Then he became great on the subject of old county families in general, and poured out all the vials of his wrath on “that confounded upstart of a Newbroom, Lord Minchampstead,” supplanting all the fine old blood in the country—­“Why, sir, that Pentremochyn, and Carcarrow moors too (—­good shooting there, there used to be), they ought to be mine, sir, if every man had his rights!” And then followed a long story; and a confused one withal, for by this time Mr. Trebooze had drunk a great deal too much wine, and as he became aware of the fact, became proportionately anxious that Tom should drink too much also; out of which story Tom picked the plain facts, that Trebooze’s father had mortgaged Pentremochyn estate for more than its value, and that Lord Minchampstead had foreclosed; while some equally respectable uncle, or cousin, just deceased, had sold the reversion of Carcarrow to the same mighty Cotton Lord twenty years before.  “And this is the way, sir, the land gets eaten up by a set of tinkers, and cobblers, and money-lending jobbers, who suck the blood of the aristocracy!” The oaths we omit, leaving the reader to pepper Mr. Trebooze’s conversation therewith, up to any degree of heat which may suit his palate.

Tom sympathised with him deeply, of course; and did not tell him, as he might have done, that he thought the sooner such cumberers of the ground were cleared off, whether by an encumbered estates’ act, such as we may see yet in England, or by their own suicidal folly, the better it would be for the universe in general, and perhaps for themselves in particular.  But he only answered with pleasant effrontery—­

“Ah, my dear sir, I am sure there are hundreds of good sportsmen who can sympathise with you deeply.  The wonder is, that you do not unite and defend yourselves.  For not only in the West of England, but in Ireland, and in Wales, and in the north, too, if one is to believe those novels of Currer Bell’s and her sister, there is a large and important class of landed proprietors of the same stamp as yourself, and exposed to the very same dangers.  I wonder at times that you do not all join, and use your combined influence on the Government.”

“The Government?  All a set of Whig traitors!  Call themselves Conservative, or what they like.  Traitors, sir! from that fellow Peel upwards—­all combined to crush the landed gentry—­ruin the Church—­betray the country party—­D’Israeli—­Derby—­Free trade—­ruined, sir!—­Maynooth—­Protection—­treason—­help yourself, and pass the—­you know, old fellow—­”

And Mr. Trebooze’s voice died away, and he slumbered, but not softly.

The door opened, and in marched Mrs. Trebooze, tall, tawdry, and terrible.

“Mr. Trebooze! it’s past eleven o’clock!”

“Hush, my dear madam!  He is sleeping so sweetly,” said Tom, rising, and gulping down a glass, not of wine, but of strong ammonia and water.  The rogue had put a phial thereof in his pocket that morning, expecting that, as Trebooze had said, he would be required to make a night of it,