Nothing could be handsomer than my calling the Mayor of Lestiddle a
jolly good fellow; for in fact we live at daggers drawn. You must
know that Troy, a town of small population (two thousand or so) but
of great character and importance, stands at the mouth of a river
where it widens into a harbour singularly beautiful and frequented by
ships of all nations; and that seven miles up this river, by a bridge
where the salt tides cease, stands Lestiddle, a town of fewer
inhabitants and of no character or importance at all. Now why the
Reform Bill, which sheared Troy of its ancient dignities, should have
left Lestiddle's untouched, is a question no man can answer me; but
this I know, that its Mayor goes flourishing about with a silver mace
shaped like an oar, as a symbol of jurisdiction over our river from
its mouth (forsooth) so far inland as a pair of oxen yoked together
can be driven in its bed.
He has, in fact, no such jurisdiction. Above bridge he may, an it
please him, drive his oxen up the riverbed, and welcome. I leave him
to the anglers he will discommodate by it. But his jurisdiction
below bridge was very properly taken from him by order of our late
Queen (whose memory be blessed!) in Council, and vested in the Troy
Harbour Commission. Now _I_ am Chairman of that Commission, and yet
the fellow declines to yield up his silver oar! We in Troy feel
strongly about it.
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