OiE DJU.AR PER ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
plprsfmn Rlornutn. 3annars 8. 185?.
Selects |)oetrn.
MAIDEN RESOLUTIONS.
BV MARY F. T. TCCKKB.
Oh! I'll tell you of a fellow,
Of a fellow I have seen,
Who is neither white or yellow,
But is altogether orbkn !
Then liis name isn't charming,
For it's only common " Bill,"
And he wishes me to wc-J him,
But I hardly think I will.
lie Jus told mc of a cottage,
Of a cottage 'mong the trees,
And don't you think the gawky
Tumbled down upon his knees 1
While the tears the creature wasted
Were enough to turn a mill;
And he begged me to accept him,
But 1 hardly think I will!
Oh ! he whispered of devotion,
Of devotion pure and deep,
But it seemed so very silly
That I nearly fell asleep !
And he thinks it would be pleasant,
As we journeyed down the bill,
To go hand in hand together,
But 1 hardly think I will!
He was here last night to eee me,
And he made so long a stay,
I began to think the blockhead
Never meant to go away.
At Sr-t 1 learned to hate him,
Aud 1 know I hate him still;
Yet he urges me to have him,
But I hardly think I will!
I am sure I wouldn't choose him,
But the very deuce is in it ;
He says if I refuse him,
That he could not live a minute |
And you know the blessed Bible
Plainly says, wc " mustn't kill,"
I've thought the matter over,
And I rather guess I will!
Selc cll b C;tl e.
(From Dickens' Household Words.]
The Bsschsrovc Family.
U V
'• So voti think, my lad, that you would be
quite happy if you had such a ball at? that we
passed this morning, with a park of old trees
iixd a terraced garden, and pheasants feeding
and crowing in every covert. Ay, but you're
wrong, my lad. It isn't halls or parks, or any
thing that money can buy, that can uiuke you
tappy-" , ,
The speaker was a white-haired, hale old
man. with that clear tinted complexion that
speaks of an active and not too hard life spent
ut of doors. From his dress he might have
reen a small fanner, or a head gamekeeper, or
i bail Iff, or chief gardener ; and, from his way
..[ speaking, it seemed as if he had been in the
habit of coimirsiug with hit superiors, and had
'.jii.dtl up some of their phrases and tones.
"Why, here," he said, pulling out of his
X'let a printed auctioneer's catalogue, "here
• u paper that I picked up in the bar of the
•tatioti hotel, that tells a very different story
of the place where I passed more than fifty
par- of my life.
" There was not a prettier estate in this coun
*ry than Bcechgrove park. A thousand acres
in a ring fence, beside i ommon rights and other
j pro|)erty that went with it. It was in the
family of Squire Corburn, they say, for five
mired years and more. But the last three
Squires dipped it each deeper than the other ;
"or they all drank and played deep, and drink
xr and dice don't go well together. Squire
Andrew—he was the last—lived as his fore
fv'ners had done ; kept his hounds and drove
I -four-in-hand, and had open house always at
I e time, and strong ale and bread and cheese
j for any one that called any day in the week ;
hi winch would not have hurt, him so much if
] "had not always had either the dice-box or
Ipe brandy bottle in bis hand. He was the
! -t of a had '■ort who are called jolly good
j' lw\ beeau-c they flung their money about
'o every lad or lass that would join their mad
pranks.
- I •
Well, one evening lie rolled off the sofa
s: 'trdinner; am), before his poor wife could
" loose I,is handkerchief, he was dead. Then
lurued oat that for three years he had been
Uis g at the place on sufferance; that every
:ir there—land, house furniture, pictures,
: carriages, everything—belonged to old
Rigors of Rlexborough. Squire Cor
jr" k-ft no sons—only two daughters. So
poor lady gathered up the little that was
: -ohcr, with a small income that the Squire
"ot touch, and was seen no more.
My father was bailiff over tlie home farm
1 >'|uire Corluirn, and i was his deputy.
r . Tf 'U may believe we had a nice place of it.
The old lawyer had the character of he
k 1 lard man in business, and had mortgages
half the estates in the county; but as
as lli-i'chgrove park came into his posses*
• e altered his w ays, retired from business,
"•on a!! the old head servants, and carried
much the same as before ; only,
' 4 ' w, s (] ()lie j n p Pr f oc t order, he got more
" money. Except that he parted with
.'■], ,ir " U| ds, he put down no port of the Cor*
}J e furnished the best rooms;
| ■ 4 -"i a first-rate cook ; laid in some famous
; - !!i addition to the old stock; and by
I& H Rtanp ' w 'th capital pheasant preserves,
Ihi r T" talion Of having money to lend, he
■ soon visited by almost all the first people
[•. '/.I COun, y. At first the old lawyer seemed
" u, ' w lease of life, looking after his
| V^ urm ' a,, d riding out to pay visits ;
'- r! a ' iaiM^8 ° IQe °hi fellow, not much
I it'i ? x{ . v ~ a widower, and mothers thought
I 'ytmm again.
was too nnn-h for him at Inst. He
'fiik'ng, and played such tri'-ks with
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
low company that he went back n3 fast as be
had gone forward, and one by one was drop
ped by his new friends ; for although they
might pardon strange behavior in one of them
selves, they could not put up with the liber
ties of a man that some remembered an office
boy iu Blexborough. The end of it was that
he made jolly companions of whoever would
be jolly with him, aud ended by marrying the
daughter and barmaid of Bob Carter, of the
Swan inn, a bouncing girl of eighteen.
" Now the lawyer had a son whom lie had
brought up for the church, and was at college
long enough, though he never became a pai son,
nor did he agree at all with his father. He
used to be away n great deal traveling, until
bis father came into the property. Then he
returned with his wife, a very nice lady.
" The father and son, whom wc call the young
Squire, did not get on at all together—they
were so different. The old lawyer was loud,
noisy and hearty ; the young Squire was pale,
shy, and silent. He hud not married accord
ing to his father's liking, and he did not push
himself forward. He liked his book and hated
the bottle.
" When lawyer Rigors married Kitty Carter,
the young Squire left the park and went
abroad, traveling in foreign parts—France,
Italy, and such like ; for the old gentleman
made them a handsome allowance. At length
the old gentleman went too fast, though Kitty
took all the care of hitn she could—was taken
sick, lingered for several months, and died.
" Of course the young Squire was sent for ;
it turned out that he had left a curious will
that no one could understand, with all sorts of
directions ; but above all, a great income and
one of his best estates for life, if she did not
marry, to Kitty. They say the look the Squire
gave Kitty when the will was read was awful.
And that he tluug out of the room without
noting the hand—Kitty, who was always a
friendly soul—held out to him.
" Now, when the old lawyer died, I will say
there was not a more beautiful place in the
kingdom. You went tip a drive through the
little park, after passing the lodge-gate under
an avenue of beech and oak trees —that led
straight to the lake fed by the springs that
flowed out in a water-fall and went murmuring
along for miles—a stream swarming with trout.
On the other side the lake was the place, a
stone house, standing behind some terraced
gardens that led down to the water, with rich
parti-colored beds dotting over the green lawns
flanked by groves and bright evergreens.—
Behind the house the lawns and gardens rolled
until bounded by plantations where vistas
opened views of the distant hills and the pas
ture fields of ihe home-farm. The range of
walled gardens were placed on the warm south
side, quite out of sight ; the Lest truit trees
had been grown ever since the monks made the
gardens. The old lawyer spent thousands in
building graperies and pineries, for he prided
himself on having the best of everything.
"To walk out ou an autumn evenb g on
these terrace-gardens, all red and gold and
green with flowers, and turf, and evergreen,
and see the lake where the coots and wild
ducks played, anu the swans sailed proudly,
and the many colored trees of the park, where
the pet deer lay or browsed, with everything
as perfect as men and money, scythes and
i brooms aud weeders, could make it Often I
was up by daybreak to see that the gardeners
made all ready for Lawyer Rigors to see, when
he came from his annual London visit.
"And the house was a fine old place,—snites
of rooms, on; leading from another, without
end, and a great hall and a long gallery where
the family portraits hung, and the lawyer put
up a billiard table where he and his friends
played in wet leather.
"The old lawyer was buried before the let
ter telling of his death reached his son, so Mrs.
Kittv cleared and went up to her jnintyre house
and from that up to London, where she met
young Mr. Rigors, and heard the will read.
" We had orders to get all ready to receive
him. I mind it as if it was yesterday, seeing
the big traveling coach, piled with trunks and
imperials, coine up the avenue and wind round
the lake, as fast as four horses could trot.—
The children had their faces all out of the
windows, wild with delight, and in a minute
after the coach stopped at the hall-door, the
boys were out and ovir the gardens pulling
the fruit, and into the stables, and then back
to the house and running races through the
corridors.
"At first, the Squire, as we still called him,
kept up some thing of his father's style, though
he put down four horses to a pair, and got rid
of a lot of idle men servants. The calls of
those gentry that came he returned, but ex
cused himself on the ground of ill health and
the education of his children from receiving
formal company.
" The children were very happy—every day
hunting out new stores and treasures, riding
the ponies and donkeys, and making nil sorts
of pets in the preserves and oil the home-farm.
But month bv month expenses were cut down,
until at length the Squire sent for me—having
taken it into his head that I was the steadiest
fellow there—and told mc that he was not
what people thought, but very poor, and that
everything nmst be made to pay. The game
keepers were all to go, except two woodmen,
and all the fancy gardeners. The old lawyer
had a dozen, one for each department All i
the land that could was to be let, and the fruit'
and vegetables sold. He did not say this at
first, but lie hinted, and I understood him.—
Do the best you can, says he, don't ask me for j
money, and 1 shall expect the house well kept
in dairy and poultry, and the land in hand to
pay a fair rent.
" In two years you never saw such a ruin !
I verily lielieve the master's fractious mean
ways broke his lady's heart ; anyhow she
pined away and died before the worst. After
her death "the Squire went fairly wild on saving.
" You never saw such a change in a plaee
in ail your life. The coach horses were not
sold, but set to plow and cart. And many of
the fancy beds for flowers were sowed with po
tatoes, turnips, mangolds and such like. Ihe
lawns were let go to grass, and even grazed
o"• r And for the park it was grazed
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA. BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
down to the hare roots with stock at so much
a heaJ, until no one would send any more in
to be starved. Geese and ducks were reared
in the garden temples and fed in the basins
made for gold-fish.
" Everything was left to fall to rack and
ruin, except just what could lie turned to profit,
or what, at any rate, the master fancied to be
a profit. He took a fancy to me from the
first, because you see I was a sort of a Jack
of all trades, and did not mind turning my
had to anything. So I grew from that to be
a kind of bailiff. We had a deal of fruit to
sell in Blexborough, which, though not such a
big place as it is now since these railways were
; found out, was beginning to be a pretty good
j market. Then there was the hay and the po
' tatoes, the sheep and the pigs, and I managed
all. So, of course, I got to speak to the
Squire pretty often, and I said to him once, 'I
think, Squire, if you're for fanning you'd do
better to take a regular farm, and let on sale
this place that's planned for pleasure grounds,
aud never was meant for profit.' But, bless
you, he'd never listen to any common sense,
for I believe the truth was he could not bear
to put money out of his pocket, and many and
many a time when he wouldn't order a joint of
meat from the butcher's, he'd have pork, that,
what with one experiment or another, would
cost him a shilling the pound.
" One day he made up his mind to break up
a fine mere of land to plow. Says I, 'We
want some horses very had. Squire, for thai
st.fF clay.'
"'Why, Robin,' says he—my name's Robin
Spuddcr—'haven't you the four horses?'
" ' Lord, sir,' says I,' they're no good at all ;
they may do in the light carts, or for harrow
ing, though that wasn't what they were meant
for ; but for plowing, you see, you want some
weight and substance, and it's my belief vou'll
kill the horses, and do no good to the land.'
"The Squire was a mild spoken gentleman,
unless you put his back up ; but when I said
this, his eyes flared like a forcing furnace
Says he, 'Robin are you in a conspiracy to ruin
me, like all the rest ? Those horses cost my
father four hundred pounds, and you told me
yourself they would not fetch twenty pound
apiece, and now you want me to buy more !'
" Well, it was no use saving anything, for I
dare not tell him that he had ruined the poor
brutes with feeding them on a" mess of pota
toes and chaff-stuff he had learned out of a
French book.
"Another time, I've known him sooner than
give an order for a load of coals, make me cut
down two ornamental trees.
" So, you see, we lived on the farm off vege
tables, poultry that didn't sell, skim-milk ; all
the cream went for butter, pork, and such old
fat wethers as were not fit for market. I used
to be sorry for the poor children, walking
among the fine fruit, and not allowed to touch
so much as an apple unless it was bruised, and
obliged to be content with drv bread, when we
were making pounds and pounds of fine but
ter ; talking among themselves how different
it was when their poor ina' was alive.
" But they were so young that they did not
feel the change much as long as they could play
about ; and of course, when their father's back
was turned, they had the best of everything.
We servants out of the house, did very well ;
our wages were regular, and of course wo had
the best of everything that was sold, beside
our perquisites.
" I lived in one of the park lodges, and made
myself and my missis very comfortable with a
garden. A cow's grass was part of my wages;
and rainy a time thechi!d r i n came down from
the hall, and had a better tea with us than
they were allowed at home The worst of it
was the Squire was always trying some new
fangled plans, and never stuck to any of them
long enough to make 'cm pay. He used to
read something out of a book and come down
full o! it and try it, if it could be done without
laying out too much money, and then, before
it was half done, he would try something else.
" One time he was for fatting cattle in stalls ;
so he fits up with faggots and clay some old
sheds, and boys a lot of poor Welsh cattle at
a low figure, and goes to work very hot for a
few weeks. But the beasts wouldn't feed, or
the food was not right, and all went wrong.—
They didn't sell for mnch more than they cost.
Then he was all for pigs, and we had pigs by
the hundred, eating their heads off. Well,
that didn't answer, and the dairy—made in one
of the wine cellars of the old house, with fifty !
cows —didn't turn out much better. The cows j
died or gave no milk, and the dairy inu ids stole |
the butter, or else no one would buy it ; and
the cheese, made on a new plan from Holland, j
or Switzerland, or some other outlandish place, 1
never turned out right The Squire, you see, |
was quite a bookman, and when he'd given his
order, and read his explanation, he thought he
had done rill that was necessary.
" It wasn't my business to make any difficul
ties. Mine was a comfortable place ; and so
were all the servants' and laborers', for the
matter of that ; but we could none of us un
derstand tlie Squire, no more could the neigh
bors. For it was said that though the old
lawyer had not left him so much as he expect
ed, still there was a pretty tidy lot ; some j
thousands a year at the least, I've heard say, i
beside the house and park. But he had got ■
into his head most times that he was going to !
be ruined, or that he was ruined, and was al- |
ways dwelling o i the large fortune he had to i
pay to h s father's family. He'd talk to me,
he'd talk to any laborers about it ; I don't
think he ever used to talk to his lady about
anything else ; and that's the way he moped
her to death. I've heard him myself talk to
little Rupert and Master Charles about the
duty of being content with dry bread when
they were not more than seven or eight years
old. The children were dear creatures. Me
and my missis loved them all, and they loved
us. There was the eldest. Master Rupert, a
high-spirited chap, always in mischief when his I
father's back was turned—a line, free spirited {
lad, and the kindest, bravest heart in the
world ; and Charles, as quiet as a lamb, al
ways at his book ; and Norman, the youngest,
rather spoiled, but a merry sharp little grig ;
and the two voung ladies, the twins that nn
wife nursed and took to almost altogether when
their poor mother died—Miss Maria and Miss
Georgina.
" They had no playmates ; for the Squire
wouldn't let 'em have any if he knew it. They
weren't dressed like other children. The boys
always wore the same corduroys, except cloth
on Sundays ; and then they wore these until
they were too short in the arms and the legs
by half a yard. The poor young ladies were
in the same way ; always cotton gowns and
common straw bonnets, and their haircut short
like bovs, until tliev wore quite big girls. They
used to creep into church ashamed, for they
knew they were gentlefolks, and not like being
so shabby.
" They never went to school ; the Squire
could not bear the idea of the expense. First
lie taught them himself; then he found that
took too much time ; so he hired a curate in
the next parish, a curious sort of a snuffy old
man to teach boys and girls. But they only
made fun of him, and did not learn much, 1
doubt, except Charles. Then he got a cheap
governess for the ladies ; but she did not like
the living, and married Bob Cannon the fores
ter. I believe the Squire loved his children
dearly ; but he was so Inisy saving up money
for them, and he was so severe with tliein
about every trifle, and always lecturing them
about one tiling or another, that they feared
too much to love him.
" Lord Splatterdash says, I am told, that
all children arc alike. He would not have sa'd
so if lie had known my young masters—Ru
pert, and Charles, and Norman. Rupert was
proud naturally. He could not do what his
father did. I've seen liim cry with shame and
vexation when the Squire has taken him with
us to market to drive the old phaeton, and lie
has heard I;is father disputing about a groat
in the bill with the innkeeper. For we used
to take our own chaff with a sprinkling of oats
in a bag, and feed outside the town, near a
haystack, in fine weather, and stood out all the
time. In wet weather we were obliged to put
up at an inn ; and then we had to bear with
a deal of sauce because Squire Skinflint, as
tliey called hitn,-was known never to spend a
penny if lie could help it. He'd go five miles
round, and creep over any hedge ou horse
back, to avoid a turnpike. Many a time at a
etowded fair we have been turned out by land
lords, saying : "1 can't afford to take iu foiks
that neither cat nor drink.'
" But for all that tbe Squire was not a bad
man to the poor—far from it ; and would come
down handsome at times, by fits and starts, if
there was any case of distress. But his whole
mind seemed to be eat up with the notion of
saving fortunes for hiscbildren. He used con
tinually to say, ' Y'oii see they're five of them;
and my father's behaved so cruel to me that
there be very little for them, Robin, when I'm
gone.'
" Now, when Master Rupert grew to about
fifteen and the two young ladies thirteen, al
though tliev were kept so close, they got to
hear many things making them think that their
father was not so poor as he always said ; for
servants will talk. At that time not one sin
gle bit of furniture had been bought since the
old lawyer died. The carpets were worn out
and patched one with another, like a patch
work quilt. In the living-rooms they made tip
with odd sets of chairs, and he'd patch the bro
ken windows with paper himself. They got
rid of servants until they had only two oldish
women in the house beside the farm servants.
They used to dine at. one o'clock in what was
the servants' hall, on a long deal table ; and
I've known them sit down day after day to a
dislt of potatoes, chosen from the best of those
kfpt for the pigs (the best of all went to mar
kit), with one egg and one rasher of bacon a
pieee, and dry brown bread. The flitches and
hams and all that could be were locked np in
the store-room, and the Squire kept the keys
and gave out daily what lie thought was want
ed. As for the young ladies, when they were
big enough, they were dressed to their mother's
dresses as long as they would last. I have
seen them shivering iu a cold October day for
want of a shawl or a cloak when he had three
or four locked up iu the great wardrobe ; but
the Squire said it was too soon to begin warm
clothes in October. No matter what kind of
weather, we never began (ires until the ninth
of November.
"One Saturday just before Christmas—it
was Master Rupert's seventeenth birthday—
not that they kept any birthdays—the Squire
went to Christmas fair with me to sell a lot of
bullocks, the best lie ever bad, fed on the sum
mer's grass in the park. Au hour after we
were gone, Master Rupert called his brothers
and sisters into the hall that was never used,
and there lie had got a roaring fire in the grate.
Old .Jenny Crookit, who told ine the story, said
lie shouted out like a madman, ' Look here,
children, I have got orders to give you a treat
ou my birthday. Here's wine.' And so there
were several cobwchbed bottles He must
have broken into the vault. ' Here are fowls
and turkeys ready for the gridiron. Georgy,
Molly, and you, Dame Crookit, help to make
a good broil ; and while you are doing that,
I will show you something.' He weut out of
the room, and returned dressed in a complete
set of new clothes, like a farmer's son riding to
market. He was very tall and strong of his
age, ami handsome. Grand be did look, with
a red flush on his cheek and a strange, wild
look iu his eye. The children shouted with
pleasure and surprise. Then says he, ' Dame
Crookit, I am going on a journey—a long
journey. The king has sent for me, and I
must give you all a feast such as we read of
in story-books ltefore I go.' So they al! set
to work, and cooked, feasted, aud laughed,
and rejoiced, and he the loudest of them all.
Whin they had done, he called in all the la
borers that were in the cattle yard's and round
the house, and made them drink his health aud
a pleasant journey.
"' Drink, lie said, the wine won't hurt you ;
it's old ; it has lain in the ceilar ever since my
grandfather died, and long before that. If
you don't like wine, here's rum marked on the
cask ninety years old.' So you may believe
they all drank. He made the men go out and
fetch in more log- arid pile up fcucli a fire a;
had not been seen for many a year. Then lie
said, 'come, tny friends, I will sing you a song.'
So he sang first one and then another ballad—
all mournful ditties that made the lasses weep ;
he was always a fine singer. Many a time lie
rode before me when he was a child and sang
all the way through the park. His beautiful
voice went ringing through the empty halls,
aud winding tip the stairs where the cow-boys
hung listening.
" He was in the middle of a ballad—we
could hear the last verse as we came up the
avenue. 'What's that?' said the Squire.—
For the house was always mute a* an empty
church. When we turned into the stable yard
the flumes of the hearth fire flashed out through
the dnstv, cob-webbed window. 'Good hea
vens !' he cried : 'the house is on fire !' Next,
as he hurried along the passage came the gab
ble of cheerful voices. He flung open wide
the hea\v door; and cried, in a voice of dis
may and rage. —' What's all this ? Who dared
do this ?'
" ' It was I, father.' said Rupert, stepping
forward, looking flushed, and even still more
fierce than his father. 'lt was I who did it
all. lam going to leave you, sir, on a long
journey, and thought I should like to give my
brothers and sisters and old friends one fare
well feast, after years of starvation ; and if
you grudge it me, why then you can deduct it
from my share of mv mother's fortune, which
you must pay when I come of age.'
Villain ! It's false. Y'on've not a shil
ling unless you've robbed me.' And be raised
his whip to strike him.
"'Don't strike me,' said Master Rupert,
stopping back apace, and turning from red to
white ; ' don't strike nie or you will repent it
for many a long day.'
" But he did strike him again and again,
right across his face, until the blood flew.
" In one minute, before I could step between
them, the son, who was a head taller than his
father, had him in his arms pinioned, snatched
out of his other hand the big black pocket
l>ook he always carried, and then full of the
price of twenty bullocks, burst it open over the
fire, shook out the notes into the crackling
flames, then threw the book into the embers
and put his heel upon it. Sonic of the notes
flew burning, like evil spirits, np the chimney ;
the rest were ahes in an instant.
" 'There !" lie cried, ' there ! That's how I
should like to serve all your cursed money ; it
is your curse and ours.'
" Before the Squire could recover himself,
Master Rupert was gone. We heard a clat
tering in the yard of horses' feet. I ran to the
window and saw him by the light of the moon
gallop down the avenue on his gray colt that
lie must have had already saddled. We never
saw him again.
" The Squire took to his bed and lay there
nigh a week, scarcely eating anything. I
tended on liim myself. I could hear him
groan as I passed his door ; but when I came
in be looked just as usual—pale, and hard,and
grim. Y'on conld never tell what he meant by
bis face.
" Some said he fretted for his son ; others
said it was for the money Master Rupert had
burned, and the loss of the gray colt, the best,
he'd bred. Anyhow he said no word, but was
up at the end of the week, moiling and striving
and screwing, and grinding worse than ever
I think myself he loved Master Rupert, for all
his hard lines to him ; for, once—when his
son had been gone six months—l found liim
in the old lawyer's study standing looking at
two pictures—one of himself, taken when he
was about ten years old; and another of Ru
pert when he was seven or eight, drawn for
bis grandfather by some foreign artist. I heard
him mutter to himself, 'so changed ;' and I
half fancied there was a tear in his eye. But
turning hint sharp round on me, lie said grim
like, ' Could any one believe that pretty child
could have turned out such a villain, to rob
his poor old father ! What !' he tried to me,
as 1 muttered something—for the boy was my
favorite—' do vou defend hint ?'
" ' Master Rupert was not a villain,' said I,
'if it was the last word I was ever to speak.'
And with that I threw down the sample of
wheat I had brought, went out, and never
went near hint all day. But he could not do
without me. So the next time I had to go to
him lie took no more notice.
" When we enme to settle with the miller,
who took part of our corn and sent us meal,
we found that he had paid Master Rupert
cash for a brood mare that used to be called
his. Before that time the Squire had taken
care of the money (as lie said, for them) of
any calves or lambs sold belonging to the chil
dren
" Two yenrs afterward a son of the head
plowman that had gone to sea wrote to his
mother, saying he had met Master Rupert in
Calcutta, dressed in cavalry uniform ; that he
knew him in a minute, although he was very
much altered. But that Master Rupert de
nied his name, and refused to own to ever hav
ing seen Bob Colter before. But Bob was
quite clear that it was the young squire. I
went and told my master, who said nothing at
the time, but it seems set to work with his
Loudon friends to buy Master Rupert out. I
did not know this at the time. Long after
ward, when the squire fell sick of the illness
he died of, I found the letters under his pillow.
First there was a letter from some one in In
dia, saying they had seen the soldier Thomas
Rupertson,of the fiftieth K. 0 Light Cavalry,
and that he had entirely denied that be had
any pareuts living, or that he had any pre
tensions to be a gentleman ; and further said
he should enter some other regiment immedi
ately if bought out. There was another letter,
SHying that since the first had been written,
private Thomas Rupertson had died of a wound
received in a fight with some mounted robbers.
And the chaplain inclosed a lock of his hair,
and a portrait made on something like glass,
only tough, by an Indiau. Poor led ! it was
the very moral of him ; though the thick dark
mustaches and the fierce look was very differ
ent to when he used to go shepherding with
me on his rough pony.
" Master Rupert's going was only the begin
ning of (Mir troubles
VOL. XVII. NO. 31.
" Every year the squire seemed to grew
richer. He could not help it ; for, though the
home fanu was miserably mauaged, he spent
nothing to speak of, and was saving up his
rents and laying them out every year on in
terest. People came to him from all parts to
borrow money ; and he sat up all night beside
the day, when he was not busy in the farm,
looking over parchments and counting up mo
ney, and packing it up to take to the lilexbo
rough bank.
" The young ladies were growing np ; but
I he only seemed to notice them by fits and starts.
They were afraid of him, always skulked out
of tiie way, and only spoke in whispers, or just
ay and nay, before liirn, though they could
laugh loud enough behind his back—joking
with the lads who made an excuse to call when
they knew the Squire was at market or bank.
Oh, but they were bonny lasses, with color
like roses ! but strange and wild in their way
as any young jillies, and no one to look after
them—scampering about the park on their po
nies, with their hair flying about ears, and
just an old shawl or a horse-rug round their
feet instead of a habit ; or playing hide-and
seek round the old hall. They were at the age
when sorrow and -ad thoughts soon pass. So
poor Rupert was forgotten, except on Winter
cVeninsrs round the fire.
" Well, one (l;iv they were both missing ;
they had none off and married two wild fellows,
lawyer's clerks— not bad looking chaps though
—who got acquainted with them in the park
while coming backward and forward to raise
money on writings for their master, lawyer
Johns—Jesuit Johns they called him. It was
j a sad business. First, the husbands sued the
| Squire for their wives' share of their mother's
i fortune • then, when they got it, and found it
not to be so much as they expected, they ill
used the poor things. Langston, that married
Miss Georgy, gave up the law and opened a
public-house, where all the racing and spurting
fellows from the High Moor training grounds
used to go ; and poor Miss Georgy, that al
ways had a spirit of her own, when Langston
got in the way of be ting her, ran off with
Captain Lurtcher of the Lancers, the steeple
chase rider. Whet became of her afterward
I don't know ; but they did say she died in a
London workhouse. Miss Maria. t.h fc!?oue,
was always a meek £ pt7.i ; and when she found
that Mr. oum Woods had only married her
for her money, she fretted away to a shadow,
and soon faded away altogeeher.
" The next that left us was Master Norman,
the spoiled darling. He was a keen haud from
a child, and would take anything he could lay
his hand? on. He cheated at marbles ; was
never so happy as when lie could get a few
halfpence and play pi ch-nnd-toss with the
farm lads or the postillions down at the Fly
ing Guilders. He took to betting by going on
the sly to his brolher-in law Langston'spublic
house. How he got the money we could not
tell ; but he came to be a regular blackleg be
fore he had a beard, at every race he could
i steal away to. He finished by breaking open
tlie Squire's desk, when it was full of tlie price
of the wheat-stacks, and going off to Doncns
ter, where we heard he won a sight of money.
He never showed again until he was come of
age. Then lie drove up, dressed like a lord,
in a curricle, with two men servants, a bulldog,
and a black-faced blackguard looking dandv
fellow alongside of liiin. T e Squire was get
ting feeble then, but more fond of money than
ever. Norman frightened him so, that he was
glad to give him more than his share of his
mother's fortune down the nail, to get rid of
him. When he heard what had become ot his
sisters, the boy cursed and swore awfully. From
what Ids groom said, it seemed as if he had
brought the black-looking dandy to marrv oue
of his sisters. His last words were to warn
the Squire that he should be back in a year
for more cash. But he never came ; for he
was upset and killed coming from Newmarket
spring meeting, the year before we heard of
Mr. Rupert's death.
"So there was none left hut Mr. Charles,
who was always a quiet, careful lad, and had
persuaded the Squire to let him go into the
Blexhorough bank, where they were triad
enough to have him. So he used to be them
all the week, and coine up 0:1 Sundays, walk
[ ing the ten miles, unless he could get a east in
trig, and going back the Monday with me in
the market cart. He was the very same sort
as the Squire, but not u ha spirit. You might
see the old man and the young one, with a very
old look and stooping -shoulders, walking up
and down the terrace, deep in talk, every Sim
day. Sometimes they stopped and looked over
printed papers Mr. Charles would bring out iff
liis pocket. If the weather was too rough,
they would take their walk in the long gallery,
and so save lire. Then they would sit down
to down to dine off a bit of bacon, or perhaps
a rabbit caught in the park,or any cheap mess,
and all the time their tongues wont slowly,
steadily 011—but never about anything that
I could understand but money, money, money.
" After a while, Mr. Charles left the bank,
and set up in business for himself, and, accord
ing to what we heard, grow wonderfully rich.
Then them came a time of plans of American
mines, where the orchids came from, and canals,
railroads, and ali sorts of schemings. The old
Squire's eyes u>ed to glisten again when he
heard what a sight of money Mr. Charles was
likely to make. He used to sav, when Mr.
Charles was getting ready 011 the hall-steps to
go home 011 Sunday nights, ' Good boy, good
boy ; if all your speculations lomo off right,
you'll have ali I have.'
" ' llow much may that be, father V Mr.
Charles asked him one night.
" The old man's eyes glistened, and he rub
bed his lnin Is together gleefully. ' TiiousaucU,
boy, thousands !' 1m said, and then went back
into the parlor, rubbing his hands faster than
ever.
" After a while, however, things changed
very much. Mr. Charles lost his cheerful
looks on Sundays, and I noticed that whenever
he came the old Squire grew black and pinch
ed about the nose and mouth, as he always did
when any one him for money. It seem
ed to me that Mr. Charles' speculations ha 1
n.i' ''on}" r '(T right.