Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled with awe, for this ancient spinster.  He told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a cursed brimstone—­in fact, he added another epithet, which I would not repeat for the world.  I have remarked, however, that he is always extremely civil to her when they meet.

[Illustration:  Confidential Whisper]

[Illustration:  Ready-Money Jack Expounding]

Ready-money jack.

    My purse, it is my privy wyfe,
    This song I dare both syng and say,
    It keepeth men from grievous stryfe
    When every man for hymself shall pay. 
    As I ryde in ryche array
    For gold and sylver men wyll me floryshe;
    By thys matter I dare well saye,
    Ever gramercy myne owne purse.

BOOK OF HUNTING.

On the skirts of the neighbouring village there lives a kind of small potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative of one of the most ancient legitimate lines of the present day; for the empire over which he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind.  His territories comprise a considerable number of good fat acres; and his seat of power is an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, the stout oaken chair of his ancestors.  The personage to whom I allude is a sturdy old yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or rather Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighbourhood.

The first place where he attracted my attention was in the churchyard on Sunday; where he sat on a tombstone after service, with his hat a little on one side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors, and, as I presumed, expounding the law and the prophets, until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he was only expatiating on the merits of a brown horse.  He presented so faithful a picture of a substantial English yeoman, such as he is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by some little finery peculiar to himself, that I could not but take note of his whole appearance.

He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong muscular frame, and at least six feet high, with a physiognomy as grave as a lion’s, and set off with short, curling, iron-gray locks.  His shirt-collar was turned down, and displayed a neck covered with the same short, curling, gray hair; and he wore a coloured silk neckcloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste brooch on the knot.  His coat was of dark-green cloth, with silver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath.  He had an inner waistcoat of figured chintz, between which and his coat was another of scarlet cloth unbuttoned.  His breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet garters.  His stockings were blue, with white clocks; he wore large silver shoe-buckles; a broad paste buckle in his hatband; his sleeve buttons were gold seven-shilling pieces; and he had two or three guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain.