The Tailor of Brummelton. 479 



fashion, and devoutly believed that good taste, like other elements, 

 would ultimately find its proper level. But facts and events do not 

 always conform themselves to people's belief and expectancies, and 

 our unfortunate tailor found that day after day wore away without 

 bringing any change for the better. Jenkin was a disappointed man. 

 He had spent his little fund of cash in his speculative visit to the 

 great city, and could not afford to live till people came to their senses 

 perhaps the most wearisome and laggard period for which a man 

 can wait. As a death-blow to his hopes, it was evident that short 

 cloaks and sugar-loaf hats were becoming more the rage every day,' 

 and from his lowly retreat he could see detestable long yellow legs 

 crossing and recrossing each other every instant in the street, Men, 

 too, began to say, that young Andrew Holecote, a general dealer in 

 these, with other fashionable garments, was making a rapid fortune. 

 This was a bitter reflection to Andrew's late master, and did but little 

 to sweeten the poor food with which that person was now obliged to 

 be daily satisfied at even-tide an hour at which he would sit alone and 

 think of the short time since, when, in his pride of heart and expect- 

 ancy, he had rejected the young man from his doors. He at least from 

 that time had heard no more of Holecote. Then, in his servile rage, 

 would he curse the harsh crust which his parched jaws could barely 

 moisten, and would fling it from him like a child, and weep. 



Lucy was away from home, and was spared the desolation of her 

 father's house. Desolate was it, indeed, and lonely. Jenkin could 

 not feed the grey pony any longer, so the grey pony was sold to feed 

 Jenkin. The old woman, formerly an apology for a human being on 

 the premises, had disappeared. She could afford no further diminu- 

 tion in her rations, and vanished perhaps to die in solitude, like the 

 aged cat from a warm hearth not that her hearth had ever been a 

 sunny spot. 



Slops was thus left alone in his misery. Times were not then as 

 they are now ; he knew full well, that he might wait long enough be- 

 fore any enlightenment of their error could break in upon his neigh- 

 bours from the head-quarters of fashion London. He must take a 

 decisive part. 



" Master," said one of Holecote's apprentices to that flourishing 

 young man one morning, "here's a new hand, though an old man, 

 who has come asking for employment. I think I have seen his face 

 before, but where I can't say " 



i Andrew wanted workmen. He laid down his shears, and went 

 out to see the applicant. It was Jenkin Slops. Holecote received 

 him civilly, though but few words passed between them, for Jenkin 

 was not abject, and the interview ended in the master taking his sta- 

 tion in proud humility in the service of his apprentice. 



"Is it come to this, Master Slops?" said Holecote, when the day's 

 labour was over, and, after hanging about with inquietude, Jenkin at 

 last asked for payment of his few hours' industry. " Is it come to 

 this, or has curiosity brought you hither?" 



" No, not curiosity, Andrew Master Holecote, I should say but 

 want starvation ! Yours is the good trade mine is naught. Look 

 at me. Do I not wear the appearance of a ruined man?'' 



