"Shan't he?" said Palethorpe, swallowing the oath which was upon his lips, as though he felt that the object of it was beneath his contempt. "I'll tell you what, young imp, if you don't march off to bed this minute, I'll just take and rough-wash your nose in the horse-pond." Miss Sowersoft smiled with satisfaction, both at Sammy's wit and at his display of valour. "Do as you like about that," replied Colin: "I don't care for you, nor anybody like you. I didn't come here to be beaten by you!" And another burst of tears, arising from vexation at his own helplessness, followed these words. "You don't care for me, don't you?" savagely demanded Palethorpe. "Come, then, let's try if I can't make you." He then lifted Colin by the arms from the floor, with the intention of carrying him out. The farm-labourers had hitherto sat by in silence, though with rising feelings of indignation. "You shan't hurt him any more," cried old George," or else you shall kill me first!" "Kill you first, you old fool!" contemptuously repeated Palethorpe." Why, if you say another word, I'll double your crooked old back clean up, and throw you and him an' all both into th' brook together! "Then I'm danged if you do, and that's all about it!" fiercely exclaimed another of the labourers, striking his clenched fist upon his thigh, and throwing the chair on which he sat some feet behind him, in his sudden effort to rise. "If you dare to touch old George," he added, with an oath, "I'll knock you down, if I leave this service to-night for it!" "Ay,-what you an' all, Abel!" cried Palethorpe, somewhat paler in the cheeks than he was sixty seconds before. "Why, what will you do, lad? "What will I do?" said Abel, 66 Why, if you don't set that lad loose, you cowardly brute, and sit down in quietness, I'll thump you into a jelly in three minutes! - Dang you! everybody hates you, and I'll tell you so now; for you are the biggest nuisance that ever set foot on a farm. Talk of that old man being idle !-why, what the deuce do you call yourself, you skulking vagabond? You never touch plough nor bill-hook once a-week, nor anything else that's worth a man's putting his hand to. Your business is to abuse everybody under you, and sneak after your missis's tail like a lick'd spaniel. I wish I was your mester, instead of you being mine, I'd tickle your ears with a two-inch ash plant every morning, but I'd make you do more in a day than you ever did in a week yet!" A blow from Palethorpe's fist drove all further powers of oratory out of Abel, and caused him to stagger so suddenly backwards, that he would have fallen, had he not caught hold of the back of one of his comrades' chairs. All were now upon their feet; while Miss Sowersoft, who hitherto had sat petrified at the monstrous discourse of Abel, screamed out that whoever struck Sammy again should go out of the house that night. But as no one interfered farther in the quarrel, on the supposition that he was already pretty well matched, the penalty she had proclaimed amounted to nothing, since it did not deter the only man who at that moment was likely to commit anything so atrocious. Abel had no sooner recovered his balance than he made a furious lunge at the head farming-man, which that hero at tempted, but failed to parry. His antagonist, who, though less in weight, was yet tall and active, followed up his advantage; and, by a judicious and rapid application of his fists, he so far made good his former threat, as to give Miss Sowersoft's favourite two tremendous black eyes, and to plump his nose up to nearly double its original bulk and lustre, within sixty tickings of the clock. Miss Maria had now summoned the maid to her assistance, and between them they succeeded in protecting Sammy from further vengeance. Nor did they find much difficulty in persuading that courageous man to sit down in his chair, and submit to a grand mopping with vinegar and hot water, which commenced as soon as active hostilities ceased, and did not conclude until nearly two hours afterwards. Long before that time was expired, as no more comfort could be expected by the fireside that night, the rustics had moved quietly off to rest, taking poor Colin along with them, and directing him to occupy one small bed which stood in a room containing two, and informing him at the same time, not much to his satisfaction, that Palethorpe always slept in the other. Old George shook hands with Colin at the door, bidding him good night, and God bless him; and telling him not to care for what had happened, as Heaven would reward his goodness of heart at a time when, perhaps, being old and feeble, he might most want a friend to help him. As the old man said this, his voice failed, and Colin felt a warm tear drop upon his hand as it remained clasped in that of the speaker. Colin rushed into his room, and in great distress, resulting from the memory of all he had left behind, and the dread of all that might meet him here, he fell on his knees by the bed-side. That night the voices of two lonely women, praying for the welfare of a still more lonely child, and of a child asking for help in his loneliness, ascended to heaven. Their hearts were comforted. INDEX TO THE FIFTH VOLUME. Andalucia, Sketches of-No. I. Pilgrimage to Seville cathedral, 51; No. II. Cor- Armenians at Venice, 257. Armin, Robert, the actor, account of him, Armstrong, Archibald, court-fool, account of, 107; cause of his banishment, 108. Cathedrals at Seville, 51; at Cordoba, Chelsea Hospital, the Veterans of, 614. Church of the Pilgrims at Rome, descrip- Colin Clink, adventures of, 427. 537. Colosseum at Rome, description of, 134. Convent of the Armenians at Venice, Cordoba, description of the cathedral at, 193; remarks on the city of, 196. 199; Cremation of Shelley, see Shelley. D. Dalton, the Odd Fellow by, 210. Dead Man's Race, a Christmas Story, 142. Dining Houses in London, 470. E. Elder, A., Tales and Legends of the Isle 98; the court-fools of, 101. 103. 107. 134. English Ladies, observations on, 385. F. Father, the, by the author of "The Moun- Fay, Theodore, The Witness Box by, Gastronomic survey of the dining-houses Gin Palace, inscription for one, 312. Golden Legend, No. II.-A Lay of St. Gordon, Lord, remarks respecting him, Graces, the three literary, 559. Granada, fortress of Alhambra in, 264; H. Handy Andy, further account of his ad- Hogarth, George, A Spanish Robber by, 524. Holkham Hall, Visit to, 524. Holme, Mrs. Torre, translation of lines on Human Life, verses on, 380; a sonnet, Hugo, Victor, The Lost Battle, from the I. Iago-Shakspeare Papers, No. VIII, 53. Intellect, Legacies of, 632. Invitation to an Evening Walk, 405. J. Jack Sheppard-particulars respecting his 459; his robbery in Willesden church. Jenkinson, Olinthus, some passages in Jerdan, W., The Dead Man's Race by, Jim Crow, the original of, 528. L. Lament of the Cherokee, a poem, 298. Legend, The Golden, 289. Lord Mayor's Day, an heroical ode, Lost Battle, The, a poem, 506. Love is like the Cistus flower, song, 582. M. M'Dougall, Alexander, Verses to My Mackay, Charles, Song for a Stormy Maclean, Mrs., Verses on her Death, 144. Maginn, Dr., Shakspeare Papers by, 43. Night Watch, 610. N. 0. Odd Fellow, story of the, 210. gress, further particulars respecting the Orleans, Duke of, his personal appear- Out of Sight out of Mind, 312. P. Parisian Characteristics, 201. Patrons, Puffs, and other Matters, thoughts on, by T. M., 326. Petrarch, sonnets from, 501. Positions, Relative, by a Registrar of Q. Quarantine, The, 502. R. Rambles among the Rivers.-No. I, the Robber, account of a Spanish, 520. 134; the studio of Thorwaldsen at, S. Sardanapalus, a poem, 254. Sistine chapel at Rome, account of the Sketches of Andalusia, 51. 188. 264. Sonnet from Petrarch, 501; a Sonnet, Son to his Mother, 50. Songs of Olden Time, 34; of the Flowers, Spanish Robber, account of a, 520. Summers, Will, court-fool to Henry VIII, Sutherland, Duchess of, remarks respect- T. Talfourd, Serjeant, The Memory of the Tarlton, Richard, court-fool in the reign Thames and his Tributaries, 372. 508. Tribute, elegiac, to the memory of Haynes Tuileries, description of a ball at the, Turn Out, but no Strike, a poem, 262. END OF THE FIFTH VOLUME. |