ing the disseminator by all but Stirn, who still, in
a whisper, accused the Papishers. And, finally, there appeared amongst
the other graphic embellishments which the poor stocks had received,
the rude gravure of a gentleman in a broad-brimmed hat and top-boots,
suspended from a gibbet, with the inscription beneath, "A warnin to hall
tirans--mind your hi!--sighnde Captin sTraw."

It was upon this significant and emblematic portraiture that the
squire was gazing when the parson joined him. "Well, Parson," said Mr.
Hazeldean, with a smile which he meant to be pleasant and easy,
but which was exceedingly bitter and grim, "I wish you joy of your
flock,--you see they have just hanged me in effigy!"

The parson stared, and though greatly shocked, smothered his emotion;
and attempted, with the wisdom of the serpent and the mildness of the
dove, to find another original for the effigy.

"It is very bad," quoth he, "but not so bad as all that, Squire; that's
not the shape of your bat. It is evidently meant for Mr. Stirn."

"Do you think so?" said the squire, softened. "Yet the top-boots--Stirn
never wears top-boots."

"No more do you, except in the hunting-field. If you look again, those
are not tops, they are leggings,--Stirn wears leggings. Besides, that
flourish, which is meant for a nose, is a kind of hook, like Stirn's;
whereas your nose--though by no means a snub--rather turns up than not,
as the Apollo's does, according to the plaster cast in Riccabocca's
parlour."

"Poor Stirn!" said the squire, in a tone that evinced complacency, not
unmingled with compassion, "that's what a man gets in this world by
being a faithful servant, and doing his duty with zeal for his employer.
But you see things have come to a strange pass, and the question now
is, what course to pursue. The miscreants hitherto have defied all
vigilance, and Stirn recommends the employment of a regular nightwatch,
with a lanthorn and bludgeon."

"That may protect the stocks certainly; but will it keep those
detestable tracts out of the beer-house?"

"We shall shut the beer-house up the next sessions."

"The tracts will break out elsewhere,--the humour's in the blood!"

"I've half a mind to run off to Brighton or Leamingtongood hunting at
Leamington--for a year, just to let the rogues see how they can get on
without me!"

The squire's lip trembled.

"My dear Mr. Hazeldean," said the parson, taking his friend's hand,
"I don't want to parade my s