A long time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without my receiving any accounts of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I felt so much soreness on the subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts. At length chance took me into that part of the country, and I could not refrain from making some inquiries¹.  
I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self-willed, and clownish. His ignorance and clownishness had prevented his mingling² with the neighboring gentry³. In spite of his great fortune he had been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain the hand of the daughter of the parson, and had at length shrunk into the limits of such society as a mere⁴ man of wealth can gather in a country neighborhood.
 
He kept horses and hounds and a roaring table, at which were collected the loose livers of the country round, and the shabby gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. When he could get no other company he would smoke and drink with his own servants, who in their turns fleeced and despised him. Still, with all this apparent prodigality⁵, he had a leaven⁶ of the old man in him, which showed that he was his true-born son. He lived far within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious⁷ on many points on which a gentleman would be extravagant⁸. His house servants were obliged occasionally to work on the estate, and part of the pleasure grounds were ploughed up and devoted⁹ to husbandry.
 
His table, though plentiful¹⁰, was coarse; his liquors strong and bad; and more ale and whiskey were expended¹¹ in his establishment than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant¹² at his own table, and exacted a rich man’s homage¹³ from his vulgar and obsequious¹⁴ guests.
 
As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient of the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, and quarrelled with him soon after he came to the estate. The old man had retired¹⁶ to a neighboring village where he lived on the legacy¹⁷ of his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a rat out of his hole in daylight.
 
The cub¹⁸, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinctive¹⁹ attachment²⁰ to his mother. She resided with him; but, from long habit, she acted more as servant than as mistress of the mansion²¹; for she toiled²² in all the domestic drudgery²³, and was oftener in the kitchen than the parlor²⁴. Such was the information which I collected of my rival cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me out of all my expectations.
 
I now felt an irresistible²⁵ hankering to pay a visit to this scene of my boyhood; and to get a peep at the odd kind of life that was passing within the mansion of my maternal²⁶ ancestors. I determined²⁷ to do so in disguise. My booby cousin had never seen enough of me to be very familiar with my countenance²⁸, and a few years make great difference between youth and manhood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle and proud of his stock. I dressed myself, therefore, as a substantial farmer, and with the assistance of a red scratch that came low down on my forehead, made a complete change in my physiognomy.
 
It was past three o’clock when I arrived at the gate of the park, and Was admitted by an old woman, who was washing in a dilapidated building which had once been a porter’s lodge²⁹. I advanced up the remains³⁰ of a noble avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely better keeping than during my uncle’s lifetime. The grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted pruning³¹ and clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fishponds.
 
The road to the house bore very few traces of carriage wheels, as my cousin received few visitors but such as came on foot or on horseback, and never used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I was told, he had had the old family carriage drawn³² out from among the dust and cobwebs of the coachhouse and furbished up, and had drove, with his mother, to the village church to take formal possession of the family pew; but there was such hooting³³ and laughing after them as they passed through the village, and such giggling³⁴ and bantering³⁵ about the church door, that the pageant³⁶ had never made a reappearance.
 
As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, rather than barking, of two old worn-out bloodhounds, which I recognized for the ancient life-guards of my uncle. The house had still a neglected, random³⁷ appearance, though much altered for the better since my last visit. Several of the windows were broken and patched up with boards; and others had been bricked up to save taxes. I observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys; a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient establishment. On passing that part of the house where the dining-room was situated³⁸, I heard the sound of boisterous³⁹ merrim............