On reaching the station of the latter, an old and kind friend to my brother, when he first visited America, was waiting to welcome us to his house, which was about a quarter of a mile distant, and a most comfortable establishment it proved, in every way. Our worthy host was a Scotchman by birth, and though he had passed nearly half a century in the United States, he was as thoroughly Scotch in all his ways as if he had just arrived from his native land; and while enjoying his hospitalities, you might have fancied yourself in a Highland laird's old family mansion. In all his kind attentions, he was most ably assisted by his amiable lady. Everything I had seen hitherto was invested with an air of newness, looking as if of yesterday: here, the old furniture and the fashion thereof, even its very arrangement, all told of days long bygone, and seemed to say, "We are heir-looms." When you went upstairs, the old Bible on your bedroom table, with its worn cover, well-thumbed leaves, and its large paper-mark, browned by the hand of Time, again proclaimed, "I am an heir-loom," and challenged your respect; and worthy companions they all were to mine host and his lady, who, while they warmed your heart with their cheerful and unostentatious hospitality, also commanded your respect by the way they dispensed it.
The following day our route lay across country, out of the line of stage or rail; so a vehicle had to be got, which my young American cicerone, under the guidance of mine host, very soon arranged; and in due time, a long, slight, open cart, with the seats slung to the sides, drove to the door, with four neat greys, that might have made "Tommy Onslow's" mouth water.
While they are putting in the luggage, I may as well give you a sketch of how the young idea is sometimes taught to shoot in this country. Time--early morning. Paterfamilias at the door, smoking a cigar--a lad of ten years of age appears.
"I say, father, can I have Two-forty?[E] I want to go down to the farm, to see my cattle fed!"
Scarce had leave been obtained, before a cry was heard in another quarter. "Hallo, Jemmy! what's the matter now? Wont Shelty go?"
The youth so addressed was about six, and sitting in a little low four-wheeled carriage, whacking away at a Shetland-looking pony, with a coat, every hair of which was long enough for a horse's tail. The difficulty was soon discovered, for it was an old trick of Shelty to lift one leg outside the shaft, and strike for wages, if he wasn't pleased.