Home! What a host of old and deep and heart-stirring associations arise in every human breast at the sound of that old familiar word! How well we know it—how vividly1 it recalls certain scenes and faces—how pleasantly it falls on the ear, and slips from the tongue—yet how little do we appreciate home until we have left it, and longed for it, perhaps, for many years.
Our hero, Ned Sinton, is home at last. He sits in his old place beside the fire, with his feet on the fender. Opposite to him sits old Mr Shirley, with a bland2 smile on his kind, wrinkled visage, and two pair of spectacles on his brow. Mr Shirley, as we formerly3 stated, regularly loses one pair of spectacles, and always searches for them in vain, in consequence of his having pushed them too far up on his bald head; he, therefore, is frequently compelled to put on his second pair, and hence makes a spectacle, to some extent, of himself. Exactly between the uncle and the nephew, on a low stool, sits the cat—the cat, par4 excellence—Mr Shirley’s cat, a creature which he has always been passionately5 fond of since it was a kitten, and to which, after Ned’s departure for California, he had devoted6 himself so tenderly, that he felt half-ashamed of himself, and would not like to have been asked how much he loved it.
Yes, the cat sits there, looking neither at old Mr Shirley nor at young Mr Sinton, but bestowing7 its undivided attentions and affections on the fire, which it enjoys extremely, if we may judge from the placid8 manner in which it winks9 and purrs.
Ned has been a week at home, and he has just reached that point of experience at which the wild life of the diggings through which he has passed begins to seem like a vivid dream rather than reality.
Breakfast had just been concluded, although the cloth had not yet been removed.
“Do you know, uncle,” remarked Ned, settling his bulky frame more comfortably in the easy-chair, and twirling his watch-key, “I find it more difficult every day to believe that the events of the last few months of my life have actually occurred. When I sit here in my old seat, and look at you and the cat and the furniture—everything, in fact, just the same as when I left—I cannot realise that I have been nearly two years away.”
“I understand your feelings, my dear boy,” replied Mr Shirley, taking off his spectacles, (the lower pair,) wiping them with his handkerchief putting them on again, and looking over them at his nephew, with an expression of unmitigated admiration11. “I can sympathise with you, Ned, for I have gone through the same experience more than once in the course of my life. It’s a strange life, boy, a very strange life this, as you’ll come to know, if you’re spared to be as old as I am.”
Ned thought that his knowledge was already pretty extended in reference to life, and even flattered himself that he had had some stranger views of it than his uncle, but he prudently12 did not give expression to his thoughts; and, after a short pause, Mr Shirley resumed—
“Yes, lad, it’s a very strange life; and the strangest part of it is, that the longer we live the stranger it gets. I travelled once in Switzerland—,” (the old gentleman paused, as if to allow the statement to have its full weight on Ned’s youthful mind,) “and it’s a curious fact, that when I had been some months there, home and all connected with it became like a dream to me, and Switzerland became a reality. But after I came back to England, and had spent some time here, home again became the reality, and Switzerland appeared like a dream, so that I sometimes said to myself, ‘Can it be possible that I have been there!’ Very odd, isn’t it?”
“It is, uncle; and I have very much the same feelings now.”
“Very odd, indeed,” repeated Mr Shirley. “By the way, that reminds me that we have to talk about that farm of which I spoke13 to you on the day of your arrival.”
We might feel surprised that the above conversation could in any way have the remotest connexion with “that farm” of which Mr Shirley was so suddenly reminded, did we not know that the subject was, in fact, never out of his mind.
“True, uncle, I had almost forgotten about it, but you know I’ve been so much engaged during the last few days in visiting my old friends and college companions, that—”
“I know it, I know it, Ned, and I don’t want to bother you with business matters sooner than I can help, but—”
“My dear uncle, how can you for a moment suppose that I could be ‘bothered’ by—”
“Of course not, boy,” interrupted Mr Shirley. “Well, now, let me ask you, Ned, how much gold have you brought back from the diggings?”
Ned fidgeted uncomfortably on his seat—the subject could no longer be avoided.
“I—I—must confess,” said he, with hesitation14, “that I haven’t brought much.”
“Of course, you couldn’t be expected to have done much in so short a time; but how much?”
“Only 500 pounds,” replied Ned, with a sigh, while a slight blush shone through the deep bronze of his countenance15.
“Oh!” said Mr Shirley, pursing up his mouth, while an arch twinkle lurked16 in the corners of each eye.
“Ah! but, uncle, you mustn’t quiz me. I had more, and might have brought it home too, if I had chosen.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Ned replied to this question by detailing how most of his money had been lost, and how, at the last, he gave nearly all that remained to his friend Tom Collins.
“You did quite right, Ned, quite right,” said Mr Shirley, when his nephew had concluded; “and now I’ll tell you what I want you to do. You told me the other day, I think, that you wished to become a farmer.”
“Yes, uncle. I do think that that life would suit me better than any other. I’m fond of the country and a quiet life, and I don’t like cities; but, then, I know nothing about farming, and I doubt whether I should succeed without being educated to it to some extent at least.”
“A very modest and proper feeling to entertain,” said Mr Shirley, with a smile; “particularly when it is considered that farming is an exceedingly difficult profession to acquire a knowledge of. But I have thought of that for you, Ned, and I think I see a way out of the difficulty.”
“What way is that?”
“I won’t tell you just yet, boy. But answer me this. Are you willing to take any farm I suggest to you, and henceforth to give up all notion of wandering over the face of the earth, and devote yourself steadily17 to your new profession?”
“I am, uncle; if you will point out to me how I am to pay the rent and stock the farm, and how I am to carry it on in the meantime without a knowledge of husbandry.”
“I’ll do that for you, all in good time; meanwhile, will you put on your hat, and run down to Moxton’s office—you remember it?”
“That I do,” replied Ned, with a smile.
“Well, go there, and ask him for the papers I wrote about to him two days ago. Bring them here as quickly as you can. We shall then take the train, and run down to Brixley, and look at the farm.”
“But are you really in earnest!” asked Ned, in some surprise.
“Never more so in my life,” replied the old gentleman, mildly. “Now be off; I want to read the paper.”
Ned rose and left the room, scarcely believing that his uncle did not jest. As he shut the door, old Mr Shirley took up the paper, pulled down the upper pair of spectacles—an act which knocked the lower pair off his nose, whereat he smiled more blandly18 than ever—and began to read.
Meanwhile, Edward Sinton put on his great-coat—the identical one he used to wear before he went away—and his hat and his gloves, and walked out into the crowded streets of London, with feelings somewhat akin10, probably, to those of a somnambulist. Having been so long accustomed to the free-and-easy costume of the mines, Ned felt about as uncomfortable and stiff as a warrior19 of old must have felt when armed cap-à-pie. His stalwart frame was some what thinner and harder than when he last took the same walk; his fair moustache and whiskers were somewhat more decided20, and less like wreaths of smoke, and his countenance was of a deep-brown colour; but in other respects Ned was the same dashing fellow that he used to be—dashing by nature, we may remark, not by affectation.
In half-an-hour he stood before Moxton’s door. There it was, as large as life, and as green as ever. Ned really found it impossible to believe that it was so long since he last saw it. He felt as if it had been yesterday. The brass21 knocker and the brass plate were there too, as dirty as ever—perhaps a thought dirtier—and the dirty house still retreated a little behind its fellows, and was still as much ashamed of itself—seemingly—as ever.
Ned raised the knocker, and smote22 the brass knob. The result was, as formerly, a disagreeable-looking old woman, who replied to the question, “Is Mr Moxton in?” with a sharp, short, “Yes.” The dingy23 little office, with its insufficient24 allowance of daylight, and its compensating25 mixture of yellow gas, was inhabited by the same identical small dishevelled clerk who, nearly two years before, was busily employed in writing his name interminably on scraps26 of paper, and who now, as then, answered to the question, “Can I see Mr Moxton?” by pointing to the door which opened into the inner apartment, and resuming his occupation—the same occupation—writing his name on scraps of paper.
Ned tapped—as of yore.
“Come in,” cried a stern voice—as of ditto.
Ned entered; and there, sure enough, was the same tall, gaunt man, with the sour cast of countenance, standing27, (as formerly,) with his back to the fire.
“Ah!” exclaimed Moxton, “you’re young Sinton, I suppose?”
Ned almost started at the perfect reproduction of events, and questions, and answers. He felt a species of reckless incredulity in reference to everything steal over him, as he replied—
“Yes; I came, at my uncle’s request, for some papers that—”
“Ah, yes, they’re all ready,” interrupted the lawyer, advancing to the table. “Tell your uncle that I shall be glad to hear from him again in reference to the subject of those papers; and take care of them—they are of value. Good-morning!”
“Good-morning!” replied our hero, retreating.
“Stay!” said Moxton.
Ned stopped, and turned round.
“You’ve been in California, since I last saw you, I understand?”
“I have,” replied Ned.
“Umph! You haven’t made your fortune, I fancy?”
“No, not quite.”
“It’s a wild place, if all reports are true?”
“Rather,” replied Ned, smiling; “there’s a want of law there.”
“Ha! and lawyers,” remarked Moxton, sarcastically28.
“Indeed there is,” replied Ned, with some enthusiasm, as he thought of the gold-hunting spirit that prevailed in the cities of California. “There is great need out there of men of learning—men who can resist the temptation to collect gold, and are capable of doing good to the colony in an intellectual and spiritual point of view. Clergymen, doctors, and lawyers are much wanted there. You’d find it worth your while to go, sir.”
Had Edward Sinton advised Mr Moxton to go and rent an office in the moon, he could scarcely have surprised that staid gentleman more than he did by this suggestion. The lawyer gazed at him for one moment in amazement30. Then he said—
“These papers are of value, young man: be careful of them. Good-morning—” and sat down at his desk to write. Ned did not venture to reply, but instantly retired31, and found himself in the street with—not, as formerly, an indistinct, but—a distinct impression that he had heard the dishevelled clerk chuckling32 vociferously33 as he passed through the office.
That afternoon Ned and old Mr Shirley alighted from the train at a small village not a hundred miles out of London, and wended their way leisurely—for it was a warm sunny day for the season—towards a large, quaint34, old farm-house, about two miles distant from the station.
“What a very pleasant-looking house that is on the hill-top!” remarked Ned, as he gave his arm to his uncle.
“D’you think so? Well, I’m glad of it, because that’s the farm I wish you to take.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Ned, in surprise. “Surely the farm connected with such a house must be a large one?”
“So it is,” replied the other.
Ned laughed. “My dear uncle,” said he, “how can I manage such a place, without means or knowledge?”
“I said before, boy, that I would overcome both these difficulties for you.”
“You did, dear uncle; and if you were a rich man, I could understand how you might overcome the first; but you have often told me you had no money in the world except the rent of a small property.”
“Right, Ned; I said so; and I say it again. I shan’t leave you a sixpence when I die, and I can’t afford to give you one while I am alive.”
“Then I must just leave the matter in your own hands,” replied Ned, smiling, “for I cannot comprehend your plans.”
They had now reached the gate of the park that surrounded the fine old building of Brixley Hall.
The house was one of those rambling35, picturesque36 old mansions37, which, although not very large in reality, have a certain air of magnitude, and even grandeur38, about them. The windows were modern and large, so that the rooms were well lighted, and the view in all directions was magnificent. Wherever the eye turned, it met knolls39, and mounds40, and fields, and picturesque groves41, with here and there a substantial farm-steading, or a little hamlet, with its modest church-spire pointing ever upwards42 to the bright sky. Cattle and sheep lowed and bleated43 in the meadows, while gentle murmurs44 told that a rivulet45 flowed along its placid course at no great distance.
The spot was simply enchanting—and Ned said so, in the fulness of his heart, emphatically.
“’Tis a sweet spot!” remarked his uncle, in a low, sad tone, as he entered the open door of the dwelling46, and walked deliberately47 into the drawing-room.
“Now, Ned, sit down—here, opposite that window, where you can see the view—and I’ll tell you how we shall manage. You tell me you have 500 pounds?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“Well, your dear mother left you her fortune when she died—it amounts to the small sum of 200 pounds. I never told you of it before, my boy, for reasons of my own. That makes 700 pounds.”
“Will that suffice to stock and carry on so large a farm,” inquired Ned?
“Not quite,” replied Mr Shirley, “but the farm is partly stocked already, so it’ll do. Now, I’ve made arrangements with the proprietor48 to let you have it for the first year or two rent free. His last tenant’s lease happens to have expired six months ago, and he is anxious to have it let immediately.”
Ned opened his eyes very wide at this.
“He says,” continued the old gentleman, “that if you can’t manage to make the two ends meet in the course of a year or two, he will extend the gratis49 lease.”
Ned began to think his uncle had gone deranged50. “Why, what do you mean,” said he, “who is this extraordinary proprietor?”
“He’s an eccentric old fellow, Ned, who lives in London—they call him Shirley, I believe.”
“Yourself, uncle!” cried Ned, starting up.
Dear reader, the conversation that followed was so abrupt51, exclamatory, interjectional, and occasionally ungrammatical, as well as absurd, that it could not be reduced to writing. We therefore leave it to your imagination. After a time, the uncle and nephew subsided52, and again became sane53.
“But,” said Ned, “I shall have to get a steward—is that what you call him? or overseer, to manage affairs until I am able to do it myself.”
“True, Ned; but I have provided one already.”
“Indeed!—but I might have guessed that. What shall I have to pay him? a good round sum, I suppose.”
“No,” replied Mr Shirley; “he is very moderate in his expectations. He only expects his food and lodging54, besides a little care, and attention, and love, particularly in his old age.”
“He must be a cautious fellow, to look so far forward,” said Ned, laughing. “What’s his name?”
“His name—is Shirley.”
“What! yourself again?”
“And why not, nephew? I’ve as much right to count myself fit to superintend a farm, as you had, a year ago, to think yourself able to manage a gold mine. Nay55, I have a better right—for I was a farmer the greater part of my life before I went to reside in London. Now, boy, as I went to live in the Great City—which I don’t like—in order to give you a good education, I expect that you’ll take me to the country—which I do like—to be your overseer. I was born and bred here, Ned; this was my father’s property, and, when I am gone, it shall be yours. It is not much to boast of. You won’t be able to spend an idle life of it here; for, although a goodly place, it must be carefully tended if you would make it pay.”
“I don’t need to tell you,” replied Ned, “that I have no desire to lead an idle life. But, uncle, I think your terms are very high.”
“How so, boy?”
“Love is a very high price to pay for service,” replied Ned. “Your kindness and your generosity56 in this matter make me very happy and very grateful, and, perhaps, might make me very obedient and extremely attentive57; but I cannot give you love at any price. I must refuse you as an overseer, but if you will come to me as old Uncle Shirley—”
“Well, well, Ned,” interrupted the old gentleman, with a benign58 smile, “we’ll not dispute about that. Let us now go and take a run round the grounds.”
It is needless, dear reader, to prolong our story. Perchance we have taxed your patience too much already—but we cannot close without a word or two regarding the subsequent life of those whose fortunes we have followed so long.
Ned Sinton and old Mr Shirley applied59 themselves with diligence and enthusiasm to the cultivation60 of their farm, and to the cultivation of the friendship and good-will of their neighbours all round. In both efforts they were eminently61 successful.
Ned made many interesting discoveries during his residence at Brixley Hall, chief among which was a certain Louisa Leslie, with whom he fell desperately62 in love—so desperately that his case was deemed hopeless. Louisa therefore took pity on him, and became Mrs Sinton, to the unutterable delight of old Mr Shirley—and the cat, both of whom benefited considerably63 by this addition to the household.
About the time this event occurred, Ned received a letter from Tom Collins, desiring him to purchase a farm for him as near to his own as possible. Tom had been successful as a merchant, and had made a large fortune—as was often the case in those days—in the course of a year or two. At first, indeed, he had had a hard struggle, and was more than once nearly driven, by desperation, to the gaming-table, but Ned’s advice and warnings came back upon him again and again—so he fought against the temptation manfully, and came off victorious64. Improved trade soon removed the temptation—perhaps we should say that his heavenly Father took that means to remove it—and at last, as we have said, he made a fortune, as many had done, in like circumstances, before him. Ned bought a farm three miles from his own, and, in the course of a few months, Tom and he were once more walking together, arm in arm, recalling other days, and—arguing.
Lizette and Louisa drew together like two magnets, the instant they met. But the best of it was, Tom had brought home Larry O’Neil as his butler, and Mrs Kate O’Neil as his cook while Nelly became his wife’s maid.
Larry, it seems, had not taken kindly65 to farming in California, the more so that he pitched unluckily on an unproductive piece of land, which speedily swallowed up his little fortune, and refused to yield any return. Larry, therefore, like some men who thought themselves much wiser fellows, pronounced the country a wretched one, in reference to agriculture, and returned to San Francisco, where he found Tom Collins, prospering66 and ready to employ himself and his family.
As butler to an English squire67, Larry O’Neil was, according to his own statement, “a continted man.” May he long remain so!
Nelly Morgan soon became, out of sight, the sweetest girl in the countryside, and, ere long, one of the best young fellows in the district carried her off triumphantly68, and placed her at the head of affairs in his own cottage. We say he was one of the best young fellows—this husband of Nelly’s—but he was by no means the handsomest; many a handsome strapping69 youth there failed to obtain so good a wife as Nelly. Her husband was a steady, hard working, thriving, good man—and quite good-looking enough for her—so Nelly said.
As for Captain Bunting and Bill Jones, they stuck to each other to the last, like two limpets, and both of them stuck to the sea like fish. No shore-going felicities could tempt29 these hardy70 sons of Neptune71 to forsake72 their native element again. He had done it once, Bill Jones said, “in one o’ the splendidest countries goin’, where gold was to be had for the pickin’ up, and all sorts o’ agues and rheumatizes for nothin’; but w’en things didn’t somehow go all square, an’ the anchor got foul73 with a gale74 o’ adwerse circumstances springin’ up astarn, why, wot then?—go to sea again, of coorse, an’ stick to it; them wos his sentiments.” As these were also Captain Bunting’s sentiments, they naturally took to the same boat for life.
But, although Captain Bunting and Bill did not live on shore, they occasionally, at long intervals75, condescended76 to revisit the terrestrial globe, and, at such seasons of weakness, made a point of running down to Brixley Hall to see Ned and Tom. Then, indeed, “the light of other days” shone again in retrospect77 on our adventurers with refulgent78 splendour; then Larry sank the butler, and came out as the miner—as one of the partners of the “R’yal Bank o’ Calyforny”—then Ned and Tom related marvellous adventures, to the admiration of their respective wives, and the captain smote his thigh79 with frequency and emphasis, to the terror of the cat, and Bill Jones gave utterance80 to deeply-pregnant sentences, and told how that, on his last voyage to China, he had been up at Pekin, and had heard that Ah-wow had dug up a nugget of gold three times the size of his own head, and had returned to his native land a millionnaire, and been made a mandarin81, and after that something else, and at last became prime minister of China—so Bill had been told, but he wouldn’t vouch82 for it, no how.
All this, and a great deal more, was said and done on these great and rare occasions—and our quondam gold-hunters fought their battles o’er again, to the ineffable83 delight of old Mr Shirley, who sat in his easy-chair, and gazed, and smiled, and stared, and laughed, and even wept, and chuckled—but never spoke—he was past that.
In the course of time Ned and Tom became extremely intimate with the pastor84 of their village, and were at last his right and left-hand men. This pastor was a man whose aim was to live as his Master had lived before him—he went about doing good—and, of all the happy years our two friends spent, the happiest were those in which they followed in the footsteps and strengthened the hands of this good man, Lizette and Louisa were helpmates to their husbands in this respect, as in all others, and a blessing85 to the surrounding country.
Ned Sinton’s golden dream was over now, in one sense, but by no means over in another. His sleeping and his waking dreams were still, as of old, tinged86 with a golden hue87, but they had not a metallic88 ring. The golden rule was the foundation on which his new visions were reared, and that which we are told is better than gold, “yea, than much fine gold,” was thenceforth eagerly sought for and coveted89 by him. As for other matters—he delighted chiefly in the sunshine of Louisa’s smile, and in fields of golden grain.
The End.
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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bland
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formerly
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par
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passionately
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devoted
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bestowing
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placid
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winks
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akin
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admiration
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prudently
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spoke
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hesitation
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countenance
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lurked
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steadily
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blandly
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warrior
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decided
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brass
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smote
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dingy
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sarcastically
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tempt
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amazement
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retired
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chuckling
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vociferously
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quaint
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rambling
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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bleated
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的过去式和过去分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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prospering
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的现在分词 ) | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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Neptune
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| n.海王星 | |
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forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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refulgent
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| adj.辉煌的，灿烂的 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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84
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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85
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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