Part 57

While our horses were baiting at Ramsbury, it began to rain, and by the time that they had done, it rained pretty hard, with every appearance of continuing to rain for the day; and it was now about eleven o'clock, we having 18 or 19 miles to go before we got to the intended end of our journey. Having, however, for several reasons, a very great desire to get to Burghclere that night, we set off in the rain; and, as we carry no great coats, we were wet to the skin pretty soon. Immediately upon quitting Ramsbury, we crossed the River Kennet, and, mounting a highish hill, we looked back over friend Sir Glory's park, the sight of which brought into my mind the visit of Thimble and Cowhide, as described in the "intense comedy," and, when I thought of the "baker's being starved to death," and of the "heavy fall of snow," I could not help bursting out a laughing, though it poured of rain and though I already felt the water on my skin.--MEM. To ask, when I get to London, what is become of the intense "Counsellor Bric;" and whether he have yet had the justice to put the K to the end of his name. I saw a lovely female shoy-hoy, engaged in keeping the rooks from a newly-sown wheat field on the Cotswold Hills, that would be a very _suitable match_ for him; and, as his manners appear to be mended; as he now praises to the skies those 40_s._ freeholders, whom, in my hearing, he asserted to be "_beneath brute beasts_;" as he does, in short, appear to be rather less offensive than he was, I should have no objection to promote the union; and, I am sure, _the farmer_ would like it of all things; for, if Miss _Stuffed o' straw_ can, when _single_, keep the devourers at a distance, say, you who know him, whether the sight of the _husband's head_ would leave a rook in the country!

Turning from viewing the scene of Thimble and Cowhide's cruel disappointment, we pushed through coppices and across fields, to a little village, called Froxfield, which we found to be on the great Bath-Road. Here, crossing the road and also a run of water, we, under the guidance of a man, who was good enough to go about a mile with us, and to whom we gave a shilling and the price of a pot of beer, mounted another hill, from which, after twisting about for awhile, I saw, and recognised the out-buildings of Prosperous farm, towards which we pushed on as fast as we could, in order to keep ourselves in motion so as to prevent our catching cold; for it rained, and incessantly, every step of the way. I had been at Prosperous before; so that I knew Mr. Blandy, the owner, and his family, who received us with great hospitality. They took care of our horses, gave us what we wanted in the eating and drinking way, and clothed us, shirts and all, while they dried all our clothes; for not only the things on our bodies were soaked, but those also which we carried in little thin leather rolls, fastened on upon the saddles before us. Notwithstanding all that could be done in the way of dispatch, it took more than three hours to get our clothes dry. At last, about three quarters of an hour before sunset, we got on our clothes again and set off: for, as an instance of real bad luck, it ceased to rain the moment we got to Mr. Blandy's. Including the numerous angles and windings, we had nine or ten miles yet to go; but I was so anxious to get to Burghclere, that, contrary to my practice as well as my principle, I determined to encounter the darkness for once, though in cross-country roads, presenting us, at every mile, with ways crossing each other; or forming a Y; or kindly giving us the choice of three, forming the upper part of a Y and a half. Add to this, that we were in an enclosed country, the lanes very narrow, deep-worn, and banks and hedges high. There was no moon; but it was starlight, and, as I could see the Hampshire Hills all along to my right, and knew that I must not get above a mile or so from them, I had a guide that could not deceive me; for, as to _asking_ the road, in a case like this, it is of little use, unless you meet some one at every half mile: for the answer is, _keep right on_; aye, but in ten minutes, perhaps, you come to a Y, or to a T, or to a +.

A fellow told me once, in my way from Chertsey to Guildford, "Keep _right on_, you can't miss your way." I was in the perpendicular part of the T, and the top part was only a few yards from me. "_Right on_," said I, "what over _that bank_ into the wheat?" "No, no," said he, "I mean _that road_, to be sure," pointing to the road that went off to the _left_. In _down-countries_, the direction of shepherds and pig and bird boys is always in precisely the same words; namely, "_right_ over the down," laying great stress upon the word _right_. "But," said I, to a boy, at the edge of the down at King's Worthy (near Winchester), who gave me this direction to Stoke Charity; "but, what do you mean by _right_ over the down?" "Why," said he, "_right_ on to Stoke, to be sure, Zur." "Aye," said I, "but how am I, who was never here before, to know _what is_ right, my boy?" That posed him. It set him to thinking: and after a bit he proceeded to tell me, that, when I got up the hill, I should see _some trees_; that I should go along by them; that I should then see _a barn_ right before me; that I should go down to that barn; and that I should then see a _wagon track_ that would lead me all down to Stoke. "Aye!" said I, "_now_ indeed you are a real clever fellow." And I gave him a shilling, being part of my savings of the morning. Whoever tries it will find, that the _less they eat and drink_, when travelling, the better they will be. I act accordingly. Many days I have no breakfast and no dinner. I went from Devizes to Highworth without breaking my fast, a distance, including my deviations, of more than _thirty miles_. I sometimes take, from a friend's house, a little bit of meat between two bits of bread, which I eat as I ride along; but whatever I save from this fasting work, I think I have a clear right to give away; and, accordingly, I generally put the amount, in copper, into my waistcoat pocket, and dispose of it during the day. I know well, _that I am the better_ for not stuffing and blowing myself out, and with the savings I make many and many a happy boy; and, now-and-then, I give a whole family a good meal with the cost of a breakfast, or a dinner, that would have done me mischief. I do not do this because I grudge inn-keepers what they charge; for my surprise is, how they can live without charging _more_ than they do in general.

It was dark by the time that we got to a village, called East Woodhay. Sunday evening is the time _for courting_, in the country. It is not convenient to carry this on before faces, and, at farmhouses and cottages, there are no spare apartments; so that the pairs turn out, and pitch up, to carry on their negociations, by the side of stile or a gate. The evening was auspicious; it was _pretty dark_, the _weather mild_, and _Old Michaelmas_ (when yearly services end) was fast approaching; and, accordingly, I do not recollect ever having before seen so many negociations going on, within so short a distance. At West Woodhay my horse _cast a shoe_, and, as the road was abominably flinty, we were compelled to go at a snail's pace: and I should have gone crazy with impatience, had it not been for these ambassadors and ambassadresses of Cupid, to every pair of whom I said something or other. I began by asking the fellow _my road_; and, from the tone and manner of his answer, I could tell pretty nearly what prospect he had of success, and knew what to say to draw something from him. I had some famous sport with them, saying to them more than I should have said by daylight, and a great deal less than I should have said, if my horse had been in a condition to carry me away as swiftly as he did from Osmond Ricardo's terrific cross! "There!" exclaims Mrs. Scrip, the stock-jobber's young wife, to her old hobbling wittol of a spouse, "You see, my love, that this mischievous man could not let even these poor _peasants_ alone." "_Peasants!_ you dirty-necked devil, and where got you that word? You, who, but a few years ago, came, perhaps, up from the country in a wagon; who _made_ the bed you now _sleep_ in; and who got the husband by helping him to get his wife out of the world, as some young party-coloured blade is to get you and the old rogue's money by a similar process!"

We got to Burghclere about eight o'clock, after a very disagreeable day; but we found ample compensation in the house, and all within it, that we were now arrived at.

_Burghclere, Sunday, 8th Sept._

It rained steadily this morning, or else, at the end of these six days of hunting for George, and two for me, we should have set off. The rain gives me time to give an account of Mr. Budd's crop of Tullian Wheat. It was sown in rows and on ridges, with very wide intervals, ploughed all summer. If he reckon that ground only which the wheat grew upon, he had one hundred and thirty bushels to the acre; and even if he reckoned the whole of the ground, he had 28 bushels all but two gallons to the acre! But the best wheat he grew this year was dibbled in between rows of Swedish Turnips, in November, four rows upon a ridge, with an eighteen-inch interval between each two rows, and a five-feet interval between the outside rows on each ridge. It is the white cone that Mr. Budd sows. He had ears with 130 grains in each. This would be the farming for labourers in their little plots. They might grow thirty bushels of wheat to the acre, and have crops of cabbages, in the intervals, at the same time; or, of potatoes, if they liked them better.

Before my arrival here, Mr. Budd had seen my description of the state of the labourers in Wiltshire, and had, in consequence, written to my son James (not knowing where I was) as follows: "In order to see how the labourers are now _screwed down_, look at the following facts: Arthur Young, in 1771 (55 years ago) allowed for a man, his wife and three children 13_s._ 1_d._ a week, according to present money-prices. By the Berkshire Magistrates' table, made in 1795, the allowance was, for such family, according to the present money-prices, 11_s._ 4_d._ Now it is, according to the same standard, 8_s._ According to your father's proposal, the sum would be (supposing there to be no malt tax) 18_s._ a week; and little enough too." Is not that enough to convince any one of the hellishness of this system? Yet Sir Glory applauds it. Is it not horrible to contemplate millions in this half-starving state; and, is it not the duty of "England's Glory," who has said that his estate is "_a retaining fee_ for defending the rights of the people;" is it not his duty to stay in England and endeavour to restore the people, the millions, to what their fathers were, instead of going abroad; selling off his carriage horses, and going abroad, there to spend some part, at least, of the fruits of English labour? I do not say, that he has _no right_, generally speaking, to go and spend his money abroad; but, I do say, that having got himself elected for such a city as Westminster, he had no right, at a time like this, to be absent from Parliament. However, what cares he? His "retaining fee" indeed! He takes special care to augment that fee; but I challenge all his shoe-lickers, all the base worshippers of twenty thousand acres, to show me one single thing that he has ever done, or, within the last twelve years, attempted to do, for his _clients_. In short, this is a man that must now be brought to book; he must not be suffered to insult Westminster any longer: he must turn-to or turn out: he is a sore to Westminster; a set-fast on its back; a cholic in its belly; a cramp in its limbs; a gag in its mouth: he is a nuisance, a monstrous nuisance, in Westminster, and he must be abated.

RIDE, FROM BURGHCLERE TO LYNDHURST, IN THE NEW FOREST.

"The Reformers have yet many and powerful foes; we have to contend against a host, such as never existed before in the world. Nine-tenths of the press; all the channels of speedy communication of sentiment; all the pulpits; all the associations of rich people; all the taxing-people; all the military and naval establishments; all the yeomanry cavalry tribes. Your allies are endless in number and mighty in influence. But, we have _one ally_ worth the whole of them put together, namely, the DEBT! This is an ally, whom no honours or rewards can seduce from us. She is a steady, unrelaxing, persevering, incorruptible ally. An ally that is proof against all blandishments, all intrigues, all temptations, and all open attacks. She sets at defiance all '_military_,' all '_yeomanry cavalry_.' They may as well fire at a ghost. She cares no more for the sabres of the yeomanry or the Life Guards than Milton's angels did for the swords of Satan's myrmidons. This ally cares not a straw about _spies_ and _informers_. She laughs at the employment of _secret-service money_. She is always erect, day and night, and is always firmly moving on in our cause, in spite of all the terrors of gaols, dungeons, halters and axes. Therefore, Mr. JABET, be not so pert. The combat is not so unequal as you seem to imagine; and, confident and insolent as you now are, the day of your humiliation may not be far distant."--LETTER TO MR. JABET, of Birmingham, _Register_, v. 31, p. 477. (Nov. 1816.)

_Hurstbourn Tarrant (commonly called Uphusband), Wednesday, 11th October, 1826._

When quarters are good, you are apt to _lurk_ in them; but, really it was so wet, that we could not get away from Burghclere till Monday evening. Being here, there were many reasons for our going to the great fair at Weyhill, which began yesterday, and, indeed, the day before, at Appleshaw. These two days are allotted for the selling of sheep only, though the horse-fair begins on the 10th. To Appleshaw they bring nothing but those fine curled-horned and long-tailed ewes, which bring the house-lambs and the early Easter-lambs; and these, which, to my taste, are the finest and most beautiful animals of the sheep kind, come exclusively out of Dorsetshire and out of the part of Somersetshire bordering on that county.

To Weyhill, which is a village of half a dozen houses on a down, just above Appleshaw, they bring from the down-farms in Wiltshire and Hampshire, where they are bred, the Southdown sheep; ewes to go away into the pasture and turnip countries to have lambs, wethers to be fatted and killed, and lambs (nine months old) to be kept to be sheep. At both fairs there is supposed to be about two hundred thousand sheep. It was of some consequence to ascertain how the _price_ of these had been affected by "_late_ panic," which ended the "respite" of 1822; or by the "plethora of money" as loan-man Baring called it. I can assure this political Doctor, that there was no such "plethora" at Weyhill, yesterday, where, while I viewed the long faces of the farmers, while I saw consciousness of ruin painted on their countenances, I could not help saying to myself, "the loan-mongers think they are _cunning_; but, by ----, they will never escape the ultimate consequences of this horrible ruin!" The prices, take them on a fair average, were, at both fairs, just about one-half what they were last year. So that my friend Mr. Thwaites of the _Herald_, who had a lying Irish reporter at Preston, was rather hasty, about three months ago, when he told his _well-informed_ readers, that, "those politicians were deceived, who had supposed that prices of farm produce would fall in consequence of '_late_ panic' and the subsequent measures"! There were Dorsetshire ewes that sold last year, for 50_s._ a head. We could hear of none this year that exceeded 25_s._ And only think of 25_s._ for one of these fine, large ewes, nearly fit to kill, and having two lambs in her, ready to be brought forth in, on an average, six weeks' time! The average is _three lambs_ to _two of these ewes_. In 1812 these ewes were from 55_s._ to 72_s._ each, at this same Appleshaw fair; and in that year I bought South-down ewes at 45_s._ each, just such as were, yesterday, sold for 18_s._ Yet the sheep and grass and all things are the same in _real value_. What a false, what a deceptious, what an infamous thing, this paper-money system is!

However, it is a pleasure, it is real, it is great delight, it is boundless joy to me, to contemplate this infernal system in its hour of _wreck_: swag here: crack there: scroop this way: souse that way: and such a rattling and such a squalling: and the parsons and their wives looking so frightened, beginning, apparently, to think that the day of _judgment_ is at hand! I wonder what master parson of Sharncut, whose church _can_ contain _eight persons_, and master parson of Draycot Foliot, who is, for want of a church, inducted under a _tent_, or temporary _booth_; I wonder what they think of South-down lambs (9 months old) selling for 6 or 7 shillings each! I wonder what the Barings and the Ricardos think of it. I wonder what those master parsons think of it, who are half-pay naval, or military officers, as well as master parsons of the church made by _law_. I wonder what the Gaffer Gooches, with their parsonships and military offices, think of it. I wonder what Daddy Coke and Suffield think of it; and when, I wonder, do they mean to get into their holes and barns again to cry aloud against the "roguery of reducing the interest of the Debt"; when, I wonder, do these manly, these modest, these fair, these candid, these open, and, above all things, these _sensible_, fellows intend to assemble again, and to call all "the House of Quidenham" and the "House of Kilmainham," or _Kinsaleham_, or whatever it is (for I really have forgotten); to call, I say, all these about them, in the holes and the barns, and then and there again make a formal and solemn protest against COBBETT and against his roguish proposition for reducing the interest of the Debt! Now, I have these fellows on the hip; and brave sport will I have with them before I have done.

Mr. Blount, at whose house (7 miles from Weyhill) I am, went with me to the fair; and we took particular pains to ascertain the prices. We saw, and spoke to, Mr. John Herbert, of Stoke (near Uphusband) who was _asking_ 20_s._, and who did not expect to _get_ it, for South-down ewes, just such as he _sold_, last year (at this fair), for 36_s._ Mr. Jolliff, of Crux-Easton, was _asking_ 16_s._ for just such ewes as he sold, last year (at this fair) for 32_s._ Farmer Holdway had sold "for less than half" his last year's price. A farmer that I did not know, told us, that he had sold to a great sheep-dealer of the name of Smallpiece at the latter's own price! I asked him what that "own price" was; and he said that he was ashamed to say. The horse-fair appeared to have no business at all going on; for, indeed, how were people to purchase horses, who had got only half-price for their sheep?