Lavengro George Borrow (free ebook reader for ipad TXT) š
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more particularly the humours of the fair than I had hitherto an opportunity of doing. The town, when I examined it, offered no object worthy of attention but its churchā āan edifice of some antiquity; under the guidance of an old man, who officiated as sexton, I inspected its interior attentively, occasionally conversing with my guide, who, however, seemed much more disposed to talk about horses than the church. āNo good horses in the fair this time, measter,ā said he; ānone but one brought hither by a chap whom nobody knows, and bought by a foreigneering man, who came here with Jack Dale. The horse fetched a good swinging price, which is said, however, to be much less than its worth; for the horse is a regular clipper; not such a one ātis said, has been seen in the fair for several summers. Lord Whitefeather says that he believes the fellow who brought him to be a highwayman, and talks of having him taken up, but Lord Whitefeather is only in a rage because he could not get him for himself. The chap would not sell it to un; Lord Screw wanted to beat him down, and the chap took huff, said he wouldnāt sell it to him at no price, and accepted the offer of the foreigneering man, or of Jack, who was his āterpreter, and who scorned to higgle about such an hanimal, because Jack is a gentleman, though bred a dickey-boy, whilst ātother, though bred a Lord, is a screw and a whitefeather. Everyone says the cove was right, and I says so too; I likes spirit, and if the cove were here, and in your place, measter, I would invite him to drink a pint of beer. Good horses are scarce now, measter, ay, and so are good men, quite a different set from what there were when I was young; that was the time for men and horses. Lord bless you, I know all the breeders about here; they are not a bad set, and they breed a very fairish set of horses, but they are not like what their fathers were, nor are their horses like their fathersā horses. Now there is Mr.ā āø», the great breeder, a very fairish man, with very fairish horses; but, Lord bless you, heās nothing to what his father was, nor his steeds to his fatherās; I ought to know, for I was at the school here with his father, and afterwards for many a year helped him to get up his horses; that was when I was young, measterā āthose were the days. You look at that monument, measter,ā said he, as I stopped and looked attentively at a monument on the southern side of the church near the altar; āthat was put up for a rector of this church, who lived a long time ago, in Oliverās time, and was ill-treated and imprisoned by Oliver and his men; you will see all about it on the monument. There was a grand battle fought nigh this place, between Oliverās men and the Royal party, and the Royal party had the worst of it, as Iām told they generally had; and Oliverās men came into the town, and did a great deal of damage, and ill-treated the people. I canāt remember anything about the matter myself, for it happened just one hundred years before I was born, but my father was acquainted with an old countryman, who lived not many miles from here, who said he remembered perfectly well the day of the battle; that he was a boy at the time, and was working in a field near the place where the battle was fought, and he heard shouting and noise of firearms, and also the sound of several balls, which fell in the field near him. Come this way, measter, and I will show you some remains of that dayās field.ā Leaving the monument, on which was inscribed an account of the life and sufferings of the Royalist Rector of Horncastle, I followed the sexton to the western end of the church, where, hanging against the wall, were a number of scythes stuck in the ends of poles. āThose are the weapons, measter,ā said the sexton, āwhich the great people put into the hands of a number of the country folks, in order that they might use them against Oliverās men; ugly weapons enough; however, Oliverās men won, and Sir Jacob Ashley and his party were beat. And a rare time Oliver and his men had of it, till Oliver died, when the other party got the better, not by fighting, ātis said, but through a General Monk, who turned sides. Ah, the old fellow that my father knew said he well remembered the time when General Monk went over and proclaimed Charles the Second. Bonfires were lighted everywhere, oxen roasted, and beer drunk by pailfuls; the country folks were drunk with joy, and something else; sung scurvy songs about Oliver to the tune of Barney Banks, and pelted his men, wherever they found them, with stones and dirt.ā āThe more ungrateful scoundrels they,ā said I. āOliver and his men fought the battle of English independence against a wretched king and corrupt lords. Had I been living at the time, I should have been proud to be a trooper of Oliver.ā āYou would, measter, would you? Well, I never quarrels with the opinions of people who come to look at the church, and certainly independence is a fine thing. I like to see a chap of an independent spirit, and if I were now to see the cove who refused to sell his horse to my Lord Screw and Whitefeather, and let Jack Dale have him, I would offer to treat him to a pint of beerā āeāes, I would, verily. Well, measter, you have now seen the church, and all thereās in it worth seeingā āso Iāll just lock up, and go and finish digging the grave I was about
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