John Halifax, Gentleman

now I call that grand, after an individual has been ill a month.

ntally and physically. He was life and health to me, with his brave cheerfulness—his way of turning all minor troubles into pleasantries, till they seemed to break and vanish away, sparkling, like the foam on t

reat triumph to John’s kind care—I felt that if I always had him beside me

improve your mind as to what the world is doing. It ought to be doing something, with the

capital hand y

t. Do you remember my first le

as become of tho

s the ‘squire now. He married, last month, Lad

March—wha

idea. Come now, sha

thing about “the spacious new quadrangles, to be called Russell and

a fine pla

haps he shall have to send me, this winter, on busi

uiet home, which now held within it, or about it, all I wished for an

ating up and down the country for a week past—‘Adventures in Search of a Country Residenc

ed, to p

ley Hill. A cottage—Rose Cottage—for it’s all i

is En

land in England? Such a fresh, free, breezy spot—how th

this heavy, sultry day, with not a brea

top of everything, overlooking everything? Well, that’s E

re a vi

staring at me. But oh, the blessed quiet and solitude of the place! No fights in filthy alleys! no tan-yards—I

he ‘shepherd’s life and state,’ upon which my name

I was sure, and had had bound in its own proper colour, and presented it to me—“The Purple Island,” and “Sicelides,” of Phineas Flet

Thyrsis is just endi

ling night his late

os of ‘stealing night,’ the sun is alread

bit o

we’ll

ce happy, shepher

e happiness, u

like poetry to be intelligible. A poet ought to see things m

ans the pawns on the ches

mon people—I’m a common per

low, and safe

ortune, with her

ason breaks h

, his flocks he

ocent as are h

, I fancy; the Flat chiefly

he knows, that

silken lives—no

eminds

ugh at our reverend ancestor i

I saw a silken gown hanging up in the kitchen at Rose Cottage. Now, thou

y have

an old gentleman—but HE wo

ht. Now, do g

lves in our future summer life at Enderley. So the old gentleman’s w

fleece well fits

y good coat now,

e incor

’s declaration of his intentions concerning him, had, so to speak, settled John’s future career. He seemed aware

ed verse, with another or two following, he began afr

ife, that never

usand sweets a

d beeches in the

es till noon-tide

ither tost on

rlds, nor lost

st he lives, when he

l yields safe a

e his faithful s

on into his

mage of his

le house or st

ke, if less his

een turfs with grass

ke this before. Ending, one missed it like the breaking of music, o

er a pause, “what ar

ite true. I was thinking that, so far as happiness goes, this ‘shep

tomb; but the shepherd enjoyed a few int

king of tho

day to have a ‘faithful s

so—God w

ook up in the face of Heaven and say so!—to us both, the follies and wickednesses of youth were, if not equally unknown, equally and alike hateful. Many may doubt, or smile at the fact; but I stat

lling,” there was a good lon

propose

! as soon

wly, for a sudden possibility flashed across my mind—“Hav

N

gle “No” was as conclusive

to say, that the true test of friendship was to be able to sit or walk together for a whole hour

his house, his garden, and his tan-yard. We two young men were to set up for a month or two our bachelor establishment at Mrs. Tod’s: John riding thrice a-week over to Norton Bury to bring news of me, and to fulf

cross-country road. We lumbered slowly along in our post-chaise; I leaning back, enjoying

on strange as tender, or the track of a swift, brilliant thought, or an indication of feeling different from, perhaps deeper than, anything which appeared before. When you believed you had learnt it line by line it would startle you by a phase quite new, and beautiful as new. For it was not one of your impassive faces, whose owners count it pride

; and in something of our Quaker fashion. On this day, I remember, I noticed an especial carefulness of attire, at his age neither unnatural nor unbecoming. His well-fitting coat and long-flapped vest, garnished with the snowiest of lawn frills and ruffles; his knee-breeches, black silk hose, and shoes adorned with

ly of youth that has struggled up through so many oppos

as? You see I am not much used

inst either you or your cl

in honour of you and of Enderley that I have slipp

ohn. You couldn’t put on

ut I think h

sting rose-switch, or willow-wand, of his boyhood. His figure was outlined sharply against the sky, his head thrown backward a little, as he gazed, evidently with the keenest zest, on the breezy flat before him. His

irl of such a lover. Ay, that last tie, the only one of the three that was possible to him—I wonder

t hostelry, called the “Bear.” Bruin swung aloft pole in hand, brown and fierce, on an ol

Enderley?

in the landscape far away? That’s water—that’s our very own Severn, swelled to an estuary. But you must imagine the estuary—you can only

e actually gro

Did you ever feel such a breeze? And there’s something so gloriously free in this high level common—as flat

culinary

to its edge soon, where it drops abruptly into such a pretty valley. There, look down—that’s the church. We are on a level with the top of its tower. Take care, my lad,”—to the post-boy, who was crossing with di

knew Latin. You don’t look upon our fu

l. I can’t tell why, but I like it. It seems as if I had known the p

r more befitting that word “happiness.” Strange word! hardly in my vocabu

group; pressing their pinky cheeks together in a mass of family fragrance, pushing in at the parlour window, climbing up even to the very attic. There was a yellow jasmine over the porch

-hand doorway, dressed sprucely in one of those things Jael called a “coat a

e same? The children ha’ not for

hite heads, and tossed the youngest high up in the air. I

d,” the good woman said to our post-boy, “because,

t have driven up to the door ha

and was just closing the casement and pulling down the blind—a hand which, in

d in the parlour Jo

thing! how hard to be shut up indoor

window, outside which was the fresh,

ay and rested, while he sat leaning his elbow on the window-sill, and

tty, and so comfortab

ll that slope of common before the door, with its black dots of furze-bushes. And that wood below; what a clear line its top makes against the yellow sky! There, that high ground t

eem to know the

ly ever felt so content before. W

felt differently—could I say

ew he would, dash out of the house, and away up the Flat. In the deep quiet of this lonely spot I could distinguish, for several minutes, the diminishing sound of his footsteps along the loose, stony