NORTHWESTERN
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
Bequest of
Charles G. Dawes
v ^ v v ^ v v
OLD CHRISTMAS
AND
BRACEBRIDGE HALL
Old Christmas was first published
■with Randolph Caldecott'S Illustrations in iSyp
and Bracebridge Hall in i8j6
OLD CHRISTMAS
S m
Before the remembrance of the good old times,
so fast passing, should have entirely passed away,
the present artist, R. Caldecott, and engraver,
James D. Cooper, planned to illustrate Washington
Irving's "Old Christmas" in this manner. Their
primary idea was to carry out the principle of the
Sketch Book, by incorporating the designs with
the text. Throughout they have worked together
and con amore. With what success the public must
decide.
November 1875.
Christmas .
The Stage Coach .
Christmas Eve
Christmas Day
The Christmas Dinner
DESIGNED BY RANDOLPH CALDECOTT,
AND
ARRANGED AND ENGRAVED BY J. D. COOPER.
Title-Page page
Ancient Fireplace . . . . iv
Heading to Preface . . . v
Heading to Contents ..... vii
Tailpiece to Contents . ... vii
Heading to List of Illustrations ix
Tailpiece to List of Illustrations . . . xiii
"The Poor from the Gates were not chidden" . xvi
Heading to Christmas ..... i
The Mouldering Tower ..... i
Christmas Anthem in Cathedral ... 2
The Wanderer's Return . . . . .3
" Nature lies despoiled of every Charm " . .4
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"The Honest Face of Hospitality" ... 4
"The Shy Glance of Love" ' . . . .5
Old Hall of Castle ■ . . . •. 5
The Great Oaken Gallery .... 6
The Waits . . . ... . . 7
"And sit down Darkling and Repining" . . 9
The Stage Coach . . . . 13
The Three Schoolboys . . 14
The Old English Stage Coachman . . .15
"He throws down the Reins with something of an Air" 16
The Stable Imitators . . . . .17
The Public House . . 18
The Housemaid . . . . . .18
The Smithy . . . . . .19
"Now or never must Music be in tune" . . 20
The Country Maid . . . . .20
The Old Servant and Bantam . . . .21
A Neat Country Seat . . . . .22
Inn Kitchen ...... 23
The Recognition . . . . . .24
The Post-chaise . . . . . .29
The Lodge Gate . . . . . .31
The Old Primitive Dame . . . . . 33
" The Little Dogs and All " . . . .34
The Old Mansion by Moonlight . . .36
Mistletoe . . . . .38
The Squire's Reception . . . • ' • 38
The Family Party - . 1. . . ,n
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi
PAGE
Toys . . . . . . .41
The Yule Log ...... 42
The Squire in his Hereditary Chair . . .43
The Family Plate ..... 44
Master Simon . . . . . .43
Young Girl ...... 45
Her Mother ...... 45
The Old Harper ..... 47
Master Simon Dancing ..... 48
The Oxonian and his Maiden Aunt . . .49
The Young Officer with his Guitar . . .50
The Fair Julia . . . . . .52
Asleep ....... 54
Christmas Day . . . . . -57
The Children's Carol . . . . .58
Robin on the Mountain Ash . . . -59
Master Simon as Clerk . . . . ,60
Breakfast ... ... 61
Viewing the Dogs ...... 62
Master Simon going to Church . . . .64
The Village Church ..... 65
The Parson . . . . . . .66
Rebuking the Sexton . . . . .68
Effigy of a Warrior . . ■ ■ .70
Master Simon at Church . . . .70
The Village Choir . . . . .72
The Village Tailor . . . . -73
An Old Chorister . . . . .74
xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Sermon . . . ■ • -75
Churchyard Gréetings . . . ■ -77
Frosty Thraldom of Winter . . . .78
Merry Old English Games . . . -79
The Poor at Home . . . . .80
Village Antics . . . . .81
Tasting the Squire's Ale . . . .82
The Wit of the Village ..... 83
Coquettish Housemaid . . . . .83
Antique Sideboard . . . . .87
The Cook with the Rolling-Pin . . .88
The Warrior's Arms ..... 88
The Christmas Dinner . . . . .90
" Flagons, Cans, Cups, Beakers, Goblets, Basins, and
Ewers" . . . . . .91
A High Roman Nose ..... 92
The Parson said Grace . . . . .92
The Boar's Head ...... 93
The Fat-headed Old Gentleman . . . -95
Peacock Pie ...... 95
The Wassail Bowl . . . . -97
The Squire's Toast . . . . .98
The Long-winded Joker . . . . .99
Long Stories . . . . . .100
The Parson and the Pretty Milkmaid . . . 100
Master Simon grows Maudlin . . . .101
The Blue-Eyed Romp . . . . .103
The Parson's Tale . . ; . .104
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii
PAGE
The Sexton's Rebuff . . . . .105
The Crusader's Night Ride . . . .106
Ancient Christmas and Dame Mince-Pie . .108
Robin Hood and Maid Marian . . . .108
The Minuet ...... 109
Roast Beef, Plum Pudding, and Misrule . . 111
The Christmas Dance in Costume . . .112
" Chuckling and rubbing his Hands " . .112
"Echoing back the Joviality of long-departed Years" 113
Retrospect. . . . . . .114
Cfy
A man might then behold
At Christmas, in each hall
Good fires to curb the cold,
And meat for great and small.
The neighbours were friendly bidden,
And all had welcome true,
The poor from the gates were not chidden,
When this old cap was new.
Old Song.
HERE is nothing in England that exercises a more
delightful spell over my imagination than the linger-
ings of the holiday customs and rural games of former
times. They recall the pictures my fancy used to
draw in the May morning of life, when as yet I
only knew the
world through
books, and believed it
to be all that poets had
painted it ; and they
bring with them the fla¬
vour of those honest
days of yore, in which,
perhaps with equal fal¬
lacy, I am apt to think
the world was more home¬
bred, social, and joyous
than at present. I regret
to say that they are daily
growing more and more
faint, being gradually worn
away by time, but still more
obliterated by modern fashion. They resemble those pictur¬
esque morsels of Gothic architecture which we see crumbling
B
2
CHRISTMAS
in various parts of the country, partly dilapidated by the
waste of ages, and partly lost in the additions and alterations
„ of latter days. Poetry, how-
jj#JÊÊÊÊÈÊÈÈÈÈÈàh. ever' c^nSs w't^1 cherishing
\ fondness about the rural
game and holiday revel, from
ujf which it has derived so many
1 j of its themes—as the ivy
winds its rich foliage about
WMWmÊÊmB t^le Gothic arch and moulder-
lllfllliffijSlll'ii IP11 SllnliHIl ,ng tower, gratefully repay¬
ing their support by clasping
together their tottering re¬
mains, and, as it were, em¬
balming them in verdure.
Of all the old festivals,
however, that of Christmas
awakens the strongest and
most heartfelt associations.
There is a tone of solemn
and sacred feeling that blends
with our conviviality, and lifts
the spirit to a state of hal¬
lowed and elevated enjoy-
ment. The services of the
KtvPR TaTO church about this season are
extremely tender and inspir-
ing. They dwell on the
^ ' beautiful story of the origin
°f our faith, and the pas¬
toral scenes that accom¬
panied its announcement. They gradually increase in fervour
and pathos during the season of Advent, until they break
forth in full jubilee on the morning that brought peace and
CHRISTMAS
3
good-will to men. I do not know a grander effect of music on
the moral feelings than to hear the full choir and the pealing
organ performing a Christmas anthem in a cathedral, and filling
every part of the vast pile with triumphant harmony.
It is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived from days of
yore, that this festival, which commemorates the announcement
of the religion of peace and love, has been made the season for
gathering together of family connections, and drawing closer
again those bands of
kindred hearts which the
cares and pleasures and
sorrows of the world are
continually operating to
cast loose ; of calling back
the children of a family
who have launched forth
in life, and wandered
widely asunder, once
more to assemble about
the paternal hearth, that
rallying-place of the affec¬
tions, there to grow young and
loving again among the endearing mementoes of childhood.
There is something in the very season of the year that
gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other times
we derive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere
beauties of nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissipate
themselves over the sunny landscape, and we " live abroad and
everywhere." The song of the bird, the murmur of the stream,
the breathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of
summer, the golden pomp of autumn ; earth with its mantle of
refreshing green, and heaven with its deep delicious blue and
its cloudy magnificence, all fill us with mute but exquisite
delight, and we revel in the luxury of mere sensation. But in
4
CHRISTMAS
the depth of winter, when nature lies despoiled of every charm,
and wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn for our
gratifications to moral sources. The dreariness and desolation
of the landscape, the short gloomy days and darksome nights,
while they circumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings
also from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly disposed
for the pleasures of the social circle. Our thoughts are more
concentrated ; our friendly sympathies more aroused. We feel
more sensibly the charm of each other's society, and are
brought more closely together by dependence on each other
for enjoyment. Heart calleth unto heart ; and we draw our
pleasures from the deep wells of living kindness, which lie in
the quiet recesses of our bosoms ; and which,
when resorted to, furnish forth the pure
element of domestic felicity.
The pitchy gloom without
makes the heart dilate on
entering the room filled with
ïlow and warmth of the
evening fire. The ruddy
blaze diffuses an arti¬
ficial summer and sun¬
shine through the room,
and lights up each coun¬
tenance into a kindlier welcome. Where does the honest face
of hospitality expand into a broader and more cordial smile—
CHRISTMAS
5
where is the shy glance of love more sweetly eloquent—than
by the winter fireside ? and as the
hollow blast of wintry wind rushes
through the hall, claps the distant
door, whistles about the casement,
and rumbles down the chimney, what
can be more grateful than that feeling
of sober and sheltered security with
which we look round upon the com¬
fortable chamber and the scene of
domestic hilarity ?
The English, from the great prevalence of rural habits
throughout every class of society, have always been fond of
those festivals and holidays which agreeably interrupt the still¬
ness of country life ; and they were, in former days, particularly
observant of the religious and social rites of Christmas. It is
inspiring to read even the dry details which some antiqua¬
rians have given of the quaint humours, the burlesque
pageants, the complete abandonment to mirth
and good-fellowship, with which this festival
was celebrated. It seemed to throw open'every
door, and unlock every heart. It brought
the peasant and the peer together, and
blended all ranks in one warm generous
flow of joy and kindness. The old halls
of castles and manor-houses
resounded with the harp and
the Christmas carol, and their
ample boards groaned under
the weight of hospitality. Even
the poorest cottage welcomed
the festive season with green
decorations of bay and holly
—the cheerful fire glanced its rays through the lattice, inviting
6
CHRISTMAS
the passenger to raise the latch, and join the gossip knot
huddled round the hearth, beguiling the long evening with
legendary jokes and oft-told Christmas tales.
One of the least pleasing effects of modern refinement is
the havoc it has made among the hearty old holiday customs.
It has completely taken off the sharp touchings and spirited
reliefs of these embellishments of life, and has worn down
society into a more smooth and polished, but certainly a less
characteristic surface. Many of the games and ceremonials of
Christmas have entirely disappeared, and, like the sherris sack
of old Falstaff, are become matters of speculation and dispute
among commentators. They flourished in times full of spirit
and lustihood', when men enjoyed life roughly/but heartily and
vigorously ; times wild and picturesque, which have furnished
CHRISTMAS
7
poetry with its richest materials, and the drama with its most
attractive variety of characters and manners. The world has
become more worldly. There is more of dissipation, and less
of enjoyment. Pleasure has expanded into a broader, but a
shallower stream, and has forsaken many of those deep and
quiet channels where it flowed sweetly through the calm bosom
of domestic life. Society has acquired a more enlightened
and elegant tone ; but it has lost many of its strong local
peculiarities, its home-bred feelings, its honest fireside delights.
The traditionary customs of golden-hearted antiquity, its feudal
hospitalities, and lordly wassailings, have passed away with the
baronial castles and stately manor-houses in which they were
celebrated. They comported with the shadowy hall, the great
oaken gallery, and the tapestried parlour, but are unfitted to
the light showy saloons and gay drawing-
rooms of the modern villa.
Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient
and festive honours, Christmas is still a
period of delightful excitement in Eng¬
land. It is gratifying to see
that home feeling completely
aroused which seems to hold
so powerful a place in
every English bosom.
The preparations mak¬
ing on every side for
the social board that
is again to unite friends
and kindred ; the pre¬
sents of good cheer
passing and repassing,
those tokens of regard,
and quickeners of kind feelings ; the evergreens distributed
about houses and churches, emblems of peace and gladness;
8
CHRISTMAS
all these have the most pleasing effect in producing fond
associations, and kindling benevolent sympathies. Even the
sound of the waits, rude as may be their minstrelsy, breaks
upon the mid-watches of a winter night with the effect of
perfect harmony. As I havé been awakened by them in that
still and solemn hour, " when deep sleep falleth upon man," I
have listened with a hushed delight, and, connecting them with
the sacred and joyous occasion, have almost fancied 'them into
another celestial choir, announcing peace and good-will to
mankind.
How delightfully the imagination, when wrought upon by
these moral influences, turns everything to melody and beauty:
The very crowing of the cock, who is sometimes heard in the
profound, repose of the country, "telling the night watches to
his feathery dames," was thought by the common people to
announce the approach of this sacred festival :—
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long ;
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ;
The nights are wholesome—then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of the spirits,
and stir of the affections, which prevail at this period, what
bosom can remain insensible ? It is, indeed, the season of
regenerated feeling—the season for kindling, not merely the
fire of hospitality in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in
the heart.
The scene of early love again rises green to memory beyond
the sterile waste of years ; and the idea of home, fraught with
the fragrance of home-dwelling joys, reanimates the drooping
spirit,—as the Arabian breeze will sometimes waft the freshness
of the distant fields to the weary pilgrim of the desert.
CHRISTMAS
9
Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land—though for
me no social hearth may blaze, no hospitable roof throw open
its doors, nor the warm grasp of friendship welcome me at the
threshold—yet I feel the influence of the season beaming into
my soul from the happy looks of those around me. Surely
happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven ; and every
countenance, bright with smiles, and glowing with innocent
enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of a
supreme and ever-shining benevolence. He who can turn
churlishly away from contemplating the felicity of his fellow-
beings, and sit down darkling and repining in his loneliness
when all around is joyful, may have his moments of strong
excitement and selfish gratification, but he wants the genial
and social sympathies which constitute the charm of a merry
Christmas.
Omne benè
Sine pcenâ
Tempus est ludendi ;
Venit hora,
Absque mora,
Libros deponendi.
Old Holiday School Song.
THE STAGE COACH
ÍST the preceding paper I have made some general observa-
vations on the Christmas festivities of England, and am
tempted to illustrate them by some anecdotes of a
Christmas passed in the country ; in perusing which, I
would most courteously invite my reader to lay aside
the austerity of wisdom, and to put on that genuine
holiday spirit which is tolerant of folly, and anxious only for
amusement. In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I
rode for a long distance in one of the public coaches, on the
day preceding Christmas. The coach was crowded, both inside
and out, with passengers, who, by their talk, seemed princi¬
pally bound to the mansions of relations or friends to eat the
Christmas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers of game,
and baskets and boxes of delicacies ; and hares hung dangling
their long ears about the coachman's box,—presents from distant
friends for the impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked
schoolboys for my fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom
health and manly spirit which I have observed in the children
of this country. They were returning home for the holidays
in high glee, and promising themselves a world of enjoyment.
It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans of pleasure of
14
THE STAGE COACH
the little rogues, and the impracticable feats they were to
perform during their six weeks' emancipation from the abhorred
thraldom of book, birch, and pedagogue. They were full of
I found to be a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of
more virtues than any steed since the days of Bucephalus.
How he could trot ! how he could run ! and then such leaps
as he would take—there was not a hedge in the whole country
that he could not clear.
They were under the particular guardianship of the coach¬
man, to whom, whenever an opportunity presented, they
addressed a host of questions, and pronounced him one of the
best fellows in the whole world. Indeed, I could not but
notice the more than ordinary air of bustle and importance of
the coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side, and had
a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the button-hole of
his coat. He is always a personage full of mighty care and
business, but he is particularly so during this season, having so
many commissions to execute in consequence of the great
interchange of presents. And here, perhaps, it may not be
unacceptable to my untravelled readers, to have a sketch that
may serve as a general representation of this very numerous
and important class of functionaries, who have a dress, a
manner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves, and prevalent
throughout the fraternity ; so that wherever an English stage-
anticipations of the meeting with
the family and household, down
to the very cat and dog ; and
of the joy they were to give
their little sisters by the presents
with which their pockets were
crammed ; but the meeting to
which they seemed to look for¬
ward with the greatest impa¬
tience was with Bantam, which
THE STAGE COACH
15
coachman may be seen, he cannot be mistaken for one of any
other craft or mystery.
He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with
red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding into every
vessel of the skin ; he is swelled
into jolly dimensions by frequent
potations of malt liquors, and his
bulk is still further increased by
a multiplicity of coats, in which
he is buried like a cauliflower,
the upper one reaching to his
heels. He wears a broad-
brimmed, low-crowned hat; a
huge roll of coloured handker¬
chief about his neck, knowingly
knotted and tucked in at the
bosom ; and has in summer¬
time a large bouquet of flowers
in his button-hole ; the present,
most probably, of some enam¬
oured country lass. His waist¬
coat is commonly of some bright
colour, striped ; and his small¬
clothes extend far below the
knees, to meet a pair of jockey boots which reach about
half-way up his legs. All this costume is maintained with
much precision ; he has a pride in having his clothes of excel¬
lent materials ; and, notwithstanding the seeming grossness of
his appearance, there is still discernible that neatness and
propriety of person which is almost inherent in an Englishman.
He enjoys great consequence and consideration along the road ;
has frequent conferences with the village housewives, who look
upon him as a man of great trust and dependence ; and he
seems to have a good understanding with every bright-eyed
i6
THE STAGE COACH
country lass. The moment he arrives where the horses are to
be changed, he throws down the reins with something of an air,
and abandons the cattle to the care of the hostler ; his duty
being merely to drive from one stage to another. When off
the box, his hands are thrust in the pockets of his greatcoat,
and he rolls about the inn-yard with an air of the most absolute
lordliness. Here he is generally surrounded by an admiring
throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless
hangers-on that infest inns and taverns, and run errands, and
do all kinds of odd jobs, for the privilege of battening on the
drippings of the kitchen and the leakage of the tap-room.
These all look up to him as to an oracle ; treasure up his cant
phrases ; echo his opinions about horses and other topics of
TH.E STAGE COACH
jockey lore; and, above all, endeavour to imitate his air and
carriage. Every ragamuffin that has a coat to his back thrusts
his hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and is
an embryo Coachey.
Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that
reigned in my own mind, that I fancied I saw cheerfulness in
every countenance throughout the journey. A stage coach,
however, carries animation always with it, and puts the world
in motion as it whirls along. The horn sounded at the entrance
of a. village produces a general bustle. Some hasten forth to
meet frierids;;-. some with "bundles and bandboxes •'to secure
C
i8
THE STAGE COACH
places, and in the hurry of the moment can hardly take leave
of the group that accompanies them. In the meantime, the
coachman has a world of
.«;• small commissions to exe-
" v\^\VV cute. Sometimes he de-
rf/ ANsftBEfer ,. , . .
\ W'- 1 ' livers a hare or pheasant ;
" ■ \ sometimes jerks a small
parcel or newspaper to
the door of a public-
house ; and sometimes,
with knowing leer and
words of sly import,
hands to some half-blush¬
ing, half-laughing house¬
maid an odd-shaped billet-
•T doux from some rustic ad¬
mirer. As the coach rattles
through the village, every one
runs to the window, and you
have glances on every side of
fresh country faces, and bloom¬
ing giggling girls. At the
corners are assembled juntas
of village idlers and wise men,
who take their stations there
for the important purpose of
seeing company pass ; but the
sagest knot is generally at
the blacksmith's, to whom the
passing of the coach is an event fruitful of much speculation.
The smith, with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses as the vehicle
THE STAGE COACH
19
whirls by ; the Cyclops round the anvil suspend their ringing
hammers, and suffer the iron to grow cool ; and the sooty
spectre in brown paper cap, labouring at the bellows, leans on
the handle for a moment, and permits the asthmatic engine
to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares through the
murky smoke and sulphureous gleams of the smithy.
Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a more
than usual animation to the country, for it seemed to me as if
everybody was in good looks and good spirits. Game, poultry,
and other luxuries of the table, were in brisk circulation in
the villages ; the grocers', butchers', and fruiterers' shops were
20
THE STAGE COACH
thronged with customers. The housewives were stirring briskly
about, putting their dwellings in order ; and the glossy branches
of holly, with their bright red berries, began to appear at the
windows. The scene brought to mind an old writer's account
of Christmas preparations :—" Now capons and hens, besides
turkeys, geese, and ducks, with beef and mutton—must all die ;
aged sit by the fire.
The country maid
leaves half her market; and must be sent again, if she forgets a
for in twelve days a
multitude of people
will not be fed with
a little. Now plums
and spice, sugar and
honey, square it a-
mong pies and broth.
Now or never must
music be in tune, for
the youth must dance
and sing to get them
a heat, while the
THE STAGE COACH
21
pack of cards on Christmas eve. Great is the contention of
Holly and Ivy, whether master or dame wears the breeches.
Dice and cards benefit the butler ; and if the cook do not lack
wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers."
I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by ' a
shout from my little travelling companions. They had been
looking out of the coach-windows for the last few miles, recog¬
nising every tree and cottage as they approached home, and
now there was a general burst of joy—"There's John! and
there's old Carlo ! and there's Bantam !" cried the happy little
rogues, clapping their hands.
At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking servant
in livery waiting for them : he was ac¬
companied by a superannuated pointer,
and by the redoubtable Bantam, a little
old rat of a pony, with a shaggy mane
and long rusty tail, who stood dozing
quietly by the roadside, little dreaming
of the bustling times that awaited him.
I was pleased to see the fondness
with which the little fellows
leaped about the steady old
footman, and hugged the pointer,
who wriggled his
whole body for joy.
But Bantam was
the great object of
interest ; all want¬
ed to mount at
once ; and it was
with some diffi¬
culty that John
arranged that they
should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first.
22
THE STAGE COACH
Off they set at last ; one on the pony, with the dog
bounding and barking before him, and the others holding John's
hands ; both talking at once, and overpowering him by questions
about home, and with school anecdotes. I looked after them
with a feeling in which I do not know whether pleasure or
melancholy predominated : for I was reminded of those days
when, like them, I had neither known care nor sorrow, and a
holiday was the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few
moments afterwards to water the horses, and on resuming our
road. I leaned out of the coach-window, in hopes of witness¬
ing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my
sight.
In the evening we reached a village where I had determined
to pass the night. As We drove into the great gateway of the
inn, I saw on one side the light of a rousing kitchen fire,
beaming through a window. I entered, and admired, for the
hundredth time, that picture of convenience, neatness, and broad
honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It was of
spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin vessels
highly polished, and decorated here and there with a Christmas
green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, were suspended
from the ceiling ; a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking
route, a turn of the
road brought us in
sight of a neat coun¬
try - seat. I could
just distinguish the
forms of a lady and
two young girls in
the portico, and I saw
my little comrades,
with Bantam, Carlo,
and old John, troop¬
ing along the carriage
THE STAGE COACH
23
beside the fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. A well-
scoured deal table extended along one side of the kitchen, with
a cold round of beef, and other hearty viands upon it, over
which two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard.
Travellers of inferior order were preparing to attack this stout
repast, while others sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on
two high-backed oaken seats beside the fire. Trim housemaids
were hurrying backwards and forwards under the directions
of a fresh, bustling landlady ; but still seizing an occasional
moment to exchange a flippant word, and have a rallying laugh,
with the group round the fire.
24
THE STAGE COACH
The scene completely realised Poor Robin's Humble idea
of the comforts of mid-winter.
Now trees their leafy hats do. bare,
To reverence Winter's silver hair ;
A handsome hostess, merry host,
A pot of ale now and a toast,
Tobacco and a good coal fire,
Are things this season doth require.*
I had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise drove
up to the door. A young gentleman stepped out, and by the
light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance which
I thought I knew. I moved forward to get a nearer view,
when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken ; it was
Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly good-humoured young fellow,
with whom I had once travelled on the Continent. Our
meeting was extremely cordial ; for the countenance of an old
fellow-traveller always brings up the recollection of a thousand
* Poor Robin's Almanack, 1684.
THE STAGE COACH
25
pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent jokes. To
discuss all these in a transient interview at an inn was im¬
possible ; and finding that I was not pressed for time, and was
merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I should
give him a day or two at his father's country-seat, to which he
was going to pass the holidays, and which lay at a few miles'
distance. " It is better than eating a solitary Christmas dinner
at an inn," said he ; " and I can assure you of a hearty
welcome in something of the old-fashion style." His reasoning
was cogent ; and I must confess the preparation I had seen for
universal festivity and social enjoyment had made me feel a
little impatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, at once
with his invitation : the chaise drove up to the door ; and in a
few moments I was on my way to the family mansion of the
Bracebridges.
Saint Francis and Saint Benedight
Blesse this house from wicked wight ;
From the night-mare and the goblin,
That is hight good-fellow Robin ;
Keep it from all evil spirits,
Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets :
From curfew time
To the next prime.
Cartvvright.
CHRISTMAS EVE
' was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely
cold ; our chaise whirled rapidly oyer the frozen
ground ; the post-boy smacked his whip inces¬
santly, and a part of the time his horses were on
a gallop. " He knows where he is going," said
my companion, laughing, " and is eager to arrive
some of the merriment and good cheer of the
servants' hall. My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee
of the old school, and prides himself upon keeping up some¬
thing of old English hospitality. He is a tolerable specimen
of what you will rarely meet with nowadays in its purity, the
old English country gentleman ; for our men of fortune spend
so much of their time in town, and fashion is carried so much
into the country, that the strong rich peculiarities of ancient
rural life are almost polished away. My father, however, from
early years, took honest Peacham * for his text book, instead
of Chesterfield : he determined, in his otyn mind, that there
was no condition more truly honourable and enviable than that
* Peacham's Complete Gentleman, 1622.
in time for
30
CHRISTMAS EVE
of a country gentleman on his paternal lands, and, therefore,
passes the whole of his time on his estate. He is a strenuous
advocate for the revival of the old rural games and holiday
observances, and is deeply read in the writers, ancient and
modern, who have treated on the subject. Indeed, his favourite
range of reading is among the authors who flourished at least
two centuries since ; who, he insists, wrote and thought more
like true Englishmen than any of their successors. He even
regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few centuries
earlier, when England was itself, and had its peculiar manners
and customs. As he lives at some distance from the main
road, in rather a lonely part of the country, without any rival
gentry near him, he has that most enviable of all blessings to
an Englishman, an opportunity of indulging the bent of his
own humour without molestation. Being representative of the
oldest family in the neighbourhood, and a great part of the
peasantry being his tenants, he is much looked up to, and, in
general, is known simply by the appellation of 'The Squire
a title which has been accorded to the head of the family since
time immemorial. I think it best to give you these hints
about my worthy old father, to prepare you for any little
eccentricities that might otherwise appear absurd."
We had passed for some time along the wall of a park,
and at length the chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a
heavy magnificent old style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought at
top into flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns'that
supported the gate were surmounted by the family crest.
Close adjoining was the porter's lodge, sheltered under dark
fir-trees, and almost buried in shrubbery.
The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded
through the still frosty air, and was answered by the distant
barking of dogs, with which the mansion house seemed
garrisoned. An old woman immediately appeared at the gate.
As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, I had a full view of a
' It was in a heavy magnificent old style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought at top into flourishes
and flowers.'
CHRISTMAS EVE
33
little primitive dame, dressed very much in the antique taste,
with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her silver hair peeping
from under a cap of snowy whiteness.
She came curtseying forth, with many
expressions of simple joy at seeing her
young master. Her husband, it seems,
was up at the house keeping Christmas
eve in the servants' hall ; they could not
do without him, as he was the best hand
at a song and story in the household.
My friend proposed that we should
alight and walk through the park to the
hall, which was at no great distance, while
the chaise should follow on. Our road wound through a
noble avenue of trees, among the naked branches of which the
moon glittered as she rolled through the deep vault of a cloud¬
less sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted with a slight covering
of snow, which here and there sparkled as the moonbeams
caught a frosty crystal ; and at a distance might be seen a
thin transparent vapour, stealing up from the low grounds, and
threatening gradually to shroud the landscape.
My companion looked round him with transport :—" How
often," said he, " have I scampered up this avenue, on returning
home on school vacations ! How often have I played under
these trees when a boy ! I feel a degree of filial reverence for
them, as we look up to those who have cherished us in child¬
hood. My father was always scrupulous in exacting our
holidays and having us around him on family festivals. He
used to direct and superintend our games with the strictness
that some parents do the studies of their children. He was
very particular that we should play the old English games
according to their original form ; and consulted old books for
precedent and authority for every ' merrie disport;' yet I
assure you there never was pedantry so delightful. It was the
0
34
CHRISTMAS EVE
policy of the good old gentleman to make his children feel that
home was the happiest place in the world ; and I value this
delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent can
bestow.''
We were interrupted by the clangour of a troop of dogs of
all sorts and sizes, " mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and
curs of low degree," that, disturbed by the ringing of the
porter's bell, and the rattling of the chaise, came bounding,
open-mouthed, across the lawn.
■ " The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart—see they bark at me !"
cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his voice the
bark was changed into a yelp of delight, and in a moment he
* Phe old family mansion, partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly lit up by the cold moonshine.'
CHRISTMAS EVE
37
was surrounded and almost overpowered by the caresses of the
faithful animals.
We had now come in full view of the old family mansion,
partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly lit up by the cold
moonshine. It was an irregular building of some magnitude,
and seemed to be of the architecture of different periods. One
wing was evidently very ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow
windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from among the
foliage of which the small diamond-shaped panes of glass
glittered with the moonbeams. The rest of the house was in
the French taste of Charles the Second's time, having been
repaired and altered, as my friend told me, by one of his
ancestors, who returned with that monarch at the Restoration.
The grounds about the house were laid out in the old formal
manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped shrubberies, raised
terraces, and heavy stone balustrades, ornamented with urns, a
leaden statue or two, and a jet of water. The old gentleman,
I was told, was extremely careful to preserve this obsolete
finery in all its original state. He admired this fashion in
gardening ; it had an air of magnificence, was courtly and
noble, and befitting good old family style. The boasted
imitation of nature in modern gardening had sprung up with
modern republican notions, but did not suit a monarchical
government ; it smacked- of the levelling system.—I could not
help smiling at this introduction of politics into gardening,
though I expressed some apprehension that I should find the
old gentleman rather intolerant in his creed.—Frank assured
me, however, that it was almost the only instance in which
he had ever heard his father meddle with politics ; and he
believed that he had got this notion from a member of parlia¬
ment who once passed a few weeks with him. The Squire
was glad of any argument to defend his clipped yew-trees
and formal terraces, which had been occasionally attacked by
modern landscape-gardeners.
38
CHRISTMAS EVE
As we approached the house,
we heard the sound of music, and
now and then a burst of laughter
from one end of the building.
This, Bracebridge said, must pro¬
ceed from the servants' hall, where
a great deal of revelry was per¬
mitted, and even encouraged, by
the Squire throughout the twelve
days of Christmas, provided every¬
thing was done conformably to
ancient usage. Here were kept up
the old games of hoodman blind,
shoe the wild mare, hot cockles,
steal the white loaf, bob apple,
and snap-dragon : the Yule log
and Christmas candle
were regularly burnt,
and the mistletoe,
with its white ber¬
ries, hung up, to the
imminent peril of all
the pretty house¬
maids.'"
So intent were
the servants upon
their sports, that we
had to ring repeatedly
before we could make ourselves heard.
* See Note A.
On our arrival being
' The company, which was assembled in a large old-fashioned hall.'
CHRISTMAS EVE
41
announced, the Squire came out to receive us, accompanied by
his two other ^ons ; one a young officer in the army, home on
leave of absence ; the other an Oxonian, just from the univer¬
sity. The Squire was a fine, healthy-looking old gentleman,
with silver hair curling lightly round an open florid counte¬
nance ; in which a physiognomist, with the advantage, like
myself, of a previous hint or two, might discover a singular
mixture of whim and benevolence.
The family meeting was warm and affectionate ; as the
evening was far advanced, the Squire would not permit us to
change our travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to the
company, which was assembled in a large old-fashioned hall.
It was composed of different branches of a numerous family
connection, where there were the usual proportion of old uncles
and aunts, comfortably married dames, superannuated spinsters,
blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-
eyed boarding-school hoydens. They were variously occupied ;
some at a round game of cards ; others conversing around the
fireplace ; at one end of the hall was a group of the young
folks, some nearly grown up, others of a more tender and
budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game ; and a profu-
42
CHRISTMAS EVE
sion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered dolls,
about the floor, showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings,
who, having frolicked through a happy day, had been carried
off to slumber through a peaceful night. While the mutual
greetings were going on between Bracebridge and his relatives,
I had time to scan the apartment. I have called it a hall,
for so it had certainly been in old times, and the Squire had
evidently endeavoured to restore it to something of its primi¬
tive state. Over the heavy projecting fireplace was suspended
a picture of a warrior in armour, standing by a white horse,
and on the opposite wall hung helmet, buckler, and lance. At
one end an enormous pair of antlers were inserted in the wall,
the branches serving as hooks on which to suspend hats
CHRISTMAS EVE
43
whips, and spurs ; and in the corners of the apartment were
fowling-pieces, fishing rods, and other sporting implements.
The furniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of former
days, though some articles of modern convenience had been
added, and the oaken floor had been carpeted ; so that the
whole presented an odd mixture of parlour and hall.
The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming
fireplace, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which
was an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth a
vast volume of light and heat ; this I understood was the Yule-
log, which the Squire was particular in having brought in and
illumined on a Christmas eve, according to ancient custom.*
It was really delightful to see the old Squire seated in his
hereditary elbow-chair by the hospitable fireside of his ances¬
tors, and looking around
him like the sun of a
system, beaming warmth
and gladness to every
heart. Even the very
dog that lay stretched
at his feet, as he lazily
shifted his position and
yawned, would look
fondly up in his master's
face, wag his tail against
the floor, and stretch
himself again to sleep,
confident of kindness
and protection. There is an emanation from the heart in
genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but is- immedi¬
ately felt, and puts the stranger at once at his ease. I had
not been seated many minutes by the comfortable hearth of
the worthy cavalier before I found myself as much at home
* See Note B.
44
CHRISTMAS EVE
as if I had been one of the family. Supper was announced
shortly after our arrival. It was served up in a spacious oaken
chamber, the panels of which shone with wax, and around
which were several family portraits decorated with holly and
ivy. Beside the accustomed lights, two great wax tapers,
called Christmas candles, wreathed with greens, were placed
on a highly polished buffet among the family plate. The table
was abundantly spread with substantial fare ; but the Squire
made his supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes
boiled in milk with rich spices, being a standing dish in old
times for Christmas eve. I was happy to find my old friend,
minced-pie, in the retinue of the feast ; and finding him to
be perfectly orthodox, and that I need not be ashamed of my
CHRISTMAS EVE
45
predilection, I greeted him with all the warmth wherewith
we usually greet an old and very genteel acquaintance.
The mirth of the company
was greatly promoted by the
humours of an eccentric per¬
sonage whom Mr. Bracebridge
always addressed with the quaint
appellation of Master Simon.
He was a tight, brisk little man,
with the air of an arrant old
bachelor. His nose was shaped
like the bill of a parrot ; his face
slightly pitted with the small-pox, with a dry perpetual bloom
on it, like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He had an eye of
great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggery
of expression that was irresistible. He was evidently the wit of
the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and innuendoes with
the ladies, and making infinite merriment by harpings upon
old themes ; which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the family
chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his
great delight during supper to keep a young girl next him in
a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite of her awe of the
46
CHRISTMAS EVE.
reproving looks of her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed,
he was the idol of the younger part of the company, who
laughed at everything he said or did, and at every turn of
his countenance. I could not wonder at it ; for he must have
been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. He could
imitate Punch and Judy; make an old woman of his hand,
with the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket-handkerchief :
and cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature, that the
young folks were ready to die with laughing.
I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge.
He was an old bachelor of a small independent income, which
by careful management was sufficient for all his wants. He
revolved through the family system like a vagrant comet in its
orbit ; sometimes visiting one branch, and sometimes another
quite remote ; as is often the case with gentlemen of extensive
connections and small fortunes in England. He had a chirping,
buoyant disposition, always enjoying the present moment ; and
his frequent change of scene and company prevented his
acquiring those rusty unaccommodating habits with which old
bachelors are so uncharitably charged. He was a complete
family chronicle, being versed in the genealogy, history, and
intermarriages of the whole house of Bracebridge, which made
him a great favourite with the old folks ; he was a beau of all
the elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among whom he
was habitually considered rather a young fellow, and he was a
master of the revels among the children ; so that there was not
a more popular being in the sphere in which he moved than
Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Of late years he had resided almost
entirely with the Squire, to whom he had become a factotum,
and whom he particularly delighted by jumping with his
humour in respect to old times, and by having a scrap of an
old song to suit every occasion. We had presently a specimen
of his last-mentioned talent ; for no sooner was supper removed,
and spiced wines and other beverages peculiar to the season
CHRISTMAS EVE
47
introduced, than Master Simon was called on for a good old
Christmas song. He bethought himself for a moment, and
then, with a sparkle of the eye, and a voice that was by no
means bad, excepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto,
like the notes of a split reed, he quavered forth a quaint old
ditty,—
" Now Christmas is come,
Let us beat up the drum,
And call all our neighbours together ;
And when they appear,
Let us make them such cheer,
As will keep out the wind and the weather,'' etc.
The supper had disposed every one to gaiety, and an old
harper was summoned from the servants' hall, where he had
been strumming all the
evening, and to all ap¬
pearance comforting him¬
self with some of the
Squire's home brewed.
He was a kind of hanger-
on, I was told, of the
establishment, and though
ostensibly a resident of
the village, was oftener to
be found in the Squire's
kitchen than his own
home, the old gentleman
being fond of the sound
of " harp in hall."
The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry
one ; some of the older folks joined in it, and the Squire
himself figured down several couples with a partner with whom
he affirmed he had danced at every Christmas for nearly
half-a-century. Master Simon, who seemed to be a kind of
connecting link between the old times and the new, and to be
48
CHRISTMAS EVE
withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments,
evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavouring
to gain credit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other graces
of the ancient school ; but he had unluckily assorted himself
with a little romping girl from boarding-school, who, by her
wild vivacity, kept him continually on the stretch, and defeated
all his sober attempts at elegance ;—such are the ill-assorted
matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortunately prone !
The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one of
his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a thousand little
knaveries with impunity ; he was full of practical jokes, and
his delight was to tease his aunts and cousins ; yet, like all
madcap youngsters, he was a universal favourite among the
women. The most interesting couple in the dance was the
CHRISTMAS EVE
49
young officer and a ward of the Squire's, a beautiful blushing
girl of seventeen. From several shy glances which I had
noticed in the course of the evening, I suspected there was a
little kindness growing up between them ; and, indeed, the
young soldier was just the hero to captivate a romantic girl.
He was tall, slender, and handsome, and like most young
British officers of late years, had picked up various small
accomplishments on the Continent—he could talk French and
Italian—draw landscapes, sing very tolerably—dance divinely;
but, above all, he had been wounded at Waterloo :—what girl
of seventeen, well read in poetry and romance, could resist such
a mirror of chivalry and perfection !
E
CHRISTMAS EVE.
The moment the dance was over, he caught up a guitar,
and lolling against the old marble fireplace, in an attitude which
I am half inclined to suspect was studied, began the little French
air of the Troubadour. The Squire, however, exclaimed against
having anything on Christmas eve but good old English ; upon
which the young minstrel, casting up his eye for a moment, as
if in an effort of memory, struck into another strain, and, with
a charming air of gallantry, gave Herrick's ' Night-Piece to
Julia —
" Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee,
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
{Indeed, so great was her indifference, that she was amusing herself with plucking to pieces a
choice bouquet of hot-house flowers.'
CHRISTMAS EVE
53
No Will-o'-the-Wisp mislight thee ;
Nor snake or glow-worm bite thee ;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there is none to affright thee.
Then let not the dark thee cumber ;
What though the moon does slumber,
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear without number.
Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me ;
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee."
The song might have been intended in compliment to the
fair Julia, for so I found his partner was called, or it might not ;
she, however, was certainly unconscious of any such application,
for she never looked at the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon
the floor. Her face was suffused, it is true, with a beautiful
blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the bosom, but all
that was doubtless caused by the exercise of the dance ; indeed,
so great was her indifference, that she was amusing herself with
plucking to pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house flowers, and by
the time the song was concluded, the nosegay lay in ruins on
the floor. The party now broke up for the night with the kind-
hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through
the hall, on the way to my chamber, the dying embers of the
Yule-clog still sent forth a dusky glow ; and had it not been
the season when " no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have
been half tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and
peep whether the fairies might not be at their revels about the
hearth. My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the
ponderous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the
days of the giants. The room was panelled with cornices of
54
CHRISTMAS EVE
heavy carved-work, in which flowers and grotesque faces were
strangely intermingled ; and a row of black-looking portraits
stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was óf rich
though faded damask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche
opposite a bow-window. I had scarcely got into bed when a
strain of music seemed to break forth in the air just below the
window. I listened, and found it proceeded from a band,
which I concluded to be the waits from some neighbouring
village. They went round the house, playing under the windows.
I drew aside the curtains, to hear them more distinctly. The
moonbeams fell through the upper part of the casement,
partially lighting up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as
they receded, became more soft and aerial, and seemed to
accord with quiet and moonlight. I listened and listened—
they became more and more tender and remote, and, as they
gradually died away, my head sank upon the pillow and I fell
asleep.
Dark and dull night, flie hence away,
And give the honour to this day
That sees December turn'd to May.
* * * *
Why does the chilling winter's morne
Smile like a field beset with corn ?
Or smell like to a meade new-shorne,
Thus on the sudden?—Come and see
The cause why things thus fragrant be.
Herrick.
CHRISTMAS DAY
^HEN I awoke the next morning, it seemed as if
all the events of the preceding evening had
been a dream, and nothing but the identity
of the ancient chamber convinced me of their
reality. While I lay musing on my pillow, I
heard the sound of little feet pattering outside
of the door, and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir
of small voices chanted forth an old Christmas carol, the burden
of which was,
Rejoice, our Saviour he was born
On Christmas Day in the morning.
I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the door
suddenly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy
groups that a painter could imagine. It consisted of a boy
58
CHRISTMAS DAY
and two girls, the eldest not more than six, and lovely as
seraphs. They were going the rounds of the house, and sing¬
ing at every chamber-door ; but my sudden appearance fright¬
ened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a
moment playing on their lips with their fingers, and now and
then stealing a shy glance, from under their eyebrows, until, as
if by one impulse, they scampered away, and as they turned an
angle of the gallery, I heard them laughing in triumph at their
escape.
Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings
in this stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window
of my chamber looked out upon what in summer would have
been a beautiful landscape. There was a sloping lawn, a fine
stream winding at the foot of it, and a tract of park beyond,
with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a distance
CHRISTMAS DAY
59
was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage chimneys
hanging over it ; and a church with its dark spire in strong
relief against the clear cold sky.
The house was surrounded with
evergreens, according to the
English custom, which would
have given almost an appear¬
ance of summer ; but the morn¬
ing was extremely frosty ; the
light vapour of the preceding
evening had been precipitated
by the cold, and covered all the
trees and every blade of grass
with its fine crystallisations.
The rays of a bright morning
sun had a dazzling effect among
the glittering foliage. A robin,
perched upon the top of a mountain-
ash that hung its clusters of red
berries just before my window, was
basking himself in the sunshine, and
piping a few querulous notes ; and a pea¬
cock was displaying all the glories of his
train, and strutting with the pride and
gravity of a Spanish grandee on the terrace-
walk below.
I had scarcely dressed myself, when a
servant appeared to invite me to family
prayers. He showed me the way to a
small chapel in the old wing of the house,
where I found the principal part of the
family already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with
cushions, hassocks, and large prayer-books ; the servants
were seated on benches below. The old gentleman read
6o
CHRISTMAS DAY
prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, and Master Simon
acted as clerk, and made the responses ; and I must do him
the justice to say that he ac¬
quitted himself with great gravity
and decorum.
The service was followed by
a Christmas carol, which Mr. Brace-
bridge himself had constructed
from a poem of his favourite
author, Herrick ; and it had been
adapted to an old church melody
by Master Simon. As there were
several good voices among the
household, the effect was extremely
pleasing ; but I was particularly
gratified by the exaltation of heart, and sudden sally of
grateful feeling, with which the worthy Squire delivered one
stanza : his eyes glistening, and his voice rambling out of all
the bounds of time and tune :
" 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltlesse mirth,
And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink,
Spiced to the brink :
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
That soiles my land ;
And giv'st me for my bushell sowne,
Twice ten for one.''
I afterwards understood that early morning service was
read on every Sunday and saint's day throughout the year,
either by Mr. Bracebridge or by some member of the family.
It was once almost universally the case at the seats of the
nobility and gentry of England, and it is much to be regretted
that the custom is fallen into neglect ; for the dullest observer
must be sensible of the order and serenity prevalent in those
CHRISTMAS DAY
6i
households, where the occasional exercise of a beautiful form of
worship in the morning gives, as it were, the key-note to every
temper for the day, and attunes every spirit to harmony.
Our breakfast consisted of what the Squire denominated
true old English fare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations
over modern breakfasts of tea-and-toast, which he censured as
among the causes of modern effeminacy and weak nerves, and
the decline of old English heartiness ; and though he admitted
them to his table to suit the palates of his guests, yet there
was a brave display of cold meats, wine, and ale, on the
sideboard.
After breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank
Bracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr. Simon, as he was called
by everybody but the Squire. We were escorted by a number
of gentleman-like dogs, that seemed loungers about the estab¬
lishment ; from the frisking spaniel to the steady old staghound ;
the last of which was of a race that had been in the family
02
CHRISTMAS DAY
time out of mind : they were all obedient to a dog-whistle
which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, and in the midst of
their gambols would glance an eye occasionally upon a small
switch he carried in his hand.
The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the
yellow sunshine than by pale moonlight ; and I could not but
feel the force of the Squire's idea, that the formal terraces,
heavily moulded balustrades, and clipped yew-trees, carried
with them an air of proud aristocracy. There appeared to be
an unusual number of peacocks about the place, and I was
making some remarks upon what I termed a flock of them,
that were basking under a sunny wall, when I was gently
corrected in my phraseology by Master Simon, who told me
that, according to the most ancient and approved treatise on
CHRISTMAS DAY.
63
hunting, I must say a muster of peacocks. " In the same way,"
added he, with a slight air of pedantry, "we say a flight of
doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens, or
cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks." He went on
to inform me, that according to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we
ought to ascribe to this bird " both understanding and glory ;
for being praised, he will presently set up his tail chiefly
against the sun, to the intent you may the better behold the
beauty thereof. But at the fall of the leaf, when his tail
falleth, he will mourn and hide himself in corners, till his tail
come again as it was."
I could not help smiling at this display of small erudition
on so whimsical a subject ; but I found that the peacocks were
birds of some consequence at the Hall, for Frank Bracebridge
informed me that they were great favourites with his father,
who was extremely careful to keep up the breed ; partly
because they belonged to chivalry, and were in great request at
the stately banquets of the olden time ; and partly because
they had a pomp and magnificence about them, highly be¬
coming an old family mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed
to say, had an air of greater state and dignity than a peacock
perched upon an antique stone balustrade.
Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appointment
at the parish church with the village choristers, who were to
perform some music of his selection. There was something
extremely agreeable in the cheerful flow of animal spirits of
the little man ; and I confess I had been somewhat surprised
at his apt quotations from authors who certainly were not in
the range of every-day reading. I mentioned this last circum¬
stance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me with a smile that
Master Simon's whole stock of erudition was confined to some
half a dozen old authors, which the Squire had put into his
hands, and which he read over and over, whenever he had a
studious fit ; as he sometimes had on a rainy day, or a long
64
CHRISTMAS DAY
winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert's Book of Husbandry ;
Markham's Country Contentments ; the Tretyse of Hunting,
by Sir Thomas Cockayne, Knight ; Izaak Walton's Angler, and
two or three more such ancient worthies of the pen, were his
standard authorities ; and, like all men who know but a few
books, he looked up to them with a kind of idolatry, and
quoted them on all occasions. As to his songs, they were
chiefly picked out of old books in the Squire's library, and
adapted to tunes that were popular among the choice spirits of
the last century. His practical application of scraps of litera¬
ture, however, had caused him to be looked upon as a prodigy
of book-knowledge by all the grooms, huntsmen, and small
sportsmen of the neighbourhood.
CHRISTMAS DAY
65
While we were talking we heard the distant toll of the
village bell, and I was told that the Squire was a little particular
in having his household at church on a Christmas morning ;
considering it a day of pouring out of thanks and rejoicing ;
for, as old Tusser observed,
" At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal,
And feast thy poor neighbours, the great and the small."
" If you are disposed to go to church,'' said Frank Brace-
bridge, " I can promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's
musical achievements. As the church is destitute of an organ,
he has formed a band from the village amateurs, and established
a musical club for their improvement ; he has also sorted a
choir, as he sorted my father's pack of hounds, according to
the directions of Jervaise Markham,in his Country Contentments ;
for the bass he has sought out all the ' deep, solemn mouths,'
and for the tenor the 'loud ringing mouths,' among the
country bumpkins ; and for ' sweet mouths,' he has culled with
F
66
CHRISTMAS DAY
curious taste among the prettiest lasses in the neighbourhood ;
though these last, he affirms, are the most difficult to keep in
tune ; your pretty female singer being exceedingly wayward
and capricious, and very liable to accident."
As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and
clear, the most of the family walked to the church, which was
a very old building of gray stone, and stood near a village,
about half a mile from the park gate. Adjoining it was a
low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval with the church.
The front of it was perfectly matted with a yew-tree that had
been trained against its walls, through the dense foliage of
which apertures had been'
; formed to admit light into
have held the church Bible and prayer-book ; and his small
legs seemed still smaller, from being planted in large shoes,
the small antique lattices. As
we passed this sheltered nest,
the parson issued forth and
preceded us.
I had expected to see a
sleek well-conditioned pastor,
such as is often found in a
snug living in the vicinity of
a rich patron's table ; but I
was disappointed. The parson
was a little, meagre, black-
looking man, with a grizzled
wig that was too wide, and
stood off from each ear ; so
that his head seemed to have
shrunk away within it, like a
dried filbert in its shell. He
wore a rusty coat, with great
skirts, and pockets that would
' On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having
used mistletoe.'
CHRISTMAS DAY
69
decorated with enormous buckles. I was informed by Frank
Bracebridge that the parson had been a chum of his father's
at Oxford, and had received this living shortly after the latter
had come to his estate. He was a complete black-letter
hunter, and would scarcely read a work printed in the Roman
character. The editions of Caxton and Wynkin de Wörde
were his delight ; and he was indefatigable in his researches
after such old English writers as have fallen into oblivion from
their worthlessness. In deference, perhaps, to the notions of
Mr. Bracebridge, he had made diligent investigations into the
festive rites and holiday customs of former times ; and had
been as zealous in the inquiry, as if he had been a boon
companion; but it.was merely with that plodding spirit with
which men of adust temperament follow up any track of
study, merely because it is denominated learning ; indifferent
to its intrinsic nature, whether it be the illustration of the
wisdom, or of the ribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. He
had pored over these old volumes so intensely, that they
seemed to have been reflected into his countenance indeed ;
which, if the face be an index of the mind, might be com¬
pared to a title-page of black-letter.
On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuking
the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe among the
greens with which the church was decorated. It was, he
observed, an unholy plant, profaned by having been used by
the Druids in their mystic ceremonies ; and though it might be
innocently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls and
kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Church
as unhallowed, and totally unfit for sacred purposes. So
tenacious was he on this point, that the poor sexton was obliged
to strip down a great part of the humble trophies of his taste,
before the parson would consent to enter upon the service of
the day.
The interior of the church was venerable but simple ; on
70
CHRISTMAS DAY
the walls were several mural monuments of the Bracebridges, and
just beside the altar was a tomb of ancient workmanship, on
which lay the effigy of a warrior
in armour, with his legs crossed, a sign
of his having been a crusader. I was
told it was one of the family who had
signalised himself in the Holy Land,
and the same whose picture hung over the fireplace in the
hall. During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, and
repeated the responses
very audibly; evincing. n -
that kind of ceremonious
devotion punctually ob¬
served by a gentleman of
the old school, and a man
of old family connections.
I observed, too, that he
turned over the leaves of
a folio prayer-book with
something of a flourish ;
possibly to show off an
enormous seal-ring which
enriched one of his fingers,
and which had the look !||||HrI /
of a family relic. But he
was evidently most soli¬
citous about the musical part of the service, keeping his eye
' The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical grouping of heads.'
CHRISTMAS DAY
73
fixed intently on the choir, and beating time with much gesti¬
culation and emphasis.
The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most
whimsical grouping of heads piled one above the other, among
which I particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale
fellow with a retreating forehead and chin, who played on the
clarionet, and seemed to have blown his face to a point ; and
there was another, a short pursy man, stooping and labouring
at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but the top of a round
bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two or three
pretty faces among the female singers, to which the keen air of
a frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint ; but the gentle¬
men choristers had evidently been chosen, like old Cremona
fiddles, more for tone than looks ; and as several had to sing
from, the same book, there were clusterings of odd physiog¬
nomies, not unlike those groups of cherubs we sometimes see
on country tombstones.
74
CHRISTMAS DAY
The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably
well, the vocal parts generally lagging a little behind the in¬
strumental, and some loitering fiddler now and then making up
for lost time by travelling over a passage with prodigious
celerity, and clearing more bars than the keenest fox-hunter, to
be in at the death. But the great trial was an anthem that
had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, and on
which he had founded great expectation. Unluckily there
was a blunder at the very outset ; the musicians became flurried ;
Master Simon was in a fever, everything went on lamely and
irregularly until they came to a chorus beginning " Now let us
sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal for parting
company ; all became discord and confusion ; each shifted for
himself, and got to the end as well, or rather as soon, as he
could, excepting one old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles
bestriding and pinching a long sonorous nose ; who, happening
to stand a little apart, and being wrapped up in his own melody,
kept on a quavering course, wriggling his head, ogling his book,
CHRISTMAS DAY
75
and winding all up by a nasal solo of at least three bars'
duration.
The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites
and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety of observing it
not merely as a day of
thanksgiving, but of re¬
joicing ; supporting the
correctness of his opinions
by the earliest usages of
the Church, and enforc¬
ing them by the authori¬
ties of Theophilus of
Cesarea, St. Cyprian, St.
Chrysostom, St. Augus¬
tine, and a cloud more
of Saints and Fathers,
from whom he made
copious quotations. I
was a little at a loss to
perceive the necessity of
such a mighty array of
forces to maintain a
point which no one pre¬
sent seemed inclined to
dispute ; but I soon found
that the good man had a legion of ideal adversaries to contend
with ; having, in the course of his researches on the subject of
Christmas, got completely embroiled in the sectarian contro¬
versies of the Revolution, when the Puritans made such a fierce
assault upon the ceremonies of the Church, and poor old
Christmas was driven out of the land by proclamation of
parliament* The worthy parson lived but with times past,
and knew but a little of the present
* See Note C.
76
CHRISTMAS DAY
Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement of his
antiquated little study, the pages of old times were to him as
the gazettes of the day ; while the era of the Revolution was
mere modern history. He forgot that nearly two centuries
had elapsed since the fiery persecution of poor mince-pie
throughout the land ; when plum-porridge was denounced as
mere popery," and roast beef as antichristian ; and that
Christmas had been brought in again triumphantly with the
merry court of King Charles at the Restoration. He kindled
into warmth with the ardour of his contest, and the host of
imaginary foes with whom he had to combat ; had a stubborn
conflict with old Prynne and two or three other forgotten
champions of the Roundheads, on the subject of Christmas
festivity ; and concluded by urging his hearers, in the most
solemn and affecting manner, to stand to the traditionary
customs of their fathers, and feast and make merry on this
joyful anniversary of the Church.
I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently with
more immediate effects ; for on leaving the church the congre¬
gation seemed one and all possessed with the gaiety of spirit so
earnestly enjoined by their pastor. The elder folks gathered
in knots in the churchyard, greeting and shaking hands ; and
the children ran about crying, Ule ! Ule ! and repeating some
uncouth rhymes,* which the parson, who had joined us, in¬
formed me had been handed down from days of yore. The
villagers doffed their hats to the Squire as he passed, giving
him the good wishes of the season with every appearance of
heartfelt sincerity, and were invited by him to the hall, to take
something to keep out the cold of the weather ; and I heard
blessings uttered by several of the poor, which convinced me
that, in the midst of his enjoyments, the worthy old cavalier
* " Ule ! Ule !
Three puddings in a pule •
Crack nuts and cry ule ! "
CHRISTMAS DAY
77
had not forgotten the true Christmas virtue of charity.
On our way homeward his heart seemed overflowing with
generous and happy feelings. As we passed over a rising
ground which commanded something of a prospect, the sounds
of rustic merriment now and then reached our ears ; the
Squire paused for a few moments, and looked around with an
air of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the day was of
itself sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwithstanding the
frostiness of the morning, the sun in his cloudless journey had
acquired sufficient power to melt away the thin covering of
snow from every southern declivity, and to bring out the living
green which adorns an English landscape even in mid-winter.
Large tracts of smiling verdure contrasted with the dazzling
whiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows. Every sheltered
bank, on which the broad rays rested, yielded its silver rill of
cold and limpid water, glittering through the dripping grass ;
78
CHRISTMAS DAY
and sent up slight exhalations to contribute to the thin haze
that hung just above the surface of the earth. There was
something truly cheering in this triumph of warmth and
verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter ; it was, as the
Squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality, breaking
through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and thawing
every heart into a flow.
He pointed with pleasure to the indications of good cheer
reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farm-houses
and low thatched cottages. " I love," said he, " to see this day
well kept by rich and poor ; it is a great thing to have one
day in the year, at least, when you are sure of being welcome
wherever you go, and of having, as it were, the world all
throw open to you ; and I am almost disposed to join with
Poor Robin, in his malediction of every churlish enemy to this
honest festival :—
CHRISTMAS DAY
79
1 Those who at Christmas do repine,
And would fain hence despatch him,
May they with old Duke Humphry dine,
Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em.' ''
The Squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of the
games and amusements which were once prevalent at this
season among the lower orders, and countenanced by the
higher : when the old halls of castles and manor-houses were
thrown open at daylight ; when the tables were covered with
brawn, and beef, and humming ale ; when the harp and the
carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were
alike welcome to enter and make merry." " Our old games
and local customs," said he, " had a great effect in making the
peasant fond of his home, and the promotion of them by the
gentry made him fond of his lord. They made the times
merrier, and kinder, and better ; and I can truly say, with one
of our old poets,—
' I like them well—the curious preciseness
And all-pretended gravity of those
That seek to banish hence these harmless sports,
Have thrust away much ancient honesty.'
* See Note D.
8o
CHRISTMAS DAY
" The nation," continued he, " is altered ; we have almost
lost our simple true-hearted peasantry. They have broken
asunder from the higher classes, and seem to think their
interests are separate. They have become too knowing, and
begin to read newspapers, listen to alehouse politicians, and
talk of reform. I think one mode to keep them in good
humour in these hard times would be for the nobility and
gentry to pass more time on their estates, mingle more among
the country people, and set the merry old English games
going again."
Such was the good Squire's project for mitigating public
discontent ; and, indeed, he had once attempted to put his
doctrine in practice, and a few years before had kept open
house during the holidays in the old style. The country
people, however, did not understand how to play their parts
in the scene of hospitality ; many uncouth circumstances
occurred ; the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the
country, and more beg¬
gars drawn into the
neighbourhood in one
week than the parish
officers could get rid of
in a year. Since then,
he had contented him¬
self with inviting the
decent part of the neigh¬
bouring peasantry to
call at the Hall on
Christmas day, and
distributing beef, and
bread, and ale among
the poor, that they might make merry in their own dwellings.
We had not been long home when the sound of music was
heard from a distance. A band of country lads without coats,
CHRISTMAS DAY
8i
their shirt-sleeves fancifully tied with ribands, their hats de¬
corated with greens, and clubs in their hands, were seen
advancing up the avenue, followed by a large number of
villagers and peasantry. They stopped before the hall door,
where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads per¬
formed a curious and intricate dance, advancing, retreating, and
striking their clubs together, keeping exact time to the music ;
while one, whimsically crowned with a fox's skin, the tail ol
which flaunted down his back, kept capering round the skirts
of the dance, and rattling a Christmas-box with many antic
gesticulations.
The Squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great interest
and delight, and gave me a full account of its origin, which he
traced to the times when the Romans held possession of the
island ; plainly proving that this was a lineal descendant of the
sword-dance of the ancients. " It was now," he said, " nearly
extinct, but he had accidentally met with traces of it in the
neighbourhood, and had encouraged its revival ; though, to tell
the truth, it was too apt to be followed up by rough cudgel-
play and broken heads in the evening."
After the dance was concluded, the whole party was
G
82
CHRISTMAS DAY
entertained with brawn and beef, and stout home-brewed.
The Squire himself mingled among the rustics, and was received
with awkward demonstrations of deference and regard. It is
true I perceived two or three of the younger peasants, as they
were raising their tankards to their mouths when the Squire's
back was turned, making something of a grimace, and giving
each other the wink ; but the moment they caught my eye
they pulled grave faces, and were exceedingly demure. With
Master Simon, however, they all seemed more at their ease.
His varied occupations and amusements had made him well
known throughout the neighbourhood. He was a visitor at
every farm-house and cottage ; gossiped with the farmers and
their wives ; romped with their daughters ; and, like that type
of a vagrant bachelor, the humble bee, tolled the sweets from
all the rosy lips of the country round.
The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before good
cheer and affability. There is something genuine and affec¬
tionate in the gaiety of the lower orders, when it is excited by
the bounty and familiarity of those above them ; the warm
glow of gratitude enters into their mirth, and a kind word
CHRISTMAS DAY
83
or a small pleasantry, frankly uttered by a patron, gladdens
the heart of the dependant more
than oil and wine. When the
Squire had retired the merri¬
ment increased, and there was
much joking and laughter, parti¬
cularly between Master Simon
and a hale, ruddy-faced, white-
headed farmer, who appeared to
be the wit of the village ; for I
observed all his companions to
wait with open mouths for his
retorts, and burst into a gratui¬
tous laugh before they could well understand them. The
whole house indeed seemed aban¬
doned to merriment. As I passed
to my room to dress for dinner, I
heard the sound of music in a
small court, and looking through
a window that commanded it, I
perceived a band of wandering
musicians, with pandean pipes and
tambourine ; a pretty coquettish
housemaid was dancing a jig with
a smart country lad, while
several of the other servants
were looking on. In the midst
of her sport the girl caught a
glimpse of my face at the window, and, colouring up, ran off
with an air of roguish affected confusion.
MMWc
Lo, now is come the joyful'st feast !
Let every man be jolly,
Eache roome with y vie leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning ;
Their ovens they with bak't meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if, for cold, it hap to die,
We'll bury't in a Christmas pye,
And evermore be merry.
WlTHERS's Juvenilia.
I HAD finished my toilet, and
was loitering with Frank
Bracebridge in the library,
when we heard a distant thwack¬
ing sound, which he informed me
was a signal for the serving
up of the dinner. The Squire
kept up old customs in kit-
! well as hall ; and the rolling-
pin, struck upon the dresser by the
cook, summoned the servants to carry in the meats.
Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice
His summons did obey ;
Each serving man, with dish in hand,
March'd boldly up, like our train-band,
Presented and away.*
* Sir John Suckling.
88
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
The dinner was served up in the great hall, where
the Squire always held his Christmas
banquet. A blazing crackling fire of
logs had been heaped on to warm the
spacious apartment, and the flame went
sparkling and wreathing up the wide-
mouthed chimney. The great picture
of the crusader and
his white horse had
been profusely decorated with greens for
the occasion ; and holly and ivy had like¬
wise been wreathed round the helmet
and weapons on the opposite wall, which
I understood were the, arms of the same
warrior. I must own, by the bye, I had
strong doubts about the authenticity of
the painting and armour as having be¬
longed to the crusader, they certainly
having the stamp of more recent days ;
MnÊv but I was told that the painting had been
mm so considered time out of mind ; and that
III IIL as to the armour, it had been found in a
'l|W lumber room, and elevated to its present
y& situation by the Squire, who at once
determined it to be the armour of the
family hero ; and as he was absolute authority on all such
' Never did Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of countenances.'
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
91
subjects in his own household, the matter had passed into
current acceptation. A sideboard was set out just under this
chivalric trophy, on which was a display of plate that might
have vied (at least in variety) with Belshazzar's parade of the
vessels of the temple ; " flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets,
basins, and ewers the gorgeous utensils of good companion¬
ship, that had gradually accumulated through many generations
of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the two Yule
candles beaming like two stars of the first magnitude ; other
lights were distributed in branches, and the whole array glit¬
tered like a firmament of silver.
We were ushered into this banqueting scene with the
sound of minstrelsy, the old harper being seated on a stool
beside the fireplace, and twanging his instrument with a vast
deal more power than melody. Never did Christmas board
display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of countenances :
those who were not handsome were, at least, happy ; and
happiness is a rare improver of your hard-favoured visage. I
always consider an old English family as well worth studying
as a collection of Holbein's portraits or Albert Dürer's prints.
92
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
There is much antiquarian lore to be acquired ; much knowledge
of the physiognomies of former times. Perhaps it may be from
having continually before their eyes
those rows of old family portraits, with
which the mansions of this country are
stocked ; certain it is, that the quaint
features of antiquity are often most
faithfully perpetuated in these ancient
lines ; and I have traced an old family
nose through a whole picture gallery,
legitimately handed down from genera¬
tion to generation, almost from the time
of the Conquest. Something of the kind
was to be observed in the worthy com¬
pany around me. Many of their faces had evidently originated
in a Gothic age, and been merely copied by succeeding gener¬
ations ; and there was one little girl, in particular, of staid de-
mean^^ ^ a higl^
a short familiar one, r—^~
such as is commonly addressed to the Deity, in these uncere¬
monious days ; but a long, courtly, well-worded one of the
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
93
ancient school. There was now a pause, as if something was
expected ; when suddenly the butler entered the hall with some
degree of bustle ; he was attended by a servant on each side
with a large wax-light, and bore a silver dish, on which was
an enormous pig's head decorated with rosemary, with a lemon
in its mouth, which was placed with great formality at the
head of the table. The moment this pageant made its appear¬
ance, the harper struck up a flourish ; at the conclusion of
which the young Oxonian, on receiving a hint from the
Squire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, an old
carol, the first verse of which was as follows :—
" Caput apri defero
Reddens laudes Domino.
94
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
The boar's head in hand bring I,
With garlands gay and rosemary.
I pray you all synge merily
Qui estis in convivio."
Though prepared to witness many of these little eccentrici¬
ties, from being apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine host ;
yet, I confess, the parade with which so odd a dish was
introduced somewhat perplexed me, until I gathered from the
conversation of the Squire and the parson that it was meant to
represent the bringing in of the boar's head': a dish formerly
served up with much ceremony, and the sound of minstrelsy
and song, at great tables on Christmas day. " I like the old
custom," said the Squire, " not merely because it is stately and
pleasing in itself, but because it was observed at the College of
Oxford, at which I was educated. When I hear the old song
chanted, it brings to mind the time when I was young and
gamesome—and the noble old college-hall—and my fellow
students loitering about in their black gowns ; many of whom,
poor lads, are now in their graves ! "
The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by such
associations, and who was always more taken up with the text
than the sentiment, objected to the Oxonian's version of the
carol : which he affirmed was different from that sung at college.
He went on, with the dry perseverance of a commentator, to
give the college reading, accompanied by sundry annotations :
addressing himself at first to the company at large ; but finding
their attention gradually diverted to other talk, and other
objects, he lowered his tone as his number of auditors diminished,
until he concluded his remarks, in an under voice, to a fat-headed
old gentleman next him, who was silently engaged in the
discussion of a huge plateful of turkey.*
The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented
an epitome of country abundance, in this season of overflowing
* See Note E.
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
95
larders. A distinguished post was allotted to " ancient sirloin,"
as mine host termed it ; being, as he added, " the standard of
old English hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and full
of expectation." There were several dishes quaintly decorated,
and which had evidently something traditionary in their em¬
bellishments ; but about which, as I did not like to appear over-
curious, I asked no questions.
I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently deco¬
rated with peacocks' feathers, in imitation of the tail of that
96
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
bird, which overshadowed a considerable tract of the table.
This the Squire confessed, with some little hesitation, was a
pheasant-pie, though a peacock-pie was certainly the most
authentical ; but there had been such a mortality among the
peacocks this season, that he could not prevail upon himself to
have one killed.*
It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may
not have that foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things to
which I am a little given, were I to mention the other make¬
shifts of this worthy old humorist, by which he was endeavour¬
ing to follow up, though at humble distance, the quaint customs
of antiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the respect shown
to his whims by his children and relatives ; who, indeed, entered
readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed all well versed
in their parts ; having doubtless been present at many a re¬
hearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of profound gravity
with which the butler and other servants executed the duties
assigned them, however eccentric. They had an old-fashioned
look ; having, for the most part, been brought up in the houses
hold, and grown into keeping with the antiquated mansion, and
the humours of its lord ; and most probably looked upon all
his whimsical regulations as the established laws of honourable
housekeeping.
When the cloth was removed, the butler brought in a huge
silver vessel of rare and curious workmanship, which he placed
before the Squire. Its appearance was hailed with acclamation ;
being the Wassail Bowl, so renowned in Christmas festivity.
The contents had been prepared by the Squire himself ; for it
was a beverage in the skilful mixture of which he particularly
prided himself ; alleging that it was too abstruse and complex
for the comprehension of an ordinary servant. It was a
potation, indeed, that might well make the heart of a toper
leap within him ; being composed of the richest and raciest
* See Note F.
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
97
wines, highly spiced and sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing
about the surface.*
The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with a
serene look of indwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty
bowl. ■ Having raised it to his lips, with a hearty wish of a
merry Christmas to all present, he sent it brimming round the
board, for every one to follow his example, according to the
primitive style ; pronouncing it " the ancient fountain of good
feeling, where all hearts met together."!
There was much laughing and rallying as the honest
emblem of Christmas joviality circulated, and was kissed rather
coyly by the ladies. When it reached Master Simon he raised
it in both hands, and with the air of a boon companion struck
up an old Wassail chanson :
The browne bowle,
The merry browne bowle,
* See Note G.
H
+ See Note H.
98
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
As it goes round about-a,
Fill
Still,
Let the world say what it will,
And drink your fill all out-a.
The deep canne,
The merry deep canne,
As thou dost freely quaff-a,
Sing,
Fling,
Be as merry as a king,
And sound a lusty laugh-a.*
Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon family-
topics, to which I was a stranger. There was, however, a great
deal of rallying of Master Simon about some gay widow, with
* From " Poor Robin's Almanack."
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
99
whom he was accused of having a flirtation. This attack was
commenced by the ladies ; but it was continued throughout
the dinner by the fat-headed old
with both eyes whenever he gave
Master Simon what he considered a home thrust. The latter,
indeed, seemed fond of being teased on the subject, as old
bachelors are apt to be ; and he took occasion to inform me,
in an under-tone, that the lady in question was a prodigiously
fine woman, and drove her own curricle.
The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent
hilarity ; and, though the old hall may have resounded in its
time with many a scene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt
whether it ever witnessed more honest and genuine enjoyment.
How easy it is for one benevolent being to diffuse pleasure
around him ; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of
gladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into
smiles ! the joyous disposition of the worthy Squire was
perfectly contagious ; he was happy himself, and disposed to
make all the world happy ; and the little eccentricities of his
humour did but season, in a manner, the sweetness of his
philanthropy.
When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual,
became still more animated ; many good things were broached
which had been thought of during dinner, but which would not
exactly do for a lady's ear ; and though I cannot positively
gentleman next the parson,, with the
persevering assiduity of a slow-hound ;
being one of those long-winded jokers,
who, though rather dull at starting
game, are unrivalled for their talents
in hunting it down. At every pause
in the general conversation, he re¬
newed his bantering in pretty much
the same terms ; winking hard at me
100
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
affirm that there was much wit uttered, yet I have certainly
heard many contests of rare wit produce much less laughter.
Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and much
too acid for some stomachs ; but honest good-humour is the oil
and wine of a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companion¬
ship equal to that where the jokes are rather small, and the
laughter abundant. The Squire
told several long stories of early
college pranks and adventures, in
some of which the parson had been
a sharer ; though in looking at the
latter, it required some
effort of imagination to
figure such a little dark
anatomy of a man into
the perpetrator of a mad¬
cap gambol. Indeed, the
two college chums pre¬
sented pictures of what
men may be made by
their different lots in life.
The Squire had left the
university to live lustily
on his paternal domains,
in the vigorous enjoyment
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
loi
of prosperity and sunshine, and had flourished on to a hearty
and florid old age ; whilst the poor parson, on the contrary,
had dried and withered away, among dusty tomes, in the
silence and shadows of his study. Still there seemed to be
a spark of almost extinguished fire, feebly glimmering in the
bottom of his soul ; and as the Squire hinted at a sly story
of the parson and a pretty milkmaid, whom they once met
on the banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an " alphabet
of faces," which, as far as I could decipher his physiognomy,
I verily believe was indicative of laughter ;—indeed, I have
rarely met with an old gentleman who took absolutely offence
at the imputed gallantries of his youth.
I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the
dry land of sober judgment. The company grew merrier and
louder as their jokes grew duller. Master Simon was in as
chirping a humour as a
grasshopper filled with
dew ; his old songs grew
of a warmer complexion,
and he began to talk
maudlin about the widow.
He even gave a long
song about the wooing
of a widow, which he
informed me he had
gathered from an excel¬
lent black-letter work,
entitled " Cupid's Solicitor for Love," containing store of good
advice for bachelors, and which he promised to lend me. The
first verse was to this effect :—
He that will woo a widow must not dally,
He must make hay while the sun doth shine ;
He must not stand with her, Shall I, Shall I ?
But boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine.
102
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who made
several attempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller,
that was pat to the purpose ; but he always stuck in the
middle, everybody recollecting the latter part excepting him¬
self. The parson, too, began to show the effects of good cheer,
having gradually settled down into a doze, and his wig sitting
most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncture we were
summoned to the drawing-room, and, I suspect, at the private
instigation of mine host, whose joviality seemed always tem¬
pered with a proper love of decorum.
After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given up
to the younger members of the family, who,, prompted to all
kind of noisy mirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, made
its old walls ring with their merriment, as they played at
romping games. I delight in witnessing the gambols Of
children, and particularly at this happy holiday-season, and
could not help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing
one of their peals of laughter. I found them at the game of
blind-man's buff. Master Simon, who was the leader of their
revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office of that
ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,* was blinded in the
midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about him
as the mock fairies about Falstaff ; pinching him, plucking at
the skirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws. One fine
blue-eyed girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in
beautiful confusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock half
torn off her shoulders, a complete picture of a romp, was the
chief tormentor ; and from the slyness with which Master
Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed this wild little
nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shrieking over
chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded
than was convenient.
When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company
* See Note I.
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
103
seated round the fire, listening to the parson, who was deeply
ensconced in a high-backed oaken chair, the work of some
cunning artificer of yore, which had been brought from the
library for his particular accommodation. From this venerable
piece of furniture, with which his shadowy figure and dark
weazen face so admirably accorded, he was dealing forth
strange accounts of the popular superstitions and legends of the
surrounding country, with which he had become acquainted in
the course of his antiquarian researches. I am half inclined
to think that the old gentleman was himself somewhat tinctured
with superstition, as men are very apt to be who live a recluse
and studious life in a sequestered part of the country, and
pore over black-letter tracts, so often filled with the marvellous
and supernatural.
He gave us several anecdotes of the fancies of the neigh-
104
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
bouring peasantry, concerning the effigy of the crusader
which lay on the tomb by the church altar. As it was
the only monument of the kind in that part of the country,
it had always been regarded with feelings of superstition by
the goodwives of the village. It was said to get up from the
tomb and walk the rounds of the churchyard in stormy nights,
particularly when it thundered ; and one old woman, whose
cottage bordered on the churchyard, had seen it, through the
windows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly pacing
up and down the aisles. It was the belief that some wrong
had been left unredressed by the deceased, or some treasure
hidden, which kept the spirit in a state of trouble and restless¬
ness. Some talked of gold and jewels buried in the tomb, over
which the spectre kept watch ; and there was a story current
of a sexton in old times who endeavoured to break his way to
the coffin at night ; but just as he reached it, received a violent
blow from the marble hand of the effigy, which stretched him
senseless on the pavement. These tales were often laughed at
by some of the sturdier among the rustics, yet when night
came on, there were many of the stoutest unbelievers that
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
105
were shy of venturing alone in the footpath that led across the
churchyard.
From these and other anecdotes that followed, the crusader
appeared to be the favourite hero of ghost stories throughout
the vicinity. His picture, which hung up in the hall, was
thought by the servants to have something supernatural about
it ; for they remarked that, in whatever part of the hall you
went, the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on you. The
old porter's wife, too, at the lodge, who had been born and
brought up in the family, and was a great gossip among the
maid-servants, affirmed, that in her young days she had often
heard say, that on Midsummer eve, when it is well known all
kinds of ghosts, goblins, and fairies become visible and walk
abroad, the crusader used to mount his horse, come down from
his picture, ride about the house, down the avenue, and so to
loó
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
the church to visit the tomb ; on which occasion the church-
door most civilly swung open of itself : not that he needed it ;
for he rode through closed gates and even stone walls, and had
been seen by one of the dairymaids to pass between two bars
of the great park gate, making himself as thin as a sheet of
paper.
All these superstitions I found had been very much coun¬
tenanced by the Squire, who, though not superstitious himself,
was very fond of seeing others so. He listened to every
goblin tale of the neighbouring gossips with infinite gravity,
and held the porter's wife in high favour on account of her
talent for the marvellous. He was himself a great reader of
old legends and romances, and often lamented that he could
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
107
not believe in them ; for a superstitious person, he thought,
must live in a kind of fairyland.
Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories, our
ears were suddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds
from the hall, in which was mingled something like the clang
of rude minstrelsy, with the uproar of many small voices and
girlish laughter. The door suddenly flew open, and a train
came trooping into the room, that might almost have been
mistaken for the breaking up of the court of Fairy. That
indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in the faithful discharge of
his duties as Lord of Misrule, had conceived the idea of a
Christmas mummery, or masking ; and having called in to his
assistance the Oxonion and the young officer, who were equally
ripe for anything that should occasion romping and merriment,
they had carried it into instant effect. The old housekeeper
had been consulted ; the antique clothes-presses and wardrobes
rummaged and made to yield up the relics of finery that had
not seen the light for several generations ; the younger part
of the company had been privately convened from the parlour
and hall, and the whole had been bedizened out, into a bur¬
lesque imitation of an antique masque.*
Master Simon led the van, as " Ancient Christmas," quaintly
apparelled in a ruff, a short cloak, which had very much the
aspect of one of the old housekeeper's petticoats, and a hat
that might have served for a village steeple, and must in¬
dubitably have figured in the days of the Covenanters. From
under this his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with a frost¬
bitten bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a December blast.
He was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up as
" Dame Mince-Pie," in the venerable magnificence of faded
brocade, long stomacher, peaked hat, and high-heeled shoes.
The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, in a sporting dress
of Kendal green, and a foraging cap, with a gold tassel. The
* See Note J.
io8
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to deep research,
and there was an evident eye to the picturesque, natural to a
young gallant in the presence of his mistress. The fair Julia
hung on his arm in a pretty rustic dress, as " Maid Marian."
The rest of the train had been metamorphosed in various ways ;
the girls trussed up in the finery of the ancient belles of the
Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskered with burnt
cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, hanging sleeves, and full-
bottomed wigs, to represent the characters of Roast Beef, Plum
' The rest of the train had been metamorphosed in various ways."
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
in
Pudding, and other worthies celebrated in ancient maskings.
The whole was under the control of the Oxonian, in the
appropriate character of Misrule ;
and I observed that he exercised jÉfel, or ilk
rather a mischievous sway with his
wand over the smaller personages
The irruption of this motley |^| |
crew, with beat of drum, according
to ancient custom, was the consum- /' ¡jkSE'ÉHp
mation of uproar and merriment. ^ vImIp'
Master Simon covered himself with jßjjv
glory by the stateliness with which,
as Ancient Christmas, he walked a jsf
minuet with the peerless, though í'iT%f Y
giggling, Dame Mince-Pie. It was
followed by a dance of all the W
characters, which, from its medley js3ß ¡¡/fûJi|| ^
of costumes, seemed as though the
old family portraits had skipped ^ t. nêtâ ÊÊ*
down from their frames to join in Jf (J " T
the sport. Different centuries were à, ¡1 (¡éí A|
figuring at cross hands and right ¿j
and left ; the dark ages were cutting
pirouettes and rigadoons ; and the î^ÉF WŒ ^ W
days of Queen Bess jigging merrily TlfeadR JË
down the middle, through a line of i ~~ «1 ' |pjj?
succeeding generations. 1/
The worthy squire contemplated .. JÍSÉ& y JT$ ;
these fantastic sports, and this re- jglPsSg
surrection of his old wardrobe, with
the simple relish of childish delight. He stood chuckling and
rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearing a word the parson
said, notwithstanding that the latter was discoursing most
112
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
authentically on the ancient and stately dance at the Paon, or
Peacock, from which he conceived the minuet to be derived.*
For my part, I was in a con¬
tinual excitement, from the
varied scenes of whim and in¬
nocent gaiety passing before
me. It was inspiring to see
wild-eyed frolic and warm¬
hearted hospitality breaking
out from among the chills and
glooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy, and
catching once more the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I
* See Note K.
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
"3
felt also an interest in the scene, from the consideration that
these fleeting customs were posting fast into oblivion, and
that this was, perhaps, the only family in England in which
the whole of them were still punctiliously observed. There
was a quaintness, too, mingled with all this revelry that
gave it a peculiar zest ; it was suited to the time and place ;
and as the old Manor House almost reeled with mirth and
wassail, it seemed echoing back the joviality of long-departed
years.
But enough of Christmas and its gambols ; it is time for
me to pause in this garrulity. Methinks I hear the questions
asked by my graver readers, "To what purpose is all this ?—
how is the world to be made wiser by this talk ?" Alas ! is
there not wisdom enough extant for the instruction of the world ?
I
114
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
And if not, are there not thousands of abler pens labouring for
its improvement ?—It is so much pleasanter to please than to
instruct—-to play the companion rather than the preceptor.
What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw
into the mass of knowledge ? or how am I sure that my sagest
deductions may be safe guides for the opinions of others. But
in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is my own dis¬
appointment. If, however, I can by any lucky chance, in these
days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, or
beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow ; if I can now
and then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy,
prompt a benevolent view of human nature, and make my
reader more in good-humour with his fellow beings and him¬
self, surely, surely, I shall not then have written entirely in
vain.
NOTES
Note A, p. 38.
The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens at Christmas ;
and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls under it, plucking
each time a berry from the bush. When the berries are all plucked, the
privilege ceases.
Note B, pp. 43, 53.
The Yule-clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a tree,
brought into the house with great ceremony, on Christmas eve, laid in the
fireplace, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. While it lasted
there was great drinking, singing, and telling of tales. Sometimes it was
accompanied by Christmas candles, but in the cottages the only light was
from the ruddy blaze of the great wood fire. The Yule-clog was to burn all
night ; if it went out, it was considered a sign of ill luck.
Herrick mentions it in one of his songs :—
" Come, bring with a noise
My merrie, merrie boyes,
The Christmas log to the firing :
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your hearts' desiring."
The Yule-clog is still burnt in many farm-houses and kitchens in England,
particularly in the north, and there are several superstitions connected with
it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come to the house while it
is burning, or a person barefooted, it is considered an ill omen. The brand
remaining from the Yule-clog is carefully put away to light the next year's
Christmas fire.
NOTES
Note C, p. 75.
From the " Flying Eagle," a small Gazette, published December 24,
1652 :—"The House spent much time this day about the business of the
Navy, lor settling the affairs at sea; and before they rose, were presented
with a terrible remonstrance against Christmas day, grounded upon divine
Scriptures, 2 Cor. v. 16 ; 1 Cor. xv. 14, 17 ; and in honour of the Lord's
Day, grounded upon these Scriptures, John xx. I ; Rev. i. 10 ; Psalm cxviii.
24 ; Lev. xxiii. 7, 11 ; Mark xvi. 8 ; Psalm lxxxiv. 10, in which Christmas
is called Anti-Christ's masse, and those Mass-mongers and Papists who
observe it, etc. In consequence of which Parliament spent some time in
consultation about the abolition of Christmas day, passed orders to that
effect, and resolved to sit on the following day, which was commonly called
Christmas day."
Note D, p. 79.
" An English gentleman at the opening of the great day, i.e. on
Christmas day in the morning, had all his tenants and neighbours enter his
hall by daybreak. The strong beer was broached, and the black jacks
went plentifully about with toast, sugar, nutmeg, and good Cheshire cheese.
The hackin (the great sausage) must be boiled by daybreak, or else two
young men must take the maiden (i.e. the cook) by the arms and run her
round the market-place till she is shamed of her laziness."—Round about
our Sea-Coal Fire.
Note E, p. 94.
The old ceremony ot serving up the boar's head on Christmas day is
still observed in the hall of Queen's College, Oxford. I was favoured by
the parson with a copy of the carol as now sung, and as it may be accept¬
able to such of my readers as are curious in these grave and learned matters,
I give it entire.
" The boar's head in hand bear I,
Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary ;
And I pray you, my masters, be merry
Quot estis in convivio.
Caput apri defero
Reddens laudes Domino.
NOTES
117
The boar's head, as I understand,
Is the rarest dish in all this land,
Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland
Let us serviré cántico.
Caput apri defero, etc.
Our Steward hath provided this
In honour of the King of Bliss,
Which on this day to be served is
In Reginensi Atrio.
Caput apri defero,"
Etc. etc. etc.
Note F, p. 96.
The peacock was anciently in great demand for stately entertainments.
Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which the head appeared
above the crust in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt ; at the other
end the tail was displayed. Such pies were served up at the solemn
banquets of chivalry, when Knights-errant pledged themselves to undertake
any perilous enterprise ; whence came the ancient oath, used by Justice
Shallow, "by cock and pie."
The peacock was also an important dish for the Christmas feast ; and
Massinger, in his City Madam, gives some idea of the extravagance with
which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the gorgeous revels of
the olden times :—
"Men may talk of country Christmasses,
Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues :
Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris ; the carcases of three fat wethers bruised
for gravy, to make sauce for a single peacock ! "
Note G, p. 97.
The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of wine ;
with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabs ; in this way the nut-
brown beverage is still prepared in some old families, and round the hearths
of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also called Lambs' Wool, and is
celebrated by Herrick in his " Twelfth Night
" Next crowne the bowle full
With gentle Lambs' Wool,
11 s
NOTES
Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,
With store of ale too ;
And thus ye must doe
To make the Wassaile a swinger. "
Note H, p. 97.
" The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place to each having
his cup. When the steward came to the doore with the Wassel, he was
to cry three times, Wassel, Wassel, Wassel, and then the chappel (chaplain)
was to answer with a song.—arch.eologia.
Note I, p. 102.
"At Christmasse there was in the Kinge's house, wheresoever hee was
lodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merry disportes ; and the like had
ye in the house of every nobleman of honor, or good worshippe, were he
spirituall or temporall."—Stow.
Note J, p. 107.
Maskings or mummeries were favourite sports at Christmas in old times ;
and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were often laid under con¬
tribution to furnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I strongly suspect
Master Simon to have taken the idea of his from Ben Jonson's Masque of
Christmas.
Note K, p. 112.
Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from pavo,
a peacock, says, " It is a grave and majestic dance ; the method of dancing
it anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, by those of
the long robe in their gowns, by the peers in their mantles, and by the
ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled
that of a peacock."—History of Music.
BRACEBRIDGE HALL
The success of "Old Christmas" has suggested
the re-publication of its sequel " Bracebridge Hall,"
illustrated by the same able pencil, but condensed so
as to bring it within reasonable size and price.
The Hall .
The Busy Man
Family Servants
The Widow
The Lovers
Family Reliques .
An Old Soldier .
The Widow's Retinue
Ready-Money Jack
Bachelors .
A Literary Antiquary
The Farm-House .
Horsemanship
Love Symptoms
Falconry .
Hawking
Fortune-Telling .
Love-Charms
A Bachelor's Confessions
CONTENTS
PAGE
Gipsies . . . . . . .254
Village Worthies . . . . .260
The Schoolmaster. . . . . .264
The School . . . . . .272
A Village Politician . . . .277
The Rookery ...... 283
May-Day ....... 292
The Culprit ...... 306
Lovers' Troubles . . . . . -317
The Wedding ...... 324
!
DESIGNED BY RANDOLPH CALDECOTT,
AND
ARRANGED AND ENGRAVED BY J. D. COOPER.
Title-Page
Heading to Preface .....
Tailpiece to Preface .....
Heading to Contents . . .
Tailpiece to Contents .....
Heading to List of Illustrations
Tailpiece to Illustrations ....
The Hawking Party .....
The Hall .......
The Terrace Garden . . . .
Stopping to gather a Flower ....
Breaking a Pointer .....
The Children dance in the Hall .
"Several Unhappy Birds in Durance" .
PAGE
i23
i23
I25
126
127
132
134
135
137
138
i4o
i42
I43
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Old Christy . . . . . .144
" Two pampered Curs that barked out of each
Window" ...... 145
Arrival of the Widow . . . . .146
Heading to "Family Servants" .... 147
The Old Housekeeper ..... 148
Phcebe Wilkins . . . . . .150
"She drinks the Health of the Company" . . 151
Contemplation . . . . . .154
The Widow ... . 156
Kensington Gardens . . . . .158
A Sage Adviser . . . . . .160
Master Simon over the Accounts . .161
Heading to "The Lovers" . . . .162
The Lovers .... .164
The Trio ....... 167
Heading to "Family Reliques" .... 168
Effigy in Marble . . . . .171
Julia and the Captain in the Gallery . . .173
The Salutation . . . . . .175
General Harbottle . . . . .177
"Public Distress, Sir, is all Humbug!". . 179
Canine Pets . . . . . .180
The Old Coachman . . . . .181
Dignity and Impudence . . . .183
Confidential Whisper . . . . .184
Ready-Money Jack Expounding . . . .185
In at the Death .... . ^8
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Quelling the Brawl . . . . .189
Quarter-Staff . . . . . .191
Mullí gata wney Club . . . . .192
Chaffing the Milkmaid . . . . .195
Conjugal Extinguisher . . . . .197
A Literary Antiquary . . . . .199
A Bookworm ...... 202
"Come, tell me, says Rosa, as kissing and kissed" . 204
Heading to "The Farm-House" .... 206
"He shone like a Bottle" . . . .208
A Tailpiece . . . . . .210
Christy on Pepper . . . . .211
A Hunter ... ... 214
The Tutor's Dismissal . . . .215
The Offering . . . . .217
Mrs. Hannah . . . . . .219
Asleep when he reads . . . . .220
Falconry in Olden Times . . . .221
Physicking the Hawks . . . . .224
"Well, well, have it your own way, Christy!" . 225
Hawking . . . • • • .227
The Consultation in the Field . . . .229
The Quarry in sight . . . . .231
Julia's Mishap ...... 232
Pluming her Wings . . . .234
The Gipsy Encampment ... . 235
A Gipsy Girl ...... 236
The General in the Toils . . . 237
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
" God save the King !" . . . . . 240
Tossing the Pancake . . . . .241
Jack jilts Phcebe . . . . . .244
The Love-Spell ...... 245
Master Simon at the Window . . . .247
Master Simon in Love . . . . .249.
Gentlemen's Jokes. : . . . 253
Starlight Tom on the Watch . . . .254
A Gipsy Party ...... 256
Fortune-telling . . . . . .259
Heading to "Village Worthies" . . . 260
"Master Simon pinched the Daughter's Cheek" . 261
The Apothecary . . . . . 263
Heading to "The Schoolmaster" . . .264
Slingsby and Ready-Money Jack . . . .267
"On the Road" ...... 270
The School . . . . . .272
The Prodigal . . . . . .274
The Truants . . . . . .275
Laying down the Law . . . . .277
The Village Politician . . . . .279
The Landlady . . . . . .280
The Antagonists . . . . . .282
The Rookery ...... 283
After the Straws. . . . . .285
Rooks on the Sheep . . . . .287
The Hermit Owl ...... 289
Bachelor's Hall . . . . . ,01
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
May-Day ....... 292
May-Day Queen . . . . . .294
The General nonplussed . . . . .297
May Queen and Bride-Elect . . . .298
May-Day Melée . . . . . .301
Rumpled Feathers. ..... 304
The Capture . . . . . 306
Conscience makes Cowards of the Dogs . . 307
The Tribunal ...... 309
The Guard . . . . ■ 313
Tailpiece . . . . . . .316
A Solemn Consultation . . . . -317
Love Documents . . . . . .320
Slingsby and Phœbe . . .322
Butler with Bride Cup . . . . .324
The Wedding . . . . .327
Rural Artillery . . . . . .329
Master Simon opens the Ball . . . '33°
Reconciliation . . . . -333
A Maiden Confession ..... 334
Master Simon's Finale. . . . . -337
THE HALL
The ancientest house, and the best for housekeeping in this county or the next, and
though the master of it write but squire, I know no lord like him.
Merry Beggars.
The reader, if he has perused the volumes of the Sketch Book,
will probably recollect something of the Bracebridge family,
with which I once passed a Christmas. I am now on another
visit at the Hall, having been invited 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 married 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 gaily, 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
136
THE HALL
extinct in England. I use this rural title, partly because it is
his universal appellation throughout the neighbourhood, and
partly because it saves me the frequent repetition of his name,
which is one of those rough old English names at which
Frenchmen exclaim in despair.
The Squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the old
English country gentleman ; rusticated a little by living almost
entirely on his estate, and something of a humorist, as English¬
men are apt to become when they have an opportunity of living
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 humour, having as yet
a lively and unsated curiosity about the ancient and genuine
characteristics of my " fatherland."
There are some traits about the Squire's family 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, families of the
ancient gentry, who, though destitute of titled rank, maintain a
high ancestral pride ; who look down upon all nobility of recent
creation, 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 importance
which they enjoy on their hereditary domains. The family
mansion is an old manor-house, standing in a retired and
beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its inhabitants have been always
regarded through the surrounding country, as " the great ones
of the earth and the little village 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 peculiar humour 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
THE HALL
137
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 beauties 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 my jingling casement I
smell the odour 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 the tuneful
little wren.
While sojourning in this stronghold of old fashions, it is my
intention to make occasional sketches of the scenes and char¬
acters before me. I would have it understood, however, that
L
138
THE HALL
I am not writing a novel, and have nothing of intricate plot, or
marvellous adventure, to promise the reader. The Hall of
which I treat has, for aught I know, neither trap-door, nor
sliding-panel, nor donjon-keep': and indeed appears to have
no mystery 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 an old gentleman, 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 hall.
I tell this honestly to the reader, lest when he find me
dallying along, through everyday English scenes, he may hurry
ahead, in hopes of meeting with some marvellous adventure
farther on. I invite him, on the contrary, to ramble gently on
THE HALL
Ï39
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 loiterings about this
old mansion, see or hear anything curious, that might serve to
vary the monotony of this everyday life, I shall not fail to
report it for the reader's entertainment.
For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie
Of any book, how grave so e'er it be,
Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie,
Well-sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee.*
* Mirror for Magistrates.
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 tricks, and jigs you would admire—he is
with him now. Jovial Crew.
By 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. I encountered 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-humour ; for there are few
happier beings than a busy idler ; that is to say, a man who is
eternally busy about nothing.
THE BUSY MAN
141
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 himself, and out of the way. He has fitted it up in
his own taste, 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 suiting his notions, or fitting some corner of
his apartment : 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
farriery, 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 Novelists' Magazine, the Sporting
Magazine, the Racing Calendar, a volume or two of the
Newgate 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 favourite 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, affirming
it to be a veritable Cremona : though I have never heard him
extract a single note from it that was not enough to make one's
blood run cold.
From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the
stillness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune ;
for he prides himself on having a choice collection of good old
English 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
142
THE BUSY MAN
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 various avocations ;
there are half-copied sheets of music ; designs for needlework ;
sketches of landscapes, very indifferently executed ; a camera
lucida ; a magic lantern, for which he is endeavouring to paint
glasses : in a word, it is the cabinet of a man of many accom¬
plishments, 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 establish¬
ment, to visit the stables, dog-kennel, and other dependencies,
in which he appeared like a general visiting the different 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 Squire's,
which he termed the falconry, where there were several unhappy
birds in durance, completing their education. Among the
THE BUSY MAN
143
number was a fine falcon, which Master Simon had in especial
training, and he told me that he would show me, in 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 somewhat 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 thread¬
bare velvet jockey cap, and a pair of leather breeches, that,
from much wear, shone as though they had been japanned.
He was very contradictory and pragmatical, 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 treatment of the hawk, which the old man seemed to
have under his peculiar care, and, according 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 ensealling, and
144
THE BUSY MAN
giving the hawk the rangle, which I saw was all heathen Greek
to old Christy ; but he maintained his point notwithstanding,
and seemed to hold all his technical lore in utter disrespect.
I was surprised at the good humour with which Master
Simon bore his contradictions, till he explained the matter to
me afterwards. Old Christy is
the most ancient servant in the
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 bestrid the
great-great-grandsires of most of
them. He can give a circum¬
stantial detail of every fox-hunt
for the last sixty or seventy years,
and has a history of every stag's
head about the house, and every
hunting trophy nailed to the door
of the dog-kennel. All the pre¬
sent race have grown up under
his eye, and humour him in his
old age. He once attended the
Squire to Oxford when he was a student there, and enlightened
the whole university 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
from 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 the lawn in
front of the house, we heard the porter's bell ring at the lodge,
THE BUSY MAN
145
and shortly afterwards a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up
the avenue. At sight of it my companion paused, considered
for a moment, and then, making a sudden exclamation, hurried
away to meet it. As it approached I discovered a fair, fresh-
looking elderly lady, dressed in an old-fashioned riding habit,
with a broad-brimmed white beaver hat, such as may be seen
in Sir Joshua Reynolds' paintings. She rode a sleek white
pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted
on an over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the rear came
an ancient cumbrous chariot, drawn by two very corpulent
horses, driven by as corpulent a coachman, beside whom sat a
page dressed in a fanciful green livery. Inside of the chariot
was a starched prim personage, with a look somewhat 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 garrison to receive
this new-comer. The Squire assisted her to alight, and saluted
her affectionately ; the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they
embraced with the romantic fervour of boarding-school friends.
146
THE BUSY MAN
She was escorted into the house by Julia's lover, towards whom
she showed distinguished favour; and a line of the old servants,
who had collected in the hall, bowed most profoundly as she
passed. I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous and
devout in his attentions upon this old lady. He walked by
the side of her pony up the avenue : and while she was receiv¬
ing the salutations of the rest of the family, he took occasion
to notice the fat coachman, to pat the sleek carriage-horses,
and, above all, to say a civil 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 the morning.
He was swept off in the vortex that followed in the wake of
this lady. Once indeed he paused for a moment, as he was
hurrying on some errand of the good lady's, to let me 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 SERVANTS
Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping. They are like rats in a
mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the antiquity and fatness of their abode.
In my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often be tempted
to dwell on circumstances of a trite and ordinary nature, from
their appearing to me illustrative of genuine national character.
It seems to be the study of the Squire to adhere, as much as
possible, to what he considers the old landmarks of English
manners. His servants all understand his ways, and, for the
most part, have been accustomed to them from infancy ; so that,
upon the whole, his household presents one of the few tolerable
specimens that can now be met with, of the establishment of an
English country gentleman of the old school. By the by, the
servants are not the least characteristic part of the household ;
the housekeeper, for instance, has been born and brought up at
the Hall, and has never been twenty miles from it ; yet she has
a stately air that would not disgrace a lady that had figured at
the court of Queen Elizabeth.
I am half-inclined to think that she has caught it from
living so much among the old family pictures. It may, however,
be owing to a consciousness of her importance in the sphere in
which she has always moved ; for she is greatly respected in
148
FAMILY SERVANTS
the neighbouring 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 Iront, 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
peerless family beauty ; and I have sometimes looked from the
old housekeeper to the neighbouring portraits, to see whether I
FAMILY SERVANTS
149
could not recognise her antiquated brocade in the dress of some
one of those long-waisted dames that smile on me from 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 the
only history she knows, excepting that which she has read in
the Bible. She can give a biography of every portrait in the
picture gallery, 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 circumstance 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 footman, and a rejected
admirer of hers, used to tell the anecdote now and then, at
those little cabals that will occasionally take place among the
most orderly servants, arising from the common propensity of
the governed to talk against administration ; but he has left it
off, of late years, since he has risen into place, and shakes his
head rebukingly when it is mentioned.
It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell on
the looks of the Squire when he was a young man at college ;
and she maintains that none of his sons can compare with their
father when he was of their age, and was dressed out in his
full suit of scarlet, with his hair craped and powdered, and his
three-cornered hat.
She has an orphan niece, a pretty soft-hearted baggage,
FAMILY SERVANTS
named Phœbe Wilkins, who has been 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 something between a waiting-maid and a slip-shod fine
lady.
She is considered a kind of heiress among the servants, as
she will inherit all her aunt's property ; which, if report be true,
must be a round sum of good golden guineas, the accumulated
wealth of two housekeepers' savings ; not to mention the
hereditary wardrobe, and the many little valuables and knick-
knacks treasured up in the housekeeper's room. Indeed the
old housekeeper 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
FAMILY SERVANTS
they have many discussions on points of family history, in
which, notwithstanding 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 some
remembrance from the ladies of the house where he has been
staying.
Indeed all the children in the house look up to the old lady
with habitual respect and attachment, and she seems almost to
consider them as her own, from their having grown up under
her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her favourite, 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 housekeeper sails into the room and stands
behind the Squire's chair, when he fills her a glass of wine'with
152
FAMILY SERVANTS
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, respectful 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 employment or the voice of command ; nothing of that
obtrusive housewifery that amounts to a torment. 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 performed as if by magic, but it is the magic of system.
Nothing is done by fits and starts, nor at awkward seasons ;
the whole goes on like well-oiled clockwork, where there is no
noise 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 towards their domestics ; but
an approving nod and kind word from master or mistress goes
as far here as an excess of praise or indulgence elsewhere.
Neither do servants exhibit any animated marks of affection to
their employers ; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their
attachments ; and the reciprocal regard of masters or servants,
though not ardently expressed, 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 world ; 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
FAMILY SERVANTS
153
the day of their death in the enjoyment of steady unaffected
kindness, and the performance of faithful unofficious duty. I
think such instances of attachment speak well for 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 mentioned, and with such as are
somewhat retired, and pass the greater part of their time in the
country. As to the powdered menials that throng the walls
of fashionable town residences, they equally reflect the character
of the establishments to which they belong ; and I know no
more complete epitomes of dissolute heartlessness and pampered
inutility.
But the good " old family servant ! "—The one who has
always been linked, in idea, with 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 faithful 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 at 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
affection ?
I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the grave¬
stones of such valuable domestics, recorded with the simple
truth of natural feeling. I have two before me at this moment ;
M
154
FAMILY SERVANTS
one copied from a tombstone of a churchyard in War¬
wickshire :
" Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential servant
to George Birch, Esq. of Hampstead Hall. His grateful friend
and master caused this inscription to be written 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
survivor."
Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me the
glow about the heart that I felt while copying this honest
epitaph in the churchyard of Eltham. I sympathised 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 the times and friends that had passed away ;
and in considering this record of long and devoted services, I
FAMILY SERVANTS
>55
called 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 somewhere in
the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late king to the memory of a
family servant, who had 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 honour of the humble virtues of a menial.
THE WIDOW
She was so charitable and pitious
She would weep if that she saw a mous
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled ;
Of small hounds had she, that she fed
With rost flesh, milice, and wastel bread ;
But sore wept she if any of them were dead,
Or if man smote them with a yard smart.
Chaucer.
Notwithstanding - the whimsical parade made by Lady
Lillycraft on her arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness
that I had imagined ; but, on the contrary, she has 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
THE WIDOW
157
rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, is
frizzled 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 particulars con¬
cerning her. She was a great belle in town between thirty and
forty years since, and reigned for two seasons with all the
insolence of 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 passion had
suddenly revived ; " having," as he said, " always loved her
mind rather than her person."
The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune 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 favourite recollections, however, revert to that short
period of her youthful beauty. She has no idea of town but
as it was at that time ; and continually forgets 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
came to the crown, would often mention him as the "sweet
young prince."
iS8
THE WIDOW
She talks also of the walks in Kensington Gardens, where
the gentlemen appeared in gold-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 familiarly of
many wild young blades, that are now, perhaps, hobbling
about watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes.
Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony dis¬
couraged 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,
THE WIDOW
159
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 ; everything 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 that loves 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 japanned stands ; and
sweet bags lie about the tables and mantelpieces. The house
is full of pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing birds, who are
as carefully waited upon as she is herself.
She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure,
living on white meats, and little lady-like dishes, though her
servants have substantial old English 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 has 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
century. 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 romance, reeking from the press : though
she evidently 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 neighbourhood, and is
i6o
THE WIDOW
imposed upon by every beggar in the county. She is the
benefactress of a village adjoining to her estate, and takes a
special interest in all its love affairs. She knows of every
courtship that is going on ; every love-lorn damsel is sure to
find a patient listener and sage adviser in her ladyship. She
takes great pains to reconcile all lpve quarrels, and should any
faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, he is sure to draw
on himself the good lady's violent indignation.
I have learned these particulars partly from Frank Brace-
bridge and partly from Master Simon. I am now able to
account for the assiduous attention of the latter to her ladyship.
Her house is one of his favourite 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 notwithstanding that it is
poached by all the vagabonds in the neighbourhood.
THE WIDOW
161
It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain will
inherit the greater part of her property, having always been
her chief favourite ; 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 all matters of
love and matrimony.
THE LOVERS
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ; for lo the winter is past, the rain
is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of
birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.
Song of Solomon..
To a man who is a 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, I 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 interesting.
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,
inexperienced in coquetry, who has made her first conquest ;
while the captain regards her with that mixture of fondness
and exultation, with which a youthful lover is apt to contem¬
plate so beauteous a prize.
I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing along
one of the retired walks. The sun was shining with delicious
warmth, making great masses of bright verdure, and deep blue
shade. The cuckoo, that "harbinger of spring," was faintly
'The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening to his conversation.'
THE LOVERS
heard from a distance ; the thrush piped from the hawthorn,
and the yellow butterflies 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 flowers. 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 under¬
stand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a favourite 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 kindness of his early friend.
The widow and her child returned to England helpless,
and almost hopeless. When Mr. Bracebridge received accounts
of their situation, he hastened to their relief. He reached
them just in time to soothe the last moments of the mother,
who was dying of a consumption, and to make her happy in
the assurance that her child should 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 education, 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 has instructed her in the manners of the old
school, and enriched her mind with all kinds of novels and
THE LOVERS
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 growing 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 servants of 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 that
she should be extremely accomplished. The gardener taught
her to rear flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old
Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she ap¬
proaches ; and as she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle,
claims the merit of having taught her to ride ; while the house¬
keeper, who almost looks upon her as 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 the style of Sir Peter Lely'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, however, 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 much pleasure in hearing her warble one of the
old songs of Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some
simple old melody, as I have had from listening to a lady
amateur skylark it up and down through the finest bravura of
Rossini or Mozart.
THE LOVERS
167
We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally,
between her and the captain, assisted sometimes by Master
Simon, who scrapes, dubiously, 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 to himself the whole credit
of having formed 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 RELIQUES
My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye,
The dimple on her cheek and such sweet skill
Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown,
These lips look fresh and lovely as her own.
False colours 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 ! Dekker.
An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study.
It abounds with illustrations of former times, and traces of the
tastes, and humours, and manners of successive generations.
The alterations and additions, in different styles of architecture ;
the furniture, plate, pictures, hangings; the warlike and sporting
FAMILY RELIQUES
169
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 reliques, the Hall is full
of remembrances of this kind. In looking about the establish¬
ment, I can picture to myself the characters and habits that
have prevailed at different eras of the family history. I
have mentioned on a former occasion the armour of the
crusader which hangs up in the Hall. There are also several
jack-boots, with enormously thick soles and high heels, that
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, that 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 traditions of his
wonderful feats in hunting still existing, which are related by
old Christy, the huntsman, 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 ardour 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 extraordinary 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 Ripon spurs which belonged
N
170
FAMILY RELIQUES
to this mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on
particular occasions.
The place, however, which abounds most with mementoes
of past times, is the picture-gallery ; and there is something
strangely pleasing, though melancholy, in considering the long
rows of portraits which compose the greater part of the collec¬
tion. 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 housekeeper, 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 little 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 freshness of youthful beauty, when
she was a celebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause
several 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
gallant 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 from 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, from early boyhood to the
robe of dignity, or truncheon of command, and so on by degrees
until they were gathered up in the common repository, the
neighbouring 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 gaiety
and romance this old mansion must have been when they were
FAMILY RELIQUES
171
in the heyday of their charms ; when they passed like beautiful
visions through its halls, or stepped daintily to music in the
revels and dances of the cedar gallery; or printed, with delicate
feet, the velvet verdure of these lawns. How must they have
been looked up to with mingled love, and pride, and reverence,
by the old family servants ; and followed by almost painful
admiration by the aching eyes ot 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
172
FAMILY RELIQUES
of Beauty. Several of the old romances in the library have
marginal notes expressing sympathy and approbation, where
there are long speeches extolling ladies' charms, or protesting
eternal fidelity, or bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair
one. The interviews, and declarations, and parting scenes of
tender lovers, also bear the marks 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 engraved on them
with diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs.
Phillips, 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 the spelling, have
evidently been written by the young ladies themselves, or by
female friends, who had been on visits to the Hall. Mrs.
Phillips seems to have been their favourite 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 prudishly confines itself to
lamenting the parting of female friends.
The bow-window of my bedroom, which has, doubtless,
been inhabited by one of these beauties, has several of these
inscriptions. I have one at this moment before my eyes
called "Camilla parting with Leonora:"
" How perished is the joy that's past,
The present how unsteady !
What comfort can be great, and last,
When this is gone already ! "
And close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some adventur¬
ous lover, who had stolen into the lady's chamber during her
absence.
FAMILY RELIQUES
173
"THEODOSIUS TO CAMILLA.
I'd rather in your favour 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 gallantry and tender¬
ness ; when I contemplate the fading 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—" all dead,
all buried, all forgotten," I find a cloud of melancholy stealing
over the present gaieties around me. I was gazing, 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
174
FAMILY RELIQUES
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 loveliness, and enjoyment, will have ceased,
and nothing be left to commemorate this beautiful being but
one more perishable portrait ; to awaken, perhaps, the trite
speculations of some future loiterer, like myself, when I and my
scribblings shall have lived through our brief existence, and
been forgotten.
AN OLD SOLDIER
i've worn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; fed this good
sword with the black blood of pagan Christians ; converted a few individuals
with it.—But let that pass.
The Ordinary.
The Hall was thrown into some little agitation, a few days
since, by the arrival of General Harbottle. He had been
expected for several days, and had been looked for rather
impatiently by several of the family. Master Simon assured
me that I would like the general 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 recollected him only as a dashing
young ensign, just come upon the town. She actually spent
an hour longer at her toilet, and made her appearance, with
her hair uncommonly frizzled and powdered, and an additional
quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little surprised and
shocked, therefore, at finding the little dashing ensign trans¬
formed into a corpulent old general, with a double chin, though
176
AN OLD SOLDIER
it was a perfect picture to witness their salutations ; the
graciousness of her profound curtsy, and the air of the old
school 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 the Hall have enabled me, I think, to furnish a
tolerable 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 Seringapatam, which forms an era
in his history. He wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a
diamond on his finger, which he got on that occasion, and who¬
ever is unlucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve himself
in the whole history of the siege. To judge from the general's
conversation, the taking of Seringapatam is the most important
affair that has occurred for the last century.
On the approach of warlike times on the Continent, he was
rapidly promoted to get him out of the way of younger officers
of merit ; until, having been hoisted to the rank of general, he
was quietly laid on the shelf. Since that time his campaigns
have been principally confined to watering-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-century, and, according to hints which
he now and then drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of
many of them.
AN OLD SOLDIER
177
He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of
almost every place famous for good quarters, and where the
inhabitants give good dinners. He is a diner-out of the first-
rate currency, when in town ; being invited to one place because
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, from actual observation ; nor is any one better versed
in court gossip, and the pedigrees and intermarriages of the
nobility.
As the general is an old bachelor and an old beau, and
there are several ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam
flame Lady Jocelyne, he is put rather upon his gallantry. He
commonly passes some time, therefore, at his toilet, and takes
the field at a late hour every morning, with his hair dressed
178
AN OLD SOLDIER
out and powdered, and a rose in his button-hole. After he
has breakfasted, he walks up and down the terrace in the sun¬
shine, humming an air, and hemming between every stave,
carrying one hand behind his back, and with the other touching
his cane to the ground and then raising it up to his shoulder.
Should he, in these morning promenades, meet any of the elder
ladies of the family, as he frequently does 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 Gardens.
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 'tis to die !"
I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run any
great risk of dying, excepting from an apoplexy, or indigestion.
He criticises all the battles on the Continent, and discusses the
merits of the commanders, but never fails to bring the conver¬
sation 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
labouring under the terror of Buonaparte'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, particularly 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 of the present day ; but it was the
AN OLD SOLDIER
179
mode of the old school. He is, however, very strict in religious
matters, and a staunch churchman. He repeats the responses
very loudly in church, and is emphatical in praying for the
king and royal family.
At table his loyalty waxes very fervent with his second
bottle, and the song of " God save the King " puts him into a
perfect ecstasy. He is amazingly well contented with the
present state 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 friends. " 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 !—Lear.
In giving an account of the arrival of 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
imaginary conveniences, but real incumbrances, with which the
luxurious are apt to burden themselves. 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 handboxes, 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 biscuit
THE WIDOW'S RETINUE
181
and fruit ; the new publications ; all provided to guard against
hunger, fatigue, or ennui ; 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 kindness of her nature, which
requires her to be surrounded 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
horses ; and only drives out when he thinks proper, and when
he thinks it will be " good for the cattle."
She has a favourite 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
THE WIDOW'S RETINUE
soon as they grow to fourteen years of age. She has brought
two dogs with her also, out of a number of pets which she
maintains at home. One is a fat spaniel, 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
his head ; he wheezes with corpulency, and cannot walk without
great difficulty. The other is a little, old, gray-muzzled cur¬
mudgeon, with an unhappy 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 his 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 reserve. This last wretch is called Beauty.
These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown 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
most tyrannical barking, that is absolutely deafening. They
are insolent to all the other dogs of the establishment. There
is a noble staghound, a great favourite of the Squire's, who is a
privileged visitor to the parlour ; but the moment he makes
his appearance, these intruders fly at him with furious rage ;
and I have admired the sovereign 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
THE WIDOW'S RETINUE 183
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 fills the room
with clamour and confusion.
Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, Mrs.
Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; one of the most intol¬
erable and intolerant virgins that ever lived. She has kept her
virtue 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 abigail's temper being tart
and encroaching, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the
former has got the complete upper hand, and tyrannises over
the good lady in secret.
Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great con-
184
THE WIDOW'S RETINUE
fidence, to her friends, but hushes up the subject immediately,
if Mrs. Hannah makes her appearance. Indeed, she has been
so accustomed 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-humour, by little presents and
kindnesses.
Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled with
awe, for this ancient 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 extremely civil to
her when they meet.
READY-MONEY JACK
My purse, it is my privy wyfe,
This song I dare both syng and say,
It keepeth men from grievous stryfe
When every man for hymself shall pay.
As I ryde in ryche array
For gold and sylver men wyll me floryshe ;
By thys matter I dare well saye,
Ever gramercy my ne owne purse.
Book of Hunting.
On the skirts of the neighbouring village there lives a kind of
small potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative 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 an old
farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, the stout oaken chair of
his ancestors. The personage to whom I allude is a sturdy old
O
READY-MONEY JACK
yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or rather Ready-Money
Jack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighbourhood.
The first place where he attracted my attention was in
the churchyard on Sunday ; where he sat on a tombstone after
service, with his hat a little on one side, holding forth to a
small circle of auditors, and, as I presumed, expounding 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 yeoman,
such as he is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by
some little finery 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 coloured silk
neckcloth, 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 Tibbets, 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 garters. 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 gathered 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
churchyard was taken up with the tombstones of his race. He
has all his life been an important character in the place.
READY-MONEY JACK
187
When a youngster, he was one of the most roaring blades of
the neighbourhood. 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 off 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 neighbours shook their heads,
and predicted that young Plopeful would soon make way with
the old homestead ; but Jack falsified all their predictions.
The moment 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. He
has never been without a hundred or two pounds in gold by
him, and never allows a debt to stand unpaid. This has gained
him his current name, of which, by the by, he is a little proud ;
and has caused him to be looked upon as a very wealthy man
by all the village.
Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never denied
himself the amusements of life, but has taken a share in every
passing pleasure. It is his maxim, that "he that works hard
can afford to play." He is, therefore, an attendant at all the
country fairs and wakes, and has signalised 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
i88
READY-MONEY JACK
his own riding, and to this day is fond of following 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 Christmas.
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 gaiety ; but maintains the same
grave, lion-like demeanour. He is very slow at comprehending
a joke ; and is apt to sit puzzling at it, with a perplexed look,
while the rest of the company is in a roar. This gravity has,
perhaps, grown on him with the growing weight of his character ;
for he is gradually rising into patriarchal dignity in his native
place. Though he no longer takes an active part in athletic
sports, yet 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 con¬
tend against his decisions ; the young men having grown up in
* Merry Night; a rustic merry-making in a farm-house about Christmas,
common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abundance of homely fare, tea,
cakes, fruit, and ale ; various feats of agility, amusing games, romping, dancing, and
kissing withal. They commonly break up at midnight.
READY-MONEY JACK
189
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, how¬
ever, drinks anything 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 neighbours, which
otherwise might have been nursed by country attorneys into
tolerable lawsuits. 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 patience if there is
much pleading. He generally breaks through the argument
with a strong voice, and brings matters to a summary conclu¬
sion, by pronouncing what he calls the " upshot of the business,"
or, in other words, " the long and short of the matter."
190
READY-MONEY JACK
Jack once 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 yeoman-like appearance.
This is a favourite anecdote with him, and has no doubt had a
great effect in making him a most loyal subject ever since, in
spite of taxes and poor's rates. He was also at Bartholomew-
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 regular attempt to hustle him as he was gazing
at a show ; but for once they found that they had caught a
tartar, for Jack enacted as great wonders among the gang as
Samson did among the Philistines. One of his neighbours,
who had accompanied him to town, and was with him at the
fair, brought back an account of his exploits, which raised the
pride of the whole village ; who considered their champion as
having subdued all London, and eclipsed the achievements of
Friar Tuck, or even the renowned 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 succeeded to him both in the labours of
the farm and the exploits of the green. Like all sons of dis¬
tinguished men, however, his father'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 Ready-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
READY-MONEY JACK
191
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 Husbandrie, which has
furnished him with reading ever since, and is his text-book
and manual in all agricultural and domestic concerns. He has
made dog's ears at the most favourite 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 in¬
dependence of mind and manner, 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 Master Simon, who is a kind of
privy councillor to the family ; but his great favourite is the
Oxonian, whom he taught to wrestle and play at quarter-staff
when a boy, and considers the most promising young gentleman
in the whole county.
BACHELORS
The Bachelor most joyfully
In pleasant plight doth pass his daies,
Good fellowship and companie
He doth maintain and kepe alwaies.
Evans' Old Ballads.
There is no character in the comedy of human life that is
more difficult to play well than that of an old bachelor. When
a single gentleman, therefore, arrives at that critical period
when he begins to consider it an impertinent question to be
asked his age, I would advise 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 other 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.
BACHELORS
193
I am led to make these remarks by the conduct of Master
Simon and the general, who have become great cronies. As
the former is the younger by many years, he is regarded as
quite a youthful gallant by the. general, who moreover looks
upon him as a man of great wit and prodigious acquirements.
I have already hinted that Master Simon is a family beau, and
considered rather a young fellow by all the elderly ladies 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 flourish in immortal youth," and will continue to play the
Romeos and Rangers for half a century together.
Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, and takes a
different hue with every different companion : he is very atten¬
tive and officious, and somewhat sentimental, with Lady Lilly-
craft ; copies out little namby-pamby ditties and love-songs for
her, and draws quivers, and doves, and darts, and Cupids, to be
worked in the corners of her pocket-handkerchiefs. He in¬
dulges, however, in very considerable latitude with the other
married ladies of the family ; and has many sly pleasantries to
whisper to them, that provoke an equivocal laugh and tap of
the fan. But when he gets among your company, such as
Frank Bracebridge, the Oxonian, and the general, he is apt to
put on the mad wig, and to talk in a very bachelor-like strain
about the sex.
In this he has been encouraged by the example of the
general, whom he looks up to as a man who has seen the
world. The general, in fact, tells shocking stories after dinner,
when the ladies have retired, which he gives as some of the
choice things that are served up at the Mulligatawney Club, a
knot of boon companions in London. He also repeats the fat
jokes of Major Pendergast, the wit of the club, and which,
though the general 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
194
BACHELORS
instance of the declension in gay life, by which a young man
of pleasure is apt to cool down into an obscene old gentleman.
I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or two since, con¬
versing with a buxom milkmaid in a meadow ; and from their
elbowing each other now and then, and the general's shaking
his shoulders, blowing up his cheeks, and breaking out into a
short fit of irrepressible laughter, 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 have ventured to encounter. Such
veteran roisters are daring wags when together, and will put
any female to the blush with their jokes ; but they are as quiet
as lambs when they fall singly into the clutches of a fine
woman.
In spite of the general's years, he evidently is a little vain
of his person, and ambitious of conquests. I have observed
him on Sunday in church eyeing the country girls most
suspiciously ; 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 churchyard.
The general, in fact, is a veteran in the service of Cupid rather
than of Mars, having signalised himself in all the garrison
towns and country quarters, and seen service in every ball¬
room of England. Not a celebrated beauty but he has laid
siege to ; and if his words may be taken in a matter wherein
no man is apt to be over veracious, it is incredible what success
he has had with the fair. At present he is like a worn-out
warrior, retired from service ; but who still cocks his beaver
with a military air, and talks stoutly of fighting whenever he
comes within the smell of gunpowder.
11 saw him and Master Simon conversing with a buxom milkmaid in a meadow.'
BACHELORS
197
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 care of but his portmanteau :
but, as Major Pendergast says, 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, Master Simon, who already
begins to echo his heresies, 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
BACHELORS
talks of showing him the lions when he eomes to town, and of
introducing him to a knot of choice spirits at the Mulligatawney
Club ; which, I understand, is composed of old nabobs, officers
in the Company's employ, and other " men of Ind," that have
seen service in the East, and returned home burnt out with
curry and touched with the liver complaint. They have their
regular club, where they eat Mulligatawney soup, smoke the
hookah, talk about Tippoo Saib, Seringapatam, and tiger-
hunting ; and aré tediously agreeable in each other's company.
Printed bookes he contemns, as a novelty of this latter age ; but a manuscript he
pores on everlastingly ; especially if the cover be all moth-eaten, and the dust
make a parenthesis between every syllable,
Mico-Cosmografhie, 1628.
The Squire receives great sympathy and support in his anti¬
quated humours, from the parson, of whom I made some
mention on my former visit to the Hall, and who acts as a
kind of family chaplain. He has been cherished 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, that last through life,
without the usual humiliations of dependence and patronage.
Under the fostering protection of the Squire, therefore, the
little parson has pursued his studies in peace. Having lived
almost entirely among books, and those, too, old books, he is
quite ignorant 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.
20O
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
His taste for literary antiquities was first imbibed in the
Bodleian Library at Oxford ; where, when a student, he passed
many an hour foraging among the old manuscripts. He has
since, at different times, visited most of the curious libraries in
England, and has ransacked many of the cathedrals. With all
his quaint and curious learning, he has nothing of arrogance or
pedantry ; but that unaffected earnestness and guileless sim¬
plicity which seem to belong to the literary antiquary.
He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in his
manner : yet, on his favourite 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
parson, when relating his search after a curious document,
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
illuminations, its thick creamy vellum, its glossy ink, and the
odour 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 Pâté de Strasbourg.
His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick dreams
about gorgeous old works in "silk linings, triple gold bands,
and tinted leather, locked up in wire cases, and secured from
the vulgar hands of the mere reader and, to continue the
happy expression of an ingenious writer, " dazzling one's eyes,
like eastern beauties peering through their jealousies."
He has a great desire, however, to read such works in the
old libraries and chapter-houses to which they belong ; for he
thinks a black-lettered 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 from the neighbourhood of the quaintly
carved oaken book-case and Gothic reading-desk. At hiä
suggestion, the squire has had the library furnished in this
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
201
antique taste", and several of the windows glazed with painted
glass, that they may throw a properly tempered light upon the
pages of their favourite 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 sundry dangerous errors in respect to popular
games and superstitions ; a work to which the Squire looks for¬
ward with great interest. He is also a casual contributor to that
long-established repository of national customs and antiquities,
the Gentleman's Magazine, and is one of those that every now
and then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete customs or
rare legend ; nay, it is said that several of his communications
have been at least six inches in length. He frequently receives
parcels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, contain¬
ing 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 any rare volume,
or unique copy, just discovered 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 could collect, illustrative 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. Bracebridge and the general.
The parson had not been seen for several days, which 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 window that looked into the churchyard,
and was overshadowed by a yew-tree. His chair was sur¬
rounded by folios and quartos, piled upon the floor, and his
table was covered with books and manuscripts. The cause of
P
202
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
his seclusion was a work which he had recently'received, and
with which he had retired in rapture from the world, and
shut himself up to enjoy a literary honeymoon undisturbed.
Never did boarding-school girl devour the pages of a senti¬
mental 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's Bibliographical Tour ;
a work calculated to have as intoxicating an effect on the''
imaginations of literary antiquaries as the adventures of the
heroes of the Round 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 importance that those to Africa, or
the North Pole. With what eagerness had he seized upon the
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
203
history 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 manuscripts 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
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, that might have been brought over by one of William
the Conqueror's carousing followers. 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. In this way he had been led on for a
whole day, until he had found himself completely at fault.
The Squire endeavoured to assist him, but was equally
baffled. The old general listened for some time to the dis¬
cussion, and then asked the parson if he had read Captain
Morris's or George Stephens's or Anacreon Moore's bacchanalian
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 Encyclopaedia 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 making the general comprehend, that though
a jovial song of the present day was but a foolish sound in the
204
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
ears of wisdom, and beneath the notice of a learned man, yet
a trowl written by a tosspot several hundred years 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 piecemeal by future antiquaries, from among
the rubbish of ages. What a Magnus Apollo, for instance,
will 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 laborious research
and painful collation. How many a grave professor will then
waste his midnight oil, or worry his brain through a long
morning, endeavouring to restore the pure text, or illustrate
the biographical hints of " Come tell me, says Rosa, as kissing
and kissed and how many an arid old bookworm, like the
worthy little parson, will give up in despair, after vainly striving
to fill up some fatal hiatus in " Fanny of Timmol !"
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.
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
205
After all, thought I, time is not such an invariable destroyer
as he is represented. If he pulls down, he likewise builds up ;
if he impoverishes one, he enriches another ; his very dilapida¬
tions furnish 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 wit gravitates
into the learning of the pedant, and an ancient farthing
moulders into infinitely more value than a modern guinea.
Love and hay
Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles.
Beaumont and Fletcher.
I 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 little distance from the road, with a southern ex¬
posure, 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. Tibbets was from home at the time of our calling, but
we were received with hearty and homely welcome by his wife
THE FARM-HOUSE
207
—a notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for wives,
since, according to Master Simon's account, she never con¬
tradicts 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 parlour or 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 highly polished ; the walls were hung with coloured prints
of the story of the Prodigal Son, who was represented in a red
coat and leather breeches. Over the fireplace was a blunder-
bluss, and a hard-favoured 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 Tibbetses had as much right to have a gallery of
family portraits as the folks at the Hall.
The good dame pressed us very much to take some refresh¬
ment, 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 us over the premises, and showed us the
whole establishment. An air of homely but substantial plenty
prevailed throughout ; everything was of the best materials,
and in the best condition. Nothing was out of place, or ill
made ; and you saw everywhere the signs of a man that took
care to have the worth of his money, and that paid as he went.
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 country. His well-fed horse neighed from the
stable, and when led out intd 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.
208
THE FARM-HOUSE
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 possible, 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 exploit, 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 word 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 corner of her parlour, 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 nods that he agreed with everything she said.
After we had come out, the young man accompanied us a
little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a
THE FARM-HOUSE
209
green lane, they walked and talked together for nearly half-an-
hour. Master 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 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 concerns, 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 neighbours spoke to her of the likelihood of a match be¬
tween 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 Tibbetses, 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 vapourings had faithfully been carried to the house¬
keeper's ear by one of the 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 had been a
companion rather than a waiting-maid to the young ladies.
" Thank heavens, she was 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 of his mother, was ready to sacrifice the whole
dignity of the Tibbetses to his passion. He had lately, how-
2IO
THE FARM-HOUSE
ever, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, in consequence of
some coquetry on her part, 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 meddled with this perverse inclination of her son, the
stronger it grew. In the meantime Old Ready-Money was
kept completely in the dark ; both parties were in awe and
uncertainty as to what might be his way of taking the matter,
and dreaded to awaken the sleeping lion. Between father and
son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business and
at her wits' end. It is true that there was no great danger of
honest Ready-Money'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 cobwebs which his indefatigable wife
was continually spinning about his nose. Such is the distracted
state of politics in the domestic empire of Ready-Money Jack ;
which only shows the intrigues and internal dangers to which
the best regulated governments are liable. In this perplexing
situation of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to
Master Simon for counsel ; and, with all his experience in
meddling with other people's concerns, he finds it an exceed¬
ingly difficult part to play, to agree with both parties, seeing
that their opinions and wishes are so diametrically opposite.
HORSEMANSHIP
A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one put both horse
and man into amazement. Some said it was a great crabshell brought out of
China, and some imagined it to be one of the Pagan temples in which the
Cannibals adored the divell.
Taylor, the Water Poet.
I HAVE made casual mention, more than once, of one of the
squire's antiquated retainers, old Christy the huntsman. I find
that his crabbed humour is a source of much entertainment
among the young men of the family: the Oxonian, particularly,
takes a mischievous 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, indeed, the
212
HORSEMANSHIP
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 they
both get into, and the wrong-headed contest that ensues ; for
they are quite knowing in each other's ways and in the art of
teasing and fretting 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 faithful husband will vindicate the virtues of
the termagant spouse that gives him a curtain lecture every
night of his life.
The young men call old Christy their " professor of equita¬
tion," 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 brickwork is set off with pointed
arches and plain 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 Peachum, Markham,
and such old English writers for his manuals. At an early
age he took the lads out of their mother's hands, who was dis¬
posed, 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 tear 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 particularly 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 practice them at the leaping-bars, and to
keep an eye upon them in the chase.
HORSEMANSHIP
213
The Squire always objected to their using carriages of any
kind, and is still a little tenacious 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 savour of effeminacy,
for a young gentleman 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 out-brave the blustering
bóreas 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 turnpike 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 saddles, and having
their foaming steeds 1 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 is 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
strongest Milo, 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 steadily ; to
214
HORSEMANSHIP
run a full 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, slap-dash,
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 county. The Squire says it is
better than all the cosmetics and sweeteners of the breath that
ever were invented. He extols the horsemanship of the ladies
in former times, when Queen Elizebeth would scarcely suffer
the rain to stop her accustomed 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 in body,
between a joyous high-spirited dame of those days, glowing
HORSEMANSHIP
with health and exercise, freshened by every breeze that blows,
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 carriage."
The Squire's equestrian system has been attended 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 Englishman'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 practised 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
2 l6
HORSEMANSHIP
studies, and his tutor. " Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I have parted
with him some time since." "You have-; and, pray, why so?"
" Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, and I was a
little short of funds ; 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 both horse and tutor.
LOVE SYMPTOMS
I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be most apparently
in love. Marston.
I 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 attention 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 Seringa-
patam, and pleasant anecdotes of the Mulligatawney Club. I
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 lady¬
ship delights in receiving the homage and attention of the sex.
Indeed, the general was one of the earliest admirers that
dangled in her train during her short reign of beauty ; and
they flirted together for half a season in London, some thirty
Q
2l8
LOVE SYMPTOMS
or forty years since. She reminded him lately, in the course
of conversation about former days, of the time when he used to
ride a white horse, and to canter so gallantly by 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 captivating 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 perdurable fidelity, worthy of being
placed beside those recorded in one of the Squire's favourite
tomes, commemorating the constancy of the olden times ; in
which times, we are told, " men and wymmen coulde love
togyders seven yeres, and no licours luste swere betwene them,
and thenne was love, trouthe, and feythfulness ; and lo in lyke
wyse was used love in Kyng Arthurs dayes." ,c
Still, however, this may be nothing but a little venerable
flirtation, the general being a veteran 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 allowance, however, must be made for Master Simon's
uneasiness on the subject, for he looks on Lady Lillycraft's
house as one of the strongholds where he is lord of the
ascendant ; and, with all his admiration 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, notwithstanding, that
give an air of probability to Master Simon's intimations. Thus,
for instance, I have observed that the general has been very
* Mort d'Arthur.
LOVE SYMPTOMS
219
assiduous in his attentions to her ladyship's dogs, and has
several times exposed his fingers to imminent jeopardy in
attempting to pat Beauty on the head. It is to be hoped his
advances to the mistress will be more favourably 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 towards the
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 cannot say ; but she receives his civilities with no better
grace than the implacable Beauty ; unscrewing 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 formid¬
able foes to contend with as a hero of ancient fairy tale, who
had to fight his way to his enchanted princess through ferocious
monsters of every kind, and to encounter the brimstone terrors
of some fiery dragon.
220
LOVE SYMPTOMS
There is still another circumstance which inclines me to
give very considerable credit to Master Simon's suspicions.
Lady Lillycraft is very fond of quoting poetry, and the conver¬
sation often turns upon it, on which occasions the general is
thrown 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 general 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.
After 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
hand, 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 is there hawk which mantleth on her perch,
Whether high tow'ring or accousting low,
But I the measure of her flight doe search,
And all her prey and all her diet know. Spenser.
There are several grand sources of lamentation furnished to
the worthy Squire by the improvement of society, and the
grievous advancement of knowledge ; among which there is
none, I believe, that causes him more frequent regret than the
unfortunate invention of gunpowder. To this he continually
traces the decay of some favourite custom, and, indeed, the
general downfall of all chivalrous and romantic usages. " Eng¬
lish 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 was completely destroyed by the bowmen
of England. The yeomanry, too, have never been what they
222
FALCONRY
were, when, in times of peace, they were constantly exercised
with the bow, and archery was a favourite holiday pastime."
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 skulking, 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 Braithewaite, the
stately amusement of high and mounting spirits ; for, as the old
Welsh proverb affirms, in those times ' You might know a
gentleman by his hawk, horse, and greyhound.' Indeed, 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 people.' "
Knowing the good Squire's hobby, therefore, I have not
been surprised at finding that, among the various recreations of
former times which he has endeavoured 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 considerable light on their labours,
by various hints on the subject, which he has met with in old
English works. As to the precious work of that famous dame,
Julianna Barnes ; the Gentleman's Académie, 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 doublets, caps, and flaunting feathers, mounted on
FALCONRY
223
horse, with attendants on foot, all in animated pursuit of the
game.
The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any hawks in
his neighbourhood, but gives a liberal 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 have
exhausted their patience and ingenuity, endeavouring to
" reclaim " them, as it is termed, and to train them up for the
sport ; but they have met with continual checks and disappoint¬
ments. Their feathered school has turned out the most
intractable and graceless scholars ; nor is it the least of their
trouble to drill the retainers who were to act as ushers under
them, and to take immediate 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
accustomed to look upon hawks as arrant poachers, which it
was his duty to shoot down, and nail, in terrorem, against thé
outhouses.
Christy has at length taken the matter in hand, but has
done still more mischief by his intermeddling. 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 passages 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 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 victims to Christy's feeding and Master
Simon's physicking ; for the latter has gone to work secundum
224
FALCONRY
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 hearing of the call, and never
returned to school.
All these disappointments had been petty, yet sore griev¬
ances to the Squire, and had made him to despond about success.
He has lately, however, 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
Wynn ; and is, no doubt, a descendant of some ancient line of
Welsh princes of the air, that have long lorded it over their
kingdom of clouds, from Wynnstay to the very summit of
Snowdon, or the brow of Penmanmawr. Ever since the Squire
received this invaluable present, he has been as impatient to
FALCONRY
225
sally forth and make proof of it, as was Don Quixote to assay
his suit of armour. There have been some demurs as to whether
the bird was in proper health and training ; but these have been
overruled 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
humours, has proposed to be of the party, and Lady Lilly-
craft 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 lapdo'g.
I have amused myself with the bustling preparations of that
busy spirit, Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he
receives from that genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy.
22Ó
FALCONRY
They have had half a dozen consultations about how the hawk
is to be prepared for the morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as
usual, has always got in a pet, upon which Master Simon has
invariably given up the poiht, observing in a good-humoured
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 soaring hawk, from fist that flies,
Her falconer 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.
Handefoill of Pleasant Delites.
At an early hour this morning the Hall was in a bustle, prepar¬
ing for the sport of the day. I heard Master Simon whistling
and singing under my window at sunrise, as he was preparing
the jesses for the hawk's legs, and could distinguish now and
then a stanza of one of his favourite old ditties :
" In peascod time, when hound to horn
Gives note that buck be kill'd ;
And little boy with pipe of corn
Is tending sheep a-field," etc.
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 motion, reinforced by volunteer idlers from
the village. The horses were led up and down before the
228
HAWKING
door ; everybody had something to say and something to do,
and hurried hither and 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 establishments of the good old feudal times.
Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall 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 favourite Galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that
old Christy forgot his usual crustiness, and hastened 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 charming 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.
At length everything was arranged, and off we set 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
HAWKING
229
together, accompanied by old Christy mounted on Pepper.
The latter bore the hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird
was most accustomed 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 of 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 protecting 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 tender 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
230
HAWKING
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 was answered by a distinct echo, from the sunny wall of
an old building that lay on the opposite margin of the stream ;
and I paused to listen to the " 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 considered 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 have ever heard :
So plain in the distinction of our words
That many have supposed it a spirit
That answers."
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
honoured.* The little man was just entering very largely and
learnedly upon the subject, when we were startled by a
prodigious bawling, shouting, and yelping. A flight of crows,
alarmed by the approach of our forces, had suddenly arisen
from a meadow ; a cry was put up by the rabble rout on foot
* Bekker's Monde Enchante.
HAWKING
231
V-
k
"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,
from whence I had a good view oí
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 clamorous
sympathy.
The hawk had singled out a
quarry from among the 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 the
clear blue sky. I confess, being
no sportsman, I was more interested for the poor bird that was
striving for its life, than for the hawk that was playing the part
232
HAWKING
of a mercenary soldier. At length the hawk got the upper
hand, and made a rushing stoop at her quarry, but the latter
made as 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 neighbouring hill ; while the hawk,
disappointed of her blow, soared up again into the air, and
appeared to be " raking " off. It was in vain old Christy called
and whistled, and endeavoured 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 the 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,
HAWKING
233
and when I reached the bank, which almost overhung the
stream, I saw at the foot of it the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, and
apparently lifeless, supported in the arms of her frantic lover.
In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes 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 captain was dis¬
tracted ; Lady Lillycraft fainting ; the Squire in dismay ; and
Master Simon at his wits' end. 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 heart for
that single exclamation.
It was found, indeed, that she had escaped, almost miracu¬
lously, with a contusion of the head, a sprained ankle, and
some slight bruises. After her wound was staunched, she was
taken to a neighbouring cottage until a carriage could be
summoned to convey her home ; and when this had arrived
the cavalcade, which had issued forth so gaily on this enter¬
prise, 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 grati¬
fied, therefore, by the universal concern displayed by the
domestics on our return. They came crowding down the
avenue, each eager to render assistance. The butler stood
ready with some curiously delicate cordial ; the old house¬
keeper was provided with half a dozen nostrums, prepared by
her own hands, according to the family receipt book ; while
her niece, the melting Phcebe, having no other way of assisting,
stood wringing her hands and weeping aloud.
R
234
HAWKING
The most material effect that is likely to follow this acci¬
dent is a postponement of the nuptials, which were close at hand.
Though I commiserate the impatience of the captain on that
account, yet I shall not otherwise be sorry at the delay, 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 dis¬
concerted at the unlucky result of his hawking experiment, and
this unfortunate illustration of his eulogy on female equitation.
Old Christy, too, is very waspish, having been sorely twitted by
Master Simon for having let his hawk fly at carrion. As to
the falcon, in the confusion occasioned by the fair Julia's dis¬
aster the bird was totally forgotten. I make no doubt she has
made the best of her way back to the hospitable Hall of Sir
Watkyn Williams Wynn ; and may very possibly, at this
present writing, be pluming her wings among the breezy bowers
of Wynnstay.
FORTUNE-TELLING
Each city, each town, and every village
Affords 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 fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock,
The fields will afford us a hedge or a hay-cock.
Merry Beggars.
As I was walking one evening with the Oxonian, Master
Simon, and the general, in a meadow not far from the
village, we heard the sound of a fiddle rudely played, and
looking in the direction from 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-humour or goodwill. 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 gipsy encampment, consisting of three or
236
FORTUNE-TELLING
four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets and sailcloth,
spread over hoops that were stuck in the ground. It was on
one side of a green lane, close under a hawthorn hedge, with a
broad beech-tree spreading above it. A small rill tinkled
along close by, through the fresh sward, that looked like a
carpet.
A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of iron, over
a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and two old gipsies, in
red cloaks, sat crouched on the grass, gossiping over their
evening 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 gipsies 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 gipsy girl, with a pair of fine roguish
eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to tell our fortunes. I
straw hat was in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm.
The Oxonian offered at once to have his fortune told, and the
girl began with the usual volubility of her race ; but he drew her
could not but admire a certain degree
of slattern elegance about the baggage.
Her long black silken hair was curi¬
ously plaited in numerous small braids,
and negligently put up in a pictur¬
esque style that a painter might have
been proud to have devised. Her
dress was of a figured chintz, rather
ragged, and not over clean, but of a
variety of most harmonious and agree¬
able colours ; for these beings have a
singularly fine eye for colours. Her
FORTUNE-TELLING
237
on one side near the hedge, as he said he had no idea of having
his secrets overheard. I saw he was talking to her instead of
she to him, and by his 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 honour,"
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
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 them¬
selves !" Here the girl whispered something in a low voice,
at which the general coloured up, was a little fluttered, and
suffered himself to be drawn aside under the hedge, where he
have a good heart, and give
me a good piece of silver,
and I'll tell you a nice for¬
tune." The general had
received all her approaches
with a banter, and had
suffered her to get hold of
his hand ; but at the men¬
tion of the piece of silver,
he hemmed, looked grave,
and turning to us, asked
if we had not better con¬
tinue our walk. " Come,
my master," said the girl
archly, " you'd not be in
238
FORTUNE-TELLING
appeared to listen to her with great earnestness, and at the end
paid her half-a-crown with the air of a man that has got the
worth of his money.
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
sensitive. As he has a great notion, however, of being con¬
sidered 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 honour," 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 come
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 chronicles of Cupid.
I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all this
oracular mystery, and was disposed to amuse himself with the
general, whose tender approaches to the widow have attracted
the notice of the wag. I was a little curious, however, to know
the meaning of the dark hints which had so suddenly dis¬
concerted 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 on the subject.
The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon has met with
FORTUNE-TELLING
239
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, how¬
ever, that Master Simon had really persuaded himself the widow
had a kindness 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 importance of a man's
settling himself in life before he grew old ; he would look grave
whenever the widow and matrimony 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 connection cannot
harp much upon the theme of matrimony without its taking
wind ; and it soon got buzzed about that Mr. 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, indeed, 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 driven by a strapping young
Irish dragoon, with whom even Master Simon's self-complacency
would not allow him to enter into competition, and to whom
she was married shortly after.
It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon for several
months, having never before been fully committed. The dullest
head in the family had a joke upon him ; and there is no 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
240
FORTUNE-TELLING
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 him, who is infinitely
heavy and persevering in his waggery, and will interweave a
dull joke through the various topics of a whole dinner-time.
Master Simon often parries these attacks by a stanza from his
old work of " Cupid's Solicitor for Love
" 'Tis in vain to woo a widow over long,
In once or twice her mind you may perceive ;
Widows are subtle, be they old or young,
And by their wiles young men they will deceive.''
LOVE-CHARMS
Come, do not weep, my girl,
Forget him, pretty pensiveness ; there will
Come others, every day, as good as he.
Sir j. Suckling.
The approach of a wedding in a family is always an event of
great importance, but particularly so in a household like this,
in a retired part of the country. Master Simon, who is a per¬
vading 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 incantation.
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 that smacks of old times,
has held so many grave conversations with the parson at table,
242
LOVE-CHARMS
about popular superstitions and traditional rites, that they have
been carried from the parlour to the kitchen by the listening
domestics, and, being apparently sanctioned by such high
authorities, the whole hpuse has become infected by them.
The servants are all versed in the common modes of trying
luck, and the charms to ensure constancy. They read their
fortunes by drawing strokes in the ashes, or by repeating a
form of words, and looking in a pail of water. St. Mark's
Eve, I 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 lovers ; 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 egg-shell full of
salt, an egg-shell full of malt, and an egg-shell full of barley
meal." When the cake is ready, it is put on a pan over the
fire, and the future husband will appear, 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 consequence
would ensue !
The experiments in the present instance came to no result ;
they that sowed the hemp-seed forgot the magic rhyme that
they were to pronounce, so the true lover never appeared ; and
as to the dumb-cake, what between the awful stillness they
had to keep, and the awfulness 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'
hall, they were seized with a sudden panic, and ran out of the
room, to which they did not return until morning, when they
found the mystic cake burnt to a cinder.
The most persevering at these spells, however, is Phcebe
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
LOVE-CHARMS
243
and matrimony, she knows the dreaming 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 gaiety of the house, however, the poor
girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to use the house¬
keeper'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 parish-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 housekeeper's niece, she has held
an equivocal station between a servant and a companion. She
has learned something of fashions and notions among the young
ladies, which have effected quite a metamorphosis ; insomuch
that her finery at church on Sundays has given mortal offence
to her former intimates in the village. This has occasioned
the misrepresentations which have awakened the implacable
family pride of Dame Tibbets. But what is worse, Phoebe,
having a spice of coquetry in her disposition, showed it on one
or two occasions to her lover, which produced a downright
quarrel ; and Jack, being very proud 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 of 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
particularly so at this tender season of the year, when every
living thing, even to the very butterfly, is sporting with its
244
LOVE-CHARMS
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 heavy at poor Phoebe's
heart. Instead of singing 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 Lilly-
craft, has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, up and down
the avenue, of an evening ; and has endeavoured to squeeze
some of her own verjuice into the other's milky nature. She
speaks with contempt and abhorrence of the whole sex, and
advises Phœbe to despise all the men as heartily as she does.
But Phoebe's loving temper is not to be curdled ; she has no
such thing as hatred or contempt for mankind in her whole
composition. She has all the simple fondness of heart
of poor, weak, loving woman ; and her only thoughts at pre-
LOVE-CHARMS
245
sent are, how to conciliate and reclaim her wayward swain.
The spells and love-charms, which are matters of sport to
the other domestics, are serious concerns with this love-stricken
damsel. She is continually trying her fortune in a variety of
ways. I am told that she has absolutely fasted for six
Wednesdays and three Fridays successively, having understood
that it was a sovereign charm to ensure 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 her 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 traditional rhyme :
"All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee :
I pray thee, good moon, now show to me
The youth who my future husband shall be."
246
LOVE-CHARMS
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 the 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 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 staghound ; so that Phœbe's faith in the charm
is completely shaken.
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS.
I'll have a private, pensive single life.
The Collier of Croydon.
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 unusually fresh appearance ;
he had put on a bright green riding-
coat, with a bunch of violets in the
button-hole, and had the air of an old
bachelor trying to rejuvenate himself.
He had not, however, his .usual brisk¬
ness and vivacity, but loitered about
the room with somewhat of absence
of manner, humming the old song—
" Go, lovely rose, tell her that wastes
her time and me and then, leaning
against the window and looking upon the landscape, he uttered
a very audible sigh. As I had not been accustomed to see
Master Simon in a pensive mood, I thought there might be
some vexation preying on his mind, and I endeavoured to
introduce a cheerful strain of conversation ; but he was not in
the vein to follow it up, and proposed that we should take a
walk.
It was a beautiful morning, of that soft vernal temperature
that seems to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and to set
248
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSION
all nature in a ferment. The very fishes felt its influence : the
cautious trout ventured out of his dark hole to seek his mate, the
roach and the dace rose up to the surface 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 morning.
The weather certainly had its effect even upon Master
Simon, for he seemed obstinately bent upon the pensive mood.
Instead of stepping briskly along, smacking his dog-whip,
whistling quaint ditties, or telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned
on my arm, and talked about the approaching nuptials ; from
whence he made several digressions upon the character of
womankind, touched a little upon the tender passion, and made
sundry very excellent, through rather trite, observations upon
disappointments in love. It was evident that he had some¬
thing on his mind which he wished to impart, but felt awkward
in approaching it. I was curious to see to what this strain
would lead ; but I was determined not to assist him. Indeed,
I mischievously 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 that overhung a
whispering brook, with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees
were grievously scored with letters and devices, which had
grown out of all shape and size by the growth of the bark :
and it appeared that this grove had served as a kind of 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 ever I had 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
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSION
251
confidant. He did not wait, however, 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
disburthened 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 serenade her ;
and indeed he described several tender and gallant scenes, in
which he was evidently picturing himself in his mind's eye as
some elegant 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 apple that has 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 like a very
pebble stone, having hard work to repress a smile while Master
Simon was putting on the amorous swain, uttering every now
and then a sigh, and endeavouring to look sentimental 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 himself,
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 observa¬
tion upon " modest merit," and the power of gold over the sex.
As a remembrance of his passion, he pointed out a heart
252
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSION
carved on the bark of one of the trees ; but which, in the
process of time, had grown out into a large excrescence ; 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 that had not, at
some time or other, his nonsensical moment, when he would
become tender and sentimental, 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,
which he looks back too with fondness, and about which he is
apt to grow garrulous occasionally. 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 tale but such
as he may appear at the time of telling it ; peradventure, a
withered, whimsical, spindle-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 with a bachelor, though
it may slumber, it never dies. It is always liable to break out
again in 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 that 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
considered 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 particularly
facetious that day at dinner on the subject of matrimony, and
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSION 253
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.
GIPSIES
What's that to absolute freedom, such as the very beggars have ; to feast and revel
here to-day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day where they please ; and so on
still, the whole country or kingdom over ? There's liberty ! the birds of the
air can take no more. Jovial Crew.
SINCE the meeting with the gipsies, which I have related in a
former paper, I have observed several of them haunting the
purlieus of the Hall, in spite of a positive interdiction of the
Squire. They are part of a gang that has long kept about this
neighbourhood, to the great annoyance of the farmers, whose
poultry-yards often suffer from their nocturnal invasions. They
are, however, in some measure patronised 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 " Starlight Tom's Gang," from
the name of its chieftain, a notorious poacher. I have heard
repeatedly of the misdeeds of this "minion of the moon for
every midnight depredation that takes place in park, or fold, or
GIPSIES
255
farmyard, is laid to his charge. Starlight Tom, in fact, answers
to his name ; he seems to walk in darkness, and, like a fox, to
be traced in the morning by the mischief he has done. He
reminds me of that fearful personage in the nursery rhyme :
" Who goes round the house at night ?
None but bloody Tom !
Who steals all the sheep at night ?
None hut one by one !"
In short, Starlight Tom is the scapegoat of the neighbourhood ;
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 all in vain. It is said that
the Squire winks hard at his misdeeds, having an indulgent
feeling towards the vagabond, because of his being very expert
at all kinds of games, a great shot with the cross-bow, and the
best morris dancer in the country.
The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested about
the skirts of his estate, on condition that they do not come
about the house. The approaching wedding, however, has
made a kind of Saturnalia at the Hall, and has caused a
suspension of all sober rule. It has produced a great sensation
throughout the female part of the household ; not a housemaid
but dreams of wedding favours, and has a husband running in
her head. Such a time is a harvest for the gipsies : 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
smuggled in to the young ladies.
I 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 gipsy girl :
256
GIPSIES
he kept a war y silence towards us on the subject, and affected
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 housekeeper's pretty
and love-sick 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
that she was endeavouring to get some favourable 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 favourable as usual, for I perceived
poor Phoebe returning pensively towards the house : her head
hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the riband trailing
along the ground.
At another time, as I turned a corner of a terrace, 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,
GIPSIES
attended by this same Phœbe 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 gipsy
vanishing among the shrubbery. A few moments after, I
caught sight of Master Simon and the Oxonian stealing along
one of the walks of the garden, chuckling and laughing at their
successful waggery ; having evidently put the gipsy up to the
thing, and instructed 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 what a degree of awe we will
listen even to these babblers about futurity. For my part, I
cannot feel angry with these poor vagabonds, that seek to
deceive us into bright hopes and expectations. I have always
been something of a castle-builder, and have found my liveliest
pleasures 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, that would
conjure the clouds which hang over futurity into palaces, and
all its doubtful regions into fairyland.
The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a private good¬
will towards gipsies, 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 humour 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 gipsies. The English,
who are accustomed to them from childhood, and often suffer
from their petty depredations, consider them as mere nuisances ;
but I have been very much struck with their peculiarities. I
258
GIPSIES
like to behold their clear olive complexions, their romantic
black eyes, their raven locks, their lithe, slender figures, and to
hear them, in low silver tones, dealing forth magnificent
promises of honours and estates, of world's worth, 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 independence, in spite of law and gospel ;
of county gaols and country magistrates. It is curious to see
the 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 system¬
atic countries in the world. They are totally distinct from the
busy, thrifty people about them. They , seem to be like the
Indians of America, either above or below the ordinary cares
and anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power, of honours, of
wealth ; and indifferent to the fluctuations of the 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 philosophy 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,
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 plenteous neighbourhoods,
where there are fat farms and rich country seats. Their en¬
campments are 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
GIPSIES
259
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 sometimes have even the honour of
perusing the white hands of gentlemen's daughters, when
rambling about their father's grounds. They are the bane of
good housewives and thrifty farmers, and odious 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 whimsically associ¬
ated in my mind with fairies and witches, Robin Goodfellow,
Robin Hood, and the other fantastical personages of poetry.
VILLAGE WORTHIES
Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the worst dog in the
street would hurt my little finger.
Collier of Croydon.
As the neighbouring 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 indifference, 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 humour in everything, is
frequent just now in his visits to the village, to give directions
for the impending fête ; and as I have taken the liberty oc¬
casionally of accompanying him, I have been enabled to get
some insight into the characters and internal politics of this
very sagacious little community.
Master Simon is in fact the Csesar 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 domestic history,
gives counsel to the old folks in their business matters, and
VILLAGE WORTHIES
261
the young folks in their love affairs, and enjoys the proud
satisfaction of being a great man in a little world.
He is the dispenser, too, of the Squire's charity, 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 vivacious 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 re¬
port of the case to the Squire. I
have watched him, too, during
one of his pop visits into the
cottage of a superannuated vil¬
lager who is a pensioner of the
Squire, when 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 oí
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
2Ö2
VILLAGE WORTHIES
wondered what was in the young men, that such a pretty face
did not get a husband.
He has also his cabinet councillors 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, that plays the clarionet 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 favour with Master Simon ; and,
through his influence, has the making, or rather marring, of all
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 customers with a
quadrant. The tailor, in fact, might rise to be one of the
monied men of the village, was he not rather too prone to
gossip, and keep holidays, and give concerts, and blow all
his substance, real and personal, through his clarionet, which
literally keeps him poor both in body and estate. He has for
the present thrown by all his regular work, and suffered the
breeches of the village to go unmade and unmended, while he
is occupied in making garlands of parti-coloured rags, in imita¬
tion of flowers, for the decoration of the May-pole.
Another of Master Simon's councillors is the apothecary, a
short, and rather fat man, with a pair of prominent eyes, that
diverge like those of a lobster. He is the village wise man ;
very sententious ; and full of profound remarks on shallow
subjects. Master Simon often quotes his sayings, and mentions
him as rather an extraordinary man ; and even consults him
occasionally in desperate cases of the dogs and horses. Indeed
he seems to have been overwhelmed by the apothecary's philo¬
sophy, which is exactly one observation 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
VILLAGE WORTHIES
263
observed, with 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
whispered in my ear, " That's a devilish shrewd remark !"
There will no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on the heels of
Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a traveller. For as the eagle at
every flight loseth a feather, which raaketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller
in every country loseth some fleece, which maketh him a beggar in his youth,
by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny—repentance.
Lilly's Euphues.
Among the worthies of the village that enjoy the peculiar con¬
fidence 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-humoured look, not often met with in his
craft. I have been interested in his favour by a few anecdotes
which I have picked up concerning him.
He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary and
playmate of Ready-Money Jack in the days of their boyhood.
Indeed, they carried 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 ; J ack, on the contrary, was a bully
boy out of doors, but a sad laggard at his books. Slingsby
helped Jack, therefore, to all his lessons: Jack fought all
Slingsby's battles ; and they were inseparable friends. This
mutual kindness continued even after they left school, notwith¬
standing the dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to
ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to till his paternal
THE SCHOOLMASTER
265
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 reading 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 effects in a knapsack,
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 afield, and Slingsby whistled
" Over the hills, and far away," and sallied forth gaily " to seek
his fortune."
Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby was
forgotten : when one mellow Sunday 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 hand¬
kerchief and slung on the end of a stick, was seen loitering
through the village. He appeared 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 churchyard reading the tombstones.
At length he found his way to the farm-house of Ready-
Money Jack, but paused ere he attempted the wicket ; contem¬
plating 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 from
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
T
266
THE SCHOOLMASTER
towards 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 mouth, awaited with
inquiring aspect the address of this equivocal personage. The
stranger eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimen¬
sions, 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 his receding waist¬
band ; and casting another look, half sad, half humorous at
the sturdy yeoman, " I suppose," said he, " Mr. Tibbets, you
have forgot old times and old playmates ?"
The latter gazed at him with scrutinising look, but acknow¬
ledged that he had no recollection of him.
" Like enough, like enough," said the stranger ; " everybody
seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby?"
" 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 twinkling ; '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 farm-house afforded ;
for he was hungry as well as wayworn, 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
£ Why, no sure ! it can't be Tom Slingsby ?'
THE SCHOOLMASTER
269
Slingsby, he was an exemplification of the old proverb, " A
rolling stone gathers no moss." He had sought his fortune
about the world, without ever finding it, being a thing oftener
found at home than abroad. He had been in all kinds of
situations, and had learned a dozen different modes of making
a living ; but had found his way back to his native village
rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack having dwindled
down to a scanty bundle.
As luck would have it, the Squire was passing by the farm¬
house that very evening, and called there, as is often his
custom. He found the two schoolmates still gossiping in the
porch, and according to the good old Scottish song, " taking a
cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne." The Squire was
struck by the contrast in appearance and fortunes of these
early playmates. Ready-Money Jack, seated in lordly state,
surrounded 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 effects, his bundle, hat,
and walking-staff, lying 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 Tibbets ; but how to provide for his permanent
maintenance 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 as 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.
Here he has remained for several years, and being honoured
by the countenance of the Squire, and the fast friendship of
270
THE SCHOOLMASTER
Mr. Tibbets, he has grown into much importance and considera¬
tion 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
humour, when once it has been fully indulged.
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 to¬
gether again after so long a separation. It is difficult to
determine between lots in life, where each is attended with its
peculiar discontents. He who never leaves his home repines
at his monotonous existence, and envies the traveller, whose
life is a constant 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 that stays at home, and
cultivates 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 witchcraft in the old phrase found in every
nursery tale, of " going to seek one's fortune." A continual
change of place, and change of object, promises a continual
succession of adventure and gratification of curiosity. But
THE SCHOOLMASTER
271
there is a limit to all. our enjoyments, and every desire bears
its death in its very gratification. Curiosity languishes under
repeated stimulants, novelties cease to excite surprise, until at
length we cannot 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 ap¬
proaches ; the wild place becomes tame and barren ; the fairy
tints that beguiled him on still fly to the distant hill, or gather
upon the land he has left behind, and every part of the land¬
scape seems greener than the spot he stands on.
THE SCHOOL
But to come down from great men and higher matters to my little children and poor
school-house again ; I will, God willing, go forward orderly, as I proposed, to
instruct children and young men both for learning and manners.
Roger Ascham.
Having given the reader a slight sketch of the village school¬
master, he may be curious to learn something concerning his
school. As the Squire takes much interest in the education of
the neighbouring children, he put into the hands of the teacher,
on first installing him in office, a copy of Roger Ascham's
School-master, and advised him, moreover, to con over that
portion of old Peachum which treats of the duty of masters,
and which condemns the favourite method of making boys wise
by flagellation.
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 joyously on in the path of knowledge, making
it pleasant and desirable in their eyes. He wished to see the
youth trained up in the manners and habitudes of the peasantry
THE SCHOOL
273
of the good old times, and thus to lay the foundation for the
accomplishment of his favourite object, the revival of old
English customs and character. He recommended that all the
ancient holidays should be observed, and that the sports of the
boys, in their hours of play, should be regulated according to
the standard authorities laid down by Strutt ; a copy of whose
invaluable work, decorated with plates, was deposited in the
school-house. Above all, he exhorted the pedagogue to abstain
from the use of birch, an instrument of instruction which the
good Squire regards with abhorrence, as fit only for the coercion
of brute natures, that cannot be reasoned with.
Mr. Slingsby has followed the Squire's instructions to the
best of his disposition and abilities. He never flogs the boys,
because he is too easy, good-humoured a creature to inflict pain
on a worm. He is bountiful in holidays, because he loves
holidays himself, and has a sympathy with the urchins' impati¬
ence 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 mis^
fortune is, that having banished the birch, honest Slingsby has
not studied Roger Ascham sufficiently to find out a substitute,
or rather he has not the management in his nature 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 himself, being
another stray sheep that has 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 to see him one
day arrive 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 captivated by the drum and fife of a
274
THE SCHOOL
recruiting party, he 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-tattered 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 burthen to his
father, and regarded with great coldness by all warm house¬
holders.
Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards the
youth. It might be the kindness he bore to his father, who is
one of the schoolmaster's greatest cronies ; it might be that
secret sympathy, which draws men of vagrant propensities
towards 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,
THE SCHOOL
275
Slingsby drew towards the youth. They had many conversa¬
tions 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 him
almost as learned as himself, he forthwith engaged 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 almost as popular
among the boys as the pedagogue himself. His instructions
are not limited to school hours ; and having inherited the
musical taste and talents 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 neigh-
276
THE SCHOOL
bourhood with their vague piping, 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 favourite themes, with
such success, that the whipsters roam in truant bands about the
neighbourhood, practising with their bows and arrows upon the
birds of the air, and the beasts of the field ; and not unfre-
quently 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 and habits cultivated at this
school, that I should not be surprised if the Squire should live
to see one of his poetic visions realised, and a brood reared
up, worthy successors to Robin Hood and his merry gang of
outlaws.
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
I am a rogue if I do not think I was designed for the helm of state ; I am so full of
nimble stratagems, that I should have ordered affairs, and carried it against the
stream of a faction, with as much ease as u skipper would laver against the
wind. The Goblins.
In one of my visits to the village with Master Simon, he pro¬
posed that we should stop at the inn, which he wished to show
me, as a specimen of a real country inn, the head-quarters of
village gossip. I had remarked 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
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
278
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
tap-room as completely as if they were her dependants .instead
of her patrons. Not a veteran ale-bibber but pays homage to
her, having, no doubt, been often 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 " the 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
corner of the porch, with his hands in his pockets, as usual,
listening with an air of the most vacant acquiescence.
The sight seemed to have a curious effect on Master Simon,
as he squeezed my arm, and, altering his course, sheered wide
of the porch as 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, ill-shaven beard, a feverish eye,
and a hat sharpened up at the sides into a most pragmatical
shape. He had a newspaper in his hand, and seemed to be
commenting on its contents, to the thorough conviction of mine
host.
At sight of Master Simon the landlord was evidently a
little flurried, and began to rub his hands, edge away from his
corner, and make several profound publican bows ; while the
orator took no other notice of my companion than to talk
rather louder than before, and with, as I thought, something of
an air of defiance. Master Simon, however, as I have before
said, sheered off from the porch, and passed on, pressing my
arm within his, and whispering as we got by, in a tone of awe
and horror, "That's a radical ! he reads Cobbett!"
I endeavoured to get a more particular account of him from
my companion, but he seemed unwilling even to talk about
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
279
him, answering only in 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 argu¬
ment : 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, or scarce any¬
thing else, during their whole lives.
He is lean and meagre from the constant restlessness of
mind and body ; worrying about with newspapers and pamphlets
28o
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
in his pockets, which he is ready to pull out on all occasions.
He has shocked several of the staunchest villagers by 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 side of the Squire, who is sadly
afraid that he will introduce politics into the village, and turn
it into an unhappy, thinking community. He is a still greater
grievance 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 very much puzzled of late to weed out
the doubts and heresies already sown by this champion of
reform. Indeed, the latter has taken complete command at
the tap-room of the tavern, not so much because he has con¬
vinced, as because he has out-talked all the established oracles.
The apothecary, with all his philosophy, was as nought 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
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
281
talks. It is true the radical has a violent antagonist in the
landlady, who is vehemently loyal, and thoroughly 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'-
mountain, and does not spare her own soft-headed husband, for
listening to what she terms such " low-lived politics." 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 breath, quietly asking her for a taste of
her home-brewed.
The only person who is in any way a match for this
redoubtable politician is Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, 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, without 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 on all occasions, and though his
antagonist may overturn them never so often, yet he always
brings them anew into the field. He is like the robber in
Ariosto, who, though his head might be cut off half a hundred
times, yet whipt it on his shoulders 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 cannot be persuaded that the French are not still
laying 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 J ack neither reads
nor believes on newspapers. In reply he gave him one of
the stanzas which he has by heart from his favourite, and
indeed only author, old Tusser, and which he calls his Golden
Rules :
U
282
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
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 great 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,
returned 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 lion¬
like gravity out of the house. Two or three of Jack's admirers
who were present, and had been afraid to take the field them¬
selves, 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'll warrant he'll give him his own !"
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, have charms for me.
Cow PER.
IN a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crowns a terrace
walk, just on the skirts 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 con¬
sequence of which they have increased amazingly ; the tree
tops are loaded with their nests ; they have encroached upon
the great avenue, and have even established, in times long past,
a colony among the elms and pines of the churchyard, 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 honourable line of gentry, highly aristocratical in their
notions, fond of place, and attached to church and state ; as
their building so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals,
and in the venerable groves of old castles and manor-houses,
sufficiently manifests. The good opinion thus expressed by
the Squire put me upon observing more narrowly these very
respectable birds ; for I confess, to my shame, I had been apt
to confound them with their cousins-german the crows, to
284
THE ROOKERY
whom, at the first glance, they bear so great a family resem¬
blance. Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious
than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, among the
feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and the Portuguese are
among nations, the least loving, in consequence of their neigh¬
bourhood and similarity. The rooks are old-established
housekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk that have had their
hereditary abodes time out of mind ; but as to the poor crows,
they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy 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 corn-field. Master Simon assures
me that a female rook that should so far forget herself as
to consort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited,
and indeed would be totally discarded by all her genteel
acquaintance.
The Squire is very watchful over the interests and concerns
of his sable neighbours. As to Master 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 citizens,
beforehand in the world, that wear cocked hats and silver
buckles in their shoes. Notwithstanding the protecting bene¬
volence of the Squire, and their being residents in his empire,
they seem to acknowledge no allegiance, and to hold no
intercourse 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 dis¬
trustful 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
highflyer ; which is the season of building their nests. This
takes place early in the spring, when the forest trees first begin
to show their buds ; the long withy ends of the branches to
THE ROOKERY
285
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 fluttering 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-tree tops, and
looking down with sovereign contempt upon the humble
crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throw off for a time the
dignity of a gentleman, and to come down to the ground, and
put on the painstaking and industrious character of a labourer.
They now lose their natural shyness, become fearless and
familiar, and may be seen flying about in all directions, with
an air of great assiduity, in search of building materials.
Every now and then your path will be crossed by one of these
286
THE ROOKERY
busy old gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as if
troubled with the gout or with corns on his toes, casting about
many a prying look, turning down first one eye, then the other,
in earnest consideration upon every straw he meets with, until
espying some mighty twig, large enough to make a rafter for
his air-castle, he will 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 abundance 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 bearing in his bill some precious piece of timber.
Nor must I avoid mentioning what, I grieve to say, rather
derogates from the grave and honourable 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 com¬
motion, 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 contests when some sly
neighbour has endeavoured to filch away a tempting rafter that
has captivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit any
suspicion hastily that should throw a stigma on the general
character of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think that
these larcenies are very much 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 individual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the
spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprietor. I have con¬
cluded this to be some signal punishment inflicted upon him
THE ROOKERY
287
by the officers of the police, for some pilfering misdemeanour ;
or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution
into his house. I have been amused with another of their move¬
ments during the building season. The steward 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 only. Be this as it may, there is a green
knoll, not far from the drawing-room window, where the ewes
and lambs are accustomed 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, Master Simon assured me, was the chief
magistrate of this community, would settle down upon the
head of one of the ewes, who, seeming conscious of this con¬
descension, would desist from grazing, and stand fixed in
motionless reverence of her august brethren ; the rest of the
288
THE ROOKERY
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 certain,
though I presume they followed the usual custom of protecting
powers.
The latter part of May is a time of great tribulation among
the rookeries, when the young are just able to leave the nests,
and balance themselves on the neighbouring branches. Now
comes on the season of rook shooting a terrible slaughter
of the innocents. The Squire, of course, prohibits all invasion
of the kind on his territories ; 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 that is lucky enough to possess an
old gun or a blunderbuss, together with all the archery of
Slingsby's school, take 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 churchyard ; there is a
continual popping from morning to night. Being no great
marksmen, their shots are not often effective ; but every now
and then a great shout from the besieging army of 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 troubles and
disasters. In so aristocratical and lofty-minded a community,
which boasts so much ancient blood and hereditary pride, it is
natural to suppose that questions ; of etiquette will sometimes
arise, and affairs of honour ensue. In fact, this is very often
the case : bitter quarrels break out between individuals, which
produce sad scufflings on the tree-tops, and I have more than
once seen a regular duel take place between two doughty
THE ROOKERY
289
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 sometimes 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 terri¬
tories 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. There was a very ancient and respect¬
able old bachelor owl that had long had 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 neighbouring
wood, where he leads the life of a hermit, and makes nightly
complaints of his ill-treatment.
290
THE ROOKERY
The hootiñgs of this unhappy gentleman may generally
be heard in the still evenings, when the rooks are all at rest ;
and I have often listened to them of a moonlight night, with
a kind of mysterious gratification. This gray-bearded misan¬
thrope of course is highly respected by the Squire, but the
servants have superstitious notions about him ; and it would
be difficult to get the dairymaid to venture after dark near to
the wood which he 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 respectable 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 to lay the plebeian fields of the neighbouring
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 the reach of the truant
bowmen of Slingsby's school, and receive a flight shot from
some unlucky 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 commisera¬
tion 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 cares of the old folks seem over, and
they resume all their aristocratical dignity and idleness. I
have envied them the enjoyment which they appear to have
in their ethereal heights, sporting with clamorous exultation
about their lofty bowers ; sometimes hovering over them, some¬
times partially alighting upon the topmost branches, and there
THE ROOKERY
291
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 to 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 they
gradually settle down upon the grove, 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 seem to be gradually dropping asleep ; but every now
and then there is a querulous note, as if some one was quarrel¬
ling 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 anchorite neighbour, the owl, begins his lonely hoot-
ings from his bachelor's hall in the wood.
It is the choice time 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.
Actceon and Diana.
As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one of those
half-dreams, half-reveries, which are so pleasant in the country,
when the birds are singing about the window, and the sun¬
beams 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 ribands, and accompanied by the village band
of music, under the direction of the tailor, the pale fellow who
plays on the clarionet. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or,
as it is called, "the May," in their hats, and-had brought green
branches and flowers to decorate the Hall door and windows.
They had come to give notice that the May-pole was reared on
the green, and to invite the household to witness the sports.
The Hall, according to custom, became a scene of hurry and
MAY-DAY
293
delightful confusion. The servants 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 described. The fields were white with
daisies, the hawthorn was covered with its fragrant blossoms,
the bee hummed about every bank, and the swallow played
high in the air about the village steeple. 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. I found that there had been booths
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, jingling with hawks' bells, with a boy
dressed up as Maid Marian, and the attendant fool rattling
his box to collect contributions from the bystanders. The
gipsy women, too, were already plying their mystery in by-
corners of the village, reading the hands of the simple country
girls, and no doubt promising them all good husbands and
tribes of children.
The Squire made his appearance in the course of the morn¬
ing, attended by the parson, and was received with loud
294
MAY-DAY
acclamations. He mingled among the country people through¬
out the day, giving and receiving pleasure wherever he went.
The amusements of the day were under the management of
Slingsby, the schoolmaster, who is not merely lord of misrule
in 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 burthen of promoting other people'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 object the election of the Queen of May. He
had met with violent opposition from a faction of ale-drinkers,
who were in favour of a bouncing barmaid, 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-burning. I am
MAY-DAY
295
told that Master Simon takes great interest, though in an
underhand way, in the election of these May-Day Queens, and
that the chaplet is generally secured for some rustic beauty
that has found favour in his eyes. In the course of the day
there were various games of strength and agility on the green,
at which a knot of village veterans presided, as judges of the
lists. Among those I perceived that Ready-Money Jack took
the lead, looking with a learned and critical eye on the merits
of the different candidates ; and though he was very laconic,
and sometimes merely expressed himself by a nod, yet it was
evident that his opinions far outweighed those of the most
loquacious.
Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and carried
off most of the prizes, though in some of the feats of agility he
was rivalled by the " prodigal son," who appeared much in his
element on this occasion ; but his most formidable competitor
was the notorious gipsy, the redoubtable " Starlight 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 lazzaroni order, that lead an idle loitering life,
and have a gentleman-like contempt of labour.
Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred the ground
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 a laugh, though it was evident he liked to be suspected of
being a gay Lothario amongst them.
He had much to say to the farmers about their farms, and
296
MAY-DAY
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
argument 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 gesticula¬
tion, and flourishing a pamphlet by way of truncheon. He
was decrying these idle nonsensical amusements in times of
public distress, when it was every one's business to think of
other matters, and to be miserable. The honest village logicians
could make no stand against him, especially as he was seconded
by his proselytes ; when, to their great joy, Master Simon and
the general came drifting down into the field of action. I saw
that Master Simon was for making off, as soon as he found
himself in the neighbourhood of this fireship ; but the general
was too loyal to suffer such talk in his hearing, and thought,
no doubt, that a look and a word from a gentleman would
be sufficient to shut up so shabby an orator. The latter,
however, was no respecter of persons, but rather seemed. to
exult in having such important antagonists. He talked with
greater volubility than ever, and soon drowned them with
declamation on the subject of taxes, poor's rates, and the
national debt. Master Simon endeavoured to brush along in
his usual excursive manner, which had always answered
amazingly 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
MAY-DAY
297
dignity could brook, and looked like a mighty Dutch Indiaman
grievously peppered by a petty privateer. It was in vain that
he swelled and looked big, and talked large, and endeavoured
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 dumbfounded, and
this, too, in the presence of several of Master Simon's staunch
admirers, who had always looked up to him as infallible. I do
not know how he and the general would have managed to
draw their forces decently from the field, had there not been a
match at grinning through a horse-collar announced, whereupon
the radical retired with great expression of contempt, and as
soon as his back was turned, the argument was carried against
him all hollow.
"Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, general?" said
x
298
MAY-DAY
Master Simon ; " there's no talking with one of these chaps
when he once gets that confounded Cobbett in his head."
" S'blood, sir!" said the general, wiping his forehead, "such
fellows ought all 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 favourite 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 young girl that represented the
Queen of May, evidently endeavouring to spirit her up to
some formidable undertaking. At length, as the party from
MAY-DAY
299
the Hall approached her bower, she came forth, faltering at
every step, until she reached the spot where the fair Julia stood
between 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 embarrassment of these two young creatures, both
so beautiful, yet so different in their kinds of beauty. Master
Simon told me, afterwards, that the Queen of May was to have
spoken a few verses which the schoolmaster had written for
her ; but that she had neither wit to understand nor memory
to recollect them. " Besides," added he, " between you and I,
she murders the king's English abominably ; 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 Christy the huntsman, and followed by his
ghost of a grayhound ; but I find they are very old acquaint¬
ances, being drawn together from 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 housekeeper'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 appeared this day on
300
MAY-DAY
the green, gallanted by a smart servant out of livery, and had
evidently resolved to try the hazardous experiment of awaken¬
ing the jealousy of her lover. She was dressed in her very
best ; affected an air of great gaiety : 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 gaiety vanished, on seeing him paying his rustic
homage to the little May-day Queen.
My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and bustle.
Music was heard from a distance; a banner was seen advancing
up the road, preceded by a rustic band playing something like
a march, and followed by a sturdy throng of country lads, the
chivalry of a neighbouring 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 honour of the re¬
spective villages. In the course of these exercises, young
Tibbets and the champion 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 disconsolate
Phoebe came by. She saw her recreant lover in fierce contest,
as she thought, and in danger. 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 wreak¬
ing on him her puny vengeance, when a buxom, strapping,
country lass, the sweetheart of the prostrate swain, pounced
upon her like a hawk, 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
' A complete tumult ensued.'
MAY-DAY
303
sticks to be flourished. Phcebe was carried off from the field
in hysterics. In vain did the sages of the village interfere.
The sententious apothecary endeavoured to pour the soothing
oil of his philosophy upon this tempestuous sea of passion, but
was tumbled into the dust. Slingsby, the pedagogue, who is a
great lover of peace, went into the middle of the throng, as
marshal of the day, to put an end to the commotion, but was
rent in twain, and came out with his garment hanging in two
strips from his shoulders ; upon which the prodigal son dashed
in with fury to revenge the insult which his patron had sustained.
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 Mrs. Hannah, separated from her
doughty protector, was squalling and striking 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 I beheld old Ready-Money Jack making 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 ensued. The storm settled down at
once into tranquillity. The parties, having no real grounds of
hostility, were readily pacified, and in fact were a little at a loss
to know why and how they had got by the ears. Slingsby
was speedily stitched together again by his friend the tailor,
and resumed his usual good-humour. 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 recovering from
the agitation of the scene. Young Jack was evidently very
much moved by the heroism of the unlucky Phcebe. His
mother, who had been summoned to the field of action by
304
MAY-DAY
news of the affray, was in a sad panic, and had need of all her
management to keep him from following his mistress, and
coming to a perfect reconciliation.
What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the good
managing dame was, that the matter had roused the slow
apprehension of old Ready-Money himself; who was very
much struck by the intrepid interference of so pretty and
delicate 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 scandalised that his May-day fête 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 question he
asked, fell again into hysterics. Lady Lillycraft, who had
understood that there was an affair of the heart at the bottom
MAY-DAY
305
of this distress, immediately took the girl into great favour and
protection, and made her peace with the Squire. This was the
only thing that disturbed the harmony of the day, if we except
the discomfiture of Master Simon and the general by the radical.
Upon the whole, therefore, the Squire had very fair reason to
be satisfied that he had rode his hobby throughout the day
without any other molestation.
The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive that all
this was but a faint shadow of the once gay and fanciful rites
of May. The peasantry have lost the proper feeling for these
rites, and have grown almost as strange to them as the boors
of La Mancha were to the customs of chivalry in the days of
the valorous Don Quixote. Indeed, I considered it a proof of
the discretion with which the Squire rides his hobby, that he
had not pushed the thing any farther, nor attempted to revive
many obsolete usages of the day, which, in the present matter-
of-fact times, would appear affected and absurd. I must say,
though I do it under the rose, the general brawl in which this
festival had nearly terminated has made me doubt whether
these rural customs of the good old times were always so very
loving and innocent as we are apt to fancy them ; and whether
the peasantry in those times were really so Arcadian as they
have been fondly represented. I begin to fear
"Those days were never ; airy dreams
Sat for the picture, and the poet's hand,
Imparting substance to an empty shade
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth.
Grant it ; I still must envy them an age
That favoured such a dream."
THE CULPRIT
From fire, from water, and all things amiss,
Deliver the house of an honest justice.
The Widow.
The serenity of the Hall has been suddenly interrupted by a
very important occurrence. In the course of this morning a
posse of villagers was seen trooping up the avenue, with boys
shouting in advance. As it drew near, we perceived Ready-
Money Jack Tibbets 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 recognised for the redoubt¬
able gipsy hero, Starlight Tom. He was now, however, com¬
pletely cowed and crestfallen, and his courage seemed to have
quailed in the iron grip of the lion-hearted Jack.
The whole gang of gipsy women and children came drag¬
gling in the rear ; some in tears, others making a violent
clamour about the ears of old Ready-Money, who, however,
trudged on in silence with his prey, heeding their abuse as little
THE CULPRIT
307
as a hawk that has pounced upon a barn-door hero regards the
outcries and cacklings of his whole feathered seraglio.
He had passed through the village on his way to the Hall,
and of course had made a great sensation in that most excit¬
able place, where every event is a matter of gaze and gossip.
The report flew like wildfire that Starlight Tom was in custody.
The ale-drinkers forthwith abandoned the tap-room ; Slings-
by's school broke loose, and master 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 stag-
hound, and the grayhound, and the spaniel, issued barking from
the Hall door, and my Lady Lillycraft's little dogs ramped
and barked from the parlour window. I remarked, however,
that the gipsy dogs made no reply to all 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
308
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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 compeers ; while Ready-
Money Jack maintained his ground and his hold of the prisoner,
and was surrounded by the tailor, the schoolmaster, and several
other dignitaries of the village, and by the clamorous brood of
gipsies, 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 Ready-Money Jack, who had detected the
prisoner in the very act of sheep-stealing on his domains, and
had borne him off to be examined before the Squire, who is 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 gipsy 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 gipsies, lest they should
carry off the house clock or the deal table.
Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor, the gamekeeper,
acted as constables to guard the prisoner, triumphing in having
at last got this terrible offender 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 gipsy in the
chance-medley affair of May-day.
Silence was now commanded by Master Simon ; but it was
' A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the servants' hall.'
THE CULPRIT 311
difficult to be enforced in such a motley assemblage. There was
a continued snarling and yelping of dogs,' and, as fast as it was
quelled in one corner, it broke out in another. The poor gipsy
curs, who, like arrant thieves, could not hold up their heads in
an honest house, were worried and insulted by the gentleman
dogs of the establishment, without offering to make resistance ;
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 suspect, because his heart yearned towards
the culprit, who had found great favour in his eyes, as I have
already observed, from the skill he had at various times dis¬
played in archery, morris-dancing, and other obsolete accom¬
plishments. Proofs, however, 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 depredations on his sheep-fold
and poultry-yard, and had at length kept watch, and caught
the delinquent 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 difficulty, from flying at him tooth and nail. The
wife, too, of the prisoner, whom I am told he does not beat
above half a dozen times a week, completely interested Lady
Lillycraft in her husband's behalf, by her tears and supplica¬
tions ; and several other of the gipsy women were awakening
strong sympathy among the young girls and maid-servants in
the background. The pretty, black-eyed gipsy girl, whom I
have mentioned on a former occasion as the sibyl that read
the fortunes of the general, endeavoured to wheedle that
doughty warrior into their interests, and even made some
312
THE CULPRIT
approaches to her old acquaintance, Master Simon ; but was
repelled by the latter, with all the dignity 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 forwards 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 favour,
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 ventured 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 tolera¬
tion for all kinds of vagabond existence.
The ladies, too, large and small, with the kindheartedness
of their sex, were zealous on the side of mercy, and interceded
strenuously with the Squire ; insomuch that the prisoner, find¬
ing himself 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 from the strict path
of justice. There was abundant concurrent testimony that
made the proof of guilt inconvertible, and Starlight Tom's
mittimus was made out accordingly.
The sympathy of the ladies was now greater 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 that had been made into
THE CULPRIT
313
his territories by the predatory band of Starlight Tom, and he
was resolved, he said, to drive the " varmint reptiles " out of
the neighbourhood. 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 interced¬
ing friend, Slingsby, and followed by a detachment of the gipsy
gang, who hung on his rear, assailing him with mingled prayers
and execrations.
The question now was, how to dispose of the prisoner ; a
matter of great moment in this peaceful establishment, where
so formidable a character as Starlight .Tom was like a hawk
entrapped in a dovecot. As the hubbub and examination 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
Y
3'4
THE CULPRIT
committed for the night to an upper loft of a kind of tower in
one of the outhouses, where he arid the gamekeeper would
mount guard. After much deliberation this measure was
adopted ; the premises in question were examined and made
secure, and Christy and his trusty ally, the one armed with a
fowling-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 moment in this quiet little world,
not to turn it completely topsy-turvy. Labour is at a stand.
The house has been a scene of confusion the whole evening.
It has been beleaguered by gipsy women, with their children on
their backs, wailing and lamenting ; while the old virago of a
mother has cruised up and down the lawn in front, shaking her
head and muttering to herself, or now and then breaking out
into a paroxysm of rage, brandishing her fist at the Hall, and
denouncing ill-luck upon Ready-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 gipsy women under the trees. As
to the little ladies of the family, they are all outrageous at
Ready-Money Jack, whom they look upon in the light of a
tyrannical giant of fairy tale. Phoebe Wilkins, contrary to her
usual nature, is the only one that is pitiless in the affair. She
thinks Mr. Tibbets quite in the right ; and thinks the gipsies
deserve to be punished severely for meddling with the sheep of
the Tibbetses.
In the meantime the females of the family have evinced all
the provident kindness of the sex, ever ready to soothe and
succour the distressed, right or wrong. Lady Lillycraft has
had a mattress taken to the outhouse, 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,
THE CULPRIT
315
I'll 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
veteran campaigner, and will hardly allow himself to be spoken
to. The gipsy women dare not come within gunshot, and
every tatterdemalion of a boy has been frightened from the
park. The old fellow is determined to lodge Starlight Tom in
prison with his own hands ; and hopes, he says, to see one of
the poaching crew made an example of.
I doubt, after all, whether the worthy Squire is not the great¬
est sufferer in the whole affair. His honourable sense of duty
obliges him to be rigid, but the overflowing kindness of his
nature makes this a grievous trouble to him.
He is not accustomed to have such demands upon his
justice in his truly patriarchal domain ; and it wounds his
benevolent spirit, that, while prosperity and happiness are
flowing in thus bounteously upon him, he should have to inflict
misery 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 pro¬
bability, have a far more sleepless night than his prisoner.
Indeed this unlucky affair has cast a damp upon the whole
household, as there appears to be an 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 crestfallen. Star¬
light Tom had made his escape in the night ; how he had got
out of the loft no one could tell ; the devil, they think, must
have assisted him. Old Christy was so mortified that he would
not show his face, but had shut himself up in his stronghold at
3lf>
THE CULPRIT
the dog-kennel, and would not be spoken with. What has
particularly relieved the Squire is, that there is very little
likelihood of the culprit's being retaken, having gone off on one
of the old gentleman's best hunters.
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.
The fair Julia having nearly recovered from the effects of her
hawking disaster, it begins to be thought high time to appoint
a day for the wedding. As every domestic event in a venerable
and aristocratic family connection 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 humours that are prevalent 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.
LOVERS' TROUBLES
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 lucky
and unlucky times and seasons, and indeed is very superstitious
on all points relating to the tender passion, this old proverb
seems to have 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 unfortunate. Indeed,
an own cousin of hers, who married on a May-day, lost her
husband by a fall from his horse, after they had lived happily
together for twenty years.
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 modern times, but prevalent
likewise among the ancients. In confirmation of this, he quoted
a passage from Ovid, which had a great effect on Lady Lilly-
craft, being given in a language which she did not understand.
Even Master 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 relative to weddings ; such as
that if two were celebrated in the same church on the same day,
the first would be happy, the second unfortunate. If, on going
to church, the bridal party should meet the funeral of a female,
it was an omen that the bride would die first ; if of a male, the
bridegroom. If the newly-married couple were to dance
together on their wedding-day, the wife would thenceforth rule
the roast ; with many other curious and unquestionable facts of
the same nature, all which made me ponder more than ever
upon the perils which surround this happy state, and the
thoughtless ignorance of mortals as to the awful risks they run
in entering upon it. I abstain, however, from enlarging upon
LOVERS' TROUBLES
319
this topic, having no inclination to promote the increase of
bachelors.
Notwithstanding the due weight which the Squire gives to
traditional saws and ancient opinions, yet 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 authorities ; all
which, I presume, have been conclusive 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 full of business and importance, having a thousand
arrangements 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 colour 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 Lillycraft
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 the ground he lost when he fell asleep during the
captain's story. Indeed, Master Simon thinks his case is
completely desperate, her ladyship having determined that he
is quite destitute of sentiment.
The season has been equally unpropitious to the love-lorn
Phœbe 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 simple girls of
this class. Few people have an idea of the world of care and
perplexity that these poor damsels have in managing the affairs
of the heart.
We talk and write about the tender passion ; we give it all
320
LOVERS' TROUBLES
the colourings of sentiment and romance, 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 a 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 settlements, 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, equal to those of any heroine of romance, and ten times
as sincere. And then, too, there, is her secret hoard of love
documents ;—the broken sixpence, the gilded brooch, the lock
of hair, the unintelligible love scroll, all treasured up in her box
of Sunday finery, for private contemplation.
How many crosses and trials is she exposed to from some
LOVERS' TROUBLES
321
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, fondly dwelt on through many a
long day of household labour and confinement ! If in the
country, it is the dance at the fair or wake, the interview in the
churchyard 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 will the simple creature carol all day
afterwards at her labour !
Poor baggage ! after all her crosses and difficulties, when
she marries, what is it but to exchange 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 alehouse, leaves her to a cheerless home, to labour,
penury, and child-bearing.
When I see poor Phoebe going about with drooping eye,
and her head hanging " all o' one side," I cannot help calling
to mind the pathetic 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 expressed 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 hard times. She was, I am told, the pet of her poor
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
322
LOVERS' TROUBLES
since she has been left an orphan the good ladies at the Hall
have completed the softening and spoiling of her.
I have recently observed her holding long conferences in
the churchyard, 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 pre¬
valent in these parts of late ; but I did him injustice. 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 Phœbe upon the subject. He
gives her, however, but, little encouragement. Slingsby has a
formidable opinion of the aristocratical feeling of old Ready-
Money, and thinks, if Phœbe 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
LOVERS' TROUBLES
323
sympathise in her distress, has advised her to give up all
thoughts of young Jack, and has promised 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 once more adrift in the
wide world.
THE WEDDING
No more, no more, much honour aye betide
The lofty bridegroom, and the lovely bride ;
That all of their succeeding days may say,
Each day appears like to a wedding-day.
Braithwaite.
Notwithstanding the doubts and demurs of Lady Lillycraft,
and all the grave objections that were conjured up against the
month of May, yet the Wedding has at length happily taken
place. It was celebrated at the village church in presence of
a numerous company of relatives and friends, and many of the
tenantry. The,Squire must needs have something of the old
ceremonies observed on the occasion ; so at the gate of the
churchyard, several little girls of the village, dressed in white,
were in readiness with baskets of flowers, which they strewed
before the bride ; and the butler bore before her the bride-cup,
a great silver embossed bowl, one of the family reliques from
the days of the hard drinkers. This was filled with rich wine,
and decorated with a branch of rosemary, tied with gay ribands,
according to ancient custom.
THE WEDDING
325
" Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," says the old
proverb ; and it was as sunny and auspicious a morning as
heart could wish. The bride looked uncommonly beautiful ;
but, in fact, what woman does not look interesting on her
wedding-day ? I know no sight more charming and touching
than that of a young and timid bride, in her robes of virgin
white, led up trembling to the altar. When I thus behold a
lovely girl, in the tenderness of her years, forsaking the house
of her fathers and the home of her childhood, and, with the
implicit, confiding, and the sweet self-abandonment which
belong to woman, giving up all the world for the man of her
choice ; when I hear her, in the good old language of the
ritual, yielding herself to him "for better for worse, for richer
for poorer, in sickness and in health ; to love, honour, and
obey, till death us do part," it brings to my mind the beautiful
and affecting self-devotion of Ruth :—" Whither thou goest I
will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge ; thy people shall
be my people, and thy God my God."
The fair Julia was supported on the trying occasion by
Lady Lillycraft, whose heart was overflowing with its wonted
sympathy in all matters of love and matrimony. As the bride
approached the altar, her face would be one moment covered
with blushes, and the next deadly pale ; and she seemed almost
ready to shrink from sight among her female companions.
I do not know what it is that makes every one serious,
and, as it were, awestruck at a marriage ceremony, which is
generally considered as an occasion of festivity and rejoicing.
As the ceremony was performing, I observed many a rosy face
among the country girls turn pale, and I did not see a smile
throughout the church. The young ladies from the Hall were
almost as much frightened as if it had been their own case,
and stole many a look of sympathy at their trembling com¬
panion. A tear stood in the eye of the sensitive Lady
Lillycraft ; and as to Phoebe Wilkins, who was present, she
326
THE WEDDING
absolutely wept and sobbed aloud ; but it is hard to tell half
the time what these fond, foolish creatures are crying about.
The captain, too, though naturally gay and unconcerned,
was much agitated on the occasion, and, in attempting to put
the ring upon the bride's finger dropped it on the floor ; which
Lady Lillycraft has since assured me is a very lucky omen.
Even Master Simon had lost his usual vivacity, and had
assumed a most whimsically solemn face, which he is apt to do
on all occasions of ceremony. He had much whispering with
the parson and parish clerk, for he is always a busy personage
in the scene ; and he echoed the clerk's amen with a solemnity
and devotion that edified the whole assemblage.
The moment, however, that the ceremony was over, the transi¬
tion was magical. The bride-cup was passed round, according
to ancient usage, for the company to drink to a happy union ;
every one's feelings seemed to break forth from restraint ;
Master Simon had a world of bachelor pleasantries to utter,
and as to the gallant general, he bowed and cooed about the
dulcet Lady Lillycraft, like a mighty cock pigeon about his
dame.
The villagers gathered in the churchyard to cheer the
happy couple as they left the church ; and the musical tailor
had marshalled his band, and set up a hideous discord, as the
blushing and smiling bride passed through a lane of honest
peasantry to her carriage. The children shouted and threw up
their hats ; the bells rung a merry peel that set all the crows
and rooks flying and cawing about the air, and threatened to
bring down the battlements of the old tower ; and there was a
continual popping off of rusty firelocks from every part of the
neighbourhood.
The prodigal son distinguished himself on the occasion,
having hoisted a flag on the top of the school-house, and kept
the village in a hubbub from sunrise with the sound of drum,
and fife, and pandean pipe ; in which species of music several
' The villagers gathered in the churchyard to cheer the happy couple.1
THE WEDDING
329
of his scholars are making wonderful proficiency. In his great
zeal, however, he had nearly done mischief ; for, on returning
from church, the horses of the bride's carriage took fright from
the discharge of a row of old gun-barrels, which he had
mounted as a park of artillery in front of the school-house, to
give the captain a military salute as he passed.
The day passed off with great rustic rejoicings. Tables
were spread under the trees in the park, where all the peasantry
of the neighbourhood were regaled with roast beef and plum-
pudding, and oceans of ale. Ready-Money Jack presided at
one of the tables, and became so full of good cheer, as to
unbend from his usual gravity, to sing a song out of all tune,
and give two or three shouts of laughter, that almost electrified
his neighbours, like so many peals of thunder. The school¬
master and the apothecary vied with each other in making
speeches over their liquor ; and there were occasional glees and
musical performances by the village band, that must have
frightened every faun and dryad from the park. Even old
Christy, who had got on a new dress, from top to toe, and
z
33°
THE WEDDING
shone in all the splendour of bright leather breeches, and an
enormous wedding favour in his cap, forgot his usual crustiness,
became inspired by wine and wassail, and absolutely danced a
hornpipe on one of the tables, with all the grace and agility of
a mannikin hung upon wires.
Equal gaiety reigned within doors, where a large party of
friends were entertained. Every one laughed at his own plea¬
santry, without attending to that of his neighbours. Loads of
bride-cake were distributed. The young ladies were all busy
in passing morsels of it through the wedding ring to dream on,
and I myself assisted a fine little boarding-school girl in putting
up a quantity for her companions, which I have no doubt will
set all the little heads in the school gadding, for a week at
least. After dinner all the company, great and small, gentle and
simple, abandoned themselves to the dance : not the modern
quadrille, with its graceful gravity, but the merry, social, old
country dance ; the true dance, as the Squire says, for a
THE WEDDING
331
wedding occasion ; as it sets all the world jigging in couples,
hand in hand, and makes every eye and every heart dance
merrily to the music. According to frank old usage, the
gentlefolks of the Hall mingled, for a time, in the dance of the
peasantry, who had a great tent erected for a ball-room ; and
I think I never saw Master Simon more in his element than
when figuring about among his rustic admirers, as master of
the ceremonies ; and, with a mingled air of protection and
gallantry, leading out the quondam Queen of May—all
blushing at the signal honour conferred upon her.
In the evening the whole village was illuminated, excepting
the house of the radical, who has not shown his face during
the rejoicings. There was a display of fireworks at the school-
house, got up by the prodigal son, which had well-nigh set fire
to the building. The Squire is so much pleased with the
extraordinary services of this last-mentioned worthy, that he
talks of enrolling him in his list of valuable retainers, and
promoting him to some important post on the estate ; per-
adventure to be falconer, if the hawks can ever be brought into
proper training.
There is a well-known old proverb that says, "one wedding
makes many "—or something to the same purpose ; and I should
not be surprised if it holds good in the present instance. I have
seen several flirtations among the young people that have been
brought together on this occasion ; and a great deal of strolling
about in pairs, among the retired walks and blossoming shrub¬
beries of the old garden ; and if groves were really given to
whispering, as poets would fain make us believe, Heaven knows
what love-tales the grave-looking.old trees about this venerable
country-seat might blab to the world. The general, too, has
waxed very zealous in his devotions within the last few days,
as the time of her ladyship's departure approaches. I observed
him casting many a tender look at her during the wedding
dinner, while the courses were changing ; though he was always
332
THE WEDDING
liable to be interrupted in his adoration by the appearance of
any new delicacy. The general, in fact, has arrived at that
time of life when the heart and the stomach maintain a kind of
balance of power ; and when a man is apt to be perplexed in
his affections between a fine woman and a truffled turkey.
Her ladyship was certainly rivalled through the whole of the
first course by a dish of stewed carp ; and there was one
glance, which was evidently intended to be a point-blank shot
at her heart, and could scarcely have failed to effect a practi¬
cable breach, had it not unluckily been diverted away to a
tempting breast of lamb, in which it immediately produced a
formidable incision.
Thus did the faithless general go on, coqueting during the
whole dinner, and committing an infidelity with every new dish ;
until, in the end, he was so overpowered by the attentions he
had paid to fish, flesh, and fowl—to pastry, jelly, cream, and
blanc-mange—that he seemed to sink within himself : his eyes
swam beneath their lids, and their fire was so much slackened,
that he could no longer discharge a single glance that would
reach across the table. Upon the whole, I fear the general
ate himself into as much disgrace, at this memorable dinner, as
I have seen him sleep himself into on a former occasion.
I am told, moreover, that young Jack Tibbets was so touched
by the wedding ceremony, at which he was present, and so
captivated by the sensibility of poor Phoebe Wilkins, who
certainly looked all the better for her tears, that he had a
reconciliation with her that very day, after dinner, in one of
the groves of the park, and danced with her in the evening, to
the complete confusion of all .Dame Tibbets' domestic politics.
I met them walking together in the park, shortly after the
reconciliation must have taken place. Young Jack carried
himself gaily and manfully ; but Phoebe hung her head,
blushing, as I approached. However, just as she passed me,
and dropped a curtsy, I caught a shy gleam of her eye from
THE WEDDING 333
under her bonnet ; but it was immediately cast down again. I
saw enough in that single gleam, and in the involuntary smile
that dimpled about her rosy lips, to feel satisfied that the little
gipsy's heart was happy again.
What is more, Lady Lillycraft, with her usual benevolence and
zeal in all matters of this tender nature, on hearing of the recon¬
ciliation of the lovers, undertook the critical task of breaking
the matter to Ready-Money Jack. She thought there was no
time like the present, and attacked the sturdy old yeoman that
very evening in the park, while his heart was yet lifted up with
the Squire's good cheer. Jack was a little surprised at being
drawn aside by her ladyship, but was not to be flurried by such
an honour ; he was still more surprised by the nature of her
communication, and by this first intelligence of an affair that
334
THE WEDDING
had been passing under his eye. He listened, however, with
his usual gravity, as her ladyship represented the advantages
of the match, the good qualities of the girl, and the distress
which she had lately suffered ; at length his eye began to
kindle, and his hand to play with the head of his cudgel.
Lady Lillycraft saw that something in the narrative had gone
wrong, and hastened to mollify his rising ire by reiterating
the soft-hearted Phoebe's merit and fidelity, and her great un-
happiness, when old Ready-Money suddenly interrupted her
by exclaiming, that if Jack did not marry the wench, he'd break
every bone in his body ! The match, therefore, is considered a
settled thing, Dame Tibbets and the housekeeper have made
friends, and drunk tea together ; and Phoebe has again re¬
covered her good looks and good spirits, and is carolling from
morning till night like a lark.
But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one that I
should be almost afraid to mention, did I not know that I was
THE WEDDING
335
writing for readers well acquainted in the waywardness of this
most mischievous deity. The morning after the wedding, there¬
fore, while Lady Lillycraft was making preparations for her
departure, an audience was requested by her immaculate hand¬
maid, Mrs. Hannah, who, with much priming of the mouth,
and many maidenly hesitations, requested leave to stay behind,
and that Lady Lillycraft would supply her place with some
other servant. Her ladyship was astonished : " What ! Hannah
going to quit her, that had lived with her so long !"
" Why, one could not help it ; one must settle in life some
time or other." The good lady was still lost in amazement ;
at length the secret was gasped from the dry lips of the maiden
gentlewoman ; " she had been some time thinking of changing
her condition, and at length had given her word, last evening,
to Mr. Christy the huntsman."
How, or when, or where, this singular courtship had been
carried on, I have not been able to learn ; nor how she has
been able, with the vinegar of her disposition, to soften the
stony heart of old Nimrod ; so, however, it is, and it has
astonished every one. With all her ladyship's love of match¬
making, this last fume of Hymen's torch has been too much for
her. She has endeavoured to reason with Mrs. Hannah, but
all in vain ; her mind was made up, and she grew tart on the
least contradiction. Lady Lillycraft applied to the Squire for
his interference. " She did not know what she should do with¬
out Mrs. Hannah, she had been used to have her about her so
long a time."
The Squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, as
relieving the good lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, under
whose sway she had suffered for years. Instead of thwarting
the affair, therefore, he has given it his full countenance ; and
declares that he will set up the young couple in one of the
best cottages on his estate. The approbation of the Squire has
been followed by that of the whole household ; they all declare,
336
THE WEDDING
that if ever matches are really made in heaven, this must have
been ; for that old Christy and Mrs. Hannah were as evidently
formed to be linked together as ever were pepper-box and
vinegar-cruet.
As soon as this matter was arranged, Lady Lillycraft took
her leave of the family at the Hall ; taking with her the captain
and his blushing bride, who are to pass the honeymoon with
her. Master Simon accompanied them on horseback, and in¬
deed means to ride on ahead to make preparations. The
general, who was fishing in vain for an invitation to her seat,
handed her ladyship into her carriage with a heavy sigh ; upon
which his bosom friend, Master Simon, who was just mounting
his horse, gave me a knowing wink, made an abominably wry
face, and, leaning from his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear,
' It won't do !" Then putting spurs to his horse, away he
cantered off. The general stood for some time waving his hat
after the carriage as it rolled down the avenue, until he was
seized with a fit of sneezing, from exposing his head to the
cool breeze. I observed that he returned rather thoughtfully
to the house ; whistling thoughtfully to himself, with his hands
behind his back, and an exceedingly dubious air.
The company have now almost all taken their departure.
I have determined to do the same to-morrow morning ; and I
hope my reader may not think that I have already lingered too
long at the Hall. I have been tempted to do so, however,
because I thought I had lit upon one of the retired places
where there are yet some traces to be met with of old English
character.
A little while hence, and all these will probably have passed
away. Ready-Money Jack will sleep with his fathers : the
good Squire, and all his peculiarities, will be buried in the
neighbouring church. The old Hall will be modernised into a
fashionable country-seat, or, peradventure, a manufactory. The
park will be cut up into petty farms and kitchen-gardens. A
THE WEDDING
337
daily coach will run through the village ; it will become, like
all other commonplace villages, thronged with coachmen, post¬
boys, tipplers, and politicians ; and Christmas, May-day, and
all the other hearty merry-makings of the " good old times,"
will be forgotten.
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh