“No,” said he, “there are very few serious accidents—in fact none—now that drink is not allowed on the stage. There used to be some very brutal play in out-of-the-way places, where the revels were got up by publicans. But that is all over, at least about this part of the country.”
“Then you wouldn’t stop them, Sir?”
“Stop them! not I—I would encourage them, and make the parish clerk and constable perpetual umpires.” And then he went on to say how he should like to see the young fellows in every parish drilled in a company, and taught all sorts of manly exercises, and shooting especially; so that they would make good light troops at a day’s notice, in case of invasion. But he was afraid the great game preservers would never allow this. And in the middle of his talk, which seemed very sensible, we came to Joe’s gate, and I got down, and wished him good night.
I found the family gone to bed, and only Joe and the Parson in the kitchen, and there, over a last pipe, we chatted about the sports.
At last the Parson turned to me, and said, “You saw a good deal of the play on the stage; now, would you stop it if you could?”
I thought a minute over what I had seen, and what the Doctor had said.
“No, Sir,” said I, “I can’t say that I would.”
“That’s candid,” said he. “And now I’ll make an admission. There’s a good deal of the play that wants very close watching. The umpires should be resolute, quick men, and stand no nonsense. I saw one or two bouts to-day that should have been stopped.”
“You see,” said Joe, taking his pipe out of his mouth, “there allus must be.”
“We don’t admit your evidence, Joseph,” interrupted the Parson, “you are a prejudiced witness.”