The constables, always on the alert for some breach of the law during the fair, had come down on the combatants, arrested them, and conveyed them to the courthouse.

On fair-days a magistrate was ever at hand to dispose of such cases as might arise, disputes over engagements, quarrels, petty thefts, etc.

Mr. Caunter, the justice who lived in the town, and who had undertaken not to absent himself that day, was summoned. Another joined him.

The two young men presented a somewhat battered and deplorable condition. Noah, bruised in the face, had his eye darkened and swelling; but Jan showed the most damaged appearance, as his head had been cut, and the blood had flowed over his forehead and stained his cheek. Something had been done to wash his face and to staunch the flow, but this had been only partially successful.

The court-house was crowded. Friends and acquaintances had deserted the bear, that they might see the end of the brawl between the lusty young men, and to exhibit their sympathy and give evidence in their favour if required.

After the constables had recorded their evidence, the magistrate called on John Pooke to say what he had to state in answer to the charge. It was a case of affray, and of common assault if one of the parties chose to complain.

“You seem to be the one most damaged,” said the justice. “What is your name?”

“John Pooke.”

“Where from?”

“Coombe-in-Teignhead, sir.”

“I think I have heard your name. Your father is a most respectable yeoman, I believe.”

“Yes, sir, and woundy fat.”

“Never mind about his obesity. With so respectable a parent, in such a position, it is very discreditable that you should be brought up before me as taking a principal part in a vulgar brawl.”

“Brawl, sir? where?”

“Here in Ashburton, in the market-place, according to the account of the constables, you were principal in an affray, and an affray--according to Lord Coke--is a public offence to the terror of the king’s subjects, so called because it affrighteth and maketh men afraid.”

“I, sir? Whom did I affright and make afraid?”

“The public, before whom you were fighting.”

“Lor, bless you, sir! they loved it. It was better sport than a little dog snapping at a mangy bear.”

“Never mind whether they liked it or not; it was an affray and an assault. Now tell me your version of the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“The brawl. Did you not hear what the constables said?”

“Oh, that little tittery matter! We was looking at a bear and a dog.”

“Well--proceed”

“The dog didn’t understand how to get hold of the bear; he thought he was wus’ than he was, and the bear could do nothing till he had his muzzle off. Then up came a little terrier. My word! he was a daring little dowse of a dog.”

“I want to hear nothing about the dogs and the bear, but about yourselves. What was the occasion of your quarrel with your adversary?”

“Adversary?”

“Yes; the other--Noah Flood, I believe he is called. You see he has a swollen eye, and his face is puffed and bruised. I presume you admit you hit this man Flood?”

“What!--Noah?”

“Yes, Noah.”

“Was that him you called my adversary?”

“Yes; you were fighting him, so the constable says.”

“Bless y’! Noah is a right-down good fellow, and a chum o’ mine. He’s no adversary.”

“Anyhow, you banged him about, assaulted him, and did him grievous bodily harm.”

“Who--I?”

“Yes, you.”

“Lawk, sir! Noah and I was at school together with Mr. Puddicombe. That was before his little misfortune, sir, when he lost the school because of cock-fighting. Father never approved of his being turned out, nor did I--nor Noah neither. We got on famous wi’wi’ Puddicombe; didn’t us, Noah?”

“I want to hear nothing about your school reminiscences,” said the magistrate sharply. “Moreover, you will please to confine your observations to the Bench, and not address questions to your fellow under arrest.”

“Thank you, sir. What is that?” This last to the constable. “I beg your pardon, the constable tells me I ought to say ‘your worship,’ and so I does. Noah and I was in the same class; we left the school together, and the very last thing we learned was, ‘Vital spark of heavenly flame’; wasn’t it, Noah?”

Noah assented.

“I do not care what the course of instruction was in the school,” protested Mr. Caunter. “To the point, if you please, and remember, address yourself to the Bench. There was some sort of affray between you and Flood. The constables separated you. What led to this?”

“I believe there was some tittery bit of a thing. I titched Noah, and Noah titched me, and my hat falled off. You see, your worship, I’d pomatumed my hair this morning, and so my hat didn’t sit easy. My head was all slithery like, and a little titch, and away went my hat.”

“Here is the hat, your worship,” said a constable, producing and placing on the table a battered and trampled piece of headgear.

“Is that your hat, John Pooke?”

“I reckon it may ha’ been. But her’s got terrible knocked about. It wor a mussy that I hadn’t on my new hat I got at Exeter--that would ha’ been a pity. I bought she for sister’s Sue’s wedding. Sister Sue be a-going to be married after Easter, your worship.”

“I don’t want to hear about sister Sue. So Noah Flood knocked your hat off, and that occasioned”--

“I beg your pardon, sir, I never said that. I said my head was that slithery wi’ pomatum the hat falled off, and then folks trod on it.”

“Come, this is trifling with the Bench, and with the majesty of the law. The people may have trampled on your hat, but not on your head, which is cut about and battered almost as much as the hat.”

“No, sir, I don’t fancy nobody trod on my head.”

“How comes it about that you are so cut and bruised? I see you have had your wounds plastered.”

“Yes, your worship. The surgeon, he sewed up the wust place.”

“And your dear good friend and chum, and school companion, and comrade in learning ‘Vital spark of heavenly flame,’ did that, I presume?”

“No, sir, it was the surgeon did it.”

“What, cut your head open?”

“No, sir; sewed it up.”

“Then who cut your head open?”

“Nobody, sir.”

“Someone must have done it. This evasion only makes the case worse.”

“Nobody did it at all. It was the Brazil nuts.”

“Brazil nuts?” exclaimed the magistrate in astonishment. “I do not understand you.”

“Well, your worship, they’re terrible hard, and have got three corners. Noah! hand over some of them nuts to his honour. Just you try your teeth on ’em, Mr. Caunter. You can’t do it. It was the Brazil nuts as cut my head. Not that it matters much. My head be nicely sewed up again, and right as ever it was.”

“Explain the circumstances to the Bench, and no meandering, if you please.”

“Well, that’s easy done, your worship. Noah, he’d bought thickey nuts at a stall. What did you give for ’em, Noah?”

“Tu’pence,” said Flood solemnly.

“Hish! hish!” from the nearest constable.

“Twopence he paid, your worship, and then he wanted to crack ’em and couldn’t do it. He couldn’t wi’ his teeth, nor in his fist. If your worship will be pleased to try on the desk, you’ll find how hard the nuts be.”

“Go on, and to the point.”

“You see, Rose, she’s got a wonderful fancy for nuts”--

“Who may Rose be?”

“Her’s the beautifullest maid in Coombe-in-Teignhead--red cheeks as she ought to have, being called Rose; and as for twinkling eyes”--

“Never mind a description; what is the other name?”

“Rose Ash. She is here, sir, looking on and blushing.”

“We’ll call her presently. Proceed with your story.”

“Rose, she wanted Noah to crack the nuts, and he hadn’t a hammer, nor a stone, so”--

“He broke them on your head?”

“No, sir, he broke my head with the nuts.”

“Oh, that is the rights of the story, is it? You objected, and a fight ensued?”

“He’d undertaken to crack the nuts for Rose, sir.” Then, turning to Flood, “That’s about it, ain’t it, Noah? Shake hands; we’re old friends.”

“I agrees with everything as my friend Jan Pooke said. He puts it beautiful,” said Flood.

“Step aside, John Pooke,” said the magistrate; “we will now hear what the other fellow has to say.”

Nothing, however, was to be extracted from Flood but that he agreed with Jan, and Jan could speak better than he. He referred himself to Jan. Jan knew all about it, and he himself was so bewildered that he could not remember much, but as Jan spoke, all came out clear. As to the Brazil nuts, he had them in his hand, and it was true he “had knocked Jan on the head wi’ ’em. If the gentleman would overlook it this time, he hoped no offence; but he’d buy no more Brazil nuts--never as long as he lived.”

“Call Rose Ash!” said the justice. “Perhaps she can throw some light on this matter.”

Rose was in court, and was soon in the witness-box, looking very pretty, and very conscious that the eyes of every one in the place were on her. She kissed the New Testament with a glance round of her twinkling eyes that said as plain as words, “Would not every young fellow in this room like to be in the place of the book?”

“It was all the fault of Kitty Alone,” said Rose. “We were in peace and comfort till she came meddling and setting one against another; just like her--the minx!”

“And who, if you please, is Kitty Alone?”

“Kitty Quarm. There never would have been any unpleasantness unless she had poked her nose in. Me and Jan Pooke drove to the fair, and then up comes Kitty and will interfere and be disagreeable.”

“Constable, send for Catherine Quarm,” ordered the magistrate. “I presume she is not far off. Go on, Miss Ash, and tell us precisely the cause of the quarrel.”

“That is more than I can undertake to do. All I know is that Kitty was at the bottom of it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Every one who knows Kitty knows that she is a mischief-maker. Nasty, meddlesome toad!”

“Rose, this is spite, and nothing more,” exclaimed Jan.

“Silence!” ordered the magistrate. “The witness is not to be interfered with.”

“Please, your worship, I won’t have her slandering an innocent girl just because I gave her a workbox as a fairing.”

The justice endeavoured, but in vain, to get a connected story out of Rose. That Kitty was at the bottom of the fight, guilty of setting the young men boxing and belabouring each other: that was the burden of her evidence.

“A word with John Pooke,” said the justice, “whilst we are waiting for the other witness.”

Jan was put into the dock again.

“Is it your intention to summons Flood for assault?”

“What--Noah?”

“Yes, on account of your head being cut open.”

“My head is sewn up.”

“But you have suffered loss of blood.”

“The nuts did that, not Noah.”

“Then you forgive him?”

“Whom?”

“Noah Flood.”

“There is nothing to forgive. The nuts were terrible hard. He’ll never buy any more.”

Kate Quarm was now brought into court, and placed in the witness-box. She was bidden to give a succinct account of the quarrel.

“I was standing looking at the bear,” she said, “and someone knocked my workbox from under my arm. I do not know who did it, there was such a crowd, and all were in motion because the bear had got free of his chain and muzzle. Then I ran to pick up what was fallen, and when next I looked about me, Jan Pooke and Noah Flood were fighting.”

“What made them fight?”

“I do not know, sir. Perhaps Jan thought Noah had knocked my workbox from under my arm. But I cannot tell. I had gone after my scattered things, and then I was drawn away to be taken to my father.”

“You did not hear Pooke say anything to Flood, or vice versâ, about cracking nuts?”

“Not then, sir; a little before, Rose had asked to have the Brazil nuts cracked, and Noah had promised to crack them when the opportunity came.”

“I told you so, your worship,” threw in Pooke.

“Well,” said the magistrate, “this girl Kate Quarm is the only one among you who seems to have her wits about her, and can tell a simple tale in an intelligent way. As for you, John Pooke, and you, Noah Flood, I shall bind you over to keep the peace, and dismiss you with a caution.”

END OF VOL. I.

MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

OCTOBER 1894

[May 1895. Rudyard Kipling. BALLADS. By Rudyard Kipling. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s

The announcement of a new volume of poetry from Mr. Kipling will excite wide interest. The exceptional success of ‘Barrack-Room Ballads,’ with which this volume will be uniform, justifies the hope that the new book too will obtain a wide popularity.

Henley. ENGLISH LYRICS. Selected and Edited by W. E. Henley. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

Few announcements will be more welcome to lovers of English verse than the one that Mr. Henley is bringing together into one book the finest lyrics in our language. Robust and original the book will certainly be, and it will be produced with the same care that made ‘Lyra Heroica’ delightful to the hand and eye.

“Q” THE GOLDEN POMP: A Procession of English Lyrics from Surrey to Shirley, arranged by A. T. Quiller Couch. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

Mr. Quiller Couch’s taste and sympathy mark him out as a born anthologist, and out of the wealth of Elizabethan poetry he has made a book of great attraction.

Beeching. LYRA SACRA: An Anthology of Sacred Verse. Edited by H. C. Beeching, M.A. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s.

Also 25 copies on hand-made paper. 21s.

This book will appeal to a wide public. Few languages are richer in serious verse than the English, and the Editor has had some difficulty in confining his material within his limits.

Yeats. AN ANTHOLOGY OF IRISH VERSE. Edited by W. B. Yeats. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

Baring Gould. A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES retold by S. Baring Gould. With numerous illustrations and initial letters by Arthur J. Gaskin. Crown 8vo. 6s.

Few living writers have been more loving students of fairy and folk lore than Mr. Baring Gould, who in this book returns to the field in which he won his spurs. This volume consists of the old stories which have been dear to generations of children, and they are fully illustrated by Mr. Gaskin, whose exquisite designs for Andersen’s Tales won him last year an enviable reputation.

Baring Gould. A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND RHYMES. Edited by S. Baring Gould, and illustrated by the Students of the Birmingham Art School. Crown 8vo. 6s.

Also 50 copies on hand-made paper. 4to. 21s.

A collection of old nursery songs and rhymes, including a number which are little known. The book contains some charming illustrations by the Birmingham students under the superintendence of Mr. Gaskin, and Mr. Baring Gould has added numerous notes.

Beeching. A BOOK OF CHRISTMAS VERSE. Edited by H. C. Beeching, M.A., and Illustrated by Walter Crane. Crown 8vo. 6s.

A collection of the best verse inspired by the birth of Christ from the Middle Ages to the present day. Mr. Walter Crane has designed some beautiful illustrations. A distinction of the book is the large number of poems it contains by modern authors, a few of which are here printed for the first time..

Jane Barlow. THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE, translated by Jane Barlow, Author of ‘Irish Idylls’ and pictured by F. D. Bedford. Small 4to. 6s. net.

This is a new version of a famous old fable. Miss Barlow, whose brilliant volume of ‘Irish Idylls’ has gained her a wide reputation, has told the story in spirited flowing verse, and Mr. Bedford’s numerous illustrations and ornaments are as spirited as the verse they picture. The book will be one of the most beautiful and original books possible.

THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. By Thomas À Kempis. With an Introduction by Archdeacon Farrar. Illustrated by C. M. Gere. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.

THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By John Keble. With an Introduction and Notes by W. Lock, M.A., Sub-Warden of Keble College, Author of ‘The Life of John Keble,’ Illustrated by R. Anning Bell. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.

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The time seems to have arrived for a new edition of Gibbon’s great work--furnished with such notes and appendices as may bring it up to the standard of recent historical research. Edited by a scholar who has made this period his special study, and issued in a convenient form and at a moderate price, this edition should fill an obvious void.

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LANCELOT ANDREWES, Bishop of Winchester. By R. L. Ottley, Principal of Pusey House, Oxford, and Fellow of Magdalen. With Portrait.

St. AUGUSTINE of Canterbury. By E. L. Cutts, D.D. With a Portrait.

THOMAS CHALMERS. By Mrs. Oliphant. With a Portrait. Second Edition.

JOHN KEBLE. By Walter Lock, Sub-Warden of Keble College. With a Portrait. Seventh Edition.

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The ordinary ‘cheap edition’ appears to have served its purpose: the public has found out the artist-printer, and is now ready for something better fashioned. This, then, is the moment for the issue of such a series as, while well within the reach of the average buyer, shall be at once an ornament to the shelf of him that owns, and a delight to the eye of him that reads.

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THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY. By Lawrence Sterne. With an Introduction by Charles Whibley, and a Portrait. 2 vols.

THE WORKS OF WILLIAM CONGREVE. With an Introduction by G. S. Street, and a Portrait. 2 vols.

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THE ADVENTURES OF HADJI BABA OF ISPAHAN. By James Morier. With an Introduction by E. S. Browne, M.A.

THE POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS. With an Introduction by W. E. Henley, and a Portrait. 2 vols.

THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By Samuel Johnson, LL.D. With an Introduction by James Hepburn Millar, and a Portrait. 3 vols.

LUCIAN--Six Dialogues (Nigrinus, Icaro-Menippus, The Cock, The Ship, The Parasite, The Lover of Falsehood). Translated by S. T. Irwin, M.A., Assistant Master at Clifton; late Scholar of Exeter College, Oxford. 3s. 6d.

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