Class. Book I±l v^ BRACE BIMDGE HALL, THE HUMORISTS. lOM— P. L. 560—1-3-18. R. 8967-18. PRESENTED BY TO THE PUBLIC LIBRARY. WASHINGTON. D, C. IN COOPERATION WITH THE AMERICAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION FOR ARMY AND NAVY CAMPS H whfc . thi« NEW-YOKK : G. P. PUTNAM k COMPANY, 10 PAKK PLACE. 1803. //*. BKACEBUIDGE HALL, OR THE HUMORISTS. ^ illcbUg. H BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent^. ' Under this cloud I walk, Gentlemen ; pardon my rude assault. 1 am a traveler, whc having surveyed most of the terrestrial angles of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this attle spot." Christmas Ordinary. AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME NE W-YOEK : G. P. PUTNAM k COMPANY, 10 PAllK PLACE. 1853. fclNTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by Washington Irving, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New- York. SOURCE UNKNOWN John F. Trow, " '^^^'Y g 8 1925 "cotifper 49 Ann-street, Printer and Stcreotyper CONTENTS. The Author, . The Hall, The Busy Man, Family Servants* , The Widow, The Lovers, Family Relics, An Old Soldier, . The Widow's Retinus, Ready- Money Jack, Bachelors, Wives, Story Telling, The Stout Gentleman, Forest Trees, . A Literary Antiquaky, The Farm House, Horsemanship, Love Symptoms, x'alconry, . Hawking, St. Mark's Eve, Gentility, • « Page 9 17 Jl 27 35 41 45 51 55 59 65 69 77 79 91 97 103 109 115 119 125 133 143 vii CONTENTS. Page Fortune Telling, ..... 149 Love Chaii3is, ...... . 155 The Library, ..... 161 The Student of Salamanca, . . . .165 English Country Gentlemen, 249 A Bachelor's Confessions, . . . • . 257 English Gravity, . . , 261 Gipsies, ...... 267 May-Day '! ustoms, .... . . 273 Village Worthies, . . . . • 279 The Schoolmaster, .... 283 The School, ...... 289 A Village Politician, .... 293 The Rookery, ...... . 299 May-Day, ...... 30V The Manuscript, . . . , . . 319 Annette Delarbre, .... 323 Traveling, ...... . 349 Popular Superstitions, .... 357 The Culprit, ....... . 367 Family Misfortunes, 375 Lovers* Troubles, . . . . , . 379 The Historian, .... 385 The Haunted House, . , . , . . 389 Dolph Heyliger, .... 395 The Wedding, ...... . 471 The Author's Farewell, .... 481 THE AUTHOK Worthy Reader : On again taking pen in hand, I would fain make a few observations at the outset, by way of bespeaking a right under- standing. The vphimes which I have already published have met with a reception far beyond my most, sanguine expectations. I would willingly attribute this to their intrinsic merits; but, in spite of the vanity of authorship, I cannot but be sensible that their success has, in a great measure, been owing to a less flat- tering cause. It has been a matter of marvel, to my European readers, that a man from the wilds of America should express himself in tolerable English. I v/as loolved upon as something new and strange in literature ; a kind of demi-savage, with a feather in his hand, instead of on his head ; and there was a curi- osity to hear what such a being had to say about civilized society. This novelty is now at an end, and of course the feeling of indulgence which it produced. I must now expect to bear the scrutiny of sterner criticisms, and to be measured by the same standard of contemporary writers ; and the very favor shown to my previous writings, will cause these to be treated Avith (lie greater rigor; as there is nothing for which the world is a[)t to punish a man more severely, than foi- having been over-praised. On this head, therefore, I wish to forestall the censoriousness of 1* 10 THE AUTHOR. the reader ; and I entreat he will not think the worse of me foi the many injudicious things that may have been said in my com mendation. I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, and treat of subjects that have already been discussed by abler pens. In deed, various authors have been mentioned as my models, to whom I should feel flattered if I thought I bore the slightest resemblance ; but in truth I write after no model that I am con- scious of, and I write with no idea of imitation or competition. In venturing occasionally on topics that have already been almost exhausted by English authors, I do it, not with the presumption of challenging a comparison, but with the hope that some new interest may be given to such topics, when discussed by the pen of a stranger. If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwelling with fondness on subjects trite and commonplace with the reader, I beg the circumstances under which I write may be kept in recollection. Having been born and brought up in a new coun- try, yet educated from infancy in the literature of an old one, my mind was early filled with historical and poetical associations, connected with places, and manners, and customs of Europe ; but which could rarely be applied to those of my own country. To a mind thus peculiarly prepared, the most ordinary objects and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange matter and interesting novelty. England is as classic ground to an American as Italy is to an Englishman ; and old London teems with as mucJi historical association as mighty Rome. Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical medley of ideas that throng upon his mind on landing among English scenes. He for the first time sees a world about which he has been read- THE AUTHOR. 11 ing and thinking in every stage of his existence. The recollected ideas of infancy, youth, and manhood ; of the nursery, the school, and the study, come swarming at once upon him ; and his atten- tion is distracted between great and little objects ; each of which, perhaps, awakens an equally delightful train of remembrances. But what more especially attracts his notice are those pecu- liarities which distinguish an old country and an old state of society from a new one. I have never yet grown familiar enough Avith the crumbling monuments of past ages, to blunt the intense interest with which I at first beheld them. Accustomed always to scenes where history was, in a manner, anticipation ; where every thing in art was new and progressive, and pointed to the future rather than to the past ; where, in short, the works of man gave no ideas but those of young existence, and prospective improve- ment ; there was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of enormous piles of architecture, gray with antiquity, and sinking lo decay. I cantiot describe the mute but deep-felt enthusiasm with which I have contemplated a vast monastic ruin, like Tintern Abbey, buried in the bosom of a quiet valley, and shut up from the world, as though it had existed merely for itself ; or a warrior pile, like Conway Castle, standing in stern loneliness on its rocky height, a mere hollow yet threatening phantom of departed power. They spread a grand, and melancholy, and, to me, an unusual charm over the landscape ; I for the first time beheld signs of national okl age, and em.plre's decay, and proofs of the transient and perishing glories of art, amidst the everspringing and reviv- ing fertility of nature. But, in tact, to me every thing was full of matter ; the foot- steps of history were every where to be traced ; and poetry had breathed over and sanctified the land. I experienced t4ie deligh^ 12 THE AUTHOR. ful freshness of feeling of a child, to whom every thing is new I pictured to myself a set of inhabitants and a mode of life foi* every habitation that I saw, from the aristocratical mansion, amidst the lordly repose of stately groves and solitary parks, to the straw-thatched cottage, with its scanty garden and its cher- ished vroodbine. I thought I never could be . sated with the sweetness and freshness of a country so completely carpeted with verdure ; where every air breathed of the balmy pasture, and the honeysuckled hedge. I was continually coming upon some little document of poetry in the blossomed hawthorn, the daisy, the cowslip, the primrose, or some other simple object that has re- ceived a supernatural value from the muse. The first time that I heard the song of the nightingale, I was intoxicated more by the delicious crowd of remembered associations than by the melody of its notes ; and I shall never forget the thrill of ecstasy with which I first saw the lark rise, almost from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight up into the morning sky. In this way I traversed England, a grown-up child, delighted ^y every object, great and small ; and betraying a wondering Ignorance, and simple enjoyment, that provoked many a stare and a smile from my wiser and more experienced fellow-travelers. Such too was the odd confusion of associations that kept breaking upon me as I first approached London. One of my earliest wishes had been to see this great metropolis. I had read so mucli about it in the earliest books put into my infant hands ; and I had heard so much about it from those around me who had come from the " old countries," that I was familiar with the names of its streets and squares, and public places, before I knew those of my native city. It was, to me, the great centre of the world, round v/hich every thing seei»i<-d to revolve. I recollect THE AUTHOR. 13 contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a paltry little print of the Thames, and London bridge, and St. Paul's, that was in front of an old magazine ; and a picture of Kensington Gardens, with gentlemen in three-cornered hats and broad skirts, and ladies in hoops and lappets, that hung no in my bedroom ; even the ven- erable cut of St. John's Gate, that has stood, time out of mind, in front of the Gentleman's Magazine, was not without its charms to me ; and I envied the odd looking little men that appeared to be loitering about its arches. How then did my heart warm when the towers of Westmin- ster Abbey were pointed out to me, rising above the rich groves of St. James's Park, with a thin blue haze about their gi^ay pin- nacles ! I could not behold this great mausoleum of what is most illustrious in our paternal history, without feeling my enthusiasm in a glow. With what eagerness did I explore every part of the metropolis ! I was not content with those matters which occupy the dignified research of the learned traveler ; I delighted to call up all the feelings of childhood, and to seek Sitter those objects Avhich had been the wonders of mj infancy. London Bridge, so famous in- nursery song; the far-famed monument; Gog and Magog, and the Lions in the Tower, all brought back many a recollection of infantine delight, and of good old beings, now no more, who had gossiped about them to my wondering ear. Nor was it without a recurrence of childish interest that I first peeped into Mr. Newberry's shop, in St. Paul's Church-yard, that foun- tain-head of literature. Mr. Newberry was the lirst that ever filled my infant mind with the idea of a great and good man. He* published all the picture-books of the day ; and, out of his abundant love for children, lie charged " nothing for either j^vDor or print, and only a penny-lialfpenny for the binding !" 14 THE AUTHOR. I have mentioned these circumstances, worthy reader, to shoTv you the whimsical crowd of associations that are apt to beset :my mind on mingling among English scenes. I hope they may, in some measure, plead my apology, should I be found harping upon stale and trivial themes, or indulging an over-fondness for any thing antique and obsolete. I know it is the humor, not to say cant of the day, to run riot about old times, old books, old cus- toms, and old buildings ; with myself, however, as far as I have caught the contagion, the feeling is genuine. To a man from a young country all old things are in a manner new ; and he may surely be excused in being a little curious about antiquities, whose native land, unfortunately, cannot boast of a single iTiin. Having been brought up, also, in the comparative simplicity of a republic, I am apt to be struck with even the ordinary cir- cumstances incident to an aristocratical state of society. If, how- ever, I should at any time amuse myself by pointing out some of the eccentricities, and some of the poetical characteristics of the latter, I would not be understood as pretending to decide upon its political merits. My only aim is to paint characters and manners. T am no politician. The more I have considered the study of politics, the more I have found it full of perplexity ; and I have contented myself, as I have in my religion, with the faith in which T was brought up, regulating my own conduct by its precepts ; but leaving to abler heads the task of making converts. T shall continue on, therefore, in the course I have hitherto pursued ; looking at things poetically, rather that politically ; de- scribing them as they are, rather than pretending to point out how they should be ; and endeavoring to see the world in as pleasant a light as circumstances will permit. I have always had an opinion that much good might be done THE AUTHOR. 15 by keeping mankind in good humor with one another. I may be wrong in my philosophy, but I shall continue to practise it until convinced of its fallacy. When I discover the world to be all that it has been represented by sneering cynics and whinmg poets, I will turn to and abuse it also ; in the meanwhile, worthy reader, I hope you will not think lightly of me, because I cannot believe this to be so very bad a world as it is represented. Thine truly, GEOFFREY CRAYON 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 Hke him. Merry Beggars. The reader, if lie has perused ilie volumes of the Sketch Book, v/ill 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 gayly, and cheering them from the shore ; a good outset is half the voyage." Before proceeding any farther, I would beg that the Squire might not be confounded with that class of hard-riding, fox-hunt- ing gentlemen so often described, and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. I use this rural title partly because it is his univer- sal appellation throughout the neighborhood, 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 18 BRACEiilUDGE HALL. country gentleman ; rusticated a little by living almost entirely on liis estate, and something of i humorist, as Englishmen are apt to become when they have an opportunity of living in their own way. I like his hobby passing well, how^ever, which is, a bigoted devotion to old English manners and customs ; it jumps a little with my own humor, having as yet a lively and unsated curiosity about the ancient and genuine characteristics of my '' father land." There are some traits about the Squire's 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 villag''. 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 humor of the Squire that has retained this secluded specimen of English housekeeping in something like the genuine old style. I am again quartered in the paneled chamber, in the antique wing of the house. The prospect from my window, however, has quite a different aspect from that which it wore on my winter THE HALL. IS 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. Tiie ' parterres of the oid-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 case- ment, I smell the odor of mignionette, 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 strong-hold of old fashions, it is my intention to make occasional sketches of the scenes and characters before me. I would have it understood, however, that I am not writing a novel, and have nothing of intricate plot nor marvelous 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 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 (lie whole term of my sojourn at the Hall. ^ i^ I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he finds me <]al- lying along, through every-day English scenes, he may hurry ahead, in hopes of meeting with some marvelous adventure fur- ther on. I invite him, on the contrary, to ramble gently^Rn with me, as he would saunter out into the fields, stopping occasionally 20 BRACEBRIDGE HALL to gather a flower, or listen to a bird, or admire a prospect, with out any anxiety to arrive at the end of his career. Should I, however, in the course of my wanderings about this old mansion, see or hear any thing curious, that might serve to vary the mono- tony of this e very-day life, I shall not fail to report it for thr-* reader's entertainment : For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie, Of any book, how grave soe'er it be. Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie. Well sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee.* ♦ Mirror for Magistrates. 4 THE BUSY MAN. A decayed gentlemaA who lives most upon his own mirth and my master's means, tiad much good do him with it. He does hold my master up with his stories, and songs, and catches, nnd such tricks and jigs, you would admire — he is v/ith him now. Jovial Crew By no one has my return to tlie 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- humor; for there are few happier beings than a busy idler; that is to say, a man w4io is eternally busy about nothing. I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his chamber, which is in a remote corner of the mansion, as he says he likes to be to 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 22 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. suitin.fl; his notions, or fittins; some corner of his apartment ; and he is verv eloquent in praise of an ancient elbow-chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into a censure on modern chairs, as liaving 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 constructidh, on which are several old works on hawking, hunting, and far- riery, and a collection or two of poems and songs of the reign ol Elizabeth, which he studies out of compliment to the Squire ; together with the Novelist's 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 nnsdl closet ; and about the walls of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing- tackle, whips, spurs, and a favorite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, Avhich 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 ruu cold. From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the still- ness 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 any thing to do with modern com- posers. The time, however, at which his musical powers are of most use, is now and then of an evening, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall, and he passes among them and the servant^ for n porfect Orpheus. THE BUSY MAN. 23 His chamber also bears evidence of his various avocations: Hicre are half-copied sheets ol music; designs for needlework; sketches of landscapes, very I iiditferently executed; a camera lucida ; a magic lantern, for ^vhich he is endeavoring to paint glasses ;' in a word, it is the cabinet of a man of many accom- plishments, who knows a little of every thing, 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-kjnnel, and other dependencies, in which he appeared like a general visiting the different qupj'ters 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 whicli, 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 num- ber was a fine falcon, which Master Simon had in especial train- ing, 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 foot- ing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke with him, tliough it was evident they had great deference for his opinion in matters relating to their functions. There was one exception, liowcvcr, in a iv^iy old huntsman, as hot as a pep))er-roni ; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a thread^ 84 BRACIJBRIDGE HALL. bare velvet jockey-oap, and a pair of leather breeches, that, from much ^vear, 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 hav^'k, 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 gleam- ing^ and enseami7ig, and giving the hav/k the r angle, which I saw was all heathen Greek to old Christy ; but he maintained his point notwithstanding, and seemed to hold all this technical lore in utter disrespect. I was surprised at the good humor with which Master Simon bore his contradictions, till he explained the matter to me after- wards. Old Christy is the most ancient servant in the place, hav- ing lived among dogs and horses the greater part of a century, and been in the service of Mr. Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree of every horse on the place, and has bestrode the great-great grandsires of most of them. He can give a circum- stantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or seventy years, and has a history for every stag's head about the house, and every hunting trophy nailed to the door of the dog-kennel. All the present race have grown up under his eye, and humor him in his old age. He once attended the Squire to Oxford, when he was student there, and enlightened the whole university with his hunting lore. All this is enough to make the old man opin- ionated, since he finds, on all these matters of first-rate impor- tance, 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 tlie instructions of Christv ; and THE BUSY MAN. 2t 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, and shortly afterwards, a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the avenue. At sight of it my companion paused, considered it 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 cum- brous chariot, drawn by two very corpulent horses, driven by as corpulent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fanci- ful green livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched prim per- sonage, 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 em- braced with the romantic fervor of boarding-school friends : she was escorted into the house by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed distinguished favor ; 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 \n his attentions upon this old lady. He walked by the side of her pony up the avenue ; and, while she was receiving the salutations of the rest of the family, he took occasion to notice the fat coach- 9 26 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. .nan ; to pat the sleek carriage horses, and, above all, to say a civil word to mj 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, wliich the captain would inherit, and that her estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in all England. FAMILY SERVANTS. Verily old sei vants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping They are like ra.ts in i msB iion, 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 upon circumstances of a trite and ordinary nature, from their appearing to me illustrative of genuine national character. It seems to me 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 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 the neigh- 28 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. boring village, and among the farmers' mves, and has high autho- rity in the household, ruling over the servants with quiet but un- disputed sway. She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose and chin. Her dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small, well-starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festooned and open in front, which, on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the family, or an inheritance from her mother, who was housekeeper 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 neighboring portraits, to see whether I could not recognize her antiquated brocade in the dress of some one of those long-waisted dames that smile on me 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 ftimily 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. In- deed, Master Simon tells me that there is a traditional anecdote current among the servants, of the Squire's having been seen kissing her in tlie picture gallery, when they were both ^oung. As, however, nothing further was ever noticed betw^een them, the circumstance caused no great scandal ; only she was observed to FAMILY SERVANTS. 29 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 tLen, at those little cabals which will occasionally take place among the most orderly servants, arising from the common propensity of the gov- erned to talk against administration ; but he has left it off, of late years, since he has risen into place, and shakes his head re- bukingly when it is mentioned. It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell upon the looks of the Squire when 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-cor- nered hat. She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted baggage, named Phoebe 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 slipshod 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 heredi- tary wardrobe, and the many little valuables and knick-knacks treasured up in the housekeepers' room. Indeed, the old house- keeper has the reputation among the servants and the villagers 50 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 hohi treasures of weaUh. The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, indeed, pays a little court to her, as to a person high in authority ; and they have many discussions on points of family history, in which, notwithstanding his extensive information, and pride of know- ledge, 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 of the house look up to the old lady with habitual respect and attachment, and she seems almost to consider them as her own, fw)m their having grown up under her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her favorite, probably from being the youngest, though he is the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks upon her from boyhood. I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, which, I be- lieve, 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 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 Eng- lish 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 with- out hurry or noise ; there is nothing of the bustle of employment, FAMILY SERVANTS. 31 or the voice of command ; nothing of that obtrusive housewifery which amounts to a torment. You are not persecuted by the pro- cess of making you comfortable ; yet every thing is done, and ia 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 clock- work, where there is no noise nor jarring in its operations. English servants, in general, are not treated with gre&t indulgence, nor rewarded by many commendations ; for the English are laconic and reserved toward their domestics ; but an approving nod and a kind word from master or mistress goes as far here, as an excess of praise or indulgence elsewhere. Neither do servants often exhibit any animated marks of affection to their employers ; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their attach- ments ; and the reciprocal regard of masters and servants, though not ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in old English families. The title of " an old family servant " carries with it a thou- sand kind associations, in all parts of the world ; and there is no claim upon the homebred charities of the heart more irresistible than that of having been " born in the house." It is common to see gray-headed domestics of this kind attached to an English family of the " old school," who continue in it to the day of their death, in the enjoyment of steady, unaffected kindness, and the performance of faithful, unofiicious duty. I think such instances of attachment speak well for both master and servant, and the frequency of them speaks well for national character. These observations, however, hold good only with families of the description 1 have mentioned ; and with such as are somewhat retired, and pass the greater part of their time in the country. I 32 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. As to the powdered menials that throng the halls of fashionable town residences, they equally reflect the character of the estab lishments to which they belong; and I know no more complete epitome of dissolute heartlessness, and pampered inutility. But the good "old family servant" — the one who has al- ways been linked, in idea, with the home of our heart ; who ha? led us to school in the days of prattling childhood ; who has been the confidant of our boyish cares, and schemes, and oaiterprises ; 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 queru- lous 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 tliat are past — who does not experience towards such a being a feel- ing 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 tliis moment ; one copied from a tombstone of a church in Warwickshire : " Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential servant to George Birch, Esq., of Hamstead HalL His grateful friend and master caused til is inscription to be written in memory of his dis- cretion, fidelity, diligence, and continence. He died (a bache^ lor) aged 84, having lived 44 years in the same family." FAMILY SERVANTS. 33 The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham church- yard: " Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappj, 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 church-yard of Eltham. I sympathized with this " sole survivor" of a family mourning over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, no doubt, a living memento of times and friends that had passed away ; and in considering this record of long and devoted service, I called to mind the touching speech of Old Adam, in " As You Like It," when tot- tering 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 th« 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 monu- mental history, and creditable to the human heart, a monarch erecting a monument in honor of the humble virtues of a menial. i 2» 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, milke, 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 Lilly* craft on her arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that I had imagined ; but, on the contrary, a degree of nature, and simple-heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long waist ; she rouges considera- bly, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzed out, and put up with pins. Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but the delicacy of her features shows that she may once have been beautiful; and she has a very fair and well-shaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain. I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars concern- ing 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 tha Ob BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 favorite 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." She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, 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 dig- nity, 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, who are now, perhaps, hobbling about watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes. I THE WIDOW. 37 Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discour- aged 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 heait ; is always talking of love and connubial felicity, and is a great stickler for old-fash- ioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She lives, however, after her own .aste. Her house, I am told, must have been built and furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison : every thing about it is some- what formal and stately ; but has been softened down into a degree of voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady, very ten- der-hearted and romantic, and who 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 mantlepieces. 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 ladylike 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. Hei 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 past in reading novels, of •vvliicli she has a most extensive library, and a constant supply from the publishers in town. Her erudition in this line of literature is 38 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 now-a-days 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 neighborhood, and is im- posed upon by every beggar in the county. She is the benefac- tress of a village adjoining her estate, and takes an especial interest in all its love affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on ; every lovelorn damsel is sure to find a patient lis- tener and a sage adviser in her ladyship. She takes great pains to reconcile all love-quarrels, and should any faithless swain per- sist 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 favorite resorts, where he is a very important personage. He makes her a visit of business once a year, when he looks into all her affairs ; which, as she is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He examines the books of the overseer, and shoots about the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with game, notwithstanding that it is poached by all the vagabonds in the neighborhood. It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain will inherit the greater part of her property, having always been her chief THE WIDOW. 3& lavorite : 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 dis- po^iition 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 ovei 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^ho, 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 wo- man ; to such a man, I say, there is something very entertaining in noticing the conduct of a paii- 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, inex- perienced in coquetry, who has made her first conquest ; while the captain regards her with that mixture of fondness and exul- tation with which a youthful lover is apt to contemplate so beau teous 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 heard from 42 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. a distance ; tlie thrush piped from the hawthorn ; and the yellow* butterflies sported, and toyed, and coqueted 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 negli- gently 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 understand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a favorite college friend of the Squire ; who, after leaving Oxford, had entered the Jgpj, and served for many years in India, where he was naortally 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 strong-hold, where he has brought her up with a tenderness truly paternal. As he has taken some pains to superintend her educa- tion, and form her taste, she has grown up with many of his no- tions, and considers him the wisest as well as the best of men. Much of her time, too, has been passed with Lady Lillycraft, who THE LOVERS. 43 has iiistructed her in the manners of the old sclioolj and enriched her mind with all kinds of novels and romances. Indeed, her ladyship has had a great hand in promoting the match betv/een 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 ^he fair Julia is regarded by the old servants at the Hall. She has been a pet with them from childhood, and every one seems to lay some claim to her education ; so that it is no wonder she should be extremely accomplished. The gardener taught her to rear flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she approaches ; and as she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of having taught her to ride ; while the housekeeper, 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 accomplish- ments, 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, 44 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some simple old melody, as from listening to a lady amateur sky-lark it up and down through the finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart. We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally, be- tween 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 praismg 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 noii- Kiense about her." FAMILY RELICS. My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye, The dimple on lier cheek : and yich sweet skiL Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown, These lips look fresh and lively as her own. False colors last after the true be dead. Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, Of all the music set upon her tongue. Of all that was past woman's excellence In her white bosom ; look, a painted board Circumscribes all ! Dekkea. An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. It abounds with illustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes, and humors, and manners, of successive generations. The altera- tions and additions, in different styles of architecture ; the furni- ture, plate, pictures, hangings ; the warlike and sporting imple- ments of different ages and fancies ; all furnish food for curious and amusing speculation. As the Squire is very careful in col- lecting and preserving all family relics, the Hall is full of remem- brances of the kind. In looking about the establishment, I can picture to myself the characters and habits that have prevailed at different eras of the family history. I have mentioned on a for- mer occasion the armor of the crusader which hangs up in the Hall. There are also several jackboots, with enormously thick 46 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. soles and high heels, which belonged to a set of cavaliers, who filled the Hall with the din and stir of arms during the time of the Covenanters. A number of enormous drinking vessels of antique fashion, with huge Venice glasses, and green hock-glasses, with the apostles in relief on them, remain as monuments of a genera- tion or two of hard livers, who led a life of roaring revelry, and first introduced 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 hunts- man, who gets exceedingly nettled if they are in the least doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a few miles from the Hall, which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap, from his having cleared it in the ardor of the chase ; there can be no doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows the very dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks on each side of the chasm. . Master Simon holds the memory of this squire in great vei? eration, and has a number of extraordinary stories to tell cod cerning him, which he repeats at all hunting dinners ; and I an^ told that they wax more and more marvelous the older they grow He has also a pair of Rippon spurs which belonged to thif mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on particulat 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 por- traits which compose the greater part of the collection. They FAMILY RELICS. 47 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 monu- ment is in the church, the spire of which may be seen from the window, where her efiigy 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 garnered up in the common repository, the neighboring church. There is one group that particularly interested me. It con- sisted of four sisters of nearly the same age, who flourished about a century since, and, if I may judge from their portraits, were extremely beautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gayety and romance this old mansion must have been, when they were in the heyday of their charms ; when they passed like beautiful visions through its halls, or stepped daintily to music in the revels and dances of the cedar gallery ; or printed, with delicate feet, the 48 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 with almost painful admiration by the aching eyes of rival admirers ! How must melody, and song, and tender serenade, have breathed about these courts, and their echoes whispered to the loitering tread of lovers ! How must these very turrets have made the hearts of the young galliards thrill, as they first discerned them from afar, rising from among the trees, and pictured to themselves the beauties casketed like gems within these walls ! Indeed, I have discovered about the place several faint records of this reign of love and romance, when the Hall was a kind of Court of Beauty. Several of the old romances in the library have marginal notes expressing sympathy and approbation, where there are long speeches extolling ladies' charms, or protesting eternal fidelity, or bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair one. The inter- views, and declarations, and parting scenes of tender lovers, also bear evidence of having been frequently read, and are scored and marked with notes of admiration, and have initials written on the margins ; most of which annotations have the day of the month and year annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, have scraps of poetry engraved on them with diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs. Philips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these seem to have been inscribed by lovers ; and others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a little inaccurate in the spelhng, have evidently been written by the young ladies themselves, or by female friends, who have been on visits to the Hall. Mrs. Philips seems to have been their favorite author, and they have distributed the names of her heroes and heroines among their circle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a male hand, the FAMILY RELICS. 49 verse bewails the cruelty of beauty, and the sufferings of constant love ; while in a female hand it prudishly confines itself to lament- ing the parting of female friends. The bow-window of my bed-room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by one of these beauties, has several of these 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 adventurous lover, who had stolen into the lady's chamber during her absence : " THEODOSIUS TO CAMILLA. I'd rather in your favor live. Than in a lasting name ; And much a greater rate would give For happiness than fame. Theodosius, 1700." When I look at these faint records of 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 gayeties around me. I was gazing, in a musing mood, this very morning, at the portrait of the lady, whose husband was 3 50 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. killed abroad, when the fair Julia entered the gallery, leaning on the arm of the captain. The sun shone through the row of win- dows on her as she passed along, and she seemed to beam out each time into brightness, and relapse into shade, until the door at the bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt a sadness of heart at the idea, that this was an emblem of her lot : a few more years of sunshine and shade, and all this life, and 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 myseK when I and my scribblings shall have lived through our brief existence, and been forgotten. AN OLD SOLBTTIR. Fve wotn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; fed this good sword Witli the black blood of pagan Christians ; converted n few infidels with it. — But let that pass The Ordinary. The Hall was throv/n into some little agitation, a few days since, oy the arrival of G(^eral Harbottle. He had been expected for several days, and looked for, rather impatiently, by several of the family. Master Simon assured me that I would like the 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 die had been one of her early admirers; and she recollected him only as a dashing young ensign, just come upon the ^own. She actually spent an hour longer at her toilette, and made ter appearance with her hair uncommonly frizzed and powdered, and an additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little surprised and shocked, therefore, at finding the lithe dashing en- sign transformed into a corpulent old general, with a double chin ; tliough it was a perfect picture to witness their salutations ; the graciousness of her profound courtesy, and the air of the old school with which the general took off his hat, swayed it gently in his bond, and bowed his powdered head. All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study the general witli a little more attention than, perhaps, I should other- 62 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. wise 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. Pie is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old school, wdth 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 pow- erfully developed. The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active service, except the taking of Seringapatam, w^hich 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 whoever is unlucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve nimself in the wdiole 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 wliich 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. 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 first-rate AN OLD SOLDIER. 53 currency, when in town ; being invited to one place, because hs 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 Liliycraft, he is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, therefore, at his toilette, and takes the field at a late hour every morning, with his hair dressed out and pow- dered, and a rose in his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he walks up and down the terrace in the sunshine, humming an air, and hemming between every stave, carrying one hand behind his back, and with the other touching his cane to the ground, 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 fre- quently does Lady Liliycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, and it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups of ladles anf^ gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor-terrace, or Kensington gardoi He talks frequently about " the service,'^ and is fond of bun ming 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 an indigestion. He criticises all the battles on the continent, and discusses the merits of the commanders, but never fails to bring the conversa- 54 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. tion, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told tliat the general \^'as a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during the late war, and was looked to with hope and confidence by many an old lady, when laboring mider the terror of Bonaparte'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 at the present day ; but it was the mode in the old school. He is, however, very strict in religious matters, and a stanch churchman. He repeats the responses very loudly in church, and is emphatical in praying for the king and royal family. At table his royalty waxes very fervent with his second bottle, and the song of " God save the King " puts him into a perfect ecstacy. 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 traveled about the country as much as any man, and has met with nothino- but prosperity ; and to confess the truth, a great part of his time is spent in visiting from one country-seat to another, and ridin^^ about the parks of his friends. " They talk of pubhc distress," said the general this day to me, at dinner, as he smacked a glass of I'irh burgundy, and cast his eyes al)0ut the ample board ; " tht.y talk of pubhc distress, but where do we find it, sir? I see none. 1 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 ami 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 vvdtnessing 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 burthen themselves. I like to watch the whimsical stir and display about one of these petty progresses. The num- ber 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 band- boxes belonging to my lady ; and the solicitude 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 pre- vent the dreaded possibility of a jolt ; the smelling-bottles, the cordials, the baskets of biscuit and fruit ; the new publications ; all provided to guard against hunger, fatigue, or ennui ; the led horses to vary th6 mode of traveling ; and all this preparation and parade to move, perhaps, some very good-for-nothing person- age about, a little space of earth ! 56 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 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, ivhich 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 w^hen he thinks proper, and when he thinks it will be " good for the cattle." She has a favorite page to attend upon her person : a hand- some boy of about twelve years of age, but a mischievous varlet very much spoiled, and in a fair way to be good for nothing. He is dressed in green, with a profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons about his clothes. She always has one or two attendants of the kind, who are replaced by others as soon as they grow to fourteen years of age. She has brought two 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 curmudgeon, 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 walk^?, he has his tail curled vp so tight that it seems to lift his feet from the ground ; and he seldom THE WIDOW'S RETINUE. 57 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 tyrannical barking that is absolutely deafening. They are in- solent to all the other dogs of the establishment. There is a noble stag-hound, a great favorite of the Squire's, who is a privi- leged visitor to the parlor ; but the moment he makes his appear- ance, 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 lady- ship drives out, these dogs are generally carried with her to take the air ; when they look out of each window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar pedestrian dogs. These dogs are a continual source of misery to the household : as they are always in the way, they every now and then get their toes trod on, and then there is a yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation on the part of their mistress, that fill the room with clamor and confusion. Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, Mrs. Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; one of the most intolera- ble and intolerant virgins that ever lived. She has kept her vir- tue by her until it has turned sour, and now every word and look 3* 58 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 tyrannizes over the good lady in secret. Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great confi- dence, 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 \vithout her ; though one great study of her life is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good humor, 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 ano- ther epithet, which I would not repeat for the world. I have re- marked, however, that he is always extremely civil to her when taey 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 silver men wyll me floryshe ; By thys matter I dare well saye, Evergramercy myneovvne purse. Book of Hunting. On the skirts of the neighboring village there lives a kinl 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 in an old farmhouse, where he enjoys, unmolested, the stout oaken chair of his ancestors. The personage* to whom I allude is a sturdy old yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or rather Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighborhood. The first place where he attracted my attention was in the church-yard on Sunday ; where he sat on a tombstone after the service, with his hat a little on one side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors ; and, as I presumed, expounding the Liav and the prophets; until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he Avas only expatiating on the merits of a brown horse. He presented 60 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. so faithful a picture of a substantial English yeoman, such as h^. 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 colored silk neckloth, 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 sil- ver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of figured chintz, betw'een Avhich and his coat was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches ^vere also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scar- let 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 church-yard was taken up with the tombstones of his race. He has all his life been an important character in the place. When a youngster he was one of the most roaring blades of the neigh- borhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pmner of Wakefield, he was the village champion ; carried ofi" the prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country round. READY-MONEY JACK. 61 Even to this day the old people talk of his prowess, and under- value, in comparison, all heroes of the green that have succeeded him; nay, they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to take the field even now, there is no one could stand before him. When Jack's father died, the neighbors shook their heads, and predicted that young hopeful would soon make way with the old homestead ; but Jack falsified all their predictions. The moment he succeeded to the paternal farm he assumed a new ijharacter : took a wife ; attended resolutely to his affairs, and became an in- dustrious, thrifty farmer. With the family property he inherited a set of old family maxims, to which he steadily adhered. He saw to every thing himself; put his own hand to the plough; worked hard ; ate heartily ; slept soundly ; paid for every thing 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 him- self the amusements of life, but has taken a share in every pass- ing 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 signalized 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 lialf guinea, and even iiis guinea at a time ; keeps a good horse for 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 farmhouse has always been noted ; has K9 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. plenty of good clieer 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 gay'ety ; but maintains tlie same grave, lion-like demeanor. 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, ^rown on him with the growing weight of his character ; for he is gradu- ally rising into patriarchal dignity in his native place. Though he no longer takes an active part in athletic sports, he always presides at them, and is appealed to on all occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace on the village green at holiday games, and quells all brawls and auarrels by collaring the parties and shaking them heartily, if refractory. No one ever pretends to raise a hand against him, or to contend against his decisions ; the young men having grown up in habitual awe of his prowess, and in implicit deference to him as the champion and lord af the green. He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the landlady having been a sweetheart of his in early life, and he having always continued on kind terms with her. He seldom, however, drinks any thing but a draught of ale ; smokes his pipe, and pays his reckoning before leaving the tap-room. Here he " gives his little senate laws ;" decides bets, which are very generally refer- red to him ; determines upon the characters and qualities of "^ Merry NiaiiT. A rustic merry-making in a farmhouse about Christ mas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abundance of homely fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale ; various feats of agility, amusing games, romping, rlnncing, and kissing withal. They commonly break up at midnight. READY-MONEY JACK. 63 horses ; and, indeed, plays now and then the part of a judge, m settling petty disputes between neighbors, which otherwise might have been nursed by country attorneys into tolerable law-suits. Jack is very candid and impartial in his decisions, but he has not a head to carry a long argument, and is very apt to get perplexed and out of patience if there is much pleading. He generally breaks through the argument with a strong voice, and brings mat- ters to a, summary conclusion, by pronouncing what he calls the " upshot of the business," or, in other words, " the ..ong and the short of the matter." Jack made a journey to London a great many years since, which has furnished him with topics of conversation ever since. Ee 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 favorite an- ecdote with him, and has no doubt had a great effect in making him a most loyal subject ever since, in spite of taxes and poors' 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 caught a tartar ; for Jack enacted as great wonders among the gang as Samson did among the Philistines. One of his neighbors, who had accompanied him to town, and was with hin_ 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 Eobin Hood himself. Of late years the old fellow has begun to take the world easily ; he works less, and indulges in greater leisure, his sor 64 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. having grown up, and succeeded to him both in the labors of the farm, and the exploits of the green. Like all sons of distin- guished men, however, his father's renown is a disadvantage to aim, 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 ac- knowledges 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 t© this day, he w^ould have no hesitation to take liim in hands, if he rebelled against paternal government. The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and shows him to all his visitors, as a specimen of old English " heart of oak." He frequently calls at his house, and tastes some of his home- brewed, w^hich is excellent. He made Jack a present of old Tusser's " Hundred Points of good Husbandrie," which has fur- nished him wdth 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 favorite passages, and knows many of the poetical maxims by heart. Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or fluttered by high acquaintances, and though he cherishes a sturdy independence of mind and 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 counselor to the family ; but his great favorite 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 dales, Goodfellowship and companie He doth maintain and keep alwaies. Evan's Old Ballads. There is no character in the comedy of human life more difficull to play well, than that of an old Bachelor. • When a single gen- tleman, 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^jjleeting 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 others appearance that takes place on such occasions. There is always one invariable observation : " Why bless my soul ! you look younger than when last I saw you !" Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old. I am led to make these remarks by the conduct of Master Simon and the general, who have become great cronies. As the former is the youngest by many years, he is regarded as quite a ee BRACEBRIDGE HALL. youthful blade 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 fell©^ by all the elderly ladies of the connection ; for an old bacheterjjn'an old family connection, is something like an actor in a regular dramatic corps, who seems to " flourish in immortal youth," and wiU continue to play the Romeos and Ran- gers for half a century together. Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, and takes a dif- ferent hue with every diiferent companion : he is very attentive and officious, and somewhat sentimental, with Lady Lillycraft ; copies out little namby-pamby ditties and love-songs for her, and draws quivers, and doves, and darts, and Cupids to be worked on the corners of her pocket*^handkerchiefc. Pie indulges, however, in very considerable latitude with the mother married ladies of the family ; and has many sly pleasantries to whisper to them, that provoke an equivocal laugh and a tap of the fan. But when he gets among young company, such as Frank Bracebridge, the Ox- :)nian, and the general, he is apt to put on the mad wag, and to talk in a very bachelor-like strain about the sex. In this he has been encouraged by the example of the gcntn\al, whom he looks up to as a man that 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 old Ma- jor Pendergast, the Avit of the club, and which, though the gen- eral can hardly repeat them for laughing, always make Mr. Bi-aeebridge look grave, he having a great antipathy to an inde- cent jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance of the BACHELORS. 67 declension in gay life, by which a young man of pleasure is itpt 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 roysters 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 atnorous look, even when he has been gallanting Lady Lilly craft, with great cere- mony, through the church-yard. The general, in fact, is a veteran in the service of Cupid rather than of Mars, having signalized himself in all the gamson towns and country quarters, and seen service in every ball-room of England. Not a celebrated beauty but lie has laid siege to ; and if his word may be taken in a mat- ter wherein no man is apt to be over-veracious, it is incredible the success he has had with the fair. At present he is like a worn- out warrior, retired from service ; but who still cocks his beaver 68 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. with a militaiy air, and talks stoutly of fighting whenever he comes within the smell of gunpowder. I have heard him speak his mind very freely over his bottle, about the folly of the captain in taking a wife ; as he thinks a young soldier should care for nothing but his " bottle and kind landlady." But, in fact, he says, the service on the continent has had a sad effect upon the young men ; they have been ruined by light wines and French quadrilles. "They've nothing/' he says, " of the spirit of the old service. There are none of your six- bottle men left, that were the souls of a mess-dinner, and used to play the very deuce among the women." As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a free and easy man, with no baggage to take care of but his portmanteau ; but a married man, with his wife hanging on his arm, always puts him in mind of a chamber-candlestick, with its extinguisher hitched to it. I should not mind all this if it were merely confined to the general ; but I fear he will be the ruin of my friend. 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 io^Yn. Indeed, the general seems to have taken Master Simon in hand, and talks of showing him the lions when he comes to town, and of introducing him to a knot of choice spirits at the Mulligatawney club ; which, I understand, is composed of old 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 are tediously agreeable in each other's company. WIVES. Believe me, man, there is no greater blisse Than is the quiet joy of loving wife ; Which whoso wants, lialf of himselfe doth misso ; Friend without change, play-fellow without strife, Food without fulnesse, counsaile without j ride, Is this sweet doubling of our single life. Sir p. Sidney There is so much talk about matrimony going on around me, in consequence of the approaching event for which we are assembled at the Hall, that I confess I find my thoughts singularly exercised on the subject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the establishment seem to be passing through a kind of fiery ordeal ; for Lady Lilly- craft is one of those tender, romance-read dames of the old school, whose mind is filled with flames and darts, and who breathe no- thing but constancy and wedlock. She is for ever immersed in the concerns of the heart; and to use a poetical phrase, is per- fectly surrounded by " the purple light of love." The very gene- ral seems to feel the inffuence of this sentimental atmosphere ; to melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for the time, to forget all his haresies about matrimony and the sex. The good lady is generally surrounded by little documents of her prevalent taste ; novels of a tender nature ; richly-bound little books of poetry, that are filled with sonnets and love tales, and 70 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. perfumed wit?li rose-leaves ; and she has always an album at hand, for which she claims the contributions of all her friends. On looking over this last repository the other day, I found a series of poetical extracts, in the Squire's handwriting, which might have been intended as matrimonial hints to his ward. I was so mucl struck with several of them, that I took the liberty of copying them out. They are from the old play of Thomas Davenport published in 1661, entitled "The City Night-cap ;" in which i-S drawn out and exemplified, in the part of Abstemia, the character of a patient and faithful wife, which I think might vie with that of the renowned Griselda. I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels should always end at the wedding, and should not give us another act, and another volume, to let us knov/ how the hero and heroine conducted themselves when married. Their main object seems to De merely to instruct young ladies how to get husbands, but not how to keep them : now this last, I speak it with all due diffidence, appears to me to be a desideratum in modern married life. It is appalling to those who have not yet adventured into the holy state, to see how soon the flame of romantic love burns out, or rather is quenched in matrimony ; and how deplorably the passionate poetic lover declines into the phlegmatic, prosaic husband. I am in- clined to attribute this very much to the defect just mentioned in the plays and novels, which form so important a branch of study of our young ladies ; and which teach them how to be heroines, but leave them totally at a loss when they come to be wives. The play from which the quotations before me were made, how- ever, is an exception to this remark ; and I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of adducing some of them for the benefit of tlu^ reader, and for the honor of an old writer, who has bravely at- WIVES. 71 tempted to awaken dramatic interest in favor of a woman, even after she was married ! The following is a commendation of Abstemia to her husband Lorenzo : She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence ; Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks. She inflames love with wonder,) but because She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. She's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness, The poorest call her courteous ; and which is excellent, (Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom Or never walks abroad in your company ; And then with such swTet bashfulness, as if She were venturing on crack'd ice, and takes delight To step into the print your foot hath made. And will follow you whole fields ; so she will drive Tediousness out of time with her sweet character. Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia had the misfor- tune to incur the unmerited jealousy of her husband. Instead, however, of resenting his harsh treatment with clamorous upbraid- ings, and with the stormy violence of high, windy virtue, by which the sparks of anger are so often blown into a flame, she endures it with the meekness of conscious, but patient virtue ; and makes the following beautiful appeal to a friend who has witnessed her long-suffering : Hast thou not seen me Bear all his injuries, as the ocean sufl'ers The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom, And yet is presently so smooth, the eye Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made ? 72 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representations, at length repudiates her. To the last, however, she maintains her patient sweetness, and her love for him, in spite of his cruelty. She de- plores his error, even more than his unkindness ; and laments the delusion which has turned his very affection into a source of bit- terness. There is a moving pathos in her parting address to Lo- renzo after their divorce : • Farewell, Lorenzo, Whom my soul doth love : if you e'er marry. May you meet a good wife ; so good, that you May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy Of your suspicion : and if you hear hereafter That I am dead, inquire but my last words, And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you. And when you walk forth with your second choice Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me. Imagine that you see me, lean and pale, Strewing your path with flowers But may she never live to pay my debts : (weeps) If but in thought she wrong you, may she die In the conception of the injury. Pray make me wealthy with one kiss : farewell, sir: Let it not grieve you when you shall remember That I was innocent : nor this forget. Though innocence here sufl^er, sigh, and groan. She walks but thorow thorns to find a throne. In a short time Lorenzo discovers his error, and the innocence of his injured wife. In the transports of his repentance, he calls to mind all her feminine excellence ; her gentle, uncomplaining, womanly fortitude under wrongs and sorrows ; WIVES. 73 • Oh, Abstemia ! How lovely thou lookest now ! now thou appearest Chaster than is the morning's modesty That rises with a blush, over who«e bosom The western wind creeps softly ; now I remember How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well. Unless it looked where I look'd : oh how proud She was, when she could cross herself to please me ! But where now ig this fair soul 1 Like a silver cloud She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea. And will be found no more. It is but doing right by the reader, if interested in ^he fate of Abstemia by the preceding extracts, to say, that she was restored to the arms and affections of her husband, rendered fonder than ever, by that disposition in every good heart to atone for past injustice, by an overflowing measure of returning kindness : Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms ; I am now Confirmed past all suspicion ; thou art far Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice DeckM up for death with garlands. The Indian winds That blow from off the coast, and cheer the sailor With the sweet savor of their spices, want The delight flows in thee. I have been more affected and interested by this little dra- natic picture than by many a popular love tale ; though, as I said before, I do not think it likely either Abstemia or patient Grizzle stands much chance of being taken for a model. Still 1 like to see poetry now and then extending its views beyond the wedding day, and teaching a lady how to make herself attractive 4 74 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. even after marriage. There is no great need of enforcing on an unmarried lady the necessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any great art requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to please. Nature has multiplied attractions around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needs no foreign aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most on her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman can expect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when he was a lover. Men are always doomed to be duped, not so much by the arts of the sex, as by their own imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A woman should therefore ascertain what was the charm which rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and endeavor to keep it up when she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly was, the chariness of herself and her conduct, which an unmarried female always observes. She should maintain the same niceness and reserve in her person and habits, and endeavor still to preserve a freshness and virgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should remember that the province of woman is to be wooed, not to woo; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses instead of winning him. The secret of a woman's power does not consist so much in giving, as in withholding. A woman may give up too much even to her hus- band. It is to a thousand little delicacies of conduct that she must trust to keep alive passion, and to protect herself from that dangerous familiarity, that thorough acquaintance with every weakness and imperfection incident to matrimony. By these means she may still maintain her power, though she has surren- WIVES. 75 dered her person, and may continue the romance of love even beyond the honey-moon. " She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy Taylor, " must entice him to an eternal dearnesse by the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of chastity, the ornament of meeknesse, and the jewels of faith and charity. She must have no painting but blushings; her brightness must be purity, and she must shine round about with sweetnesses and friendship ; and she shall be pleasant while she lives, and desired when she dies." I have wandered into a rambling series of remarks on a trite subject, and a dangerous one for a bachelor to meddle with. That I may not, however, appear to confine my observations entirely to the wife, I will conclude with another quotation from Jeremy Taylor, in which the duties of both parties are mentioned ; while I would recommend his sermon on the marriage ring to all those who, wiser than myself, are about entering the happy state of wedlock. " There is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns them both alike, and is only distinguished by names, and hath its variety by circumstances and little accidents : and what in one is called love, in the other is called reverence ; and what in the wife is obedience the same in the man is duty. He provides, and she dispenses ; he gives commandments, and she rules by them ; he rules her by authority, and she rules him by love ; she ought by all means to please him, and he must by no means displease her." STORY-TELLING. A FAVORITE evening pastime at the Hall, and one which the worthy Squire is fond of promoting, is story-telling, " a good old- fashioned fireside amusement," as he terms it. Indeed, I believe he promotes it chiefly because it was one of the choice recreations in those days of yore, when ladies and gentlemen were not much in the habit of reading. Be this as it may, he will often, at sup- per table, when conversation flags, call on some one or other of the company for a story, as it was formerly the custom to call for a song ; and it is edifying to see the exemplary patience, and even satisfaction, with which the good old gentleman will sit and listen to some hackneyed tale that he has heard for at least a hundred times. In this way one evening the current of anecdotes and stories ran upon mysterious personages that have figured at different times, and filled the world with doubt and conjecture ; such as the Wandering Jew, the Man with the Iron Mask, who tormented the curiosity of all Europe ; the Invisible Girl, and last, though not least, the Pigfaced Lady. At length one of the company was called upon who had the most unpromising physiognomy for a story-teller that ever I had seen. He was a thin, pale, weazen-faced man, extremely ner- vous, who had sat at one corner of the table, shrunk up, as it 78 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. were, into himself, and almost swallowed up in the cape of his coat, as a turtle in its shelL The very demand seemed to throw him into a nervous agita- tion, yet he did not refuse. He emerged his head out of his shell, made a few odd grimaces and gesticulations, before he could get his muscles into order, or his voice under command, and then offered to give some account of a mysterious personage whom he had recently encountered in the course of his travels, and one whom he thought fully entitled of being classea with the Man with the Iron Mask. I was so much struck with his extraordinary narrative, that I have written it out to the best of my recollection, for the amuse- ment of the reader. I think it has in it all the elements of that mysterious and romantic narrative, so greedily sought after at the present day. THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. A STAGE-COACH ROMANCE. "I'll cross it, though it blast me!'* Hamlet. It was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy month of November. 1 nad been detained, in the course of a journey, by a slight indis- position, from which I was recovering ; but was still feverish, and obliged to keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn !■— -whoever has had the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered against the casements ; the bells tolled for church with a melancholy sound. I went to the windows in quest of something to amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach of all amusement. The win- dows of my bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting-room commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by travelers and stable-boys. In one corner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck ; there were several half- drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was 80 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. a miserable, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of all life and spirit ; his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a single feather, along which the water trickled from his back ; near the cart was a half- dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, with wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide ; a wall- eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was px)king his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a doghouse hard by, uttered something every now and then, between a bark and a yelp ; a drab of a kitchen wench tramped backwards and forwards through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself; every thing, in short, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a crew of hardened ducks, assembled like boon companions round a puddle, and making a riotous noise over their liquor. I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. My room soon became insupportable. I abandoned it, and sought what is technically called the travelers'-room. This is a public room set apart at most inns for the accommodation of a class of wayfarers, called travelers, or riders ; a kind of commercial knights-errant, who are incessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They are the only successors that I know of at the present day, to the knights-errant of yore. They lead the same kind of roving adventurous life, only changing the lance for a drivii.g-whip, the buckler for a pattern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benjamin. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and standing of some substantial tradesman, or manufacturer, and are ready at any time to bargain in his name ; it being the fashion now-a-(?ays to trade, instead of fight, with one another. As the room of the hostel, in the good old fighting times, would be hung round at i rnK STOUT GENTLEMAN. 81 night with the armor of way-woin warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions, and yawning helmets ; so the travelers'-room is garnished with the harnessing of their successors, with box-coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-cloth covered hats. I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies to talk with, but was disappointed. There were, indeed, two or three in the room ; but I could make nothing of them. One was just finishing his breakfast, quarreling with his bread and butter, and huffing the waiter ; another buttoned on a pair of gaiters, with many execrations at Boots for not having cleaned his shoes well ; a third sat drumming on the table with his fingers and looking at the rain as it streamed down the window-glass ; they all appeared infected by the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, without exchanging a word. I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the people, picking their way to church, with petticoats hoisted midleg high, and dripping umbrellas. The bell ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I then amused myself with watching the daugh- ters of a tradesman opposite ; who, being confined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, and I had nothing further from without to amuse me. What was I to do to pass away the long-lived day ? I was sadly nervous and lonely ; and every thing about an inn seems calculated to make a dull day ten times duller. Old newspapers, smelling of beer and tobacco smoke, and which I had already read half a dozen times. Good for nothing books, that were worse than rainy weather. I bored myself to death with an old volume of the Lady's Magazine. I read all the commonplaced names 4* 82 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. of ambitious travelers scrawled on the panes of glass ; the eter- nal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, and the Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons ; and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing in-window poetry which I have met with in all parts of the world. The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the slovenly, rag- ged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along ; there was no variety even in the rain : it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — patter — patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course of the morning, a horn blew, and a stage-coach whirled through the street, with outside passengers stuck all over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins. The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hos- tler, and that non-descript animal ycleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an inn ; but the bustle was transient ; the coach again whirled on its way ; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes ; the street again became silent, and the rain continued to rain on. In fact, there was no hope of its clearing up ; the barometer pointed to rainy weather ; mine hostess' tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, and rubbing her paws over her ears ; and, on referring to the Almanac, I found a direful prediction stretching from the top of the page to the bottom through the whole month, " expect — much — rain — about — this — time I" THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 83 I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they would aever cieep by. The very ticking of the clock became irksome. At length the stillness of the house was interrupted by the ring- ing of a bell. Shortly after I heard the voice of a waiter at the bar: "The stout gentleman in No. 13, wants his breakfast. Tea and bread and butter, with ham and eggs ; the eggs not to be too much done." In such a situation as mine every incident is of importance. Here was a subject of speculation presented to my mind, and ample exercise for my imagination. I am prone to paint pictures to myself, and on this occasion I had some materials to work upon. Had the guest up stairs been mentioned as Mr. Smith or Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, or merely as " the gentleman in No. 13," it would have been a perfect blank to me. I should have thought nothing of it ; but " The stout gentleman I" — the very name had something in it of the picturesque. It at once gave the size ; it embodied the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did the rest. He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty ; in all probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, some people expanding as they grow old. By his breakfasting rather late, and in his own room, he must be a man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the necessity of early rising ; no doubt a round, rosy, lusty old gen- tleman. There was another violent ringing. The stout gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He was evidently a man of impor- tance ; " well to do in the world ;" accustomed to be promptly waited upon ; of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hungry ; " perhaps," thought T, " he may be some London Alderman ; or who knows but he may be a Member of Parliament ?" 84 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. The breakfast was sent up, and there was a short interval of silence ; he was, doubtless, making the tea. Presently there was a violent ringing ; and before it could be answered, another ring- ing still more violent. " Bless me ! what a choleric old gentle- man !" The waiter came down in a huff. The butter was rancid, the eggs were over-done, the ham was too salt : — the stout gentle- man was evidently nice in his eating ; one of those who eat and growl, and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state militant with the household. The hostess got into a fume. I should observe that she was a brisk, coquettish woman ; a little of a shrew, and something of a slammerkin, but very pretty withal ; with a nincompoop for a husband, as shrews are apt to have. She rated the servants roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a breakfast, but said not a word against the stout gentleman ; by which I clearly perceived that he must be a man of consequence, entitled to make a noise and to give trouble at a country inn. Other eggs, and ham, and bread and butter were sent up. They appeared to be more graciouslj received ; at least there was no further com- plaint. I had not made many turns about the traveler's-room, when there was another ringing. Shortly afterwards there was a stir and an inquest about the house. The stout gentleman wanted the Times or the Chronicle newspaper. I set him down, there- fore, for a whig ; or rather, from his being so absolute and lordly where he had a chance, I suspected him of being a radical. Hunt, I had heard, was a large man ; " who knows," thought I, " but it is Hunt himself!" My curiosity began to be awakened. I inquired of the waiter who was this stout gentleman that was making all this stir ; but THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. I could get no information : nobody seemed to know his name. The landlords of bustling inns seldom trouble their heads about the names or occupations of their transient guests. The color of a coat, the shape or size of the person, is enough to suggest a traveling name. It is either the tall gentleman, or the short gen- tleman, or the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff- color ; or, as in the present instance, the stout gentleman. A designation of the kind once hit on answers every purpose, and saves all further inquiry. Rain — rain — rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain ! No such thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no occupation nor amusement within. By and by I heard some one walking over head. It was in the stout gentleman's room. He evidently was a large man by the heaviness of his tread ; and an old man from his wearing such creaking soles. " He is doubtless," thought I, " some r]ch old square-toes of regular habits, and is now taking exercise after breakfast." I now read all the advertisements of coaches and hotels that were stuck about the mantel-piece. The Lady's Magazine had become an abomination to me ; it was as tedious as the day itself. I wandered out, not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my room. I had not been there long, when there was a squall from a neighboring bedroom. A door opened and slammed vio lently ; a chambermaid, that I had remarked for having a ruddy, good-humored face, went down stairs in a violent flurry. The stout gentleman had been rude to her ! This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce in a moment. This unknown personage could not be an old gentle- man ; for old gentlemen are not apt to be so obstreperous to thambermaids. He could not be a young gentleman; for young 86 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. gentlemen are not apt to inspire such indignation. He must be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly into the bargain, or the girl would not have taken the matter in such terrible dudgeon. I confess I was sorely puzzled. In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. I caught a glance of her as she came tramping up stairs ; her face glowing, her cap flaring, her tongue wagging the whole way. " She'd have no such doings in her house, she'd w^arrant. If gentlemen did spend money freely, it was no rule. She'd have no servant maids of hers treated in that way, when they were about their work, that's what she wouldn't." As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and above all with pretty women, I slunk back into my room, and partly closed the door ; but my curiosity was too much excited not to listen. The landlady marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and entei^ed it with a storm : the door closed after her. I heard her voice in high windy clamor for a moment or two. Then it gra- dually subsided, like a gust of wind in a garret ; then there was a laugh ; then I heard nothing more. After a little while my landlady came out with an odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which was a little on one side. As she went down stairs I heard the landlord ask her what was the matter ; she said, " Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool." — I was more than ever perplexed what to make of this unaccountable personage, who could put a good-natured chambermaid in a pas- sion, and send away a termagant landlady in smiles. He could not be so old, nor cross, nor ugly either. I had to go to work at his picture again, and to paint him entirely different. I now set him down for one of those stout gentlemen that are frequently met with swaggering about the > THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 87 doors of country inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher hand- kerchiefs, whose bulk is a little assisted by malt-liquors. Men who have seen the world, and been sworn at Highgate ; who are used to tavern life ; up to all the tricks of tapsters, and knowing 'n the ways of sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small s^iale ; who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea ; who call all the waiters by name, touzle the maids, gossip with the landlady at the bar, and prose over a pint of port, or a glass of negus, after dinner. The morning wore away in forming these and similar sur- mises. As fast as I wove one system of belief, some movement of the unknown would completely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts again into confusion. Such are the solitary opera- tions of a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely ner- vous ; and the continual meditation on the concerns of this invisi- ble personage began to have its effect : — I was getting a fit of the fidgets. Dinner-time came. I hoped the stout gentleman might dine in the travelers'-room, and that I might at length get a view of his person ; but no — he had dinner served in his own room. What could be the meaning of this solitude and mystery ? He could not be a radical ; there was something too aristocratical in thus keeping himself apart from the rest of the world, and con- demning himself to his own dull company throughout a rainy day. And then, too, he lived too well for a discontented politician. He seemed to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over his wine like a jolly friend of good living. Indeed, my doubts on this head were soon at an end ; for he could not have finished his first bottle before I could faintly hear him humming a tune ; and on listening, I found it to be " God save the King." 'Twas plain, 88 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. then, he was no radical, but a faithful subject ; one who grew loyal over his bottle, and was ready to stand by king and consti- tution, when he could stand by nothing else. But who could he be ! My conjectures began to run wild. Was he not some per- sonage of distinction traveling incog. ? '* Gk>d knows !" said I, at my wit's end ; " it may be one of the royal family for aught I know, for they are all stout gentlemen !" The weather continued rainy. The mysterious unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, his chair, for I did not hear him move. In the meantime, as the day advanced, the travelers - room began to be frequented. Some, who had just arrived, came in buttoned up in box-coats ; others came home who had been dispersed about the town. Some took their dinners, and some their tea. Had I been in a different mood, I should have found entertainment in studying this peculiar class of men. There were two especially, who were regular wags of the road, and up to all the standing jokes of travelers. They had a thousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and Ethe- linda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name every time, and chuckling amazingly at their own waggery. My mind, however, had become completely engrossed by the stout gentle- man. He had kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was not now to be diverted from the scent. The evening gradually wore away. The travelers read the papers two or three times over. Some drew round the fire and told long stories about their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and breakings down. They discussed the credit of different merchants and different inns ; and the two wags told several choice anecdotes of pretty chambermaids, and kind land- ladies. All this passed as they were quietly taking what they THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 89 called their night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind ; after which they one after another rang for " Boots " and the chambermaid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into marvelously uncomfortable slippers. There was now only one man left ; a short-legged, long-bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by him- self, with a glass of port wine negus, and a spoon ; sipping and stirring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing before him ; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the little light that remained in the chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box-coats of departed travelers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heard the ticking of the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleep- ing topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop — drop — drop, from the eaves of the house. The church bells chimed midnight. All at once the stout gentleman began to walk over head, pacing slowly backwards and forwards. There was something extremely awful in all this, especially to one in my state of nerves. These ghastly great-coats, these guttural breathings, and the creaking footsteps of this mysterious being. His steps grew fainter and fainter, and at length died away. 1 could bear it no longer. I was wound up to the desperation of a hero of romance. " Be he who or what he may," said I to myself, " I'll have a sight of him!" I seized a chamber candle, and hurried up to No. 13 The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered : the room was ieserted. There stood a large, broad-bottomed elbow-chair at a 90 B^RACEBRIDGE HALL. table, on which was an empty tnmbler, and a "Times" newspa- per, and the room smelt powerfully of Stilton cheese. The mysterious stranger had evidently but just retired. I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my room, which had been changed to the front of the house. As I went along the corridor, I saw a large pair of boots, with dirty, waxed tops, standing at the door of a bedchamber. They doubtless belonged to the unknown ; but it would not do to disturb so redoubtable a person- age in his den ; he might discharge a pistol, or something worse, at my head. I went to bed, therefore, and lay awake half the night in a terribly nervous state ; and even when I fell asleep, I "was still haunted in my dreams by the idea of the stout gentleman and his wax-topped boots. I slept rather late the next morning, and was awakened by some stir and bustle in the house, which I could not at first comprehend ; until getting more awake, I found there was a mail coach starting from the door. Suddenly there was a cry from below, "The gentleman has forgot his umbrella! look for the gentleman's umbrella in 'No. 13 !" I heard an immediate scam- pering of a chambermaid along the passage, and a shrill reply as she ran, " Here it is ! here's the gentleman's umbrella !" The mysterious stranger then was on the point of setting off. This was the only chance I should ever have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed, scrambled to the window, snatched aside the curtains, and just caught a glimpse of the rear of a person getting in at the coach-door. The skirts of a brown coat parted behind, and gave me a full view of the broad disk of a pair of drab breeches. The door closed — "all right!" was the word — the coach whirled off: — and that was all 1 ever saw of the stout gentleman ! FOREST TREES. " A living gallery of aged trees." One of the favorite themes of boasting with the Squire is the noble trees on his estate, which, in truth, has some of the finest I have seen in England. There is something august and solemn in the great avenues of stately oaks that gather their branches toge- ther high in air, and seem to reduce the pedestrians beneath them to mere pigmies. " An avenue of oaks or elms," the Squire observes, "is the true colonnade that should lead to a gentleman's house. As to stone and marble, any one can rear them at once, they are the work of the day ; but commend me to the colonnades which have grown old and great with the family, and tell by their grandeur how long the family has endured." The Squire has great reverence for certain venerable trees, gray v/ith moss, which he considers as the ancient nobility of his domain. There is the ruin of an enormous oak, which has been so much battered by time and tempest, that scarce any thing is left ; though he says Christy recollects when, in his boyhood, it was healthy and flourishing, until it was struck by lightning. It is now a mere trunk, with one twisted bough stretching up into the air, leaving a green branch at the end of it. This sturdy wreck is much valued by the Squire ; he calls it his standard-bearer, and compares it to a veteran warrior beaten down in battle, but bear 92 BRACEBRIDGR HALL. ing up his banner to the last. He has actually had a fence built round it, to protect it as much as possible from further injury. It is with great difficulty he can ever be brought to have any tree cut down on his estate. To some he looks with reverence, as having been planted by his ancestors ; to others with a kind of paternal affi^ctioujas having been planted by himself ; and he feels a degree of awe in bringing down, with a few strokes of the axe, what it has cost centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but sym- pathize, in some degree, with the good Squire on the subject. Though brought up in a country overrun with forests, where trees are apt to be considered mere incumbrances, and to be laid low without hesitation or remorse, yet I could never see a fine tree hewn down without concern. The poets, who are naturally lovers of trees, as they are of every thing that is beautiful, have artfully awakened great interest in their favor, by representing them as the habitations of sylvan deities ; insomuch that every great tree had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence was limited to its duration. Evelyn, in his Sylva, makes several pleasing and fanciful allusions to this superstition. "As the fall," says he, " of a very aged oak, giving a crack like thunder, has often been heard at many miles distance ; constrained though I often am to fell them with reluctancy, I do not at any time remember to have heard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to be dispos- sessed of their ancient habitations) without some emotion and pity." And again, in alluding to a violent storm that had devas- tated the woodlands, he says, " Methinks I still hear, sure I am that I still feel, the dismal groans of our forests ; the late dread- ful hurricane having subverted so many thousands of goodly oaks, prostrating the trees, laying them in ghastly postures, like whole regiments fallen in battle by the sword of the conqueror, and FOREST TREES. 93 crushing all that grew beneath them. The public accounts/* he adds, " reckon no less than three thousand hrave oaks in one part only of the forest of Dean blown down." I have paused more than once in the wilderness of America, to contemplate the traces of some blast of wind, which seemed to have rushed down from the clouds, and ripped its way through the bosom of the woodlands ; rooting up, shivering, and splinter- ing the stoutest trees, and leaving a long track of desolation. There was something awful in the vast havoc made among these gigantic plants ; and in considering their magnificent remains, so rudely torn and mangled, and hurled down to perish prematurely on their native soil, I was conscious of a strong movement of the sympathy so feelingly expressed by Evelyn. I recollect, also, hearing a traveler of poetical temperament expressing the kind of horror which he felt on beholding, on the banks of the Mis- souri, an oak of prodigious size, which had been, in a manner, overpowered by an enormous wild grape-vine. The vine had clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and thence had wound about every branch and twig, until the mighty tree had withered in its embrace. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in the hideous coils of the monster Python. It was the lion of trees perishing in the embraces of a vegetable boa. I am fond of listening to the conversation of English gentle- men on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and discri- mination, and what strong, unaffected interest they w^ill discuss topics, which, in other countries, are abandoned to mere woodmen, or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble earl descant on park and forest scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his estate, with as much pride and technical precision as though he had been 94 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. discussing the merits of statues in his collection. I found that he had even gone considerable distances to examine trees, which were celebrated among rural amateurs ; for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established points of excellence ; and that there are some in England which enjoy very extensive celebrity among tree-fanciers from being perfect in their kind. There is something nobly simple and pure in a such a taste : it argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak, looks forward to future ages, and plants for poste- rity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the idea, that the acorn which he has buried in the earth will grow up into a lofty pile, and keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefit- ing mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his pater- nal fields. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philan- thropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery that enters into the soul; and dilates and elevates it, and fills ?t with noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, which embower this island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation among them from the tumult of arms, FOREST TREES. 95 or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of Fenshurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the elegant Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood ; or can look without fondness upon the tree that is said to have been planted on his birthday ; i>r can ramble among the classic bowers of Hagley ; or can pause among the solitudes of Windsor Forest, and look at the oaks around, huge, gray, and time-worn, like the old castle towers, and not feel as if he were surrounded by so many monuments of long-enduring glory ? It is, when viewed in this light, that planted groves, and stately avenues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the more luxuriant beauties of unassisted nature. It is then they teem with moral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting story of human existence. It is incumbent, then, on the high and generous spirits of an ancient nation, to cherish these sacred groves which surround their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their descend- ants. Republican as I am by birth, and brought up as I have been in republican principles and habits, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence for titled rank, merely because it is titled ; but I trust that I am neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I can both see and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, extends the exist- ence of the possessor. He does not feel himself a mere individual link in creation, responsible only for his own brief term of being. He carries back his existence in proud recollection, and he ex tends it forward in honorable anticipation. He lives with his ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To both does he con- 96 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. sider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he has re- ceived much from those who have gone before, so he feels bound to transmit much to those who are to come after him. His do- mestic undertakings seem to imply a longer existence than those of ordinary men ; none are so apt to build and plant for future centuries, as those noble-spirited men, who have received their heritages from foregone ages. I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and pride with which I have noticed English gentlemen, of generous tempera- ments, and high aristocratic feelings, contemplating those magnifi- cent trees, rising like towers and pyramids, from the midst of their paternal lands. There is an affinity between all nature, animate and inanimate : the oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and intellectual man. With its mighty pillar rising straight and direct towards heaven, bearing up its leafy honors from the impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sun- shine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should he ; a refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a defence for the defenceless ; warding off from them the peltings of the storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is tliis^ is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is otherwise, abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the grandeur and pros- perity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the oppressive hand of power, who would murmur at his fate ? — " Why cumbereth he the ground ?" A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. Printed bookes he contemnes, as a novelty of this latter ago ; but a manuscript he pores oa everlastingly ; especially if the cover be all moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis be- tweene every syllable. MICO-COSMOGRAPHIK, 1628. The Squire receives great sympathy and support, in his anti- quated humors, 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 heart-felt ties, which last through life, without the usual humilia- tions of dependence and patronage. Under the fostering protec- tion 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 flow- ers are all arranged in formal beds, and the yew-trees clipped into urns and peacocks. His taste for literary antiquities was first imbibed in the Bod- leian 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, 5 98 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 simplicity ^vhich seem to belong to the literary antiquary. He is a aark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in his man- ner ; yet, on his favorite theme, he kindles up, and at times is even eloquent. Xo 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 odor of the cloisters that seemed to exhale from it, he rivals the enthusiasm of a Parisian epicure, expatiating on the merits of a Perigord pie, or a Pat^ 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 vul- gar hands of the mere reader ;" and, to continue the happy ex- pressions 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-letter volume reads best in one of those venerable cham- bers where the light struggles through dusty lancet windows and painted glass ; and that it loses half its zest if taken away from the neighborhood of the quaintly-carved oaken book-case and Gothic reading-desk. At his suggestion the Squire has had the * D'Israeli. Cnriosities of Literature. A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 99 library furnished in this antique taste, and several of the windows glazed with painted glass, that they may throw a properly tem- pered light upon the pages of their favorite 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 who every now and then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete custom or rare legend ; nay, it is said that some of his communications have been at least six inches in length. He frequently receives par- cels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, containing mouldy volumes and almost illegible manuscripts ; for it is singu- lar what an active correspondence is kept up among literary anti- quaries, 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 visiter at the Hall. We found him in his study ; a small dusky chamber, lighted by a lat- 100 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. tice-window that looked into the church-yard, and was overshad- owed by a yew-tree. His chair was surrounded by folios and quartos, piled upon the floor, and his table was covered with books and manuscripts. The cause of his seclusion was a workVhich he had recently received, and with which he had retired in rap- ture from the world, and shut himself up to enjoy a literaif^ hon ey-moon undisturbed. Never did boarding-school girl devour -the pages of a sentimental novel, or Don Quixote a chivalrous ro- mance, with more intense delight than did the little man banquet on the pages of this delicious work. It was Dibdin's Bibliographi- cal 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 than those to Africa, or the North Pole. With what eagerness had he seized upon the 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 had perplexed him sadly. It was written in Norman A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 101 French, in very ancient characters, and so faded and mouldered away as to be ahuost illegible. It was apparently an old Norman drinking song, which 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 w^ould be completely thrown out, and then there would be a few w^ords so plainly written as to put him on the scent again. In this w^ay he had been led on for a whole day, until he had found himself completely at fault. The Squire endeavored to assist him, but was equally baffled. The old general listened for some time to the discussion, and then asked the parson, if he had rekd Captain Morris's, or George Stevens'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 Encyclopedia of Wit into the bargain. I never travel without them ; they're excellent reading at an inn." It would not be easy to describe the odd look of surprise and perplexity of the parson, at this proposal ; or the difficulty the Squire had in making the cfeneral comprehend, that thougli a jovial song of the present day was but a foolish sound in tlie ears of wisdom, and beneath the notice of a learned man, yet a troAvl, written by a tosspot several hundred years since, was a matter worthy of the gravest research, and enough to set Avhole 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, bv future antiquaries, from among the rub- 102 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. bisb 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 v,^orry his brain through a long morning, endeavoring 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. 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 the wit gravitates into the learning of the pedant, and an ancient farthing moulders into infinitely more value than a modern guinea. THE FARM-HOUSE. - 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 exposure, 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 ; a notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for wives; since, according to Master Simon's account, she never contradicts honest Jack, and yet manages to have her own way, and to con- trol him in every thing. She received us in the main room of the house, a kind of 104 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. parlor and hall, with great brown beams of timber across it, which Mr. Tibbets is apt to point out with some exultation, observing, that they don't put such timber in houses now-a-days. The fur- niture was old fashioned, strong, and highly polished ; the walk were hung with colored prints of the story of the Prodigal Son who was represented in a red coat and leather breeches. Ovei the fireplace was a blunderbuss, and a hard-favored likeness of Ready-Money Jack, taken, when he was a young man, by the same artist that painted the tavern sign ; his mother having taken a notion that the Tibbets had as much right to have a gallery of family portraits as the folks at the Hall. The good dame pressed us yerj 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 pre- vailed throughout ; every thing was of the best materials, and in the best condition. Nothing was out of place, or ill made ; and you saw every where the signs of a man who took care to have the worth of his money, and 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 into the yard, to use the words of young Jack, " he shone like a bottle ;" for he said the old man made it^ a rule that every thing about him should fare as well as he did himself. I was pleased to see the pride which the young fellow seemed to have of his father. He gave us several particulars concerning rHE FARM-HOUSE. lOi- 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 any thing; and, if possible, paying in gold and silver. He had a great dislike to paper money, and seldom went without a consid- erable 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 Avould be a match for Robin Hood and all his gang. I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into any house without having a world of private talk with some one or other of the family, being a kind of universal counselor and confidant. We had not been long at the farm, before the old dame got him into a corner of her parlor, where they had a long, whispering conference together ; in which I saw by his shrugs that there were some dubious matters discussed, and by his nods that he agreed with every thing she said. After we had come out, the young man accompanied us a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked and talked together for nearly half an hour. Master Simon, who has the usual propensity of confidants to blab every thing 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 cf 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 neighbors spoke to her of the likelihood of a match between her 5* 106 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. son and Phoabe Wilkins, " Marry come up !" she scouted the very idea. The girl had acted as lady's maid, and it was beneath the blood of the Tibbets, who had lived on their own lands time out of rnind, and owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a servant ! These vaporings had faithfully been carried to the housekeep- er's ear, by one of their mutual, go-between friends. The old housekeeper's blood, if not as an 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 rus- tled 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 ano- ther. 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 Tibbets to his passion. He had lately, however, 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 incli- nation 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 THE FARM-HOUSE. 107 matter, and dreaded to awaken the sleeping lion. Between father and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business, and at her wit's end. It is true there was no great danger of honest Eeadj-Money's finding the thing out, if left to himself, for he was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick of appre- hension ; 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 E-eady-Money Jack ; which only shows the intrigues and inter- nal dangers to which the best regulated governments are liable. In this perplexed situation of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to Master Simon for counsel ; and, with all his ex- perience in meddling with other people's concerns, he finds it an exceedingly difficult part to play, to agree with both parties, see- ing that their opinions and wishes are sc diametrically opposite. HORSEMANSHIP. A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one i wt both horse and raaa 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 canibals adored the divell. Taylor, the water poet. I HA.VE made casual mention, more tlian once, of one of the Squire's antiquated retainers, old Christy the huntsman. I find that his crabbed humor is a source of much entertainment amono; 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 only one that can do any thing 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. Notwith- standing these doughty brawls, however, there is nothing that net- 110 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ties old Christy sooner than to question the merits of hib -lorse which he upholds as tenaciously as a faithful husband will vindi- cate 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 aceciunting for the appellation, they let me into some particulars of the Squire's mode of bringing up his children. There is an odd mixture of eccentricity and good sense in all the opinions of my worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, where plain brick-work is set oif with pointed arches and quaint tracery. Though the main ground-work of his opinions is correct, yet he has a thousand little notions, picked up from old books, which stand out whimsically on the surface of his mind. Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, Markam, and such like old English writers, for his manuals. At an early age he took the lads out of their mother's hands, who was disposed, as mothers are apt to be, to make fine, orderly children of them, that should keep out of sun and rain, and never soil their hands, nor 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 horse- men ; and these were the days when old Christy, the huntsman, enjoyed great importance, as the lads were put under his care to practise them at the leaping-bars, and to keep an eye upon them m the chase. The Squire always objected to their riding in 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 4 HORSEMANSHIP. m Quaternio, " a kind of solecism, and to savor of effeminacy, for a young gentleman in the flourishing time of his age to creep into a coach, and to shrowd himself from wind and weather : our great delight was to outbrave the blustering Boreas upon a great horse ; to arm and prepare ourselves to go with Mars and Bellona into the field was our sport and pastime ; coaches and caroches we left unto them for whom they were first invented, for ladies and gen- tlemen, and decrepit age and impotent people." The Squire insists that the English gentlemen have lost much of their hardiness and manhood since the introduction ef 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, roiling 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 ' 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 gen- tleman with his skill and cunning, by his voice, rod, and spur, bet- ter 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 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 112 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 Elizabeth would scarcely suffer the rain to stop her accustomed^ide. " And then think," he will say, " what nobler and sweeter beings it made them. What a difference must there be, both in mind and body, between a joyous high-spirited dame of those days, glowing with health and exercise, freshened by every breeze, seated loftily and gracefully on her saddle, with plume on head, and hawk on hand, and her descendant of the present day, the pale victim of routs and ball-rooms, sunk lan- guidly 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, spir- ited, and active, and have the true Englishman's love for a horse. If their manliness and frankness are praised in their father's hear- ing, 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 young- ster, rather fonder of his horse than his book, with a little dash 1 HORSEMANSHIP. 113 of the dandy ; though the ladies all declare that he is " the flower of the flock." The first year that he was sent to Oxford, he had a tutor appointed to overlook him, a dry chip of the university. When he returned home in the vacation, the Squire made many inquiries about how he liked his college, his studies, and his tutor. " Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I've 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. LOYE SYMPTOMS. I will now beffin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be most apparently in lovs. 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 confidencoj 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 lady- ship ; he softens very much in her company, sits by her at table, and entertains her with long stories about Seringapatam^ 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 ladyship delights in re- ceiving the homage and attention of the sex. Indeed, the general was one of the earliest admirers that dan- gled in her train during her short reign of beauty ; and they flirted together for half a season in London, some thirty or forty years since. She reminded him lately, in the course of a con- v^ersation 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 cap- tivating an appearance as in his youthful days. 116 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 favorite 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 lustes were betwene them, and thenne was love, trouthe, and feythfulnes ; and lo in lyke wyse was used love in Kyng Arthurs dayes."* Still, however, this may be nothing but a little venerable flir- tation, the general being a veteran dangler, and the good lady habituated to these kind ol attentions. Master Simon, on the other hand, thinks the general is looking about him with the wary eye of an old campaigner ; and now that he is on the wane, is desirous of getting into warm winter quarters. Much allow^ance, however, must be made for Master Simon's uneasiness on the subject, for he looks on Lady Lilly craft's house as one of his strong-holds, w4iere he is lord of the ascendant ; and, with all his admiration of the general, I much doubt whether he vrould 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 assidu- ous 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 mis- tress will be more favorably received, as all his overtures towards ** Morte d'Arthur. ^ LOVE SYMPTOMS. 117 a caress are greeted by the pestilent little cur with a wary kin- dling of the eye, and a most venomous growl. He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards my lady's gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs. Hannah, whom he used to speak of in a way that I do not choose to mention. Whether she has the same suspicions with Master Simon or not, I cannot say ; but Sxie receives his civilities with no better grace than the implacable Beauty ; unscrewing her mouth into a most acid smile, and look- ing as though she could bite a piece out of him. In short, the poor general seems to have as formidable foes to contend with as a hero of ancient fairy tale ; who had to fight his way to his en- chanted princess through ferocious monsters of every kind, and to encounter the brimstone terrors of some fiery dragon. 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 conversation often turns upon it, on which occasions the general is thrown com- pletely out. It happened the other day that Spenser's Fairy Queen was the theme for the great part of the morning, and the poor gentleman sat perfectly silent. I found him not long after in the library, with spectacles on nose, a book in his hand, and fast asleep. On my approach he awoke, slipt 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 curi- osity to watch how he got on in his poetical studies ; but, though I have repeatedly seen him wi h the book in his hand, yet I find the paper has not advanced aoove three or four pages ; the gen- eral 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 none, I believe, causes him more frequent regret than the unfortunate invention of gun- powder. To this he continually traces the decay of some favorite custom, and, indeed, the general dow^nfall of all chivalrous and romantic usages. '' English soldiers," he says, " have never been the men they w^ere 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 Agin- court, the French chivalry was completely destroyed by the bow- men of England. The yeomanry, too, have never been what they were, when, in times of peace, they were constantly exercised with the bow, and archery was a favorite 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 120 BRACE BRIDGE HALL. 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 Braithwate, the stately amusement of "' high and mounting spirits ;' for, as the old Welsh proverb affirms, in those times ' you might know a gentle- man by his hawk, horse, and greyhound.' Indeed, a cavalier was seldom seen abroad Avithout 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 endeavored to revive in the little world in which he rules, he has bestowed great attention on the noble art of falconry. In this he^ of course, has been seconded by his inde- fatigable coadjutor. Master Simon ; and even the parson has thrown considerable light on their labors, by various hints on the subject, which he has met with in old English works. As to the precious work of that famous dame, Juliana Barnes ; the Gentle- man's Academic, by Markham ; and the other well-known trea- tises 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 flauntmg feathers, mounted on horse, with attendants on foot, all in ani- mated pursuit of the game. FALCONRY. 121 The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any hawks in his neighborhood, 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, endeavoring to "reclaim" them, as it is termed, and to train them up for the sport ; but they have met with continual checks and disappointments. Their feathered school has turned out the most untractable and graceless schol- ars : nor is it the least of. their labor 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 terro- rem, against the out-houses. 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 -he 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 the rearing of game-cocks. m 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 phy- sicking ; for the latter has gone to work secundem artem, and has 6 122 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 Wynne ; 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 Snow- den, or the brow of Penmanmawr. Ever since the Squire received this invaluable present, he has been as impatient to sally forth and make proof of it, as was Don 11 Quixote to assay his suit of armor. 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 humors, has proposed to be of the party, and Lady Lillycraft has talked also of riding out to the scene of action and looking on. This has gratified the old gentleman extremely ; he hails it as an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry, and does not despair FALCONRY. 123 but the time will come when it will be again the pride of a fine lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference to a parrot or a lap-dog. T have amused myself with the bustling preparations of that busy spirit, Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he re- ceives from that genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They have had half a dozen consultations about how the hawk is to be prepared for the morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got in a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably given up the point, observing, in a good-humored tone, " Well, well, have it your own way, Christy ; only don't put yourself in a passion ;" a reply which always nettles the old man ten times . more th&n ever. HAWKING. The soaring -hawk, from fist that fliea, Her falconer doth constrain Sometimes to range the ground abont 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. Handfull of Pleasant Delites. At an early hour this morning the Hall was in a bustle, pre- paring 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 favorite 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," &c. A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was served ap in the great hall. The whole garrison of retainers and hang- ers-on were in motion, reinforced by volunteer idlers from the village. The horses were led up and down before the door; 126 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. every body had something to say, and something to do, and hur- ried 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 favorite 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 attend- ants, 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, am- bling 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 every thing 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 ac- companied Miss Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in HAWKING. 127 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 bounding animation of youth. The Squire and Master Simon rode together, accompa- nied 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, com- posed 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-officers in an army ; and I saw, by certain motions of the head, that Christy was as positive as any old wrong-headed German com- mander. As we were prancing up this quiet meadow every sound we^ 128 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. made was answered by a distinct echo from the sunny wall of an old building on the opposite margin of the stream ; and I paused to listen to this " spirit of a sound," which seems to love such quiet and beautiful places. The parson informed me that this was the ruin of an ancient grange, and was supposed, by the country people, to be haunted by a dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, something like Robin Good-fellow. 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 no- thing," I called to mind the fine description of an echo in Web- ster's Duchess of Malfy : " Yond side o' th' river lies a wall. Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion Gives the best echo that you ever heard : So plain 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 ap- pellation which the Jews of old gave to the echo, which they called Bath-kool, that is to say, " the daughter of the voice ;" they considered it an oracle, supplying in the second temple the want of the urim and thummim, with which the first was honored.* The little man was just entering very largely and learnedly upon the subject, when we were started by a prodigious bawling, shout- ing, and yelping. A flight of crows, alarmed by the approach of * Bekker*s Monde enchant^. HAWKING. 129 our forces, had suddenly rose from a meadow ; a cry was put up by the rabble rout on foot. " Now, Christy ! now is your tirae^ 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 confu- sion of voices, completely lost his head ; in his flurry he slipped off the hood, cast off the falcon, and away flew the crows, and away soared the hawk. I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady Lillycraft and her escort, whence I had a good view of the sport. I was pleased with the appearance 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 a clear blue sky. I confess, being no sports- man, I was more interested for the poor bird that was striving for its life, than for the hawk that was playing the part of a merce- nary 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, scream- ing and making the best of his way for a dry tree on the brow of a neighboring 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 endeavored to lure her down ; she paid no regard to him : and, indeed, his calls 6* 13C BRACEBRIDGE HALL. were drowned in the shouts and yelps of the army of militia thai had followed him into the field. Just then an exclamation from Lady Lilly craft made me turn my head. I beheld a complete confusion among the sportsmen in the little vale below us. They were galloping and running to- Tvards the edge of a bank ; and I was shocked to see Miss Tem- pleton's horse galloping at large without his rider. I rode to the place to which the others were hurrying, and w^hen 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 wdth 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 Lilly craft fainting, the Squire in dismay, and Mas- ter Simon at his wit's ends. The beautiful creature at length showed signs of returning life ; she opened her eyes ; looked around her upon the anxious group, and comprehending in a mo- ment 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 miraculously, with a contusion of the head, a sprained ankle, and some slight bruises. After her wound was stanched, she was taken to a neighboring cottage, until a carriage could be summoned to convey her home ; and when this had arrived, the cavalcade, which had issued forth so gayly on this enterprise, returned slowly and pen- «?ively to the Hall. HAWKING. J 31 I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown by this young creature, who, amidst pain and danger, had been anxious only to relieve the distress of those around her. I was gratified, therefore, by the universal concern displayed by the domestics on our return. They came crowding down the avenue, each eager to render assistance. The butler stood ready with some curiously delicate cordial ; the old housekeeper was provided with half a dozen nostrums, prepared hj her own hands, according to the family receipt book ; while her niece, the melting Phoebe, having no other way of assisting, stood wringing her hands, and weeping aloud. The most material effect that is likely to follow this accident, is a postponement of the nuptials, which were close at hand. Though I 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 discon- certed at the unlucky result of his hawking experiment, and this unfortunate illustration of his eulogy on female equitation. Old Christy, too, is very vraspish, having been sorely twitted by Mas- ter Simon for having let his hawk fly at carrion. As to the fal- con, in the confusion occasioned by the fair Julia's disaster, the bird was totally forgotten. I make no doubt she has made the best of her way back to the hospitable hall of Sir Watkyn Wil- liams Wynne ; and may very possibly, at this present writing, be pluming her wings among the breezy bowers of Wynnstay. ST. MARK'S EVE. O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more. Or if to be, to wander after death ! To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day, And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths That lead to graves ; and in the silent vault, Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. Dryden The conversation this evening at supper-table took a curious turn on the subject of a superstition, formerly very prevalent in this part of the country, relative to the present night of the year, which is the Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the parson informed us, that if any one would watch in the church porch on this eve, for three successive years, from eleven to one o'clock at night, he would see on the third year the shades of those of the parish who were to die in the course of the year, pass by him into church, clad in their usual apparel. Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured us that it was formerly a frequent thing for persons to make the necessary vigils. He had known more than one instance in his time. One old woman, who pretended to have seen this phantom procession, was an object of great awe for the whole year afterwards, and caused much uneasiness and mischief. If she shook her head 134 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. mysteriously at a person, it was like a death warrant ; and she had nearly caused the death of a sick person by looking ruefully in at the window. There was also an old man, not many years since, of a sullen, melancholy temperament, who had kept two rigils, and began to excite some talk in the village, when, fortunately for the public comfort, he died shortly after his third watching ; very probably from a cold that he had taken, as the night was tempestuous It was reported about the village, however, that he had seen his own phantom pass by him into the church. This led to the mention of another superstition of an equally strange and melancholy kind, which, however, is chiefly confined to Wales. It is respecting what are called corpse candles, little wandering fires, of a pale bluish light, that move about like tapers in the open air, and are supposed to designate the way some corpse is to go. Que was seen at Lanylar, late at night, hovering up and down, along the bank of the Istwith, and was watched by the neighbors until they were tired, and went to bed. Not long afterwards there came a comely country lass, from Montgomery- shire, to see her friends, who dwelt on the opposite side of the river. She thought to ford the stream at the very place where the light had been first seen, but was dissuaded on account of the height of the flood. She walked to and fro along the bank, just where the candle had moved, waiting for the subsiding of the wa- ter. She at length endeavored to cross, but the poor girl was drowned in the attempt.* There was something mournful in this little anecdote of rural superstition, that seemed to affect all the listeners. Indeed, it is curious to remark how completely a conversation of the kind will * Aubrey's Miscel. ST. MARK'S EVE. 135 absorb the attention of a circle, and sober down its gayety, how- ever boisterous. By degrees I noticed that every one was leaning forward over the table, with eyes earnestly fixed upon the parson, and at the mention of corpse candles which had been seen about the chamber of a young lady who died on the eve of her wed- ding-day, Lady LiUycraft turned pale. I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the kind into various evening circles ; they were often commenced in jest, and hstened to with smiles ; but I never knew the most gay or the most enlightened of audiences, that were not, if the conversation continued for any length of time, completely and solemnly inter- ested in it. There is, I believe, a degree of superstition lurking in every mind ; and I doubt if any one can thoroughly examine all his secret notions and impulses without detecting it, hidden, perhaps, even from himself. It seems, in fact, to be a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, acting independently of our rea- son. It is often found existing in lofty natures, especially those that are poetical and aspiring. A great and extraordinary poet of our day, whose life and writings evince a mind subject to pow- erful exaltations, is said to believe in omens and secret intima- tions. Caesar, it is well known, was greatly under the influence of such belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, and his presiding star. As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that he is strongly inclined to superstition. He is naturally credulous, and passes so much of his time searching out popular traditions and super- natural tales, that his mind has probably become infected by them. He has lately been immersed in the Demonolatria of Nicholas Remigius, concerning supernatural occurrences in Lor- -aine, and tfhe writings of Joachimus Camerarius, called by 136 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Vossius the Phoenix of Germany ; and he entertains the ladies with stories from them, that make them ahnost afraid to go to bed at night. I have been charmed myself with some of the wild little superstitions which he has adduced from Blefkenius, Scheffer, and others, such as those of the Laplanders about the domestic spirits which wake them at night, and summon them to go and fish ; of Thor, the deity of thunder, who has power of life and death, health and sickness, and who, armed with the rainbow, shoots his arrows at those evil demons which live on the tops of rocks and mountains, and infest the lakes ; of the Juhles or Juhla- folket, vagrant troops of spirits, which roam the air, and wander up and down by forests and mountains, and the moonlight sides of hills. The parson never openly professes his belief in ghosts, but I have remarked that he has a suspicious way of pressing great names into the defence of supernatural doctrines, and making philosophers and saints fight for him. He expatiates at large on' the opinions of the ancient philosophers about larves, or nocturnal phantoms, the spirits of the wicked, w^hich wandered like exiles about the earth ; and about those spiritual beings which abode in the air, but descended occasionally to earth, and mingled among mortals, acting as agents between them and the gods. He quotes also from Philo the rabbi, the contemporary of the apostles, and,| according to some, the friend of St. Paul, w^ho says that the air is full of spirits of different ranks ; some destined to exist for a time in mortal bodies, from which, being emancipated, they pass and repass between heaven and earth, as agents or messengers in the service of the Deity. But the worthy little man assumes a bolder tone when he quotes from the fathers of the church ; such as St. Jerome, who gives it as the opinion of all the doctors, that the air is filled with ST. MARK'S EVE. 137 powers opposed to eacli other ; and Lactantius, who says that cor- rupt and dangerous spirits wander over the earth, and seek to console themselves for their own fall by effecting the ruin of the human race ; and Clemens Alexandrinus, who is of opinion that the souls of the blessed have knowledge of what passes among men, the same as angels have. I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have taken such hold of my imagination, that I cannot sleep. The room in which I sit is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The walls are hung with, tapestry, the figures of which are faded, and look like unsubstantial shapes melting away from sight. Over the fireplace is the portrait of a lady, who, according to the housekeeper's tradition, pined to death for the loss of her lover in the battle of Blenheim. She has a most pale and plaintive coun- tenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon me. The family have long since retired. I have heard their steps die away, \and the distant doors clap to after them. The murmur of voices, ^nd the peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. The (^lock from the church, in which so many of the former inhabitants 6f this house lie buried, has chimed the awful hour of midnight. I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky land- / scape, watching the lights disappearing, one by one, from the distant village ; and the moon rising in her silent majesty, and leading up all the silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed upon these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imper- fectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has been crowded by "thick coming fancies," concerning those spiritual beings which *' — walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 138 BRA.CEBRIDGE HALL. Are there, indeed, such beings ? Is this space between us and the Deity filled up by innumerable orders of spiritual beings form- ing the same gradations between the human soul and divine per- fection, that we see prevailing from humanity downwards to the meanest insect ? It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine, inculcated by the early fathers, that there are guardian angels appointed to watch over cities and nations ; to take care of the welfare of good men, and to guard and guide the steps of helpless infancy. " Nothing," says St. Jerome, " gives us a greater idea of the dig- nity of our soul, than that God has given each of us, at the mo- ment of our birth, an angel to have care of it." Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit the scenes and beings which were dear to them during the body's existence, though it has been debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime. However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the attention involuntarily yielded to it whenever it is made the subject of serious discussion ; its prevalence in all ages and countries, and even among newly dis- covered nations, that have had no previous interchange of thought with other parts of the Avorld, prove it to be one of those mysteri- ous, and almost instinctive beliefs, to which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally incline. In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a vague doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perhaps will never be per- fectly eradicated ; as it is concerning a matter that does not admit of positive demonstration. Every thing connected with our spir- itual nature is full of doubt and difficulty. " We are fearfully and wonderfully made ;" we are surrounded by mysteries, and we are mysteries even tr ourselves. Who yet has been able to compre- hend and de^:^ *" • the nature of the soul, its connection with the ST. MARirS EVE. 139 body, or in what part of the frame it is situated ? We know merely that it does exist ; but whence it came, and when it en- tered into us, and how it is retained, and where it is seated, and how it operates, are all matters of mere speculation, and contra- dictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually present to our consciousness, how can we pretend to ascertain or to deny its powers and operations when released from its fleshly prison-house ? It is more the manner, therefore, in which this superstition has been degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that has brought it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous pur- poses to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror with which it has been surrounded, and none of the whole circle of visionary creeds could more delightfully elevate the imagina- tion, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would become a sove- reign comfort at the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of our mortal separation. What could be more consoling than the idea, that the souls of those whom we once loved were permitted to return and watch over oar welfare ? That affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we slept, keeping si vigil over our most helpless hours ? That beauty and innocence which had languished into the tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, revealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein we live over again the hours of past endearment ? A belief of this kind would, I should think, be a new incentive to virtue ; rendering us circumspect even in our secret moments, from the idea that those we once loved and honored were invisi- ble witnesses of all our actions. It would take away, too, from that loneliness and destitution which we are apt to feel more and more as we get on in our pi) 140 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. grimage through the wilderness of this world, and find that those who set forward with us, lovingly, and cheerily, on the journey, have one by one dropped away from our side. Place the super- stition in tiiis light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that is incompatible with the tender and merciful nature of our religion, nor revolting to the wishes and affections of the heart. There are departed beings whom I have loved as I never again shall love in this world ;— who have loved me as I never again shall be loved ! If such beings do ever retain in their blessed spheres the attachments which they felt on earth ; if they J take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and ' are permitted to hold communion with those whom they have loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I could receive their visitation with the most solemn, but unalloyed delight. In truth, such visitations would be too happy for this world ; they would be incompatible with the nature of this imperfect state of being. We are here placed in a mere scene of spiritual thral- dom and restraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by bounds and barriers ; shackled by mortal infirmities, and subject to all the gross impediments of matter. In vain would they seek to act independently of the body, and to mingle together in spiritual intercourse. They can only act here through their fleshly organs. Their earthly loves are made up of transient embraces and long separations. The most intimate friendship, of what brief and scattered portions of time does it consist ! We take each other by the hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few short moments, and then days, months, years intervene, and we see and know nothing of each ST. MAEK'S EVE. 141 other. Or granting that we dwell together for the full season of this our mortal life, the grave soon closes its gates between us, and then our spirits are doomed to remain in separation and widow- hood ; until they meet again in that more perfect state of being, where soul will dwell with soul in blissful communion, and there will be neither death, nor absence, nor any thing else to inter- rupt our felicity. *^* In the foregoing paper I have alluded to the writings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. They abound with wild theories ; but among them are many truly poetical flights ; and their ideas are often very beautifully expressed. Their speculations on the nature of angels are curious and fanciful, though much resembling the doctrines of the ancient philosophers. In the writings of the 4 Rabbi Eleazer is an account of the temptation of our first parents, and the fall of the angels, which the parson pointed out to me as having probably furnished some of the groundwork for " Para- dise Lost." According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said to the Deity, "What is there in man that thou makest him of such nnportance? Is he any thing else than vanity? for he can scarcely reason a little on terrestrial things." To which God replied, " Do you imagine that I will be exalted and glorified only by you here above ? I am the same below that I am here. Who is there among you that can call all the creatures by their names !" There was none found among them that could do so. At that moment Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their 142 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. name. Seeing which, the ministering angels said among them- selves, " Let us consult together how we may cause Adam to sin against the Creator, otherwise he will not fail to become our master." Sammael, who was a great prince in the heavens, was present at this council, with the saints of the first order, and the seraphim of six bands. Sammael chose several out of the twelve orders to accompany him, and descended below, for the purpose of visiting all the creatures which God had created. He found none more cunning and more fit to do evil than the serpent. The Rabbi then treats of the seduction and the fall of man ; of the consequent fall of the demon, and the punishment which God inflicted on Adam, Eve, and the serpent. " He made them all come before him ; pronounced nine maledictions on Adam and Eve, and condemned them to suffer death ; and he precipitated Sammael and all his band from heaven. He cut off the feet of the serpent, which had before the figure of a camel, (Sammael having been mounted on him,) and he cursed him among all beasts and animals.'" GENTILITI. True Gentrie standeth in the trade Of virtuous life, not in the fleshly jne ; For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. Mirror for Magistkates. I HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of the Squire in the educa- tion of his sons ; but I would not have it thought that his instruc- tions were directed chiefly to their personal accomplishments He took great pains also to form their minds, and to inculcate what he calls good old English principles, such as are laid down in the writings of Peachem and his contemporaries. There is one author of whom he cannot speak without indignation, which is Chesterfield. He avers that he did much, for a time, to injure the true national character, and . to introduce, instead of open manly sincerity, a hollovf perfidious courtliness. " His maxims," he afiirms, " were calculated to chill the delightful enthusiasm of youth, and to make them ashamed of that romance which is the dawn of generous manhood, and to impart to them a cold polish and a premature worldliness." " Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make a young man a mere man of pleasure ; but an English gentleman should not be a mere man of pleasure. He has no right to such selfish indulgence. His ease, his leisure, his opulence, are debts due to his country, which he must ever stand ready to discharge. He 144 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, should be a man at all points ; simple, frank, courteous, intelli- gent, accomplished, and informed ; upright, intrepid, and disinter- . ested ; one who can mingle among freemen; who can cope with statesmen ; who can champion his country and its rights either at home or abroad. In a country like England, where there is such free and unbounded scope for the exertion of mtellect, and where opinion and example have such weight with the people, every gentleman of fortune and leisure should feel himself bound to employ himself in some w^ay towards promoting the prosperity or glory of the nation. In a country where intellect and action are trammeled and restrained, men of rank and fortune may become i idlers and triflers with impunity ; but an English coxcomb is ! inexcusable ; and this, perhaps, is the reason why he is the most offensive and insupportable coxcomb in the world." The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, would often hold forth in this manner to his sons when they were about leav- ing the paternal roof; one to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and one to the university. He used to have them with him in the library, which is hung with the portraits of Sydney, Surrey, Raleigh, Wyat, and others. " Look at those models of true Eng- lish gentlemen, my sons," he would say with enthusiasm ; " those were men that wreathed the graces of the most delicate and refined taste around the stern virtues of the soldier ; that mingled what was gentle and gracious, with what was hardy and manly ; that possessed the true chivalry of spirit, which is the exalted essence of manhood. They are the lights by which the youth of the country should array themselves. They were the patterns and idols of their country at home ; they were the illustrators of its dignity abroad. ^ Surrey,' says Camden, ' was the first noble- man that illustrated his high birth with the beauty of learning. GENTILITY. 145 He was acknowledged to be the gallantest man, the poHtest lover, and the completest gentleman of his time.' And as to Wyat, his friend Surrey most amiably testifies of him, that his person was majestic and beautiful, his visage ^ stern and mild ;' that he sung, and played the lute with remarkable sweetness ; spoke foreign languages with grace and fluency, and possessed an inexhaustible fund of wit. And see what a high commendation is passed upon these illustrious friends: 'They were the two chieftains, who, having traveled into Italy, and there tasted the sweet and stately measures and style of the Italian poetry, greatly polished our rude and homely manner of vulgar poetry from what it had been before, and therefore may be justly called the reformers of our English poetry and style.' And Sir Philip Sydney, who has left us such monuments of elegant thought, and generous sentiment, and who illustrated his chivalrous spirit so gloriously in the field. And Sir Walter Kaleigh, the elegant courtier, the intrepid sol- dier, the enterprising discoverer, the enlightened philosopher, the magnanimous martyr. These are the men for English gentlemen to study. Chesterfield, with his cold and courtly maxims, would have chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would have blighted all the budding romance of their temperaments. Sydney would nei 3r have written his Arcadia, nor Surrey have chal- lenged the world in vindication of the beauties of his Geraldine. These are the men, my sons," the Squire will continue, " that show to what our national character may be exalted, when its strong and powerful qualities are duly wrought up and refined. The solidest bodies are capable of the highest polish ; and there is no character that may be wrought to a more exquisite and unsullied brightness, than that of the true English gentleman." When Guy was about to depart for the army, the Squire again 7 146 15RACEBRIDGE HALL. took him aside, and gave him a long exhortation. He warned him against that affectation of cold-blooded indifference, which he was told was cultivated by the young British officers, among whom it was a study to "sink the soldier" in the mere man of fashion. " A soldier," said he, " without pride and enthusiasm in his pro- fession, is a mere sanguinary hireling. Nothing distinguishes him from the mercenary bravo but a spirit of patriotism, or a thirst for glory. It is the fashion, now-a-days, my son,'' said he, " to laugh at the spirit of chivalry ; when that spirit is really extinct, the pro- fession of the soldier becomes a mere trade of blood." He then set before him the conduct of Edward the Black Prince, who is his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, generous, affable, humane ; gallant in the field ; but when he came to dwell on his courtesy toward his prisoner, the king of France ; how he received him in his tent, rather as a conqueror than as a captive ; attended on him at table like one of his retinue ; rode uncovered beside him on his entry into London, mounted on a common palfrey, while his prisoner was mounted in state on a white steed of stately beauty ; the tears of enthusiasm stood in the old gentleman's eyes. Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put in his son's hands, as a manual, one of his favorite old volumes, the Life of the Chevalier Bayard, by Godefroy ; on a blank page of which he had written an extract from*the Morte d' Arthur, containing the eulogy of Sir Ector over the body of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, which the Squire considers as comprising the excellencies of al true soldier. " Ah, Sir Lancelot ! thou wert head of all Christianl knights ; now there thou liest : thou were never matched of none earthly knights-hands. And thou wert the curtiest knight that ever bare shield. And thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrood horse ; and thou were the truest lover of a sin GENTILITY. 147 full man that ever loved woman. And thou were the kindest man that ever strook with sword; and thou were the goodliest person that ever came among the presse of knights. And thou were the meekest man and the gentlest that ever eate in hall among ladies. And thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put speare in rest.'' FORTUNE-TELLING Each city, each town, and every village 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 aiford us a hedge or a hay-cock. Merry Eegoars. As I was walking one evening with the Oxonian, Master Simor, 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 whence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from among the trees. The sound of music is always attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there is good humor, or good-will. We passed along a footpath, and had a peep, through a break in the hedge, at the musician and his party, when the Oxonian gave us a wink, and told us that if we would follow him we should have some sport. It proved to be a gipsy encampment, consisting of three or four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets and sail cloth, spread over hoops 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 Bward, that looked like a carpet. ^ 150 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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. ThcFe 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 could not but admire a certain degree of slattern elegance about the baggage. Her long black silken hair was curiously plaited in numerous small braids, and negligently put up in a picturesque style that a painter might have been proud to have devised. Her dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over clean, but of a variety of most harmonious and agreeable colors ; for these beings have a singularly fine eye for colors. Her straw hat was in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm. The Oxonian offered at once to have his fortune told, and the girl began with the usual volubility of her race ; but he drew her 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!" FORTUNE-TELLING. 151 The girl now assailed the general : " Come, your honor," said ?he, ''' I see by your face you're a lucky man ; but you're not liappy in your mind ; you're not, indeed, sir : but have a good heart, and give me a good piece of silver, and I'll tell you a nicb fortune." The general had received all her approaches ,vith a banter, and had suffered her to get hold of his hand ; but at the mention of the piece of silver, he hemmed, looked grave, and turning to us, asked if we had not better continue our walk. " Come, my master," said the girl, archly, "you'd not be in such a hurry, if you knew all that I could tell you about a fair lady that has a notion for you. Come, sir, old love burns strong ; there's many a one comes to see weddings that go away brides themselves !" — Here the girl whispered somethir^g in a low voice, at which the general colored up, was a little fluttered, and suffered himself to be drawn aside under the hedge, where he 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, how- ever, 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 considered a royster, he chucked her uilder the chin, played her off with rather broad jokes, and put on something of the rake-helly air, that we see now and then assumed on the stage, by the sad-boy gentlemen of the old school. " Ah, your honor," said the girl, with a malicious leer, " you were not in such a tantrum last year, when I told you about the widow you know who ; but if you had taken a friend's advice, you'd never have come away from Doncaster races with a flea in your ear !" 152 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 for- tune ; which, if it prove true, and I am determined to believe it, will make me one of the luckiest m.en 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 mean- ing of the dark hints which had, so suddenly disconcerted 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 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 Rome 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 him- eelf in life before he sjrew old ; he would look gjrave whenevo.'' FORTUNE-TELLING. 153 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 venture into competition, and to whom she was married shortly afterwards. 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 Lilly craft's until the matter should blow over ; and occupied himself by looking over her accounts, regu- lating the village choir, and inculcating loyalty into a pet bull- finch, 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 perse- vering in his waggery, and will interweave a dull joke through the various topics of a whole dinner-time. Master Simon often 7* 154 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. parries these attacks by a stanza from his old work of " Cupid'<« Solicitor for Love :" " 'Tis in vain to wooe 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 youns; men they will deceive.*' f LOVE-CHARMS. -Come, do not weep, ray girl, Forget him, pretty pensiveness ; there will Come others, every day, as good as he. Sir J. SucKLiNa. 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 pervading spirit, and, through means of the butler and housekeeper, knows every thing 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 every thing which smacks of old times, has held so many grave conversations with the parson at table, about popular superstitions and traditional rites, that they have been carried from the parlor to the kitchen by the listening do- mestics, and, being apparently sanctioned by such high authority, the whole house has become infected by them. The servants are all versed in the common modes of trying luck, and the charms to insure constancy. They read their for- tunes 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 156 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 eggshell full of salt, an eggshell full of malt, and an eggshell full of barley-meal." When the cake is ready, it is put upon a pan over the fire, and the future husband will appear ; turn the cake, and retire ; but if a word is spoken, or a fast is broken, during this awful ceremony, there is no know- ing what horrible consequences 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 Phoebe Wil kins, the housekeeper's niece. As she is a kind of privileged personage, and rather idle, she has more time to occupy herself with these matters. She has always had her head full of love and matrimony. She knows the dream-book by heart, and is quite an oracle among the little girls of the family, who always come to her to interpret their dreams in the mornings. During the present gayety of the house, however, the poor girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to use the housekeeper's words, " has fallen into a sad hystericky way lately." It seems that she was born and brought up in the village, where her father LOVE-CHARMS. 157 was parisli 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 sta- tion between a servant and a companion. She has learnt some- thing of fashions and notions among the young ladies, which have eiFected quite a metamorphosis ; insomuch that her finery at church on Sundays has given mortal offence to her former inti- mates in the village. This has occasioned the misrepresentations which have awakened the implacable family pride of Dame Tib- bets. 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 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 con- cerned 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 mate ; and the green fields, and the budding groves, and the singing of the birds, and the sweet smell of the flowers, are enough to turn the head of a love-sick girl. I am told that the coolness of young Ready- Money lies very heavy at poor Phoebe's heart. Instead of sing- 158 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ing about the house as formerly, she goes about pale and sighing, and is apt to break into tears when her companions are full of merriment. Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady Lillycraft, has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, up and down the ave- nue, of an evening ; and has endeavored to squeeze some of her own verjuice into the other's milky nature. She speaks with con- tempt and abhorrence of the whole sex, and advises Phoebe to despise all the men as heartily as 'she does. But Phoebe's loving temper is not to be curdled ; she has no 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 present 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 dam- sel. 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 sove- reign charm to insure being married to one's liking within the year. She carries about, also, a lock of her sweetheart's hair, and a riband he once gave her, being a mode of producing con- stancy in a lover. She even went so far as to try her fortune by the moon, which has always had much to do with lovers' dreams and fancies. For this purpose she went out in the night of the full moon, knelt on a stone in the meadow, and repeated the old 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." LOVE-CHARMS. 159 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 per- son in the meadow was old Christy, the huntsman, who was walk- ing his nightly rounds with the great stag-hound ; so that Phoebe's faith in the charm is completely shaken. THE LIBMHi. Yesterday the fair Julia made her first appearance down stairs since her accident; and the sight of her spread an universal cheerfulness through the household. She was extremely pale, however, and could not walk without pain and difficulty. She was assisted, therefore, to a sofa in the library, which is pleasant and retired, looking out among trees ; and so quiet, that the little birds come hopping upon the windows, and peering curiously into the apartment. Here several of the' family gathered round, and devised means to amuse her, and make the day pass pleasantly. Lady Lilly craft lamented the want of some new novel to while away the time ; and was almost in a pet, because the " Author of Waverly " had not produced a work for the last three months. There was a motion made to call on the parson for some of his old legends or ghost stories ; but to this Lady Lillycraft ob- jected, as they were apt to give her the vapors. General Har- bottle gave a minute account, for the sixth time, of the disaster of a friend in India, who had his leg bitten off by a tiger, whilst he was hunting ; and was proceeding to menace the company with a chapter or two about Tippoo Sail^ At length the captain bethought himself, and said, he believed he had a manuscript tale lying in one corner of his campaigning trunk, which, if he could find, and the company were desirous, he 162 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. would read to them. The offer was eagerly accepted. He re- tu'ed, and soon returned with a roll of blotted manuscript, in a very gentlemanlike, but nearly illegible hand, and a great part written on cartridge paper. " It is one of the scribblings," said he, " of my poor friend, Charles Lightly, of the dragoons. He was a curious, romantic, studious, fanciful fellow ; the favorite, and often the unconscious butt of his fellow of&cers, who entertained themselves with his eccentricities. He was in some of the hardest service in the peninsula, and distinguished himself by his gallantry. When the intervals of duty permitted, he was fond of roving about the country, visiting noted places, and was extremely fond of Moorish ruins. When at his quarters, he was a great scribbler, and passed much of his leisure with his pen in his hand. " As I was a much younger officer, and a very young man, he took me, in a manner, under his care, and we became close friends. He used often to read his w^ri tings to me, having a great confi- dence in my taste, for I always praised them. Poor fellow ! he was shot down close by me at Waterloo. We lay wounded toge- ther for some time, during a hard contest that took place near at hand. As I was least hurt, I tried to relieve him, and to stanch the blood which flowed from a wound in his breast. He lay with his head in my lap, and looked up thankfully in my face, but shook his head faintly, and made a sign that it was all over with him ; and, indeed, he died a few minutes afterwards, just as our men had repulsed the enemy, and came to our relief. I have his favorite dog and his pistols to this day, and several of his manu- scripts, which he gave to me at different times. The one I am now going to read, is a tale which he said he wrote in Spain, during the time that he lay ill of a wound received at Salamanca." THE LIBRARY. 163 We now arranged ourselves to hear the story. The captain seated himself on the sofa, beside the fair Julia, who I had noticed to be somewhat affected by the picture he had carelessly drawn of wounds and dangers in a field of battle. She now leaned her arm fondly on his shoulder, and her eye glistened as it rested on the manuscript of the poor, literary dragoon. Lady Lilly craft buried let'self in a deep, well-cushioned elbow-chair. Her dogs were nestled on soft mats at her feet ; and the gallant general took his station in an arm-chair at her side, and toyed with her elegantly ornamented work-bag. The rest of the circle being all equally well accommodated, the captain began his story ; a copy of which I have procured for the benefit of the reader. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. What a life doe I lead with my master ; nothing but blowing of bellowes, beatingof s trits, and scraping of croslets ! It is a very secret science, for none almost can understand the lan- guage of it. Sublimation, almigation, calcination, rubification, albification, and fermentation ; with as many termes unpossible to be uttered as the arte to be compassed. Lilly's Gallathea. Once upon a time, in the ancient city of Grenada, there sojourned a young man of the name of Antonio de Castros. He wore the garb of a student of Salamanca, and was pursuing a course of reading in the library of the university; and, at intervals of leisure, indulging his curiosity by examining those remains of Moorish magnificence for which Grenada is renowned. Whilst occupied in his studies, he frequently noticed an old mau of singular appearance, who was likewise a visitor to the library. He was lean and withered, though apparently more from study than from age. His eyes, though bright and visionary, were sunk in his head, and thrown into shade by overhanging eye- brows. His dress was always the same : a black doublet, a short black cloak, very rusty and threadbare, a small ruff, and a large overshadowing hat. His appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable. He would pass whole days in the library, absorbed in study, consulting a multiplicity of authors, as though he were pursuing some inter- esting subject through all its ramifications ; so that, when evening came, he was almost buried among books and manuscripts. 166 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. The curiosity of Antonio was excited, and he inquijred of the attendants concerning the stranger. No one could give him any information, excepting that he had been for some time past a casual frequenter of the library; that his reading lay chiefly among works treating of the occult sciences, and that he was par- ticularly curious in his inquiries after Arabian manuscripts. The} added, that he never held communication with any one, excepting to ask for particular works ; that, after a fit of studious applica- tion, he would disappear for several days, and even weeks, and when he revisited the library, he would look more withered and haggard than ever. The student felt interested by this ac- count ; he was leading rather a desultory life, and had all that capricious curiosity which springs up in idleness. He determined to make himself acquainted with this bookworm, and find out who and what he was. The next time that he saw the old man at the library he commenced his approaches, by requesting permission to look into one of the volumes with which the unknown appeared to have done. The latter merely bowed his head in token of assent. After pretending to look through the volume with great attention, he returned it with many acknowledgments. The stranger made no reply. "May I ask, senor," said Antonio, with some hesitation, " may I ask what you are searching after in all these books ?" The old man raised his head, with an expression of surprise, at having his studies interrupted for the first time, and by so intrusive a question. He surveyed the strident with a side-glance from head to foot : " Wisdom, my son," said he, calmly ; " and the search requires every moment of my attention." He then cast his eyes upon his book and resumed his studies. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 167 " But, fattier," said Antonio, " cannot you spare a moment to point out the road to others ? It is to experienced travelers, like you, that we strangers in the paths of knowledge must look for directions on our journey." The stranger looked disturbed : " I have not time enough, mj son, to learn," said he, '' much less to teach. I am ignorant my- self of the path of true knowledge ; how then can I show it to others?" " Well, but father— " " Seiior," said the old man^ mildly, but earnestly, " you must see that I have but a few steps more to the grave. In that short space have I to accomplish the whole business of my existence. I have no time for words ; every word is as one grain of sand of my glass wasted. Suffer me to be alone." There was no replying to so complete ..a closing of the door of intimacy. The student found himself calmly but totally repulsed. Though curious and inquisitive, he was naturally modest, and on after-thoughts blushed at his own intrusion. His mind soon became occupied by other objects. He passed several days wan- dering among the mouldering piles of Moorish architecture, those melancholy monuments of an elegant and voluptuous people. He paced the deserted halls of the Alhambra, the paradise of the Moorish kings. He visited the great court of the lions, famous for the perfidious massacre of the gallant Abencerrages. He gazed with admiration at its Mosaic cupolas, gorgeously painted in gold and azure ; its basins of marble, its alabaster vase, sup- ported by lions, and storied with inscriptions. His imagination kindled as he wandered among these scenes. They were calculated to awaken all the enthusiasm of a youthful mind. Moist of the halls have anciently been beautified by foun- 168 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. tains. The fine taste of the Arabs delighted in the sparkling purity and reviving freshness of water, and they erected, as it were, altars on every side, to that delicate element. Poetry mingles with architecture in the Alhambra. It breathes along the very walls. Wherever Antonio turned his eye, he beheld inscriptions in Arabic, wherein the perpetuity of Moorish power and splendor within these walls was confidently predicted. Alas ! how has the prophecy been falsified ! Many of the basins, where the fountains had once thrown up their sparkling showers, were dry and dusty. Some of the palaces were turned into gloomy convents, and the barefoot monk paced through those courts, which had once glittered with the array, and echoed to the music of Moorish chivalry. In the course of his rambles, the student more than once encountered the old man of the library. He was always alone, and so full of thought as not to notice any one about him. He appeared to be intent upon studying those half-buried inscrip- tions, which are found, here and there, among the Moonsh ruins, and seem to murmur from the earth the tale of former greatness. The greater part of these have since been translated ; but they were supposed by many, at the time, to contain symbolical reve- lations, and golden maxims of the Arabian sages and astrologers. As Antonio saw the stranger apparently deciphering these in scriptions, he felt an eager longing to make his acquaintance, and to participate in his curious researches ; but the repulse he had met with at the library deterred him from making any further advances. He had directed his steps one evening to the sacred mount, which overlooks the beautiful valley watered by the Darro, the fertile plain of the Vega, and all that rich diversity of vale and THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 169 mountain, which surrounds Grenada with an earthly paradise. It was twilight when he found himself at the place, where, at the present day, are situated the chapels, known by the name of the Sacred Furnaces. They are so called from grottoes, in which some of the primitive saints are said to have been burnt. At the time of Antonio's visit, the place was an object of much curiosity. In an excavation of these grottoes, several manuscripts had recently been discovered, engraved on plates of lead. They were written in the Arabian language, excepting one, which was in unknown characters. The pope had issued a bull, forbidding any one, under pain of excommunication, to speak of these manu- scripts. The prohibition had only excited the greater curiosity ; and many reports were whispered about, that these manuscripts contained treasures of dark and forbidden knowledge. As Antonio was examining the place whence these mysteri- ous manuscripts had been drawn, he again observed the old man of the library wandering among the ruins. His curiosity was now fully awakened ; the time and place served to stimulate it. He resolved to watch this groper after secret and forgotten lore, and to trace him to his habitation. There was something like adventure in the thing, which charmed his romantic disposition. He followed the stranger, therefore, at a little distance ; at first cautiously, but he soon observed him to be so wrapped in his own thoughts, as to take little heed of external objects. They passed along the skirts of the mountain, and then by the shady banks of the Darro. They pursued their way, for some distance from Grenada, along a lonely road leading among the hills. The gloom of evening was gathering, and it was quite dark when the stranger stopped at; the portal of a solitary fi^nnsion. 170 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined fragment, of what had once been a pile of some consequence. The walls were of great thickness ; the windows narrow, and generally secured by iron bars. The door w^as of planks, studded with iron spikes, and had been of great strength, though at present much decayed At one end of the mansion was a ruinous tower, in the Moorish style of architecture. The edifice had probably been a country re- treat, or castle of pleasure, during the occupation of Grenada by the Moors, and rendered sufficiently strong to withstand any casual assault in those warlike times. The old man knocked at the portal. A light appeared at a small window just above it, and a female head looked out; it might have served as a model for one of Raphael's saints. The hair was beautifally braided, and gathered in a silken net ; and the complexion, as well as could be judged from the light, was that soft, rich brunette, so becoming in southern beauty. " It is I, my child," said the old man. The face instantly disappeared, and soon after a wdcket-door in the large portal opened. Antonio, who had ventured near to the building, caught a transient sight of a delicate female form. A pair of fine black eyes darted a look of surprise at seeing a stranger hovering near, and the door was precipitately closed. There was something in this sudden gleam of beauty that wonderfully struck the imagination of the student. It was like a brilliant flashing from its dark casket. He sauntered about, regarding the gloomy pile w^ith increasing interest. A few simple, wild notes, from among some rocks and trees at a little distance, attracted his attention. He found there a group of Gitanas, a vagabond gipsy race, wdiich at that time abounded in Spain, and lived in hovels and caves of the hills about tlie neighborhood THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 17) cf Grenada. Some were busy about a fire, and others were iistenino; to the uncouth music which one of their companions, seated on a ledge of the rock, was making with a spht reed. Antonio endeavored to obtain some information of them concerning the old building and its inhabitants. The one who appeared to be their spokesman was a gaunt fellow, with a subtle gait, a whispering voice, and a sinister roll of the eye. He shrugged his shoulders on the student's inquiries, and said, " All was not right in that building. An old man inhabited it, whom nobody knew, and whose family appeared to be only a daughter and a female servant. I and my companions," he added, " live up among the neighboring hills ; and as we have been about at night we have often seen strange lights and heard strange sounds from the tower. Some of the country people, who work in the vineyards among the hills, believe the old man deals in the black- art, and they are not overfond of passing near the tower at night. But for our parts, we Gitanas are not a people to trouble our- selves with fears of that kind." The student endeavored to gain more precise information, but they had none to furnish him. They began to be solicitous for a compensation for what they had already imparted ; and recollect- ing the loneliness of the place, and the vagabond character of his companions, he was glad to give them a gratuity and hasten homewards. He sat down to his studies, but his brain was too full of what he had seen and heard ; his eye was upon the page, but his fancy still returned to the tower, and he was continually picturing the little window, with the beautiful head peeping out; or the door half open, and the nymph-hke form within. He retired to bed, but the same objects haunted his dreams. He wai^ young and 172 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. susceptible ; and the excited state of his feelings, from wandering among the abodes of departed grace and gallantry, had predis- posed him for a sudden impression from female beauty. The next morning he strolled again in the direction of the tower. It was still more forlorn by the broad glare of day than in the gloom of evening. The walls were crumbling, and weeds and moss were growing in every crevice. It had the look of a prison rather than a dwelling-house. In one angle, however, he remarked a window which seemed an exception to the surround- ing squalidness. There was a curtain drawn within it, and flowers standinor on the window-stone. Whilst he was lookino; at it, the curtain was partially withdrawn, and a delicate white arm, of the most beautiful roundness, was put forth to water the flowers. The student made a noise to attract the attention of the fair florist. He succeeded. The curtain was further drawn, and he had a glance of the same lovely face he had seen the evening before ; it was but a mere glance ; the curtain again fell, and the casement closed. All this was calculated to excite the feelings of a romantic youth. Had he seen the unknown under other cir- cumstances, it is probable he woula not have been struck with her beauty ; but this appearance of being shut up and kept apart gave her the value of a treasured gem. He passed and repassed before the house several times in the course of the day, but saw nothinor more. He was there again in the evenino*. The whole C DO aspect of the house was dreary. The narrow windows emitted no rays of cheerful light, to indicate social life within. Antonio listened at the portal, but no sound of voices reached his ear. Just then he heard the clapping to of a distant door, and fearing to be detected in the unworthy act of eaves-dropping, he precipi- THE STUDENT OF SALx\MANCA. 173 tately drew off to the opposite side of the road, and stood in the shadow of a rained archway. He now remarked a light from a window in the tower. It was fitful and changeable ; commonly feeble and yellowish, as if from a lamp ; with an occasional glare of some vivid metallic color, followed by a dusky glow. A column of dense smoke would now and then rise in the air, and hang like a canopy over the tower. There was altogether such a loneliness and seeming mystery about the building and its inhabitants, that Antonio was half inclined to indulge the country people's notions, and to fancy it the den of some powerful sorcerer, and the fair damsel he had seen to be some spell-bound beauty. After some time had elapsed, a light appeared in the window where he had seen the beautiful arm. The curtain was down, but it was so thin that he could perceive the shadow^ of some one passing and repassing betw^een it and the light. He fancied he could distinguish that the form was delicate ; and from the alacrity of its movements, it was evidently youthful. He had not a doubt but this was the bedchamber of his beautiful un- known. Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and a female voice singing. He drew near cautiously, and listened. It was a plain- tive Moorish ballad, and lie recognized in it the lamentations of one of the Abencerrages on leaving the walls of lovely Grenada. It was full of passion and tenderness. It spoke of the delights of early life ; the hours of love it had enjoyed on the banks of the Darro, and among the blissful abodes of the Alhambra. It be- wailed the fallen honors of the Abencerrages, and imprecated vengeance on their oppressors. Antonio was affected by the music. It singularly coincided with the place. It was like the 174 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. \oice of past times echoed in the present, and breathing among the monuments of its departed glories. The voice ceased ; after a time the light disappeared, and all was still. " She sleeps !" said Antonio, fondly. He lingered about the building with the devotion with which a lover lingers about the bower of sleeping beauty. The rising moon threw it^ sih a* beams on the gray walls, and glittered on the casement. The late gloomy landscape gradually became flooded with its radi- ance. Finding, therefore, that he could no longer move about ia obscurity, and fearful that his loiterings might be observed, he reluctantly retired. The curiosity which had at first drawn the young man to the tower was now seconded by feelings of a more romantic kind. His studies were almost entirely abandoned. He maintained a kind of blockade of the old mansion ; he would take a book with him, and pass a great part of the day under the trees in its vicinity ; keeping a vigilant eye upon it, and endeavoring to ascertain what were the walks of his mysterious charmer. She never went out, however, except to mass, when she was accom- panied by her father. He waited at the door of the church, and offered her the holy water, in the hopes of touching her hand ; a little office of gallantry common in Catholic countries. She mod- estly declined, without raising her eyes to see who made the offer, and always took it herself from the font. She was attentive in her devotion ; her eyes were never taken from the altar or the priest ; and on returning home, her countenance was almost entirely concealed by her mantilla. Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for several days, and was hourly getting more and more interested in the chase, but never a step nearer to the game. His lurkings about the house THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 175 had probably been noticed, for he no longer saw the fair face at the window, nor the white arm put forth to water the flowers. Ills only consolation was to repair nightly to his post of observa- tion and listen to her warbling, and if by chance he could catch a sight of her shadow, passing and repassing before the window he thought himself most fortunate. As he was indulging in one of these evening vigils, which were complete revels of the imagination, the sound of approach- mg footsteps made him withdraw into the deep shadow of tb.3 ruined archway, opposite to the tower. A cavalier approached, wrapped in a large Spanish cloak. He paused under the window of- the tower, and after a little while began a serenade, accompa- nied by his guitar, in the usual style of Spanish gallantry. His voice was rich and manly ; he touched the instrument with skill, and sang with amorous and impassioned eloquence. The plume of his hat was buckled by jewels that sparkled in the moon- beams ; and, as he played on the guitar, his cloak falling off from one shoulder showed him to be richly dressed. He was evi- dently a person of rank. The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, that the affections of his unknown beauty might be engaged. She was young, and doubtless susceptible ; and it was not in the nature of Spanish females to be deaf and insensible to music and admiration. The surmise brought with it a feeling of dreariness. There was a pleasant dream of several days suddenly dispelled. He had never before experienced any thing of the tender passion ; and, as its morning dreams are always delightful, he would fain have continued in the delusion. " But what have I to do with her attachments ?" thought he ** I have no claim on her heart, nor even on her acquaintance. 176 BRACEBRIDGE HALL How do I know that she is worthy of affection? Or if slie is, must not so gallant a lover as this, with his jewels, his rank, and his detestable music, have completely captivated her? What idle humor is this that I have fallen into ? I must again to my books. Study, study will soon chase away all these idle fancies !" The more he thought, however, the more he became entan- gled in the spell which his lively imagination had ^voven round Lim ; and now that a rival had appeared, in addition to tiie other obstacles that environed this enchanted beauty, she appeared ten times more lovely and desirable. It was some slight consolation to him to perceive that the gallantry of the unknown met with no apparent return from the tower. The light at the window was extinguished. The curtain remained undrawn, and none of the customary signals were given to intimate that the serenade was accepted. The cavalier lingered for some time about the place, and sang several other tender airs with a taste and feeling that made Antonio's heart ache ; at length he slowly retired. The student remained with folded arms, leaning against the ruined arch, endeavoring to summon up resolution to depart ; but a romantic fascination still enchained him to the place. " It is the last time," said he, willing to compromise between his feelings and his judg- ment, " it is the last time ; then let me enjoy the dream a few moments longer." As his eye ranged about the old building to take a farewell look, he observed the strange light in the tower, which he had noticed on a former occasion. It kept beaming up, and declining as before. A pillar of smoke rose in the air, and hung in sable Volumes. It was evident the old man was busied in some of THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 177 those operations which had gained him the reputation of a sorce- rer throughout the neighborhood. Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone through the rasement, followed by a loud report, and then a fierce and ruddy glow. A figure appeared at the wuidow, uttering cries of agony or alarm, but immediately disappeared, and a body of smoke and flame whirled out of the narrow aperture. Antonio rushed to the portal, and knocked at it with vehemence. He was only answered by loud shrieks, and found that the females were already in helpless consternation. With an exertion of desperate strength he forced the wicket from its hinges, and rushed into the house. He found himself in a small vaulted hall, and by the light of the moon which entered at the door, he saw a staircase to the left. He hurried up it to a narrow corridor, through which Avas rolling a volume of smoke. He found here the two females in a frantic state of alarm ; one of them clasped her hands, and im- plored him to save her father. The corridor terminated in a spiral flight of steps, leading up to the tower. He sprang up it to a small door, through the chinks of which came a glow of light, and smoke was spuming out. He burst it open, and found himself in an antique vaulted chamber, furnished with furnace, and various chemical apparatus. A shat- tered retort lay on the stone floor ; a quantity of combustibles, nearly consumed, with various half-burnt books and papers, were sending up an expiring flame, and filling the chamber with stifling smoke. Just within the threshold lay the reputed conjurer. He was bleeding, his clothes were scorched, and he appeared lifeless. Antonio caught him up, and bore him down the stairs to a cham- ber in which there was a light, and laid him on a bed. The fe- 8* 178 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. male domestic was dispatched for such appliances as the house afforded ; but the daughter threw herself frantically beside her parent, and could not be reasoned out of her alarm. Her dress was all in disorder ; her disheveled hair hung in rich confusion about her neck and bosom, and never was there beheld a lovelier picture of terror and affliction. The skillful assiduities of the scholar soon produced signs of returning animation in his patient. The old man's wounds, though severe, were not dangerous. They had evidently been produced by the bursting of the retort ; in his bewilderment he had been enveloped in the stifling metallic vapors which had overpowered his feeble frame, and had not Antonio arrived to his assistance, it is possible he might never have recovered. By slow degrees he came to his senses. He looked about with a bewildered air at the chamber, the agitated group around, and the student who was leaning over him. " Where am I ?" said he, wildly. At the sound of his voice his daughter uttered a faint excla- mation of delight. " My poor Inez !" said he, embracing her ; then putting his hand to his head, and taking it away stained with blood, he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and to be overcome with emotion. " Ah !" cried he, "all is over with me ! all gone ! all vanished ! gone in a moment ! the labor of a lifetime lost !" His daughter attempted to soothe him, but he became slightly delirious, and raved incoherently about malignant demons, and about the habitation of the green lion being destroyed. His wounds being dressed, and such other remedies administered as his situation required, he sunk into a state of quiet. Antonio now turned his attention to the daughter, whose sufferings had THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 17<> been little inferior to those of her father. Having with great diffi- culty succeeded in tranquilizing her fears, he endeavored to pre- vail upon her to retire, and seek the repose so necessary to her frame, proffering to remain by her father until morning. " I am a stranger," said he, " it is true, and my offer ma,y appear intru- sive ; but I see you are lonely and helpless, and I cannot help venturing over the limits of mere ceremony. Should you feel any scruple or doubt, however, say but a word, and I will instantly retire." There was a frankness, a kindness, and a modesty mingled in Antonio's deportment which inspired instant confidence ; and his simple scholar's garb was a recommendation in the house of poverty. The females consented to resign the sufferer to his care, as they would be the better able to attend to him on the morrow. On retiring, the old domestic was profuse in her benedictions ; the daughter only looked her thanks ; but as they shone through the tears that filled her fine black eyes, the student thought them a thousand times the most eloquent. Here, then, he v/as, by a singular turn of chance, completely housed within this mysterious mansion. When left to himself, and the bustle of the scene was over, his heart throbbed as he looked round the chamber in which he was sitting. It was the daughter's room, the promised land toward which he had cast so many a longing gaze. The furniture was old, and had probably belonged to the building in its prosperous days ; but every thing vras arranged with propriety. The flowers which he had seen her attend stood in the window; a guitar leaned against a table, on which stood a crucifix, and before it lay a missal and a rosary. There reigned an air of purity and serenity about this little nest- ling place of innocence ; it was the emblem of a chaste and quiet ISO BRACEBRIDGE HALL. mind. Some few aiticles of female dress lay on the chairs ; and there was the very bed on which she had slept; the pillow on which hei soft cheek had reclined ! The poor scholar was tread- ing enchanted ground ; for what fairy land has more magic m it than the bedchamber of innocence and beauty? From various expressions of the old man in his "ravings, and from what he had noticed on a subsequent visit to the tower, to see that the fire was extinguished, Antonio had gathered that his patient was an alchemist. The philosopher's stone was an object eagerly sought after by visionaries in those days ; but in conse- quence of the superstitiows prejudices of the times, and the fre- quent persecutions of its votaries, they were apt to pursue their experiments in secret ; in lonely houses, in caverns and ruins, or in the privacy of cloistered cells. In the course of the night the old man had several fits of rest- lessness and delirum ; he would call out upon Th,eophrastus, and Geber, and Albertus Magnus, and other sages of his art ; and anon would murmur about fermentation and projection, until, toward daylight, he once more sunk into a salutary sleep. When the morning sun darted his rays into the casement, the fair Inez, at- tended by the female domestic, came blushing into the chamber. The student now took his leave, having himself need of repose, but obtained ready permission to return and inquire after the suf ferer. When he called again, he found the alchemist languid and in pain, but apparently suffering more in mind than in body. His delirium had left him, and he had been informed of the particulars of his deliverance and of the subsequent attentions of the scholar. He could do little more than look his thanks, but Antonio did not require them ; his own heart repaid him for all that he had done, THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 181 and he almost rejoiced in the disaster that had gained him an en- trance into this mysterious habitation. The alchemist was so helpless as to need much assistance ; Antonio remair Bd with him^ therefore, the greater part of the day. He repeated his visit the next day, and the next. Every day his company vSOemed more pleasing to the invalid ; and every day he felt his interest in the latter increasing. Perhaps the presence of the daughter might have been at the bottom of this solicitude. He had frequent and long conversations with the alchemist. He found him, as men of his pursuits were apt to be, a mixture of enthusiasm and simplicity ; of curious and extensive reading on points of little utility, with great inattention to the every-day occurrences of life, and profound ignorance of the world. He was deeply versed in singular and obscure branches of knowledge, and much given to visionary speculations. Antonio, whose mind was of a romantic cast, had himself given some attention to the occult sciences, and he entered upon these themes with an ardor that delighted the philosopher. Their conversations frequently turned upon astrology, divination, and the great secret. The old man would forget his aches and wounds, rise up like a spectre in his bed, and kindle into eloquence on his favorite topics. When gently admonished of his situation, it would but prompt him to another sally of thought. "Alas, my son !" he would say, "is not this very decrepitude and suffering another proof of the importance of those secrets with which we are surrounded? Why are we trammeled by disease, withered by old age, and our spirits quenched, as it were, within us, but because we have lost those secrets of life and youth which were known to our parents before their fall ? To regain these have philosophers been ever since aspiring ; but just as they 182 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. are on the point of securing the precious secrets for ever, the brief period of life is at an end ; they die, and with them all their wisdom and experience. ' Nothing,' as De Nuysment observes, * nothing is wanting for man's perfection but a longer life, less crossed with sorrows and maladies, to the attaining cf the full and perfect knowledge of things.' " At length Antonio so far gained on the heart of his patient, a« to dravz from him the outlines of his stoiy. Felix de Yasques, the alchemist, was a native of Castile, and of an ancient and honorable line. Early in life he h^.d married a beautiful female, a descendant from one of the Moorish families. The marriage displeased his father, who considered the pure Spanish blood contaminated by this foreign mixture. It is true, the lady traced her descent from one of the Abencerrages, the most gallant of Moorish cavaliers, who had embraced the Chris- tian faith on being exiled from the walls of Grenada. The in- jured pride of the father, however, was not to be appealed. He never saw his son afterwards ; and on dying left him but a scanty portion of his estate ; bequeathing the residue, in the piety and bitterness of his heart, to the erection of convents, and the per- formance of masses for souls in purgatory. Don Felix resided for a long time in the neighborhood of Yalladolid, in a state of embarrassment and obscurity. He devoted himself to intense study, having, while at the university of Salamanca, imbibed a taste for the secret sciences. He was enthusiastic and specula- tive ; he went on from one branch of knowledge to another, until he became zealous in the search after the grand Arcanum. He had at first engaged in the pursuit with the hopes of raising himself from his present obscurity, and resuming the rank and dignity to which his birth entitled him ; but, as usual, it ended in THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 183 absorbing every thought, and becoming the business of his exist- ence. He was at length aroused from this mental abstraction by the calamities of his household. A malignant fever swept off his wifie and all his children, excepting an infant daughter. These losses for a time overwhelmed and stupefied him. His home had in a manner died away from around him, and he felt lonely and forlorn. When his spirit revived within him, he determined to abandon the scene of his humiliation and disaster ; to bear away the child that was still left him, beyond the scene of contagion, and never to return to Castile until he should be enabled to reclaim the honors of his line. He had ever since been v/andering and unsettled in his abode. Sometimes the resident of populous cities, at other times of abso- lute solitudes. He had searched libraries, meditated on inscrip- tions, visited adepts of different countries, and sought to gather and concentrate the rays which had been thrown by various minds upon the secrets of alchemy. He had at one time traveled quite to Padua to search for the manuscripts of Pietro d' Abano, and to inspect an urn which had been dug up near Este, supposed to have been buried by Maximus Olybius, and to have contained the grand elixir.* * This urn was found in 1533. It contained a lesser one, in which was a burning lamp betwixt two small vials, the one of gold, the other of silver, both of them full of a very clear liquor. On the largest was an inscription stating that Maximus Olybius shut up in this small vessel elements which he had pre- pared with great toil. There were many disquisitions among the learned on the subject. It was the most received opinion that this Maximus Olybius was an inhabitant of Padua ; that he had discovered the great secret, and that these vessels contained liquor, one to transmute metals to gold, the other to silver. The pea- sants who found the urns, imagining this precious liquor to be common water, spiU fvery drop, so ihat the art of transmuting metals remains as much a secret as ever l84 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. While at Padua he met with an adept versed m Arabian lore, who talked of the invaluable manuscripts that must remain in the Spanish libraries, preserved from the spoils of the Moorish acade- mies and universities ; of the probability of meeting with precious unpublished writings of Geber, and Alfarabius, and Avicenna, the great physicians of the Arabian schools, who, it was well known, had treated much of alchemy ; but, above all, he spoke of the Arabian tablets of lead, which had recently been dug up in tne neighborhood of Grenada, and which, it was confidently believed among adepts, contained the lost secrets of the art. The indefatigable alchemist once more bent his steps for Spain, full of renovated hope. He had made his way to Gre- nada : he had wearied himself in the study of Arabic, in deci- phering inscriptions, in rummaging libraries,' and exploring every possible trace left by the Arabian sages. In all his wanderings he had been accompanied by Inez ; through the rough and the smooth, the pleasant and the adverse ; never complaining, but rather seeking to soothe his cares by her innocent and playful caresses. Her instruction had been the employment and the delight of his hours of relaxation. She had grown up while they were wandering, and had scarcely ever known any home but by his side. He was family, friends, home, every thing to her. He had carried her in his arms w^hen they first began their wayfaring ; had nestled her, as an eagle does its young, among the rocky heights of the Sierra Morena ; she had Imported about him in childhood in the solitudes of the Bateucas ; had followed him, as a lamb does the shepherd, over ^he rugged Pyrenees, and into the fair plains of Languedoc ; and now she was grown up to support his feeble steps among the ruined abodes of her maternal ancestors. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 1S5 His property had gradually wasted away in the course of hia travels and his experiments. Still hope, the constant attendant of the alchemist, had led him on ; ever on the point of reaping the reward of his labors, and ever disappointed. With the cre- duKty that of^en attended his art, he attributed many of his dis- appointments to the machinations of the malignant spirits which beset the path of the alchemist, and torment him in his solitary labors. " It is their constant endeavor," he observed, " to close up every avenue to those sublime truths, which would enable man to rise above the abject state into which he has fallen, and to return to his original perfection." To the evil offices of these demons he attributed his late disaster. He had been on the very verge of the glorious discovery ; never were the indications more completely auspicious ; all was going on prosperously, when, at the critical moment which should have crowned his labors with success, and have placed him at the very summit of human power and felicity, the bursting of a retort had reduced his laboratory and himself to ruins. "I must now," said he, " give up at the very threshold of suc- cess. My books and papers are burnt ; my apparatus is broken. I am too old to bear up against these evils. The ardor that once inspired me is gone ; my poor frame is exhausted by study and watchfulness, and this last misfortune has hurried me towards the grave." He concluded in a tone of deep dejection. Antonio endeavored to comfort and reassure him ; but the poor alchemist had for once awakened to a consciousness of the worldly ills gathering around him, and had sunk into despondency. After a pause, and some thoughtfulness and perplexity of brow, Antonio ventured to make a proposal. " I have long," said he, " been filled with a love for the secret »86 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. sciences, but have felt too ignorant and diffident to give myself up to them. You have acquired experience; you have amassed the knowledge of a lifetime ; it were a pity it should be thrown aAvay. You say you are too old to renew the toils of the labora- tory ; suffer me to undertake them. Add your knowledge to my youth and activity, and what shall we not accomplish? As a probationary fee, and a fund on which to proceed, I will bring into the common stock a sum of gold, the residue of a legacy, which has enabled me to complete my education. A poor scholar cannot boast much ; but I trust we shall soon put ourselves be/ond the reach of want; and if we should fail, why I must depend, like other scholars, upon my brains to carry me through the world." The philosopher's spirits, however, were more depressed than the student had imagined. This last shock, following in the rear of so many disappointments, had almost destroyed the reaction of his mind. The fire of an enthusiast, however, is never so low, but that it may be blown again into a flame. By degrees the old man was cheered and reanimated by the buoyancy and ardor of his sanguine companion. He at length agreed to accept of the services of the student, and once more to renew his experiments. He objected, however, to using the student's gold, notwithstanding his own was nearly exhausted; but this objection. was soon over- come ; the student insisted on making it a common stock and common cause ; — and then how absurd was any delicacy about such a trifle, with men who looked forward to discovering the philosopher's stone ! While, therefore, the alchemist was slowly recovering, the student busied himself in getting the laboratory once more in order. It was strewed with the wrecks of retorts and alembics, THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 187 with old crucibles, boxes and pliials of powders and tinctures, and half-burnt books and manuscripts. As soon as the old man was sufficiently recovered, the studies and experiments were renewed. The student became a privi- leged and frequent visitor, and was indefatigable in his toils in the laboratory. The philosopher daily derived new zeal and spirits from the animation of his disciple. He was now enabled to prosecute the enterprise with continued exertion, having so active a coadjutor to divide the toil. While he was poring over the writings of Sandivogius, and Philalethes, and Dominus de Nuysment, and endeavoring to comprehend the symbolical lan- guage in which they have locked up their mysteries, Antonio would occupy himself among the retorts and crucibles, and keep the furnace in a perpetual glow. With all his zeal, however, for the discovery of the golden art, the feelings of the student had not cooled as to the object that first drew him to this ruinous mansion. During the old man's illness, he had frequent opportunities of being near the daughter ; and every day made him more sensible to her charms. There was a pure simplicity, and an almost passive gentleness in her manners; yet with all this was mingled something, whether mere maiden shyness, or a consciousness of high descent, or a dash of Castilian pride, or perhaps all united, that prevented undue familiarity, and made her difficult of approach. The dan- ger of her father, and the measures to be taken for his relief, had at first overcome this coyness and reserve ; but as he recovered and her alarm subsided, she seemed to shrink from the familiarity she had indulged with the youthful stranger, and to become every day more shy and silent. Antonio had read many books, but this was the first volume 18S BRACEBRIDGE HALL. of womankind that he had ever studied. He had been captivated with the very title-page ; but the further he read the more he was delighted. She seemed formed to love ; her soft black eye rolled languidly under its long silken lashes, and wherever it turned, it would linger and repose ; there was tenderness in every beam. To him alone she was reserved and distant. Now that the common cares of the sick-room were at an end, he saw little more of her than before his admission to the house. Sometimes he met her on his way to and from the laboratory, and at such times there was ever a smile and a blush ; but, after a simple salutation, she glided on and disappeared. " 'Tis plain," thought Antonio, " my presence is indifferent, if not irksome to her. She has noticed my admiration, and is d'Ctermined to discourage it ; nothing but a feeling of gratitude prevents her treating me with marked distaste — and then has she not another lover, rich, gallant, splendid, musical ? how can I suppose she would turn her eyes from so brilliant a cavalier, to a poor ob- scure student, raking among the cinders of her father's laboratory?" Indeed, the idea of the amorous serenader continually haunted his mind. He felt convinced that he was a favored lover ; yet, if so, why did he not frequent the tower ?_ Why did he not make his approaches by noonday ? There was mystery in this eaves- dropping and musical courtship. Surely Inez could not be en- couraging a secret intrigue ! Oh, no 1 she was too artless, too pure, too ingenuous ! But then the Spanish females were so prone to love and intrigue ; and music and moonlight were so seductive, and Inez had such a tender soul languic^hing in every look. — " Oh !" would the poor scholar exclaim, clasping his hands, " Oh that I could but once behold those loving eyes beaming on me with affection !" THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA 189 It is incredible to those who have not experienced it, ors* ^vhat scanty aliment human life and human love may be supported. A dry crust, thrown now and then to a starving man, will give him a new lease of existence ; and a faint smile, or a kind look, be- stowed at casual intervals, will keep a lover loving on, when a man in his sober senses would despair. When Antonio found himself alone in the laboratory, his mind would be haunted by one of these looks, or smiles, which he ^d received in passing. He would set it in every possible light, and argue on it with all the self-pleasing, self-teasing logic of a lover. The country around was enough to awaken that voluptuous- ness of feeling so favorable to the growth of passion. The win- dow of the tv.Aver rose above the trees of the romantic valley of the Darro, and looked down upon some of the loveliest scenery of the Vega, where groves of citron and orange were refreshed by cool springs and brooks of the purest water. The Xenel and the Darro wound their shining streams along the plain, and gleamed from among its bowers. The surrounding hills were covered with vineyards, and the mountains, crowned with snow, seemed to melt into the blue sky. The delicate airs that played about the tower were perfumed by the fragrance of myrtle and orange blossoms, and the ear was charmed with the fond warbling of the nightingale, which, in these happy regions, sings the whole day long. Sometimes, too, there was the idle song of the mule- teer, sauntering along the solitary road ; or the notes of the guitar from some group of peasants dancing in the shade. All these were enough to fill the head of a young lover with poetic fancies ; and Antonio would picture to himself how he could loiter among those happy groves, and wander by those gentle rivers, and love away his life with Inez. 190 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. He felt at times impatient at his own weakness, and would endeavor to brush away these cobwebs of the mind. He would turn his thought, with sudden effort, to his occult studies, or oc- cupy himself in some perplexing process ; but often, when he had partially succeeded in fixing his attention, the sound of Inez' lute, or the soft notes of her voice, would come stealing upon the stillness of the chamber, and, as it were, floating round the tower. There was no great art in her performance ; but Antonio thought he had never heard music comparable to this. It was perfect witchcraft to hear her warble forth some of her national melodies ; those little Spanish romances and Moorish ballads which trans- port the hearer, in idea, to the banks of the Guadalquiver, or the walls of the Alhambra, and make him dream of beauties, and balconies, and moonlight serenades. Never was poor student more sadly beset than Antonio. Love is a troublesome companion in a study at the best of times ; but in the laboratory of an alchemist his intrusion is terribly dis- astrous. Instead of attending to the retorts and crucibles, and watching the process of some experiment intrusted to his charge, the student would get entranced in one of these love-dreams, from which he would often be aroused by some fatal catastrophe. The philosopher, on returning from his researches in the libraries, would find every thing gone wrong, and Antonio in despair over the ruins of the whole day's work. The old man, however, took all quietly, for his had been a life of experiment and failure. " We must have patience, my son," would he say, " as all the rreat masters that have gone before us have had. Errors, and accidents, and delays, are wliat we have to contend ^vith. Did not Pontanus err two hundred times before he could obtain even the matter on which to found his experiments ? The grea* Fla- THE STUDENT OP SALAMANCA. 191 mel, too, did he not labor four-and-twenty years, before he ascer- tained the first agent ? What difficulties and hardships did not Cartilaceus encounter, at the very threshold of his discoveries ? And Bernard de Treves, even after he had attained a knowledge of all the requisites, was he not delayed full three years ? What you consider accidents, my son, are the machinations of cur invisi- ble enemies. The treasures and golden secrets of nature are surrounded by spirits hostile to man. The air about us teems with them. They lurk in the fire of the furnace, in the bottom of the crucible and the alembic, and are ever on the alert to take advantage of those moments when our minds are wandering from intense meditation on the great truth that we are seeking. We must only strive the more to purify ourselves from those gross and earthly feelings which becloud the soul, and prevent her from piercing into nature's arcana." " Alas !" thought Antonio, " if to be purified from all earthly feeling requires that I should cease to love Inez, I fear I shall never discover the philosopher's stone !" In this way matters went on for some time at the alchemist's. Day after day was sending the student's gold in vapor up the chimney ; every blast of the furnace made him a ducat the poorer, without apparently helping him a jot nearer to the golden secret. Still the young man stood by, and saw piece after piece disappear ing without a murmur : he had daily an opportunity of seeing Inez, and felt as if her favor would be better than silver or gold, and that every smile was worth a ducat. Sometimes, in the cool of the evening, when the toils of the laboratory happened to be suspended, he would walk with the alchemist in what had once been a garden belonging to the man- sion. There were still the remains of terraces and balustrade ji, 192 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. and here and there a marble urn, or mutilated statue overturned, and buried among weeds and flowers run wild. It was the favor- ite resort of the alchemist in his hours of relaxation, where he would give full scope to his visionary flights. His mind was tinctured with the Rosicrucian doctrines. He believed in ele- mentary beings ; some favorable, others adverse to his pursuits ; and in the exaltation of his fancy, had often imagined that he held communion with them in his solitary walks about the whis- pering groves and echoing walls of this old garden. When accompanied by Antonio, he would prolong these eve- ning recreations. Indeed, he sometimes did it out of considera- tion for his disciple, for he feared lest his too close application, and his incessant seclusion in the tower, should be injurious to his health. He was delighted and surprised by this extraordinary zeal and perseverance in so young a tyro, and looked upon him as destined to be one of the great luminaries of the art. Lest the student should repine at the time lost in these relaxations, the good alchemist would fill them up with wholesome knowledge, in matters connected with their pursuits ; and would walk up and down the alleys with his disciple, imparting oral instruction like an ancient philosopher. In all his visionary schemes there breathed a spirit of lofty, though chimerical philanthropy, that won the admiration of the scholar. Nothing sordid, nor sensual ; nothing petty nor selfish seemed to enter into his views, in respect to the grand discoveries he was anticipating. On the contrary his imagination kindled with conceptions of widely dispensated happiness. He looked forward to the time when he should be able to go about the earth relieving the indigent, comforting the distressed ; and, by his unlimited means, devising and executing plans for the complete extirpation of poverty, and all its a' ^ndant THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 193 suflTerings and crimes. Never were grander schemes for general crood, for the distribution of boundless wealth and universal com- petence, devised, than by this poor, intiigent alchemist in his ruined tower. Antonio would attend these peripatetic lectures with all the ardor of a devotee ; but there was another circumstance which may have given a secret charm to them. The garden was the resort also of Inez, where she took her walks of recreation ; the only exercise her secluded life permitted. As Antonio was du teously pacing by the side of his instructor, he would often catch a glimpse of the daughter, walking pensively about the alleys in the soft twilight. Sometimes they would meet her unexpectedly, and the heart of the student would throb with agitation. A blush, too, would crimson the cheek of Inez, but still she passed on, and never joined them. He had remained one evening, until rather a late hour, with the alchemist in this favorite resort. It was a deliorhtful nio-ht after a sultry day, and the balmy air of the garden was peculiarly reviving. The old man was seated on a fragment of a pedestal, looking like a part of the ruin on which he sat. He was edifying his pupil by long lessons of wisdom from the stars, as they shone out with brilliant lustre in the dark blue vault of a southern sky ; for he was deeply versed in Behmen, and other of the Eosi- crucians, and talked much of the signature of earthly things, and passing events, which may be discerned in the heavens ; of the power of the stars over corporeal beings, and their influence on the fortunes of the sons of men. By degrees the moon rose and shed her gleaming light among the groves. Antonio apparently listened with fixed attention to the sage, but his ear was drinking in the melody of Inez' a 194 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. voice, who was singing to her lute in one of the moonlight gladea of the garden. The old man having exhausted his theme, sat gazing in silent reverie at the heavens. Antonio could not resist an inclination to steal a look at this coy beauty, who was thus playing the part of the nightingale, so sequestered and musicah Leaving the alchemist in his celestial reverie, he stole gently along one of the alleys. The music had ceased, and he thought he heard the sound of voices. He came to an angle of a copse that had screened a kind of green recess, ornamented by a mar- ble fountain. The moon shone full upon the place, and by its light, he beheld his unknown serenading rival at the feet of Inez. He was detaining her by the hand, which he covered with kisses ; but at sight of Antonio he started up and half drew his sword, while Inez, disengaged, fled back to the house. All tlfe jealous doubts and fears of Antonio were now con firmed. He did not remain to encounter the resentment of his happy rival at being thus interrupted, but turned from the place in sudden wretchedness of heart. That Inez should love another would have been misery enough ; but that she should be capable of a dishonorable amour, shocked him to the soul. The idea of deception in so young and apparently artless a being, brought with it that sudden distrust in human nature, so sickening to a youth- ful and ingenuous mind ; but when he thought of the kind, simple parent she was deceiving, whose affections all centred in her, he felt for a moment a sentiment of indignation, and almost of aver- sion. He found the alchemist still seated in his visionary contempla- tion of the moon. " Come hither, my son," said he, with his usual enthusiasm, " come, read with me in this vast volume of wisdom, thus nightly unfolded for our perusal. Wisely did the Chaldean sages THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 195 affirm, that the heaven is as a mystic page, uttering speech to those who can rightly understand ; warning them of good and evil, and instructing them in the secret decrees of fate." The student's heart ached for his venerable master ; and, for a moment, he felt the futility of all his occult wisdom. " Alas ! poor old man !" thought he, " of what avails all thy study ? Lit- tle dost thou dream, while busied in airy speculations among the stars, what a treason against thy happiness is going on under thine eyes; as it were, in thy very bosom ! — Oh Inez! Inez! where shall we look for truth and innocence ; w^here shall we repose con- fidence in woman, if even you can deceive ?" It was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover makes when he finds his mistress not quite such a goddess as he had painted her. With the student, however, it sprang from honest anguish of heart. He returned to his lodgings in pitiable confusion of mind. He now deplored the infatuation which had led him on until his feel- ings were so thoroughly engaged. He resolved to abandon his pursuits at the tower, and trust to absence to dispel the fascination by which he had been spell-bound. He no longer thirsted after the discovery of the grand elixir : the dream of alchemy was over ; for without Inez, what was the value of the philosopher's stone ? He rose, after a sleepless night, with the determination of taking his leave of the alchemist, and tearing himself from Grenada. For several days did he rise with the same resolution, and every night saw him come back to his pillow to repine at his want of re- solution, and to make fresh determinations for the morrow. In the meanwhile he saw less of Inez than ever. She no longer walked in the gar \eu, but remained almost entirely in her apart- ment. When she met him, she blushed more than usual ; and 196 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. once hesitated, as if she would have spoken ; but after a tempo- rary embarrassment, and still deeper blushes, she made some casual observation, and retired. Antonio read, in this confusion, a consciousness of fault, and of that fault's being discovered. " What could she have wished to communicate ? Perhaps to ac- count for the scene in the garden ; — but how can she account for it, or why should she account for it to me ? "What am I to her ? — or rather, what is she to me T' exclaimed he, impatiently ; with a new resolution to break through these entanglements of the heart, and fly from this enchanted spot for ever. He was returning that very night to his lodgings, full of this excellent determination, when, in a shadowy part of the road, he passed a person whom he recognized, by his height and form, for his rival : he was going in the direction of the tower. If any lingering doubts remained, here was an opportunity of settling them completely. He determined to follow this unknown cava- lier, and, under favor of the darkness, observe his movements. If he obtained access to the tower, or in any way a favorable re- ception, Antonio felt as if it would be a relief to his mind, and would enable him to fix his wavering resolution. The unknown, as he came near the tower, was more cautious and stealthy in his approaches. He was joined under a clump of trees by another person, and they had much whispering together. A light was burning in the chamber of Inez, the curtain was down, but the casement was left open, as the night was warm. After some time, the light was extinguished. A considerable in- terval elapsed. The cavalier and his companion remained under covert of the trees, as if keeping watch. At length they ap- proached the tower with silent and cautious steps. The cavalier received a dark lantern from his companion, and threw off his THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 197 cloak. The other then softly brought something from the clump of trees, which Antonio perceived to be a light ladder: he placed it against the wall, and the serenader gently ascended. A sick- ening sensation came over Antonio. Here was indeed a confirma- tion of every fear. He was about to leave the place, never to return, when he heard a stifled shriek from Inez' chamber. In an instant the fellow that stood at the foot of the ladder lay prostrate on the ground. Antonio wrested a stiletto from his nerveless hand, and hurried up the ladder. He sprang in at the window, and found Inez struggling in the grasp of his fancied rival : the latter, disturbed from his prey, caught up his lantern, turned its light full upon Antonio, and drawing his sword, made a furious assault ; luckily the student saw the light gleam along the blade, and parried the thrust with the stiletto. A fierce, but unequal combat ensued. Antonio fought exposed to the full glare of the light, while his antagonist was in shadow : his stiletto, too, was but a poor defence against a rapier. He saw that nothing would save him, but closing with his adversary, and getting within his w^eapon : he rushed furiously upon him, and gave him a severe blow with the stiletto ; but received a wound in return from the shortened sword. At the same moment a blow w^as inflicted from behind, by the confederate, who had ascended the ladder ; it felled him to the floor, and his antagonists made their escape. By this time the cries of Inez had brought her father and the domestic to the room. Antonio was found weltering in his blocd, and senseless. He was conveyed to the chamber of the alche- mist, who now repaid in kind the attentions which the student had once bestowed upon him. Among his varied knowledge he possessed some skill in surgery, which at this moment was of 198 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. more value than even his chemical lore. He stanched and dressed the wounds of his disciple, which on examination proved less desperate than he had at first apprehended. For a few days, however, his case was anxious, and attended with danger. The old man watched over him with the affection of a parent. He felt a double debt of gratitude towards him on account of his daughter and himself; he loved him too as a faithful and zealous disciple ; and he dreaded lest the world should be deprived of the promising talents of so aspiring an alchemist. An excellent constitution soon medicined his wourds; and there was a balsam in the looks and words of Inez, that had a healing effect on the still severer wounds which he carried in his heart. She displayed the strongest interest in his safety ; she called him her deliverer, her preserver. It seemed as if her grateful disposition sought, in the warmth of its acknowledgments, to repay him for past coldness. But what most contributed to Antonio's recovery, was her explanation concerning his supposed rival. It was some time since he had first beheld her at church, and he had ever since persecuted her with his attentions. He had beset her in her walks, until she had been obliged to confine herself to the house, except when accompanied by her father. He had besieged her with letters, serenades, and every art by which he could urge a vehement, but clandestine and dishonora- ble suit. The scene in the garden was as much of a surprise to her as to Antonio. Her persecutor had been attracted by her voice, and had found his way over a ruined part of the wall. He had come upon her unawares, was detaining her by force, and ])lea(ling his insulting passion, when the appearance of the stu- dent interrupted him, and enabled her to make her escape. She had forborne to mention to her father the persecution which she THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 199 guff-E red ; she wished to spare him unavailing anxiety and dis- tress, and had determined to confine herself more rigorously to tlie house ; though it appeared that even here ?he had not been safe from his daring enterprise. Antonio inquired whether she knew the name of this impetu- ous admirer ? She replied, that he had made his advances under a fictitious name ; but that she had heard him once called by the name of Don Ambrosio de Loxa. Antonio knew him, by report, for one of the most determined and dangerous libertines in all Grenada. Artful, accomplished, and, if he chose to be so, insinuating ; but daring and headlong in the pursuit of his pleasures ; violent and implacable in his resentments. He rejoiced to find that Inez had been proof against his seductions, and had been inspired Avith aversion by his splen- did profligacy ; but he trembled to think of the dangers she had run, and he felt solicitude about the dangers that must yet envi- ron her. At present, however, it was probable the enemy had a tempo- rary quietus. The traces of blood had been found for some dis- tance from the ladder, until they were lost among thickets ; and af nothing had been heard or seen of him since, it was concluded that he had been seriously wounded. As the student recovered from his wounds he was enabled to join Inez and her father in their domestic intercourse. The chamber in which they usually met had probably been a saloon of state in former times. The floor was of marble ; the walls were partially covered with remains of tapestry; the chairs, richly carved and gilt, were crazed with age, and covered with tarnished and tattered brocade. Against the wall hung a long, rusty rapier, the only relic that the old man retained of the 200 BRACE BRIDGE HALL. chivalry of his ancestors. There might have been something to provoke a smile in the contrast between the mansion and its inhabitants ; between present poverty and the traces of departed grandeur ; but the fancy of the student had thrown so much romance about the edifice and its inmates, that every thing was clothed with charms. The philosopher, with his broken-down pride, and his strange pursuits, seemed to comport with the mel- ancholy ruin he inhabited ; and there ^vas a native elegance of spirit about the daughter that showed she would have graced the mansion in its happier days. What delicious moments were these to the student! Inez was no longer coy and reserved. She was naturally artless and confiding; though the kind of persecution she had experienced from one admirer had rendered her, for a time, suspicious and circumspect towards the other. She now felt an entire confidence in the sincerity and worth of Antonio, mingled with an overflow- ing gratitude. When her eyes met his, they beamed with sym- pathy and kindness ; and Antonio, no longer haunted by the idea of a favored rival, once more aspired to success. At these domestic meetings, however, he had little opportunity of paying his court, except by looks. The alchemist, supposing him, like himself, absorbed in the study of alchemy, endeavored to cheer the tediousness of his recovery by long conversations on the art. He even brought several of his half-burnt volumes, which the student had once rescued from the flames, and rewarded liim for their preservation by reading copious passages. He would entertain him with the great and good acts of Flarael, wl.ich he effected through means of the philosopher's stone, relieving widows and orphans, founding hospitals, buiJ'ling churches, and what not ; or with the interrogatories of King THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 201 Kalid, and the answers of Morienus, the R-oman hermit of Hierusalem ; or the profound questions which Elardus, a necro- mancer of the province of Catalonia, put to the devil, touching the secrets of alchemy, and the devil's replies. All these were couched in occult language, almost unintelligi- ble to the unpracticed ear of the disciple. Indeed, the old man delighted in the mystic phrases and symbolical jargon in which the writers that have treated of alchemy have wrapped ^heir communications; rendering them* incomprehensible except to the initiated. With what rapture would he elevate his voice at a triumphant passage, announcing the grand discovery ! " Thou shalt see," would he exclaim, in the words of Henry Kuhnrade,* " the stone of the philosophers (our king) go forth of the bed- chamber of his glassy sepulchre into the theatre of this world ; that is to say, regenerated and made perfect, a shining carbuncle. a most temperate splendor, whose most subtle and dephurated parts are inseparable, united into one with a concordial mixture, exceeding equal, transparent as crystal, shining red like a ruby, permanently coloring or ringing, fixt in all temptations or tri- als ; yea, in the examination of the burning sulphur itself, and the devouring waters, and in the most vehement persecution of the fire, always incombustible and permanent as a salamander !" The student had a high veneration for the fathers of alche- my, and a profound respect for his instructor ; but what was Henry Kuhnrade, Geber, Lully, or even Albertus Magnus him- self, compared to the countenance of Inez, which presented such a page of beauty to his perusal ? While, therefore, the good alchemist was doling out knowledge by the hour, his disciple would forget books, alchemy, every thing but the lovely objecl * Amphitheatre of the Eternal Wisdom. 9* S02 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. before him. Inez, too, unpracticed in the science of the heart, was gradually becoming fascinated by the silent attentions of her lover. Day by day she seemed more and more perplexed by the kindling and strangely pleasing emotions of her bosom. Her eye was often cast down in thought. Blushes stole to her cheek with- out dny apparent cause, and light, half-suppressed sighs, would follow these short fits of musing. Her little ballads, though the same that she had always sung, yet breathed a more tender spirit. Either the tones of her voice were more soft and touching, or some passages were delivered with a feeling which she had never before given them. Antonio, beside his love for the abstruse sci- ences, had a pretty turn for music ; and never did philosopher touch the guitar more tastefully. As, by degrees, he conquered the mutual embarrassment that kept them asunder, he ventured to accompany Inez in some of her songs. He had a voice full of fire and tenderness : as he sang, one would have thought, from the kindling blushes of his companion, that he had been pleading his own passion in her ear. Let those who w^ould keep two youthful hearts asunder beware of music. Oh ! this leaning over chairs, and conning the same music book, and entwining of voices, and melting away in harmonies ! — the German waltz is nothing to it. The worthy alchemist saw nothing of all this. His mind could admit of no idea that was not connected with the discovery of the grand arcanum, and he supposed his youthful coadjutor equally devoted. He was a mere child as to human nature ; and, as to the passion of love, whatever he might once have felt of it, he had long since forgotten that there was such an idle passion in existence. But, while he dreamed, the silent amour went on. The very quiet and seclusion of the place were favorable to the THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA 203 growth of romantic passion. The opening bud of love was able to put forth leaf bj leaf, without an adverse wind to check its growth. There was neither officious friendship to chill by its ad- vice, nor insidious envy to wither by its sneers, nor an obserring world to look on and stare it out of countenance. There was neither declaration, nor vow, nor any other form of Cupid's cant- ing school. Their hearts mingled together, and understood each ether without the aid of language. They lapsed into the full cur- rent of affection, unconscious of its depth, and thoughtless of the rocks that might lurk beneath its surface. Happy lovers ! who wanted nothing to make their felicity complete, but the discovery of the philosopher's stone. At length Antonio's health was sufficiently restored to enable him to return to his lodgings in Grenada. He felt uneasy, how- ever, at leaving the tower, while lurking danger might surround its almost defenceless inmates. He dreaded lest Don Ambrosio, recovered from his wounds, might plot some new attempt, by secret art, or open violence. From all that he had heard, he knew him to be too implacable to suffer his defeat to pass una- venged, and too rash and fearless, when his arts were unavailing, to stop at any daring deed in the accomplishment of his purposes. He urged his apprehensions to the alchemist and his daughter, and proposed that they should abandon the dangerous vicinity of Grenada. " I have relations," said he, " in Valencia, poor indeed, but worthy and affectionate. Among them you will find friendship and quiet, and we may there pursue our labors unmolested." He went on to paint the beauties and delights of Valencia with all the fondness of a native, and all the eloquence with which a lover paints the fields and groves which he is picturing as the future 204 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. scenes of his happiness. His eloquence, backed by thv5 appre- hensions of Inez, was successful with the alchemist, who, indeed, had led too unsettled a life to be particular about the place of his residence ; and it was determined, that, as soon as Antonio's health was perfectly restored, they should abandon the tower, and seek the delicious neighborhood of Valencia.* To recruit his strength, the student suspended his toils in the laboratory, and spent the few remaining days, before departure, in taking a farewell look at the enchanting environs of Grenada, He felt returning health and vigor as he inhaled the pure tern perate breezes that play about its hills ; and the happy state of his mind contributed to his rapid recovery. Inez was often the companion of his walks. Her descent, by the mother's side, from one of the ancient Moorish families, gave her an interest in this once favorite seat of Arabian power. She gazed with enthusiasm upon its magnificent monuments, and her memory was filled with the traditional tales and ballads of Moorish chivalry. Indeed, the solitary life she had led, and the visionary turn of her father's mind, had produced an effect upon her character, and given it a tinge of what, in modern days, would be termed romance. All * Here are the strongest silks, the sweetest wines, the excellent'st almonds, the best oyls and beautifuU'st females of all Spam. The very bruit animals make themselves beds of rosemary, and other fragrant flowers hereabouts ; and when one is at sea, if the winde blow from the shore, he may smell this soyl before he come in sight of it many leagues off, by the strong oderiferous scent it casts. As it is the most pleasant, so it is also the temperat'st clime of all Spain, and they commonly call it the second Italy, which made the Moors, whereof many thousands were disterr'd, and banish*d hence to Barbary, to think »hat Paradise was in that part of the heavens which hung over this citie. Howell's Letters. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 205 tliis was called into full force by this new passion ; for, when a woman first begins to love, life is all romance to her. In one of their evening strolls, they had ascended to the moun- tain of the Sun, where is situated the Generaliffe, the palace of pleasure, in the days of Moorish dominion, but now a gloomy convent of capuchins. They had wandered about its garden, among groves of orange, citron, and cypress, where the waters, leaping in torrents, or gushing in fountains, or tossed aloft in spark- ling jets, fill the air with music and freshness. There is a melan- choly mingled with all the beauties of this garden, that gradually stole over the feelings of the lovers. The place is full of the sad story of past times. It was the favorite abode of the lovely queen of Grenada, where she was surrounded by the delights of a gay and voluptuous court. It was here, too, amidst her own bowers of roses, that her slanderers laid the base story of her dishonor, and struck a fatal blow to the line of the gallant Aben- cer.rages. The whole garden has a look of ruin and neglect. Many of the fountains are dry and broken ; the streams have wandered from their marble channels, and are choked by weeds and yellow leaves. The reed whistles to the wind where it had once sported among roses, and shaken perfume from the orange blossom. The convent bell flings its sullen sound, or the drowsy vesper hymn floats along these solitudes, which once resounded with the song, and the dance, and the lover's serenade. Well may the Moors lament over the loss of this earthly paradise ; well may they re- member it in their prayers, and beseech Heaven to restore it to the faithful ; well may their ambassadors smite their breasts when they behold these monuments of their race, and sit down and weep among the fading glories of Grenada ! 206 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. It is impossible to wander about these scenes of departed love and gayetj, and not feel the tenderness of the heart awakened. It was then that Antonio first ventured to breathe his passion, and to express by words what his eyes had long since so eloquently revealed. He made his avowal with fervor, but with frankness. He had no gay prospects to hold out : he was a poor scholar, de- pendent on his " good spirits to feed and clothe him.'* But a woman in love is no interested calculator. Inez listened to him with downcast eyes, but in them was a humid gleam that showed her heart was with him. She had no prudery in her nature ; and she had not been sufficiently in society to acquire it. She loved him with all the absence of worldliness of a genuine woman ; and, amidst timid smiles and blushes, he drew from her a modest acknowledgment of her affection. They wandered about the garden with that sweet intoxication of the soul which none but happy lovers know. The world about them was all fairy land ; and, indeed, it spread forth one of its fairest scenes before their eyes, as if to fulfill their dream of earthly happiness. They looked out from between groves of orange upon the towers of Grenada below them ; the magnificent plain of the Yega beyond, streaked with evening sunshine, and the distant hills tinted with rosy and purple hues ; it seemed an emblem of the happy future that love and hope were decking out for them. As if to make the scene complete, a group of Andalusians struck up a dance, in one of the vistas of the garden, to the guitars of two wandering musicians. The Spanish music is wild and plaintive, yet the people dance to it with spirit and enthu- siasm. The picturesque figures of the dances; the girls with their hair in silken nets that hung in knots and tassels down their THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 207 backs, their mantillas floating round their graceful forms, their slender feet peeping from under their basquinas, thoir arms tossed up in the air to play the castanets, had a beautiful effect on this airy height, with the rich evening landscape spreading out below them. When the dance was ended, two of the parties approached Antonio and Inez ; one of them began a soft and tender Moorish ballad, accompanied by :the other on the lute. It alluded to the story of the garden, the wrongs of the fair queen of Grenada, and the misfortunes of the Abencerrages. It was one of those old ballads that abound in this part of Spain, and live, like echoes, about the ruins of Moorish greatness. The heart of Inez was at that moment open to every tender impression ; the tears rose into her eyes as she listened to the tale. The singer approached nearer to her ; she was striking in her appearance ; young, beautiful, with a mixture of wildness and melancholy in her fine black eyes. She fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, and sud- denly varying her manner, sang another ballad, which treated of impending danger and treachery. All this might have passed for a mere accidental caprice of the singer, had there not been some- thing in her look, manner, and gesticulation, that made it pointed and startlino*. Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evidently personal application of the song, when she was interrupted by Antonio, who gently drew her from the place. Whilst she had been lost in attention to the music, he had remarked a group of men, in the shadows of the trees, whispering together. They were enveloped in the broad hats and great cloaks, so much worn by the Spanish, and while they were regarding himself and Inez attentively, seemed anxious to avoid observation. Not knowing what might 208 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. be their character or intention, he hastened to quit a place where the gathering shadows of evening might expose them to intrusion and insult. On their way down the hill, as they passed through the wood of elms, mingled with poplars and oleanders, that skirts the road leading from the Alhambra, he again saw these men, ap- parently following at a distance ; and he afterwards caught «^ight of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro. He said notliing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would not awaken unnecessary alarm ; but he felt at a loss how to ascertain or to avert any machinations that might be devising against the helpless inhabitants of the tower. He took his leave of them late at night, full of this perplexity. As he left the dreary old pile, he saw some one lurking in the shadow^ of the wall, apparently w^atching his movements. He hastened after the figure, but it glided away, and disappeared among some ruins. Shortly after he heard a low whistle, which was answered from a little distance. He had no longer a doubt but that some mischief was on foot, and turned to hasten back to the tower, and put its inmates on their guard. He had scarcely turned, however, before he found himself suddenly seized from behind by some one of Herculean strength. His struggles were in vain ; he was surrounded by armed men. One threw a mantle over him that stifled his cries, and enveloped him in its folds ; and he was hurried off with irresistible rapidity. The next day passed without the appearance of Antonio at the alchemist's. Another, and another day succeeded, and yet he did not come ; nor had any thing been heard of him at his lodgings. His absence caused, at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length alarm. Inez recollected the singular intimations of the ballad- singer upon the mountain, which seemed to warn her of impendirf^ THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 209 danger, and her mind was full of vague forebodings. She sat lis- tening to every sound at the gate, or footstep on the stairs. She would take up her guitar and strike a few notes, but it would not do ; her heart was sickening with suspense and anxiety. She had never before felt what it w^as to be really lonely. She now was conscious of the force of that attachment w^hich had taken posses- sion of her breast; for never do we know how much we love, never do we know how necessary the object of our love is to our happiness, until w^e experience the w^eary void of separation. The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his disciple almost as sensibly as did his daughter. The animating buoyancy of the youth had inspired him w^ith new ardor, and had given to his labors the charm of full companionship. However, he had re- sources and consolations of which his daughter was destitute. His pursuits were of a nature to occupy every thought, and keep the spirits in a state of continual excitement. Certain indica- tions, too, had lately manifested themselves, of the most favorable nature. Forty days and forty nights had the process gone on successfully ; the old man's hopes were constantly rising, and he now considered the glorious moment once more at hand, when he should obtain not merely the major lunaria, but likewise the tinc- tura Solaris, the means of multiplying gold, and of prolonging ex- istence. He remained, therefore, continually shut up in his labo- ratory, watching his furnace ; for a moment's inadvertency might once more defeat all his expectations. He was sitting one evening at one of his solitary vigils, wrap- ped up in meditation ; the hour was late, and his neighbor, the owl, was hooting from the battlement of the tower, when he heard the door opened behind him. Supposing it to be his daughter coming to take her leave of him for the night, as w^as her frequent 210 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. practice, lie called her by name, but a harsh voice met his ear in reply. He was grasped by the arms, and looking up, perceived three strange men in the chamber. He attempted to shake them off, but in vain. He called for help, but they scoffed at his cries. ^' Peace, dotard !" cried one, " think'st thou the servants of the most holy inquisition are to be daunted by thy clamors ? Com- rades, away with him !" Without heeding his remonstrances and entreaties, they seized upon nis books and papers, took some note of the apartment, and the utensils, and then bore him off a prisoner. Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely evening ; seated by a casement which looked into the garden, she had pen- sively watched star after star sparkle out of the blue depths of the sky, and was indulging a crowd of anxious thoughts about her lover, until the rising tears began to flow. She was suddenly alarmed by the sound of voices that seemed to come from a dis- tant part of the mansion. There was not long after a noise of several persons descending the stairs. Surprised at these unusual sounds in their lonely habitation, she remained for a few moments in a state of trembling, yet indistinct apprehension, when the ser- vant rushed into the room, with terror in her countenance, and informed her that her father was carried off by armed men. Inez did not stop to hear further, but flew down stairs to overtake them. She had scarcely passed the threshold, when she found herself in the grasp of strangers. — " Away ! — away !" cried she, wildly ; " do not stop me — ^let me follow my father." " We come to conduct you to him, sefiora," said one of the men, respectfully. " Where is he, then ?" " He is gone to Grenada," replied the man : " an unexpected THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 211 circumstance requires his presence there immediately ; but he is among friends." "We have no friends in Grenada," said Inez, drawing back; but then the idea of Antonio rushed into her mind ; something relating to him might have called her father thither. " Is senor Antonio de Castros with him ?" demanded she with agitation. " I know not, senora," replied the man. " It is very possible. I only know that your father is among friends, and is anxious for you to follow him." " Let us go, then," cried she, eagqrly. The men led her a little distance to w^here a mule was waiting, and, assisting her to mount, they conducted her slowly towards the city. Grenada was on that evening a scene of fanciful revel. It was one of the festivals of the Maestranza, an association of the nobility to keep up some of the gallant customs of ancient chiv- alry. There had been a representation of a tournament in one of the squares ; the streets would still occasionally resound with the beat of a solitary drum, or the bray of a trumpet, from some straggling party of revelers. Sometimes they were met by cava- liers, richly dressed in ancient costumes, attended by their squires, and at one time they passed in sight of a palace brilliantly illumi- nated, whence came the mingled sounds of music and the dance. Shortly after they came to the square, where the mock tour- nament had been held. It was thronged by the populace, recreating themselves among booths and stalls where refresh- ments were sold, and the glare of torches showed the temporary galleries, and gay-colored awnings, and armorial trophies, and other paraphernalia of the show. The conductors of Inez endea- vored to keep out of observation, and to traverse a gloom}^ part of the square ; but they were detained at one place by the 212 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. pressure of a crowd surrounding a party of wandering musicians, singing one of those ballads of which the Spanish populace are so passionately fond. The torches which were held by some of the crowd, threw a strong mass of light upon Inez, and the sight of so beautiful a being, without mantilla or veil, looking so bewildered, and conducted by men who seemed to take no gratification in the surrounding gayety, occasioned expressions of curiosity. One of the ballad-singers approached, and striking her guitar with peculiar earnestness, began to sing a doleful air, full of sinister forebodings. Inez started with surprise. It was the same bal- lad-singer that had addressed her in the garden of Generaliffe. It was the same air that she had then sung. It spoke of impend- ing dangers ; they seemed, indeed, to be thickening around her. She was anxious to speak with the girl, and to ascertain whether she really had a knowledge of any definite evil that was threat- ening her; but as she attempted to address her, the mule on which she rode was suddenly seized and led forcibly through the throng by one of her conductors, while she saw another address- ing menacing words to the ballad-singer. The latter raised her hand with a warning gesture as Inez lost sight of her. While she was yet lost in perplexity, caused by this singular occurrence, they stopped at the gate of a large mansion. One of h?r attendants knocked, the door was opened, and they entered a paved court. " Where are we ?" demanded Inez, with anxiety. *' At the house of a friend, senora," replied the man. " Ascend this staircase with me, and in a moment you will meet your father." They ascended a staircase that led to a suit of splendid apartments. Tliey passed through several until they came to an inner chamber. The door opened ; some one approached ; but THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 213 whal was her terror on perceiving, not her father, but Don Ambrosio ! The men who had seized upon the alchemist had, at least, been more honest in their professions. They were, indeed, familiars of the inquisition. He was conducted in silence to the gloomy prison of that horrible tribunal. It was a mansion whose very aspect withered joy, and almost shut out hope. It was one j>f those hideous abodes which the bad passions of men conjure ap in this fair world, to rival the fancied dens of demons and the accursed. Day after day went heavily by, without any thing to mark he lapse of time but the decline and reappearance of the light hat feebly glimmered through the narrow window of the dun- geon in which the unfortunate alchemist was buried rather than gonfined. His mind was harassed with uncertainties and fears about his daughter, so helpless and inexperienced. He endeav- ored to gather tidings of her from the man who brought his daily portion of food. The fellow stared, as if astonished, at being asked a question in that mansion of silence and mystery, but departed without saying a word. Every succeeding attempt was equally fruitless. The poor alchemist was oppressed with many griefs ; and it fvas not ihe least that he had been again interrupted in his labors on the very point of success. Never was alchemist so near attaining the golden secret — a little longer, and all his hopes would have been realized. The thoughts of these disappoint- ments afflicted him more even than the fear of all that he might suffer from the merciless inquisition. His waking thoughts would follow him into his dreams. He would be transported in fancy to his laboratory, busied again among retorts and alembics, and 214 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. surrounded by Lullj, by D'Abano, by Olybius, and the olhei masters of the sublime art. The moment of projection would arrive ; a seraphic form would rise out of the furnace, holding forth a vessel, containing the precious elixir; but, before he could grasp the prize, he would awake, and find himself in a dungeon. All the devices of inquisitorial ingenuity were employ<.d to ensnare the old man, and to draw from him evidence that might be brought against himself, and might corroborate certain secret information given against him. He had been accused of prac- ticing necromancy and judicial astrology, and a cloud of evidence had been secretly brought forward to substantiate the charge. It would be tedious to enumerate all the circumstances, appa- rently corroborative, which had been industriously cited by the secret accuser. The silence which prevailed about the tower, its desolateness, the very quiet of its inhabitants, had been adduced as proofs that something sinister was perpetrated within. The alchemist's conversations and soliloquies in the garden had been overheard and misrepresented. The lights and strange appear- ances at night, in the tower, were given with violent exaggera- tions. Shrieks and yells were said to have been heard thence at midr.ight, when, it was confidently asserted, the old man raised familiar spirits by his incantations, and even compelled the dead to rise from their graves, and answer to his questions. The alchemist, according to the custom of the inquisition, was kept in complete ignorance of his accuser ; of the witnesses pro- duced against him ; even of the crimes of which he was accused. He was examined generally, whether he knew why he was arrested, and was conscious of any guilt that might deserve the notice of the holy office ? He was examined as to his country, THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 21, his life, his habits, his pursuits, his actions, and opinions. The old man was frank and simple in his replies ; he was conscious of no guilt, capable of no art, practiced in no dissimulation. After receiving a general admonition to bethink himself whether he had not committed any act deserving of punishment, and to prepare, by confession, to secure the well-known mercy of the tribunal, he was remanded to his cell. He was now visited in his dungeon by crafty familiars of the inquisition ; who, under pretence of sympathy and kindness, came to beguile the tediousness of his imprisonment with friendly con- versation. They casually introduced the subject of alchemy, on which they touched with great caution and pretended indifference. There was no need of such craftiness. The honest enthusiast had no suspicion in his nature : the moment they touched upon his favorite theme, he forgot his misfortunes and imprisonment, and broke forth into rhapsodies about the divine science. The conversation was artfully turned to the discussion of elementary beings. The alchemist readily allowed his belief in them ; and that there had been instances of their attending upon philosophers, and administering to their wishes. He related many miracles said to have been performed by Apollonius Thya- neus, through the aid of spirits or demons ; insomuch that he was set up by the heathens in opposition to the Messiah ; and was even regarded with reverence by many Christians. The fami- liars eagerly demanded whether be believed Apollonius to be a true and worthy philosopher. The unaffected piety of the alche- mist protected him even in the midst of his simplicity ; for he condemned Apollonius as a sorcerer and an impostor. No art could draw from him an admission that he had ever employed or invoked spiritual agencies in the prosecution 'of his pursuits, 216 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. thouo-h he believed himself to have been frequently impeded by their invisible interference. The inquisitors were sorely vexed at not being able to invei- o-le him into a confession of a criminal nature ; they attributed their failure to craft, to obstinacy, to every cause but the right one, namely, that the harmless visionary had nothing guilty to confess. They had abundant proof of a secret nature against him; but it was the practice of the inquisition to endeavor to procure confession from the prisoners. An auto da fe was at hand ; the worthy fathers were eager for his conviction, for they were always anxious to have a good number of culprits con- demned to the stake, to grace these solemn triumphs. He was at length brought to a final examination. The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. At one end was a huge crucifix, the standard of the inquisition. A long table extended through the centre of the room, at which sat the inqui- sitors and their secretary ; at the other end a stool was placed for the prisoner. He was brought in, according to custom, bareheaded and bare- legged. He was enfeebled by confinement and affliction ; by con- stantly brooding over the unknown fate of his child, and the disas- trous interruption of his experiments. He sat bowed down and listless ; his head sunk upon his breast ; his whole appearance that of one " past hope, abandoned, and by himself given over." The accusation alleged against him was now brought forward in a specific form ; he was called upon by name, Fehx de Vas- quez, formerly of Castile, to answer to the charges of necromancy and demonology. He was told that the charges were amply sub- stantiated ; and was asked whether he was ready, by full confession, to throw himself upon the well-known mercy of the holy inquisition. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 217 The philosopher testified some little surprise at the nature of the accusation, but simply replied, " I am innocent." " What proof have you to give of your innocence ?" " It rather remains for you to prove your charges," said the old man. " I am a stranger and a sojourner in the land, and know no one out of the doors of my dwelling. I can give no- thing in my vindication, but the word of a nobleman and a Casti- iian." The inquisitor shook his head, and went on .o repeat th\s various inquiries that had before been made as to his mode of life and pursuit. The poor alchemist was too feeble and too weary at heart to make any but brief replies. He requested that some man of science might examine his laboratory, and all his books and papers, by which it would be made abundantly evident that he was merely engaged in the study of alchemy. To this the inquisitor observed, that alchemy had become a mere covert for secret and deadly sins. That the practicers of it were apt to scruple at no means to satisfy their inordinate greedi- ness of gold. Some had been known to use spells and impious ceremonies ; to conjure the aid of evil spirits ; nay, even to sell their souis to the enemy of mankind, so that they might riot in boundless wealth while living. The poor alchemist had heard all patiently, or, at least, pas sively. He had disdained to vindicate his name otherwise than by his word ; he had smiled at the accusations of sorcery, when applied merely to himself; but when the sublime art, which had been the study and passion of his life, was assailed, he could no longer listen in silence. His head gradually rose from his bosom, a hectic color came in faint streaks to his cheek ; played about there, disappeared, returned, and at length kindled into a burn- 10 218 BRACKBRIDGE HALL. ing glow. The clammy dampness dried from his forehead ; his eyes, which had been nearly extinguished, lighted up again, and burned with their wonted and visionary fires. He entered into -I vindication of his f^xvorite art. His voice at first was feeble and broken ; but it gathered strength as he proceeded, until it rolled n a deep and sonorous volume. Pie gradually rose from his seat as he rose with his subject ; he threw back the scanty black man- tle which had liitherto wrapped his hmbs ; the very uncouthness of his form and looks gave an impressive effect to what he uttered ; it was as though a corpse had become suddenly ani- mated. He repelled with scorn the aspersions cast upon alchemy by the ignorant and vulgar. He affirmed it to be the mother of all art and science, citing the opinions of Paracelsus, Sandivogius, Eaymond Lully, and others, in support of his assertions. He maintained that it was pure and innocent, and honorable both in its purposes and means. What were its objects ? The perpetuation of life and youth, and the production of gold. " The elixir vitae," said he, "is no charmed potion, but merely a concentration of those elements of vitality which nature has scattered through her works. The philosophers* stone, or tincture, or powder, as it is variously called, is no necromantic talisman, but consists simply of those particles which gold contains within itself for its repro- duction ; for gold, like other things, has its seed within itself, tliough bound up with inconceivable firmness, from the vigor of nnate fixed salts and sulphurs. In seeking to discover the elixir of life, then,'' continued he, "we seek only to apply some of na- ture's own specifics against the disease and decay to which our bodies are subjected ; and what else does the physician, when he tasks his art, and uses subtle compounds and cunning distillations THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 219 to reviA'e our languishing powers, and avert tlie stroke of death for a season ? " In seeking to multiply the precious" metals, also, we seek but to germinate and multiply, by natural means, a particular species of nature's productions ; and vvdiat else does the husbandman, who consults times and seasons, and, by what might be deemed a natural magic, from the mere scattering of his hand, covers £^ whole plain with golden vegetation ? The mysteries of our art, it is true, are deeply and darkly hidden ; but it requires so much the more innocence and purity of thought to penetrate unto them. No, father ! the true alchemist must be pure in mind and body ; he must be temperate, patient, chaste, watchful, meek, humble, devout. ' My son,' says Hermes Trismegestes, the great mas- ter of our art, 'My son, I recommend you above all things to fear God.' And indeed it is only by devout castigation of the senses and purification of the soul, that the alchemist is enabled to enter into the sacred chambers of truth. ' Labor, pray, and read,' is the motto of our science. As De Nuy semen t well observes, ' these high and singular favors are granted unto none, save only unto the sons of God, (that is to say, the virtuous and devout,) who, under his paternal benediction, have obtamed the opening of the same, by the helping hand of. the queen of arts, divine Philosophy.' Indeed, so sacred has the nature of this knowledge been considered, that we are told it has four times been expressly communicated by God to man, having made a part of that caba- listical wisdom which was revealed to Adam to console him for the loss of Paradise ; to Moses in the bush, to Solomon in a di'eam, and to Esdras by the angel. " So far from demons and malign spirits being the friends and abettors of the alchemist, they are the continual foes with wdiicb 220 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. he has to contend. It is their constant endeavor to shut up the avenues to those truths which would enable him to rise above the abject state into which he has fallen, and return to that excellence which was his original birthright. For what w^ould be the effect of this length of days, and this abundant wealth, but to enable the possessor to go on from art to art, from science to science, with energies unim.paired by sickness, uninterrupted by death ? For this have sages and philosophers shut themselves up in cells and solitudes ; buried themselves in caves and dens of the earth; turning from the joys of life, and the pleasance of the world ; enduring scorn, poverty, persecution. For this was Raymond LuUy stoned to death in Mauritania. For this did the immortal Pietro D'Abano suffer persecution at Padua, and when he es- caped from his oppressors by death, w^as despitefully burnt in effigy. For this have illustrious men of all nations intrepidly suffered martyrdom. For this, if unmolested, have they assidu- ously employed the latest hour of life, the expiring throb of existence ; hoping to the last that they might yet seize upon the prize for which they had struggled, and pluck themselves back even from the very jaws of the grave ! " For, w^hen once the alchemist shall have attained the object of his toils ; w'hen the sublime secret shall be revealed to his gaze, how glorious wdll be the change in his condition ! How^ will he emerge from his solitary retreat, like the sun breaking forth from the darksome chamber of the night, and darting his beams throughout the earth ! Gifted with perpetual youth and bound- less riches, to w^hat heights of wisdom may he attain ! How may he carry on, uninterrupted, the thread of knowledge, which has hitherto been snapped at the death of each philosopher ! And, as the increase of wisdom is the increase of virtue, how may he THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 221 become the benefactor of his fellow-men ; dispensing with liberal, but cautious and discriminating hand, that inexhaustible wealtli which is at his disposal ; banishing poverty, which is the cause of .so much sorrow and wickedness ; encouraging the arts ; promoting discoveries, and enlarging all the means of virtuous enjoyment ! His life will be the connecting band of generations. History will live in his recollection ; distant ages will speak with his tongue. The nations of the earth will look to him as their preceptor, and kings will sit at his feet and learn wisdom. Oh glorious ! Oh celestial alchemy !" — Here he was interrupted by the inquisitor, who had suffered him to go on thus far, in hopes of gathering something from his unguarded enthusiasm. " Senor," said he, " this is all rambling, visionary talk. You are charged with sorcery, and in defence you give us a rhapsody about alchemy. Have you nothing better than this to offer in your defence ?" The old man slowly resumed his seat, but did not deign a reply. The fire that had beamed in his eye gradually expired. His cheek resumed its wonted paleness ; but he did not relapse into inanity. He sat with a steady, serene, patient look, like one prepared not to contend but to suffer. His trial continued for a long time with cruel mockery of justice, for no witnesses were ever, in this court, confronted with the accused, and the latter had continually to defend himself in the dark. Some unknown and powerful enemy had alleged charges against the unfortunate alchemist, but who he could not imagine. Stranger and sojourner as he was in the land ; solitary and harmless in his pursuits, how could he have provoked such hostility ? The tide of secret testimony, however, was too strong against him ; he was convicted of the crime of magic, and con 222 BRACEBRIDGE HALl.. (lemned to expiate his sins at the stake, at the approaching autc (la fl'. Whik^ the unhappy alchemist was undergoing his trial at the inquisition, his daughter was exposed to trials no less severe. Don Anihrosio, into whose hands she had fallen, was, as has been before intimated, one of the most daring and lawless profli- gates in all Grenada. He was a man of hot blood and ^lery passions, wlio stopped at nothing in the gratification of his de- sires ; yet with all tliis he possessed manners, address, and accom- plishments, that had made him eminently successful among the sex. From the palace to the cottage he had extended his amor- ous enterprises ; his serenades harassed the slumbers of half tlie husbands in Grenada ; no balcony was too high for his adventur- ous attempts ; nor any cottage too lowly for his perfidious seduc- tions. Yet he was as fickle as he was ardent ; success had made him vain and capricious ; he had no sentiment to attach him to tlie victim of his arts; and manj^ a pale cheek and fading eye, hulguishing amidst the sparkling of jewels, and many a breaking heart, throbbing under the rustic bodice, bore testimony to his triumphs and his faithlessness. He was sated, how^ever, by easy conquests, and w^earied of a life of continual and prompt gratification. There had been a degree of difficulty and enterprise in the pursuit of Inez, that he had never before experienced. It had aroused him from the monotony of mere sensual life, and stimulated him with the charm of adv(Miture. He had become an epicure in pleasure ; and now thnt be bad this coy beauty in his power, he was determined to ])r()tra('t his enjoyment, by the gradual conquest of her scruples, and downfall of her virtue. He was vain of his person and f,ith insuperable abhorrence : "'tis you that are the cause of this — 'tis you that are his murderer !" Then, wringing her hands, she broke forth into exclamations of the most frantic agony. The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of her soul, and an- ticipated from it a triumph. He saw that she was in no mood, during lier present paroxysm, to listen to his words; but he THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 231 trusted that the horrors of lonely rumination would break down her spirit, and subdue her to his will. In this, however, he was disappointed. Many were the vicissitudes of mind of the wretched Inez ; one time she would embrace his knees with piercing sup- plications ; at another she would shrink with nervous horror at his very approach ; but any intimation of his passion only ex cited the same emotion of loathing and detestation. At length the fatal day drew nigh. " To-morrow," said Don Ambrosio, as he left her one evening, " To-morrow is the aato da fl To-morrow you will hear the sound of the bell that tolls your father to his death. You will almost see the smoke that rises from his funeral pile. I leave you to yourself. It is yet in my power to save him. Think whether you can stand to-mor- row's horrors without shrinking. Think whether you can en- dure the after-reflection, that you were the cause of his death, and that merely through a perversity in refusing proffered hap- piness." What a night was it to Inez ! Her heart, already harassed and almost broken by repeated and protracted anxieties ; her strength wasted and enfeebled. On every side horrors awaited her : her father's death, her own dishonor : there seemed no escape from misery or perdition. " Is there no relief from man — no pity in heaven ?" exclaimed she. " What — what have we doiTe that we should be thus wretched ?" As the dawn approached, the fever of her mind arose to agony ; a thousand times did she try the doors and windows of her apartment, in the desperate hope of escaping. Alas ! with all the splendor of her prison, it was too faithfully secured for her weak hands to work deliverance. Like a poor bird, that beats its wings against its gilded cage, until it sinks panting in despair, so 232 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, she threw herself on the floor in hopeless anguish. Her blood grew hot in her veins, her tongue was parched, her temples throb- bed with violence, she gasped rather than breathed ; it seemed as if lier brain was on fire. " Blessed Virgin !" exclaimed she, clasping her hands and turning up her strained eyes, " look down with pity, and support me in this dreadful hour !" Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a key turn softly in the door of her apartment. She dreaded lest it should be Don Ambrosio : and the very thought of him gave her a sickening pang. It was a female, clad in a rustic dress, with her face con- cealed by her mantilla. She stepped silently into the room, looked cautiously round, and then, uncovering her face, revealed the well-known features of the ballad-singer. Inez uttered an exclamation of surprise, almost of joy. The unknown started back, pressed her finger on her lips enjoining silence, and beck- oned her to follow. She hastily wrapped herself in her veil, and obeyed. They passed with quick but noiseless steps through an antechamber, across a spacious hall, and along a corridor ; all was silent ; the household was yet locked in sleep. They came to a door, to which the unknown applied a key. Inez' heart misgave her ; she knew not but some new treachery was menacing her ; she laid her cold hand on the stranger's arm : " Whither are you leading me ?" said she. " To liberty," replied the other, in a whisper. " Do you know the passages about this mansion ?" " But too well !" replied the girl, with a melancholy shake of the head. There was an expression of sad veracity in her coun- tenance that was not to be distrusted. The door opened on a small terrace which was overlooked by several windows of the mansion. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 233 6i ^^Q must move across this quickly," said the girl, '• or we may be observed." They glided over it as if scarce touching the ground. A flight of steps led down into the garden ; a wicket at the bottom was readily unbolted : they passed with breathless velocity along one of the alleys, still in sight of the mansion, in which, however, no person appeared to be stirring. At length they came to a low private door in the wall, partly hidden by a fig-tree. It was se- cured by rusty bolts, that refused to yield to their feeble efforts. " Holy Virgin !" exclaimed the stranger, " what is to be done? one moment more, and we may be discovered." She seized a stone that lay near by : a few blows, and the bolts flew back ; the door grated harshly as they opened it, and the next moment they found themselves in a narrow road. " Now," said the stranger, " for Grenada as quickly as pos- sible ! The nearer we approach it, the safer we shall be ; for the road will be more frequented.'" The imminent risk they ran of being pursued and taken gave supernatural strength to their limbs ; they flew rather than ran. The day had dawned ; the crimson streaks on the edge of the horizon gave tokens of the approaching sunrise : already the light clouds that floated in the western sky were tinged with gold and purple ; though the broad plain of the Vega, which now be- gan to open upon their view, was covered with the dark haze of the morning. As yet they only passed a few straggling peasants: on the road, who could have yielded them no assistance in case of their being overtaken. They continued to hurry forward, and had gained a considerable distance, when the strength of Inez, which had only been sustained by the fever of her mind, began to yield to fatigue ; she slackened her pace, and faltered. 234 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. " Alas !" said she, " mj limbs fail me ! I can go no farther !" " Bear up, bear up," replied her companion, cheeringly ; " a little farther and we shall be safe : look ! yonder is Grenada, just showing itself in the valley below us. A little farther, and we shall come to the main road, and then w^e shall find plenty of passengers to protect us." Inez, ei^couraged, made fresh efforts to get forward, but lier weary limbs A\ere unequal to the eagerness cf her mind; her mouth and throat were parched by agony and terror : she gasped for breath, and leaned for support against a rock. '' It is all in vain !" exclaimed she ; " I feel as though I should faint." " Lean on me," said the other ; " let us get into the shelter of yon thicket, that will conceal us from* view ; I hear the sound ol water, which will refresh you." With much difliculty they reached the thicket, which over hung a small mountain stream, just where its sparkling waters leaped over the rock and fell into a natural basin. Here Inez sank upon the ground exhausted. Her companion brought water in the palms of her hands, and bathed her pallid temples. The cooling drops revived her ; she was enabled to get to the margin of the stream, and drink of its crystal current ; then, reclining her head on the bosom of her deliverer, she was first enabled to murmur foi-th her heartfelt gratitude. *• Alas !" said the other, ^' I deserve no thanks ; I deserve not the good opinion you express. In me you behold a victim of Don Ambrosio's arts. In early years he seduced me fi'om the cottage of my parents : look ! at the foot of yonder blue moun- tain in the distance lies my native village : but it is no longer a liome for me. He lured me thence when I was too young for reflection ; he educated me, taught me various accomphshment^, THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 235 made me sensible to love, to splendor, to refinement ; then, having grown weary of me, he neglected me, and cast me upon the w^orld. Happily the accomplishments he taught me have kept me from utter ^vant ; and the love with which he inspired me has kept me from farther degradation. Yes ! I confess my weakness ; all his perfidy and wrongs cannot efface him from my heart. I have been brought up to love him ; I have no other idol : I know him to be base, yet I cannot help adoring him. I am content to min- gle among the hireling throng that administer to his amusements, that I may still hover about him, and linger in those halls where I once reigned mistress. What merit, then, have I in assisting your escape ? I scarce know^ whether I am acting from sympa- thy, and a desire to rescue another victim from his power ; or jealousy, and an eagerness to remove too powerful a rival !" While she Avas yet speaking, the sun rose in all its splendor ; first lighting up the mountain summits, then stealing dovrn height by height, until its rays gilded the domes and towers of Grenada, which they could partially see from between the trees, below them. Just then the heavy tones of a bell came sounding from a distance, echoing, in sullen clang, along the mountain. Inez turned pale at the sound. She knew it to be the great bell of the cathedral, rung at sunrise on the day of the auto da fe, to give note of funeral preparation. Every stroke beat upon her heart, and inflicted an absolute, corporeal pang. She started up wildly. " Let us be gone !" cried she ; " there is not a moment for delay !" "Stop!" exclaimed the other, "yonder are horsemen cominir over the brow of that distant height ; if I mistake not, Don Am- ofosio is at their head. — Alas ! 'tis he ; w^e are lost. Hold I" con- tinued she, "give me your scarf and veil; wrap yourself in this S.':5 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. mantilla. I will fly up yon footpath that leads to the heights. I will let the veil flutter as I ascend ; perhaps they may mistake me for you, and they must dismount to follow me. Do yo i hasten forward : you will soon reach the main road. You have jewels on your fingers : bribe the first muleteer you meet to assist you on your way." All this was said with hurried and breathless rapidity. The exchange of garments was made in an instant. The girl darted up the mountain path, her white veil fluttering among the dark shrubbery ; while Inez, inspired with new strength, or rather new terror, flew to the road, and trusted to Providence to guide her tottering steps to Grenada. All Grenada was in agitation on the morning of this dismal day. The heavy bell of the cathedral continued to utter its clang- ing tones, that pervaded every part of the city, summoning all persons to the tremendous spectacle about to be exhibited. The streets through which the procession was to pass were crowded with the populace. The windows, the roofs, every place that could admit a face or a foothold, was alive with spectators. In the great square a spacious scaffolding, like an amphitheatre, was erected, where the sentences of the prisoners were to be read, and the sermon of faith to be preached ; and close by were the stakes prepared, where the condemned were to be burnt to death. Seats were arranged for the great, the gay, the beautiful ; for such is the horrible curiosity of human nature, that this cruel sacrifice was attended with. more eagerness than a theatre, or even a bull-feast. As the day advanced, the scaffolds and balconies were filled with expecting multitudes ; the sun shone brightly upon fair faceg and gallant dresses ; one would have thought it some scene of ele gant festivity, instead of an exhibition of human agony and death. THE STUDENT OF SALAMAISCA. 237 But what a different spectacle and ceremony was this from those which Grenada exhibited in the days of her Moorish splendoi? " Her galas, her tournaments, her sports of the ring, her fetes of St. John, her music, her Zambras, and admirable tihs of canes ! Her serenades, her concerts, her songs in Generaliffe ! The costly liveries of the Abencerrages, their exquisite inventions, the skill and - valor of the Alabaces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, Mazas, and Gomeles !"* — All these were at an end. The days of chivalry were over. Instead of the prancing cavalcade, with neighing steed and IVely trumpet; with burnished lance, and helm, and buckler ; wi*:h rich confusion of plume, and scarf, and banner, where purple, and scarlet, and green, and orange, and every gay color, were mingled with cloth of gold and fair em- broidery ; instead of this crept on the gloomy pageant of supersti- tion, in cowl and sackcloth ; with cross and coffin, and frightful symbols of human suffering. In place of the frank, hardy knight, open and brave, with his lady's favor in his casque, and amorous motto on his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, to win the smile of beauty, came the shaven, unmanly monk, with downcast eyes, and head and heart bleached in the cold cloister, secretly exulting in this bigot triumph. The sound of the bells gave notice that the dismal procession was advancing. It passed slowly through the principal streets of he city, bearing in advance the awful banner of the holy office. The prisoners walked singly, attended by confessors, and guarded by familiars of the inquisition. They were clad in different gar- ments, according to the nature of their punishments ; those who were to suffer death wore the hideous Samarra, painted with flames and demons. The procession was swelled by choirs of boys, dif- ** Rodd's Civil Wars of Grenada. 238 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. ferent religious orders, and public dignitaries ; and, above all, by tlie fathers of the faith, moving " with slow pace, and profound gravity, truly triumphing as becomes the principal generals of that great victory."* As the sacred banner of the inquisition advanced, the count- less throng sunk on their knees before it ; they bowed their faces t.o thfc very earth as it passed, and then slowly ros^ again, like a oreat undulating billow. A murmur of tongues prevailed as the prisoners approached, and eager eyes were strained, and fingers pointed, to distinguish the different orders of penitents, >vhose habits denoted the degree of punishment they were to undergo. But as those drew near w^iose frightful garb marked them as des- tined to the flames, the noise of the rabble subsided ; they seemed almost to hold in their breaths; filled wath that strange and dis- mal interest with which we contemplate a human being on the verge of suffering and death. It is an awful thing- — a voiceless, noiseless multitude ! The hushed and gazing stillness of the surrounding thousands, heaped on walls, and gates, and roofs, and hanging, as it were, in clusters, heightened the effect of the pageant that moved drearily on. The low murmuring of the priests could now be heard in prayer and exhortation, with the faint responses of the prisoners, and now and then the voices of the choir at a distance, chanting the litanies of the saints. The faces of the prisoners were ghastly and disconsolate. Even those Avho had been pardoned, andSvore the Sanbenito,-or penitential garment, bore traces of the horrors they had uiukM\ iijonc. Some were feeble and totterino: from lon^r confinement, i^ome crippled and distorted by various tortures ; every counte * Gonsilvius, p 135. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 239 aance was a dismal page, on which might be read the secrets of their prison-house. But in the looks of those condemned to death tliere was something fierce and eager. They seemed men har- rowed up by the past, and desperate as to the future. They were anticipating, with spirits fevered by despair, and fixed and clenched determination, the vehement struggle with agony and death they were shortly to undergo. Some cast now and then a wild and an- guished look about them upon the shining day ; the '* sun-bright palaces," the gay, the beautiful world, which they were soon to quit for ever ; or a glance of sudden indignation at the thronging thousands, happy in liberty and life, who seemed, in contemplating their frightful situation, to exult in their own comparative security. One among the condemned, however, was an exception to these remarks. It was an aged man, somewhat bowed down, w th a serene, though dejected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy eye. It was the alchemist. The populace looked upon him with a degree of compassion, which they were not prone to feel towards criminals condemned by the inquisition ; but when they were told that he was convicted of the crime of magic, they drew back Avith awe and abhorrence. The procession had reached the grand square. The first part had already mounted the scaffolding, and the condemned were ap- proaching. The press of the populace became excessive, and was repelled, as it were, in billows by the guards. Just as the con- demned were entering the square, a shrieking was heard among the crowd. A female, pale, frantic, disheveled, was seen strug- gling through the multitude. " My fixther ! my father!" was all the cry she uttered, but it thrilled througli every heart. Tlie crowd instinctively drew back, and made way for her as she ad- vanced. 240 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. The poor alchemist had made his peace with Heaven^ and, b) hard struggle, had closed his heart upon the world, when the voice of his child called him once more back to worldly thought and agony He turned towards the well-known voice ; his knees smote *to- gether ; he endeavored to reach forth his pinioned arms, and felt himself clasped in the embraces of his child. The emotions of both were too agonizing for utterance. Convulsive sobs, and broken exclamations, and embraces more of anguish than tender- ness, were all that passed between them. The procession was interrupted for a moment. The astonished monks and familiars were filled with involuntary respect at tliis agony of natural affec- tion. Ejaculations of pity broke from the crowd, touched by the filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless anguish of so young and beautiful a being. Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her to retire, was unheeded ; at length they endeavored to separate her from her father by force. The movement roused her from her temporary abandonment. With a sudden paroxysm of fury, she snatched a sword from one of the familiars. Her late pale countenance was flushed with rage, and fire flashed from her once soft and lan- guishing eyes. The guards shrunk back with awe. There was something in this filial frenzy, this feminine tenderness wrought up to desperation, that touched even their hardened hearts. They endeavored to pacify her, but in vain. Her eye was eager and quick as the she-wolf's guarding her young. With one arm she pressed her father to her bosom, with the other she menaced every one that approached. The patience of the guards was soon exhausted. They had held back in awe, but not in fear. With all her desperation the weapon was soon wrested from her feeble hand, and she was THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 24i borne shrieking and struggling among the crowd. The rabble murmured compassion ; but such was the dread inspired by the • inquisition, that no one attempted to interfere. The procession again resumed its march. Inez was ineffectu- ally struggling to release herself from the hands of the familiars that detained her, when suddenly she saw Don Ambrosio before her. " Wretched girl !" exclaimed he with fury, " why have you fled from your friends ? Deliver her," said he to the famil- iars, " to my domestics ; she is under my protection." His creatures advanced to seize her. " Oh no ! oh no !" cried she, with new terrors, and clinging to the familiars, " I have fled from no friends. He is not my protector ! He is the murderer of my father !" The familiars were perplexed ; the crowd pressed on with eager curiosity. "Stand off!" cried the fiery Ambrosio, dashing the throng from^round him. Then turning to the familiars, with sudden moderation, " My friends," said he, " deliver this poor girl to me. Her distress has turned her brain ; she has escaped Irom her friends and protectors this morning ; but a little quiet and kind treatment will restore her to tranquillity." " I am not mad ! I am not mad !" cried she, vehemently. " Oh, save me ! — save me from these men ! I have no protector on earth brt my father, and him they are murdering !" The familiars shook thefr heads ; her wildness corroborated the assertions of Don Ambrosio, and his apparent rank com- manded respect and belief. They relinquished their charge to him, and he was consigning the struggling Inez to his creatures — > " Let go your hold, villain !" cried a voice from among the crowd, and Antonio was seen eagerly tearing his way through the press of people. 11 242 BRACEBRIDGE HALjl. " Seize him I seize him !" cried Don Ambrosio to the famil* iars : " 'tis an accomplice of the sorcerer's." " Liar !" retorted Antonio, as he thrust the mob to the right and left, and forced himself to the spot. The sword of Don Ambrosio flashed in an instant from the scabbard ; the student was armed, and equally alert. There was a fierce clash of weapons ; the crowd made way for them as they fought, and closed again, so as to hide them from the view of Inez. All was tumult and confusion for a moment ; when there was a kind of shout from the spectators, and the mob again open- ing, she beheld, as she thought, Antonio weltering in his blood. This new shock was too great for her already overstrained intellects. A giddiness seized upon her ; every thing seemed to whirl before her eyes ; she gasped some incoherent words, and sunk senseless upon the ground. Days, weeks, elapsed before Inez returned ^o consciousness. At length she opened her eyes, as if out of a troubled sleep. She was lying upon a magnificent bed, in a chamber richly fur- nished with pier-glasses and massive tables inlaid with silver, of exquisite workmanship. The walls were covered with tapestry ; the cornices richly gilded : through the door, which stood open, slie perceived a superb saloon, with statues and crystal lustres, and a magnificent suit of apartments beyond. The casements of the room were open to admit the soft breath of summer, which stole in, laden with perfumes from a neighboring garden ; whence, al^o, the refreshing sound of fountains and the sweet notes of birds came in mingled music to her ear. Female attendants were moving, with noiseless step, about the cliamber; but she feared to address (hem. She doubted whether this were not all delusion, or whether she was not still io THE kSTUDENT of SALAMANCA. 243 the palace of Don Ambrosio, and that her escape, and all its cir- cumstances, had not been but a feverish dream. She closed her eyes again, endeavoring to recall the past, and to separate the real from the imaginary. The last scenes of consciousness, how- ever, rushed too forcibly, with all their horrors, to her mind to be doubted, and she turned shuddering from the recollection, to gaze once more on the quiet and serene magnificence around her. As she again opened her eyes, they rested on an object that at once dispelled every alarm. At the head of her bed sat a venerable form watching over her with a look of fond anxiety — ^it was her father I I wdll not attempt to describe the scene that ensued ; nor the moments of rapture which more than repaid all the sufferings her affectionate heart had undergone. As soon as their feelings had become more calm, the alchemist stepped out of the room to intro- duce a stranger, to whom he was indebted for his life and liberty. He returned, leading in Antonio, no longer in his poor scholar's garb, but in the rich dress of a nobleman. The feelings of Inez were almost overpowered by these sudden reverses, and it was some time before slie was suffi- ciently composed to comprehend the explanation of this seeming romance. It appeared that the lover, w^ho had sought her affections in the lowly guise of a student, was only son and heir of a powerful grandee of Valencia. He had been placed at the university of Salamanca ; but a lively curiosity, and an eagerness for adven- ture, had induced him to abandon the university, without hia father's consent, and to visit various parts of Spain. His ram- bling inclination satisfied, he had remained incognito for a time at Grenada, until, by farther study and self-regulation, he could pre- 244 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. pare himself to return home with credit, and atone for his trans- gressions against paternal authority. How hard he had studied does not remain on record. All that we know is his romantic adventure of the tower. It was at tirst a mere youthful caprice, excited by a glimpse of a beautiful face. In becoming a disciple of the alchemist, he probably thought of nothing more than pursuing a light love affair. Farther acquaintance, however, had completely fixed his affections ; and he had determined to conduct Inez and her father to Valencia, and to trust to her merits to secure his father's consent to their union. In the meantime he had been traced to his concealment. His father had received intelligence of his being entangled in the snares of a mysterious adventurer and his daughter, and likely to become the dupe of the fascinations of the latter. . Trusty em- issaries had been dispatched to seize upon him by main force, and convey him without delay to the paternal home. What eloquence he had used with his father to convince him of the innocence, the honor, and the high descent of the alchemist, and of the exalted worth of his daughter, does not appear. All that we know is, that the father, though a very passionate, was a very rea- sonable man, as appears by his consenting that his son should return to Grenada, and conduct Inez, as his affianced bride, to Valencia. Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, full of joyous anti- cipations. He still forbore to throw off his disguise, fondly picturing to himself what would be the surprise of Inez, w^hen, having won her heart and hand as a poor wandering scholar, he should raise her and her father at once to opulence and splendor. On his arrival he had been shocked at finding the tower deserted of its inhabitants. In vain he sought for intelligence concerning them ; a mystery hung over their disappearance THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 245 which he could not penetrate, until he was thunderstruck, on accidentally reading a list of the prisoners at the impending auto da fe, to tind the name of his venerable master among the con- demned. It was the very morning of the execution. The procession was already on its way to the grand square. Not a moment was to be lost. The grand inquisitor was a relation of Don Antonio, though they had never met. His first impulse was to make him- self known ; to exert all his family influence, the weight of his name, and the power of his eloquence, in vindication of the alche- mist. But the grand inquisitor was already proceeding, in all his pomp, to the place where the fatal ceremony was to be per- formed. How was he to be approached ? Antonio threw himself into the crowd, in a fever of anxiety, and was forcing his way to the scene of horror, where he arrived just in time to rescue Inez, as has been mentioned. It was Don Ambrosio that fell in the contest. Being despe- rately wounded, and thinking his end approaching, he had con- fessed, to an attending father of the inquisition, that he was the sole cause of the alchemist's condemnation, and that the evidence on which it was grounded was altogether false. The testimon}' of Don Antonio came in corroboration of this avowal ; and his relationship to the grand inquisitor had, in all probability, its proper weight. Thus was the poor alchemist snatched, in a manner, from the very flames ; and so great had been the sym- pathy awakened in his case, that for once a populace rejoiced at being disappointed of an execution. The residue of the story may readily be imagined by every one versed in this valuable kind of history. Don Antonio es- poused the lovely Inez, and took her and her fVither with him tc 246 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Valencia. As she had been a loving and dutiful daughter, so she proved a true and tender wife. It was not long before Don Antonio succeeded to his father's titles and estates, and he and his fair spouse were renowned for being the handsomest and hap- piest couple in all Valencia. As to Don Ambrosio, he partially recovered to the enjoyment of a bi'oken constitution and a blasted name, and hid his remorse and disgraces in a convent ; while the poor victim of his arts, who had assisted Inez in lier escape, unable to conquer the early passion that he had awakened in her bosom, though convinced of the baseness of the object, retired from the world, and became a humble sister in a nunnery. The worthy alchemist took up his abode with his children. A pavilion, in the garden of their palace, was assigned to him as a laboratory, where he resumed his researches, with renovated ardor, after the grand secret. He was now and then assisted by his son-in-law ; but the latter slackened grievously in his zeal and diligence after marriage. Still he would listen with profound gravity and attention to the old man's rhapsodies, and his quota- tions from Paracelsus, Sandivogius, and Pietro D'Abano, which daily grew longer and longer. In this way the good alchemist lived on quietly and comfortably, to what is called a good old age, that is to say, an age that is good for nothing, and, unfortunately for mankind, was hurried out of life in his ninetieth year, just as he was on the point of discovering the philosopher's stone. Such was the story of the captain's friend, with which we whiled away the morning. The captain was, every now and then. THE STUDENT OF SALAMAHgA. 247 # interrupted bj questions and remarks, which I have not men tioned, lest I should break the continuity of the tale. He was a little disturbed, also, once or twice, by the general, who fell asleep, and breathed rather hard, to the great horror and annoy- ance of Lady Lillycraft. In a long and tender love scene, also, which was particularly to her ladyship's taste, the unlucky gene- ral, having his head a little sunk upon his breast, kept making a sound at regular intervals, very much like the word pishylong drawn out. At length he made an odd, abrupt, guttural sound, that suddenly awoke him ; he hemmed, looked about with a. slight degree of consternation, and then began to play with her ladyship's work-bag, which, however, she rather pettishly with- drew. The steady sound of the captain's voice was still too potent a soporific for the poor general ; he kept gleaming up and sinking in the socket, until the cessation of the tale again roused him, when he started awake, put his foot down upon Lady Lilly- craft's cur, the sleeping Beauty, which yelped, seized him by the leg, and, in a moment, the whole library resounded with yelpings and exclamations. Never did a man more completely mar his fortunes while he was asleep. Silence being at length restored, the company expressed their thanks to the captain, and gave various opinions of the story. The parson's mind, I found, had been continually running upon the leaden manuscripts, mentioned in the beginning, as dug up at Grenada, and he put several eager questions to the captain on the subject. The general could not well make out the drift of the story, but thought it a little con- fused. " I am glad, however," said he, " that they burnt the old chap in the tower ; I have no doubt he was a notorious im- postor." -^ ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN His certain life, that never can deceive him, Is full of thousand sw^eets, and rich content : The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. His life is neither tost in boisterous seas Or the vexatious world ; or lost in slothful ease. Pleased and full blest he lives when he his God can please. Phineas Fletcher. I TAW.E great pleasure in accompanying the Squire in his peram- bulations about his estate, in which he is often attended by a kind of cabinet council. His prime minister, the steward, is a very worthy and honest old man, who assumes a right of way ; that is to say, a right to have his own way, from having lived time out of mind on the place. He loves the estate even better than he does the Squire ; and thwarts the latter sadly in many of his projects of improvement, being a little prone to disapprove of every plan that does not originate with himself. In the course of one of these perambulations, I have known the Squire to point out some important alteration which he was contemplating, in the disposition or cultivation of the grounds: this of course would be opposed by the steward, and a long argu- ment would ensue over a stile, or on a rising piece of ground, until the Squire, who has a high opinion of the other's ability and integrity, would be fain to give up the point. This con 11* 250 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. cession, I observed, would immediately mollify the old man, and, after walking over a field or two in silence, with his hands behind his back, chewing the cud of reflection, he would sud- denly turn to the Squire, and observe, that " he had been turning the matter over in his mind, and, upon the whole, he believed he would take his honor's advice."* Christy, the huntsman, is another of the Squire's occasional attendants, to whom he continually refers in all matters of local history, as to a chronicle of the estate, having, in a manner, been acquainted with many of the trees, from the very time that they were acorns. Old Nimrod, as has been shown, is rather prag- matical in those points of knowledge on which he values himself; but the Squire rarely contradicts him, and is, in fact, one of the most indulgent potentates that was ever hen-pecked by his ministry. He often laughs about it himself, and evidently yields to these old men more from the bent of his own humor than from any want of proper authority. He likes this honest independence of old age, and is well aware that these trusty followers love and honor him in their hearts. He is perfectly at ease about his own dignity and the respect of those around him ; nothing disgusts him sooner than any appearance of fawning or sycophancy. I really have seen no display of royal state that could com- * The reader who has perused a little work published by the author several years subsequently to Bracebridge Hall, narrating a visit to Abbotsford, will detect the origin of the above anecdote in the conferences between Sir Walter Scott and his right-hand man, Tommy Purdie. Indeed, the author is indebted for several of his traits of the Squire to observations made on Sir Walter Scott during that visit ; though he had to be cautious and sparing in drawing from that source. ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 251 pare with one of the Squire's progresses about his paternal fields and through his hereditary woodlands, with several of these faith- ful adherents about him, and followed by a body-guard of dogs. He encourages a frankness and manliness of deportment among his dependents, and is the personal friend of his tenants ; inquiring into their concerns, and assisting them in times of difficulty and hardship. This has rendered him one of the most popular, and of course one of the happiest of landlords. Indeed, I do not know a more enviable condition of life, than that of an English gentleman, of sound judgment and good leel ings, who passes the greater part of his time on an hereditary estate in the country. From the excellence of the roads and the rapidity and exactness of public conveyances, he is enabled to command all the comforts and conveniences, all the intelligence and novelties of the capital, while h3 is removed from its hurry and distraction. He has ample means of occupation and amuse- ment within his own domains ; he may diversify his time by rural occupations, by rural sports, by study, and by the delights of friendly society collected within his own hospitable halls. Or if his views and feelings are of a more extensive and liberal nature, ha has it greatly in his power to do good, and to have that good immediately reflected back upon himself. He can render essential services to his country, by assisting in the disin- terested administration of the laws ; by watching over the opin- ions and principles of the lower orders around him ; by diffusing among them those lights important to their welfare ; by mingling frankly among them, gaining their confidence, becoming the imme- diate auditor of their complaints, informing himself of their wants, making himself a channel through which their grievances may be quietly communicated to the proper sources of mitigation and re- 252 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. lief; or by becoming, if need be, the intrepid and incorruptible guardian of their liberties — the enlightened champion of their rights. All this can be done without any sacrifice of personal dignity, without any degrading arts of popularity, without any truckling to vulgar prejudices or concurrence in vulgar clamor; but by the steady influence of sincere and friendly counsel, of fair, upright, and generous deportment. Whatever may be said of English mobs and English demagogues, I have never met with a people more open to reason, more considerate in their tempers, more tractable by argument in the roughest times, than the English. They are remarkably quick at discerning and appreciating what- ever is manly and honorable. They are by nature and habit methodical and orderly ; and they feel the value of all that is re- gular and respectable. They may occasionally be deceived by sophistry, and excited into turbulence by public distresses and the misrepresentations of designing men ; but open their eyes, and they will eventually rally round the landmarks of steady truth and deliberate good sense. They are fond of established customs and long established names ; and that love of order and quiet which characterizes the nation, gives a vast influence to the de- scendants of the old families, whose forefathers have been lords of the soil from time immemorial. It is when the rich and well-educated and highly-privileged classes neglect their duties, when they neglect to study the inter- ests, and conciliate the affections, and insti-uct the opinions and champion the rights of the people, that the latter become discon- tented and turbulent, and fall into the hands of demagogues : the demagogue always steps in where the patriot is wanting. There is a common high-handed cant among the high feeding, and, as ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 25S they fancy themselves, high-minded men, about putting down the mob; but all true physicians know that it is better to sweeten the blood than attack the tumor ; to apply the emollient rather than the cautery. It is absurd in a country like England, where there is so much freedom, and such a jealousy of right, for any man to assume an aristocratical tone, and talk superciliously of the com- mon people. There is no rank that makes him independent of the opinions and affections of his fellow-men, there is no rank nor distinction that severs him from his fellow-subjects ; and if, by any gradual neglect or assumption on the one side, and discontent and jealousy on the other, the orders of society should really separate, let those who stand on the eminence beware that the chasm is not mining at their feet. The orders of society in all well-constituted governments are mutually bound together, and important to each other; there can be no such thing in a free government as a vacuum ; and whenever one is likely to take place, by the drawing off of the rich and intelligent from the poor, the bad passions of society will rush in to fill up the space, and rend the whole asunder. Though born and brought up in a republic, and more and more confirmed in republican principles by every year's obser- vation and experience, I am not insensible to the excellence that may exist in other forms of government ; nor to the fact that they may be more suitable to the situation and circumstances of the countries in which they exist : I have endeavored rather to look at them as they ai'e, and to observe how they are calculated to effect the end which they propose. Considering, therefore, the mixed nature of the government of this country, and its repre- sentative form, I have looked with admiration at the manner in which the wealth and influence and intelligence were spread over its whole surface ; not as in some monarchies, drained from 254 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. the country, and collected in towns and cities. I have considered the great rural establishments of the nobility, and the lesser establishments of the gentry, as so many reservoirs of wealth and intelligence distributed about the kingdom, apart from the towns, to irrigate, freshen, and fertilize the surrounding country. I have looked upon them, too, as the august retreat of patriots and states men, where, in the enjoyment of honorable independence and ele- gant leisure, they might train up their minds to appear in those legislative assemblies, whose debates and decisions form the study and precedents of other nations, and involve the interests of the world. I have been both surprised and disappointed, therefore, at finding, that on this subject I was often indulging in an Utopian dream, rather than a well-founded opinion. I have been con- cerned at finding that these fine estates were too often involved, and mortgaged, or placed in the hands of creditors, and the own- ers exiled from their paternal lands. There is an extravagance, I am told, that runs parallel with wealth ; a lavish expenditure among the great ; a senseless competition among the aspiring ; a heedless, joyous dissipation, among all the upper ranks, that often beggars even these splendid establishments ; breaks down the pride and principles of their possessors, and makes too many of them mere place-hunters, or shifting absentees. It is thus that so many are thrown into the hands of government ; and a court, which ought to be the most pure and honorable in Eu- rope, is so often degraded by noble, but importunate time-servers. It is thus, too, that so many become exiles from their native land, crowding the hotels of foreign countries, and expending upon thankless strangers the wealth so hardly drained from their labo- rious peasantry, I have looked upon these latter with a mixture ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 255 of censure and concern. Knowing the almost bigoted fondness of an Englishman for his native home, I can conceive what must be their compunction and regi-et^ when, amidst the sun-burnt plains of France, they call to mind the green fields of England ; the hereditary groves which they have abandoned, and the hospi- table roof of their fathers, which they have left desoiate, or to be inhabited by strangers. But retrenchment is no plea for aban- donment of country. They have risen with the prosperity of the land ; let them abide its fluctuations, and conform to .ts fortunes. It is not for the rich to fly because the country is suffering : let them share, in their relative proportion, the common lot ; they owe it to the land that has elevated them to h5nor and affluence. When the poor have to diminish their scanty morsels of bread ; when they have to compound with the cravings of nature, and study with how little they can do, and not be starved ; it is not then for the rich to fly, and diminish still farther the resources of the poor, that they themselves m.ay live in splendor in a cheaper country. Let them rather retire to their estates, and there prac- tice retrenchment. Let them return to that noble simplicity, that practical good sense, that honest pride, which form the foundation of true English character, and from them they may again rear the edifice of fair and honorable prosperity. On the rural habits of the English nobility and gentry, on the manner in which they discharge their duties on their patrimo- nial possessions, depend greatly the virtue and welfare of the nation. So long as they pass the greater part of their time in the quiet and purity of the country ; surrounded by the monuments of their illustrious ancestors ; surrounded by every thing that can inspire generous pride, noble emulation, and amiable and magnanimous sentiment ; so long they are safe, and in them the 256 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. natior may repose its interests and its honor. But the moment that they become the servile throngers of court avenues, and give themselves up to the political intrigues and heartless dissipations of the metropolis, .that moment they lose the real nobility of their natures, and become the mere leeches of the country. That the great majority of nobility and gentry in England are endowed with high notions of honor and independence, I tho- roughly believe. They have evidenced it lately on very important questions, and have given an example of adherence to principle, in preference to party and power, that must have astonished many of the venal and obsequious courts of Europe. Such are the glorious effects (ff freedom, when infused into a constitution. But it seems to me that they are apt to forget the positive nature of their duties, and to consider their eminent privileges only as so many means of self-indulgence. They should recollect, that in a constitution like that of England, the titled orders are intended to be as useful as they are ornamental, and it is their virtues alone that can render them both. Their duties are divided between the sovereign and the subjects ; surrounding and giving lus- tre and dignity to the throne, and at the same time tempering and mitigating its rays, until they are transmitted in mild and genial radiance to the people. Born to leisure and opulence, they owe the exercise of their talents, and the expenditure of their wealth, to their native country. They may be compared to the clouds ; which, being drawn up by the sun, and elevated in the heavens, reflect and magnify his splendor ; while they repay the earth, whence they derive their sustenance, by returning their treasures to its bosom in fertilizinoj showers. A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. *' '111 live a private, pensive, single life." The Collier of Croydon. I 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 wore 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 briskness and vivacity ; Jbut 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 land- scape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not been accus- tomed to see Master Simon in a pensive m.ood, I thought there might be some vexation preying on his mind, and endeavored to introduce a cheerful strain of conversation ; but he was not in the vein to follow it up, and proposed a walk. It was a beautiful morning of that soft vernal temperature, which seems to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and set all nature in a ferment. The very jfishes felt its influence ; the cau- tious 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 upon Master Simon, for 258 BRACEBRIDGt; HALL. 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, w^hence he made several digressions upon the character of womankind; touched a little upon the tender passion, and made sundry very excellent, though rather trite, observations upon disappointments in love. It was evident he had something on his mind which he wished to impart, but felt awkward in approaching it. I was curious to see what this strain would lead to, but determined not to assist him. In- deed, 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 overhanging a whis- pering brook, with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees were grievously scored with letters and devices, grown out of all shape and size by the growth of the bark ; and it 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 I had ever been in love. I confess the question startled me a little, as I am not over fond of making confessions of my amorous follies, and above all should never dream of choosing my friend Master Simon for a 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. A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 259 The reader will, very probably, suppose tbat 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 pic- turing 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 had dried with the bloom on it. What were the particulars of this tender tale I have already forgotten ; indeed I listened to it with a heart 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 endeavoring 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 observation about " modest merit," and the power of gold over the sex. As a remembrance of his passion, he pointed out a heart carved on the bark of one of the trees ; but which, in the process of time, had grown out into a large excrescence : and he showed me a lock of her hair, which he wore in a true lover's knot, in a large gold brooch. 260 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. I have seldom met with an old bachelor who had not, at some time or other, his nonsensical moment, when he would become tender and 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, to which he looks back 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 cf 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 fre- quently 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 talk- ing of matrimony. The moment Master Simon had gone through his confession, and, to use the common phrase, " had made a clean breast of it," he became quite himself again. He had settled the point which had been worrying his mind, and doubtless 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 grass- hopper, whistling to his dogs, and telling droll stories ; and I re- collect that he was particularly facetious that day at dinner, on the subject of matrimony, and uttered several excellent jokes, not to be found in Joe Miller, that made the bride elect blush and look down ; but set all the old gentlemen at the table in a roar, and absolutely brought tears into the general's eyes. ENGLISH GRAVITY. " Merrie England!" Ancient PHRASis There is nothing so rare as for a man to ride his hobby without molestation. I find the Squire has not so undisturbed an indulg- ence in his humors as I had imagined ; but has been repeatedly- thwarted of late, and has suffered a kind of well-meaning perse- cution from a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of some weight, at least of purse, who has recently moved into the neighborhood. He is a worthy and substantial manufacturer, who, having accu- mulated a large fortune by dint of steam-engines and spinning- jennies, has retired from business, and set up for a country gen- tleman. He has taken an old country seat, and refitted it ; and painted and plastered it, until it looks not unlike his own manu- factory. He has been particularly careful in mending the walls and hedges, and putting up notices of spring-guns and man-traps in every part of his premises. Indeed, he shows great jealousy about his territorial rights, having stopped up a footpath which led across his fields ; and given warning, in staring letters, that who- ever was found trespassing on those grounds would be prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law. He has brought into the coun- try with him all the practical maxims of town, and the bustling habits of business ; and is one of those sensible, useful, prosing, 2^2 BRACEBRIDGE jp. troublesome, intolerable old gentlemen who go about wearying and worrying society witli excellent plans for public utility. He is very much disposed to be on intimate terms with the Squire, and calls on him every now and then, with some project for the good of the neighborhood, which happens to run diametri- cally opposite to some one or other of the Squire's peculiar no- tions ; but which is " too sensible a measure " to be openly opposed. He has annoyed him excessively by enforcing the vagrant laws ; persecuting the gipsies, and endeavoring to sup- press country wakes and holiday games ; which he considers great nuisances, and reprobates as causes of the deadly sin of idle- ness. There is evidently in all this a little of the ostentation of newly-acquired consequence ; the tradesman is gradually swelling into the aristocrat ; and he begins to grow excessively intolerant of every thing that is not genteel. He has a great deal to say . about " the common people ;" talks much of his park, his pre- serves, and the necessity of enforcing the game laws more strictly and make? frequent use of the phrase, " the gentry of the neigh- borhood.' He came to the Hall lately, with a face full of business, that he and the Squire, to use his own words, " might lay their heads together," to hit upon some mode of putting a stop to the frolick- ing at the village on the approaching May-day. It drew, he said, idle people together from all parts of the neighboi'hood, who spent the day fiddling, dancing, and carousing, instead of stayhig at home to work for their fxmilies. Now, as the Squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of these May- day revels, it may be supposed that the suggestions of the saga- cious Mr. Faddy were not received with the best grace in the ENGLISH GRAVITY. 263 world. It is true, the old gentleman is too courteous to show any temper to a guest in his own house, but no sooner was he gone than the indignation of the Squire found vent, at having his poet- ical cobwebs invaded by this buzzing, bhie-bottle fiy of traffic. In his warmth he inveighed against the Avhole race of manufacturers, who, I found, were sore disturbers of his comfort. " Sir," said he, with emotion, " it makes my heart bleed to see all our fine streams dammed up and bestrode by cotton-mills ; our valleys smoking with steam-engines, and the din of the hammer and the loom scaring away all our rural delights. What's to become of merry old England, when its manor-houses are all turned into manufactories, and its sturdy peasantry into pin-makers and stock- ing-weavers ? I have looked in vain for merry Sherwood, and all the greenwood haunts of Kobin Hood; the whole country is covered with manufacturing towns. I have stood on the ruins of Dudley Castle, and looked round, with an aching heart, on what were once its feudal domains of verdant and beautiful country. Sir, I beheld a mere campus phlegrae ; a region of fire ; reeking with coal-pits, and furnaces, and smelting-houses, vomiting forth flames and smoke. The pale and ghastly people, toiling among vile exhalations, looked more like demons than human beincrs ; the clanking wheels and engines, seen through the murky atmos- phere, looked like instruments of torture in this pandemonium. What is to become of the country with these evils rankling in its very core ? Sir, these manufacturers will be the ruin of our rural manners ; they will destroy the national character ; they will not leave materials for a single line of poetry !" The Squire is apt to wax eloquent on «uch themes ; and I could hardly help smiling at this whimsical lamentation over na- tional industry and public improvement. I am told, however, that 264 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. he really grieves at the growing of trade, as destroying the charna of life. He considers every new short-hand mode of doing things, as an inroad of snug sordid method ; and thinks that this will soon become a mere matter-of-fact w^orld, where life will be reduced to a mathematical calculation of conveniences, and every thing will be done by steam. He maintains, also, that the nation has declined in its free and joyous spirit in proportion as it has turned its attention to com- merce and manufactures ; and that in old times^ when England was an idler, it was also a merrier little island. In support of this opinion he adduces the frequency and splendor of ancient festivals and merry-makings, and the hearty spirit with which they were kept up by all classes of people. His memory is stored with the accounts given by Stow, in his Survey of London, of the holiday revels at the inns of court, the Christmas mum- meries, and the masquings and bonfires about the streets. Lon- don, he says, in those days, resembled the continental cities in its picturesque manners and amusements. The court used to dance after dinner on public occasions. After the coronation dinner of Richard II, for example, the king, the prelates, the nobles, the knights, and the rest of the company danced in Westminster Hall to the music of the minstrels. The example of the court was followed by the middling classes, and so down to the lowest, and the whole nation was a dancing, jovial nation. He quotes a lively city picture of the times, given by Stow, which resembles the lively scenes one may often see in the gay city of Paris ; for he tells us that on holidays, after evening prayers, the maidens in London used to assemble before the door, in sight of their mas- ters and dames, and while one played on a timbrel, the others danced for garlands, hanged athwart the street. ENGLISH GRAVITY. 265 " Where will we meet Avith such merry groups now-a-days ?" the Squire will exclaim, shaking his head mournfully ; — " and then as to the gayety that prevailed in dress throughout all ranks of society ; and made the very streets so fine and picturesque. ' I have myself/ says Gervaise Markham, ' met an ordinary tap- ster in his silk stockings, garters deep fringed with gold lace, the rest of his apparel suitable, with cloak lined with velvet !' Nashe, too, who wrote in 1593, exclaims at the finery of the nation, ^ England, the player's stage of gorgeous attire, the ape of all na- tion's superfluities, the continual masquer in outlandish h^ili- ments.' " Such are a few of the authorities quoted by the Squire by way of contrasting what he supposes to have been the former vivacity of the nation with its present monotonous character. " John Bull," he will say, " was then a gay cavalier, with a sword by his side and a feather in his cap ; but he is now a plodding citizen, in snuff- colored coat and gaiters," By the by, there really appears to have been some change in the national character since the days of which the Squire is so fond of talking ; those days when this little island acquired its favorite old title of " merry England." This may be attributed in part to the growing hardships of the times, and the necessity of turning the whole attention to the means of subsistence ; but England's gayest customs prevailed at times when her common people enjoyed comparatively few of the comforts and conveni- ences which they do at present. It may -be still more attributed to the universal spirit of gain, and the calculating habits which commerce has introduced ; but I am inclined to attribute it chiefly to the gradual increase of the liberty of the subject, and the grow- ing freedom and activity of opinion. 12 aee BRACEBRIDGE HALL. A free people are apt to be grave and thoughtful. They have high and important matters to occupy then* minds. They feel it their right, their interest, and their duty to mingle in public concerns, and to watch over the general welfare. The continual exercise of the mind on political topics gives intenser habits of thinking, and a more serious and earnest demeanor. A nation becomes less gay, but more intellectually active and vigorous. It evinces less play of the fancy, but more power of the imagination ; less taste and elegance, but more grandeur of mind ; less animated vivacity, but deeper enthusiasm. It is when men are shut out of the regions of manly thought by a despotic government ; when every grave and lofty theme is rendered perilous to discussion and almost to reflection ; it is then that they turn to the safer occupations of taste and amusement ; trifles rise to importance, and occupy the craving activity of intel- lect. No being is more void of care and reflection than the slave ; none dances more gayly in his intervals of labor ; but make him free, give him rights and interests to guard, and he becomes thoughtful and laborious. The French are a gayer people than the English. Why ? Partly from temperament, perhaps ; but greatly because they have been accustomed to governments which surrounded the free exercise of thought with danger, and where he only was safe who shut his eyes and ears to public events, and enjoyed the passing pleasure of the day. AVithin late years they have had more op- portunity of exercising their minds ; and within late years the national character has essentially changed. Never did the French enjoy such a degree of freedom as they do at this moment : and at this moment the French are comparatively a grave people. GIPSIES. What's that to absolute freedom ; such as the very bejjgars have ; to feast and re\el her« to day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day where they please ; and so on still, the whole country or kingdom over 1 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 pur- lieus of the Hall, notwithstanding a positive interdiction of the Squire. They are part of a gang which has long kept about this neighborhood to the great annoyance of the farmers, whose poul- try-yards often suffer from their nocturnal invasions. They are, however, in some measure, patronized by the Squire, who con- siders the race as belonging to the good old times ; which, to con- fess the private truth, seem to have abounded with good-for-nothing characters. This roving crew is called " Star-light 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 in park, %y fold, or farm-yard, is laid to his charge. Star-light 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 n irsery rhyme : 2H& BRACEBRIDGE HALL. Who goes round the house at night ? None but bloody Tom ! Who steals all the sheep at night 1 None but one by one ! in short, Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of the neighborhood; but so cunning and adroit, that there is no detecting him. Old Christy and the game-keeper 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 feel- ing 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-dcincer in the country. The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested about the skirts of his estate, on condition 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 favors, 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 furnish- ing them with hints in private, and bewildering all the weak brains in the house with their wonderful revelations. The gene- ral certainly was very much astonished by the communications made to him the other evening by the gipsy girl : he kept a wary fciilcnce towards us on the subject, and affected to treat it lightW . GIPSIES. 269 but I have noticed that he has since .-edoubled his attentions to Lady Lilly craft 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 she vvas endeavoring to get some favorable augury about the result of her love-quarrel with young Ready-Money, as cracles have always been more consulted on love-affairs than upon any thing else. I fear, however, that in this instance the response was not so favorable as us.ual, for I perceived poor Phoebe returning pen- sively towards the house ; her head hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the ribbon trailing along the ground. At another time, as ]. 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 bev}^ of the young girls of the family, attended by this same Phoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the meaning of their blushing and giggling, and their apparent agita- tion, until I saw the red cloak of a gipsy vanishing among the shrubbery. A few moments after I caught a sight of Master Simon and the Oxonian stealing along one of the walks of the garden, chuckling and laughing at their successful waggery ; hav- ing evidently put the gipsy up to the thing, and instructed her what to say. After all, there is something strangely pleasing in these tam- perings with the future, even where we are convinced of the fal- lacy of the prediction. It is singular how willingly the mind v/iil half deceive itself; and with a degree of awe we will listen even to these babblers about futurity. For my part, T cannot feel an- gry with these pooi- vagabonds, that seek to deceive us into bright 270 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. hopes and expectations. I have always been something of a castle-builder, and haye 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, who would conjure the clouds which hang over futurity into palaces, and all its doubtful regions into fairy-land. The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a private good will towards 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 be- cause their pilferings and misdeeds occasion loud murmurs in the village. I can readily understand the old gentleman's humor on this point ; I have a great toleration for all kinds of vagrant sunshiny existence, and must confess I take a pleasure in observ- ing the ways of gipsies. The English, who are accustomed to them from childhood, and often suffer from their petty depre- dations, consider them as mere nuisances ; but I have been very much struck with their peculiarities. I 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 honors and estates ; of world's wealth, and ladies' love. Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanciful and picturesque. They are the free denizens of nature, and maintain a primitive independence, in spite of law and gospel ; of county jails and country magistrates. It is curious to see this obstinate adherence to the wild unsettled habits of savasre life transmitted from generation to generation, and preserved in the midst of one of the most cultivated, populous, and systematic countries in the GIPSIES. 271 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 man- kind. Heedless of power, of honors, of wealth ; and indifferent to the fluctuations of 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 ambitioi> shiHi, 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 neighborhoods, where there are fat farms and rich country-seats. Their encamp- ments 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 wood. They are always to be found lurking about fairs, and races, and rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and throng, and i(^eness. They are the oracles of milkmaids and simple serving girls ; and sometimes have even the honor of perusing the white hands of gentlemen's daughters, when rambling about their fa- thers' 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 272 BRACRBRIDGE HALL. 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 associated in my mind with fairies and witches, Robin Good Fellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantas- tical personages of poetry. MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. Happy the age, and harmless were the dayes, (For then true love and amity was found,) When every village did a May-pole raise, And VVhitson ales and May games did abound : And all the lusty yonkers in a rout, With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about, Then friendship to their banquets bid the guttts. And poore men far'd the better for their feasts. Pasquil's Palin. mn. The month of April has nearly passed away, and we are fa^st approaching that poetical day, which was considered, in old time':^, as the boundary that parted the frontiers of winter and summer. With all its caprices, however, I like the month of April. I like these laughing and crying days, when sun and shade seem to run in billows over the landscape. I like to see the sudden shower coursing over the meadow, and giving all nature a greener smile ; and the bright sunbeams chasing the flying cloud, and turning, all its drops into diamonds. I was enjoying a morning of the kind in company with the Squire in one of the finest parts of the park. We were skirting a beautiful grove, and he was giving me a kind of biographical acjcount of several of his favorite forest trees, when he heard the strokes of an axe from the midst of a thick copse. The Squire paused and listened, with manifest signs of uneasiness. He 12* 274 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. turned his steps in the direction of the sound. The strokes grev? louder and louder as we advanced ; there was evidently a vigorous arm wielding the axe. The Squire quickened his pace, but in vain ; a loud crack and a succeeding crash told that the mischief had been done, and some child of the forest laid low. When we came to the place, we found Master Simon and several others standing about a tall and beautifully straight young tree, which had just been felled. The Squire, though a ijian of most harmonious dispositions, was completely put out of tune by this circumstance. He felt like a monarch witnessing the murder of one of his liege subjects, and demanded, with some asperity, the meaning of the outrage. It turned out to be an affair of Master Simon's, who had selected the tree, from its height and straightness, for a May-pole, the old one which stood on the village green being unfit for farther ser- vice. If any thing could have soothed the ire of my worthy host, it would have been the reflection that his tree had fallen in so good a cause ; and I saw that there was a great struggle between his fondness for his groves, and his devotion to May-day. He could not contemplate the prostrate tree, however, without indulging in lamentation, and making a kind of funeral eulogy, like Marc Antony over the body of Caesar ; and he forbade that any tree should thenceforward be cut down on his estate without a warrant from himself; being determined, he said, to hold the sovereign power of life and death in his own hands. ^^ This mention of the May-pole struck my attention, and I in quired whether the old customs connected with it were really kept up in this part of the country. The Squire shook his head mourn- fully ; and I found I had touched on one of his tender points, for he grew quite melancholy in bewailing the total decline of old May- MAY -DAY CUSTOMS. 275 day. Though it is regularly celebrated in the neighbo -ing village, yet it has been merely resuscitated by the worthy Squire, and is kept up in a forced state of existence at his expense. He meets with continual discouragements ; and finds great difiiculty in get- ting the country bumpkins to play their parts tolerably. He manages to have every year a " Queen of the May ;" but as to Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, the Dragon, the Hobby Horse, and all the other motley crew that used to enliven the day with their mummery, he has not ventured to introduce them. Still I look forward with some interest to the promised shadow of old May-day, even though it be but a shadow ; and I feel more and more pleased with the whimsical yet harmless hobby of my host, which is surrounding him with agreeable associations, and making a little world of poetry about him. Brought up, as I have been, in a new country, I may appreciate too highly the faint ves- tiges of ancient customs which I now and then meet with, and the interest I express in them may provoke a smile from those who are negligently suffering them to pass away. But with whatever indifference they may be regarded by those " to the manner born," yet in my mind the lingering flavor of them imparts a charm to rustic life, which nothing else could readily supply. I shall never forget the delight I felt on first seeing a May- pole. It was on the banks of the Dee, close by the picturesqae old bridge that stretches across the river from the quaint little city of Chester. I had already been carried back into former days by the antiquities of that venerable place ; the examination of which is equal to turning over the pages of a black-letter volume, or gazing on the pictures in Froissart. The May-pole on the margin of that poetic stream completed the illusion. My fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peopled the green '216 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. bank with all the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight of this May-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and ?pread a charm over the country for the rest of the day ; and as I. traversed a part of the fair plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales, and looked from among swelling hills down a long green valley, through w^hich " the Deva wound its wizard stream," my imagmation turned all into a perfect Arcadia. Whether it be owing to such poetical associations ^arly instill- ed into liij mind, or w^hether there is a sympathetic revival and budding forth of the feelings at this season, certain it is, that 1 always experience, wherever I may be placed, a delightful expan- sion of the heart at the return of May. It is said that birds about this time will become restless in their cages, as if instinct with the season, conscious of the revelry going on in the groves, and impatient to break from their bondage, and join in the jubilee of the year. In like manner I have felt myself excited, even in , the midst of the metropolis, when the windows, which had been churlishly closed all winter, were again thrown open to receive the balmy breath of May ; Avhen the sw^eets of the country were breathed into the town, and flowers w^ere cried about the streets. I have considered the treasures of flow^ers thus poured in, as so many missives from nature inviting us forth to enjoy the virgin beauty of the year, before its freshness is exhaled by the heats of sunny summer. One can readily imagine what a gay scene it must have been in jolly old London, w^ien the doors were decorated with flowenng branches, when every hat w^as decked with hawthorn, and Eobin TTood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, the morris-dancers, and all the othor fantastic masks and revelers, were performing their antics about th(i May-pole in every part of the city. MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. 27? I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old customs merely because of their antiquity ; but while I rejoice in the de- cline of many of the rude usages and coarse amusements of former days, I regret that this innocent and fanciful festival has fallen into disuse. It seemed appropriate to this verdant and pastoral country, and calculated to light up the too pervading gravity of the nation. I value every custom which tends to infuse poetical feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners, without destroying their simplicity. Indeed, it is to the decline of this happy simplicity that the de- cline of this custom may be traced; and the rural dance on the green, and the homely May-day pageant, have gradually disap- peared, in proportion as the peasantry have become expensive and artificial in their pleasures, and too knowing for simple enjoyment. Some attempts, the Squire informs me, have been made of late years, by men of both taste and learning, to rally back the popu- lar feeling to these standards of primitive simplicity ; but the time has gone by, the feeling has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic ; the country apes the manners and amusements of the town, and little is heard of May-day at present, except from the lamen- tations of authors, who sigh after it from among the brick walla of the city : " For O, for O, the Hobby Horse is forgot." VILLAGE WORTHIES. Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the worbt dog .n .he streel will hurt my little finger. Collier of Choydon. As the neighboring village is one of those out-of-the-way, but gos- siping 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 humor in every thing, is frequent just now in his visits to the village, to give directions for the impending fete ; and as I have taken the liberty occasionally of 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 Ccesar 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 ac- quainted with all the inhabitants and their domestic history ; gives counsel to the old folks in their business matters, and 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 boun teous ; and, to do Master Simon justice, he performs this part of •280 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 winning 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 v.4th 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 after- wards made a most faithful and circumstantial report of the case to the Squire. I have watched him, too, during one of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannuated villager, who is a pen- sioner of the Squire, v/here he fidgeted about the room without sitting down, made many excellent off-hand reflections with the old invalid, who was propped up in his chair, about the shortness of life, the certainty of death, and the necessity of preparing for " that awful change ;" quoted several texts of Scripture very incorrectly, but much to the edification of the cottager's wife ; and on coming out pinched the daughter's rosy cheek, and won- dered what was in the young men, that such a pretty face did not get a husband. He has also his cabinet counselors in the village, with whom he is very busy just now, preparing for the May-day ceremonies. Among these is the village tailor, a pale-faced fellow, who plays fho. clarinet in the church choir ; and, being a great musical ge- nius, has frequent meetings of the band at his house, where they *' make night hideous" by their concerts. He is, in consequence, higli in favor with Master Simon ; and, through his influence, has the making, or rather marring, of all the liveries of the Hall VILLAGE WORTHIES. 281 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 moneyed men of the village, was he not rather too prone to gossip, and keep holidays, and give con- certs, and blow all his substance, real and personal, through his clarinet ; which literally keeps him poor both in body and estate. He has for the present thrown by all his regular work, and suf- fered the breeches of the village to go unmade and unmended, while he is occupied in making garlands of party-colored rags, in imitation of flowers, for the decoration of the May-pole. Another of Master Simon's counselors 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 fall of profound remarks on shallow sub- jects. Master Simon often quotes his sayings, and mentions him as rather an extraordinary man ; and even consults him occa- sionally in desperate cases of the dogs and horses. Indeed he seems to. have been overwhelmed by the apothecary's philosophy, 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 con- versation with him ; in the course of which he observed, with great solemnity and emphasis, that " man is a compound of wis- dom and folly ;" upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my arm, pressed very hard upon it, and whispered in my ear, "that a a devilish shrewd remark.*' THE SCHOOLMASTER. There will no masse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on the heeles of Mercury ao butter clea\e on the bread of a traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth some fleece, vi^hich 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 confi- dence of Master Simon, is one who has struck my fancy so much, that I have thought him worthy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the schoolmaster, a thin elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and with an easy, good-humored look, not often met with in his craft. I have been interested in his favor by a few 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 : Jack, 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 bat- tles ; and they were inseparable friends. This mutual kindness continued even after they left the scliool, notwithstanding the 284 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to till his paternal acres ; while the othe^ploitered 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 Avorld. This de- sire increased upon him as he grew up ; so, early one bright sunny nurning, 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 farmhouse gate ; Jack drove his team a-field, and Slingsby whistled " over the hills and far away," and sallied forth gayly to " seek his fortune." Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby w^as for- gotten ; when," one mellow Sunday afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in life, with a coat out at elbow^s, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in a handkerchief, and sluno; on the end of a stick, w^as seen loiterino; throuo^h the village. He appeared to regard several houses attentively, to peer into the windows that w^ere open, to eye the villagers wist- fully as they returned from church, and then to pass some time in the church-yard, reading the tombstones. At length he found his w^ay to the farmhouse 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 Eeady-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 \vere heard from the well-stocked farmyard ; the bees hummed from their THE SCHOOLMASTER. 285 hives in the garden ; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow ; while the crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant harvest. The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously toward the house. The mastiff growled at the sight of the suspicious- looking intruder ; but was immediately silenced by his master ; who, taking his pipe from his mouth, awaited with inquiring as- pect the address of this equivocal personage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimensions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel ; then cast a glance upon his own thread- bare and starveling condition, and the scanty bundle which he held in his hand ; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch to make it meet its receding waistband ; and casting another 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 scrutinizing look, but acknow- ledged that he had no recollection of him. " Like enough, like enough," said the stranger ; " every body seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby !" " "Wliy 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, Avhile Slingsby was regaled with the best cheer that the farmhouse afforded ; for ne was hungry as well as wayworn, and had the keen appetite of a poor pedestrian. The early playmates then talked over their 286 BRACE BRIDGE HALL. subsequent lives and adventures. Jack had but little to relate and was never good at a long storj. 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 richei as he grew older. As to Tom Slingsby, he was an exemplifica- tion 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 learnt 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 w^ould 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 Avatch-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 cosmo- polite, 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, THE SCHOOLMASTER. 287 and winksj and half remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tibbets ; but how to provide for his permanent maintenance was the ques- tion. Luckily, the Squire bethought himself that the village school was without a teacher. A little further conversation con- vinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that as for any thing 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 honored by the countenance of the Squire, and the fast friendship of Mr.' Tibbets, he has grown into much importance and consideratfon 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 seem? particularly to haunt him about spring-time. There is nothing so difficult to conquer as the vagrant humor, 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 together 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 exist- ence, and envies the traveler, 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 who 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 288 BRACEBRIDGE HALL tra\ cling; 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 sue cession of adventure and gratification of curiosity.' But there ij a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears its death ii its very gratification. Curiosity languishes under repeated stimu lants ; novelties cease to excite surprise ; until at length we can- not wonder even at a miracle. He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor Slingsby_, full of sunny anticipations, finds too soon how different the distant scene becomes when visited. The smooth place roughens as he approaches ; the wild place becomes tame and barren ; the fairy tints which beguiled him on, still fly to the distant hill, or gather ujjon the land he has left behind ; and every part of the landscape &e(^ms greener than the spot he stands on. • i THE SCHOOL. But to come down from threat, men and higher matters to my little children and •. cor school- 0ouse again ; I will, God willing, go forward orderly, as I purposed, to instruct children and young men both for learning and manners. Roger Ascham. Having given the reader a slight sketch oi the village sohocl- master^ he may be curious to learn something concerning his school. As the- Squire takes much interest in the education of the neighboring children, he put into the hands of the teacher, on first installing him in office, a copy of Roger Ascham's School- master, and advised him, nioreover, to con over that portion of old Peachem which treats of the duty of masters, and wliich con- demns the favorite 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 plea- sant and desirable in their eyes. He wished to see the youth trained up in the mannei^s and habitudes of the peasantry of the good old times, and thus to lay a foundation for the accomplish- ment of his favorite object, the revival of old English customs and character. He recommended that all the ancient holidays should be observe merits of the different candidates ; and though he was very laco- ' nic, and sometimes merely expressed himself by a nod, it was evident his opinions far outweighed those of the most loquacious. Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and carried oflP iHost of the prizes, though in some of the feats of agility he was rivaled by the " prodigal son," who appeared much in his element on this occasion ; but his most formidable competitor was the 310 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. notorious gipsy, the redoubtable " Star-light Tom." I was rejoiced at having an opportunity of seeing this " minion of the moon " in broad daylight. I found him a tall, swarthy, good-looking fellow, with a lofty air, something like what I have seen in an Indian chieftain ; and with a certain lounging, easy, and almost graceful carriage, which I have often remarked in beings of the lazaroni order, who lead an idle, loitering life, and have a gentlemanlike contempt of labor. Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred the ground toorether, and indulg-ed a vast deal of harmless rakino^ amon