"The Reverend Bute Crawley was a tall, stately, shovel-hatted man, far more popular in the county than the Baronet. At College he pulled stroke oar in the Christchurch boat, and had thrashed all the best bruisers of the 'town.' He carried his taste for boxing and athletic exercises into private life, there was not a fight within twenty miles at which he was not present, nor a race, nor a coursing match, nor a regatta, nor a ball, nor an election, nor a visitation dinner, nor indeed a good dinner in the whole county, but he found means to attend it. He had a fine voice, sung 'A Southerly Wind and a Cloudy Sky,' and gave the 'whoop' in chorus with general applause. He rode to hounds in a pepper and salt frock, and was one of the best fishermen in the county." The following is a sample of the conversation he holds with his wife, who, we are told "wrote this worthy Divine's sermons"-- "'Pitt can't be such an infernal villain as to sell the reversion of the living, and that Methodist milksop of an eldest son looks to Parliament,' continued Mr. Crawley, after a pause. "'Sir Pitt will do anything,' said the Rector's wife, 'we must get Miss Crawley to make him promise it, James.' "'Pitt will promise anything,' replied the brother, 'he promised he'd pay my college bills, when my father died; he promised he'd build the new wing to the Rectory. And it is to this man's son--this scoundrel, gambler, swindler, murderer, of a Rawdon Crawley, that Matilda leaves the bulk of her money. I say it's unchristian. By Jove it is. The infamous dog has got every vice except hypocrisy, and that belongs to his brother." "'Hush, my dearest love! we're in Sir Pitt's grounds,' interposed his wife. "'I say he has got every vice, Mrs. Crawley. Don't bully me. Didn't he shoot Captain Marker? Didn't he rob young Lord Dovedale at the Cocoa Tree? Didn't he cross the fight between Bill Soames and the Cheshire Trump by which I lost forty pound? You know he did; and as for women, why you heard that before me, in my own magistrates room--' "'For heaven's sake, Mr. Crawley,' said the lady, 'spare me the details.'" It was in a great measure to this severe sarcasm that Thackeray owed his popularity. He justly observes:-- "My rascals are no milk-and-water rascals, I promise you ... such people there are living in the world, faithless, hopeless, charityless; let us have at them, dear friends, with might and main. Some there are, and very successful too, mere quacks and fools; and it was to combat and expose such as those no doubt, that laughter was made."