Читать книгу The Maxwells of Bremgarten - William Moore Ferrar - Страница 15

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THE sun shone cheerfully over the hills of Bremgarten when Griselda and her mother rose early and went forth to look at them. The estate was situated at a considerable distance to the eastward of Avoca, being farther from that township and nearer Fingal than the residence of Mr. Johnson Juniper; but the bachelor's land being on the northern bank, and Maxwell's on the southern, the river South Esk necessarily flowed between them in a dark, though not a very wide current. Maxwell's cottage had been built at the edge of a preen marsh some two miles distant from Juniper's, and about two hundred yards from the river's bank, on the recommendation of Mr. Juniper, who said that the river overflowed its banks frequently, and the farther the settlers were from it the better. Behind it a succession of grassy hills rose with gentle slope, dotted here and there with tall white gum trees, intermixed with thick shady groves of young wattles or mimosas whose countless branches were buried in small leaves of sombre green. From the tops of these hills, or rather banks, a level plain extended for some distance, embracing perhaps an area of two hundred acres, and covered with the coarse yellow grass peculiar to the marshes of Tasmania.

At the other side of the river lay a chain of dark and heavily wooded hills, so thickly covered with forest that the surface of the soil was not distinguishable, except where some bare black rocks made a gap amongst the countless trees. Over these the top of Ben Lomond could be seen in fine weather, but to obtain a good view of it a walk of some distance from the river was requisite. To the eastward many a bold bluff and craggy peak rose up, rough and inhospitable certainly, but still not the least happy features in a landscape. On the south a row of wooded hills, similar to those on the opposite side, but terminated partially by a high conical mountain called St. Paul's Dome, presented themselves to view. A plain, apparently narrow, partly open, and partly interspersed with belts of scrub and thick peppermint forest lay between these ridges. Not far from the cottage there was a lagoon or marsh into which a number of cattle had found their way, and they appeared to Mrs. Maxwell's eyes a picture of rural contentment as they stood knee deep in water cropping the green rushes that grew above the surface. From the position occupied by the homestead there was no enchanting view of the surrounding country to be obtained; but by ascending the hills at the back of Maxwell's property a prospect of the western mountains and a splendid view of Ben Lomond might reward the lover of romantic scenery. From the cottage itself no human dwelling place could be seen, although there were two in the immediate neighbourhood—that of Mr. Juniper, already mentioned, and the well appointed mansion of Arthur Earlsley, Esq., J.P., a landed proprietor of some importance. Maxwell's farm was cut in two by the road leading from Campbell Town to Falmouth. It was not, it must be confessed, the most favorable specimen of Tasmanian farms. The situation was not so open and sunny as Mrs. Maxwell had pictured to her imagination, but she had made up her mind to be satisfied and not make their first day's residence in the bush uncomfortable by repining. *

[* The description of Maxwell and Juniper's farms is principally drawn from imagination the general aspects of the country as seen from the Fingal road being adhered to as far as a hurried visit to the locality could enable the author to delineate them.]

Returning to the house an examination was held of the architecture, extent, and available accommodations of that neat building. The walls were composed of sods cut square from a neighbouring bank, raised to the height of five feet six, so that the grand entrance which faced the river was not a bit too high. The roof was formed of sheets of thick stringy-bark obtained from the adjacent forest, supported on round green saplings deprived of their bark before being put up. The window frames had been made by a bush carpenter of no very refined mechanical ingenuity, so that they proved but slender barriers against the violent gales of the season. The interior was divided into four apartments by partitions of slabs placed perpendicularly and as close together as was judged necessary for such a temporary abode. The front door opened into the largest apartment, which was intended to serve as kitchen, parlor, and drawing-room all in one. An ample fire-place, capable of receiving and comfortably roasting the carcase of an ox, occupied one end, wherein a fire of dry gum wood burned brightly. A white stringy-bark table of large size stood in the centre, and a rudely constructed dresser was fixed at the back of the room. A few make-shift chairs and a couple of rough stools completed the furniture of the dwelling; but these articles were found very useful additions to those which had been brought up from Hobarton, and altogether when properly arranged made the room assume a happy and cheerful aspect. Besides this there was another but smaller apartment, which was entered from it by a narrow doorway, intended to serve as a bed-room for our settler and his wife. At the back of this was another small room destined to be Griselda's sleeping apartment, and adjoining it, and immediately at the back of the front room, the dormitory of her brothers was situated. Above them all a kind of loft had been made by slabs resting on the partition walls and tie-beams, where the stores of tea and sugar, spare bedding, and other things were to be kept. The several rooms were lighted by small windows already glazed, and made to open for the admission of fresh air. Though the residence was not, as may be supposed, extremely comfortable, yet Mrs. Maxwell was surprised at her husband's energy in having it completed in so short a time. Her quick eye immediately detected room for improvement in every direction, and as soon as the numerous duties of unpacking furniture, opening and untying boxes, and putting things away in the places intended for them, were discharged, she set about completing her plan for keeping the weather out of doors as much as possible, in which her daughter of course assisted her.

It is no new thing to our colonial readers to be told that Maxwell felt considerable pride as his eye wandered over the extensive portion of soil which he could now call his own. This pride, if arising from a consciousness of honest independence, from the fact of being placed in a position which enabled him to bid defiance to the chance of poverty, was commendable and faultless. If, on the contrary, it arose from the greedy lust of wealth—an insatiable desire for the perishable riches of this world it was, in our humble opinion, highly to be condemned. We hope the father of Griselda had none of this offensive selfishness, but our readers will be able to judge for themselves on this matter as our story proceeds. We have ourselves been frequently excessively amused at witnessing what a writer on Tasmania designates as a "scramble after Mammon," and it almost invariably happens that the most lucky of Mammon's followers are the most eager in the scramble, putting us forcibly in mind of an over-gorged wolf snatching the last bite from the mouth of a lean and half-starved one.

But there was no time to be lost. A living if not Mammon, had to be scrambled for. Farming operations had to be commenced, stock had to be procured, working cattle, too. Mr. Baxter was persuaded to part with four of his best—very best—working bullocks for their fair value in money. He was also persuaded, almost against his will, to plough a piece of ground, about fifteen acres, for Maxwell's future wheat crop, at the moderate charge of two pounds per acre. A farm servant was lent for awhile by Mr. Juniper to draw wood and water. A bullock cart and a cask mounted on wheels were purchased, and the bullocks were yoked up to bring home a load of wood. Maxwell yoked them up himself in order to learn and teach his sons; he also put them to the cart himself. He lifted up the pole and placed it in the ring, letting the bolt drop on the outside as was right, but the bullocks not knowing his voice thought proper to run away, taking the empty cart and the proprietor clinging to the pole, down the marsh towards the river. In this situation he kept himself quiet in order to avoid running the risk of frightening the animals, and urging them on still faster; but he managed to get astride on the pole, and with the help of one of the bullocks' tails he pulled himself backwards until he could catch the front rail, and thus draw himself up into the cart. Thence it was easy to drop out behind and return leisurely to the cottage, where his alarmed wife stood looking at him in silence, and his children wondering what would happen to them if he had been killed.

The laboring man, Jacob Singlewood by name, laughed at his new master's misfortune, went for the bullocks, and brought the wood and water. The bullocks he said were quiet bullocks enough, but they did not like strangers, and master would know how to manage them next time. When a quantity of wood was laid in, Maxwell and his sons turned out to assist Jacob in putting up a fence round their new paddock which Baxter was ploughing. They worked hard. The trees were cut down and lopped, dragged into the line by the bullocks, and piled up into their place with the aid of inclined skids and hand spikes; but these novices in labor found the wood hard and tough. Their hands, too, were tender, and soon became covered with blisters, which Griselda and her mother gently bound up with the softest linen they could find. Their backs and sides also were sore from lifting heavy weights. Then Mrs. Maxwell had their dinner ready for them at 1 o'clock. It consisted of salt beef or salt pork, tea, and damper—a close unleavened kind of bread baked in hot ashes, no oven having as yet been built. The salt meat and damper were unpalatable to the ladies, and they lived nearly upon tea, as yet unaccompanied by the luxury of milk. But it had been arranged that Maxwell should take his horse and travel about a little in order to purchase a couple of cows and a few sheep, also some potatoes and a pig, Mrs. Maxwell sagaciously observing that a farm was not and could not be a farm without a pig. There were no out offices as yet upon the establishment, no stable, no barn or cowshed, no stye for pig or hut for Jacob; but Maxwell's hands were full, he would have all these things in good time; the farm was his own and nobody could sweep down like a well-fed hawk, demand more rent, or, failing that, turn him out away from his home and the fruits of his labor; what a comfort that was! As Jacob could not well be expected to sleep under a tree, his master was obliged to admit him into the house, and he slept in a corner of the kitchen on a large sea chest, filled with crockery, slops, and tobacco. How it would have amused their friends at home if they could have seen Maxwell and his family dining at their large table on the damper, salt beef, and tea, the man Jacob being similarly engaged at the same time in his own corner.

As for the river it was still too high to be crossed at Kangaroo Billy's ford—so called, we have heard, from the fact of an old shepherd having been drowned there in former times; thus all communication with Mr. Johnson Juniper, save by boat, was cut off. But Juniper had a boat in which he could cross the river at any time; it was the trunk of a large tree, formed into a primitive canoe by being hollowed out in the middle, and he came over one afternoon having first allowed his new neighbors a few days to get settled in their bush residence. Mr. Juniper, though a bachelor, was a very considerate man. He now sauntered up the marsh leading to Maxwell's cottage with a good sized basket hanging on his arm. Eugene was outside pointing rails for a stock-yard, and seeing the stranger yet at a distance he threw down his adze and ran into the cottage hastily, crying out that a strange man was coming; that he looked like a bushranger, and had a basket on his arm full, perhaps, of loaded pistols!

Mrs. Maxwell and Griselda felt alarmed for a moment, but quickly banished their fear on taking a view of the stranger. The former knew Mr. Juniper at once by the description her husband had given her of him. She reproved Eugene for causing so great an alarm on such slight grounds, and retired to change her apron and adjust her hair before the visitor should arrive; Griselda did the same.

Eugene returned to his work, and the stranger came up to him. "Are you Mr. Maxwell's son?" said he.

"Yes," replied Eugene.

The visitor held out his hand—"How do you do?" said he, and after shaking hands he drew from his basket a large rosy apple and gave it to the boy, who took it with a 'thank you.' Mr. Juniper then asked if Mr. Maxwell was at home, and Eugene answered—"No, but my mother is."

"My name is Juniper—you may tell your mother; I live on the other side of the river; your father is not gone far, is he?"

"I think not," replied Eugene, "but walk in if you please, while I tell my mother."

Mr. Juniper walked in accordingly, and sat down on the large chest, laying the basket down beside him, taking off his straw hat and elevating his grey hair with his fingers. He was not dressed like a gentleman, that is as gentlemen are generally supposed to be dressed. He wore an exceedingly strange and rough-looking shooting coat, with alternate bars of grey and black, closely resembling in everything but color the skin of a tiger; a waistcoat made of real native cat skins; a pair of expansive corduroy inexpressibles; a check shirt with the collar turned down so as to exhibit a muscular and sun-burnt neck; and a pair of newly greased stock-keepers' boots. He hummed a tune to himself as was his constant habit when not conversing, while his heels kept time against the side of the chest. Mrs. Maxwell soon made her appearance, and welcomed the visitor with her usual kindness.

"It gives me great pleasure to be able to thank you personally, Mr. Juniper, for your attention and hospitality to Mr. Maxwell; I am sure we are both very much indebted to you."

"Don't mention it ma'am," said Juniper, as he rose and bowed low, for he was not without his share of politeness though unaccustomed to the society of ladies. "It is only my duty—it is the duty of all Englishmen to help their countrymen in a strange land. I took the liberty of bringing you a small piece of fresh beef and a few apples."

"Thank you, it is really very kind and considerate of you," said Mrs. Maxwell; "I am sorry Mr. Maxwell is not at home just now; Eugene, take a walk over to the paddock and see if your father is there."

"Never mind," said Juniper, "I can wait till he comes, or I'll walk to the paddock myself."

"I beg you will not," said Mrs. Maxwell, "you have had a long walk already, and such a heavy basket to carry so great a distance; run Eugene," and Eugene ran.

"This is my daughter Griselda, Mr. Juniper; this is the gentleman, my dear, who has been so very kind to your father."

Griselda came forward and shook hands with Mr. Juniper, and that gentleman asked her how she found herself that day, to which the young lady replied, "Pretty well, thank you."

Mrs. Maxwell procured a dish, and placed upon it a respectable piece of fat beef, drawn from Juniper's basket. About four dozen large red apples were soon nicely arranged on one of the shelves of the dresser. But what chiefly came directly home to Mrs. Maxwell's ideas, and touched a sympathetic cord, was a large roll of fresh butter neatly wrapped up in white paper and cabbage leaves. She could not help again expressing her thanks to her visitor for his great kindness, and asked him if he had a cow or two to dispose of.

"I have cows, ma'am," said he, "and could part with some of them, but I am afraid they are hardly quiet enough for you—that is if you mean to milk them yourself; a man that understands cows could easily manage them. I suppose you will soon be able to milk cows, Miss Maxwell?"

"I intend to try," answered Griselda.

"It is as well to learn," said Juniper, "a milkman is not always to be got; though I never did anything of the kind myself, yet I know many gentlemen who milk their own cows. My ploughman and his wife do all that business; if it were not for them I would have no butter or milk, as I care nothing for butter, and am not in love with milk."

"You must lead a very lonely life, Mr. Juniper?" said Mrs. Maxwell.

"Yes, ma'am, lonely enough," he answered, "but I'm pretty well used to it now; I've plenty to do and to think of, though I do feel lonely sometimes."

"How do you pass your time in the middle of summer? I should think it is impossible to go out under the burning sun."

"We get used to it, ma'am; the sun is never so hot as to be beyond endurance, except to some very delicate people who have keen sensibilities and thin skulls. But when, in addition to a hot sun, we have a hot wind, the air thick with smoke like a London fog, a bush fire on one side, a bush fire on the other side, and fifty bush fires north, south, east and west, that's the pleasant time—warm work, then, Miss Maxwell."

"Dear me I that must be frightful," said Mrs. Maxwell.

"Bad enough while it lasts, ma'am," said Juniper; "but it's not the case every summer. This summer has been very fine, with plenty of refreshing showers, but about three years ago we had a most distressing drought. The South Esk was more like a ditch than a river; the grass was so dry and withered that you would have thought the heat of the sun above would have been sufficient to set fire to it; the whole country, from Ben Lomond to Ben Nevis, and from here to St. Patrick's Head, was a mass of fire for weeks together."

"And how did you save your homestead?" Mrs. Maxwell asked with breathless interest.

"I saved mine, ma'am," replied Juniper, "by burning a train round it at night, so that instead of waiting till the flames swept me away, house, pigstyes, and all, I sent a fire to meet a fire, and they checked one another, of course. But even at night you have to run from a fire when the wind changes. I have been nearly suffocated several times, and once had to run into the Esk, bury myself in water up to the chin, and bob my head underneath to draw breath;—you laugh, Miss Maxwell, but it was no laughing matter, I assure you."

"No, indeed, far from it," said Mrs. Maxwell, smiling, nevertheless, at her daughter's merriment. She was about to continue the conversation, when Mr. Maxwell and his sons entered the cottage.

"Glad to see you, Juniper," said he; "how are you to-day? I need not ask how Mrs. Juniper is?"

"Why, no," said the visitor; "but wherever the good lady is I hope she is well."

"Look, Bernard," said Mrs. Maxwell, "at those beautiful apples and this nice piece of fat fresh beef, and such a large roll of delicious butter."

Maxwell looked. "Ah," said he, taking one of the apples, while the two boys helped themselves, "I know where these grow; many thanks, Juniper. What time is it, Elizabeth? Let us have a cup of tea. Has Earlsley said anything more about his land? I thought he was coming with a regiment of splitters and chain men to turn me out of this, and level this house with the ground."

"O never mind, Sir, what he says," said Juniper, looking very important; "he has found out that it is of no use swaggering and blustering any longer; he is as bitter as gall against me for having shewn you this grant; but I only did what the Surveyor-General told me to do, and my own duty, Sir; a man must never be afraid of doing his duty, Sir."

"Certainly not," said Maxwell; "it was very kind of the Surveyor-General. He is a perfect gentleman; and as for my opening my lips to him on the subject of fee, present, or bribe of any kind, upon my honor I never did."

"What is all that about?" said Mrs. Maxwell, when she had partly laid the table for tea; "you have secrets between you, I see; what about Mr. Earlsley?"

"Nothing, love," replied her husband, "only that Mr. Earlsley was under the impression that all this land was his; and it annoyed him excessively to find that he was really to have such near neighbors: poor man! he has only about thirty thousand acres of land already, and we hope time will heal the wound. I do not blame him; how is he to know but that I may steal his sheep and kill his fat cattle? He should put up public notices on the gum trees at various places, to the effect that no neighbors are required within a radius of fifty miles at least."

"Come, you are too severe, Bernard," said the lady; "this damper that we are obliged to eat does not seem to possess the faculty of improving your already amiable temper. Do you take sugar, Mr. Juniper? I think you said you were not in love with milk, and we have none to offer you."

"I take sugar if you please ma'am," said the bachelor, "and as for milk, unless it is the milk of human kindness, which is a scarce article in these parts, its absence or presence does not affect me. If you do not like damper I can put you in the way of making good wholesome bread, if you have a pot with a lid to fit it exactly."

"I declare you speak like an angel, Mr. Juniper," said Mrs. Maxwell, laughing; "good bread is just the thing we want, even more than good butter; and I have such a dear little pot with a cover, but I have no yeast; I could make some, could I not?"

"Yes ma'am, but you would want some brewer's yeast to set yours going, or what will do just as well; I will get some from Mrs. Rim and send it over to you by first opportunity."

"Thank you, it is very kind of you," said Mrs. Maxwell; "who is Mrs. Rim, is she a near neighbor?"

"She is ma'am, nearer than I am, she's my ploughman's wife."

"Oh, I thought she might be a settler's wife. Please get her to send me a receipt for making yeast."

"I can give you that myself;" said Juniper. "Boil two ounces of hops in six quarts of water for an hour and a half, add a pound and a half of bran, a pound of sugar, boil for another half hour, let it stand till milk warm, put in half a pint of good yeast, let it stand all night, then strain and bottle, but don't cork the bottles till it has done working, unless you want them to be all broken, and your yeast rising to the ceiling instead of in the dough."

A general laugh rewarded the jolly bachelor's attempt at wit.

"How do you like Johnnie cake, Miss Maxwell?" said Juniper.

"I never tasted any," answered Griselda.

"Perhaps you mean Kangaroo Billy cake?" interposed Maxwell.

"No," said Juniper, "Johnnie cake; lend me a frying pan and I'll make one, and Miss Maxwell shall mix the dough."

A change from damper to Johnnie cake was acceptable, and the frying pan was handed to Mr. Juniper; he forgot, however, that the house could not in its then forlorn condition produce mutton fat, an indispensable requisite for Johnnie cake. "Never mind," said he, "butter will do as well;" and seizing the plate containing the large roll he (to Mrs. Maxwell's utter consternation) transferred about a pound of it to the hot pan, where it began to hiss and sputter in a most melodious manner. Acting under his directions, Griselda was not long in making a cake with flour, water, and salt, which was speedily in the frying-pan covered with the boiling butter. In a few minutes Juniper turned it, saying as he did so—"I've seen the time, Miss Maxwell, when I could toss these up the chimney and catch them in the pan again outside the door—but I'm old and stiff now." A few minutes more and the cake was pronounced done and turned out is upon a plate.

"There," said Juniper, "now try it Mrs. Maxwell, will you, while I fry another."

The tea was dispatched, and the Johnnie cakes approved of, although, as Mrs. Maxwell said, they could hardly be recommended to people of impaired digestive powers. Juniper conversed with a good deal of quaint humor; the settlers were not unusually oppressed by care, and the party was very merry. The two boys and Griselda were much pleased with their new acquaintance—with his round, red face, garnished with white whiskers and beard, and his lively though not brilliant wit. A smart conversation was kept up to a late hour, as the moon was up, and the visitor expressed no anxiety as to any difficulty in crossing the river on his way home.

"How do you like the man I sent you, Mr. Maxwell?" he enquired.

"Pretty well, indeed," said Maxwell; "he seems to be a plodding kind of man, rather slow and self-opinioned, but a passable workman."

"You can keep him altogether, if you like," said the Surveyor, "he is all the better, I suspect, for not having companions."

"He will be here soon," said Mrs. Maxwell. "What an inconvenience it is, Mr. Juniper, not having a hut set apart for men servants."

"It must be very great ma'am," answered Juniper. "Now, my cook, though there are no ladies in the house, gives me so much trouble sometimes that I am often inclined to turn him out of doors, and make him sleep in the hut—a proceeding which he would not be likely to approve of."

"I am in constant dread," said the lady, "that he will turn round some day and rob us; our few articles of plate are a great trouble to us."

"Hide them, ma'am—bury them somewhere."

"I thought of that, but I have only one teapot, and that is a silver one."

"Paint it black, ma'am, and robbers will not think it worth the trouble of carrying."

"Mr. Baxter, the carrier," said Eugene, "told us a great many stories when coming up the country about kangaroos, natives, snakes, and an old lady who had a silver teapot, and how the burglars got it from her by stratagem."

"And he told us," said Charles, "about a skeleton on the top of Mount Wellington fifteen feet long, and a shark in the South Esk that could not turn round."

"Yes," said Juniper, "Baxter is a fine fellow at story-telling, but if you take all he says for gospel you will have enough to carry."

"Have you that carpenter still, Juniper?" asked Maxwell.

"Yes, Sir, he is with me still."

"You must let me have him again for a short time to build a hut."

"You can have him as soon as you're ready. I suppose you'll want slabs?"

"No, I think a mud hut will do for the present."

"You had better leave it to Jacob himself altogether; he will build one in a couple of days."

"You have not sent me in your bill yet for the survey, Juniper."

"We can leave that, Sir, till you see the cows, mares, and pigs," said Juniper.

"Baxter ought to make a fortune in a few years," said Maxwell, "especially if many more new settlers come to this part of the country: he charged me ninety pounds for a carriage alone."

"It is too much," said Juniper; "but there is no competition, and you could not have brought your things up yourself. Baxter is a not a bad kind of fellow, but he's sharp, Sir; in a country like this, Mr. Maxwell, we are obliged to be as sharp as needles, Sir."

"I believe all that," answered Maxwell; "but there ought to be such a thing as conscience."

"I have been in this island," said Juniper, "now ten years the twenty-fifth of next October, and if I ever met with such a thing as conscience I was asleep and didn't see it. But I remember once, when carting a load of sawn timber out of the tiers, a beam fell on my head, and sent me off to a comfortable sleep. When I awoke, I saw, or thought I saw, a good, honest, consciencious man standing beside my bed, with a lancet in one hand and a basin of blood in the other."

"A doctor, I suppose?"

"Yes, Sir, a doctor; and strange to say he was the only man (present company always excepted) who ever to my knowledge possessed any conscience at all."

"O come, come now, Mr. Juniper," said Maxwell, "that will not do; you are too hard on the colonists. I think you should not condemn all, even if there are a dozen or more selfish and grasping men to be found in the island. I fell in with a man at Bagdad—I think that was the name of the place named White, a good, honest, and hospitable man; the owner of five hundred acres."

"And I," interrupted Mrs. Maxwell, "will answer for Mrs. White, for I spent two nights there; the very personification of generous hospitality."

"As to that," said Juniper, "they are all hospitable enough. A man out here who is not hospitable must be a very bad number indeed. I have found a good many farmers who live by agriculture alone quite satisfied with the extent of their properties; whereas, with the sheep-owners who have large tracts of country, it is nearly always quite the reverse. If you were the governor to-morrow, and gave an agricultural farmer five hundred acres, he would thank and bless you all the days of his life; but give a sheep-owner ten thousand acres, and he'll coolly ask you for five thousand more to square him off on some particular side."

"I think it probable," said Maxwell, "that this weakness in human nature is rendered more prominent, or appears, as in sculpture in alto relievo, on account of the thinness of the population here, and the comparatively low value of the land, to say nothing of the total unfitness of a great portion of it for agricultural purposes, by reason of sand, stones, and water. It seems natural for a man to wish to enlarge his property when he sees land all round him given away for nothing. In England I should think there are many men just as selfish and as grasping as any here, perhaps a great deal more so, but you seldom hear of them, because they are absorbed in the dense population. In England also, landed proprietors are more apt to be content, because they know their estates amount to so much, neither more nor less; they cannot depasture their stock on the adjoining crown lands at pleasure. If they want to increase their property they know it cannot be done without a great pecuniary sacrifice. Another important fact must not be lost sight of: the free settlers of this island are a picked race; they have all, with very few exceptions, left their native land with the view of bettering their fortunes; men who, stimulated by a strong dread of poverty, have become eager from habit in the pursuit of wealth. They appear to us to be selfish and grasping, while in their own eyes they are only moderately anxious to place themselves in an independent position, and when that position is gained the desire for yearly increasing wealth becomes confirmed. Their fear of striking on the rock of poverty drives them to the opposite rock—avarice. House must be added to house and field to field."

"Upon my word, Sir," said Juniper, "I think your sentiments are quite correct. Henceforth as I dread poverty very much I will grow as selfish and as grasping as the largest landowner in the island."

"There is, however," said Maxwell, when the general laugh at Mr. Juniper's humor had subsided, "a medium to be observed. A man may lawfully acquire a handsome estate without pressing upon his poorer neighbors, and publishing shamelessly to the world that he cares not who starves, provided he gets rich. There seems to be no limit to the acquisitiveness of some men; they have their excuses; their sons, Tom, Jack, and Harry, must have estates; their daughters, Mary, Jane, and Louisa must have fortunes. I know a case in point: there were two farmers, one rich with a large estate, the other poor with a large family; between the two there lay a few hundred acres of poor sheep land, belonging to a wealthy proprietor, who lived at a distance, and he wishes to sell or let this small patch. There is immediately a contest. The poor man offers what the land is honestly worth, he can with difficulty provide for his family, the possession of this piece of land would, by enabling him to keep a few sheep, greatly assist him. His rich neighbor, not to be outdone, and to increase the boundaries of his property and self-importance, offers more than the land is worth. The consequence is that the highest bidder, flowing over with money, gets it and the poor man is shut out. The distant proprietor only reflects—So-and-so is a poor man, and in the name of heaven we'll keep him so. I am not bound to assist him, if I did he would be ungrateful. Smollett says somewhere—'There is no wretch so ungrateful as he whom you have most generously obliged.' It is deep in human nature to be ungrateful."

"'Pon my life Sir," said Juniper, "I believe it is; from this moment, henceforward and for ever, I'll never do a good turn for any human being for fear of meeting with ingratitude; I hate ingratitude, Sir, as I hate the——"

As Juniper laughed while he spoke, his auditors were led to suppose that he did not exactly mean to stick to what he said—"But it's time," he continued starting up, "it's time for me to be off. Riches sometimes make themselves wings and fly away when their worshippers least expect to lose them. You know, Miss Maxwell, what Byron says—

O ever thus from childhood's hour,

I've seen my fondest hopes decay;

I never loved a tree or flower,

But 'twas the first to fade away."

"Moore, I suppose you mean?" said Maxwell.

"Did'nt I say Moore, Sir?"

"No, you said Byron."

"Oh, it's all the same—Moore or Byron, it's no matter; they were both tarred with one stick." So saying Mr. Juniper smiled pleasantly, bade his new friends good night and departed, striking up a verse of "Tom Bowling" as he went along.