[There are excited calls, and the House divides. The result is announced as thirty-seven for WHITBREAD'S amendment, and against it two hundred and twenty. The clock strikes twelve as the House adjourns.] SCENE VI WESSEX. DURNOVER GREEN, CASTERBRIDGE [On a patch of green grass on Durnover Hill, in the purlieus of Casterbridge, a rough gallows has been erected, and an effigy of Napoleon hung upon it. Under the effigy are faggots of brushwood. It is the dusk of a spring evening, and a great crowd has gathered, comprising male and female inhabitants of the Durnover suburb and villagers from distances of many miles. Also are present some of the county yeomanry in white leather breeches and scarlet, volunteers in scarlet with green facings, and the REVEREND MR. PALMER, vicar of the parish, leaning against the post of his garden door, and smoking a clay pipe of preternatural length. Also PRIVATE CANTLE from Egdon Heath, and SOLOMON LONGWAYS of Casterbridge. The Durnover band, which includes a clarionet, {serpent,} oboe, tambourine, cymbals, and drum, is playing “Lord Wellington's Hornpipe.”] RUSTIC [wiping his face] Says I, please God I'll lose a quarter to zee he burned! And I left Stourcastle at dree o'clock to a minute. And if I'd known that I should be too late to zee the beginning on't, I'd have lost a half to be a bit sooner. YEOMAN Oh, you be soon enough good-now. He's just going to be lighted. RUSTIC But shall I zee en die? I wanted to zee if he'd die hard, YEOMAN Why, you don't suppose that Boney himself is to be burned here? RUSTIC What--not Boney that's to be burned? A WOMAN Why, bless the poor man, no! This is only a mommet they've made of him, that's got neither chine nor chitlings. His innerds be only a lock of straw from Bridle's barton. LONGWAYS He's made, neighbour, of a' old cast jacket and breeches from our barracks here. Likeways Grammer Pawle gave us Cap'n Meggs's old Zunday shirt that she'd saved for tinder-box linnit; and Keeper Tricksey of Mellstock emptied his powder-horn into a barm-bladder, to make his heart wi'. RUSTIC [vehemently] Then there's no honesty left in Wessex folk nowadays at all! “Boney's going to be burned on Durnover Green to-night,”-- that was what I thought, to be sure I did, that he'd been catched sailing from his islant and landed at Budmouth and brought to Casterbridge Jail, the natural retreat of malefactors!--False deceivers--making me lose a quarter who can ill afford it; and all for nothing! LONGWAYS 'Tisn't a mo'sel o' good for thee to cry out against Wessex folk, when 'twas all thy own stunpoll ignorance. [The VICAR OF DURNOVER removes his pipe and spits perpendicularly.] VICAR