THERE IS NO HURRY.

CHAPTER I.

I po not tell you whether the village of Rep-
ton, where the two brothers, John and Charles
Adams, originally resided, is near or far from
London: it is a pretty village to this day ; and
when John Adams, some five-and-thirty years
ago, stood on the top of Repton Hill and look-
ed down upon the houses—the little church,
whose simple gate was flanked by two noble
yew trees, beneath whose branches he had often
sat—the murmuring river in which he had often
fished—the cherry orchards, where the ripe fruit
hung like balls of coral; when he looked down
upon all these dear domestic sights—for se every
native of Repton considered them—John Adams
might have been supposed to question if he had
acted wisely in selling to his brother Charles
the share of the well-cultivated farm, which had
been equally divided at their father’s death. It
extended to the left of the spot on which he was
standing, almost within a ring fence; the*mea-
dows, fresh shorn of their produce, and fragrant
with the perfume of new hay—the crops full of