I sent little Ensie to Blundell’s school, at my own cost and charges, having changed his name, for fear of what anyone might do to him. I called him Ensie Jones; and we got him a commission, and after many scrapes of spirit, he did great things in the Low Countries. He looks upon me as his father; and without my leave will not lay claim to the heritage and title of the Doones, which clearly belong to him.

Ruth Huckaback is not married yet; although upon Uncle Reuben’s death she came into all his property; except, indeed, 2000 pounds, which Uncle Ben, in his driest manner, bequeathed “to Sir John Ridd, the worshipful knight, for greasing of the testator’s boots.” And he left almost a mint of money, not from the mine, but from the shop, and the good use of usury. For the mine had brought in just what it cost, when the vein of gold ended suddenly; leaving all concerned much older, and some, I fear, much poorer; but no one utterly ruined, as is the case with most of them. Ruth herself was his true mine, as upon death-bed he found. I know a man even worthy of her: and though she is not very young, he loves her, as I love Lorna. It is my firm conviction, that in the end he will win her; and I do not mean to dance again, except at dear Ruth’s wedding; if the floor be strong enough.

Of Lorna, of my lifelong darling, of my more and more loved wife, I will not talk; for it is not seemly that a man should exalt his pride. Year by year her beauty grows, with the growth of goodness, kindness, and true happiness—above all with loving. For change, she makes a joke of this, and plays with it, and laughs at it; and then, when my slow nature marvels, back she comes to the earnest thing. And if I wish to pay her out for something very dreadful—as may happen once or twice, when we become too gladsome—I bring her to forgotten sadness, and to me for cure of it, by the two words “Lorna Doone.”

1

This vile deed was done, beyond all doubt.

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2

Lest John Fry seem to under-rate the erudition of Devonshire magistrates, I venture to offer copy of a letter from a Justice of the Peace to his bookseller, circa 1810 A.D., now in my possession:—

‘Sur.

‘plez to zen me the aks relatting to A-gustus-paks,’

—Ed. of L.D.

[Emphasized this in original]

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3

The truth of this story is well established by first-rate tradition.

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4

If John Ridd lived until the year 1740 (as so strong a man was bound to do), he must have seen almost a harder frost; and perhaps it put an end to him; for then he would be some fourscore years old. But tradition makes him “keep yatt,” as he says, up to fivescore years.—Ed. L.D.

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5

The frost of 1625.

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6

The reason is very simple, as all nature’s reasons are; though the subject has not yet been investigated thoroughly. In some trees the vascular tissue is more open on the upper side, in others on the under side, of the spreading branches; according to the form of growth, and habit of the sap. Hence in very severe cold, when the vessels (comparatively empty) are constricted, some have more power of contraction on the upper side, and some upon the under.

Ed. L.D.

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7

There are said to be no loach now in Lynn. This proves that John Ridd caught them all.

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8

“A maid with an elbow sharp, or knee, Hath cross words two, out of every three.”

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9

The following story is strictly true; and true it is that the country-people rose, to a man, at this dastard cruelty, and did what the Government failed to do.—Ed. L.D.

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10

Always pronounced “Badgery.”

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11

Not our parson Bowden, nor any more a friend of his. Our Parson Bowden never had naught whatever to do with it; and never smoked a pipe with Parson Powell after it.—J.R.

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