At this period the Willey country presented a spectacle altogether unparalleled in Mr. Forester’s experience; his entire sympathy and that of his fox-hunting friends was enlisted in the warlike movements everywhere going forward, for the standards of the Wenlock and Morfe Volunteers now drew around them men of all classes. Farmers allowed their ploughs to stand still in the furrows, that the peasant might hurry with the artisan, musket on shoulder, to his rallying point in the fields near Wenlock, Broseley, or Bridgnorth. Whigs and Tories stood beside each other in the Volunteer ranks, heart-burnings and divisions as to principles and policy were for the time forgotten, and the Squire, although now unable to take the same active part he formerly did, contributed materially by his presence and advice to the zeal and alacrity which distinguished his neighbours. CHAPTER XV. THE WILLEY SQUIRE AMONG HIS NEIGHBOURS. The Squire among his Neighbours—Roger de Coverley—Anecdotes—Gentlemen nearest the Fire in the Lower Regions—Food Riots—The Squire quells the Mob—His Virtues and his Failings—Influences of the Times—His Career draws to a Close—His wish for Old Friends and Servants to follow him to the Grave—That he may be buried in the Dusk of Evening—His Favourite Horse to be shot—His Estates to go to his Cousin, Cecil Weld, the First Lord Forester. LIKE Addison’s Sir Roger de Coverley, the Willey Squire lived a father among his tenants, a friend among his neighbours, and a good master amongst his servants, who seldom changed. He feasted the rich, and did not forget the poor, but allowed them considerable privileges on the estate; and there are a few old people—it is true there are but few—who remember interviews they had with the Squire when going to gather bilberries in the park, or when sent on some errand to the Hall. An old man, who brightened up at the mention of the Squire’s name, said, “Remember him, I think I do; he intended that I should do so. I was sent by my mother to the Hall for barm, when, seeing an old man in the yard, and little thinking it was the Squire, I said, ‘Sirrah, is there going to be any stir here to-day?’ ‘Aye, lad,’ says he, ‘come in, and see;’ and danged if he didn’t get the horse-whip and stir me round the kitchen, where he pretended to flog me, laughing the while ready to split his sides. He gave me a rare blow out though, and my mother found half-a-crown at the bottom of the jug when she poured out the barm.” “Did you ever hear of his being worsted by the sweep?” said another. “He was generally a match for most, but the sweep was too much for him. The Squire had been out, and, being caught in a storm, he called at a public-house to shelter. Seeing that it was Mr. Forester, the customers made way for him to sit next the fire, and whilst he was drying himself a sweep came to the door, and looked in; but, seeing the Squire, he was making off again. ‘Hollo,’ said Mr. Forester, ‘what news from the lower