LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2309, 29 August 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THIS GREWRLTHOKPE FEUD; A STORY OF HATE AMD LOVE.

It was market-day in Fu’ford, and it was very hot, us tho red whiskered Mahoney, the rough ‘cross country* doctor, rode clattering in from Bedford road through a d ovo of panting sheep. His lank and jaded mare turned from habit into tho yard of the old Inn, and sniffed at the few drops of water at the bottom of a bucket before tho door, ■while her master swung himself to the ground, and entered the dim passage leading to tho bar parlor, tagging his stiff moustache clear of his mouth. ‘ Ch, now, be quick me darlin’ A big drink, I’m as dry as a salted cod ’ The farmers and dealers stopped their talk and turned on their elbows. He nodded to them, took a long pull at the ale, and then took a long breath. ‘ Wael, what ha news, doctor ?’ asked 3>ng Ribston. Dr Mshoney was known to be a gossip. ‘Ba au’d Kitty dead yet?’ asked old Bkltor, * she been a lang time aboot it.’ ‘ Y-:s, mo old Tom ; but not so long as yon think. She died a fortnight ago. Everybody knows, but old sinners like you that nivir come into the town but to the monthly cattlo aalo. Baix, now, there’ll be a fine rumpus and a pretty bit o’ law about the oM lady’s will, I walked up the hill wid Grewelthorne ’ * Which ?’

* Sure, big John o’ tho mill. Wo were speakin’ By the Lord! there he is in the yard—but ye’ll tee this blessed day some fun wid him and his brother, the agent. He’s as mad as the dlvil wid him and the will.’ . , Tho white haired old man in the corner (the aurerannuated landlord), who bad been muttering to himself ‘Big John —big John,’ now rose and shuffled up to Mahoney, and peering in bis face said querulously—‘Gearge at top o’ toon is a deal foinerman Ist me toll ye. An’ Grewelthorpes,’ continued he, clutching the breast of the doctor’s coat, ‘ what dost thou knaw about them 1 Gossip as thoo likes aboot thoo an’d wives an’ thoo dawgs, bnt leave talk o’ Grewel thorpea to them as knaws them.’ ‘ All right, old oock. I know the Grewelthorpo story is yours—all yonr own. Don’t be afraid ; I won’t steal it ’ ‘ Sh! ah!’ sounded from this side and that; ‘ here he be.’ The patriarch shuffled back to his chair ; the doctor sat on the table and looked to the buckle of his apnr-strap j and the rest pursed up their lips, laid their arms on the table, and winked. The door had opened, while a voice in the passage says, ‘ Yes, lass ; bring mo a giU.’ ‘ O’ n!e, sir ?’ ‘Ale? No! Brandy.’ The occupants of the room lifted their eyebrows and nodded to each other. A tall, burly man entered, looked as white aud dusty as a barn-owl, except that his whiskers ware black and crisp. ‘ Hero ye ba a,’ said he taking a seat. The doctor gave a light nod of recognition, while the patriach in the corner fussily filled his long pipe and scratched a match The dull eyes around obse ved these move menta as it they had never seen the like before. There was an embarassed silence, broken only by the distracted pumping and buzzing of a blue-bottle on the windowpane, which the new-comer watched with apparent interest. His brandy was brought in a li'.tle pewter meaanre Ho poured out a glassful, drank it off, and then turned to his neighbor. ‘ An’ what be news goia’?’ ‘ Nout,’ said old Bidker, promptly, from the other aide of the table, "cept aboot thoo.’

1 Ye aay sot' There was no change of his look or tone Bat Dr. Mahonsy knew how Bidker liked to engender strife, so he turned at once. * Pact is, John, I just told them as how ye wore mad aboot something in your aunt’s will ; I didn’t know what, bat— ’ ‘Knaw; 'Cod. How should ye knaw ?’ He poured out and drank the rest of the brandy. ‘ The old lady may ha’ left him the house and me the land—’ ‘Bat,’ cried the patriarch, ‘she wur fonder o’ thoo than o’ Gearge.’ * Or,’ continued Qrewolthorpe, without heeding him, ‘she may “peradventure,” as the parron says, ha’ left me the house and him the land.’ * Be that what she’s done P’ asked the patriarch eagerly. Grewelttorpe turned and looked at him a moment, and then said, sententiously, ‘Mousetraps, old Oocker Maybe he'll—’ A face darkened the little window, peering in. It was his the brother’s

D nation,’ slowly growled John, staring at the window, ‘ that’s jus’ how he’s aye a interruptin’ me now Bat I done him out a’ along, and I do’m out again!’ Ho rose suddenly, and went as if to intercept his brother. But they heard him stop at tho bar and call for more brandy. They ail agreed with Bidker that he was ‘going it, ’ and that ha must have been going it for soma days. ‘ He’ll be havin’ the kevils,' said Long Bibston.

1 Not he,’ said Mahoney, with a skilled, superior air to which all deferred with a wistful interrogative ‘ No ? ' The doctor went out. In a moment he put hifl head in at the door again—- ‘ He’s at it.’

At what 1 They all pushed and stumbled into the street ; even tho patriarch after a little hesitation put down his pipe and shuffled after them.

The market-place (which was no more than a portion of the street) was filled with men and beasts. The beasts were penned ; sheep and pigs on the shop side, and the cattle on the bank. Bat now sheep and cattle lay unheeded in the heat, panting and ruminant ; every man was pushing towards tho auctioneer, Pottlethwaite ; shopkeepers and castonr-ra crowded together to their doers ; and even Mr Pa r, the vloar from Easterwyke, lingered on the grocer’s step. ‘ ’Col,’ said Bidker, ‘it be just like a prorichin’ ; ’ thinking, no doubt, of what he had seen in Methodist days.

Not a voice was heard but that of Pottle thwalte, which sounded loud and clear, * Seventeen, seventeen-ten, eighteen.’ Tho Greweithorpe brothers were bidding against each other for a roan heifer. The auctioneer was very serious ; the bidders did not need the spur of his wit ; their mutual hate urged them on. Many pushed and pressed to get a sight of the brothers' faces. But there was little to be seen in them ; a resolute lip, an eye fixed on the Auctioneer, and a light nod first from the one and then from tho other. Up and up wont the bidding, till spectators began to stare at each other and to raise their eyebrows. Every one know the value of the heifer had long been passed ; It was plainly now a foolhh, relentless duel in which the heifer wasforgotten and hat red only remained ‘ Twenty-seven, twenty-seven ten, twenty eightthe eye of tho town brother dropped a moment—‘going at twenty-eight’—turned sideways it caught the flash of triumph in tho country brother’s eye and the satisfied sneer on the tip, and it again looked resolutely at Pottlethwaite, ‘ Twenty-eight ten,' said Pottlethwaite. A nod from the other; ‘twenty nine, twenty-nine ten, thirty.' The excitement grew Intense. The brothers knew they were merely throwing their money away, but no, neither would yield. In the tension they gradually turned to face each other. Tho lips were firmly set, the eyes fixed and fiery, as if tho men were engaged in a belt to belt fight with knives. Every light nod the one cast at the other was a fierce stab. Tho psssion of It began to glow in the bos-itas and in the eyes of the crowd, and Pottlethwaite showed signs of anxiety and hesitation. ‘Thirty-nine, thirty-nine ten, forty ; going at forty ; any advance upon forty ’ * D you,’ cried the town brother, and fell down In a fit. The victorious brother looked for a moment as if stung, and then turned away muttering—‘Dene him out scale. I swore I’d do it, ;he sympathies no particular tinate miller, ' and reserved had observed rut to wondersrother would /honevor they onld submit to i In subscriptings ; though artiaanshlp no t "tho agent But after this

extraordinary exhibition of passion over the ! sale of the heifer, and the apparent indif- | ferenoe of the miller as to his brother’s con- , dition, a change of look and tone cane over the crowd. They followed the miller's j retreating figure with narrow eyes and something like repulsion ; another degree of heat | added to their feelings would have made | them hiss and hoot him. They turned to regard the agent, who was now sitting up, with a kind of pity. ‘ An’ they war once sao thick thegither, ’ said Long Bibaton, looking from the one brother to the other, striding off with his hand under his tail; ‘ weal! there’s nou’t sao queer ns folks.’ ‘ Re dosn’t look ower strong,’ said Bidker, with his oye on the agent now being led into tho chemist's ; ‘it be gey cruel o’ that big John to hurry and drive him as ho do.’ This was seized and assented to on all sides as tho expression of tho prevalent feeling. ‘He carry it too far now.’ *He be fair mad to rnn price up and throw money away like that.’ ‘They do flay (speak low) as how he be takln’ to t’ drink.’ ‘ Ah, it bo time they made quarrel up, whativer it wnr aboot. It being goln’ on for some year now, bain’t it, Cocker ?'

*So~eyear!' said old Cocker, chin-aping into his favorite theme of the mysterious origin of tho Grewelthorpe feud, and attracting about him a good many from Pottlethwaito’s own audience —‘it be nigh sivin year—sivin year come Michaelmas sin John buried hia wife. Day o’ funeral they were t’ best friends, standin’ by t’ grave wl’ fine new black coats on an’ white handkerchera to their een ; for, ye see, Gearge wur cruel fond o’ t’ neat, long-waisted Peggy afore John married her. Ay, ay ; best friends day o’ funeral Next marnin' John walks into parlor at t’ inn to ha’e a drink, and a little after in comes Gearge. They war by theirsens, an’ I wuz thinkin’ o’goio in to ke p ’em company, when—out! —a hullabaloo that made us a’ jump I—there wur cursin’, an’ bangin' ower chairs, smashiu’ o* glass ; an’ I open t' door, an there stands Gearge wipin’ tipple frao his face an’ neck, an’ John in a white rage, wi glass in his hand, like this, to thraw, * What be up ?’ I says. ‘ Nou’t, ’ flays they. An’ Gearge gangs oot past me, and says at bar, * There’s a glass broke ; I’ll pay for ’t.| An’—ho! he !—he has paid for’t An’ * An’ naehody knawa yet,’ put in some one of those who had heard tho story before, * what’s it wur a’ aboot.’ Cocker looked at the man. and frowned at his interruption of the steady flow of his * Naebody,’ said he ; ‘unless it be thoo,” There threatened to be hard words between the two, but the old story-teller was moved off home by his friends. There was a large company in the parlor talking ail at once, but not quite in unison, about the sensational auction. All were agreed that the fend of tho brothers had distinguished and disgraced Fulford long enough. ‘ Why, next thing they’ll be killin’ t’ une anlther !’ The cause of the quarrel should be ascertained, and tho men brought to shake hands over it. But how ? and by whom ? Cocker shook his head : ‘ They had always been cruel, passionate and obstinate lads. ’ Many friends had tried to bring them together. Even the parson had done hia best—and his worst. Ho had preached ao directly at them that the eyes of a full, plebian evening congregation were Incontinently turned on the two stiffnecked, stern eyed_ men who sat on either side the aisle, each in his place as churchwarden; and when they rose to pass round the plates for the collection, ho had addressed them by name, and ordered them to desist from the service^of tho Lord unless they were ready to forgive and embrace each other, upon which, without hesitation and without a word, they had surrendered the plates and walked out. He had forbidden their appearance at the sacramental table, and I heir holding any office in connection with the church, so that for a long time the church had ceasel to know or to see them. No; how or by whom the feud was to be stopped no one could say ; aud old Cocker went back to his ohair sud his pips in the corner. (To he continued,)