CHAPTER XC.

THE NEW JUSTICE OF THE PEACE.

Sir Christopher Blunt was seated in his library, on the same evening which saw the interview between Cæsar and Jeffreys; and his countenance was animated with a glow of indescribable delight as he glanced his eyes over several letters which he opened one after another.

He was dressed in a very elegant manner; though he had somewhat punished his corns by persisting to wear tight boots in order to make his feet look small, and he might have felt a trifle or so easier at the waist if he had not tied his waistcoat strings so tight. But if Sir Christopher Blunt chose to enhance the fascinations of his appearance by converting himself into a voluntary victim of that all-powerful Inquisition called "Fashion,"—if Sir Christopher Blunt, like a great many other silly, old gentlemen of this age, smiled at his self-martyrdom with the equanimity of a saint broiling on a gridiron,—it is no business of any body save the Sir Christopher Blunt aforesaid.

In spite of the pinching boots end the excruciating tightness of the figured silk waistcoat, the worthy knight was in a most glorious humour. It was not because fortune had favoured him with great wealth: he was so accustomed to riches by this time that a little poverty might have proved an agreeable variation, if only for the excitement of the thing. Neither was it the pleasing fact that his dear spouse had been in such a hurry to present him with a son and heir, that she could not wait longer than three months after their marriage;—for Sir Christopher was already accustomed to the cries of the child, and somehow or another was growing less and less proud of his paternal honours every day, the reasoning of Dr. Wagtail relative to the premature birth appearing more and more illogical each time he sate himself down to reflect upon it. "Then, what _was_ the cause of the worthy knight's joyousness and good humour on the evening in question?" demands the impatient reader: to which query we hasten to reply—"Sir Christopher Blunt had just been placed in the commission of the peace, and congratulatory letters from his friends were pouring in on all sides!"

"Well, upon my word, this is very pleasant," said Sir Christopher to himself: "I should not have thought that I was so beloved! Not a man in England has such a host of dear, disinterested friends as I seem to possess. Scarcely does my name appear in the _Gazette_, when—whisk! in come the letters, by twopenny post and general—by hand and by conveyance! And some too are from people that really had no particular cause to be so devoted to me—people that I never spoke to six times in my life! But let's see—what have we here? A sheet of foolscap completely covered—and crossed in some parts. God bless me! what a letter. Why, it must have taken the man an hour to write it; and I am sure it will take me two to read it. But who does it come from? _Henry Atkins!_ Henry Atkins—who the deuce is he? Oh! I remember—the gentleman who allowed me a seat in his pew at Hackney, when I went to lodge there four years ago for the benefit of my health. Well, it's very kind of him to write me this long letter of congratulation—for I never exchanged ten words with him in my life. But let's see what he says. '_My dear Blunt._' Very friendly indeed! '_It was with indescribable delight and supreme satisfaction that I heard of your appointment to a position which no man in Europe can fill with more suitable dignity than yourself._' Well, come—that's a good beginning. '_Your business habits, your high standing in society, your great name, your unblemished character, your brilliant talents, and your immense benevolence, render you most eligible to fill that office, and most competent to discharge its functions._' Upon my honour, it's very prettily worded—quite sonorous! It reads admirably. And this sincere and heart-felt congratulation is from a man whom I scarcely know. But he seems to know me well enough, however. '_In these times of agricultural distress and commercial embarrassment—in this age when England's heaven is overcast with lowering clouds, and the storms of anarchy and discontent menace us imminently—it is delightful to reflect that authority is so judiciously entrusted as in your case._' That's the best rounded period I ever met with in my life. What a clever, far-seeing, shrewd man this Atkins must be: and what an idiot I have been not to cultivate the acquaintance of such a sincere friend! '_But it is chiefly your_ _benevolence—it is principally your boundless charity, which is the theme of all praise, which is chanted by all tongues, and which is hymned beneath every roof throughout the length and breadth of the land._' Well, I could not have believed that I was so famous—particularly on that score. However, it must be so, since Atkins says it is. '_Yes, my dear Blunt_,'—very friendly indeed!—'_it is your boundless charity, your anxiety to do good to deserving persons, that will hand your name down to posterity, and send it floating like an eternal bark, over the waves of Time._' Egad! that's splendid. Milton never wrote any thing finer. I have never read Milton, it is true; but I am sure Atkins can beat him. Let us see how it goes on. '_It is under these impressions, and acting in obedience to these convictions, that I have ventured to address you._' And I am very glad he has: I'll write to him presently and tell him I shall always be delighted to hear from him. Let's see—where was I? Oh!—'_ventured to address you for the purpose of soliciting your aid under very peculiar circumstances_.' Hem! I don't like that sentence so much as the others. '_I am a man possessing a large family and very limited means; and business having been lately indifferent, I have fallen into sad arrears with my landlord._' The style gets worse—that's clear! '_At this present moment I have an execution in my house for forty pounds; and when I look around me, I behold a distracted wife on one side, and a grim bailiff in possession on the other._' This is the least interesting part of his letter: that period was not at all well turned. Milton beats him hollow there.—'_If, then, my dear Blunt_,'——damned familiar, though, with his '_dear Blunt_,' upon my honour!——'_If, then, my dear Blunt, you would favour me with the loan of fifty pounds for three months_,'——Confound his impudence!" ejaculated the knight, throwing the letter into the waste-paper basket. "A man I know nothing of—who knows nothing of me—who never saw me ten times in his life—to ask me for fifty pounds! It is absurd—preposterous!"

And the knight's countenance underwent a complete change, which lasted for several minutes, until its joyous expression was gradually recalled by the perusal of letters which contained congratulations only, without soliciting favours.

Presently a servant entered the room, and stated that a gentleman named Lykspittal requested an interview with Sir Christopher Blunt.

"Show him up—show him up immediately!" exclaimed the knight. "I have been expecting the gentleman this last half-hour," he added, looking at his watch. "It is now nine—and he was to have been here soon after eight."

The domestic withdrew, and speedily returned, ushering in a thin, pale, elderly, sneaking-looking man, dressed in a suit of black which would not bear too close an inspection in the day-time, but passed off well enough by candle-light.

"Sit down, Mr. Lykspittal—pray sit down," said the knight, looking, in contrast with the visitor, just like a wax figure recently added to Madame Tussaud's exhibition, so bright was the red of his animated cheeks, so glossy his coat and trowsers, and so stiff and starch his attitude. "You have been well recommended to me, Mr. Lykspittal, by a friend to whom your literary labours have given complete satisfaction, and who speaks highly of you as a man in whom implicit confidence may be placed."

"I am very much obliged to you, Sir Christopher, for the kind opinion you have formed of me," answered the visitor in a tone of the deepest veneration and respect, and appearing by his manner as if he did not dare to say that his soul was his own. "Allow me to congratulate you, Sir Christopher, on your appointment as one of his Majesty's Justices of the Peace. I am convinced a worthier selection could not have been made."

"Well, you're very kind, Mr. Lykspittal," returned the knight. "All my friends seem to agree that the Lord Chancellor acted in a wise and prudent manner in placing my name before his most gracious Majesty for the purpose: and it will be my endeavour, Mr. Lykspittal," added Sir Christopher, pompously, "to discharge the duties of my office with credit to myself and benefit to my country."

"It is not every one who possesses your advantages, Sir Christopher," observed his visitor, in a cringing tone and with a sycophantic manner which would have disgusted any person endowed with good sense and proper feeling; but which were particularly pleasing to the shallow-pated, self-sufficient old beau.

"At the same time," said Sir Christopher, "whatever advantages I may possess—whatever be those merits which have placed me in this—this——"

"Enviable and responsible," suggested Mr. Lykspittal, meekly.

"Enviable and responsible position," continued the knight, adopting the epithets as coolly and quietly as if they were prompted by his own imagination;—"at the same time," he said, "it will not be amiss if certain measures be adopted to—to——"

"Enhance the popularity of your name," observed Mr. Lykspittal, in the same low, cringing, and meek tone as before.

"Just so," exclaimed the knight. "In fact, I mean to take a high stand in the county—to put myself more forward than I have hitherto done—to attend public meetings and——"

"Public dinners," suggested Mr. Lykspittal.

"Exactly," said Sir Christopher: "in a word, I want to—to——"

"Become a public man," added the ready-witted gentleman, whose business it was to furnish ideas to those who furnished him with cash in return.

"You understand me as well as I understand myself, Mr. Lykspittal," observed the knight.

"It's my business, sir," was the answer. "Besides, you are so enlightened and enlightening a man, Sir Christopher, that you may be regarded as a lamp constantly diffusing its lustre even upon the darkest and most chaotic ideas. Pardon me, Sir Christopher, for being so bold as to express my opinion: but it is the truth—and I never flatter."

"I am convinced you speak with sincerity, my dear sir," said the new Justice of the Peace, playing with his eye-glass. "Well, then, Mr. Lykspittal—to go back to our original subject—the subject of this interview—I think you fully comprehend me: indeed, I know that you do. It is my object and my determination to take a high position in the county—so that I may in a short time reckon upon the honour of being one of its representatives in Parliament."

"Very easily managed, Sir Christopher," said Mr. Lykspittal. "The electors would be proud of such a man as yourself:—pardon me for making the observation—but I never flatter. In the first instance, however, it is necessary that they should know you well."

"Now we are coming to the point, my dear sir," exclaimed the knight.

"Will you permit me to offer my suggestions?" asked Mr. Lykspittal, in a tone of insinuating meekness.

"Certainly—by all means. Proceed."

"Well, Sir Christopher, in the first place I should propose that a pamphlet be written on some taking subject, and addressed to your worship," continued Mr. Lykspittal. "Suppose we say the _Corn Laws_—or _Prison Discipline_—or _Catholic Emancipation_—or _Church Extension_—or _Parliamentary Reform_—or _Labour in Factories_——"

"All good subjects, Mr. Lykspittal—all good subjects," observed the knight. "But I do not mind telling you in private, that I know nothing about any one of them."

"Of course not, Sir Christopher," exclaimed Mr. Lykspittal. "It is not to be expected that a man of your standing will trouble himself about the details of such trivial matters. But which side will you take—the Liberal or the Tory?"

"Oh! the Tory, by all means!" cried Sir Christopher.

"Very good, my dear sir," said Mr. Lykspittal. "It is all the same to me—I can write on one side as well as on the other. Suppose, then, we take up the subject of _Catholic Emancipation_, which begins to make a great noise.[40] A pamphlet must be got up, supposed to be written by '_A Friend to the Established Church_,' and it must be in the shape of a letter addressed to yourself. I should begin by saying,—'SIR,—_The interest which you are known to take in this great and important question—the perseverance you have manifested in making yourself acquainted with all the bearings of the case, its certain results and its inevitable influences—the stanch and long-tried ardour which you have evinced in maintaining and upholding the institutions of the Established Church—the numerous proofs which you have given of your attachment to the Protestant Faith—and the fact that the eyes of the whole country are upon you as a man resolved, at any personal sacrifice, and at all individual risks, to oppose all dangerous innovations and resist all perilous changes,—these motives, sir, have induced me to address the following pages to you._'"

"Nothing can be better, Mr. Lykspittal!" exclaimed the knight. "I should, however, be glad if you will, in the course of the pamphlet, allude especially—and more than once, too—to the fact that I have been the artificer of my own fortune—that I raised myself from nothing—and that the greatest mistake the livery-men of Portsoken ever made was to reject me as a candidate for the aldermanic gown of that ward."

"I shall not forget, Sir Christopher," observed Mr. Lykspittal.

"And you may add, my dear sir," continued the knight, pompously, "that you are well aware that circumstances have since occurred to make me rejoice at that rejection."

"I will declare it to be a well known fact amongst all your friends," said the accommodating literary gentleman.

"And you may touch upon the zeal—the ability—and the efficiency with which I performed the duties of the shrievalty—the very arduous duties of that office," observed the new Justice of the Peace.

"I shall certainly do so, Sir Christopher," replied Mr. Lykspittal; "and it will only be telling the exact truth."

"You may likewise touch upon the reward which it graciously pleased the illustrious Prince to confer upon me," continued the magistrate: "I mean—the honour of knighthood."

"As a matter of course, my dear sir; and never was that title bestowed upon a gentleman better calculated to wear it worthily."

"I thank you, Mr. Lykspittal," returned Sir Christopher, "for your very flattering opinion of me. When can the pamphlet be got ready?"

"I shall set about it immediately, sir," was the answer. "The moment it is published, you must seize upon some point, which I shall purposely leave open for discussion, and write a letter to a morning newspaper, declaring that you agree with the general tenour of the work, but that you totally dissent from that particular doctrine."

"Decidedly," said Sir Christopher. "You will then write a reply, through the same channel, and signed '_A Friend of the Established Church_.'"

"That is my intention. We shall thus excite an interest relative to the pamphlet, and your name, Sir Christopher, will be kept before the public. The discussion may lead to a second pamphlet——"

"Stay!" exclaimed the knight, smiling with the brightness of the idea which had just struck him: "we will manage better than all that! You shall write a pamphlet which you must address to me in the terms just now specified by you; but the work must contain throughout opinions totally opposed to mine, and the object of the pamphlet must seem to be my conversion to your particular way of thinking. Then I must write another pamphlet in answer—or rather, you must write it for me; and you must cut up, hip and thigh, and completely refute all the doctrines set forth in the first pamphlet. In fact, you must start a theory in that first pamphlet, and knock it down altogether in the second, which must be supposed to come from me."

"A very ingenious idea, my dear sir," said Mr. Lykspittal, "and just such an one as I should have expected from a man of your enlightened mind. I admire the plan amazingly; and will set to work at once."

"Very good," exclaimed Sir Christopher. "I will write you a cheque for thirty guineas on account. You will of course make all the necessary arrangements with the printer and stationer, and you may apply to me for money as you require it. I shall do the thing handsomely, and spend fifty pounds at least in advertising each pamphlet."

Mr. Lykspittal coincided altogether in the propriety of these intentions—indeed, he never was known to differ from a patron in the whole course of his life; and, having received the cheque, he took his leave, walking backwards to the door in homage to the great man who had just been placed in the commission of the peace.

Almost immediately after the departure of Mr. Lykspitttal, a servant entered, announcing Captain O'Blunderbuss.

Footnote 40:

The reader will observe that this was said in the year 1827, _before_ the emancipation of the Catholics took place.