But to live the life of the poor drudge her father
---to be at the command and call of every boor for
twenty miles round!---why, the labours of a higgler,
who travels scores of miles to barter pins,
ribands, snuff and tobacco, against the housewife's
private stock of eggs, mort-skins, and tallow,
is more profitable, less laborious, and faith,
I think, equally respectable. No, no,---unless I
can find wealth nearer home, I will seek it where
every one can have it for the gathering; and so I
will down to the Swan Inn, and hold a final consultation
with my friend.''
CHAPTER V.
The friend whom Middlemas expected to meet
at the Swan, was a person already mentioned in
this history by the name of Tom Hillary, bred an
attorney's clerk in the ancient town of Novum
Castrum---_doctus utriusque juris_, as far as a few
months in the service of Mr Lawford, Town-Clerk
of Middlemas, could render him so. The last
mention that we made of this gentleman, was when
his gold-laced hat veiled its splendour before the
fresher mounted beavers of the 'prentices of Dr
Gray. That was now about five years since, and
it was within six months that he had made his
appearance in Middlemas, a very different sort of
personage from that which he seemed at his departure.
Pages:
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518