CHAPTER XXIV.

THE GENTLEMEN IN BLACK ARRIVE.

ALL is bustle and commotion in the village of Dripsey Bridge.

The "awful visitation" at the Abbey, as good Doctor Bowlby everywhere calls it, is the one subject in every mouth, the sole occupation of every tongue; and the inhabitants of Dripsey-if we are to believe their detractors have mouths unusually wide, and tongues unusually long.

Each cottage door, nay, each lattice window, gapes open, to give or receive intelli

gence, the streets, whose slumbering quiet with the exception of market days, is rarely disturbed save by the creaking of a passing waggon or the twittering of the sparrows, are now full of women, generally all talking at once, whose lords and masters, for the most part, are refreshing themselves at the 'Wentworth Arms,' each one and all being busily engaged in attending to everybody's business but his own. Work is out of the question. Master and man seem alike agreed upon that point; and while Farmer Giles boozes in the inn parlour, Gaffer Hodge fuddles himself in the tap-room.

Not that death was so rare a visitant at Dripsey; on the contrary, that romantic spot, like so many other romantic spots in this beautiful England of ours, invited his presence constantly by means of bad drainage, stagnant water-pools, and fragrant "muck"-heaps, that poisoned the air; but

never before had the grim rider of the pale horse drawn rein at the Abbey gates, and struck down two victims at one blow.

Father and child! The proud, harsh man, who had selfishly isolated himself from the world, and the world's cares, and the gentle girl, who had had a loving heart and kindly word for all-both had been summoned, and both had gone.

Besides-and the element of utter uncompromising selfishness is never more paramount than in the breast of your Arcadian-how about their new chief and landlord? "The king is dead-long live the king!" but if the old king was high and proud (they liked that), he knew their ways, and lived among them. He never troubled them about new-fangled plans of drainage, steam ploughs (Hodge in his heart hates steam, except when singing from the spout of a kettle), chemical manures, and

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horrors of that sort. What about the new monarch called to the throne? Rumour told strange things about him, that made Hodge's hair stand on end, "as life were in it," as too often there was; while Mrs. Hodge, like a frightened hen, gathered her chicks around her, and lectured them upon the evil doings of the town.

A double burial! It was to be a grand affair, and no expense spared-that was a great consolation at Dripsey. The "family" would prove worthy in this respect, at least, of the ancient name; and far and near, for miles round, it was known that hundreds would come to the solemnity and show.

But a few days after the "visitation," and the showmen-we beg their pardon, the "undertaker's gentlemen "—arrived from London. Affable "gents" they were; stately, but neither proud nor serious; red nosed, and, for the most part, with

the flavour of rum about them.

White

chokered, and clad in glossy black, they by no means disdained the long clay pipe and pewter flagon. With them came a multitude of huge wooden cases, iron-bound, and of the proper funereal hue; and these were crammed with feathers, nodding plumes, velvet trappings, silken scarves, and flowing hat-bands, and all the other gorgeous vanities of death.

We stroll along the village High Street, and halt in front of the inn. Never did the 'Wentworth Arms' do a better stroke of business, even in election time, when spigots are withdrawn, and taps run freely, and, despite all legislation to the contrary, when honourable gentlemen are floated into Parliament, as immaculate Governments have been floated out of office, on a river of beer.

Groups of rustics are everywhere talking