"Well," said I, "if you will tell me nothing of your literary history,
let me know at least if you have had any farther intelligence from
Doubting Castle."
"Willingly," replied he, "though I have but little to communicate."
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 neighboring 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 neighborhood.
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 neighboring
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
daylight.
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 parlor.
