>;rU--r . V PUT M A i-T S S LI TI BIIACEBRIDGE HALL, THE HUMORISTS. A MEDLEY. GEOFFREY ^RAYON, Gent. C-f^Ji^'J " Under this cloud I walk. Gentlemen ; pardon my rude assault. I am a traTeller, who, having sur^wved most of the terrestrial angles of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot." — CHBia> HAS Oedinaiit. THE AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. NEW TOHK: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, TOUBTH AVENUE AND TWENTT.THIBD STREET. /i.'^rr Bnterfd aeoording to Act of Congress, In the year 1865, by Oeobse p. Futitau, in tbc Clerk's OeSce of the District Court fof the Southern CIstrlot of Sew York CONTENTS. The Author 7 « The HaU . . . U The Busy Man . . Ig Family Servanta l/^ 25 The Widow . . 84 The Lovers . 39 Family Belies . . 14 An Old Soldier . 51 The Widoir'a Retinue 56 Eeady-Moiiey Jaekt'. 61 Bachelor , S9 Wives •jujfa: Story-Telling V^ Stout Gentleman . 8^^ Forest Trees .^^- A Literaiy Antiquary . 107 The Farm-House . . .114 Horsemanship .... 120 Love Symptoms . . . 126 Faloomr 180 Hawking St. Mark's Eve . GentiHty Fortune-Telling Love-Charms The Library The Student of Salamanca English Country Gentlemen A Bachelor's Confessiooa English Gravity 156 rn 177 , 276 286 , 291 CONTENTS. May-Day OuBtomfi Tillage T^orthies . The Schoolmaster The Schooler . A Village PoUttoian . The Rookeiy . May-Day . The Manuscript Annette Delarbre TraTelling ^^opular Superstitions The Culprit . Family Misfortunes . Lovers' Troubles The Historian The Haunted House ■i^ll^iHe^Mer . a^The Storm-Ship . "' The WeddiDg, . The Author's Farewell PA OS 309 . ail 31g . 822 811 , 361 415 . 420 427 . 480 436 . 487 624. 536 ILLUSTRATIONS. BT SCHMOLZE. English Country Gentleman Frontispiece Dolph Heyliger and the Doctor Title Page The Busy Man 20 Gypsy Encampment 162 Fortune Telling 301 Ready-Money Jack 317 IraTe'^ier and Goblin 397 Tli« Doctor 460 BfiA CEExLlTj G^ E a; BY" WASHINGTON IRVING & P F ij T i; A M ■ S 3 B S , THE AUTHOR. ORTHY REAI^R : — On again taking pen in hand, I would fain make a few observations at the outset, by way of be- speaking a right understanding. Tlie vol- umes which I have already published have met with a reception far beyond my most sanguine expectar tions. I would willingly attribute this to their in- trinsic merits ; but, in spite of the vanity of author- ship, I cannot but be sensible that their success has, in a great measure, been owing to a less flattering cause. It has been a matter of marvel, to my Euro- pean readers, that a man from the wilds of America should express himself in tolerable English. I was looked upon as something new and strange in litera- ture ; a kind of demi-savage, with a feather in his hand instead of on his head ; and there was a curi- osity to hear what such a being had to say about civilized society. This novelty is now at an end, and of course the feeling of indulgence which it produced. I must now expect to bear the scrutiny of sterner criticisms, and to be measured by the same standard as con- temporary writers ; and the very favor shown to my previous writings will cause these to be treated with the greatest rigor, as there is nothing for which the world is apt to punish a man more severely than for having been over-praised. On this head, therefore, 8 THE AUTBOR. I wish to forestall the censoriousness of the reader , and I entreat he will not think the worse of me foJ the many injudicious things that may have been said in my commendation. I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, and treat of subjects that have already been discussed by abler pens. Indeed, various authors have been mentioned as my models, to whom I should feel flat- tered if I thought I bore the slightest resemblance ; but in truth I write after no model that I am con- scious of, and I write with no idea of imitation or competition. In venturing occasionally on topics that have already been almost exhausted by English authors, I do it, not with the presumption of chal- lenging a comparison, but with the hope that some new interest may be given to such topics, when dis- cussed by the pen of a stranger. If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwell- ing with fondness on subjects trite and commonplace with the reader, I beg the circumstances under which I write may be kept in recollection. Having been bom and brought up in a new country, yet educated from infancy in the literature of an old one, my mind was early filled with historical and poetical associations, connected with places, and manners, and customs of Europe, but which could rarely be applied to those of my own country. To a mind thus peculiarly prepared, the most ordinary objects and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange matter and interesting novelty. England is as clas- sic ground to an American, as Italy is to an English- man ; and old London teems with as much historical association as mighty Rome. Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical medley of ideas that throng upon his mind on land- ing among English scenes. He for the first time TBE AUTHOR. 9 tees a world about which he has been reading and thinking in every stage of his existence. The recol- lected ideas of infancy, youth, and manhood, of the nursery, the school, and the study, come swarming at once upon him: and his attention is distracted between great and little objects, each of which, per- haps, awakens an equally delightful train of remem- brances. But what more especially attracts his notice, are those peculiarities which distinguish an old country and an old state of society from a new one. I have never yet grown familiar enough with the crumbling monuments of past ages, to blunt the intense inter- , est with which I at first beheld them. Accustomed always to eoenes where history was, in a manner, anticipation ; where everything in art was new and progressive, and pointed to the future rather than to the past ; where, in short, the works of man gave no ideas but those of young existence and prospec- tive improvement; there was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of enormous piles of architec- ture, gray with antiquity, and sinking to decay. I cannot describe the mute but deep-felt enthusiasm with which I have contemplated a vast monastic ruin, like Tintern Abbey, buried in the bosom of a quiet valley, and shut up from the world, as though it had existed merely for itself; or a warrior pile, like Conway Castle, standing in stern loneliness on its rocky height, a mere hollow yet threatening phantom of departed power. They spread a grand, and melancholy, and, to me, an unusual charm over the landscape ; I for the first time beheld signs of national old age, and empire's decay, and proofs of die transient and perishing glories of art, amidst the ever-springing and reviving fertility of nature. But, in fact, to me everything was full of mattei , 10 TBE AUTHOR. the footsteps of history were everywhere to be traced and poetry had breathed over and sanctified the land I experienced the delightful freshness of feeling of a child to whom everything is new. I pictured to my- self a set of inhabitants and a mode of life for every habitation that I saw, from the aristocratical man- sion, amidst the lordly repose of stately groves and solitary parks, to the straw-thatched cottage, with its scanty garden and its cherished woodbine. I thought I never could be sated with the sweetness and freshness of a country so completely carpeted with verdure ; where every air breathed of the balmy pasture, and the honeysuckled hedge. I was continually coming upon some little document of poetry in the blossomed hawthorn, the daisy, the cowslip, the primrose, or some other simple object that has received a supernatural value from the muse. The first time that I heard the song of the nightin- gale, I was intoxicated more by the delicious crowd of remembered associations than by the melody of its notes ; and I shall never forget the thrill of ec- stasy with which I first saw the lark rise, almost from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight up into the morning sky. In this way I traversed England, a grown-up child, delighted by every object, great and small ; and betraying a wondering ignorance, and simple enjoyment, that provoked many a stare and a smile from my wiser and more experienced fellow-travel- lers. Such too was the odd confusion of associations that kept breaking upon me as I first approached London. One of my earliest wishes had been to see this great metropolis. I had read so much about it in the earliest books put into my infant hands; and I had heard so much about it from those around me who had come from the " old countries," that 1 THE AUTHOR. 11 Iras familiar with the names of its streets and squares, and public places, before I knew those of my native city. It was, to me, the great centre of the world, round which everything seemed to revolve. I rec- ollect contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a pal- try little print of the Thames, and London Bridge, and St. Paul's, that was in front of an old magazine ; and a picture of Kensington Gardens, with gentle- men in three-cornered hats and broad skirte, and ladies in hoops and lappets, that hung up in my bedroom; even the venerable cut of St. John's Gate, that has stood, time out of mind, in front of the Gentleman's Magazine, was not without its charms to me ; and 1 envied the odd-looking little men that appeared to be loitering about its arches. How then did my heart warm when the towers of Westminster Abbey were pointed out to me, ris- ing above the rich groves of St. James's Park, with a thin blue haze above their gray pinnacles ! I could not behold this great mausoleum of what is most Ulustrious in our paternal history, without feel- ing my enthusiasm in a glow. With what eager- ness did I explore every part of the metropolis ! I was not content with those, matters which occupy the dignified research of the learned traveller ; I delighted to call up all the feelings of childhood, and to seek after those objects which had been the wonders of my infancy. London Bridge, so famous in nursery song ; the faivfamed monument ; Gog and Magogr and the Lions in the Tower, — all brought back many a recollection of infantine delight, and of good old beings, now no more, who had gossiped about them to my wondering ear. Nor was it without a recurrence of childish interest that I first peeped into Mr. Newberry's shop, in St. Paul's Church-yard, that fountain-head o*" literature Mr. 12 TBE AUTHOR. Newberry was the first that ever filled my infant mind with the idea of a great and good man. He published all the picture-books of the day ; and, out of his abundant love for children, he charged " noth- ing for either paper or print, and only a penny-half- penny for the binding ! " I have mentioned these circumstances, worthy reader, to show you tha whimsical crowd of associa tions that are apt to beset my mind on mingling among English scenes. I hope they may, in some measure, plead my apology, should I be found harp- ing upon stale and trivial themes, or indulging an over-fondness for anything antique and obsolete. I know it is the humor, not to say cant of the day, to run riot about old times, old books, old customs, and old buildings ; with myself, however, as far as I have caught the contagion, the feeling is genuine. To a man from a young country, all old things are in a manner new ; and he may surely be excused in being a little curious about antiquities, whose native land, unfortunately, cannot boast of a single ruin. Having been brought up, also, in the comparative simplicity of a republic, I am apt to be struck with even the ordinary circumstances incident to an aris- tocratical state of society. If,-Jiowever, I should at any time amuse myself by pointing out some of the eccentricities, and some of the poetical characteris- tics of the latter, I would not be understood as pre- tending to decide upon its political merits. My only aim is to paint characters and manners. I am no politician. The more I have considered the study of politics, the more I have found it full of perplex- ity ; and I have contented myself, as I have in my religion, with the faith in which I was brought up, regulating my own conduct by its precepts, but feaving to abler heads the task of making converts THE AUTHOR. 13 I shall continue on, therefore, in the course I have hitherto pursued ; looking at things poetically, rathel than politically; describing them as they are, rather than pretending to point out how they should be ; and endeavoring to see the world in as pleasant a light as circumstances will permit. I have always had an opinion that much good might be done by keeping mankind in good humor with one another. I may be wrong in my philoso- phy, but I shall continue to practise it until con- vinced of its fallacy. When I discover the world to be all that it has been represented by sneering cynics and whining poets, I will turn to and abuse it also; in the meanwhile, worthy reader, I hope you will not think lightly of me, because I cannot believe this to be so very bad a world as it is rep> resented. Thine truly, GEOFFREY CRAYOK. THE HALL. The anctentest house, and the best for hoosekeeplng, in thii eounty or the next ; and though the master of it write but squire, 1 know no lord like him. — MzBXi BEaaABS. I HE reader, if he has peinised the volumes of the " Sketch-Book," will probably rec- ollect something of the Bracebridge fam- ily, with which I once passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit at the HaU, having been in- vited to a wedding which is shortly to take place. The Squire's second son, Guy, a fine, spirited young captain in the army, is about to be mar- ried to his father's ward, the fair Julia Templeton. A gathering of relations and friends has already commenced, to celebrate the joyful occasion ; for the old gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private weddings. " There is nothing," he says, " like launching a young couple gayly, and cheering them from the shore ; a good outset is half the voyage.'' Before .proceeding any farther, I would beg that the Squire might not be confounded with that class of hard-riding, fox-hunting gentlemen, so often described, and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. I use this rural title partly because if is his universal appellation throughout the neigh THE BALL. 15 borhood, and partly because it saves me the fre- quent repetition qf his name, which is one of those rough old English names at which French- men exclaim in despair. The Squire is, in feet, a lingering specimen of the old English country gentleman ; rusticated a little by living almost entu-ely on his estate, and something of a humorist, as Englishmen are apt to become when they have an opportunity of liv^ ing in their own way. I like his hobby passing well, however, which is, a bigoted devotion to old English manners and customs ; it jumps a little with my own humor, having as yet a lively and unsated curiosity about the ancient and genuine characteristics of my " father-land." There are some traits about the Squire's fam- ily, also, which appear to me to be national. It is one of those old aristocratical families which, I believe, are peculiar to England, and scarcely understood in other countries ; that is to say, fam- ilies of the ancient gentry, who, though destitute of titled rank,, maintain a high ancestral pride : who look down upon all nobility of recent crea- tion, and would consider it a sacrifice of dignity to merge the venerable name of their house in a modern title. This feeling is very much fostered by the im- portance which they enjoy on their hereditary do- mains. The femUy mansion is an old manor- house, standing in a retired and beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its inhabitants have been always re- garded, through the surrounding country, as " the great ones of the earth " ; and the little village 16 BRACEBRWGE HALL. near the Hall looks up to the Squire with almost feudal homage. An old manor-house, and an old family of this kind, are rarely to be met with at the present day ; and it is probably the pecu- liar humor of the Squire that has retained this secluded specimen of English housekeeping in something like the genuine old style. I am again quartered in the panelled chamber, in the antique wing of the house. The prospect from my window, however, has quite a different aspect from that which it wore on my winter visit. Though early in the month of April, yet a few warm, sunshiny days have drawn forth the beau- ties of the spring, which, I think, are always most captivating on their first opening. The parterres of the old-fashioned garden are gay with flowers ; and the gardener has brought out his exotics, and placed them along the stone balustrades. The trees are clothed with green buds and tender leaves. When I throw open ray jingling case- ment, I smell the odor of mignonette, and hear the hum of the bees from the flowers against the sunny wall, with the varied song of the throstle, and the cheerful notes of *he tuneful little wren. While sojourning in this stronghold of old fashions, it is my intention to make occasional sketches of the scenes and characters before me. I would have it understood, however, that I am not writing a novel, and have nothing of intricate plot nor marvellous adventure to promise the reader. The Hall of which I treat has, for aught I know, neither trap-door, nor sliding-panel, nor ionjon-keep ; and indeed appears to have no mys- THE HALL. 17 tery about it. The- family is a worthy, well- meaning family, that, in all probability, will eat and drink, and go to bed, and get up regularly, from one end of my work to the other ; and the Squire is so kind-hearted, that I see no likelihood of his throwing any kind of distress in the way of the approaching nuptials. In a word, I cannot foresee a single extraordinary event that is likely to occur in the whole term of my sojourn at the HaU I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he finds me dallying along, through every-day Eng- lish scenes, he may hurry ahead, in hopes of meeting with some marvellous adventure further on. I invite him, on the contrary, to ramble gen- tly on with me, as he would saunter out into the fields, stopping occasionally to gather a flower, or listen to a bird, or admire a prospect, without any anxiety to arrive at the end of his career. Should I, however, in the course of my wander- ings about this old mansion, see or hear anything curious, that might serve to vary the monotony of this every-day life, I shall not fail to reoort il for the reader's entertainnient : For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie, Of any book, how grave soe'er it be, Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie, Well sanc'd with lies, and glared all with glee.* * Mirror for MagistratM. THE BUSY MAN. A. decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and my master's means, and much good do him with it. He does hold my master up with his stories, and songs, and catches, and such tricka ind jigs, you would admire — he is with him now. — Jovial Crew. IY no one has my return to the Hall been more heartily greeted than by Mr. Simon Bracebridge, or Master Simon, as the Squire most commonly calls him. 1 en- countered him just as I entered the park, where he was breaking a pointer, and he received me with all the hospitable cordiality with which a man welcomes a friend to another one's house. I have already introduced him to the reader as a brisk old bachelor-looking little man ; the wit and superannuated beau of a large family connection, and the Squire's factotum. I found him, as usual, full of bustle ; with a thousand petty things to do, and persons to attend to, and in chirping good - humor ; for there are few happier beings than a busy idler, that is to say, a man who is eternally busy about nothing. I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his chamber, which is in a remote corner of the mansion, as he says he likes to be to limseil, and out of the way. He has fitted it up iu h,.i own THE BUSY MAN. 19 saste, so that it is a perfect epitome of an old bachelor's notions of convenience and arrangement. The furniture is made up of odd pieces from all parts of the house, chosen on account of their suit- ing his notions, or fitting some corner of his apart- ment ; and he is very eloquent in praise of an ancient elbow-chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into a censure on modern chairs, as having degenerated from the dignity and comfort of high-backed antiquity. Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he calls his study. Here are some hanging shelves, of his own construction, on which are several old works on hawking, hunting, and far- riery, and a collection or two of poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeth, which he studies out of compliment to the Squire ; together with the Novelist's Magazine, the Sporting Magazine, the Bacing Calendar, a volume or two of the New- gate Calendar, a book of peerage, and another of heraldry. His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet ; and about the walls of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and a favorite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he inherits from his grandfather. He has, also, a couple of old single-keyed flutes, and a fiddle which he has repeatedly patched and mended himself, aflSrming it to be a veritable Cremona ; though I have never heard him ex- tract a single note from it that was not enough to make one's blood run cold. From tliis little nest his fiddle will often be 20 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. heard, iii the stillness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune ; for he prides himself on liaving a choice collection of good old Eng- lish music, and will scarcely have anything to do with modern composers. The time, however, at which his musical powers are of most use, is now and then of an evening, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall ; and he passes among them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus. His chamber also bears evidence of his vari- ous avocations : there are half-copied sheets of music ; designs for needle-work ; sketches of landscapes, very indifferently executed ; a camera lucida ; a magic lantern, for which he is endeav- oring to paint glasses ; in a word, it is the cabi- net of a man of many accomplishments, who knows a little of everything, and does nothing- well. After I had spent some time in his apartment, admiring the ingenuity of his small inventions, he took me about the establishment, to visit the stables, dog-kennel, and other dependencies, in which he appeared like a general visiting the dif- ferent quarters of his camp ; as the Squire leaves the control of all these matters to him, when he is at the Hall. He inquired into the state of the horses ; examined their feet ; prescribed a drench for one, and bleeding for another ; and then took me to look at his own horse, on the merits of which he dwelt with great prolixity, and which, I noticed, had the best stall in the stable. After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the Squu-e's, which he termed the falconry, where THE BUST MAN. 21 there were several unhappy birds in durance, com- pleting their education. Among the number waa a fine falcon, wiiich Master Simon had in espe- cial training, and he told me that he would show me, iu a few days, some rare sport of the good old-fashioned kind. In the course of our round, I noticed that the grooms, gamekeeper, whippers- in, and other retainers, seemed all to be on some- what of a familiar footing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke with him, though it was evident they had great deference for his opinion in matters relating to their functions. There was one exception, however, in a testy old huntsman, as hot as a pepper-corn ; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a threadbare velvet jockey- cap, and a pair of leather breeches, that, from much weiir, shone as though they had been ja- panned. He was very contradictory and pragmat- ical, and apt, as I thought, to differ from Master Simon now and then, out of mere captiousness. This was particularly the case with respect to the ti-eatment of the hawk, which the old man seemed to have under his peculiar care, and, ac- cording to Master Simon, was in a fair way to ruin : the latter had a vast deal to say about casting, and imping, and gleaming, and enseaming, and giving the hawk the rangh, which I saw was all heathen Greek to old Christy ; but he main- tained his point notwithstanding, and seemed to hold all this technical lore in utter disrespect. I was surprised at the good-humor with which Master Simon bore his contradictions, tiU he ex- plained the matter to me afterwards. Old 22 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Christy is the most ancient servant in thb place, having lived among dogs and horses the greater part of a century, and been in the service of Mr Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree of every horse on the place, and has bestrode the great-great-grandsires of most of them. He can give a circumstantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or seventy years, and has a history for every stag's head about the house, and every hunting-trophy nailed to the door of the dog kennel. AU the present race have grown up under his eye, and humor him in his old age. He once attended the Squire to Oxford, when he was student there, and enlightened the whole univer- sity with his hunting-lore. All this is enough to make the old man opinionated, since he finds, on all these matters of first-rate importance, he knows more than the rest of the world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges that he derived his first knowledge in hunting I'fom the instructions of Christy ; and I much question whether the old man does not still look upon him as rather a greenhorn. On our return homewards, as we were crossing ihe lawn in front of the house, we heard the por- ter's bell ring at the lodge, and shortly afterwards a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the ave- nue. At sight of it my companion paused, con- sidered it for a moment, and then, making a sud- den exclamation, hurried away to meet it. As it approached I discovered a fair, fresh - lookmg elderly lady, dressed in an old-fashioned liding- THE BUST MAN. 2S habit, with a broad-brimmed white beaver hat Buch as may be seen in Sir Joshua Reynolds's paintings. She rode a sleek white pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on an t)ver-fed hunter. At a little distance in the rear came an ancient cumbrous chariot drawn by two very corpulent horses, driven by as corpu- lent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed ui a fanciful green livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched prim personage, with a look some- what between a lady's companion and a lady's maid, and two pampered curs, that showed their ugly faces, and barked out of each window. There was a general turning out of the garn son to receive this new-comer. The Squire as- sisted her to alight, and saluted her affectionately ; the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they em- braced with the romantic fervor of boarding- school friends : she was escorted into the house by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed dis- tinguished favor ; and a line of the old servants, who had collected in the Hall, bowed most pro- foundly as she passed. I observed that Master Simon was most assid- uous and devout in his attentions upon this old lady. He walked by the side of her pony up the avenue ; and, while she was receiving the salutations of the rest of the family, he took occa- sion to notice the fat coachman ; to pat the sleek carriage-horses, and, above all, to say. a jivil word to my lady's gentlewoman, the prim, sour-looking vestal in the chariot. I had no more of his company for the rest of 24 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. the morning. He was swept off in the vorles that followed in the wake of this lady. Once indeed he paused for a moment, as he was hurry- ing on some errand of the good lady's, to let m£ know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the Squire's, of large fortune, which the captain would inherit, and that her estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in all England. FAMILY SEKVANTS. Verily old servants are the Touchers of worthy housekeei^ng. They are like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the antiqi^ty and fiitness of their abode. N my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often be tempted to dwell upon cir- cumstances of a trite and ordinary na- ture, from their appearing to me illustrative of genuine national character. It seems to me to be the study of the Squii-e to adhere, as much as possible, to what he considers the old landmarks of Enghsh manners. His servants all understand his ways, and for the most part have been accus- tomed to them from infancy ; so that, upon the whole, his household presents one of the few toU erable specimens that can now be met with, of the establishment of an English country gentle- man of the old school. By the by, the servants are not the least char- acteristic part of the household : the housekeeper, for instance, has been bom and brought up at the Hall, and has never been twenty miles from it ; yet she has a stately au* that would not disgrace a lady that had figured at the court, of Qneen Elizabeth. 26 BRACEBRWGE BALL. I am lialf inclined to think she has caught il fiom living so much among the old family pic- tues. It may, however, be owing to a conscious- ness of her importance in the sphere in which she has always moved ; for she is greatly re- spected in the neighboring village, and among the farmers' wives, and has high authority in the household, ruling over the servants with quiet but undisputed sway. She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose and chin. Her dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small, well- starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festooned and open in front, which, on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the family, or an inheritance from her mother, who was house- keeper before her. I have a reverence for these old garments, as I make no doubt they have figured about these apartments in days long past, when they have set off the charms of some peer- less family beauty ; and I have sometimes looked fi'om the old housekeeper to the neighboring por traits, to see whether I could not recognize her antiquated brocade in the dress of some one of those long-waisted dames that smile on me fi-om the walls. Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, and she wears over it a small cap, nicely plaited, and brought down under the chin. Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a proper dignity of station. The Hall is her world, and the history of the FAMILY SERVANTS. 27 Family the only history she knows, excepting that which she has read in the Bible. She can give a biography of every porti-ait in the picture gal- lery, and is a complete family chronicle. She is treated with great consideration by the Squire. Indeed, Master Simon tells me that there is a traditional anecdote current among the servants, of the Squire's having been seen kissing her in the picture gallery, when they were both young. As, however, nothing further was ever noticed between them, the cirenmstance caused no great scandal ; only she was observed to take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused the hand of the village innkeeper, whom she had previously smiled on. The old butler, who was formerly rjotman, and a rejected admirer of hers, used to teil the anec- dote now and then, at those little cabals which ■will occasionally take place among the most orderly servants, arising from the common pro- pensity of the governed to talk against adminis- tration ; but he has left it off, of late years, since he has risen into place, and shakes his head re- bukingly when it is mentioned. It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell upon the looks of the Squire when hu was a young man at college ; and she mainiai^m that none of his sons can compare with tneir father when he was of their age, and was drcased out in bis full suit of scarlet, with his hair w-aped and powdered, and his three-cornered hat. She has an orphan niece, a preity, eoft-hearted baggage, named Phcebe Wilkins, wno has been 28 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. transplanted to the Hall within a year or two, and been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is a kind of attendant and companion of the fair Julia's ; and from loitering about the young lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, and inheriting second-hand finery, has become some- thing between a waiting-maid and a slipshod fine lady. She is considered a kind of heiress among the servants, as she will inherit all her aunt's prop- erty ; which, if report be true, must be a round sura of good golden guineas, the accumulated wealth of two housekeepers' , savings ; not to mention the hereditary wardrobe, and the many (ittle valuables and knick-knacks treasured up in the housekeepers' room. Indeed, the old house- keeper has the reputation among the servants and the villagers of being passing rich ; and there is a japanned chest of drawers and a large iron- bound coffer in her room, which are supposed, by the housemaids, to hold treasures of wealth. The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, indeed, pays a little court to her, as to a person high in authority; and they have many discussions on points of family history, in which, lotwithstanding his extensive information and pride of knowledge, he commonly admits her superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the Hall, after one of his visits to the other branches of the family, without bringing Mrs. Wilkins Bome remembrance from the ladies of the house where he has been staying. Indeed, all the children of the house look up FAMILY SERVANTS. 29 to the old lady with habitual respect and attach- ment, and she seems almost to consider them aa her own, from their having grown up under her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her favorite, probably from being the youngest, though he is the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks upon her from boyhood. I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, which, I believe, is peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is removed at dinner, the old house- keeper sails into the room, and stands behind the Squire's chair, when he fills her a glass of wine with his own hands, in which she drinks the health of the company in a truly respectful yet dignified manner, and then retires. The Squire received the custom from his father, and has always continued it. There is a peculiar character about the servants of old English families, that reside principally in the country. They have a quiet, orderly, re- spectful mode of doing their duties. They are always neat in their persons, and appropriately, and, if I may use the phrase, technically dressed ; they move about the house without hurry or noise ; there is nothing of the bustle of employ- ment, or the voice of command ; nothing of that obtrusive housewifery which amounts to a tor- ment. You are not persecuted by the process of making you comfortable ; yet everything is done, and is done well. The work of the house is per- formed as if by magic, but it is the magic of eystem. Nothing is done by fits and starts, nor ■\t awkward seasons ; the whole goes on like 30 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. well-oiled clock-work, where there is no noisa nor jarring in its operations. English servants, in general, are not treated with great indulgence, nor rewarded by many commendations ; for the English are laconic and reserved toward their domestics ; but an approv- ling nod and a kind word from master or mistress 'goes as far here as an excess of praise or indul- gence elsewhere. Neither do servants often ex- hibit any animated marks of affection to their employers ; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their attachments ; and the reciprocal regard of masters and servants, though not ardently ex- pressed, is powerful and lasting in old English families. The title of " an old family servant " carries with it a thousand kind associations, in all parts of the w^orld ; and there is no claim upon the home- bred charities of the heart more irresistible than that of having been " born in the house." It is common to see gray-headed domestics of this kind attached to an English family of the " old school," who continue in it to the day of their death, in the enjoyment of steady, unaffected kindness, and the performance of faithful, unof- ficious duty. I think such instances of attach- ment speak well for both master and servant, and the frequency of them speaks well for national character. These observations, however, hold good only with families of the description I have men- tioned, and with such as are somewhat retired, and pass the greater part of their time in the FAMILY SERVATiTS. 31 country. As to the powdered menials that throng the halls of fashionable town residences, they equally reflect the character of the estab- lishments to which they belong ; and I know no more complete epitome of dissolute heartlessness, and pampered inutility. But the good " old family servant," — the one who has always been linked, in idea, \vith the home of our heart ; who has led us to school in the days of prattling childhood ; who has been the confidant of our boyish cares, and schemes, and enterprises ; who has hailed us as we came home at vacations, and been the promoter of all our holiday sports ; who, when we, in wandering manhood, have left the paternal roof, and only return thither at intervals, will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that of our parents ; who, now grown gray and infirm with age, still totters about the house of our fathers, in fond and faith- ftd servitude ; who claims us, in a manner, as his own; and hastens with querulous eagerness to anticipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon US at table ; and who, when we retire a., night to the chamber that still goes by our name, will linger about the room to have one more kind look, and one more pleasant word about times that are past, — who does not experience towards such a being a feeling of almost filial affec- tion ? I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the grave-stones of such valuable domestics, recorded with the simple truth of natural -feel- ing. I have two before me at this moment ; one 32 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. copied from a tombstone of a church in Warwick- shire : "Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, con fidential servant to George Birch, Esq., of Ham- stead Hall. His grateful frieud and master caused this inscription to be w^ritten in memory of his discretion, fidelity, diligence, and continence. He died (a bachelor) aged 84, having lived 44 years in the same family." The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham church-yard : '' Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who departed this life on the 8th of September, 1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of 60 years in one family; by each individual of which he lived respected, and died lamented by the sole sm-vivor." Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me the glow about the heart that I felt while copying this honest epitaph in the church- yard of Eltham. I sympathized with this " sole survivor " of a family mourning over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, no doubt, a living memento of times and friends that had passed away; and in considering this record of long and devoted service, I call to mind the touching speech of Old Adam, in " As You Like It," when tottering after the youthful son of his ancient master : " Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp, with love and loyalty." Note — I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen •omewhere in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the FAMILY SERVANTS. 33 late king to the memor;' of a family eei-vant, who Iiad been a faithful attendant of his lamented daughter, the Princess Amelia. George III. possessed much of the strong, domestic feeling of the old English country gentleman ; and it is an incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the human heart, a monarch erecting a monument in honor of the humble virtues of a meniaJL THE WIDOW. She WHS so charitable and pltiows She would weep if that she saw a mous Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled : Of small houDds had she, that she fed With rest flesh, milke, and wastel breads But sore wept she if any of them were dead, Or if man smote them with a yard smart. Chauoeb fOTWITHSTANDING the whimsical parade made by Lady Lillycraft on her arrival, she has none of the petty state- liness that I had imagined ; but, on the contrary, a degree of nature, and simple-heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long waist ; she rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzed out, and put up with pins. Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but the delicacy of her features shows that she may once have been beautiful ; and she has a very fair and well- shaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain. I have had the curiosity to gather a few par- ticulars concerning her. She was a great belle in town between thirty and forty years since, and TBE WIDOW. SS reigned for two seasons with all the insolence ol beauty, refusing several excellent offers; when, unfortunately, she was robbed of her charms and her lovers by an attack of the small-pox. She retired immediately into the country, where she some time after inherited an estate, and married a baronet, a former admirer, whose pasaion had suddenly revived ; " having," as he said, " always loved her mind rather than her person." The baronet did not enjoy her mind and for tune above six months, and had scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke his neck in a fox-chase, and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remained on her estate in the country ever since, and has never shown any desire to return to town, and revisit the scene of her early triumphs and fatal malady. All her favorite rec- ollections, however, revert to that short period of her youthfiil beauty. She has no idea of town but as it was at that time ; and continually for- gets that the place and people must have changed materially in the course of nearly half a century. She will often speak of the toasts of those days as if still reigning ; and, until very recently, used to talk with delight of the royal family, and the beauty of the young princes and princesses. She cannot be brought to think of the present king otherwise than as an elegant young man, rather wild, but who danced a minuet divinely; and before he canie to the crown, would often mention him as the " sweet young prince." She talks also of the walks in K'ensingtoD Grarden, where the gentlemen appeared in gold- 36 BRACEDRIDGE HALL. laced coats and cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops, and swept so proudly along the grASsy avenues ; and she thinks the ladies let themselves sadly down in their dignity, when they gave up cushioned head-dresses, and high-heeled shoes She has much to say too of the officers who were in the train of her admirers ; and speaks famil- iarly of many wild young blades, who are now, perhaps, hobbling about watering - places with crutches and gouty shoes. Whether the taste the good lady had of matri- mony discouraged her or not, I cannot say ; but though her merits and her riches have attracted many suitors, she has never been tempted to venture again into the happy state. This is singular, too, for she seems of a most soft and susceptible heart ; is always talking of love and connubial felicity, and is a great stickler for old- fashioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She lives, however, after her own taste. Her house, I am told, must have been built and furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison : every- thing about it is somewhat formal and stately; but has been softened down into a degree of voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady, very tender-hearted and romantic, and who Ipves her ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down on them. Flowers of the most rare and delicate kind are placed about the rooms and on little ja- panned stands ; and sweet bags lie about the ta- bles and mantelpieces. The house is full of pe( THE WIDOW. 37 dogs, Angola cats, aiid siuging-birds, who are as carefully waited upon as she is herself. She is datttty in her living, and a little of aii epicure, living on white meats, and little ladylike dishes, though her servants have substantial old £nglish fare, as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they are so indulged that they are all spoiled ; and when they lose their present place, they will be fit for no other. Her ladyship is one of those easy-tempered beings, that are always doomed to be much liked, but ill served by their domestics, and cheated by all the world. Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of which she has a most extensive library, and a constant supply from the publishers in town Her erudition in this line of literature is immense ; she has kept pace with the press for half a cen- tury. Her mind is stuffed with love-tales of all kinds, from the stately amours of the old books of chivalry, down to the last blue-covered ro- mance, reeking from the press ; though she evi- dently gives the preference to those that came out in the days of her youth, and when she was first in love. She maintains that there are no novels written nowadays equal to Pamela and Sir Charles Grandison ; and she places the Castle of Otranto at the head of all romances. She does a vast deal of good in her neighbor- hood, and is imposed upon by every beggar in the •2ounty. She is the benefactress of a village adjoining her estate, and takes an especial inter- est in all its love - affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on ; every lovelorn damsel 38 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. is sure to find a patient listener and a sage adviser in her ladyship. She takes great pains to recon- cile all love-quarrels; and should any faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, he is sure to draw on hiniself the good lady's violent indigna- tion. I have learned these particulars partly from Frank Bracebridge, and partly from Master Simon. I am now able to account for the assiduous atten- tion of the latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of his favorite resorts, where he is a very important personage. He makes her a visit of business once a year, when he looks into all her affairs ; which, as she is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He examines the books of the overseer, and shoots about the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with game, notwithstand- ing that it is poached by all the vagabonds in the neighborhood. It is thought, as I before hinted, that the cap- tain will inherit the greater part of her property, having always been her chief favorite : for, in fact, she is partial to a red coat. She has now come to the Hall to be present at his nuptials, having a great disposition to interest herself in ftll matters of love and matrimony. rSi.''-^ '•DJhi' iLtrMW). THE LOVEKS. ItiBe np, my lore, my &ir one^ and come away ; for lo the winter u past, the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the TOice of the tnrtle Is heard in the land. — SoHG of Solomon . O a man who is little of a philosopher, and a bachelor to boot ; and who, by dint of some experience in the follies of life, begins to look with a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of woman ; to such a man, 1 say, there is something very entertaining in noticing the conduct of a pair of young lovers. It may not be as grave and scientific a study as the loves of the plants, but it is certainly as in- teresting. I have therefore derived much pleasure, since my arrival at the Hall, from observing the fair Julia and her lover. She has all the delightful, blushing consciousness of an artless girl, inexpe- rienced in coquetry, who has made her first eon- (|uest; while the captain regards her with that mixture of fondness and exultation with which a youthful lover is apt to contemplate so beauteous * prize. I observed them yesterday in the garden, ad- rancing along one of the retired walks. The 10 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. sun was shining with delicious warmth, making great masses of bright verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, that " harbinger of spring," was famtly heard from a distance ; the thrush piped from the hawthorn ; and the yellow butter- flies sported, and toyed, and coquetted in the air. The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening to his conversation, with her eyes cast down, -a soft blush on her cheek, and a quiet smile on her lips, while in the hand that hung negligently by her side was a bunch of flow- ers. In this way they were sauntering slowly along ; and when I considered them, and the scene in which they were moving, I could not but think it a thousand pities that the season should ever change, or that young people should ever grow older, or that blossoms should give way to fruit, or that lovers should ever get married. From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I understand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a favorite college friend of the Squire ; who, after leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and served for many years in India, where he was mortally wounded in a skirmish with the natives. In his last moments he had, with a faltering pen, recommended his wife and daughter to the kind- ness of his early friend. The widow and her child returned to England helpless and almost hopeless. When Mr. Brace- bridge received accounts of their situation, he hastened to their relief. He reached them just in THE LOVERS. 41 time to soothe the last moments of the mother who was dying of a oonsumption, and to makt her happy in the assurance that her child shoidd never want a protector. The good Squire returned with his prattling charge to his stronghold, where he has brought her up with a tenderness truly paternal. As he has taken some pains to superintend her educa- tion, and form her taste, she has grown up with many of his notions, and considers him the wisest as well as the best of men. Much of her time, too, has been passed with Lady Lillycraft, who haa instructed her in the manners of the old school, and enriched her mind with all lands of novels and romances. Indeed, her ladyship has had a great hand in promoting the match between Julia and the captain, having had them together at her country seat the moment she found there was an attachment groAving up between them ; the good lady being never so happy as when she has a pair of turtles cooing about her. I have been pleased to see the fondness with which the fair Julia is regarded by the old ser- vants at the Hall. She has been a pet with them from childhood, and every one seems to lay some claim to her education ; so that it is no wonder she should be extremely accomplished. The gar- dener taught her to rear flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she approaches ; and as she sits lightly and gracefiilly in her saddle, claims he merit of having taught her to ride ; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon her as 42 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an insight into the mysteries of the toilet, having been dressing-maid in her young days to the late Mrs. Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this last claim, as I have noticed that the dress of the young lady had an air of the old school, though managed with native taste, and that her hair was put up very much in tke style of Sir Peter Lel/s portraits in the picture gallery. Her very musical attainments partake of this old-fashioned character, and most of her songs are such as are not at the present day to be found on the piano of a modern performer. I have, how- ever, seen so much of modern fashions, modern accomplishments, and modern fine ladies, that I relish this tinge of antiquated style in so young and lovely a girl ; and I have had as mucji pleas- ure in hearing her warble one of the old songs of Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some simple old melody, as from listening to a lady amateur sky-lark it up and down through the finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart. We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally, between her and the captain, assisted sometimes by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubi- ously, on his violin ; being very apt to get out and to halt a note or two in the rear. Sometimes he even thrums a little on the piano, and takes a part in a trio, in which his voice can generally be distinguished by a certain quavering tone, and an occasional false note. I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him after one of her songs, when I found he took THE LOVERS. 43 to himself the whole credit of having fovmed her musical taste, assuring me that she was very apt , and, indeed, summing up her whole character in his knowing way, by adding, that " she was a very nice girl, and had no nonsense about her." FAMILY RELICS. My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye, The dimple on her cheek : and Buch sweet skill Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown These lips look fresh and lively as her own. False colors last after the true be dead. Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks. Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, Of all the music set upon her tongue,,. Of all that was past woman's excellence In her white bosom ; look, a painted board Circumscribes all ! DKkEER. I N old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. It abounds with il- lustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes, and humors, and manners, of succes- sive generations. The alterations and additions, in different styles of architecture ; the furniture, plate, pictures, hangings ; the warlike and sport- ing implements of different ages and fancies ; all furnish food for curious and amusing speculation. As the Squire is very careful in collecting and preserving all family relics, the Hall is full of remembrances of the kind. In looking about the establishment, I can picture to myself the charac- ters and habits that have prevailed at different eras of tl n family history, t have mentioned on a former occasion the armor of the crusaders FAMILY RELICS. 45 which hangs up iu the Hall. There are also sev- eral jackboots, with enormously thick soles and liigh heels,, which belonged to a set of cavaliers, who filled the Hall with the din and stir of arms during the time of the Covenanters. A number of enormous drinking-vessels of antique fashion, with huge Venice glasses, and green hock-glasses, with the Apostles in relief on them, remain as monuments of a generation or two of hard livers, who led a life of roaring revelry, and first intro- duced the gout into the family. I shall pass over several more such indications of temporary tastes of the Squire's predecessors ; but I cannot forbear to notice a pair of antlers in the great hall, which is one of the trophies of a hard-riding squire of former times, who was the Nimrod of these parts. There are many tradi- tions of his wonderful feats in hunting still exist- ing, which are related by old Christy, the hunts- man, who gets exceedingly nettled if they are in the least ■ doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a few miles from the Hall, which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap, from his having cleared it in the ardor of the chase ; there can be no doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows the very dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks on each side of the chasm. Master Simon holds the memory of this Squire in great veneration, and has a number of ex- traordinary stories to tell concerning him, which he repeats at all hunting-dinners ; and I am told that they wax more and more marvellous the older they grow. He has also a pair of Rippon 46 BHACEBRIDGE BALL. spurs whicli belonged to this mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on particular oc- casions. The place, however, which abounds most with mementos of past times, is the picture gallery ; and there is something strangely pleasing, though melancholy, in considering the long rows of por- traits which compose the greater part of the col- lection. They furnish a kind of narrative of the lives of the family worthies which I am enabled to read with the assistance of the venerable house- keeper, who is the family chronicler, prompted occasionally by Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine lady, for instance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her as a lit tie girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a kitten in her arms, and ogling the spectator out of the corners of her eyes, as if she could not turn her head. In another we find her in the fresh- ness of youthful beauty, when she was a cele- brated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause sev- eral unfortunate gentlemen to run desperate and write bad poetry. In another she is depicted as a stately dame, in the maturity of her charms ; next to the portrait of her husband, a gaUant colonel in full-bottomed wig and gold-laced hat, who was killed abroad ; and, finally, her monument is in the church, the spire of which may be seen tr'om the window, where her effigy is carved in marble, and represents her as a venerable dame of seventy-six. In like manner I have followed some of the family great men through a series of pictures FAMILY RELICS. 47 from early boyhood to the robe of dignity, oi truncheon of command, and so on by degrees, un- til they ■\vei'e garnered up in the common repos- itory, the neighboring church. There is one group that particularly interested me. It consisted of four sisters of nearly the, same age, who flourished about a century since, and, if I may judge from their portraits, were extremely beautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gayety and romance this old mansion must have been, when they were in the heyday of their charms ; when they passed like beautiful vis- ions through its halls, or stepped daintily to mu- sic in the revels and dances of *he cedar gallery ; or printed, with delicate feet, the, velvet verdure of these lawns. How must they have been look- ed up to with mingled love, and pride, and rev- erence, by the old family servants ; and followed with almost painful admiration by the aching eyes of" rival admirers ! How must melody, and song, and tender serenade, have breathed about these courts, and their echoes whispered to the loitering tread of lovers ! How must these very turrets have made the hearts of the young galliards thrill as they first discerned them from afar, rising from among the trees, and pictured to themselves the beauties casketed like gems within these walls ! Indeed, I have discovered about the place several •faint records of this reign of love and romance, when the Hall was a kind of Court of Beauty. Several of the- old romances in the library have marginal notes expressing sympathy and approlwtion, where there are long speeches extol- 48 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ling ladies' charms, or protesting eternal fidelivy. or bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair one. The interviews, and declarations, and part- ing scenes of tender lovers, also bear evidence of having been frequently read, and are scored and marked with notes of admiration, and have initials written on the margins ; most of which annotations have the day of the month and year annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, have scraps of poetry engi'aved on them with dia- monds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs. Philips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these seem to have been inscribed by lovers ; and others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a little inaccurate in thi- spelling, have evidently been written by the young ladies themselves, or by female friends, who have been on visits to the Hall. Mrs. Philips seems to have been their fa- vorite author, and they have distributed the names of her heroes and heroines among their circle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a male hand, the verse bewails the cruelty of beauty, and the sufferings of constant love ; while in a female hand it pru- dishly confines itself to lamenting the parting of female friends. The bow-window of my bed- room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by one of these beauties, has several of these inscrip- tions. I have one at this moment before my eyes, called " Camilla parting with Leonora " : " How perished is the joy that '3 past, The present how unsteady ! What comfort can be great and last, Whe 1 this is gone already ? " FAMILY RELICS. 49 And dose by it is another, written, perhaps, by some adventurous lover, who had stolen into the lady's chamber during her absence. "THEODOSIUS to CAMILLA. I'd rather in your favor live Than in a lasting name ; And much a greater rate would give For happiness than fame. Theodosius, 1700." When I look at these faint records of gallan- try and tenderness ; when I contemplate the fad- ing portraits of these beautiful girls, and think too that they have long since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, and passed away, and with them all their graces, their triumphs, their rivalries, their admirers ; the whole empire of love and pleasure in which they ruled — " aU dead, all buried, all forgotten," I find a cloud of melancholy stealing over the present gayeties around me. I was gaz- ing, in a musing mood, this very morning, at the portrait of the lady whose husband was killed abroad, when the fair Julia entered the gallery, leaning on the arm of the captain. The sun shone through the row of windows on her as she passed along, and she seemed to beam out each time into brightness, and relapse into shade, until the door at the bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt a sadness of heart at the idea, that this was an emblem of her lot : a few more years of sunshine and shade, and all this life, and love- liness, and enjoyment will have ceased, and noth ing be left to commemorate this beautiful being 50 BHACEBRIDGE BALL. but one more perishable portrait ; to awaken, perhaps, the trite speculations of some future loi- terer, like myself, when I and my scribblinga Bhall have lived through our brief existence, and been forgotten. AN OLD SOLDIER. Fto vrom some leather oat abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; Fed this good sword with the black blood of pagan Christians ; con- verted a few infidels with it. — But let that pa^. — Tas OBDUfART. HE Hall was thrown into some little agitation, a few days since, by the ar- rival of General Harbottle. He had been expected for several days, and looked for, rather impatiently, by several of the family. Master Simon assured me that I would like the generaj hugely, for he was a blade of the old school, and an excellent table-companion. Lady Lillycraft, also, appeared to be somewhat fluttered on the morning of the general's arrival, for he had been one of her early admirers ; and she rec- ollected him only as a dashing young ensign, just come upon the town. She actually spent an hour longer at her toilette, and made her appear- ance with her hair uncommonly frizzed and pow- dered, and an additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little surprised and shocked, therefore, at finding the lithe dashing ensign transformed into a corpulent old general, with a double chin ; though it was a perfect picture to mtness their salutations, the graciousness of her profound courtesy, and the air of the old school 52 BRACEBRWGE HALL. with which the general took off his hat, swayed it gently in his hand, and bowed his powdered head. All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study the general with a little more attention than, perhaps, I should otherwise have done ; and the few days that he has already passed at th*; Hall have enabled me, I think, to furnish a toler- able likeness of him to the reader. He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old school, with powdered head, side-locks, and pigtail. His face is shaped like the stern of a Dutch man-of-war, narrow at top, and wide at bottom, with full rosy cheeks and a double chin ; so that, to use the cant of the day, his organs of eating may be said to be powerfully developed. The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active service, except the taking of Sering- apatam, which forms an era in his history. He wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a dia- mond on his finger, which he got on that occa- sion, and whoever is unlucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve himself in the whole history of the siege. To judge from the gen- eral's conversktion, the taking of Seringapatam is the most important afifair that has occurred for the last century. On the approach of warlike times on the Conti- nent, he was rapidly promoted to get him out of the way of younger officers of merit ; until, hav- ing been hoisted to the rank of general, he was quietly laid on the shelf Since that time his campaigns have been prmcipally confined to wa- AN OLD SOLDIER. 53 lering-places ; where he drinks the waters for a slight touch of the liver which he got in India , and plays whist with old dowagers, with whom he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed, he talks of all the fine women of the last half cen- tury, and, according to hints which he now and then drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of many of them. He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of almost every place famous for good quarters, and where the inhabitants give good din- ners. He is a diner-out of first-rate currency, when in town ; being invited to one place be- cause he has been seen at another. In the same way he is invited about the country-seats, and can describe half the seats in the kingdom, &om actual observation ; nor is any one better versed in court gossip, and the pedigrees and intermar- riagesof the nobUity. As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, and there are several ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam flame Lady Lillycraft, lie is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, therefore, at his toilette, and takes the field at a late hour every morning, with his hair dressed out and powdered, and a rose in his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he walks up and down the teiTace in the sunshine, humming an air, and hemming between every stave, carrying one hand behind his back, and with the other touching his cane to the ground, emd then raising it up to his shoulder. Should he, m these morning promenades, meet djiy of the 54 BBACEBRISGE HALL. elder ladies of the family, aa he frequently doea Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, and it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups of ladies and gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor Terrace, or Kensington Garden. He talks frequently about « the service," and is fond of humming the old song, " Why, soldiers, why. Should we be melancholy, boys ? Why, soldiers, why. Whose business 't is to die ! " I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run any great risk of dying, excepting from an apoplexy or an indigestion. He criticises all the battles on the Continent, and discusses the merits of the commanders, but never fails to bring the conversation, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told that the general was a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during the late war, and was looked to with hope and confidence by many an old lady, when laboring under the terror of Bona- parte's invasion. He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on levees when in town. He has treasured up many remarkable sayings of the late king, par- ticularly one which the king made to him on a field-day, complimenting him on the excellence of his horse. He extols the whole royal family, but especially the present king, whom he pronounces the most perfect gentleman and best whist-player in Europe. The general swears rather more than is the fashion at the present day ; but it was the Ali OLD SOLDIER. 53 mode in the old school. He is, however, very strict in religious matters, and a stanch church- man. He repeats the responses very loudly in church, and is emphatical in praying for the king and royal family. At table his royalty waxes very fervent with liis second bottle, and the song of " God save the King " puts him into a perfect ecstasy. He is amazingly well contented with the present §tate of things, and apt to get a little impatient at any talk about national ruin and agricultural distress. He says he has travelled about the country as much as any man, and has met with nothing but prosperity ; and to confess the truth, a great part of his time is spent in visiting from one country- seat to another, and riding about the parks of his Mends. " They talk of public distress," said the general this day to me, at dinner, as he smacked a glass of rich burgundy, and cast his eyes about the ample board ; " they talk of public distress, but where do we find it, sir? I see none. I see no reason any one has to complain. Take my word for it, sir, this talk about public distress is all humbug ! " THE WIDOW'S RETINUE. Little dogs and all ! LUR. |N giving an account of the arrival oi' Lady Lillycraft at the Hall, I ought to have mentioned the entertainment which I derived from witnessing the unpacking of her carriage, and the disposing of her retinue. There is something extremely amusing to me in the number of factitious wants, the loads of imagi- nary conveniences, but real incumbrances, with which the luxurious are apt to burden them- selves. I like to watch the whimsical stir and display about one of these petty progresses. The number of robustious footmen and retainers of all kinds bustling about, with looks of infinite gravity and importance, to do almost nothing. The number of heavy trunks, and parcels, and bandboxes belonging to my lady ; and the solici- tude exhibited about some humble, odd-looking box, by my lady's maid ; the cushions piled in the carriage to make a soft seat still softer, and to prevent the dreaded possibility of a jolt ; the smelling-bottles, the cordials, the baskets of bis- cuit and fruit ; the new publications ; all pro- vided to guard against hunger, fatigue, or ennui : THE WIDOWS RETINUE. 57 the led horses to vary the mode of travelling and all this preparation and parade to move, per haps, some very good-for-nothing personage about a little space of earth ! I do not mean to apply the latter part of these observations to Lady Lillycraft, for whose simple kind-heartedness I have a very great respect, and who is really a most amiable and worthy being. I cannot refrain, however, from mentioning some of the motley retinue she has brought with her ; and which, indeed, bespeak the overflowing kind- ness of her nature, which requires her to be sur- rounded with objects on which to lavish it. In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered coachman, with a red face, and cheeks that hang down like dew-laps. He evidently domineers over her a little with respect to the fat horees ; and only drives out when he thinks proper, and when he thinks it will be " good for the cattle." She has a favorite page to attend upon her person : a handsome boy of about twelve years of age, but a mischievous varlet, very much spoiled, and in a fair way to be good for nothing. He is dressed in green, with a profusion of gold cord and gilt, buttons about his clothes. She always has one or two attendants of the kind, who are replaced by others as soon as they grow to fourteen years of age. She has brought two 4ogs with her, also, out of a number of pets which she maintains at home. One is a fat span- iel called Zephyr — though heaven defend me from such a zephyr ! He is fed out of all shape and comfort ; his eyes are nearly strained out of 58 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. his head ; he wheezes with corpulency, and cau- not walk without great difficulty. The other is a little, old, gray muzzled curmudgeon, with an UU' happy eye, that kindles like a coal if you only look at him ; his nose turns up ; his mouth is drawn into wrinkles, so as to show liis teeth ; in short, he has altogether the look of a dog far gone in misanthropy, and totally sick of the world. When he walks, he has his tail curled up so tight that it seems to lift his feet from the ground ; and he seldom makes use of more than three legs at a time, keeping the other drawn up as a re- serve. This last wretch is called Beauty. These dogs are fuU of elegant ailments im- known to vulgar dogs ; and are petted and nursed by Lady Lillycraft with the tenderest kindness. They are pampered and fed with delicacies by their fellow-minion, the page ; but their stomachs are often weak and out of order, so that they cannot eat ; though I have now and then seen the page give them a mischievous pinch, or thwack over the head, when his mistress was not by. They have cushions for their express use, on which they lie before the fire, and yet are apt to shiver and moan if there is the least draught of air. When any one enters the room, they make a tyrannical barking that is absolutely deafening. They are insolent to all the other dogs of the establishment. There is a noble stag-hound, a great favorite of the Squire's, who is a privileged visitor to the parlor ; but the moment he makes his appearance, these intruders fly at him with furious rage ; and I have admired the sovereign TBE WIDOWS RETINUE. 50 indifference and contempt with which he seems to look down upon his puny assailants. When her ladyship drives out, these dogs are generally carried with her to take the air ; when they look out of each window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar pedestrian dogs. These dogs are a continual source of misery to the household : as they are always in the way, they every now and then get their toes trod on, and then there is a yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation on the part of their mistress, that fill the room with clamor and confusion. Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentle- woman, Mrs. Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; one of the most intolerable and intolerant virgins that ever lived. She has kept her vir- tue by her until it has turned sour, and now every word and look smacks of verjuice. She is the very opposite to her mistress, for one hates, and the other loves, all mankind. How they first came together I cannot imagine ; but they have lived together for many years ; and the abi- gail's temper beiug tart and encroaching, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has got the complete upperhand, and tyrannizes over the good lady in secret. Lady LiUyeraft now and then complains of it, in great confidence, to her friends, but hushes up the subject immediately, if Mrs. Hannah makes her appearance. Indeed, she has been so accus- tomed to be attended by her, that she thinks she could not do without her ; though one great study of her life is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good humor by little presents and kindnesses. 60 BRACEBRWGE HALL. Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence mingled with awe, for this arcient spinster. He told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a cursed brimstone, — in fact, he added another epithet, which I would not repeat for the world. I have remarked, however, that he is always ex tremely civil to her when they meet. READY-MONET JACK. My purse, it is my privy wyfc, This song I dare both syug and say, It keepeth men from grievous stryfe When every man for hymself shall pay Aa I ryde in ryche array For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe j By thys matter 1 dare well saye, Ever gramercy myne owne parse. Book op Huntino. |N the skirts of the neighboring village there lives a kind of small potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representa- tive of one of the most ancient legitimate lines of the present day ; for the empire over which he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind. His territories comprise a considerable number of good fat acres ; and his seat of power is in an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmo- lested, the stout oaken chair of his ancestors. The personage to whom I allude is a sturdy old yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or rather Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighborhood. The first place where he attracted my attention {7as in the church-yard on Sunday; where he Bat on a tombstone after the service, with hia 62 BRACEBRIDGE HAIL, hat a littlq on one side, holding forth to a BmaH circle of auditors ; and, as I presumed, expound ing the law and the prophets ; until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he was only expatiating on the merits of a brown horse. He presented so faithful a picture of a substantial English yeo- man, such as he is often described in books, height- ened, indeed, by some little iinery peculiar to himself, that I could not but take note of his whole appearance. He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, muscular frame, and at least six feet high, with a physiognomy as grave as a lion's, and set off with short, curling, iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar was turned down, and displayed a neck covered with the same short, curling, gray hair ; and he wore a colored silk neck-cloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste brooch on the knot. His coat was of dark-green cloth, with silver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tib- bets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of figured chintz, between which and his coat was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet gai-ters. His stockings were blue, with white clocks ; he wore large silver shoe-buckles ; a broad paste buckle in his hatband ; his sleeve- buttons were gold seven-shilling pieces ; and he had. two or three guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain. On making some inquiries about him, I gath- KJiADT-MONEy JACK 63 ered, that he was descended from a line of farmers that had always lived on the same spot, and owned the same property ; and that half of the church- yard was taken up with the tomhstones of his race. He has all his life been an important charactei in the place. "When a youngster he was one of the most roaring blades of the neighborhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pinner of Wakefield, he was the village champion ; carried oflF the prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country round. Even to this day the old people talk of his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all heroes of the green that have succeeded him ; nay, they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to take the field even now, there is no one could stand before him. When Jack's father died, the neighbors shook their heads, and predicted that young hopeful would soon make way with the old homestead ; but Jack falsified all their predictions. The mo- ment he succeeded to the paternal farm, he assumed a new character : took a wife ; attended resolutely to his affairs, and became an industrious, thrifty farmer. With the family property he inherited a set of old family maxims, to which he steadily adhered. He saw to everything himself; put his own hand to the plough ; worked hard ; ate heartily ; slept soundly ; paid for everything in cash down ; and never danced except he could do it to the music of his own money in both pockets. EJe has never been without a hundred or two 54 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. pounds in gold by him, and never allows & debt to stand unpaid. This has gained him hi^ cur- rent name, of which, by the by, he is a /ittle proud ; and has caused him to be looked upon as a very wealthy man by all the village. Notwithstanding his thrift, however, hi- has never denied himself the amusements of lil-a, but has taken a share in every passing pleasure. It is his maxim, that " he that works hard can af- ford to play." He is, therefore, an attendant at all the country fairs and wakes, and has signal- ized himself by feats of strength and prowess on every village green in the shire. He often makes his appearance at horse-races, and sports his half- guinea, and even his guinea at a time ; keeps a good horse for his own riding, and to this day is fond of followuig the hounds, and is generally in at the death. He keeps up the rustic revels, and hospitalities too, for which his paternal farm-house has always been noted ; has plenty of good cheer and dancing at harvest-home, and, above all, keeps the " merry night," * as it is termed, at Christ- ma.s. With all his love of amusement, however. Jack is by no means a boisterous jovial companion. He is seldom known to laugh even in the midst of his gayety ; but maintains the same grave, lion-like demeanor. He is very slow at compre- * Merey Night. A rustic meny inaking in a fanu-house about Christinas, common in some parts of Ycrlcsliire. Tliero is abundance of liomely fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale ; various feats of agility, amusing games, romping, dancing, and kiss- ing withal. They commonly break up at midnight. READY-MONEr JACK. 65 hending a joke ; and is apt to sit puzzling at it, with a pei plexed look, while the rest of the com- pany is in a roar. ThL'! gravity has, perhaps, grown on him with the growing weight of his character ; for he is gradually rising into patri- archal dignity in his native place. Though he no longer takes an active part in athletic sports, he always presides at them, and is appealed to on all occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace on the village green at holiday games, and quells all brawls and quarrels by collaring the parties and shaking them heartily, if refractory. No one ever pretends to raise a hand against him, or to contend against his decisions ; the young men have grown up in habitual awe of his prowess, and in implicit deference to him as the champion and lord of the green. He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the landlady having been a sweetheart of his in early life, and he having always continued on kind terms with her. He seldom, however, drinks any- thing but a draught of ale ; smokes his pipe, and pays his reckoning before leaving the tap-room. Here he " gives his little senate laws " ; decides bets, which are very generally referred to him ; determines upon the characters and qualities of horses ; and, indeed, plays now and then the part of a judge, in settling petty disputes between neighbors, which otherwise might have been nursed by country attorneys into tolerable law-suits. Jack is very candid and impartial in his decisions, but he has not a head to carry a long argument, and is very apt to get perplexed and out of pa- 5 66 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. tience if there is much pleading. He generally breaks through the argument with a strong voice, and brings matters to a summary conclusion by pronouncing what he calls the "upshot of the business,'' or, in other words, " the long and the short of the matter." Jack made a journey to London a great many years since, which has furnished him with topics of conversation ever since. He saw the old king on the terrace at Windsor, who stopped, and pointed him out to one of the princesses, being probably struck with Jack's truly yeomanlike ap- pearance. This is a favorite anecdote with him, and has no doubt had a great effect in making hirii a most loyal subject ever since, uj spite of taxes and poors' rates. He was also at Bartholo- mew fair, where he had half the buttons cut off his coat ; and a gang of pickpockets, attracted by his external show of gold and silver, made a reg- ular attempt to hustle him as he was gazing at a show ; but for once they caught a tartar, for Jack enacted as great wonders among the gang as Samson did among the Philistines. One of his neighbors, who had accompanied him to t6wn, and was with him at the ftiir, brought back an account of his exploits, which raised the pride of the whole village ; who considered their cham- pion as having subdued all London, and eclipsed the achievements of Friar Tuck, or even the re- nowned Robin Hood himself. Of late years the old fellow has begun to take the world easily ; he works less, and indulges in greater leisure, his son having grown up, and sue- , READY-MONET JACK. 67 seeded to him both in the labors of the farm and the exploits of the green. Like aU sons of distinguished men, however, his fathei^s renown is a disadvantage to him, for he can never come up to public expectation. Though a fine active fellow of three-and-twenty, and quite the "cock of the walk," yet the old people declare he is nothing like what Eeady-Money Jack was at his time of life. The youngster himself acknowledges his inferiority, and has a wonderful opinion of the old man, who indeed taught him all his athletic accomplishments, and holds such a sway over him, that, I am told, even to this day, he would have no hesitation to take him in hands, if he rebelled against paternal government. The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and shows him to all his visitors, as a specimen of old English " heart of oak." He frequently calls at his house, and tastes some of his home-brewed, which is excellent. He made Jack a present of old Tusser's " Hundred Points of good Husband- rie," which has fiirnished him with reading ever since, and is his text-book and manual in all agri- cultural and domestic concerns. He has made dog's ears at the most favorite passages, and knows many of the poetical maxims by heart. Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or fluttered by high acquaintances, and though he cherishes a sturdy independence of mind and man- ner, yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of the Squire, whom he has known from boyhood, and pronounces " a true gentleman every inch of him," He is, also, on excellent terms with Mas- 68 BBACEBRWGE HALL. ter Simon, who is a kind of privy counsellor to the family ; but his great favorite is the Oxonian, whom he taught to wrestle and play at quarter" BtaflF when a boy, and considers tlje most prorais ing young gentleman in the whole -county. BACHELOES. The Bachelor most joyfully In pleasant plight doth pass bis dales Ooodfellowship and companle He doth muntain and keep alwaies. Etah's Old Ballass. j HERE is no character in the comedy of human life more difficult to play well than that of an old Bachelor. When a single gentleman, therefore, arrives at that criti- cal period when he begins to consider it an imper- tinent question to be asked his age, I would ad- vise him to look well to his ways. This period, it is true, is much later with some men than with others ; I have witnessed more than once the meeting of two wrinkled old lads of this kind, who had not seen each for several years, and have been amused by the amicable exchange of compliments on each other's appearance that takes place on such occasions. There is always one invariable observation : " Why, bless my soul ! you look younger than when last I saw you ! " Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old. I am led to make these remarks by the conduct 70 BBACEBRWGE BALL. of Master Simon and the general, who have be- come great ca-onies. As the former is the young- est by many years, he is regarded sis quite a youthful blade by the general, who, moreover, looks upon him as a man of great wit and pro- digious acquirements. I have already hinted that Master Simon is a family beau, and consid- ered rather a young fellow by all the elderly la- dies of the connection ; for an old bachelor, in an old family connection, is something like an actor in a regular dramatic corps, who seems to " flour- ish in immortal youth," and will continue to play the Romeos and Rangers for half a century to- gether. Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, and takes a different hue with every different companion : he is very attentive and officious, and somewhat sentimental, with Lady Lillycraft ; cop- ies out little namby-pamby ditties and love-songs for her, and draws quivers, and doves, and darts^ and Cupids to be worked on the corners of her pocket-handkerchiefs. He indulges, however, in very considerable latitude with the other married ladies of the family; and has many sly pleasant- ries to whisper to them, that provoke an equivo- cal laugh and a tap of the fan. But when he gets among young company, such as Frank Brace- bridge, the Oxonian, and the general, he is apt to put on the mad wag, and to talk in a very bache- 'or-like strain about the sex. In this he has been encouraged by the exam- ple of the general, whom he looks up to as a man that has seen the world. The reneral, in fact, BACHELORS. 71 (ells sliockiug stories after dinner, when the la dies have retired, which he gives as some of the choice things that are served up at the MuUi- gatawney club — a knot of boon companions in London. He also repeats the fat jokes of old Major Pendergast, the wit of the club, and which, though the gentleman can hardly repeat them for laughing, always make Mr. Bracebridge look grave, he having a great antipathy to an indecent jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance of the declension in gay life, by which a young man of pleasure is apt to cool down into an ob- scene old gentleman. I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or two since, conversing with a buxom milkmaid in a meadow ; and from their elbowing each other now and then, and the general's shaking his shoul- ders, blowing up his cheeks, and breaking out into a short fit of irrepressible laughtel-, I had no doubt they were playing the mischief with the girl. As I looked at them through a hedge, I could not but think they would have made a tolerable group for a modern picture of Susannah and the two elders. It is true, the girl seemed in no wise alarmed at the force of the enemy ; and I question, had either of them been alone, whether she would not have been more than they would liave ventured to encounter. Such veteran rois- ters are daring wags when together, and will put any female to the blush with their jokes ; but they are as quiet as Iambs when they fall singly into the clutches of a fine woman. In spite of the general's years, he evidently is 72 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. a, little vain of his person, and ambitious of con- q\iests. I have observed him on Sunday in church, eying the country girls most suspicic us- ly ; and have seen him leer upon them with a downright amorous look, even when he has been gallanting Lady Lillycraft, with great ceremony, through the churali-y^rd. The general, in fact, is a veteran in the service of Cupid rather than of Mars, having signalized himself in all the gar- rison towns and QQuntrV quarters, and seen ser- vice in every bair-r'oom of England. Not a cel- ebrated beauty but he has laid siege to ; and if his word may be taken in a matter wherein no man is apt to be over-veracious, it is incredible the success he has had with the fair. . At present he is like a worn-out warrior, retired from ser- vice, but who still cocks his beaver with a mili- tary air, and talks stoutly of fighting whenevei he comes within the smell of gunpowder. I have heard him speak his mind very freely over his bottle, about the folly of the captain in taking a wife ; as he thinks a young soldier should care for nothing but his " bottle and kind landlady." But, in fact, he says, the service on the Continent has had a sad effect upon the young men ; they have been ruined by light wines and French quadrilles. " They 've nothing," he says, " of the spirit of the old service. There are none of your six-bottle men left, that were the souls of a mess-dinner, and used to play the very deuce among the women." As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a free and easy man, with no baggage to take BACBELORS. 73 eare of but his portmanteau ; but a married man, with his wife hanging on his arm, always puts him in mind of a chamber-candlestick, with its extinguisher hitched to it. I should not mind all this if it were merely confined to the general ; but I fear he will be the ruin of my friend, Mas- ter Simon, who already begins to echo his here- sies, and to talk in the style of a gentleman that has seen life, and lived upon the town. Indeed, the general seems to have taken Master Simon in hand, and talks of showing him the lions when he comes to town, and of introducing him to a knot of choice spirits at the Mulligatawney club ; which, I understand, is composed Of old" iiabobs, officers in the Company's employ, aod other " men of Ind," that have seen service ii the East, and returned home burnt out with curry, and touched with the. liver-complaint. They have their reg- ular dub, where they eat Mulligatawney soup, smoke the hookah, talk about Tippoo Saib, Ser- ingapatam, and tiger-hunting ; and are tediously agreeable in each other's company. WIVES. Believe me, man, tliere is no greater blisse Than is the quiet joy of loving wife ; Which whoso wants, half of himselfe doth misse ; Friend without change, playfellow without strife ; Food without fulnesse, counsaile without pride, Is this sweet doubling of our single life. Sir p. Sidney. j HERE is so much talk about matrimony going on around me, in consequence of the approaching event for which we are assembled at the Hall, that I confess I find my thoughts singularly exercised on the subject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the establishment seem to be passing through a kind of fiery ordeal ; for Lady Lillycraft is one of those tender, romance- read dames of the old school, whose mind is filled with flames and darts, and who breathe nothing but constancy and wedlock. She is forever im- mersed in the concerns of the heart, and, to use a poetical phrase, is perfectly surrounded by " the purple light of love." The very general seems to feel the influence of this sentimental atmosphere, to melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for the time, to forget all his heresies about matri- mony and the sex. The good lady is generally surrounded by little wims. 73 documents of her prevalent taste: novels of a tender nature ; richly-bound little books of poe- tiy, that are filled with sonnets and love-tales, and perfumed with rose-leaves ; and' she has al- ways an album at hand, for which she claims the contributions of all her friends. On looking over this last repository the other day, I found a series of poetical extracts, in the Squire's hand- writing, which might have been intended as mat- rimonial hints to his ward. I was so much struck with several of them, that I took the liberty of copying them out. They are from the old play of Thomas Davenport, published in 1661, entitled " The City Night-Cap " ; in which' is drawn out and exemplified, in the part of Abstemia, the character of a patient and faithful wife, which I think might vie with that of the renowned Gri- selda. I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels should always end at the wedding, and should not give ns another act, and another vol- ume, to let us know how the hero and heroine conducted themselves when married. Their main object seems to be merely to instruct young ladies how to get husbands, but not how to keep them : now this last, I speak it with all due diffidence, appears to me to be a desideratum in modern married life. It is appalling to those who have not yet adventured into the holy state, to see how soon the flame of romantic love burns out, or rather is quenched in matrimony ; and how de- plorably the passionate poetic lover declines into the phlegmatic, prosaic husband. I am inclined 76 BRACEBBWGE HALL. to attribute this very much to the defect just men- tioned in the plays and novels, which form so im- portant a branch of study of our young ladies, and which teach them how to be heroines, but leave them totally at a loss when they come to be wives. The play from which the quotations before me were made, however, is an exception to this remark ; and I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of adducing some of them for the benefit of the reader, and for the honor of an old writer, who has bravely attempted to awaken dramatic interest in favor of a woman, even after she was married ! The following is a commendation of Abstemia to her husband Lorenzo : " She 's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence ; Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks. She inflames love with wonder,) but because She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. She 's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness. The poorest call her courteous ; and which is excellenv (Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom Or never walks abroad in your company. And then with such sweet bashfulness, as if She were venturing on crack' d ice, and takes delight To step into the print your foot hath made, And will follow you whole fields ; so she will drive Tediousuess out of time with her sweet character." Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia had the misfortune to incur the unmerited jeal ousy of her husband. Instead, however, of re- senting his harsh treatment with clamorous up- braidings, and with the stormy violence of htgh, WJVES. 77 windy virtue, by which the sparks of anger are so often blown into a flame, she endures it with the meekness of conscious, but patient virtue ; and makes the following beautiful appeal to a friend who has witnessed her long-suffering • ■ " Hast thou not seen me Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suffers The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom. And jet is presently so smooth, the eye Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made ? " Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representa- tions, at length repudiates her. To the last, how- ever, she maintains her patient sweetness, and her love for him, in spite of his cruelty. She de- plores his error, even more than his unkindness ; and laments the delusion which has turned his very affection into a source of bitterness. There is a moving pathos in her parting address to Lo- renzo after their divorce : - " Farewell, Lorenzo, Whom my soul doth love: if you e'er marry. May you meet a good wife, so good that you May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy Of your suspicion: and if you hear hereafter That I am dead, inquire but my last words, And yon shall know that to the last I loved you. And when you walk forth with your second choice Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me. Imagine that you see me, lean and pale, Strewing your path with flowers But may she never live to pay my debts: If but in thought she wrong you, may she die In th: conception of the injury. Fray make me wealthy with one kiss: farewell, nr: Let it not grieve you when you shall remember That I was innocent : nor this forget, 7b BBACEBRIDGL HALL. Though innocence here suffer sigh, and groan, She walks but thorow thorns to find a throne." In a short time Lorenzo discovers his error, and the innocence of his injured wife. In the transports of his repentance he calls to mind all her feminine excellence; her gentle, uncomplain- ing, womanly fortitude under wrongs and soj^ rows : " Oh Abstemia! How lovely thou lookest now ! now thou appearest Chaster than is the morning's modesty That rises with a blush, over whose bosom The western wind creeps softly ; now I remember How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well, Unless it look'd where I look'd : oh how proud She was, when she could cross herself to please me ! But where now is this fair soul ? Like a silver cloud She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea. And will be found no more." It is but doing right by the reader, if interested in the fate of Abstemia by the preceding extracts, to say, that she was restored to the arms and affections of her husband, rendered fonder than ever, by that disposition in every good heart to atone for past injustice, by an overflowing meas- ure of returning kindness : " Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms ; X am now Confirmed past all suspiciop ; thou art far Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winda That blow from off the coast, and cneer the sailor With the sweet savor of their spices, want The delight flows in thee." WIVES. 79 I liave been lajre affected and interested by thLs little dramatic picture than by many a pop- ular love-tale ; though, as I said before, I do not think it liliely either Abstemia or patient Grizzle stands much chance of being taken for a model. Still I like to see poetry now and then extending its views beyond the wedding-day, and teaching a lady how to make herself attractive even after marriage. There is no great need of enforcing on an unmarried lady the necessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any great art requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to please. Na- ture has multiplied attractions around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needs no foreign aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most on her guard to main- tain her powers of pleasing. No woman can ex- pect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when he was a lover. Men are always doomed to be duped, not so much by the arts of the sex as by their own imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A- woman should therefore ascertain what was the charm which rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and endeavor to keep it up when slio 6as become a wife. One great thing undoubt- edly was, the chariness of herself and her con- duct, which an unmarried female always ob- serves. She should maintain the same niceness uid reserve in her person and habits, and en- 80 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. deavor still to preserve a freshness and virgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should remember that the province of woman is to be wooed, not to woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses instead of winning him. The secret of a wom- an's power does not consist so much in giving as in withholding. A woman may give up too much even to her husband. It is to a thousand little delicacies of conduct that she must trust to keep alive passion, and to protect herself from that dangerous familiarity, that thorough acquaintance with every weakness and imperfection incident to matrimony. By these means she may still main- tain her power, though she has surrendered her person, and may continue the romance of love even beyond the honey-moon. " She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy Taylor, " must entice him to an eternal deamesse by the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of chastity, the ornament of meeknesse, and the jewels of faith and charity. She must have no painting but blushings ; her brightness must be purity, and she must shine round about with sweetnesses and friendship ; and she shall be pleasant while she lives, and desired when she dies." I have wandered into a rambling series of remarks on a trite subject, and a dangerous one for a bachelor to meddle with. That I may not, however, appear to confine my observations en-" tirely to the wife, I will conclude with another quotation from Jeremy Taylor, in which the WJVES. 81 duties of iDutti parties are mentioned ; whUe I would recommend his sermon on the marriage ring to all those who, wiser than myself, are about entering the happy state of wedlock. " There is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns them both alike, and is only distinguished by names, and hath its variety by circumstances and little accidents : and what in one is called love, in the other is called reverence ; and what in the wife is obedience, the same in the man is duty. He provides, and she dispenses ; he gives commandments, and she rules by them ; he rules her by authority, and she rules him by love ; she ought by all means to please him, and he must by no means displease her." STORY-TELLING. FAVORITE evening pastime at the Hall, and one which the worthy Squire is fond of promoting, is story-tellu^, " a good old-fashioned fireside amusement," as he terms it. Indeed, I believe he promotes it chiefly because it was one of the choice recreations in those days of yore when ladies and gentlemen were not much in the habit of reading. Be this as it may, he will often, at supper-table, when conversation flags, call on some one or other of the company for a story, as it was formerly the custom to call for a song ; and it is edifying to see the exemplary patience, and even satisfaction, with which the good old gentleman will sit and listen to some hackneyed tale that he has heard for at least a hundred times. In this way one evening the current of anec- dotes and stories ran upon mysterious personages that have figured at diflferent times, and filled the world with doubts and conjecture ; such as the Wandering Jew, the Man with the Iron Mask, who tormented the curiosity of all Europe ; the Invisible Girl, and last, though not least, the Pig- faced Lady. At length one of the company was called upon STORT-TELLING. 83 who had the most unpromising physiognomy for ■ a story-teller that ever I had seen. He was a thin, pale, weazen-faced man, extremely nervous, who had sat at one corner of th,e table, shrunk up, as it were, into himself, and almost swallowed up in the cape of his coat, as a turtle in its shell. The very demand seemed to throw him into a nervous agitation, yet he did not refuse. He emerged his head out of his shell, made a few odd grimaces and gesticulations, before he could get his muscles into order, or his voice under command, and then offered to give some account of a mysterious personage whom he had recently encountered in the course of his travels, and one whom he thought fuUy entitled of being classed with the Man with the Iron Mask. I was so much struck with his extraordina- ry narrative, that I have written it out to the best of my recollection, for the amusement of the reader. I think it has in it all the elements of that mysterious and romantic narrative so greedily sought after at the present day THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. A STAGE-COACH ROMANCE. I 'II cross it thoiigll it blast me ! Hamlet. !T was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy month of November. I had been de- tained, in the course of a journey, by a slight indisposition, from which I was recover- ing ; bnt was still feverish, and obliged to keep within doors all day, in -an inn of the_STria11_tQwn of ~^Bei%y: A wet Sunday in a country inn ! — whoever has had the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation. ■ The rain pattered against the casements ; the bells tolled for church with a melancholy sound. I went to the win- dows in quest of something to amuse the eye ; but it seemed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach of all amusement. The windows of my bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting-room commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this- world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by travellers and stable- THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 83 boys. In one coraer was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck ; there were several half-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was a miserable, crest- fallen cock, drenched out of all life and spirit; his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a single feather, along which the water trickled fi'om his back ; near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chew- ing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, with wreaths of vapor rising from her reek- ing hide ;■ a wall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves ; an unhappy cur, chained to a dog- house hard by, uttered something, every now and then, between a bark and a' yelp ; a drab of a kitchen-weuch tramped backwards and forwards through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself ;, everything, in short, was com- fortless and forlorn, excepting a crew of hardened ducks, assembled like boon companions round a paddle, and making a riotous noise over their liquor. I was lonely and hsfless, and wanted amuse- ment. My room soon became insupportable. I abandoned it, and sought what is technically called the travellers'-roora. This is a public room set apart at most inns for the accommoda- tion of a class of wayfarers called travellers, oi ^riders ; a kind of commercial knights-errant, who are incessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coacih. They are the only suc- sessors that I know of at the present day to the 86 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. knights-errant of yore. They lead the same kind of roving, adventurous life, only changing the lance for a driving-whip, the buckler for a pattern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benjamin. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless beauty, they rove about, spreading the lame and standing of some substantial tradesman, or manufacturer, and are ready at any time to bargain in his name ; it being the fashion nowa- days to trade, instead of fight, with one another. As the room of the hostel, in the good old flght- mg-times, would be hung round at night with the armor of way-worn warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions, and yawning helmets, so the travellers'-room is garnished with the harnessing of their successors, with box-coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-cloth covered hats. I was in hopes of finding some of these wor- thies to talk with, but was disappointed. There were, indeed, two or three in the room ; but I could make nothing of them. One was just fin- ishing his breakfast, quarrelling with his bread and butter, and hufiing the waiterj another but- toned on a pair of gaiter^ with many execrations at Boots for not having cleanedTiis shoes well ; a third sat drumming on the table with his fin- gers and looking at the rain as it streamed down the window-glass ; they all appeared infected- by the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, without exchanging a word. I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing fit the people, picking their way to church, with petticoats hoisted midleg high, and dripping um- THi: STOUT GENTLEMAN. 87 brellas. The bell ceased to toU, and the streets became silent. I then amused myself with watch- ing the daughters of a tradesman opposite ; who, being confined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the chance ten- ants of the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigilant •g''"''f';^ir-fiif'T'Tl mnlJifr and I had nothing Tiirther from without to amuse me. What was I to do to pass away the long-lived' day ? I was sadly nervous and lonely ; and' everything about an inn seems calculated to make- a duU day ten times duller. Old newspapers, smelling of beer and tobacco-smoke, and which I had already read half a dozen times. Good- for-nothing books, that were worse than rainy weather. I bored myself to death with an old volume of the Lady's Magazine. I read all the commonplace names of ambitious travellers scrawl- ed on the panes of glass ; the eternal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, and the Jacksons . and the Johnsons, and all the other sons ; and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing inn-win- dow poetry which I have met with in all parts of the world. The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the slovenly, ragged, spongy doud drifted heavily along ; there was no variety even in the rain : it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — pattfir — patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing ambrella. 88 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course of the morning, a horn blew, and a stage-coach, whirled through the street, with outside passer, gers stuck all over it, cowering under cotton um- brellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins. The sound brought out -fi-om their lurking, places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hostler, and thai nondescript animal ycleped Boots, and aU the other vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an inn ; but the bustle was transient ; the coach again whirled on its way ; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to theii' holes ; the street again became silent, and the rain continued to rain on. In fact, there was no hope of its clearing up ; the barometer pointed to rainy weather ; mine hostess's tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, and rubbing her paws over her ears ; and, on referring to the Al- manac, I found a direful prediction stretching from the top of the page to the bottom through the whole month, " expect — much — rain — about — this — time ! " I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they would never creep by. The very tick- ing of the clock became irksome. At length the stillness of the house was interrupted by the ring- ing of a bell. Shortly after I heard the voice of a waiter at the bar : " The stout gentleman in No, 13 wants his breakfast. Tea and bread and butter, with ham and eggs ; the eggs not to be too much done." THE BTOUT GENTLEMAN. 89 In such a situation as mine, every incident is rf importance. Here was a subject of specula- tion presented to mj mind, and ample exercise for my imagination. I am prone to paint pic- tures to myself, and on this occasion I had some materials to work upon. Had the guest up-stairs been mentioned as Mr. Smith, or Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, or merely as " the gentleman in No. 13," it would have been a per- fect blank to me. I should have thought nothing of it ; but " The stout gentleman ! " — the very name had something in it of the picturesque. It at once gave the size ; it embodied the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did the rest. He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty ; in all probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, some people' esprmding as they grow old. By his breakfasting rather late, and in his own room, he must be a man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the necessity of early rising ; no doubt a round, rosy, lusty old gentleman. There was another violent ringing. The stout gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He was evidently a man of importance ; " well to do in the world ; " accustomed to be promptly waited upon ; of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hungry ; " perhaps," thought I, " he may be some London Alderman ; or who knows but he may be a Member of Parliament ? " The breakfast was sent up, and there was a short interval of silence ; he was, doubtless, mak- ing the tea. Presently there was a violent ringings and before it could be answered, another ringing 90 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. still more violent. " Bless me ! what a choleric old gentleman ! " The waiter came down in a hnff. The butter was rancid, the eggs were overdone, the ham was too salt ; — the stout gentleman was evidently nice in his eating ; one of those who eat and growl, and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state militant with the house- hold. The hostess got into a fume. I should ob- serve that she was a brisk, coquettish woman ; a little of a shrew, and something of a slammerkin, but very pretty withal ; with a nincompoop fg c-a- hu sband, as shrews are apt tn ha.vp.. She rated theTjttrViUTts roundly for their negligence in send- ing up so bad a breakfast, but said not a word against the stout gentleman ; by which I clearly perceived that he must be a man of consequence, entitled to make a noise and to give trouble at a country inn. Other eggs, and ham, and bread and butter were sent up. They appeared to be more graciously received ; at least there was no further complaint. I had not made many turns about the travel- lers' -room, when there was another ringing. Shortly afterwards there was a stir and an in- quest about the house. The stout gentleman wanted the Times or the Chronicle newspaper, I set him down, therefore, for a Whig ; or rather, from his being so absolute and lordly where he had a chance, I suspected him of being a Radical. Hunt, I had heard, was a large man ; " who knows," thought I, "but it is Hunt himself!" My curiosity began t<> be awakened. I ia TBE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 91 quired of the waiter who was this stout gentle- man that was making all this stir ; but I could get no information: nobody seemed to know his name. The landlords of bustling inns seldom trouble their heads about the names or occupa- tions of their transient guests. The color of a coat, the shape or size of the person, is enough to suggest a travelling name. It is either the tall gentleman, or the short gentleman, or the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff- color ; or, as in the present instance, the stout gentleman. A designation of the kind once hit on, answers every purpose, and saves all further inquiry. Bain - — rain — rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain ! No such thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no occupation nor amusement within. By and by I heard some one walking overhead. It was in the stout gentleman's room. He evidently was a large man by the heaviness of his tread; and an old man from his wearing such creaking soles. " He is doubtless," thought I, " some rich old square-toes of regular habits, and is now tak- ing exercise after breakfast." I now read all the advertisements of coaches and hotels that were stuck about the mantelpiece. The Lady's Magazine had become an abomina- tion to me ; it was as tedious as the day itself. I wandered out, not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my room. I had not been there long, when there was a squall from a neigh- boring bedroom. A door opened and slammed violently ; a chamber-maid, that I had remarked 92 BRACEBRWGE BALL. for having a ruddy, good-humored face, went down stairs in a violent flurry. The stout gentle- man had been rude to her ! This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce in a moment. This unknown personage could not be an old gentleman ; for old gentlemen are not apt to be so obstreperous to chamber-maids. He could not be a young gentleman ; for young gentlemen are not apt to inspire such indignation He must be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly into the bargain, or the girl would not have taken the matter in such terrible dudgeon. I con- fess I was sorely puzzled. In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. I caught a glance of her as she came tramping up-stairs, — her face glowing, her cap flaring, her tongue wagging the whole way. " She 'd have no such doings in her house, she 'd warrant. If gentlemen did spend money freely, it was no rule. She 'd have no servant-maids of hers treated in that way, when they were about their work, that 's what she would n't." As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and above all with pretty women, I slunk back into my room, and partly closed the door; but my curiosity was too much excited not to lis- ten. The landlady marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and entered it with a storm : the door closed after her. I heard her voice in high windy clamor for a moment or two. Then it gradually subsided, like a gust of wind in a gar- ret ; then there was a laugh ; then I heard noth- ing more. THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 93 After a little while my landlady came out with an odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which was a httle on one side. As she went down stairs, 1 beard the landlord ask her what was the matter ; she said, " Nothing at all, only the girl 's a fool." — I was more than ever perplexed what to make of this unaccountable personage, who could put a good-natm"ed chamber-maid in a pas- sion, and send away a termagant landlady in smilee. He could not be so old, nor cross, nor ugly either. I had to go to work at his picture again, and to paint him entirely different. I now set him /down for one of those stout gentlemen that are fi^quently met with swaggering about the doors of country inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher handkerchiefs, whose bulk is a little assisted by malt-liquors. Men who have seen the world, and been sworn at Highgate ; who are used to tavern- life ; up to all the tricks of tapsters, and knowing in the ways of sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small scale ; who are prodigal within the com- pass of a guinea ; who call all the waiters by name, tousle the maids,' gossip with the landlady at the biir, and prose over a pint of port, or a glass of negus, after dinner. The morning wore away in forming these and similar surmises. As fast as I wove one system sf belief, some movement of the unknown would eompletely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts •igain into confusion. Such are the solitary oper- ations of a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely nervous ; and the continual meditation 94 BRACEBRTDGB HALL. on the concerns of this invisible personage began to have its effect : — I was getting a fit of the fidgets. Dinner-time came. I hoppd the stout gentle- man might dine in the travellers'-room, and that I might at length get a view of his person ; but no — he had dinner served in his own room. "What could be the meaning of this solitude and mystery ? He could not be a radical ; there was something too aristocratical in thus keeping him- self apart from the rest of the world, and con- demning himself to his own dull company through- out a rainy day. And then, too, he lived too well for a discontented politician. He seeitaed to ex- ' patiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over his wine like a jolly friend of good living. Indeed, my doubts on this head were soon at an end ; for he could not have finished his first bottle before I could faintly hear him humming a tune ; and on listening I found it to be " God save the King.'' 'T was plain, then, he was no radical, but a ■^faithful subject ; one who grew loyal over his bot- tle, and was ready to stand by king and constitu- tion, when he could stand by nothing else. But who could he be ? My conjectures began to run wild. Was he not some personage of distinction /travelling incog. ? " God knows ! " said I, at my mt's end ; " it may be one of the royal family for aught I know, for they are all stout gentle- men ! ", The weather continued rainy. The mysterious unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, his chair for I did not hear him move, THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 95 In the mean time, as the day advanced, the trav- ellers'-room began to be frequented. Some, who had just arrived, came in buttoned up in box- coats ; others came home who had been dispersed about the town ; some took their diimers, and some their tea. Had I been in a different mood, 1 should have found entertainment in studying this peculiar class of men. There were two espe- cially, who were regular wags of the road, and up to all the standing jokes of travellers. They had a thousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and Ethelinda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name every time, and chuckling amazingly at their own wag- gery. My mind, however, had been completely engrossed by the stout gentleman. He had kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was not now to be diverted from the scent. The evening gradually wore away. The trav- ellers read the papers two or three times over. Some drew round the fire and told long stories about their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and breakings-down. They discussed the credit of different merchants and different inns ; and the two wags told several choice anec- dotes of pretty chamber-maids and kind land- ladies. All this passed as they were quietly taking what they called their night-caps, that IS to say, strong glasses of brandy and water *nd sugar, or some other mixture of the kind ; after which they one after another rang for « Boots " and the chamber-maid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into marvellously uncomfortable slippers. 96 BRACEBRIDGE 2A.LL. There was now only one man left: a short- legged, long-bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by himself, with a glass of port-wine negus, and a spoon ; sipping and stir- ring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing before him ; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the little light that remained in the chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box-coats of departed travellers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heard the ticking of the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop — drop — drop, from the eaves of the house. The church-bells chimed midnight. All at once the stout gentleman began to walk overhead, pacing slowly backwards and forwards. There was something extremely awful in all this, especially to one in my state of nerves. These ghastly great-coats, these guttural breathings, and the creaking footsteps of this mysterious being. His steps grew fainter and fainter, and a,t length died away. I could bear it no longer. I was wound up to the desperation of a hero of romance. " Be he who or what he may," said I to myself, " I '11 have a sight of him ! " I seized a chamber-can- dle, and hurried up to No. 13. The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered : the room was deserted. There stood a large, broad-bottomed THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 97 elboTV-chair at a table, ou which was an empty tumbler, and a " Times," newspaper, and the room smelt powerfully of Stilton cheese. The mysterious stranger had evidently but just /etired. I turned off, sore'y disappointed, to my room, which had been changed to the front of the house. As I went along the corridor, I saw a large pair of boots, with dirty, waxed tops, stand- ing at the door of a bedchamber. They doubt- less belonged to the unknown ; but it would not do to disturb so redoubtable a personage in his den: he might discharge a pistol, or something worse, at my head. I went to bed, therefore, and lay awake half the night in a terribly nervous state ; and even when I fell asleep, I was still haunted in my dreams by the idea of the stout gentleman and his wax-topped boots. I olept rather late the next morning, and was awakened by some stir and bustle in the house, which I could not at first comprehend ; until get- ting more awake, I found there was a mail- coach starting from the door. Suddenly there was a cry from below, " The gentleman has for- got his umbrella ! Look for the gentleman's um- brella in No. 13 !" I heard an immediate "scam- pering of a ehamber-maid along the passage, and a shrill reply as she ran, " Here it is ! here 's the gentleman's umbrella ! " The mysterious stranger then was on the point of setting off. Tliis was the only chance I should ever have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed. scrambled to the window, snatched aside the cur- tains, and just caught a glimpse of the rear of a 98 BRACEBRWGE HALL. person getting in at the coach-door. The -skirts of a brown coat parted behind, and gave me a full view of the broad disk of a pair of drab breeches. The door closed — " all right ! " was the word — the coach whirled off; — and that was aU I ever saw of the stout gentleman ! FOREST TREES. " A living gallery of aged trees.' NE of the f%vorite themes of boasting with the Squire is the noble trees on his estate, which, in truth, has some of the finest I have seen in England. There is some- thing august and solemn in the great avenues . of stately oaks that gather their branches together high in air, and seem to reduce the pedestrians beneath them to mere pigmies. " An avenue of oaks or elms," the Squire observes^ "is the true colonnade that should lead to a gentleman's house. As to stone and marble, any one can rear them at once, they are the work of the day ; but com- mend me to the colonnades which have grown old and great with the family, and tell by their grandeur how long the family has endured." The Squire has great reverence for certain venerable trees, gray with moss, which he con- siders as the ancient nobility of his domain. There is the ruin of an enormous oak, which has been so much battered by time and tempest, that scarce anything is left ; though he says Christy recollects when, in his boyhood, it was healthy and flourishing, until it was struck by lightning. 100 BRACEBRIVUE HALL. It is now a mere trunk, with one twisted bough stretching up into the air, leaving a green branch at the end of it. This sturdy wreck is much valued by the Squire ; he calls it his standard- bearer, and compares it to a veteran warrior beaten down in battle, but bearing up his banner to the last. He has actually had a fence built round it, to protect it as much as possible from further injury. It is with great difficulty he can ever be brought to have any tree cut down on his estate. To some he looks with reverence, as having been planted by his ancestors ; to others with a kind of paternal affection, as having been planted by himself; and he feels a degree of awe in bring- ing down, with a few strokes of the axe, what it has cost centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but sympathize, in some degree, with the good Squire on the subject. Though brought up in a country overrun with forests, where trees are apt to be considered mere incumbrances, and to be laid low without hesitation or remorse, yet I could never see a fine tree hewn down without concern. The poets, who are naturally lovers of trees, as they are of everything that is beautiful, have artfully awakened great interest in their favor, by representing them as the habitations of sylvan deities ; insomuch that every great tree had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence was limited to its duration. Evelyn, in his " Sylva," makes several pleasing and fanciiul allusions to this superstition. « As the fall," says he, '' of a very aged oak, giving a crack like thunder, ha? FOREST TREES 101 often been heard at many miles' distance ; con- strained though I often am to fell them with re- luctance, I do not at any time remember to have heard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to be dispossessed of their ancient habitations) with- out some emotion and pity." And again, in al- luding to a violent storm that had devastated the woodlands, he says, " Methiiiks I still hear, sure I am that I still feel, the dismal groans of our forests ; the late dreadful hurricane having sub- verted so many thousands of goodly oaks, pros- trating the trees, laying them in ghastly postures, like whole regiments fallen in battle by the sword of the conqueror, and crushing all that grew be- neath them. The public accounts," he adds, " reckon no less than three thousand brave oaks in one part only of the forest of Dean blown down." I have paused more than once in the wilder- ness of America, to contemplate the traces of some blast of wind, which seemed to have rushed down from the clouds, and ripped its way through the bosom of the woodlands ; rooting up, shivering, and splintering the stoutest trees, and leaving a long track of desolation. There was something awful in the vast havoc made among these gigan- tic plants ; and in considering their magnificent remains, so rudely torn and mangled, and hurled down to perish prematurely on their native soil, 1 ^as conscious of a strong movement of the sym- pathy so feelingly expressed by Evelyn. I recol- lect, aho, hearing a traveller of poetical temper- ament expressing the kind of horror which he 102 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. felt on beholding, on the banks of the Missouri, ail oak of prodigious size, which had been, in a maimer, overpowered by an enormous wild grape- vine. The vine had clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and thence had wound about every branch and twig, until the mighty tree had with- ered in its embrace. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in the hideous coils of the monster Python. It was the lion of trees per- ishing in the embraces of a vegetable boa. I am fond of listening to the conversation of English gentlemen on rural concerns, and of no- ticing with what taste and discrimination, and what strong, unaffected interest they will discuss topics which, in other countries, are abandoned to mere woodmen, or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble earl descant on park and forest scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his estate, with as much pride and techni- cal precision as though he had been discussing the merits of statues in his collection. I found that he had even gone considerable distances to exam- ine trees which were celebrated among rural amateurs ; for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established points of excellence ; and that there are some in England which enjoy very ex- tensive celebrity among tree-fanciers from beini' perfect in their kind. There is something nobly simple and pure in such a taste : it argues, I th'ink, a sweet and gen- erous nature, to have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the FOREST TREES. 103 hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak, looks forward to Aiture ages, and plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth wiU grow up into a lofty pile, and keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefit- ing mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philan- thropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery that enters into the soul, and ilUates and elevates it, and fills it with noble in- clinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, which embower this island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollec- tions of great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation among them from the tu- mult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of Penshurst, where the gaUant, the amiable, the ele- gant Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood ; or 104 BRACEBRWGE HALL. can look without fondness upon the tree that is said to have been planted on his birthday ; or can ramble' among the classic bowers of Hagley ; or can pause among the solitudes of Windsor Forest and look at the oaks around, huge, gi-ay, and time- worn, like the old castle-towers, and not feel as if he were surrounded by so many monnments of long-enduring glory ? It is, when viewed in this light, that planted groves, and stately ave- nues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the more luxuriant beauties of unassisted nature. It is then they teem with moral associations, and keep up the ever - interesting story of human existence. It is incumbent, then, on the high and gener- ous spirits of an ancient nation, to cherish these sacred groves which surround their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their descend- ants. Republican as I am by birth, and brought up as I have been in republican principles . and habits, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence for titled rank, merely because it is titled ; but I trust that I am neither chtirl nor bigot in my creed. I can both see and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, extends the existence of the pos- sessor. J ig do es not feel himself a mere indi- vidual link in creation, responsible only for his own brief term of being. He carries back his existence in nroud recollection, and he extends it FOREST TREES. 103 tbrward in honorable anticipation. He lives with his ancestry, and he Kves with his posterity. To both does he consider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he has received much from those who have gone before, so he feels bound to transmit much to those who are to come aftci him. His domestic undertakings seem to imply a longer existence than those of ordinary men ; none are so apt to build and plant for future cen- turies as those noble-spirited men who have re- ceived their heritages from foregone ages. I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and pride with which I have noticed English gen- tlemen, of generous temperaments and high aris- tocratic feelings, contemplating those magnificent trees, rising like towers and pyramids from the midst of their paternal lands. There is an affin- ity between all nature, animate and inanimate : the oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and intellectual man. With its mighty piUar rising straight and direct towards heaven, bearing up its leafy honors from the impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should he : a refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a defence for the de- fenceless ; warding off from them the peltings of *he storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is this, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is otherwise. abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the gran 106 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. deur and prosperity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the oppressive hand of power, who would mur- mur at his fate ? — " Why cumbereth he the STOuud ? " A LITERARY AIJTIQUARY. Printed bookes he contemnes, as a novelty of this latter age , but a manuscript be pores on eveilastingly ; especially if the cover be all (uoth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis betweene every syllable. UlCO-COSUO&BAPBIZ, 1628. I HE Squire receives great sympathy and support, in his antiquated humors, from the parson, of whom I made some men- tion on my former visit to the Hall, and who acts as a kind of family chaplain. He has been cher- ished by the Squire almost constantly since the time that they were fellow-students at Oxford; for it is one of the peculiar advantages of these great universities, that they often link the poor scholar to the rich patron by early and heartfelt ties, which last through life, without the usual humiliations of dependence and patronage. Un- der the fostering protection of the Squire, there- fore, the little parson has pursued his studies in peace. Having lived almost entirely among books, and those, too, old books, he is quite igno- rant of the world, and his mind is as antiquated as the garden at the Hall, where the flowers are all arranged in formal beds, and the yew-trees clipped into urns and peacocks. Hls taste for literary antiquities was first im- 108 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. bibed in the Bodleian Library at Oxford ; whei-e, when a student, he passed many an hour forag- ing among the old manuscripts. He has since, at different times, visited most of the curious libra- ries in England, and has ransacked many of the cathedrals. With all his quaint and curious learning, he has nothing of arrogance or pedan- try, but that unaffected earnestness and guileless simplicity which seem to belong to the literary antiquary. He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in his maimer ; yet, on his favorite theme, he kindles up, and at times is even eloquent. No fox- hunter, recounting his last day's sport, could be more animated than I have seen the worthy par- son, when relating his search after a curious docu- ment, which he had traced from library to library, until he fairly unearthed it in the dusty chapter- house of a cathedral. When, too, he describes some venerable manuscript, with its rich illumina- tions, its thick creamy vellum, its glossy ink, and the odor of the cloisters that seemed to exhale from it, he rivals the enthusiasm of a Parisian epicure expatiating on the merits of a Perigord pie, or a Pate de Strasbourg. His brain seems absolutely haimted with love- lick dreams about gorgeous old works in "silk linings, tripled gold bands, and tinted leather, locked up in wire cases, and secured from the vulgar hands of the mere reader," and, to con- tinue the happy expressions of an ingenious writer, " dazzling one's eyes like eastern beau- ties peering through their jealousies." * • D'Israfili. Curiosities of Literature. A LIT£RART ANTIQUARY. 109 He has a great desire, however, to read such nrorks in tlie old libraries and chapter-houses to which they belong ; for he thinks a black-letter volume reads best in one of those venerable chambers where the light struggles through dusty lancet windows and painted glass ; and that it loses half its zest if taken away fi"om the neigh- borhood of the quaintly carved oaken bookcase and Gothic reading-desk. At his suggestion the Squire has had the library furnished in this an- tique taste, and several of the windows glazed with painted glass, that they may throw a prop- erly tempered light upon the pages of their favor- ite old authors. The parson, I am told, has been for some time meditating a commentary on Strutt, Brand, and Douce, in which he means to detect them in sun- dry dangerous errors in respect to popular games and superstitions ; a work to which the Squire looks forward with great interest. He is, also, a casual contributor to that long-established re- pository of national customs and antiquities, the " Gentleman's Magazine," and is one of those who every now and then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete custom or rare legend ; nay, it is said that some of his communications have been at least six inches in length. He frequently receives parcels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, containing mouldy volumes and almost illegible manuscripts ; for it is singular what an active correspondence is kept up among literary antiquaries, and how soon the fame of Miy rare volume, or unique copy, just discovered 110 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. among the rubbish of a library, is circulated among them. The parson is more busy than common just now, being a little flurried by an advertisement of a work, said to be preparing for the press, on the mythology of the middle ages. The little man has long been gathering together all the hobgoblin tales he cx)uld coUecL, Ulustra^ tive of the superstitions of former times ; and he is in a complete fever, lest this formidable rival should take the field before him. Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called at the parsonage, in company with Mr. Brace- bridge and the general. The parson had not been seen for several days, whicli was a matter of some surprise, as he was an almost daily visitor at the Hall. "We found him in his study : a small dusky chamber, lighted by a lattice-win- dow that looked into the church-yard, and was overshadowed by a yew-tree. His chair was surrounded by folios and quartos, piled upon the floor, and his table was covered with books and manuscripts. The cause of his seclusion was a work which he had recently rec'eived, and with which he had retired in rapture from the world, and shut himself up to enjoy a literary honey- moon undisturbed. Never did boarding-school girl devour the pages of a sentimental novel, or Don Quixote a chivalrous romance, with more intense delight than did the little man banquet on the pages of this delicious work. It was Dibdin'a " Bibliographical Tour," a work calculated to have as intoxicating an effect on the imaginations of literary antiquaries as the adventures of thf A LITERARY ANTIQUARY 111 heroes of the roiind - table on all true knights, or the tales of the early American voyagers on the ardent spirits of the age, filling them with dreams of Mexican and Peruvian mines, and of the golden realm of El Dorado. The good parson had looked forward to this bibliographical expedition as of far greater im- portance than those to Africa, or the North Pole. With what eagerness had he seized upon the his- tory of the enterprise ! with what interest had he followed the redoubtable bibliographer and his graphical squire in their adventurous roamings among Norman castles, and cathedrals, and French libraries, and German convents and universities ; penetrating into the prison-houses of vellum man- uscripts, and exquisitely illuminated missals, and revealing their beauties to the world ! When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy on this most curious and entertaining work, he drew forth from a little drawer a manuscript, lately received from a correspondent, which had perplexed him sadly. It was written in Norman French, in very ancient characters, and so faded and mouldered away as to be almost illegible. It was apparently an old Norman drinking-song, which might have been brought over by one of WUliam the Conqueror's carousing foUowei-s. The writing was just legible enough to keep a keen antiquity-hunter on a doubtful chase ; here and there he would be completely thrown out, and then there would be a few words so plainly written as to put him on the scent again. lii this way he had been led on for a whole day until he had found himself completely at fault. 112 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. The Squire endeavored to assist him, but was equally baffled. The old general listened for some time to the discussion, and then asked the parson, if he had read Captain Morris's, or George Stevens's, or Anacreon Moore's bacchana- lian songs ; on the other replying in the negative, " Oh, then," said the general, with a sagacious nod, " if you want a drinking-song, I can furnish you with the latest collection, — I did not know you had a turn for those kind of things ; and I can lend you the Encyclopedia of Wit into the bargain. I never travel without them ; they 're excellent reading at an inn." It would not be easy to describe the odd look of surprise and perplexity of the parson, at this proposal ; or the difficulty the Squire had in mak- ing the general comprehend, that, though a jovial song of the present day was but a foolish sound in the ears of wisdom, and beneath the notice of a learned man, yet a trowl, written by a tosspot several hundred yeara since, was a matter worthy of the gravest research, and enough to set whole colleges by the ears. I have since pondered much on this matter, and have figured to myself what may be the fate of our current literature, when retrieved, piece- meal, by future antiquaries, from among the rub- bish of ages. What a Magnus Apollo, for in- stance, wiU Moore become, among sober divines and dusty schoolmen ! Even his festive and amatory songs, which are now the mere quickeners of our social moments, or the delights of our drawing-rooms, will then become matters of la- A LITmART ANTIQUARY. 113 borious research and painful collation.. How many a grave professor will then waste his mid- night oil, or worry his brain through a long morn- ing, endeavoring to restore the pure text, or illus- trate the biographical hints of " Come, tell me, says Rosa, as kissing and kissed ; " and how many an arid old bookworm, like the worthy little par- son, wiU give up in despair, after vainly striving to fiU up some fatal hiatus in " Fanny of Tim- mol ! " Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as Moore that are doomed to consume the oil of future antiquaries. Many a poor scribbler, who is now, apparently, sent to oblivion by pastry- cooks and cheesemongers, will then rise again in fragments, and flourish in learned immortality. After aU, thought I, Time is not such an invari- able destroyer as he is represented. If he pulls down, he Ukewise builds up ; if he impoverishes one, he enriches another; his very dilapidation furnishes matter for new works of controversy, and his rust is more precious than the most costly gilding. Under his plastic hand trifles rise into importance ; the nonsense of one age becomes the wisdom of another ; the levity of the wit gravitates into the learning of the pedant, and an ancient farthing moulders into infinitely more value than a modern guinea. 8 gS52g THE FARM-HOUSE. - Love and hay Are thick bowd, but come up full of thistleB. BEAUalONT AND FLETCHER. WAS so much pleased with the anecdotes which were told me of Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, that I got Master Simon, a day or two since, to take me to his house. It was an old-fashioned farm-house, built of brick, with curiously twisted chimneys. It stood at a lit- tle distance from the road, with a southern expos- ure, looking upon a soft, green slope of meadow. There was a small garden in front, with a row of beehives humming among beds of sweet herbs and flowers. Well - scoured milking - tubs, with bright copper hoops, hung on the garden paling. Fruit-trees were trained up against the cottage, and pots of flowers stood in the windows. A fat, superannuated mastiff lay in the sunshine at the door, with a sleek cat sleeping peacefully across him. Mr. Tibbels was from home at the time of our calling, but we were received with hearty and homely welcome by his wife : a notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for wives ; since, according to Master Simon's accoimt, she never THE FARM-HOUSE. 115 contradicts honest Jack, and yet manages to have her own way, and to control him in everything. She received us in the main room of the house, a kind of parlor and hall, with great brown beams of timber across it, which Mr. Tibbets is apt to point out with some exultation, observing, that they don't put such timber in houses nowadays. The furniture was old-fashioned, strong, and high- ly polished; the walls were hung with XMlored prints of the story of the Prodigal Son, who was represented in a red coat and leather breeches." Over the fireplace was a blunderbuss, and a hard- favored likeness of Ready-Money Jack, taken, when he was a young man, by the same artist that painted the tavern-sign ; his mother having taken a notion that the Tibbets had as much right to have a gallery of family portraits as thfl folks at the Hall. The good dame pressed us very much to take some refreshment, and tempted us with a variety of household dainties, so that we were glad to compound by tasting some of her home- made wines. While we were there, the son and heir-apparent came home : a good-looking young fellow, and something of a rustic beau. He took as over the premises, and showed us the whole establishment. An air of homely but substantisd plenty prevailed throughout ; everything was of '.he best materials, and in the best condition. Nothing was out of place, or ill made ; and you saw everywhere the signs of a man who took tare to have the worth of his money, and paid as he went. 116 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. The farm-yard was well stocked ; under a shed was a taxed cart, in trim order, in which Ready- Money Jack took his wife about the countiy. His well-fed horse neighed from the stable, and when led out into the yard, to use the words of young Jack, " he shone like a bottle ; " for he said the old man made it a rule that everything about him should fare as well as he did himself. I was pleased to see the pride which the young fellow seemed to have of his father. He gave us 'several particulars concerning his habits, which were pretty much to the effect of those I have already mentioned. He had never suffered an account to stand in his life, always providing the money before he purchased anything ; and, if pos- sible, paying in gold and silver. He had a great dislike to paper money, and seldom went without a considerable sum in gold about him. On my observing that it was a wonder he had never been waylaid and robbed, the young fellow smiled at the idea of any one venturing upon such an ex- ploit, for I believe he thinks the old man would be a match for Robin Hood and all his gang. I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into any house without having a world of private talk with some one or other of the family, being a kind of universal counsellor and confidant. We had not been long at the farm, before the old dame got him into a comer of her parlor, where they had a long whispering conference together ; in which I saw by his shrugs that there were some dubious matters discussed, and by his noda that he agreed with everything she said. THE FARM-HOUSE. 117 After we had come out, the yotiiig man accom panied us a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked and talked together for nearly half an hour. Mas- ter Simon, who has the usual propensity of con- fidants to blab everything to 'the next friend they meet with, let me know that there was a love- affair in the question ; the young fellow having been smitten with the charms of Phoebe Wilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall. Like most other love-concems, it had brought its. troubles and perplexities. Dame Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossiping terms with the housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house ; but when the neighbors spoke to her of the like- lihood of a match between her son and Phoebe Wilkins, " Marry come up ! " she scouted the very idea. The girl had acted as Lady's maid, and it was beneath the blood of the Tibbets, who had lived on their own lands time out of mind, and owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a servant ! These vaporings had faithfully been carried to the housekeeper's ears by one of their mutual go-between friends. The old housekeeper's blood, if not as ancient, was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets. She had been accustomed to carry a high head at the Hall and among the villagers ; and her faded brocade rustled with indignation at the slight cast upon her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer. She maintained that her niece flad been a companion rather than a waiting-maid to the young ladies. " Thank heavens, she waa 118 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. not obliged to work for her living, and was as idle as any young lady in the land ; and when somebody died, would receive something that would be worth the notice of some folks, with all their ready money." A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two worthy dames, and the young people were forbidden to think of one another. As to young Jack, he was too much in love to reason upon the matter ; and being a little heady, and not standing in much awe ot his mother, was ready to sacrifice the whole dignity of the Tibbets to his passion. He had lately, however, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, in consequence of some coquetry on her pait, and at present stood aloof. The politic mother was exerting all her ingenuity to widen this accidental breach ; but, as is most commonly the case, the more she med- dled with this perverse inclination of her son, the stronger it grew. In the mean time Old Ready- Money was kept completely in the dark ; both parties were in awe and uncei-tainty as to what might be his way of taking the matter, and dread- ed to awaken the sleeping lion. Between father and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business, and at her wit's end. It is true there was no great danger of honest Ready-Mon- ey's finding the thing out, if left to himself, for he was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick of apprehension ; but there was daily risk of his attention being aroused by those cob- webs which his indefatigable wife was continually spinning about his nose. THE FARM-HOUSE. 119 Such is the distracted state of politics In the domestic empire of Eeady-Money Jack ; which only shows the intrigues and internal dangers to which the best regulated governments are liable. In this perplexed situation of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to Master Simon for counsel ; and, with all his experience in med- dling \^•ith other people's concerns, he finds it an exceedingly difficult part to play, to agree with both parties, seeing that their opinions and wishes are so diametrically opposite. HORSEMANSHIP. A coach vras a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one put both horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great srabshell brought out of China, and some Imagined it to be one of the pagan temples, in which the canibals adored the direll. Taylor, Ta£ water poet- HAVE made casual mention, more than once, of one of the Squire's antiquated I retainers, old Christy the huntsman. I find that his crabbed humor is a source of much entertainment among the young men of the fam- ily ; the Oxonian, particularly, takes a mischiev- ous pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing the old man against the grain, and then smoothing him down again ; for the old fellow is as ready to bristle up his back as a porcupine. He rides a venerable hunter called Pepper, which is a counterpart of himself, a heady, cross-grained animal, that frets the flesh off its bones ; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villanous tricks. He is as tough, and nearly as old as his rider, who has ridden him time out of mind, and is, in- deed, the only one that can do anything with him. Sometimes, however, they have a complete quarrel, and a dispute for mastery, and then, I am told, it is as good as a farce to see the heat HORSEMANSHIP. 121 they both get into, and the wrongheaded contest that ensues ; for they sire quite knowing in each other's ways, and in the art of teasing and fret- ting each other. Notwithstanding these doughty brawls, however, there is nothing that nettles old Christy sooner than to question the merits of his horse ; which he upholds as tenaciously as a faith- ful husband will vindicate the vu-tues of the ter- magant spouse that gives him a curtain-lecture every night of his life. The young men call old Christy their " pro- fessor of equitation," and in accounting for the appellation, they let me into some particulars of the Squire's mode of bringing up his children. There is an odd mixture of eccentricity and good sense in all the opinions of my worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, where plain brick- work is set oflF with pofnted arches and quaint tracery. Though the main groundwork of his opinions is correct, yet he has a thousand little notions, picked up from old books, which stand out whimsically on the surface of his mind. Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, Markam, and such like old English writers, for his manuals. At an early age he took the lads out of their mother's hands, who was disposed, as mothers are apt to be, to make fine, orderly children of them, that should keep out of sun and rain, and never soil their hands, nor fear their clothes. In place of this, the Squire turned them loose to run free and wild about the park, without heeding wind or weather. He was also parficu- 122 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. larly attentive in making them bold and expert horsemen ; and these were the days when old Christy, the huntsman, enjoyed great importance as the lads were put under his care to practise them at the leaping-bars, and to keep an eye upon them in the chtise. The Squire always objected to their riding in eaiTiages of any kind, and is still a little tena- cious on this point. He often rails against the universal use of carriages, and quotes the words of honest Nashe to that effect. " It was thought," says Nashe, in his Quaternio, "a kind of solecism, and to savor of effeminacy, for a young gentle- man in the flourishing time of his age to creep into a coach, and to shroud himself from wind and weather : our great delight was to outbrave the blustering Boreas upon a great horse ; to arm and prepare ourselves to go with Mars and Bellona into the field was our sport and pastime ; coaches and caroches we left unto them for whom they were first invented," for ladies and gentlemen, and decrepit age and impotent people." The Squire insists that the English gentlemen have lost much of their hardiness and manhood since the introduction of carriages. " Compare," he will say, " the fine gentleman of former times, ever on horseback, booted and spurred, and travel- stained, but open, frank, manly, and chivalrous, with the fine gentleman of the present day, full of affectation and effeminacy, rolling along a turn- pike in his voluptuous vehicle. The young men of those days were rendered brave, and lofty, and generous in their notions, by almost living in their HORSEMANSHIP. 123 saddles, and having their foaming steeds ' like proud seas under them.' There is something," he adds, " in bestriding a fine horse, that makes a man feel more than mortal He seems to have doubled his nature, and to have added to his own courage and sagacity the power, the speed, and stateliness of the superb animal on which he ia mounted." " It is a great delight," says old Nashe, " to see a young gentleman with his skill and cunning, by his voice, rod, and spur, better to manage and to command the great Bucephalus, than the strong- est MUo, with all his strength ; one while to see him make him tread, trot, and gallop the ring ; and one after to see him make him gather up roundly ; to bear his head steadUy ; to run a fuU career swiftly ; to stop a sudden lightly : anon after to see him make him advance, to yorke, to go back, and side long, to turn on either hand ; to gallop the gallop galliard ; to do the capriole, the chambetta, and dance the curvetty.'' In conformity to these ideas, the Squire had them all on horseback at an early age, and made them ride, slapdash, about the country, without flinching at hedge, or ditch, or stone wall, to the imminent danger of their necks. Even the fair Julia was partially included in this system ; and, under the instructions of old Christy, has become one of the best horsewomen in the country. The Squire says it Ls better than ftU the cosmetics and sweeteners of the breath that ever were invented. He extols the horsemanship )f the ladies in farmer times, when Queen Eliza- 124 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. beth would scarcely suflfer the rain to stop her ftccustomed ride. " And then think," he will say, " what nobler and sweeter beings it made them. What a difference must there be, both in mind and body, between a joyous high-spirited dame of those days, glowing with health and exercise, freshened by every breeze, seated loftily and gracefully on her saddle, with plume on head, and hawk on hand, and her descendant of the present day, the pale victim of routs and ball-rooms, sunk languidly in one corner of an enervating car- riage." The Squire's equestrian system has been at- tended with great success, for his sons, having passed through the whole course of instruction without breaking neck or limb, are now healthful, Spirited, and active, and have the true English- man's love for a horse. If their manliness and frankness are praised in their father's hearing, he quotes the old Persian maxim, and says, they have been taught " to ride, to shoot, and to speak the truth." It is true the Oxonian has now and then prac- tised the old gentleman's doctrines a little in the extreme. He is a gay youngster, rather fonder of his horse than his book, with a, little dash of the dandy ; though the ladies all declare that he is « the flower of the flock." The first year that he was sent to Oxford he had a tutor appointed to overlook him, — a dry chip of the university. When he returned home in the vacation, the Squire made many inquiries about how he liked his college, his studies, and his tutor. nORSEMiN8HlP. 125 " Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I 've parted with him some time since." " Tou have ; and pray, why so ? " " Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, and I was a little short of tanAs ; so I discharged my tutor, and took a horse, you know." " Ah, I was not aware of that, Tom," said the Squire, mildly. When Tom returned to college, his allowance was doubled, that he might be enabled to keep t»th horse and tutor. I.OVE SYMPTOMS. I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and b€ moflt apparently in love. — MarsiOK. SHOULD not be surprised if we should have another pair of turtles at the Hall ; for Master Simon has informed me, in great confidence, that he suspects the general of some design upon the susceptible heart of Lady Lillycraft. I have, indeed, noticed a growing at- tention and courtesy in the veteran towards her ladyship ; he softens very much in her company, sits by her at table, and entertains her with long stories about Seringapatam, and pleasant anec- dotes of the Mulligatawney club. T have even seen him present her with a full-blown rose from the hot-house, in a style of the most captivating gallantry, and it was accepted with great suavity and graciousness ; for her ladyship delights in re- ceiving the homage and attention of the sex. Indeed, the general was one of the earliest ad- mirers that dangled in her train during her short reign of beauty ; and they flirted together foi half a season in London, some thirty or forty years since. She reminded him lately, in the oourse of a conversation about former days, of LOV£ SYMPTOMS. 127 the time when he used to ride a white horae, and to canter so gallantly hy the side of her carriage in Hyde Park ; whereupon I have remarked that the veteran has regularly escorted her since, when she rides out on horseback ; and, I suspect, he almost persuades himself that he makes as capti- vating an appearance as in his youthful days. It would be an interesting and memorable circumstance in the chronicles of Cupid, if this spark of the tender passion, after lying dormant for such a length of time, should again be fanned into a flame, from amidst the ashes of two burnt- out hearts. It would be an instance of perdura- ble fidelity, worthy of being placed beside those recorded in one of the Squire's favorite tomes, commemorating the constancy of the olden times ; in which times, we are told, " Men and wymmen coulae love togyders seven yeres, and no licours lustes were betwene them, and thenne was love, trouthe, and feythfiilnes ; and lo in lyke wyse was used love in Kyng Arthurs dayes." * Still, however, this may be nothing but a little venerable flirtation, the general being a vet- eran dangler, and the good lady .habituated to these kind of attentions. Master Simon, on the other hand, thinks the general is looking about him with the wary eye of an old campaigner ; and now that he is on the wane, is desirous of getting into warm winter-quarters. Much allow- ance, however, must be made for Master Simon'f? uneasiness on the subject, for he looks on Lady Lillycraft's house as one of his strongholds, wherfl • Morte d'Arthnr. 128 BRACEbRWGE HALL. he is lord of the ascendant ; and, with all his ad- miration of the general, I much doubt whether he would like to see him lord of the lady and the establishment. There are certain other symptoms, notwith- standing, that give an air of probability to Mas- ter Simon's intimations. Thus, for instance, J have observed that the general has been very as- siduous in his attentions to her ladyship's dogg, and has several times exposed his fingers to im- minent jeopardy, in attempting to pat Beauty on the head. It is to be hoped his advances to the mistress will be more favorably, received, as all his overtures towards a caress are greeted by the pestilent little cur with a wary kindling of the eye, and a most venomous growl. He has, moreover, been very complaisant to- wards my lady's gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs. Hannah, whom he used to speak of in a way that I do not choose to mention. Whether she has the same suspicions with Master Simon or not, I can- not say ; but she receives his civilities with no better grace than the implacable Beauty ; un- screwing her mouth into a most acid smile, and looking as though she could bite a piece out of him. In short, the poor general seems to have as formidable foes to contend with as a hero of an- cient fairy tale ; who had to fight his way to his enchanted princess through ferocious monsters of every kind, and to encounter the brimstone ter- rors of some fiery dragon. Thei'e is still another circumstance which in- clines me to give very considerable credit to Mas- LOVF. SYMPTOMS. 129 ter Simon's suspicions. Lady Lillycraft is very fond of quoting poetry, and the conversation often turns upon it, on which occasions the gen- ei-al is tlu-own completely out. It happened the other day that Spenser's " Fairy Queen " was the theme for the great part of the morning, and the poor gentleman sat perfectly silent. I found him not long after in the library, with spectacles on nose, a book in his hand, and fast asleep. On my approach he awoke, slipped the spectacles into his pocket, and began to read very attentively. Af- ter a little while he put a paper in the place, and laid the volume aside, which I perceived was the " Fairy Queen." I have had the curiosity to watch how he got on in his poetical studies ; but, though I have repeatedly seen him with the book in his band, yet I find the paper has not advanced above three or four pages ; the general being extremely apt to fall asleep when he reads. FALCONRY. Ne Ib there hawk which mantleth on her perch, Whether high tow'ring or accousting low, But I the measure of her flight doe search, And ail her prey and all her diet know. SP£NSEK. I HE RE are several grand sources of lam entation furnished to the worthy Squire by the improvement of society and the grievous advancement of knowledge ; among which none, I believe, causes him more frequent regret than the unfortunate invention of gun- powder. To this he continually traces the decay of some favorite custom, and, indeed, the general downfall of all chivalrous and rbmantic usages. " English soldiers,'' he says, " have never been the men they were in the days of the cross-bow and the long-bow ; when they depended upon the strength of the arm, and the English archer could draw a cloth -yard shaft to the head. These were the times when, at the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt, the French chivalry wa? completely destroyed by the bowmen of England. The yeomanry, too, have never been what they were, when, in times of peace, they were con- stantly exercised with the bow, and archery \»"\s a favorite holiday pastime.'' FALCONRi. 131 Among the other evils which have followed in the train of this fatal invention of gunpowder the Squire classes the total decline of the noble art of falconry. " Shooting," he says, " is a skulk- ing, treacherous, solitary sport in comparison ; but hawking was a gallant, open, sunshiny recreation ; it was the generous sport of hunting carried into the skies." " It was, moreover," he says, " according to Braithwaite, the stately amusement of ' high and mounting spirits ' ; for, as the old Welsh proverb affirms, in those times ' you might know a gentle- man by his hawk, horse, and greyhound.' In- deed, a cavalier was seldom seen abroad without his hawk on his fist ; and even a lady of rank did not think herself completely equipped, in riding forth, unless she had her tassel-gentel held by jesses on her delicate hand. It was thought in those excellent days, according to an old writer, ' quite sufficient for noblemen to winde their horn, and to carry their hawke fair ; and leave study and learning to the children of mean peo- ple.' " Knowing the good Squire's hobby, therefore, I have not been surprised in finding that, among the various recreations of former times, which he Las endeavored to revive in the little world in which he rules, he has bestowed great attention on the noble art of falconry. In this he, of course, has been seconded by his indefatigable coadjutor, Master Simon ; and even the parson has thrown ,X)nsiderable light on their labors, by various hints ya the subject, which he has met with in old 132 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ■ English works. As to the precious work of thai famous dame, Juliana Barnes ; the " Gentleman's Academie,'' by Markham; and the other well- known treatises that were the manuals of ancient sportsmen, they have them at their fingers' ends ; but they have more especially studied some old tapestry in the house, whereon is represented a party of cavaliers and stately dames, with doub- lets, caps, and flaunting feathers, mounted on horse, with attendants on foot, all in animated pursuit of the game. The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any hawks in his neighborhood, but gives a lib- eral bounty for all that are brought him alive ; so that the Hall is well stocked with all kinds of birds of prey. On these he and Master Simon hiive exhausted their patience and ingenuity, en- deavoring to " reclaim" them, as it is termed, and to train them up for the sport ; but they have met with continual checks and disappointments. Their feathered school has turned out the most untractable and graceless scholars : nor is it the least of their labor to drill the retainers who were to act as ushers under them, and to take immedi- ate charge of these refractory birds. Old Christy and the gamekeeper both, for a time, set their faces against the whole plan of education : Christy having been nettled at hearing what he terms a wild-goose chase put on a par with a fox-hunt ; and the gamekeeper having always been accus- tomed to look upon hawks as arrant poachers which it was his duty to shoot down, and nail, in terrorem, against the out-houses. FALCONRY. 133 Christy has at length taken the matter in hand, but has done still more mischief by his hitermed- dling. He is as positive and wrong-headed about this, as he is about hunting. Master Simon has continual disputes with him as to feeding and training the hawks. He reads to him long pas- sages from the old authors I have mentioned ; but Christy, who cannot read, has a sovereign contempt for all book-knowledge, and persists in treating the hawks according to his own notions, which are drawn from his experience, in younger days, in the rearing of game-cocks. The consequence is, that, between these jarring systems, the poor birds have had a most trying and unhappy time of it. Many have fallen vic- tims to Christy's feeding and Master Simon's phys- icking ; for the latter has gone to work secunde.m artem, and has given them all the vomitings and scourings laid down in the books ; never were • poor hawks so fed and physicked before. Others have been lost by being but half " reclaimed " or tamed ; for, on being taken into the field, they have "*raked " after the game quite out of hear- ing of the call, and never returned to school. All these disappointments had been petty, yet sore grievances to the Squire, and had made him to despond about success. He has lately, how- ever, been made happy by the receipt of a fine "Welsh falcon, which Master Simon terms a stately highflyer. It is a present from the Squire's .friend, Sir Watkyn Williams Wynne ; and is, no doubt, a descendant of some ancient line of Welsh princes of the air, that have long lorded it dvp.' J34 . BRACEBRIDGE BALL. their kingdom of clouds, from Wynnstay to the very summit of Snowden, or the brow of Pen- man mawr. Ever since the Squire received this invaluable present, he has been as impatient to sally forth and make proof of it, as was Don Quixote to as- say his suit of armor. There have been some demurs as to whether the bird was in proper health and training ; but these have been over- ruled by the vehement desire to play with a new toy ; and it has been determined, right or wrong, in season or out of season, to have a day's sport in hawking to-morrow. The Hall, as usual, whenever the Squire is about to make some new sally on his hobby, is all agog with the thing. Miss Templeton, who is brought up in reverence for all her guardian's humors, has proposed to be of the party, and Lady Lillycraft- has talked also of riding out to the scene of action and looking on. This has gratified the old gentleman extremely ; he hails it as an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry, and does not despair but the time will come when it will be again the pride of a fine lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference to a parrot or a lap-dog. I have amused myself with the bustling prep- irations of that busy spirit. Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he receives from that genuine, son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They have had half a dozen consultations about how- the hawk is to be prepared for the morning's Bpoi't. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got in FALCONRY. 135 a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably given up the point, observing, in a good-humored tone, " Well, well, have it your own way, Christy ; only don't put yourself in a passion ; " a reply which always nettles the old man ten times more than ever HAWKING. The Boaring hawk, from fist that fliea, Her falcODer doth constrain, Sometimes to range the ground about, To find her out again ; And if by sight, or sound of bell. His falcon he may see, Wo ho ! he cries, with cheerful voice — The gladdest man is he. Handfdll of Pleasant Dbutes. llT an early hour this morning the HaU was in a bustle, preparing for the sport of the day. I heard Master Simon whistling and singing under my window at sun- rise, as he was preparing the jesses for the hawk's legs, and could distinguish now and then a stanza of one of his favorite old ditties : " In peascod time, when hound to horn Gives note that buck be kill'd ; And little boy with pipe of com Is tending sheep a-field," &c. A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was served up in the great hall. The whole garrison of retainers and hangers-on were in mo- tion, reinforced by volunteer idlers from the vil- lage. The horses were led up and down before the door ; everybody had something to say, and BA WRING. 137 something to do, and hurried hither aud thither ; there was a direful yelping of dogs : some that were to accompany us being eager to set off, and others that were to stay at home being whipped back to their kennels. In short, for once, the good Squire's mansion might have been taken as a good specimen of one of the rantipole establish- ments of the good old feudal times. Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the HaU prepared to take the field. The fair Julia was of the party, in a hunting-dress, with a light plume of feathers in her riding-hat. As she mounted her favorite galloway, 1 remarked with pleasure that old Christy forgot his usual crusti- ness, and hiristened to adjust her saddle and bridle. He touched his cap as she smiled on him and thanked him ; and then, looking round at the other attendants, gave a knowing nod of his head, in which I read pride and exultation at the charm- ing appearance of his pupil. Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to witness the sport. She was dressed in her broad white beaver, tied under the chin, and a riding- habit of the last century. She rode her sleek, ambling pony, whose motion was as easy as a rocking-chair, and was gallantly escorted by the general, who looked not unlike one of the doughty heroes in the old prints of the battle of Blenheim. The parson, likewise, accompanied her on the other side ; for this was a learned amusement in which he took great interest, and, indeed, had given much counsel, from his knowledge of old customs. 138 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. At length everything was arranged, and we set off from the Hall. The exercise on horseback puts one in fine spirits ; and the scene was gay and animating. The young men of the family accompanied Miss Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in her saddle, her plumes dancing and waving in the air; and the group had a charming effect as they appeared and disappeared among the trees, cantering along with the bound- ing animation of youth. The Squire and Master Simon rode together, accompanied by old Christy, mounted on Pepper. The latter bore the hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most ac- customed to him. There was a rabble rout on foot, composed of retainers from the Hall, and some idlers from the village, with two or three spaniels, for the purpose of starting the game. A kind o^ corps de reserve came on quietly in the rear, composed of Lady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, the parson, and a fat footman. Her ladyship ambled gently along on her pony, while the general, mounted on a tall hunter, looked down upon her with an air of the most protect- ing gallantry. For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this last party, or rather lagged behind, that I might take in the whole picture ; and the parson occasionally slackened his pace and jogged on in company with me. The sport led us at some distance from the Hall, in a soft meadow, reeking with the moist verdure of spring. A little river ran through it, bordered by willows, which had put forth their HAWKIlfG. 139 jender early foliage. The sportsmen were in quest of herons which were said to keep about this stream. There was some disputing, already, among the leaders of the sport. The Squire, Master Simon, and old Christy, came every now and then to a pause, to consult together, like the field-officers in an army ; and I saw, by certain motions of the head, that Christy was as positive as any old wrong-headed German commander. As we were prancing up this quiet meadow, every sound we made weis answered by a distinct echo from the sunny wall of an old building on the opposite margin of the stream ; and I paused to listen to this " spirit of a sound," which seems to love such quiet and beautiful places. The parson informed me that this was the ruin of an ancient grange, and was supposed, by the country people, to be haunted by a dobbie, — a kind of rural sprite, something like Robin Goodfellow. They often fancied the echo to be the voice of the dobbie answering them, and were rather shy of disturbing it after dark. He added, that the Squire was very careful of this ruin, on account of the superstition connected with it. As I con- sidered this local habitation of an " airy nothing," I called to mind the fine description of an echo in Webster's " Duchess of Malfy " : " Yond side o' th' river lies a wall Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion Gives the best echo that you ever heard: So plain is the distinction of our words, That many have supposed it a spirit That answers," HO BRACEBRIDGE BALI,. The parson went on to comment on a pleasing and fanciful appellation which the Jews of old gave to the echo, which they called Bath-kool, that is to say, " the daughter of the voice ; " they considered it an oracle, supplying in the second temple the want of the urim and thummim, with which the first was honored.* The little man was just entering very largely and learnedly up- on the subject, when we were startled by a pro- digious bawling, shouting, and yelping. A flight of crows, alarmed by the approach of our forces, had suddenly rose from a meadow ; a cxy was put up by the rabble rout on foot. " Now, Christy ! now is your time, Christy ! " The Squire and Master Simon, who were beating up the river banks in quest of a heron, called out eagerly to Christy to keep quiet ; the old man, vexed and bewildered by the confusion of voices, completely lost his head ; in his flurry he slipped off the hood, cast off the falcon, and away flew the crows, and away soared the hawk. I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady Lillycraft and her escort, whence I had a good view of the sport. I was pleased with the ap- pearance of the party in the meadow, riding along in the direction that the bird flew ; their bright beaming faces turned up to the bright skies as they watched the game ; the attendants on foot scampering along, looking up, and calling out; and the dogs bounding and yelping with clamor- ous sympathy. The hawk had singled out a quarry from * Beleker's Monde enchants HAWKING. 141 among tlie carrion crew. It was curious to see the efforts of the two birds to get above each other ; one to make the fatal swoop, the other to avoid it. Now they crossed athwart a bright feathery cloud, and now they were against a clear blue sky. I confess, being no sportsman, I was more interested for the poor bird that was striv- ing for its life, than for the hawk that was play- ing the part of a mercenary soldier. At length the hawk got the upperhand, and made a rush- ing stoop at her quarry, but the latter made aa sudden a surge downwards, and slanting up again, evaded the blow, screaming and making the best of his way for a dry tree on the brow of a neighboring hUl ; while the hawk, disappointed if her blow, soared up again into the air, and appeared to be " raking " off. It was in vain old Christy called, and whistled, and endeavored to lure her down ; she paid no regard to him : and, indeed, his calls were drowned in the shouts and yelps of the army of militia that had followed him into the field. Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillycraft made me turn my head. I beheld a complete confusion among the sportsmen in Ihe little vale below us. They were galloping and running towards the edge of a bank ; and I was shocked to see Miss Templeton's horse galloping at large without his rider. I rode to the place to which the others were hurrying, and when I reached the bank, which almost overhung the stream, I saw at the foot of it the fan- Julia, pale, bleeding, and apparently lifeless, supported in the arms of der frantic lover. 142 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. In galloping heedlessly along, with her e/es turned upward, she had unwarily approached too near the bank; it had given way with her, and she and her horse had been precipitated to the pebbled margin of the river. I never saw greater consternation. The cap- tain was distracted, Lady Lillycraft fainting, the Squire in dismay, and Master Simon at his wife ends. The beautiful creature at length showed signs of returning life ; she opened her eyes looked around her upon the anxious group, and comprehending in a moment the nature of the scene, gave a sweet smile, and putting her hand in her lover's, exclaimed feebly, " I am not much hurt, Guy ! " I could have taken her to my hearl for that single exclamation. It was found, indeed, that she had escaped al- most miraculously, with a contusion of the head, a sprained ankle, and some slight bruises. After her wound was stanched, she was taken to a neighboring cottage, until a carriage could be summoned to convey her home ; and when this had arrived, the cavalcade, which had issued forth so gayly on this enterprise, returned slowly and pensively to the Hall. I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown by this young creature, who amidst pain and danger had been anxious only to relieve the distress of those around her. I was gratified, therefore, by the universal concern displayed by the domestics on our return. They came crowd- ing down the avenue; each eager to render assist- ance. The butler stood ready with some curd- UA WKiNG. 148 iiuslj delicate cordial; the old housekeeper was provided with half a dozen nostrums, prepared by her own hands according to the famUy receipt- book ; while her niece, the melting Phcebe, hav- ing no other way of assisting, stood wringing her hands, and weeping aloud. • The most material effect that is likely to follow this accident, is a postponement of the nuptials, which were close at hand. Though I commiser- ate the impatience of the captain on that account, yet I should not otherwise be sorry at the de- lay, as it will give me a better opportunity of studying the characters here assembled, with which I grow more and more entertained. I cannot but perceive that the worthy Squire is quite disconcerted at the unlucky result of his hawking experiment, and this unfortunate illus- tration of his eulogy on female equitation. Old Christy, too, is very waspish, having been sorely twitted by Master Simon for havLog let his hawk fly at carrion. As to tlie falcon, in the confusion occasioned by the fair Julia's disaster, the bird was totally forgotten. I make no doubt she has made the best of her way back tfl the. hospitable haU of Sir Watkyn WUliaras Wynne ; and may very possibly, at this present writing, be pluming ber wings among the .breezy bowers oi Wynustay. ^ ST. MARK'S EVE. 't is a fearful thing to be no more. Or if to be, to wander after death ! To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day, And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths That leml to graves ; and in the silent vault. Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. Datden. HE conversation this evening at supper- table took a curious turn on the subject of a superstition, formerly very prevalent in this part of the country, relative to the present night of the year, which is the Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the parson informed us, that if any one would watch in the church-porch on this eve, for three successive years, from eleven to one o'clock at night, he would see on the third year the shades of those of the parish who were to die in the course of the year, pass by him into church, clad in their usual apparel. Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured us that it was formerly a frequent thing for persons to make the necessary vigils. He had known more than one instance in his time. One old woman, who pretended to have seen this phantom procession, was an object of great awe ST. MARK'S EVE. 145 For the whole year afterwards, and caused much uneasiness and mischief. If she shook her head mysteriously at a person, it was like a death-war- rant ; and she had nearly caused the death of a sick person by looking ruefully in at the window. There was also an old man, not many years aince, of a sullen, melancholy temperament, who had kept two vigils, and began to excite some talk in the village, when, fortunately for the public comfort, he died shortly after his third watching ; very probably from a cold that he had taken, as the night was tempestuous. It was reported about the village, however, that he had seen his own phantom pass by him into the church. This led to the mention of another superstition of an equally strange and melancholy kind, which, however, is chiefly confined to Wales. It is re- specting what are called corpse candles, little wandering fires, of a pale bluish light, that move about like tapers in the open air, and are sup- posed to designate the way some corpse is to go. One was seen at Lanylar, late at night, hover- ■ ing up and down, along the bank of the Istwith, a; id was watched by the neighbors until they were tired, and went to bed. Not long after wards there came a comely country lass, from Montgomeryshire, to see her friends, who dwelt ■n the opposite side of the river. She thought to ford the stream at the very place where the light had been first seen, but w£is dissuaded on itccount of the height of the flood. She walked CO and fro along the bank, just where the candle had moved, wai'ing for the subsiding of the wa . 10 146 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ter. She at length endeavored to cross, but tht poor gu'l was drowned in the attempt.* There was something mournful in this little anecdote of rural superstition, that seemed to af- fect all the listeners. Indeed, it is curious lo re- mark how completely a conversation of the kind will absorb the attention of a circle, and sobei down its gayety, however boisterous. By degrees I noticed that every one was leaning forward over the table, with eyes earnestly fixed upon the par- son, and at the mention of corpse candles which had been seen about the chamber of a young lady who died on the eve of her wedding-day, Lady Lillycraft turned pale. I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the kind into various evening circles ; they were often commenced in jest, and listened to with smiles ; but I never knew the most gay or the most enliglitened of audiences, that were not, if the conversation continued for any length of time, completely and solemnly interested in it. There is, I believe, a degree of superstition lurking in every mind ; and I doubt if any one can thor- oughly examine all his secret notions and im- pulses without detecting it, hidden, perhaps, even from himself. It seems, in fact, to be a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, acting inde- pendently of our reason. It is often found exist- ing in lofty natures, especially those that are poet- ical and aspiring. A great and extraoidmary poet of our day, wliose life and writings evmce a mind subject to powerful exaltations, i? said to * Aubrey's Miscel. ST. MARK'S EVE. 147 believe in omens and secret intimations. Csesar, it is well known, was greatly under the influence of such belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, and his presiding star. As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt thai he is strongly inclined to superstition. He is nat- urally credulous, and passes so much of his time searching out popular traditions and supernatural tales, that his mind has probably become infected by them. He has lately been immersed in the " Demonolatria " of Nicholas Eemigius, concerning supernatural occurrences in Lorraine, and the writings of Joachimus Camerarius, called by Vos- sius the Phoenix of Germany ; and he entertains the ladies with stories from them, that make them almost afraid to go to bed at night. I have been charmed myself with some of the wild little super- stitions which he has adduced from Blefk&ius, Scheflfer, and others, such as those of the Lapland- ers about the domestic spirits which wake them at night, and summon them to go and fish ; of Thor, the deity of thunder, who has power of life and death, health and sickness, and who, armed with the rainbow, shoots his arrows at those evil demons which live on the tops of rocks and moun- tains, and infest the lakes ; of the Juhles or Juhla- folket, vagrant troops of spirits, which roam the air, and wander up and down by forests and moun- tains, and the moonlight sides of hills. The parson never openly professes his belief in ghosts, but I have remarked that he has a suspi- cious way of pressing great names into the de- fence of supernatural doctrines, and making phi- 148 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. losophers and saints fight for him. He expati atea at large on the opinions of the ancient phi- losophers about larves, or nocturnal phantoms, the spirits of the wicked, which wandered like exiles about the earth ; and about those spiritual beings which abode in the air, but descended occasionally fo earth, and mingled among mortals, acting a? agents between them and the gods. He quotes also from Philo the rabbi, the contemporary of the apostles, and, according to some, the friend of St. Paul, who says that the air is full of spirits of different ranks ; some destined for a time to exist in mortal bodies, from which, being emanci- pated, they pass and repass between heaven and earth, as agents or messengers in the service of the Deity. But the worthy little man assumes a bolder tone when he quotes from the fathers of the Church ; such as St. Jerome, who gives it as the opinion of all the doctors, that the air is filled with powers opposed to each other ; and Lactantius, who says that corrupt and dangerous spirits wan- der over the earth, and seek to console themselves for their own fall by effecting the ruin of the hu- man race ; and Clemens Alexandrinus, who is of opinion that the souls of the blessed have knowl edge of what passes among men, the same as an- gels have. I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have taken such hold of my imagination, ;hat I cannot sleep. The room in which I sit is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The walls are hung with tapestry the figures of which ST. MARK'S EVE. 149 are faded, and look like unsubstantial shapes melt- ing away from sight. Over the fireplace is the portrait of a lady, who, according to the house- keeper's tradition, pined to death for the loss of her lover in the battle of Blenheim. She has a most pale and plaintive countenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon me. The family have long since retired. I have heard their steps die away, and the distant doors clap to after them. The murmur of voices, and the peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. The clock firom the church, in which so many of the former inhabitants of this house lie buried, has chimed the awful hour of midnight. I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky landscape, watching the lights disappeai-ing, one by one, from the distant village ; and the moon rising in her silent majesty, and leading up all the silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed upon these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, sil- vered over, and imperfectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has been crowded by " thick coming fancies," concerning those spiritual beings which " walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we i Are there, indeed, such beings ? Is this space between us and the Deity filled up by innumerable oi"ders of spiritual beings forming the same grada- lions between the human soul and divine perfec- tion, that we see prevailing from humanity down- ivards to the meanest insect ? It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine, inculcated by the early 150 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. fathers, that there are guardian angels appointed to watch over cities and nations ; to take care of the welfare of good men, and to guard and guide the steps of helpless infancy. " Nothing," says St. Jerome, " gives us a greater idea of the dignity of our soul, than that God has given each of us, at the moment of our birth, an angel to have care of it." Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit the scenes and beings which were dear to them during the body's existence, though it has been debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the at tention involuntarily yielded to it whenever it is made the subject of serious discussion, its preva- lence in all ages and countries, and even among newly discovered nations that have had no pre- vious interchange of thought with other parts of the world, prove it to be one of those mysterious, and almost instinctive beliefs to which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally incline. In spite of all the pride of reason and philoso- phy, a vague doubt wLU still lurk in the mind, and perhaps will never be perfectly eradicated ; as it is concerning a matter that does not admit of positive demonstration. Everything connected with our spiritual nature is full of doubt and difficulty. "We are fearfully and wonderfully made ; " we are surrounded by mysteries, and wo are mysteries even to ourselves. Who yet has been able to comprehend and describe the nature of the soul, its connection with the body, or in ST. MARK'S £V£. ]51 what part of the frame it is situated ? We kno-rt merely that it does exist ; but whence it came, aud wheu it entered into us, and how it is re- tained, and where it is seated, and how it oper- ates, are all matters of mere speculation and con- tradictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually present to our consciousness, how can we pretend to ascer- tain or to deny its powers and operations when released from its fleshly prison-house ? It is more the manner, therefore, in which this super- stition has been degraded, than its intrinsic ab- surdity, that has brought it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous purposes to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror with which it has been Surrounded, and none of the whole circle of visionary creeds could more delightfully elevate the imagination, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would become a sovereign comfort at the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of our mortal separation. What could be more consol- ing than the idea that the souls of those whom we once loved were permitted to return and watch over our welfare ? That affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we slept, keeping a vigil over our most helpless hours? That beauty and imiocence which had languished into the tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, re- vealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein we live over again the hours of past endearment ? A. belief of this kind would, I should think, be a 152 BRACEBRWGB HALL. aew incentive to virtue ; rendering us circumspect even in our secret moments, from the idea that those we once loved and honored were invisible witnesses of all our actions. It would take away, too, from that loneliness and destitution which we are apt to feel more and more as we get on in our pilgrimage through tlie wilderness of this world, and find that those who set forward with us, lovingly, and cheerily, on the journey, have one by one dropped away from our side. Place the superstition in this light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that is incompatible with the ten- der and merciful nature of our religion, nor re- volting to the wishes and affections of the heart. There are departed beings whom I have loved as I never again shall love in this world, — who have loved me as I never again shall be loved ! If such beings do ever retain in their blessed spheres the attachments which they felt on earth, if they take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted to hold communion with those whom they have loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I could receive theii' visitation witli the most solemn, but unalloyed delight. In truth, such visitations would be too happy for this world ; they would be incompatible with the nature of this imperfect state of being. We are here placed in a mere scene of spiritual thral- dom and restraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by bounds and barriers ; shackled by ST. MARK'S EYE. 1S3 mortal infirmities, and subject to all the gross im- pediments of matter. In vain would they seek to act independently of the body, and to mingle together in spiritual intercourse. They can only act here through their fleshly organs. Their earthly loves are made up of transient embraces and long separations. The most intimate friend- ship, of what brief and scattered portions of time does it consist ! We take each other by the hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of kind- ness, and we rejoice together for a few short mo- ments, and then days, months, years intervene, and we see and know nothing of each other. Or, granting that we dwell together for the full season of this our mortal life, the grave soon closes its gates between us, and then our spirits are doomed to remain in separation and widowhood ; until they meet again Ln that more perfect state of being, where soul will dwell with soul in bliss- ful communion, and there will be neither death, nor absence, nor anything else to interrupt our felicity. *^* In the foregoing paper I have alluded to the writings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. They abound with wild theories ; but among them are many truly poetical flights ; and their ideas are often very beautifully expressed. Their spec- ulations on the nature of angels are curious and fanciful, though much resembling the doctrines of the ancient philosophers. In the writings of the Rabbi Eleazer is an account of the temptation of our first parents, and the fall of the angels, which 154 BRACESKIDGE HALL. the parson pointed out to me as having probably furnished some of the groundwork for " Paradise Lost." According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said to the Deity, " What is there in man that thou makest him of such importance ? Is he any- thing else than vanity ? for he can scarcely reason a little on terrestrial things." To which God re- plied, " Do you imagine that I will be exalted and glorified only by you here above ? I am the same below that I am here. Who is there among you that can call all the creatures by their names ? " There was none found among them that could do so. At that moment Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their name. See- ing which, the ministering angels said among themselves, " Let us consult together how we may cause Adam to sin against the Creator, other- wise he will not fail to become our master." Samraael, who was a great prince in the heav- ens, was present at this council, with the saints of the first order, and the seraphim of six bands. Sammael chose several out of the twelve orders to accompany him, and descended below, for the purpose of visiting all the creatures which God had created. He found none more cunnins and more fit to do evil than the serpent. The Eabbi then treats of the seduction and the fall of man ; of the consequent fall of the de- mon, and the punishment which God inflicted on Adam, Eve, and the serpent. " He made them all come before him ; pronounced nine maledic- tions on Adam and Eve, and conderaned them to ST. MASK'S EVE. 155 Buffer death ; and he precipitated Sammael and all his band from heaven. He cut off the feet of the serpent, which had before the figure of a camel, (Sammael having been mounted on him,) and he cursed him among all beasts and ani- mals." GENTILITY. - True Gentrie standeth in the trade Of Tirfcuous life, not in the fleshly line ; For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is diTine. Mirror for Maoistra'^es. HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of the Squire in the education of his sons ; but I would not have it thought that his instructions were directed chiefly to tbeir per- sonal accomplishments. He took great pains also to form their minds, and to inculcate what he calls good old English principles, such as are laid down in the writings of Peachem and his contem- poraries. There is one author of whom he can- not speak without indignation, which is Chester- field. He avers that he did much, for a time, to injure the true national character, and to intro- duce, instead of open manly sincerity, a hollow perfidious courtliness. " His maxims," he afiirras, '■ were calculated to chill the delightful enthusi- asm of youth, and to make them ashamed of that romance which is the dawn of generous manhood, and to impart to them a cold polish and a pre- mature worldliness." " Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make a young man a mere man of pleasure ; but an English gentleman should not be a mere man GENTILITY. 157 of pleasure. He has no right to such selfish in- dulgence. His ease, his leisure, his opulence, are debts due to his country, which he must ever stand ready to discharge. He should be a man at all points ; simple, fi^nk, courteous, intelligent, accomplished, and informed ; upright, intrepid, and disinterested ; one who can mingle among free- men ; who can cope with statesmen ; who can champion his country and its rights either at home or abroad. In a country like England, where there is such free and unbounded scope for the exertion of intellect, and where opinion and example have such weight with the people, every gentleman of fortune and leisure~~should feel him- self bound to employ himself in some way towards promoting the prosperity or glory of thi; nation. In a country where intellect and action are tram- melled and restrained, men of rank and fortune may become idlers and triflers with impunity ; but an English coxcomb is inexcusable ; and this, perhaps, is the reason why he is the most offen- sive and insupportable coxcomb in the world." The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, would often hold forth in this manner to his sons when they were about leaving the paternal roof; one to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and one to the university. He used to have them with him in the library, which is hung with the portraits of Sydney, Surrey,. Ealeigh, Wyat, and others. " Look at those models of true EngUsh gentlemen, my sons," he would say with enthu- siasm ; " those were men that wreathed the graces of the most delicate and refined taste around the 158 BRACEBRlDGE BALL. Stem virtues of the soldier ; that mingled what was gentle and gracious with what was hardy and manly ; that possessed the true chivalry of spirit which is the exalted essence of manhood. They are the lights by which the youth of the country should array themselves. They were the pat- terns and idols of their country at home ; they were the illustrators of its dignity abroad. ' Sur- rey,' says Camden, ' was the first nobleman that illustrated his high birth with the beauty of learn- ing. He was acknowledged to be the gallantest man, the politest lover, and the completest gentle- man of his time.' And as to Wyat, his friend Surrey most amiably testifies of him, that his per- son was majestic and beautiful, his visage ' stern and mild ' ; that he sung, and played the lute with remarkable sweetness ; spoke foreign lan- guages with grace and fluency, and possessed an inexhaustible fund of wit. And see what a high commendation is passed upon these illustrious friends : ' They were the two chieftains, who, hav- ing travelled into Italy, and there tasted the sweet and stately measures and style of the Italian poe- try, greatly polished our rude and homely man- noi of vulgar poetry from what it had been be- fore, and therefore may be justly called the re- formers of our English poetry and style.' And Sir Philip Sydney, who has left us such monu- ments of elegant thought and generous sentiment, and who illustrated his chivalrous spirit so glori- ously in the field. And Sir Walter Raleigh, the elegant courtier, the intrepid soldier, the enter* prising discoverer, the enlightened philosopher GENTILITY. 153 the maguanimous martyr. These are the men for English gentlemen to study. Chesterfield, with his cold and courtly maxims, would have chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would have blighted aU the budding romance of their tem- peraments. Sydney would never have written his 'Arcadia,' nor Surrey have challenged the world in vindication of the beauties of his Geraldine. These are the men, my sons,'' the Squire will con- tinue, " that show to what our national character may be exalted, when its strong and powerful qual- ities are duly wrought up and refined. The sol- idest bodies are capable of the highest polish ; and there is no character that may be wrought to a more exquisite and unsullied brightness than that of the true English gentleman." When Guy was about to depart for the army, the Squire again took him aside, and gave him a long exhortation. He warned him against that affectation of cold-blooded indifference which he was told was cultivated by the young British offi- cers, among whom it was a study to " sink the soldier " in the mere man of fashion. " A sol- dier,'' said he, " without pride and enthusiasm in his profession, is a mere sanguinary hireling. Nothing distinguishes him from the mercenary bravo but a spirit of patriotism, or thirst for glory. It is the fashion, nowadays, my son," said he, " to laugh at the spirit of chivalry ; when that spirit is really extinct, the profession of the soldier becomes a mere trade of blood." He then set before him the conduct of Edward the Black Prince, who i!> his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, generous, affable. 160 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. humane ; gallant in the field. But when he came to dwell on his courtesy toward his prisoner, the king of France ; how he received him in his tent, rather as a conqueror than as a captive ; attended on him at table like one of his retinue ; rode un- covered beside him on his entry into London, mounted on a common palfrey, while his prisoner was mounted in state on a white steed of stately beauty ; the tears of enthusiasm stood in the old gentleman's eyes. Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put in his son's hands, as a manual, one of his favorite old volumes, the " Life of the Chevalier Bayard," by Godefroy ; on a blank page of which he had written an extract from the Morte d'Arthur, con- taining the eulogy of Sir Ector over the body of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, which the Squire con- siders as comprising the excellencies of a true soldier. " Ah, Sir Launcelot ! thou wert head of aU Christian knights ; now there thou liest : thou were never matched of none earthly knights- hands. And tliou wert the curtiest knight that ever bare shield. And thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrood horse ; and thou were the truest lover of a sinfull man that ever loved woman. And thou were the kindest man that ever strook with sword ; and thou were the goodliest person that ever came among the presse of knights. And thou were the meekest man and the gentlest that ever eate in hall among ladies. And thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put speare in rest." FORTUNE-TELLING. Each city, each town, and every village, AfiFords us either an alms or pillage. And if the weather be cold and raw, Then in a barn we tumble on straw. If warm and &ir, by yea-cocfc and nay^ock. The fields will afford as a hedge or a hay-oock. Merrt Beggabs. JS I was walking one evening with th{ Oxonian, Master Simon, and the gen- eral, in a meadow not far from the vil- lage, we heard the sound of a fiddle, rudely played, and looking in the direction whence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from among the trees. The sound of music is always attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there is good-humor, or good-will. We passed along a footpath, and had a peep, through a break in the hedge, at the musician and his party, when the Oxonian gave us a wink, and told us that if we would follow him, we should have some sport. It proved to be a gypsy encampment, consisting of three or four little cabins or tents, made of blankets and sail-cloth, spread over hoops stuck ia the ground. It was on one side of a green lane, dose under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad U Ifi'i BRACEBRIDGE BJXL. beech-tree spreading above it. A small rill tin- kled along close by through the fresh sward, that looked like a carpet. A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piccn of iron over a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and two old gjrpsies, in red cloaks, sal crouched on the grtiss, gossiping over their even- ing cup of tea ; for these creatures, though they live in the open air, have their ideas of fireside comforts. There were two or three children sleeping on the straw with which the tents were littered ; a couple of donkeys were grazing in the lane, and a thievish-looking dog was lying before the fire. Some of the younger gypsies were dancing to the music of a fiddle, played by a tall, slender stripling, in an old frock-coat, with a peacock's feather stuck in his hatband. As we approached, a gypsy girl, with a pair oi fine roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered tc tell our fortunes. I could not but admire a cer- tain degree of slattern elegance about the baggage. Her long black silken hair was curiously plaiteiJ in numerous small braids, and negligently put up in a picturesque style that a painter might have been proud to have devised. Her dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over-clean, but of a variety of most harmonious and agreea- ble colors ; for these beings have a singularly fine eye for colors. Her straw hat was in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm. The Oxonian oflfered at onoe to have his for- tune told, and the girl began with the usual vol- ubility of her race ; but he drew her on one side, "•J.''- VA'A-\ FORTUNE- TELLING. 163 near the hedge, as he said he had no idea of hav- ing his secrets overheai'd. I saw he was talking to her instead of she to him, and by liis glancing towards us now and then, that he was giving the baggage some private hints. When they returned to us, he assumed a very serious air. " Zounds ! " said he, " it 's very astonishing how these creatures come by their knowledge ; this girl has told me some things that I thought no one knew but myself!" The girl now assailed the general : " Come, your honor," said she, " I see by your face you 're a lucky man ; but you 're not happy in your mind ; you 're not, indeed, sir : but have a good heart, and give me a good piece of silver, and I '11 tell you a nice fortune." The general had received all her approaches with a banter, and had suffered her to get hold of his hand ; but at the mention of the piece of silver, he hemmed, looked grave, and turning to us, asked if we had not better continue our walk. " Come, my master,'' said the girl, archly, " you 'd Qot be in such a hurry if you knew all that I could tell you about a fair lady that has a notion for you. Come, sir, old love burns strong ; there 's many a one comes to see weddings that go away brides themselves!" — Here the girl whispered something in a low voice, at which the general colored up, was a little fluttered, and suffensd himself to be drawn aside under the hedge, where he appeared to listen to her with great earnest- ness, and at the end paid her half-a-crown with the air of a man that has got the worth of his money. 16d BEACEJiRIDGE HALL. The girl next made her attack upon Master Simon, who, however, was too old a bird to be caught, knowing that it would end in an attack upon his purse, about which he is a little sensi- tive. As he has a great notion, however, of be- ing considered a roister, he chucked her under the chin, played her off with rather broad jokes, and put on something of the rake-helly air that we see now and then assumed on the stage by the sad-boy gentlemen of the old school. " Ah, your honor," said the girl, with a malicious leer, " you were not in such a tantrum last year, when I told you about the widow you know who ; but if you had taken a friend's advice, you 'd never have c'ome away from Doncaster races with a flea in your ear ! " There was a secret sting in this speech that seemed quite to disconcert Master Simon. He jerked away his hand in a pet, smacked his whip, whistled to his dogs, and intimated that it was high time to go home. The girl, however, was determined not to lose her harvest. She now turned upon me, and, as I have a weakness of spirit where there is a pretty face concerned, she soon wheedled me out of my money, and, in return, read me a fortune ; which, if it prove true, and I am determined to believe it, will make me one of the luckiest men in the chron- icles of Cupid. I saw ihat the Oxonian was at the bottom of all this oracular mystery, and was disposed to amusB Llmself with the general, whose tender ap- proaclios to the widow have attracted the noticfl FORTUNE-TELLING. , 165 of the wag. I was a little curious, however, to know the moaning of the dark hints which had so suddenly diseoncert'^d Master Simon ; and took occasion to fall in the rear with the Oxonian on our way home, when he laughed heartily at my questions, and gave me ample information yn thb sul)ject. The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon has met with a sad rebuff since my Christmas visit to the Hall. He used at that time to be joked about a widow, a fine dashing woman, as he privately informed me. I had supposed the pleasure he betrayed on these occasions resulted from the usual fondness of old bachelors for being teased about getting married, and about flirting, and being fickle and false-hearted. I am assured, however, that Master Simon had really persuaded himself the widow had a kind- ness for him ; in consequence of which he had been at some extraordinary expense in new clothes, and had actually got Frank Bracebridge to order him a coat from Stultz. He began to throw out hints about the tenportance of a man's settling himself in life before he grew old ; he would look grave whenever the widow and mat- rimony were mentioned in the same sentence ; and privately asked the opinion of the Squire and parson about the prudence of marrying a widow with a rich jointure, but who had several children. An important member of a great family con- nection cannot harp much upon the theme of mat- 166^ BRACEBRIDGE HALL. rimony without its takii)g wind ; and it soon got buzzed about that Mi-. Simon Bracebridge was actually gone to Doncaster races, with a new horse ; but that he meant to return in a curricle with a lady by his side. Master Simon did, iji- deed, go to the races, and that with a new horse ; and the dashing widow did make her appearance in her curricle ; but it was unfortunately drivec by a strapping young Irish dragoon, with whom even Master Simon's self-complacency would not allow him to venture into competition, and to whom she was married shortly afterwards. It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Si- mon for several months, having never before been fully committed. The dullest head in the family had a joke upon him ; and there is iio one that likes less to be bantered than an absolute joker. He took refuge for a time at Lady Lillycraft's until the matter should blow over ; and occupied himself by looking over her accounts, regulating the village choir, and inculcating loyalty into a pet bullfinch, by teaching him to whistle " God save the King." He has now pretty nearly recovered from the mortification ; holds up his head, and laughs as much as any one ; again affects to pity married men, and is particularly facetious about widows, when Lady Lillycraft is not by. His only time of trial is when the general gets hold of liim, wlio' is infinitely heavy and persevering in his wag- gery, and will interweave a dull joke through the various topics of a whole dinner-time. Mas- FORTUNir TELLING. 167 ter Simon often parries these attacks by a stanza from his old work of " Cupid's Solicitor for Love": "T is in vain to wooe a widow over long In once or twice her mind you may perceive; ^7idows ar« subtle, be they old or young, And by Iheir wiles young men they will deceive." LOVE-CHAKMS. ~ Come, do not weep, my girl, Forget him, pretty pensiveness ; tliere will Come others, every day, as good as he. Sir J. SncEUKO. HE approach of a wedding in a family ie always an event of great importance, but particularly so in a household like this, in a retired part of the country. Master Si- mon, who is a pervading spirit, and, through means of the butler and housekeeper, knows everything that goes forward, tells me that the maid-servants are continually trying their fortunes, and that the servants'-hall has of late been quite a scene of in- cantation. It is amusing to notice how the oddities of the head of a family flow down through all the branches. The Squire, in the indulgence of his love of everything which smacks of old times, has held so many grave conversations with the pai-son at table, about popular superstitions and tradition- al rites, that they have been carried from the parlor to the kitchen by the listening domestics, and, being apparently sanctioned by such high authority, the whole house has become infected by them. LOVE- CHARMS. 169 The servants are all versed in the common modes of trying luck, and the charms to insure constancy. They read their fortunes by drawing strokes in tlie ashes, or by repeating a form of words, and looking in a pail of water. St. JMark's Eve, F am told, was a busy time with them; being an appointed night for certain mystic ceremonies. Several of them sowed hemp-seed to be reaped by their true lovere ; and they even ventured upon the solemn and fearful preparation of the dumb- cake. This must be done fasting, and in silence. The ingredients are handed down in traditional form. " An eggshell full of salt, an eggshell full of malt, and an eggshell full of barley-meal." When the cake is ready, it is put upon a pan over the fire, and the future husband will ap- pear, turn the cake, and retire ; but if a word is spoken, or a fast is broken, during this awful ceremony, there is no knowing what horrible consequences would ensue ! The experiments, in the present instance, came to no result ; they that sowed the hemp-seed for- got the magic rhyme that they were to prouounce, so the true lover never appeared ; and as to the dumb-cake, what between the awftil stillness they had to k;eep, and the awfuluess of the midnight hour, their hearts failed them when they had put the cake in the pan ; so that, on the striking of the great house-clock in the servants'-haU, .they were seized with a sudden panic, and ran out of the room, to which they did not return untU morn- ing, when they found the mystic cake burnt to a sinder. 170 BRAC£BRWGE HALL. The most persevering at these spells, hoWBTer IS Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. As she is a kind of privileged personage, and rather idle, she has more time to occupy herself with these matters. She has always had her head full of love and matrimony. She knows the dream- book by heart, and is quite an oracle among the little girls of the family, who always come to her to interpret their dreams in the mornings. During the present gayety of the house, how- ever, the poor girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to use the housekeeper's words, " has fallen into a sad hystericky way lately." It seems that she was born and brought up in the village, where her father was pai'ish clerk, and she was an early playmate and sweetheart of young Jack Tibbets. Since she has come to live at the Hall, however, her head has been a little turned. Being very pretty, and naturally genteel, she has been much noticed and indulged ; and being the housekeep- er's niece, she has held an equivocal station be- tween a servant and a companion. She has learnt something of fashions and notions among the young ladies, which have effected quite a met- amorphosis ; insomuch that her finery at church on Sundays has given mortal offence to her for- mer intimates in the village. This has occa sioned the misrepresentations which have awak ened the implacable family pride of Dame Tibbets But what is worse, Phcebe, having a spice of coquetry in her disposition, showed it on one or two occasions to her lover, which produced a iownright quarrel ; and Jack, being very proud l,OVE-CBARUS. ' 171 and fiery, has absolutely turned his back upon her for several successive Sundays. The poor girl is full, of sorrow and repentance, and would fain make up with her lover ; but he feels his security, and stands aloof. In this he is doubtless encouraged by his mother, who is continually reminding him what he owes to his family ; for this same family pride seems doomed to be the eternal bane of lovers. As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble. I have felt quite concerned for the luckless Phoebe, ever since I heard her story. It is a sad thing to be thwarted in love at any time, but particu- larly so at this tender season of the year, when every living thing, even to the very butterfly, is sporting with its mate ; and the green fields, and the budding groves, and the singing of the birds, and the sweet smell of the flowers, are enough to turn the head of a love-sick girl. I am told that the coolness of young Ready-Money lies very heavy at poor Phoebe's heart. Instead of sing- ing about the house as formerly, she goes about pale and sighing, and is apt to break into tears when her companions are full of merriment. Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady Lillycraft, has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, up and down the avenue, of an evening ; and has endeavored to squeeze some of her own verjuice into the other's milky na- ture. She speaks with contempt and abhorrence of the whole sex, and advises Phoebe to despise all the men as heartily as she does. But Phoebe's loving temper is not to be curdled ; she has no 172 BRACEBKIDGE HALL. such tiling as hatred or contempt for mankind in her whole composition. She lias all the simple fondness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman ; and her only thoughts at present are, how to con- ciliate and reclaim her wayward swain. The spells and love-charms, which are matters of sport to the other domestics, are serious coR' cerns with this love-stricken damsel. She is con- tinually trying her fortune in a variety of ways. I am told that she has absolutely fasted for six Wednesdays and three Fridays successively, hav- ing understood that it was a sovereign charm to insure being married to one's liking within the year. She carries about, also, a lock of her sweetheart's hair, and a riband he once gave her, being a mode of producing constancy in a lover. She even went so far as to try her fortune by the moon, which has always had much to do with lovers' dreams and fancies. For this purpose she went out in the night of the full moon, knelt on a stone in the meadow, and repeated the old tra- ditional rhyme : " All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee; I pray thee, good moon, now show to me The youth who my foture husband shall be." When she came back to the house, she was faint and pale, and went immediately to bed. The next morning she told the porter's wife that she had seen some one close by the hedge in thfc meadow, which she was sure was young Tibbets -, at any rate, she had dreamt of him all night; both of which, the old dame assured her, were LOVE-CHARMS. 173 most happy signs. It has since turned out that the person in the meadow was old Christy, the huntsman, who was walking his nightly rounds with the great stag-hound ; so that Phcebe's faith ill the charm is completely shaken. THE LIBRAEY. P:STERDAY the fair Julia made her first appearance down-stairs since her accident ; and the sight of her spread an universal cheerfulness through the household. She was extremely pale, however, and could not walk without pain and difficulty. She was as- sisted, therefore, to a sofa in the library, which is pleasant and retired, looking out among trees, and so quiet that the little birds come hopping upon the windows, and peering curiously into the apartment. Here several of the family gathered round, and devised means to amuse her, and make the day pass pleasantly. Lady Lillycraft lamented the want of some new novel to while away the time ; and was almost in a pet, because the " Author of Waverley " had not produced a work for the last three months. There was a motion made to call on the par- son for some of his old legends or ghost-stories ; but to this Lady Lillycraft objected, as they were apt to give her the vapors. General Harbottle gave a minute account, for the sixth time, of the disaster of a friend in India, who had his leg bitten o lated to excite the feelings of a romantic youth. Had he seen the unknown under other circum- 186 BRACEBRILGE HALL. stances, it is probable he would not have been struck with her beauty; but tliis appearance of being shut up and kept apai-t gave her the value of a treasured gem. He passed and repassed before the house several times in the course of the day, but saw nothing more. He was there again in the evening. The whole aspect of the house was dreary. The narrow windows emitted no rays of cheerful light, to indicate social life within. Antonio listened at the portal, but no sound of voices reached his ear. Just then he heard the clapping to of a distant door, and fear- ing to be detected in the unworthy act of eaves- dropping, he precipitately drew off to the opposite side of the road, and stood in the shadow of a ruined archway. He now remarked a light from a window in the tower. It was fitful and changeable ; com- monly feeble and yellowish, as if from a lamp ; with an occasional glare of some vivid metallic color, followed by a dusky glow. A column of dense smoke would now and then rise in the air, and hang like a canopy over the tower. There was altogether such a loneliness and seeming mystery about the building and its inhabitants, that Antonio was half inclined to indulge the country people's notions, and to fancy it the den of some powerful sorcerer, and the fair damsel he had seen to be some spellbound beauty. After some time had elapsed, a light appeared in the window where he had seen the beautiful arm. The curtain was down, but it was so thin that he could pe"ceive the shadow of some one THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 187 passing and repassing between it and the light He fancied he could distinguish that the form was delicate ; and from the alacrity of its movements, it was evidently youthful. He had not a doubt but this was the bedchamber of his beautiful ua- known. Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and a female voice singing. He drew near cautiously, and listened. It was a plaintive Moorish ballad, and he recognized in it the lamentations of one of the Abencerrages on leaving the walls of lovely Grenada. It was fuU of passion and tenderness. It spoke of the delights of early life ; the hours of love it had enjoyed on the banks of the Darro, and among the blissful abodes of the Alhambra. It bewailed the fallen honors of the Abencerrages and imprecated vengeance on their oppressors. Antonio was affected by the music. It singu- larly coincided with the place. It was like the voice of past times echoed in the present, and breathing among the monuments of its departed glories. The voice ceased ; after a time the light dis- appeared, and all was still. " She sleeps ! " said Antonio, fondly. He lingered about the building with the devotion with which a lover lingers about the bower of sleeping beauty. The rising moon threw its silver beams on the gray walls, and glittered on the casement. The late gloomy landscape gradually became flooded with its ra- diance. Finding, therefore, that he could no longer move about in obscurity, and fearful that his loiterings might be observed, he reluctantly fetired. 188 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. The cin-iosity which had at first drawn the young man to the tower was now seconded by feelings of a more romantic kind. His studies wei'e ahnost entirely abandoned. He maintained a kind of blockade of the old mansion ; he would take a book with him, and pass a great part of the day under the trees in its vicinity ; keeping a vigilant eye upon it, and endeavoring to as- certain what were the walks of his mysterious charmer. She never went out, however, except to mass, when she was accompanied by her father. He waited at the door of the church, and offered her the holy water, in the hopes of touching her hand : a little office of gallantry common in Catholic countries. She modestly declined, without raising her eyes to see who made the offer, and always took it herself from the font. She was attentive in her devotion;' her eyes were never taken from the altar or the priest ; and on returning home, her countenance was almost entirely concealed by her mantilla. Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for several days, and was hourly getting more and more interested in the chase, but never a step nearer to the game. His lurkings about the house had probably been noticed, for he no longer saw the fair face at the window, nor the white arm put forth to water the flowers. His only conso- lation was to repair nightly to his post of obser- vation and listen to her warbling; and if by chance he could catch a sight of her shadow, pass- ing and repassing before the window, he thoughi himself most fortunate. TBE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 189 As he wiis indulging in one of these evening vigils, which were complete revels of the imagi- nation, the sound of approaching footsteps made him withdraw into the deep sl.jdow of the ruined archway, opposite to the towc. A cavalier ap- proached, wrapped in a large Spanish cloak. He paused under the window of the tower, and after a little while began a serenade, accompanied by his guitar, in the usual style of Spanish gal- lantry. His voice was rich and manly ; he touched the instrument with skill, and sang with amorous and impassioned eloquence. The plume of his hat was buckled by jewels that sparkled in the moonbeams ; and, as he played on the guitar, his cloak falling oflf from one shoulder showed him to be richly dressed. He was evi- dently a person of rank. The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, that the affections of his unknown beauty might be engaged. She was young, and doubtless sus- ceptible ; and it was not in the nature of Spanish females to be deaf and insensible to music and admiration. The surmise brought with it a feel- ing of dreariness. There was a pleasant dream of several days suddenly dispelled. He had never before experienced anything of the tender passion ; and, as its morning dreams are always delightful, he would fain have continued in the delusion. " But what have I to do with her attachments ? '' Jhought he ; "I have no claim on her heart, nor even on her acquaintance. How do I know that- 9ho is worthy of affection ? Or if she is, must not 190 BRACEBRIDGE Hj^LL. 30 gallant a lover as this, with his jewels, his rank, and his detestable music, have completely capti- vated her ? What idle humor is this that I have fallen into ? I must again to my books. Study, study will soon chase away all these idle fancies ! " The more he thought, however, the more he became entangled in the spell which his lively imagination had woven round him ; and now that a rival had appeared, in addition to the other ob- stacles that environed this enchanted beauty, she appeared ten times more lovely and desirable. It was some slight consolation to him to perceive that the gallantry of the unknown met with no apparent return from the tower. The light at the window was extinguished. The cui-tain re- mained undrawn, and none of the customary sig- nals were given to intimate that the serenade was accepted. The cavalier lingered for some time about the place, and sang several other tender airs with a taste and feeling that made Antonio's heart ache ; at length he slowly retired. The student re- mained with folded arms, leaning against the rumed arch, endeavoring to summon up resolutioi to depart ; but a romantic fascination still en chained him to the place. " It is the last time, said he, willing to compromise between his feel- ings and his judgment, " it is the last time ; then let me enjoy the dream a few moments longer." As his eye ranged about the old building to lako a farewell look, he observed the strange light m the tower, which he had noticed on a former occasion. It kept beaming up, and declining, as THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 191 before. A pillar of smoke rose in the air, and hung in sable volumes. It was evident the old man was busied in some of those operations which had gained him the reputation of a sorcerer throughout the neighborhood. Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone through the casement, followed by a loud report, and then a fierce and ruddy glow. A figure ap- peared at the window, uttering cries of agony or alarm, but immediately disappeared, and a body of smoke and flame whirled out of the narrow aper- ture. Antonio rushed to the portal, and knocked at it with vehemence. He was only answered by loud shrieks, and found that the females were al- ready in helpless consternation. With an exertion of desperate strength, he forced the wicket from its hinges, and rushed into the house. He found himself in a small vaulted hall, and by the light of the moon which entered at the door, he saw a staircase to the left. He hurried up it to a narrow corridor, through which was rolling a volume of smoke. He found here the two females in a frantic state of alarm ; one of them clasped her hands, and implored him to save her father. The corridor terminated in a spiral flight of steps, leading up to the tower. He sprang up it to a small door, through the chinks of which came a glow of light, and smoke was spuming out. He burst it open, and found himself in an antique vaulted chamber, furnished with furnace, and va- rious chemical apparatus. A shattered retort lay on the stone floor; a quantity of combustibles, 192 BEACEBRIDGE HALL. nearly consumed, with various half-burnt booka and papers, were sending up an expiring flame, and filling the chamber with stifling smoke. Just within the threshold lay the reputed conjurer. He was bleeding, his clothes were scorched, and he appeared lifeless. Antonio caught him up, and bore him down the stairs to a chamber in which there was a light, and laid him on a bed. The female domestic was dispatched for such ap- pliances as the house afforded ; but the daughter threw herself frantically beside her parent, and could not be reasoned out of her alarm. Her dress was all in disorder ; her dishevelled hair hung in rich confusion about her neck and bosom, and never was there beheld a lovelier picture of terror and affliction. The skilful assiduities of the scholar soon pro- duced signs of returning animation in his patient. The old man's wounds, though severe, were not dangerous. They had evidently been produced by the bursting of the retort ; in his bewilder- ment he had been enveloped in the stifling metal- lic vapors which had overpowered his feeble frame, and had not Antonio arrived to his assist- ance, it is possible he might never have recoT- ercd. By slow degrees he came to his senses. He looked about with a bewildered air at the cham- ber, the agitated group around, and the student who was leaning oyer him. " Where am I ? " said he, wildly. At the sound of his voice his daughter uttered a faint exclamation of delight. " My poor Inez ! " THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 193 said he, embracing her ; then putting his hand to his head, and taking it away stained with blood, he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and to be overcome with emotion. " Ah ! " cried he, " aU is over with me ! all gone ! all vanished ! gone in a moment ! the labor of a lifetime lost ! " His daughter attempted to soothe him, but he became slightly delirious, and raved incoherently about malignant demons, and about the habitation of the green lion being destroyed. His wounds being dressed, and such other remedies adminis- tered as his situation required, he sunk into a state of quiet. Antonio now turned his attention to the daughter, whose suiferings had been little mferior to those of her father. Having with great difficulty succeeded in tranquillizing her fears, he endeavored to prevail upon her to retire, and seek the repose so necessary to her frame, proffering to remain by her father until morning. •' I am a stranger," said he, " it is true, and my of- ler may appear intrusive ; but I see you are lonely and helpless, and I cannot help venturing over the limits of mere ceremony. Should you feel any scruple or doubt, however, say but a word, and I will instantly retire.'' There was a frankness, a kindness, and a mod- esty mingled in Antonio's deportment, which in- spii-ed instant confidence ; and his simple schol- ar's garb was a recommendation in the house of poverty. The females consented to resign the suf- ferer to his care, as they would be the better able to attend to him on the morrow. On retiring, the 13 194 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. old domesiic was profuse in her benedictions ; the danghtei' only looked her thanks ; but as they slione through the tears that filled her fine black eyes, the student thought them a thousand times the most eloquent. Here, then, he was, by a singular turn of cliauce, completely housed within this mysterious mansion. When left to himself, and the bustle of the scene was over, his heart throbbed as he looked round the chamber in which he was sitting. It was the daughter's room, the promised land toward which he had cast so many a longing gaze. The furniture was old, and had probably belonged to the building in its prosperous days; but everything Ava.s arranged with propriety. The flowers which he had seen her attend stood in the window ; a guitar leaned against a table, on which stood a crucifix, and before it lay a missal and a rosary. There reigned an air of purity and serenity about this little nestling-place of innocence ; it was the emblem of a chaste and quiet mind. Some few articles of female dress lay on the chairs ; and there was the very bed on which she had slept ; the pillow on which her soft cheek had reclined ! The poor scholar was treading enchanted ground ; for what fairy land has more magic in it '.ban the bedchamber of in- Qocence and beauty ? From various expressions of the old man in his ravings, and from what ho had noticed on a subsequent visit to the tower, to see that the fire was extinguished, Antonio had gathered that his (latient was an alchemist. The philosopher'? THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 195 stone was an object eagerly sought after by vis- ionaries in those days ; but in consequence of the superstitious prejudices of the times, and the frequent persecutions of its votaries, they were apt to pursue their experiments in secret in lonely houses, in caverns and ruins, or in the privacy of cloistered cells. In the course of the night the old man had several fits of restlessness and delirium ; he would call out upon Theophrastus, and Geber, and Al- bertus Magnus, and other sages of his art ; and anon would murmur about fermentation and pro- jection, until, toward daylight, he once more sunk into a salutary sleep. When the morning sun darted his rays into the casement, the fair Inez, attended by the female domestic, came blushing into the chamber. The student now took his leave, having himself need of repose, but obtained ready permission to return and inquire after the snflferer. When he called again, he found the alchemist languid and in pain, but apparently suifering more in mind than in body. His delirium had left him, and he had been informed of the partic- ulars of his deliverance and of the subsequent attentions of the scholar. He could do little more than look his thanks, but Antonio did not require them ; his own heart repaid him for all that he had done, and he almost rejoiced in the disaster that had gained him an entrance into this mysterious habitation. The alchemist was so helpless as to need much assistance ; Antonio re- mained with him, therefore, the greater part of, 196 BRACEBRWGE HALL. the day. He repeated his visit the next day, and the next. Every day his company seemed more pleasing to the invalid ; and every day he felt his interest in the latter increasing. Perhaps the oresence of the daughter might have been at the bottom of this solicitude. He had frequent and long conversations with the alchemist. He found him, as men of his pur- have a good number of culprits condemned to the stake, to grace these solemn triumphs. He was at length brought to a final examination. The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. At one end was a huge crucifix, the standard of the inquisition. A long table extended through the centre of the room, at which sat the inquisi- tors and their secretary ; at the other end a stool was placed for the prisoner. He was brought in, according to custom, bare- headed and bare-legged. He was enfeebled by confinement and affliction ; by constantly brood- ing over the unknown fate of his child, and the disastrous interruption of his experiments. He sat bowed down and listless ; his head sunk upon his breast ; his whole appearance that of one " past hope, abandoned, and by himself given over.'' The accusation alleged against him was now brought forward in a specific form ; he was called upon by name, Felix de Vasquez, formerly- of Castile, to answer to the charges of necromancy and dempnology. He was told that the charges were amply substantiated ; and was asked whether he was ready, by fuU confession, to throw himself upon the well-known mercy of the holy inquisi- tion. The philosopher tesljified some little surprise at the nature of the accusation, but simply replied, ■ I am innocent." " What proof have yon to give of your inno- cence ? " TnE STUDENT OF SALA.ifANCA. 239 "It rather remains for you to prove your charges," said the old man. " I am a stranger and a sojourner in the land, and know no one out of the doors of my dwelling. I can give noth- ing in my vindication but the word of a noble- man and a Castilian." The inquisitor shook his head, and went on to repeat the various inquiries that had before been made as to his mode of life and pursuits. The poor alchemist was too feeble and too weary at heart to make any but brief replies. He re- quested that some man of science might examine his laboratory, and all his books and papers, by which it would be made abundantly evident that he was merely engaged in the study of alchemy. To this the inquisitor observed, that alchemy had become a mere covert for secret and deadly sins. That the practisers of it were apt to scru- ple at no means to satisfy their inordinate greed- iness of gold. Some had been known to use spells and impious ceremonies ; to conjure the aid of evil spirits ; nay, even to sell their souls to the enemy of mankind, so that they might riot in boundless wealth while living. The poor alchemist had heard all patiently, or, at least, passively. He had disdained to vindi- cate his name otherwise than by his word ; he had smiled at the accusations of sorcery, when applied merely to himself; but when the sublime art, which had been the study and passion of his life, was assailed, he could no longer listen in si- lence. His head gradually rose from his bosom ; a hectic color came in faint streaks to his cheeks, 240 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. played about there, disappeared, returned, and aJ length kindled into a burning glow. The clammy dampness dried from his forehead ; his eyes, which had been nearly extinguished, lighted up again, and burned with their wonted and visionary fires. He entered into a vindication of his favorite art. His voice at first was feeble and broken ; but it gathered strength as he proceeded, until it rolled in a deep and sonorous volume. He gradually rose from his seat as he rose with his subject ; he threw back the scanty black mantle which had hitherto wrapped his limbs ; the very uncouthness of his form and looks gave an impressive effect to what he uttered ; it was as though a corpse had become suddenly animated. He repelled with scorn the aspersions cast upon alchemy by the ignorant and vulgar. He affirmed it to be the mother of all art and science, citing the opinions of Paracelsus, Sandivogius, Ray- mond Lully, and others, in support of his asser- tions. He maintained that it was pure and inno- cent, and lionorable both in its purposes and means. Wluit were its objects ? The perpetua- tion of life and youth, and the production of gold. " The elixir vitaj,'' said he, " is no charmed potion, but merely a concentration of those elements of vitality which nature has scattered through her works. The philosopher's stone, or tincture, or powder, as it is variously called, is no necromantic talisman, but consists simply of those particles which gold contains within itself for its reproduc- tion ; for gold, like other things, has its seed within itself, though bound up with inconceivable THE STUDLAT OF SALAMANCA. 241 firmness, from the vigor of innate fixed salts an.l sulphurs. In seeking to discover the elixir of life, then," continued he, " we seek only to apply some of nature's ovvn specific's against the disease and decay to which our bodies are subjected ■ and what else does the physician, when he tasks his art, and uses subtle compounds and cunning distUlalions to revive our languishing powers, and avert the sti-oke of death for a season ? " In seeking to multiply the precious metals, also, we seek but to germinate and multiply, by natural means, a particular species of nature's productions ; and what else does the husbandman, who consults times and seasons, and, by what might be deemed a natural magic, from the mere scattering of his hand, covers a whole plain with golden vegetation ? The mysteries of our art, it is true, are deeply and darkly hidden ; but it requires so much the more innocence and purity of thought to penetrate unto them. No, father, the true alchemist must be pure in mind and body ; he must be temperate, patient, chaste, watchful, meek, humble, devout. ' My son,' says Hermes Trismegestes, the great master of our art, ' my son, I recommend you above all things to fear God.' And indeed it is only by devout castigation of the senses and purification of the soul, that the alchemist is enabled to enter into the sacred chambers of truth. ' Labor, pray, and i-ead,' is the motto of our science. As De Nuyse- ment well observes, ' these high and singular favors are granted unto none save only unto the sons of God, (that is to say, the virtuous and de- 16 2r4'2 BEACEBBIDGE HALL. voiil,) who, under his paternal benediction, havf obtained the opening of the same, by the helping hand of the queen of arts, divine Philosophy. Indeed, so sacred has the nature of this knowl edge been considered, that we are told it has four tinies been expressly communicated by God to man, having made a part of that cabalis- tical wisdom whicli was revealed to Adam to con- Bole him for the loss of Paradise, to Moses in the bush, to Solomon in a dream, and to Esdras by the angel. " So far from demons and malign spirits being the friends and abettors of the alchemist, they are the continual foes with which he has to con- tend. It is their constant endeavor to shut up the avenues to those truths which would enable him to rise above the abject state into wliich he has fallen, and return to that excellence which was his original birthright. For what would be the effect of this length of days, and this abun- dant wealth, but to enable the possessor to go on from art to art, from science to science, with en- ergies unimpaired by sickness, uninterrupted by death ? For this have sages and philosophers shut themselves up in cells and solitudes ; buried themselves in caves and dens of the earth ; turn- iiig from the joys of life, and the pleeisance of the world ; enduring scorn, poverty, persecution. For this was Raymond Lully stoned to death in Mauritania. For this did the immortal Pietro D'Abano suffer persecution at Padua, and when he escaped from his oppressors by death, was despitefully burnt in efiSgy. For this have illus- THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 243 Irioiis men of all nations intrepidly suffered raar- tyrdom. For this, if unmolested, have they as- siduously employed the latest hour of life, the expiring throb of existence, hoping to the last that they might yet seize upon the prize, for which they had struggled, and pluck themselves back even from the very jaws of the gpave. " For, when once the alchemist shall hare attained the object of his toils, when the sublime secret shall be revealed to his gaze, how glorious will be the change in his condition ! How will he emerge from his solitary retreat, like the sun breaking forth from the darksome chamber of the night, and darting his beams throughout the earth ! Gifted with perpetual youth and bound- less riches, to what heights of wisdom may he attain ! How may he carry on, uninterrupted, the thread of knowledge, which has hitherto been snapped at the death of each philosopher ! And, as the increase of wisdom is the increase of vir- tue, how may he become the benefactor of his fellow-men; dispensing with liberal, but cautious and discriminating hand, that inexhaustible wealth which is at his disposal ; banishing poverty, which is the cause of so much sorrow and wickedness ; encouraging the arts ; promoting discoveries, and enlarging all the means of virtuous enjoyment .' His life will be the connecting band of genera- tions. History will live in his recollection ; dis- tant ages will speak with his tongue. The nations of the earth will look to him as their pre- ceptor, and kings will sit at his feet and learn wisdom. Oh glorious ! oh celestial alchemy ! " — Hi BRACEBRIDGE RALL Here he was interrupted by the inquisitor, who had suffered him to go on tlius far, in hopes of gathering something from his unguarded enthu- siasm. " Seiior," said he, " this is all rambling, visionary talk. You are charged with sorcery, and in defence you give us a rhapsody about al- chemy. Have you"^ nothing better than this to offer in your defence ? " The old man slowly resumed his seat, but did deign no reply. The fire that had beamed in his eye gradually expired. His cheek resumed its wonted paleness ; but he did not relapse into in- anity. He sat with a steady, serene, patient look, like one prepared not to contend but to suffer. His trial continued for a long time with cruel mockery of justice, for no witnesses were ever, in this court, confronted with the accused, and the- latter had continually to defend himself in the dark. Some unknown and powerful enemy had alleged charges against the unfortunate alchemist, but who he could not imagine. Stranger and so- journer as he was in the land, solitary and harm- less in his pursuits, how could he have provoked such hostility ? The tide of secret testimony, how ever, was too strong against him : he was con- victed of the crime of magic, and condemned to expiate his sins at the stake, at the approaching auto dafe. While the unhappy alchemist was undergoing his trial at the inquisition, his daughter was ex- posed to trials no less severe. Don Ambrosio, cnto whose hands she had fallen, was, as has be- •bre been intimated, one of the most daring and THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 245 lawless profligates in all Grenada. He was a man of hot blood and fiery passions, who stopped at nothing in the gratification of his desires ; yet with all this he possessed manners, address, and accomplishments, that had made him eminently successful among the sex. From the palace to the cottage he had extended his amorous enter- prises ; his serenades harassed the slumbers of half the husbands in Grenada ; no balcony was too high for his adventurous attempts ; nor any cottage too lowly for his perfidious seductions. Yet he was as fickle as he was ardent ; success had made him vain and capricious ; he had no sentiment to attach him to the victim of his arts ; and many a pale cheek and fading eye, languish- ing amidst the sparkling of jewels, and many a breaking heart, throbbing under the rustic bodice, bore testimony to his triumphs and his faithless- ness. He was sated, however, by easy conquests, and wearied of a life of continual and prompt grati- fication. There had been a degree of difficulty and enterprise in the pursuit of Inez, that he had never before experienced. It had aroused him from the monotony of mere sensual life, and stim- ulated him with the charm of adventure. He had become an epicure in pleasure ; and now that he had this coy beauty in his power, he was deter- mined to protract his enjoyment, by the gradual conquest of her scruples, and downfall of her vir- tue. He was vain of his person and address, which he thought no woman could long withstand ; und it was a kind of trial of skill to endeavor to 246 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. gain by art and fascination what he waa secure of obtaining at any time by violence. When Inez, therefore, was brought to his pres- ence by his emissaries, he affected not to notice her terror and surprise, but received her with for- mal and stately courtesy. He was too waiy a fowler to flutter the bird when just entangled in the net. To her eager and wild inquiries about her father, he begged her not to be alarmed ; that he was safe, and had been there, but was en- gaged elsewhere in an affair of moment, from which he would soon return ; in the mean time he had left word that she should await his return in patience. After some stately expressions of gen- eral civility, Don Ambrosio made a ceremonious bow, and I'etired. The mind of Inez was full of trouble and per- plexity. The stately formality of Don Ambro- sio was so unexpected as to check the accusations and reproaches that were springing to her lips. Had he had evil designs, would he have treated her with such frigid ceremony when he had her in his power ? But why, then, was she brought to his house ? Was not the mysterious disap- pearance of Antonio connected with this ? A thought suddenly darted into her mind. Anto- nio had again met with Don Ambrosio — they had fought — Antonio was wounded — perhaps dying ! — It was him to whom her father had gone. It was at his request that Don Ambro- sio had sent for them to soothe his dying moments ! These, and a thousand such horrible suggestions harassed her mind ; but she tried in vain to get THE STUDKNl OF SALAMANCA. 247 information from the domestics ; they knew noth- ing but that her father had been there, had gone, and would soon return. Thus passed a night of tumultuous thought and vague yet cruel apprehensions. She knew not what to do, or what to believe ; whether she ought to fly, or to remain ; but if to fly, how was she to extricate herself? and where was she to seek her father ? As the day dawned with- out any intelligence of him, her alarm increased ; at length a message was brought from him, say- ing that circumstances prevented his return to her, but begging her to hasten to him without delay. With an eager and throbbing heart did she set forth with the men that were to conduct her. She little thought, however, that she was merely changing her prison-house. Don Ambrosio had feared lest she should be traced to his residence in Grenada ; or that he might be interrupted there before he could accomplish his plan of seduction. He had her now conveyed, therefore, to a man- sion which he possessed in one of the mountain sol- itudes in the neighborhood of Grenada ; a lonely, but beautiful retreat. In vain, on her arrival, did she look around for her father, or Antonio ; none but strange faces met her eye ; menials pro- foundly respectful, but who knew nor saw any- thing but what their master pleased. She had scarcely arrived before Don Ambrosio made his appearance, less stately in his manner, but still ti'eating her with the utmost delicacy and Jeferenca. Inez was too much agitated and 248 BRACEBRWGE BALL. alarmed to be baffled by his courtesy, and be- came vehement in her demand to be conducted to her fatlier. Don Arabrosio now put on an appearance of the greatest embarrassment and emotion. Aftei some delay, and much pretended confusion, he at length confessed that the seizure of her father was all a stratagem ; a mere false alarm to pro- cure him the present opportunity of having ac- cess to her, and endeavoring to mitigate that ob- duracy, and conquer that repugnance, which he declared had almost driven him to distraction. He assured her .that her father was again at home in safety, and occupied in his usual pursuits ; having been fully satisfied that his daughter was in honorable hands, and would soon be restored to him. In vain she threw herself at his feet, and implored to be set at liberty ; he only replied by gentle entreaties, that she would pardon the seeming violence he had to use ; and that she. would trust a little while to his honor. " You are here,'' said he, " absolute mistress of every- thing : nothing shall be said or done to offend you ; I will not even intrude upon your ear the unhappy passion that is devouring my heart. Should you require it, I will even absent myself from your presence ; but to part with you en- tirely at present, with your mind full of doubts and resentments, would be worse than death to me. No, beautiful Inez, you must first know me a little better, and know my conduct, that my pas- sion for you is as delicate and resper:tful as it i* vehement." TBE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 249 The assurance of her father's safety had re lieved Liez from one cause of torturing anxiety, only to render her fears more violent on her own account. Don Ambrosio, however, continued to treat her with artful deference, that insensibly lulled her apprehensions. It is true she found herself a captive, but no advantage appeared to be taken of her helplessness. She soothed herself with the idea that a little while would suffice to convince Don Ambrosio of the fallacy of his hopes, and that he would be induced to restore her to her home. Her transports of terror and affliction, there' fore, subsided, in a few days, into a passive, yet anxious melancholy, with which she awaited the hoped-for event. In the meanwhile all those artifices were em- ployed that are calculated to charm the senses, ensnare the feelings, and dissolve the heart into tenderness. Don Ambrosio was a master of the subtle arts of seduction. His very mansion breathed an enervating atmosphere of languor and delight. It wiis here, amidst twilight sa- loons and dreamy chambers, buried among groves of orange and myrtle, that he shut himself up at times from the prying world, and gave free scope to the gratification of his pleasures. The apartments were furnished in the most sumptuous and voluptuous manner ; the silken couches swelled to the touch, and sank in downy softness beneath the slightest pressure. The paint- ings and statues all told some classic tale of love, managed, however, with an insidious delicacy ; trhich, while it banished the grossness that might 250 BRACEBRWOE HALL. ilisguht, was the more calculated to exciie the im- agination. There the blooming Adonis was seen, not breaking away to pursue the boisterous chase, but crowned with flowers, and languishing in the embraces of celestial beauty. There Acis wooed his Galatea in the shade, with the Sicilian sea spreading in halcyon serenity before them. There were depicted groups of fauns and dryads, fondly reclining in summer bowers, and listening to the liquid piping of the reed ; or the wanton satyrs surprising some wood-nymph during her noontide slumber. There, too, on the storied tapestry, might be seen the chaste Diana, stealing, in the mystery of moonlight, to kiss the sleeping En- dymion ; while Cupid and Psyche, entwined iu immortal marble, breathed on each other's lips the early kiss of lo^■e. The ardent rays of the sun were excluded from these balmy halls ; soft and tender music from unseen musicians floated around, seeming to min- gle with the perfumes exhaled from a thousand flowers. At night, when the moon shed a fairy light over the scene, the tender serenade would rise from among the bowers of the garden, in which the fine voice of Don Ambrosio might often bo distinguished ; or the amorous flute would be heard along the mountain, breathing in its pensive ca- dences the very soul of a lover's melancholy. Various entertainments were also devised to dispel her loneliness and to charm away the idea of confinement. Groups of Andi^lusian dancers performed, in the splendid saloons, the various picturesque dances of their country ; or repre- THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 2S1 seuled little amorous ballets, which turned upon some pleasing scene of pastoral coquetry and courtship. Sometimes there were bands of sing- ers, who, to the romantic guitar, warbled forth ditties full of passion and tenderness. Thus all about her enticed to pleasure and \o- luptuou§ness ; but the heart of Inez turned with distaste fi-om this idle mockery. The tears would rush into her eyes as her thoughts reverted from this scene of profligate splendor to the humble but virtuous home whence she had been be- trayed ; or if the witching power of music ever soothed her into a tender reverie, it was to dwell with fondness on the image of Antonio. Bat if Don Ambrosio, deceived by this transient calm, should attempt at such time to whisper his pas- sion, she would start as from a dream, and recoil from him with involuntary shuddering. She had passed one long day of more than or- dinary sadness, and in the evening a band of these hired performers were exerting all the animating powers of song and dance to amuse her. But while the lofty saloon resounded with their war- blings, and the light sound of feet upon its marble pavement kept time to the cadence of the song, poor Inez, with her face buried in the silken couch on which she reclined, was only rendered more wretched by the sound of gayety. At length her attention was caught by the voice of one of the singers, that brought with it *ome indefinite recollections. She raised her head, and cast an anxious look at the performers, who, as usual, were at the lower end of the sa 252 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. loon. One of them advanced a little before llic others. It was a female, dressed in a fanciful pastoral garb, suited to the character she was sus- taining ; but her countenance was not to be mis- taken. It was the same ballad-singer that had twice crossed her path, and given her mysterious intimations of the lurking mischief that surround- ed her. When the rest of the performances were concluded, she seized a tambourine, and tossing it aloft, danced alone to the melody of her own voice. In the course of her dancing she ap- proached to where Inez reclined : and as she struck the tambourine, contrived, dexterously, to throw a folded paper on the couch. Inez seized it with avidity, and concealed it in her bosom. The singing and dancing were at an end ; the motley crew retired ; and Inez, left alone, hast- ened with anxiety to unfold the paper thus mys- teriously conveyed. It was written in an agitated, and almost illegible, handwriting : " Be on your guard ! you are surrounded by treachery. Trust not to the forbearance of Don Ambrosio ; you are marked out for his prey. An humble victim to his perfidy gives you this warning ; she is encom- passed by too many dangers to be more explicit. Your father is in the dungeons of the inquisition ! " The brain of Inez reeled as she read this dreadful scroll. She was less filled with alarm at her own danger, than horror at her father's situa- tion. The moment Don Ambrosio appeared, she rushed and threw herself at his feet, imploring him to save her father. Don Ambrosio started with astonishment ; but immediately regaining his THE STUDENT OF &ALAMANCA. 253 self-possession, endeavored to soothe her by his blandishments, and by assurances that her father was in safety. She was not to be pacified ; her fears were too much aroused to be trifled with She declared her knowledge of her father's being a prisoner of the inquisition, and reiterated her frantic supplications that he would save him. Don Ambrosio paused for a moment in per- plexity, but was too adroit to be easily con- founded. " That your father is a prisoner," replied he, " I have long known. I have concealed it from you, to save you from fruitless anxiety. You now know the real reason of the restraint I have put upon your liberty : I have been protecting instead of detaining you. Every exertion has been made in your father's favor ; but I regret to say, the proofs of the offences of which he stands charged have been too strong to be contro- verted. Still," added he, " I have it in my power to save him ; I have influence, I have means at my beck ; it may involve me, it is true, in difli- culties, perhaps in disgrace ; but what would I not do in the hopes of being rewarded by your favor ? Speak, beautiful Inez," said he, his eyes kindling with sudden eagerness ; " it is with you to say the word that seals ycur father's fate. One kind word — say but you will be mine, and you will behold me at your feet, your father at liberty and in affluence, and we shall all be happy ! " Inez drew back from him with scorn and dis- belief. " My father," exclaimed she, " is too in- nocent and blameless to be convicted of crime; this is some base, some cruel artifice ! " Don 254 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Ambrosio repeated jis asseverations, and with them also his dishonorable proposals ; but his eagerness overshot its mark ; her indignation and her incredulity were alike awakened by his base suggestions ; and he retired from her presence checked and awed by the sudden pride and dig- nity of her demeanor. The unfortunate Inez now became a pi'ey to the most harrowing anxieties. Don Ambrosio saw that the mask had fallen from his face, and that the nature of his machinations was revealed He had gone too far to retrace his steps, and as sume the affectation of tenderness and respect - indeed, he was mortified and incensed at her in- sensibility to his attractions, and now only sought to subdue her through her fears. He daily repre- sented to her the dangers that threatened her father, and that it was in his power alone to avert them. Inez was still incredulous. She was too Ignorant of the nature of the inquisition to know that even innocence was not always a protection from its cruelties ; and she confided too surely in the virtue of hqr father to believe that any accu- sation could prevail against him. At length Don Ambrosio, to give an efiectual blow to her confidence, brought her the procla mation of the approaching auto da fe, in which the prisoners were enumerated. She glanced her eye- over it, and beheld her father's name, con- demned to the stake for sorcery. For a moment she stood tiansfixed with hor ror. Don Ambrosio seized upon the transient calm. " Think now, beautiful Inez," said he, THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 255 with a tone of aflfecfed tenderness, " his life i? Btill in your hands ; one word from you, one kind word, and I can yet save him." " Monster ! wretch ! " cried she, coming to her- self, and recoiling from him with insuperable ab- horrence : "'tis you that' are the cause of this — 't is you that are his murderer ! " Then, wring- ing her hands, she broke forth into exclamations of the most frantic agony. The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of her soul, and anticipated from it a triumph. He saw that she was in no mood, during her present paroxysm, to listen to his words ; but he trusted that flie horrors of lonely rumination would break down her spirit, and subdue her to his will. In this, however, he was disappointed. Many were the vicissitudes of mind of the wretched Inez : one time she would embrace his knees with piercing supplications ; at another she would shrink witli nervous horror at his very approach ; but any intimation of his passion only excited the same emotion of loathing and detestation. At length the fatal day drew nigh. " To-mor- row," said Don Ambrosio, as he left her one even- ing, — " to-morrow is the auto da fe. To-morrow you will hear the sound of the bell that tolls your father to his death. You will almost see the smoke that rises from his fiineral-pile. I leave you to yourself. It is yet in my power to save him. Think whether you can stand to-morrow's horrors without shrinking. Think whether you can endnre the after-reflection, that you were the cause of his death, and that merely through a per- srersity in refusing proffered happiness." 256 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. What a night was it to Inez ! Her heart, al ready harassed and almost broken by repeated and protracted anxieties ; her strength wasted ftnd enfeebled. On every side horrors awaited her : her father's death, her own dishonor : there eeemed no escape from misery or perdition. " Is there no relief from man — no pity in heaven ? " exclaimed she. " What have we done that we should be thus wretched ? " As the dawn approached, the fever of her mind arose to agony ; a thousand times did she try the doors and windows of her apartment, in the des- perate hope of escaping. Alas ! with all the splendor of her prison, it was too faithfully secured for her weak hands to work deliverance. Like a poor bird, that beats its wings against its gilded cage, until it sinks panting in despair, so she threw herself on the floor in hopeless anguish. Her blood grew hot in her veins, her tongue was parched, her temples throbbed with violence, she gasped rather than breathed ; it seemed as if her brain was on fire. " Blessed Virgin ! " exclaimed she, clasping her hands, and turning up her strained eyes, " look down with pity, and support me in this dreadful hour ! " Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a key turn softly in the door of her apartment. She dreaded lest it should be Don Ambrosio: and the very thought of him gave her a sicken- ing pang. It was a female, clad in a rustic dress, with her face concealed by her mantilla. She stepped silently into the room, looked cau- Viously round, and then, uncovering her face, re- TBE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 267 realed the well-known features of the ballad- singer. Inez uttered an exclamation of surprise, almost of joy. The unknown started back, pressed her finger on her lips enjoining silence, and beck- oned her to follow. She hastily wrapped her- self in her veil, and obeyed. They passed with quick but noiseless steps through an antecham- ber, across a spacious hall, and along a corridor ; all was silent ; the household was yet locked in sleep. They came to the door, to which the un known applied a key. Inez's heart misgave her ; she knew not but some new treachery was men- acing her ; she laid her cold hand on the stran- ger's arm : " Whither are you leading me ? " said she. " To liberty," replied the other in a whis- per. " Do you know the passages about this man- sion ? " " But too well ! " replied the girl, with a mel- ancholy shake of the head. There was an ex- pression of sad veracity in her countenance that was not to be distrusted. The door opened on a small terrace which was overlooked by several windows of the mansion. " We must move across this quickly," said the girl, " or we may be observed." They glided over it as if scarce touching the ground. A flight of steps led down into th e garden ; a wicket at the bottom was readily unbolted; they passed with breathless velocity along one of the alleys, stUl in sight of the mansion, in which, however, no person appeared to be stirring. At length they came to a low private door in the ]7 258 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. wall, partly hidden by a fig-tree. It was secured by rusty bolts, that refused to yield to their fee- ble efforts. " Holy Virgin ! " exclaimed the stranger, — " what is to be done ? one moment more, and we may be discovered." She seized a stone that lay near by : a few blows, and the bolts flew back; the door grated harshly as they opened it, and the next moment they found themselves in a narrow road. " Now," said the stranger, " for Grenada as quickly as possible ! The nearer we approach it, the safer we shall be ; for the road will be more frequented." The imminent risk they ran of being pursued and taken gave supernatural strength to their limbs ; they flew rather than ran. The day had dawned ; the crimson streaks on the edge of the horizon gave tokens of the approaching sunrise ; already the light clouds that floated in the west- ern sky were tinged with gold and purple, though the broad plain of the Vega, which now began to open upon their view, was covered with the dark haze of the morning. As yet they only passed a few straggling peasants on the road, who could have yielded them no assistance in case of their being overtaken. They continued to hurry for- ward, and had gained a considerable distance, when the strength of Inez, which had only been sustained by the fever of her mind, began to yield to fatigue : she slackened her pace, and faltered. " Alas ! " said she, " my limbs fail me 1 \ can go no farther ! " TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 259 " Bear up, bear up," replied her companion eheeringly ; " a little farther, and we shall be safe : look ! yonder is Grenada, just showng it- self in the valley below us. A little fartheij and we shall come to the main road, and then we shall find plenty of passengers to protect us." Inez, encouraged, made fresh efforts to get for- ward, but her weary limbs were unequal to the eagerness of her mind ; her mouth and throat were parched by agony and terror : she gasped for breath, and leaned for support against a rock. " It is all in vain ! " exclaimed she ; " I feel as though I should faint." " Lean on me," said the other ; " let us get in- to the shelter of yon thicket, that will conceal us from view. I hear the sound of water, which will refresh you." With much diflSfulty they reached the thicket, which overhung a small mountain-stream, just where its sparkling waters leaped over the rock and fell into a natural bnsin. Here Inez sank upon the groimd exhausted. Fler companion .brought water in the palms of her hands, and bathed her pallid temples. The cooling drops re- vived her ; she was enabled to get to the margin of the stream, and drink of its crystal current ; then, reclining her head on the bosom of her deliv- erer, she was first enabled to murmur forth her heartfelt gratitude. " Alas ! " said the other, " I deserve no thanks ; I deserve not the good opinion you express. In me you behold a victim of Don Ambrosio's arts. In early years he seduced me from the cottage 260 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. of my parents : look ! at the foot of yonder blue mountain in the distance lies my native village ; but it is no longer a home for me. He lured me thence when I was too young for reflection ; he educated me, taught me various accomplishments, made me sensible to love, to splendor, to refine- ment ; then, having grown weary of me, he neg- lected me, and cast me upon the world. Hap- pily, the accomplishments he taught me have kept me from utter want ; and the love with which he inspired me has kept me from farther degrada- tion. Yes ! I confess my weakness : all his per- fidy and wrongs cannot efface him from my heart. I have been brought up to love him ; I have no other idol : I know him to be base, yet I cannot help adoring him. I am content to mingle among the hireling throng that administer to his amuse- ments, that I may still hover about him, and lin- ger in those halls where I once reigned mistress. What merit, then, have I in assisting your escape ? I scarce know whether I am acting from sympa- thy and a desire to rescue another victim from his power, or jealousy and an eagerness to re- move too powerful a rival ! " While she was yet speaking, the sun rose in all its splendor ; first lighting up the mountaui summits, then stealing down height by height, until its rays gilded the domes and towers of Gre- nada, which they could partially see from be- tween the trees, below them. Just then the heavy tones of a bell came sounding from a dis- tance, echoing, in sullen clang, along the mountain. Inez turned pale at the sound. She knew it to TBE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 261 be the great bell of the cathedral, rung at sunrise on the day of the auto da fe, to give note of fu- neral preparation. Every stroke beat upon her heart, and inflicted an absolute, corporeal pang. She started up wildly. " Let us be gone ! " cried she ; " there is not a moment for delay ! " " Stop ! " exclaimed the other, " yonder are horsemen coming over the brow of that distant height ; if I mistake not, Don Ambrosio is at their head. — Alas ! 't is he ; we are lost. Hold ! " continued she ; " give me your scarf and veil ; wrap yourself in this mantilla. I will fly up yon footpath that leads to the heights. I ivill let the veil flutter as I ascend ; perhaps they may mis- take me for you, and they must dismount to fol- low me. Do you hasten forward : you will soon reach the main road. You have jewels on your fingers : bribe the first muleteer you meet to assist you on your way." All this was said with hufried and breathless rapidity. The exchange of garments was made in an instant. The girl darted up the mountain- path, her white veil fluttering among the dark shrubbery ; while Inez, inspired with new strength, or rather new terror, flew to the road, and trusted to Providence to guide her tottering steps to Gre- i;ada. All Grenada was in agitation on the morning of this dismal day. The heavy bell of the cathe- dral continued to utter its clanging tones, that pervaded every part of the city, summoning all persons to the tremendous spectacle about to be exhibited. The streets through which the proces 262 BRACEBRWGE HALL. ivm was to pass were crowded with the populace. The windows, the roofs, eveiy place that could admit a face or a foothold, was alive with spectar tors. In the great square a spacious scaffolding, like an amphitheatre, was erected, where the sen- tences of the prisoners were to be read, and the sermon of faith to be preached ; and close by were the stakes prepared, where the condemned were to be burnt to death. Seats were arranged for the great, the gay, the beautiful ; for such is the horrible curiosity of human nature, that this cruel sacrifice was attended with more eagerness than a theatre, or even a buU-feast. As the day advanced, the scaffolds and bal- conies were fiUed with expecting multitudes; the sun shone brightly upon fair faces and gallant dresses ; one would have thought it some scene of elegant festivity, instead of an exhibition of human agony and death. But what a diiferent spectacle and ceremony was this from those which Grenada exhibited in the days of her Moorish splendor. " Her galas, her tournaments, her sports of the ring, her fetes of St. John, her music, her Zambras, and admirable tilts of canes ! Her serenades, her concerts, her songs in Generaliffe ! The costly liveries of the Abencerrages, their ex- quisite inventions, the skill and valor of the Ala- baces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, Mazas, and Goraeles ! " * — All these were at an end. The days of chivalry were over. Instead of the prancing cavalcade, with neighing steea and live- ly trumpet ; with burnished lance, ana helm, and • Eodd's Oiml Wart of Grenaaa. TBE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 263 Duckler ; with rich confusion of plume, and scarf, md banner, where purple, and scaxlet, and green, and orange, and every gay color, were mingled with cloth of gold and fair embroidery ; instead of this crept on the gloomy pageant of supersti- tion, in cowl and sackcloth ; with cross and coffin, and frightful symbols of human suffering. In place of the frank, hardy knight, open and brave, with his lady's favor in his casque, and amorous motto on his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, to win the smile of beauty, came the shaven, un- manly monk, with downaist eyes, and head and heart bleached in the cold cloistei-, secretly exult- ing in this bigot triumph. The sound of the bells gave notice that the dismal procession was advancin ;. It passed slowly through the principal streets of the city, bearing in advance the awful banner of the holy office. The prisoners walked singly, attended by confessors, and guarded- by familiars of the in- quisition. They were clad in diiferent garments according to the nature of their punishments ; — those who were to suffer death wore the hideous Samarra, painted with flames and demons. The procession was swelled by choirs of boys, differ- ent religious orders, and public dignitaries ; and, above all, by the fathers of the faith, moving " with slow pace, and profound gravity, truly tri- umphing as becomes the principal generals of that Treat victory." * As the sacred banner of the inquisition ad- vanced, the countless throng sunk on their knees * GonsaMus p. 135. 264 BRACEBBIDGE BALL. before it; they bowed their faces to the very earth as it passed, and then slowly rose again, like a great undulating billow. A murmur of tongues prevailed as the prisoners approached, and eager eyes were strained, and fingers pointed, to distinguish the different orders of penitents, whose habits denoted the degree of punishment they were to undergo. But as those drew near whose frightful garb marked them as destined to the flames, the noise of the rabble subsided ; they seemed almost to hold in their breaths ; filled with that strange and dismal interest with which we contemplate a human being on the verge of suf- fering and death. It is an awful thing — a voiceless, noiseless multitude ! The hushed and gazing stUlness of the surrounding thousands, heaped on walls, and gates, and roofs, and hanging, as it were, in clus- ters, heightened the effect of the pageant that moved drearily on. The low murmuring of the priests could now be heard in prayer and exhor- tation, with the faint responses of the prisoners, and now and then the voices of the choir at a dis- tance, chanting the litanies of the saints. The faces of the prisoners were ghastly and disconsolate. Even those who had been pardoned, and wore the Sanbenito, or penitential garment, bore traces of the horrors they had undergone. Some were feeble and tottering from long confine- ment ; some crippled and distorted by various tortures ; every countenance was a dismal page, on which might be read the secrets of their pris- on-house. But in the looks of those condemned THE STUUENT OF SALAMANCA. 265 lo death there was something fierce and eager. They seemed men hairowed up by the past, and desperate as to the future. They were antici- pating, with spirits fevered by despair, and fixed and clenched determination, the vehement struggle with agony and death they were shortly to under- go. Some cast now and then a wild and an- guished look about them upou the shining day ; the " sun-bright palaces," the gay, the beautiful world, which they were soon to quit forever ; or a glance of sudden indignation at the throng- ing thousands, happy in liberty and life, who seemed, in contemplating their frightful situation, to exult in their own comparative security. One among the condemned, however, was an exception to these remarks. It was an aged man, somewhat bowed down, with a serene, though de- jected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy eye. It was the alchemist. The populace looked upon him with a degree of compassion, which they were not prone to feel towards criminals condemned by the inquisition ; but when they were told that he was convicted of the crime of magic, they drew back with awe and abhorrence. The procession had reached the grand square. The first part had already mounted the scaffold- ing, and the condemned were approaching. The press of the populace became excessive, and was repelled, as it were, in billows by the guards. Just as the condemned were entering the square, a shrieking was heard among the crowd. A fe- male, pale, frantic, dishevelled, was seen struggling through the multitude. " My father ! my father !' 266 BRACEBRIDGE BALL was all the cry she uttered, but it thrilled through every heart. The crowd instinctively drew back, and made way for her as she advanced. The poor alchemist had made his peace with Heaven, and, by hard struggle, had closed his heart upon the world, when the voice of his child called him once more back to worldly thought and agony. He turned towards the well-known voice ; his knees smote together ; he endeavored to reach forth his pinioned arms, and felt himself clasped in the embraces of his child. The emo- tions of both were too agonizing for utterance. Convulsive sobs, and broken exclamations, and embraces more of anguish than tenderness, were all that passed between them. The procession was interrupted for a moment. The astonished monks and familiars were filled with involuntary respect at this agony of natural affection. Ejacu- lations of pity broke from the crowd, touched by the filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless anguish of so young and beautiful a being. Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her to retire, was unheeded ; at length they en- deavored to separate her from her father by force. The movement roused her from her temporary abandonment. With a sudden paroxysm of fury, she snatched a sword from one of the familiars. Her late pale countenance was flushed with rage, and fire flashed from her once soft and languish- ing eyes. The guards shrunk back with awe. There was something in this filial frenzy, this feminine tenderness wrought up to desperation, thai: touched even their hardened hearts. They TH£ STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 267 sudeavored to pacify her, but in vain. Her eye was eager aud quick as the she-wolfs guarding her young. With one arm she pressed her father to her bosom, with tlie other she menaced every one that approached. The patience of the guards was soon ex- hausted. They had held back in awe, but not in fear. With all her desperation the weapon was soon wi'ested from her feeble hand, and she was borne shrieking and struggling among the crowd. The rabble murmured compassion ; but such was the dread inspired by the inquisition, that no one attempted to interfere. The procession again resumed its march. Inez was ineffectually struggling to release herself from the hands of the familiars that detained her, when suddenly she saw Don Ambrosio before her. " Wretched girl ! " exclaimed he with fury, " why have you fled from your friends ? Deliver her," said he to the familiars, " to my domestics ; she is under my protection." His creatures advanced to seize her. " Oh no ! oh no ! " cried she, with new terrors, and clinging to the familiars, "I have fled from no friends. He is not my protector ! He is the murderer of my father ! " The familiars were perplexed ; the crowd pressed on with eager curiosity. " Stand off ! " cried the fiery Ambrosio, dashing the throng from around him. Then turning to the familiars, with sudden moderation, " My friends," said he, ' deliver this poor girl to me. Her distress has iurned her brain ; she has escaped from her 268 BRACEBRWGE HALL. friends and protectors this morning ; but a little quiet and kind treatment will restore her to tran- quillity." " I am not mad ! I am not mad ! " cried she, vehemently. " Oh, save me ! — save me from these men ! I have no protector on earth but my father, and him they are murdering ! " The familiars shook their heads ; her wildness corroborated the assertions of Don Ambrosio, and his apparent rank commanded respect and belief. They relinquished their charge to him, and he was consigning the struggling Inez to his creatures — " Let go your hold, villain ! " cried a voice from among the crowd, and Antonio was seen eagerly tearing his way through the press of people. " Seize him ! seize him ! " cried Don Ambrosi(; to the familiars ; " 't is an accomplice of the sor- cerer's." " Liar !'" retorted Antonio, as he thrust the inob to the right and left, and forced himself to the spot. The sword of- Don Ambrosio flashed in an in- stant from the scabbard ; the student was armed, and equally alert. There was a fierce clash of weapons; the crowd made way for them as they fought, and closed again, so as to hide them from thfc view of Inez. All was tumult and confusion for a moment ; when thc-e was a kind of shout from the spectators, and the mob again opening, she beheld, as she thought, Antonio welteriiig in his blood. This new shock was too great for her already THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 269 overstrained intellects. A giddiness seized upon her ; everything seemed to whirl before her eyes ; she gasped some incoherent words, and bunk senseless upon the ground. Days, weeks, elapsed before Inez returned to consciousness. At length she opened her eyes, as if out of a troubled sleep. She was lying upon a magnificent bed, in a chamber richly furnished with pier-ghisses and massive tables inlaid mth silver, of exquisite workmanship. The walla were covered with tapestry ; the cornices richly gilded : through the door, which stood open, she perceived a superb saloon, with statues and crys- tal lustres, and a magnificent suit of apartments beyond. The casements of the room were open to admit the soft breath of summer, which stole in, laden with perfumes from a neighboring gar- den ; whence, also, the refreshing sound of foun- tains and the sweet notes of birds came in min- gled music to her ear. Female attendants were moving, with noiseless step, about the chamber ; but she feared to ad- dress them. She doubted whether this were not all delusion, or whether she was not still in the palace of Don Ambrosio, and that her escape, and all its circumstances, had not been but a feverish dream. She closed her eyes again, endeavoring to recall the past, and to separate the real from the imaginary. The last scenes of consciousness, however, rushed too forcibly, with all their hor- rors, to her mind to be doubted, and she turned shuddering from the recollection, to gaze once nore on the quiet and serene magnificence aroimd 270 DRACEBBIDGE HALL. her. As slie again opened her eyes, they rested on an object that at once dispelled every alarm. At the head of her bed sat a venerable form watching over her with a look of fond anxiety, — it was her father ! I will not attempt to describe the scene that ensued ; nor the moments of rapture which more than repaid all the sufferings her affectionate heart had undergone. As soon as their feelings had become more calm, the alchemist stepped out of the room to introduce a stranger, to whom he was indebted for his life and liberty. He re- turned, leading in Antonio, no longer in his poor scholar's garb, but in the rich dress of a noble- man. The feelings of Inez were almost overpowered by these sudden reverses, and it was some time before she was sufficiently composed to compre- hend the explanation of this seeming romance. It appeared that the lover, who had sought her affections in the lowly guise of a student, was only son and heir of a powerful grandee of Valencia. He had been placed at the university of Salamanca ; but a lively curiosity, and an eagerness for adventure, had induced him to aban- don the university, without his father's consent, and to visit various parts of Spain. His rambling in- clination satisfied, he had remained incognito for a. time at Grenada, until, by farther study and self-regulation, he could prepare himself to return home with credit, and atone for his transgressions ftgainst paternal authority. How hard he had studied does not remain on TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 271 record. All that we know is his romantic adven- ture of the tower. It was at first a mere youth- ful caprice, excited by a glimpse of a beautiful face. In becoming a disciple of the alchemist, he probably thought of nothing more than pur- suing a light love-affair. Farther acquaintance, however, had completely fixed his affections ; and he had determined to conduct Inez and her fa- ther to Valencia, and trust to her merits to SC' cure his father's consent to their union. In the mean time he had been traced to his con- cealment. His father had received intelligence of his being entangled in the snai-es of a myste- rious adventurer and his daughter, and likely to become the dupe of the fascinations of the latter. Trusty emissaries had been dispatched to seize upon him by main force, and convey him without delay to the paternal home. What eloquence he had used with his father to convince him of the innocence, the honor, and the high descent of the alchemist, and of the ex- alted worth of his daughter, does not appear. All that we know is, that the father, though a very passionate, was a very reasonable man, as appears by his consenting that his son should re- turn to Grenada, and conduct Inez, as his affi- anced bride, to Valencia. Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, full af joyous anticipations. He stUl forbore to tlirow aff his disguise, fondly picturing to himself what vFould be the surprise of Inez, when, having won her heart and hand as a poor wandering scholar, he should raise her and her father at once to opu lence and splendor. 172 BKACEBRWG^ HALL. On his ai-rival he had been shocked at finding the tower deserted of its inhabitants. In vain he sought for intelligence concerning them ; a mys- tery hung over their disappearance which he could not penetrate, until he was thunderstruck, on accidentally reading a list of the prisoners at the impending auto dafe, to find the name of his venerable master among the condemned. It was the very morning of the execution. The procession was already on its way to the grand square. Not a moment was to be lost. The grand inquisitor was a relation of Don Antonio, though they had never met. His first impulse was to make himself known ; to exert all his family influence, the weight of his name, and the power of his eloquence, in vindication of the alchemist. But the grand inquisitor was already proceeding, m all his pomp, to the place where the fatal cere- mony was to be performed. How was he to be approached? Antonio threw himself into the crowd, in a fever of anxiety, and was forcing his way to the scene of horror, where he arrived just in time to rescue Inez, as has been men- tioned. It was Don Ambrosio that fell in the contest. Being desperately wounded, and thinking his end approaching, he had confessed, to an attending father of the inquisition, that be was the sole lause of the alchemist's condemnation, and that the evidence on which it was grounded was al together false. The testimony of Don Antoni eame in corroboration of this avowal ; and his relationship to the grand inquisitor had, in all rU£ STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 273 probability, its proper weight. Tims was the poor alchemist snatched, in a manner, from the very flames ; and so great had been the sympathy awakened in his case, that for once a populace rejoiced at being disappointed of an execution. The residue of the story may readily be imag- ined by every one versed in this valuable kind of history. Don Antonio espoused the lovely Inez, and took her and her father with him to Valencia. As she had been a loving and dutiful daughter, so she proved a true and tender wife. It was not long before Don Antonio succeeded to his father's titles and estates, and he and his fair spouse were renowned for being the handsomest and happiest couple in aU Valencia. As to Don Ambrosio, he partially recovered to the enjoyment of a broken constitution and a blasted name, and hid his remorse and disgraces in a convent ; while the poor victim of his arts, who had assisted Inez in her escape, unable to conquer the early passion that he had awakened in her bosom, though convinced of the baseness of the object, retired from the world, and became a humble sister in a nunnery. The worthy alchemist took up his abode with his children. A pavilion, in the garden of their palace, was assigned to him as a laboratory, where he resumed his researches, with renovated ardor, after the grand secret. He was now and then assisted by his son-in-law ; but the latter slack ened grievously in his zeal and diligence after marriage. Still he would listen with profound gravity and attention to the old man's rhapsodies, 18 274 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. Mid bis quotations from Paracelsus, Sandivogius, and Pietro D'Abano, which daily grew longer and longer. In this way the good alchemist lived on quietly and comfortably, to what is called a good old age, that is to say, an age that is good for nothing, and, unfortunately for mankind, was hur- ried out of life in his ninetieth year, just as he was on the point of discovering the philosopher's stone. Such was the story of the captain's friend, with which we whiled away the morning. The cap- tain was, every now and then, interrupted by questions and remarks, which I have not men- tioned, lest I should break the continuity of the tale. He was a little disturbed, also, once or twice, by the general, who fell asleep, and breathed rather hard, to the great horror and annoyance of Lady Lillycraft. In a long and tender love-scene, also, which was particularly to her ladyship's taste, the unlucky general, having his head a little sunk upon his breast, kept mak- ing a sound at regular intervals, very much like the word pish, long drawn out. At length he made an odd, abrupt, guttural sound, that sud- denly awoke him ; he hemmed, looked about with a slight degree of consternation, and then began to play with her ladyship's work-bag, which, how- ever, she rather pettishly withdrew. The steady sound of the captain's voice was still too potent a soporific for the poor general ; he kept gleaming up and sinking in the socket, until the cessation of the tale again roused him, when he started TBE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 275 awake, put his foot dowu upon Lady Lillycraft's cur, the sleeping Beauty, which yelped, seized him by the leg, and in a moment the whole li- brary resounded with yelpings and exclamations. Never did a man more completely mar his for- tunes while he was asleep. Silence being at length restored, the company expressed their thanks to the captain, and gave various opinions of the story. The parson's mind, I found, had been continually running upon the leaden manur scripts, mentioned in the beginning, as dug up at Grenada, and he put several eager questions to the captain on the subject. The general could not well make out the drift of the story, but thought it a little confused. " I am glad, how- ever," said he, " that they burnt the old chap in the tower ; I have no doubt he was a notorious irapostor." ENGIJSH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. Hi3 certain life that neTer can deceive him, la full of thousand sweets, and rich content : The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. His life is neither tost in boisterous seas Or the vexatious world ; or lost in slothful ease. Pleased and full blest he lives when he his God can please. Phineas Fletcher, TAKE great pleasure in accompanying the Squire in his peranibulations about his estate, in which he is often attended by a kind of cabinet council. His prime minis- ti r, the steward, is a very worthy and honest old man, who assumes a right of way ; that is to say, a right to have his own way, from having lived time out of mind on the place. He loves the es- tate even better than he does the Squire ; and thwarts the latter sadly in many of his projects of improvemeiit, being a little prone to disapprove of every plan that does not originate with him- self. In the course of one of these perambqlatious, I have known the Squire to point out some im- portant alteration which he was contemplating, in the disposition or cultivation of the grounds ; this of course would be opposed by the steward, and ENGLISB COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 277 a long argument would ensue over a stile, oi on a rising piece of ground, until the Squire, who had a high opinion of the other's ability and in- tegrity, would be fain to give up the point. This concession, I observed, would immediately mollify the old man, and, after walking over a field or two in silence, with his hands behind his back, chewing the cud of reflection, he would suddenly turn to the Squire, and observe, that "he had been turning the matter over in his mind, and, upon the whole, he believed he would take his honor's advice." * Christy, the huntsman, is another of the Squire's occasional attendants, to whom he con- tinually refers in all matters of local history, as to a chronicle of the estate, having, in a manner, been acquainted with many of the trees from the very time that they were acorns. Old Nimrod, as has been shown, is rather pragmatical in those points of knowledge on which he values himself ; but the Squire rarely contradicts him, and is, ir fact, one of the most indulgent potentates that was ever hen-pecked by his ministry. He often laughs about it himself, and evidently yields to these old men more from the bent of his own humor than from any want of proper * The reader who has perused a little work published by the author several years subsequently to Braoebridge Hall, narrating a visit to Abbotsford, will detect the origin of the ibove anecdote in the conferences between Sir Walter Scott and his right-hand man, Tommy Purdie. Indeed, the author is indebted for several of his traits of the Squire to observa- tions made on Sir Walter Scott during that visit; though he had to be cautious and sparing in drawing from that source. 278 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. authority. He likes this honest independence of old age, and is well aware that these trusty fol- lowers love and honor him in their hearts. He is perfectly at ease about his own dignity and the respect of those around him ; nothing disgusts him sooner than any appearance of fawning or sycophancy. I really have seen no display of royal state that could compare with one of the Squire's prog- resses about his paternal fields and through his hereditary woodlands, with several of these faith- ful adherents about him, and followed by a body- guard of dogs. He encourages a frankness and manliness of deportment among his dependents, and is the personal friend of his tenants ; inquir- ing into their concerns, and assisting them in times of difficulty and hardship. This has rendered him one of the' most popular, and of course one of the happiest of landlords. Indeed, I do not know a more enviable condi- tion of life than that of an English gentleman, of sound judgment and good feelings, who passes the greater part of his time on an hereditary es- tate in the country. From the excellence of the roads and the rapidity and exactness of public conveyances, he is enabled to command all the comforts and conveniences, all the intelligence and novelties of the capital, while he is removed from its hurry and distraction. He has ample means of occupation and amusement within his own domains ; he may diversify his time by rural rtccupations, by rural sports, by study, and by the delights of friendly society collected within bis own hospitable halls. ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 279 Or if his views and feelings are of a more ex- tensive and liberal nature, he has it greatly in his power to do good, and to have that good immedi- ately reflected back upon himself He can render essential services to his country by assisting in the disinterested administration of the laws;, by iratching over the opinions and principles of the lower orders around him ; by diffusing among them those lights important to their welfare ; by mingling frankly among them, gaining their con- fidence, becoming the immediate auditor of their complaints, informing himself of their wants, mak- ing himself a channel through which their griev ances may be quietly communicated to the proper sources of mitigation and relief; or by becoming, if need be, the intrepid and incorruptible guardian of their liberties — the enlightened champion of their rights. All this can be done without any sacrifice of personal dignity, without any degrading arts of popularity, without any truckling to vulgar preju- dices or concurrence in vulgar clamor; but by the steady influence of sincere and friendly coun- sel, of fair, upright and generous deportment. " V^ateve r may be said of English mobs and English demagogues, I have never met with a people more open to reason, more considerate} in their tempers, more tractable by argument in the roughest times, than the English. They are remarkably quick at discerning and appreciating whatever is manly and honorable. They are Dy nature and habit methodical and orderly ; and ihey feel the value of all that is regular and re- 280 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. spectable. They may occasionally be deceived by sophistry, and excited into turbulence by pub- lic distresses and the misrepresentations of de- signing men ; but open their eyes, and they will eventually rally round the landmarks of steady truth and deliberate good sense. They are fond of established customs and long-established names ; and that love of order and quiet which character- izes the nation gives a vast influence to the de- scendants of the old families, whose forefathers have been lords of the soil from time immemo- rial. It is when the rich and well-educated and highly-privileged classes neglect their duties, when they neglect to study the interests, and conciliate the affections, and instruct the opinions and champion the rights of the people, that the latter become discontented and turbulent, and faU into the hands of demagogues : the demagogue al- ways steps in where the patriot is wanting. There is a common high-handed cant among the high-feeding, and, as they fancy themselves, high- minded men, about putting down the mob ; but all true physicians know that it is better to sweeten the blood than attack the tumor, to ap- ply the emollient rather than the cautery. It is absurd in a country like England, where there is so much freedom and such a jealousy of right, for any man to assume an aristocratical tone, and talk superciliously of the common people. There is no rank that makes him independent of the opinions and affections of his fellow-men, there is DO rank nor distinction that severs him from liis EyOLISB COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 281 fellow-subjects ; and if, by any gradual neglect or assumption on the one side, and discontent and jealousy on the other, the orders of society should really separate, let those who stand on the eminence beware that the chasm is not mining at their feet. The orders of society in all well-cou- Btituted governments are mutually bound to- gether, and important to each other ; there can be no such thing in a free government as a vac- uum ; and whenever one is likely to take place, by the drawing off of the rich and intelligent from the poor, the bad passions of society will rush in to fill up the space, and I'end the whole asunder. Though bom and brought up in a republic, and more and more confirmed in republican principles by every year's observation and experience, I am not insensible to the excellence th{it may exist in other forms of government ; nor to the fact that they may be more suitable to the situation and circumstances of the countries in which they ex- ist ; I have endeavored rather to look at them as they are, and to observe how they are calculated to effect the end which they propose. Consider- ing, therefore, the mixed nature of the government of this country, and its representative form, I have looked with admiration at the manner in which the wealth and influence and intelligence were spread over its whole surface, — not, as in eome monarchies, drained from the country, and collected in towns and cities. I have considered the great rural establishments of the nobility, and the lesser establishments of the gentry, as so 282 BRACEBRIDGJi: HALL. many reservoirs of wealth and intelligence dis- tributed about the kingdom, apart from the towns, to irrigate, freshen, and fertilize the surrounding country. I have looked upon them, too, as the august retreat of patriots and statesmen, where, in the enjoyment of honorable independence and elegant leisure, they might train up their minds to appear in those legislative assemblies whose debates and decisions form the study and prece- dents of other nations, and involve the interests of the world. I have been both surprised and disappointed, therefore, at finding that on this subject I was often indulging in an Utopian dream, rather than a well-founded opinion. I have been concerned at finding that these fine estates were too often involved, and mortgaged, or placed in the hands' of creditors, and the owners exiled from their pa- ternal lands. There is an extravagance, I am told, that runs parallel with wealth ; a lavish ex- penditure among the great ; a senseless competi- tion among the aspiring ; a heedless, joyous dissi- pation, among all the upper ranks, that often beg- gars even these splendid establishments, breaks down the pride and principles of their possessors, and makes too many of them mere place-hunters, or shifting absentees. It is thus that so many ai'e thrown into the hands of government ; and a court which ought to be the most pure and hon- orable in Europe, is so often degraded by noble but importuiiate time-servers. It is thus, too, that BO many become exiles from their native land, crowding the hotels of foreign countries, and ex- £NGLISH COUNTRT GENTLEMEIT. 283 pending upon thankless strangers the wealth so hardly drained from their laborious peasantry. I have looked upon these latter with a mixture of censure and concern. Knowing the almost big- oted fondness of an Englishman for his native home, I can conceive what must be their com- punction and regret, when, amidst the sun-burnt plains of France, they call to mind the green fields of England, the hereditary groves which they have abandoned, and the hospitable roof of their fathers, wliich they have left desolate, or to be inhabited by strangers. But retrenchment is no plea for abandonment of country. They have risen with the prosperity of the land ; let them abide its fluctuations, and conform to its fortunes. It is not for the rich to fly because the country is suffering : let them share, in their relative pro- portion, the common lot ; they owe it to the land that has elevated them to honor and affluence. When the poor have to diminish their scanty mor- sels of bread ; when they have to compound with the cravings of nature, and study with how little they can do, and not be starved ; it is not then for the rich to fly, and diminish still farther the resources of the poor, that they themselves may live in splendor in a cheaper country. Let them rather retire to their estates, and there practise retrenchment. Let them return to that noble simplidty, that practical good sense, that honest pride, which form the foundation of true English eharacter, and from them they may again rear the edij&ce of fair and honorable prosperity. On the rural habits of the English nobility and 284 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. gentry, on the manner in which they discharge Iheir duties on their patrimonial possessions, de- pend greatly the virtue and welfare of the nation. So long as they pass the greater part of their time in the quiet and purity of the country ; surrounded by the monuments of their illustrious ancestors ; surrounded by everything that can inspire gener- ous pride, noble emulation, and amiable and mag- nanimous sentiment ; so long they are safe, and in them the nation may repose its interest and its honor. But the moment that they become the servile througers of court avenues, and give them- selves up to the political intrignes and heartless dissipations of the metropolis, that moment they lose the real nobility of their natures, and be- come the mere leeches of the country. That the great majority of nobility and gentry in England are endowed with high notions of honor and independence, I thoroughly believe. They have evidenced it lately on very important questions, and have given an example of adhe- rence to principle, in preference to party and power, that must have astonished many of the venal and obsequious courts of Europe. Such are the glorious effects of freedom, when infused into a constitution. But it seems to me that they are apt to forget the positive nature of their duties, and to consider their eminent privileges only as so many means of self-indulgence. They should recollect that in a constitution like that of England the titled orders are intended to be as useful as they are ornamental, and it is their virtues alone that can render them both. Their ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 286 dudes are divided between the sovereign and the subjects ; surrounding and giving lustre and dig nity to the throne, and at the same time temper- ing and mitigating its rays, until they are trans- mitted in mild and genial radiance to the people. Born to leisure and opulence, they owe the exer- cise of their talents, and the expenditure of their wealth, to their native country. They may be compared to the clouds ; wMrh, being drawn up by the sun, and elevated in the heavens, reflect and magnify his splendor, — while they repay the 3arth, whence they derive their sustenance, by returning their treasures to its bosom in fertiliz- ing showers. A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. " I '11 live a private, pensive, single life." Tbe Collier of Crotdoh. "WAS sitting in my room, a morning or two since, reading, when some one tapped at the door, and Master Simon entered. He had an unusnally fresh appearance ; he wore a bright-green riding-coat, with a bunch of vio- lets in the button-hole, and had the air of an old bachelor trying to rejuvenate himself. He had not, however, his usual briskness and vivacity; but loitered about the room with somewhat of ab- sence of manner, humming the old song, — " Go, lovely rose, tell her that wastes her time and me ; " and then, leaning against the window, and look- ing upon the landscape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not been accustomed to see Mas- ter Simon in a pensive mood, I thought there might be some vexation preying on his mind, and endeavored to introduce a cheerful strain of con- versation ; but he was not in the vein to foUow it up, and proposed a walk. It was a beautiful morning of that soft vernal temperature which seems to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and set all natxn-e in a fermen* A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 287' TLe very fishes felt its influence : the caLtious trout ventured out of his dai-k hole to seek his mate ; the roach and the dace rose up to the sur- face of the brook to bask in the sunshine ; and the amorous frog piped from among the rushes. If ever an oyster can really fall in love, as has been said or sung, it must be on such a inoniing. The weather certainly had its effect upon Mas- ter Simon, for he seemed obstinately bent upon the pensive mood. Instead of stepping briskly along, smacking his dog-whip, whistlhig quaint ditties, or telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and talked about the approaching nuptials, whence he made several digressions upon the character of womankind, touched a little up- on the tender passion, and made sundry v§ry ex- cellent, though rather trite, observations upon disappointments in love. It was evident he had something on his mind which he wished to im- part, but felt awkward m approaching it. I was curious to see what this strain would lead to, but determined not to assist him. Indeed, I mis- chievously pretended to turn the conversation, and talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and hunting ; but he was very brief in his replies, and invariably got back, by hook or by crook, into the sentimental vein. At length we came to a clump of trees over- hanging a whispering brook, with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees were grievously scored with letters and devices, grown out of all shape and size by the growth of the bark ; and it ap- peared that this grove had served as a kind of 288 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. register of the family loves from time immemorial. Here Master Simon made a pause, pulled up a tuft of flowers, threw them one by one into the water, and at length, turning somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me if I had ever been in love. I confess the question startled me a little, as I am not over-fond of making confessions of my amorous follies, and above all should never dream of choosing my friend Master Simon for a confi- dant. He did not wait, howevei', for a reply ; the inquiry was merely a prelude to a confession on his own part ; and after several circumlocutions and whimsical preambles, he fairly disburdened himself of a very tolerable story of his having been crossed in love. The reader will, very probably, suppose that it related to the gay widow who jilted him not long since at Doncaster races ; — no such thing. It was about a sentimental passion that he once had for a most beautiful young lady, who wrote poetry and played on the harp. He used to ser- enade her ; and, indeed, he described several ten- der and gallant scenes, in which he was evidently picturing himself in his mind's eye as some ele- gant hero of romance, though, unfortunately for the tale, I only saw him as he stood before me, a dapper little old bachelor, with a face like an ap- ple that had dried with the bloom on it. What were the particulars of this tender tale I have already forgotten ; indeed, I listened to it with a heart hke a very pebble-stone, having hard work to repress a smile while Master Simon was putting on the amorous swain, uttering every now A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 289 and then a sigh, and endeavoring to look senti- mental and melancholy. All that I recollect is, that the lady, according to his account, was certainly a little touched ; for she used to accept all the music that he copied for her harp, and all the patterns that he drew for her dresses ; and he began to flatter himselfi after a long course of delicate attentions, that he was gradually fanning up a gentle flame in her heart, when she suddenly accepted the hand of a rich, boisterous, fox-hunting baronet, without either music or sentiment, who carried her by storm, after a fortnight's courtship. Master Simon could not help concluding by some observation about " modest merit," and the power of gold over the sex. As a remembrance of his passion, he pointed out a heart carved on the bark of one of the trees, but which, in the process of time, had grown out into a large ex- crescence ; and he showed me a lock of her hair, which he wore in a true lover's knot, in a large gold brooch. I have seldom met with an old bachelor who had not, at some time or other, his nonsensical moment, when he would become tender and sen- timental, talk about the concerns of the heart, and have some confession of a delicate nature to make. Almost every man has some little trait of romance in his life, to which he looks back with fondness, and about which he is apt to grow garrulous oc- casionally. He recollects himself as he was at the time, young and gamesome, and forgets that his hearers have no other idea of the hero of the 19 290 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. tale but such as he may appear at the time of tell ing it; peradventure, a withered, whimsical, spin- dle-shanked old gentleman. With married men, it is true, this is not so frequently the case ; their amorous romance is apt to decline after marriage ; why, I cannot for the life of me imagine ; but \nth. a bachelor, though it may slumber, it never dies. It is always liable to break out again la transient flashes, and never so much as on a spring morning in the country, or on a winter evening when seated in his solitary chamber, stirring up the fire and talking of matrimony. The moment Master Simon had gone through his confession, and, to use the common phrase, " had made a clean breast of it," he became quite himself again. He had settled the point which had been worrying his mind, and doubtless con- sidered himself established as a man of sentiment in my opinion. Before we had finished our morning's stroll, he was singing as blithe as a grasshopper, whistling to his dogs, and telling droll stories ; and I recollect that he was particu- larly facetious that day at dinner on the subject of matrimony, and uttered several excellent jokes, not to be found in Joe Miller, that made the bride elect blush and look down, but set all the old gentlemen at the table in a roar, and absolutely brought tears into the general's eyes. ENGLISH GRAVITy. " Merriu England ! " Anoieitt Phbasb. HERE is nothing so rare as for a man to ride his hobby without molestation. I find the Squire has not so undisturbed an indulgence in his humors as I had imagined ; but has been repeatedly thwarted of late, and has suffered a kind of well-meaning persecution from a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of some weight, at least of purse, who has recently moved into the neighborhood. He is a worthy and substan- tial manufacturer, who, having accumulated a large fortune by dint of steam-engines and spin- ning-jennies, has retired from business, and set up for a country gentleman. He has taken an old country seat, and refitted it; and painted and plastered it until it looks not unlike his own man- ufactory. He has been particularly careful in mending the walls and hedges, and putting up no- tices of spring-guns and man-traps in every part of his premises. Indeed, he shows great jeal- ousy about his territorial rights, having stopped up a footpath which led across his fields ; and given warning, in staring letters, that whoevei 292 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. was found trespassing on those grounds would be prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law He has brought into the country with him all the practical maxims of the town, and the bus- llins habits of business ; and is one of those sensible, useful, prosing, troublesome, intolerable old gentlemen, who go about wearying and worrying society with excellent plans for public utility. He is very much disposed to be on intimate terras with the Squire, and calls on him every now and then, with some project for the good of the neighborhood, which happens to run dia- metrically opposite to some one or other of the Squire's peculiar notions, but which is " too sen- sible a measure " to be openly opposed. He has annoyed him excessively by enforcing the vagrant laws ; persecuting the gypsies, and endeavoriug to suppress country wakes and holiday games ; which he considers great nuisances, and reprobates as causes of the deadly sin of idleness. There is evidently in all this a little of the ostentation of newly acquired consequence ; the tradesman is gradually swelling into the aristo- crat ; and he begins to grow excessively intolr erant of everything that is not genteel. He has a great deal to say about " the common people " ; talks much of his park, his preserves, and the necessity of enforcing the game-laws more strictly ; and makes frequent use of the phrase, " the gen- try of the neighborhood." He came to the Hall lately, with a face full of business, that he and the Squire, to use his own ENGLISH GRAVITY. . 293 nrords, " might lay their heads together," to hit npon some mode of putting a stop to the frolick- ing at the village on the approaching May-day It drew, he said, idle people together from all parts of the neighborhood, who spent the day fid dling, dancing, and carousing, instead of staying at home to work for their families. Now, as the Squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of these May-day revels, it raay be supposed that these suggestions of the sagacious Mr. Faddy were not received with the best grace in the world. It is true, the old gentleman is too cour- teous to show any temper to a guest in his own house ; but no sooner was he gone than the indig- nation of the Squire found vent, at having his poetical cobwebs invaded by this buzzing blue- bottle fly of traffic. In his warmth he inveighed against the whole race of manufacturers, who, I found, were sore disturbers of his comfort. " Sir," said he, with emotion, " it makes my heart bleed to see all our fine streams dammed up and be- strode by cotton-mills ; our valleys smoking with steam-engines, and the din of the hammer and the loom scaring away all our rural delights. What 'a to become of merry old England, when its manor- houses are all turned into manufactories, and its sturdy peasantry into pin-makers and stocking- weavers ? • I have looked in vain for merry Sher- wood, and all the greenwood haunts of Robin Hood ; the whole country is covered with manu- facturing towns. I have stood on the ruins of Dudley Castle, and looked round, with an aching heart, on what were once its feudal domains of 29i . BRACEBRWGE HALL. verdant and beautiful country. Sir, I beheld a mere campus phlegrae ; a re^on of fire ; reeking with coal-pits, and furnaces, and smelting-houses, vomiting forth flames and smoke. The pale and ghastly people, toiling among vile exhalations, looked more like demons than human beings ; the clanking wheels and engines, seen through the murky atmosphere, looked like instruments of tor- ture iu this pandembnium. What is to become of the country with these evils rankling in its very core ? Sir, these manufacturers will be the ruin of our rural manners ; they will destroy the national character ; they will not leave materials for a single line of poetry ! " The Squire is apt to wax eloquent on such themes ; and I could hardly help smiling at this whimsical lamentation over national industry and public improvement. I am told, however, that he really grieves at the growing of trade, as de- stroying the charm of life. He considers every new short-hand mode of doing things as an in- road of snug sordid method ; and thinks that this will soon become a mere matter-of-fact world, where life will be reduced to a mathematical cal- culation of conveniences, and everything will be done by steam. He maintains, also, that the nation has declined in its free and joyous spirit in proportion as it has turned its attention to commerce and manu- factures ; and that in old times, when England was an idler, it was also a merrier little island. In support of this opinion, he adduces the fre- quency and splendor of ancient festivals and ENGLISB GRAVITY. 296 merry-makings, and the hearty spirit with which Ihey were kept up by all classes of people. His memory is stored with the accounts given by Stow, in his Survey of London, of the holiday revels at the inns of court, the Christmas mum- meries, and the masquings and bonfires about the streets. London, he says, in those days, resem- bled the continental cities in its picturesque man- ners and amusements. The court used to dance after dinner on public occasions. Afler the coro- nation-dinner of Richard II., for example, the king, the prelates, the nobles, the knights, and the rest of the company danced in Westminster Hall to the music of the minstrels. The example of the court was followed by the middling classes, and so down to the lowest, and the whole nation was a dancing, jovial nation. He quotes a lively city picture of the times, given by Stow, which resembles the lively scenes one may often see in the gay city of Paris ; for he tells us that on holidays, after evening prayers, the maidens in London used to assemble before the door, in sight of their masters and dames, and while one played on a timbrel, the others danced for garlands, hanged athwart the street. " Where will we meet with such merry groups nowadays ? " the Squire will exclaim, shaking his head mournfully ; — " and then a i to the gayety that prevailed in dress throughout all ranks of society ; and made the very streets so fine and picturesque. ' I have myself,' says Ger- raise Markham, ' met an ordinary tapster in his silk stockings, garters deep fiinged with gold lace, 896 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. the rest of his apparel suitable, with cloak Lined with velvet ! ' Nashe, too, who ^vrote in 1593, exclaims at the finery of the nation, ' England, the player's stage of gorgeous attire, the ape of all nations' superfluities, the continual masquer in outlandish habiliments.' " Such are a few of the authorities quoted by the Squire by way of contrasting what he sup- poses to have been the former vivacity of the nation with its present monotonous character. " John Bull," he will say, " was then a gay cava- lier, with a sword by his side and a feather in his cap ; but he is now a plodding citizen, in snuff- colored coat and gaiters." By the by, there really appears to have been some change in the national character since the days of which the Squire is so fond of talking ; those days when this little island acquired its favorite old title of " merry England." This may be attributed in part to the growing hard- ships of the times, and the necessity of turning the whole attention to the means of subsistence ; but England's gayest customs prevailed at times when her comm6n people enjoyed comparatively few of the comforts and conveniences which they do at present. It may be still more attributed to the universal spirit of gain, and the calculating habits which commerce has introduced ; but I am inclined to attribute it chiefly to the gradual in- crease of the liberty of the subject, and the grow- ing freedom and activity of opinion. A free people are apt to be grave and thought- fuL They have high and important matters to ENGLISH GRAVITT. 297 occupy their minds. Tliey feel it their right, their interest, and their duty to mingle in public concerns, and to watch over the general wel- fare. The continual exercise of the mind on political topics gives inteuser habits of think- ing, and a more serious and earnest demeanor, A nation becomes less gay, but more intellect- ually active and vigorous. It evinces less play of the fancy, but more power of the imagina^ tion ; less taste and elegance, but more grandeur of mind ; less animated vivacity, but deeper en- thusiasm. It is when men are shut out of the regions of manly thought by a despotic government ; when every grave and lofty theme is rendered perilous to discussion and almost to reflection ; it is then . that they turn to the safer occupations of taste and amusement ; trifles rise to importance, and occupy the craving activity of intellect. No being is more void of care and reflection than the slave ; none dances more gayly in his inter- vals of labor : but make him free, give him rights and interests to guai'd, and he becomes thought- fill and laborious. The French are a gayer people than the Eng- lish. Why ? Partly from temperament, per- haps ; but greatly because they have been accus- tomed to governments which surrounded the free exercise of thought with danger, and where he only was safe who shut his eyes and ears to pub- lic events, and enjoyed the passing pleasure of die day. Within late years they have had more opportunity of exercising their minds ; and with- 298 BRACEBRWGE HALL. in late years the national character has essentially changed. Never did the French enjoy such a degree of freedom as they do at this moment, and at this moment the French are comparatively a grave people. GYPSIES. What's that to absolute freedom ; such as the very beggars haT«; o feast and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow j next day frhere they please ; and so on still, the whole country or kingdom .)Ter? There's liberty! the birds of the aii can take no more. — JOTUL Ceew. ||INCE the meeting with the gypsies, yl which I have related in a former paper, I have observed several of them haunt- ing the purlieus of the HaU, notwithstanding a positive interdiction of the Squire. They are part of a gang which has long kept about this neighborhood to the great annoyance of the far- mers, whose poultry-yards often suffer from their nocturnal invasions. They are, however, in some measure, patronized by the Squire, who considers the race as belonging to the good old times ; which, to confess the private truth, seem to have abounded with good-for-nothing characters. This roving crew is called " Star-light Tom's Gang," fi'om the name of its chieftain, a notorious poacher. I have heard repeatedly of the mis- deeds of this " minion of the moon " ; for every midnight depredation in park, or fold, or farm- yard, is laid to his charge. Star-light Tom, in EiCt, answers to his name ; he seems to walk in 300 BllACEBRIDGE HAL .. darkness, and, like a fox, to be traced in the morning by the mischief he has done. He re- minds me of that fearful personage in the nursery ; hyme : " Who goes round the house at night? None but bloody Tom ! Who steals all the sheep at night? None but one by one 1 " Li short, Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of the neighborhood, but so cunning and adroit, that there is no detecting him. Old Christy and the gamekeeper have watched many a night in hopes of entrapping him ; and Christy often patrols the park with his dogs for the purpose, but aU in vain. It is said that the Squire winks hard at his mis- deeds, having an indulgent feeling towards the vagabond, because of his being very expert at all kinds of game, a great shot with the cross-bow, and the best morris-dancer in the country. The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk un- molested about the skirts of his estate, on condi- tion they do not come about the house. The approaching wedding, however, has made a kind of Saturnalia at the Hall, and has caused a sus- pension of all sober rule. It has produced a great sensation throughout the female part of the household ; not a housemaid but dreams of wed- ding-favors, and has a husband running in her head. Such a time is a harvest for the gypsies : there is a public footpath leading across one part of the park, by which they have free ingress ; and they are continually hovering about the grounds, telling the servant-girls' fortunes, or getting smug- gled in to the young ladies. '=1-' isj^iy^xivvjij dltlLft < GYPSIES. 301 1 believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much by furnishing them with hints in private, and bewildering all the weak brains in the house with their wonderful revelations. The general certainly was very much astonished by the com- munications made to him the other evening by the gypsy girl : he kept a wary silence towards us on the subject, and aifected to treat it lightly ; but I have noticed that he has since redoubled his attentions to Lady Lillycraft and her dogs. I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the house- keeper's pretty and lovesick niece, holding a long conference with one of these old sibyls behind a large tree in the avenue, and often looking round to see that she was not observed. I make no doubt she was endeavoring to get some favorable augury about the result of her love-quarrel with young Ready-Money, as oracles have always been more consulted on love-affairs than upon anything else. I fear, however, that in this instance the response was not so favorable as usual, for I perceived poor Phoebe returning pensively towards the house her head hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the ribbon trailing along the ground. At another time, as I turned a corner of a ter- race, at the bottom of the garden, just by a clump of trees, and a large stone urn, I came upon a bevy of the young girls of the family, attended by this same Phoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the meaning of their blushing and giggling, and their apparent agitation, until I saw the red cloak of a gypsy vanishing among the shrubbery. A few rojments after I caught a sight D02 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. of Mastei' 8imon and the Oxoaian stealijg along one of the walks of the garden, chuckling and laughing at their successful waggery ; having evi- dently put the gypsy up to the thing, and in- structed her what to say. After all, there is something strangely pleasing in these tamperings with the future, even where we are convinced of the fallacy of the prediction. It is singular how willingly the mind will half deceive itself; and with a degree of awe we will listen even to these babblers about futurity. For my part, I cannot feel angry with these poor vaga- bonds, that seek to deceive us into bright hopes and expectations. I have always been something of a castle-builder, and have found my liveliest pleas- ures to arise from the illusions which fancy has cast over commonplace realities. As I get on in life, I find it more difficult to deceive myself in this delightful manner ; and I should be thankful to any prophet, however false, who would conjure the clouds which hang over futurity into palaces, and all its doubtful regions into fairy-land. The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a private good-will towards gypsies, has suffered considerable annoyance on their account. Not that they requite his indulgence with ingratitude, for they do not depredate very flagrantly on his estate ; but because their pilferings and misdeeds occasion loud murmurs in the village. I can readily understand the old gentleman's humor on this point ; I have a great toleration for all kinds of vagrant, sunshiny existence, and must confess I take a pleasure in observing the ways of gypsies. G TPSIES. 303 The English, who are accustomed to them from childhood, and often suffer from their petty depre- dations, consider them as mere nuisances ; but I have been very much struck with their peculi- arities. I like to behold their dear olive com plexions ; their romantic black eyes ; their raven locks ; their lithe slender figures ; and to hear them, in low silver tones, dealing forth magnifi- cent promises of honors and estates, of world's wealth, and ladies' love. Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanciful and picturesque. They are the free denizens of nature, and maintain a primitive in- dependence, in spite of law and gospel, of county jails and country magistrates. It is curious to see this obstinate adherence to the wild unsettled habits of savage life transmitted from generation to generation, and preserved in the midst of one of the most cultivated, populous, and systematic countries in the world. They are totally distinct from the busy, thrifty people about thera. They seem to be, like the Indians of America, either above or below the ordinary cares and anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power, of honors, of wealth, and indifferent to the fluctuations pf times, the rise or fall of grain, or stock, or empires, they seem to laugh at the toiling, fretting world around them, and to live according to the philoso- phy of the old song : " Who would ambition shun, And loves to lie i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, 304 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Come hither, come hither, come hither Here shall he see No enemy. But winter and rough weather." In this way they wander from county to county keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in pleu- teous neighborhoods, where there are fat farms and rich country-seats. Their encampments ai'S generally made in some beautiful spot : either a green shady nook of a road ; or on the border of a common, under a sheltering hedge ; or on the skirts of a fine spreading wood. They are always to be found lurking about fairs, and races, and rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and throng, and idleness. They are the oracles of milkmaids and simple serving-girls ; and some- times have even the honor of perusing the white hands of gentlemen's daughters, when rambling about their fathers' grounds. They are the bane of good housewives and thrifty farmers, and odi- ous in the eyes of country justices ; but, like all other vagabond beings, they have something to commend them to the fancy. They are among the last traces, in these matter-of-fact days, of the motley population of former times ; and are whim- sically associated in my mind "with fairies and witches, Robin Good Fellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantastical personages of poetry. MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. Happy the age, and barmleEs were the dayea, (For then true love and amity was found,) When every village did a May-pole raise, And Whitson ales and May games did abound * And all the lusty yonkers m a rout, With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about, Then IHjndship to their banquets bid the guests, And poore men far'd the better for their feasts. PAS(iniL's Palinodia. |HE month of April has nearly passed away, and we are fast approaching that poetical day, which was considered, in old times, as the boundary that parted the front- iers of winter and summer. With all its caprices, however, I like the month of April. I like these laughing and crying days, when sun and shade seem to run in billows over the landscape. I like to see the sudden shower coursing over the meadow, and giving all nature a greener smile ; and the bright sunbeams chasing the flying cloud, and turning all its drop's into diamonds. I was enjoying a morning of the kind in com- pany ^th the Squire in one of the finest parts of the park. We were skirting a beautiful grove, and he was giving me a kind of biographical ac- count of several of his favorite forest-trees, when he heard the strokes of an ax') frf m the midst of 20 306 BRACEBMIDGE HALL. a tliiek copse. The Squire paused and listened, with manifest signs of uneasiness. He turned his steps in the direction of the sound. The strokes grew louder and louder as we advanced ; there was evidently a vigorous arm wielding the axe. The Squire quickened his pace, but in vain ; a loud crack and a succeeding crash told that the mischief had been done, and some child of the forest laid low. When we came to the place, we found Master Simon and several othej's standing about a tall and beavitifully straight young tree, which had just been felled. The Squire, though a man of most harmonious dispositions, was completely put out of tune by this circumstance. He felt like a monarch wit- nessing the murder of one of his liege subjects, and demanded, with some asperity, the meaning of the outrage. It turned out to be an affair of Master Simon's, who had selected the tree, from its height and straightness, for a JIay-pole, the old one which stood on the village green being unfit for farther service. If anything could have soothed the ire of my worthy host, it would have been the reflection that his tree had fallen in so good a cause ; and I saw that there was a great struggle between his fondness for his groves and his devotion to May-day. He could not contem- plate the prostrate tree, however, without indulg- ing in lamentation, and making a kind of funeral eulogy, like Marc Antony over the body of Caisar ; and he forbade that any tree should thenceforward be cut down on his estate without a warrant from himself; being determined, he said, to hold the MAY-DAT CUSTOMS. 307 sovereign power of life and death m his own hands. This mention of the May-pole struck my at- tention, and I inquired whether the old customs connected with it were really kept up in this part of the country. The Squire shook his head mournfully ; and I found I had touched on one of his tender points, for he grew quite melancholy in hewailing the total decline of old May-day. Though it is regularly celebrated in the neigh- Doring village, yet it has been merely resuscitated by the worthy Squire, and is kept up in a forced state of existence at his expense. He meets with continual discouragements ; and finds great diffi- culty in getting the country bumpkins to play their parts tolerably. He manages to have every year a " Queen of the May " ; but as to Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, the Dragon, the Hobby Horse, and all the other motley crew that used to enliven the day with their mummery, he has not ventured to introduce them. Still I look forward with some interest to the promised shadow of old May-day, even though it be but a shadow ; and I feel more and more pleased with the whimsical yet harmless hobby of my host, which is surrounding him with agree- able associations, and making a little world of poetry about him. Brought up, as I have been, in a new country, I may appreciate too highly the famt vestiges of ancient customs which I now and then meet with, and the interest I express in them may provoke a smile from those who are negli- fently suffering them to pass away. But with 308 BRACBBRIDGE HALL. whdttver indifference they may be regarded by those " to the manner born," yet in my mind the lingering flavor of them imparts a charm to rus- tic life, which nothing else could readily supply. I shall never forget the delight I felt on first seeing a May-pole. It was on the banks of the Dee, close by the picturesque old bridge that stretches across the river, from the quaint little city of Chester. I had already been carried back into former days by the antiquities of that vener- able place ; the examination of which is equal to turning over the pages of a black-letter volume, or gazing on the pictures in Froissart. The May- pole on the margin of that poetic stream completed the illusion. My fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peopled the green bank with all the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight of this May-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and spread a charm over the country for the rest of the day ; and as I traversed a part of the fair plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales, and looked from among swelling hills, down a long green valley, through which " the Deva wound its wizard stream," my imagination turned all into a perfect Arcadia. Whether it be owing to such poetical associa- tions early instilled into my mind, or whethei there is a sympathetic revival and budding forth of the feelings at this season, certain it is, that 1 ilways experience, wherever I may be placed, a delightful expansion of the heart at the return of May. Ii is said that birds about this time will became restless in their cages, as if instinct with MAY-DAT CUSTOMS. ,309 the season, conscious of the revelry going on in the groves, and impatient to break from their bond- age and join in the jubilee of the year. In like manner I have felt myself excited, even in the midst of the metropolis, when the windows, which had been churlishly closed all winter, were again thrown open to receive the balmy breath of May ; when the sweets of the country were breathed into the town, and flowers were cried about the streets. I have considered the treasures of flow- ers thus poured in, as so many missives from nar ture inviting us forth to enjoy the virgin beauty of the year, before its freshness is exhaled by the heats of sunny summer. One can readily imagine what a gay scene it must have been in joRy old London, when the doors were decorated with flowering branches, when every hat was decked with hawthorn, and Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, the mor- ris-dancers, and all the other fantastic masks and revellers, were performing their antics about the May-pole in every part of the city. J am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old customs merely because of their antiquity ; but while I rejoice in the decline of many of the rude usages and coarse amusements of former days, I regret that this innocent and fanciful fes- tival has fallen into disuse. It seemed appropri- ate to this verdant and pastoral country, and calculated to light up the too pervading gravity Df the nation. I value every custom which tends to infus e poetical feeling in to the common people, MvTTo^weeten and sotten the rudeness~or r^io 310 BRACEBRWGE HALL. manners, without destroying th eir simplicit y. In- deed, it Is to tte decline of this~Eappy simplicity that the decline of this custom may be traced and the rural dance on the green, and the homely May-day pageant, have gradually disappeared, in proportion as the peasantry have become expen- sive and artificial in their pleasures, and too know* ing for simple enjoyment. Some attempts, the Squire informs me, have been made of late years, by men of both taste and learning, to rally back the popular feeling to these standards of primitive simplicity ; but the time has gone by, the feeling has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic ; the country apes the manners and amusements of the town, and little is heard of May-day at present, except from the lamentations of authors, who sigh after it fi'om among the brick walls of tho city : " For 0, for 0, the Hobby Horse is forgot." VILLAGE WORTHIES. Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not thfl vorst dog in the street will hurt my little finger. C0LLI2K OT CbOISOH. |]S the neighboring village is one of those out-of-the-way, but gossiping little places where a small matter makes a great stir, it is not to be supposed that the approach of a festival like that of May-day can be regarded with indiifereuce, especially since it is made a matter of such moment by the great folks at the Hall. Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of the worthy Squire, and jumps with his humor in everything, is frequent just now in his visits to the village, to give directions for the impending fete ; and as I have taken the liberty occasionally of accOiDpanying him, I have been enabled to get some insight into the characters and internal pol- itics of this very sagacious little community. Master Simon is in fe,ct the Caesar of the village. It is true the Squire is the protecting power, but his factotum is the active and busy agent. He intermeddles in all its concerns ; is acquainted with all the inhabitants and their do- mestic history ; gives counsel to the old folks in their business matte~s, and the young folks iu J12 BRACEBRIJGE BALL. their love-affairs ; and enjoys the proud satisfao tiou of being a great man in a little world. He is the dispenser, too, of the Squire's char- ity, which is bounteous ; and, to do Master Simon justice, he performs this part of his functions with great alacrity. Indeed, I have been entertained with the mixture of bustle, importance, and kind- heartedness which he displays. He is of too vi- vacious a temperament to comfort the afflicted by sitting down moping and whining and blowing noses in concert ; . but goes whisking about like a sparrow, chirping consolation into every hole and corner of the village. I have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him for half an hour together with some long phthisical tale of distress, which Master Simon listened to with many a bob of the head, smack of his dog-whip, and other symptoms of impatience, though he afterwards made a most faithful and circumstantial report of the case to the Squire. I have watched him, too, during one of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannu- ated villager, who is a pensioner of the Squire, where he fidgeted about the room without sitting down, made many excellent off-hand reflections with the old invalid, who was propped up in his chair, about the shortness of life, the certainty of death, and the necessity of preparing for " that awful change " ; quoted several texts of Scripture very incorrectly, but much to the edification of the cottager's wife ; and on coming out, pinched the daughter's rosy cheek, and -vondered what was in the young men that sucn a pretty face lid not get a hufiband. VILLAGE WORTHIES. 312 He has also his cabinet counsellois in the village, with whom he is very busy just now preparing for the May-day ceremonies. Among these is the village tailor, a pale-faced fellow, who plays the clarinet in the church-choir ; and, being a great musical genius, has frequent meetings of the band at his house, where they " make night hideous " by their concerts. He is, in consequence, high in favor with Master Simon ; and, through his influence, has the making, or rather marring, of aU the liveries of the Hall ; which generally look as though they had been cut out by one of those scientific tailors of the Flying Island of Laputa, who took measure of their customei-s with a quadrant. The tailor, in fact, might rise to be one of the moneyed men of the village, was he not rather too prone to gossip, and keep holi- days, and give concerts, and blow all his substance, real and personal, through his clarinet ; which lit- erally keeps him poor both in body and estate. He has for the present thrown by all his regular work, and suflfered the breeches of the village to go unmade and unmended, while he is occupied in making garlands of party-colored rags, in imitation of flowers, for the decoration of the May-pole. Another of Master Simon's counsellors is the apothecary, a short and rather fat man, with a pair of prominent eyes, that diverge hke those of a lobster. He is the village wise man ; very sen- tentious, and full of profound remarks on shal- low subjects. Master Simon often quotes his say- ings, and mentions him as rather an extraordi- aary man ; and even consults him occasionally in 314 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. desperate cases of the dogs and horses. IinlcL'd, he seems to have been overwhelmed by the apoth- ecary's philosophy, which is exactly one observa- tion deep, consisting of indisputable maxims such as may be gathered from the mottoes of tobacco- boxes. I had a specimen of his philosophy in my very first conversation with him ; in the course of which he observed, vrith great solemnity and emphasis, that " man is a compound of wisdom and folly " ; upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my arm, pressed very hard upon it, and whis- pered in my ear, " That 's a devilish shrewd vo mark," THE SCHOOLMASTER. There will uo mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, do grasse hang on the beeles of Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, wliicb maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth some ileece, which maketh him a beggar in bis youth, by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny — repent- ance. — LuiY's Edphuis. MONG the worthies of the village, that enjoy the peculiar confidence of Master Simon, is one who has struck my fancy so much that I have thought him worthy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the schoolmaster, a thin elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and with an easy, good-humored look, not often met with in his craft I have been interested in his favor by a few anec- dotes which I have picked up concerning him. He is a native of the village, and was a con- temporary and playmate of Ready-Money Jack in the days of their boyhood. Indeed, they can-ied on a kind of league of mutual good offices. Slingsby was rather puny, and withal somewhat of a coward, but very apt at his learning : Jack, on the contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, but a sad laggard at his books. Slingsby helped Tack, therefore, to all liis lessons ; Jack fought all 316 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Slingsby's battles ; and they were inseparable friends. This mutual kindness continued even after they left the school, notwithstanding the dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to tiU his paternal acres ; while the other loitered negligently on in the path of learning, until he penetrated even into the confines of Latin and Mathematics. In an unlucky hour, however, he took to read- ing voyages and travels, and was smitten with a desire to see the world. This desire increased upon him as he grew up ; so, early one bright sunny morning, he put all his eflPects in a knap- sack, slung it on his back, took staff in hand, and called in his way to take leave of his early schoolmate. Jack was just going out with the plough : the friends shook hands over the farm- house-gate ; Jack drove his team a-field, and Slingsby whistled " Over the hills and far away," and sallied forth gayly to " seek his fortune." Years and years passed away, and young Tom Slingsby was forgotten; when, one mellow Sun- day afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in a handkerchief, and slung on the end of a stick, was seen loitering through the village. He ap- peared to regard several houses attentively, to peer into the windows that were open, to eye the villagers wistfully as they returned from church, and then to pass some time in the church-yard, reading the tombstones. ■vt'iy 'liaAD^; TB.E SCHOOLMASTER. 317 A.t length he found his way to the farm-house of Ready-Money Jack, but paused ere he at- tempted the wicket ; contemplating the picture of substantial independence before him. In the porch of the house sat Ready-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress ; with his hat upon his head, his pipe in his mouth, and his tankard before him, the monarch of all he surveyed. Beside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds of poultry were heard from the well-stocked farm- yard ; the bees hummed fi-om their hives in the garden ; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow ; while the crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant harvest. The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously toward the house. The mastiff growled at the sight of the suspicious-looking intruder, but was immediately silenced by his master, who, taking his pipe from his month, awaited with in- quiring aspect the address of this equivocal per- sonage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a mo- ment, so portly in his dimensions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel ; then cast a glance upon his own threadbare and starveling condition, and the scanty bundle which he held in his hand ; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch to make it meet its receding waistband, and casting another 'ook, half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy yeo- man, " I suppose," said he, " Mr. Tibbets, you have forgot old times and old playmates." The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, but acknowledged that he had no recollection of him. 318 BRACEBRIDGH HALL " Ijike enough, like enough,'' said the stranger ; " erei-ybody seems to have forgotten poor Sliiigs- by!" " Why no, sure ! it can't be Tom Slingsby ! " " Yes, but it is though ! " replied the stranger, shaking his head. Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a twink- ling, thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony the gripe of a giant, and slapping the other hand on a bench, " Sit down there," cried he, " Tom Slingsby ! " A long conversation ensued about old times, while Slingsby was regaled with the best cheer that the farmhouse afforded ; for he was hungry as well as way-worn, and had the keen appetite of a poor pedestrian. The early playmates then talked over their subsequent lives and adventures. Jack had but little to relate, and was never good at a long story. A prosperous life, passed at home, has little incident for narrative ; it is only poor devils, that are tossed about the world, that are the true heroes of story. Jack had stuck by the paternal farm, followed the same plough that his forefathers had driven, and had waxed richer and richer as he grew older. As to Tom Slings- by, he was an exemplification of the old proverb, " a rolling stone gathers no moss." He had sought his fortune about the world, without ever find- ing it ; being a thing oftener found at home than abroad. He had been in all kinds of situations, and had learnt a dozen different modes of mak- ing a living ; but had found his way back to hi? native village rather poorer than when le left it, TBE SCHOOLMASTER. 319 Ilis knapsack having dwindled down to a scanty bundle. As luck would have it, the Squire vras passing by the farmhouse that very evening, and called there, as is often his custom. He found the two schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and, ac- cording to the good old Scottish song, " taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne." The Squire was struck by the contrast in appea'-ance and fortunes of these early playmates. Eeady- Money Jack, seated in lordly state, surroimded by the good things' of this life, with golden guineas hanging to his very watch-chain ; and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a weasel, with all his worldly eflFects, his bundle, hat, and walking- staff, Ijnng on the ground beside him. The good Squire's heart warmed towards the luckless cosmopolite, for he is a little prone to like such half-vagrant characters. He cast about in his mind how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby in his native village. Honest Jack had already offered him a present shelter under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, and half remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tib- bets ; but how to provide for his permanent main- tenance, was the question. Luckily, the Squire bethought himself that the village school was without a teacher. A little further conversation convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that aa for anything else, and in a day or two he was seen swaying the rod of empire in the very school- house where he had often been horsed in the days of his boyhood. 320 BRACEBRTDUE HALL. Here he has remained for several years, and, being honored by the countenance of the Squire, and the fast friendship of Mr. Tibbets, he has grown into much importance and consideration in the village. I am told, however, that he still shows, now and then, a degree of restlessness, and a disposition to rove abroad again, and see a little more of the world, — an inclination which seems particularly to haunt him about spring - time. There is nothing so difficult to conquer as the vagrant humor, when once it has been fully in- dulged. Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, I have more than once mused upon the picture presented by him and his schoolmate Ready-Money Jack, on their coming together again after so long a separation. It is difficult to deter- mine between lots in life, where each is attended with its peculiar discontents. He who never leaves hi^ home, repines at his monotonous exist- ence, and envies the traveller, whose life is a con- stant tissue of wonder and adventure ; while he who is tossed about the world looks back with many a sigh to the safe and quiet shore which he has abandoned. I cannot help thinking, however, that the man who stays at home, and cultivatea the comforts and pleasures daily springing up around him, stands the best chance for happiness. There is nothing so fascinating to a young mind as the idea of travelling ; and there is very witch- craft in the old phrase found in every nursery tale, of " going to seek one's fortune." A con- tinual change of place, and change of object, THE SCHOOLMASTER. 321 promises a continual succession of adventure and gratification of curiosity. But there is a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears its death in its very gratification. Curiosity lan- guishes under repeated stimulants ; novelties cease to excite surprise ; until at length we can- not wonder even at a miracle. He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor Slingsby, full of sunny anticipations, finds too .soon how different the distant scene becomes when visited. The smooth place roughens as he approaches ; the wild place becomes tame and barren ; the feiry tints which beguiled him on, still fly to the distant hill, or gather upon the land he has left behind ; and every part of the land- "cape seems greener than the spot he stands on 21 THE SCHOOL. But to come down from great men and higher matters to my littlu tbildren and poor Rchoolhouse again ; 1 will, God willing, go forward Drderly, as I purposed, to instruct poor children and young men both for learning and manners. — Roger Ascuam. |AVING given the reader a slight sketch of the village schoolmaster, he may be curious to learn something concerning his school. As the Squire takes much interest in the education of the neighboring children, he put into the hands of the teacher, on first install- ing him in office, a copy of Roger Ascham's Schoolmaster, and advised him, moreover, to con over that portion of old Peachem which treats of the duty of masters, and which condemns the favorite method of making boys wise by flagella- tion. He exhorted Slingsby not to break down or depress the free spirit of the boys, by harshness and slavish fear, but to lead them freely and joy- ously on in the path of knowledge, making il pleasant and desirable in their eyes. He wished to see the youth trained up in the manners and habitudes of the peasantry of thi good old times, and thus to lay a foundation for the accomplish- ment cf his favorite object, the revival of old TEE SCHOOL. 32S English customs and character. He recommended that all the ancient holidays should be observed, and the sports of the boys, in their hours of play, regulated according to the standard authorities laid down in Strutt ; a copy of whose invaluable work, decorated with plates, was deposited in the school-house. Above all, he exhorted the peda- gogue to abstain from the use of birch : an insti'u- ment of instruction which the good Squire regards as fit only for the coercion of brute natures, that cannot be reasoned mth. Mr. Slingsby has followed the Squire's instruc- tions to the best of his disposition and ability. He never flogs the boys, because he is too easy, good-humored a creature to inflict pain on a worm. He is bountiful in holidays, because he loves holi- days himself, and has a sympathy with the urchins' impatience of confinement, from having divers times experienced its irksomeness during the time that he was seeing the world. As to sports and pastimes, the boys are faithfully exercised in all that are on record : quoits, races, prison-bars, tip- cat, trap-ball, bandy-ball, wrestling, leaping, and what not. The only misfortune is, that, having banished the birch, honest Sb'ngsby has not studied Roger Ascham sufficiently to find out a substitute, or, rather, he has not the management in his na- ture to apply one ; his school, therefore, though one of the happiest, is one of the most unruly in the country ; and never was a pedagogue more liked, or less heeded, by his disciples than Slingsby. He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of him- 324 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. ^elf ; being another stray sheep returned to the village fold. This is no other than the son of the musical tailor, who had bestowed some cost upon his education, hoping one day to see him ar- rive at the dignity of an exciseman, or at least of a parish clerk. The lad grew up, however, as idle and musical as his father ; and, being capti- vated by the drum and fife of a recruiting party, followed them off to the army. He returned not long since, out of money, and out at elbows, the prodigal son of the village. He remained for some time lounging about the place in half-tat- tered soldier's dress, with a foraging cap on one side of his head, jerking stones across the brook, or loitering about the tavern-door, a burden to his father, and regarded with great coldness by all warm householders. Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards the youth. It might be the kindness he bore to his father, who is one of the schoolmas- ter's great cronies ; it might be that secret sym- pathy which draws men of vagrant propensities toward each other ; for there is something truly magnetic in the vagabond feeling ; or it might be that he remembered the time when he himself had come back like this youngster, a wreck to his native place. At any rate, whatever the motive, Slingsby drew towards the youth. They had many conversations in the village tap-room about foreign parts, and the various scenes and places they had witnessed during their wayfaring about the world. The more Slingsby talked with him, the more he found him to his taste ; and finding TEE SCHOOL. 325 him almost as learned as himself, he forthwith en- gaged him as an assistant, or usher, in the school. Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may be supposed, flourishes apace ; and if the scholars do not become versed in all the holiday accomplishments of the good old times, to the Squire's heart's content, it will not be the fault of their teachers. The prodigal son has become al- most as popular among the boys as the pedagogue himself. His instructions are not limited to school- hours ; tad having inherited the musical taste and tialents of his father, he has bitten the whole school with the mania. He is a great hand at beating a drum, which is often heard rumbling from the rear of the school-house. He is teaching half the boys of the village, also, to play the fife, and the pandean pipes ; and they weary the whole neighborhood lyith their vague pipings, as they sit perched on stiles, or loitering about the barn-doors in the evenings. Among the other exercises of the school, also, he has introduced the ancient art of archery, one of the Squire's favorite themes, with such success, that the whipsters roam in tru- ant bands about the neighborhood, practising with their bows and arrows upon the birds of the air, and the beasts of the field ; and not unfrequently making a foray into the Squire's domains, to the great indignation of the gamekeepers. In a word, so completely are the ancient English customs nnd habits cultivated at this school, that I should not be surprised if the Squire should live to see one of his poetic visions realized, and a brood reared up, worthy successors to Robin Hood, end his merrj- gang of outlaws. A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. t am a rogne if I do not think I was designed for the helm of itate ; I am bo full of nimble stratagems, that I should have ordered nfiairs, and carried it against the stream of a faction, with as much ease as a skipper would laver against the wind. — The Gobuns. In one of my visits to the village with Master Simon, he proposed that we " should stop at the inn, which he wished to show me, as a specimen of a real country inn, the headquarters of village gossip. I had re- marked it before, in my perambulations about the place. It has a deep old-fashioned porch, leading into a large hall, which serves for tap-room and travellers'-room ; having a wide fireplace, with high-backed settles on each side, where the wise men of the village gossip over their ale, and hold their sessions during the long winter evenings. The landlord is an easy, indolent fellow, shaped a little like one of his own beer-barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping at his own door, with his wig on one side, and his hands in his pockets, whilst his wife and daughter attend to customers. His wife, however, is fully competent to manage the establishment ; and, indeed, from long habitude, rules over all the frequenters of the tap-room as completely as if they were her dependents and A VILLAHE POLITICIAN. 327 not her patrons. Not a veteran ale-bibber but pays homage to her, having, no doubt, often been in her arrears. I have already hinted that she is on very good terms with Ready-Money Jack. He was a sweetheart of hers in early life, and has always countenanced the tavern on her account. Indeed, he is quite a " cock of the walk " at the tap-room. As we approached the inn, we heard some one talking with great volubility, and distinguished the ominous words, " taxes," " poor's rates," and "agricultural distress." It proved to be a thin, loquacious fellow, who had penned the landlord up in one comer of the porch, with his hands in his pockets, listening with an air of the most va- cant acquiescence. The sight seemed to have a curious effect on Master Simon, as he squeezed my arm, and alter- ing his course, sheered wide of the porch, aa though he had not had any idea of entering. This evident evasion induced me to notice the orator more particularly. He was meagre, but active in his make, with a long, pale, bilious face ; a black beard, so ill-shaven as to leave marks of blood on his shirt-collar; a feverish eye, and a hat sharpened up at the sides into a most prag- matical shape. He had a newspaper in his hand, and seemed to be commenting on its contents, to tlie thorough conviction of mine host. At sight of Master Simon the landlord was evi- dently a little flurried, and began to rub his hands, edge away from his corner, and make several pro- found publican bows ; while the orator took no 828 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Other iiotiue of my companion than to talk rathei louder than before, and with as I thought, some- thing of an air of defiance. Master Simon, how- ever, as I have before said, sheered off from the porch, and passed on, pressing my arm within his, and wliispering as we got by, in a tone of awe and horror, " That 's a radical ! he reads Cob- betl ! " 1 endeavored to get a more particular ac<.,ount of him from my companion, but he seemef( un- willing even to talk about him, answering only iu general terms, that he was " a cursed busy fellow, that had a confounded trick of talking, and was apt to bother one about the national debt, and such nonsense ; " from which I suspected that Master Simon had been rendered wary of him by some accidental encounter on the field of argument ; for these radicals are continually roving about in quest of wordy warfare, and never so happy as when they can tilt a gentleman logician out of his saddle. On subsequent inquiry my suspicions have been confirmed. I find the radical has but recently found his way into the village, where he threatens to commit fearful devastations with his doctrines. He has already made two or three complete con- verts, or new lights ; has shaken the faith of several others ; and has grievously puzzled the brains of many of the oldest villagers, who had never thought about politics, nor scarce anything else, during their whole lives. He is lean and meagre from the constant rest- lessness of mind and body ; worrying about with A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 3^9 newspapei-s and pamphlets in hia pockets, which he is ready to pull out on all occasions. He has shocked several of the stanchest villagers, bj talking lightly of the Squire and his family; and hinting that it would be better the park should be cut up into small farms and kitchen- gardens, or feed good mutton instead of worthless deer. He is a great thorn in the sight of the Squire, who is sadly afraid that he will introduce politics into the village, arid turn it into an unhappy, thinking community. He is a still greater griev- ance to Master Simon, who has hitherto been able to sway the political opinions of the place, without much cost of learning or logic ; but has been much puzzled of late to weed out the doubts and heresies already sown by this champion of re- form. Indeed, the latter has taken complete com- mand at the tap-room of the tavern, not so much because he has convinced, as because he has out- talked all the old-established oracles. The apoth- ecary, with all his philosophy, was as naught before him. He has convinced and converted the landlord at least a dozen times; who, however, is liable to be convinced and converted the other way by the next person with whom he talks. It is true the radical has a violent antagonist in the landlady, who is vehemently loyal, and thorough- ly devoted to the king. Master Simon, and the Squire. She now and then comes out upon the reformer with all the fierceness of a cat-o'-moun- tain, and does not spare her own soft-headed huSi band for listening to what she terms such " low 330 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. lived polities.'' What makes the good woman the more violent, is the perfect coolness with which the radical listens to her attacks, drawing his face up into a provoking, supercilious smile ; and when she has talked herself out of breatli, quietly asking her for a taste of her home- brewed. The only person in any way a match for this redoubtable politician is Ready-Money Jack Tib- bets ; who maintains his stand in the tap-room, in defiance of the radical and all his works. Jack is one of the most loyal men in the country, with- out being able to reason about the matter. He has that admirable quality for a tough arguer, also, that he never knows when he is beat. He has half a dozen old maxims, which he advances oii all occasions, and though his antagonist may overturn them ever so often, yet he always brings them anew to the field. He is like the robber in Ariosto, who, though his head might be cut off half a hundred times, yet whipped it on his shoul- ders again in a twinkling, and returned as sound a man as ever to the charge. Whatever does not square with Jack's simple and obvious creed, he sets down for " French politics " ; for, notwithstanding the peace, he can- not be persuaded that the French are nr>' still raying plots to ruin the nation, and to get hold of the Bank of England. The radical attempted to overwhelm him one day by a long passage from a newspaper ; but Jack neither' reads nor believes in newspapers. In reply, he gave him one of the rtanzas which he has by heart from his favorite, A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 331 and indeed only author, old Tusser, and which he calls his Golden Rules : " Leave princes' affairs undescanted on, And tend to such doings as stand thee upon; Fear God, and offend not the king nor his laws, And keep thyself out of the magistrate's claws." When Tibbets had pronounced this with greal emphasis, he pulled out a well-filled • leathern purse, took out a handful of gold and silver, paid his score at the bar with great punctuality, re- turned his money, piece by piece, into his purse, his purse into his pocket, which he buttoned up ; and then, giving his cudgel a stout thump upon the floor, and bidding the radical " good morning, sir ! " with the tone of a man who conceives he has completely done for his antagonist, he walked with lionlike gravity out of the house. Two or three of Jack's admirers who were present, and had been afraid to take the field themselves, looked upon this as a perfect triumph, and winked at each other when the radical's back was turned. "Ay, ay ! " said mine host, as soon as the radical was out of hearing, " let old Jack alone ; I 'C warrant he '11 give him his own ! " THE ROOKERY. But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still repeated circles ; screaming loud, The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl. That hails the rising moon, hare charms for me. COWPEE N a grove of tall oaks and beeches, tha'i crowns a terrace- walk, just on the skirta of the garden, is an ancient rookery; which is one of the most important provinces in the Squire's rural domains. The old gentleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not suffer one of them to be killed ; in consequence of which they have increased amazingly : the tree-tops are loaded with their nests ; they have encroached upon the great avenue, and even established in times long past a colony among the elnis and pines of the church-yard, which, like other distant colonies, has already thrown off allegiance to the mother-country. The rooks are looked upon by the Squire as a very ancient and honorable line of gentry, highly aristocratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached to church and state ; as their building 60 loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable groves of old castles and manor-houses, sufficiently manifests. The good TBE ROOKERY. 333 opinion thus expressed by the Squire put me upon observing more naiTowly these very re- spectaWo birds ; for I confess, to my shame, 1 had been apt to confound them with their cousins- german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, they bear so great a family resemblance. Noth- ing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. The rooks and crpws are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and Portuguese are among nations, — the least loving, in consequence of their neighborhood and similarity. The rooks are old-established house- keepers, high-minded gentlefolk, who have had their hereditary abodes time out of mind ; but as to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gypsy race, roving about the country without any settled home ; " their hands are against everybody, and everybody's against them," and they are gibbeted in every cornfield. Master Simon assures me that a female rook, who should ?o far forget herself as to consort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and indeed would be totally discarded by all her genteel ac- quaintance. The Squire is very watchful over the interests and concerns of his sable neighbors. As to Mas- ter Simon, he even pretends to know many of them by sight, and to have given names to them ; he points out several, which he says are old heads of families, and compares them to worthy old cit- izens, beforehand in the world, that wear cocked hats, and silver buckles in their shoes. Notwith- Itanding the protecting benevolence of the Squire, 334 BRACEBRWGE BALL. and their being residents in his empire, they seem to aciinowledge no allegiance, and to hold no in- tercourse or intimacy. Their airy tenements are built almost out of the reach of gunshot ; and notwithstanding their vicinity to the Hall, they maintain a most reserved and distrustful shyness of mankind. There is one season of the year, however, which brings all birds in a manner to a level, and tames the pride of the loftiest high-flier, which is the season of building their nests. This takes place early in the spring, when the forest-tress first begin to show their buds, and the long, withy ends of the branches to turn green ; when the wild strawberry and other herbage of the sheltered woodlands put forth their tender and tinted leaves ; and the daisy and the primrose peep from under the hedges. At this time there is a general bustle among the feathered tribes ; an incessant flut- tering about, and a cheerful chirping ; indicative, like the germination of the vegetable world, of the reviving life and fecundity of the year. It is then that the rooks forget their usual stateliness, and their shy and lofty habits. Instead of keeping up in the high regions of the air, swinging on the breezy treeTjtops, and looking down with sovereign contempt upon the humble crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throw off for a time the dignity of the gentleman, to come down to the ground, and put on the painstaking and industrious character of a laborer. They now lose their natural shyness, become fearless and familiar, and may be seen plying about in all di- TEE KOOKERT. 335 rections, with an air of great assiduitj-, in search of building-materials. Every now and then yonr path will be crossed by one of these busy old gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as if troubled with the gout, or with corns on his toes ; casting about many a prjdng look ; turning down first one eye, then the other, in earnest con- sideration, upon every straw he meets with ; until, espying some mighty twig, large enough to make a rafter for his air-castle, he ^viU seize upon it with avidity, and hurry away with it to the tree- top ; fearing, apparently, lest you should dispute with him the invaluable prize. Like other castle-builders, these airy architects seem rather fanciful in the materials with which they build, and to like those most which come from a distance. Thus, though there are abun- dance of dry twigs on the surrounding trees, yet they never think of making use of them, but go foraging in distant lands, and come sailing home one by one, from the ends of the earth, each bear- ing in his bill some precious piece of timber. Nor must I avoid mentioning, what, I grieve to say, rather derogates from the grave and hon- arable character of these ancient gentlefolk, that, during the architectural season, they are subject to great dissensions among themselves ; that they make no scruple to defraud and plunder each other ; and that sometimes the rookery is a scene of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence of some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners generally remains on the nest to guard it from depredation ; and I have seen severe con- 336 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. tests, when some sly neighbor has endeavored to filch away a tempting rafter that had captivated his eye. As I am not willing hastily to admit any suspicion derogatory to the general character of so worshipful a people, I am inclmed to think these larcenies discountenanced by the higher classes, and even rigorously punished by those in authority ; for I have now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some indi- vidual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprietor. I have con- cluded this to be a signal punishment inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some pilfering misdemeanor ; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into his house. I have been amused with another of their movements during the building-season. The stew- ard has suffered a considerable number of sheep to graze on a lawn near the house, somewhat to the annoyance of the Squire, who thinks this an innovation on the dignity of a park, which ought to be devoted to deer onlj . Be this as it may, there is a green knoll, not far from the drawing- "oom window, where the ewes and lambs are ac- customed to assemble towards evening, for the benefit of the setting sun. No sooner were they gathered here, at the time when these politic birds were building, than a stately old rook, who Mas- ter Simon assured me was the chief magistrate 01 this community, would settle down upon the head of one of the ewes, who, seeming uncon- scious of tliis condescension, would desist from grazing, and stand fixed in motionless reverence TES KOOKERY. 337 o( her august burden ; the rest of the rookery would then come wheeling down, in imitation of their leader, until every ewe had two or three of them cawing, and fluttering, and battling upon her back. "Whether they requited the submission ■ of the sheep by levying a contribution upon their fleece for the benefit of the rookery, I am not cer- tain ; though I presume they followed the usual custom of protecting powers. The latter part of May is the time of great tribulation among the rookeries, when the young are just able to leave the nests, and balance them reives on the neighboring branches. Now comes in the season of " rook-shooting," — a terrible 'laughter of the innocents. The Squire, of course, ;>rohibits all invasion of the kind on his territo- ries ; but I am told that a lamentable havoc takes place in the colony about the old church. Upon this devoted commonwealth the village charges " with all its chivalry." Every idle wight, lucky enough to possess an old gun or blunderbuss, to- gether with all the archery of Slingsby's school, takes the field on the occasion. In vain does the little parson interfere, or remonstrate, in angry tones, from his study-window that looks into the church-yard ; there is a continual popping from morning till night Being no great marksmen, their shots are not often effective ; but every now and then a great shout from the besieging army ol bumpkins makes known the downfall of some unlucky squab rook, which comes to the ground with the emphasis of a squashed apple-dumpling. Nor is the rookery entirely free from other 338 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. troubles and disasters. In so aristocratical and lofty-rainded a community, which boasts so much ancient blood and hereditary pride, it is natural to suppose that questions of etiquette will some- times arise, and affairs of honor ensue. In fact, this is very often the case ; bitter quarrels brealf out between individuals, which produce sad scuf- flings on the tree-tops, and I have more than once seen a regular duel between two doughty heroes of the rookery. Their field of battle is generally the air ; and their contest is managed in the most scientific and elegant manner ; wheeling round and round each other, and towering higher and higher, to get the vantage-ground, until they some- times disappear in the clouds before the combat is determined. They have also fierce combats now and then with an invading hawk, and will drive him off from their territories by a posse comitatus. They are also extremely tenacious of their domains, and will suffer no other bird to inhabit the grove or its vicinity. A very ancient and respectable old- bachelor owl had for a long time his lodgings in a corner of the grove, but has been fairly ejected by the rooks ; and has retired, disgusted with the world, to a neighboring wood, where he leads the life of a hermit, and makes nightly complaints of his ill treatment. The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may generally be heard in the still evenings, when the tooks are all at rest ; and I have often listened to them, of a moonlight night, with a kind of mysteri- ous gratification. This gray-bearded misanthropa THE EOOKERT. 339 of course, is highly respected by the Squire ; but the servants have superstitious notions about him ; and it would be difficult to get the dairy-maid to venture after dark near to the wood which be inhabits. Besides the private quarrels of the rooks, there are other misfortunes to which they are liable, and which often bring distress into the most respect- able families of the rookery. Having the true baronial spirit of the good old feudal times, they are apt now and then to issue forth from their castles on a foray, and lay the plebeian fields of the neighboring country under contribution ; in the course of which chivalrous expeditions they now and then get a shot from the rusty artillery of some refractory farmer. Occasionally, too, while they are quietly taking the air beyond the park boundaries, they have the incaution to come within reach of the truant bowmen of Slingsby's school, and receive a flight shot from some un- lucky urchin's arrow. In such case the wounded adventurer will sometimes have just strength enough to bring himself home, and, giving up the ghost at the rookery, will hang dangling " all abroad " on a bough, like a thief on a gibbet : an awful warning to his friends, and an object of great commiseration to the Squire. But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the rooks have, upon the whole, a happy holiday life of it. When their young are reared, and fairly launched upon their native element, the air, the tares of the old folks seem over, and they resume *1I their aristocratical dignity and idleness. I S40 BRACEBBWGE BALL. have envied them the enjoyment which they ap- pear to have in their ethereal heights, sporting with clamorous exultation about their lofty bow- ers ; sometimes hovering over them, sometimes partially alighting upon the topmost branches, and there balancing with outstretched wings, and swinging in the breeze. Sometimes they seem to take a fashionable drive to the church, and amuse themselves by circling in airy rings about its spire ; at other times a mere garrison is left at home 10 mount guard in their stronghold at the grove, while the rest roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. About sunset the garrison gives notice of their return ; their faint cawing will be heard from a great distance, and they will be seen far off like a sable cloud, and then, nearer and nearer, until they all come soaring home. Then they perform several grand circuits in the air, over the Hall and garden, wheeling closer and closer, until 'hey gradually settle down ; when a prodigious cawing takes place, as though they were relating their day's adventures. I like at such times to walk about these dusky groves, and hear the various sounds of these airy people roosted so high above me. As the gloom increases, their conversation subsides, and they gradually drop asleep ; but every now and then there is a querulous note, as if some one was quarrelling for a pillow, or a little more of the blanket. It is late in the evening before they completely sink to repose, and then their old anch- orite neighbor, the owl, begins his lonely hootings 6x>m his bachelor's-hall, in the wood. MAY-DAY. It is the choice timo of the year, For the violets now appear; Now the rose receives its birth-, And pretty primrose decks the earth. Then to the May-pole come away, For it is now a holiday. AOTEON AND DlANA. S I was lying in bed this morning, enjoy- ing one of those half dreams, half rev- eries, which are so pleasant in the coun- try, when the birds are singing about the window, and the sunbeams peeping through the curtains, I was roused by the sound of music. On going down-stairs, I found a number of villagers, dressed in their holiday clothes, bearing a pole ornamented with garlands and ribbons, and accompanied by the village band of music, under the direction of the tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clari- net. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, as it is called, " the May," in their hats, and had br: ught green branches and flowers to decorate the Hall doors and windows. They had come to give no- tice that the May-pole was reared on the greea, and to invite the household to witness the sports. The Hall, according to custom, became a scene sf hurry and delighted confusion. The servants' 342 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. were all agog with May and music ; and there was no keeping either the tongues or the feet of the maids quiet, who were anticipating the sports of the green, and the evening dance. I repaired to the village at an early hour to enjoy the merry-making. The morning was pure and sunny, such as a May morning is always de- scribed. The fields were white with daisies, the hawthorn was covered with its fragrant blossoms, the bee hummed about every bank, and the swal- low played high in the air about the village stee- ple. It was one of those genial days when we seem to draw in pleasure with the very air we breathe, and to feel happy we know not why. Whoever has felt the worth of worthy man, or has doted on lovely woman, will, on such a day, call them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all alive with long-buried recollections. " For thenne," says the excellent romance of King Arthur, " lovers call ageyne to their mynde old gentilnes and old servyse, and many kind dedes, that were forgotten by neglygence." Before reaching the village, I saw the May- pole towering above the cottages, with its gay garlands and streamers, and heard the sound of music. Booths had been set up near it, for the reception of company ; and a bower of green branches and flowers for the Queen of May, a fresh, rosy-cheeked girl of the village. A band of morris-dancers were capering on the green in their fantastic dresses, jingHng with hawks' bells, with a boy dressed up as Maid Ma- rian, and the attendant fool rattling his box to MAr-DAT. 343 EoIle;t contributions from the by-stanJers. The gypsy-women too were already plying their mys- tery in by-comers of the village, reading the hands of the simple countiy-girls, and no doubt promis- ing them all good husbands and tribes of children. The Squire made his appearance in the course of the morning, attended by the parson, and was , received with loud acclamations. He mingled among the country people throughout the day, giving and receiving pleasure wherever he went. The amusements of the day were under the man- agement of Slingsby, the schoolmaster, who is not merely lord of misrule ui his school, but master of the revels to the village. He was bustling about with the perplexed and anxious air of a man who has the oppressive burden of promoting other peo- ple's merriment upon his mind. He had involved himself in a dozen scrapes in consequence of a politic intrigue, which, by the by. Master Simon and the Oxonian were at the bottom of, which had for its object the election of the Queen of May. He had met with violent opposition from a faction of ale-drinkers, who were in favor of a bouncing bar-maid, the daughter of the innkeeper ; but he had been too strongly backed not to carry his point, though it shows that these rural crowns, like all others, are objects of great ambition and heart-buniing. I am told that Master Simon lakes great interest, though in an underhand way, in the election of these May-day Queens ; and that the chaplet is generally secured for some rus- tic beauty who has found favor in his eyes. In t).e course of the day there were various 344 BRACEBRWGE HA:,L. games of strength and agility on the gi-een, at which a knot of village veterans presided, as judges of the lists. Among these Ready-Money Jack took the lead, looking with a learned and crit- ical eye on the merits of the different candidates ; and though he was very laconic, and sometimes merely expressed himself hy a nod, it was evident his opinions far outweighed those of the most lo- quacious. Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and carried off most of the prizes, though in some of the feats of agihty he was rivalled by the " prodigal son," who appeared much in his ele- ment on this occasion ; but his most formidable competitor was the notorious gypsy, the redoubt- able " Star-light Tom." I was rejoiced at having an opportunity of seeing this " minion of the moon " in broad daylight. I found him a tall, swarthy, good-looking fellow, with a lofty air, something like what I have seen in an Indian chieftain ; and with a certain lounging, easy, and almost graceful carriage, which I have often remarked in beings of the lazaroni order, who lead an idle, loitering life, and have a gentlemanlike contempt of labor. Master Simon and the old general reconnoi- tred the groiiud together, and indulged a vast deal of harmless raking among the buxom country girls. Master Simon would give some of them a kiss on meeting with them, and would ask after their sisters, for he is acquainted with most of the farmers' families. Sometimes he would whisper, and affect to talk mischievously with them, and, if bantered on the subject, would turn it off with MAT-DA7. 345 B laugh, ttiough it was evident he liked to be sus- pected of being a gay Lothario amongst them. He had much to say to the farmers about their farms ; and seemed to know all their horses by name. There was an old fellow, with a round ruddy face, and a night-cap under his hat, the village wit, who took several occasions to crack a joke with him in the hearing of his companions, to whom he would turn and wink hard when Master Simon had passed. The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at one time, been interrupted, by the appearance of the radical on the ground, with two or three of his disciples. He soon got engaged in argu- ment in the very thick of the throng, above which I could hear his voice, and now and then see his meagre hand, half a mile out of the sleeve, elevated in the air in violent gesticulation, and flourishing a pamphlet by way of truncheon. He was de- crying these idle nonsensical amusements in times of public distress, when it was every one's busi- ness to think of other matters, and to be misera- ble. The honest village logicisms could make no stand against him, especially as he was seconded by his proselytes ; when, to their great joy. Mas- ter Simon and the general came drifting down into the field of action. Master Simon was for making off^, as soon as he found himself in tht neighborhood of this fire-ship ; but the general was too loyal to suflFer such talk in his hearing, and thought, no doubt, that a look and a word from a gentleman would be suflicient to shut up so rfiabby an orator. The latter, however, was no 346 BRACEBRWGE HALL. respecter of persons, but rather exulted iu having such important antagonists. He talked with greater volubility than ever, and soon drowned them in declamation on the subject of taxes, poors' rates, and the national debt. Master Si- mon endeavored to brush along in his usual ex- cursive manner, which always answered amaz- ingly well with the villagers ; but the radical was one of those pestilent fellows that pin a man down to facts ; and, indeed, he had two or three pamphlets in his pocket, to support everything he advanced by printed documents. The general, too, found himself betrayed into a more serious action than his dignity could brook, and looked like a mighty Dutch Indiaman grievously pep- pered by a petty privateer. In vain he swelled and looked big, and talked large, and endeavored to make up by pomp of manner for poverty of matter ; every home-thrust of the radical made him wheeze like a bellows, and seemed to let a volume of wind out of him. In a word, the two worthies from the Hall were completely dumb- founded, and this too in the presence of several of Master Simon's stanch admirers, who had al- ways looked up to him as infallible. I do not know how he and the general would have man- aged to draw their forces decently from the field, had not a match at grinning through a horse- collar been announced, whereupon the radical re- tired with great expression of contempt, and, as Boon as his back was turned, the argument was Ciirried against him all hollow. " Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, gen MA Y-DA Y. 347 sral ? " said Master Simon ; " there 's no talking with one of these chaps when he once gets that aoufounded Cobbett in his head." " S'blood, sir ! " said the general, wiping his forehead, " such fellows ought to be transported ! " In the latter part of the day the ladies from the Hall paid a visit to the green. The fair .Julia made her appearance, leaning on her lover's arm, and looking extremely pale and interesting. As she is a great favorite in the village, where she has been known from childhood, and as her late accident had been much talked about, the sight of her caused very manifest delight, and some of the old women of the village blessed her sweet face as she passed. While they were walking about, I noticed the schoolmaster in earnest conversation with the Queen of May, evidently endeavoring to spirit her up to some formidable undertaking. At length, as the party from the Hall approached her bower, she came forth, faltering at every step, until she reached the spot where the fair JuUa stood be- tween her lover and Lady Lillycraft. The little Queen then took the chaplet of flowers from her head, and attempted to put it on that of the bride elect ; but the confusion of both was so great that the wreath would have fallen to the ground, had not the officer caught it, and, laughing, placed it upon the blushing brows of his mistress. There was something charming in the very embarrass- ment of these two young creatures, both so beauti- ful, yet so different in their kinds of beauty. ]\Ias- ter Simon told me, afterwards, that the Queen of 348 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. May was to have spoken a few verse? which the schoolmaster had written for her; but she had neither wit to understand, nor memory to recol- lect them. " Besides," added he, " between you and I, she murders the king's English abomina- bly ; so she has acted the part of a wise woman in holding her tongue, and trusting to her pretty face." Among the other characters from the Hall was Mrs. Hannah, my Lady Lillycraft's gentlewoman : to my surprise, she was escorted by old ChrLsty, the huntsman, and followed by ,his ghost of a greyhound ; but I find they are very old acquaint- ances, being drawn together by some sympathy of disposition. Mrs. Hannah moved about with starched dignity among the rustics, who drew back from her with more awe than they did from her mistress. Her mouth seemed shut as with a clasp ; excepting that I now and then heard the word " fellows ! " escape from between her lips, as she got accidentally jostled in the crowd. But there was one other heart present that did not enter into the merriment of the scene, which was that of the simple Phoebe Wilkins, the house- keeper's niece. The poor girl has continued to pine and whine for some time past, in consequence of the obstinate coldness of her lover ; never was a little flirtation more severely punished. She ap- peared this day on the green, gallanted by a smart servant out of livery, and had evidently resolved to try the hazardous experiment of awakening the jealousy of her lover. She was dressed ic her very best; affected an air cf great gayety MAF-DAT. 349 talked loud and girlishly, and laughed when there was nothing to laugh at. There was, however, an aching, heavy heart in the poor baggage's bosom, in spite of all her levity. Her eye turned every now and then in quest of her reckless lover, and her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious gayety vanished, on seeing him paying hi'^ rustic homage to the little May-day Queen. My att'SDtkon was now diverted by a fresh stir and bustle. Music was heard from a dis- tance ; a banner was advancing up the road, pre- ceded by a rustic band playing something like a march, and followed by a sturdy throng of coun- try lads, the chivalry of a neighboring and rival village. No sooner had they reached the green than they challenged the heroes of the day to new trials of strength and _ activity. Several gymnastic contests ensued for the honor of the respective villages. In the course of these exercises, young Tibbets and the cnampion of the adverse party had an obstinate match at wrestling. They tugged, and strained, and panted, without either getting the mastery, until both came to the ground, and rolled upon the green. Just then the discon- solate Phoebe came by. She saw her recreant lover in fierce contest, as she thought, and in dan- ger. In a moment pride, pique, and coquetry were forgotten : she rushed into the ring, seized upon the rival champion by the hair, and was on the point of wreaking on him her puny vengeance, when a buxom, strapping country lass, the sweet neart of thp prostrate swain, pounced upon 1 er 350 B/tACEBRIDGE HALL. like a hawkj and would have stripped her of her fine plumage in a twinkling had she also not been seized in her turn. A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the two villages became embroiled. Blows began to be dealt, and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe was carried off from the field in hysterics. In vain did the sages of the village interfere. The sententious apothecary endeavored to pour the soothing oil of his philosophy upon this tempes- tuous sea of passion, but was tumbled into the dust. Slingsby, the pedagogue, ■■ '^o is a great lover of peace, went into the midst o* the throng, as marshal of the day, to put an end to the com- motion, but was rent in twain, and came out with his garment hanging in two strips from his shoul- ders : upon which the prodigal son dashed in with fury to revenge the insult sustaiined by his patron. The tumult thickened ; I caught glimpses of the jockey-cap of old Christy, like the helmet of a chieftain, bobbing about in the midst of the scuffle ; while Mistress Hannah, separated from her doughty protector, was squalling and strik- ing at right and left with a faded parasol ; being tossed and tousled about by the crowd in such wise as never happened to maiden gentlewoman before. At length old Ready-Money Jack made his way into the very thickest of the throng, tearing it, as it were, apart, and enforcing peace vi et armis. It was surprising to see the sudden quiet that en- sued. The storm settled down at once into tran- quillity. The parties, having no real grounds of MAY-DAT. 35] bostility, were readily pacified, and in fact were ft little at a loss to know why and how they had got by the ears. Siingsby was speedily stitched together again by his friend the tailor, and re- Bumed his usual good humor. Mrs. Hannah drew on one side to plume her rumpled feathers ; and old Christy, having repaired his damages, took her under his arm, and they swept back again to the Hall, ten times more bitter against mankind than ever. The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in re- covering from the agitation of the scene. Young Jack was evidently very mucTi moved by the her- oism of the unlucky Phoebe. His mother, who had been summoned to the field of action by news of the affray, was in a sad panic, and had need of all her management to keep him from follow- ing his mistress, and coming to a perfect reconcil- iation. What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the good managing dame was, that the matter had aroused the slow apprehensions of old Ready- Money himself; who was very much struck by the intrepid interference of so pretty and deli- cate a girl, and was sadly puzzled to understand the meaning of the violent agitation in his family. When all this came to the ears of the Squire, he was grievously scandalized that his May-day fete should have been disgraced by such a brawl. He ordered Phoebe to appear before him, but the girl was so frightened and distressed, that she came sobbing and trembling, and, at the first 352 BRACEBRWGE HALL. C[iiestion he asked, fell again into hysterics. La«t fafored such a dream." 33 THE MANUSCRIPT. JESTERDAY was a day of quiet and repose after the bustle of May-day. During the morning I joined the ladies small sitting-room, the windows of which came down to the floor, and opened upon a ter- race of the garden, which was set out with deli- cate shrubs and flowei's. The soft sunshine fall- ing into the room through the branches of trees tliat overhung the windows, the sweet smell of flowers, and the singing of birds, produced a pleas- ing yet calming effect on the whole party. Some time elapsed without any one speaking: Lady Lillycraft and Miss Templeton were sitting by an elegant work-table, near one of the windows, occupied with some pretty lady-like work. The captain was on a stool at his mistress's feet, look- ing over some music ; and poor Phoebe Wilkins, who has always been a kind of pet among the ladies, but who has risen vastly in favor with Lady Lillycraft in consequence of some tender confessions, sat in one corner of the room, with swollen eyes, working pensively at some of the fair Julia's wedding-ornaments. The silence was interrupted by her ladyship. THE MANUSCRIPT. 355 who suddenly proposed a task to the caplain. " I am iu your debt," said she, " for tbat tale you read to us the other day ; I will now furnish one in return, if you '11 read it ; and it is just suited to this sweet May morning, for it is all about love ! " The proposition seemed to delight every cae present. The captain smiled assent. Her lady- ship rang for her page, and dispatched him to her room for the manuscript. " As the captain," said she, " gave us an account of the author of his story, it is but right I should give one of mine. It was written by the parson of the parish wheie I reside. He is a thin, elderly man, of a delicai* constitution, but positively one of the most chams- ing men that ever lived. He lost his wife a few years since ; one of the sweetest women you ever saw. He has two sons, whom he educates him- self ; both of whom already write delightful po- etry. His parsonage is a lovely place, close by the church, all overrun with ivy and honey- suckles ; with the sweetest flower-garden about it ; for, you know, our country clergymen are al- most always fond of flowers, and make their par- sonages perfect pictures. " His living is a very good one, and he is very much beloved, and does a great deal of good in the neighborhood, and among the poor. And then such sermons as he preaches ! Oh, if you could only hear one taken from a text in Solomon's Song, all about love and matrimony, one of the sweetest things you ever heard ! He preaches it at least once a year, in spring-time, for he knows I 356 BRACEBRWGE HALL. am fond of it. He always dines with me on Sun- days, and often brings me some of the sweetest pieces of poetry, all about the pleasures of mel- ancholy, and such subjects, that make me cry so, you can't think. I wish he would publish. I think he has some things as sweet as anything of Moore or Lord Byron. " He fell into very ill health, some time ago, and was advised to go to the Continent ; and I gave him no peace until he went, and promised to take care of his two boys until he returned. " He was gone for above a year, and was quite restored. When he came back, he sent me the tale I 'm going to show you. — Oh, here it is ! " said she, as the page put in her hands a beautiful box of satin-wood. She unlocked it, and among several parcels on notes of embossed paper, cards of charades, and copies of verses, she drew out a crimson velvet case, that smelt very much of perfumes. From this she took a manuscript, daintily written on gilt-edged vellum paper, and stitched with a light - blue ribbon. This she handed to the captain, who read the following tale, which I have procured for the entertainment »f the reader. ANNETTE DELABBRE. The soldier &ae the war returns, And the merchant from the main, But 1 hae parted wV my love, And ne'er to meet again, Mjdear, And ne'er to meet again. When day is gone, and night is come. And a* are boun to sleep, I think on them that's far awa "^he lee-lang night and weep. My dear, ^e lee-lang night and weep. Ou> Scotch Bailad. ilN the course of a tour in Lower Noi-- mandy I remained for a day or two in IJ the old town of Honfleur, which stands near the mouth of the Seine. It was the time of a fete, and all the world was thronging in the evening to dance at the fair, held before the chapel of Our Lady of Grace. As I like all krnda of innocent merry-making, I joined the throng. The chapel is situated at the top of a high hUl, or promontory, whence its bell may be heard at a distance by the mariner at night. It is said to have given the namb to the port of Havre de Grace, which lies directly opposite, on the other side of the Seine. The road up to the chapel 358 BRACEBRWGE HALl,. went in a zigzag course, along the brow of the Bteep coast ; it was shaded by trees, from between which I had beautiful peeps at the ancient tow- ers of Honfleur below, the varied scenery of the opposite shore, the white buildings of Havre in the distance, and the wide sea beyond. The road was enlivened by groups of peasant girls, in bright crimson dresses, and tall caps ; and I found all the flower of the neighborhood assembled on the green that crowds the summit of the hill. The chapel of Notre Dame de Grace is a fa- vorite resort of the inhabitants of Honfleur and its vicinity, both for pleasure and devotion. At this little chapel prayers are put up by the mari- ners of the port previous to their voyages, and by their friends during their absence ; and votive offerings are hung about its walls, in fulfilment of vows made during times of shipwreck and dis- aster. The chapel is surrounded by trees. Over the portal is an image of the Virgin and Child, with an inscription which struck me as being quite poetical : " Etoile de la mer, priez pour nous ! " (Star of the sea, pray for us.) On a level spot near the chapel, under a grove of noble trees, the populace dance on fine summer evenings ; and here are held frequent fairs and fetes, which assemble all the rustic beauty of the loveliest parts of Lower Normandy. The pres- ent was an occasion of the kind. Booths and tents were erected among the trees ; there were the usual displays of finery to tempt the niral ANNETTE DELARBRE. 359 coquette, and of wonderfiil shows to entice the carious ; mountebanks were exerting their elo- quence ; jugglers and fortune-tellers astonishing the credulous ; while whole rows of grotesque saints, in wood and wax-work, were offered for the purchase of the pious. The fete had assembled in one view all the picturesque costumes of the Pays d'Auge aud the Cot^ de Caux. I beheld tall, stately caps, and trim bodices, according to fashions which have been handed down from mother to daughter for centuries ; the exact counterparts of those worn in the time of the Conqueror ; and which sur- prised me by their faithful resemblance to those iu the old pictures of Froissart's Chronicles, and in the paintings of illuminated manuscripts. Any one, also, who has been in Lower Normandy, must have remarked the beauty of the peasantry, and that air of native elegance which prevails among them. It is to this country, undoubtedly, that the English owe their good looks. It was hence that the bright carnation, the fine blue eye, the light auburn hair, passed over to England in the train of the Conqueror, and fiUed the land with beauty. The scene before me was perfectly enchanting : the assemblage of so many fresh and blooming faces ; the gay groups in fanciful dresses ; some dancing ou the .green, others strolling about, or seated on the grass ; the fine clumps of trees in ihe foreground, bordering the brow of this airy neigh t, and the broad green sea, sleeping in sum- mer tranquillity, in the distance. 860 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. Whilst I was regarding this animated picture, I was struck with the appearance of a beautiful girl, who passed through the crowd without seem- ing to take any interest in their amusements. She was slender and delicate, without the bloom upon her cheek usual among the peasantry of Normandy, and her blue eyes had a singular and melancholy expression. She was accompanied by a venerable-looking man, whom I presumed to be her father. There was a whisper among the by- standers, and a wistful look after her as she passed ; the young men touched their hats, and some of the children followed her at a Httle dis- tance, watching her movements. She approached the edge of the hill, where there is a little plat- form, whence the people of Honfleur look out for the approach of vessels. Here she stood for some time waving her handkerchief, though there was nothing to be seen but two or three fishing-boats, like mere specks on the bosom of the distant ocean. These circumstances excited my curiosity, and I made some inquiries about her, which were an- swered with readiness and intelligence by a priest of the neighboring chapel. Our conversation drew together several of the by-standers, each of whom had something to communicate, and from them all I gathered the following particulars. Annette Delarbre was the only daughter of one of the higher order of farmers, or small proprie- tors, as they are called, of Pont I'Eveque, a pleas- ant village not far from Honfleur, in that rich pas- toral part of Lower Normandy cedled the Pays ANNETTE DELARBRE. 361 d'Auge. Annette was the pride and delight of her parents, who brought her up with the fondest indulgence. She was gay, tender, petulant, and susceptible. All her feelings were quick and ar- dent ; and having never experienced contradiction nor restraint, she was little practised in self-con- trol : nothing but the native goodness of her heart kept her from running continually into error. Even while a child, her susceptibility was evinced in an attachment formed to a playmate, Eugene la Forgue, the only son of a widow of the neighborhood. Their childish love was an epitome of maturer passion ; it had its .caprices, and jealousies, and quarrels, and reconciliations. It was assuming something of a gi-aver character as Annette entered her fifteenth, and Eugene his nineteenth year, when he was suddenly carried off to the army by the conscription. It was a heavy blow to his widowed mother, for he was her only pride and comfort ; but it was one of those sudden bereavements which mothers were perpetually doomed to feel in France, dui-ing the time that continual and bloody wars were incessantly draining her youth. It was a temporary aiSiction also to Annette, to lose her lover. With tender embraces, half childish, half womanish, she parted from him. The tears streamed from her blue eyes as she bound a braid of her fair hair round his wrist ; but the smiles still broke through ; for she was yet too young to feel how serious a thing is separation, and how many chances there ai'e, when parting in this wide world, against our ever meeting again 362 BRACEBRWGE HALL. Weeks, months, years flew by. Annette iu^ creased in beauty as she increased in years, and was the reigning belle of the neighborhood. Her time passed innocently and happily. Her father was a man of some consequence in the rural com- munity, and his house was the resort of the gay- est of the village. Annette held a kind of rural court ; she was always surrounded by companions of her own age, among whom she shone unrivalled. Much of their time was passed in making lace, the prevalent manufacture of the neighborhood. As they sat at this delicate and feminine labor, the merry tale and sprightly song went round : none laughed with a lighter heart than Annette ; and if she sang, her voice was perfect melody. Their evenings were enlivened by the dance, or by those pleasant social games so prevalent among the French ; and when she appeared at the vil- lage ball on Sunday evenings, she was the theme of universal admiration. As she was a rural heiress, she did not want for suitors. Many advantageous offers were made her, but she refused them all. She laughed at the pretended pangs of her admirers, and tri- umphed over them with the caprice of buoyant youth and conscious beauty. With all her ap- parent levity, however, could any one have read the story of her heart, they might have traced in ■ it some fond remembrance of her early playmate, not so deeply graven as to be painful, but too deep to be easily obliterated ; and they might have no- ticed, amidst all her gayety, the tenderness that marked her manner towards the mother of Eu- ANNETTE DELARBRE. 363 gene. She would often steal away from her youthful companions and their amusements, to pass whole days with the good widow ; listening to her fond talk about her boy, and blushing with secret pleasure, when his letters were read, at find- ing herself a constant theme of recollection and inquiry. At length the sudden return of peace, which sent many a warrior to his native cottage, brought back Eugene, a young sunburnt soldier, to the village. I need not say how rapturously his re- turn was greeted by his mother, who saw in him the pride and staff of her old age. He had risen in the service by his merit ; but brought away little from the wars, excepting a soldierlike air, a gallant name, and a scar across the forehead. He brought back, however, a nature unspoiled by the camp. He was frank, open, generous, and ardent. His heart was quick and kind in its impulses, and was perhaps a little softer from having suffered ; it was full of tenderness for Annette. He had received frequent accounts of her from his mother ; and the mention of her kindness to his lonely parent had rendered her doubly dear to him. He had been wounded ; he had been a prisoner ; he had been in various troubles, but had always pre- served the braid of hair which she had bound round his arm. It had been a kind of talisman lo him ; lie had many a time looked upon it as he lay on the hard ground, and the thought that he might one day see Annette again, and the fair fields about his native village, had cheered his heart, and enabled him to bear up against every hardship. 364 BEACEBRIDGE BALL. He had left Annette almost a child ; he found her a blooming woman. If he had loved her be fore, he now adored her. Annette was equally struck with the Improvement time had made in her lover. She noticed, with secret admiration, his superiority to the other young men of the vil- lage ; the frank, lofty, military air, that distin- guished him from all the rest at their rural gath- erings. The more she saw him, the more her light, playful fondness of former years deepened into ardent and powerful affection. But Annette was a rural belle. She had tasted the sweets of dominion, and had been rendered wilful and car pricious by constant indulgence at home, and ad- miration abroad. She was conscious of her power over Eugene, and delighted in exercising it. She sometimes treated him with petulant caprice, en- joying the pain which she inflicted by her frowns, from the idea how soon she would chase it away again by her smiles. She took a pleasure in alarming his fears, by affecting a temporary pref- erence for some one or other of his rivals ; and then would delight in allaying them by an ample measure of returning kindness. Perhaps there was some degree of vanity gratified by all this ; it might be a matter of triumph to show her abso- lute power over the young soldier, who was the universal object of female admiration. Eugene, however, was of too serious and ardent a nature to be trifled with. He loved too fervently not to be filled with doubt. He saw Annette sur- rounded by admirers, and full of animation, the gayest among the gay at all their rural festivities, ANNETTE DELARBRE. 365 and apparently most gay when he was most de- jected. Every one saw through this caprice but himself; every one saw that in reality she doted on him ; but Eugene alone suspected the sincerity of her affection. For some time he bore this co- quetry with secret impatience and distrust ; but his feelings grew sore and irritable, and overcame his self-command. A slight misunderstanding took place ; a quarrel ensued. Annette, unaccus- tomed to be thwarted and contradicted, and full of the insolence of youthful beauty, assumed an air of disdain. She refused all explanations to her lover, and they parted in anger. That very evening Eugene saw her, full of gayety, dancing with one of his rivals ; and as her eye caught his, fixed on her with unfeigned distress, it spar- kled with more than usual vivacity. It was a fin- ishing blow to his hopes, already so much im- paired by secret distrust. Pride and resentment both struggled in his breast, and seemed to rouse his spirit to all his wonted energy. He retired from her presence with the hasty determination never to see her again. A woman is more considerate in affairs of love than a man ; because love is more the study and business of her life. Annette soon repented of her indiscretion ; slie felt that she had used her lover unkindly ; she felt that she had trifled with his sincere and generous nature ; — and then he looked so handsome when he parted after their quarrel — his fine features b'ghted up by indigna- tion. She had intended making up with him at ♦ie e'V ening dance ; but his sudden departure pre- 366 BRACEBHIl OE HALL. vental hei-. She now promised herself thsit when next they met she would amply repay him by the sweets of a perfect reconciliation, and that, thence- forward, she would never — never tease him more ! That promise was not to be fulfilled. Day after day passed ; but Eugene did not make his ap- pearance. Sunday evening came, the usual time when all the gayety of the village assembled ; but Eugene was not there; She inquired after him; he had left the village. She now became alarmed, and, forgetting all coyness and affected indifference, called on Eugene's mother for an ex- planation. She found her full of affliction, and learnt with surprise and consternation that Eu- gene had gone to sea. Wliile his feelings were yet smarting with hei affected disdain, and his heart a prey to . alter- nate indignation and despair, he had suddenly embraced an invitation which had repeatedly been made him by a relative, who was fitting out a ship from the port of Honfleur, and who wished him to be the companion of his voyage. Absence appeared to him the only cure for his unlucky pas- sion ; and in the temporary transports of his feel- ings there was something gratifying in the idea of having half the world intervene between them. The hurry necessary for his departure left no time for cool reflection ; it rendered him deaf to the remonstrances of his afflicted mother. He hast- ened to Honfleur just in time to make the need- ful preparations for the voyage ; and the first news that Annette received of this sudden de- termination was a letter delivered by his mother, ANNETTE DELARBRE. 367 returning her pledges of affection, particularly the long-treasured braid of her hair, and bidding her a last farewell, in terms more full of sorrow and tenderness than upbraiding. This was the first stroke of real anguish that Ajinette had ever received, and it overcame her. The vivacity of her spirits were apt to hurry her to extremes ; she for a time gave way to ungovern- ftble transports of affliction and remorse, and man- ifested, in the violence of her grief, the real ardor of her affection. The thought occurred to her that the ship might not yet have sailed ; .she seized on the hope with eagerness, and hastened with her father to Honfleur. The ship had sailed that very morning. From the heights above the town ?he saw it lessening to a speck on the broad bosom of the ocean, and before evening the white wil had faded from her sight. She turned full if anguish to the neighboring chapel of Our Lady )f Grace, and throwing herself on the pavement, Doured out prayers and tears for the safe return >f her lover. When she returned home, the cheerfulness of lier spirits was at an end. She looked back with "emorse and self-upbraiding on her past caprices ; )he turned ivith distaste from the adulation of lier idmirers, and had no longer any relish for the imusements of the village. "With humiliation and liffidence she sought the widowed mother of Eugene ; but was received by her with an over- sowing heart ; for she only beheld in Annette one who could sympathize in her doting fondness for ler son. It seemed some alleviation of her re- 368 BRACEBRIDGE EALI morse to sit by the mother all day, to study her wants, to beguile her heavy hours, to hang about her with the caressing endearments of a daughter, and to seek by every means, if possible, to supply the place of the son, whom she reproached her- self with having driven away. In the mean time the ship made a prosperous voyage to her destined port. Eugene's mother received a letter from him, in which he lamented the precipitancy of his departure. The voyage had given him time for sober reflection. If An- nette had been unkind to him, he ought not to have forgotten what was due to his mother, who was now advanced in years. He accused him- self of selfishness in only listening to the sugges- tions of his own inconsiderate passions. He promised to return with the ship, to make his mind up to .his disappointment, and to think of nothing but making bis mother happy — — "And when he does return," said Annette, clasping her hands with transport, " it shall not be my fault if he ever leaves us again." The time approached for the ship's return. She was daily expected, when the weather be- came dreadfully tempestuous. Day after day brought news of vessels foundered, or driven on shore, and the coast was strewed with wrecks. Intelligence was received of the looked-for ship having been seen dismasted in a violent storm, and the greatest fears were entertained for her safety. Annette never left the side of Eugene's mother. She watched every change of her countenance with painful solicitude, and endeavored to cheer ANNETTE DELAEBRE. 369 Ler with hopes, while her own mind was racked by anxiety. She tasked her efforts to be gay ; but it was a forced and unnatural gayety ; a sigh from the mother would completely check it ; and when she could no longer restrain the rising tears, she would hurry away and pour out her agony in secret. Every anxious look, every anxious in- quiry of the mother, whenever a door opened, or a strange face appeared, was an arrow to her soul. She considered every disappointment as a pang of her own infliction, and her heart sick- ened under the eare-wom expression of the ma- ternal eye. At length this suspense became in- supportable. She left the village and hastened to Honlleur, hoping every hour, every moment, to receive some tidings of her lover. She paced the pier, and wearied the seamen of the port with her inquiries. She made a daily pilgrimage to the chapel of Our Lady of Grace ; hung vo- tive garlands on the wall, and passed hours either kneeling before the altar, or looking out from the brow of the hill upon the angry sea. At length word was brought that the long- wished-for vessel was in sight. She was seen standing into the mouth of the Seine, shattered aid crippled, bearing marks of having been sadly tcn.pest-tossed. A general joy was diffused by her return ; and there was not a brighter eye, nor a lighter heart, than Annette's in the little port of Honfleur. The ship came to anchor in the rif er ; and a boat put off for the shore. The pop- ulace crowded down to the pier-head to welcome it, Annette stood blushing, and smiling, and trem- 24 370 uiiACEBRlDGE BALL bling, and weeping ; for a thousand painfully pleas- ing emotions agitated her breast at the thoughts of the meeting and reconciliation about to take place. Her heart throbbed to pour itself out, and atone to her gallant lover for all its errors. At one moment she would place herself in a conspicuous situation, where she might catch his view at once, and surprise him by her welcome ; but the next moment a doubt would come across her mind, and she would shrink among the throng, trem- bling and faint, and gasping with her emotions. Her agitation increased as the boat drew near, until it became distressing ; and it was almost a relief to her when she perceived that her lovei was not there. She presumed that some aceidenl had detained him on board of the ship, and felt that the delay would enable her to gather more self-possession for the meeting. As the boat neared the shore, many inquiries were made, and laconic answers returned. At length Annette heard some inquiries after her lover. Her heart palpitated ; there was a moment's pause : the re- ply was brief, but awful. He had been washed from the deck, with two of the crew, in the midst of a stormy night, when it was impossible to ren- der any assistance. A piercing shriek broke from among the crowd ; and Annette had nearly fallen into the waves. The sudden revulsion of feelings after such a transient gleam of happiness was too much for her harassed frame. She was carried home senseless. Her life was fo- some time despaired ANNETTE DELARBRE. 371 if, and it was months before she recovered her health ; but she never had perfectly recovered her mind : it still remained unsettled with respect to her lover's fate. " The subject," continued my informer, " is never mentioned in her hearing ; but she some- times speaks of it herself, and it seems as though there were some vague train of impressions in her mind, in which hope and fear are strangely mingled ; some imperfect idea of her lover's ship- wreck, and yet some expectation of his return. " Her parents have tried every means to cheer her, and to banish these gloomy images from hur thoughts. They assemble round her the young companions in whose society she used to delight ; and they will work, and chat, and sing, and laugh, as formerly ; but she will sit silently among them, and will sometimes weep in the midst of their gayety ; and, if spoken to, will make no reply, but look up with streaming eyes, and sing a dismal little song, which she has learned somewhere, about a shipwreck. It makes every one's heart ache to see her in this way, for she used to be the happiest creature in the village. " She passes the greater part of the time witL Eugene's mother ; whose only consolation is he- society, and who dotes on her with a mother's tenderness. She is the only one that has perfect •nfluence over Annette in every mood. The pool girl' seems, as formerly, to make an effort to be cheerful in her company ; but will sometimes gaze upon her with the most piteous look, and 'hen kiss her gray hairs, and fall on her neck and weep. 372 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. " She is not always melancholy, however j there are occasional intervals when she will be bright and animated for days together ; but a de- gree of wildness attends these fits of gayety, that prevents their yielding any satisfaction to her friends. At such times she will arrange her room, which is all covered with pictures of ships and legends of saints ; and will wreathe a white chap- let, as for a wedding, and prepare wedding-orna- ments. She will listen anxiously at the door, and look frequently out at the window, as if ex- pecting some one's arrival. It is supposed that at such times she is looking for her lover's return ; but, as no one touches upon the theme, or men- tions his name in her presence, the current of her thoughts is mere matter of conjecture. Now and then she will make a pilgrimage to the chapel jf Notre Dame de Grace ; where she will pray for hours at the altar, and decorate the images with wreaths that she has woven ; or will wave her handkerchief from the terrace, as you have seen, if there is any vessel in the distance." Upwards of a year, he informed me, had now elapsed without effacing from her mind this sin- gular taint of insanity ; still her friends hoped it might gradually wear away. They had at one time removed her to a distant part of the country, in hopes that absence from the scenes connected with her story might have a salutary effect ; but, when her periodical melancholy retume"d, she be- came more restless and wretched than usual, and, secretly escaping from her friends, set out on foot, '.without knowing the road, on one of her pilgrim- ages to the chapel. ANNETTE DELARBRE. 373 This little story entirely drew my atteution from the gay scene of the f^te, and fixed it upon the beautiful Annette. "While she was yet stand- ing on the terrace, the vesper-bell rang fi-om the neighboring chapel. She listened for a moment, and then drawing a small rosary from her bosom, walked in that direction. Several of the peas- juitry followed her in silence ; and I felt too much intereattid not to do the same. The chapel, as I said before, is in the midst of a grove, on the high promontory. The inside Ls hung round with little models of ships, and rude paintings of wrecks and perils at sea, and providential deliverances : the votive offerings of captains and crews that have been saved. On entering, Annette paused for a moment before a picture of the Virgin, which, I observed, had re- cently been decorated with a wreath of artificial flowers. When she reached the middle of the chapel she knelt down, and those who followed her involuntarily did the same at a little distance. The evening sun shone softly through the check- bred grove into one window of the chapel. A perfect stillness reigned within ; and this stillness was the more impressive, ,x)ntrasted with the dis- tant sound of music and merriment from the fair, I could not take my eyes off from the poor e-np- pliant ; her lips moved as she told her beads, but her prayers were breathed in silence. It might have been mere fancy excited by the scene, that, as she raised her eyes to heaven, I thought they bad an expression truly seraphic. But I am sasily affected by female beauty, and there was 374 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. Bomething in this mixture of love, devotion, and partial insanity, inexpressibly touching. As the poor girl left the chapel, there was a sweet serenity in her looks ; and I was told she would return home, and in all probability be calm and cheerful for days, and even weeks ; in which time it was supposed that hope predominated in her mental malady ; and when the dark side of her mind, as her friends call it, was about to turn up, it would be known by her neglecting her dis- taff or her lace, singing plaintive songs, and weep- ing in silence. She passed on from the chapel without notic- ing the fete, but smiling and speaking to many as she passed. I followed her with my eyes as she descended the winding road towards Honfleur, leaning on her father's arm. " Heaven," thought I, " has ever its store of balms for the hurt mind and wounded spirit, and may in time rear up this broken flower to be once more the pride and joy of the valley. The very delusion in which the poor girl walks may be one of those mists kindly diffused by Providence over the regions of thought, when they become too fruitful of misery. The veil may gradually be raised which obscures the horizon of her mind, as she is enabled steadily and calmly to contemplate the sorrows at present hidden in mercy from her view." On my return from Paris, about a year after- wards, I turned off from the beaten route at lioueu, to revisit some of the most striking scenes of Lower Normandy. Having passed through the INNETTE DELARBRE. 37o lovely oDuntry of the Pays d'Ange, 1 reiicliecl Honfleur on a fine afternoon, intending to cross to Havre the next morning, and embark for England. As I had no better way of passing the evening, T strolled up the hill to enjoy the fine prospect from the chapel of Notre Dame de Grace ; and while there, I thought of inquiring after the fate of poor Annette Delarbre. The priest who had told me her story was officiating at vespers, after which I accosted him, and learnt from him the remaining circumstances. He told me that from the time I had seen her at the chapel, her disor- der took a sudden turn for the worse, and her health rapidly declined. Her cheerful intervals became shorter and less frequent, and attended with more incoherency. She grew languid, silent, and moody Ln her melancholy ; her form was wasted, her looks were pale and disconsolate, and it was feared she would never recover. She be- came impatient of all sounds of gayety, and was never so contented as when Eugene's mother was near her. The good woman watched over her with patient, yearning solicitude ; and in seeking to beguile her sorrows, would half forget her own. Sometimes, as she sat looking upon her pallid face, the tears would fill her eyes, which when An- nette perceived, she would anxiously wipe them away, and tell her not to grieve, for that Eugene would soon return ; and then she would affect a forced gayety, as in former times, and sing a lively air ; but a sudden recollection would come over her, and she would burst into tears, hang on (he poor mother's neck, and entreat her not to jurse her for having destroyed her son. 376 BRACEBRIDGE H.lLI Just at this time, to the astonishment oi every nne, news was received of Eugene ; who, it ap- pears, was still living. When almost drowned, he had fortunately seized upon a spar washed from the ship's deck. Finding himself nearly exhausted, he fastened himself to it, and floated for a day and night, until all sense left him. On recovering, he found himself on board a vessel bound to India, but so ill as not to move without assistance. His health continued precarious throughout the voyage ; on arriving in India, he experienced many vicissitudes, and was transferred from ship to ship, and hospital to hospital. Hisi constitution enabled him to struggle through every hardship ; and he was now in a distant port, waiting only for the sailing of a ship to re- turn home. Great caution was necessary in imparting these tidings to the mother, and even then she was nearly overcome by the transports of her joy. But how to impart them to Annette was a matter of still greater perplexity. Her state of mind had been so morbid, she had been subject to such violent changes, and the cause of her de- rangement had been of such an inconsolable and hopeless kind, that her friends had always forborne to tamper with her feelings. They had never even hinted at the subject of her griefs, nor encour- aged the theme when she adverted to it, but had passed it over in silence, hoping that time would gradually wear the traces of it from her recollec- tion, or, at least, would render them less painful. They now felt at a loss how to undeceive hei ANNETTE DELARBRE. 377 even ii. her misery, lest the sudden recurrence of happiness might confirm the estrangement of her reason, or might overpower her enfeebled frame, They ventured, however, to probe those wounds which they formerly did not dare to touch, for they now had the balm to pour into them. They led the conversation to those topics wliich they had hitherto shumied, and endeavored to ascertain the current of her thoughts in those varying moods which had formerly perplexed them. They found her mind even more affected than they had imag- ined. All her idfeas were confused and wander- ing. Her bright and cheerful moods, which now grew seldomer than ever, were all the effects of mental delusion. At such times she had no rec- ollection of her lover's having been in danger, but was or]y anticipating his arrival. "When the winter has passed away," said she, " and the trees put on their blossoms, and the swallow comes back over the sea, he will return." When she was drooping and desponding, it was in vain to remind her of what she had said in her gayei" moments, and to assure her that Eugene would indeed return shortly. She wept on in silence, and appeared insensible to their words. But at times her agitation became violent, when she would upbraid herself with having driven Eugene from his mother, and brought sorrow on her gray hairs. Her mind admitted but one leading idea at a time, which nothing could avert or efface ; or if they ever succeeded in interrupting the current of her fancy, it only became the more incoherent, and mcreased the feverishness that preyed upon 378 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. both mind and body. ' Her friends felt more alarm for her than ever, for they feared her senses were irrevocably gone, and her constitution completely undermined. In the mean time Eugene returned to the vil- lage. He was violently affected when the story of Annette was told him. With bitterness of heart he upbraided his own rashness and infatua- tion that had hurried him away from her, and ac- cused himself as the .•vuthor of all her woes. His mother would describe to him all the anguish and remorse of poor Annette ; the tenderness with which she clung to her, and endeavored, even in the midst of her insanity, to console her for the loss of her son ; and the touching expressions of affec- tion mingled with her most incoherent wanderings of thought, until his feelings would be wound up to agony, and he would entreat her to desist from the recital. They did not dare as yet to bring him into Annette's sight ; but he was permitted to see her when she was sleeping. The tears streamed down his sunburnt cheeks as he contemplated the ravages which grief and malady had made ; and his heart swelled almost to breaking as he beheld round her neck the very braid of hair which she once gave him in token of girlish affec- tion, and which he had returned to her in anger. At length the physician that attended her de- termined to adventure upon an experiment ; to take advantage of one of those cheerful moods when her mind was visited by hope, and to en- deavor to engraft, as it were, the reality upon the delusions of her fancy. These moods had now ANNETTE DELARBRE. 379 become very rare, for nature was sinking under the continual pressure of her mental malady, and the principle of reaction was daily growing weaker. Every effort was tried to bring on o cheerful interval of the kind. Several of her most favorite companions were kept contiEually about her ; they chatted gayly, they laughed, and sang, and danced; but Annette reclined with languid frame and hollow eye, and took no part in their gayety. At length the winter was gone ; the trees put forth their leaves ; the swallows be- gan to build in the eaves of the house, and the robin and wren piped all day beneath the window. Annette's spirits gradually revived. She began to deck her person with unusual care ; and bring- ing forth a basket of artificial flowers, went to work to wreathe a bridal chaplet of white roses. Her companions asked her why she prepared the chaplet. " What ! " said she with a smile, " have you not noticed the trees putting on their wed- ding-dresses of blossoms ? Has not the swallow flown back over the sea ? Do you not know that the time is come for Eugene to return ? that he will be home to-morrow, and that on Sunday we are to be married ? " Her words were repeated to the physician, and he seized on them at once. He directed that her idea should be encouraged and acted upon. Her words were echoed through the house. Every one talked of the return of Eugene as a matter of course ; they congratulated her upon her ap- proaching happiness, and assisted her in her prep- arations. The next morning the same theme was 380 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. resumed. She was dressed out to receive hei lover. Every bosom fluttered with anxiety. A cabriolet drove into the village. " Eugene is com- ing ! " was the cry. She saw him alight at tiie door, and rushed with a shriek into his arms. Her friends trembled for the result of this crit- ical experiment ; but she did not sink under it, for her fancy had prepared her for his return. She was as one in a dream, to whom a tide of unlooked-for prosperity, that would have over- whelmed his waking reason, seems but the natu- ral current of circumstances. Her conversation, however, showed that her senses were wandering. There was an absolute forgetfulness of all past sorrow ; a wild and feverish gayety that at times was incoherent. The next morning she awoke languid and ex- hausted. All the occurrences of the preceding day had passed away from her mind as though they had been the mere illusions of her fancy. She rose melancholy and abstracted, and as she dressed herself, was heard to sing one of her plaintive ballads. "When she entered the parlor, her eyes were swollen with weeping. She heard Eugene's voice without, and started ; passed her hand across her forehead, and stood musing, like one endeavoring to recall a dream. Eugene entered the room, and advanced towards her ; she looked at him with an eager, searching look, murmured some indistinct words, and, before he could reach her, sank upon the floor. She relapsed into a wild and unsettled state of mind ; but now that the first shock was over, the iNNETTE DELARBRE. 381 physician ordered that Eugene should keep con- tinually in her sight. Sometimes she did not know him ; at other times she would talk to him as if he were going to sea, and would implore him not to part from her in anger ; and when he was not present, she would speak of him as if buried in the ocean, and would sit, with clasped hands, looking upon the ground, the picture of despair. As the agitation of her feelings subsided, and her frame recovered from the shock it had received, she became more placid and coherent. EugenS kept almost contiimally near her. He formed the real object round which her scattered ideas once more gathered, and which linked them once more with the realities of life. But her changeful disorder now appeared to take a new turn. She became languid and inert, and would sit for hours silent, and almost in a state of lethargy. If roused from this stupor, it seemed as if her mind would make some attempt to follow up a train of thought, but would soon become confused. She would regard every one that approached her with an anxious and inquiring eye, that seemed continually to dis- appoint itself. Sometimes, as her lover sat hold- ing her hand, she would look pensively in his face without saying a word, until his heart was overcome ; and after these transient fits of intel- lectual exertion, she would sink again into leth- argy. By degrees this stupor increased ; her mind appeared to have subsided into a stagnant and al- most deathl'ke calm. For the greater part of the 382 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. time her eyes were closed ; her face was almost as fixed and passionless as that of a corpse. She no longer took any notice of surrounding objects. There was an awfulness in this tranquillity that filled her friends with apprehensions. The phy- sician ordered that she should be kept perfectly quiet ; or that, if she evinced any agitation, she should be gently lulled, like a child, by some fa- vorite tune. She remained in this state for hours, hardly seeming to breathe, and apparently sinking into the sleep of death. Her chamber was profoundly still. The attendants moved about it with noise- less tread ; everything was communicated by signs and whispers. Her lover sat by her side watch- ing her with painful anxiety, and fearing every breath which stole from her pale lips would be the last. At length she heaved a deep sigh ; and from some convulsive motions, appeared to be troubled in her sleep. Her agitation increased, accom- panied by an indistinct moaning. One of her companions, remembering the physician's instruc- tions, endeavored to lull her by singing, in a low voice, a tender little air, which was a paiticular favorite of Annette's. Probably it had some con- nection in her mind with her own story ; for every fond girl has some ditty of the kind, linked in her thoughts with sweet and sad remembrances. As she sang, the agitation of Annette subsided. A streak of faint color came into her cheeks ; lier eyelids became swollen with rising tears which trembled there for a moment, and then, AJMNtrVlL UliLAHBEU. 383 Btealing forth, coursed down her pallid cheek. When the song was ended, she opened her eyes, and looked about her, as one awaking in a strange place. " Oh Eugene ! Eugene ! " said she, " it seems as if I have had a long and dismal dream : what has happened, and what has been the matter with me?" The questions were embarrassing ; and before they could be answered, the physician, who was in the next room, entered. She took him by the hand, looked up in his face, and made the same inquiry. He endeavored to put her off with some evasive answer. " No, no ! " cried she, " I know [ have been ill, and I have been dreaming strangely. r thought Eugene had left us — and that he had gone to sea — and that — and that he was drowned ! — But he has been to sea ! " added she earnestly, as recollection kept flashing upon her, •' and he has been wrecked — and we were all so wretched — and he came home again one bright morning — and — oh ! " said she, pressing her hand against her forehead with a sickly smile, " I see how it is ; all has not been right here. I bo- gin to recollect — but it is all past now — Eu- gene is here ! and his mother is happy — and we will never — never part again — shall we, Eugene ? " She sunk back in her chair exhausted ; the tears streamed down her cheeks. Her compan- ions hovered round her, not knowing what to make of this sudden dawn of reason. Her lover sobbed aloud. She opened her eyes again, add 384 BRACEBRTDGE HALL. looked upon them with an air of the sweetest ac- knowledgment. " You are all so good to me ! ' said she, faintly. The physician drew the father aside. " Your daughter's mind is restored," said he ; " she is sensible that she has been deranged ; she is grow- ing conscious of the past, and conscious of the present. All that now remains is to keep her calm and quiet until her health is reestablished, and then let her be married, in God's name ! " " The wedding took place," continued the good priest, " but a short time since ; they were here at the last fete during their honey-moon, and a handsomer and happier couple was not to be seen as they danced under yonder trees. The young man, his wife, and mother, now live on a fine farm at Pont L'Eveque ; and that model of a ship which you see yonder, with white flowers wreathed round it, is Annette's offering of thanks to our Lady of Grace, for having listened to her prayers, and protected her lover in the hour of peril." The captain having finished, there was a mo- mentary silence. The tender-hearted Lady Lil- lycraft, who knew the story by heart, had led the way in weeping, and indeed often began to shed ' tears before they came to the right place. The fair Julia was a little fiurried at the pas- sage where wedding preparations were mentioned ; but the auditor most affected was the simple Phoebe Wilkins. She Imd gradually dropped her work in her lap, and sat sobbing through the lat- ter part of the story^ ut til towards the end, when ANNETTE DELABBRE. 385 the happy reverse had nearly produced another scene of hysterics. " Go, take this case to my room again, child," said Lady Lillycraft kindly, " and don't cry so much." " I won't, an't please your ladyship, if I can help it; — but I 'm glad they made all up again, and were married ! " By the way, the case of this lovelorn damsel begins to make some talk in the household, espe- cially among certain little ladies, not far in their teens, of whom she has made confidants. She is a great favorite with them all, but particularly so since she has confided to them her love-secrets They enter into her concerns with all the violent zeal and overwhelming sympathy with which lit- tle boarding-school ladies engage in the politics of a love-affair. I have noticed them frequently clustering about her in private conferences, or walking up and down the garden-terrace under my window, listening to some long and dolorous story of her afflictions ; of which I could now and then dis- tinguish the ever-recurring phrases " says he," and " says she." I accidentally interrupted one of these little councils of war, when they wei;e all huddled to- gether under a tree, and seemed to be earnestly considering some interesting document. The flut- ter at my approach showed that there were some secrets under discussion ; and I observed the dis- consolate Phoebe crumpling into her bosom eithei a love-letter or an old valentine, and brushing away the tears from her cheeks. 25 386 BRACEBRWGE HALL The girl is a good girl, of a soft, melting na- ture, and shows her concern at the cruelty of her lover only in tears and drooping looks; but with the little ladies who have espoused her cause, il sparkles up into fiery indignation ; and T have noticed on Sunday many a glance darted at the pew of the Tibbets's, enough even to melt down (i.e silver buttons on old Keady-Money's jacket, TRAVELLING. A citizen, for recreation sake, To see the countiy would a journey- take Some dozen mile, or very little more ; Taking his leave wltli friends two months before With drinking healths, and shaking by the hand, As he had travul'd to some new-found land. Dooioa MzBRLE Man, 1609. I HE Squire has lately received another shock in the saddle, and been almost unseated by his marplot neighbor, the indefatigable Mr. Faddy, who rides his jog-trot hobby with equal zeal ; and is so bent upon im- proving and reforming the neighborhood, that the Squire thinks, in a little while, it will be scarce worth living in. The enormity that has thus dis- composed my worthy host is an attempt of the manufacturer to have a line of coaches established, that shall diverge from the old route, and pass through the neighboring village. I believe I have mentioned that the Hall is situated in a retired part of the country, at a dis- tance from any great coach-road ; insomuch that the arrival of a traveller is apt to make every one look out of the window, and to cause some talk among the ale-drinkers at the little inn. I was at a loss, therefore, to account for the Squire's indignation at a measure apparently fraught with 388 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. convenience and advantage, until I found that the conveniences of travelling were among his great- est grievances. In fact, he rails against stage-coaches, post chaises, and turnpike roads, as serious causes of the corruption of English rural manners. They have given facilities, he says, to every humdrum citizen to trundle his family about the kingdom, and have sent the follies and fashions of town whirling, in coach-loads, to the remotest parts of the island. The whole country, he says, is trav- ersed by these flying cargoes ; every by-road is explored by enterprising tourists from Cheapside and the Poultry, and every gentleman's park imd lawns invaded by cockney sketchers of both sexes, with portable chairs and portfolios for drawing. He laments over this as destroying the charm of privacy, and interrupting the quiet of country life ; but more especially as affecting the simplic- ity of the peasantry, and filling their heads with half-city notions. A great coach-inn, he says, is enough to ruin the manners of a whole village. It creates a horde of sots and idlers ; makes gapers and gazers and newsmongers of the common peo- ple, and knowing jockeys of the country bump- kins, p The Squire has something of the old feudal feeling. He looks back with regret to the " good old times," when journeys were only made on horseback, and the extraordinary difficulties of travelling, owing to bad roads, bad accommodations, and highway robbers, seemed to separate each village and hamlet from the rest of the worlfi TJiA VELLING. 389 The ]ord of tlie manor was then a kind of mon- arch in the little realm around him. He held his court in his paternal hall, and was looked up to with almost as much loyalty and deference as the king himself. Every neighborhood was u little world within itself, having its local msuicers and customs, its local history and local opinions. The inhabitants were fonder of their homes, and thought less of wandering. It was looked upon as an expedition to travel out of sight of the par- ish steeple ; and a man that had been to London was a village oracle for the rest of lii3 life. What a difference between the mode of trav- elling in those days and at present ! At that time, when a gentleman went on a distant visit, he saUied forth like a knight-errant on an enter- prise, and every family excursion was a pageant. How splendid and fanciful must one of those do- mestic cavalcades have been, where the beautiful dames were mounted on palfreys magnificently ca- parisoned, with embroidered harness, all tinkling with sUver bells ; attended by cavaliers richly attired on prancing steeds, and followed by pages and serving-men, as we see them represented in old tapestry. The gentry, as they travelled about in those days, were like moving pictures. They delighted the eyes and awakened the admiration of the common people, and passed before them like superior beings ; and indeed they were so ; there was a hardy and healthful exercise connected with this equestrian style, that made them gener- ous and noble. In his fondness for the old style of travelling, 390 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. the Squire makes most of his journeys ou horse- back, though he laments the modern deficiency of incident on the road, from the want of fellow- wayfarers, and the rapidity with which every one else is whirled along in coaches and post-chaises. In the " good old times," on the contrary, a cava- lier jogged on through bog and mire, from town to town, and hamlet to hamlet, conversing with friars and franklens, and all other chance compan- ions of the road ; beguiling the way with trav- ellers' tales, which then vvere truly wonderful, for everything beyond one's neighborhood was full of marvel and romance ; stopping at night at some " hostel," where the bush over the door proclaimed good wine, or a pretty hostess made bad wine palatable ; meeting at supper with travellers, or listening to the song or merry story of the host, who was generally a boon companion, and presided at his own board ; for, according to old Tusser's " Inn- holder's Poesie,'' " At meales my Mend who vitleth here And sitteth with his host, Shall both be sure of better cheere, And 'scape with lesser cost." The Squire is fond, too, of stopping at those inns which may be met with, here and there, in ancient houses of wood and plaster, or calimanco houses, as they are called by antiquaries, with deep porches, diamond-paned bow-windows, pan- elled rooms, and great fireplaces. He will prefer them to more spacious and modern inns, and would cheerfully put up with bad cheer and bad accommodations in the gratification of his humor. TRAVELLING. 391 rhey give him, he says, the feeling of old times_ insomuch that he almost expects, in the dusk of the evening, to see some party of weary travellers ride up to the door, with plumes and mantles, trunk-Lose, wide boots, and long rapiers. The good Squire's remarks brought to mind a visit I once paid to the Tabard Inn, famous for being the place of assemblage whence Chaucer's pilgrims set forth for Canterbury. It is in the borough of Southwark, not far from London Bridge, and bears, at present, the name of " The Talbot." It has sadly declined in dignity since the days of Chaucer, being a mere rendezvous and packing-place of the gi-eat wagons that travel into Kent. The court-yard, which was anciently the mustering - place of the pilgrims previous to their departure, was now lumbered with huge wagons. Crates, boxes, hampers, and baskets, containing the good things of town and country, were piled about them ; while, among the straw and litter, the motherly hens scratched and clucked, with their hungry broods at their heels. Instead of Chaucer's motley and splendid throng, I only saw a group of wagoners and stable-boys enjoy- ing a circulating pot of ale ; while a long-bodied dog sat by, with head on one side, ear cocked up, and wistful gaze, as if waiting for his turn at the tankard. Notwithstanding this grievous declension, how- ever, I was gratified at perceiving that the pres- ent occupants were not unconscious of the poeti- cal renown of their mansion. An inscription »ver the gateway proclaimed it to be the inn 392 BRACEBRWGE HALL. where Chaucer's pilgrims slept on the night pru- vious to their departure, and at the bottom of tha yard was a magnificent sign, representing them in the act of sallying forth. I was pleased, too, at noticing, that though the present inn was com- paratively modern, the form of the old inn was preserved. There were galleries round the yard, as in old times, on which opened the chambers of the guests. To these ancient inns have antiqua- ries ascribed the present forms of our theatres. Plays were originally acted in the inn-yards. The guests lolled over the gallefies, which answered to our modern dress-circle ; the critical raob clus- tered in the yard instead of the pit; and the groups gazing from the garret-windows were no bad representatives of the gods of the shilling gallery. When, therefore, the drama grew im- portant enough to have a house of its own, the architects took a hint for its constru'»tion from the yard of the ancient " hostel." I was so well pleased at finding these remem- brances of Chaucer and his poem, that I. ordered my dinner in the little parlor of the Talbot. Whilst it was preparing, I sat at the window, musmg, and gazing into the court-yard, and con- uiring up recollections of the scenes depicted in such lively colors by the poet, until, by degrees, boxes, bales, and hampers, boys, wagoners, and dogs faded from sight, and my fancy peopled the place with the motley throng of Canterbury pilgrims. The galleries once more swarmed with idle gazers, in the rich dresses of Chaucer's time, and the whole cavalcade seemed to pass before TRAVELLING. 393 me. There was the stately knight on sober steed, who had ridden in Christendom and heathenesse, and had " foughten for our faith at Tramissene " ; — and his son, the young squire, a lover, and a lusty bachelor, with curled locks and gay em- broidery ; a bold rider, a dancer, and a writer of verses, singing and fluting all day long, and " fresh as the month of May " ; — and his " knot- headed " yeoman ; a bold forester, in green, with horn, and baudrick, and dagger ; a mighty bow in hand, and a sheaf of peacock arrows shining beneath his belt ; — and the coy, smiling, simple nun, with her gray eyes, her small red mouth and fair forehead, her dainty person clad in featly cloak and "'ypinched wimple," her coral beads about her arm, her golden brooch with a love- motto, and her pretty oath " by Saint Eloy " ; — and the merchant, solemn • in speech and high on horse, with forked beard and " Flaundrish bever hat " ; — and the lusty monk, " full fat and in good point," with berry-brown palfrey, his hood fastened with geld pin, wrought with a love-knot his bald head shining like glass, and his face glis tening as though it had been anointed ; — and the lean, logical, sententious clerke of Oxenforde, upon his half-starved, scholarlike horse ; — ami the bowsing sompnour, with fiery-cherub face, all knobbed with pimples, an eater of garlic and onions, and drinker of " strong wine, red as blood," that carried a cake for a buckler, and babbled Latin in his cups; of whose brimstone risage " children were sore aferd " ; — and the Duxom wife of Bath, the widow of five husbands 394 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. upon her ambling nag, with her hat broad as a buckler, her red stockings and sharp spurs ; — and the slender, choleric reeve of Norfolk, be- striding his good gray stot ; with close-shaven beard, his hair cropped round his ears ; long, lean calfless legs and a rusty blade by his side ; — and the jolly Limitour, with lisping tongue and twinkling eye, well beloved of franklens and housewives, a great promoter of marriages among young women, known at the taverns in every town and by every " hosteler and gay tapstere." In short, before I was roused from my reverie by the less poetical, but more substantial apparition of a smoking beefsteak, I had seen the whole caval- cade issue forth from the hostel-gate, with the brawny, double-jointed, red-haired miller, playing the bagpipes before them, and the ancient host of the Tabard giving them his farewell God-send to Canterbury. When 1 told the Squire of the existence of this legitimate descendant of the ancient Tabard Inn, his eyes absolutely glistened mth delight. He determined to hunt it up the very first time he visited London, and to eat a dinner there, and drink a cup of mine host's best wine, in memory of old Chaucer. The general, who happened to be present, immediately begged to be of the party, for he liked to encourage these long-(|stablished houses, as they are apt to have choice old wines, POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. PareweU rewards and fairies, Good housewives now may say ; For now fbwle sluts in dairies Do fare as well as they : And though they sweepe their hearths no lesse Than maids were wont to doe, Yet who of late for cleanlinesse Finds sixpence in her shooe ? Bishop Gobbet. HAVE mentioned the Squire's fondness for the marvellous, and his predilectior for legends and romances. His librarj contains j, curious collection of old works of this kind, wli^ch bear evident marks of having been much reaJ. In his great love for all that is an- tiquated, ie cherishes popular superstitions, and listens, wiih very grave attention, to every tale, however s.range ; so that, through his countenance, the housbiiold, and indeed the whole neighbor- hood, is -vvfiU stocked with wonderful stories ; and if ever a Joubt is expressed of any one of them, the nanntor will generally observe, that " the Squire thinks there 's something in it." The Btdl of course comes in for its share, the common ^leople having always a propensity to furnish a great superannuated building of the POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS 397 after they have been circulating for years among the peasantry, and undergoing rustic additions and amendments. Among these may doubtless be numbered that of the crusader's ghost, which I have mentioned in the account of my Christ- mas visit; and another about the hard-riding squire of yore, the family Nimrod, who is some- times heard on stormy winter nights, galloping, with hound and horn, over a wild moor a few miles distant from the Hall. This I apprehend to have had its origin in the famous story of the wild himtsman, the favorite goblin in German tales ; though, by the by, as I was talking on the subject with Master Simon, the other evening in the dark avenue, he hinted that he had himself once or twice heard odd sounds at night, very like a pack of hounds in cry ; and that once, as he was returning rather late from a hunting-dia- ner, he had seen a strange figure galloping along this same moor ; but as he was riding rather fast at the time, and in a hurry to get home, he did not stop to ascertain what it was. Popular superstitions are fast fading away in England, owing to the general diffusion of luiowl- edge, and the bustling intercourse kept up Ihroaghout the country ; — stiU they have their strongholds and lingering places, and a retired neighborhood like this is apt to be one of them. The parson tells me that he meets with many tra- ditional beliefs and notions among the common people, which he has been able to draw from them in the course of familiar conversation, though .they are rather shy of avowing them to 398 BRACEBRIDGE HALL strangers, and particularly to " the gentry '' who are apt to laugh at them. He says there are several of his old parishioners who rememher when the village had its bar-guest, or bar-ghost ; a spirit supposed to belong to a town or village, and to predict any impending misfortune by mid- night shrieks and wailings. The last time it was heard was just before the death of Mr Brace- bridge's father, who was much beloved through- out the neighborhood ; though there are not wanting some obstinate unbelievers, who insisted that it was nothing but the howling of a watch- dog. I have been greatly delighted, however, at meeting with some traces of my old favorite, ^bin Goodfellow, though under a different ap- pellation from any of those by which I have heretofore heard him called. The parson assures me that many of the peasantry believe in house- hold goblins, called Dobbies, which live about paHTcular farms and houses, in the same way that Eobin Groodfellow did of old. Sometimes they haunt the barns and out-houses, and now and then will assist the farmer wonderfully, by getting in all his hay or corn in a single night. In general, however, they prefer to live within doors, and are fond of keeping about the great hearths, and basking at night, after the family have gone to bed, by the glowing embers. When put in par- ticular good humor by the warmth of their lodg- ings, and the tidmess of the housemaids, they will overcome their natural laziness, and do a vast deal of household work before morning ; churn- ing the cream, brewing the beer, or spinning all POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 399 Ihe good dame's flax. All this is precisely the coaduct of Robin Goodfellow, described so charm- ingly by Milton : " Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn lus cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of mom, His shadowy flail had threshed the com That ten day laborers could not end ; Then lays him down the lubber-fiend. And stretch'd out all the chimney's length. Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-fall, out of door he flings Ere the first cock his matin rings." But beside these household Dobbies, there are others of a more gloomy and unsocial nature, which keep about lonely bams, at a distance from any dwelling-house, or about ruins and old bridges. These are fuU of mischievous, and often malig- nant tricks, and are fond of playing pranks upon benighted travellers. There is a story, among the old people, of one which haunted a ruined mill, just by a bridge that crosses a small stream ;. how that late one night, as a traveller was pass-) ing on horseback, the goblin jumped up behind) him, and grasped him so close round the body that he had no power to help himself, but expected td be squeezed to death ; luckily his heels were loose) with which he plied the sides of his steed, and was carried, with the wonderful instinct of a trav- eller's horse, straight to the village inn. Had the inn been at any greater distance, there is no doubt but he would have been strangled to death ; as it was, the good people were a long time in bring- ing him to his senses, and it was remarked thai 400 BRACEBRWGE HALL. the first sign he showed of returning conscious ness, was to call for a bottom of brandy. These mischievous Dobbies bear much resem- blance in their natures and habits to the sprites which Hey wood, in his " Hierarchie," calls pugs oi hobgoblins : " Their dwellings be In corners of old houses least ftequeuted, Or beneath stacks of wood, and these convented, Make fearful noise in butteries and in dairies ; Robin Goodfellow some, some call them fairies. In solitarie rooms these uprores keep, And beate at doores to wake men from their slepe, Seeming to force lookes, be they nere so strong. And keeping Chrisfmasse gambols all night long. Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes, and kettles They will msJie dance about the shelves and settles, As if about the kitchen tost and cast. Yet in the motmng nothing found misplac't. Others such houses to their use have fitted In which base murthers have been once committed. Some have their fearful habitations taken In desolate houses, ruin'd and forsaken." in the account of our unfortunate hawking ex- pea ition, I mentioned an instance of one of these spntes supposed to haunt the ruined grgagg that stands in a lonely meadow, and has a remarkable echo. The parson informs me, also, of a belief once very prevalent, that a household Dobbie kept about the old farmhouse of th e Tibbetse s. It has long been traditional, he says, that one-ol these good-natured goblins is attaches' to the Tib- bets family, and came with them when they moved into this part of the country ; for it is one of the pecuh'arities of these household sprites POPULAR SUPERSTlTIOyS. 401 that they attach themselves to the fortunes of certain families, and follow them in all their re- movals. - There is a large old-fashioned fireplace in the farmhouse, which affords fine quarters for a chim- ney-comer sprite that likes to lie warm, — espe- cially as Ready-Money Jack keeps up rousing fires ii: the winter time. The old people of the village recollect many stories about this goblin, current in their young days. It was thought to have brought good luck to the house, and to be the reason why the Tibbetses were always beforehand in the world ; and why their farm was always in better order, their hay got in sooner, and their com better stacked, than that of their neighbo2-s. The present Mrs. Tibbets, at the time of he" courtship, had a number of these stories told her by the country gossips ; and when mamed, was a little fearfiil about living in a house where such a hobgoblin was said to haunt. Jack, however, who has always treated this story with great contempt, assured her that there was no spirit kept about his house that he could not at any time lay in the Bed Sea with one flourish of his cudgel. Still his wife has never got completely over her notions on the subject ; but has a horse-shoe nailed on the threshold, and keeps a branch of rauntry, or mountain-ash, with its red berries, suspended from one of the great beams in the parlor, — a sure protection fi"om all evil spirits. These stories, as I before observed, are fsist fedmg away, and in another generation or two will probably be completely forgotten. There is 402 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 5oraetbing, however, about these rural supersti tions extremely pleasing to the imagination ; par- ticularly those which relate to the good-humored race of household demons, and indeed to the whole fairy mythology. The English have given an inexpressible charm to these superstitions, hy the manner in which they have associated tliem with whatever is most homefelt and delightful in nature. I do not know a more fascinating race of beings than these little fabled people who haunted the southern sides of hills and mountains; lurked in flowers and about fountain-heads ; glid- ed through keyholes into ancient halls ; watched over farmhouses and dairies ; danced on the greeu by summer moonlight, and on the kitchen heartL in winter. They ac cord with the nature of E ng^ lish housekfifiping^and English scenery. 1 al=^ ways have them in mind wEeiTT see a fine ol(i English mansion, with its wide hall and spacious kitchen ; or a venerable farmhouse, in which there is so much fireside comfort and good house- wifery. There was som fil hing of nati onal- char- acte^r in theirJa£tLQ£jjrder_and^eanliness ; in the vigilance with which they watched over the ecou' omy of the kitchen, and the functions of the ser- vants ; munificently rewarding, with silver sixpenco in shoe, the tidy housemaid, but venting their dire- ful wrath, in midnight bobs and pinches, upon the eluttish dairymaid. I think I can trace the good effects of this ancient fairy sway over household concerns in the care that prevails to the presen/ day among English housemaids to put theii kitchens in order before they go to bed. POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 403 I have said that these fairy superstitions accord with the nature of English scenery. They suij^ these small landscapes, which are divided by hon- eysuckle hedges into sheltered fields and mead- ows ; where the grass is mingled with daisies, buttercups, and hare-beUs. "When I first found myself among English scenery, I was continually reminded of the sweet pastoral images which dis- tinguish their fairy mythology ; and when for the first time a circle in the grass was pointed out to me as one of the rings where they were formerly supposed to have held their moonlight revels, iv seemed for a moment as if fairy-land were no longer a fable. Brown, in his " Britannia's Pasto- rals," gives a picture of the kind of scenery to which I allude : " A pleasant mead Where fairies often did their measures tread; Which in the meadows make such circles green As if with garlands it had crowned been. Within one of these rounds wasT;o be seen A hillock rise, where 6ft the fairy queen At twilight sat." And there is another picture of the same, iu a poem ascribed to Ben Jonson : " By wells and rills in meadows green. We nightly dance our hey-dey guise. And to our fairy king and queen We chant our moonlight minstrelsies." Indeed, it seems to me, that the older British poets, with that true feeling for. nature which dis- tinguishes them, have closely adhered to the sim- ple and ^imiliar imagery which they found in 404 BBACEBRlDGi: HALL. these popular superstitions ; and have thus given to their fairy mythology those continual allusions to the farmhouse and the dairy, the green meadow and the fountain-head, which fill our minds with the delightful associations of rural life. It is cu - rious to observe ' how the most bea utiful fictions have their origin among the rude and ignorant. There is an indescribable charm about the illusions with which chimerical ignorance once clothed every subject. The se twilight views of nature are often more captivaEirjg than any which are re- vealed by the rays of enlightened philosophy. The most accomplished and poetical minds, therefore, have been fain to search back into the accidental conceptions of what are termed barbarous ages, and to draw from them their finest imagery and machinery. If we look through our most admired poets, we shall find that their minds have been impregnated by these popular fancies, and that those have succeeded best who have adhered clos- est to the simplicity of their rustic originals. Such is the case with Shakspeare in his " Midsummer- Night's Dream," which so minutely describes the employments and amusements of fairies, and em- bodies all the notions concerning them which were current among the vulgar. It is thus that poetry in England has echoed back every rustic note, softened into perfect melody ; it is this that lias spread its charms over every-day life, displac- bg nothing ; taking things as it found them ; but tinting them up with its own magical hues, until every green hill, and fountain-head, every fresh meadow, nay, every humble flower, is full of song and story. POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 406 I am dwelling too long, perhaps, upon a thread- bare subject ; yet it brings up with it a thousand delicious recdlcrtioiin uf ihuiiv happy days of childhood, when the imperfect knowledge I have since obtained had not yet dawned upon my mind, and when a fairy tale was true history to me. I have often been so transported by the pleasure of these recollections, as almost to wish I had been born in the days when the fictions of poetry were believed. Even now I cannot look upon those fanciful creations of ignoraice and credulity, with- out aHkirking regret tliaf they have all passed away. -Tbe""experience of my early days tells me, they were sources of exquisite delight ; and I sometimes question whether the naturalist who can dissect the flowers of the field receives half the pleasure from contemplating them that he did who considered them the abode of elves and fairies. I feel convinced that the true interests and solid happiness of man are promoted by the " advancement of truth ; yet I cannot but mourn over the pleasant errors which it has trampled down in its progress. The fauns and sylphs, the household sprites, the moonlight revel, Oberon, Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of fairy-land, all vanish before the Eght of true philosophy ; but") who does not sometimes turn with distaste from thg ^ cold r e alitie s of morning, and seek to recall ihe sweet visions of tBe night ? ' THE CULPRIT. From fire, &om water, and all things amiss, Deliver the house of an honest Justice. The Widow. I HE serenity of the Hall has been sud- denly interrupted by a very important occurrence. In the course of this morn- ing a poss^ of villagers was seen trooping up the avenue, with boys shouting in advance. As it drew near, we perceived Ready-Money Jack Tib- bets striding along, wielding his cudgel in one. hand, and with the other grasping the collar of a tall fellow, whom, on still nearer approach, we recognized for the redoubtable gypsy hero. Star- light Tom. He was now, however, completely cowed and crestfallen, and his courage seemed to have quailed in the iron gripe of the lion-hearted Jack. The whole gang of gypsy women and children came draggling in the rear ; some in tears, others making a violent clamor about the ears of old Ready-Money, who, however, trudged on in silence with his prey, heeding their abuse as little as a hawk that has pounced upon a barn-door hero regards the outcries and cacklings of his whole feathered seraglio. THE CULPRIT. 407 He had passed through the village on his way to the Hall, and of course had made a great sen sation in that most excitable place, where every event is a matter of gaze and gossip. The report flew like wildfire, that Starlight Tom was in cus- tody. The ale-drinkers forthwith abandoned the tap-room ; Slingsby's school broke loose, and mas- ter and boys swelled the tide that came rolling at the heels of old Ready-Money and his captive. The uproar increased as they approached the Hall ; it aroused the whole garrison of dogs, and the crew of hangers-on. The great mastiff barked from the dog-house ; the staghound and the grey- hound, and the spaniel, issued barking from the haU-door, and my Lady Lillycraft's little dogs ramped and barked from the parlor-window. I remarked, however, that the gj^sy dogs made no reply to aU these menaces and insults, but crept close to the gang, looking round with a guilty, poaching air, and now and then glancing up a dubious eye to their owners ; which shows that the moral dignity, even of dogs, may be ruined by bad company ! When the throng reached the front of the house they were brought to a halt by a kind of advanced guard, composed of old Christy, the gamekeeper, and two or three servants of the house, who had been brought out by the noise. The common herd of the village fell back with respect; the boys were driven back by Christy and his com- peers ; while Ready-Money Jack maintained his ground and his hold of the prisoner, and was sur- "•ounded by the tailor, the schoolmaster, and sev- 408 BRACEBRWGE HALL. eral other dignitaxies of the village, and by the clamorous brood of gypsies, who were neither to be silenced nor intimidated. By this time the whole household were brought to the doors and windows, and the Squire to the portal. An audience was demanded by Eeady- Money Jack, who had detected the priioner in the very act of sheep-stealing on his domains, and had borne him off to be examined before the Squire, who was in the commission of the peace. A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the servants' hall, a large chamber, with a stone floor, and a long table in the centre, at one end of which, just under an enormous clock, was placed the Squire's chair of justice, while Master Simon took his place at the table as clerk of the court. An attempt had been made by old Christy to keep out the gypsy gang, but in vain, and they, with the village worthies, and the household, half filled the hall. The old housekeeper and the butler were in a panic at this dangerous irruption. They hurried away all the valuable things and portable articles that were at hand, and even kept a dragon watch on the gypsies, lest they should carry ofif the house-clock, or the deal table. Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor the game- keeper, acted as constables to guard the prisoner, triumphing in having at last got this terrible of- fender in their clutches. Indeed, I am inclined to think the old man bore some peevish recollec- tion of having been handled rather roughly by the gypsy in the chance - medley affair of May day. THE CULPRIT. 409 Silence was now commanded by Master Simon , but it was difficult to be enforced in such a mot- ley assemblage. There was a continual snarling and yelping of dogs, and, as fast as it was quelled in one corner, it broke out in another. The poor gypsy curs, who, like errant thieves, could not hold up their heads in an honest house, wert worried and insulted by the gentlemen dpgs of the establishment, without offering to make resist- ance ; the very curs of my Lady Lillycraft bullied them with impunity. The examination was conducted with great mildness and indulgence by the Squire, partly from the kindness of his nature, and partly, I sus- pect, because his heart yearned towards the cul- prit, who had found great favor in his eyes, as I have already observed, from the skill he had at various times displayed in archery, morris-dancing, and other obsolete accomplishments. Proofs, how- ever, were too strong. Ready-Money Jack told his story in a straightforward independent way, nothing daunted by the presence in which he found himself. He had suffered from various dep- redations on his sheepfold and poultry-yard, and had at length kept watch, and caught the delin- quent in the very act of making off with a sheep on his shoulders. Tibbets was repeatedly interrupted, in the course of his testimony, by the culprit's mother, a furious old beldame, with an insufferable tongue, and who, in fact, was several times kept, with some diffi- eulty, from flying at him tooth and nail. The wife, too, of the prisoner, whom I am told he does 410 BRACEBRWGE HALL. not beat above half a dozen times a week, com pletely interested Lady Lillycraft in lier husband's behalf, by her tears and supplications ; and sev- eral of the other gypsy women were awakening Btrong sympathy among the young girls and maid- servants in the background. The pretty black- eyed gypsy girl, whom I have mentioned on a former, occasion as the sibyl that read the fortunes of the general, endeavored to wheedle that doughty warrior into their interests, and even made some approaches to her old acquaintance, Master Simon ; but was repelled by the latter with all the dig- nity of office, having assumed a look of gravity and importance suitable to the occasion. I was a little surprised, at first, to find honest Slingsby, the schoolmaster, rather opposed to his old crony Tibbets, and coming forward as a kind of advocate for the accused. It seems that he had taken compassion on the forlorn fortunes of Starlight Tom, and had been trying his eloquence in his favor the whole way from the village, but without effect. During the examination of Ready- Money Jack, Slingsby had stood like "dejected pity at his side," seeking every now and then, by a soft word, to soothe any exacerbation of his ire, or to qualify any harsh expression. He now ven- tured to make a few observations to the Squire in palliation of the delinquent's offence ; but poor Slingsby spoke more from the heart than the head, and was evidently actuated merely by a general sympathy for every poor devil in trouble, and a liberal toleration for all kinds of vagabond ex- istences. THE CULPRIT. 41] The ladies, too, large and small, with the kind- heartedness of the sex, were zealous on the side of mercy, and interceded strenuously with the Squire ; insomuch that the prisoner, finding him- self unexpectedly surrounded by active friends, once more reared his crest, and seemed disposed for a time to put on the air of injured innocence. The Squire, however, with all his benevolence of heart, and his lurking weakness towards the prisoner, was too conscientious to swerve fi-om the strict path of justice. Abundant concurring tes- timony made the proof of gmlt incontrovertible, and Starlight Tom's mittimus was made out ac- cordingly. The sympathy of the ladies was now greatei than ever ; they even made some attempts to mollify the ire of Ready-Money Jack ; but that sturdy potentate had been too much incensed by the repeated incursions into his territories by the predatory band of Starlight Tom, and he was re- solved, he said, to drive the " varment reptiles " out of the neighborhood. To avoid all further importunities, as soon as the mittimus was made out, he girded up his loins, and strode back to his seat of empire, accompanied by his interceding fiiend, Slingsby, and followed by a detachment of the gypsy gang, who hung on his rear, assail- ing him with mingled prayers and execrations. The question now was, how to dispose of the prisoner ; a matter of great moment in this peace- ful establishment, where so formidable a charac- ter as Starlight Tom was like a hawk entrapped in a dove-cote. As the hubbub and examiua- 412 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. tion had occupied a considerable time, it was too late in the day to send him to the county prison, and that of the village was sadly out of repair, from long want of occupation. Old Christy, who. took great interest in the affair, proposed that the culprit should be committed for the night to an upper loft of a kind of tower in one of the out-houses, where he and the gamekeeper would mount guard. After much deliberation, this meas- ure was adopted; the premises in question were examined and made secure, and Christy and his trusty ally, the one armed with a fowHng-piece, the other with an ancient blunderbuss, turned out as sentries to keep watch over this donjon-keep. Such is the momentous affair that has just taken place, and it is an event of too great mo- ment in this quiet little world not to turn it com- pletely topsy-turvy. Labor is at a stand. The house has been a scene of confusion the whole evening. It has been beleaguered by gypsy wom- en, with their children on their backs, waiUng and lamenting ; while the old virago of a mother has cruised up and down the lawn in front, shak- ing her head and muttering to herself, or now and then breaking into a paroxysm of rage, brandish- ing her fist at the Hall, and denouncing ill luck upon E«ady-Money Jack, and even upon the Squire himself. Lady Lillycraft has given repeated audiences to the culprit's weeping wife, at the Hall-door; and the servant-maids have stolen out to confer with the gypsy women under the trees. As to the little ladies of the famUy, they are all out- TEE CULPRIT. 413 rageous at Ready-Money Jack, whom they look upon in the light of a tyrannical giant of fairy tale. Phoebe WUkins, contrary to her usual nature, is the only one pitiless in the aflfair. She thinks Mr. Tibbets quite in the right ; and thinks the gypsies deserve to be punished severely for med- dling with the sheep of the Tibbetses. In the mean time the females of the family evinced all the provident kindness of the sex, ever ready to soothe and succor the distressed, right or wrong. Lady Lillycraft has had a mattress taken to the out-house, and comforts and delicacies of all kinds have been taken to the prisoner ; even the little girls have sent their cakes ' and sweetmeats ; so that, I '11 warrant, the vagabond has never fared so well in his life before. Old Christy, it is true, looks upon everything with a wary eye ; struts about with his blunderbuss with the air of a vet- eran campaigner, and will hardly allow himself to be spoken to. The gypsy women dare not come within gunshot, and every tatterdemalion of a boy has been frightened from the park. The old fel- low is determined to lodge Starlight Tom in prison witL his own hands ; and hopes, he says, to see one of the poaching crew made an ex- ample of. I doubt, after all, whether the worthy Squire is not the greatest sufferer in the whole affair. His honorable sense of duty obliges him to be rigid, but the overflowing' kindness of his nature makes this a grievous trial to him. He is not accustomed to have such demands upon his justice in his truly patriarchal domain ; 414 BRACEBRWGE HALL. and it iTOunds his benevolent spirit, that, while prosperity and happiness are flowing in thus boun« teously upon him, he should have to inflict mis- ery upon a fellow-being. He has been troubled and cast down the whole evening ; took leave of the family, on going to bed, with a sigh, instead of his usual hearty and affectionate tone ; and will, in all probability, have a far more sleepless night than his prisoner. In- deed, this unlucky affair has cast a damp upon the whole household, as there appears to be a universal opinion that the unlucky culprit will come to the gallows. Morning. — The clouds of last evening are all blown over. A load has been taken from the Squire's heart, and every face is once more in smiles. The gamekeeper made his appearance at an early hour, completely shamefaced and crest- fallen. Starlight Tom had made his escape in the night ; how he had got out of the loft, no one could tell : the DevU, they think, must have as- sisted him. Old Christy was so mortified that he would hot show his face, but had shut himself up in his stronghold at the dog-kennel, and would not be spoken with. What has particularly re- lieved the Squire is, that there is very little like lihood of the culprit's being retaken, having gone off on one of the old gentleman's best huntert. FAMILY MISFORTUNES. The night has been unrnly : where we lay, The chimneys were blown down. Macbeth |E have for a day or two past had a flaw of unruly weather, which has intruded itself into this fair and flowery month, and for a time quite marred the beauty of the landscape. Last night the storm attained its cri- sis ; the rain beat in torrents against the case- ments, and the wind piped and blustered about the old Hall with quite a wintry vehemence. The morning, however, dawned clear and serene ; the face of the heavens seemed as if newly washed. and the sun shone with a brightness undimmed by a single vapor. Nothing overhead gave traces of the recent storm ; but on looking from my window I beheld sad ravage among the shrubs and flowers ; the garden-walks had foimed the channels for little torrents ; trees were lopped of their branches, and a small silver stream which wound through the park, and ran at the bottom of the lawn, had swelled into a turbid, yellow sheet of water. In an establishment like this, where the man- sion is vast, ancient, and somewhat afflicted with 416 BBACEBETDGE HALL. the infirmities of age, and where there are nu- merous and extensive dependencies, a storm is an event of a very grave nature, and brings in its train a multiplicity of cares and disasters. While the Squire was taking his breakfast in the great hall, he was continually interrupted by bearers of ill tidings from some part or other of his domains ; he appeared to nie like the com- mander of a besieged city, after some grand as- sault, receiving at his headquarters reports of damages sustained in the various quarters of the place. At one time the housekeeper brought him intelligence of a chimney blown down, and a des- perate leak sprung in the roof over the picture- gallery, which threatened to obliterate a whole generation of his ancestors. Then the steward came in with a doleful story of the mischief done in the woodlands ; while the gamekeeper be- moaned the loss of one of his finest bucks, whose bloated carcass was seen floating along the swol- len current of the river. When the Squire issued forth, he was accosted, before the door, by the old, paralytic gardener, with a face full of trouble, reporting, as I sup- posed, the devastation of his flower-beds, and the destruction of his wall-fruit. I remarked, how- ever, that his intelligence caused a peculiar ex- pression of concern not only with the Squire and Master Simon, but with the fair Julia and Lady LUlycraft, who happened to be present. From a few words which reached my ear, I found there was some tale of domestic calamity in the case, and that some unfortunate family had been ren- Ji'AMJLY MISFORTUNES. 41' dered houseless by the storm. Many ejaculations of pity broke from the ladies ; I heard the ex- pressions of " poor helpless beings," and " unfortu nate little creatures," several times repeated ; t« which the old gardener replied by very melan. elioly shakes of the head. I felt so interested, that I could not help call- ing to the gardener, as he was retiring, and ask- ing what unfortunate family it was that had suf- fered so severely. The old man touched his hat, and gazed at me for an instant, as if hardly com- prehending my question. " Family ! " replied he ■' there be no family in the case, your honor ; but nere have been sad mischief done in the rook- ery ! " I had noticed the day before that the high and gusty winds had occasioned great disquiet among these airy householders ; their nests being all filled with young, who were in danger of being tilted out of their tree-rocked cradles. Indeed, the old birds themselves seemed to have hard work to maintain a foothold ; some kept hovering and cawing in the air; or if they ventured to alight, had to hold fast, flap their wings, and spread their tails, and thus remain see-sawing on the topmost twigs. In the course of the night, however, an awful calamity had taken place in this most sage and politic community. There was a great tree, the tallest in the grove, which seemed to have been the kind of court -end of the metropolis, and crowded with the residences of those whom Mas- ter Simon considers the nobility and gentry. A 27 418 BRACEBRIDQE HALL. decayed limb of this tree had given way with the violence of the storm, and came down with all its air-castles. One should be well aware of the humors of the good Squire and his household, to undei-stand the general concern expressed at this disaster. It was quite a public calamity in this rural empire, and all seemed to feel for the poor rooks as for fellow-citizens in distress. The ground had been strewed with the callow young, which were now cherished in the aprons and bosoms of the maid-servants, and the little ladies of the family. I was pleased with this touch of nature, this feminine sympathy in the sufferings of the offspring, and the maternal anxi- ety of the parent birds. It was interesting, too, to witness the general agitation and distress prevalent throughout the feathered community ; the common cause that was made of it ; and the incessant hovering, and flut- tering, and lamenting, in the whole rookery. There is a chord of sympathy that runs through the whole feathered race as to any misfortunes of the young ; and the cries of a wounded bird in the breeding season will throw a whole grove in a flutter and an alarm. Indeed, why should I confine- it to the feathered tribe? Nature has im- planted an exquisite sympathy oh this subject, which extends through all her works. It is an invariable attribute of the female heart to melt at the cry of early helplessness, and to take an instinctive interest in the distresses of the parent luid its young. On the present occasion the la FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 419 dies of the family were full of pity and commis eration; aiid I shall never forget the look that Lady Lillycraft gave the general, on his observ- ing that the young birds would make an excel lent curry, or an especial good rook-pie. LOVERS' TROUBLES. The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree. Sing all a green willow ; Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, Sing willow, willow, willow : Sing all a green willow must be my garland. Old Song |HE fair Julia having nearly recovered from the effects of her hawking disaster, it begins to be thought high time to ap- point a day for the wedding. As every domestic event in a venerable and aristocratic family con- nection like this is a matter of moment, the fixing upon this important day has, of course, given rise to much conference and debate. Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately sprung up, originating in the peculiar humors prev- alent at the Hall. Thus, I have overheard a very solemn consultation between Lady Lillycraft, the parson, and Master Simon, as to whether the marriage ought not to be postponed until the coming month. With all the charms of the flowery month of May, there is, I find, an ancient prejudice against it as a marrying month. An old proverb says, " To wed in May is to wed poverty." Now, as Lady Lillycraft is very much given to believe in LOVERS' TROUBLES. 421 lucky and unlucky times and seasons, and indeed is very superstitious on all points relating to the tender passion, this old proverb has taken great hold upon her mind. She recollects two or three instances in her own knowledge of matches that took place in this month, and proved very unfor- tunate. Indeed, an own cousin of hers, who married on a May-day, lost her husband by a fall fk)m his horse, after they had lived happily to- gether for twenty tyears. The parson appeared to give great weight to her ladyship's objections, and acknowledged the existence of a prejudice of the kind, not merely confined to modem times, but prevalent likewise among the ancients. In confirmation of this he quoted a passage from Ovid, which had a great effect on Lady Lillycraft, being given in a lan- guage which she did not understand. Even Mas- ter Simon was staggered by it ; for he listened with a puzzled air ; and then, shaking his head, sagaciously observed, that Ovid was certainly a very wise man. From this sage conference I likewise gathered several other important pieces of information rel- ative to weddings ; such as that, if two were cele- brated in the same church, on the same "lay, the first would be happy, the second untbrtunate. If, on going to church, the bridal party should meet the funeral of a female, it was an om«n that the bride would die first ; if of a male, the bride- groom. If the newly married couple wer^ to dance together on their wedding-day, the wife jTOuld thenceforth rule the roast ; with many otbet 422 BRACEBRIDGE BALL curious and unquestionable facts of the same na- ture : all which made me ponder more than ever upon the perils which surroimd this happy state, and the thoughtless ignorance of mortals as to the awful risk they run in venturing upon it. I ab- stain, however, from enlarging upon this topic, having no inclination to promote the increase of bachelors. Notwithstanding the due weight which the Squire gives to traditional saws'and ancient opin- ions, I am happy to find that he makes a firm stand for the credit of this loving month, and brings to his aid a whole legion of poetical au- thorities ; all which, I presume, have been conclu- sive with the young couple, as I understand they are perfectly willing to marry in May, and abide the consequences. In a few days, therefore, the wedding is to take place, and the Hall is in a buzz of anticipation. The housekeeper is bustling about from morning till night, with a look fuU of busi- ness and importance, having a thousand arrange- ments to make, the Squire intending to keep open house on the occasion; and as to the housemaids, you cannot look one of them in the face, but the rogue begins to color up and simper. While, however, this leading love - affair is going on with a tranquillity quite inconsistent with the rules of romance, I cannot say that the underplots are equally propitious. The "opening bud of love " between the general and Lady Lilly craft seems to have experienced some blight in the course of this genial season. I do not think the general has ever been able to retrieve LOVERS' TROUBLES. 423 the ground he lost, when he fell asleep during the captain's story. Indeed, Master Simon thinks his case is completely desperate, her ladyship hav- ing determined that he is quite destitute of sen- timent. The season has been equally unpropitious to the lovelorn Phoebe Wilkins. I fear the reader will be impatient at having this humble amour so often alluded to ; but I confess I am apt to take a great interest in the love-troubles of sim- ple girls of this class. Few people have an idea of the world of care and perplexity these poor damsels have in managing the affairs of the heart. We talk and write about the tender passion ; we give it all the colorings of sentiment and ro- mance, and lay the scene of its influence in high life ; but, after all, I doubt whether its sway is not more absolute among females of an humbler sphere. How often, could we but look into the heart, should we find the sentiment throbbing in all its violence, in the bosom of the poor lady's- maid, rather than in that of the brilliant beauty she is decking out for conquest ; whose brain is probably bewildered with beaux, ball-rooms, and wax-light chandeliers. "With these humble beings love is an honest, engrossing concern. They have no ideas of set- tlements, establishments, equipages, and pin-money. The heart — the heart is all-in-all with them, poor things ! There is seldom one of them but has her love-cares, and love-secrets ; her doubts, and hopes, and fears, are equal to those of any hero- me of romance, and ten times as sincere. And 424 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. then, too, there is her secret hoard of love-docu ments ; — the broken sixpence, the gilded brooch tlie lock of hair, the unintelligible love-scrawl, all treasured up in her box of Sunday finery, for private contemplation. How many crosses and trials is she exposed to from some lynx-eyed dame, or staid old vestal of a mistress, who keeps a dragon watch over her virtue, and scouts the lover from the door. But then, how sweet are the little love-scenes, snatched at distant intervals of holiday, and fondly dwelt on through many a long day of household labor and confinement ! If in the country — it is the dance at the fair or wake, the interview in the church-yard after service, or the evening stroll in the green lane. If in town, it is perhaps merely a stolen moment of delicious talk between the bars of the area, fearful every instant of being seen ; and then, how lightly wUl the simple creature carol all day afterwards at her labor ! Poor baggage ! after all her crosses and difB. culties, when she marries, what is it but to ex change a life of comparative ease and comfort for one of toil and uncertainty? Perhaps, too, the lover for whom in the fondness of her nature she has committed herself to fortune's freaks, turns out a worthless churl, the dissolute, hard-hearted husband of low life ; who, taking to the ale-house, leaves her to a cheerless home, to labor, penury and child bearing. When I see poor Phoebe going about with drooping eye, and her head hanging all o' one LOVERS' TROUBLES. 425 side," I cannot help calling to mind the pathetie little picture drawn by Desdemona : — " My mother had a maid called Barbara; She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad, And did forsake her; she had a song of willow, An old thing 'twas; but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it." I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve for Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet " rule the roast " in the ancient empire of the Tibbetses ! She is not fit to battle with hard hearts or haro times. She was, I am told, the pet of her pooi mother, who was proud of the beauty of her child and brought her up more tenderly than a village girl ought to be ; and ever since she has been left an orphan, the good ladies of the Hall have com- pleted the softening and spoiling of her. I have recently observed her holding long con- ferences in the church-yard, and up and down one of the lanes near the village, with Slingsby the schoolmaster. I at first thought the pedagogue might be touched with the tender malady so prev- alent in these parts of late ; but I did him in- justice. Honest Slingsby, it seems, was a friend and crony of her late father, the parish clerk ; and is on intimate terms with the Tibbets family : prompted, therefore, by his good-will towards all parties, and secretly instigated, perhaps, by the managing dame Tibbets, he has undertaken to talk with Phoebe upon the subject. He gives her, however, but little encouragement. Slingsby has a formidable opinion of the aristocratical feel- ing of old Ready-Money and thinks, if Phoebe 426 BRACEBUIDGE HALL. were even to make the matter up with the son she would find the father totally hostile to the match. The poor damsel, therefore, is reduced almost to despair ; and Slingsby, who is too good- natured not to sympathize in her distress, has advised her to give up all thoughts of young Jack, and has proposed as a substitute his learned coadjutor, the prodigal son. He has even, in the fulness of his heart, offered to give up the school-house to them ; though it would leave him trnce more adrift in the wide world. THE HISTORIAN. Hermitme. Pray you sit by us, And tell 's s tale. Mamilius. Merry or sad shall 't be » Hermione. Afl merry as you will. Mamilius. A sad tale 's best for winter. I haTe one of sprites and goblins. Hermione, Let 's have that, sir. Wintbb's Tale I S this is a story-telling age, I have been tempted occasionally to give the reader one of the many tales served up with supper at the Hall. I might, indeed, have fur- nished a series almost equal in number to the "Arabian Nights" ; but some were rather hackneyed and tedious ; others I did not feel warranted in betraying into print ; and many more were of the old general's relating, and turned principally upon tiger-hunting, elephant-riding, and Seringapatam, enlivened by the wonderful deeds of Tippoo Saib, and the excellent jokes of Major Pendergast. I had all along maintained a quiet post at a comer of the table, where I had been able to in- dulge my humor undisturbed ; listening atten- tively when the story was very good, and dozing a little when it was rather dull, which I consider the perfection of auditorship. 428 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. I was roused the other evening from a slight trance, into which I had fallen during one of the general's histories, by a sudden call from the Squire to furnish some entertainment of the kind in my turn. Having been so profound a listener to others, I could not in conscience refuse ; but neither my memory nor invention being ready to answer so unexpected a demand, I begged leave to read a manuscript tale from the pen of my fel- low-countryman, the late Mr. Diedrich Knicker- bocker, the historian of New York. As this ancient chronicler may not be better known to my readers than he was to the company at the Hall, a word or two concerning him may not be amiss, before proceeding to his manuscript. Diedrich Knickerbocker was a native of New York, a descendant from one of the ancient Dutch families which originally settled that province, and remained there after it was taken possession . of by the English in 1664. The descendants of these Dutch families still remain in villages and neighborhoods in various parts of the country, re- taining, with singular obstinacy, the dresses, man- ners, and even language of their ancestors, and forming a very distinct and curious feature in the motley population of' the State. In a hamlet whose spire may be seen from New York, rising from above the brow of a hill on the opposite side of the Hudson, many of the old folks, even at the present day, speak English with an accent, and the Dominie preaches in Dutch ; and so completely IS the hereditary love of quiet and silence main- tained, that in one of these drowsy villages, i..- the THE HISTORIAN. 423 middle of a wai-m summer's day, the buzzing of a stout blue-bottle fly will resound from one end of the place to the other. With the laudable hereditary feeling thus kepi up among these worthy people, did Mr. Knicker- bocker undertake to write a history of his native city, comprising the reign of its three Dutch gov- ernors during the time that it was yet under the domination of the Hogenmogens of Holland. In the execution of this design the little Dutchman has displayed great historical research, and a won- derful consciousness of the dignity of his subject. His work, however, has been so little understood as to be pronounced a mere work of humor, sat- irizing the foUies of the times, both in politics and morals, and giving whimsical views of human na- ture. Be this as it may : — among the papers left be- hind him were several tales of a lighter nature, apparently thrown together from materials gath- ered during his profound researches for his history, and which he seems to have cast by with neglect, as unworthy of publication. Some of these have fallen into my hands by an accident which it is needless at present to mention ; and one of these very stories, with its prelude in the words of Mr. Knickerbocker, I undertook to read, by way of acquitting myself of the debt which I owed to the other story-tellers at the HaU. I subjoin it for such of my readers as are fond of stories. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. FROM THE MSS. OF THE LATE DIBDKICH KNICKER- BOCKER. i'ormerly almost every place liad a house of this kind. If a house was seated on some melancholy place, or built in some old romantio manner, or if any particular accident had happened in it, such as murder, sudden death, or the like, to be sure that house liad a mark set on it, and was afterwards esteemed the habitation of a ghost. — Soubne's Antkiuxiies. N the neighborhood of the ancient city of the Manhattoes there stood, not very many years since, an old mansion, which, when I was a boy, went by the name of the Haunted House. It was one of the very few remains of the architecture of the early Dutch settlers, and must have been a house of some consequence at the time when it was built. It consisted of a centre and two wings, the gable ends of which were shaped like stairs. It was built partly of wood, and partly of small Dutch bricks, such as the worthy colonists brought with them from Holland, before they discovered that bricks could be manufactured elsewhere. The house stood remote from the road, in the centre of a large field, with an avenue of old locust * trees leading up to it, several of which had been * Acacias. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 431 shivered by lightning, and two or three blown down. A few apple-trees grew straggling about the field ; there were traces also of what had been a kitchen-garden; but the fences were broken down, the vegetables had disappeared, or had grown wild, and turned to little better than weeds, with here and there a ragged rose-bush, or a tall sunflower shooting up from among the brambles, and hanging its head sorrowfully, as if contem- plating the surrounding desolation. Part of the roof of the old house had fallen in, the windows were shattered, the panels of the doors broken, and mended with rough boards, and two rusty weather-cocks at the ends of the house made a great jingling and whistling as they whirled about, but always pointed wrong. The appearance of the whole place was forlorn and desolate at the best of times ; but, in unruly weather, the howl- ing of the wind about the crazy old mansion, the screeching of the weather-cocks, and the slamming and banging of a few loose window-shutters, had altogether so wild and dreary an effect, that the neighborhood stood perfectly in awe of the place, and pronounced it the rendezvous of hobgoblins. I recoUect the old buUding well; for many times, when an idle, unlucky urchin, I have prowled round its precinct, with some of my graceless com- panions, on holiday afternoons, when out on a freebooting cruise among the orchards. There was a tree standing near the house that bore the most beautiful and tempting fruit ; but then it was on enchanted ground, for the place was so sharmed by frightful stories that we dreaded to 432 BRACEBBIDGE BALL. approach it. Sometimes we would venture in a body, and get near the Hesperian tree, keeping an eye upon the old mansion, and darting fearful glances into its shattered windows, when, just as we were about to seize upon our prize, an excla- mation from some one of the gang, or an acciden- tal noise, would throw us all into a panic, and we would scamper headlong from the place, nor stop until we had got quite into the road. Then there were sure to be a host of fearful anecdotes told of strange cries and groans, or of some hid- eous face suddenly seen staring out of one of the windows. By degrees we ceased to venture into these lonely grounds, but would stand at a dis- tance, and throw stones at the building ; and there was something fearfully pleasing in the sound as they rattled along the roof, or sometimes struck some jingling fragments of glass out ci Ihe windows. The origin of this house was lost in the^ obscu- rity that covers the early period of the province, whUe under the government of their high mighti- nesses the states-general. Some reported it to have been a country residence of Wilhelmus Kieft, com- monly called the Testy, one of the Dutch govern- ors of New Amsterdam ; others said it had been built by a naval commander who served under Van Tromp, and who, on being disappointed of prefer- ment, retired from the service in disgust, became a philosopher through sheer spite, and brought over all his wealth to the province, that he might live according to his humor, and despise the world. The reason of its having fallen to decay was like- THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 4.'J.H wise a matter of dispute ; some said it was in chancery, and had already cost more than its worth in legal expense ; but the most current, and, of course, the most probable account, was that it was haunted, and that nobody could live quietly in it. There can, in fact, be very little doubt that this last was the case, there were SD many corroborating stones to prove it, — not an old woman in the neighborhood but could fur- nish at least a score. A grayheaded curmudgeon of a negro who lived hard by had a whole bud- get of them to tell, many of which had happeneil to himself. I recolle'ct many a time stopping with my schoolmates, and getting him to relate some. The old crone lived in a hovel, in the midst of a small patch of potatoes and Indian corn, which his master had given him on setting him free. He would come to us, with his hoe in his hand, and as we sat perched, like a row of swallows, on the rail of a fence, ii- the mellow twilight of a sum- mer evening, would tell us such fearful stories, ac- companied by such awful . rollings of his white eyes, that we were almost afraid of our own foot- steps as we returned home afterwards in the dark. Poor old Pompey ! many years are past since lie died, and went to keep company with the ghosts he was so fond of talking about. He was buried in a corner of his own little potato patch ; the plough soon passed over his grave, and levelled it vrith the rest of the field, and nobody thought any more of the grayheaded negro. By singular chance I was strolling in that neighborhood, sev- eral years afterwards, when I had grown up to 28 484 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. be a young man, and I found a knot of gossips speculating on a skull whicli had just been turned up a by ploughshare. They of course determined it to be the remains of some one who had been murdered, and they had raked up with it some of the traditionary tales of the haunted house. I knew it at once to be the relic of poor Ponipey, but I held my tongue ; for I am too considerate of other people's enjoyment even to mar a story of a ghost or a murder. I took care, however, to see the bones of my old friend once more bur- ied in a place where they were not likely to be disturbed. As I sat on the turf and watched the interment, I fell into a long 'conversation with an old gentleman of the neighborhood, John Josse Vandermoere, a pleasant gossiping man, whose whole life was spent in hearing and telling the news of the province. He recollected old Pom- pey, and his stories about the Haunted House; but he assured me he could give me one still more Strange than any that Pompey had related; and on my. expressing a great curiosity to hear it, he sat down beside me on the turf, and told the fol- lowing tale. I have endeavored to give it as nearly as possible in his words; but it is now many years since, and I am grown old, and my memory is not over-good. I cannot therefore vouch for the language, but I am always scrupu- lous as to facts. D K. DOLPH HEYLIGER. " I take Che town of concord, where I dwell, All Kilbom bn mj witness, if I were not Begot in bashfhlness, brought up in shame&cedness. Let 'un bring s. dog but to my vace that lean Zay I have beat 'ua, and without a vault ; Or but a cat will swe£& upon a book, I have as much as zet a vire her tail. And I Ul give him or her a crown for 'mends." Tal£ of a Tub. I N the early time of the province of New York, while it groaned under the tyr- anny of the English governor, Lord Combury, who carried his cruelties towards the Dutch inhabitants so far as to allow no Dominie, or schoolmaster, to oflSciate in their language without his special license ; about this time there lived in the jolly little old city of the Manhattoes a kind motherly dame, known by the name of Dame Heyliger. She was the widow of a Dutch sear captain, who died suddenly of a fever, in conse- quence of working too hard, and eating too heart- ily, at the time when all the inhabitants turned out in a panic, to fortify the place against the in- 7asion of a small French privateer.* He left her with very little money, and one infant son • 1705. 436 BBACEBRFDGE HALL. the only survivor of several children. The good woman had need of much management to make both ends meet, and keep up a decent appearance. However, as her husband had fallen a victim to liis zeal for the public safety, it was universally agreed that " something ought to be done for tlie widow " ; and on the hopes of this " something " she lived tolerably for some years ; in the mean time everybody pitied and spoke well of her, and that helped along. She lived in a small house, in a small street, called Garden Street, very j)robably from a gar- den which may have flourished there some time ' or other. As her necessities every year grew , greater, and Jhe,J;al]i _pr~lBe~public about doing , '■ something^_for^ her " grew less, she had to cast '-about for some maSa orHoing something for her- self, by way of helping out her slender means, and maintaining her independence, of which she was somewhat tenacious. Living in a mercantile town, she had caught something of the spirit, and determined to ven- ture a little in the great lottery of commerce. On a sudden, therefore, to the great surprise of the street, there appeared at her window a grand array of gingerbread kings and queens, with their arms stuck akimbo, after the" invariable royal manner. There were also several broken tum- blers, some filled with sugar-plums, some with mar- bles ; there were, moreover, cakes of various kinds, and barley-sugar, and Holland dolls, and wooden horses, with here and there gilt-covered picture-books, and now and then a skein of thread, DOLPB EEYLIGER. 437 or a dangling pound of candles. At the door of ihe house sat the good old dame's cat, a decent demure-looking personage, who seemed to scan everybody that passed, to criticize their dress, and now and then to stretch her neck, and to look out with sudden curiosity, to see what was going on at the other end of the street ; but if by chance any idle vagabond dog came by, and offered to be uncivil — hoity-toity ! — how she would bristle up, and growl, and spit, and strike out her paws ! she was as indignant as ever was an ancient and ugly spinster on the approach of some graceless profligate. >-' But though the good woman had to come down to those humble means of subsistence, yet she still kept up a feeling of family pride, being de- scended from the Vanderspiegels, of Amsterdam ; and she had the family arms painted and framed, and hung over her mantelpiece. She was, in truth, much respected by all the poorer people of the place ; her house was quite a resort of the i)Id wives of the neighborhood ; they would drop iu there of a winter's afternoon, as she sat knit- ting on one side of her fireplace, her cat purring on the other, and the tea-kettle singing before it ; and they would gossip with her until late in the evening. There '"was always an arm-chair for Peter de Groodt, sometimes called LongJPeter, ind sometimes Peter Longlegs^Jl^ clerk and sex- ton^oT' ffie little .Lu ttieranLXluuxli, who was her great ^ony, and indeed the oraclfe of her fireside. Nay, the Dominie himself did not disdain, now and then, to step in, converse about the state of 438 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. her mind, aud take a glass of her special good cherry-brandy. Indeed, he never failed to call on New- Year's day, and wish her a happy New Year ; and the good dame, who was a little vain on some points, always piqued herself on giving him as large a cake as any one in town. I have said that she had one son. He was the child of her old age ; but could hardly be called the comfort, for, of all unlucky urchins, Dolph Heyliger was the most mischievous. Not that the whipster was really vicious ; he was only full of fun and frolic, and had that daring, gamesome spirit which is extolled in a rich man's child, but execrated in a poor man's. He was continually getting into scrapes ; his mother was incessantly harassed with complaints of some waggish pranks which he had played off ; bills were sent in for win- dows that he had broken ; in a word, he had not reached his fourteenth year before he was pro- nounced, by all the neighborhood, to be a " wicked dog, the wickedest dog in the street ! " Nay, one old gentleman, in a claret-colored coat, with a thin red face, and ferret eyes, went so far as to assure Dame Heyliger, that her son would, one day or other, come to the gallows ! Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul loved her boy. It seemed as though she loved ■ him the better the worse hejbehaved, and' that he grew more in her favor the~^ore-' he grew out of favor with the world. Mothers are foolish, Jbnd-hearted beings , there 's no reasoning them out of their dotage ; and, indeed, this poor wom- an's child was all that was left to love her id BOLPR EETLIGER. 439 / Ihis world ; — so we must not think it hard that Bhe turned a deaf ear to her good friends, who sought to prove to her that Dolph would come to a halter. To do the varlet justice, too, he was strongly attached to his parent. He would not willingly have given her pain on any account ; and when he had been doing wrong, it was but for him to catch his poor mother's eye fixed wishfully and sorrowfully upon him, to fill his heart with bit- terness and contrition. But he was a heedless youngster, and could not, for the life of him, re- sist any new temptation to fun and mischief. Though quick at his learning, whenever he could be brought to apply himself, he was always prone to be led away by idle company, and would play truant to hunt after birds'-nests, to rob orchards, or to swim in the Hudson. In this way he grew up, a tall, lubberly boy ; and his mother began to be greatly perplexed what to do with him, or how to put him in a way to do for himself ; for he had acquired such an unlucky reputation, that no one seemed willing to employ him. Many were the consultations that she held with Peter de Groodt, the clerk and sexton, who was her prime counsellor. Peter was as much per- plexed as herself, for he had no great opinion of Ihe boy, and thought he would never come to ^od. He at orce advised he rja-sea d him t e. sea : a'^'piece of advice only given in the most -4esperate cases ; but Dame Heyliger would not liaten to such an idea; she could not think of 440 BRACEBRrOGE HALL. letting Dolph go out of her sight. She was sit ting one day knitting by her fireside, in great perplexity, when t he sexton entered with an air of unusual vivacity and briskness. He had just come from a funeral. It had been that of a boy of Dolph's years, who had been apprentice to a fiunous German doctor, and had died of a eon- sumption. It is true, there had been a whisper that the deceased had been brought to his end by being made the subject of the doctor's experi- ments, on which he was apt to try the effects of a new compound, or a quieting draught. This, however, it is likely, was a mere scandal ; at any rate, Peter de Groodt did not think it worth men- tioning ; though, had we time to philosophize, it would be a curious matter for speculation, why a doctor's family is apt to be so lean and cadaver- ous, and a butcher's so jolly and rubicund. Peter de Groodt, as I said before, entered the house of Dame Heyliger with unusual alacrity. A bright idea had popped into his head at the funeral, over which he had chuckled as he shov- elled the earth into the grave of the doctor's dis- ciple. It had occurred to him, that, as the sit- uation of the deceased was vacant at the doctor's, it would be the very place for Dolph. The boy had parts, and could pound a pestle, and run an errand with any boy in the town ; and what more was wanted in a student ? The sug gestion of the sage Ppter -wnn a vision of glory to the mother. She already saw Dolph, in her mind's eye, with a cane at his nose, a knocker at his door, and an M. D. at the end of DOLPB HETLIGER. 441 his name, — one of the established dignitaries of the town. The matter, once undertaken, was soon effected : the sexton had some influence with the doctor, they having had much dealing together in the way of their separate professions ; and the very next morning he called and conducted the urchin, clad in his Sunday clothes, to undergo the inspec- tion of Dr. ^i,Lodo^^SrKmpperTiaffsenT/~~^" They found the doctor seated in an elbow-chair, in one corner of his study, or laboratory, with a large volume, in German print, before him. He was a short fat man, with a dark square fa-ce, rendered more dark by a black velvet cap. He had a little nobbed nose, not unlike the ace of spades, with a pair of spectacles gleaming on each side of his dusky countenance, like a couple of bow-windows. ^ Dolph felt struck with awe on entering into the presence of this leai'ned man ; and gazed about him with boyish wonder at the furniture of this chamber of knowledge ; which appeared to him almost as the den of a magician. In the centre stood a claw-footed table, with pestle and mortar, phials and gallipots, and a pair of small burnished scales. At one end was a heavy clothes-press, turned into a receptacle for drags and compounds ; against which hung the doctor's hat and cloak, and gold-headed cane, and on the top grinned a human skull. Along the mantelpiece were glass vessels, in which were snakes and lizards, and a human fijetus preserved in spirits. A closet, the ioors of which were taken off, contained three 442 BRACEBRWGE BALL. whole shelves of books, and some, too, of mighty folio dimensions, — a collection the like of which Dolph had never before beheld. As, however, the library did not take up the whole of the closet, the doctor's thrifty housekeeper had occupied the rest with pots of pickles and preserves ; and had hung about the room, among awful implements of the healing art, strings of red pepper and cor- pulent cucumbers, carefully preserved for seed. Peter de Groodt and his proteg^ were received with great gravity and stateliness by the doctor, who was a very wise, dignified little jaao^and nev er sm iled^ ECe surveyed Dolph froni head to foot, above, and under, and through his spectacles, and the poor lad's heart quailed as these great glasses glared on him like two full moons. The doctor heard all that Peter de Groodt had to say i^|avor of the youthful candidate ; and then wet- ting his thumb with the end of his tongue, he be- gan deliberately to turn over page after page of the great black volume before him. At length, after many hums and haws, and ^trokings of. the chin, and all that^hesitation^and deliberation vnth. which a wise man proceeds to do what he in- tended to do from the very first, the doctor agreed 'to take the lad as a disciple ; to give him bed, board, and clothing, and to instruct him in the healing art ; in return for which he was to have ■ his services until his twenty-first year. Behold, then, our hero, all at once transformed from an unlucky urchin running wild about the streets, to a student of medicine, diligently pound- ing a pestle, under the auspices of the learned DOLPB BETLWER. 443 Doctor Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. It was a happ7 transition for his fond old motlier. She was delighted with the idea of her boy's being brought up worthy of his ancesto rs ; and antici- pated the "S&j when he would be able to hold up his head with the lawyer, that lived in the large house opposite ; or, peradventure, with the Domi- nie himself. Doctor Knipperhausen was a native of the Palatinate in Germany ; whence, in company with many of his countrymen, he had taken ref- uge in England, on account of religious persecu- tion. He was one of nearly three thousand Pal- atines, who came over from England in 1710, _ under the protection of Governor Hunter. Where the doctor had. studied, how he had acquired his medical knowledge, and where he had received his diploma, it is hard at present to say, for u^ body knew at the time ; yet it is certain that his profound skill and abstruse knowledge were the talk and wonder of the common people, far and near. His practice was totally different froi» that of any other physician, — consisting in mysterious compounds, known only to himself, in the prepar- ing and administering of which, it was said, he always consulted the stars. So high an opinion was entertained of his skill, partictllaily by l\ur Gernnnr''an3 Dutch inhabitaots^ that they al- wa^3];^^orted_to.^himIin- ^-aper a te -easeSi He was one of those infallible_doctors that are al- ways effecting sudden and surprising cures, when the patient has been given up by all the regular • 444 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. physicians ; unless, as is shrewdly observed, the case has been left too long before it was put into their hands. The doctor's library was the talk and marvel of the neighborhood, I might almost say of the entire burgh. Th6 good people looked with reverence at a man who had read three whole shelves full of books, and some of them, too, as large as a family Bible. There were many disputes among the members of the little Lutheran church, as to which was the wisest man, the doctor or the Dominie. Some of his admir- ers even went so fai* as to say, that he knew more than the governor himself, — in a word, it was thought that there was no end to his knowledge ! No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's family, than he was put in possession of the lodg- ing of his predecessor. It was a garret-room of a^steep-roofed Dutch house, where the rain had pattered on the shingles, and the lightning gleamed, and the wind piped through the crannies in stormy weather ; and where whole troops of hun- gry rats, like Don Cossacks, galloped about, in defiance ^f traps and ratsbane. He was soon up to his ears in medical studies, being employed, morning, noon, and night, in roll- ing pills, filtering tinctures, or pounding the pestle and mortar in one corner of the laboratory ; while the doctor would take his seat in another corner, when he had nothing else to do, or expected vis- itors, and arrayed in his morning-gown and vel- vet cap, would pore over the contents of some folio volume. It is true, that the regular thump- ing of Dolph's pestle, or, perhaps, the drowsy DOLPH EEYLIGER. 445 buzzing (if the summer-flies, would now and Ihen lull the little man into a slumber ; but then his spectacles were always wide awake, and studi- ously regarding the book. There was another personage in the house, however, to whom Dolph was obliged to pay al- legiance. Though a bachelor, and a man of such great dignity and importance, the doctor was, like many other wise men, subject to petticoat government. I fe was completely under tlip. r^wny nf his h ousekeeper. — a spare, busy, fretting house- wife, in a little, round, quilted German cap, with a huge bunch of keys jingling at the girdle of an exceedingly long waist. Frau Use (or Frow Hsy, as it was pronounced) had accompanied him in his various migrations from Germany to Eng- land, and from England to the province ; manag- ing his establishment and himself too : ruling him, it is true, with a gentle hand, but carrying a high hand with all the world beside. How she had acquire il such ascendency I do not pre- tend to say. People, it is true, did talk — but have not people been prone to talk ever since the world began ? Who can tell how women gener- ally contrive to get the upperhand ? A husband, it is true, may now and then be master in his own house ; but who ever knew a bachelor that was not managed by his housekeeper ? Indeed,- Frau Dsy's power was not confined to the doctor's household. She was one of those prying gossips who Jmow every one's business better than they do themselves ; and whose ulU seeing eyes, and all-telling tongues, are terrors Jiroughout a neighborhood. 446 ■ BRACEBRIDGE BALL. Nothing of any moment transpired in the world of scandal of this little burgh, but it was known to Frau Ilsy. She had her crew of cronies, that were perpetually hurrying to her little parlor with some precious bit of news ; nay, she would sometimes discuss a whole volume of secret his- tory, as she held the street-door ajar, and gossiped with one of these garrulous cronies in the very teeth of a December blast. Between the doctor and the housekeeper it may easily be supposed that Dolph had a busy life of it. As Frau Ilsy kept the keys, and lit- erally ruled the toSst, it was starvation to offend her, though he found the study of her temper more perplexing even than that of medicine. When not busy in the laboratory, she kept him running hither and thither on her errands ; and on Sundays he was obliged to accompany her to and from church, and carry her Bible. Many a time has the poor varlet stood shivering and blowing his fingers, or holding his frost-bitten nose, in the church-yard, while Ilsy and her cro- nies were huddled together, w agging their heads , and tearing some unlucky character to pieces. With all his advantages, however, Dolph made very slow progress ir. his art. This was no fault of the doctor's, certainly, for he took unwearied pains with the lad, keeping him close to the pes- tle and mortar, or on the trot about town with phials and pill-boxes ; and if he ever flagged in his industry, which he was rather apt to do, the doctor would fly into a passion, and ask him if he ever expected to learn his profession, unless he DOLPB HEYLIGER. 447 applied himself closer to the study. The fact is, he still retained the fondness for sport and mis- chief that had marked his childhood ; the habit, indeed, had strengthened with his years, and gained force from being thwarted and constrained. He daily grew more and more untractable, and lost favor in the eyes, both of the doctor and the housekeeper. In the mean time the doctor went on, waxing wealthy and renowned. He was famous for his skill in managing cases not laid down in the books. I He had cured sev eral old women and young girls of witchcraft, — a terrible complaint, and nearly as prevalent m the province in those days as hydrophobia is at presentT] He had even restored one strapping country-girl to perfect health, who had gone so far as to vomit crooked pins and needles ; which is considered a desperate stage of the malady. It was whispered, also, that he was possessed of the art of preparing love- powders ; and many applications had he in con- sequence^ from love-sick patients of both sexes. But all these cases formed the mysterious part of his practice, in which, according to the cant phrase, " secrecy and honor might be depended on." Dolph, therefore, was obliged to turn out of the study whenever such consultations oc- curred, though it is said he learnt more of the secrets of the art at the key-hole than by all the rest of his studies ptrtrtogether. As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to extend his possessions, and to look forward, like ither great men, to the time when he should 448 BRACEBRIDGB HALL. retire to the repose of a country-seat. For this purpose he had purchased a farm, or, as the Dutch settlers called it, a howerie, a few miles from town. It had been the residence of a wealthy family, that had returned some time since to Holland. A lar ge mansion-hou se stood in the centre of it, very much out of repair, and which, in consequence of certain reports, had received the appellation of the Haunted House. Either from these reports, or from its actual dreariness, the doctor found it impossible to get a tenant ; and that the place TBTght not fall to ruin -befei^ae could reside in it himself, he placed a country boor, with his family, in one wing, with the privilege of cultivating the farm on shares. The doctor now felt all the dignity of a land- holder rising within him. He had a little of the German pride of territory in his composition, and almost looked upon himself as owner of a princi- pality. He began to complain of the fatigue of business ; and was fond of riding out " to look at his estate.'' His little expeditions to his lands were attended with a bustle and parade that created a sensation throughout the neighborhood. His wall-eyed horse stood, stamping and whisk- ing off the flies, for a full hour before the house. Then the doctor's saddle-bags would be brought out and adjusted ; then, after a little while, his cloak would be rolled up and strapped to the saddle ; then his umbrella would be buckled to the cloak ; while, in the mean time, a group of ragged boys, that observant class of beings, would gather before the door. At length the doctor DOLPH BEYLIGEB. 449 wonM issue forth, in a pair of jack-boots that reached above his knees, and a cocked hat flap- ped down in front. As he was a short, fat man, he took some time to mount into the saddle ; and when there, he took some time to have the sad- dle and stirrups properly adjusted, enjoying the wonder and admiration of the urchin crowd. Even after he had set off, he would pause in the middle of the street, or trot back two or three times to give some parting orders ; which were answered by the housekeeper from the door, or Dolph from the study, or the black cook trom the cellar, or the chambermaid from the garret-win- dow ; and there were generally some last words bawled after him, just as he was turning the cor- ner. The whole neighborhood would be aroused by this pomp and circumstance. The cobbler would leave his last ; the barber would thrust out his frizzled head, with a comb sticking in it ; a knot would collect at the ^ocer's door, and the word would be buzzed from one end of the street to the other, " The doctor 's riding out to his country- seat ! " These were golden moments _for Dolph. No sooner was the doctor out of sight, than pestle a nd morta r were abandoned ; the laboratory was ' left to take care of itself, and the student was off on some madcap frolic. Indeed, it must be confessed, the youngster, as he grew up, seemed in a fair way to fulfil the prediction of the old claret-colored gentleman. He was the ringleader of all holiday sports and 450 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. midnight gambols ; r sady for nil kinds »f mis chievous pranks cand hair-brained adventure?. There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on a small scale, or, rather, a hero in a small town. Dolph soon became the abhorrence of all drowsy, housekeeping old citizens, who hated noise, and had no relish for waggery. The good dames, too, considered him as little better than a reprobate, gathered their daughters under their wings when- ever he approached, and pointed him out as a warning to their sons. No one seemed to hold him in much regard except the wild striplings of the place, who were captivated by his open-hearted, daring manners, — and the negroes, who always look upon every idle, do-nothing youngster as a kind of gentleman. Even the good Peter de Groodt, who had considered himself a kind of patron of the lad, began to despair of him ; and would shake his head dubiously, as he listened to a long complaint from the housekeeper, and sipped a glass of her raspberry brandy. Still his mnt.hpT- wns not to be wearied out of her affection by all the waywardness of her boy ; nor disheartened by the stories of his misdeeds, ivith which her good friends were continually re- galing her. She had, it is true, very little of the pleasure which rich people enjoy, in always hear- ing their children praised ; bu t she considered all t his ill-w ill as a kind of persec suffered, and she liked him the bette rj count. She saw him growing up a fiiie, tall, good- looking youngster, and she looked at him with the secret pride of a mother's heart. It was her gi-eat DOLPH HETLIGER 451 d esire that Dolph should appe ar like a gentleman, and a U the money she could sav e went towards helping out his pocket and his wardrobe. She would look oat of the wuid u w aftei him; ' as he sallied forth in his best array, and her heart would yearn with delight ; and once, when Peter de Groodt, struck with the yoimgster's gallnnt appearance on a bright Sunday morning, observed, "* Well, after all, Dolph does grow a comely fel- low ! " the t«ar of pride started into the mother's eye. " Ah, neighbor ! neighbor ! " exclaimed she, " they may say what they please ; poor Dolph wiU yet hold up his head with the best of them ! " Dolph Heyliger had now nearly attained his one-and-twentieth year, and the term of his med- ical studies was just expiring ; yet it must be confessed that he knew little more of the pro- fession than when he first entered the doctor's doors. This, however, could not be from any want of quickness of parts, for he showed amaz- ing aptness in mastering other branches of knowl- edge, which he could only have studied at inter- vals. He was, for instance, a sure marksman, and won all the geese and turkeys at Christmas holidays. He was a bold rider ; he was famous for leaping and wrestling ; he played tolerably on the fiddle ; could swim like a fish ; and was the best hand in the whole place at fives or ninepins. All these accomplishments, however, procured him no favor in the eyes of the doctor, who grew more and more crabbed and ihtolerant the nearer the term of apprenticeship approached. Frau Dsy, too, was forever finding some occasion to 452 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. raise a windy tempest about his ears, and seldom encountered liim about the house without a clat- ter of the tongue ; so that at length the jingling of her keys, as she approached, was to Dolph like the ringing of the prompter's bell, that gives rotice of a theatrical thunder-storm. Nothing but the infinite good-humor of the heedless youngster ena- bled him to bear all this domestic tyranny without open rebellion. It was evident that the doctor and his housekeeper were preparing to beat the poor youth out of the nest, the moment his term should have expired, — a short-hand mode which the doctor had of providing for useless disciples. Indeed the little man had been rendered more than usually irritable lately in consequence of various cares and vexatious which his country estate had brought upon him. The doctor had been repeatedly annoyed by the rumors and tales which prevailed concerning the old mansion, and found it difficult to prevail even upon the country man and his family to remain there rent-free Every time he rode out to the farm he was teased by some fresh complaint of strange noises and fearful sights, with which the tenants were dis- turbed at night ; and the doctor would come home fretting and faming, and vent his spleen upon the whole household. It was indeed a sore grievance that aflfected him both in pride and purse. He was threatened with an absolute loss of the profits of his property ; and then, what a blow to his territ6rial consequence, to be the landlord of a haunted house ! It was observed, however, that with all his DOLPH HETLIGER. 453 vexation, the doctor never proposed to sleep in the house himself; nay, he could never be pre- vailed upon to remain on the premises after dark, but made the best of his way for town as soon as the bats began to flit about in the twilight. The fa ct was, the doctor had a secret belief in ghosts, having passed the early part of his life m a country where they particularly abound ; and indeed the story went, that, when a boy, he had once seen the devil upon the Hai'tz Mountains in Grermany. At length the doctor's vexations on this head were brought to a crisis. One morning as he sat dozing over a volume in his study, he was sud- denly startled from his slumbers by the bustling in of the housekeeper. " Here 's a fine to do ! " cried she, as she en- tered the room. " Here 's Glaus Hopper com e in, bag and baggage, from the far m, and swears he '11 have no thing more to do with it. The whole family have been frightened out of their wits ; for there 's such racketing and rummaging about the old house, that they can't sleep quiet in their beds ! " " Donner and blitzen ! " cried the doctor, im- patiently ; " will they never have done chattering about that house ? What a pack of fools, to let a few rats and mice frighten them out of good quarters ! " " Nay, nay," said the housekeeper, wagging her head knowingly, and piqued at having a good ghost-story doubted, " there 's more in it than rats and mice. All the neighborhood talks about the 454 BRACEBEIDGE BALL. house ; and then such sights as have been seen m it ! Peter de Groodt tells me, that the family that sold you the house, and went to Holland, dropped several strange hints about it, and said, ' they wished you joy of your bargain ; ' and you know yourself there 's no getting any family to live in it." " Peter de Groodt 's a ninny — an old woman," said the doctor, peevishly ; " I '11 warrant he 's been filling these people's heads full of stories. It's just like his nonsense about the ghost that haunted the church-belfry, as an excuse for net ringing the bell that cold night when Harmanus Brinkerhoff's house was on fire. Send Glaus to me." Glaus Hopper now made his appearance : a simple country lout, full of awe at finding himself in the very study of Dr. Knipperhausen, and too much embarrassed to enter in much detail of the matters that had caused his alarm. He stood twirling his hat in one hand, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the other, looking occa- sionally at the doctor, and now and then stealing a fearful glance at the death's-head that seemed ogling him from the top of the clothes-press. The doctor tried every means to persuade hira to return to the fai-m, but all in vain ; he main- tained a dogged determination on the subject ; and at the close of every argument or solicitation would make the same brief, inflexible reply, " Ich kan nicht, mynheer." The doctor was a "little pot, and soon hot ; " his patience was exhausted by these continual vexations about his estate. DOLPll EEYLIGER. 455 The stubborn refusal of Claus Hopper seemed to him like flat jebellion ; his temper suddenly boiled over, and Claus was glad to make a rapid retreat to escape scalding. When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's room, he found Peter de Groodt, and several other true believers, ready to receive him. Hero he indemnified himself for the restraint he had suffered in the study, and opened a budget of stories about the haunted house that astonished all his hearers. The housekeeper believed them all, if it was only to spite the doctor for having received her intelligence so uncourteously. Pe- ter de Groodt matched them with many a won- derful legend of the times of the Dutch dynasty, and of the Devil's Stepping-stones ; and of the pirate hanged at Gibbet Island, that continued to swing there at night long after the gallows was taken down ; and of the ghost of the unfortunate Governor Leisler, hanged for treason, which haunted the old fort and the government-house. The gossiping Jmot dispersed, each charged with direful intelligence. The sexton disburdened him- self at a vestry meeting that was held that very day, and the black cook forsook her kitchen, and spent half the day at the street-pump, that gos- siping-place of servants, dealing forth the newh to all that came for water. In a little time the whole town was in a buzz with tales about the haunted house. Some said that Claus Hoppei had seen the devil, while others hinted that the house was haunted by the ghosts of soma of the patients whom the doctor had physicked out of 156 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. the world, and that was the reason why he did not venture to live in it himself. ^ All this put the Uttle doctor in a terrible fume. He threatened vengeance on any one who should affect the value of his property by exciting pop- ular prejudices. He complained loudly of thus being in a manner dispossessed of his territories by mere bugbears ; but he secretly determined to have the house exorcised by the Dominie. Great was his relief,, therefore, when, in the midst of his perplexities, Dolph stepped forward and under- took to garrison the haunted house. The young- ster had been listening to all the stories of Glaus Hopper and Peter de Groodt : he was fond of adventure, he loved the marvellous, and his imag- ination had become quite excited by these tales of wonder. Besides, he had led such an uncomfort- able life at^ the doctor's, being subjected to the intolerable thraldom of early hours, that he was delighted at the prospect of having a house to himself, even though it should be a haunted one. His offer was eagerly accepted, ^nd it was deter- mined he should mount guard that very night. His only stipulation was, that the enterprise should, be kept secret from his mother ; his gaze off from the spectre ; but lay staring at him, with his whole intellect absoi'bed in the con- templation. The old man remained seated be- liind the table, without stirring, or turning an eye, always keeping a dead steady glare upon Dolph. At length the household cock, from a neighboring farm, clapped his wings, and gave a loud cheerful crow that rung over the fields. At the sound the old man slowly rose, and took down his hat from the peg ; the door opened, and closed after him ; he was heard to go slowly down the stair;'ase, OOLPH HEYLIGER. 463 tramp — tramp — tramp ! — and when hi had got to the bottom, all was again silent. Dolph lay and listened earnestly; counted every footfall; listened, and listened, if the steps should return, until, exhausted by watching and agitation, he fell into- a troubled sleep. Daylight again brought fresh courage and as- surance. He would fain have considered all that had passed as a mere dream ; yet there stood the chair in which the unknown had seated himself ; there was the table on which he had leaned; there was the peg on which he had hung his hat ; and there was the door, locked precisely as he himself had locked it, with the chair placed against it. He hastened down-stairs, and examined the doors and windows ; all were exactly in the same state in which he had left them, and tliere was no apparent way by which any being could have en- tered and left the house, without leaving some trace behind. " Pooh ! " said Dolph to himself, "it was all a dream:" — but it would not do; the more he^^ndeavored to shake the scene off from his mind, the more it haunted him. Though he persisted in a strict silence as to all that he had seen or heard, yet his looks be- trayed the uncomfortable night that he had passed It was evident that there was something wonder- fiil hidden under this mysterious reserve. The doctor took him into the study, locked the door, and sought to have a fiill and confidential com- munication ; but he could get nothing out of him. Fran Ilsy took him aside into the pantry, but to « little purpose : and Peter de Groodt held him 464 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. by the button for a full hour, in the church-yard, the very place to get at the bottom of a ghost- story, but came off not a whit wiser than the rest. It is always the case, however, that one truth concealed makes a dozen current lies. It is like a guinea locked up in a bank, that has a dozen paper representatives. Before the day was over, the neighborhood was full of reports. Some said that Dolph Heyliger watched in the haunted house, with pistols loaded with silver bul- lets ; others, that he had a long talk with a spec- tre without a head ; others, that Doctor Knipper- hausen and the sexton had been hunted down the Bowery lane, and quite into town, by a legion of ghosts of their customers. Some shook their heads, and thought it a shame the doctor should put Dolph to pass the night alone in that dismal house, where he miglit be spirited away no one knew whither ; while others observed, with a shrug, that if the devil did carry off the youngster, it would be but taking his own. These rumors at length reached the ears of the good Dame Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, threw hei into a terrible alarm. For her son to have opposed himself to danger from living foes, would have been nothing so dreadful in her eyes, as to dare alone the terrors of the haunted house. She hastened to the doctor's, and passed a great part of the day in attempting to dissuade Dolph from repeating his vigil ; she told him a score of tales, which her gossiping friends had just related to her, of persons who had been carried off, when watch- ing alone in old ruinous houses. It was all to no DOLPH BETLIGER. 465 effect. Dolph's pride, as well as curiosity, was f^qu^d. He endeavored to calm the apprehen- sions of his mother, and to assure her that there was no truth in all the rumors she had heard ; she looked at him dubiously and shook her head ; but finding his determination was not to be shaken, she brought him a little thick Dutch Bible, with brass clasps, to take with him, as a sword where- with to fight the powers of darkness ; and, lest ihat might not be sufficient, the housekeeper gave him the Heidelberg catechism by way of dagger. The next night, therefore, Dolph took up his quarters for the third time in the old mansion. Whether dream or not, the same thing was re- peated. Towards midnight, when everything was still, the same sound echoed through the empty halls, tramp — tramp — tramp ! The staire were again ascended ; the door again swung open ; the old man entered ; walked round the room ; hung up his hat, and seated himself by the table. The same fear and trembling came over poor Dolph, though not in so violent a degree. He lay in the same way, motionless and fascinated, staring at the figure, which regarded him as before with a dead, fixed, chilling gaze. In this way they re- mained for a long time, till, by degrees, Dolph's courage began gradually to revive. Whether alive or dead, this being had certainly some object in his visitation ; and he recollected to have heard it said, spirits have no power to speak until spo- ken to. Summoning up resolution, therefore, and making two or three attempts, before he could get his parched tongue in motion, he addressed 30 466 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 'he unliiio\vii in the most solemn form of adjura- tion, and demanded to know what was the motive of his visit. No sooner liad he finished, than the old man rose, toolc down his hat, the door opened, and he went out, looking back upon Dolph just as he crossed the threshold, as if expecting him to fol- low. The youngster did not hesitate an instant. He took the candle in his hand, and the Bible under his iirm, and obeyed the tacit invitation. The candle emitted a feeble, uncertain ray, but still he could see the figure before him slowly descend the stairs. He followed trembling. When it had reached the bottom of the stairs, it turned through the hall towards the back door of the mansion. Dolph held the light over the bal- ustrades ; but, in his eagerness to catch a sight of the unknown, he flared his feeble taper so sud- denly, that it went out. Still there was sufficient light from the pale moonbearns, that fell through a narrow window, to give him an indistinct view of the figure, near the door. He followed, there- fore, down stairs, and turned towards the place ; but when he arrived there, the unknown had dis- appeared. The door remained fast barred and bolted ; there was no other mode of exit ; yet the being, whatever he might be, was gone. He unfastened the door, and looked out into the fields. It was a hazy, moonlight r.ight, so that the eye could distinguish objects at some distance. He thought he saw the unknown in a footpath which led from the door. He was not mistaken ; but how had he got out of the house ? He did nn( DOLPH BETLIGER. 467 pause to tliink, but followed on. The old man proceeded at a measured pace, without looking about him, his footsteps sounding on the -hard ground. He passed through the orchard of ap- plo-trees, always keeping the footpath. It led to a well, situated in a little hollow, which had sup- plied the farm with water. Just at this well Dolph lost sight of him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again ; but nothing was to be seen of the unknown. He reached the well, but nobody was there. All the surrounding ground was open and clear ; there was no bush nor hiding- place. He looked down the well, and saw, at a great depth, the reflection of the sky in the still water. After remaining here for some time, without seeing or hearing anything more of his mysterious conductor, he returned to the house, fiill of awe and wonder. He bolted the door, groped his way back to bed, and it was long be- fore he could compose himself to sleep. His dreams were strange and troubled. He thought he was following the old man along the side of a great river, until they came to a vessel on tiie point of sailing ; and that his conductor led him on board and vanished. He remembered the commander of the vessel, a short swarthy man, with crisped black hair, blind of one eye, and lame of one leg ; but the rest of his dream was very confused. Sometimes he was sailing ; some- times on shore ; now amidst storms and tempests, and now wandering quietly in unknown streets. The figure of the old man was strangely mingled ap with the incidents of the dream, and the wh«le 468 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. iistinctly wound up by his finding himself on board of the vessel again, returning home, with a great bag of money ! When he woke, the gray, cool light of dawn was streaking the horizon, and the cocks passing the reveille from farm to farm throughout the country. He rose more harassed and perplexed than ever. He was singularly confounded by all that he had seen and dreamt, and began to doubt whether his mind was not affected, and whether all that was passing in his thoughts might not be mere feverish fantasy. In his present state of mind, he did not feel disposed to return immedi- ately to the doctor's, and undergo the cross-ques- tioning of the household. He made a scanty breakfast, therefore, on the remains of the last night's provisions, and then wandered out into the fields to meditate on all that had befallen him. Lost in thought, he rambled about, gradually appi'oaohing the town, until the morning was far advanced, when he was roused by a hurry and bustle around him. He found himself near the water's edge, in a throng of people, hurrying to a pi«r, where was a vessel ready to make sail. He was unconsciously carried along by the impulse of the crowd, a nd foun d that it was a sloop, on the point of sailing up The T fiir*""" *•" Alhnny There was much leave-taking, and kissing of old women and children, and great activity in carry- ing on board baskets of bread and cakes, and pro- visions of all kinds, notwithstanding the mighty joints of meat that dangled over the stem ; for 4 voyagfi to Albany was an expedition of great DOLPH BEYLIGER. 469 oiomeut in those days. The commander of the sloop was hurrying about, and giving a world of orders, which were not very strictly attended to ; one man being busy in lighting his pipe, and an- other in sharpening his snicker-snee. The appearance of the commander suddenly caught Dolph's attention. He was short and swarthy, with crisped black hair ; blind of one eye and lame of one leg — the very commander that he had seen in his dream ! Surprised and aroused, he considered the scene more attentively, and re- called stUl further traces of his dream : the ap- pearance of the vessel, of the river, and of a variety of other objects accorded with the im- perfect images vaguely rising to recollection. As he stood musing on these circumstances, the captain suddenly called out to him in Dutch, " Step on board, young man, or you '11 be left be- hind ! " He was startled by the summons ; he saw that the sloop was east loose, and was act- ually moving from the pier ; it seemed as if he was actuated by some irresistible impulse ; he sprang upon the deck, and the next moment the sloop was hurried off by the wind and tide. Dolph's thoughts and feelings were all in tumult and confusion. He had been strongly worked upon by the events which had recently befallen him, and could not but think there was some con- nection between his present situation and his last ttight's dream. He felt as if under supernatural influence ; and tried to assure himself with ao old and favorite maxim of his, that " one way or 5thcr all would turn out for the best." For a 470 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. moment, the indignation of the doctor at his de^ parture, without leave, passed across his mind, but that was matter of little moment ; then he thought of the distress of his mother at his strange disappearance, and the idea gave him a sudden pang ; he would have entreated to bo put on shore ; but he knew with such wind and tide the entreaty would have been in vain. Then the inspiring love of novelty and adventure came rushing in full tide through his bosom ; he felt himself launched strangely and suddenly on the world, and under full way to explore the regions of wonder that lay up this mighty river, and be- yond those blue mountains which had bounded his horizon since childhood. While he was lost in this whirl of thought, the sails strained to the breeze ; the shores seemed to hurry away behind him ; and before he perfectly recovered his self- possession, the sloop was ploughing her way past Spiking-devil and Yonkers, and the tallest chim- ney of the Manhatto6s had faded from his sight. I have said that a voyage up the Hudson in those days was an undertaking of some moment ; indeed, it was as much thought of as a voyage to Europe is at present. The sloops were often many days on the way ; the cautious navigators taking in sail when it blew fresh, and coming to anchor at night ; and stopping to send the boat ashore for milk for tea ; without which jt was im- possible for the worthy old lady passengers Ui sub- sist. And there were the much-talked-of perils of the Tappaan Zee, and the highlands. In short, a prudent Dutch burgher would talk of such a DOLPH EETLIGER. 471 voyage foi months, and even years, beforehand ; and never undertook it without putting his affairs in order, making his will, and having prayers said for him in the Low Dutch churches. In the course of such a voyage, therefore, Dolph was satisfied he would have time enough to reflect, and to make up his mind as to what he should do when he arrived at Albany. The cap- tain, with his blind eye, and lame leg, would, it is true, bring his strange dream to mind, and per- plex him sadly for a few moments ; but of late his life had been made up so much of dreams and realities, his nights and days had been so jumbled together, that he seemed to be moving continually in a delusion. There is always, however, a kind of vagabond consolation in a man's having noth- ing in this world to lose ; with this Dolph com- forted his heart, and determined to make the most of the present enjoyment. In the second day of the voyage they came to the highlands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, that they floated gently with the tide between these stern mountains. There was that perfect quiet which prevails over nature in the languor of summer heat ; the turning of a plank, or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, was echoed from the mountain-side, and reverberated along the shores ; and if by chance the "captain gave a shout of command, there were airy tongues which mocked it from every cliff. Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and ^ironder at these scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left the Dunderberg reared its woody 472 BRACEBRWGE HALL. precipi3es, height over height, forest over forest away into the deep summer sky. To the right strutted forth the bold promontory of Antony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it; while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this mighty river in their embraces. There was a feeling of quiet luxury in gazing at the broad, green bosoms here and there scooped out among the precipices ; or at woodlands high in air, nodding over the edge of some beetling bluff, and their foliage all transparent in the yellow sunshine. In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked it pile of bright, snowy clouds, peering above the western heights. It was succeeded by another, and another, each seemingly pushing onwards its predecessor, and towering, with dazzling brilliancy, in the deep-blue atmosphere ; and now muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard rolling behind the mountains. The river, hitherto still and glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping up it. The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and sought their nests on the high dry trees ; the crows flew clamorously to the crevices of the rocks, and all nature seemed conscious of the approaching thunder-gust. The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mountain-tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to patter down in broad and scat- tered drops ; the wind freshened, and curled up die waves ; at length it seemed as if the bellying DOLPH HEYLIGER. 473 jlouds were torn open by the mountain-tops, and complete torrents of rain came rattling down The lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest forest-trees. The thun- der burst in tremendous explosions; the peals Were echoed from mountain to mountain; they crashed upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the long defile of the highlands, each headland making a new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to bellow back the storm. For a time the scudding rack and m\s^t, and the sheeted rain, almost hid the landscape from the sight. There was a fearful gloom, illumined stiU more fearfully by the streams of lightning • which glittered among the rain-drops. Never had Dolph beheld such an absolute warring of the elements ; it seemed as if the storm was tearing and rending its way through this mountain defile, and had brought all the artillery of heaven into action. The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wind, until she came to where the river makes a sadden bend, the only one in the whole course of its majestic career.* Just as they turned the point, a violent flaw of wind came sweeping down a mountain gully, bending the forest before it, and, in a moment, lashing up the river into white froth and foam. The captain saw the danger, and cried out to lower the sail. Before the or- der could be obeyed, the flaw struck the sloop, »nd threw her on her beam ends. Everything • This must have been the bend at West Point. 474 BRACEBRIDGE HALL now was fright and confusion : the flapping oi the sails, the whistling and rushing of the wind, the bawling of the captain and crew, the shriek ing of the passengers, all mingled with the rolling and bellowing of the thunder. In the midst of the uproar the sloop righted ; at the same time the mainsail shifted, the boom came sweeping the quarter-deck, and Dolph, who was gazing un- guardedly at the clouds, found himself, in a mo- ment, floundering in the river. For once in his life one of his idle accomplish- ments was of use to him. The many truant hours he had devoted to sporting in the Hudson had made him an expert swimmer ; yet with all his strength and skill he found great difficulty in reaching the shore. His disappearance from the deck had not been noticed by the crew, who were all occupied by their own danger. The sloop was driven along with inconceivable rapidity. She had hard work to weather a long promontory on the eastern shore, round which the river turned, and which completely shut her from Dolph's view. It was on a point of the western shore that he landed, and, scrambling up the rocks, threw him- self, faint and exhausted, at the foot of a tree: By degrees the thunder-gust passed over. The clouds rolled away to the east, where they lay piled in feathery masses, tinted with the last rosy rays of the sun. The distant play of the light- ning might be seen about the dark bases, and now and then might be heard the faint muttering of the thunder. Dolph rose, and sought about tc see if any path led from the shore, but all was DOLPB EEYLIGER 475 savage and trackless. The rocks were piled upon each other; great trunks of trees lay shattered about, as they had been blown down by the strong winds which draw througli these mountains, or had fallen through age. The rocks, too, were overhung with wild vines and briers, which com- pletely matted themselves together, and opposed a barrier to all ingress ; every movement that he made shook down a shower from the dripping fo- liage. He attempted to spale one of these almost perpendicular heights ; but, though strong and agile, he found it an Herculean undertaking. Often he was supported merely by crumbling pro- jections of the rock, and sometimes he clung to roots and branches of trees, and hung almost sus- pended in the air. The wood-pigeon came cleaving his whistling flight by him, and the eagle screamed from the brow of the impending cliff. As ho was thus clambering, he was on the point of seiz- ing hold of a shrub to aid his ascent, when some- thing rustled among the leaves, and he saw a snake quivering along like lightning, almost from under his hand. It coiled itself up immediately, in an attitude of defiance, with flattened head, distended jaws, and quickly vibrating tongue, that played like a little flame about its mouth. Dolph s heart turned faint within him, and he had well- nigh let go. his hold and tumbled down the preci- pice. The serpent stood on the defensive but for an instant ; and finding there was no attack, glided away into a cleft of the rock. Dolph's eye fol- lowed it with fearful intensity, and saw a nest of adders, knotted, and writhing, and hissing in the 476 BEACEBRIDGE HALL. chasm. He hastened with all speed from so frightful a neighborhood. His imagination, full of this new horror, saw an adder in every curling vine, and heard the tail of a rattlesnake in every dry leaf that rustled. At length he succeeded in scrambling to the summit of a precipice ; but it was covered by a dense forest. Wherever he could gain a lookout between the trees, he beheld heights and cliffs, one rising beyond another, until huge mountains over- topped the whole. There were no signs of culti- vation ; no smoke curling among the trees to in- dicate a human residence. Everything was wild and solitary. As he was standing on the edge of a precipice overlooking a deep ravine fringed with trees, his feet detached a great fragment of rock ; it fell, crashing its way through the tree- tops, down into the chasm. A loud whoop, or rather yell, issued from the bottom of the glen ; the moment after there was the report of a gun ; and a ball came whistling over his head, cutting the twigs and leaves, and burying itself deep in the bark of a chestnut- tree. Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but made a precipitate retreat ; fearing every moment to hear the enemy in pursuit. He succeeded, however, in returning unmolested tp the shore, and determined -to penetrate no farther into a country so beset with savage perils. He sat himself down, dripping, disconsolately, on a stone. What was to be done ? where waa he to shelter himself? The hour of repose was approaching : the birds were seeking their nests, the DOLPH HEYLIGER. 477 bat began to flit about in the twilight, and the night-hawk, soaring high in the heaven, seemed to be calling out the stars. Night gradually closed in, and wrapped everything in gloom ; and though it was the latter part of summer, the breeze steal- ing along the river, and among these dripping forests, was chilly and penetrating, especially to a half-drowned man. As he sat drooping and despondent in this com- fortless condition, he perceived a light gleaming through the trees near the shore, where the wind- ing of the river made a deep bay. It cheered him with the hope of a human habitation, where he might get something to appease the clamorous cravings of his stomach, and what was equally necessary in his shipwrecked condition, a com- fortable shelter for the night. With extreme dif- ficulty he made his way toward the light, along ledges of rocks, down which he was in danger of sliding into the river, and over great trunks of fallen trees ; some of which had been blown down in the late storm, and lay so thickly together that he had to struggle through their branches. At lensrt^h he came to the brow of a rock over- lianging a small dell, whence the light proceeded. It was from a fire at the foot of a great tree in the midst of a grassy interval or plat among the rocks. The fire cast up a red glare among the gray crags, and impending trees ; leaving chasms of deep gloom, that resembled entrances to cav- erns. A small brook rippled close by, betrayed by the quivering reflection of the flame. There ^ere two figures moving about the fire, and others 478 BHACEBRIDGE HALL. squatted before it. As they were between him and the light, they were in complete shadow : but one of them happening to move round to the op- posite side, Dolph was startled at perceiving, by the glare falling on painted features, and glittering on silver ornaments, that he was an Indian. He now looked more narrowly, and saw guns leaning against a tree, and a dead body lying on the ground. Here was the very foe that had fired at him from the glen. He endeavored to retreat quietly, not caring to intrust himself to these half-human be- ings in so savage and lonely a place. It was too late : the Indian, with that eagle quickness of eye so remarkable in his race, perceived something stirring among the bushes on the rock : he seized one of the guns that leaned against the tree ; one moment more, and Dolgh_migbt-baive-had-his pas- sion for adventure cured by a bullet. He halloed loudly, with the Indian salutation of friendship ; the whole party sprang upon their feet ; the salu- tation was returned, and the straggler was invited to join them at the fire. On approaching, he found, to his consolation, the party was composed of white men, as well as Indians. One, evidently the principal personage, or commander, was seated on a trunk of a tree before the fire. He was a large, stout man, some-, what advanced in life, but hale and hearty. His face was bronzed almost to the color of an In- dian's ; he had strong but rather jovial features, air aquiline nose, and a mouth shaped like a mastiff's. His face was half thrown in shade by a broad hat with a buck's tail in it. His gray hair hung shon DOLPH REYLIGER. 479 in his neck. He wore a hunting-frock, with Indian leggins, and moccasons, and a tomahawk in the broad wampum-belt round his waist. As Dolph caught a distinct view of his person and features, something reminded him of the old man of the haunted house. The man before him, however, was diiferent in dress and age ; he was more cheery too in aspect, and it was hard to find where the vague resemblance lay ; but a resem- blance there certainly was. Dolph felt some de- gree of awe in approaching him ; but was assured by a frank, hearty welcome. He was still further encouraged by perceiving that the dead body, which had caused him some alarm, was that of a deer ; and his satisfaction was complete in dis- cerning, by savory steams firom a kettle, sus- pended by a hooked stick over the fire, that there was a part cooking for the evening's repast. He had, in fact, fallen in with a rambling hunt- ing-party, such as often took place in those days among the s ettlers along the river. The hunter is always hospitable ; and nothing makes men more social and unceremonious than meeting m the wilderness. The commander of the party poured out a dram of cheering liquor, which he gave him with a merry leer, to warm his heart ; and ordered one of his followers to fetch some garments from a pinnace, moored in a cove close by, while those in which our hero was dripping might be dried before the fire. Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot from the glen, which had come so near giving him his quietus when on the precipice, was from 480 BRACEBRIDGE BALL. the party before him. He had nearly crushed one of them by the fragments of rock which he had detached ; and the jovial old hunter, in the broad hat and buck-tail, haij fired at the place where he saw the bushes move, supposing it to be Borne wild animal. He laughed heartily at the blunder, it being what is considered an exceeding good joke among hunters ; " but faith, my lad," said he, " if I had but caught a glimpse of you to take sight at, you would have followed the rock. Anto ny Vander Hevd aaJs seldom known to miss his aim." These last words, were at once a clue to Dolph's curiosity ; and a few questions let him completely into the character of the man before him, and of his band of woodland rangers. The com- mander in the broad hat and hunting-frock was no less a personage than the Heer Antony Vander Heyden, of Albany, of whom Dolph had many a time heard. He was, in fact, the hero of many a story, his singular humors and whimsical habits being matters of wonder to his quiet Dutch neigh- bors. As he w as a man of property, having had a father before him from whom he inherited large tracts of wild la,nd, and whole barrels full of wam- pum, he cnnid indnlf re \\\!\ hnmnrs wi't.lmnt c nntrnL Instead of staying quietly at home, eating and drinking at regular meal-times, amusing himself by smoking his pipe on the bench before the door, and then turning into a comfortable bed at night, he delighted in all kinds of rough, wild expeditions : never so happy as when on a hunting-party in the wilderness, sleeping under trees or bark sheds, »r cruising down the river, or on some woodland DOLPH HEYLTGER. 481 lake, fishing and fjwling, and living the Lord knows how. y He was a great friend to Indians, and to an Indian mode of life; which he considered true natural liberty and manly enjoyment. Wlien at home he had always several Indian hangers-on who loitered about his house, sleeping like hounds in the sunshine ; or preparing hunting and fish- ing tackle for some new expedition ; or shooting at marks with bows and arrows. Over these vagrant beings Heer Antony had as perfect command as a huntsman over his pack ; though they were great nuisances to the regular people of his neighborhood. As he was a rich man, no one ventured to thwart his humors ; in- deed, his hearty, joyous maimer made him univer- sally popular. He would troll a Dutch song as he; tramped along the street ; hail every one a mile off, and when he entered a house, would slap the good man familiarly on the back, shake him by the hand till he roared, and kiss his wife and daughter before his face, — in short, there was no pride nor ill humor about Heer Antony. Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or four humble friends among the white men, who looked up to him as a patron, and had the run of his kitchen, and the favor of being taken with him occasionally on his expeditions. With a medley of such retainers he was at present on a iTuise along the shores of the Hudson, in a pin- nace kept for his own recreation. There were two white men with him, dressed partly in the Indian style, with moccasons and hunting-shirts ; .■u i82 BRACEBRIDGE BALL, the rest of his crew consisted of four favorite Indians. They had been prowling- about the river, without any definite object, until they found themselves in the highlands ; where they had passed two or three days, hunting the deer which still lingered among these mountains. " It is lucky for you, young man," said Antony Vander Pleyden, " that you happened to be knocked overboard to-day, as to-morrow morning we stftrt early on our return homewards ; and you might then have looked in vain for a meal among the mountains — but come, lads, stir about! stir about ! Let 's see what prog we have for supper ; the kettle has boiled long enough ; my stomach cries cupboard ; and I '11 warrant our guest is in no mood to dally with his trencher." There was a bustle now in the little encamp- ment ; one took off the kettle and turned a part of the contents into a huge wooden bowl. An- other prepared a flat rock for a table ; while a third brought various utensils from the pinnace ; Heer Antony himself brought a ilask or two of precious liquor from his own private locker ; knowing his boon companions too well to trust any of them with the key. A rude but hearty repast was soon spread ; consisting of venison smoking from the kettle, with cold bacon, boiled Indian corn, and mighty loaves of good brown household bread. Never had Dolph made a more delicious repast ; and when he had washed it down with two or three di-aughts from the Heer Antony's flask, and felt tlie jolly liquor sending its warmth through his nOLPB HETLIGER. 483 veins, and glowing round his very heart, he would not have changed his situation, no, not with the governor of the province. The Heer Antony, too, grew chirping and joy- ous ; told half a dozen fat stories, at which his white followers laughed immoderately, though the Indians, as usual, maintained an invincible gravity. " This is your true life, my boy ! " said he, slapping Dolph on the shoulder ; " a man is never a man tiU he can defy wind and weather, range woods and wilds, sleep under a tree, and live on bass-wood leaves ! " And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch drinking-song, swaying a short squab Dutch bottle in his hand, while his myrmidons would join in the chorus, until the woods echoed again ; — as the good old song has it, " They all with a shout made the elements ring So soon as the office was o'er, To feasting they went, with true merriment, And tippled strong liquor gillore." In the midst pf his joviality, however, Heer Antony did not lose sight of discretion. Though he pushed the bottle without reserve to Dolph, he always took care to help his followers himself, knowing the beings he had to deal with ; and was particular in granting but a moderate allow- ance to the Indians. The repast being ended, the Indians having drunk their liquor, and smoked their pipes, now wrapped themselves in their blankets, stretched themselves on the ground, with their feet to the Are, and soon fell asleep, like so 484 BRACEBRWGE HALL. many tired hounds. The rest of the party re- mained chatting before the fire, which the gloom of the forest, and the dampness of the air from the late storm, rendered extremely grateful and comforting. The conversation gradually moder- ated from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned upon hunting-adventures, and exploits and perils in the wilderness, many of which were so strange and improbable, that I will not venture to repeat them, lest the veracity of Antony Vander Hey- den and his comrades should be brought into question. There were many legendary tales told, also, about the river, and the settlements on its borders ; in which valuable kind of lore the Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. As the sturdy bush-beater sat in a twisted root of a tree, that served him for an arm-chair, dealing forth these vcild stories, with the fire gleaming on his strongly marked visage, Dolph was again repeat- edly perplexed by something that reminded him of the phantom of the haunted house ; some vague resemblance not to be fixed upon any pre- cise feature or lineament, but pervading the gen- eral air of his countenance and figure. The circumstance of Dolph's falling overboard led to the relation of divers disasters and singular mishaps that had befallen voyagers on this great river, particularly in the earlier periods of colo- nial history ; most of which the Heer deliberately attributed to supernatural causes. Dolph stared At this suggestion ; but the old gentleman assured him it was very currently believed by the settlers along the river, that these highlands were under DOLPB BEYLIGER. 485 ihe domiuion of supernatural and mischievous beings, which seemed to have taken some pique against the Dutch colonists in the early time of the settlement. In consequence of this, they have ever taken particular delight in venting their spleen, and indulging their humors, upon the Dutch skippers ; bothering them with flaws, head- winds, counter-currents, and aU kinds of impedi- ments; insomuch, that a Dutch navigator was tdways obliged to be exceedingly wary and delib- erate in his proceedings ; to come to anchor at dusk ; to drop his peak, or take in sail, whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rolling over the mountains ; in short, to take so many precautions, that he was often apt to be an incredible time in toiling up the river. Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers of the air to be the evil spirits conjured up by the Indian wizards, in the early times of the province, to revenge themselves on the strangers who had dispossessed them of their country. They even attrib uted to their iT^CiPntatinna ihe: misad- ventu re wEch be fell the renowned Hendrick Hudson, when he sailed s6^ gallantly up this river in quest of a northwest passage, and, as he thought, ran his ship aground ; which they affirm was nothing more nor less than a spell of these same wizards, to prevent his getting to China in this direction. The greater part, however, Heer Antony ob- served, accounted for all the extraordinary cir- lumstances attending this river, and the perplex- ities of the skippers who navigated it, by the old 486 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. legend of the Storm-ship which haunted Point- tio-point. Ou finding Dolph to be utterly igno- rant of this tradition, the Heer stai-ed at liim foi a moment with surprise, and wondered where he had passed his life, to be uninformed on so impor- tant a point of history. To pass away the re- mainder of the evening, therefore, he undertool the tale, as far as his memory would serve, in the very words in which it had been written out by Mynheer Selyne, an early poet of the New Nederlandts. Giving, then, a stir to the fire, that sent up its sparks among the trees like a little volcano, he adjusted himself comfortably in his root of a tree, and throwing back his head, and closing his eyes for a few moments, to sum- mon up his recollection, he related the following THE STORM-SHIP. |N the golden age of the province of the New Netherlands, when under the sway of Woiiter Van Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the people of the Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry afternoon, just about the time of the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain fell in such tor- rents as absolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground. It seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses ; the lightning was seen to play about the church of St. Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, to strike its weather-cock. Garret Van Home's new chimney was split almost from top to bottom ; and Doffue Mildeberger was struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as he was riding into town. In a word, it was one of those un- paralleled storms which only happen once within the memory of that venerable personage known in all towns by the appellation of " the oldest in- liabitant." Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes. They gathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars ; after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every 188 BRACEBRWGE HALL. bedpost, lest it should attract the ligltning. At length the storm abated ; the thunder sank into a growl, and the setting sun, breaking from under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of' the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gold. The word was given from the fort that a ship was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, and street to street, and soon put the little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to the inhabitants. It brought them news from the old world, from the land of their birth, from which they were so com- pletely severed : to the yearly ship, too, they looked for their supply of luxm'ies, of finery, of comforts, and almost of necessaries. The good vrouw could not have her new cap nor new gown until the arrival of the ship ; the artist waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and his supply of Hollands, the schoolboy for his top and marbles, and the lordly landholder for the bricks with which he was to build his new man- sion. Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival of the ship. It was the greart yearly event of the town of New Amsterdam ; and from one end of the year to the other, the ship — the ship — the ship — was the continual topic of conversation. The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace down to the Battery, to behold the wished-for sight. It was not exactly the time when she had been expected to arrive, and tho THE STORM-SHIP. 489 aircumstance was a matter of some speculation. Many were the groups collected about the Bat- tery. Here and there might be seen a burgomas- ter, of slow and pompous gi'avity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys. At another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fellows, who had been seamen or fishermen in their times, and were great authorities on such occasions ; these gave difierent opinions, and caused ^reat disputes among their several adherents : but the man most looked up to, and followed and watched by the crowd, was Hans_^giLi£glt, an old Dutch sea- captain retired from service, the nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the ship through an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said noth- ing. A hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt, had always more weight with the public than a speech from another man. In the mean time the ship became more dis- tinct to the naked eye : she was a stout, round, Dutch-buUt vessel, with high bow and poop, and bearing Dutch colors. The evening sun gilded her bellying canvas, as she came riding over th<» long waving billows. The sentinel who had given notice of her approach, declared, that he first got sight of her when she was in the centre of the bay ; and that she broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud. The by-standers looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say to this report : Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer 490 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. together, and said nothing ; upon which some shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders. The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with some difHculty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the garrison not being expert in artil- lery. The shot seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and to skip along the water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it ! What was strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right against wind and tide, which were both down the river. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was like- wise harbor-master, ordered his boat, and set off to board her ; but after rowing two or three hours, he returned without success. Sometimes he would get within one or two hundred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be half a mile off. Some said it was because his oarsmen, who were rather pursy and short-winded, stopped every now and then to ' take breath, and spit on their hands ; but this it is probable was a mere scandal. He got near enough, however, to see the crew ; who were all dressed in the Dutch style, the officers in doublets and high hats and feathers ; not a word was spoken by any one on board ; they stood as motionless as so many statues, and the ship seemed as if left to her own government. Thus she kept on, away up the river, lessening and lessening in the evening sun- shine, until she faded from sight, like a little white cloud melting away in the summer sky. TBE STORM-SHIP. 491 The appearance of this ship threw the gov- ernor into one of the deepest doubts that ever be- set him in the whole course of his administration. Fears were entertained for the security of the in- fant settlements on the river, lest this might be an enemy's ship in disguise, sent to take posses- sion. The governor called together his council repeatedly to assist him with their conjectures. He sat in his chair of state, built of timber from the sacred forest of the Hague, smoking his long jasmin pipe, and listening to all that his counsellors had to say on a subject about which they knew nothing ; but in spite of all the conjecturing of the sagest and oldest heads, the governor still con- tinued to doubt. Messengers were dispatched to different places on the river ; but they returned without any tid- ings — the ship had made no port. Day after day, and week after week, elapsed, but she never returned down the Hudson. As, however, the council seemed solicitous for intelligence, they had it in abundance. The captains of the sloops sel- dom arrived without bringing some report of hav- ing seen the strange ship at different parts of the river ; sometimes near the PaUisadoes, sometimes oif Croton Point, and sometimes in the highlands ; but she never was reported as having been seen above the highlands. The crews of the sloops, it is true, generally differed among themselves in their accounts of these apparitions ; but that may have arisen from the uncertain situations in which khey saw her. Sometimes it was by the flashes pf the thunder-storm lighting up a pitchy night, 492 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. and giving glimpses of her careering across Tap' paan Zee, or the wide waste of Haverstraw Bay. At one moment she would appear close upon them, as if likely to run them down, and would throw them into great bustle and alarm ; but the next flash would show her far off, always sailing against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moonlight nights, she would be seen under some high bluff of the highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting her topsails glittering in the moonbeams ; by the time, however, that the voyagers reached the place, no ship was to be seen ; and when they had passed on for some distance, and looked back, behold ! there she was again, with her topsails in the moonshine ! Her appearance was always just after, or just before, or just in the midst of unruly weather ; and she was known among the skippers and voyagers of the Hudson by the name of " the storm-ship." These reports perplexed the governor and his council more than ever ; and it would be endless to repeat the conjectures and opinions uttered on the subject. Some quoted cases in point, of ships seen off the coast of New England, navigated by witches and goblins. Old Hans Van Pelt, who had been more than once to the Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must be the flying Dutchman, which had so long haunted Table Bay ; but being unable to make port, had now sought another harbor. Others suggested, that, if it really was a supernatural ap- parition, as there was every natural reason to be- lieve, it might be Hendrick Hudson, and his crew THE STORM-SHIP. 493 of the Halfmoon ; who, it was well known, had bnce ran aground in the upper part of the river in seeking a northwest passage to China. This opinion had very little weight with the governor, but it passed current out of doors ; for indeed it had already been reported, that Hendrick Hudson and his crew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain; and it appeared very reasonable to suppose, that his ship might infest the rivor where the enter- prise was baffled, or that it might bear the shad- owy crew to their periodical revels in the moun- tain. Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and doubts of the sage "Wouter and his council, and the storm-ship ceased to be a subject of delib- eration at the board. It continued, however, a matter of popular belief and marvellous anecdote through the whole time of the Dutch government, and particularly just before the capture of New Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the province by the English squadron. About that time the storm-ship was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan Zee, and about Weehawk, and even down as fai as Hoboken ; and her appearance was supposed to be ominous of the approaching squall in public aifairs, and the downfall of Dutch domination. Since that time we have no authentic accounts of her ; though it is said she still haunts the high- lands, arid cruises about Point-no-point, People who livfe along the river insist that they some- times see her in summer moonlight; and that in a deep still midnight they have heard the chant jf her drew, as if heaving the lead ; but sights 494 BRACEBRWGE HALh. and sodr.ds are so deceptive along the mountainous sliores, and about the wide bays and long reaches of this great river, that I confess I have very strong doubts upon the subject. It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things have been seen in these highlands in storms, which are considered as connected with the old story of the ship. The captains of the river craft talk of a little bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in trunk- hose and sugar-loafed hat, with a speaking-trumpet in his hand, which they say keeps about the Dun- derberg.* They declare that they have heard him, in stormy weather, in the midst of the tur- moil, giving orders in Low Dutch for the piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off of another thunder-clap. That sometimes he has been seen surrounded by a crew of little imps in broad breeches and short doublets ; tumbling head- over-heels in the rack and mist, and playing a thousand gambols in the air ; or buzzing like a swarm of flies about Antony's Nose ; and that, at such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm was always greatest. One time a sloop, in passing by the Dunderberg, was overtaken by a thunder gust, that came scouring round the mountain, and seemed to burst just over the vessel. Though tight and well ballasted, she labored dreadfully, and the water came over the gunwale. All the crew were amazed when it was discovered that there was a little white sugar-loaf hat on the mast-head, known at once to be the hat of the Heer of the Dunderberg. Nobody, however, * t. e. The " Thunder-Mountain," so called from its echoes.* J'RE STORUdf-aniP. 495 dared to climb to the mast-head, and get rid of this terrible hat. The sloop continued laboring and rocking,' as if she would have rolled her niast overboard, and seemed in continual danger either of upsetting or of running on shore. In this way she drove quite through the highlands, imtil she had passed PoUopol's Island, where, it is said, the jurisdiction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No sooner had she passed this bourn, than the little hat spun up into the air like a top, whirled up all the clouds into a vortex, and liurried them back to the summit of the Dunderberg ; v/hUe the sloop righted herself, and sailed on as quietly as if in a mUl-pond. Nothing saved her from utter wreck but the fortunate circumstance of having a horse-shoe nailed against the mast, — a wise pre- caution against evil spirits, since adopted by all the Dutch captains that navigate this haunted river. J There is another story told of this foul-weather urchin, by Skipper Daniel Ouselsticker, of Fish- kill, who was never known to tell a lie. He de- clared, that, in a severe squall, he saw him seated astride of his bowsprit, riding the sloop ashore, full 0»butt against Antony's Nose, and that he was exor- » cised by Dominie Van Gieson, of Esopus, who • happened to be on board, and who sang the hymn of St. Nicholas ; whereupon the goblin threw him- self up in the air like a ball, and went off in a whirlwind, carrying away with him the nightcap of the Dominie's wife ; which was discovered the next Sunday morning hanging on the weather- cock of Esopus ch'urch-steeple, at least forty miles i96 BRACEBRIDGE BAIJL,. off! Several events of this kind having taken place, the regular skippers of the rivfer, for a long time, did not venture to pass the Dunderberg without lowering their peaks, out of homage to the Heer of the mountain ; and it was observed that all such as paid this tribute of respect were suffered to pn^s unmolested.* " Such," said Antony Vander Heyden, " are a few of the stories written down by Selyne the poet, concerning the storm-ship, — which he af- firms to have brought a crew of mischievous imps into the province, from some old ghost-ridden * Among the superstitions which prevailed in the colonies, dui'ing the early times of the settlements, there seems to have been a singular one about phantom ships. The superstitious fancies of men are always apt to turn upon those objects which concern their daily occupations. The solitary ship, which, from year to year, came like a raven in the wilderness, bring- ing to the inhabitants of a settlement the comforts of life from the world from which they were cut off, was apt to be present to their dreams, whether sleeping orwaking. The accidental sight from shore of a sail gliding along the horizon in those as yet lonely neas, wos apt to be a matter of much talk and speculation. The:e is mention made in one of the early New England writers of a ship navigated by witches, with a great horse that stood by the mainmast. I have met with another storj', somewhere, of a ship that drove on shore, in fair, sunny,, tranquil weather, with sails all set, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a number of guests, yet not a living be- ^ ing 01 b jard. These phantom ships always sailed in the eye of the wind ; or ploughed their way with great velocity, mak- ing the smooth sea foam before their bows, when not a breath if air was stirring. Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea intc a little tale, which, within a small compass, contains the very essence of this species of supernatural fiction. I allude ts his Spectre Ship, bound to Deadman's Isle. D OLPa HE YLIGER. 497 ooufltry of Europe. I could give you a host more, if necessary ; for all the accidents that so often befall the river craft in the highlands are said to 'e tricks played off by these imps of the Dun- Werberg ; but I see that you are nodding, so le* ns turn in for the night." The moon had just raised her silver horns above the round back of Old Bull Hill, aud lit up the gray rocks and shagged forests, and glittered on the waving bosom of the river. The nigrht- 3ew vcas falling, and the late gloomy mountains began to soften and put on a gray aerial tint in the dewy light. The hunters stirred the fire, aud threw on fresh fuel to qualify the damp of the night-air. They then prepared a bed of branches and dry leaves under a ledge of rocks for Dolph ; while Antony Vander Heyden, wrapping himself in a huge coat of skins, stretched himself befoi, the fire. It v.'as some time, however, before Dolph cpuld close his eyes. He lay contemplat- ing the str^tn^e scene before him : the wild woods and rocks aroun^^; the fire throwing fitful gleama on the faces of the sleeping savages; and the HeeyAntony. foo, who so singularly, yet vaguely, i-eminde^ him of the nightly visitant to the haunted house. !Nf>w and then he heard the cry of some animal ^rom the forest ; or the hooting of the owl ; or the notes of the whippoorwill, which seemed to abound among these solitudes ; or 'the splash of a sturgeon, leaping out nf the river, and falling back fnll-length on its plfjfiid surface. He contrasted all this with hia c/rustomed nest in the garret- 498 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. room of the doctor's mansion ; — where the only sounds at night were the church-clock telling the hour ; the drowsy voice of the watchman, drawl- ing out all was well ; the deep snoring of the doctor's clubbed nose from below-stairs ; or the cautious labors of some carpenter rat gnawing in the wainscot. His thoughts then wandered to his poor old mother : what would she think of his mysterious disappearance — what anxiety and dis tress would she not suffer ? This thought would continually intrude itself to mar his present en- joyment. It brought with it a feeling of pain, and compunction, and he fell asleep with the tears yet standing in his eyes. Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would be a fine opportunity for weaving in strange adven- tures among these wild mountains,, and roving hunters ; and, after involving my hero in a vari- ety of perils and difficulties, rescuing him from them all by some miraculous contrivance ; but as this is absolutely a true story, I must content my- self with simple facts, and keep to probabilities. At an early hour of the next day, therefore, afler a hearty morning's meal, the encampment broke up, and our adventurers embarked in the pinnace of Antony Vander Heyden. There be- ing no wind for the sails, the Indians rowed her gently along, keeping time to a kind of chant of one of the white men. The day was serene and beautiful ; the riv§j without a wave ; and as the vessel cleft the glassy water, it left a long, undu- lating track behind. The crows, who had scented the hunters' banquet, were already gathering and DOLPH HEYLIGER. 499 hovering in the. air, just where a column of thiii, blue smoke, rising from among the trees showed the place of their last night's quarters. As they coasted along the bases of the mountains, the Heer Antony pointed out to Dolph a bald eagle, the sovereign of these regions, who sat perched on a dry tree that projected over the river, and, with eye turned upwards, seemed to be drinking in the splendor of the morning sun. Their approach disturbed the monarch's meditations. He first spread one wing, and then the other ; balanced himself for a moment ; and then, quitting his perch with dignified composure, wheeled slowly over their heads. Dolph snatched up a gun, and sent a whistling ball after him, that cut some of the feathers from his wing ; the report of the gun leaped sharply from rock to rock, and awakened a thousand echoes ; but the monarch of the air sailed calmly on, ascending higher and higher, and wheeling widely as he ascended, soaring up th) green bosom of the woody mountain, until hs disappeared over the brow of a beetling precipict. Dolph felt in a manner rebuked by this prouJ tranquillity, and almost ^fiBSjached himself ifcr having so wantonly insulted this majestic biriL Hean^ntony to.ld him, laughing, to remember th£B her was not yet out of the territories of the lorom the Dunderberg ; and an old Indian shook his head, and observed, that there was bad luck in killing an eagle ; the hunter, on the contrary, should always leave him a "portion T|t' his spoils. Nothing, however, occurred to molest them on their voyage. They passed pleasantly through 500 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. raagnifiewit and lonely scenes, until they came to ' where Pollopol's Island lay, like a floating bower at the extremity of the highlands. Here they landed, until the heat of the day should abate, or a breeze spring up that might supersede the la- bor of the oar. Some prepared the mid-day meal, while others reposed under the shade of tlie trees, in luxurious summer indolence, looking drowsily forth upon the beauty of the scene. On the one side were the highlands, vast and cragged, feath- ered to the top with forests, and throwing their shadows on the glassy water that dimpled at their feet. On the other side was a wide expanse of the river, like a broad lake, with long sunny reaches, and green headlands ; and the distant line of Shawangunk mountains waving along a clear horizon, or checkered by a fleecy cloud. But I lorbear to dwell on the particulars of their cruise along the river ; this vagrant, amphib- ious life, careering across silver sheets of water ; coasting wild woodland shores ; banqueting on shady promontories, with the spreading tree over- head, the river curling its light foam to one's feet, and distant mountain, and rock, and tree, and snowy cloud, and ^deep-blue sky, all mingling in summer Jjeauty befojp 'one ; all this, thoug^a^ver cloying in the enjoyment, would be but teCous in narration. ^*^ When encamped by the water-side, some of the party would go into the woods and hunt ; others would fish : sometimes they would amuse themselves by- shooting at a mark, by leaping, by running, by wrestling ; and Dolph gained great DOLPH IIEiLIGER. 50] favor in the eyes of Antony Vander Heydeu, by his skill and adroitness in all these exercises ; which the Heer considered as the highest of man- ly accomplishments. Thus did they coast joUily on, choosing only the pleasant hours for voyaging ; sometimes in the cool morning dawn, sometimes in the sober evening twilight, and sometimes when the moon- shine spangled the crisp curling waves that whis- pered along the sides of their little bark. Never had Dolph felt so completely in his element ; never had he met with anything so completely to his taste as this wild, hap-hazard life. He was the very man to second Antony Vander Heyden in his rambling humors, and gained continually on his affections. The heart of the old bush- whacker yearned toward the young man, who seemed thus growing up in his own likeness ; and as they approached to the end of their voy- age, he could not help inquiring a little into his history. Dolph frankly told him his course of life, his severe medical studies, his little proficiency, and his very dubious prospects. The Heer was shocked to find that such ajawing talents and ac- complishments were to \M cr^iped and buried und|^fcfcdoctor's wig. He^ba^a sovereign con- tenwt ^ the healing art, having nevfer had any lotherTmysician than the butcher. He bore a mor- tal grudge to all kinds of study also, ever since he had been flogged about an unintelligible book when he was a boy. But to think that a young fellow like Dolph, of such wonderful abilities, ivho could shoot, fish, run. jump, ride, and wrestle. 502 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. should be obliged to roll pills, and administer ju laps for a living — 't waf3 monstrous ! He told Dolph never to despair, but to " throw physic to the dogs " ; for a young fellow of his prodigious talents could never fail to make his way. "As you seem to have no acquaintance in Albany," said Heer Antony, " you shall go home with me, and remain under my roof until you can look about you ; and in the mean time we can taki) an occasional bout at shooting and fishing, for it is a pity that such talents should lie idle." Dolph, who was at. the mercy of chance, was not hard to be persuaded. Indeed, on turning over matters in his mind, which he did very sagely and deliberately, he could not but think that Antony Vander Heyden was, " somehow or other," connected with the story of the Haunted House ; that the misadventure in the highlands, which had thrown them so strangely together, was, " somehow or other," to work out something good : in short, there is nothing so convenient as this " somehow-or-other " way of accommodating one's self to circumstances ; it is the main stay of a heedless actor^nd tardy reasoner, like Dolph Heyliger; and Ig wro can, in this loose, easy way, link foregonqjeYif to anticipated g^dWpos- sesses a secVet of Happiness almost equaj tolthe philosopher's stone. ^^' j On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's companion seemed to cause universal satisfaction. Many were the greetings at the river-side, and the salutations in the streets ; the dogs bounded be- fore him ; the boys whocped as he passed ; every- DOLPH EEYLIGER. 503 body seemed to know Aiitony Vaader Heyden. Dolph followed on in silence, admiring the neat- ness of this worthy burgh ; for in those days Al- bany was in all its glory, and inhabited almost ex- clusively by the descendants of the original Dutch settlers, not -having as yet been discovered and colonized by the restless people of New England. Everything was quiet and orderly; everything was conducted calmly and leisurely ; no hurry, no bustle, no struggling and scrambling for exist- ence. The grass grew about the unpaved streets, and relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure. TaU sycamores or pendent willows shaded the houses, with caterpillars swinging, in long silken strings, from their branches ; or moths, fluttering about like coxcombs, in joy at their gay transfor- mation. The houses were built in the old Dutch style, with the gable-ends towards the street. The thrifty housewife was seated on a bench before her door, in close-crimped cap, bright-flowered gown, and white apron, busily employed in knit- ting. The husband smoked his pipe on the oppo- site bench ; and the little pet negro girl, seated oa the step at her mistress's feet, was industriously plying her needle. The swallows sported about the eavas, or skimmed along the streets, and brought back some rich booty for their clamorous young ; and the little housekeeping wren flew in and out of a Liliputian house, or an old hat nailed against the wall. The cows were coming home, lowing through the streets, to be milked at their owner's loor ; and if, perchance, there were any loiterers, some negro urchin, with a long goad, was gently arging them homewards. 504 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. As Dolph's companion passed on, he received a tranquil nod from the burghers, and a friendly word from their wives ; all calling him familiarly by the name of Antony ; for it was the custom in this stronghold of the patriarchs, where they had all grown up together from childhood, to call each other by the Christian name. The Heer did not pause to have his usual jokes with them, for he was impatient to reach his home. At length they arrived at his mansion. It was of ,some magnitude, in the Dutch style, with large iron figures on the gables, that gave the date of its erection, and showed that it had been built in the earliest times of the settlement. The news of Heer Antony's arrival had pre- ceded him, and the whole household was on the look-out. A crew of negroes, large and small, had collected in front of the house to receive him. The old, white-headed ones, who had grown gray in his service, grinned for joy, and made many awkward bows and grimaces, and the little ones capered about his knees. But the most happy being in the household was a little, plump, bloom- ing lass, his only child, and the darling of his heart. She came bounding out of the house ; but the sight of a strange young man with, her father called up, for a moment, all the bashfulness of a homebred damsel. Dolph gazed at her with wonder and delight ; never liad he seen, as he thought, anything so comely in the shape of a woman. She w;as dressed in the good old Dutch taste, with long stays, and full, short petticoats, 80 admirably adapted to show and set off the fe- nOLPB. HEYLIGER. 505 niaJe form. Her hair, turned up under j. small round cap, displayed the fairness of her forehead ; she had fine, blue, laughing eyes, a trim, sltnder waist, and soft swell — but, in a word, she was a little Dutch divinity ; and Dolph, who never stopped half-way in a new impulse, Mkdesperately hi love with her. ^» Dolph was now ushered into the house with a hearty welcome. In the interior was a mingled display of Heer Antony's taste and iiabits, and of the opulence of his predecessors. The cham- bers were furnished with good old mahogany ; the beaufets and cupboards glittered with embossed silver and painted china. Over the parlor fireplace was, as usual, the family coat of ai-ms, painted and framed ; above which was a long duck fowling- piece, flanked by an Indian pouch, and a powder- hoi-n. The room was decorated with many In- dian articles, such as pipes of peace, tomahawks, scalping-knives, hunting-pouches, and belts of wampum ; and there were various kinds of fishing- tackle, and two or three fowling-pieces in the corners. The household affairs seemed to be conducted, in some measure, after the master's humors ; corrected, perhaps, by a little quiet management of the daughter's. There was a great degree of patriarchal simplicity, and good- humored indulgence. The negroes came into the room without being called, merely to look at their master, and hear of his adventures ; they would stand listening at the door until he had finished a story, and then go off on a broad grin^ U^ repeat it in the kitchen. A couple of pet negro 506 BRACEBRIDGE EAJ.L. children were playing about the floor with the dogs, and sharing with them their bread and but- ter. All the domestics looked hearty and happy ; and when the table was set for the evening re- past, the variety and abundance of good house- hold luxuriaafcbore testimony to the open-handed liberality oPme Heer, and the notable housewifery of liis daughter. In the evening there dropped in several of the worthies of the place, the Van Eenssellaers, and the Gansevoorts, and the Rosebooms, and othere of Antony Tander Heyden's intimates, to hear an account of his expedition ; for he was the Sinbad of Albany, and his exploits and adventures were favorite topics of conversation among the inhabitants. While these sat gossiping together about the door of the hall, and telling long twi- light stories, Dolph was cosily seated, entertaining the daughter, on a window-bench. He had al- ready got on intimate terms ; for those were not times of false reserve and idle ceremony ; and, besides, there is something wonderfully propitious to a lover's suit in the delightful dusk of a long summer evening ; it gives coura,ge to the most timid tongue, and hides the blushes of the bash- ful. The stars alone twinkled brightly ; and now and then a fire-fly streamed his transient light be- fore the window, or, wandering into the room, flew gleaming about the ceiling. What Dolph whispered in her ear that long summer evening, it is impossible to say ; his words were so low and indistinct, that they never reached the ear of the historian. It is probable, DOLPH HEYLWER. 507 however, that they were to the purpose ; for he had a natural talent at pleasing the sex, aud was never long in company with a petticoat without paying proper court to it. In the mean time the visitors, one by one, departed; Antony Vander Heyden, who had fairly talked hin^| silent, sat nodding alone in his chair by the door, when he was suddenly aroused by a hearty salute with which Dolph Heyliger had unguardedly rounded off one of his periods, and which echoed through the still chamber like the report of a pistol. The Heer started up, rubbed his eyes, called for lights, and observed that it was high time to go to bed ; though, on parting for the night, he squeezed Dolph heartily by the hand,: looked kindly in his face, and shook his head knowingly ; for the Heer well remembered what he himself had been at the youngster's age. The chamber in which our hero was lodged was spacious, and panelled with oak. It was fur- nished with clothes-presses, and mighty chests of drawers, well waxed, and glittering with brass ornaments. These contained ample stock of fam- ily linen ; for the Dutch housewives had always a laudable pride in showing off their household treasures to strangers. Dolph's mind, however, was too full to take par- ticular note of the objects around him ; yet he eould not help continually comparing the free open - hearted cheeriness of this establishment with the starveling, sordid, joyless housekeep- ing at Doctor Knipperhausen's. Still something maiTcd th} enjoyment: the idea - that he must 508 BRACEBRWGE HALL. take leave of his hearty host, and pretty hostess, and cast himself once more adrift upon the world. To linger here would be folly : he should only get deeper in love ; and for a poor varlet, like himself, to aspire to the daughter of the great Hear Vancjjel^rleydeu — it was madness to think of such a thing ! The very kindness that the girl had shown towards him, prompted him, on re- flection, to hasten his departure ; it would be a poor return for the frank hospitality of his host to entangle his daughter's heart in an injudicious at- tachment. In a word, Dolph was like many other young reasoners of exceeding good hearts and giddy heads, — who think after they act, and act differently from what they think, — who make '.excellent determinations overnight, and forget to jkeep them the next morning. " This is a fine conclusion, truly, of my voy- age," said he, as he almost buried himself in a sumptuous feather-bed, and drew the fresh white sheets up to his chin. " Here am I, instead of finding a bag of money to earry home, launched in a strange place, with scarcely a stiver in my pocket ; and, what is worse, have jumped ashore up to my very ears in love into the bargain. However," added he, after some pause, stretching himself, and turning himself in bed, " I 'm in good quarters for the present, at least ; so I'll e'en enjoy the present moment, and let the next take care of itself; I dare say all will work out, 'some- how or other,' for the best." As he said these words, he reached out his hand to extinguish the candle, when he was sud- DOLPB HETLIGER. 509 deuly struck with astonishment and dismay, fot he thought he beheld the phantom of the haunted house, staring on him fi-om a dusky part of the chamber. A second look reassured him, as he perceived that what he had taken for the spectre was, in fact, nothing but a Flemish-portrait, hang- ing in a shadowy comer, just behind a clothes- press. It was, however, the precise representa- tion of his nightly visitor. The same cloak and belted jerkin, the same grizzled beard and fixed eye, the same broad slouched hat, with a feather hanging over one side. Dolph now called to mind the resemblance he had frequently remarked be- tween his host and the old man of the haunted house ; and was fully convinced .they were in some way connected, and that some especial des- tiny had governed his voyage. He lay gazing on the portrait with almost as much awe as he had gazed on the ghostly original, until the shrill house-clock warned him of the lateness of the hour. He put out the light; but remained for a long time turning over these curious circum- stances and coincidences in his mind, until he fell asleep. His dreams partook of the nature of his waking thoughts. He fancied that he still lay gazing on the picture, until, by degrees, it became animated ; that the figure descended from the wall, and walked out of the room ; that he fol- lowed it, and found himself by the well to which the old man pointed, smiled on him, and disap- peared. In the morning, when he waked, he found hig host stiinling by his bedside, who gave him a 510 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. hearty morning's salutation, and asked hitn how he had slept. Dolph answered cheerily ; but took occasion to inquire about the portrait that hung against the wall. "Ah," said Heer Antony, •' that 's a portrait of old Killian VanderLSpiogel, ouce a burgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on some popular troubles, abandoned Holland, and came over to the province during the government of Peter Stuyvesant. He was my ancestor by the mother's side, and an old miserly curmudgeon he was. When the English took possession of New Amsterdam, in 1664, he retired into the country. He fell into a melancholy, apprehending that his wealth would be taken from him and he come to beggary. He. turned all his property into cash, and used to hide it away. He was for a year or two concealed in various places, fancying himself sought after by the English, to strip him of his wealth ; and finally he was found dead in his bed one morning, without any one being able to dis- cover where he had concealed the greater part of his money." When his host had left the room, Dolph re- mained for some time lost in thought. Plis whole mind was occupied by what he had heard. Van- der Spiegel was his mother's family name ; and he recollected to have heard her speak of this very Killian Vander Spiegel as one of her ances- tors. He had heard her say, too, that her father was Killian's rightful heir, only that the old man died without leaving anything to be inherited. It now appeared that Heer Antony was likewise a descendant, and perhaps an heir also, of this DOLPH HEYLIGEE. 511 poor rich man ; and that thus the Heyligers and the Vander Heydens were remotely connected. " What," tliought he, " if, after all, this is the in- terpretation of my dream, that this is the way I am to make my fortune by this voyage to Albany, and that I am to find the old man's hidden wealth in the bottom of that well ? But what an odd roundabout mode of communicating the matter 1 Why the plague could not the old goblin have told me about the well at once, without sending me all the way to Albany, to hear a story that was to send me all the way back again ? " These thoughts passed through his mind while he was dressing. He descended the stairs, full of perplexity, when the bright face of Marie Van- der Heyden suddenly beamed in smiles upon him, and seemed to give him a clue to the whole mystery. " After all," thought he, " the old gob- lin is in the right. If I am to get his wealth, he means that I shall marry his pretty descendant ; thus both branches of the family will again be united, and the property go on in the proper channel." No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it carried conviction with it. He was now all im- patience to huiTy back and secure the treasure, which, he did not doubt, lay at the bottom of the well, and which he feared every moment might be discovered by some other person. " Who knows," thought he, " but this night-walking old fellow of the haunted house may be in the habit of haunt- ing every visitor, and may givfe a hint to some shrewder felkw than myself, who will fake a 512 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. shorter cut to the well than by the way of Al bany ? " He wished a thousand times that the babbling old ghost was laid in the Red Sea, and his rambling portrait with him. He was in a perfect fever to depart. Two or three days elapsed before any opportunity presented for re- turning down the river. They were ages to Dolph, notwithstanding that he was basking iti the smiles of the pretty Marie, and daily getting more and more enamored. At length the very sloop from which he had been knocked overboard prepared to make sail. Dolph made an awkward apology to his host for his sudden departure. Antony Vander Heyden was sorely astonished. He had concerted half a dozen excursions into the wilderness ; and his Indians were actually preparing for a grand expe- dition to one of the lakes. He took Dolph aside, and exerted his eloquence to get him to abandon all thoughts of business and to remain with him, but in vain ; and he at length gave up the at- tempt, observing, " that it was a thousand pities so fine a young man should throw himself away." Heer Antony, however, gave him a liearty shako by the hand at parting, with a favorite fowling- piece, and an invitation to come to his house when- ever he revisited Albany. The pretty little Marie said nothing ; but as he gave her a farewell kiss, her dimpled cheek turned pale, and a tear stood in her eye. Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. They hoisted sail ; the wind was fair ; they soon lost sight of Albany, its green hills and embow- BOLPH HETLIGER. 513 ered islands. They were wafted gayly past the Kaatskill Mountains, whose fairy heights were bright and cloudless. They passed prosperously through the highlands, without any molestation from the Dunderberg goblin and his crew ; they swept on across Haverstraw Bay, and by Croton Point, and through the Tappaan Zee, and under the Palisadoes, until, in the afternoon of the third day, they saw the promontory of Hoboken hang- ing like a cloud in the air ; and, shortly after, the roofs of the Manhattoes rising out of the water. Dolph's first care was to repair to his mother's house ; for he was continually goaded by the idea of the uneasiness she must experience on his ac- count. He was puzzling his brains, as he went along, to think how he should account for his ab- sence without betraying the secrets of the haunted house. In the midst of these cogitations he en- tered the street in which his mother's house was situated, when he was thunderstruck at beholding it a heap of ruins. There had evidently been a great fire, which had destroyed several large houses, and the hum- ble dwelling of poor Dame Heyliger had been involved in the conflagration. The walls were not so completely destroyed, but that Dolph could distinguish some traces of the scene of his child- hood. The fireplace, about which he had often played, still remained, ornamented with Dutch tiles, illustrating passages in Bible history, on which he had many a time gazed with admiration. Among the rubbish lay the wreck of the good dame's elbow-chair, from which she had given him 33 514 BRACEBRIDGE HALL BO many a wholesome precept ; aud hard by it was the family Bible, vn\\\ brass clasps; now, alas ! reduced almost to a cinder. For a moment Dolph was overcome by tliig dismal sight, for he was seized with the fear that his mother had perished in the flames. He was relieved, however, from this horrible apprehen- sion by one of the neighbors, who happened to come by and informed him that his mother was yet alive. The good woman had. Indeed, lost everything by this unlooked-for calamity ; for the populace had been so intent upon saving the fine furniture of her rich neighbors, that the little tenement, and the little all of poor Dame Heyliger, had been suffered to consume without interruption ; nay, had it not been for the gallant assistance of her old crony, Peter de Groodt, the worthy dame and her cat might have shared the fate of their habitation. As it was, she had been overcome with fright and afiliction, and lay ill in body and sick at heart. The public, however, had showed her its wonted kindness. The furniture of her rich neighbors being, as far as possible, rescued from the flames ; themselves duly and ceremoniously visited and condoled with on the injury of their properly, and their ladies commiserated on the agitation of their nerves ; the public, at length, began t>