(_For the Mirror._)
Truth is strange--stranger than fiction.
LORD BYRON.
"And so the Fernlands is to be sold at last," I said, casually meeting
Mr. Nibble, our under-sheriff--"Poor N----, I am grieved for him, he has
struggled hard against oppression."
"It is quite true, sir," replied the man of the law, "a horning came
down last night, but it will answer no end--for Messrs. Sharke and
Scrapepen, have advertised the whole of the property for public roup
on Tuesday next."
The Fernlands estate had been the family property of the N----s since
the conquest for aught I know. The present representative, after having
sent his sons out into the world, as all Scotchmen do, to fight their
way, (one of whom by the by was accumulating a snug fortune in India)
got involved in some commercial speculation, for which he was wholly
unfitted, being anything but a business man. He was a worthy
unsuspecting fellow, but at last saw his way clearer, and as he thought
got out, though a very heavy loser. In consequence of this scrape he
wrote to his son in India, to say, that unless he could remit him a
large sum, which he named, it would be impossible to keep his ground
at Fernlands.
Very soon afterwards his late partner, who was a good sort of fellow
too, failed, and N---- was paralyzed on receiving a letter from the
attorney to the assignees to say, that not having regularly gazetted his
retirement from the concern, he had rendered himself legally liable to
the creditors of the late firm of ---- and Co., and unless N---- paid
the balance which remained due after the assets of the bankrupt's estate
had been ascertained, that immediate steps would be resorted to, to
compel him. The matter soon got abroad, and all N----'s other creditors
also pressed forward to crush him--well, to make a disagreeable story
short, the end is as I have previously related. Poor N---- is to be
ruined to pay another man's debts, after a vast deal to do with law and
lawyers, and much heat on both sides.
I had taken great interest in the matter from the first, and it was with
deep feelings of sorrow that I saw this excellent family likely to be
driven from the home of their forefathers, by the merciless and often
unjust hand of the law. N---- was, I believe, generally liked, and no
person in need, in the district where he resided, looked up to the
_Laird_ for advice or assistance in vain. You may judge therefore
of the public sensation. While these matters were pending, N---- looked
with the deepest anxiety for the arrival of a letter from his son in
India; and every day did he send his servant express to the little
post-office at ----, but in vain.
At last the fatal day of sale arrived. N----, in the depth of his
distress had early sent for me to consult whether even at the eleventh
hour something could not be done to avert the calamity. A sinking man
catches at a straw. It wanted less than three hours of the time of sale
when I entered the grounds of Fernlands. The gate was half off its
hinges, the posts plastered with advertisements of the sale; and people,
as always happens in such cases, were already pouring towards the house
more from a motive of curiosity than from an intention of purchasing
anything. As I advanced towards the scene of action, I could observe
that the shrubberies were injured, and the rare plants and flowers
which both N---- and his wife had valued so much--for they were fond
of the study of nature--exhibited evident tokens of the mischief of
the careless multitude thronging to the show. The day was clear and
beautiful, the breeze played through the leafy wilderness with a joyous
effect; the contrast between the peace and harmony of nature, and the
discord and tumult of man and his deeds, was affecting. But such
thoughts were soon chased away from my mind, as I advanced over a
portion of the lawn towards the stables, I saw N----'s favourite mare,
and the old pony, Jack, (whom I recollected as the companion of N----'s
boys, and as tractable as a dog,) in the hands of a rascally sheriff's
officer, who was showing them to a horse-dealer from a neighbouring
town. The lawn in the front of the house was covered with straggling
groups of people, either discussing the event of the day, or examining
some of the furniture which was strewed there.
"Eh, sirs!" said an old man, brushing a tear from his eye, "I never
thoucht to ha' seen the like o' this day's wark--and my forbears have
had a bit o' farm under the laird's a hundred an' saxteen year, and
better nor kinder folk to the puir man never lived."
Mr. Nibble, who was Messrs. Sharke's agent, was bustling about, and
I found him engaged with a fat, pompous little fellow, the auctioneer,
from a neighbouring town.
"Sad business this, Mr. ----," said he, "Fernlands is in a sad taking
about it, I believe, but things of this kind will occur, you know; and
I always say what can't be cured must be endured, eh."
I turned with an ill-concealed expression of disgust from this man, and
entered the house in search of my friend, for N---- would not quit the
old place to the last. There is something melancholy in viewing a sale
at any time--the disarrangement of the furniture--the cheerless and
chilling aspect of the rooms--the dirt, the bustle, and the heartless
indifference one witnesses to the misfortunes of others--all come home
forcibly to the feelings. After stumbling and striking my shins amongst
piles of chairs, and furniture, and carpets, disposed in lots over the
now comfortless apartments, I at last reached the study door where I had
spent many a happy hour with N----. I entered; the room was stripped of
part of its furniture, the books lying dispersed in heaps over the floor
or on the massive table, at the side of which N---- was seated on the
only chair left in the apartment. He was at first unconscious of my
entrance.
"My dear sir, this is kind indeed," he said as I advanced, struggling
with his feelings, "but take a chair," and he glanced round the room
with a bitter smile, as he observed there was none, "my friends are kind
you see, they think chairs are useless things...."
The loss of his land affected him more than I can describe. He had been
brought up upon it, and it had become as it were part and parcel of
himself; it was not an ordinary loss. The noise and bustle in the house
and sundry interruptions from inquisitive eyes, warned us, as N----
said, that "we must jog." As we were rising, I accidentally inquired
whether he had received his letters that morning. "Good God!" he
exclaimed, "I totally forgot, and poor Andrew I fancy is too much
occupied in bemoaning the fate of the horses, to have thought of it;
but we can get them when I return with you this afternoon."
"Delays are dangerous," I replied, "we will not throw a chance away."
We hastened to the stable, and I despatched the servant on my own horse,
with the utmost expedition to the post-office at ----.
N---- sauntered through a private path in the shrubbery towards the
entrance of the grounds, and I made my way through the careless throng,
who had no thought what their own fate might be perhaps to-morrow--to
Mr. Nibble, and urged him to delay the sale for an hour, but he said it
was impossible, he would not hurry it for half an hour or so, but that
they were already pressed for time. The landed property was first to be
brought to the hammer. I mechanically followed the steps of N----, and
when I overtook him, we saw through a break in the wood, from the
increased density of the mob and the elevation of the auctioneer, that
the sale was commencing.
We gave up all for lost. At this moment I fancied I heard the noise of
a horse urged to full gallop. The blood rushed to our hearts; we sprung
through the trees towards the road; in another moment Andrew was in
sight, urging his horse to his utmost speed. The instant he saw us he
waved his hat, "A packet from abroad, sir," he sung out as he
approached, "from our young master, I'm sure."
"God be praised, you are saved," was all I could utter; poor N---- was
faint with sudden joy and hope. We tore open the envelope, which
contained bills from his son in India to a large amount. I saw N---- was
unable to think, and without more ado, I squeezed his hand, seized the
letter, and put spurs to my horse. The bidding had commenced when I
reached the wondering crowd, who rapidly fell back as they saw me
approach. But why should I tire you any longer; in a couple of hours
Fernlands remained unpolluted by one of the mob, or legal harpies who
had invaded it. You may guess the rest....
A friend related the preceding incident to me; the reader may suppose
him to be addressing myself. The leading circumstances are strictly
true, the names and some trifling matters alone being altered. The story
is invested with interest from its great similarity to a portion of the
plot of the "Antiquary;" I have the strongest reason to believe, from
the intimate acquaintance the great novelist possessed with the country,
that he drew Sir Arthur Wardour's similar escape from ruin, from a
recollection of the event briefly related above.