THE REVOLUTION IN MIDDEN HARBOUR.
“O happy home! where man and wife in heart,
In faith and hope are one,
That neither life nor death can part
The holy union here begun.
O happy home! where little voices
Their glad hosannas love to raise;
And childhood’s lisping tongue rejoices
To bring new songs of love and praise.”
_Spitta._
Amongst all the good people of Nestleton and its environs there was
none who entertained a more grateful love to the fair young mistress
of Waverdale Hall than Old Kasper Crabtree, to whom she had been so
gentle a nurse, and by whom he had been brought into possession of the
Gospel hope. Soon after the return of Philip and Lucy from their
wedding trip, and when they had fairly settled down among the
villagers, in the midst of whom their lives were to be spent “in
giving and receiving good,” they received a message from the old man
requesting an early visit. He was seriously ill, and desired, with
their permission, to put into their hands a solemn and important
trust. His request was promptly responded to. The old man’s face
lighted up with pleasure at the sight of Lucy, and it was with equal
pleasure that she heard his testimony of peace with God and hope of
heaven.
“And now,” said he, “my end is near, and I wish to unburden myself of
a trouble which has lately distressed me a good deal. You know that
I’m a solitary old man, without relatives, near or distant. I am
anxious to put what little fortune I have inherited and accumulated,
in trust for the thorough renovation of Midden Harbour. The miserable
houses, the want of drainage, and the generally dilapidated and
uncleanly condition of my property there, makes it all but impossible
for the poor tenants to improve much in morality and decency. I want
to ask you if you will kindly take charge of this work, and expend
such monies as I shall devote to that purpose in carrying out a
radical improvement of the place.”
To this his hearers willingly consented, heartily approving of his
design.
“Now,” said he, “I can die in peace. The result of my shameful neglect
you will undo, and repair the consequences of my selfish
indifference.”
Philip prayed with him; he and Lucy bade him good-bye, and in a few
days the old man passed away, rejoicing in the sure and certain hope
of eternal life. When his will came to be read it was discovered that
Kasper Crabtree had left all he possessed, absolutely and without
condition, to Lucy Fuller, “in grateful acknowledgment,” said the
will, “of my eternal debt of gratitude to her, and in full confidence
that it will be well employed for the good of those I have too much
neglected, and for the glory of God.”
The reformation of Midden Harbour was a congenial task to Philip and
his wife. One after the other the old ricketty cottages were pulled
down and others built, healthy, comfortable, and commodious. The place
was effectively drained, gardens were laid out, an abundance of trees
and shrubs were planted, the pathways were paved, and the whole
appearance of the place was so thoroughly revolutionised as to have
lost its identity. The inhabitants, most of whom were members of the
Methodist society, drew up a round robin, and presented it to their
new landlord, with a unanimous request that the old name, once
sufficiently descriptive of its unsavoury condition, should be changed
for some other which should be more in harmony with the new and happy
condition of things. It was some time before its youthful owners could
hit upon a satisfactory title; at last they decided to call it Kasper
Grove, and so to hand down to posterity the name of the old man to
whom it was indebted for its transformation. Midden Harbour was
defunct, swept out of existence, but Kasper Grove continues to this
day, and holds a place among the lions of Nestleton quite as
attractive as the ancient abbey or Saint Madge’s Well.
* * * * *
My story now draws nigh to a conclusion, but I must give my readers
just a final glimpse at the principal actors in the village history I
have tried to chronicle.
Nathan Blyth transferred his business to a son of Jabez Hepton, who
had been taught his handicraft by Nathan himself, and was said to
possess much of the skill and cunning for which his master had long
been famous, and which had brought so much of profit, that in Nathan’s
prudent hands, it had made him independent of the anvil. That good man
was able to retire on a comfortable competency and to devote his time
to tending the olive plants that soon began to grow round Lucy’s
table, to active evangelic service in the Kesterton Circuit, for as a
preacher he was in great request, and to give pleasure and delight to
the old squire, who found in him an intelligent and congenial
companion, well read in that sacred lore which was now Squire Fuller’s
favourite study. Nathan retained his old house, in which also Harry
Hepton and his young wife resided and cared for his creature comforts.
He didn’t spend much time there, as may be well imagined, but still,
like a wise man, he kept his household goods around him, and lived as
happily as most mortals may. Though he had forsaken the anvil’s
musical clink, he did not, by any means, give up singing. His grand
tenor voice, mingling with Lucy’s musical treble and the tones of the
piano, out of which her magic fingers evolved sweetest harmonies,
formed an unfailing attraction to the happy inmates of Waverdale Hall.
The old squire continued hale and hearty and it may be safely said
that he never enjoyed life as much as now. His lonely habits were all
broken in upon under the new _regime_. The library was still a
favourite resort, but Lucy was there with her wool-work or other
dainty task, and Philip or his father read for their mutual
delectation. By-and-bye, the squire developed quite a romping
tendency, and the youthful scions of the house of Fuller were in a
fair way of being spoiled by “Grandy,” who in their society renewed
his youth. His lines were cast in pleasant places, and his gratitude
to God found increasing expression in his kindly visits to the
villagers and his unflagging interest in everything that pertained to
the cause of Christ.
Philip himself was speedily elevated to the dignity of a county
magistrate, and, to what he regarded as even a higher honour, the
position of a local preacher on the Kesterton plan. He was beloved and
esteemed by all whose lot was cast within the circle of his
wide-spread influence, and was universally respected throughout the
Riding. As for Lucy, I need scarcely say that she dove-tailed into her
new position like one to the manner born, and all that this life can
give of peace and happiness was enjoyed in connection with a piety and
a Christian service, which will give mellow memories to Waverdale as
long as its sylvan glories shall unfold their beauties beneath the
breath of returning spring.
Old Adam Olliver and Judith, blest and happy, lived with Pete, whose
Transatlantic gains sufficed for more than all their wants. He
embarked in the corn trade, and soon gained for himself a connection
that promised to be even more lucrative than the employment he had
left beyond the sea, when he was drawn homeward by the magic of his
mother’s prayers. He soon gave a convincing proof of his good sense by
selecting for a wife the fair and gentle Mary Morris, who was as good
a daughter to Judith and Old Adam as she had been to her ailing
mother, and so the declining years of the dear old couple were spent
in comfort and in peace.
Piggy Morris, under the influence of the new life which had dawned on
him in Midden Harbour, forsook for ever the bar of the Green Dragon
and the drinking habits which had been the bane of his life. His was a
thorough regeneration, and his hearty activities in connection with
the Methodist Church were only equalled by the vigour with which he
turned his keen business abilities to the best account as a cattle
dealer. He became known in this character through all East Yorkshire,
and by his rapidly-increasing gains speedily surrounded his
long-suffering but now happy “Sally,” with a home atmosphere which
wrought a wondrous change in her health and made her quite a bustling
body, a happy and contented wife.
John Morris, to be known as Black Morris no more for ever, pursued his
chosen occupation with much diligence. He studied hard, gaining wisdom
and experience in his profession, until his services as a veterinary
surgeon were in continual request. He found a fitting partner in
Hannah Olliver. As fellow-labourers in the Sunday-school, their
friendship had ripened into love, and that once dressy, but always
good-looking, damsel made him a wife of whom he was justly proud.
Bob and Dick Morris, aided by Pete Olliver and Philip Fuller, were
enabled to regain their father’s farm at Eastthorpe. Here Mrs. Morris,
senior, found unfailing pleasure in the oversight of the familiar
dairy of her younger years. Jake Olliver mated with the maiden whom,
despite the ghost of Nestleton Abbey, he had paid many a late visit to
Cowley Priory to see. As the hind on Mr. Houston’s wold farm, he began
his married life under sunny auspices, and had no more of cloudy
weather than usually falls to mortal lot.
Of the Houston family, I have little to say. That good man and his
estimable wife lived to old age, and were succeeded by still another
Houston; there is indeed every probability of the farm being handed
down in connection with the Houston name for ever. It will interest my
readers to know that the Rev. Matthew Mitchell secured the lovely
Grace in bonds which only death could loosen. Impelled by a spirit of
zeal for his Master’s cause, Mr. Mitchell became a missionary, with
the hearty good-will of his devoted wife. Should these village annals
find acceptance, I may venture to tell the story of these two brave
souls, and of the mission which they established beneath the mango and
the palm.
The Rev. Theophilus Clayton, after a few more years spent in active
work, became a supernumerary. He settled down at Nestleton in response
to Philip Fuller’s earnest invitation. That open-handed friend of the
Lord’s servants rendered his declining years exceptionally pleasant.
Methodism has yet much to learn in the way of just or generous
treatment of those who have spent their lives and exhausted their
strength in her service. The pitiful pittance she doles out to them
often amounts to semi-starvation. This grudging policy reacts
mischievously on the Church, in forcing feeble men to occupy the posts
of onerous duty, and also in depriving the time-worn toiler of the
quiet repose which would lengthen life and perpetuate, at least, a
portion of their Church activities.
It would never do to forget so important a character as honest Balaam,
who was now permitted, not only to taste, but positively to banquet on
the sweets of leisure. He revelled on the sweet grass of Farmer
Houston’s paddock, and was fast getting demoralised under the
influence of unmixed prosperity. Many a feed of corn, many a luscious
cabbage or succulent carrot was given him by the younger branches of
the Houston family, until like Jeshurun, he waxed fat and kicked,
affording another sad example of the mischievous effects of the
continuous smiles of fortune. At length, however, Adam Olliver, who
rode him almost daily to Waverdale Park, was induced to lend him to
the youngest squire of all, aged three years and a-half; and to his
little brother who had attained the mature age of five years. A pair
of panniers was provided, of superior basket work, cushioned and
lined, and, under the charge of a youthful groom, the precious two
were paraded round the park for a daily “constitutional.” Balaam,
feeling the responsibility of his position, behaved himself as soberly
and sedately as his office demanded. No sooner, however, was duty done
than he felt at liberty to enjoy himself as his high spirits dictated.
He would then, as in former times, erect his tail, throw back his
ears, give voice in such a fashion as to wake all the echoes of
Thurston Wood, and gallop to and fro and round about in so comical a
manner as to delight the youthful hope of Waverdale. If Adam Olliver
happened to be present during one of these singular escapades, he
would say,--
“Balaam! Balaam! diz tho’ see a boggle?” Whereupon the excitable
quadruped would lapse again into a quietude of deportment more in
keeping with his years.
So the years went on; Time dealt gently with all and sundry, and
Nestleton Magna and its villagers held on their way in rural
simplicity, harmony, and peace.