that Mr. Yorke varied a little in his phraseology. Now he spoke broad
Yorkshire, and anon he expressed himself in very pure English. His manner seemed liable to equal alternations. He could be polite and affable, and he could be blunt and rough. His station then you could not easily determine by his speech and demeanour. Perhaps the appearance of his residence may
decide it.
The men he recommended to take the kitchen way, saying that he would "see them served wi'
summat to taste presently." The gentlemen were ushered in at the front entrance. They found themselves in a matted hall, lined almost to the ceiling with pictures. Through this they were conducted to a large parlour, with a magnificent fire in the grate—the most cheerful of rooms it appeared as a whole, and when you came to examine details, the enlivening effect was not diminished.
There was no splendour, but there was taste everywhere, unusual taste—the taste, you would have said, of a travelled man, a scholar, and a gentleman. A series of Italian views decked the walls. Each of these was a specimen of true art. A connoisseur had selected them; they were genuine and valuable.
Even by candle-light the bright clear skies, the soft distances, with blue air quivering between the eye and the hills, the fresh tints, and well-massed lights and shadows, charmed the view. The subjects were
all pastoral, the scenes were all sunny. There was a guitar and some music on a sofa; there were cameos, beautiful miniatures; a set of Grecian-looking vases on the mantelpiece; there were books well arranged in two elegant bookcases.
Mr. Yorke bade his guests be seated. He then rang for wine. To the servant who brought it he gave
hospitable orders for the refreshment of the men in the kitchen. The rector remained standing; he seemed not to like his quarters; he would not touch the wine his host offered him.
"E'en as you will," remarked Mr. Yorke. "I reckon you're thinking of Eastern customs, Mr.
Helstone, and you'll not eat nor drink under my roof, feared we suld be forced to be friends; but I am
not so particular or superstitious. You might sup the contents of that decanter, and you might give me
a bottle of the best in your own cellar, and I'd hold myself free to oppose you at every turn still—in
every vestry-meeting and justice-meeting where we encountered one another."
"It is just what I should expect of you, Mr. Yorke."
"Does it agree wi' ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding out after rioters, of a wet night, at your age?"
"It always agrees with me to be doing my duty; and in this case my duty is a thorough pleasure. To
hunt down vermin is a noble occupation, fit for an archbishop."
"Fit for ye, at ony rate. But where's t' curate? He's happen gone to visit some poor body in a sick gird, or he's happen hunting down vermin in another direction."
"He is doing garrison-duty at Hollow's Mill."
"You left him a sup o' wine, I hope, Bob" (turning to Mr. Moore), "to keep his courage up?"
He did not pause for an answer, but continued, quickly, still addressing Moore, who had thrown himself into an old-fashioned chair by the fireside—"Move it, Robert! Get up, my lad! That place is mine. Take the sofa, or three other chairs, if you will, but not this. It belangs to me, and nob'dy else."
"Why are you so particular to that chair, Mr. Yorke?" asked Moore, lazily vacating the place in obedience to orders.
"My father war afore me, and that's all t' answer I sall gie thee; and it's as good a reason as Mr.
Helstone can give for the main feck o' his notions."
"Moore, are you ready to go?" inquired the rector.
"Nay; Robert's not ready, or rather, I'm not ready to part wi' him. He's an ill lad, and wants correcting."
"Why, sir? What have I done?"
"Made thyself enemies on every hand."
"What do I care for that? What difference does it make to me whether your Yorkshire louts hate me
or like me?"
"Ay, there it is. The lad is a mak' of an alien amang us. His father would
Yorkshire, and anon he expressed himself in very pure English. His manner seemed liable to equal alternations. He could be polite and affable, and he could be blunt and rough. His station then you could not easily determine by his speech and demeanour. Perhaps the appearance of his residence may
decide it.
The men he recommended to take the kitchen way, saying that he would "see them served wi'
summat to taste presently." The gentlemen were ushered in at the front entrance. They found themselves in a matted hall, lined almost to the ceiling with pictures. Through this they were conducted to a large parlour, with a magnificent fire in the grate—the most cheerful of rooms it appeared as a whole, and when you came to examine details, the enlivening effect was not diminished.
There was no splendour, but there was taste everywhere, unusual taste—the taste, you would have said, of a travelled man, a scholar, and a gentleman. A series of Italian views decked the walls. Each of these was a specimen of true art. A connoisseur had selected them; they were genuine and valuable.
Even by candle-light the bright clear skies, the soft distances, with blue air quivering between the eye and the hills, the fresh tints, and well-massed lights and shadows, charmed the view. The subjects were
all pastoral, the scenes were all sunny. There was a guitar and some music on a sofa; there were cameos, beautiful miniatures; a set of Grecian-looking vases on the mantelpiece; there were books well arranged in two elegant bookcases.
Mr. Yorke bade his guests be seated. He then rang for wine. To the servant who brought it he gave
hospitable orders for the refreshment of the men in the kitchen. The rector remained standing; he seemed not to like his quarters; he would not touch the wine his host offered him.
"E'en as you will," remarked Mr. Yorke. "I reckon you're thinking of Eastern customs, Mr.
Helstone, and you'll not eat nor drink under my roof, feared we suld be forced to be friends; but I am
not so particular or superstitious. You might sup the contents of that decanter, and you might give me
a bottle of the best in your own cellar, and I'd hold myself free to oppose you at every turn still—in
every vestry-meeting and justice-meeting where we encountered one another."
"It is just what I should expect of you, Mr. Yorke."
"Does it agree wi' ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding out after rioters, of a wet night, at your age?"
"It always agrees with me to be doing my duty; and in this case my duty is a thorough pleasure. To
hunt down vermin is a noble occupation, fit for an archbishop."
"Fit for ye, at ony rate. But where's t' curate? He's happen gone to visit some poor body in a sick gird, or he's happen hunting down vermin in another direction."
"He is doing garrison-duty at Hollow's Mill."
"You left him a sup o' wine, I hope, Bob" (turning to Mr. Moore), "to keep his courage up?"
He did not pause for an answer, but continued, quickly, still addressing Moore, who had thrown himself into an old-fashioned chair by the fireside—"Move it, Robert! Get up, my lad! That place is mine. Take the sofa, or three other chairs, if you will, but not this. It belangs to me, and nob'dy else."
"Why are you so particular to that chair, Mr. Yorke?" asked Moore, lazily vacating the place in obedience to orders.
"My father war afore me, and that's all t' answer I sall gie thee; and it's as good a reason as Mr.
Helstone can give for the main feck o' his notions."
"Moore, are you ready to go?" inquired the rector.
"Nay; Robert's not ready, or rather, I'm not ready to part wi' him. He's an ill lad, and wants correcting."
"Why, sir? What have I done?"
"Made thyself enemies on every hand."
"What do I care for that? What difference does it make to me whether your Yorkshire louts hate me
or like me?"
"Ay, there it is. The lad is a mak' of an alien amang us. His father would
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