“For me!” said Farmer Price; “here’s the penny then, but who can it be from, I wonder? Who can think of writing to me, in this world?” He tore open the letter; but the hard name at the bottom of the page puzzled him- -”your obliged friend, Llewellyn.”
“And what’s this?” said he, opening a paper that was inclosed in the letter. “It’s a song, seemingly; it must be somebody that has a mind to make an April fool of me.”
“But it is not April, it is May, father,” said Susan.
“Well, let us read the letter, and we shall come to the truth all in good time.”
Farmer Price sat down in his own chair, for he could not read entirely to his satisfaction in any other, and read as follows: —
“MY WORTHY FRIEND, — I am sure you will be glad to hear that I have had good success this night. I have won the ten guinea prize, and for that I am in a great measure indebted to your sweet daughter Susan; as you will see by a little ballad I inclose for her. Your hospitality to me has afforded to me an opportunity of learning some of your family history. You do not, I hope, forget that I was present when you were counting the treasure in Susan’s little purse, and that I heard for what purpose it was all destined. You have not, I know, yet made up the full sum for your substitute, John Simpson; therefore do me the favour to use the five guinea bank note which you will find within the ballad. You shall not find me as hard a creditor as Attorney Case. Pay me the money at your own convenience. If it is never convenient to you to pay it, I shall never ask it. I shall go my rounds again through this country, I believe, about this time next year, and will call to see how you do, and to play the new tune for Susan and the dear little boys.
“I should just add, to set your heart at rest about the money, that it does not distress me at all to lend it to you. I am not quite so poor as I appear to be. But it is my humour to go about as I do. I see more of the world under my tattered garb than, perhaps, I should ever see in a better dress. There are many of my profession who are of the same mind as myself in this respect; and we are glad, when it lies in our way, to do any kindness to such a worthy family as yours. — So, fare ye well. “Your obliged Friend, “LLEWELLYN.”
Susan now, by her father’s desire, opened the ballad. He picked up the five guinea bank note, whilst she read, with surprise, “Susan’s Lamentation for her Lamb.” Her mother leaned over her shoulder to read the words; but they were interrupted, before they had finished the first stanza, by another knock at the door. It was not the postman with another letter. It was Sir Arthur and his sisters.
They came with an intention, which they were much disappointed to find that the old harper had rendered vain — they came to lend the farmer and his good family the money to pay for his substitute.
“But, since we are here,” said Sir Arthur, “let me do my own business, which I had like to have forgotten. Mr. Price, will you come out with me, and let me show you a piece of your land, through which I want to make a road. Look there,” said Sir Arthur, pointing to the spot, “I am laying out a ride round my estate, and that bit of land of yours stops me.”
“Why, sir,” said Price, “the land’s mine, to be sure, for that matter; but I hope you don’t look upon me to be that sort of person that would be stiff about a trifle or so.”
“The fact is,” said Sir Arthur, “I had heard you were a litigious, pig- headed fellow; but you do not seem to deserve this character.”
“Hope not, sir,” said the farmer; “but about the matter of the land, I don’t want to take any advantage of your wishing for it. You are welcome to it; and I leave it to you to find me out another bit of land convenient to me that will be worth neither more nor less; or else to make up the value to me some way or other. I need say no more about it.”
“I hear something,” continued Sir Arthur, after a short silence—”I hear something, Mr. Price, of a FLAW in your lease. I would not speak to you about it whilst we were bargaining about your land, lest I should over- awe you; but, tell me, what is this flaw?”
“In truth, and the truth is the fittest thing to be spoken at all times,” said the farmer, “I didn’t know myself what a flaw, as they call it, meant, till I heard of the word from Attorney Case; and, I take it, a flaw is neither more nor less than a mistake, as one should say. Now, by reason a man does not make a mistake on purpose, it seems to me to be the fair thing, that if a man finds out his mistake, he might set it right; but Attorney Case says this is not law; and I’ve no more to say. The man who drew up my lease made a mistake; and if I must suffer for it, I must,” said the farmer. “However, I can show you, Sir Arthur, just for my own satisfaction and yours, a few lines of a memorandum on a slip of paper, which was given me by your relation, the gentleman who lived here before, and let me my farm. You’ll see, by that bit of paper, what was meant; but the attorney says, the paper’s not worth a button in a court of justice, and I don’t understand these things. All I understand is the common honesty of the matter. I’ve no more to say.”
“This attorney, whom you speak of so often,” said Sir Arthur, “you seem to have some quarrel with. Now, would you tell me frankly what is the matter between — ?”
“The matter between us, then,” said Price, “is a little bit of ground, not worth much, that is there open to the lane at the end of Mr. Case’s garden, sir, and he wanted to take it in. Now I told him my mind, that it belonged to the parish, and that I never would willingly give my consent to his cribbing it in that way. Sir, I was the more loath to see it shut into his garden, which, moreover, is large enough of all conscience without it, because you must know, Sir Arthur, the children in our village are fond of making a little play-green of it; and they have a custom of meeting on May day at a hawthorn that stands in the middle of it, and altogether I was very loath to see ’em turned out of it by those who have no right.”
“Let us go and see this nook,” said Sir Arthur. “It is not far off, is it?”
“Oh, no, sir, just hard by here.”
When they got to the ground, Mr. Case, who saw them walking together, was in a hurry to join them, that he might put a stop to any explanations. Explanations were things of which he had a great dread; but, fortunately, he was upon this occasion a little too late.
“Is this the nook in dispute?” said Sir Arthur.
“Yes; this is the whole thing,” said Price.
“Why, Sir Arthur,” interposed the politic attorney, with an assumed air of generosity, “don’t let us talk any more about it. Let it belong to whom it will, I give it up to you.”
“So great a lawyer, Mr. Case, as you are,” replied Sir Arthur, “must know, that a man cannot give up that to which he has no legal title; and in this case it is impossible that, with the best intentions to oblige me in the world, you can give up this bit of land to me, because it is mine already, as I can convince you effectually by a map of the adjoining land, which I have fortunately safe amongst my papers. This piece of ground belonged to the farm on the opposite side of the road, and it was cut off when the lane was made.”
“Very possibly. I daresay you are quite correct; you must know best,” said the attorney, trembling for the agency.
“Then,” said Sir Arthur, “Mr. Price, you will observe that I now promise this little green to the children for a play-ground; and I hope they may gather hawthorn many a May day at this their favourite bush.” Mr. Price bowed low, which he seldom did, even when he received a favour himself. “And now, Mr. Case,” said Sir Arthur, turning to the attorney, who did not know which way to look, “you sent me a lease to look over.”
“Ye-ye-yes,” stammered Mr Case. “I thought it my duty to do so; not out of any malice or ill-will to this good man.”
“You have done him no injury,” said Sir Arthur, coolly. “I am ready to make him a new lease, whenever he pleases, of his farm, and I shall be guided by a memorandum of the original bargain, which he has in his possession. I hope I never shall take an unfair advantage of anyone.”
“Heaven fo
rbid, sir,” said the attorney, sanctifying his face, “that I should suggest the taking an UNFAIR advantage of any man, rich or poor; but to break a bad lease is not taking an unfair advantage.”
“You really think so?” said Sir Arthur.
“Certainly I do, and I hope I have not hazarded your good opinion by speaking my mind concerning the flaw so plainly. I always understood that there could be nothing ungentlemanlike, in the way of business, in taking advantage of a flaw in a lease.”
“Now,” said Sir Arthur, “you have pronounced judgment undesignedly in your own case. You intended to send me this poor man’s lease; but your son, by some mistake, brought me your own, and I have discovered a fatal error in it.”
“A fatal error!” said the alarmed attorney.
“Yes, sir,” said Sir Arthur, pulling the lease out of his pocket. “Here it is. You will observe that it is neither signed nor sealed by the grantor.”
“But, you won’t take advantage of me, surely, Sir Arthur?” said Mr. Case, forgetting his own principles.
“I shall not take advantage of you, as you would have taken of this honest man. In both cases I shall be guided by memoranda which I have in my possession. I shall not, Mr. Case, defraud you of one shilling of your property. I am ready, at a fair valuation, to pay the exact value of your house and land; but upon this condition — that you quit the parish within one month!”
Attorney Case was thus compelled to submit to the hard necessity of the case, for he knew that he could not legally resist. Indeed he was glad to be let off so easily; and he bowed and sneaked away, secretly comforting himself with the hope, that when they came to the valuation of the house and land he should be the gainer, perhaps of a few guineas. His reputation he justly held very cheap.
“You are a scholar; you write a good hand; you can keep accounts, cannot you?” said Sir Arthur to Mr. Price, as they walked home towards the cottage. “I think I saw a bill of your little daughter’s drawing out the other day, which was very neatly written. Did you teach her to write?”
“No, sir,” said Price, “I can’t say I did THAT; for she mostly taught it herself, but I taught her a little arithmetic, as far as I knew, on our winter nights, when I had nothing better to do.”
“Your daughter shows that she has been well taught,” said Sir Arthur; “and her good conduct and good character speak strongly in favour of her parents.”
“You are very good, very good indeed, sir, to speak in this sort of way,” said the delighted father.
“But I mean to do more than PAY YOU WITH WORDS,” said Sir Arthur. “You are attached to your own family, perhaps you may become attached to me, when you come to know me, and we shall have frequent opportunities of judging of one another. I want no agent to squeeze my tenants, or do my dirty work. I only want a steady, intelligent, honest man, like you, to collect my rents, and I hope, Mr. Price, you will have no objection to the employment.”
“I hope, sir,” said Price, with joy and gratitude glowing in his honest countenance, “that you’ll never have cause to repent your goodness.”
“And what are my sisters about here?” said Sir Arthur, entering the cottage, and going behind his sisters, who were busily engaged in measuring an extremely pretty coloured calico.
“It is for Susan, my dear brother,” said they. “I know she did not keep that guinea for herself,” said Miss Somers. “I have just prevailed upon her mother to tell me what became of it. Susan gave it to her father; but she must not refuse a gown of our choosing this time; and I am sure she will not, because her mother, I see, likes it. And, Susan, I hear that instead of becoming Queen of the May this year, you were sitting in your sick mother’s room. Your mother has a little colour in her cheeks now.”
“Oh, ma’am,” interrupted Mrs. Price, “I’m quite well. Joy, I think, has made me quite well.”
“Then,” said Miss Somers, “I hope you will be able to come out on your daughter’s birthday, which, I hear, is the 25th of this month. Make haste and get quite well before that day; for my brother intends that all the lads and lassies of the village shall have a dance on Susan’s birthday.”
“Yes,” said Sir Arthur, “and I hope on that day, Susan, you will be very happy with your little friends upon their play-green. I shall tell them that it is your good conduct which has obtained it for them; and if you have anything to ask, any little favour for any of your companions, which we can grant, now ask, Susan. These ladies look as if they would not refuse you anything that is reasonable; and, I think, you look as if you would not ask anything unreasonable.”
“Sir,” said Susan, after consulting her mother’s eyes, “there is, to be sure, a favour I should like to ask; it is for Rose.”
“Well, I don’t know who Rose is,” said Sir Arthur, smiling; “but, go on.”
“Ma’am, you have seen her, I believe; she is a very good girl, indeed,” said Mrs. Price. “And works very neatly, indeed,” continued Susan, eagerly, to Miss Somers; “and she and her mother heard you were looking out for someone to wait upon you.”
“Say no more,” said Miss Somers; “your wish is granted. Tell Rose to come to the Abbey, to-morrow morning, or, rather, come with her yourself; for our housekeeper, I know, wants to talk to you about a certain cake. She wishes, Susan, that you should be the maker of the cake for the dance; and she has good things ready looked out for it already, I know. It must be large enough for everybody to have a slice, and the housekeeper will ice it for you. I only hope your cake will be as good as your bread. Fare ye well.”
How happy are those who bid farewell to a whole family, silent with gratitude, who will bless them aloud when they are far out of hearing!
“How do I wish, now,” said Farmer Price, “and it’s almost a sin for one that has had such a power of favours done him, to wish for anything more; but how I DO wish, wife, that our good friend, the harper was only here at this time. It would do his old, warm heart good. Well, the best of it is, we shall be able next year, when he comes his rounds, to pay him his money with thanks, being all the time, and for ever, as much obliged to him as if we kept it. I long, so I do, to see him in this house again, drinking, as he did, just in this spot, a glass of Susan’s mead, to her very good health.”
“Yes,” said Susan, “and the next time he comes, I can give him one of my guinea-hen’s eggs, and I shall show my lamb, Daisy.”
“True, love,” said her mother, “and he will play that tune and sing that pretty ballad. Where is it? for I have not finished it.”
“Rose ran away with it, mother, but I’ll step after her, and bring it back to you this minute,” said Susan.
Susan found her friend Rose at the hawthorn, in the midst of a crowded circle of her companions, to whom she was reading “Susan’s Lamentation for her Lamb.”
“The words are something, but the tune — the tune — I must have the tune,” cried Philip. “I’ll ask my mother to ask Sir Arthur to try and find out which way that good old man went after the ball; and if he’s above ground, we’ll have him back by Susan’s birthday, and he shall sit here — just exactly here by this, our bush, and he shall play — I mean, if he pleases — that same tune for us, and I shall learn it — I mean, if I can — in a minute.”
The good news that Farmer Price was to be employed to collect the rents, and that Attorney Case was to leave the parish in a month, soon spread over the village. Many came out of their houses to have the pleasure of hearing the joyful tidings confirmed by Susan herself. The crowd on the play-green increased every minute.
“Yes,” cried the triumphant Philip, “I tell you it’s all true, every word of it. Susan’s too modest to say it herself; but I tell ye all, Sir Arthur gave us this play-green for ever, on account of her being so good.”
You see, at last Attorney Case, with all his cunning has not proved a match for “Simple Susan.”
THE WHITE PIGEON.
The little town of Somerville, in Ireland, has, within these few years, assumed the neat and
cheerful appearance of an English village. Mr. Somerville, to whom this town belongs, wished to inspire his tenantry with a taste for order and domestic happiness, and took every means in his power to encourage industrious, well behaved people to settle in his neighbourhood. When he had finished building a row of good slated houses in his town, he declared that he would let them to the best tenants he could find, and proposals were publicly sent to him from all parts of the country.
By the best tenants, Mr. Somerville did not, however, mean the best bidders; and many, who had offered an extravagant price for the houses, were surprised to find their proposals rejected. Amongst these was Mr. Cox, an alehouse keeper, who did not bear a very good character.
“Please your honour, sir,” said he to Mr. Somerville, “I expected, since I bid as fair and fairer for it than any other, that you would have let me the house next the apothecary’s. Was not it fifteen guineas I mentioned in my proposal? and did not your honour give it against me for thirteen?”
“My honour did just so,” replied Mr. Somerville, calmly.
“And please your honour, but I don’t know what it is I or mine have done to offend you. I’m sure there is not a gentleman in all Ireland I’d go further to sarve. Would not I go to Cork to-morrow for the least word from your honour?”
“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Cox, but I have no business at Cork at present,” answered Mr. Somerville, drily.
“It is all I wish,” exclaimed Mr. Cox, “that I could find out and light upon the man that has belied me to your honour.”
“No man has belied you, Mr. Cox, but your nose belies you much, if you do not love drinking a little, and your black eye and cut chin belie you much if you do not love quarrelling a little.”
“Quarrel! I quarrel, please your honour! I defy any man, or set of men, ten mile round, to prove such a thing, and I am ready to fight him that dares to say the like of me. I’d fight him here in your honour’s presence, if he’d only come out this minute, and meet me like a man.”
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