University of Virginia Library

THE BOOBY SQUIRE.

A long time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without
my receiving any accounts of my cousin and
his estate. Indeed, I felt so much soreness on
the subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it
from my thoughts. At length chance took me
into that part of the country, and I could not refrain
from making some inquiries.

I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant,
self-willed, and clownish. His ignorance
and clownishness had prevented his mingling
with the neighbouring gentry. In spite of his
great fortune he had been unsuccessful in an attempt
to gain the hand of the daughter of the parson,
and had at length shrunk into the limits of

such society, as a mere man of wealth can gather
in a country neighbourhood.

He kept horses and hounds and a roaring table,
at which were collected the loose livers of
the country round, and the shabby gentlemen of
a village in the vicinity. When he could get no
other company he would smoke and drink with
his own servants, who in their turns fleeced and
despised him. Still, with all this apparent prodigality,
he had a leaven of the old man in him,
which showed that he was his true born son.
He lived far within his income, was vulgar in
his expenses, and penurious on many points on
which a gentleman would be extravagant. His
house servants were obliged occasionally to work
on the estate, and part of the pleasure grounds
were ploughed up and devoted to husbandry.

His table, though plentiful, was coarse; his
liquors strong and bad; and more ale and whiskey
were expended in his establishment than
generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at
his own table, and exacted a rich man's homage
from his vulgar and obsequious guests.

As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had
grown impatient of the tight hand his own
grandson kept over him, and quarrelled with him
soon after he came to the estate. The old man
had retired to a neighbouring village where he
lived on the legacy of his late master, in a small
cottage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a
rat out of his hole in day light.

The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an
instinctive attachment to his mother. She resided
with him; but, from long habit, she acted
more as servant than as mistress of the mansion;
for she toiled in all the domestic drudgery,
and was oftener in the kitchen than the parlour.
Such was the information which I collected of
my rival cousin who had so unexpectedly elbowed
me out of all my expectations.

I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a
visit to this scene of my boyhood; and to get a
peep at the odd kind of life that was passing
within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. I
determined to do so in disguise. My booby
cousin had never seen enough of me to be very

familiar with my countenance, and a few years
make great difference between youth and manhood.
I understood he was a breeder of cattle
and proud of his stock. I dressed myself, therefore,
as a substantial farmer, and with the assistance
of a red scratch that came low down on
my forehead, made a complete change in my
physiognomy.

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at
the gate of the park, and was admitted by an old
woman, who was washing in a dilapidated
building which had once been a porter's lodge.
I advanced up the remains of a noble avenue,
many of the trees of which had been cut down
and sold for timber. The grounds were in
scarcely better keeping than during my uncle's
lifetime. The grass was overgrown with
weeds, and the trees wanted pruning and clearing
of dead branches. Cattle were grazing
about the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming
in the fishponds.

The road to the house bore very few traces of
carriage wheels, as my cousin received few visiters

but such as came on foot or horseback, and
never used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as
I was told, he had had the old family carriage
drawn out from among the dust and cobwebs of
the coach house and furbished up, and had
drove with his mother, to the village church, to
take formal possession of the family pew; but
there was such hooting and laughing after them
as they passed through the village, and such giggling
and bantering about the church door, that
the pageant had never made a reappearance.

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps
sallied out barking at me, accompanied by the
low howling rather than barking of two old wornout
bloodhounds, which I recognized for the ancient
life guards of my uncle. The house had
still a neglected, random appearance, though
much altered for the better since my last visit.
Several of the windows were broken and patched
up with boards; and others had been bricked
up, to save taxes. I observed smoke, however,
rising from the chimneys; a phenomenon rarely
witnessed in the ancient establishment. On

passing that part of the house where the dining
room was situated, I heard the sound of boisterous
merriment; where three or four voices were
talking at once, and oaths and laughter were
horribly mingled.

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant
to the door, a tall, hard-fisted country clown,
with a livery coat put over the under garments
of a ploughman. I requested to see the master
of the house, but was told he was at dinner with
some “gemmen” of the neighbourhood. I made
known my business and sent in to know if I
might talk with the master about his cattle; for
I felt a great desire to have a peep at him at his
orgies. Word was returned that he was engaged
with company, and could not attend to business,
but that if I would “step in and take a
drink of something, I was heartily welcome.”
I accordingly entered the hall, where whips and
hats of all kinds and shapes were lying on an
oaken table; two or three clownish servants were
lounging about; every thing had a look of confusion
and carelessness.

The apartments through which I passed had
the same air of departed gentility and sluttish
housekeeping. The once rich curtains were
faded and dusty; the furniture greased and tarnished.
On entering the dining room I found a
number of odd vulgar looking rustic gentlemen
seated round a table, on which were bottles, decanters,
tankards, pipes and tobacco. Several
dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and
watching their masters, and one was gnawing a
bone under a side table.

The master of the feast sat at the head of the
board. He was greatly altered. He had grown
thick set and rather gummy, with a fiery foxy
head of hair. There was a singular mixture of
foolishness arrogance and conceit in his countenance.
He was dressed in a vulgarly fine style,
with leather breeches, a red waistcoat and green
coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little
flushed with drinking. The whole company
stared at me with a whimsical muggy look;
like men whose senses were a little obfruseated
by beer rather than wine.

My cousin, (God forgive me! the appellation
sticks in my throat,) my cousin invited me with
awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condescension,
to sit to the table and drink. We talked
as usual, about the weather, the crops, politics,
and hard times. My cousin was a loud
politician, and evidently accustomed to talk
without contradiction at his own table. He
was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by
the throne to the last guinea, “as every gentleman
of fortune should do.” The village exciseman,
who was half asleep, could just ejaculate
“very true,” to every thing he said.

The conversation turned upon cattle; he boasted
of his breed, his mode of managing it, and of
the general management of his estate. This unluckily
drew on a history of the place and of the
family. He spoke of my late uncle with the
greatest irreverence, which I could easily forgive.
He mentioned my name, and my blood began to
boil. He described my frequent visits to my uncle
when I was a lad, and I found the varlet, even

at that time, imp as he was, had known that he
was to inherit the estate.

He described the scene of my uncle's death,
and the opening of the will, with a degree of
coarse humour that I had not expected from him;
and, vexed as I was, I could not help joining in
the laugh; for I have always relished a joke,
even though made at my own expense. He went
on to speak of my various pursuits; my strolling
freak, and that somewhat nettled me. At length
he talked of my parents. He ridiculed my father:
I stomached even that, though with great
difficulty. He mentioned my mother with a sneer
—and in an instant he lay sprawling at my feet.

Here a scene of tumult succeeded. The table
was nearly overturned. Bottles, glasses, and
tankards rolled crashing and clattering about the
floor. The company seized hold of both of us to
keep us from doing farther mischief. I struggled
to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My
cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the
lawn. I agreed; for I felt the strength of a giant
in me, and I longed to pummel him soundly.

Away then we were borne. A ring was formed.
I had a second assigned me in true boxing
style. My cousin, as he advanced to fight, said
something about his generosity in showing me
such fair play, when I had made such an unprovoked
attack upon him at his own table.

“Stop there!” cried I, in a rage—“unprovoked!—know
that I am John Buckthorne, and
you have insulted the memory of my mother.”

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said.
He drew back and reflected for a moment.

“Nay, damn it,” said he, “that's too much—
that's clear another thing. I've a mother myself,
and no one shall speak ill of her, bad as she
is.”

He paused again. Nature seemed to have a
rough struggle in his rude bosom.

“Damn it, cousin,” cried he, “I'm sorry for
what I said. Thou'st served me right in knocking
me down, and I like thee the better for it.
Here's my hand. Come and live with me, and
damme but the best room in the house, and the
best horse in the stable, shall be at thy service.”

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this
instance of nature breaking her way through
such a lump of flesh. I forgave the fellow in a
moment all his crimes of having been born in
wedlock and inheriting my estate. I shook the
hand he offered me, to convince him that I bore
him no ill will; and then making my way through
the gaping crowd of toad eaters, bade adieu to
my uncle's domains forever. This is the last I
have seen or heard of my cousin, or of the domestic
concerns of Doubting Castle.