whither, or for certain by whom, though the young farmer was suspected of the deed.
Froude raged over the insult; but as he was unable to bring it home, and as his powers were failing, his rage was impotent.
The uprooting of the box-tree apparently precipitated his death. He felt that the awe of him was gone, his control over the neighbourhood was lost. This thought, even more than mortification at not being able to revenge the uprooting of his box-tree, broke him down, and he rapidly sank, intellectually and physically, and died 9 December, 1852.
A little before his death, Jack Babbage, his huntsman, visited him. "Oh, Jack!" said he, "it's all over with me. I'm going to glory, Jack"—which shows what is the value of assurance on a death-bed.
"Well," said Babbage, "if the old master be so cock-sure that he's on that way, I reckon there be a good chance of a snug corner for me."
There was another parson, if possible, more evil than Froude, whom Blackmore has called Parson Hannaford, but we have had enough specimens of a type of clergy that is, we trust, for ever passed away; but it has gone not without leaving its mark on the present, for it was this sort of parson who drove all the God-fearing people in the parish into dissent. Happily these men were exceptions even in their day, and were not the rule. The bulk of the clergy were worthy men, doing their duty up to their light, the services in the churches not a little dreary; but then, at that time, it was exceptional to find that the country people could read, and therefore sing out a hymn or psalm with one accord as they can now. They preached dull sermons, because their own minds were not clear. But they were kind, they visited their flock, they were charitable, and
