



Produced by Curtis Weyant, Graeme Mackreth and PG Distributed
Proofreaders






[Illustration]

BRED IN THE BONE; OR, LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON


A Novel.



BY THE AUTHOR OF

"A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK," "GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST," "CARLYON'S YEAR," "ONE
OF THE FAMILY," "WON--NOT WOOED," &c.


_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_.


NEW YORK: 1872.




CHAPTER I.

CAREW OF CROMPTON.


Had you lived in Breakneckshire twenty years ago, or even any where in
the Midlands, it would be superfluous to tell you of Carew of Crompton.
Every body thereabout was acquainted with him either personally or by
hearsay. You must almost certainly have known somebody who had had an
adventure with that eccentric personage--one who had been ridden down by
him, for that mighty hunter never turned to the right hand nor to the
left for any man, nor paid attention to any rule of road; or one who,
more fortunate, had been "cleared" by him on his famous black horse
_Trebizond_, an animal only second to his master in the popular esteem.
There are as many highly  pictures of his performance of this
flying feat in existence as there are of "Dick Turpin clearing the
Turnpikegate." Sometimes it is a small tradesman cowering down in his
cart among the calves, while the gallant Squire hurtles over him with a
"Stoop your head, butcher." Sometimes it is a wagoner, reminding one of
Commodore Trunnion's involuntary deed of "derring-do," who, between two
high banks, perceives with marked astonishment this portent flying over
himself and convoy. But, at all events, the thing was done; perhaps on
more than one occasion, and was allowed on all hands not only as a fact,
but as characteristic of their sporting idol. It was "Carew all over,"
or "Just like Carew."

This phrase was also applied to many other heroic actions. The idea of
"keel-hauling," for instance, adapted from the nautical code, was said
to be practically enforced in the case of duns, attorneys, and other
objectionable persons, in the lake at Crompton; while the administration
of pommelings to poachers and agriculturists generally, by the athletic
Squire, was the theme of every tongue. These punishments, though severe,
were much sought after by a certain class, the same to which the
purchased free and independent voter belongs, for the clenched fist
invariably became an open hand after it had done its work--a golden
ointment, that is, was always applied after these inflictions, such as
healed all wounds.

Carew of Crompton might at one time have been member for the county, if
he had pleased; but he desired no seat except in the saddle, or on the
driving-box. He showed such skill in riding, and with "the ribbons,"
that some persons supposed that his talents must be very considerable in
other matters, and affected to regret their misuse; there were reports
that he knew Latin better than his own chaplain; and was, or had been,
so diligent a student of Holy Writ, that he could give you chapter and
verse for every thing. But it must be allowed that others were not
wanting to whisper that these traits of scholarship were greatly
exaggerated, and that all the wonder lay in the fact that the Squire
knew any thing of such matters at all; nay, a few even ventured to
express their opinion that, but for his recklessness and his money,
there was nothing more remarkable in Carew than in other spendthrifts;
but this idea was never mooted within twenty miles of Crompton. The real
truth is, that the time was unsuitable to the display of the Squire's
particular traits. He would have been an eminent personage had he been a
Norman, and lived in the reign of King John. Even now, if he could have
removed his establishment to Poland, and assumed the character of a
Russian proprietor, he would doubtless have been a great prince. There
was a savage magnificence about him, and also certain degrading traits,
which suggested the Hetman Platoff. Unfortunately, he was a Squire in
the Midlands. The contrast, however, of his splendid vagaries with the
quiet time and industrious locality in which he lived, while it
diminished his influence, did, on the other hand, no doubt enhance his
reputation. He was looked upon (as Waterford and Mytton used to be) as a
_lusus naturae_, an eccentric, an altogether exceptional personage, to
whom license was permitted; and the charitable divided the human race,
for his sake, into Men, Women, and Carew.

The same philosophic few, however, who denied him talent, averred that
he was half mad; and indeed Fortune had so lavishly showered her favors
on him from his birth, that it might well be that they had turned his
head. His father had died while Carew was but an infant, so that the
surplus income from his vast estates had accumulated to an enormous sum
when he attained his majority. In the mean time, his doting mother had
supplied him with funds out of all proportion to his tender years. At
ten years old, he had a pack of harriers of his own, and hunted the
county regularly twice a week. At the public school, where he was with
difficulty persuaded to remain for a short period, he had an allowance
the amount of which would have sufficed for the needs of a professional
man with a wife and family, and yet it is recorded of him that he had
the audacity--"the boy is father to the man," and it was "so like
Carew," they said--to complain to his guardian, a great lawyer, that his
means were insufficient. He also demanded a lump sum down, on the ground
that (being at the ripe age of fourteen) he contemplated marriage. The
reply of the legal dignitary is preserved, as well as the young
gentleman's application: "If you can't live upon your allowance, you may
starve, Sir; and if you marry, you shall not have your allowance."

You had only--having authority to do so--to advise Carew, and he was
positively certain to go counter to your opinion; and did you attempt to
oppose him in any purpose, you would infallibly insure its
accomplishment. He did not marry at fourteen, indeed, but he did so
clandestinely in less than three years afterward, and had issue; but at
the age of five-and-thirty, when our stage opens, he had neither wife
nor child, but lived as a bachelor at Crompton, which was sometimes
called "the open house," by reason of its profuse hospitalities; and
sometimes "Liberty Hall," on account of its license; otherwise it was
never, called any thing but Crompton; never Crompton Hall, or Crompton
Park--but simply Crompton, just like Stowe or Blenheim. And yet the park
at Crompton was as splendid an appanage of glade and avenue, of copse
and dell, as could be desired. It was all laid out upon a certain
plan--somewhere in the old house was the very parchment on which the
chase was ordered like a garden; a dozen drives here radiated from one
another like the spokes of a wheel, and here four mighty avenues made a
St. Andrew's cross in the very centre--but the area was so immense, and
the stature of the trees so great, that nothing of this formality could
be observed in the park itself. Not only were the oaks and beeches of
large, and often of giant proportions, but the very ferns grew so tall
that whole herds of fallow deer were hidden in it, and could only be
traced by their sounds. There were red deer also, almost as numerous,
with branching antlers, curiously mossed, as though they had acquired
that vegetation by rubbing, as they often did, against the high wooden
pale--itself made picturesque by age--which hedged them in their sylvan
prison for miles. Moreover, there were wild-cattle, as at Chartley
(though not of the same breed), the repute of whose fierceness kept the
few public paths that intersected this wild domain very unfrequented.
These animals, imported half a century ago, were of no use nor of
particular beauty, and would have dwindled away, from the unfitness of
the locality for their support, but that they were recruited
periodically, and at a vast expense. It was enough to cause their
present owner to strain every nerve to retain them, because they were so
universally objected to. They had gored one man to death, and
occasionally maimed others, but, as Carew, to do him justice, was by no
means afraid of them himself, and ran the same risk, and far oftener
than other people, he held he had a right to retain them. Nobody was
obliged to come into his park unless they liked, he said, and if they
did, they must "chance a tossing." The same detractors, whose opinion we
have already quoted, affirmed that the Squire kept these cattle for the
very reason that was urged against their existence; the fear of these
horned police kept the park free from strangers, and thereby saved him
half a dozen keepers.

That his determination in the matter was pig-headed and brutal, there is
no doubt; but the Squire's nature was far from exclusive, and the idea
of saving in any thing, it is certain, never entered into his head. The
time, indeed, was slowly but surely coming when the park should know no
more not only its wild-cattle, but many a rich copse and shadowy glade.
Not a stately oak nor far-spreading beech but was doomed, sooner or
later, to be cut down, to prop for a moment the falling fortunes of
their spendthrift owner; but at the time of which we speak there was no
visible sign of the coming ruin. It is recorded of a brother prodigal,
that after enormous losses and expenses, his steward informed him that
if he would but consent to live upon seven thousand a year for the next
ten years, the estate would recover itself. "Sir," returned he in anger,
"I would rather die than live on seven thousand a year." Our Carew would
have given the same reply had twice that income been suggested to him,
and been applauded for the gallant answer. The hint of any necessity for
curtailment would probably have caused him to double his expenditure
forthwith, though,