Chronicles of Dartmoor

Chapter I. Which Treats Of Parson Hill's Weakness

" "|\/sY dear Kate, a word with you," said the -1-'-1- vicar to Mrs. Hill, as she was leaving the breakfast-room. " Quite at your service, most gracious sir," said she. " I must attend the archdeacon's visitation at to-morrow. On such occasions I make it a practice to dine with my reverend brethren ; I see them so seldom, and am so little in their world, that, when these periodical meetings occur, I make the most of them. Therefore, for one day, I must commit my house, and my visitor, Mrs. Harcourt, to your care." " I will do my best in your absence ; but we shall all be sorry to lose you even for so short a time." VOL. III. B " Ah ! you are very good ; and I am sure you will fill my place admirably ; and of course do, in all things, as if you were in your own house, as, my dear Kate, I can assure you you always are when you are under my roof."

" Thank you — thank you ; I do feel most com fortably at home," said Mrs. Hill. "I am glad of it — such is my earnest wish. And, Kate, if the day be fine, as it promises, I will ride to Colnhampstead, and then, perhaps, vou and Mrs. Harcourt would like a gallop — eh?" " Certainly — that is, I can answer for myself." " And I can answer for Mrs. Harcourt," said the vicar ; " she is fond of a good scamper across the moor ; she rides well, and the grey mare just suits her." And the next morning, by half-past eight o'clock — for the archdeacon's visitation was at eleven — the horses came round. Sir Harry and Grey- Bessie for the vicar and Mrs. Harcourt, Duchess and Butterfly for Charlie and Mrs. Hill. When the party were within sight of Colnhamp stead, Mrs. Harcourt said, " But why are we obliged to leave you here and return to Lawsleigh?

There is morning service, of course, before ' the charge ;' why may we not go to church ?" "Why, indeed?" said the vicar. "I had not thought of that ; but there will be no difficulty, the horses can be left at the ' Crown,' Marvel will take care of them." " Then will you like to stay for the service ?" said Mrs. Harcourt to Mrs. Hill. "Very much. I commend you for the pro posal. I suppose the people will not be amused with our hats and habits, will they ?" " There will be plenty of hats, and plenty of habits, to keep you in countenance," said Charlie. " But all the very reverend and very venerable gentlemen, including myself," said the vicar, " will have something else to do than to ascertain whether you wear hats or habits, or come without either !" AVhen the service was over, the congregation, as well as the party from the moor, remained to hear the Archdeacon's charge.

All the world is aware of the eloquence of the Venerable the Archdeacon B of , and of his sound church principles. And that particular world, that listened so attentively to this particular charge, went away highly grati fied, and fully contented. For the capacious and venerable edifice was crowded from one end to the other. There was a very full attendance of the clergy, and the laity were all eager to see and hear the new Archdeacon. And as had been before agreed upon, the vicar remained to dine with the clergy, and the ladies and Charlie mounted their horses, and turned their heads homeward. And the party eventually reached Lawsleigh Vicarage, and, as Charlie said, " finished the day as well as they could." They expected Mr. Hill would return about nine p.m., and Mrs. Hill ordered coffee to be ready immediately on his arrival.

But instead of the vicar, came only James Marvel and Sir Harry. There was a letter for Mrs. Hill, which we will take the liberty of perusing first, for there was a second for Mrs. Harcourt, enclosed in Mrs. Hill's. " Mt Dear Kate, — 1 am almost ashamed to confess my weakness, but you are gracious and charitable, and will probably make some allowance for the temptations to which ' boys,' both old and young, are subjected. I have always had a goodly store of ' weaknesses,' and every now and then, and at the most unexpected times, and in the most unlooked-for places, they ' crop up,' and make me shew myself to the world in all my natural — eh ! — deformity. This is one of those extraordi nary ' times,' for my own house is full of visitors, and yet I leave them to do as they please, or as they best can, and accept a ' visit ' myself from my Archdeacon !

And even you, merciful and compassionate as I know you to be, even you will think the Rectory at Colnhampstead, the residence of my friend the Archdeacon, a strange ' place ' for any of my ' weaknesses ' to come to a head, and overrule me to my great delight ! — ahem ! But — in your own mind — keep the Archdeacon out of the scrape — he has no ' weaknesses,' — at least none — like mine. " And then, dear Kate, next Thursday, the 29th, is 'the ladies' day' at Teign-ton-pont ! Ah! you smile, do you ? Have you not greatly desired to make one at those very charming county meetings, ever since you became ' one' of the county ? You shall do so. That is, if you will allow me to direct your movements. But the fact is, that the match between the Plymouth Garrison and Teign-ton-pont comes off on Thursday.

The Teign-ton-pont-ers had depended a good deal on the ' Great Western,' but unfortunately he is laid up with a sprained ankle. Well, some half-dozen fellows here actually laid violent hands on me ! In spite of my ' cloth,' — as Gray would say — or even in spite of the Venerable the Archdeacon's ' carved ' roof — it is magnificent, tell Charlie — and tried very hard to secure me in the place of the ' Great Western !' Mark that, Kate, ' in the place of !' that is to say, not a place in the Great Western, but in the place of the ' Great Western.' And I can assure you, my dear Kate, that the Teign-ton-pont-ers have ' a great loss ' in the ' Great Western,' and that ' he ' will be very poorly replaced by me, for I have already agreed to stand in his place. I have a weakness — it is in vain to try to hide it.

I confess, therefore, that the idea was delightful to my ambitious mind ! " And then, Kate, I communed with myself — and, said I — ' Can I conscientiously leave the dear old Teign-ton-pont-ers in their dilemma at this present moment, to be heartily beaten by that first rate Plymouth Garrison, and not raise a finger to help them! Perish the thought! And then, to cheer me up, I suppose, for I had some misgivings about ' my cloth," they told me, in strict confidence, that the very sight of my old-fashioned figure, and the widely-spread prestige of my ' bowling,' would so inspirit the Teign-ton-pont-ers, as to make them worth ten times over what they are at this moment — hampered as they are by the stoppage of ' the Great Western,' a great loss to the shareholders ! — and so depress the minds of the gallant Garrison, as to make them feel themselves suddenly cut off from laurels they had predeter mined to win.

These two effects of my presence virtually give the palm to the Teign-ton-pont-ers ; and as they have ' the palm,' it is not unreasonable to hope that they will win ' the laurels.' " " Upon the purest principles of philanthropy, therefore, I go to this match ; and I may add that I shall not be disappointed if the ladies — for once in a way — turn aside from 'red,' and bet on CHRONICLES OF DARTiMOOR. 'black' as most likely to win. Tell Charlie — though by-the-bye he ought to know all about it — to see that our hampers are well stored, to let us have plenty of champagne, fruit too in plenty, and of the choicest in my preserves. George must attend you. I shall send posters (four) to morrow; Marvel has my orders on that head. But to you, my dear Kate, I say, do not be late. Four posters, even though accustomed to these roads, must have their time ; it is a long distance, a wearisome way for the poor dumb creatures, but then again I suppose, if they were not doing that, they would do something else — why, therefore, should I waste my pity?

To-morrow, Tuesdaj1, the archdeacon proposes to drive me to Buckleigh. We shall call at ' the Court,' on Mr. Tremelly. He has a great deal of property in Lawsleigh and the neighbourhood. From thence we go on to my dear old friend the vicar of Ashbystead, and lunch with him, returning here, D. v., for dinner. I am very glad, dear Kate, to have the oppor tunity of calling both at Buckleigh and Ashby stead, for they are so distant from my moorland home as to be almost shut out from me for ever, although the dear masters of these locales will never lose their places in my heart and memory. I go to Teign-ton-pont on AVednesday. The match always begins the day before, and is con cluded on the ladies' day. Bright eyes, shine your brightest! I have not attended a match for many years, though I have continued my subscription; for between ourselves, my dear Kate, the world has been gradually growing so good, that I had some doubts whether they — 'the players' — would not think it a matter of conscience ' to bowl me off the ground,' instead of allowing me to have the intoxicating pleasure of ' bowling out' my adver saries!

And again, my dear Kate, here on this moor I play cricket with the villagers of Lawsleigh, and any friends with me at the time. But I have, for many years, determined not to play cricket matches. ' There is no rule without an exception.' To play this match proves my rule ; it is the ex ception to my ordinary conduct. You will be satisfied with my very clear case. If Gray only knew what a martyr I am to the non-indulgence of my weakness for cricket or any other manly English game, I do think even he would look with a tender eye on this my exceptional game. I must say a word of apology to Mrs. Harcourt, and, relying on your well-known amiability, my dear Kate, to pardon my absence at this particular time, believe me, &c. "William Hill." And now we will look over Mrs. Harcourt's shoulder, and read what the vicar says to her.

" Dear Mrs. Harcourt, — " What will you say to so ungallant a host ? But it is of little use to ask a question that cannot be answered ; and so that cannot be what I meant to say. The fact is, I have been led into ' a match,' quite unintentionally on my own part, and, between ourselves, I am a little ashamed of my weakness — if weakness it can be called — that take3 delight in all manly English sports and sees no harm in them. For, by one of those strange anomalies in human nature, and, in spite of my sense of shame, the anticipation of this 'match' seems to gild all my thoughts and actions for the time being with a sort of halo that is pleasurable to me. And so, if you cannot pardon the ' weakness,' you will not throw a cloud over the halo — will you? Another query — clearly that cannot be what I meant to say.

Have you ever been to Teign-ton-pont ? — never ! Of course never. Moorgarten was at too great a distance — then you know nothing about it, and care less. Excuse me — that is not what you mean to say. AU ladies who know anything of Devon, or of the society there, wish to go to a 'Ladies' day at Teign-ton-pont.' You will go on Thursday, the 29th, with Mrs. Hill and Charlie — yrou see I lay my commands upon you. You will look your best — ah ! — that certainly is not what I meant to say — for you always look so well, it would be impossible to look better. Do not spare my conservatory ; flowers of the choicest are yours for the cutting. I wish I was at Laws leigh to cut them for you. No ! — that is not what I meant to say — because I cannot be one of the ' eleven' and yet be one with you. There is a limit to our pleasures on this earth ; the ' eleven ' and my ' weakness ' for the time being separate me from you.

The 'laurels,' when they are won — that is, if I have any hand in the winning — shall be laid at your feet. Now — I am wonder ing if that is what I meant to say ? I thought when I took up my pen, that I meant to say some thing — perhaps I did. But it is late. Marvel and Sir Harry wait ; and if I had anything to say, I have not time now. You will meet me at Teign ton-pont, and the 'match' will undoubtedly be won either by 'us' or the Garrison. If you think the word ' us ' requires explanation, explain it to your own satisfaction, and I shall be perfectly satisfied. I think I shall make up my mind that you quite forgive my rudeness in leaving you — my conscience has enough to bear at this moment, and if you do not pardon me, my remorse must stand over for some future occasion. Is that what I meant to say ?

Good night — good night — sleep well — rise well — be well — look well — and believe that " I am yours, &c, &c, " William Hill. " Did I mean to write that ?"

Chapter II. In Which Parson Hill Makes

A SPEECH. A ND the Thursday came. The weather was all ■*- *- that could be desired ; the attendance full. If Parson Hill had been a vain man, he might have been a little annoyed that the party from the moor did not arrive earlier on the ground — the more so as he had forewarned them of the long distance and the bad roads, and expressed a wish that they should not be late. But he was far too much absorbed in the game to notice their absence. Teign-ton-pont, had met their match ! One of the gallant was as clever at, " bowling" as the par son himself; and the good "bowlers" and the capi tal " bats " on both sides, made the battle a hard one to win. Mrs. Hill and Mrs. Harcourt had not been many minutes on the ground, when a cheer proclaimed that the match was won. And the parson hurried from the field to tell the latter the " laurels" were hers, as he had promised.

For Teign-ton-pont had beaten the Garrison. And now the "elevens" came in by ones and twos and threes, and the ladies clustered together in groups, or promenaded on the green turf, until the announcement of dinner. The president on this occasion was not Sir AV alter Pellew of Lac comb, nor Mr. Dunro of Hunsdon, nor Lord Chenstone, nor dear — and, at that time, well known — Henry Mayler. The president may have been a stranger to many, but he was evidently well known to Parson Hill. The president, when din ner was announced, led the way with Mrs. Hill ; Parson Hill followed with Mrs. Harcourt, and soon the large dining-room was full, and the company busy with the good things set before them. After dinner the usual toasts were given and responded to, and last of all — as is the custom — the president gave, "The Ladies."

I am not able to say that, by any pre-arrangement, Parson Hill rose to reply to this toast. It is certain that he did so. "Ladies and Gentlemen, — A^any years have passed since last I had the honour and the pleasure of standing in your presence. The snows of many winters have added a lustre to my crown ; and with years come experience. I am, as you know, a country parson, living on Dartmoor ; but neither my locality nor my cloth ever deters me from the heart-felt pleasure of returning thanks for the ladies. In my early life, fate sent me wandering from my native land. In all the cities of Europe — in sunny Constantinople, in quaint Nuremberg, in ancient Prague — I have returned thanks for the ladies. In the Valley of Chamouny, in the Vale of Tempe, and in our own beautiful dove-dale, I have returned thanks for the ladies.

On Ehren breitstein, on the Righi, on the Rock of Gibraltar, on the Great St. Bernard, and on Mount Parnas sus, I have returned thanks for the ladies. On the beautiful lakes of our own country, on Kil larny, on Como, on the Lagunes of Venice, on the Bay of Naples, and on the Golden Horn, I have returned thanks for the ladies. On Snowdon, on Ben Lawers, on the Jura, on the Pyrenees, on the Alps, and on the Apennines, I have given thanks for the ladies. But never have I returned thanks for the ladies with more hearty good-will than on the present occasion. (Prolonged ap plause.) Never have I seen brighter eyes, never more lovely forms, never more charming faces, than meet my gaze at the present moment ; and never was my heart more glad in returning thanks for the ladies than at the present time.

(Loud cheers.) Ladies," and here the parson paused and looked round, "ladies, we, the Teign-ton -pouters, have this day met a gallant opponent, a fair foe in a fair fight, an honourable company of honourable gentlemen ; and if the chances of the game went against them, it was not for want of skill, or want of any of those qualities that together make up the cricketer and the gentleman. We, the Teign-ton-ponters, had hard work to beat them. (Loud and prolonged cheers.) They are no sluggards at their work ; they are as gallant a set of gentlemen as it has ever been our good for tune to meet, but, as I said, hard to conquer. CHRONICELS OF DARTMOOR. 17 Ladies, bright eyes are dangerous weapons — yours are very bright (cheers) ; smiles are very encourag ing — yours are more, they wound while they beckon.

(Cheers.) Men who are glorious in fight, have warm hearts for the ladies ; men who are hard to conquer by their fellow-men, succumb to the power of the ladies ; men who are gallant, and noble, and true, are always true to the ladies. Such are the glorious (Cheers.) Ladies, I have the honour to return thanks in your name, &c, &c," and Parson Hill seated himself amid a storm of applause. And then, according to the custom of the meet ing, the ladies retired. On these occasions the gentlemen do not remain long at their wine. The festivities of the day always conclude with a dance. C VOL.

Chapter III. In Which Parson Hill Meets Many Old Friends

AN the re-appearance of the gentlemen after dinner, Parson Hill was accosted by a young lady, " Mr. Hill !— Mr. Hill !" clapping her hands, " I am so glad to see you !" " I also am glad that I have the power to gladden you," said the parson, lifting his hat high from his head. " It is such a long time since I have seen vou. " Is it indeed ? You have had no loss ; but mine has been great. And you really look so young, and fresh, and charming — pray, were you ' out ' when I was here last ?" " Why, I am not ' out ' now — what nonsense you talk ! Do not you know me ?" "The knowledge is on your side — all that I know is that you are a very fascinating young lady ; if you are not ' out,' the gentlemen have a great loss ; and, in my opinion, you ought to come ' out ' immediately. Is that nonsense ?"

"I am afraid mamma would think 'yes;' but I think ' no.' I should so like to come ' out,' but mamma says " " Suppose you take my arm," said Parson Hill, suiting the action to the word ; " and then we can have a nice walk and a very cozy talk." "Yes, we can," said the lady, taking his arm. " And I did so beg of mamma to let me come to day — you see, there was a doubt, because the carriage was so full ; but I offered to sit anywhere, or stand, or " " 1 am quite sure you were most amiable." " And now I am so glad, because you are here." " And I also am glad, as I said before ; and certainly your presence adds to my gladness." C " Oh ! You are so funny — you are just as funny as ever. I knew you would be, as soon as ever I saw you. But mamma says I am not to ' come out ' until " Here the lady stopped, and with a pretty blush looked up at Parson Hill.

He stooped his ear to a level with her face, and said, "Until?" " It is a secret," said she. These words appeared to satisfy the parson, for he started to his full height in a moment, as he said, " I alwaj-s consider it secrets from young ladies me!" dangerous to listen to So pray do not tell " Oh ! don't be so stiff," at his arm to make him said she, as she tugged unbend from his erect position. " Why, I daresay you know all about it." " You ' daresay ' more than I dare." " Why, has not mamma told you ? Because, though it is such a secret, and we are all told not to talk about it, and all that, yet we know mamma tells everybody. She does " " And has not told me ! Then, of course, I am highly offended. And, most agreeable young lady, if you will take the trouble to understand my un comfortable position, I think your kind heart will pity me.

I do not know your mamma. I do not know you ; and I do not know the secret. Now, what do you say to that ?" " Not know me !" said the lady, pulling his arm, and quite ignoring the other two parts of the parson's speech. " Why, I am Lucy ! Look at me. Now, don't you see I am Lucy ?" " I see you are very charming." " Oh, yes ! That is just as you used to talk. But you have not been to our house for a very long time. But then, of course, I know you just as well as ever. Why, we used to be such good friends." And she looked appealingly at him. "And I hope we are now," said the parson, stopping in his walk, and looking down upon the lady's upturned face. " Oh, yes ? That is, I am sure I am," said she. " And I am sure I am." " There is mamma — look! and Isabel, and " And the parson and his companion turned to greet some ladies, who were evidently well known to both.

" And so you are the mamma to this charming Lucy ?" said Mr. Hill, as he shook hands with the lady. " I saw her seize hold of you as soon as you left the dining-room," said Mrs. Campbell. " Pardon me. She is my prisoner," said the parson. And then the two parties joined, and recom menced their promenade. But this arrangement was not a pleasant one to Lucy. And when, in the pauses of the conversation, Parson Hill turned to speak to her, she said, " I wish mamma would go away — do not you ?" Parson Hill looked so extremely shocked at this speech, that for the moment the young lady was disconcerted ; but rallying almost immediately, she pulled his arm, and said, " I know you do not mean it." " Indeed I do," said Parson Hill, sotto voce. And he turned to continue his conversation with Mrs. Campbell.

" I do not believe you," said Lucy, when she could arrest his attention. " You are only making fun, as you always do." " Remember, I am a parson." But as, in gatherings of this sort, everybody knows everybody, it follows that everybody must speak to everybody ; and thus it happened that Mrs. Campbell was greeted by another party, and Parson Hill was then set free to give all his atten - tion to Lucy. " There ! I am so glad she is gone ! Let us get away from the crowd." " Miss Lucy Campbell, do you wish to distress the nerves of your aged friend ?" " Aged, indeed ! Why, you are not at all old ! You are just the very same as ever ; and I am so glad! But why do you call me 'miss?' Don't you remember you always called me ' your dear little Lucy.' " " Did I indeed ! What could I have been thinking of, to take such a liberty with you !"

" Why, I liked it very much. And now I am going to ask you something — something that I want you to do. I have quite set my heart on it." The parson stopped, and looked down upon the lady-. " Now, you need not make such a face, because I shall not believe you. We all want it so much." " Not believe me ! Am I in my senses ?" "Yes you are. And they made me promise to ask you, as soon as ever they saw you. There was such a clapping of hands in our carriage when Isabel spied you amongst the cricketers ! Mamma was quite ashamed !" " She might well be ashamed ! — young ladies clapping their hands at the cricketers ! But you say 'they' made you promise to ask me this some thing. Why did not ' they' ask me themselves ?" " Two or three of them said it would not do for them ; but / could do it very well.

And I was very glad to have to find you out, and ask you to walk with me, and all that !" " Umph !" said the parson ; and then he began to wonder within himself what the lady had set her heart upon, and who were the fair ones whom Lucy designated by "they." "Will you have the kindness to tell me the names of those ladies who sent you to me? I hope they are not in tended to be kept secret ?" " Oh ! dear no ! There was Isabel, and Char lotte Pitt, and Louisa and Jane Hammond, and a great many more, all the rest of us. Of course you know us all ?" "Do I?" said the parson. " Now do not pretend such nonsense — of course you do ! We want to have a day on the moor. We want you to ask our mammas and all of us to come to Lawsleigh for a long, long day." " Can you not come without being asked ?" " Why, yes ; but that will not do at all — we want a real long day-, all of us together.

When we go without having been asked, we are only two or three ; but all together, everybody for a long day — that is what we want." " Had you not better stay all night ?" The lady was a little disconcerted by this, but again she rallied almost immediately, and said, with such frank naivete, "I never thought of that!" that Parson Hill saw she would have no inclina tion to refuse such a request, if he made it in earnest. " Now you expect me to give an answer, and fix the day at once, do y-ou ?" " Of course I do. I expect you to say ' Yes,' and to fix an early day. They all expect it — and they all said you would say ' Yes ' to me." " And so I would," said the parson, " only as you are not out, and therefore cannot come " " Indeed I go to all such places !" "Such places, indeed!" interrupted the parson.

"Yes, all such places. Mamma takes me to pic-nics and water-parties, and archery, and such like." "And would she bring you to the moor?" " She would be delighted ! and so would papa — he is so fond of the moor — and Edward, and Her bert, and " " Oh ! — oh ! — oh !" said the parson, affecting to groan. "Now do not make such a noise," said she, giving his arm a good pull. " You know you like us all very much." "Do I?" said the parson, in a tone that ex pressed a doubt. " Yes. That is, you used to do," and the lady seemed also to allow some doubt of something to creep into her mind, for she said, in an altered tone : " But if you do not want us to come, why," and then there was a little sigh, as if she inwardly resigned all thought of that charming day on the moor, that had been so vividly pictured by her own bright imagination, " why, I am sure / do not want to come ; and they will not ; and I shall go and tell them," and she drew her arm from Parson Hill, " that you are quite altered, and do not care for us one bit !"