Now this speech, I saw in my dream, brought down the house. Everyone said it was more to the point than the half-mile speeches which took up so much of the newspapers to the exclusion of murders, burglaries and divorces. And in truth, now I come to look at it in my waking moments, I respectfully commend it to our legislators, or what is better, to their constituencies, as embodying on this subject both the principles of true conservatism and true liberalism: and I don’t see what the most exacting of politicians can require more than that.
Mr. Bumpkin made a suitable reply—that is to say, “he wur mighty proud o’ their neighbourliness—he wur a plaain man, as had made his own way in the world, or leastwise tried to do un by ard work and uprightedness and downstraightedness; tried to be straight forrerd, and nobody as he knowed of could ax un for a shillin’. But,” he added: “I be praisin oop myself, neighbours, I be afeard, and I doant wish to do thic, only to put I straaight afore thee. I beant dead yit, and I hope we shall all be friends and neighbours, and meet many moore times at this ornary together.”
And so, delighted with one another, after a glass or two, and a song or two, the party broke up, all going to their several farms. Mr. Bumpkin was particularly well pleased, for he had sold twenty quarters of wheat at forty-nine shillings a quarter; which, as times went, was a very considerable increase, showing the excellent quality of the samples.
Sooner or later, however, it must be told, that when Bumpkin reached his quiet farm, a strange and sad scene presented itself. Evidences of “_the man_” were in all directions. He had been at work while Mr. Bumpkin in his convivial moments was protesting that he did not owe anyone a shilling. Alas! how little the best of as know how much we owe!
Mrs. Bumpkin, who had borne up like a true woman through all the troubles that had come upon her home,—borne up for his sake, hoping for better days, and knowing nothing of the terrible net that had been spread around them by the wily fowler, at length gave way, as she saw “the man” loading his cart with her husband’s wheat; the wheat he had gone that day to sell. Bitterly she wrung her hands, and begged him to spare her husband that last infliction. Was there anything that she could do or give to save him this blow? No, no; the man was obstinate in the performance of his duty; “right was right, and wrong was no man’s right!”