 | The works of Washington Irving |  |
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN.
I am a rogue if I do not think I was designed for
the helm of state; I am so full of nimble stratagems,
that I should have ordered affairs, and carried
it against the stream of a faction, with as much
case as a skipper would laver against the wind.
The Goblins.
In one of my visits to the village with
Master Simon, he proposed that we should
stop at the inn, which he wished to show
me, as a specimen of a real country inn,
the head-quarters of village gossip. I
had remarked it before, in my perambulations
about the place. It has a deep
old-fashioned porch, leading into a large
hall, which serves for tap-room and
travellers' room; having a wide fireplace,
with high-backed settles on each
side, where the wise men of the village
gossip over their ale, and hold their
sessions during the long winter evenings.
The landlord is an easy indolent fellow,
shaped a little like one of his own beer
barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping
at his door, with his wig on one side,
and his hands in his pockets, whilst his
wife and daughter attend to customers.
His wife, however, is fully competent to
manage the establishment; and, indeed,
from long habitude, rules over all the
frequenters of the tap-room as completely
as if they were her dependents
instead of her patrons. Not a veteran
ale-bibber but pays homage to her, having,
no doubt, been often in her arrears.
I have already hinted that she is on very
good terms with Ready-Money Jack.
He was a sweetheart of hers in early
life, and has always countenanced the
tavern on her account. Indeed, he is
quite the "cock of the walk" at the
tap-room.
As we approached the inn, we heard
some one talking with great volubility,
and distinguished the ominous words,
"taxes," "poor's rates," and "agricultural
distress." It proved to be a thin,
loquacious fellow, who had penned the
landlord up in one corner of the porch,
with his hands in his pockets as usual,
listening with an air of the most vacant
acquiescence.
The sight seemed to have a curious
effect on Master Simon, as he squeezed
my arm, and altering his course, sheered
wide of the porch, as though he had not
had any idea of entering. This evident
evasion induced me to notice the orator
more particularly. He was meagre, but
active in his make, with a long, pale,
bilious face; a black, ill-shaven beard, a
feverish eye, and a hat sharpened up at
the sides, into a most pragmatical shape.
He had a newspaper in his hand, and
seemed to be commenting on its contents,
to the thorough conviction of mine
host.
At sight of Master Simon the landlord
was evidently a little flurried, and began
to rub his hands, edge away from his
corner, and make several profound publican
bows; while the orator took no other
notice of my companion than to talk
rather louder than before, and with, as I
thought, something of an air of defiance.
Master Simon, however, as I have before
said, sheered off from the porch, and
passed on, pressing my arm within his,
and whispering as we got by, in a tone
of awe and horror, "That's a radical!
he reads Cobbett!"
I endeavoured to get a more particular
account of him from my companion, but
he seemed unwilling even to talk about
him, answering only in general terms,
that he was "a cursed busy fellow, that
had a confounded trick of talking, and