Comical People | Page 6

enraged Sir Vane to such an
extent that he started from his chair, seized the gun from Towser, and
would certainly have shot Carlo on the spot, had not the youth sprung
upon the Baronet, wrenched the gun out of his hands, and laid him
sprawling on the floor. Towser ran to his master's assistance, and Carlo,
without waiting for his sentence, jumped through the open window into
the garden, flew across the lawn with the speed of a greyhound, and
quickly put forty long miles between himself and Peacock Hall.
Ten days afterwards Carlo read in "The Sportsman's Chronicle" that,
much to the regret of his family and a numerous circle of admiring
friends, Sir Vane Peacock had died suddenly of apoplexy, brought on
by a fall. Not a word was said about the cause of the accident; indeed
the Baronet, on his deathbed, remembering that he himself had
commenced the outrage, had expressly forbidden Towser to mention it,
and Carlo thought that he might as well return home at once.
Sir Vane Peacock left no children, and the estates descended to his
cousin, Sir Java Peacock, who, fortunately for Carlo, had been too long
a witness of the evils arising from game-preserving to wish to continue
them. Immediately after taking possession, the new landlord sent a note
round, informing every tenant on his estate that he was at perfect liberty
to shoot or course all the game he found on his own farm.
It is said that from that time Carlo dined off roast hare and currant-jelly
at least once in every week for the remainder of his life.
[Illustration: THE DUEL.]

MY NEIGHBOURS.
A COUNTRY STORY. BY WARREN RABBITT.
IN a charming retreat, upon the borders of a wood in Gloucestershire, I
once enjoyed the society of some friends, named Leverett, with whom I
was very intimate. They seemed to be the happiest little family in the
world, subsisted mostly on the produce of their farm, and always

welcomed a neighbour like myself with great hospitality. I resided at
that time at a pleasant place called the Sandpits, not far from their
abode, and I often looked in as I passed by, for half an hour's chat with
the old lady, or to ask Jack or his brother Bob to take a stroll with me in
the woods. The father was remarkable for his extreme caution, seldom
went far from home, and never meddled with other people's affairs. It
would have been well had his sons followed his example; but then I
should not have had this tale to tell.
Close by us, at the largest farm-house in the county, there lived a Mr.
Chanticleer, one of the proudest and most irritable fellows I ever had
the misfortune to meet with. To see the airs with which he strutted
about his farm-yard, and drove all the ducks and geese flying to make
way for him, often made Jack Leverett and myself laugh: but when he
went out for a walk with his wife and daughters, his consequence
appeared to be increased tenfold, and one wondered where the path was
broad enough for him to walk upon.
Mr. Chanticleer was extremely jealous of any intrusion upon his
property, and warned off every one who did but set foot on his land.
Tom Leverett knew this well enough, and knew what a pugnacious and
litigious fellow his neighbour was, so he ought to have been more
careful than to give Chanticleer any ground of complaint. Tom, it
appears, had a great taste for botany, and often rose early to indulge in
his favourite pursuit. One morning, in the ardour of his search for some
particular plant, Tom crept through the hedge into one of his
neighbour's fields; and so much absorbed was he in the discovery of
some sweet-tasting grass which he had never before met with, that he
did not notice the approach of Mr. Chanticleer, until that worthy was
close upon him.
Chanticleer, it appears, always made a practice of rising early; but
though Tom had distinguished his voice--so loud you might have heard
it half a mile off--calling to the people in the farm-yard, he did not at all
expect a visit from him in the particular field that he was examining.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Chanticleer to Tom, in an authoritative tone as he
came close up to him, "may I ask what brings you here?"

"I am studying botany," replied Tom.
"Studying fiddlesticks!" cried his neighbour; "what business have you
in my fields?"
"I have examined all the plants on our side," answered Tom, meekly.
"Then go back and examine them again," cried Mr. Chanticleer, putting
himself in a great passion, "and don't let me see you here any more!"
"You need not be angry,