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day and date for all the labours of man may obtain a useful lesson in the controversy which then burned, and which still smoulders, concerning the age of the hall. On that very morning in which a man somewhat curious about truth would desire to commence this desultory but remarkable tale, it happened that the antiquity of the hall had engaged the attention of two persons, who, summoned on other business, sat under the southern porch-way, side by side. From this place they had a view of a wandering stream-which had obtained the name of the Larke, from emitting, as it ran, a kind of melodious din among its pebbles; they had also a view of many clumps of very old and stately oaks, and of a distant field grazed by numerous cows.

"It is, indeed," said one, who had all the tokens of the pastoral charge of souls about him, "an ancient and a venerable place--tradition hesitates about the date of its foundation, and certain of those sages, the antiquaries, have written very learnedly and unintelligibly about it. In groping after its date, they have filled their hands with idle controversy, and, in a style swollen with Norman and Saxon names, have floundered on till they are stayed by the very reasonable legend of the Wolf and St. Edmund's head-and there have they halted for breath before they take another step up the dark stair of conjecture and absurdity." "It would perhaps be presumptuous," said his companion, who seemed, by his shrewd and suspicious eye, to be one learned in the law, "while such a controversy pends, to offer the opinion of one so simple as myself: but to eyes less inspired indeed, than those through which antiquaries look, the house seems of the age of Henry VII. The arms of the noble name of Bennet may be seen very curiously carved amid the interlacings of vine and ivy-leaves, while over it is the figure of a wolf couching with a human head between its paws, which it may be either watching or devouring. The wise on those matters say it is the wolf and the head of St. Edmund-while the simple, and therefore unwise, say it is the arms of the corporation of weavers-a wolf's

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head with a shuttle in its mouth." "Are ye sure," said the divine, "that the leaves are those of the grape ?” "As sure," said the lawyer, as that grapes never grow without leaves.” "Then," said the divine, " this throws some light on an old boast, that the lands of Framlingham, that now flow with milk, once flowed with wine." "Ah! the old vine terraces of Framlingham," said the lawyer," which, planted by the Romans, intoxicated the Saxons, and filled the monks with delight, and the nuns with joy. Those were merry times, Mr. Horegrove; but merry times never last long. And I am afraid, after all, that this English wine would feel sour to the fastidious lips of the present generation."

At this moment a female shriek was heard in the hall, and the person who uttered it came suddenly out, smiting one hand upon another, "Come, start ye!" said she, addressing at once the divine and the lawyer;-" Come, stir ye-stir ye: the breath will be out, and the devil will be in, and Coldengame-hall will lack a master, while ye sit here talking of Framlingham oaks and Robin Grande's vine terraces. He's gasping his last gasp, and no a sensible soul near him to hear the last words of an expiring sinner!" The room into which they rose and followed this unceremonious messenger was a small chamber, hewn out of oak as hard as iron, and as black as ink; and lighted by a small window half shut up with a vine run wild. In an old stuffed arm-chair-with arms, and mottoes, and texts of scripture, strewn over it, they found a hale-looking old man, who, with clasped hands, and an unsettled wildness of eye, sat gazing round and round as if something visible to him alone flitted from place to place, and was giving him great pain.

"Where is Elias, my son?" said the old man ;-"when the wind is shaking the fruit tree, he should be near to gather the fruit. You are welcome, Mr. Horegrove-if that's your name— and you, sir, are welcome too-ye are the new-come lawyer-ye came here when the Norfolk breed of cows cameand the dairy district has never thriven since. We come weeping, Mr. Hore

grove, into the world; and we go groaning out; and of all that we love, we can take nought with us. I wish the curse of man and of God would remain behind on the earth with them who brought in the brindled breed of cows. But when will moaning mend us-the fair fields and the pure gold we have sinned our souls in seeking must bide where they are. What could I do with the broad lands of Coldengame in another world? And now I think that's nearly as good as a sermon, Mr. Horegrove; I knew all you would say, and said it for ye, and so I bid you good morrow. And now I think on't, ye may as well take Mr. Windlas the lawyer with you—I hate the breed-I hate the breed. Will the pleasant lands of Coldengame not descend with the old name of Neyland, unless it's scribbled on a sheep's skin by a knave? I hate the breed-I hate the breed. The Lord deliver the pasture-lands of the old district from priests, lawyers, and the brindled brood of Norfolk. Away with you! Away with you!" They rose, and went away.

A tall handsome young man now entered the chamber; he advanced to the chair, took the sick man by the hand, and turned his head away-to hide the tear which was not there to drop." Elias Neyland,” said the old man, "I must leave the green pastures of Coldengame and the clear stream of the Larke, and all my milch-cows and a fairer brood never nipt the morning grass, nor yielded milk to a maiden's hand-I must leave them all, Elias-and leave my gold, and my gains, and my thrifty bargains, and the prospect of large increase, and all to a thriftless and a prodigal son, who spent four-pence half-penny at last Ipswich fair, and drank the cream off yesterday morning's milk. Men will say, as they hold out their fingers at thee, 'There goes waster Elias, the only son of old saving Edward Neyland." Ah! Elias, Elias, what made ye of the silver sixpence I gave ye on your birth-dayye will break your father's heart, Elias." "Father," said the youth," your days may yet be many; and you may live to add field to field, and sum to sum; and the delight of gain and the

gladness of riches may be yours for a score of years. Fatber, your reproach is unjust. I have learned to make money work while men sleep-I beat Gisleham at bargain-making; I took in Gripington in open barter at noonday, and fairly outwitted Cresswell out of one of his best heifers. I cannot pass along the street on a market-day but I hear men whisper, That's young Neyland of Coldengame-a flint-a naila file-his father's a cloud raining manna compared to him-he has an eye like a cormorant, and every finger is a fish-hook.'

"My son," said the old man, "my heart is cheered-ye are indeed my child. Ah! I thought ye had a touch too much of your mother--a wise and a thrifty woman, Elias, in all things, save in giving her cheese-parings to the parish poor, and wearing laced head-gear on holidays— her extravagance has shortened my days by five years and upwards. Now, Elias, lad, I have some words to say, to which ye must listen. When ye hear that Duke this, and Earl that, and Lord the other thing, recommend a new manger and a new cheese-press, and an improved creaming-cup, and new grasses, and new broods of cows-even laugh, and bide by thy wise father's plans. Mind them not-these are maggots which breed-and where's the harm-in great men's heads--but great men's heads, Elias, are as empty as a milk-pail before milking-time. It was biding by one wise plan of thrift, that raised me from a poor herdsman to be proprietor of Coldengame, with some pretty slips of pasture about Cranesford and Thrandestone. I wish that cursed cough would keep away, that 1 might engrave the description of the kind of cow which filled my pails and pockets upon your memory."

The old man coughed long, and then re-commenced his train of advice. "My favourite cow had no horns→→→→ horns will gore others of the herd, and spill the pails of milk. She had a clean, clear throat-a small dewlapa heavy belly-a ridged back-a large carcase and thin legs, with a hollow chine and a snake head. Her udder was big and her milk-veins large; her eye was greedy, and her colour was the

hue of her own cream-what I call a golden cream. Thy mother favoured the brindled sort-but my dying word will be a cream, a golden cream. She will yield eight gallons a-day, and her milk will cast a coat of cream over which a mouse might walk dry-footed. That's the cow, Elias, for the world will ye learn the description by heart?" The heir nodded assent, and the old man continued. "Now I think I may give a thought or two to the other world-to the state of my soul, as Parson Horegrove says-not that I have so much need as many others, for I have ever kept matters close by the head there. I went regularly to church-I gave Lady Religion her just dues-and her dues are far from light." "Ah! father," said Elias, "the church is a greater cormorant than the state: she claims and takes all the gains of Coldengame every tenth year-I think her company might be spared." "Spared, lad!" said old Neyland, "fiend make their skull into a skimming-dish for the caldrons of darkness, that would wish otherwise. To the church and state, my child, I have ever given as little as I could-they have always put a greedy hand into our pockets and if the parson's prayers can be useful where I am going, it is more than I can credit. I shall soon see. Now, Elias, I have ever kept nature in as with a bridle-hand. I bave not diced-nor horse-raced-nor fought cocks--nor bulls-nor sworn an oath, save what was for my own advantage and swearing can hardly be regarded as sin where the gain is great."

As he spoke, a footstep was heard in the passage-the door of the chamber opened, and an old woman, tall and erect-with a look keen, shrewd, and sarcastic, walked up to the sick man, She seemed the votary rather of some obsolete order of devotees than the wife of a pastoral farmer. She wore a long dark mantle, with open sleeves, that almost reached the floor-it was drawn close round her neck, terminating in a small ruff; while a little black print bible, clasped and cornered with silver, hung by a chain from her girdle nearly as low as her feet. "Edward Ney land!" said she, regarding the old man

with a look which seemed to make him creep together with terror; "Edward Neyland, the hour of death is comelet it be the hour of retribution and repentance also. Need I tell you who I am, and what my meaning is? In the dark hour of night, when one child lay in its coffin, another was dying in my arms, and my husband lay in his shroud by my side, ye went and moved our landmark, and robbed the widow and the fatherless of a fair inheritance. When ye justified your villany by a false oath, did ye think ye imposed on God as ye imposed on man? Arise! Edward Neyland; ye have yet strength left to do an act of justice-arise! and replace the landmark-and if ye die in righting the widow and the fatherless, ye may hope for grace-but ye are incapable of repentance-ye will die in sin-and I am come to curse ye where ye sit."

Young Neyland stept in between his father and this stern old monitress ; and, looking her full in the face, seemed willing to impose silence on her by his looks. She was not to be so dauntedthere she stood like the pride of old English virtue and truth personified, while the demon of gain and rapacity seemed represented by the other. "Young man," said the old woman, I read your heart-it is leaping with joy at the hope of a speedy possession and ye curse death as dilatory, and think the grave and the pit are slow in claiming their morsel. There ye stand, anxious to succeed to the gains of that wretched old man whom God smote with a year's blindness, yet he repented not-with a year's madness, yet he cried not for mercy-and when he restored him to his faculties, did he bless the hand of heaven, and rue the wrongs he had done to the widow and the orphan? From that infirm portion of clay I hope not for restitution-let him go unworthily and unblessed to his grave-where the loathing worms will spare his poisonous carcase. But from you, young man-griping and greedy as you are, the only child of one whom God has sent among us for a curse-I expect-nay, I demand justice-and see ye delay it not. Now mark my words. The tongue that never spoke

on the side of mercy and truth before, will command you to do justice to me and mine-obey, and thy days shall be long in the land-refuse, and within the light of one short moon ye shall be summoned before an inexorable judge, and an end shall be of thee and thine." “Woman, woman!" said Elias, "dost thou think, with thy clasped book at thy belt, and ungracious words on thy tongue, to dismay me? Ye have been long known for one who could do no good for yourself: and whenever you have seen a neighbour prosper, lo! ye came and clasped your hands and shouted, He has robbed the widow, and plundered the fatherless; and there he rides gallantly with the Lincoln green coat and silver buttons, who deserves to be made a tassel to a gibbet.' Had honest men their will, ye would pass he herring-rook, dame, for an illwisher-and a prayer of evil prayers." "The herring-brook which ye will pass," said the old woman, "will be that brook which runs down the valley and shadow of death. The old tree is rotten and ripe, and the fire will soon catch its branches-the young tree looks green and fair-but the axe is whet, and a stroke shall strike it low, when there shall be none to raise it again. And the last words ye shall utter will be, Ruth Rushbrook said it." And she awaited no reply, but strode out of the room.

Elias, after having fastened the door, to secure himself from farther intrusion, returned to his father; but the looks of the old man were changed-his face was dark, his eye was wandering—and bis voice sounded like an echo among the tombs, "Elias, my son, come neardeath is more fearsome than I thought and though I wished once to groan out my last, leaving ye owner of all the fair fields of which I am master, I find it may not be. Ye may mind how sore your mother pleaded near her last gasp to be kind-honest was the word-to the widow and the fatherless babes-she died with the word landmark, and with the name of Rushbrook, on her tongue. Now, Elias, I have often tried to do the honest deed myself and one summer morning, before the sun or the seed of man, save myself, was up, I went out

to replace the landmark—but the fields looked so green and fair, and my cows seemed to graze with so much rapture, that my hands refused an act of kindness to my soul. I have sometimes thought that Satan-ye have heard the parson preach about him, my man, and how he dwells in a bottomless pit, where the heat would melt the buckles in your shoes-I think Satan himself painted the widow's fields with a richer hue, and dyed the grass with a more beauteous dye, in order that the temptation might get the better of my wish to be merciful. Lord! lad, if I thought that the fields are not so rich as I imagined, may the fiend make my right leg bone into the drone of a Scotchman's bagpipe, if I would not, this precious moment, restore them to widow Rushbrook! Lord help me, and have I sinned my soul for seven sand hills instead of seven good pasture parks. Tell me, Elias, my lad, were they clothed, think ye, by the Tempter, in that long and beautiful herbage, in order that I might sell him my soul for a simple luck-penny ?"

"The cows," answered Elias, "love the fields-and their milk is more abundant and rich from that pasture than from others-nine gallons a-day, and a pound and a half of butter, each, can be no work of the fiends-else he's a kind fiend to us." "Spoken like thy father's son," said the old man ;" and now hearken to me. All my neighbours know me for a close-banded man-and may be some suspect I am no honester than an honest man ought-now mind my words. Ye will soon have riches-ye will want only a fair name and a fair fame-and these are far easier to be had than the broad lands of Coldengame. When I am coldand no sooner-send for widow Rushbrook, and send for some of the old wise heads of the district. Quote some two or three words about grace and mercy from scripture-thy mother's bible is sewed up in the sleeve of her damasked gown-I sometimes take a look at it myself. And, now, I think on't, ye will find my shroud lying beside it-thy mother shaped and sewed it for me-blessed be her thrift—and —what was I talking about ?-Aye-and

ye'll say that your father felt the conscience pang, and commanded ye to restore the two fields to Ruth Rushbrook which he had retained-retained, Elias, is a soft word-now this will open the world to thee with a fine sound-Ruth will be delighted, and the world will forget the father for the sake of the son, and your fortune will bud forth and flourish--and ye will be Sir Elias--or wherefore not Lord? But

what see ye at the window ?-ye will see the green fields when I am dead and gone."

"See at the window?" answered Elias; "if yonder's not Gaffer Grippagen driving his brindled Lady Mary over the Larke to our cream-coloured Cush--he'll steal the breed-Father, d'ye think ye'll not die till I come back?" And away he started, muttering, "One may find an old man of sixty-eight again; but when shall I find two fair fields such as Suffolk cannot match ?" A full hour elapsed before he returned he went not near the Larke, nor sought he after Gaffer and his brindled Lady Mary-but he ran away to look at the two fields which were to become the property of Ruth Rushbrook. He paced them from end to end, and from side to side, and shook his head and muttered, "I will keep them though the dead should rise and . demand them." He examined the sward; it was rich in natural clover, and savoury with the sweetest grasses, and tempting to the lip of all cows, whether cream-coloured or tawny. He muttered again, "Plague on't! must the price of his repentance come out of my pocket!" and, with a firm resolution to retain them, he returned to the chamber where the dying man lay.

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The hand of death was fast subduing the strength, and softening the hard iron spirit, of his father, "Elias!" he sighed, are ye come? Oh make the two fields four if ye would have your father to find rest in his grave." "Father," said the youth, "can ye tell me how many stone weight of cheese ye sold to Gabriel Grippal, of Ipswich? he's dead, or become bankrupt-andeither the devil or the lawyers have the picking of him-it matters little whichit's a sore loss." "Elias," said the old

man, "I sold him twenty and eight stone-half money down-but, oh! death's dealing with me, and he's a hard creditor-I wish I could put over the winter--I think I could drop away with less reluctance in the spring. Make the four fields five, Elias-İ shall sleep the sounder for't-there's no sleeping in hell-fire, if all tales be true. Save us! what put that in my head ?”

"Speaking of hell-fire," said Elias, "are ye sure that Stephen Elborde, whom men call Steenie Hellbird, may be trusted, father? He has a doctor, and an attorney with him-and the priest rode down the bridle-road this morning. He'll confess him, and bless him; and for a piece of gold give him. absolution for all his sins, and send him gaily to heaven, though he had stolen the whole county of Suffolk, and moved all the widows' landmarks between this and the Land's End. It's a religion that accommodates itself to men's dispositions and desires, better than any form that I know of. But touching old Elborde, depend on't, his lease is near run-I saw smoke in his chimney at six this blessed morning-a sign that some unthrifty thing is about to happen."

"Elias," said the old man, gasping for breath-"listen to memake the five fields seven, and add to them one hundred pieces of gold-and then I think men will bless me when I'm in the grave-and I may take heaven in my own hand. Send for Ruth Rushbrook, I say." "Father," answered Elias, "where have ye hid the rights of Framlingham lea, the title deeds of Grublington? and I have not seen for a twelvemonth, and more, the silver token by which ye hold of the crown Lily-acres and the six fields of Skimagain." "Elias," said Edward Neyland, his visage sharpening in death, and his last respiration rattling in his throat; "seven fields, I say, and one hundred pieces of gold, to Ruth Rushbrook-do as I say, and God and my spirit shall bless you. Keep themand I shall come from the dead and disinherit ye: keep them, and the widow's curse, which missed me, shall fall on you: keep them-and God shall make ye a wonder and a warning to all children who disobey their parents:

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