“As to Nature,” replied the Corporal, with considerable modesty, for he never disputed the truth of the compliment—“‘tis not ‘cause a man be six feet without’s shoes, that he’s any nearer to lady’s heart. Sir, I will own to you, howsomever it makes ‘gainst your honour and myself, for that matter—that don’t think one is a bit more lucky with the ladies for being so handsome! ‘Tis all very well with them ere willing ones, your honour—caught at a glance; but as for the better sort, one’s beauty’s all bother! Why, Sir, when we see some of the most fortunatest men among she-creturs—what poor little minnikens they be! One’s a dwarf—another knock-kneed—a third squints—and a fourth might be shown for a hape! Neither, Sir, is it your soft, insinivating, die-away youths, as seem at first so seductive; they do very well for lovers, your honour; but then it’s always rejected ones! Neither, your honour, does the art of succeeding with the ladies ‘quire all those finniken, nimini-pinimi’s, flourishes, and maxims, and saws, which the Colonel, my old master, and the great gentlefolks, as be knowing, call the art of love—baugh! The whole science, Sir, consists in these two rules—‘Ask soon, and ask often.’”
“There seems no great difficulty in them, Bunting.”
“Not to us who has gumption, Sir; but then there is summut in the manner of axing—one can’t be too hot—can’t flatter too much—and, above all, one must never take a refusal. There, Sir, now—if you takes my advice—may break the peace of all the husbands in Lunnun—bother—whaugh!”
“My uncle little knows what a praiseworthy tutor he has secured me in you, Bunting,” said Walter, laughing: “And now, while the road is so good, let us make the most of it.”
As they had set out late in the day, and the Corporal was fearful of another attack from a hedge, he resolved, that about evening, one of the horses should be seized with a sudden lameness, (which he effected by slily inserting a stone between the shoe and the hoof,) that required immediate attention and a night’s rest; so that it was not till the early noon of the next day that our travellers entered the village in which Mr. Jonas Elmore resided.
It was a soft, tranquil day, though one of the very last in October; for the reader will remember that Time had not stood still during Walter’s submission to the care of Mr. Pertinax Fillgrave, and his subsequent journey and researches.
The sun-light rested on a broad patch of green heath, covered with furze, and around it were scattered the cottages and farm-houses of the little village. On the other side, as Walter descended the gentle hill that led into this remote hamlet, wide and flat meadows, interspersed with several fresh and shaded ponds, stretched away towards a belt of rich woodland gorgeous with the melancholy pomp by which the “regal year” seeks to veil its decay. Among these meadows you might now see groups of cattle quietly grazing, or standing half hid in the still and sheltered pools. Still farther, crossing to the woods, a solitary sportsman walked careless on, surrounded by some half a dozen spaniels, and the shrill small tongue of one younger straggler of the canine crew, who had broke indecorously from the rest, and already entered the wood, might be just heard, softened down by the distance, into a wild, cheery sound, that animated, without disturbing, the serenity of the scene.
“After all,” said Walter aloud, “the scholar was right—there is nothing like the country!”
“‘Oh, happiness of sweet retired content,
To be at once secure and innocent!’”
“Be them Verses in the Psalms, Sir?” said the Corporal, who was close behind.