CHAPTER VII.

We barbarously call those blessed,
Who are of largest tenements possessed,
While swelling coffers break their owner's rest.
More truly happy those that can

Govern the little empire-Man ;

Bridle their passions, and direct their will
Thro' all the glittering paths of charming ill.

STEPNEY.

THE effect of Sir Andrew's absence from Dorrington was such as might be expected upon a village which depended so much on him for employment and supply: The humble and the aged no longer received a daily portion of the broken victuals: the infirm and sick were no longer visited in their turn by Miss Julia; nor the lowly and industrious cottagers cheered by the smiles

and bounty of the " great folks," as they might accidentally chance to pass. A sort of inanity had taken possession of the minds of the inhabitants of the village no news was discussed with the zest and friendly violence of opinion which denoted the enjoyment of domestic ease and comfort. If one tenant might chance to encounter another, a mere enquiry was all that passed between them, such as "have ye heard how Sir Andrew is getting on at London?" which being replied to according to the best of the individual's knowledge, they passed on without farther parley, unlike former meetings, which ended invariably with an adjournment to Charlie Davies's, at the Red Lion, where an argument, started without doors, was certain to be fairly discussed over a jug of the landlord's "last October."

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The landlord himself discovered by actual experience, that is, a daily dropping off in his customers, that things

were not as they should be. He very naturally chimed in with the general opinion, that Sir Andrew's absence formed the undoubted cause. It was remarked too, that since the Baronet's departure, our landlord sold his cider three halfpence per jug less than the price he formerly charged; and moreover had become extremely civil and obliging down to the lowest villager, by attending them in person, instead of dispatching Will Tapster to execute the office. But it was again certain that Will had taken leave for a situation in London, finding that folks would not lay down a' halfpenny or penny for his benefit when they ended their potation.

The landlord, like all schemists, thought at first, that the decay of customers arose from the closeness of the room allotted to smoking. He vented an exclamation at his own want of sense in not making this discovery before, and prepared to rectify it by constructing a

small garden in front of the inn. This he furnished very tastily with a few long tables and forms, adding to these some chairs, to accommodate the richer portion of the folks.

Still it was July, and the weather such, as ought by its absorbent powers, to drive the thirsty souls of the village to quaff their evening's draught in the landlord's garden. None, however, resorted to it, with the exception of a solitary one now and then, which convinced the disappointed landlord that nothing but a radical reform of things would become of service to his trade.

It was in this garden that our old friend Farmer Ballard was found smoking his pipe, towards the close of a hot afternoon. His head rested on the palm of his right hand. He now and then applied his mouth to a jug of cider which stood at his elbow, to moisten his lips and assist his thoughts; and now and then he bestowed a look on the occasional

passers-by on the road, which ran close by the garden. He retained his robust healthy cast of body; but his face, though containing enough of the sunburnt species of heartiness, wore not that perfect expression of hilarity and content of mind which at a former period made his jokes and conversation abound in mirth and good nature.

"Dang it!" exclaimed he, "what unpleasant times are these! here am I obligated to smoke my pipe alone; not a single creature of them will join me company. This will never do! I'd as lief stay at home wi' my old dame, as to keep company wi' myself. Sure there's a murrain in our village since Sir Andrew's departure. His astrology did keep us alive, I'll grant.

Ballard's soliloquy broke off at this part, in consequence of his eyes encountering the meagre person of Mr. Digaway approaching at a snail's pace in the direction of the garden.