“Plenty to talk of!—to be sure there is. But I have no notion of people having such thin skins, such tender ears, that they can’t bear to hear of a tree falling or of a hedge being lopped. And I am sure I very seldom refer to the thing.”
“Only every time that George Woodburn is here, dear father. Though he does not trouble himself about it, it must become tiresome to him.”
“So he finds my company tiresome, does he, eh? A nice young man! Perhaps he’ll find yours tiresome soon, Elizabeth, if he be so difficult to please. So that’s the way the wind blows, eh? Um—um!”—or rather an indescribable noise made with his mouth shut and through his nose.
At Woodburn Grange, Mr. Woodburn would say—
“Have you seen Miss Drury lately?”
“Yes; she was here this morning.”
“Oh, she was! She takes care that I don’t see her. I suppose she’s not pleased with me because I don’t like the devastations of that father of hers. I suppose she takes up the cudgels for him. Well, I am sorry for it—I am sorry indeed that such a sweet, good creature has such a father. As for poor Mrs. Drury, she does not seem to have a soul of her own. She is just like a scared automaton, if an automaton could be scared. She must have had a pretty life of it with such a man.”
If George were in, he would quietly get up and go out, and then Mrs. Woodburn, or Ann, if at home, would say, “Pray don’t make such remarks, dear father—or husband—don’t you see how painful they are to George; and as for Elizabeth Drury, she loves and honours you most sincerely. Oh, what a misfortune that ever they came so near us!”
In the meantime, Mr. Trant Drury went on his way in his own way, which was of unwavering, confident comfortableness in his assurance that all which he thought and did was right. To him all adverse criticism was ignorance, all opposition envy. He lamented the benighted condition of his bucolic neighbours, and was certain that he should show them all their deficiencies. Mr. Drury had, in the north, been a high authority, and he soon let it be known that it was the same Mr. Trant Drury, whose letters in the “Farmers’ Journal,” and in the York and Doncaster newspapers, on all agricultural topics were so well known. “Eh! so this is the great Mr. Drury of Yorkshire,” said Sir Roger Rockville, and Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, and Squire Swagsides, “that we have got among us: that is very fortunate.” Mr. Drury soon took the opportunity to make the public aware of this great fact still further, by some letters in the Castleborough papers, containing remarks on the improvements which might obviously be introduced into that part of the country. He was very soon consulted by landowners on the nature of such improvements, which they hoped would lead to an augmentation of rents. Mr. Drury soon became much in request for valuations of stock and crops in cases of farms passing from one tenant to another, in matters of drainage and manures, and treatment of woods,—and in all these departments he was really extremely skilful. He attended public meetings in different counties of an agricultural character, and made speeches which went through the newspapers far and wide.
It was soon made known by himself that he had been consulted by Sir Roger Rockville, Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, Sir Timothy Sheepshanks, Lord Rancliffe, the Earl Manvers, and others, on the condition of their estates. Not one of them, however, we are well informed, could be brought to listen to cropping all their fences close, and knocking down all their hedge-row trees, except Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, and one or two of his neighbours. In the rest, Mr. Drury said, the old feudal notions of things were too strongly rooted to allow of their ridding their lands of any trees. Mr. Woodburn, when he heard that Mr. Drury had actually become the steward of Sir Benjamin Bullockshed, and was going to display his science on his farms, blessed his stars that that estate lay at some distance, and that the odious disfigurement and stripping bare of nature would not often offend his eyes.