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eae ae cia a ce met
FRANK LESLIE'S NEW YORK JOURNAL. 357
0 saying, he set spurs to his horse, and, fol-
lowed by Fidelle,. who limped after him, he can-
tered towards the lodge, without trusting himself tu
cast one look behind on the home he was about to
quit, possibly, for ever,
Jack Curlin remained gazing after him for some
time in silence. Once or twice the honest fellow
passed the cuff of his stable-jacket over his eyes to
wipe away the tears, of which he felt ashamed. It
is astonishing hew prone we are to blush at the
weakness which does honor to our nature.
“ There goes as true a gentleman,” he exclaimed,
“as ever crossed a saddle or followed the hounds.
He be his father’s own son, say what they will of
’un—more’s the shame he doesn’t hold his own—
but he’ll get it yet. It be a bad change for all of
us,” he added : “ parson instead of squire —the hack
for the thorough-bred racer, I mun go and bid the
old mare and filly good-bye. Poor dumb things,
they’ll miss me!”
So saying, he retraced his steps towards the
stable.
It was doomed to be an unlucky day for Cuthbert
Vavasseur, who, passing through the servant's hall,
on his return to the mansion, saw the steward and
one of the footmen arranging several trunks. With
his usual insolence, he demanded whose they were.
“ Your cousin’s, Mr. Charles,”’ replied the former.
“ And what are you going to do with them?”
“Forward them to him in London.”
.“ You will no nothing of the kind, Mr. Bailey ;
if the fellow wants his rags let him fetch them him-
self. It is necessary they should be searched be-
fore they leave the place,” he added; ‘ who knows
what he may have secreted?”
At this infamous insinuation both the servants
regarded him with painful surprise.”
“What the deuce are you staring at,” he de-
manded; “can't you understand me?”
“ Perfectly,” said the old man, in a tone of pro-
voking calmmess ; ‘‘ those who descend to cringe or
flatter are generally capable of any meanness.”
» “ You are an insolent villain!” exclaimed the in-
furiated young ruffian,, ‘and I shall inform my
father of your conduct; it is time the place was rid
of you.”
He to whom the menace was addressed ‘smiled
disdainfully, which still further increased the fury
of the speaker.
, “ And you,” said the steward, “are an imperti-
nent puppy, too mean and contemptible to rouse ny
anger. ‘Tell your father that, and add, that I shall
perform my promise to my dear young master with-
out asking his permission or yours; and as for
examining his trunks, not a lock shall be tampered
with. I defy either of you to attempt it.”
Speechless with rage, Cuthbert’ rushed into the
breakfast-room; but finding neither the rector nor
his wife had descended, retired to change his riding-
diess, muttering curses as he did so.
Bailey and the footman quietly finished their task
of arranging the baggage of our hero.
When the Reverend Richard Vavasseur and his
family were assembled, his hopeful heir related,
with considerable exaggeration, the scene which
had taken place in the stables, and insisted that
a warrant should be immediately issued: against
Charles for an assault, a proposition which his
mother and sister warmly assented to.
« Absurd,” said his father, addressing himself to
to his wife; “would you have the whole county
cry shame upon us?. Can you not perceive, even
from his own garbled statement, that Cuthbert has
only to blame himself for all that has occurred?
The horse was his cousin's, and he knew tt.”
“Ts that a reason,” demanded Mrs. Vavasseur,
impatiently, “that he should presume to raise his
hand against a son of mine? 1 really blush for your
weakness,” she added.
“ One would really imagine,” observed Margaret,
“ that papa had rubbed Charles of his inheritance ;
he shows so much sympathy for him. For my
part, I could never endure him, with his conceit
and insolent familiarity, Cousin this, and Cousin
that... Pretty cousin, indeed!” . .
Had the unfortunate youth been less insensible
to her attractions, in all probability the young lady
would have expressed herself differently. .
‘You forget, my love,” said the rector, mildly,
“that it is our duty, as Christians, to forgive ”
“Humbug!” ejaculated his son, who next pro-
ceeded to relate the extraordinary manner, for so it
appeared to him, in which the house-steward had
braved his authority. :
To his great astonishment, as well as chagrin,
both his parents decided against him. Bailey, they
said, was an old and faitiful servant, exceedingly
useful, thoroughly acquainted with the property.
“Am I to have no redress, then?’ demanded
their hopeful heir, in a sulky tone.
“Not the redress you seek, at all events,” replied
his father, firmly. ‘‘ Let it be a lesson to you ; and,
for the future, govern your temper better: the poor
have their feelings as well as the rich, and we have
no right to outrage them. Bailey is a man whom I
highly esteem for his integrity and usefulness.”
“Certainly,” said his wife, at the same time bi-
ting her thin parchment lips to conceal her vexation.
“In that case,’’ muttered the infuriated Cuthbert,
“the sooner I start for Cambridge the better. I'll
not stay here to be insulted by an old rascal, whom,
for some reason or other, you are afraid to get rid
of. Beaten in the presence of a groom—made the
jest of all the servants!”
Both his parents eagerly assured him that the
groom should be at once dismissed from the faraily,
and with this concession the cowardly young fellow
was compelled to appear content. Probably he
was not deceived by their affected forbearance, his
mother's especially—but suspected they had motives
for their conduct which it would not be to his in-
terest to pry into.
Jack Curlin did not wait for his dismissal. Be-
fore the party rose from the breakfast-table, a letter,
written on the blank leaf torn from the Racing
Calendar, was placed in the hands of the rector, on
which that honest fellow gave him notice to pervide
himself with another servant. |The notice was fol-
lowed by a series of hieroglyphics, which very much
puzzled the reverend gentleman, till Bailey explain-
ed that they stood for eleven pounds ten shillings,
the amount of wages due to the writer.
“Pay it,’ said the Reverend Richard Vavasseur,
handing the steward the paper, ‘and let him quit
the house at once.”
Not a word of reproof respecting the scene which
had taken place in the servant’s-hall was added—
each party understood the position of the other.
——_.
CHAPTER IV.
A testy gentleman, quick at offence,
His outside rough, harsh and unpromisip;
The inner man melting with life’s sweet charities. .
LD PLAY.
Cuartes Vavassrur had evidently the sympathy
of all the domestics. Before quitting the house,
Jack, the groom, related to his tellow servants the
quarrel of the two cousins in the stable, and the
horsewhipping which Cuthbert had received for his
brutality to the dog. Filling his glass with ale, he
drank success to Master Charles, and a speedy re-
turn to his own again.
The old servants replied to it by a loud cheer.
The library bell rang twice; it was the signal for
the household to go in to prayers, a custom which
their. new master had given them to understand
they must conform to, if they desired to remain in
his family. .
Mr. Bailey and Jack were the only ones who re-
fused to attend. . The one was about to quit, and as
he drily observed, had had quite enough o’the par-
son’s preaching on Sundays. The former, when
mildly remonstrated with by the rector on the evil
example his absence would give to the rest of the
servants, replied, that it was not his intention to be
present on such occasions, adding that if he had
been wicked enough to break the divine commands
of his Creator, he was not yet sufficiently hardened
in crime to mock them,
Consequently an exception to the rule was made
in Mr. Bailey’s favor.
It was astonishing the amount of indulgence
which the new owner of the property displayed to
the old and faithful servant of his late brother, as
he invariably styled him when speaking of the
steward. Of all vices hypocrisy is the’most detest-
able—it is the plating which gilds the baser metal ;
it is the worst of all masks, for it hides the heart.
Montesquieu has defined it as the homage which
vice pays to virtue, The thief or the assassin bor-
rowing his honest neighbor’s cloak to commit his
evil deeds in, to our poor thinking, would have
een a truer simile,
Charles proceeded to the Moat. When he arrived
there he found its owner, who was an enthusiastic
follower of the piscatory art, busily engaged in the
characteristic occupation of tying flies. He was
seated in an apartment which he facetiously called
his den, the most appropriate name, his daughter
Beatrix declared, that could be discovered for it.
It was the sanctum to which the old gentleman in-
variably retired when anything had occurred to put
him out of temper: either with himself or others,
when he wished to be alone, or had something par-
ticular to do.
Not a housemaid in the establishment ventured to
intrude within its hallowed precincts—the loss of her
place would have been the penalty of such a crime.
Even the housekeeper and butler, favored and impor-
tant personages as they considered themselves, paused
respectfully at its threshold; the tyranny of the
brush and pail ended at its door, for the mere hint of
putting the den to rights sent the baronet into a
violent fit of passion, it being the only room in the
house, he frequently asserted, in which, if he laid
a thing down, he could make sure of finding it again.
t was a long: and exceedingly lofty apart-
ment, panelled in oak, black with age and
quaintly carved, occupying the greater portion of
the ground floor in the north wing of the mansion,
of which, in former times, it had been the chapel.
Like most rooms similarly decorated, it would
have had a very heavy, gloomy appearance, but for
the enormous bay window, enriched with escutcheons
in stained glass, which admitted a flood of light, and
looked out on one of the finest views in the park.
Over the chimney-piece hung the identical suit of
armor worn by Sir Edward’s ancestor, the same who
fell in the attempt to recover the Moat from Crom-
well’s troopers ; partizans, arquebusses, and rapiers,
which had doubtless done good service in their day,
were either arranged in trophies, or reposed inglo-
riously, -covered with venerable dust, against the
walls, like veterans who had earned the right to
stand at ease. From the miscellaneous character
of the furniture of the room, a stranger might have
taken it for a sort of hospital for invalid chairs,
tickety tables, and cabinets passed service. Of the
former almost every variety in form and fashion had
its répresentative, commencing with the low, square,
rudely-carved, oaken seat of the fifteenth century,
to its uncomfortable, tall, straight-backed descend-
ant of the first James and Charles's time, which,
without attempting to explain the concatenation of
ideas, always reminds us of an old maid, there is
something.so very prim and spinster-like in its out-
ine ; the series terminating with the comfortable,
dowager-like voltaire, covered with faded brocade or
Utrecht velvet.
As for the cabinets, we question if Falk's collec-
tion in Oxford-street could have rivalled them.
would have been.a labor of love for an artist tu
have drawn them with their delicate panels, rich
silver mountings, exquisite marquetrie and curious
contrivances; such nests of drawers filled with all
kinds of odds and ends, the relics of centuries, bells
for a cast of hawks, lures and calls, to say nothing
of the family jewels in the quaint, enamelled settings
of the fifteenth century.
Amongst the books were, Lady Julia Berner’s
treatise upon Falconry, the folio Shakspeare, black-
letter editions of the earlier poets, and probably the
most perfect collection in the kingdom of tracts and
proclamations issued during the civil war.
“« Glad to see you, my dear boy,” said the baronet,
as our hero entered the room; ‘shake hands with
you presently, must finish this fly first. Take a
seat—that is if you can find one not filled with my
rubbish and gimcracks, as Tricksey saucily calls
them,—but first just draw that feather through the
loop—there,” he added, with an air of satisfaction,
as he drew the ends of the silk, tied them into a
knot, and carefully cut them off, “that makes the
third dozen I have dressed this morning; no. bad
work, eh! If this weather lasts we shall have rare
sport, the trout will rise at the fly like cormorants.”
“That you will have rare sport, I have little
doubt, Sir Edward,”’ observed his visitor.
“Eh! what!” exclaimed the old gentleman,
“tired of fly-fishing! But young men are always
changing.”
«It is not I who have changed,” replicd Charles,
‘but circumstances; I am now a nameless man.”
“Pooh! what's in a name?”
“To me, everything,” answered the youth; “he
who is without 4 name must win one.”
“The lawyers shall win it for you,” interrupted
his friend. “ This very day I intend to write to my
solicitors, Quibble and Scratchet, clever fellows,
very; they will soon ferret out the proofs, mean-
while, remain here, the Moat is large enough, Trick-
sey willebe delighted to have a companion, so shall
I, we will ride, fish, follow the hounds together, and
before the summer is half over—
"“ Before the summer is half over,” said his visitor,
“T shall be in Russia. I owe it to the memory of
both my parents, to my own honor, and let me add
to your friendship, Sir Edward, to prove myself
worthy of your good opinion. With this resolution,
which is unalterable, I came to take my leave, to
thank you for all your kindness, and return your
generous gift. I could not leave Firefly in other
hands.”*
“Now, don’t provoke me, Charles,” exclaimed