consisted of 300 acres of land
and no tithe. The local Squire was shy of him as a Jacobin, but finally
they became fast friends. He used to "bring the papers, that I might
explain the difficult words to him; actually discovered that I had made a
joke, laughed till I thought he would have died of convulsions, and ended
by inviting me to see his dogs."

He was advised to employ oxen on his farm, which, however, turned out a
failure; but their names deserve remembrance, for they were christened
Tug and Lug, Haul and Crawl. He looked after his men through a
telescope, and gave orders with a speaking-trumpet. He records "that a
man-servant was too expensive" for him, so "I caught up a little
garden-girl, made like a milestone, christened her Bunch, put a napkin in
her hand, and made her my butler." She became "the best butler in the
county." Bunch is described as pacing up and down before her master's
door, saying, "Oh, ma'am, I can't get no peace of mind till I've got
master shaved." This meant "making ready for him with a large painter's
brush, a thick lather in a huge wooden bowl." A visitor at Foston
records:--"Mr Smith suddenly said to Bunch, who was passing, 'Bunch, do
you like roast duck or boiled chicken?' Bunch had probably never tasted
either the one or the other in her life, but answered, without a moment's
hesitation, 'Roast duck, please, sir,' and disappeared. I laughed. 'You
may laugh,' said he, 'but you have no idea of the labour it has cost me
to give her that decision of character.'"

Poor Bunch used to be told to repeat her crimes, and gravely recited,
"Plate-snatching, gravy-spilling, door-slamming,
blue-bottle-fly-catching, and curtsey-bobbing." The blue-bottle crime
was standing with her mouth open and not attending. Curtsey-bobbing was
"Curtseying to the centre of the earth, please, sir."

One little fact is worth recording. In 1825 a meeting of clergy was held
in Yorkshire to petition Parliament against the emancipation of the
Catholics. Sydney's was the only dissentient voice. No doubt in those
days it was hard for a Liberal parson to get preferment, and George III.
was right in his prophecy that Sydney would never be a bishop. But in
January 1828 the Chancellor, Lord Lyndhurst, bestowed on Sydney a stall
then vacant at Bristol. This was not of much importance from a pecuniary
point of view, but it broke the "spell which had hitherto kept him down
in his profession." {183} In the