l
interest which they desire to ruin; which they declare to be so bloated;
which they call 'a Vampire!'--they the true blood-suckers, the
venomous millocrats? Fellow-creatures, Sir! I may well call distressed
fellow-creatures the members of that much-suffering class of which you
yourself are an ornament. What can be more deserving of our best efforts
for relief than a country gentleman like yourself, we'll say,--of a
nominal L5,000 a-year,--compelled to keep up an establishment, pay for
his fox-hounds, support the whole population by contributions to the
poor-rates, support the whole church by tithes; all justice, jails,
and prosecutions of the county-rates; all thoroughfares by the
highway-rates; ground down by mortgages, Jews, or jointures; having to
provide for younger children; enormous expenses for cutting his woods,
manuring his model farm, and fattening huge oxen till every pound of
flesh costs him five pounds sterling in oil-cake; and then the lawsuits
necessary to protect his rights,--plundered on all hands by poachers,
sheep-stealers, dog-stealers, churchwardens, overseers, gardeners,
gamekeepers, and that necessary rascal, his steward. If ever there was a
distressed fellow-creature in the world, it is a country gentleman with
a great estate."

My father evidently thought this an exquisite piece of banter, for by
the corner of his mouth I saw that he chuckled inly.

Squire Rollick, who had interrupted the speech by sundry approving
exclamations, particularly at the mention of poor-rates, tithes,
county-rates, mortgages, and poachers, here pushed the bottle to Uncle
Jack, and said, civilly: "There's a great deal of truth in what you say,
Mr. Tibbets. The agricultural interest is going to ruin; and when it
does, I would not give that for Old England!" and Mr. Rollick snapped
his finger and thumb. "But what is to be done,--done for the county?
There's the rub."

"I was just coming to that," quoth Uncle Jack. "You say that you have
not a county paper that upholds your cause and denounces your enemies."

"Not since the Whigs bought the '--shire Mercury.'"

"Why, good heavens! Mr. Rollick, how can you suppose that you will
have justice done you if at this time of day you neglect the Press?
The Press, sir--there it is--air we breathe! What you want is a great
national--no, not a national--A Provincial proprietary weekly journal,
supported liberally and steadily by that mighty party whose very
existence is at st