l
of the old women, because he never played at skittles or danced with the
girls; and, indeed, never took any recreation but that of drinking on
Saturday nights with his friend Harry, the Scotch pedlar. His supporters
called him Sweet William; his enemies the Bottomless Pit.

The people of St Dennis's, however, had their advocates. There was
Frank, the richest farmer in the parish, whose great grandfather had
been knocked on the head many years before, in a squabble between the
parish and a former landlord. There was Dick, the merry-andrew, rather
light-fingered and riotous, but a clever droll fellow. Above all, there
was Charley, the publican, a jolly, fat, honest lad, a great favourite
with the women, who, if he had not been rather too fond of ale and
chuck-farthing, would have been the best fellow in the neighbourhood.

"My boys," said Charley, "this is exceedingly well for Madam North;--not
that I would speak uncivilly of her; she put up my picture in her best
room, bless her for it! But, I say, this is very well for her, and for
Lord Caesar, and Squire Don, and Colonel Von;--but what affair is it of
yours or mine? It is not to be wondered at, that gentlemen should wish
to keep poor people out of their own. But it is strange indeed that
they should expect the poor themselves to combine against their own
interests. If the folks at St Dennis's should attack us we have the law
and our cudgels to protect us. But why, in the name of wonder, are we to
attack them? When old Sir Charles, who was Lord of the Manor formerly,
and the parson, who was presented by him to the living, tried to bully
the vestry, did not we knock their heads together, and go to meeting to
hear Jeremiah Ringletub preach? And did the Squire Don, or the great Sir
Lewis, that lived at that time, or the Germains, say a word against
us for it? Mind your own business, my lads: law is not to be had for
nothing; and we, you may be sure, shall have to pay the whole bill."

Nevertheless the people of St George's were resolved on law. They cried
out most lustily, "Squire Guelf for ever! Sweet William for ever! No
steel traps!" Squire Guelf took all the rascally footmen who had worn
old Sir Lewis's livery into his service. They were fed in the kitchen on
the very best of everything, though they had no settlement. Many people,
and the paupers in particular, grumbled at these proceedings. The
steward, however, devised a way to keep them quiet.

There had lived