John Deane of Nottingham: Historic Adventures by Land and Sea. William Henry Giles Kingston

horseback, and enjoys the free air of heaven, galloping across country, there is not a pleasanter sort of life. And it is not unprofitable either, if a man knows any thing about beasts, and where are the best pastures on which to put flesh on their bones. If my father and mother, therefore, have no objection, I have made up my mind to turn drover.”

      Most of the company expressed their surprise at this announcement, by their looks if not by their remarks. Mr. Deane was evidently somewhat annoyed at the announcement his younger son had made. Alethea especially looked at him across the table with surprise, while the colour mounted into his sister Polly’s cheeks, for though she had heard him express the same resolution, she little dreamed that he was in earnest in the matter, thinking that it was only a way of talking in which lads of his age were apt to indulge.

      “I should think, my lad, that you are fit for a higher walk in life than the one you have mentioned,” said Mr. Harwood across the table. “With a trusty sword by your side, and a hundred men at your orders, you would be more in your place, I suspect. There is plenty of work for gentlemen in these days, if not in Old England, at all events out of it. There are many wrongs to be righted, and many good causes to be sustained. There are many I could tell you of who would willingly accept the offer of your sword.”

      Mrs. Deane looked highly pleased at the compliment Mr. Harwood was paying her son, and thanked him with one of her beaming smiles, although Cousin Nat screwed up his lips in a peculiar manner and gave a significant look at Jack.

      “Thank you, sir,” said Jack, “but I have no fancy for offering my sword to any one out of the country, however high he may bid for it, or in using it, indeed, except in my own defence, or in that of my country. I do not see what is amiss in the life of a drover, such as I hope to be one of these days. It is no easy task, I should say, to drive three hundred head of cattle from the Yorkshire hills down South, and I hope in time to deal on a large scale, like Mr. Strelley, and other friends I know of.”

      “Well, well, Master Jack, you must take your own way,” answered Mr. Harwood, “or be guided by your honoured parents: we will have a talk another time about these matters.”

      Mr. Deane’s lips had become considerably compressed while his son was speaking, and there was an hysterical cry from Aunt Bethia, whose great wish had always been to see her favourite Jack figure in what she called good society.

      “You may quit the society of your equals, for which you have so little respect, Jack,” said his father in somewhat stern accents; “those you do not value will take little pains to keep you among them; but let me hear no more of this matter. Now, friends,” he continued, making an effort to recover his usual tone of voice, “fill the ladies’ glasses, and keep the bottles moving among you. Lads often talk nonsense when they fancy they are talking sense, and so may I beg you to forget what my son Jack has just said? He will think better on the subject another day.”

      “Don’t be too hard on the lad, cousin,” said Dr. Nathaniel, turning to the host. “It is a great thing, in my opinion, to get a young man to choose a profession for himself. There are too many men like Jack who are not content unless they can mount a helmet and jackboots, and go about the world slaughtering their fellow-creatures without rhyme or reason, should they not find a good cause to fight for. So, Jack, here’s to your health, my boy, and success to you in whatever honest calling you determine to follow!”

      Dr. Nathaniel’s word was law in Mr. Deane’s family, as it was in several others in the town, and he therefore quickly succeeded in smoothing down the somewhat ruffled temper of different members of the family.

      Other toasts and speeches followed, but the songs which were generally sung on such occasions were reserved for the supper, of which all the guests present were expected to partake, at a later hour of the day.

      The ladies then rising, gracefully sailed out of the room, while the gentlemen continued to pass the battle round for some time longer. It was still broad daylight, though the fresh air of evening was already blowing through the windows. Mrs. Deane therefore proposed to her female guests that they should enjoy the breeze for a while on the Castle Terrace, which was the usual promenade of the gay world of Nottingham, and there was a general call for hoods and gloves. The party of ladies, as they glided out of the house, precedence being given to the more elderly dames, took their way towards the castle, and passing through the grand gateway which had stood so many attacks, soon ascended the broad stone steps with massive balustrades which led in two flights to the noble terrace in front of the building. It was well paved with large flat stones, and with a breastwork of stone, and on the south side of the castle a convenient arcade, where in rainy or hot weather the gentry of the town could walk under shelter. On that beautiful summer’s evening, however, the ladies required only their green fans to protect their eyes from the almost level rays of the setting sun, which fans the young ones occasionally found useful for other purposes—either to hide their faces from an unwelcome admirer, or to beckon a too timid one, perchance. The park with its three long avenues lay before them, and the steep declivities which ran down from it to the river Leen were covered with woods, broken here by some old tower which had withstood all attempts at its demolition, and there by a jutting mass of grey rock, looking scarcely more solid than the rock-like masonry of the tower. The new building had only been finished the year Jack was born, as Mrs. Deane was in the habit of telling any friends who came to visit her for the first time at Nottingham. It was built in the Italian style of architecture, with a fine double flight of steps to the principal entrance, over which was an equestrian alto-relievo of Charles the Second. The flat roofs were surrounded by balustrades, and the spaces between the long terrace of windows were filled up with architraves and entablatures, which produced a rich and picturesque though somewhat heavy effect. On one side the view ranged over the town, with its fine churches, and the distant sweeps of Sherwood Forest, and the nearer woods of Colwick Park. On the other side lay a rich and varied expanse of country, with the silvery Trent winding through the valley, and round many a bold and thickly wooded promontory; while the hills of Derbyshire and Leicestershire formed a beautiful background to the peaceful and smiling landscape.

      Kate and Polly Deane, with Alethea Harwood, after taking a turn or two, sat down on one of the stone benches on the terrace. This was the first moment that they had had the opportunity of speaking together on the subject of Jack’s determination to leave home, though neither Alethea nor Kate could believe he really purposed following the calling of a drover. Polly, who knew him better, was not so sure on the subject. He had often described to her in glowing language the life which he proposed to lead, and she could not help sympathising with him in that as in most other matters in which he took an interest.

      “But surely he is formed for better things than that,” observed Alethea, and Polly thought she saw a slight blush rise on the cheek of her friend.

      “He would never consent to associate with the rude, rough men which drovers surely must be, even though he might meet occasionally with the adventures you describe,” she exclaimed.

      “Oh! but he intends not only to be a drover, but a grazier; and that, he tells me, is a sure road to wealth and independence,” observed Polly.

      “Here he comes to answer for himself,” said Kate, and the young ladies, looking up, saw Jack advancing towards them, and presenting a very becoming appearance in his grey suit, with his hair brushed as smoothly back from his smooth open forehead as its curly nature would admit of, and his hat in his hand, a fashion he gladly adopted, to avoid the necessity of constantly removing it as he passed his numerous acquaintances.

      Polly’s affectionate little heart bounded at seeing many friendly glances thrown at him, and she whispered to Kate, in a tone which Alethea overheard, “He does not look as if we need ever be ashamed of him, after all.”

      “If he follows the life he proposes, he will never wear a sword like a gentleman,” observed Kate.

      “He is tolerably well able, I should say, to defend himself without one,” observed Alethea, “from the specimen he gave us of his prowess this afternoon,” and she described the scene which had occurred on their entering the town, when Jack had so bravely taken the part of the poor widow’s cow.

      While