<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></SPAN>CHAPTER XL</h2>
<h3>A LITERARY BLOOMER</h3>
<p>Time was when the independent borough of Swillingford supported two
newspapers, or rather two editors, the editor of the <i>Swillingford
Patriot</i>, and the editor of the <i>Swillingford Guide to Glory</i>; but those
were stirring days, when politics ran high and votes and corn commanded
good prices. The papers were never very prosperous concerns, as may be
supposed when we say that the circulation of the former at its best time
was barely seven hundred, while that of the latter never exceeded a
thousand.</p>
<p>They were both started at the reform times, when the reduction of the
stamp-duty brought so many aspiring candidates for literary fame into the
field, and for a time they were conducted with all the bitter hostility
that a contracted neighbourhood, and a constant crossing by the editors of
each other's path, could engender. The competition, too, for
advertisements, was keen, and the editors were continually taunting each
other with taking them for the duty alone. Æneas M'Quirter was the editor
of the <i>Patriot</i>, and Felix Grimes that of the <i>Guide to Glory</i>.</p>
<p>M'Quirter, we need hardly say, was a Scotsman—a big, broad-shouldered
Sawney—formidable in 'slacks,' as he called his trousers, and terrific in
kilts; while Grimes was a native of Swillingford, an ex-schoolmaster and
parish clerk, and now an auctioneer, a hatter, a dyer and bleacher, a
paper-hanger, to which the wits said when he set up his paper, he added the
trade of 'stainer.'</p>
<p>At first the rival editors carried on a 'war to the knife' sort of contest
with one another, each denouncing his adversary in terms of the most
unmeasured severity. In this they were warmly supported by a select knot of
admirers, to whom they read their weekly effusions at their respective
'houses of call' the evening before publication. Gradually the fire of
bitterness began to pale, and the excitement of friends to die out;
M'Quirter <SPAN name="Page_344" id="Page_344"></SPAN>presently put forth a signal of distress. To accommodate 'a
large and influential number of its subscribers and patrons,' he determined
to publish on a Tuesday instead of on a Saturday as heretofore, whereupon
Mr. Grimes, who had never been able to fill a single sheet properly, now
doubled his paper, lowered his charge for advertisements, and hinted at his
intention of publishing an occasional supplement.</p>
<p>However exciting it may be for a time, parties soon tire of carrying on a
losing game for the mere sake of abusing each other, and Æneas M'Quirter
not being behind the generality of his countrymen in 'canniness' and
shrewdness of intellect, came to the conclusion that it was no use doing so
in this case, especially as the few remaining friends who still applauded
would be very sorry to subscribe anything towards his losses. He therefore
very quietly negotiated the sale of his paper to the rival editor, and
having concluded a satisfactory bargain, he placed the bulk of his property
in the poke of his plaid, and walked out of Swillingford just as if bent on
taking the air, leaving Mr. Grimes in undisputed possession of both papers,
who forthwith commenced leading both Whig and Tory mind, the one on the
Tuesday, the other on the Saturday.</p>
<p>The pot and pipe companions of course saw how things were, but the majority
of the readers living in the country just continued to pin their faith to
the printed declarations of their oracles, while Grimes kept up the
delusion of sincerity by every now and then fulminating a tremendous
denunciation against his trimming, vacillating, inconsistent opponent on
the Tuesday, and then retaliating with equal vigour upon himself on the
Saturday. He wrote his own 'leaders,' both Whig and Tory, the arguments of
one side pointing out answers for the other. Sometimes he led the way for a
triumphant refutal, while the general tone of the articles was quite of the
'upset a ministry' style. Indeed, Grimes strutted and swaggered as if the
fate of the nation rested with him.</p>
<p>The papers themselves were not very flourishing-looking concerns, the
wide-spread paragraphs, the staring type, the catching advertisements,
forming a <SPAN name="Page_345" id="Page_345"></SPAN>curious contrast to the close packing of <i>The Times</i>. The 'Gutta
Percha Company,' 'Locock's Female Pills,' 'Keating's Cough Lozenges,' and
the 'Triumphs of Medicine,' all with staring woodcuts and royal arms,
occupied conspicuous places in every paper. A new advertisement was a
novelty. However, the two papers answered a great deal better than either
did singly, and any lack of matter was easily supplied from the magazines
and new books. In this department, indeed, in the department of elegant
light literature generally, Mr. Grimes was ably assisted by his eldest
daughter, Lucy, a young lady of a certain age—say liberal thirty—an
ardent Bloomer—with a considerable taste for sentimental poetry, with
which she generally filled the poet's corner. This assistance enabled
Grimes to look after his auctioneering, bleaching, and paper-hanging
concerns, and it so happened that when the foregoing run arrived at the
office he, having seen the next paper ready for press, had gone to Mr.
Vosper's, some ten miles off, to paper his drawing-room, consequently the
duties of deciding upon its publication devolved on the Bloomer. Now, she
was a most refined, puritanical young woman, full of sentiment and
elegance, with a strong objection to what she considered the inhumanities
of the chase. At first she was for rejecting the article altogether, and
had it been a run with the Tinglebury Harriers, or even, we believe, with
Lord Scamperdale's hounds, she would have consigned it to the 'Balaam box,'
but seeing it was with Mr. Puffington's hounds, whose house they had
papered, and who advertised with them, she condescended to read it; and
though her delicacy was shocked at encountering the word 'stunning' at the
outset, and also at the term 'ravishing scent' farther on, she nevertheless
sent the manuscript to the compositors, after making such alterations and
corrections as she thought would fit it for eyes polite. The consequence
was that the article appeared in the following form, though whether all the
absurdities were owing to Miss Lucy's corrections, or the carelessness of
the writer, or the printers, had anything to do with it, we are not able to
say. The errors, some of them arising from the mere <SPAN name="Page_346" id="Page_346"></SPAN>alteration or
substitution of a letter, will strike a sporting more than a general
reader. Thus it appeared in the middle of the third sheet of the
<i>Swillingford Patriot</i>:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>SPLENDID RUN WITH MR. PUFFINGTON'S HOUNDS.</p>
<p>This splendid pack had a superb run from Hollyburn Hanger, the
property of its truly popular and sporting owner, Mr. Puffington.
A splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen, among whom we
recognized several distinguished strangers, and members of Lord
Scamperdale's hunt, were present. After partaking of the
well-known profuse and splendid hospitality of Hanby House, they
proceeded at once to Hollyburn Hanger, where a fine seasonal fox,
though some said he was a bay one, broke away in view of the whole
pack, every hound scorning to cry, and making the welkin ring with
their melody. He broke at the lower end of the cover, and crossing
the brook, made straight for Fleecyhaugh Water Meadows, over which
there is always an exquisite perfume; from there he made a slight
bend, as if inclining for the plantations at Winstead, but
changing his mind, he faced the rising ground, and crossing over
nearly the highest point of Shillington Hill, made direct for the
little village of Berrington Roothings below. Here the hounds came
to a check, but Mr. Bragg, who had ridden gallantly on his
favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat
past work of mouth, was well up with his hounds, and with a
'gentle rantipole!' and a single wave of his arm, proceeded to
make one of those scientific rests for which this eminent huntsman
is so justly celebrated. Hitting off the scent like a coachman,
they went away again at score, and passing by Moorlinch Farm
buildings, and threading the strip of plantation by Bexley Burn,
he crossed Silverbury Green, leaving Longford Hutch to the right,
and passing straight on by the gibbet at Harpen. Here, then, the
gallant pack, breaking from scent to view, ran into their box in
the open close upon Mountnessing Wood, evidently his point from
the first, and into which a few more strides <SPAN name="Page_347" id="Page_347"></SPAN>would have carried
him. It was as fine a run as ever was seen, and the grunting of
the hounds was the admiration of all who heard it. The distance
could not have been less than ten miles as a cow goes. The justly
popular owner of this most celebrated pack, though riding good
fourteen stones, led the Walters on his famous chestnut horse
Tappy Lappey. After this truly brilliant affair, Mr. Puffington,
like a thorough sportsman, and one who never thrashes his hounds
unnecessarily—unlike some masters who never know when to leave
off—returned to Hanby House, where a distinguished party of
noblemen and gentlemen partook of his splendid hospitality.</p>
</div>
<p>And the considerate Bloomer added of her own accord, 'We hope we shall have
to record many such runs in the imperishable columns of our paper.'</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image347.jpg" width-obs="292" height-obs="300" alt="MISS GRIMES GIVING THE 'CORRECTED' COPY TO THE PRINTER" title="" /> <span class="caption">MISS GRIMES GIVING THE 'CORRECTED' COPY TO THE PRINTER</span></div>
<p><SPAN name="Page_348" id="Page_348"></SPAN></p>
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