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2 "SCs PRANK LESLIE'S NEW YORK JOURNAL. © ‘
, The maypole, on the contrary, required no such
. protection on the recurrence of this and other
{dreaded anniversaries; it was guarded alike by
the recollections of the old and the love of, the
young—who, on the first of the floral month, and
during the three days of the village feast—which
took place in autumn—were accustomed to assem-
ble round it.
Many a lore-tale had heen breathed in its vicin-
ity in the ears of blushing girls, who were now
thoughtful, steady mothers; and’many a pang of
jealousy rent the heart of some rustic swain at the
sight of a rival guiding the footsteps of the village
belle through the mazes of the May-day dance.
Even the children loved the Maypole. They
looked forward to the future; and Farnsfield—pret-
ty, rural, hospitable Farnsfield—would not have
been Farnsfield without it, Michael Tippin—for
the future, following the example of his neighbors,
we shall use the familiar abbreviation of Mike—
was a hale, hearty man, apparently about sixty, or
“at the most, sixty-three years of age. Time had
dealt gently with him. [lis tall, spare form, was
etill vigorous and erect as ever; his thoughtful
grey eye clear, but not ‘without a certain’ expres-
sion of cunning—perhaps shrewdness would hare
been a better word—when he turned its inquiring
glance upon any one; a few thickly-curling locks,
as white as snow, ecoyerel the back of his head,
and gaye a venerable appearance to his healthy,
sunburnt features. “Htad Mike's countenance only
been paler, he might have served as an excellent
model to some artist for a saint.
“At the close of a fine evening on the first day of
September, 1800, Mike, having nothing else to oc-
cupy his time with, had repaired to the little green
--in the front of the church—a glorious specimen of
the Tudor style—and was amusing himself with
repairing his old friend the stocks, which stood on
a little mound close to the wall of the churchyard.
’ The flood of sunset, deluging the green with gold
~' and purple hues, was broken only by the mass of
dark shadow which the sacred, edifice cast. upon
the sward, enveloping the workman, stocks and all,
cee : ‘ a
‘{« ints shade.
....The old man had been occupied more than an
' hour—for the repair was an important one—when
‘his attention to his voluntary labor was called off
* by ‘the dull, though quick ‘sound, of ‘a ‘horseman
‘ eantering oyer the sun-scorched turf towards him.
' Mike looked ‘up, and saw that the rider-was a
- stranger—for he knew every- face—man’s, woman's,
‘ and child’s—not only in the village of Farnsfield,
but the neighborhood. ' .
“Some visitor,” he muttered, “to the hall; and
yet it is singular they should receive company at
such a time—the young squire, they say, on_ his
death bed! Not that Sir Richard is likely to grieve
much at the loss of his firat-born—he never loved
him! So young—so good, rich, and frank-hearted!
Poor gentleman! it is a sad thing to quit a world
which promjses so much—and just of age, too! Ah!
let me see: the first of September—of age this very |:
lay” :
By this time the horseman—who had checked his
steed and remained for some time gazing around him
like one uncertain of his road—perceived the speak-
er, and, giving the animal the rein, cantered towards
«A soldier!” added Mike, as he drew near.
It required no great penetration to make the dis-
covery: 60 decided was the military bearing of the
rider, that not even the plain, unlaced, snuff-colored
suit he were could disguise it. .
Ilis age might be about thirty—certainly not less ;
his features were regular and handsome, and his.
eyes the same color as his hair—which he wore
without powder—a dark ‘brown. - .
“Ts this Farnsfield, my good fellow?” he said,
addressing the sexton, who had risen froni ‘his
knees, and stood, with one hand on the post of the
stocks, gazing at him. . .
“It is, sir!” replied the old man; “you might
trust the horse you ride to bring you, the darkest
night in December, to the village post-office—he
knows no other road; he has trotted every day for
the last seven years, to my certain knowledge, be-
tween Newark and Farnsfield with the letter-bags.”
The gentleman scemed slightly annoyed; per-
haps he did net wish the direction he had ‘come
'. from 10 be known . ,
“Jt seems a pleasant place,” he observed.
“It waea pleasant place, eit, answered Mike,
the wrinkles on his breed, ample forehead, becom-
ing suddenly deeper, “in Justice Oldcastle’s time!
He was not to be led away by new-fangled notions
about the stocks hardening people, and such non-
sense! I've had a3 many as five a week in them
when he was alive,” ’
ab.
f
The, stranger smiled, wb
“Perhaps, sir,” continued the speaker, “ you aj
prove of these new fashions?” ~ oo
“Indeed I do not!” replied the horseman, hasti-
ly—for he was sufficiently a man of the world to
pereeive that he would get little information out
of the old man, who was evidently a character, if
he ventured to disagree with him; “on the con-
trary, I have been subjected to a firm discipline
the greater part of my life, and I approve of it.”
No doubt this was not uttered without certain
mental reservations; but, as we before observed,
the gentleman had his reasons for not displeasing
the sexton. : :
“By-the-bye,” he added, “what. monument is
that?” .
Ile pointed to a species of cenotaph, towering to
a considerable height above the wall of the church-
yard, and evidently, from its construction, of much
older date than the church; it was not much un-
like one of those picturesque crosses formerly so
common in England, erected in Catholic times to
commemorate particular events. There was this
difference, however—that three of the arches were
walled up with blocks of granite so as to form a
species of vault, the fourth being oceupied by mas-
stve iron doors,'on ‘either side of which was the
statue of a knight in the armor of the twelfth cen-
tury each effi had a shield, on which ‘were
sculptured three martiets and a fleur-de-lis. ©
“Well, that is a singular monunent,” observed
the old man complacently; “and Iam glad that
you noticed it; it belongs also to as singular a fam-
ily; Sir Richard Trevanian, one of the old stand-
ards in these parts.”
“Isthat the burial-place of the Trevanians?”
demanded the traveller, with a sigh.
“yen so,” continued the sexton; “and by all
accounts it is soon likely to be opened again—for
the eldest son, Squire Edward, they say is dying.
A good gentleman!” added the speaker, emphati-
cally; “a good gentleman! and the poor will have
cause to lament for him, go when he will! Per-
haps you are acquainted with the family, sir?”
“No,” replied the stranger, after a pause; “I
never met but one of the name in my tide”
Mike looked at him doubtfully.
“And that,” added the speaker, “was far from
here.” 3 ¢ a .
“Perhaps in foreign parts, sir?”
“This place interests me!” resumed the horse-
man, avoiding an. answer to the question; “I had
heard there are seyeral curious old mansions in the
neighborhood, and made up my mind to remain
here for'a day or two. My host at Newark recom-
mended the Treyanian Arms; perhaps you will di-
reet me to it?” .
“The Trevanian Arms!” repeated Mike, with
astonishment; “why, it is no better than an ale-
house!”
“No matter.”
“So solitary, too!”
“T shall like it all the better,” observed the gen-
tleman, impatiently; “and now, my friend, as I
have given you some trouble, and delayed you at
your work, if you will point out my road, I shall
‘be happy to recompense you.”
Ile took from his waistcoat pocket a seven shil-
ling piece—there were seven shilling pieces in
those days—and held it temptingly between his
finger and thumb. Mike eyed the coin wistfully ;
he would fain have asked one or two more ques-
tions, but the fear of losing it prevented him.
“Keep the side of the wood, sir,” he said, “ till
you come to Newstead Road, then turn sharp off
to the right; you can’t mistake the house—it is di-
rectly opposite the great entrance to the park.
Betsy Guyton, who keeps it, was formerly nurse at
the hall, and ——” . .
The military-looking personage, without waiting
to hear the conclusion of the-sexton’s’ observation,
thanked him for his information, and trotted off in
the direction he had pointed out, but not before he
had dropped into the old man’s hand the coin he
had go lately held in his own.
“ A strange guest for Bet Guyton!” he muttered,
looking first at the seven-shilling piece and then
after the rider; “but it is no affairof mine! Why
should I trouble my head with it?”
With this philosophical reflection, he resumed his
work; but had not continued it Jong before he was
interrupted by a second traveller—a short, but very
gentlemanly looking man, mounted upon an iron-
grey cob—a quiet, cosy, easy-going dnimal, fit to
earry 2 bishop, or at the very least, a dean.
_ like touched the scanty tuft of white hair upon
his forehead: he felt instinctively that the new-
comer was one of the cloth. .
‘
_ “Can you direct me, my good friend,” inquire
oe . 4 é
the gentleman, :“‘to.a little inn, somewhere in this
neighbdrhood, called the Trevanian Arms ?”:
“Where?” demanded’ the sexton; with a‘stare of
surprise,
“The Trevanian Arms!” mildly repeated the in-
quirer.
Mike repeated the instructions he had given to
his first visitor. ,
“Thank you, friend!” said the stranger, at the
same time throwing him a crown-picce. “Do you
reside hereabouts?”
“Tam the sexton and Beadle of Farnsfield!”
“Sexton! Beadle! Wa—very good!” slowly enun-
ciated the querist, complacently. ‘‘ Humph! very
fine church!”
“Tt is a fine old place!” said Mike.
“The living good?”
“ More than a thousand a year, sir!”
The gentleman appeared to regard the sacred
edifice with redoubled interest, and next inquired
whether the incumbent had the gicat tithes as well
az the small. : st :
“No—no!” replied the parish officer: “they-be-
long to the chapter at Southwell!” :
“Tle be a parson!” exclaimed the old man, es the
second traveller ambled off in the direction he had
pointed out. “I'd bet the erown-piece—and, for the
matter of that, the seven-shilling one, too—that he
e a parson—it wor so natural loike, The. first
asked about the monuments and the statucs of the
old ights—he wor.a soldier; the second wor
only anxious after the tythes and living of the par-
ish. Every one to his frade.”
Either the shadows of night, which were rapidly
drawing around, or the sudden and unaccountable
thirst which had seized the speaker from the mo-
ment he became possessed of the money, rendered
it impossible for him to pursue his work any lon-
ger; he begaa, therefore, to pack up his tools, in
order to remove them to the lower chamber of the
belfry, which he called his den,
Just as he had concluded, and was locking the
gate of the churchyard, strange to relate, a third
traveller, driving a powerful roan horse in a light
gig, came rattling over the green. At the sight of,
the sexton, he, too, pause "oe i
“What can he want?” mentally, ejaculated the
old man, a superstitious fecling creeping over him.
“Which is the nearest road to the Trevanian
Arms?” demanded the new comer,
The keys rattled co in Mike’s hand that he could
not fasten the gate.
“Did you, hear me, friend?” said the stranger,
impatiently. uo OS
“Yes—I—I did -hear‘you!”: faltered Mike, ‘at
last. “The Trevanian Arms—it is a poor place for ~
a gentleman like you to put up at.”
“Perhaps it is cheap, and will suit my means,’
replied the man in the ‘gig; “ or business or pleas-
ure may take me there; no matter what my mo-
tive, since it cannot affect you. Guide me as I re-
quest, and I will pay you for your trouble.”
The cheerful, business-like tone in which the
words were uttered, convinced the sexton that the |
speaker at least was mortal, like himself; so he |
gave him the same direetion which he had given
his predecessors; and in return the gentleman
threw him a shilling, as he drove off towards the
wood,
Mike reflected for some time, as he stood turning
the shilling over in his hand. Never in the course
of his long career had he been so puzzled, : i
“A man of the world, that!” he said, as he
dropped the coin at last into his capacious pocket ;
“most likely a lawyer, for they know the valley of
money, and don’t throw it away. The soldier gave I
seven shillings. Ah, light come,.light gol The
parson five; it might haye-been less, if I hadn't
told un I belonged to the church; and the lawyer,
if he be‘a Jawyer, ashilling! Mang me,” he added, ,
with o burst of curiosity, “if I wouldn't give all
to know what takes soldier, parson, and lawyer, to »
Bet Guyton’s, No good, I fear, no good!. Poor
young Squire!” :
So great was the desire of the sexton to obtain ;
some clue to the enigma, that he determined to visit _
the Trevanian Arms, despite the distance—no tri-
fling obstacle at his age. Bet was an old acquaint-
anee, and certain, as he thought, to make him wel-
come. . -
It is time that we proceeded to give some account
of the family whose members, as our readers doubt-
less already have suspected, are destined to act no
undistinguished parts in our tale
Sir Richard Trevanian, when a very young-man,
had succeeded to the inheritance of an ancient name
and a dilapidated estate, Being a prudent, calen.
lating personage, he had married the oaly child and
oe
heiress of the gentleman who eld Ube vast mortyn +
|
7
“
