—­“Those days were never; airy dreams
    Sat for the picture, and the poet’s hand,
    Imparting substance to an empty shade,
    Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
    Grant it; I still must envy them an age
    That favoured such a dream.”

[Illustration:  The Capture]

THE CULPRIT.

    From fire, from water, and all things amiss,
    Deliver the house of an honest justice.

    THE WIDOW.

The serenity of the Hall has been suddenly interrupted by a very important occurrence.  In the course of this morning a posse of villagers was seen trooping up the avenue, with boys shouting in advance.  As it drew near, we perceived Ready-Money Jack Tibbets striding along, wielding his cudgel in one hand, and with the other grasping the collar of a tall fellow, whom, on still nearer approach, we recognised for the redoubtable gipsy hero, Starlight Tom.  He was now, however, completely cowed and crestfallen, and his courage seemed to have quailed in the iron gripe of the lion-hearted Jack.

The whole gang of gipsy women and children came draggling in the rear; some in tears, others making a violent clamour about the ears of old Ready-Money, who, however, trudged on in silence with his prey, heeding their abuse as little as a hawk that has pounced upon a barn-door hero regards the outcries and cacklings of his whole feathered seraglio.

He had passed through the village on his way to the Hall, and of course had made a great sensation in that most excitable place, where every event is a matter of gaze and gossip.  The report flew like wildfire that Starlight Tom was in custody.  The ale-drinkers forthwith abandoned the tap-room; Slingsby’s school broke loose, and master and boys swelled the tide that came rolling at the heels of old Ready-Money and his captive.

The uproar increased as they approached the Hall; it aroused the whole garrison of dogs, and the crew of hangers-on.  The great mastiff barked from the dog-house; the staghound, and the greyhound, and the spaniel, issued barking from the Hall door, and my Lady Lillycraft’s little dogs ramped and barked from the parlour window.  I remarked, however, that the gipsy dogs made no reply to all these menaces and insults, but crept close to the gang, looking round with a guilty, poaching air, and now and then glancing up a dubious eye to their owners; which shows that the moral dignity, even of dogs, may be ruined by bad company!

[Illustration:  Conscience Makes Cowards of the Dogs]

When the throng reached the front of the house, they were brought to a halt by a kind of advanced guard, composed of old Christy, the gamekeeper, and two or three servants of the house, who had been brought out by the noise.  The common herd of the village fell back with respect; the boys were driven back by Christy and his compeers; while Ready-Money Jack maintained his ground and his hold of the prisoner, and was surrounded by the tailor, the schoolmaster, and several other dignitaries of the village, and by the clamorous brood of gipsies, who were neither to be silenced nor intimidated.