by R S Surtees
“How is’t, Tom?”
“Good day, Mr. Brown.”
“Hope you’re well, Mr. Green.”
“How’s the missis?” Then the cross-table was scrutinised. “There’s Mr. Lumpington,” said one. “Who’s that next Mr. Patterson?” inquired another. “Oh, that is Mr. Smith of Grittleton,” replied a third. “No, not him; the gentleman on the other side, with the figured-velvet coat on.”
“Oh! I don’t know him; he’s a stranger.”
“Mr. Wopstraw,” continued the last spokesman, stretching back towards the next table, “can you tell us who that is on Mv. Grittleton’s left?”
“On Mr. Grittleton’s left?” repeated Mr. Wopstraw, very deliberately, his eye turning slowly towards the crosstable;— “upon the who-o-ole I should say it was Mr.
Jorrocks.”
“Oh, that’s Mr. Jorrocks, is it?” exclaimed the inquirer, recovering his equilibrium to communicate the intelligence at his own table; “it’s Mr. Jorrocks,” observed he, “the owner of the White Bull.”
“Is that him?” exclaimed half-a-dozen voices; and in a very short time Mr. Jorrocks had the eyes of the majority of the meeting upon him.
From this he was relieved by grace, followed by the Chairman rising to propose the health of the Queen.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I rise to propose to you the health of our gracious Queen (cheers); I am satisfied that in this company your loyalty will induce you to drink the toast with every honour (loud cheers). But, in addition to your loyalty, you cannot forget that in drinking the health of your Sovereign, you are drinking the health of a youthful Queen, who, as a wife and a mother, has in the highest station set the brightest example of domestic virtue. Gentlemen, I give you the Queen, upstanding, and three times three.” The toast was received with the loudest cheering.
“The next toast on my list,” said he, “is the health of His Royal Highness Prince Albert. In addition to the high station he holds as consort to the Queen, and the popularity he has gained since his arrival in this country, he has a claim on our affections as the ardent promoter of agriculture.” (Cheers.)
The Chairman then gave the toast, which was drunk with three times three.
The third toast was, “The health of the Prince of Wales,” whose high breeding, the Chairman thought, would be allowed by agriculturists to give fair promise of future renown.
“Queen Adelaide, and the rest of the royal family,” then, with similar honours. Then came “The Army and Navy,” and “The Bishop and Clergy of the Diocese,” for which latter toast the Rector of St. Boswell returned thanks.
The Chairman then rose to propose “Success to the St. Boswell Agricultural Association.” After congratulating the company on the excellence of the cattle show, the number of competitors for premiums, and the large attendance of yeomanry and farmers, he observed that in days like the present, when they had foreigners to compete with, British farmers must depend chiefly upon the excellence of their breed of cattle, and every exertion ought to be made to produce the greatest possible quantity of consumable food from the land; but when he saw the great improvements which had been effected and were in progress, he felt they might exclaim in the words of a homely saying—” Who’s afraid?” (Cheers.) He trusted the St. Boswell Agricultural Association would long flourish and prosper, because he was convinced an increase of agricultural skill and industry was of vital consequence to the country, and identified with the maintenance of its independence and happiness. Meetings like the present, where a number of persons whose interests were identical, were assembled in social intercourse — the enterprising farmer and the honest, industrious labourer — must produce good results (loud cheers). He heartily wished well to agriculture; it was an art in which he took great pleasure — a pursuit dignified in every age by being practised or encouraged by men in the highest rank and of the highest talent. He concluded by giving “Prosperity to the St. Boswell Agricultural Association,” and sat down amidst loud cheering.
The Chairman then announced that he should call upon the Secretary to read the report of the committee on the transactions of the past year, and then the awards of the judges for the present one.
On hearing this, Mr. Jorrocks immediately found himself on a seat of thorns, on which the worthy gentleman continued to recline during the infliction of a somewhat lengthy document. It glanced at all the transactions of the year — ploughing, hedging, reaping, cattle-show, sheep-show, horse-show, pig-show — and how the Society, though flourishing, would be better for a little more money; all of which was listened to with that impatient inattention that usually characterises meetings anxious to get to the point.
At length the Secretary concluded, and after wetting his whistle with a mouthful of hot port, he drew a document from his pocket, and announced that he would now proceed to read the awards of the judges of the present show.
Mr. Jorrocks bit his lips, and squeezed his hands till he sent all the blood to his fingers’ ends.
The Secretary, however, with painful prolixity, took another sip of “black strap,” and gave two or three hems that did not seem to satisfy him, for he took out a great blue-silk pocket-handkerchief, and having unfolded it very deliberately, and ascertained the exact centre, blew his nose with a long and melodious blow.
He then began reading. “The following are the awards of the judges,” said he, unfolding a long slip of manuscript. “For the best bull of any age, above two years, five entries, Mr. Johnson, ten sovereigns.”
Mr. Jorrocks’s countenance fell five-and-twenty per cent. “He may have got the second, however,” grunted he.
The Secretary again read—” For the best bull under two years of age, seven entered, five sovereigns, Mr. Grumbleton.” (Applause followed this announcement.)
Mr. Jorrocks tried to look unconcerned, and, in doing so, knocked a glass of port into his lap.
The Secretary then proceeded with his light reading, showering sovereigns upon the owners of cows, and heifers, and calves, and tups, and lambs, and ewes, boars, sows, and cottagers’ pigs, each announcement being followed by more or less applause. At length he got through his list.
The Chairman then rose to perform what he said was to him one of the most gratifying tasks of the day — namely, proposing the healths of “The Successful Candidates.” He had attended many meetings in St. Boswell — almost every meeting that had taken place — and he could safely say that each succeeding one outstripped its predecessor in the number and value of the stock, and he felt confident they would go on improving until their shows would be second to none in the kingdom. He concluded by proposing the healths of “The Successful Candidates.”
After a long pause, caused by the successful candidates waiting for the head prize-man, Mr. Johnson, to return thanks for the body, Mr. Grumbleton at length rose, and was followed by the representatives of cows, tups, heifers, calves, lambs, ewes, &c., all standing and looking as solemn as judges. Thank God! farmers are no orators. They are almost the only class exempt from the curse of eloquence. They say what they’ve got to say, and are done with it, instead of yammering and “honourable friend-ing,”
“honourable gentleman-ing,” and moving, seconding, amending, using all the jargon of Parliament, in fact. Mr. Grumbleton dribbled out what he had to say, and all the homed and other cattle were speedily in their seats again.
The Chairman having filled a bumper, held it up before him, and called upon the company to imitate his example. Those who drank wine having complied with his request, and those who drank spirit having replenished their glasses, the Chairman again rose to address them. “I call,” he said, “for a bumper, for two reasons: first, because the toast I am about to propose is one where a little consolation and encouragement is required; and, secondly, because in that toast is included a gentleman whose name is famous throughout the universe” — [“That’s me,” observed Mr. Jorrocks aloud to himself]— “and who has honoured us with his presence, for the first time, this day.”
— [“I said so,” said Mr. Jorrocks, jingling his money in his breeches-pocket. All eyes sought out the great unknown.]—” Gentlemen,” continued the Chairman, “the toast I have to propose to your notice is that of ‘The Unsuccessful Candidates’ (applause). I could wish that at the first appearance among us of a gentleman so distinguished in many enterprising undertakings, we could have had the satisfaction of drinking the health of Mr. Jorrocks as a successful candidate” — [“Indeed, so do I,” observed our friend aloud to himself, with a deep sigh and a shake of the head — an observation that elicited a laugh from those who heard it]—” but,” continued the Chairman, “it is not for mortals to command success, though I am sure all of you who witnessed the noble animals our distinguished guest exhibited this day — [“I’d only one,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, adding, “and that was one too many”]—” I should say, gentlemen, those of you who saw the noble animals our distinguished guest and the rest of the unsuccessful competitors exhibited here this day, will readily admit that they deserved success” — [“The judges were all wrong,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks aloud to himself; “wouldn’t give tuppence a dozen for such fellows”] — and in drinking their healths I am sure you will cordially join me in wishing one and all ‘ better luck next time.’”
The toast was drunk amidst great applause, Mr. Jorrocks sticking his legs out before him, and looking very like having taken the rest.
A considerable pause ensued, all eyes being anxiously turned on the “lion of the day.” Mr. Jorrocks, however, didn’t seem at all inclined to acknowledge the compliment, and crossed one leg over the other, as much as to say—” Some one else may return thanks.” How long this humour might have prevailed is uncertain, had not a familiar voice, exclaiming, “Now then, ard man!” in a cheering tone, risen above the knockings of knives and forks and the clatter of glasses and spoons.
“That’s James Pigg!” observed Mr. Jorrocks aloud ‘Turned sulky. to himself, with a start that brought him on to his legs to see where his misleader was. “‘Rot him,” added he, “it was him wot did all the mischief.” Loud cheering followed this movement, which Mr. Jorrocks acknowledged with his usual affability. Better humour returned with the restoration of silence.
“Mr. Chairman and gentlemen,” at length said he, looking uncommonly wise, and dancing his glass about among the biscuit crumbs before him—” Mr. Chairman and gentlemen,” repeated he, “if I was to say that I am gratified at the result of this day’s exhibition, I should be tellin’ you an uncommon crammer — I shall not do no such thing — I’m not the man to thank you, for nothin’ (laughter and applause). On the contrary, I’ll candidly confess, that I’m quite down in the mouth at the result of this day’s show — I’m mortified to think that my quadruped — my noble quadruped — my beloved quadruped — should not appear in your eyes wot he does in mine.” — [“Weall done, ould ‘un!” exclaimed James Pigg, tapping his oaken staff against the table, adding, with a shake of the head, “Sink him, he can jaw a bit.”]—” It would, indeed, have been a proud feather in my cap,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “if I had carried the prize back to my shop, and been hailed as the wictor at this great gatherin’ (applause). Not as I cares for the money — oh no! it’s the honour I look to.” — [“Sink the honour!” exclaimed Pigg, “the brass is the thing!”]—” It’s the unsullied reputation of that spotless ball — that milk-white beautiful critter” — (Here Mr. Jorrocks’s voice faltered, and he was apparently overcome by his feelings.)
“Haud up, ard ‘un! haud up!” exclaimed Pigg cheeringly, amid the applause and shouts of the company.
“‘Old your noise!” replied Mr. Jorrocks, with a shake of the head, looking very indignantly towards the spot from whence the voice proceeded; for the dense volleys of smoke that now filled the tent, and a large pot of flowers and evergreens behind which Pigg ducked, screened him from his master’s view. Mr. Jorrocks was quite put out.
“Well,” said he, after the applause that was raised to give him time to collect himself had subsided—” well,” said he, “it’s no use botherin’ about the matter. I ve not gained the prize, and the loss is yours as well as mine. I had as fine, hoiley an oration as ever was uttered, all ready to let off in case I had won; but I’ll candidly tell you, losin’ was not taken into my kalkilation: if it had, I would not have come here (laughter and applause). You may laugh,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, “and I makes no doubt them as laughs have won; but I can tell you it’s no jokin’ matter, cornin’ swelterin”ere as I’ve done this ‘ot day. But, if there’s any of you gen’lmen,” looking at the unsuccessful upstanders, “wot would like to disembogue anything, I’ll not stand atwixt you and the chair.” So saying, our friend soused himself into his seat again.
Mr. Jorrocks having delivered himself of his speech, the curiosity of the meeting seemed a good deal subsided, and the landlord of the inn who supplied the entertainment having made his appearance for orders, there was a considerable tendency exhibited for ardent spirits, and rum, and brandy, and gin, and Hollands were loudly called for from all quarters, the demand being occasionally accompanied by an order for a pipe. Great good-fellowship appeared to prevail, especially at the lower end of the tent, where Pigg’s voice was frequently loudly conspicuous. James was entertaining his auditors with wonderful accounts of farming in the north, and particularly the farming of his cousin Deavilboger’s land, which, from his account, was a perfect model farm. His auditors entertained him with spirit in return, and as each glass went down, James’s voice became louder. The Chairman having run through the usual routine of toasts, rested a little on his oars, and all tongues were gradually let loose into one general cry. Wheat, and beans, and rum, and cattle, and whisky, and baccy, and barley, and pigs, and sheep, and turnips, and tares, and long horns, and short horns, and protection societies, and corn-law leagues: all sorts of farming and agricultural concerns were severally discussed.
Even those fertile subjects seemed to fail at last, and the noise slackened till it gradually died down, and Pigg’s and half-a-dozen other voices were the only ones that kept going. Mr. Jorrocks sat comforting himself with a bottle of uncommon strong port, fresh from the wood. At length the Chairman rose to announce that the Rev. Mr. Prosey Slooman would favour the company with the result of his experiments with guano upon turnips.
“Sink your guarno! Muck’s your man!” exclaimed Pigg, at the top of his voice — an assertion that caused a roar of laughter throughout the meeting, and somewhat disconcerted Mr. Prosey Slooman, who kept fumbling about in his pockets for his spectacles, while he had them on his nose all the time. At length he ascertained where they were, and having lowered them, he proceeded to unfold a very bulky bale of manuscript, that caused an involuntary shudder among those who were acquainted with his tedious prolixity. Slooman being on the best of terms with himself, coughed and hemmed and stroked his chin, and looked complacently around, as much as to say, “I am Sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips let no dog bark.” He was a little, bristly-headed, badger-pyed, pedantic, radical schoolmaster, who farmed his own glebe, and managed matters somewhat in the style of the celebrated Wackford Squeers, frequently recreating the boys with a little work on the farm. He was a great turnip and root grower, which the ill-natured world said were largely consumed in the house, as well as in the fold-yard. Mr. Prosey Slooman had given the boys a whole holiday’s work on the farm that day, in order that he might inflict his tediousness on the assembled farmers at St. Boswell. Having somewhat recovered from the unwonted interruption occasioned by Pigg’s exclamation, he gradually screwed his coarse features into a self-complacent smile, and proceeded to address the meeting.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “after the very flattering appeal that has been made to me by our distinguished Chairman — a gentleman not less remarkable for his urbanity than for his scientific acquirements — I cannot hesitate for one moment in complying with his request, backed, as it appears to be, by the unanimous wish of this enlightened assembly. I cannot, I say, hesitate in
laying before you, as shortly and succinctly as the extensiveness of the subject, and the humble talents with which nature has endowed me, will allow, the very important — I might almost say, nationally interesting — experiments I have made upon the valuable, and, to farmers, never-to-be-sufficiently-appreciated agricultural production called turnips, with various kinds of manures and compositions — particularly guano — upon different soils.” Mr. Slooman paused, in expectation of applause; but a dead silence prevailed, save a slight noise at the low end of the tent, caused by Pigg’s drinking off his neighbour’s brandy — as he said, in mistake for his own — an awkward mistake, as his glass happened to be empty.
“Gentlemen,” continued Mr. Slooman, taking off the top layer of the ponderous pile of papers, and pompously unfolding it, “my first experiment was with an acre of globe-turnips with one hundred pounds of guano.”
“Sink your guarno! I fuck’s your man!” again roared Pigg, to the convulsion of the company.
“Silence!” exclaimed Slooman, with flashing eye-balls, “or I’ll” —
He would have said “flog you,” but returning presence of mind saved him. —
“Order! order! pray keep order, gentlemen!” interposed the Chairman.
“It’s that beggar Pigg,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, helping himself to a bumper of port; “doesn’t seem to care a copper for the misery he’s brought upon me.”
