occasion to mention hereafter; at present I proceed with the tour, on which, for a day or two, I had him for a companion. It did not last longer, and our very first rencontre showed how little he was fitted to extract interest from common accidents, and made me think of the loss of both Willoughby and Blythfield with greater regret. SECTION XVI. A VILLAGE PHILOSOPHER. "O! this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a babe, CYMBELINE. NoT far from Marlborough we were joined by a ruddy-faced man, in what is called good case. He had a good corporation; wore a good coat, good hat, and good boots; carried a whip, the handle of which was embossed with silver; and altogether had an air of plenty and contended importance, which denoted happiness,-the object of my search. He saluted us, which was of course returned; but, to Fawknor's evident horror, he began to be eloquent upon the weather, the price of corn, and of flannel; the Game and Poor Laws; and various other usual and legitimate subjects which bring people together when jogging on the same high-road, without the necessity of introduction. Poor Fawknor could not conceal his annoyance; which was not lessened by perceiving that I was rather disposed to encourage than check the intrusion; and he entreated me in French to get rid of our companion, coûte qui coûte. But we had to do with a stout yeoman, who would not so easily be evaded; and who, moreover, had a curiosity, seeing our grooms and portmanteaus, to know who we were, whither bound, and where from. His first questions were to Fawknor, from whose predetermined silence he could extract nothing; so he betook himself to me. "Fine doings last night, Sir, at the ball!" "Yes! were you there?" "No; but I allowed my daughter to go with a cousin of her's, who lives in the town, and she gave me a comical account." "I should like to know what," said I, which made Fawknor look moody. "Why, she said there were two or three great families that rather spoilt it at first, for that the small ones did not know how to proceed-no how-till they all got jumbled together; and then it did pretty well; but that it would have been better if they had been all great, or all little. To which," says I, "there you are right, my girl; for it's always awkward and unlucky when people, whether high or low, don't know, or don't keep to their places." "That shows a great deal of observation on your part," said I. "Why, I thank God," replied he, "I can look as far into a millstone as another; and I can generally find out who are content, and who not, with what they are about." "I am glad to think," said I, "from your appearance, that you are one of the contented." "I have no reason to be otherwise," returned he; "the world has gone pretty well with me, and I pretty well with the world; and I generally find, that where people are discontented with their lot, it is pretty much their own fault-they are either too high or too low for their callings." "Good, again," said I, "and I suppose you have practical proof of it." "Why, there is our rector," he returned, ("you will pass through the parish about a mile farther;) he is very good, and learned, and I believe deserves a much better living, or a deanery, and, indeed, is already a king's chaplain; but all this makes him, I fear, above our poor place. Then on t'other side, he has got a poor curate, very good, too, in his way, but, I think, not good enough to be a teacher and a preacher. In short, though humility is a fine thing, particularly in a clergyman, I don't like to see a divine hale-fellowwell-met with the driver of a dung-cart, or higler, and going about as shabby and dirty as they; a thing indeed, God help them! which they cannot prevent, but he can." "All this is very true," I observed, "and no doubt your village profits by your good sense. I wish all gentlemen who reside in the country were like you." "I am no gentleman," replied he, bowing, however, at the compliment, which, for the first time, produced something like interest in my companion; and, as I looked surprised, our new acquaintance went on: "No! I will not pretend to be what I am not. That would contradict all my maxims I have just laid down. No! I am no gentleman, but, as I am classed in the jury summonses, a yeoman,-being, in fact, a farmer, and, thank God, well to do; and Dr. Courtown, our rector, is not above consulting me on all parish business, and sometimes of things higher than that." "Politics, I suppose," said I, "as all the world are now politicians." "You have hit it, Sir." "And what may be your's and the Doctor's?" I asked." "Why, pretty much what we have been talking of: every man in his place, and then no danger of being tumbled down, but all in order. I have often proved this of an evening, at the Fighting Cocks, where we have sometimes a friendly meeting,-by asking my brother-farmers what we should do if every ploughman was to be master, or angry that he was not so." "That, I suppose, was admitted by all?" "Not quite," returned he; "for when the curate is there, he has a strange, wild notion, that all should take it in turn, and be sometimes master, sometimes servant." "And no doubt," added I, "sometimes rectors, sometimes curates." "Wits jump," observed my companion, with some glee, "for that's precisely what I tell him; and then I get a laugh against him, but no animosity." "You seem," said I, "to be very happy in your village. Your neighbours and yourself, and what you recount, are better than many ambitious scenes in higher life." "Yet I own," said he, "I am not without ambition; only it's in my own way, and within my own compass: if I went out of that, I should perhaps be, and deserve it too, one of the discontented. But I had a wise father, God rest him, though not a rich one; and when I was a mere lad he gave me a lesson about climbing above my reach, which I never forgot, though the cause of it was trumpery enough. But it made me observe, that wise people can draw instruction out of almost nothing." "May we not know your lesson?" said I. "It will, perhaps, not amuse you," returned he; "but it was this: I had been used to wear a snug, flat cap, with which I could run in and out of our low door without stopping or stooping. All of a sudden I took to want a high-crowned hat, for no other reason than that the 'Squire's steward's son, about my own age, had one. My father objected, because he said I was not used to it, and it would not suit me in my work. got it, however, and the very first day I wore it, running as usual, quick through the door-way, I encountered a cross-beam, which gave me a sad knock on the head, split my hat in two, and laid me senseless on the ground. There, Dick,' said my father, when I came to myself, 'did I not tell you that a high crown, to one I not used to it, was always an evil?' The blow on my head was soon forgotten, but my father's observation, never. Still I think ambition not a bad thing, if we are not like the frog in the fable, and do not long for things out of our reach." "And pray," asked I, "may I know the nature of your ambition?" "You see, barring "No objection," returned he. the rector, and I think I ought to say the curate, seeing that he is in holy orders, though I feel equal to him in argument, and far better off as to the world: I am, I may say, at the top of the parish." "Is there no 'Squire?" "Yes; but he scarcely ever comes near us-never to the Fighting Cocks. Now, there, though I do not push for it, they all seem to think I ought to be the first (indeed, I pay far the largest rent of all); and no one will take the great leather arm-chair in the room behind the bar, till they know whether I am coming or not; and this I know they do, because I do not pretend to it as my right; and whenever the Rev. Mr. Codling the curate comes, I give it up to him, though I may have been seated half an hour. This I do according to my maxim I have mentioned, of every one to his place, and not beyond it." "But should the 'Squire chance to come?" said I. "He would be immediately put in the chair, and we glad to do it, but there is no chance of it at all." "Why?" "His Lady says it is vulgar; and yet even she might be the better for knowing how to keep her place." "Pray who was she?" "The daughter of old Grains the brewer, at Marlborough; as good a man as ever stepped. But though the match was thought great for her, and at first she was very contented, yet ever since Lady Grandborough has visited her, they say she has been unhappy; for though she turned off all her old tradesmen at Marlborough, and had every thing from London, she says Felix Hall can never be like Grandborough. Now, I |