John Tincroft, bachelor and benedict

by George E. Sargent

Portmanteaus, trunks, boxes, and carpet bags were heaped on the roof of the Tally-ho. There was a huge mountain of them, for some dozen or two gownsman were "going down" that day on this particular coach, and dozens more would follow on the morrow, and more morrows after that. And so with all other coaches going out of the university city on those days and every succeeding day till the old colleges were empty.

From the Angel, up the High Street, by Carfax, along the New Road, over the Botley bridges, on and on the coach rattled merrily, with John Tincroft and Tom Grigson among its passengers. It was early morning when they started from Oxford; evening was drawing on when they were safely deposited with their luggage at the town on the old coach road nearest to their destination. There the dog-cart from the Manor House received them, and in another hour they were safely landed, had performed their ablutions, changed their dusty travelling attire, and were doing justice to the late dinner specially prepared for their benefit.

The shy, awkward gownsman had no reason to complain of his reception. His host was a bluff, good-natured bachelor, older than his brother Tom by a dozen years or more. He prided himself on being a country gentleman of the good old school, without any nonsense about him (which, however, sometimes implies a good deal of that commodity); and the hearty welcome he gave to the invited guest was none the less agreeable, perhaps, for being rough and homely as well as sincere.

"You'll have to take us as we are," said Mr. Richard Grigson: "all I can say is that this is Liberty Hall."

And so it was Liberty Hall. It was a pleasant change for John Tincroft, who, as we have said, had never known what it was to have a comfortable home of his own. The Manor House was a large, rambling old place, something between a mansion and a farmhouse, with plenty of rooms in it, well furnished with old-fashioned furniture. There was one room with a cheerful aspect, overlooking a pretty flower garden, and bookcases lining its walls: it was the library of the old house. Tincroft sat there from day to day—one hour with Tom Grigson reading, and as many hours as he pleased by himself, studying for his vocation in the East, till he almost forgot that he was "under a cloud."

Richard Grigson was a good specimen of his class, and a good match for his house. He was half farmer, half idler. He was rich, so he had no need to work; was strong in constitution and active in habits, so he was a sportsman. He shot in shooting season, hunted in hunting season, and thought it a waste of time to read much beyond the daily and weekly papers and a sporting magazine. Add to this, Richard Grigson was reckoned a fair sort of landlord by his numerous tenants—small farmers mostly—so long as they paid their rents with tolerable punctuality. We shall, however, know more about him by-and-by.

As to Tom Grigson, the collegian, he would very well have liked to be as idle and active as his brother; but the fates were against him, as he would have said. He was a younger brother, with only a younger brother's portion—a very small one; and needs must that he would have to work for his living, in some respectable and gentlemanly way, of course, but still to work. So he had consented to go to college, to learn how to do it, or how not to do it, as the case might be.

To tell the truth, Tom was not much more studiously inclined than his elder brother. At any rate, he did not see the fun of poring over books in vacation time, when he could be on horseback half the day, and lounging the other half of it to his heart's content. Very soon, therefore, John Tincroft had the library to himself, and worked away with his Oriental studies.

"This will never do, Tincroft," said his host to him one day, two or three weeks after his arrival; "you are positively wearing yourself to skin and bone with your books and all the rest of it."

"Am I?" said John, glancing nervously at his nether extremities, and feeling his arm above the elbow. "No, I don't think I am, though," he added, in so serious a tone that his friend laughed.