Myrtle-Grove had long been untenanted. Mr. Cannon was the wealthiest resident in or near the village; therefore was Wick-Hall called "the squire's mansion." Now, stupid, do you take?
Everybody has read Joe Miller. Now it may be recollected that, in that valuable vade-mecum of very delightful and charming fellows, there is recorded the strange vanity of an ugly scholar in the College of Navarre, who maintained most strenuously and syllogistically,—nay, would have met any modern Crichton with a thesis on the subject to show and prove, that he was the greatest man in the world; and he argued that Europe being the finest part of the creation, France the most delightful country in Europe, Paris the most splendid city in France, the College of Navarre the most enlightened and precious establishment in Paris, his room unquestionably the best chamber in the college, and he most undoubtedly the greatest ornament in his room, ergo, he was the greatest man in the world.
In the same train of ratiocination did the Cannons come to the conclusion that they were the magnates, the top-sawyers, the leaders of fashion of the village of Muckford. They patronised the Rev. Mr. Muzzle, the curate, whose meek back was suited to the burthen of a wife and eight little ones on fifty pounds a year; Mr. Hiccup, M.R.C.S., who, to the duties of his profession in the attendance of man and beast, added the pursuits of rat and mole-catcher, perfumer, stationer, and tobacconist; and Mr. Sniffnettle, the attorney, solicitor, conveyancer, proctor, appraiser, auctioneer, poet-laureat and parish-clerk. A hop at Wick-Hall was anticipated with as much delight by all the young and old ladies as the opening of Almacks; a game at loo or twopenny long-whist offered all the attractions of Crockford's; and the Sunday visits after church were as distinguished for figure and fashion as a St. James's drawing-room on a birth-day.
This high patrician stand in society unfortunately made the Cannons proud,—some say haughty, supercilious, and arrogant. It might have been so; such is the nature of frail mortality, for, alas!
"Pride has no other glass
To show itself but pride; for supple knees
Feed arrogance!"
and Mr. Muzzle, and Dr. Hiccup, and Mr. Sniffnettle, had their vertebræ and their articulations so greased, and oiled, and anti-attritioned, that they would bob, and bend, and curl, and coil like a tom-cat's tail, whenever they visited the mansion.
And strange dreams, and visions, and fantasies would be brewing in the brains of Mr. Cannon, both when sleeping and awake. He was wealthy; the Cannons had a dragon rampant for their crest, and Crepo for their motto,—a motto that was traced to the discovery of a bronze figure of the Egyptian god Crepitus in the tomb of one of his noble ancestors. To this proud circumstance the family also owed the Christian-name of "Commodus," which the elder Cannon always bore,—Commodus being of Gallic origin. Sometimes Mr. Commodus Cannon thought that he might purchase a peerage by paying some damages incurred by indiscreet influential personages; sometimes he fancied that he might be created a baronet upon a mortgage, or a marriage of one of the Miss Cannons to some broken-down nobleman.