This etext was produced by Pat Castevans <patcat@ctnet.net>
and David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
By George Meredith
At half-past nine of the clock on the evening of this memorable day, abody of five-and-twenty stout young fellows, prize-winners, wrestlers,boxers, and topers, of the Hillford Club, set forth on a march to IpleyCommon.
Now, a foreigner, hearing of their destination and the provocation theyhad endured, would have supposed that they were bent upon deeds ofvengeance; and it requires knowledge of our countrymen to take it as afact that the idea and aim of the expedition were simply to furnish theoffending Ipley boys a little music. Such were the idea and the aim.Hillford had nothing to do with consequences: no more than our England isresponsible when she sails out among the empires and hemispheres, saying,'buy' and 'sell,' and they clamour to be eaten up entire. Foreignerspertinaciously misunderstand us. They have the barbarous habit ofjudging by results. Let us know ourselves better. It is melancholy tocontemplate the intrigues, and vile designs, and vengeances of othernations; and still more so, after we have written so many pages ofintelligible history, to see them attributed to us. Will it never beperceived that we do not sow the thing that happens? The source of theflooding stream which drinks up those rich acres of low flat land is notmore innocent than we. If, as does seem possible, we are in a sort ofalliance with Destiny, we have signed no compact, and accomplish our workas solidly and merrily as a wood-hatchet in the hands of the woodman.This arrangement to give Ipley a little music, was projected as a returnfor the favours of the morning: nor have I in my time heard anythingcomparable to it in charity of sentiment, when I consider the detestableoutrage Hillford suffered under.
The parading of the drum, the trombone, a horn, two whistles, and a fife,in front of Hillford booth, caught the fancy of the Clubmen, who roaredout parting adjurations that the music was not to be spared; and that TomBreeks was a musical fellow, with a fine empty pate, if any one of theinstruments should fail perchance. They were to give Ipley plenty ofmusic: for Ipley wanted to be taught harmony. Harmony was Ipley's weakpoint. "Gie 'em," said one jolly ruddy Hillford man, "gie 'em whack fol,lol!" And he smacked himself, and set toward an invisible partner. Nor,as recent renowned historians have proved, are observations of thisnature beneath the dignity of chronicle. They vindicate, as theylocalize, the sincerity of Hillford.
Really, to be an islander full of ale, is to be the kindest creature onor off two legs. For that very reason, it may be, his wrath at bad bloodis so easily aroused. In our hot moods we would desire things like untoourselves, and object violently to whatsoever is unlike. And also wedesire that the benefits we shed be appreciated. If Ipley understandsneither our music nor our intent, haply we must hold a performance on theimpenetrable sconce of Ipley.
At the hour named, the expedition, with many a promise that the musicshould be sweet, departed hilariously: