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Updated: June 14, 2025
One bushell of oats. One load of hay. One load of straw.
A good many errors in the Scourge of Christendom are due to careless copying of unacknowledged writers: such as calling Joshua Bushett of the Admiralty, "Mr. Secretary Bushell," or Sir John Stuart, "Stewart," or eight bells "eight boats," or Sir Peter Denis, "Sir Denis," or misreckoning the ships of Sir R. Mansell's expedition, or turning San Lucar into "St. Lucas." Several Voyages, 58-65.
Would Time have arrested his march for ever, there would have been small fault to find with Nature's gifts to Miss Bushell; but, as her mother said, Millie was just what she had been at twenty-one; and Mrs. Bushell was now extremely stout. Millie escaped the inference by discrediting her mother's recollection.
At last he finished, and he looked at Frank over the top of his spectacles. "Two thousand?" he asked. "That's what Mr. Bushell said," answered the boy, and he could hardly get the words out. "Well, it's all here," said Mr. Bushell's partner, and he put the money in his pocket, and Frank turned and went out of the store.
"Poor Miss Bushell! If she heard you say that! Or if Lady Merceron heard you!" "It would hardly surprise my mother to hear that I thought Millie Bushell plump. She is plump, you know;" and Charlie's eyes expressed a candid homage to truth. "Oh, I know what's being arranged for you." "So do I." "And you'll do it. Oh, you think you won't, but you will. Men always end by doing what they're told."
As there were several good voices among the household, the effect was extremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltation of heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the worthy Squire delivered one stanza: his eyes glistening, and his voice rambling out of all the bounds of time and tune: "'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltlesse mirth, And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink, Spiced to the brink: Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand, That soiles my land; And giv'st me for my bushell sowne, Twice ten for one."
He had just reached the other side, when Millie screamed: "Look, look, Charlie!" she cried. "The temple!" "What?" "I I saw something white at the window." Charlie got out of the canoe; hastily. "What?" he asked again, walking up to Miss Bushell. "I declare I saw something white at the window. Oh, Charlie! But it's all " "Bosh? Of course it is. There's nothing in the temple."
She glanced at her daughter, who stood by the window in the bright blaze of a brilliant sunset, listlessly hitting the blind-cord and its tassel to and fro. "The poor boy's very young still," mumbled Mrs. Bushell through her pins. "He's twenty-five last month," returned Millicent. "I know, because there's exactly three years between him and me."
Up and out with Captain Witham in several places again to look for oats for Tangier, and among other places to the City granarys, where it seems every company have their granary and obliged to keep such a quantity of corne always there or at a time of scarcity to issue so much at so much a bushell: and a fine thing it is to see their stores of all sorts, for piles for the bridge, and for pipes, a thing I never saw before.
"Hang it!" cried Charlie. "I'm sick of the whole thing. I'm sick of life. I'm sick of all the nonsense of it. For two straws I'd have done with it, and marry Millie Bushell." "What! Look here, Charlie " Calder left his sentence unfinished. "Well?" said Charlie.
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