Aunt Deborah | Page 7

in the House of Commons! But that's
not the worst. He took the petition to the workhouse, and meeting with
little Fan Ropley, who had been taught to write at our charity-school,
and is quick at her pen, he makes her sign her name at full length, and
then strikes a dot over the e to turn it into Francis, and persuade the
great folk up at Lunnun, that little Fan's a grown-up man. If that chap
won't come someday to be transported for forgery, my name's not John
Stokes! Well, dame, will you let Ned have the money? Yes or no?"
That Mrs. Deborah should have suffered the good miller to proceed
with his harangue without interruption, can only be accounted for on

the score of the loudness of tone on which he piqued himself with so
much justice. When she did take up the word, her reply made up in
volubility and virulence for any deficiency in sound, concluding by a
formal renunciation of her nephew, and a command to his zealous
advocate never again to appear within her doors. Upon which, honest
John vowed he never would, and departed.
Two or three days after this quarrel, Mr. Adolphus having arrived, as
happened not un-frequently, to spend the afternoon at Chalcott,
persuaded his hostess to accompany him to see a pond drawn at the
Hall, to which, as the daughter of one of Sir Robert's old tenants, she
would undoubtedly have the right of entrée; and Mrs. Deborah assented
to his request, partly because the weather was fine, and the distance
short, partly, it may be, from a lurking desire to take her chance as a
bystander of a dish of fish; they who need such windfalls least, being
commonly those who are most desirous to put themselves in their way.
Mr. Adolphus Lynfield's reasons were obvious enough. Besides the
ennui of a tête-a-tête, all flattery on one side and contradiction on the
other, he was naturally of the fidgetty restless temperament which hates
to be long confined to one place or one occupation, and can never hear
of a gathering of people, whatever might be the occasion, without
longing to find himself amongst them.
Moreover, he had, or professed to have, a passion for field sports of
every description; and having that very season contrived, with his usual
curious infelicity, to get into as many scrapes in shooting as shall last
most sportsmen their whole lives--having shot a spaniel instead of a
hare, a keeper instead of a partridge, and his own foot instead of a
pheasant, and finally, having been taken up for a poacher, although
wholly innocent of the death of any bird that ever wore feathers,--after
all these woeful experiences, (to say nothing of mischances in angling
which might put to shame those of our friend Mr. Thompson,) he found
himself particularly well disposed to a diversion which appeared to
combine in most choice union the appearance of sporting, which he
considered essential to his reputation, with a most happy exemption
from the usual sporting requisites, exertion or skill. All that he would

have to do would be to look on and talk,--to throw out a hint here and a
suggestion there, and find fault with everything and everybody, like a
man who understood what was going forward.
The weather was most propitious; a bright breezy sunny October day,
with light snowy clouds, chased by a keen crisp wind across the deep
blue heavens,--and the beautiful park, the turf of an emerald green,
contrasting with the brown fern and tawny woods, rivalling in richness
and brightness the vivid hues of the autumnal sky. Nothing could
exceed the gorgeous tinting of the magnificent trees, which, whether in
detached clumps or forest-like masses, formed the pride and glory of
the place. The oak still retaining its dark and heavy verdure; the elm
letting fall a shower of yellow leaves, that tinged the ground beneath;
the deep orange of the horse-chestnut, the beech varying from ruddy
gold to greenish brown; and above all, the shining green of the holly,
and the rich purplish red of the old thorns, those hoary thorns, the
growth of centuries, gave to this old English gentleman's seat much of
the variety and beauty of the American backwoods. The house, a stately
ancient mansion, from the porch of which you might expect to see Sir
Roger de Coverley issue, stood half-way up a gentle hill, finely backed
by woods of great extent; and the pond, which was the object of the
visit, was within sight of the windows, but so skilfully veiled by trees,
as to appear of much greater extent than it really was. The master and
mistress of the Hall, with their pretty daughters, were absent on a
tour:--Is any English country family