te man of law, I think--no less than Mr. Joseph Jobson."

And Mr. Joseph Jobson it proved to be, in great haste, and, as it
speedily appeared, in most extreme bad humour. He came up to us, and
stopped his horse, as we were about to pass with a slight salutation.

"So, sir--so, Miss Vernon--ay, I see well enough how it is--bail put in
during my absence, I suppose--I should like to know who drew the
recognisance, that's all. If his worship uses this form of procedure
often, I advise him to get another clerk, that's all, for I shall
certainly demit."

"Or suppose he get this present clerk stitched to his sleeve, Mr.
Jobson," said Diana; "would not that do as well? And pray, how does
Farmer Rutledge, Mr. Jobson? I hope you found him able to sign, seal, and
deliver?"

This question seemed greatly to increase the wrath of the man of law. He
looked at Miss Vernon with such an air of spite and resentment, as laid
me under a strong temptation to knock him off his horse with the butt-end
of my whip, which I only suppressed in consideration of his
insignificance.

"Farmer Rutledge, ma'am?" said the clerk, as soon as his indignation
permitted him to articulate, "Farmer Rutledge is in as handsome enjoyment
of his health as you are--it's all a bam, ma'am--all a bamboozle and a
bite, that affair of his illness; and if you did not know as much before,
you know it now, ma'am."

"La you there now!" replied Miss Vernon, with an affectation of extreme
and simple wonder, "sure you don't say so, Mr. Jobson?"

"But I _do_ say so, ma'am," rejoined the incensed scribe; "and
moreover I say, that the old miserly clod-breaker called me
pettifogger--pettifogger, ma'am--and said I came to hunt for a job,
ma'am--which I have no more right to have said to me than any other
gentleman of my profession, ma'am--especially as I am clerk to the
peace, having and holding said office under _Trigesimo Septimo Henrici
Octavi_ and _Primo Gulielmi,_ the first of King William, ma'am, of
glorious and immortal memory--our immortal deliverer from papists and
pretenders, and wooden shoes and warming pans, Miss Vernon."

"Sad things, these wooden shoes and warming pans," retorted the young
lady, who seemed to take pleasure in augmenting his wrath;--"and it is a
comfort you don't seem to want a warming pan at present, Mr. Jobson. I am
afraid Gaffer Rutledge has not confined his incivility to language--Are
you sure he did not give you a beating?"

"Beating, ma