CHAPTER IV.
THE WOODBURNS AND THEIR NEIGHBOURS.
Amongst the families which called on the Degges was that of Mr. Leonard Woodburn, of Woodburn Grange. The Woodburns did not belong to the so-called great families of the county, but to those of smaller but independent estate, whose heads were formerly classed under the name of yeomen. Mr. Woodburn was the possessor of about four hundred acres of freehold land, beautifully situated about a mile beyond Rockville, in the vicinity of the Trent, and beautifully cultivated. The house was one of those old Elizabethan ones with a variety of projections, pointed gables, and mullioned windows. The chimneys were of the cross-banded and ornamented kind which are now regarded as extremely beautiful, and, indeed, they had been thought so a good while ago, for the father of Sir Thomas Tenterhook, when rebuilding Tenterhook Hall, had asked the father of the present Mr. Woodburn if he had any objection to sell them. A proposal, which Mr. Woodburn had with true yeoman feeling of independence, regarded as so great an insult, that he turned his back on the baronet as he sat at his gate on horseback, and in presence of his groom, and closing the gate pretty sharply, walked into the house without deigning a reply.
The present Mr. Woodburn, who had been the only son, was a man of a liberal education, fond of classical literature, and more deeply learned in all the history, both general and family, of the county, than any other man in it. Nay, there was scarcely a family of any note in England of which he did not possess a knowledge which continually surprised you. He had a real love for topography and family history, which had led him, as it would seem, insensibly to acquire not only this knowledge of domestic annals, but of the titles of almost all the estates in the county, many copies of which, curious and important in their way, he possessed; and this knowledge made him a great authority in cases of disputed title, and had led him to decide the issue of several most noted trials. He had a habit also of noting down all sorts of curious facts which came to his knowledge either in the course of his reading of books, or of the newspapers, or which he heard verbally. These curiosa had accumulated into several volumes, which he kept locked up in his desk, and which he would bring out occasionally as something of public interest was occurring, or as something in conversation had suggested the reference. A somewhat odd medley a stranger would have regarded the contents of these volumes, for amongst public and important facts, would be found jotted down birth-days, dates of weddings, and funerals of his family or neighbours; and even remarkable cases of prolificness of fowls, cattle, and fruit-trees on his farm. There was an entry of the turkey, or the hen that had laid away in the copse or the thicket, and came forth unexpectedly with some fifteen or twenty pouts, or chickens. The tame hawk, which was reared by George, his son, and suddenly flying away, became not only wild, but the scourge of his poultry-yard, by making continual visits to it, till at length shot, stands in immediate succession to the history of the lawyer of the neighbouring town, who, reared at the cost of the clergyman of Cotmanhaye, whose shoeblack and errand boy he had originally been, had grown rich by harassing the poor people of the country round by all sorts of vexatious suits.
Mr. Woodburn was a quiet gentleman, of somewhat above the middle stature, now approaching fifty. He would not at that time of day have been addressed by letter as esquire, though every man who is not exactly a sweep or a costermonger is so now. He would be written down, however, Leonard Woodburn of Woodburn, gent., in any public document, or county summons on judicial service. Mr. Woodburn might be seen daily riding on a good sturdy horse about his farm, and in harvest time he did not hesitate to take a hand at raking or forking in the hay-field, or binding after his reapers in the corn-field; and on such occasions his children would turn out for a frolic, rather than for serious work. His harvest done, Leonard Woodburn shot over his own land, accompanied by his son George, now just come of age, and who was treading in his father’s steps, being fond of both agricultural pursuits and of the gun.
Mrs. Woodburn was a fine, large, comely woman, who, though as well educated as the ladies generally of her day, and fond of hearing books read in winters’ evenings rather than reading them herself, had her heart and pride in her house and her dairy. Churning, cheese-making, looking after her fowls, her eggs, her calves, and pigs, and pigeons, her ducks, geese, turkeys, guinea-fowls, her fruit both of garden and orchard, storing it up, or preserving it; these were the great business of her daily life, and afforded her a perpetual satisfaction. It was a real delight to see Mrs. Woodburn amid her daily duties of this kind, with her handsome, sunny, smiling face, and tall and ample but active figure, directing her maids, or helping even in an emergency, or, to instruct a novice, kneeling on a soft bass, leaning over the side of the large brass pan, with her fair, full, and finely rounded arms bared to near the shoulder, crushing down the curd in the whey, or crumbling it and pressing it into the vat. Or you might see her surrounded by a large flock of glossy pigeons in the farm-yard, who had descended from their tower surmounting one of the buildings to receive her daily bounty. Not that Mrs. Woodburn deemed it her express duty to feed any of the farm-yard creatures; that belonged to the men-folk, who not only foddered horses and cows, but fed pigs and poultry, and the pigeons came down quickly and put in for their share with the numerous and scuffling family of ducks, geese, turkeys, and all the rest of them.
It was the custom of farm-houses, and the custom reigned at Woodburn Grange, for the mistress of the house to receive the profits on pigs, calves and poultry, with all their eggs, feathers, or other appurtenances. These were her perquisites, with the butter, in most cases, to furnish her wardrobe and for spending money. It was, therefore, natural that the farmer’s wife should keep a patronising eye on the creatures within her province, and Mrs. Woodburn thus frequently made her visit to the farm-yard; saw whether the pigs were well fed and bedded, and that all the feathered flocks in the yard, or in the paddock, or on the pond were prosperous. The dairymaid fed the calves till they were ready for the butcher, or to be turned out into the orchard, where they at first galloped with cocked tails, to and fro, with a frantic velocity that made it marvellous that they did not crack their silly, but joyful skulls against the trees. For some time after their liberation from the calf-house to daylight and freedom, they were the dairymaid’s care, and Mrs. Woodburn taking her rambles through the ample kitchen-garden, could stand and survey the infant herd with professional and a sort of motherly satisfaction.
Besides their son George, the Woodburns had two daughters, the elder one, who was really the oldest of the three children, was the sedate, but kindly Ann. Ann at this epoch was four or five-and-twenty: of middle stature, an extremely neat figure; of a very sweet, serious countenance. Quiet, thoughtful, very prudent in her disposition, but with warm and deep, but not demonstrative feelings. Ann loved music, and played well on the piano, on which she was frequently called to charm away the evening hours when the family was assembled. She was fond of reading, but not of a very wide range of literature. She had her favourite books of poetry and piety in her own room, and had the strongest attachment to certain authors. They were those who touched her heart rather than excited her imagination, and their thoughts and sentiments were familiar to her mind as her own thoughts. In the light literature of the day she took comparatively little interest, though she was ever ready to read to her mother what she liked. Ann devoted herself to the cares of the house, but not of the farm. She saw that the meals were all duly prepared and served: saw that all the rooms were kept in nicest order; helped often to make a pudding or a pie, and took care, if guests were expected, that all was in order to receive and entertain them. Besides these duties, Ann loved the garden, rejoiced in tending the flowers, and looking after the bees, which had a large shed, and occupied several shelves in it with their hives towards the lower and sunniest corner of the garden. Such was Ann, quiet, cheerful, loving, and busy, but never bustling. Every one relied much on her clear, good sense and loving interest in them: every one consulted her in their difficulties, and received from her almost invariably, the very wisest counsels. Mr. Woodburn said Ann was like many other still waters, she was deep, and his familiar name for her was, “Old Sobersides.”
The last of the flock was the lively, laughing Letitia, seldom called anything but Letty. Sweet Letty was about seventeen; with all the vivacity, and eager frank life of a schoolgirl. In fact, she was that till the other day. Now, she was the sunshine, the flying, quivering sunshine called Jack-a-dandy, sent by reflection from a basin of water over walls and ceilings in blithest dance. Letty, like the Jack-a-dandy, was here and there, in the house, in the garden, full of joy and love of all things around her; with a face more charming than beautiful, all smiles and frolic, Letty was ready to lend a helping hand to her mother or sister; full of talk and question, making every one glad with her own gladness, and ready to take a stroll or a ride with her father or George, and to astonish them with the frank, open, genuine expressions of her young and innocent heart. Everything they told her of the people or the things amid which they lived interested her, and any relation of cruel or unkind treatment of any one, fetched up the colour of a most lovely roseate indignation to her young, pure cheek, and the warmest expressions of it to her tongue. Such was blithe Letty—simple, yet shrewd, loving and light-hearted, the happy embodiment of ardent and out-blossoming womanhood.
But Woodburn Grange was a spot made for a happy home, for substantial ease and abundance, not for grandeur. There was everything there which enabled its possessors to enjoy the country. A handsome income; all the rural luxuries of life; horses, an open, but not a close carriage, a boat on the charming river below, hearts ready to love good and intelligent neighbours, and such neighbours to love.