“But, Sir,” said I, “that doesn’t meet the point. What I say is, that backsword is a game in which men are sure to lose their tempers and become brutal.” “But don’t they sometimes lose their tempers in races?” said he. “Yes, sometimes, perhaps,” said I, “but not often.” “And sometimes they don’t lose them at backsword?” said he. “Well, perhaps not, Sir.” “Then it seems that all that can be said against backsword is, that it is a harder trial of the temper than other games. Surely that’s no reason for stopping it, but only for putting it under strict rules. The harder the trial the better. I’m sure that’s good English sense.” I didn’t quite know what to say, but Miss Lucy broke in again. “Oh, but Mr. Warton, did you ever see any backsword play?” “Now, Miss Lucy, that is against law,” said he; “but I don’t mind answering. I never did, and I dare say your champion never has.” “No, Sir,” said I; “but though you may have got the best of me, I don’t believe you really mean that you think us wrong.” “Would you, really, Sir, preach a sermon now in favour of backsword play and wrestling?” asked Miss Lucy, with a long face. “What’s that got to do with it, Lucy?” broke in Joe. “We’re not talking about preaching sermons, but about what’s right for country chaps to do at pastimes.” “Now, Joseph, I’m not going to ride off on any hobby of yours--besides, your sister’s test is right. Several of your clergy about here have preached against these games, as was their duty if they had considered the subject well, and thought them wrong. I have never thought much about the matter till to-night. At present I think your clergy wrong. If I hold to that belief I would preach it; for I hope I never seriously say any thing in the parlour which I wouldn’t say in the pulpit.” Just then, the tall clock in the passage outside gave a sort of cluck, which meant half-past nine o’clock, and Joe jumped up and opened the door for the servants, and gave Mr. Warton the prayer-book. And then as soon as ever prayers were over, he bustled his mother and sister off to bed, though I could see that Miss Lucy wasn’t half satisfied in her mind about the backsword play and wrestling, and wanted to stay and hear something more from Mr. Warton. But Joe is always in a hurry for his pipe when half-past nine strikes, so we all had to humour him, and Mr. Warton and I went with him into the kitchen to smoke our pipes. [21] “Caddle”--to worry: from cād, strife.--The Berkshire scholiast suggests that the modern “cad,” having regard to the peculiarities of the class, must be the same word. [22] “Wosbird,” bird of woe, of evil omen. [23] “Dummell,” dull, stupid. [24] “Fogger”--quasi fodderer--he who giveth fodder to the cattle--generally used for the farmer’s head man. CHAPTER V.