall therefore get you a Welsh wig, and a pair of green specs, also an usher’s gown, so that when you sit below me in the justice-room, you may have an imposin’ and wenerable appearance, and may awe the waggabones by your looks.”
“I think a big vip would be better,” observed Benjamin, not relishing being made a guy of.
“A big vip’s a good thing in its way, Binjimin,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “but a wig’s the thing for strikin’ awe into the be older. It’s an old sayin’, that there were ten men ‘ung for every inch they curtailed in the judges’ wigs. Howsomever, you must wear one,” observed Mr. Jorrocks determinedly, and Benjamin, knowing it was no use resisting, quietly withdrew, to communicate his elevation to Betsey, leaving his master ruminating in his arm-chair.
Joshua Sneakington was next sent for, and after somewhat of a similar prologue, was invested with the order of constable — an order exceedingly to his mind, as it gave him legal authority to bully the township.
Our old friend, Bill Bowker, was next written to, with similar information, and a request that he would rummage the book-stalls for a second-hand copy of Burn, Mr. Jorrocks being determined to do justice in the old-fashioned way — substantial justice — every man his own clerk. Bill was still touring for the “League,” on a “diminishing-influence salary.” But we have forgotten to give Mr. Jorrocks’s reply to the Duke. It was as follows: —
“MY LORD DUKE, — I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your agreeable letter, and note the contents. I will not, my Lord Duke, indulge in the episcopal language of mock ‘umility, and say, ‘ nolo beakopari,’ but I will use the language of J. J., and say, I shall be werry much obleged to your Lordship to make me a beak. I looks upon a beak as the greatest of men! He says ‘ to number a hundred and one, ‘You go and catch me a waggabone,’ and forthwith he grabs a man called John Brown. ‘Now, John,’ says his worship, ‘you’re an interminable rogue, you’ve been arter my fizzants and my ‘ares, and I’ll transport you to all eternity.’ Then he axes him what he has got for to say; and John tells his story, and his worship orders him off to the ‘ulks. But I need not inform your Grace of all the greatness that belongs to the grand order of beak; how they sit with their hats on, how they order people out o’ court, and how they return thanks for their healths at farmers’ dinners, and expound the grand duties and dignities of beaks. All this I shall be most happy to do, and, therefore, not to trouble your Grace unnecessarily on the subject, I shall only add, that the sooner you makes me a beak, the sooner I shall begin to ‘execute jestice and maintain truth.’ Not that I thinks the truth will be werry easily maintained, for, betwixt you and I and the wall, people lie uncommon ‘ard when they can get anything by it. Howsomever, never mind that: and so with the respectful compliments of Mrs. Jorrocks and myself to her Grace and the Marquis, I have the honour to subscribe myself, my Lord Duke, yours to serve,
“JOHN JORROCKS, not G. JORROCKS.
“HILLINGDON HALL, not PARK.”
The Duke was rather shocked when he got this epistle, for though he knew Mr. Jorrocks was not very refined, still he did not expect finding him making such a “hash” of himself upon paper. However, the mischief was done; he had offered to make him a magistrate, and could not now back out without giving offence. Moreover, Mr. Jorrocks was a Whig.
In due time an intimation arrived from the Clerk of the Peace that Her Majesty had been pleased to approve of the insertion of Mr. Jorrocks’s name in the Commission of the Peace, and that he could take the oaths at any adjourned session, if he would give the Clerk a week’s notice. Accordingly, our hero returned answer that he was ready to take the oaths immediately, and would attend at the next sessions for the purpose.
Mr. Jorrocks, many years before, ere fame had marked him for her own, had been “hauled up,” as the saying is, for a little poaching trespass, and had imbibed his first impression of a county justice from the one before whom he was taken, or rather before whom the case was ultimately tried at the Croydon Sessions, for our hero appealed against the original conviction. From this suburban beak — Mr. Tomkins of Tomkins, near Croydon — Mr. Jorrocks drew his first impression what a solemn magistrate should be like, and, overhauling his wardrobe, our worthy friend converted himself as near as he could into the prototype of his great original. First, he floured his wig — powder he would not use, because he had no notion of being taxed for his consequence; and he gave his blue coat collar a dash behind, as though it had been done by the rolling of a pig-tail. His blue coat and buff waistcoat were both his best, and a pair of antediluvian leather breeches, much cut and slashed about the waist and knees, met a pair of exceedingly scratched mahogany tops, adorned with a pair of heavy lacklustre spurs. Thus attired, with Benjamin in a suit of plain clothes, converted out of some of his master’s cast-offs, beside him, and Joshua Sneakington, in his Sunday apparel, in the seat behind, magistrate, clerk, and constable set off for the ancient town of Sellborough, in the old rattle-trap fire-engine-looking carriage, drawn by Mr. Jorrocks’s horse, the renowned Dickey Cobden.
Sellborough, as its name would imply, was formerly a parliamentary borough; but having had the misfortune of being Schedule A’d, it had lost a considerable part of its commerce and consequence. It was a drowsy-looking place — a wide, scrambling sort of town, forming something like a square, with little off-shoot streets, starting off in all directions. There were two churches and two parsonage-houses, enclosed with high walls, among trees, and the usual sort of store-shops — grocers selling ribbons and British wines, booksellers dealing in candles and confectionery, and milliners in soap and crockery-ware. Trade there was none, save on a market day, and that was purely agricultural produce, varied, perhaps, by an itinerant hawker and pedlar pitching his cart and selling his edgeless knives and pointless needles — pointless as his jokes — by auction. It had also its two inns — Whig and Tory — which was about the only vestige of the “good old times” that remained. The “Duke’s Head,” of course, was the Whig house — the “Crown and Sceptre” the Tory. We need hardly say the “Duke’s Head” was the Duke of Donkeyton’s, for as in London there is but “one Duke,” so in the’ country the “Duke’s Head” always denotes the caput of the great man of the district. The “Duke’s Head” was then in the ascendant, as appeared by the newly-painted green window-shutters, and a booted postboy lounging about the door in conversation with a crooked-legged ostler. It is very odd how many hangers-on there are about inns with a leg on a curve. Mr. Jorrocks’s rattle-trap, bumping and jingling over the grass-grown cobble-stone pavement, drew countless ringlets to the windows, a noise of any sort being a real godsend to the young ladies of Sellborough, who were terribly moped. A race and a new-year’s-eve ball were all the gaiety they could raise in the year, and men were lamentably scarce. This is generally the case in towns without trade; the young men leave them as soon as they are fledged in search of more bustling places, from whence they are seldom suffered to return — single.
The Court-House was in the centre of the town, raised on stone pillars above the old shambles of the market-place — a place containing, perhaps, a dozen stalls; and hither our hero repaired, after he had seen Dickey Cobden put up, attended by his suite.
The Court was in full flower when Mr. Jorrocks entered. The Chairman, a red-hot Tory, sat with his hat on, with three brother Tories on his right, and a solitary Whig on his left. This was Captain Bluster, a most unpalatable magistrate, who had thrown the Tory bench into convulsions when he appeared, about a year before, to take the oaths. There is nothing so sensitive as a bench of magistrates. With the exception of those who take their seats as a matter of course, and who elevate the office, rather than the office elevating them, the envy, jealousy, and detraction that take place on the appearance of a newcomer is truly ridiculous. Each questionable occupant man feels himself personally injured — lowered. Gentlemen who were scouted when they came, now scout with double vigour in return.
Captain Bluster was a fine instance of the scouting principle. All eyes were turned up with horror when he came. It was a downright insult to the bench. The Lord-Lieutenant must wish to drive all gentlemen from it. Captain Bluster! — late master of a trader — now dealer in “pigs, treacle
, and all other game,” as the song says, to be forced upon them — it was not to be borne. They would all resign.
We wonder how many benches have threatened to do the same? —
However, Captain Bluster was not to be put down. Indeed, he was one of those coarse-minded, hard-bitten, vulgar beggars, that cannot understand any coolness short of a kick, and had horrified the Sellborough bench so by his forward impudence, that several had left it altogether, and the Captain seemed likely to have it all to himself, when the Lord-Lieutenant intimated that he should be obliged to make some more magistrates if they did not pull better together. This had the desired effect, and the Tory tide was on the return, when Mr. Jorrocks again raised the storm.
If a man goes into Guildhall — at a session, for instance — he cannot help being struck with the resemblance there is among the loose purple-robed, white-faced, flabby, live turtle looking things ranged on each side of the chair, called Aldermen or Common Councilmen, that all look as if they were made in the same mould and a similar resemblance runs through mankind generally, breaking them into classes. There was a strong sort of likeness between Mr. Jorrocks and Captain Bluster — so strong, that any one at a glance would say, “Those men are of the same breed.” Not that they were like when you came to compare their faces, but the style and general appearance were the same; the same bull heads, the same big broad backs, the same great clumsy limbs, the same manner, or want of manner. In point of looks, Mr. Jorrocks bad the advantage, the twinkle of his cheerful eye and humorous expression of his countenance giving an air of good nature to his face; while Captain Bluster’s coarse bristly-red hair, stiff scrubbing-brush-looking whiskers under his chin, freckled face, ferrety eyes, broad, flat-ended, snub nose, and thick-lipped mouth, gave him a very bull-dog sort of air. The general harshness of his appearance was heightened by a blue coat and metal buttons, ugly spotted waistcoat on a buff ground, blue trousers, and “high-lows.”
