UC-NRLF 
 
 B M 107 flflS 
 
GIFT OF 
 Mrs. William L.Cook 
 
/ 
 
THE 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH 
 
 IDTLL8 
 
 CH^STMAS 
 AT 
 
 B<I(ACEB<I(IDGE 
 HALL 
 
- 5wflP 
 
 Christrn&s to aH present. > f ^ 
 
a 
 
 3 
 
 The Keeping of 
 
 by WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 " 
 
 * 
 
 ilh Iwnty-four 
 coloured illustrations 
 hy C.E.BROCK 
 
 London. J. 
 
 Vc)rA . d P.Dittton ^ O : 
 
\ 
 
PAGE 
 
 Christmas . 
 
 The Stage Coach . 9 
 
 Christmas Eve . l % 
 
 Christmas Day ... 33 
 
 Tbe Christmas Dinner .... 5 1 
 
 The Hall . . 6 9 
 
 The Busy Man . 73 
 
 Family Servants . 79 
 
 The Widow . ... 8 7 
 
 The Lovers . . 9 2 
 
 An Old Soldier . .... 9 6 
 
 n<r Widow s Retinue IOI 
 
 Ready- Money Jack . . .105 
 
 A Literary Antiquary . . .112 
 
 7^ Farm- House ... 119 
 
 Horsemanship . 124 
 
 Loiv Symptoms . . . .129 
 
 Falconry . , 1 3 3 
 
 * vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hawking . . . . . . t ,138 
 
 St. Mark s Eve . .... 146 
 
 Gentility ...... i r 7 
 
 Fortune-Telling ..... 162 
 
 Love- Charms ... 168 
 
 ^ Bachelor s Confessions . . . -173 
 
 English Gravity . . . . . . .178 
 
 Gipsies . . . .185 
 
 May -Day Customs . . . . . 101 
 
 Pillage Worthies . . , . . .197 
 
 The Schoolmaster . * . 20 1 
 
 The School . . , , 207 
 
 A Village Politician . , , 211 
 
 The Rookery . . . . > .217 
 
 May-Day . . . . . . .226 
 
 The Culprit . t 2 28 
 
 Family Misfortunes . - 2^7 
 
 Lovers Troubles . 2 r x 
 
 T 1 ^ Wedding ... 2 c " 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTI^TIONS 
 
 With a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to nil present 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 With knowing leer and words of sly import f ac tn g T 7 
 
 She, however, was certainly unconscious of any 
 
 such application . . . . . ,,32 
 
 They remained for a moment playing on their lips 
 
 with their fingers . . . . . ,.34 
 
 It was, he observed, an unholy plant . . >, 39 
 
 Chosen, like old Cremona jiddles, more for tone 
 
 than looks ...... ,,42 
 
 The elder folk gathered in knots in the churchyard, 
 
 greeting and shaking hands . . . ,,44 
 
 The lads performed a curious and intricate dance ,, 47 
 
 Master Simon led the van . . . . ,,65 
 
 The old housekeeper drinks the health of the company ., 83 
 
 In this way they were sauntering slowly along . 94 
 
 His hat is immediately in his hand . . . ,,98 
 
 He maintains the peace on the village green . ,, III 
 
 A literary honeymoon . . . . . ,, 118 
 
x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Tasting some of her home-made wines . . facing 123 
 
 / have even seen him present her with a full-blown 
 
 rose .... . ,, 129 
 
 I am not much hurt, Guy / . . . .,144 
 
 Suffered himself to be drawn aside under the hedge ,, 164 
 
 Made many excellent ojf-hand reflections with the 
 
 old invalid .... . ,,197 
 
 Still gossiping in the porch . . . ,,204 
 Listening with an air of the most vacant acquiescence 212 
 
 A complete tumult ensued . . . . ,,234 
 Even old Christy . . . became inspired by wine 
 
 and wassail . . . . . ,,260 
 
THERE is truth in the saying that onlookers see more 
 of the game than the players, and in the same way it 
 may be said that in this series of sketches of rural 
 England a hundred years ago, with descriptions of 
 rustic customs, and above all of the hearty keeping of 
 Christmas in an old country house, the eyes of a 
 sympathetic American, born in colonial days, have 
 seen things worth recording that might have been over 
 looked by an Englishman as too familiar to mention. 
 
 No apology, in the modern usage of the word, is 
 needed for the present volume, but some explanation 
 of the selection of its contents is necessary. The 
 first five papers are from The Sketch Book, in which the 
 author introduces his readers in so charming a way to 
 the old Yorkshire Hall and his imaginary Christmas 
 visit there. The remainder of the volume consists of 
 all the papers in his subsequent volume, Bracebridge 
 Ha//, in which the characters of the former series are 
 mentioned, only interpolated stories told or read by 
 the various characters having been omitted. 
 
 Washington Irving was born in New York city 
 April 3, 1783. His father, a sailor from the Orkneys, 
 had married Sarah Sanders of Falmouth and had been 
 settled in America for some years. Washington was 
 the youngest of the eight of his eleven children who 
 had survived childhood. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 At the age of fourteen, whilst yet at school, he had 
 formed the determination of running away from home 
 to go to sea, but reflecting on the diet and hard life 
 of a sailor, tried to school himself by eating salt pork 
 on every possible occasion, and getting out of bed at 
 nights and lying on the floor. If this discipline did 
 not have the effect of preparing him for a seafaring life 
 it seems to have altered his determination, for, as his 
 biographer says, " with every new trial the pork grew 
 less appetitious and the bare floor more hard, until at 
 length his faltering resolution came to a total eclipse." 
 
 On leaving school at the age of sixteen he did not, as 
 two of his brothers had done, go to college, but went 
 into the office of an advocate, with whom he remained 
 for about five years. He does not, however, seem to 
 have had any great liking for the law. 
 
 His health failing him there was consumption in the 
 family in 1804 he was sent to Europe at the cost 
 of his brothers, chiefly that of the eldest, William, 
 seventeen years his senior " the man I most loved on 
 earth," says Washington in later life. He was so ill 
 when he went on board the vessel that was to take 
 him to Bordeaux that the captain said to himself, 
 " There s a chap who will go overboard before we 
 get across," but every day ot the voyage seemed to 
 bring its measure of relief. His wanderings, even 
 though they were in the most frequented parts of 
 Europe, were delightfully full of adventure. For an 
 American to make his way through the Imperial 
 dominions at the outbreak of the war with England 
 was a matter of difficulty and some danger. At Nice 
 he was detained five weeks as a suspected spy ; once 
 captured by pirates ; saw Nelson s fleet off Messina 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 before Trafalgar, and in London the illuminations for 
 his victory. His first European trip lasted two years, 
 during which time he visited Sicily, Rome, Northern 
 Italy, Paris and England, and returned to New York 
 with re-established health and with the wanderer s 
 instinct deeply implanted. He laments want of success 
 in the law, but rejoices in greater opportunities for 
 literary work. The only occasion on which he 
 showed any enthusiasm for the legal profession was in 
 1807 at the trial of Aaron Burr, for some of whose 
 friends he had, his nephew says, an " informal 
 retainer." 
 
 Literary life and the amusements attending it were 
 his real passion, and his biographer gives many details 
 of life in New York at this period. He had begun 
 writing for the newspapers even before his trip to 
 Europe and continued to do so after his return, and 
 soon held a leading place among the younger American 
 writers. Salmagundi, in which he had the assistance 
 of one of his brothers, appeared under the editor 
 ship of J. K. Paulding in 1807 and was reprinted in 
 London in l8n. 
 
 In the same year as Salmagundi, and as soon as it 
 was finished, he commenced, also in conjunction with his 
 brother, Knickerbockers History oj Neiv ICork, which was 
 at once successful, though its publication was saddened 
 for him by the death at the same time of Matilda 
 Hoffman, the daughter of the advocate in whose office 
 he had studied law, for whom he had formed a strong 
 attachment. 
 
 His was one of the cases where such a wound never 
 heals. " It is an indication," says his nephew, " of the 
 depth of the author s feeling on this subject, that he 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 never alluded to this part of his history, or mentioned 
 the name of Matilda even to his most intimate friends ; 
 but after his death, in a repository of which he always 
 kept the key, a package was found marked outside, 
 Private Memo. . . . This memorial was a frag 
 ment of sixteen consecutive pages, of which the be 
 ginning and end were missing. . . . With these 
 memorials were found a miniature of great beauty, 
 enclosed in a case, and in it a braid of fair hair, on 
 which was written in his own hand, * Matilda 
 Hoffman. " The depth and lasting character of this 
 affection may perhaps be judged by the paper entitled 
 11 The Broken Heart," in The Sketch Book. 
 
 In 1813 and 1814 he contributed to American 
 Magazines some of the papers that were later to be 
 included in The Sketch Book. In the latter year we 
 find him serving for some time on the staff of the civic 
 army, though he does not appear to have been en 
 gaged in any actual fighting. The following year 
 on the conclusion of peace between America and 
 Great Britain, Irving once more visited Europe, this 
 time remaining for seventeen years. Here he made 
 his home with his brother Peter, in Birmingham. 
 
 Irving s intimates in England were at this time 
 chiefly Americans, and above all the American artists, 
 Alston, Leslie, and Newton. With Leslie especially 
 he lived on terms of brotherly affection, who on his 
 part fully reciprocated the feeling. 
 
 Through Thomas Campbell, for whom Peter Irving- 
 had done some service in obtaining American copyright, 
 Washington was introduced in 1817 to Sir Walter 
 Scott, who speaks of him in a letter printed in Lockhart s 
 Life as "one of the best and pleasantest acquaintances 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 I have made this many a day," and Irving in a letter 
 to his brother Peter from Abbotsford, writes in en 
 thusiastic admiration of Sir Walter thus : 
 
 "I cannot express my delight at Scott s character 
 and manners, he is a sterling, golden-hearted old 
 worthy, full of the joyousness of youth, with an 
 imagination continually furnishing forth pictures, and 
 a charming simplicity of manners that puts you at ease 
 with him in a moment. It has been a constant source 
 of pleasure to me to remark his deportment towards 
 his family, his neighbours, his domestics, his very 
 dogs and cats ; everything that comes within his 
 influence seems to catch a beam of that sunshine that 
 plays round his heart." 
 
 Perhaps gratitude may have had some share in pro 
 ducing these enthusiastic expressions of regard. The 
 Sketch Book appeared first in America, in numbers, in 
 1819, under the care of his brother Ebenezer and a 
 friend, where it immediately caught on. In the course 
 of the year the London Literary Gazette commenced a 
 reprint of the series. This being the case, Irving 
 naturally wished to find for his book an English 
 publisher that he might have the due reward of his 
 labour. He first tried Murray, who refused, then sent 
 the numbers to Scott to ask him to negotiate with 
 Constable in Edinburgh. Scott entered at once into 
 the business of finding a publisher with all the hearti 
 ness inspired by good-will to the author and a real 
 sense of the value of the book, which he pronounced 
 " positively beautiful." More than this, he offered 
 Irving an editorial post in Edinburgh, which was 
 declined, partly on account of its political character, 
 and largely by his dislike of being tied to the desk. 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 The publication of the English edition of The Sketch 
 Book was entrusted to Miller, who failed before its 
 completion, when Scott induced John Murray to take 
 it over. This was in 1820, and with the same 
 publisher were issued Bracebridge Hall in 1822 and 
 Tales of a Traveller, 1824. 
 
 In 1 8 1 8 he had been offered the office of First Clerk 
 to the Navy Department with a salary equal to 480 a 
 year, which to the chagrin of his brothers he refused, 
 assigning as his principal reason, " I do not wish to 
 take any situation that must involve me in such routine 
 duties as to prevent my attending to literary pursuits." 
 
 In 1826 A. H. Everett made him attache at the 
 U.S. Embassy at Madrid, and here it was that he 
 wrote his Life of Columbus, published in 1828, Conquest 
 of Granada, 1829, and The Alhambra, 1832, in which 
 year he returned to New York, remaining there for 
 the next ten years and then was appointed U.S. 
 Minister to Spain, a post he held for only four years, 
 returning before his time to the States in 1846, making 
 his home with his brother and nieces at Sunnyside, 
 New York State. 
 
 His Life of Goldsmith, enlarged from his contribution 
 to Baudry s British Authors, was published in 1849, and 
 his Life of Washington, in five volumes, between 1855 
 and 1859. 
 
 At the instance of his fast friend, G. P. Putnam, a 
 uniform edition of his works in fifteen volumes was 
 published in 1848-50. 
 
 Washington Irving died at Sunnyside on December I, 
 1859, an d li es buried by Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 F. J. S. 
 
CH1JJSTM4S 
 
 But is old, old, good old Christmas gone ? Nothing but the hair of 
 his good, gray, old head and beard left ? Well, I will have that, seeing 
 I cannot have more of him. "HuK AND CRY AFTER CHRISTMAS." 
 
 A man might then behold 
 
 At Christmas, in each hall 
 Good fires to curb the cold, 
 
 And meat for great and small. 
 The neighbours were friendly bidden, 
 
 And all had welcome true, 
 The poor from the gates were not chidden, 
 
 When this old cap was new. OLD SONG. 
 
 NOTHING in England exercises a more delightful spell 
 over my imagination, than the lingerings of the 
 holiday customs and rural games of former times. 
 They recall the pictures my fancy used to draw in 
 the May morning of life, when as yet I only knew 
 the world through books, and believed it to be all that 
 poets had painted it ; and they bring with them the 
 flavour of those honest days of yore, in which, 
 perhaps, with equal fallacy, I am apt to think the 
 world was more homebred, social, and joyous than at 
 present. I regret to say that they are daily growing 
 more and more faint, being gradually worn away by 
 A 
 
2 CW^TMAS AT B<HACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 time,-, but still .more obliterated by modern fashion. 
 They resemble those picturesque morsels of Gothic 
 architecture, which we see crumbling in various parts 
 of the country, partly dilapidated by the waste of 
 ages, and partly lost in the additions and alterations of 
 latter days. Poetry, however, clings with cherishing 
 fondness about the rural game and holiday revel, from 
 which it has derived so many of its themes as the 
 ivy winds its rich foliage about the Gothic arch and 
 mouldering tower, gratefully repaying their support, 
 by clasping together their tottering remains, and, as 
 it were, embalming them in verdure. 
 
 Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas 
 awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. 
 There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that 
 blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a 
 state of hallowed and elevated enjoyment. The 
 services of the church about this season are extremely 
 tender and inspiring. They dwell on the beautiful 
 story of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral 
 scenes that accompanied its announcement. They 
 gradually increase in fervour and pathos during the 
 season of Advent, until they break forth in full 
 jubilee on the morning that brought peace and good 
 will to men. I do not know a grander effect of 
 music on the moral feelings, than to hear the full 
 choir and the pealing organ performing a Christmas 
 anthem in a cathedral, and filling every part of the 
 vast pile with triumphant harmony. 
 
 It is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived from 
 days of yore, that this festival, which commemorates 
 the announcement of the religion of peace and love, 
 has been made the season for gathering together of 
 
CH<HISTMAS 3 
 
 family connections, and drawing closer again those 
 bands of kindred hearts, which the cares and pleasures 
 and sorrows of the world are continually operating to 
 cast loose : of calling back the children of a family, 
 who have launched forth in life, and wandered widely 
 asunder, once more to assemble about the paternal 
 hearth, that rallying-place of the affections, there to 
 grow young and loving again among the endearing 
 mementos of childhood. 
 
 There is something in the very season of the year 
 that gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At 
 other times we derive a great portion of our pleasures 
 from the mere beauties of nature. Our feelings sally 
 forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny land 
 scape, and we u live abroad and everywhere." The 
 song of the bird, the murmur of the stream, the 
 breathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness 
 of summer, the golden pomp of autumn ; earth with 
 its mantle of refreshing green, and heaven with its 
 deep delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, all 
 fill us with mute but exquisite delight, and we revel 
 in the luxury of mere sensation. But in the depth of 
 winter, when nature lies despoiled of every charm, and 
 wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn for 
 our gratifications to moral sources. The dreariness 
 and desolation of the landscape, the short gloomy 
 days and darksome nights, while they circumscribe 
 our wanderings, shut in our feelings also from ram 
 bling abroad, and make us more keenly disposed for 
 the pleasure of the social circle. Our thoughts are 
 more concentrated : our friendly sympathies more 
 aroused. We feel more sensibly the charm of each 
 other s society, and are brought more closely together 
 
4 CHRISTMAS Ar B<F(ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 by dependence on each other for enjoyment. Heart 
 calleth unto heart ; and we draw our pleasures from 
 the deep wells of loving-kindness, which lie in the 
 quiet recesses of our bosoms ; and which, when re 
 sorted to, furnish forth the pure element of domestic 
 felicity. 
 
 The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate 
 on entering the room filled with the glow and warmth 
 of the evening fire. The ruddy blaze diffuses an 
 artificial summer and sunshine through the room, and 
 lights up each countenance in a kindlier welcome. 
 Where does the honest face of hospitality expand into 
 a broader and more cordial smile where is the shy 
 glance of love more sweetly eloquent than by the 
 winter fireside ? and as the hollow blast of wintry 
 wind rushes through the hall, claps the distant door, 
 whistles about the casement, and rumbles down the 
 chimney, what can be more grateful than that feeling 
 of sober and sheltered security, with which we look 
 round upon the comfortable chamber and the scene of 
 domestic hilarity ? 
 
 The English, from the great prevalence of rural 
 habit throughout every class of society, have always 
 been fond of those festivals and holidays which agree 
 ably interrupt the stillness of country life ; and they 
 were, in former days, particularly observant of the 
 religious and social rites of Christmas. It is inspiring 
 to read even the dry details which some antiquaries 
 have given of the quaint humours, the burlesque 
 pageants, the complete abandonment to mirth and 
 good-fellowship, with which this festival was cele 
 brated. It seemed to throw open every door, and 
 unlock every heart. It brought the peasant and the 
 
CH<HISTMAS i 5 
 
 peer together, and blended all ranks in one warm 
 generous flow of joy and kindness. The old halls of 
 castles and manor-houses resounded with the harp and 
 the Christmas carol and their ample boards groaned 
 under the weight of hospitality. Even the poorest 
 cottage welcomed the festive season with green de 
 corations of bay and holly the cheerful fire 
 glanced its rays through the lattice, inviting the 
 passengers to raise the latch, and join the gossip 
 knot huddled round the hearth, beguiling the long 
 evening with legendary jokes and oft-told Christmas 
 tales. 
 
 One of the least pleasing effects of modern refine 
 ment is the havoc it has made among the hearty old 
 holiday customs. It has completely taken off the 
 sharp touchings and spirited reliefs of these embellish 
 ments of life, and has worn down society into a more 
 smooth and polished, but certainly a less characteristic 
 surface. Many of the games and ceremonials of 
 Christmas have entirely disappeared, and, like the 
 sherris sack of old FalstafF, are become matters of 
 speculation and dispute among commentators. They 
 flourished in times full of spirit and lustihood, when 
 men enjoyed life roughly, but heartily and vigorously ; 
 times wild and picturesque, which have furnished 
 poetry with its richest materials, and the drama with 
 its most attractive variety of characters and manners. 
 The world has become more worldly. There is more 
 of dissipation, and less of enjoyment. Pleasure has 
 expanded into a broader, but a shallower stream ; and 
 has forsaken many of those deep and quiet channels 
 where it flowed sweetly through the calm bosom of 
 domestic life. Society has acquired a more enlightened 
 
6 CH^STMAS AT B<HACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 and elegant tone ; but it has lost many of its strong 
 local peculiarities, its home-bred feelings, its honest 
 fireside delights. The traditionary customs of golden- 
 hearted antiquity, its feudal hospitalities, and lordly 
 wassailings, have passed away with the baronial castles 
 and stately manor-houses in which they were celebrated. 
 They comported with the shadowy hall, the great 
 oaken gallery, and the tapestried parlour, but are 
 unfitted to the light showy saloons and gay drawing- 
 rooms of the modern villa. 
 
 Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive 
 honours, Christmas is still a period of delightful 
 excitement in England. It is gratifying to see that 
 home feeling completely aroused which holds so 
 powerful a place in every English bosom. The 
 preparations making on every side for the social board 
 that is again to unite friends and kindred ; the presents 
 of good cheer passing and repassing, those tokens of 
 regard, and quickeners of kind feelings ; the evergreens 
 distributed about houses and churches, emblems of 
 peace and gladness ; all these have the most pleasing 
 effect in producing fond associations, and kindling 
 benevolent sympathies. Even the sound of the 
 Waits, rude as may be their minstrelsy, breaks upon 
 the mid-watches of a winter night with the effect of 
 
 O 
 
 perfect harmony. As I have been awakened by them 
 in that still and solemn hour, " when deep sleep falleth 
 upon man," I have listened with a hushed delight, 
 and, connecting them with the sacred and joyous 
 occasion, have almost fancied them into another 
 celestial choir, announcing peace and good-will to 
 mankind. 
 
 How delightfully the imagination, when wrought 
 
CH1(ISTMAS , 7 
 
 upon by these moral influences, turns everything to 
 melody and beauty ! The very crowing of the cock, 
 heard sometimes in the profound repose of the country 
 " telling the night watches to his feathery dames," 
 was thought by the common people to announce the 
 approach of this sacred festival : 
 
 " Some say that ever gainst the season comes 
 Wherein our Saviour s birth is celebrated, 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long ; 
 And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
 The nights are wholesome then no planets strike, 
 No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, 
 So hallowed and so gracious is the time." 
 
 Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of 
 the spirits, and stir of the affections, which prevail at 
 this period, what bosom can remain insensible ? It 
 is, indeed, the season of regenerated feeling the 
 season for kindling, not merely the fire of hospitality 
 in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the heart. 
 
 The scene of early love again rises green to memory 
 beyond the sterile waste of years ; and the idea of 
 home, fraught with the fragrance of home-dwelling 
 joys, reanimates the drooping spirit ; as the Arabian 
 breeze will sometimes waft the freshness of the distant 
 fields to the weary pilgrim of the desert. 
 
 Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land though 
 for me no social hearth may blaze, no hospitable roof 
 throw open its doors, nor the warm grasp of friendship 
 welcome me at the threshold yet I feel the influence 
 of the season beaming into my soul from the happy 
 looks of those around me. Surely happiness is reflective 
 like the light of heaven ; and every countenance, 
 bright with smiles, and glowing with innocent enjoy- 
 
8 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 ment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of a 
 supreme and ever-shining benevolence. He who can 
 turn churlishly away from contemplating the felicity 
 of his fellow-beings, and can sit down darkling and 
 repining in his loneliness when all around is joyful, 
 may have his moments of strong excitement and 
 selfish gratification, but he wants the genial and social 
 sympathies which constitute the charm of a merry 
 Christmas. 
 
THE STAGE COACH 
 
 Omne bene 
 
 Sine pcena 
 Tempus est ludendi, 
 
 Venit hora 
 
 Absque mora 
 Libros deponendi. 
 
 OLD HOLIDAY SCHOOL SOKG. 
 
 IN the preceding paper I have made some general 
 observations on the Christmas festivities of England, 
 and am tempted to illustrate them by some anecdotes 
 of a Christmas passed in the country ; in perusing 
 which I would most courteously invite my reader to 
 lay aside the austerity of wisdom, and to put on that 
 genuine holiday spirit which is tolerant of folly, and 
 anxious only for amusement. 
 
 In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I 
 rode for a long distance in one of the public coaches, 
 on the day preceding Christmas. The coach was 
 crowded, both inside and out, with passengers, who, 
 by their talk, seemed principally bound to the mansions, 
 of relations or friends, to eat the Christmas dinner, 
 It was loaded also with hampers of game, and baskets 
 and boxes of delicacies ; and hares hung dangling 
 their long ears about the coachman s box, presents 
 from distant friends for the impending feast. I had 
 three fine rosy-cheeked school-boys for my fellow- 
 
 9 
 
io CH<I{ISTMAS AT B<I(ACEB<%IDGE HALL 
 
 passengers inside, full of the buxom health and manly 
 spirit which I have observed in the children of this 
 country. They were returning home for the holidays 
 in high glee, and promising themselves a world of 
 enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic 
 plans of the little rogues, and the impracticable feats 
 they were to perform during their six weeks emanci 
 pation from the abhorred thraldom of book, birch, and 
 pedagogue. They were full of anticipations of the 
 meeting with the family and household, down to the 
 very cat and dog ; and of the joy they were to give 
 their little sisters by the presents with which their 
 pockets were crammed ; but the meeting to which 
 they seemed to look forward with the greatest 
 impatience was with Bantam, which I found to be a 
 pony, and according to their talk, possessed of more 
 virtues than any steed since the days of Bucephalus. 
 How he could trot ! how he could run ! and then 
 such leaps as he would take there was not a hedge 
 in the whole country that he could not clear. 
 
 They were under the particular guardianship of 
 the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity 
 presented, they addressed a host of questions, and 
 pronounced him one of the best fellows in the world. 
 Indeed, I could not but notice the more than ordinary 
 air of bustle and importance of the coachman, who 
 wore his hat a little on one side, and had a large 
 bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the buttonhole of 
 his coat. He is always a personage full of mighty 
 care and business, but he is particularly so during this 
 season, having so many commissions to execute in 
 consequence of the great interchange of presents. 
 And here, perhaps, it may not be unacceptable to my 
 
THE STAGE COACH n 
 
 untravelled readers, to have a sketch that may serve 
 as a general representation of this very numerous and 
 important class of functionaries, who have a dress, a 
 manner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves, 
 and prevalent throughout the fraternity ; so that, 
 wherever an English stage-coachman may be seen, 
 he cannot be mistaken for one of any other craft or 
 mystery. 
 
 He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously 
 mottled with red, as if the blood had been forced by 
 hard feeding into every vessel of the skin ; he is 
 swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent potations of 
 malt liquors, and his bulk is still further increased by 
 a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like a 
 cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. He 
 wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat ; a huge 
 roll of coloured handkerchief about his neck, know 
 ingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom ; and has 
 in summertime a large bouquet of flowers in his 
 buttonhole; the present, most probably, of some 
 enamoured country lass. His waistcoat is commonly 
 of some bright colour, striped, and his smallclothes 
 extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of jockey- 
 boots which reach about half-way up his legs. 
 
 All this costume is maintained with much pre 
 cision ; he has a pride in having his clothes of ex 
 cellent materials ; and, notwithstanding the seeming 
 grossness of his appearance, there is still discernible 
 that neatness and propriety of person which is almost 
 inherent in an Englishman. He enjoys great conse 
 quence and consideration along the road ; has frequent 
 conferences with the village housewives, who look 
 upon him as a man of great trust and dependence ; 
 
12 CHRISTMAS AT B^CEB^IDGE HALL 
 
 and he seems to have a good understanding with every 
 bright-eyed country lass. The moment he arrives 
 where the horses are to be changed, he throws down 
 the reins with something of an air, and abandons the 
 cattle to the care of the ostler ; his duty being merely 
 to drive from one stage to another. When off the 
 box, his hands are thrust into the pockets of his great 
 coat, and he rolls about the inn yard with an air of 
 the most absolute lordliness. Here he is generally 
 surrounded by an admiring throng of ostlers, stable- 
 boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless hangers-on that 
 infest inns and taverns, and run errands, and do all 
 kinds of odd jobs, for the privilege of battening on 
 the drippings of the kitchen and the leakage of the 
 taproom. These all look up to him as to an oracle ; 
 treasure up his cant phrases ; echo his opinions about 
 horses and other topics of jockey lore ; and above all, 
 endeavour to imitate his air and carriage. Every 
 ragamuffin that has a coat to his back thrusts his 
 hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and 
 is an embryo Coachey. 
 
 Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity 
 that reigned in my own mind, that I fancied I saw 
 cheerfulness in every countenance throughout the 
 journey. A stage coach, however, carries animation 
 always with it, and puts the world in motion as it 
 whirls along. The horn, sounded at the entrance of 
 a village, produces a general bustle. Some hasten 
 forth to meet friends ; some with bundles and band 
 boxes to secure places, and in the hurry of the 
 moment can hardly take leave of the group that 
 accompanies them. In the meantime the coachman 
 has a world of small commissions to execute. Some- 
 
THE STAGE COACH 13 
 
 times he delivers a hare or pheasant ; sometimes jerks 
 a small parcel or newspaper to the door of a public- 
 house ; and sometimes, with knowing leer and words 
 of sly import, hands to some half-blushing, half- 
 laughing housemaid an odd-shaped billet-doux from 
 some rustic admirer. As the coach rattles through 
 the village, every one runs to the window, and you 
 have glances on every side of fresh country faces and 
 blooming giggling girls. At the corners are assembled 
 juntos of village idlers and wise men, who take their 
 stations there for the important purpose of seeing 
 company pass ; but the sagest knot is generally at 
 the blacksmith s, to whom the passing of the coach 
 is an event fruitful of much speculation. The smith, 
 with the horse s heel in his lap, pauses as the vehicle 
 whirls by ; the cyclops round the anvil suspend their 
 ringing hammers, and suffer the iron to grow cool ; 
 and the sooty spectre in brown paper cap, labouring 
 at the bellows, leans on the handle for a moment, and 
 permits the asthmatic engine to heave a long-drawn 
 sigh, while he glares through the murky smoke and 
 sulphureous gleams of the smithy. 
 
 Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a 
 more than usual animation to the country, for it 
 seemed to me as if everybody was in good looks and 
 good spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxuries of 
 the table, were in brisk circulation in the villages ; 
 the grocers , butchers , and fruiterers shops were 
 thronged with customers. The housewives were 
 stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings in 
 order ; and the glossy branches of holly, with their 
 bright red berries, began to appear at the windows. 
 The scene brought to mind an old writer s account 
 
14 CH<%ISTMAS AT ET(ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 of Christmas preparations: " Now capons and hens, 
 besides turkeys geese, and ducks, with beef and 
 mutton must all die for in twelve days a multitude 
 of people will not be fed with a little. Now plums 
 and spice, sugar and honey, square it among pies and 
 broth. Now or never must music be in tune, for 
 the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat, 
 while the aged sit by the fire. The country maid 
 leaves half her market, and must be sent again, if she 
 forgets a pack of cards on Christmas eve. Great is 
 the contention of holly and ivy, whether master or 
 dame wears the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the 
 butler ; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will 
 sweetly lick his fingers." 
 
 I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation, 
 by a shout from my little travelling companions. 
 They had been looking out of the coach windows for 
 the last few miles, recognising every tree and cottage 
 as they approached home, and now there was a 
 general burst of joy " There s John ! and there s 
 old Carlo ! and there s Bantam ! " cried the happy 
 little rogues, clapping their hands. 
 
 At the end of the lane there was an old sober- 
 looking servant in livery, waiting for them ; he was 
 accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and by the 
 redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony, with a 
 shaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stood dozing 
 quietly by the road-side, little dreaming of the 
 bustling times that awaited him. 
 
 I was pleased to see the fondness with which the 
 little fellows leaped about the steady old footman, 
 and hugged the pointer ; who wriggled his whole 
 body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of 
 
THE STAGE COACH 15 
 
 interest ; all wanted to mount at once, and it was 
 with some difficulty that John arranged that they 
 should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride 
 first. 
 
 Off they set at last ; one on the pony, with the 
 dog bounding and barking before him, and the others 
 holding John s hands; both talking at once, and 
 overpowering him with questions about home, and 
 with school anecdotes. I looked after them with a 
 feeling in which I do not know whether pleasure or 
 melancholy predominated ; for I was reminded of 
 those days when, like them, I had neither known 
 care nor sorrow, and a holiday was the summit of 
 earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments after 
 wards to water the horses, and on resuming our route, 
 a turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat 
 country seat. I could just distinguish the forms of a 
 lady and two young girls in the portico, and I saw 
 my little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old 
 John, trooping along the carriage road. I leaned out 
 of the coach window, in hopes of witnessing the 
 happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my 
 sight. 
 
 In the evening we reached a village where I had 
 determined to pass the night. As we drove into the 
 great gateway of the inn, I saw on one side the light 
 of a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a window. 
 I entered, and admired, for the hundredth time, that 
 picture of convenience, neatness, and broad, honest 
 enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It was of 
 spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin 
 vessels highly polished, and decorated here and there 
 with a Christmas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches 
 
16 CHUISTJUS Ar B^ACEB^IDGE HALL 
 
 of bacon, were suspended from the ceiling ; a smoke- 
 jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the fireplace, 
 and a clock ticked in one corner. A well-scoured 
 deal table extended along one side of the kitchen, 
 with a cold round of beef and other hearty viands 
 upon it, over which two foaming tankards of ale 
 seemed mounting guard. Travellers of inferior order 
 were preparing to attack this stout repast, while 
 others sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on 
 two high-backed oaken settles beside the fire. Trim 
 housemaids were hurrying backwards and forwards 
 under the directions of a fresh bustling landlady ; but 
 still seizing an occasional moment to exchange a 
 flippant word, and have a rallying laugh with the 
 group round the fire. The scene completely realised 
 Poor Robin s humble idea of the comforts of mid 
 winter : 
 
 Now trees their leafy hats do bare 
 To reverence Winter s silver hair ; 
 A handsome hostess, merry host, 
 A pot of ale now and a toast, 
 Tobacco and a good coal fire, 
 Are things this season doth require. 1 
 
 I had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise 
 drove up to the door. A young gentleman stepped 
 out, and by the light of the lamps I caught a glimpse 
 of a countenance which I thought I knew. I moved 
 forward to get a nearer view, when his eye caught 
 mine. I was not mistaken ; it was Frank Bracebridge, 
 a sprightly good-humoured young fellow, with whom 
 I had once travelled on the Continent. Our meeting 
 was extremely cordial, for the countenance of an old 
 
 Poor Robin s Almanac, 1684. 
 
7 , , - 
 
 c ~&Jith knowing Jee.r 
 luords of sly import. 
 
 ^. J."- j " jtL ~^ ~ , > >- 
 
THE STAGE COACH i 7 
 
 fellow-traveller always brings up the recollection of a 
 thousand pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent 
 jolces. To discuss all these in a transient interview 
 at an inn was impossible ; and finding that I was not 
 pressed for time, and was merely making a tour of 
 observation, he insisted that I should give him a day 
 or two at his father s country seat, to which he was 
 going to pass the holidays, and which lay at a few 
 miles distance. "It is better than eating a solitary 
 Christmas dinner at an inn," said he, "and I can 
 assure you of a hearty welcome in something of the 
 old-fashioned style." His reasoning was cogent, and 
 I must confess the preparation I had seen for universal 
 festivity and social enjoyment had made me feel a 
 little impatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, 
 at once, with his invitation ; the chaise drove up to 
 the door, and in a few moments I was on my way to 
 the family mansion of the Bracebridges. 
 
Saint Francis and Saint Benedight 
 
 Blesse this house from wicked wight 5 
 
 From the night-mare and the goblin, 
 
 That is hight good fellow Robin : 
 
 Keep it from all evil spirits, 
 
 Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets : 
 From curfew time 
 To the next prime. CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 IT was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely 
 cold ; our chaise whirled rapidly over the frozen 
 ground ; the postboy smacked his whip incessantly, 
 and a part of the time his horses were on a gallop. 
 " He knows where he is going," said my companion, 
 laughing, "and is eager to arrive in time for some of 
 the merriment and good cheer of the servants hall. 
 My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of 
 the old school, and prides himself upon keeping up 
 something of old English hospitality. He is a tolerable 
 specimen of what you will rarely meet with now-a- 
 days in its purity, the old English country gentleman ; 
 for our men of fortune spend so much of their time in 
 town, and fashion is carried so much into the country, 
 that the strong rich peculiarities of ancient rural life 
 are almost polished away. My father, however, from 
 early years, took honest Peacham l for his text- book, 
 
 1 Peacham s Complete Gentleman, 1622. 
 18 
 
CHltJSTMAS EVE 19 
 
 instead of Chesterfield ; he determined, in his own 
 mind, that there was no condition more truly honour 
 able and enviable than that of a country gentleman 
 on his paternal lands, and therefore passes the whole 
 of his time on his estate. He is a strenuous advocate 
 for the revival of the old rural games and holiday 
 observances, and is deeply read in the writers, ancient 
 and modern, who have treated on the subject. 
 Indeed, his favourite range of reading is among the 
 authors who flourished at least two centuries since ; 
 who, he insists, wrote and thought more like true 
 Englishmen than any of their successors. He even 
 regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few 
 centuries earlier, when England was itself, and had its 
 peculiar manners and customs. As he lives at some 
 distance from the main road, in rather a lonely part of 
 the country, without any rival gentry near him, he has 
 that most enviable of all blessings to an Englishman, 
 an opportunity of indulging the bent of his own 
 humour without molestation. Being representative 
 of the oldest family in the neighbourhood, and a great 
 part of the peasantry being his tenants, he is much 
 looked up to, and, in general, is known simply by the 
 appellation of The Squire ; a title which has been 
 accorded to the head of the family since time im 
 memorial. I think it best to give you these hints 
 about my worthy old father, to prepare you for 
 any eccentricities that might otherwise appear 
 absurd." 
 
 We had passed for some time along the wall of a 
 park, and at length the chaise stopped at the gate. 
 It was in a heavy magnificent old style, of iron bars, 
 fancifully wrought at top into flourishes and flowers. 
 
20 CH^STMAS AT B^ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 The huge square columns that supported the gate 
 were surmounted by the family crest. Close adjoining 
 was the porter s lodge, sheltered under dark fir-trees, 
 and almost buried in shrubbery. 
 
 The postboy rang a large porter s bell, which 
 resounded through the still frosty air, and was answered 
 by the distant barking of dogs, with which the 
 mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old woman 
 immediately appeared at the gate. As the moonlight 
 fell strongly upon her, I had a full view of a little 
 primitive dame, dressed very much in the antique 
 taste, with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her 
 silver hair peeping from under a cap of snowy white 
 ness. She came curtseying forth, with many 
 expressions of simple joy at seeing her young master. 
 Her husband, it seemed, was up at the house keeping 
 Christmas eve in the servants hall ; they could not 
 do without him, as he was the best hand at a song 
 and story in the household. 
 
 My friend proposed that we should alight and walk 
 through the park to the hall, which was at no great 
 distance, while the chaise should follow on. Our 
 road wound through a noble avenue of trees, among 
 the naked branches of which the moon glittered as 
 she rolled through the deep vault of a cloudless sky. 
 The lawn beyond was sheeted with a slight covering 
 of snow, which here and there sparkled as the moon 
 beams caught a frosty crystal; and at a distance 
 might be seen a thin transparent vapour, stealing up 
 from the low grounds and threatening gradually to 
 shroud the landscape. 
 
 My companion looked around him with transport : 
 c< How often," said he, " have I scampered up this 
 
CH1{1STM4S EVE 21 
 
 avenue, on returning home on school vacations ! 
 How often have I played under these trees when a 
 boy ! I feel a degree of filial reverence for them, 
 as we look up to those who have cherished us in 
 childhood. My father was always scrupulous in 
 exacting our holidays, and having us around him on 
 family festivals. He used to direct and superintend 
 our games with the strictness that some parents do 
 the studies of their children. He was very particular 
 that we should play the old English games according 
 to their original form; and consulted old books for 
 precedent and authority for every c merrie disport ; 
 yet I assure you there never was pedantry so delight 
 ful. It was the policy of the good old gentleman to 
 make his children feel that home was the happiest 
 place in the world ; and I value this delicious home 
 feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent could 
 bestow." 
 
 We were interrupted by the clamour of a troop of 
 dogs of all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp 
 and hound, and curs of low degree," that, disturbed 
 by the ring of the porter s bell, and the rattling of 
 the chaise, came bounding, open-mouthed, across the 
 lawn. 
 
 " The little dogs and all, 
 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart see, they bark at me ! " 
 
 cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his 
 voice, the bark was changed into a yelp of delight, and 
 in a moment he was surrounded and almost over 
 powered by the caresses of the faithful animals. 
 
 We had now come in full view of the old family 
 mansion, partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly 
 
22 CHRISTMAS AT B^CE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 lit up by the cold moonshine. It was an irregular 
 building, of some magnitude, and seemed to be of 
 the architecture of different periods. One wing was 
 evidently very ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow 
 windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from 
 among the foliage of which the small diamond-shaped 
 panes of glass glittered with the moonbeams. The 
 rest of the house was in the French taste of Charles 
 the Second s time, having been repaired and altered, 
 as my friend told me, by one of his ancestors, who re 
 turned with that monarch at the Restoration. The 
 grounds about the house were laid out in the old 
 formal manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped 
 shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy stone balus 
 trades, ornamented with urns, a leaden statue or two, 
 and a jet of water. The old gentleman, I was told, 
 was extremely careful to preserve this obsolete finery 
 in all its original state. He admired this fashion in 
 gardening ; it had an air of magnificence, was courtly 
 and noble, and befitting good old family style. The 
 boasted imitation of nature in modern gardening, 
 had sprung up with modern republican notions, but 
 did not suit a monarchical government j it smacked 
 of the levelling system. I could not help smiling at 
 this introduction of politics into gardening, though I 
 expressed some apprehension that I should find the 
 old gentleman rather intolerant in his creed. Frank 
 assured me, however, that it was almost the only in 
 stance in which he had ever heard his father meddle 
 with politics ; and he believed that he had got this 
 notion from a member of parliament who once passed 
 a few weeks with him. The squire was glad of any 
 argument to defend his clipped yew-trees and formal 
 
CH C %ISTMAS EVE 23 
 
 terraces, which had been occasionally attacked by 
 modern landscape-gardeners. 
 
 As we approached the house, we heard the sound 
 of music, and now and then a burst of laughter, from 
 one end of the building. This, Bracebridge said, 
 must proceed from the servants hall, where a great 
 deal of revelry was permitted, and even encouraged, 
 by the squire, throughout the twelve days of Christ 
 mas, provided everything was done conformably to 
 ancient usage. Here were kept up the old games of 
 hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, steal 
 the white loaf, bob apple, and snap dragon : the Yule 
 clog and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and 
 the mistletoe, with its white berries, hung up, to the 
 imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids. 1 
 
 So intent were the servants upon their sports, that 
 we had to ring repeatedly before we could make our 
 selves heard. On our arrival being announced, the 
 squire came out to receive us, accompanied by his two 
 other sons ; one a young officer in the army, home on 
 leave of absence ; the other an Oxonian, just from 
 the University. The squire was a fine healthy-look 
 ing old gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly 
 round an open florid countenance ; in which the 
 physiognomist, with the advantage, like myself, of 
 a previous hint or two, might discover a singular 
 mixture of whim and benevolence. 
 
 The family meeting was warm and affectionate : as 
 the evening was far advanced, the squire would not 
 permit us to change our travelling dresses, but ushered 
 
 1 The mistletoe is still hung up in farmhouses and kitchens at 
 Christmas, and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls 
 under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the berries 
 are all plucked, the privilege ceases. 
 
24 CH^SrMAS AT B ( I(ACEB C I(IDGE HALL 
 
 us at once to the company, which was assembled in a 
 large old-fashioned hall. It was composed of different 
 branches of a numerous family connection, where 
 there were the usual proportion of old uncles and 
 aunts, comfortable married dames, superannuated 
 spinsters, blooming country cousins, half-fledged 
 striplings, and bright-eyed boarding-school hoydens. 
 They were variously occupied ; some at a round game 
 of cards; others conversing around the fireplace ; at 
 one end of the hall was a group of the young folks, 
 some nearly grown up, others of a more tender and 
 budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game ; and 
 a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and 
 tattered dolls, about the floor, showed traces of a 
 troup of little fairy beings, who, having frolicked 
 through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber 
 through a peaceful night. 
 
 While the mutual greetings were going on between 
 young Bracebridge and his relatives, I had time to 
 scan the apartment. I have called it a hall, for so it 
 had certainly been in old times, and the squire had 
 evidently endeavoured to restore it to something of 
 its primitive state. Over the heavy projecting fire 
 place was suspended a picture of a warrior in armour, 
 standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall 
 hung a helmet, buckler, and lance. At one end an 
 enormous pair of antlers were inserted in the wall, 
 the branches serving as hooks on which to suspend 
 hats, whips, and spurs; and in the corners of the 
 apartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other 
 sporting implements. The furniture was of the 
 cumbrous workmanship of former days, though some 
 articles of modern convenience had been added, and 
 
25 
 
 the oaken floor had been carpeted ; so that the whole 
 presented an odd mixture of parlour and hall. 
 
 The grate had been removed from the wide over 
 whelming fireplace, to make way for a fire of wood, 
 in the midst of which was an enormous log glowing 
 and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light 
 and heat ; this I understood was the Yule clog, which 
 the squire was particular in having brought in and 
 illumined on a Christmas eve, according to ancient 
 custom. 1 
 
 It was really delightful to see the old squire seated 
 in his hereditary elbow chair, by the hospitable fire 
 place of his ancestors, and looking around him like 
 the sunjof a system, beaming warmth and gladness to 
 every heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched 
 at his feet, as he lazily shifted his position and yawned, 
 would look fondly up in his master s face, wag his 
 tail against the floor, and stretch himself again to 
 
 1 The Yule clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a tree, brought 
 into the house with great ceremony, on Christmas eve, laid in the fire 
 place, and lighted with the brand of last year s clog. While it lasted, 
 there was great drinking, singing, and telling of tales. Sometimes it 
 was accompanied by Christmas candles ; but in the cottages the only 
 light was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood fire. The Yule clog 
 was to burn all night ; if it went ont, it was considered a sign of ill luck. 
 
 Herrick mentions it in one of his songs 
 
 Come, bring with a noise, 
 
 My merrie, merrie boyes, 
 The Christmas log to the firing ; 
 
 While my good dame, she 
 
 Bids ye all be free, 
 And drink to your hearts desiring. 
 
 The Yule clog is still burnt in many farmhouses and kitchens in 
 England, particularly in the north, andjthere are several superstitions con 
 nected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come to the 
 house while it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is considered an 
 ill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule clog is carefully put 
 away to light the next year s Christmas fire. 
 
26 CH<%ISTM4S AT B^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There is 
 an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality, 
 which cannot be described, but is immediately felt, 
 and puts the stranger at once at his ease. I had 
 not been seated many minutes by the comfortable 
 hearth of the worthy old cavalier, before I found 
 myself as much at home as if I had been one of 
 the family. 
 
 Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. 
 It was served up in a spacious oaken chamber, the 
 panels of whjch shone with wax, and around which 
 were several family portraits decorated with holly and 
 ivy. Besides the accustomed lights, two great wax 
 tapers, called Christmas candles, wreathed with 
 greens, were placed on a highly-polished beaufet 
 among the family plate. The table was abundantly 
 spread with substantial fare ; but the squire made his 
 supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes 
 boiled in milk, with rich spices, being a standing dish 
 in old times for Christmas eve. I was happy to find 
 my old friend, minced pie, in the retinue of the feast ; 
 and finding him to be perfectly orthodox, and that I 
 need not be ashamed of my predilection, I greeted 
 him with all the warmth wherewith we usually greet 
 an old and very genteel acquaintance. 
 
 The mirth of the company was greatly promoted 
 by the humours of an eccentric personage whom Mr 
 Bracebridge always addressed with the quaint appella 
 tion of Master Simon. He was a tight brisk little 
 man, with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose 
 was shaped like the bill of a parrot ; his face slightly 
 pitted with the small-pox, with a dry perpetual bloom 
 on it, like a frostbitten leaf in autumn. He had an 
 
EVE 27 
 
 eye of great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery 
 and lurking waggery of expression that was irresist 
 ible. He was evidently the wit of the family, dealing 
 very much in sly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, 
 and making infinite merriment by harpings upon old 
 themes ; which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the 
 family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. It 
 seemed to be his great delight during supper to keep 
 a young girl next him in a continual agony of stifled 
 laughter, in spite of her awe of the reproving looks of 
 her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was the 
 idol of the younger part of the company, who laughed 
 at everything he said or did, and at every turn of his 
 countenance. I could not wonder at it ; for he must 
 have been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. 
 He could imitate Punch and Judy ; make an old 
 woman of his hand, with the assistance of a burnt 
 cork and pocket-handkerchief; and cut an orange 
 into such a ludicrous caricature, that the young folks 
 were ready to die with laughing. 
 
 I was let briefly into his history by Frank Brace- 
 bridge. He was an old bachelor, of a small inde 
 pendent income, which, by careful management, was 
 sufficient for all his wants. He revolved through the 
 family system like a vagrant comet in its orbit ; 
 sometimes visiting one branch, and sometimes 
 another quite remote ; as is often the case with gentle 
 men of extensive connections and small fortunes in 
 England. He had a chirping buoyant disposition, 
 always enjoying the present moment ; and his 
 frequent change of scene and company prevented his 
 acquiring those rusty unaccommodating habits with 
 which old bachelors are so uncharitably charged. He 
 
28 CH<I(ISTMAS AT B<I(ACEB ( PJDGE HALL 
 
 was a complete family chronicle, being versed in the 
 genealogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole 
 house of Bracebridge, which made him a great 
 favourite with the old folks ; he was the beau of all 
 the elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among 
 whom he was habitually considered rather a young 
 fellow, and he was r.. aster of the revels among the 
 children ; so that there was not a more popular being 
 in the sphere in which he moved than Mr Simon 
 Bracebridge. Of late years he had resided almost 
 entirely with the squire, to whom he had become a 
 factotum, and whom he particularly delighted by 
 jumping with his humour in respect to old times, and 
 by having a scrap of an old song to suit every occasion. 
 We had presently a specimen of his last-mentioned 
 talent, for no sooner was supper removed, and spiced 
 wines and other beverages peculiar to the season 
 introduced, than Master Simon was called on for a 
 good old Christmas song. He bethought himself for 
 a moment, and then, with a sparkle of the eye, and a 
 voice that was by no means bad, excepting that it ran 
 occasionally into a falsetto, like the notes of a split 
 reed, he quavered forth a quaint old ditty. 
 
 Now Christmas is come, 
 
 Let us beat up the drum, 
 And call all our neighbours together, 
 
 And when they appear, 
 
 Let us make them such cheer, 
 As will keep out the wind and the weather, &c. 
 
 The supper had disposed every one to gaiety, and 
 an old harper was summoned from the servants hall, 
 where he had been strumming all the evening, and to 
 
CH^STMAS EVE 29 
 
 all appearance comforting himself with some of the 
 squire s home-brewed. He was a kind of hanger-on, 
 I was told, of the establishment, and, though osten 
 sibly a resident of the village, was oftener to be found 
 in the squire s kitchen than his own home, the old 
 gentleman being fond of the sound of " harp in 
 hall." 
 
 The dance, like most dances after supper, was a 
 merry one ; some of the older folks joined in it, and 
 the squire himself figured down several couple with a 
 partner, with whom he affirmed he had danced at 
 every Christmas for nearly half a century. Master 
 Simon, who seemed to be a kind of connecting link 
 between the old times and the new, and to be withal 
 a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments, 
 evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was 
 endeavouring to gain credit by the heel and toe, 
 rigadoon, and other graces of the ancient school ; but 
 he had unluckily assorted himself with a little romping 
 girl from boarding-school, who, by her wild vivacity, 
 kept him continually on the stretch, and defeated all 
 his sober attempts at elegance : such are the ill- 
 assorted matches to which antique gentlemen are un 
 fortunately prone ! 
 
 The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out 
 one of his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a 
 thousand little knaveries with impunity ; he was full 
 of practical jokes, and his delight was to tease his 
 aunts and cousins ; yet, like all madcap youngsters, 
 he was a universal favourite among the women. The 
 most interesting couple in the dance was the young 
 officer and a ward of the squire s, a beautiful blushing 
 girl of seventeen. From several shy glances which I 
 
30 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 had noticed in the course of the evening, I suspected 
 there was a little kindness growing up between them ; 
 and, indeed, the young soldier was just the hero to 
 captivate a romantic girl. He was tall, slender, and 
 handsome, and like most young British officers of late 
 years, had picked up various small accomplishments 
 on the Continent he could talk French and Italian 
 draw landscapes, sing very tolerably dance divinely ; 
 but, above all, he had been wounded at Waterloo : 
 what girl of seventeen, well read in poetry and 
 romance, could resist such a mirror of chivalry and 
 perfection ! 
 
 The moment the dance was over, he caught up a 
 guitar, and lolling against the old marble fireplace, in 
 an attitude which I am half inclined to suspect was 
 studied, began the little French air of the Trouba 
 dour. The squire, however, exclaimed against having 
 anything on Christmas eve but good old English ; 
 upon which the young minstrel, casting up his eye 
 for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, struck 
 into another strain, and, with a charming air of 
 gallantry, gave Herrick s " Night-Piece to Julia." 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
 The shooting stars attend thee, 
 
 And the elves also, 
 
 Whose little eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire befriend thee. 
 
 No Will-o -the-Wisp mislight thee ; 
 Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee 
 
 But on, on thy way, 
 
 Not making a stay, 
 Since ghost there is none to affright thee. 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE^ > 31 
 
 Then let not the dark thee cumber, 
 What tho the moon does slumber, 
 
 The stars of the night 
 
 Will lend thee their light, 
 Like tapers clear without number. 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
 Thus, thus to come unto me, 
 
 And when I shall meet 
 
 Thy silvery feet, 
 My soul I ll pour into thee. 
 
 The song might or might not have been intended 
 in compliment to the fair Julia, for so I found his 
 partner was called ; she, however, was certainly un 
 conscious of any such application, for she never looked 
 at the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon the floor. 
 Her face was suffused, it is true, with a beautiful 
 blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the bosom, 
 but all that was doubtless caused by the exercise of 
 the dance ; indeed, so great was her indifference, that 
 she amused herself with plucking to pieces a choice 
 bouquet of hot-house flowers, and by the time the 
 song was concluded the nosegay lay in ruins on the 
 floor. 
 
 The party now broke up for the night with the 
 kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I 
 passed through the hall, on my way to my chamber, 
 the dying embers of the Yule clog still sent forth a 
 dusky glow, and had it not been the season when 
 " no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half 
 tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep 
 whether the fairies might not be at their revels about 
 the hearth. 
 
 My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, 
 
32 CH<%ISTMAS A<I B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 the ponderous furniture of which might have been 
 fabricated in the days of the giants. The room was 
 panelled, with cornices of heavy carved work, in 
 which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely 
 intermingled ; and a row of blaclc-looking portraits 
 stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed 
 was of rich though faded damask, with a lofty tester, 
 and stood in a niche opposite a bow window. I had 
 scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemed 
 to break forth in the air just below the window. I 
 listened, and found it proceeded from a band, which 
 I concluded to be the waits from some neighbouring 
 village. They went round the house, playing under 
 the windows. I drew aside the curtains to hear them 
 more distinctly. The moonbeams fell through the 
 upper part of the casement, partially lighting up the 
 antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, 
 became more soft and aerial, and seemed to accord 
 with the quiet and moonlight. I listened and listened 
 they became more and more tender and remote, 
 and, as they gradually died away, my head sunk upon 
 the pillow, and I fell asleep. 
 

 <v vjXr 
 
 She, houerer, MAS certainly 
 unconscious of Any Such. 
 
CH<%ISTM4S DAT 
 
 Dark and dull night, flie hence away, 
 And give the honour to this day 
 That sees December turn d to May. 
 
 Why does the chilling winter s morne 
 
 Smile like a field beset with corn ? 
 
 Or smell like to a meade new-shorne, 
 
 Thus on the sudden ? Come and see 
 
 The cause why things thus fragrant be. HZRRICK. 
 
 WHEN I woke the next morning, it seemed as if all 
 the events of the preceding evening had been a dream, 
 and nothing but the identity of the ancient chamber 
 convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing 
 on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet patter 
 ing outside of the door, and a whispering consultation. 
 Presently a choir of small voices chanted forth an old 
 Christmas carol, the burden of which was 
 
 Rejoice, our Saviour he was born 
 On Christmas day in the morning. 
 
 I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the door 
 suddenly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little 
 fairy groups that a painter could imagine. It con 
 sisted of a boy and two girls, the eldest not more than 
 six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going the 
 c 33 
 
34 CH^STMAS AT B<%ACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 rounds of the house, and singing at every chamber 
 door ; but my sudden appearance frightened them 
 into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment 
 playing on their lips with their fingers, and now and 
 then stealing a shy glance, from under their eyebrows, 
 until, as if by one impulse, they scampered away, and 
 as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them 
 laughing in triumph at their escape. 
 
 Everything conspired to produce kind and happy 
 feelings in this stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. 
 The window of my chamber looked out upon what in 
 summer would have been a beautiful landscape. 
 There was a sloping lawn, a fine stream winding at 
 the foot of it, and a tract of park beyond, with noble 
 clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a distance 
 was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage 
 chimneys hanging over it ; and a church with its 
 dark spire in strong relief against the clear cold sky. 
 The house was surrounded with evergreens, according 
 to the English custom, which would have given 
 almost an appearance of summer ; but the morning 
 was extremely frosty ; the light vapour of the pre 
 ceding evening had been precipitated by the cold, and 
 covered all the trees and every blade of grass with its 
 fine crystallisations. The rays of a bright morning 
 sun had a dazzling effect among the glittering foliage. 
 A robin, perched upon the top of a mountain ash that 
 hung its clusters of red berries just before my window, 
 was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a few 
 querulous notes ; and a peacock was displaying all the 
 glories of his train, and strutting with the pride and 
 gravity of a Spanish grandee, on the terrace walk 
 below. 
 
, 
 
 / They rernuneii >r & moment * *--- 
 phyine on 
 
 * ., 
 
 5 %:^. . -. 
 
CH<I(ISTMAS DAT 35 
 
 I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant 
 appeared to invite me to family prayers. He showed 
 me the way to a small chapel in the old wing of the 
 house, where I found the principal part of the family 
 already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with 
 cushions, hassocks, and large prayer-books ; the 
 servants were seated on benches below. The old 
 gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the 
 gallery, and Master Simon acted as clerk, and made 
 the responses ; and I must do him the justice to say 
 that he acquitted himself with great gravity and 
 decorum. 
 
 The service was followed by a Christmas carol, 
 which Mr Bracebridge himself had constructed from 
 a poem of his favourite author, Herrick ; and it had 
 been adapted to an old church melody by Master 
 Simon. As there were several good voices among the 
 household, the effect was extremely pleasing ; but I 
 was particularly gratified by the exaltation of heart, 
 and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the 
 worthy squire delivered one stanza : his eye glistening, 
 and his voice rambling out of all the bounds of time 
 and tune. 
 
 " Tis thou that crown st my glittering hearth 
 
 With guiltlesse mirth, 
 And givest me Wassaile bowles to drink 
 
 Spiced to the brink : 
 Lord, tis thy plenty-dropping hand 
 
 That soiles my land : 
 And giv st me for my bushell sownc, 
 
 Twice ten for one." 
 
 I afterwards understood that early morning service 
 was read on every Sunday and saint s day throughout 
 
36 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 the year, either by Mr Bracebridge or by some 
 member of the family. It was once almost universally 
 the case at the seats of the nobility and gentry of 
 England, and it is much to be regretted that the 
 custom is falling into neglect ; for the dullest observer 
 must be sensible of the order and serenity prevalent in 
 those households, where the occasional exercise of a 
 beautiful form of worship in the morning gives, as it 
 were, the key-note to every temper for the day, and 
 attunes every spirit to harmony. 
 
 Our breakfast consisted of what the squire de 
 nominated true old English fare. He indulged in some 
 bitter lamentations over modern breakfasts of tea and 
 toast, which he censured as among the causes of 
 modern effeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline 
 of old English heartiness ; and though he admitted 
 them to his table to suit the palates of his guests, yet 
 there was a brave display of cold meats, wine, and ale 
 on the sideboard. 
 
 After breakfast I walked about the grounds with 
 Frank Bracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr Simon, 
 as he was called by everybody but the squire. We 
 were escorted by a number of gentlemanlike dogs, 
 that seemed loungers about the establishment ; from 
 the frisking spaniel to the steady old stag-hound ; the 
 last of which was of a race that had been in the 
 family time out of mind ; they were all obedient to a 
 dog-whistle which hung to Master Simon s button 
 hole, and in the midst of their gambols would glance 
 an eye occasionally upon a small switch he carried in 
 his hand. 
 
 The old mansion had a still more venerable look in 
 the yellow sunshine than by pale moonlight ; and I 
 
DAT 37 
 
 could not but feel the force of the squire s idea, that 
 the formal terraces, heavily-moulded balustrades, and 
 clipped yew-trees, carried with them an air of proud 
 aristocracy. There appeared to be an unusual number 
 of peacocks about the place, and I was making some 
 remarks upon what I termed a flock of them, that 
 were basking under a sunny wall, when I was gently 
 corrected in my phraseology by Master Simon, who 
 told me that, according to the most ancient and ap 
 proved treatise on hunting, I must say a muster of 
 peacocks. "In the same way," added he, with a 
 slight air of pedantry, "we say a flight of doves or 
 swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens or 
 cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks." He 
 went on to inform me that, according to Sir Anthony 
 Fitzherbert, we ought to ascribe to this bird " both 
 understanding and glory ; for, being praised, he will 
 presently set up his tail, chiefly against the sun, to the 
 intent you may the better behold the beauty thereof. 
 But at the fall of the leaf, when his tail falleth, he 
 will mourn and hide himself in corners, till his tail 
 come again as it was." 
 
 I could not help smiling at this display of small 
 erudition on so whimsical a subject ; but I found that 
 the peacocks were birds of some consequence at the 
 hall ; for Frank Bracebridge informed me that they 
 were great favourites with his father, who was ex 
 tremely careful to keep up the breed ; partly because 
 they belonged to chivalry, and were in great request 
 at the stately banquets of the olden time ; and partly 
 because they had a pomp and magnificence about 
 them, highly becoming an old family mansion. 
 Nothing, he was accustomed to say, had an air of 
 
38 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 greater state and dignity than a peacock perched upon 
 an antique stone balustrade. 
 
 Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an 
 appointment at the parish church with the village 
 choristers, who were to perform some music of his 
 selection. There was something extremely agreeable 
 in the cheerful flow of animal spirits of the little man ; 
 and I confess 1 had been somewhat surprised at his apt 
 quotations from authors who certainly were not in the 
 range of everyday reading. I mentioned this last 
 circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me 
 with a smile that Master Simon s whole stock of 
 erudition was confined to some half a dozen old 
 authors, which the squire had put into his hands, and 
 which he read over and over whenever he had a 
 studious fit, as he sometimes had on a rainy day, 
 or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzher- 
 bert s Book of Husbandry ; Markham s Country 
 Contentments ; the Tretyse of Hunting, by Sir 
 Thomas Cockayne, Knight ; Isaac Walton s 
 Angler, and two or three more such ancient 
 worthies of the pen, were his standard authorities ; 
 and, like all men who know but a few books, he 
 looked up to them with a kind of idolatry, and quoted 
 them on all occasions. As to his songs, they were 
 chiefly picked out of old books in the squire s library, 
 and adapted to tunes that were popular among the 
 choice spirits of the last century. His practical 
 application of scraps of literature, however, had 
 caused him to be looked upon as a prodigy of book 
 knowledge by all the grooms, huntsmen, and small 
 sportsmen of the neighbourhood. 
 
 While we were talking, we heard the distant toll 
 
. . 
 
 , 
 
 
DAT 39 
 
 of the village bell, and I was told that the squire was 
 a little particular in having his household at church 
 on a Christmas morning ; considering it a day of 
 pouring out of thanks and rejoicing ; for, as old 
 Tusser observed, 
 
 " At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal^ 
 
 And feast thy poor neighbours, the great with the small." 
 
 " If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank 
 Bracebridge, " I can promise you a specimen of my 
 cousin Simon s musical achievements. As the church 
 is destitute of an organ, he has formed a band from 
 the village amateurs, and established a musical club 
 for their improvement ; he has also sorted a choir, as 
 he sorted my father s pack of hounds, according to 
 the directions of Jervaise Markham, in his Country 
 Contentments; for the bass he has sought out all the 
 deep, solemn mouths, and for the tenor the c loud- 
 ringing mouths, among the country bumpkins, and 
 for < sweet mouths, he has culled with curious taste 
 among the prettiest lasses in the neighbourhood ; 
 though these last, he affirms, are the most difficult to 
 keep in tune ; your pretty female singer being ex 
 ceedingly wayward and capricious, and very liable to 
 accident." 
 
 As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably 
 fine and clear, the most of the family walked to the 
 church, which was a very old building of gray stone, 
 and stood near a village, about half a mile from the 
 park gate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage, 
 which seemed coeval with the church. The front of 
 it was perfectly matted with a yew-tree that had been 
 trained against its walls, through the dense foliage of 
 
40 CH<I{ISTMAS Ar Bl(/tCEB f RJDGE HALL 
 
 which, apertures had been formed to admit light into 
 the small antique lattices. As we passed this sheltered 
 nest, the parson issued forth and preceded us. 
 
 I had expected to see a sleek well-conditioned 
 pastor, such as is often found in a snug living in the 
 vicinity of a rich patron s table, but I was disappointed. 
 The parson was a little, meagre, black-looking man, 
 with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and stood off 
 from each ear, so that his head seemed to have shrunk 
 away within it, like a dried filbert in its shell. He 
 wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets that 
 would have held the church Bible and Prayer-book ; 
 and his small legs seemed still smaller, from being 
 planted in large shoes, decorated with enormous 
 buckles, ty" 
 
 I was informed by Frank Bracebridge, that the 
 parson had been a chum of his father s at Oxford, and 
 had received this living shortly after the latter had 
 come to his estate. He was a complete black-letter 
 hunter, and would scarcely read a work printed in the 
 Roman character. The editions of Caxton and 
 Wynkin de Worde were his delight ; and he was in 
 defatigable in his researches after such old English 
 writers as have fallen into oblivion from their worth- 
 lessness. In deference, perhaps, to the notions of Mr 
 Bracebridge, he had made diligent investigations into 
 the festive rites and holiday customs of former times, 
 and had been as zealous in the inquiry as if he had 
 been a boon companion, but it was merely with that 
 plodding spirit with which men of adust temperament 
 follow up any track of study merely because it is 
 denominated learning, indifferent to its intrinsic 
 nature, whether it be the illustration of the wisdom 
 
CH^STMAS DAT 41 
 
 or of the ribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. He 
 had pored over these old volumes so intensely, that 
 they seemed to have been reflected into his 
 countenance, which, if the face be indeed an index of 
 the mind, might be compared to a title-page of black- 
 letter. 
 
 On reaching the church porch, we found the parson 
 rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used 
 mistletoe among the greens with which the church 
 was decorated. It was, he observed, an unholy plant, 
 profaned by having been used by the Druids in their 
 mystic ceremonies ; and though it might be inno 
 cently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls 
 and kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers 
 of the Church as unhallowed, and totally unfit for 
 sacred purposes. So tenacious was he on this point, 
 that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a great 
 part of the humble trophies of his taste, before the 
 parson would consent to enter upon the service of the 
 day. 
 
 The interior of the church was venerable but 
 simple ; on the walls were several mural monuments 
 of the Bracebridges, and just beside the altar was a 
 tomb of ancient workmanship, on which lay the effigy 
 of a warrior in armour, with his legs crossed, a sign of 
 his having been a crusader. I was told it was one of 
 the family who had signalised himself in the Holy 
 Land, and the same whose picture hung over the fire 
 place in the hall. 
 
 During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, 
 and repeated the responses very audibly ; evincing 
 that kind of ceremonious devotion punctually observed 
 by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of old 
 
42 CH^STMAS AT Bl^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 family connections. I observed, too, that he turned 
 over the leaves of a folio prayer-book with something 
 of a flourish ; possibly to show off an enormous seal- 
 ring which enriched one of his fingers, and which had 
 the look of a family relic. But he was evidently 
 most solicitous about the musical part of the service, 
 keeping his eye fixed intently on the choir, and beat 
 ing time with much gesticulation and emphasis. 
 
 The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented 
 a most whimsical grouping of heads, piled one above 
 the other, among which I particularly noticed that of 
 the village tailor, a pale fellow with a retreating fore 
 head and chin, who played on the clarionet, and 
 seemed to have blown his face to a point ; and there 
 was another, a short pursy man, stooping and labour 
 ing at a bass-viol, so as to show nothing but the top 
 of a round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. 
 There were two or three pretty faces among the 
 female singers, to which the keen air of a frosty 
 morning had given a bright rosy tint ; but the gentle 
 men choristers had evidently been chosen, like old 
 Cremona fiddles, more for tone than looks ; and as 
 several had to sing from the same book, there were 
 clusterings of odd physiognomies, not unlike those 
 groups of cherubs we sometimes see on country 
 tombstones. 
 
 The usual services of the choir were managed 
 tolerably well, the vocal parts generally lagging a 
 little behind the instrumental, and some loitering 
 fiddler now and then making up for lost time by 
 travelling over a passage with prodigious celerity, and 
 clearing more bars than the keenest fox-hunter to be 
 in at the death. But the great trial was an anthem 
 
..-^c*^-- - - jj ; . ^ N 
 ..." 
 
 v.f C ho /en, like eld Cnmana - 
 fiddles, more for tone than look* 
 
 ^>%J: 
 
CHRISTMAS DAT 43 
 
 that had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, 
 and on which he had founded great expectation. Un 
 luckily there was a blunder at the very onset ; the 
 musicians became flurried ; Master Simon was in a 
 fever ; everything went on lamely and irregularly 
 until they came to a chorus beginning " Now let us 
 sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal 
 for parting company : all became discord and con 
 fusion ; each shifted for himself, and got to the end 
 as well, or rather, as soon as he could, excepting one 
 old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles, bestriding 
 and pinching a long sonorous nose, who happened to 
 stand a little apart, and, being wrapped up in his own 
 melody, kept on a quavering course, wriggling his 
 head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal 
 solo of at least three bars duration. 
 
 The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the 
 rites and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety 
 of observing it not merely as a day of thanksgiving, 
 but of rejoicing ; supporting the correctness of his 
 opinions by the earliest usages of the church, and 
 enforcing them by the authorites of Theophilus of 
 Cesarea, St Cyprian, St Chrysostom, St Augustine, 
 and a cloud more of saints and fathers, from whom he 
 made copious quotations. I was a little at a loss to 
 perceive the necessity of such a mighty array of 
 forces to maintain a point which no one present 
 seemed inclined to dispute ; but I soon found that the 
 good man had a legion of ideal adversaries to contend 
 with ; having, in the course of his researches on the 
 subject of Christmas, got completely embroiled in the 
 sectarian controversies of the Revolution, when the 
 Puritans made such a fierce assault upon the cere- 
 
44 CH^STMAS AT B<f(ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 monies of the church, and poor old Christmas was 
 driven out of the land by proclamation of Parliament. 1 
 The worthy parson lived but with times past, and 
 knew but little of the present. 
 
 Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retire 
 ment of his antiquated little study, the pages of old 
 times were to him as the gazettes of the day ; while 
 the era of the Revolution was mere modern history. 
 He forgot that nearly two centuries had elapsed since 
 the fiery persecution of poor mince-pie throughout 
 the land ; when plum porridge was denounced as 
 " mere poppery," and roast-beef as anti-Christian ; 
 and that Christmas had been brought in again triumph 
 antly with the merry court of King Charles at the 
 Restoration. He kindled into warmth with the 
 ardour of his contest, and the host of imaginary foes 
 with whom he had to combat ; he had a stubborn 
 conflict with old Prynne and two or three other for 
 gotten champions of the Roundheads, on the subject 
 of Christmas festivity ; and concluded by urging his 
 hearers, in the most solemn and affecting manner, to 
 stand to the traditional customs of their fathers, and 
 feast and make merry on this joyful anniversary of 
 the church. 
 
 1 From the Flying Eagle, a small Gazette, published December 
 24th, 1652 "The House spent much time this day about the business 
 of the Navy, for settling the affairs at sea, and before they rose, were 
 presented with a terrible remonstrance against Christmas day, grounded 
 upon divine Scriptures, 2 Cor. v. 16 ; i Cor. xv. 14, 17 ; and in honour 
 of the Lord s day, grounded upon these Scriptures : John xx. i ; 
 Rev. i. 10 ; Psalms cxviii. 24; Lev. xxiii. 7, 1 1 ; Mark xv. 8; Psalms 
 Ixxxiv. 10 ; in which Christmas is called Anti-Christ s masse, and those 
 Masse-mongers and Papists who observe it, &c. In consequence of 
 which Parliament spent some time in consultation about the abolition 
 of Christmas day, passed orders to that effect, and resolved to sit on the 
 following day, which was commonly called Christmas day." 
 
- 
 
 ft! 
 
 V ; " , The M, frlk . 
 
 , i A4?/jr /^> $/ churehty&dt Grtet- 
 
 Vv ; * v, ( > -^^" ^ - ,,,^ f ri-: ,-;/, ; 
 
 /^ , * ;,-..* V, 
 
CH1(ISTMJS DAT 45 
 
 I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently 
 with more immediate effects ; for on leaving the 
 church the congregation seemed one and all possessed 
 with the gaiety of spirit so earnestly enjoined by their 
 pastor. The elder folks gathered in knots in the 
 churchyard, greeting and shaking hands ; and the 
 children ran about crying " Ule ! Ule ! " and repeat 
 ing some uncouth rhymes, 1 which the parson, who 
 had joined us, informed me had been handed down 
 from days of yore. The villagers doffed their hats to 
 the squire as he passed, giving him the good wishes 
 of the season with every appearance of heartfelt 
 sincerity, and were invited by him to the hall, to take 
 something to keep out the cold of the weather ; and 
 I heard blessings uttered by several of the poor, 
 which convinced me that, in the midst of his enjoy 
 ments, the worthy old cavalier had not forgotten the 
 true Christmas virtue of charity. 
 
 On our way homeward his heart seemed overflowed 
 with generous and happy feelings. As we passed 
 over a rising ground which commanded something of 
 a prospect, the sounds of rustic merriment now and 
 then reached our ears : the squire paused for a few 
 moments, and looked around with an air of inexpress 
 ible benignity. The beauty of the day was of itself 
 sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwithstanding 
 the frostiness of the morning, the sun in his cloudless 
 journey had acquired sufficient power to melt away 
 the thin covering of snow from every southern de 
 clivity, and to bring out the living green which 
 adorns an English landscape even in mid-winter. 
 
 1 Ulc ! Ule ! 
 
 Three puddings in a pule ; 
 Crack nuts and cry Ule !" 
 
46 CH^STMAS Ar Bl^CEBltlDGE HALL 
 
 Large tracts of smiling verdure contrasted with the 
 dazzling whiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows. 
 Every sheltered bank, on which the broad rays rested, 
 yielded its silver rill of cold and limpid water, glitter 
 ing through the dripping grass ; and sent up slight 
 exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung 
 just above the surface of the earth. There was 
 something truly cheering in this triumph of warmth 
 and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter ; it 
 was, as the squire observed, an emblem of Christmas 
 hospitality, breaking through the chills of ceremony and 
 selfishness, and thawing every heart into a flow. He 
 pointed with pleasure to the indications of good cheer 
 reeking from the the chimneys of the comfortable 
 farm-houses, and low thatched cottages. <c I love," 
 said he, " to see this day well kept by rich and poor ; 
 it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at least, 
 when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, 
 and of having, as it were, the world all thrown open 
 to you ; and I am almost disposed to join with Poor 
 Robin, in his malediction on every churlish enemy to 
 this honest festival : 
 
 " Those who at Christmas do repine, 
 And would fain hence despatch him, 
 
 May they with old Duke Humphry dine, 
 Or else may Squire Ketch catch em." 
 
 The squire went on to lament the deplorable decay 
 of the games and amusements which were once pre 
 valent at this season among the lower orders, and 
 countenanced by the higher ; when the old halls of 
 castles and manor-houses were thrown open at day 
 light ; when the tables were covered with brawn, 
 and beef, and humming ale ; when the harp and the 
 
wa<-, j. :-,"* " 
 #> ^%^-Tt , , , . 
 
 *\ \ , /A<? /aa> performed a cwri 
 
 curious 
 and intricate ci&nce. 
 
CH<I(ISTMAS DAT 47 
 
 carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor 
 were alike welcome to enter and make merry. 1 v " Our 
 old games and local customs," said he, " had a great 
 effect in making the peasant fond of his home, and 
 the promotion of them by the gentry made him fond 
 of his lord. They made the times merrier, and 
 kinder, and better ; and I can truly say with one of 
 our old poets : 
 
 " I like them well the curious preciseness 
 And all-pretended gravity of those 
 That seek to banish hence these harmless sports, 
 Have thrust away much ancient honesty." 
 
 " The nation," continued he, u is altered ; we have 
 almost lost our simple true-hearted peasantry. They 
 have broken asunder from the higher classes, and 
 seem to think their interests are separate. They 
 have become too knowing, and begin to read news 
 papers, listen to ale-house politicians, and talk of 
 reform. I think one mode to keep them in good 
 humour in these hard times would be for the nobility 
 and gentry to pass more time on their estates, mingle 
 more among the country people, and set the merry 
 old English games going again." 
 
 Such was the good squire s project for mitigating 
 public discontent ; and, indeed, he had once attempted 
 to put his doctrine in practice, and a few years before 
 had kept open house during the holidays in the old 
 
 1 " An English gentleman, at the opening of the great day (i.e. on 
 Christmas day in the morning), had all his tenants and neighbours enter 
 his hall by daybreak. The strong beer was broached, and the black 
 jacks went plentifully about with toast, sugar, and nutmeg, and good 
 Cheshire cheese. The Hackin (the great sausage) must be boiled by 
 daybreak, or else two young men must take the maiden (i.e. the cook) 
 by the arms, and run her round the market-place till the it shamed of 
 her laziness."- ROUND ABOUT OUR SKA COAL FIRI. 
 
48 CH^STMAS Ar B<I(ACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 style. The country people, however, did not under 
 stand how to play their parts in the scene of hospi 
 tality; many uncouth circumstances occurred; the 
 manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the country, 
 and more beggars drawn into the neighbourhood in 
 one week than the parish officers could get rid of in a 
 year. Since then he had contented himself with 
 inviting the decent part of the neighbouring peasantry 
 to call at the hall on Christmas day, and with 
 distributing beef, and bread, and ale, among the poor, 
 that they might make merry in their own dwellings. 
 
 We had not been long home when the sound of 
 music was heard from a distance. A band of country 
 lads, without coats, their shirt sleeves fancifully tied 
 with ribands, their hats decorated with greens, and 
 clubs in their hands, were seen advancing up the 
 avenue, followed by a large number of villagers and 
 peasantry. They stopped before the hall door, where 
 the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads per 
 formed a curious and intricate dance, advancing, 
 retreating, and striking their clubs together, keeping 
 exact time to the music ; while one, whimsically 
 crowned with a fox s skin, the tail of which flaunted 
 down his back, kept capering round the skirts of the 
 dance, and rattling a Christmas box, with many antic 
 gesticulations. 
 
 The squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great 
 interest and delight, and gave me a full account of its 
 origin, which he traced to the times when the Romans 
 held possession of the island, plainly proving that this 
 was a lineal descendant of the sword dance of the 
 ancients. " It was now," he said, " nearly extinct, 
 but he had accidentally met with traces of it in the 
 
DAT 49 
 
 neighbourhood, and had encouraged its revival; though 
 to tell the truth, it was too apt to be followed up by 
 the rough cudgel-play and broken heads in the 
 evening." 
 
 After the dance was concluded, the whole party 
 was entertained with brawn and beef, and stout home 
 brewed. The squire himself mingled among the rus 
 tics, and was received with awkward demonstrations 
 of deference and regard. It is true, I perceived two 
 or three of the younger peasants, as they were raising 
 their tankards to their mouths, when the squire s back 
 was turned, making something of a grimace, and 
 giving each other the wink, but the moment they 
 caught my eye, they pulled grave faces, and were 
 exceedingly demure. With Master Simon, however, 
 they all seemed more at their ease. His varied 
 occupations and amusements had made him well 
 known throughout the neighbourhood. He was a 
 visitor at every farm house and cottage, gossiped with 
 the farmers and their wives, romped with their 
 daughters, and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor, 
 the humble-bee, tolled the sweets from all the rosy 
 lips of the country round. 
 
 The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before 
 good cheer and affability. There is something 
 genuine and affectionate in the gaiety of the lower 
 orders, when it is excited by the bounty and familiarity 
 of those above them ; the warm glow of gratitude 
 enters into their mirth, and a kind word or a small 
 pleasantry frankly uttered by a patron, gladdens the 
 heart of the dependant more than oil and wine. 
 
 When the squire had retired, the merriment in 
 creased, and there was much joking and laughter, 
 D 
 
50 CH^STMAS AT B<t(ACEB<l{lDGE HALL 
 
 particularly between Master Simon and a hale, ruddy- 
 faced, white-headed farmer, who appeared to be the 
 wit of the village ; for I observed all his companions 
 to wait with open mouths for his retorts, and burst 
 into a gratuitous laugh before they could well under 
 stand them. 
 
 The whole house, indeed, seemed abandoned to 
 merriment ; as I passed to my room to dress for 
 dinner, I heard the sound of music in a small court, 
 and looking through a window that commanded it, I 
 perceived a band of wandering musicians, with 
 pandean pipes and tambourine ; a pretty, coquettish 
 housemaid was dancing a jig with a smart country 
 lad, while several of the other servants were looking 
 on. In the midst of her sport, the girl caught a 
 glimpse of my face at the window, and, colouring up, 
 ran off with an air of roguish affected confusion. 
 
Lo ! now is come our joyful st feast ! 
 
 Let every man be jolly ; 
 Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest, 
 
 And every post with holly, 
 Now all our neighbours chimneys smoke, 
 
 And Christmas blocks are burning j 
 Their ovens they with bak t meats choke, 
 And all their spits are turning. 
 
 Without the door let sorrow lie, 
 
 And if, for cold, it hap to die, 
 
 We ll bury t in a Christmas pye, 
 
 And evermore be merry. WITHERS JUVENILLA. 
 
 I HAD finished my toilet, and was loitering with 
 Frank Bracebridge in the library, when we heard a 
 distinct thwacking sound, which he informed me was 
 a signal for the serving up of the dinner. The squire 
 kept up old customs in kitchen as well as hall ; and 
 the rolling-pin, struck upon the dresser by the cook, 
 summoned the servants to carry in the meats. 
 
 Just in this nick the cook knock d thrice, 
 And all the waiters in a trice 
 
 His summons did obey ; 
 Each serving man, with dish in hand, 
 March d boldly up, like our train band, 
 
 Presented and away. 1 
 
 The dinner was served up in the great hall, where 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 51 
 
52 CH<HISTMAS AT B<P^CEE<PJDGE HALL 
 
 the squire always held his Christmas banquet. A 
 blazing crackling fire of logs had been heaped on to 
 warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went 
 sparkling and wreathing up the wide-mouthed 
 chimney. The great picture of the crusader and his 
 white horse had been profusely decorated with greens 
 for the occasion ; and holly and ivy had likewise been 
 wreathed round the helmet and weapons on the 
 opposite wall, which I understood were the arms of 
 the same warrior. I must own, by the by, I had 
 strong doubts about the authenticity of the painting 
 and armour as having belonged to the crusader, they 
 certainly having the stamp of more recent days ; but 
 I was told that the painting had been so considered 
 time out of mind ; and that, as to the armour, it had 
 been found in a lumber-room, and elevated to its 
 present situation by the squire, who at once determined 
 it to be the armour of the family hero ; and as he was 
 absolute authority on all such subjects in his own 
 household, the matter had passed into current accepta 
 tion. A sideboard was set out just under this 
 chivalric trophy, on which was a display of plate that 
 might have vied (at least in variety) with Belshazzar s 
 parade of the vessels of the temple : " flagons, cans, 
 cups,beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers ;" the gorgeous 
 utensils of good companionship that had gradually 
 accumulated through many generations of jovial 
 housekeepers. Before these stood the two Yule 
 candles, beaming like two stars of the first magnitude ; 
 other lights were distributed in branches, and the 
 whole array glittered like a firmament of silver. 
 
 We were ushered into this banqueting scene with 
 the sound of minstrelsy, the old harper being seated on 
 
THE CH1(ISTM4S DINNER 53 
 
 a stool beside the fireplace, and twanging his instru 
 ment with a vast deal more power than melody. 
 Never did Christmas board display a more goodly and 
 gracious assemblage of countenances ; those who were 
 not handsome were, at least, happy ; and happiness is 
 a rare improver of your hard-favoured visage. I 
 always consider an old English family as well worth 
 studying as a collection of Holbein s portraits or 
 Albert Diirer s prints. There is much antiquarian 
 lore to be acquired ; much knowledge of the physiog 
 nomies of former times. Perhaps it may be from 
 having continually before their eyes those rows of old 
 family portraits with which the mansions of this 
 country are stocked ; certain it is, that the quaint 
 features of antiquity are often most faithfully per 
 petuated in these ancient lines ; and I have traced an 
 old family nose through a whole picture-gallery, 
 legitimately handed down from generation to genera 
 tion, almost from the time of the Conquest. Some 
 thing of the kind was to be observed in the worthy 
 company around me. Many of their faces had 
 evidently originated in a gothic age, and been merely 
 copied by succeeding generations ; and there was one 
 little girl in particular, of staid demeanour, with a high 
 Roman nose, and an antique vinegar aspect, who was 
 a great favourite of the squire s, being, as he said, a 
 Bracebridge all over, and the very counterpart of 
 one of his ancestors who figured in the court of 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 The parson said grace, which was not a short 
 familiar one, such as is commonly addressed to the 
 Deity in these unceremonious days; but a long, 
 courtly, well- worded one of the ancient school. 
 
54 CHRISTMAS AT B<I{ACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 There was now a pause, as if something was expected ; 
 when suddenly the butler entered the hall with some 
 degree of bustle : he was attended by a servant on 
 each side with a large wax-light, and bore a silver dish, 
 on which was an enormous pig s head, decorated with 
 rosemary, with a lemon in its mouth, which was 
 placed with great formality at the head of the table. 
 The moment this pageant made its appearance, the 
 harper struck up a flourish ; at the conclusion of 
 which the young Oxonian, on receiving a hint from 
 the squire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, 
 an old carol, the first verse of which was as follows: 
 
 Caput apri defero, 
 
 Reddens laudes Domino. 
 The boar s head in hand bring I, 
 With garlands gay and rosemary, 
 I pray you all synge merily 
 
 Qui estis in convivio. 
 
 Though prepared to witness many of these little 
 eccentricities, from being apprised of the peculiar 
 hobby of mine host ; yet, I confess, the parade with 
 which so odd a dish was introduced somewhat per 
 plexed me, until I gathered from the conversation of 
 the squire and the parson, that it was meant to repre 
 sent the bringing in of the boar s head ; a dish 
 formerly served up with much ceremony and the 
 sound of minstrelsy and song, at great tables, on 
 Christmas day. "I like the old custom," said the 
 squire, u not merely because it is stately and pleasing 
 in itself, but because it was observed at the college at 
 Oxford at which I was educated. When I hear the 
 old song chanted, it brings to mind the time when I 
 was young and gamesome and the noble old college 
 
THE CH1(ISTMAS DINNER 55 
 
 hall and my fellow-students loitering about in their 
 black gowns ; many of whom, poor lads, are now in 
 their graves ! " 
 
 The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted 
 by such associations, and who was always more taken 
 up with the text than the sentiment, objected to the 
 Oxonian s version of the carol, which, he affirmed, 
 was different from that sung at college. He went 
 on, with the dry perseverance of a commentator, to 
 give the college reading, accompanied by sundry 
 annotations ; addressing himself at first to the com 
 pany at large ; but finding their attention gradually 
 diverted to other talk and other objects, he lowered 
 his tone as his number of auditors diminished, until he 
 concluded his remarks in an under voice to a fat- 
 headed old gentleman next him, who was silently 
 engaged in the discussion of a huge plateful of 
 turkey. 1 
 
 1 The old ceremony of serving up the boar s head on Christmas day is 
 still observed in the hall of Queen s College, Oxford. I was favoured 
 by the parson with a copy of the carol as now sung ; and as it may be 
 acceptable to such of my readers as are curious in these grave and learned 
 matters, I give it entire : 
 
 The boar s head in hand bear I, 
 Bedeck d with bays and rosemary ; 
 And I pray you, my masters, be merry, 
 Quot estis in convivio. 
 Caput apri defero, 
 Reddens laudes Domino. 
 
 The boar s head, as I understand, 
 Is the rarest dish in all this land, 
 Which thus bedeck d with a gay garland 
 Let us servire cantico. 
 Caput apri defero, &c. 
 
 Our steward hath provided this 
 In honour of the King of Bliss, 
 Which on this day to be served is 
 In Reginensi Atrio. 
 
 Caput apri defero, &c. &c. &c, 
 
56 CH1(ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and 
 presented an epitome of country abundance, in this 
 season of overflowing larders. A distinguished post 
 was allotted to u ancient sirloin," as mine host termed 
 it ; being, as he added, " the standard of old English 
 hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and full of 
 expectation." There were several dishes quaintly de 
 corated, and which had evidently something traditional 
 in their embellishments ; but about which, as I did not 
 like to appear over-curious, I asked no questions. 
 
 I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently 
 decorated with peacock s feathers, in imitation of the 
 tail of that bird, which overshadowed a considerable 
 tract of the table. This, the squire confessed, with 
 some little hesitation, was a pheasant pie, though a 
 peacock pie was certainly the most authentical ; but 
 there had been such a mortality among the peacocks 
 this season, that he could not prevail upon himself to 
 have one killed. 1 
 
 It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, 
 who may not have that foolish fondness for odd and 
 obsolete things, to which I am a little given, were I 
 
 1 The peacock was anciently in great demand for stately entertainments. 
 Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which the head appeared 
 above the crust, in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt : at the 
 other end the tail was displayed. Such pies were served up at the solemn 
 banquets of chivalry, when knights-errant pledged themselves to under 
 take any perilous enterprise ; whence came the ancient oath, used by 
 Justice Shallow, " by cock and pie." 
 
 The peacock was also an important dish for the Christmas feast ; and 
 Massinger, in his City Madam, gives some idea of the extravagance 
 with which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the gorgeous 
 revels of the olden times : 
 
 " Men may talk of country Christmasses : 
 Their thirty pound butter d eggs their pies of carps tongues : 
 Their pheasants drench d with ambergris; the carcases of three fat 
 wethers bruited for gravy to make sauce for a single peacock ! " 
 
THE CH<RJSTMAS DINNER 57 
 
 to mention the other makeshifts of this worthy old 
 humorist, by which he was endeavouring to follow up, 
 though at humble distance, the quaint customs of 
 antiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the respect 
 shown to his whims by his children and relatives ; who, 
 indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and 
 seemed all well versed in their parts ; having doubtless 
 been present at many a rehearsal. I was amused, too, 
 at the air of profound gravity with which the butler 
 and other servants executed the duties assigned them, 
 however eccentric. They had an old-fashioned look ; 
 having, for the most part, been brought up in the 
 household, and grown into keeping with the anti 
 quated mansion, and the humours of its lord ; and 
 most probably looked upon all his whimsical regulations 
 as the established laws of honourable housekeeping. 
 
 When the cloth was removed, the butler brought 
 in a huge silver vessel of rare and curious workmanship, 
 which he placed before the squire. Its appearance 
 was hailed with acclamation ; being the Wassail Bowl, 
 so renowned in Christmas festivity. The contents 
 had been prepared by the squire himself; for it was a 
 beverage in the skilful mixture of which he particularly 
 prided himself; alleging that it was too abstruse and 
 complex for the comprehension of an ordinary servant. 
 It was a potation, indeed, that might well make the 
 heart of a toper leap within him ; being composed of the 
 richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and sweetened, 
 with roasted apples bobbing about the surface. 1 
 
 The old gentleman s whole countenance beamed 
 with a serene look of indwelling delight, as he stirred 
 
 1 The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of wine ; 
 with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabs ; in this way the 
 nut-brown beverage is still prepared in some old families, and round the 
 
58 CH^STMAS AT B ( I(ACEB C HIDGE HALL 
 
 this mighty bowl. Having raised it to his lips, with a 
 hearty wish of a merry Christmas to all present, he 
 sent it brimming round the board, for every one to 
 follow his example, according to the primitive style ; 
 pronouncing it " the ancient fountain of good-feeling, 
 where all hearts met together." x 
 
 There was much laughing and rallying as the 
 honest emblem of Christmas joviality circulated, and 
 was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. When it 
 reached Master Simon, he raised it in both hands, and 
 with the air of a boon companion struck up an old 
 Wassail chanson : 
 
 The brown bowle, 
 
 The merry brown bowle, 
 
 As it goes round-about-a, 
 
 Fill 
 
 Still, 
 
 Let the world say what it will, 
 And drink your fill all out-a. 
 The deep canne, 
 The merry deep canne, 
 As thou dost freely quaff-a 
 
 Sing 
 
 Fling, 
 
 Be as merry as a king, 
 And sound a lusty laugh-a. 2 
 
 hearths of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also called Lamb s 
 Wool, and is celebrated by Herrick in his Twelfth Night. 
 " Next crowne the bowle full 
 With gentle Lamb s Wool ; 
 Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, 
 With store of ale too ; 
 And thus ye must doe 
 To make the Wassaile a swinger." 
 
 1 The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place to each 
 having his cup. When the steward came to the doore with the Wassel, 
 he was to cry three times, ffassel, Wauel, Wassel, and then the chappell 
 (chaplein) was to answer with a song. ARCH^EOLOGIA. 
 3 From Poor Robin s Almanac. 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 59 
 
 Much of the conversation during dinner turned 
 upon family topics, to which I was a stranger. There 
 was, however, a great deal of rallying of Master 
 Simon about some gay widow, with whom he was 
 accused of having a flirtation. This attack was com 
 menced by the ladies ; but it was continued through 
 out the dinner by the fat-headed old gentleman next 
 the parson, with the persevering assiduity of a slow 
 hound ; being one of those long-winded jokers, who, 
 though rather dull at starting game, are unrivalled 
 for their talent in hunting it down. At every pause 
 in the general conversation, he renewed his banter 
 ing in pretty much the same terms ; winking hard at 
 me with both eyes, whenever he gave Master Simon 
 what he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, 
 seemed fond of being teazed on the subject, as old 
 bachelors are apt to be ; and he took occasion to in 
 form me, in an undertone, that the lady in question 
 was a prodigiously fine woman, and drove her own 
 curricle. 
 
 The dinner-time passed away in this flow of inno 
 cent hilarity ; and, though the old hall may have re 
 sounded in its time with many a scene of broader rout 
 and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed 
 more honest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it 
 is for one benevolent being to diffuse pleasure around 
 him ; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of glad 
 ness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen 
 into smiles the joyous disposition of the worthy 
 squire was perfectly contagious ; he was happy him 
 self, and disposed to make all the world happy ; and 
 the little eccentricities of his humour did but season, 
 in a manner, the sweetness of his philanthropy. 
 
60 CH<I(ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as 
 usual, became still more animated ; many good things 
 were broached which had been thought of during 
 dinner, but which would not exactly do for a lady s 
 ear ; and though I cannot positively affirm that there 
 was much wit uttered, yet I have certainly heard 
 many contests of rare wit produce much less laughter. 
 Wit, after all, is a mighty, tart, pungent, ingredient, 
 and much too acid for some stomachs ; but honest 
 good humour is the oil and wine of a merry meeting, 
 and there is no jovial companionship equal to that 
 where the jokes are rather small, and the laughter 
 abundant. 
 
 The squire told several long stories of early college 
 pranks and adventures, in some of which the parson 
 had been a sharer ; though in looking at the latter, 
 it required some effort of imagination to figure such 
 a little dark anatomy of a man into the perpetrator of 
 a madcap gambol. Indeed, the two college chums 
 presented pictures of what men may be made by their 
 different lots in life. The squire had left the uni 
 versity to live lustily on his paternal domains, in the 
 vigorous enjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, and 
 had flourished on to a hearty and florid old age ; whilst 
 the poor parson, on the contrary, had dried and 
 withered away, among dusty tomes, in the silence and 
 shadows of his study. Still there seemed to be a spark 
 of almost extinguished fire, feebly glimmering in 
 the bottom of his soul -, and as the squire hinted at a 
 sly story of the parson and a pretty milk-maid, whom 
 they once met on the banks of the Isis, the old 
 gentleman made an " alphabet of faces," which, as 
 far as I could decipher his physiognomy, I verily 
 
THE CHl^STMJS DINNER 61 
 
 believe was indicative of laughter ; indeed, I have 
 rarely met with an old gentleman that took absolute 
 offence at the imputed gallantries of his youth. 
 
 I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on 
 the dry land of sober judgment. The company 
 grew merrier and louder as their jokes grew duller. 
 Master Simon was in as chirping a humour as a grass 
 hopper filled with dew ; his old songs grew of a 
 warmer complexion, and he began to talk maudlin 
 about the widow. He even gave a long song about 
 the wooing of a widow, which he informed me he had 
 gathered from an excellent black-letter work, entitled 
 Cupid s Solicitor for Love, containing store of good 
 advice for bachelors, and which he promised to lend 
 me ; the first verse was to this effect : 
 
 He that will woo a widow must not dally, 
 He must make hay while the sun doth shine ; 
 
 He must not stand with her shall I, shall I ? 
 But boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine. 
 
 This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, 
 who made several attempts to tell a rather broad story 
 out of Joe Miller, that was pat to the purpose ; but 
 he always stuck in the middle, everybody recollect 
 ing the latter part excepting himself. The parson, 
 too, began to show the effects of good cheer, having 
 gradually settled down into a doze, and his wig sitting 
 most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncture 
 we were summoned to the drawing-room, and I 
 suspect, at the private instigation of mine host, whose 
 joviality seemed always tempered with a proper love 
 of decorum. 
 
 / After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was 
 given up to the younger members of the family, who, 
 
62 CH<%ISTMAS Ar B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 prompted to all kind of noisy mirth by the Oxonian 
 and Master Simon, made its old walls ring with their 
 merriment, as they played at romping games. I de 
 light in witnessing the gambols of children, and 
 particularly at this happy holiday season, and could 
 not help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing 
 one of their peals of laughter. I found them at the 
 game of blind-man s-buff. Master Simon, who was 
 the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions 
 to fulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord 
 of Misrule, 1 was blinded in the midst of the hall. 
 The little beings were as busy about him as the mock 
 fairies about Falstaff ; pinching him, plucking at the 
 skirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws. One 
 fine blue-eyed girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen 
 hair all in beautiful confusion, her frolic face in a glow, 
 her frock half torn off her shoulders, a complete 
 picture of a romp, was the chief tormentor ; and, 
 from the slyness with which Master Simon avoided 
 the smaller game, and hemmed this wild little nymph 
 in corners, and obliged her to jump shrieking over 
 chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more 
 blinded than was convenient. 
 
 When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the 
 company seated round the fire listening to the parson, 
 who was deeply ensconced in a high-backed oaken 
 chair, the work of some cunning artificer of yore, 
 which had been brought from the library for his 
 particular accommodation. From this venerable 
 piece of furniture, with which his shadowy figure and 
 
 1 At Christmasse there was in the Kinge s house, wheresoever hee was 
 lodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merie disportes, and the like 
 had ye in the house of every nobleman of honor, or good worshippe, 
 were he spirituall or temporall. STOWE. 
 
THE CH<PJSTM4S DINNER 63 
 
 dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he was 
 dealing out strange accounts of the popular supersti 
 tions and legends of the surrounding country, with 
 which he had become acquainted in the course of his 
 antiquarian researches. I am half inclined to think 
 that the old gentleman was himself somewhat tinctured 
 with superstition, as men are very apt to be who live 
 a recluse and studious life in a sequestered part of the 
 country, and pore over black-letter tracts, so often 
 filled with the marvellous and supernatural. He gave 
 us several anecdotes of the fancies of the neighbour 
 ing peasantry, concerning the effigy of the crusader, 
 which lay on the tomb by the church altar. As it 
 was the only monument of the kind in that part of 
 the country, it had always been regarded with feelings 
 of superstition by the good wives of the village. It 
 was said to get up from the tomb and walk the rounds 
 of the churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when 
 it thundered ; and one old woman, whose cottage 
 bordered on the churchyard, had seen it through the 
 windows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly 
 pacing up and down the aisles. It was the belief that 
 some wrong had been left unredressed by the deceased, 
 or some treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in a 
 state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of 
 gold and jewels buried in the tomb, over which the 
 spectre kept watch ; and there was a story current of 
 a sexton in old times who endeavoured to break his 
 way to the coffin at night, but, just as he reached it, 
 received a violent blow from the marble hand of the 
 effigy, which stretched him senseless on the pavement. 
 These tales were often laughed at by some of the 
 sturdier among the rustics, yet when night came on, 
 
64 CHRISTMAS AT B^ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 there were many of the stoutest unbelievers that were 
 shy of venturing alone in the footpath that led across 
 the churchyard. 
 
 From these and other anecdotes that followed, the 
 crusader appeared to be the favourite hero of ghost 
 stories throughout the vicinity. His picture which 
 hung up in the hall, was thought by the servants to 
 have something supernatural about it ; for they 
 remarked that, in whatever part of the hall you went, 
 the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on you. The 
 old porter s wife too, at the lodge, who had been 
 born and brought up in the family, and was a great 
 gossip among the maid-servants, affirmed, that in her 
 young days she had often heard say, that on Mid 
 summer eve, when it was well known all kinds of 
 ghosts, goblins, and fairies become visible and walk 
 abroad, the crusader used to mount his horse, come 
 down from his picture, ride about the house, down 
 the avenue, and so to the church to visit the tomb ; 
 on which occasion the church door most civilly 
 swung open of itself; not that he needed it; for he 
 rode through closed gates and even stone walls, and 
 had been seen by one of the dairymaids to pass between 
 two bars of the great park gate, making himself as 
 thin as a sheet of paper. 
 
 All these superstitions I found had been very much 
 countenanced by the squire, who, though not 
 superstitious himself, was very fond of seeing others 
 so. He listened to every goblin tale of the neigh 
 bouring gossips with infinite gravity, and held the 
 porter s wife in high favour on account of her talent 
 for the marvellous. He was himself a great reader of 
 old legends and romances, and often lamented that he 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 65 
 
 could not believe in them ; for a superstitious person, 
 he thought, must live in a kind of fairyland. 
 
 Whilst we were all attention to the parson s stories, 
 our ears were suddenly assailed by a burst of hetero 
 geneous sounds from the hall, in which were mingled 
 something like the clang of rude minstrelsy, with 
 the uproar of many small voices and girlish laughter. 
 The door suddenly flew open, and a train came 
 trooping into the room, that might almost have been 
 mistaken for the breaking-up of the court of Fairy. 
 That indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in the 
 faithful discharge of his duties as Lord of Misrule, 
 had conceived the idea of a Christmas mummery or 
 masking ; and having called in to his assistance the 
 Oxonian and the young officer, who were equally 
 ripe for anything that should occasion romping and 
 merriment, they had carried it into instant effect. 
 The old housekeeper had been consulted ; the antique 
 clothes-presses and wardrobes rummaged, and made to 
 yield up the relics of finery that had not seen the 
 light for several generations ; the younger part of the 
 company had been privately convened from the 
 parlour and hall, and the whole had been bedizened 
 out, into a burlesque imitation of an antique mask. 1 
 
 Master Simon led the van, as " Ancient Christmas," 
 quaintly apparelled in a rufF, a short cloak, which had 
 very much the aspect of one of the old housekeeper s 
 petticoats, and a hat that might have served for a 
 village steeple, and must indubitably have figured in 
 
 1 Maskings or mummeries were favourite sports at Christmas in old 
 times : and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were often laid 
 under contribution to furnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I 
 strongly suspect Master Simon to have taken the idea of his from Ben 
 Jon son s Masque of Christmas. 
 E 
 
66 CHRISTMAS AT B<I(ACEB<I{IDGE HALL 
 
 the days of the Covenanters. From under this his 
 nose curved boldly forth, flushed with a frost-bitten 
 bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a December 
 blast. He was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, 
 dished up as " Dame Mince Pie," in the venerable 
 magnificence of a faded brocade, long stomacher, 
 peaked hat, and high-heeled shoes. The young 
 officer appeared as Robin Hood, in a sporting dress 
 of Kendal green, and a foraging cap with a gold 
 tassel. 
 
 The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to 
 deep research, and there was an evident eye to the 
 picturesque, natural to a young gallant in the presence 
 of his mistress. The fair Julia hung on his arm in a 
 pretty rustic dress, as " Maid Marian." The rest of 
 the train had been metamorphosed in various ways ; 
 the girls trussed up in the finery of the ancient belles 
 of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskered 
 with burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, 
 hanging sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to repre 
 sent the character of Roast Beef, Plum Pudding, and 
 other worthies celebrated in ancient maskings. The 
 whole was under the control of the Oxonian, in the 
 appropriate character of Misrule ; and I observed 
 that he exercised rather a mischievous sway with 
 his wand over the smaller personages of the 
 pageant. 
 
 The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of 
 drum, according to ancient custom, was the con 
 summation of uproar and merriment. Master Simon 
 covered himself with glory by the stateliness with 
 which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet 
 with the peerless, though giggling, Dame Mince Pie. 
 
THE CH<HISTMJS DINNER 67 
 
 It was followed by a dance of all the characters, 
 which, from its medley of costumes, seemed as though 
 the old family portraits had skipped down from their 
 frames to join in the sport. Different centuries were 
 figuring at cross hands and right and left ; the dark 
 ages were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons ; and the 
 days of Queen Bess jiggling merrily down the middle, 
 through a line of succeeding generations. 
 
 The worthy squire contemplated these fantastic 
 sports, and this resurrection of his old wardrobe, with 
 the simple relish of childish delight. He stood 
 chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearing 
 a word the parson said, notwithstanding that the 
 latter was discoursing most authentically on the 
 ancient and stately dance at the Paon, or peacock, 
 from which he conceived the minuet to be derived. 1 
 For my part I was in a continual excitement, from 
 the varied scenes of whim and innocent gaiety passing 
 before me. It was inspiring to me to see wild-eyed 
 frolic and warm-hearted hospitality breaking out from 
 among the chills and glooms of winter, and old age 
 throwing off his apathy, and catching once more the 
 freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an 
 interest in the scene, from the consideration that 
 these fleeting customs were posting fast into oblivion, 
 and that this was, perhaps, the only family in England 
 in which the whole of them were still punctiliously 
 observed. There was a quaintness, too, mingled with 
 
 1 Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from 
 pavo, a peacock, says, "It is a grave and majestic dance ; the method 
 of dancing it anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, 
 by those of the long robe in their gowns, by the peers in their mantles, 
 and by the ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in 
 dancing, resembled that of a peacock." HISTORY OF Music. 
 
68 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 all this revelry, that gave it a peculiar zest : it was 
 suited to the time and place ; and as the old manor- 
 house almost reeled with mirth and wassail, it 
 seemed echoing back the joviality of long-departed 
 years. 1 
 
 But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is 
 time for me to pause in this garrulity. Methinks I 
 hear the questions asked by my graver readers, " To 
 what purpose is all this how is the world to be made 
 wiser by this talk ? " Alas ! is there not wisdom 
 enough extant for the instruction of the world ? And 
 if not, are there not thousands of abler pens labouring 
 for its improvement ! It is so much pleasanter to 
 please than to instruct to play the companion rather 
 than the preceptor. 
 
 What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could 
 throw into the mass of knowledge ; or how am I 
 sure that my sagest deductions may be safe guides for 
 the opinion of others ? But in writing to amuse, if I 
 fail, the only evil is in my own disappointment. If, 
 however, I can by any lucky chance, in these days of 
 evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, or 
 beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow ; if 
 I can now and then penetrate through the gathering 
 film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent view of 
 human nature, and make my reader more in good 
 humour with his fellow-beings and himself, surely, 
 surely, I shall not then have written entirely in vain. 
 
 1 At the time of the first publication of this paper, the picture of an 
 old-fashioned Christmas in the country was pronounced by some as out 
 of date. The author had afterwards an opportunity of witnessing almost 
 all the customs above described, existing in unexpected vigour in the 
 skirts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire, where he passed the Christmas 
 holidays. The reader will find some notice of them in the author s 
 account of his sojourn at Newstead Abbey. 
 
The ancientest house, and the best for housekeeping in this county or 
 the next, and though the master of it write but squire, I know no lord 
 like him. MERRY BEGGARS. 
 
 THE reader, if he has perused the volumes of the 
 Sketch Book^ will probably recollect something of the 
 Bracebridge family, with which I once passed a 
 Christmas. I am now on another visit at the Hall, 
 having been invited to a wedding which is shortly to 
 take place. The squire s second son, Guy, a fine, 
 spirited young captain in the army, is about to be 
 married to his father s ward, the fair Julia Templeton. 
 A gathering of relations and friends has already com 
 menced, to celebrate the joyful occasion ; for the old 
 gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private weddings. 
 " There is nothing," he says, "like launching a young 
 couple gaily, and cheering them from the shore ; a 
 good outset is half the voyage." 
 
 Before proceeding any further, I would beg that 
 the squire might not be confounded with that class of 
 hard-riding, fox-hunting gentlemen so often described, 
 and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. I use this 
 rural title, partly because it is his universal appellation 
 throughout the neighbourhood, and partly because it 
 saves me the frequent repetition of his name, which is 
 
 69 
 
70 CH^STMAS AT B3(4CEB<%IDGE HALL 
 
 one of those rough old English names at which 
 Frenchmen exclaim in despair. 
 
 The squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the 
 old English country gentleman ; rusticated a little by 
 living almost entirely on his estate, and something of 
 a humorist, as Englishmen are apt to become when 
 they have an opportunity of living in their own way. 
 I like this hobby passing well, however, which is, a 
 bigoted devotion to old English manners and customs ; 
 it jumps a little with my own humour, having as yet 
 a lively and unsated curiosity about the ancient and 
 genuine characteristics of my " 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, main 
 tain 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 import 
 ance which they enjoy on their hereditary domains. 
 The family mansion is an old manor-house, standing 
 in a retired and beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its 
 inhabitants have been always regarded through the 
 surrounding country, as " the great ones of the 
 earth " ; and the little village near the hall looks up 
 to the squire with almost feudal homage. An old 
 manor-house, and an old family of this kind, are rarely 
 to be met with at the present day ; and it is probably 
 the peculiar humour of the squire that has retained 
 
THE HALL 71 
 
 this secluded specimen of English housekeeping in 
 something like the genuine old style. 
 
 I am again quartered in the panelled chamber, in 
 the antique wing of the house. The prospect from 
 my window, however, has quite a different aspect 
 from that which it wore on my winter visit. Though 
 early in the month of April, yet a few warm, sun 
 shiny days have drawn forth the beauties of the spring, 
 which, I think, are always most captivating on their 
 first opening. The parterres of the old-fashioned 
 garden are gay with flowers ; and the gardener has 
 brought out his exotics, and placed them along the 
 stone balustrades. The trees are clothed with green 
 buds and tender leaves ; when I throw open my 
 jingling casement, I smell the odour of mignonette, 
 and hear the hum of the bees from the flowers against 
 the sunny wall, with the varied song of the throstle, 
 and the cheerful notes of the tuneful little wren. 
 
 While sojourning in this stronghold of old fashions, 
 it is my intention to make occasional sketches of the 
 scenes and characters before me. I would have it 
 understood, however, that I am not writing a novel, 
 and have nothing of intricate plot, or marvellous ad 
 venture, to promise the reader. The Hall of which 
 I treat, has, for aught I know, neither trap-door, nor 
 sliding-panel, nor donjon-keep : and indeed appears to 
 have no mystery about it. The family is a worthy, 
 well-meaning family, that, in all probability, will eat 
 and drink, and go to bed, and get up regularly, from 
 one end of my work to the other ; and the squire is 
 so kind-hearted an old gentleman, that I see no like 
 lihood of his throwing any kind of distress in the way 
 of the approaching nuptials. In a word, I cannot 
 
72 CH1{1STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 foresee a single extraordinary event that is likely to 
 occur in the whole term of my sojourn at the Hall. 
 
 I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he find 
 me dallying along, through every-day English scenes, 
 he may hurry a-head, in hopes of meeting with some 
 marvellous adventure farther on. I invite him, on 
 the contrary, to ramble gently on with me, as he 
 would saunter out into the fields, stopping occasion 
 ally to gather a flower, or listen to a bird, or admire a 
 prospect, without any anxiety to arrive at the end of 
 his career. Should I, however, in the course of my 
 loiterings about this old mansion, see or hear anything 
 curious, that might serve to vary the monotony of this 
 every-day life, I shall not fail to report it for the 
 reader s entertainment. 
 
 For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie 
 Of any book, how grave so e er it be, 
 Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie, 
 Well sauc d with lies and glared all with glee. 1 
 
 1 Mirror for Magistrates. 
 
THE BUST MAN 
 
 A decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and my 
 master s means, and much good do him with it. He does hold my 
 master up with his stories, and songs, and catches, and such tricks, 
 
 and jigs, you would admire he is with him now. 
 
 JOVIAL CREW. 
 
 BY no one has my return to the Hall been more 
 heartily greeted than by Mr. Simon Bracebridge, or 
 Master Simon, as the squire most commonly calls 
 him. I encountered him just as I entered the park, 
 where he was breaking a pointer, and he received me 
 with all the hospitable cordiality with which a man 
 welcomes a friend to another one s house. I have 
 already introduced him to the reader as a brisk old 
 bachelor-looking little man ; the wit and superannuated 
 beau of a large family connexion, and the squire s 
 factotum. I found him, as usual, full of bustle ; with 
 a thousand petty things to do, and persons to attend 
 to, and in chirping good-humour ; for there are few 
 happier beings than a busy idler ; that is to say, a 
 man who is eternally busy about nothing. 
 
 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 
 
 73 
 
74 CH<HISTMAS Ar B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 convenience and arrangement. The furniture is made 
 up of odd pieces from all parts of the house, chosen 
 on account of their suiting his notions, or fitting some 
 corner of his apartment ; and he is very eloquent in 
 praise of an ancient elbow chair, from which he takes 
 occasion to digress into a censure on modern chairs, 
 as having degenerated from the dignity and comfort 
 of high-backed antiquity. 
 
 Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he 
 calls his study. Here are some hanging shelves, of 
 his own construction, on which are several old works 
 on hawking, hunting, and farriery, and a collection 
 or two of poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeth, 
 which he studies out of compliment to the squire ; 
 together with the Novelists Magazine, the Sporting 
 Magazine, the Racing Calendar, a volume or two of 
 the Newgate Calendar, a book of peerage, and another 
 of heraldry. 
 
 His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet j 
 and about the walls of his apartment are hooks to hold 
 his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and alfavourite fowling- 
 piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he inherits 
 from his grandfather. He has also a couple of old 
 single-keyed flutes, and a fiddle, which he has re 
 peatedly patched and mended himself, affirming it to 
 be a veritable Cremona : though I have never heard 
 him extract a single note from it that was not enough 
 to make one s blood run cold. 
 
 From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, 
 in the stillness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long- 
 forgotten tune ; for he prides himself on having a 
 choice collection of good old English music, and will 
 scarcely have anything to do with modern composers. 
 
THE BUST MAN 75 
 
 The time, however, at which his musical powers are 
 of most use, is now and then of an evening, when he 
 plays for the children to dance in the hall, and he 
 passes among them and the servants for a perfect 
 Orpheus. 
 
 His chamber also bears evidence of his various 
 avocations ; there are half-copied sheets of music ; 
 designs for needle-work ; sketches of landscapes, very 
 indifferently executed ; a camera lucida ; a magic 
 lantern, for which he is endeavouring 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 establishment, to visit the stables, 
 dog-kennel, and other dependencies, in which he 
 appeared like a general visiting the different quarters 
 of his camp ; as the squire leaves the control of all 
 these matters to him, when he is at the Hall. He 
 inquired into the state of the horses ; examined their 
 feet ; prescribed a drench for one, and bleeding for 
 another ; and then took me to look at his own horse, 
 on the merits of which he dwelt with great prolixity, 
 and which, I noticed, had the best stall in the 
 stable. 
 
 After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the 
 squire s, which he termed the falconry, where there 
 were several unhappy birds in durance, completing 
 their education. Among the number was a fine 
 falcon, which Master Simon had in especial training, 
 and he told me that he would show me, in a few days, 
 some rare sport of the good old-fashioned kind. In 
 
76 CH^STMAS AT B^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 the course of our round, I noticed that the grooms, 
 gamekeeper, whippers-in, and other retainers, seemed 
 all to be on somewhat of a familiar footing with 
 Master Simon, and fond of having a joke with him, 
 though it was evident they had great deference for his 
 opinion in matters relating to their functions. 
 
 There was one exception, however, in a testy old 
 huntsman, as hot as a pepper-corn ; a meagre, wiry 
 old fellow, in a threadbare velvet jockey-cap, and a 
 pair of leather breeches, that, from much wear, shone 
 as though they had been japanned. He was very 
 contradictory and pragmatical, and apt, as I thought, 
 to differ from Master Simon now and then, out of 
 mere captiousness. This was particularly the case 
 with respect to the treatment of the hawk, which the 
 old man seemed to have under his peculiar care, and, 
 according to Master Simon, was in a fair way to ruin ; 
 the latter had a vast deal to say about casting^ and 
 imping, and gleaming^ and enseaming, and giving the 
 hawk the rangle^ which I saw was all heathen Greek 
 to old Christy ; but he maintained his point notwith 
 standing, and seemed to hold all his technical lore in 
 utter disrespect. 
 
 I was surprised at the good humour with which 
 Master Simon bore his contradictions, till he explained 
 the matter to me afterwards. Old Christy is the 
 most ancient servant in the place, having lived among 
 dogs and horses the greater part of a century, and 
 been in the service of Mr. Bracebridge s father. He 
 knows the pedigree of every horse on the place, and 
 has bestrid the great-great-grandsires of most of them. 
 He can give a circumstantial detail of every fox 
 hunt for the last sixty or seventy years, and has a 
 
THE BUST MAN 77 
 
 history of 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 humour him in his old age. He once attended 
 the squire to Oxford when he was a student there, 
 and enlightened the whole university with his hunting 
 lore. All this is enough to make the old man 
 opinionated, since he finds, on all these matters of 
 first-rate importance, he knows more than the rest of 
 the world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his pupil, 
 and acknowledges that he derived his first knowledge 
 in hunting from the instructions of Christy ; and I 
 much question whether the old man does not still 
 look upon him as rather a green-horn. 
 
 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 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 fanciful green livery. Inside of 
 the chariot was a starched prim personage, with a look 
 somewhat between a lady s companion and a lady s 
 
78 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 maid, and two pampered curs that showed their ugly 
 faces and barked out of each window. 
 
 There was a general turning out of the garrison to 
 receive this new comer. The squire assisted her to 
 alight, and saluted her affectionately ; the fair Julia 
 flew into her arms, and they embraced with the 
 romantic fervour of boarding-school friends. She 
 was escorted into the house by Julia s lover, towards 
 whom she showed distinguished favour ; and a line of 
 the old servants, who had collected in the hall, bowed 
 most profoundly as she passed. 
 
 I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous 
 and devout in his attentions upon this old lady. He 
 walked by the side of her pony up the avenue ; and, 
 while she was receiving the salutations of the rest of 
 the family, he took occasion to notice the fat coach 
 man, to pat the sleek carriage horses, and, above all, 
 to say a civil word to my lady s gentlewoman, the 
 prim, sour-looking vestal in the chariot. 
 
 I had no more of his company for the rest of the 
 morning. He was swept off in the vortex that 
 followed in the wake of this lady. Once indeed he 
 paused for a moment, as he was hurrying on some 
 errand of the good lady s, to let me know that this 
 was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the squire s, of large 
 fortune, which the captain would inherit, and that her 
 estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in all 
 England. 
 
FAMILY SECANTS 
 
 Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping. They are 
 like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the antiquity 
 and fatness of their abode. 
 
 IN my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often be 
 tempted to dwell on circumstances of a trite and 
 ordinary nature, from their appearing to me illustrative 
 of genuine national character. It seems to be the 
 study of the squire to adhere, as much as possible, to 
 what he considers the old landmarks of English 
 manners. His servants all understand his ways, and, 
 for the most part, have been accustomed to them from 
 infancy ; so that, upon the whole, his household 
 presents one of the few tolerable specimens that can 
 now be met with, of the establishment of an English 
 country gentleman of the old school. 
 
 By the by, the servants are not the least character 
 istic part of the household ; the housekeeper, for 
 instance, has been born and brought up at the Hall, 
 and has never been twenty miles from it ; yet she 
 has a stately air that would not disgrace a lady that 
 had figured at the court of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 I am half inclined to think that she has caught it 
 from living so much among the old family pictures. 
 It may, however, be owing to a consciousness of her 
 
 79 
 
8o CHRISTMAS Ar B^CEB^IDGE HALL 
 
 importance in the sphere in which she has always 
 moved ; for she is greatly respected in the neighbour 
 ing village, and among the farmers wives, and has 
 high authority in the household, ruling over the 
 servants with quiet but undisputed sway. 
 
 She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes, and pointed 
 nose and chin. Her dress is always the same as to 
 fashion. She wears a small, well-starched ruff, a laced 
 stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festooned and 
 open in front, which, on particular occasions, is of 
 ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the 
 family, or an inheritance from her mother, who was 
 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 offthe charms of some peerless family beauty ; 
 and I have sometimes looked from the old house 
 keeper to the neighbouring portraits, to see whether 
 I could not recognise her antiquated brocade in the 
 dress of some one of those long-waisted dames that 
 smile on me from the walls. 
 
 Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in 
 front, and she wears over it a small cap, nicely plaited, 
 and brought down under the chin. Her manners are 
 simple and primitive, heightened a little by a proper 
 dignity of station. 
 
 The Hall is her world, and the history of the family 
 the only history she knows, excepting that which she 
 has read in the Bible. She can give a biography of 
 every portrait in the picture gallery, and is a complete 
 family chronicle. 
 
 She is treated with great consideration by the 
 squire. Indeed, Master Simon tells me that there is 
 
FAMILY SEANfS 81 
 
 a traditional anecdote current among the servants, of 
 the squire s having been seen kissing her in the picture 
 gallery, when they were both young. As, however, 
 nothing further was ever noticed between them, the 
 circumstance caused no great scandal ; only she was 
 observed to take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, 
 and refused the hand of the village innkeeper, whom 
 she had previously smiled on. 
 
 The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a 
 rejected admirer of hers, used to tell the anecdote now 
 and then, at those little cabals that will occasionally 
 take place among the most orderly servants, arising 
 from the common propensity of the governed to talk 
 against administration ; but he has left it off, of late 
 years, since he has risen into place, and shakes his 
 head rebukingly when it is mentioned. 
 
 It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, 
 dwell on the looks of the squire when he was a young 
 man at college; and she maintains that none of his 
 sons can compare with their father when he was of 
 their age, and was dressed out in his full suit of scarlet, 
 with his hair craped and powdered, and his three- 
 cornered hat. 
 
 She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted 
 baggage, named Phcebe Wilkins, who has been trans 
 planted to the Hall within a year or two, and been 
 nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is a kind 
 of attendant and companion of the fair Julia s; and 
 from loitering about the young lady s apartments, 
 reading scraps of novels, and inheriting second-hand 
 finery, has become something between a waiting- 
 maid and a slip-shod fine lady. 
 
 She is considered a kind of heiress among the 
 F 
 
82 CHRISTMAS AT B<%ACEB < I(IDGE HALL 
 
 servants, as she will inherit all her aunt s property ; 
 which, if report be true, must be a round sum of 
 good golden guineas, the accumulated wealth of two 
 housekeepers savings; not to mention the hereditary 
 wardrobe, and the many little valuables and knick- 
 knacks treasured up in the housekeeper s room. 
 Indeed the old housekeeper has the reputation among 
 the servants and the villagers of being passing rich ; 
 and there is a japanned chest of drawers and a large 
 iron-bound coffer in her room, which are supposed by 
 the housemaids to hold treasures of wealth. 
 
 The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, 
 who, indeed, pays a little court to her, as to a person 
 high in authority : and they have many discussions 
 on points of family history, in which, notwithstanding 
 his extensive information, and pride of knowledge, he 
 commonly admits her superior accuracy. He seldom 
 returns to the Hall, after one of his visits to the other 
 branches of the family, without bringing Mrs. Wilkins 
 some remembrance from the ladies of the house where 
 he has been staying. 
 
 Indeed all the children in the house look up to the 
 old lady with habitual respect and attachment, and 
 she seems almost to consider them as her own, from 
 their having grown up under her eye. The Oxonian, 
 however, is her favourite, probably from being the 
 youngest, though he is the most mischievous, and has 
 been apt to play tricks upon her from boyhood. 
 
 I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony which, 
 I believe, is peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is 
 removed at dinner, the old housekeeper sails into the 
 room and stands behind the squire s chair, when he 
 fills her a glass of wine with his own hands, in which 
 
I - I ***** , v -:.x* xv 
 J3 " The old housekeeper "%vk) ? 
 
 oOfc company. f ^i&$Wf$L/ 
 
 ^i. \^/j 
 
FAMILY SECANTS 83 
 
 she drinks the health of the company in a truly 
 respectful yet dignified manner, and then retires. 
 The squire received the custom from his father, and 
 has always continued it. 
 
 There is a peculiar character about the servants of 
 old English families that reside principally in the 
 country. They have a quiet, orderly, respectful 
 mode of doing their duties. They are always neat in 
 their persons, and appropriately, and, if I may use the 
 phrase, technically dressed ; they move about the 
 house without hurry or noise ; there is nothing of the 
 bustle of employment, or the voice of command ; 
 nothing of that obtrusive housewifery that amounts 
 to a torment. You are not persecuted by the process 
 of making you comfortable ; yet everything is 
 done, and is done well. The work of the house is 
 performed as if by magic, but it is the magic of system. 
 Nothing is done by fits and starts, nor at awkward 
 seasons ; the whole goes on like well-oiled clock 
 work, where there is no noise nor jarring in its 
 operations. 
 
 English servants, in general, are not treated with 
 great indulgence, nor rewarded by many commenda 
 tions ; for the English are laconic and reserved towards 
 their domestics; but an approving nod and kind word 
 from master or mistress, goes as far here, as an excess 
 of praise or indulgence elsewhere. Neither do 
 servants exhibit any animated marks of affection to 
 their employers; yet though quiet, they are strong 
 in their attachments ; and the reciprocal regard of 
 masters or servants, though not ardently ex 
 pressed, is powerful and lasting in old English 
 families. 
 
84 CH<%ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 The title of "an old family servant" carries with it 
 a thousand kind associations in all parts of the world ; 
 and there is no claim upon the home-bred charities of 
 the heart more irresistible than that of having been 
 " born in the house." It is common to see gray- 
 headed domestics of this kind attached to an English 
 family of the " old school," who continue in it to the 
 day of their death, in the enjoyment of steady, un 
 affected kindness, and the performance of faithful un- 
 officious duty. I think such instances of attachment 
 speak well for master and servant, and the frequency 
 of them speaks well for national character. 
 
 These observations, however, hold good only with 
 families of the description I have mentioned, and with 
 such as are somewhat retired, and pass the greater 
 part of their time in the country. As to the powdered 
 menials that throng the walls of fashionable town 
 residences, they equally reflect the character of the 
 establishments to which they belong : and I know no 
 more complete epitomes of dissolute hear tlessness, and 
 pampered inutility. 
 
 But the good " old family servant!" The one 
 who has always been linked, in idea, with the home 
 of our heart ; who has led us to school in the days of 
 prattling childhood ; who has been the confidant of 
 our boyish cares, and schemes, and enterprises ; who 
 has hailed us as we came home at vacations, and been 
 the promoter of all our holiday sports ; who, when 
 we, in wandering manhood, have left the paternal 
 roof, and only return thither at intervals, will 
 welcome us with a joy inferior only to that of our 
 parents; who, now grown gray and infirm with age, 
 still totters about the house of our fathers in fond and 
 
FAMILY SECANTS 85 
 
 faithful servitude ; who claims us, in a manner, as his 
 own ; and hastens with querulous eagerness to antici 
 pate his fellow domestics in waiting upon us at table ; 
 and who, when we retire at night to the chamber that 
 still goes by our name, will linger about the room to 
 have one more kind look, and one more pleasant word 
 about times that are past who does not experience 
 towards such a being a feeling of almost filial affec 
 tion ? 
 
 I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the 
 gravestones of such valuable domestics, recorded with 
 the simple truth of natural feeling. I have two before 
 me at this moment ; one copied from a tombstone of 
 a churchyard in Warwickshire : 
 
 " Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential 
 servant to George Birch, Esq., of Hampstead Hall. 
 His grateful friend and master caused this inscription 
 to be written in memory of his discretion, fidelity, 
 diligence, and continence. He died (a bachelor) aged 
 84, having lived 44 years in the same family." 
 
 The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham 
 churchyard : 
 
 " Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who 
 departed this life on the 8th of September, 1818, aged 
 84, after a faithful service of 60 years in one family ; 
 by each individual of which he lived respected, and 
 died lamented by the sole survivor." 
 
 Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given 
 me the glow about the heart that I felt while copying 
 this honest epitaph in the churchyard of Eltham. I 
 sympathized with this "sole survivor" of a family, 
 
86 CH<%ISTMAS AT B < HACEB ( I(IDGE HALL 
 
 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 services, 
 I called to mind the touching speech of Old Adam in 
 As You Like It, when tottering after the youthful 
 son of his ancient master : 
 
 " Master, go on, and I will follow thee 
 To the last gasp, with love and loyalty ! " 
 
 NOTE. I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen somewhere 
 in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late King to the memory 
 of a family servant, who had been a faithful attendant of his lamented 
 daughter, the Princess Amelia. George III. possessed much of the 
 strong domestic feeling of the old English country gentleman ; and it is 
 an incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the human 
 heart, a monarch erecting a monument in honour of the humble virtues 
 of a menial. 
 
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 Lillycraft on her arrival, she has none of the 
 petty stateliness that I had imagined ; but on the 
 contrary she has a degree of nature, and simple- 
 heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles 
 well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless 
 ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long 
 waist ; she rouges considerably, and her hair, which 
 is nearly white is frizzled out, and put up with pins. 
 Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but the delicacy 
 of her features shows that she may once have been 
 beautiful ; and she has a very fair and well-shaped 
 hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good 
 lady is still a little vain. 
 
 I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars 
 concerning 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 
 
 87 
 
88 CHI^ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 several excellent offers ; when, unfortunately, she 
 was robbed of her charms and her lovers by an attack 
 of the small-pox. She retired immediately into the 
 country, where she some time after inherited an estate, 
 and married a baronet, a former admirer, whose 
 passion had suddenly revived ; " having," as he said, 
 " always loved her mind rather than her person." 
 
 The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune 
 above six months, and had scarcely grown very tired of 
 her, when he broke his neck in a fox-chase and left 
 her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remained on 
 her estate in the country ever since, and has never 
 shown any desire to return to town, and revisit the 
 scene of her early triumphs and fatal malady. All 
 her favourite recollections, however, revert to that 
 short period of her youthful beauty. She has 
 no idea of town but as it was at that time ; and con 
 tinually 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 other 
 wise 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 Gardens, 
 where the gentlemen appeared in gold-laced coats 
 and cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops, and swept so 
 proudly along the grassy avenues ; and she thinks the 
 ladies let themselves sadly down in their dignity, 
 
THE WIDOW 89 
 
 when they gave up cushioned head-dresses, and high- 
 heeled shoes. She has much to say too of the officers 
 who were in the train of her admirers ; and speaks 
 familiarly of many wild young blades, that are now, 
 perhaps, hobbling about watering places with crutches 
 and gouty shoes. 
 
 Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony 
 discouraged her or not, I cannot say ; but, though 
 her merits and her riches have attracted many suitors, 
 she has never been tempted to venture again into the 
 happy state. This is singular too, for she seems of a 
 most soft and susceptible heart : is always talking of 
 love and connubial felicity ; and is a great stickler 
 for old-fashioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and 
 eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She 
 lives, however, after her own taste. Her house, I am 
 told, must have been built and furnished about the 
 time of Sir Charles Grandison : everything about it 
 is somewhat formal and stately ; but has been softened 
 down into a degree of voluptuousness, characteristic 
 of an old lady very tender-hearted and romantic, and 
 that loves her ease. The cushions of the great arm chairs, 
 and wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down 
 on them. Flowers of the most rare and delicate kind 
 are placed about the rooms and on little japanned 
 stands; and sweet bags lie about the tables and 
 mantel-pieces. The house is full of pet dogs, Angola 
 cats, and singing birds, who are as carefully waited 
 upon as she is herself. 
 
 She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure, 
 living on white meats, and little lady-like dishes, 
 though her servants have substantial old English fare, 
 as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they are so 
 
90 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 indulged, that they are all spoiled, and when they 
 lose their present place they will be fit for no other. 
 Her ladyship is one of those easy-tempered beings 
 that are always doomed to be much liked, but ill 
 served, by their domestics, and cheated by all the 
 world. 
 
 Much of her time is past in reading novels, of which 
 she has a most extensive library, and has a constant 
 supply from the publishers in town. Her erudition 
 in this line of literature is immense : she has kept 
 pace with the press for half a century. Her mind is 
 stuffed with love-tales of all kinds, from the stately 
 amours of the old books of chivalry, down to the last 
 blue-covered romance, reeking from the press : though 
 she evidently gives the preference to those that came 
 out in the days of her youth, and when she was first 
 in love. She maintains that there are no novels 
 written nowadays equal to Pamela and Sir Charles 
 Grandhon ; and she places the Castle of Otranto at 
 the head of all romances. 
 
 She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, 
 and is imposed upon by every beggar in the county. 
 She is the benefactress of a village adjoining to her 
 estate, and takes a special interest in all its love affairs. 
 She knows of every courtship that is going on ; every 
 love-lorn damsel is sure to find a patient listener and 
 sage adviser in her ladyship. She takes great pains to 
 reconcile all love quarrels, and should any faithless 
 swain persist in his inconstancy, he is sure to draw 
 on himself the good lady s violent indignation. 
 
 I have learned these particulars partly from Frank 
 Bracebridge, and partly from Master Simon. I am 
 now able to account for the assiduous attention of the 
 
THE WIDOW 91 
 
 latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of his 
 favourite resorts, where he is a very important person 
 age. He makes her a visit of business once a year, 
 when he looks into all her affairs ; which, as she is 
 no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He 
 examines the books of the overseer, and shoots about 
 the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with game, 
 notwithstanding that it is poached by all the vagabonds 
 in the neighbourhood. 
 
 It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain 
 will inherit the greater part of her property, having 
 always been her chief favourite ; for, in fact, she is 
 partial to a red coat. She has now come to the Hall 
 to be present at his nuptials, having a great disposition 
 to interest herself in all matters of love and matri 
 mony. 
 
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away : for lo the winter is 
 past, the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, the 
 time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is 
 heard in the land. SONG OF SOLOMON. 
 
 To a man who is a little of a philosopher, and a 
 bachelor to boot ; and who, by dint of some experience 
 in the follies of life, begins to look with a learned eye 
 upon the ways of man, and eke of woman ; to such a 
 man, I say, there is something very entertaining in 
 noticing the conduct of a pair of young lovers. It 
 may not be as grave and scientific a study as the loves 
 of the plants, but it is certainly as interesting. 
 
 I have therefore derived much pleasure, since my 
 arrival at the Hall, from observing the fair Julia and 
 her lover. She has all the delightful blushing 
 consciousness of an artless girl, inexperienced in 
 coquetry, who has made her first conquest ; while 
 the captain regards her with that mixture of fondness 
 and exultation, with which a youthful lover is apt to 
 contemplate so beauteous a prize. 
 
 I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing 
 along one of the retired walks. The sun was shining 
 with delicious warmth, making great masses of bright 
 verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, that 
 
 92 
 
THE LOrE<%S 93 
 
 " harbinger of spring," was faintly heard from a 
 distance ; the thrush piped from the hawthorn, and 
 the yellow butterflies sported, and toyed, and coquetted 
 in the air. 
 
 The fair Julia was leaning on her lover s arm, 
 listening to his conversation, with her eyes cast down, 
 a soft blush on her cheek, and a quiet smile on her 
 lips, while in the hand that hung negligently by her 
 side was a bunch of flowers. In this way they were 
 sauntering slowly along, and when I considered them, 
 and the scene in which they were moving, I could 
 not but think it a thousand pities that the season 
 should ever change, or that young people should ever 
 grow older, or that blossoms should give way to fruit, 
 or that lovers should ever get married. 
 
 From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I 
 understand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a 
 favourite college friend of the squire ; who, after 
 leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and served for 
 many years in India, where he was mortally wounded 
 in a skirmish with the natives. In his last moments 
 he had, with a faltering pen, recommended his wife 
 and daughter to the kindness of his early friend. 
 
 The widow and her child returned to England 
 helpless, and almost hopeless. When Mr. Bracebridge 
 received accounts of their situation, he hastened to 
 their relief. He reached them just in time to soothe 
 the last moments of the mother, who was dying of a 
 consumption, and to make her happy in the assurance 
 that her child should never want a protector. 
 
 The good squire returned with his prattling charge 
 to his stronghold, where he has brought her up with a 
 tenderness truly paternal. As he has taken some 
 
94 CH<HISTMAS AT B<%ACEB<%IDGE HALL 
 
 pains to superintend her education, and form her 
 taste, she has grown up with many of his notions, and 
 considers him the wisest, as well as the best of men. 
 Much of her time, too, has been passed with Lady 
 Lillycraft, who has instructed her in the manners of 
 the old school, and enriched her mind with all kinds of 
 novels and romances. Indeed, her ladyship has had a 
 great hand in promoting the match between Julia and 
 the captain, having had them together at her country 
 seat the moment she found there was an attachment 
 growing up between them ; the good lady being never 
 so happy as when she has a pair of turtles cooing 
 about her. 
 
 I have been pleased to see the fondness with which 
 the fair Julia is regarded by the old servants of the 
 Hall. She has been a pet with them from childhood, 
 and every one seems to lay some claim to her education ; 
 so that it is no wonder that she should be extremely 
 accomplished. The gardener taught her to rear 
 flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old Christy, 
 the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she 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. Braccbridge. 
 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- 
 
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 Zi? . ^r ^ *r . . 
 
 y ^ , ^ s i " -J *i AX hvy k>er<i -V < : 
 
 jMnhringsloulyzlong. .-^ 
 
 ^*S^ ^ ... 
 
THE LOVE<R 95 
 
 fashioned character, and most of her songs are such as 
 are not at the present day to be found on the piano of 
 a modern performer. I have, however, seen so much 
 of modern fashions, modern accomplishments, and 
 modern fine ladies, that I relish this tinge of antiquated 
 style in so young and lovely a girl ; and I have had as 
 much pleasure in hearing her warble one of the old 
 songs of Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to 
 some simple old melody, as I have had from listening 
 to a lady amateur sky-lark it up and down through the 
 finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart. 
 
 We have very pretty music in the evenings, 
 occasionally, between her and the captain, assisted 
 sometimes by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubiously, 
 on his violin ; being very apt to get out, and to halt a 
 note or two in the rear. Sometimes he even thrums a 
 little on the piano, and takes a part in a trio, in which 
 his voice can generally be distinguished by a certain 
 quavering tone, and an occasional false note. 
 
 I was praising the fair Julia s performance to him 
 after one of her songs, when I found he took to him 
 self the whole credit of having formed her musical 
 taste, assuring me that she was very apt ; and, indeed, 
 summing up her whole character in his knowing way, 
 by adding, that "she was a very nice girl, and had no 
 nonsense about her." 
 
AN OLD SOLDIER 
 
 I ve worn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; fed 
 this good sword with the black blood of pagan Christians; converted 
 a few individuals with it. But let that pass. THE ORDINARY. 
 
 THE Hall was thrown into some little agitation, a 
 few days since, by the arrival of General Harbottle. 
 He had been expected for several days, and had been 
 looked for rather impatiently by several of the family. 
 Master Simon assured me that I would like the general 
 hugely, for he was a blade of the old school, and an 
 excellent table companion. Lady Lilly craft, also, ap 
 peared to be somewhat fluttered, on the morning of 
 the general s arrival, for he had been one of her early 
 admirers ; and she recollected him only as a dashing 
 young ensign, just come upon the town. She actually 
 spent an hour longer at her toilet, and made her 
 appearance with her hair uncommonly frizzled and 
 powdered, and an additional quantity of rouge. She 
 was evidently a little surprised and shocked, therefore, 
 at finding the little dashing ensign transformed into a 
 corpulent old general, with a double chin, though it 
 was a perfect picture to witness their salutations ; the 
 graciousness of her profound curtsey, and the air of 
 the old school with which the general took off his 
 
 96 
 
AN OLD SOLDIER 97 
 
 hat, swayed it gently in his hand, and bowed his 
 powdered head. 
 
 All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to 
 study the general with a little more attention than, 
 perhaps, I should otherwise have done ; and the few 
 days that he has already passed at the Hall have 
 enabled me, I think, to furnish a tolerable likeness of 
 him to the reader. 
 
 He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the 
 old school, with powdered head, side locks, and pig 
 tail. His face is shaped like the stern of a Dutch 
 man-of-war, narrow at top, and wide at bottom, with 
 full rosy cheeks and a double chin ; so that, to use 
 the cant of the day, his organs of eating may be said 
 to be powerfully developed. 
 
 The general, though a veteran, has seen very little 
 active service, except the taking of Seringapatam, 
 which forms an era in his history. He wears a large 
 emerald in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger, 
 which he got on that occasion, and whoever is un 
 lucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve 
 himself in the whole history of the siege. To judge 
 from the general s conversation, the taking of Seringa 
 patam is the most important affair that has occurred 
 for the last century. 
 
 On the approach of warlike times on the continent, 
 he was rapidly promoted to get him out of the way 
 of younger officers of merit ; until, having been 
 hoisted to the rank of general, he was quietly laid on 
 the shelf. Since that time his campaigns have been 
 principally confined to watering-places ; where he 
 drinks the waters for a slight touch of the liver which 
 he got in India ; and plays whist with old dowagers, 
 
98 CH<%ISTMAS AT B^CEE^DGE HALL 
 
 with whom he has flirted in his younger days. In 
 deed 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 the first-rate currency, when in town ; 
 being invited to one place because he has been seen 
 at another. In the same way he is invited about the 
 country seats, and can describe half the seats in the 
 kingdom, from actual observation ; nor is any one 
 better versed in court gossip, and the pedigrees and 
 intermarriages of the nobility. 
 
 As the general is an old bachelor and an old beau, 
 and there are several ladies at the Hall, especially his 
 quondam flame Lady Jocelyne, he is put rather upon 
 his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, there 
 fore, at his toilet, and takes the field at a late hour 
 every morning, with his hair dressed out and powdered, 
 and a rose in his button-hole. After he has break 
 fasted, he walks up and down the terrace in the sun 
 shine, humming an air, and hemming between every 
 stave, carrying one hand behind his back, and with 
 the other touching his cane to the ground, and then 
 raising it up to his shoulder. Should he, in these 
 morning promenades, meet any of the elder ladies of 
 the family, as he frequently does Lady Lillycraft, his 
 hat is immediately in his hand, and it is enough to 
 remind one of those courtly groups of ladies and 
 gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor Terrace or 
 Kensington Gardens. 
 

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 JV : " ; P 
 
 ^^Hs^;:m. 
 
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 u- . 
 
 ///> n&f is immrai&Teiy " 
 
 m yi/j h&nd. 
 
AN OLD SOLDIER 99 
 
 He talks frequently about "the service," and is 
 fond of humming the old song, 
 
 " Why, soldiers, why 
 
 Should we be melancholy, boys ? 
 Why, soldiers, why, 
 
 Whose business tis to die ! " 
 
 I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever 
 run any great risk of dying, excepting from an apo 
 plexy, or indigestion. He criticises all the battles on 
 the continent, and discusses the merits of the com 
 manders, but never fails to bring the conversation, 
 ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am 
 told that the general was a perfect champion at 
 drawing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during 
 the late war, and was looked to with hope and con 
 fidence by many an old lady, when labouring under 
 the terror of Buonaparte s invasion. 
 
 He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on 
 levees when in town. He has treasured up many re 
 markable sayings of the late king, particularly one 
 which the king made to him on a field-day, compli 
 menting him on the excellence of his horse. He 
 extols the whole royal family, but especially the 
 present king, whom he pronounces the most perfect 
 gentleman and best whist-player in Europe. The 
 general swears rather more than is the fashion of the 
 present day ; but it was the mode of the old school. 
 He is, however, very strict in religious matters, and a 
 staunch churchman. He repeats the responses very 
 loudly in church, and is emphatical in praying for the 
 king and royal family. 
 
 At table his loyalty waxes very fervent with his 
 second bottle, and the song of " God save the King " 
 
loo CH^STMAS AT B C I(ACEB < I(IDGE HALL 
 
 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 travelled 
 about the country as much as any man, and has met 
 with nothing but prosperity ; and to confess the truth, 
 a great part of his time is spent in visiting from one 
 country-seat to another, and riding about the parks 
 of his friends. " They talk of public distress," said 
 the general this day to me, at dinner, as he smacked 
 a glass of rich burgundy, and cast his eyes about the 
 ample board ; " they talk of public distress, but where 
 do we find it, sir ? I see none. I see no reason any 
 one has to complain. Take my word for it, sir, this 
 talk about public distress is all humbug ! " 
 
Little dogs and all ! LEAR. 
 
 IN giving an account of the arrival of Lady Lillycraft 
 at the Hall, I ought to have mentioned the entertain 
 ment which I derived from witnessing the unpacking 
 of her carriage, and the disposing of her retinue. 
 There is something extremely amusing to me in the 
 number of factitious wants, the loads of imaginary 
 conveniences, but real incumbrances, with which the 
 luxurious are apt to burthen themselves. I like to 
 watch the whimsical stir and display about one of 
 these petty progresses. The number of robustious 
 footmen and retainers of all kinds bustling about, with 
 looks of infinite gravity and importance, to do almost 
 nothing. The number of heavy trunks, and parcels, 
 and bandboxes 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 scat still softer, and to prevent 
 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 the mode of 
 travelling ; and all this preparation and parade to 
 
 101 
 
102 CH^SrMAS A1 B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 move, perhaps, some very good-for-nothing personage 
 about a little space of earth ! 
 
 I eta not mean to apply the latter part of these 
 observations to Lady Lillycraft, for whose simple 
 kindheartedness I have a very great respect, and who 
 is really a most amiable and worthy being. I cannot 
 refrain, however, from mentioning some of the motley 
 retinue she has brought with her ; and which, indeed, 
 bespeak the overflowing kindness of her nature, which 
 requires her to be surrounded with objects on which 
 to lavish it. 
 
 In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered 
 coachman, with a red face, and cheeks that hang 
 down like dew-laps. He evidently domineers over 
 her a little with respect to the fat horses ; and only 
 drives out when he thinks proper, and when he thinks 
 it will be " good for the cattle." 
 
 She has a favourite page to attend upon her person : 
 a handsome boy of about twelve years of age, but a 
 mischievous varlet, very much spoiled, and in a fair 
 way to be good for nothing. He is dressed in green, 
 with a profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons about 
 his clothes. She always has one or two attendants of 
 the kind, who are replaced by others as 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 
 
THE WIDOW S ^riNUE 103 
 
 at him ; his nose turns up ; his mouth is drawn into 
 wrinkles, so as to show his teeth ; in short, he has 
 altogether the look of a dog far gone in misanthropy, 
 and totally sick of the world. When he walks, he 
 has his tail curled up so tight that it seems to lift his 
 feet from the ground ; and he seldom makes use of 
 more than three legs at a time, keeping the other 
 drawn up as a reserve. This last wretch is called 
 Beauty. 
 
 These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown 
 to vulgar dogs ; and are petted and nursed by Lady 
 Lillycraft with the tenderest kindness. They are 
 pampered and fed with delicacies by their fellow- 
 minion, the page ; but their stomachs are often weak 
 and out of order, so that they cannot eat ; though I 
 have now and then seen the page give them a mis 
 chievous pinch, or thwack over the head, when his 
 mistress was not by. They have cushions for their 
 express use, on which they lie before the fire, and yet 
 are apt to shiver and moan if there is the least draught 
 of air. When any one enters the room, they make a 
 most tyrannical barking, that is absolutely deafening. 
 They are insolent to all the other dogs of the estab 
 lishment. There is a noble stag-hound, a great 
 favourite of the squire s, who is a privileged visitor to 
 the parlour ; 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 ladyship drives out, these 
 dogs are generally carried with her to take the air ; 
 when they look out of each window of the carriage, 
 and bark at all vulgar pedestrian dogs. These dogs 
 
104 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 are a continual source of misery to the household : as 
 they are always in the way, they every now and then 
 get their toes trod on, and then there is a yelping on 
 their part, and a loud lamentation on the part of their 
 mistress, that fills the room with clamour and con 
 fusion. 
 
 Lastly, there is her ladyship s waiting-gentlewoman, 
 Mrs Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; one of 
 the most intolerable and intolerant virgins that ever 
 lived. She has kept her virtue by her until it has 
 turned sour, and now every word and look smacks of 
 verjuice. She is the very opposite to her mistress, for 
 one hates, and the other loves, all mankind. How 
 they first came together I cannot imagine, but they 
 have lived together for many years ; and the abigail s 
 temper being tart and encroaching, and her ladyship s 
 easy and yielding, the former has got the complete 
 upper hand, and tyrannises over the good lady in secret. 
 
 Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in 
 great confidence, to her friends, but hushes up the 
 subject immediately, if Mrs Hannah makes her ap 
 pearance. Indeed, she has been so accustomed to be 
 attended by her, that she thinks she could not do 
 without her ; though one great study of her life is to 
 keep Mrs Hannah in good humour, by little presents 
 and kindnesses. 
 
 Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, 
 mingled with awe, for this ancient spinster. He told 
 me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a cursed 
 brimstone in fact, he added another epithet, which I 
 would not repeat for the world. I have remarked, 
 however, that he is always extremely civil to her 
 when they meet. 
 
^ADT-MONET JACK 
 
 My purse, it is my privy wyfe, 
 
 This song I dare both syng and say, 
 
 It keepeth men from grievous stryfe 
 
 When every man for hymself shall pay, 
 
 As I ryde in ryche array 
 
 For gold and sylver men wyll me floryshe ; 
 
 By thys matter I dare well saye, 
 
 Ever gramercy myne owne purse. 
 
 BOOK or HUNTING. 
 
 ON the skirts of the neighbouring village there lives 
 a kind of small potentate, who, for aught I know, is 
 a representative of one of the most ancient legitimate 
 lines of the present day ; for the empire over which 
 he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind. 
 His territories comprise a considerable number of good 
 fat acres ; and his seat of power is an old farm-house, 
 where he enjoys, unmolested, the stout oaken chair of 
 his ancestors. The personage to whom I allude is a 
 sturdy old yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or 
 rather Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as he is called 
 throughout the neighbourhood. 
 
 The first place where he attracted my attention 
 was in the churchyard on Sunday ; where he sat on a 
 tombstone after service, with his hat a little on one 
 side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors, and, 
 as I presumed, expounding the law and the prophets, 
 until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he was only 
 
 105 
 
io6 CH<RJ$TMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 expatiating on the merits of a brown horse. He pre 
 sented so faithful a picture of a substantial English 
 yeoman, such as he is often described in books, 
 heightened, indeed, by some little finery peculiar to 
 himself, that I could not but take note of his whole 
 appearance. 
 
 He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong muscular 
 frame, and at least six feet high, with a physiognomy 
 as grave as a lion s, and set off with short, curling, 
 iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar was turned down 
 and displayed a neck covered with the same short, 
 curling, gray hair ; and he wore a coloured silk neck 
 cloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at the bosom, 
 with a green paste brooch on the knot. His coat 
 was of dark-green cloth, with silver buttons, on each 
 of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, 
 John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner waist 
 coat of figured chintz, between which and his coat 
 was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches 
 were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from any 
 slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet garters 
 His stockings were blue, with white clocks ; he wore 
 large silver shoe-buckles ; a broad paste buckle in his 
 hatband ; his sleeve buttons were gold seven-shilling 
 pieces ; and he had two or three guineas hanging as 
 ornaments to his watch-chain. 
 
 On making some inquiries about him, I gathered 
 that he was descended from a line of farmers that had 
 always lived on the same spot, and owned the same 
 property ; and that half of the churchyard was taken 
 up with the tombstones of his race. He has all his 
 life been an important character in the place. When 
 a youngster, he was one of the most roaring blades of 
 
<l(EADr-MONEr JACK 107 
 
 the neighbourhood. No one could match him at 
 wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other 
 athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pinner of 
 Wakefield, he was the village champion ; carried off 
 the prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the 
 country round. Even to this day the old people talk 
 of his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all 
 heroes of the green that have succeeded him ; nay, 
 they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to take the 
 field even now, there is no one could stand before 
 him. 
 
 When Jack s father died, the neighbours shook 
 their heads, and predicted that young Hopeful would 
 soon make way with the old homestead ; but Jack 
 falsified all their predictions. The moment he suc 
 ceeded to the paternal farm he assumed a newcharacter ; 
 took a wife; attended resolutely to his affairs, and 
 became an industrious, thrifty farmer. With the 
 family property he inherited a set of old family 
 maxims, to which he steadily adhered. He saw to 
 everything himself ; put his own hand to the plough; 
 worked hard ; ate heartily ; slept soundly ; paid for 
 everything in cash down ; and never danced except 
 he could do it to the music of his own money in both 
 pockets. He has never been without a hundred or 
 two pounds in gold by him, and never allows a debt 
 to stand unpaid. This has gained him his current 
 name, of which, by the by, he is a little proud ; and 
 has caused him to be looked upon as a very wealthy 
 man by all the village. 
 
 Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never 
 denied himself the amusements of life, but has taken 
 a share in every passing pleasure. It is his maxim, 
 
io8 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 that " he that works hard can afford to play." He is, 
 therefore, an attendant at all the country fairs and 
 wakes, and has signalised himself by feats of strength 
 and prowess on every village green in the shire. He 
 often makes his appearance at horse-races, and sports 
 his half-guinea and even his guinea at a time ; keeps a 
 good horse for his own riding, and to this day is fond 
 of following the hounds, and is generally in at the 
 death. He keeps up the rustic revels, and hospitalities 
 too, for which his paternal farm-house has always 
 been noted ; has plenty of good cheer and dancing at 
 harvest-home, and, above all, keeps the <c merry 
 night," 1 as it is termed, at Christmas. 
 
 With all his love of amusement, however, Jack is 
 by no means a boisterous jovial companion. He is 
 seldom known to laugh even in the midst of his gaiety ; 
 but maintains the same grave, lion-like demeanour. 
 He is very slow at comprehending a joke ; and is apt 
 to sit puzzling at it, with a perplexed look, while the 
 rest of the company is in a roar. This gravity has, 
 perhaps, grown on him with the growing weight of 
 his character ; for he is gradually rising into patriarchal 
 dignity in his native place. Though he no longer 
 takes an active part in athletic sports, yet he always 
 presides at them, and is appealed to on all occasions as 
 umpire. He maintains the peace on the village-green 
 at holiday games, and quells all brawls and quarrels by 
 collaring the parties and shaking them heartily, if 
 refractory. No one ever pretends to raise a hand 
 
 1 MERRY NIGHT ; a rustic merry-making in a farm-house about 
 Christmas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abundance 
 of homely fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale ; various feats of agility, 
 amusing games, romping, dancing, and kissing withal. They commonly 
 break up at midnight. 
 
^READY-MONET JACK 109 
 
 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 of the green. 
 
 He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the 
 landlady having been a sweetheart of his in early life, 
 and he having always continued on kind terms with 
 her. He seldom, however, drinks anything but a 
 draught of ale ; smokes his pipe, and pays his reckon 
 ing before leaving the tap-room. Here he " gives his 
 little senate laws ; " decides bets, which are very 
 generally referred to him ; determines upon the 
 characters and qualities of horses ; and indeed plays 
 now and then the part of a judge, in settling petty 
 disputes between neighbours, which otherwise might 
 have been nursed by country attorneys into tolerable 
 law-suits. Jack is very candid and impartial in his 
 decisions, but he has not a head to carry a long argu 
 ment, and is very apt to get perplexed and out of 
 patience if there is much pleading. He generally 
 breaks though the argument with a strong voice, and 
 brings matters to a summary conclusion, by pro 
 nouncing what he calls the " upshot of the business," 
 or, in other words, " the long and short of the 
 matter." 
 
 Jack once made a journey to London, a great many 
 years since, which has furnished him with topics of 
 conversation ever since. He saw the old king on the 
 terrace at Windsor, who stopped, and pointed him 
 out to one of the princesses, being probably struck 
 with Jack s truly yeoman-like appearance. This is a 
 favourite anecdote with him, and has no doubt had a 
 great effect in making him a most loyal subject ever 
 
1 10 CH^STMAS AT B<HACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 since, in spite of taxes and poor s rates. He was also 
 at Bartholomew Fair, where he had half the buttons 
 cut off his coat ; and a gang of pickpockets, attracted 
 by his external show of gold and silver, made a regular 
 attempt to hustle him as he was gazing at a show ; 
 but for once they found that they had caught a tartar, 
 for Jack enacted as great wonders among the gang as 
 Samson did among the Philistines. One of his neigh 
 bours, who had accompanied him to town, and was 
 with him at the fair, brought back an account of his 
 exploits, which raised the pride of the whole village ; 
 who considered their champion as having subdued all 
 London, and eclipsed the achievements of Friar Tuck, 
 or even the renowned Robin Hood himself. 
 
 Of late years the old fellow has begun to take the 
 world easily ; he works less, and indulges in greater 
 leisure, his son having grown up, and succeeded to 
 him both in the labours of the farm and the exploits 
 of the green. Like all sons of distinguished men, 
 however, his father s renown is a disadvantage to him, 
 for he can never come up to public expectation. 
 Though a fine, active fellow of three-and-twenty, and 
 quite the " cock of the walk," yet the old people 
 declare he is nothing like what Ready-Money Jack 
 was at his time of life. The youngster himself 
 acknowledges his inferiority, and has a wonderful 
 opinion of the old man, who indeed taught him all his 
 athletic accomplishments, and holds such a sway over 
 him, that I am told, even to this day, he would have 
 no hesitation to take him in hands, if he rebelled 
 against paternal government. 
 
 The squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and 
 shows him to all his vistors as a specimen of old 
 

 
 "-* 
 
 Hffn&int&ins thr pe&ce on 
 
 
 J~*Bj\ %, Hf f /n\int&ins the pf&ce on (s*r\ 
 
 *4J / fa vil\*&-%rrtn - /% ^ 
 
 ^^^k^^^Y^^^-^-^^^ 
 
<f(EADr-MONEr JACK 1 1 1 
 
 English " heart of oak." He frequently calls at his 
 house, and tastes some of his home-brewed, which is 
 excellent. He made Jack a present of old Tusser s 
 Hundred Points of good Husbandrie^ which has 
 furnished him with reading ever since, and is his text 
 book and manual in all agricultural and domestic 
 concerns. He has made dog s ears at the most 
 favourite passages, and knows many of the poetical 
 maxims by heart. 
 
 Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or 
 fluttered by high acquaintances ; and though he 
 cherishes a sturdy independence of mind and manner, 
 yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of the 
 squire, whom he has known since boyhood, and pro 
 nounces "a true gentleman every inch of him." He 
 is also on excellent terms with Master Simon, who is 
 a kind of privy councillor to the family ; but his 
 great favourite is the Oxonian, whom he taught to 
 wrestle and play at quarter-staff when a boy, and con 
 siders the most promising young gentleman in the 
 whole county. 
 
Printed bookes he contemnes, as a novelty of this latter age ; but a 
 manuscript he pores on everlastingly ; especially if the cover be all 
 moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis between every syllable. 
 
 MlCO-CoSMOGRAPHIE, l6z8. 
 
 THE squire receives great sympathy and support in 
 his antiquated humours from the parson, of whom I 
 made some mention on my former visit to the Hall, 
 and who acts as a kind of family chaplain. He has 
 been cherished by the squire almost constantly since 
 the time that they were fellow-students at Oxford ; 
 for it is one of the peculiar advantages of these great 
 universities, that they often link the poor scholar to 
 the rich patron, by early and heart-felt ties, that last 
 through life, without the usual humiliations of depend 
 ence and patronage. Under the fostering protection 
 of the squire, therefore, the little parson has pursued 
 his studies in peace. Having lived almost entirely 
 among books, and those, too, old books, he is quite 
 ignorant of the world, and his mind is as antiquated 
 as the garden at the Hall, where the flowers are all 
 arranged in formal beds, and the yew-trees clipped 
 into urns and peacocks. 
 
 His taste for literary antiquites was first imbibed in 
 the Bodleian Library at Oxford ; where, when a 
 student, he passed many an hour foraging among the 
 
 112 
 
ANTIQ UA^T 1 1 3 
 
 old manuscripts. He has since, at different times, 
 visited most of the curious libraries in England, and 
 has ransacked many of the cathedrals. With all his 
 quaint and curious learning, he has nothing of arro 
 gance or pedantry ; but that unaffected earnestness 
 and guileless simplicity which seem to belong to the 
 literary antiquary. 
 
 He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in 
 his manner : yet, on his favourite theme, he kindles 
 up, and at times is even eloquent. No fox-hunter, 
 recounting his last day s sport, could be more animated 
 than I have seen the worthy parson, when relating 
 his search after a curious document, which he had 
 traced from library to library, until he fairly unearthed 
 it in the dusty chapter-house of a cathedral. When, 
 too, he describes some venerable manuscript, with its 
 rich illuminations, its thick creamy vellum, its glossy 
 ink, and the odour of the cloisters that seemed to 
 exhale from it, he rivals the enthusiasm of a Parisian 
 epicure, expatiating on the merits of a Perigord pie, 
 or a Pate de Strasbourg. 
 
 His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick 
 dreams about gorgeous old works in " silk linings, 
 triple gold bands, and tinted leather, locked up in 
 wire cases, and secured from the vulgar hands of the 
 mere reader " ; and, to continue the happy expression 
 of an ingenious writer, " dazzling one s eyes, like 
 eastern beauties peering through their jealousies." 1 
 
 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 chambers where the light 
 
 1 D Israeli. Curiosities of Literature. 
 
ii4 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 struggles through dusty lancet windows and painted 
 glass ; and that it loses half its zest if taken away from 
 the neighbourhood of the quaintly carved oaken book 
 case and Gothic reading-desk. At his suggestion, the 
 squire has had the library furnished in this antique 
 taste, and several of the windows glazed with painted 
 glass, that they may throw a properly tempered light 
 upon the pages of their favourite old authors. 
 
 The parson, I am told, has been for some time 
 meditating a commentary on Strutt, Brand, and Douce ; 
 in which he means to detect them in sundry danger 
 ous errors in respect to popular games and superstitions, 
 a work to which the squire looks forward with great 
 interest. He is also a casual contributor to that long- 
 established repository of national customs and anti 
 quities, the Gentleman s Magazine^ and is one of 
 those that every now and then make an inquiry con 
 cerning some obsolete customs or rare legend ; nay, 
 it is said that several of his communications have been 
 at least six inches in length. He frequently receives 
 parcels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, 
 containing mouldy volumes and almost illegible manu 
 scripts; for it is singular what an active correspondence 
 is kept up among literary antiquaries, and how soon 
 the fame of any rare volume, or unique copy, just 
 discovered among the rubbish of a library, is circulated 
 among them. The parson is more busy than common 
 just now, being a little flurried by an advertisement of 
 a work, said to be preparing for the press, on the 
 mythology of the middle ages. The little man has 
 long been gathering together all the hobgoblin tales 
 he could collect, illustrative of the superstitions of 
 former times ; and he is in a complete fever lest 
 
A LITE<I(A<Hr ANTlQTJA Rjr 115 
 
 this formidable rival should take the field before 
 him. 
 
 Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called at the 
 parsonage, in company with Mr Bracebridge and the 
 general. The parson had not been seen for several 
 days, which was a matter of some surprise, as he was 
 an almost daily visitor at the Hall. We found him in 
 his study, a small, dusky chamber, lighted by a lattice 
 window that looked into the churchyard, and was 
 overshadowed by a yew tree. His chair was surrounded 
 by folios and quartos, piled upon the floor, and his 
 table was covered with books and manuscripts. The 
 cause of his seclusion was a work which he had 
 recently received, and with which he had retired in 
 rapture from the world, and shut himself up to enjoy 
 a literary honeymoon undisturbed. Never did 
 boarding-school girl devour the pages of a sentimental 
 novel, or Don Quixote a chivalrous romance, with 
 more intense delight than did the little man banquet 
 on the pages of this delicious work. It was Dibdin s 
 bibliographical Tour ; a work calculated to have as 
 intoxicating an effect on the imaginations of literary 
 antiquaries, as the adventures of the heroes of the 
 Round Table on all true knights ; or the tales of the 
 early American voyagers on the ardent spirits of 
 the age, filling them with dreams of Mexican and 
 Peruvian mines, and of the golden realm of El 
 Dorado. 
 
 The good parson had looked forward to this Biblio 
 graphical 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 enter 
 prise ! With what interest had he followed the re- 
 
1 1 6 CH^STMAS AT B<I(4CEB ( F(IDGE HALL 
 
 doubtable bibliographer and his graphical squire in 
 their adventurous roamings among Norman castles 
 and cathedrals, and French libraries, and German 
 convents and universities ; penetrating into the 
 prison-houses of vellum manuscripts and exquisitely 
 illuminated missals, and revealing their beauties to 
 the world ! 
 
 When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy 
 on this most curious and entertaining work, he drew 
 forth from a little drawer a manuscript lately received 
 from a correspondent, which perplexed him sadly. 
 It was written in Norman-French in very ancient 
 characters, and so faded and mouldered away as to be 
 almost illegible. It was apparently an old Norman 
 drinking song, that might have been brought over by 
 one of William the Conqueror s carousing followers. 
 The writing was just legible enough to keep a keen 
 antiquity hunter on a doubtful chase ; here and there 
 he would be completely thrown out, and then there 
 would be a few words so plainly written as to put him 
 on the scent again. In this way he had been led on 
 for a whole day, until he had found himself completely 
 at fault. 
 
 The squire endeavoured to assist him, but was 
 equally baffled. The old general listened for some 
 time to the discussion, and then asked the parson if 
 he had read Captain Morris s, or George Stephens , 
 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 drink 
 ing 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 
 
ANTIQUA<%r 117 
 
 into the bargain. I never travel without them ; 
 they re excellent reading at an inn." 
 
 It would not be easy to describe the odd look of 
 surprise and perplexity of the parson at this proposal ; 
 or the difficulty the squire had in making the general 
 comprehend, that though a jovial song of the present 
 day was but a foolish sound in the ears of wisdom, 
 and beneath the notice of a learned man, yet a trowl 
 written by a tosspot several hundred years since was 
 a matter worthy of the gravest research, and enough 
 to set whole colleges by the ears. 
 
 I have since pondered much on this matter, and 
 have figured to myself what may be the fate of our 
 current literature, when retrieved piecemeal by future 
 antiquaries, from among the rubbish of ages. What 
 a Magnus Apollo, for instance, will Moore become 
 among sober divines and dusty schoolmen ! Even 
 his festive and amatory songs, which are now the 
 mere quickeners of our social moments, or the de 
 lights of our drawing-rooms, will then become matters 
 of laborious research and painful collation. How 
 many a grave professor will then waste his midnight 
 oil, or worry his brain through a long morning, en 
 deavouring 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 book 
 worm, 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 anti 
 quaries. Many a poor scribbler, who is now ap 
 parently sent to oblivion by pastry-cooks and cheese- 
 
1 1 8 CH<%ISTM4S A1 B<I(ACEB < I(IDGE HALL 
 
 mongers, 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 dilapidations 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. 
 
Love and hay 
 
 Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 I WAS so much pleased with the anecdotes which were 
 told me of Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, that I got 
 Master Simon, a day or two since, to take me to his 
 house. It was an old-fashioned farm-house, built of 
 brick, with curiously twisted chimneys. It stood at 
 a little distance from the road, with a southern ex 
 posure, looking upon a soft green slope of meadow, 
 There was a small garden in front, with a row of bee 
 hives 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 
 control him in everything. She received us in the 
 
 119 
 
CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 main room of the house, a kind of parlour or hall, 
 with great brown beams of timber across it, which 
 Mr Tibbets is apt to point out with some exultation, 
 observing, that they don t put such timber in houses 
 nowadays. The furniture was old-fashioned, strong, 
 and highly polished ; the walls were hung with 
 coloured prints of the story of the Prodigal Son, who 
 was represented in a red coat and leather breeches. 
 Over the fire-place was a blunderbuss, and a hard- 
 favoured likeness of Ready-Money Jack, taken, when 
 he was a young man, by the same artist that painted 
 the tavern sign ; his mother having taken a notion 
 that the Tibbets had as much right to have a gallery 
 of family portraits as the folks at the Hall. 
 
 The good dame pressed us very much to take some 
 refreshment, and tempted us with a variety of house 
 hold 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 sub 
 stantial plenty prevailed throughout 5 everything was 
 of the best materials, and in the best condition. 
 Nothing was out of place, or ill-made ; and you saw 
 everywhere the signs of a man that took care to have 
 the worth of his money, and that paid as he went. 
 
 The farm-yard was well stocked ; under a shed was 
 a taxed cart, in trim order, in which Ready-Money 
 Jack took his wife about the country. His well-fed 
 horse neighed from the stable, and when led out 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 
 
THE FA M-HOUSS 121 
 
 that everything about him should fare as well as he 
 did himself. 
 
 I was pleased to see the pride which the young 
 fellow seemed to have of his father. He gave us 
 several particulars concerning his habits, which were 
 pretty much to the effect of those I have already 
 mentioned. He had never suffered an account to 
 stand in his life, always providing the money before 
 he purchased anything ; and, if possible, paying in gold 
 and silver. He had a great dislike to paper money, 
 and seldom went without a considerable sum in gold 
 about him. On my observing that it was a wonder 
 he had never been waylaid and robbed, the young 
 fellow smiled at the idea of anyone venturing upon 
 such an exploit, for I believe he thinks the old man 
 would be a match for Robin Hood and all his gang. 
 
 I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into 
 any house without having a world of private talk with 
 some one or other of the family, being a kind of 
 universal counsellor and confidant. We had not been 
 long at the farm, before the old dame got him into a 
 corner of her parlour, where they had a long whisper 
 ing conference together ; in which I saw by his shrugs 
 that there were some dubious matters discussed, and 
 by his nods that he agreed with everything she said. 
 
 After we had come out, the young man accompanied 
 us a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon 
 aside into a green lane, they walked and talked to 
 gether 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 
 
122 CHRISTMAS AT: B HACEB HIDGE HALL 
 
 Wilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the 
 Hall. Like most other love concerns it had brought 
 its troubles and perplexities. Dame Tibbets had 
 had long been on intimate gossiping terms with the 
 housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house ; but 
 when the neighbours spoke to her of the likelihood 
 of a match between her son and Phoebe Wilkins, 
 " Marry come up ! " she scouted the very idea. The 
 girl had acted as lady s maid, and it was beneath the 
 blood of the Tibbets, who had lived on their own 
 lands time out of mind, and owed reverence and 
 thanks to nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a 
 servant ! 
 
 These vapourings had faithfully been carried to 
 the housekeeper s ear, by one of the mutual go-between 
 friends. The old housekeeper s blood, if not as ancient, 
 was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets. 
 
 She had been accustomed to carry a high head at 
 the Hall and among the villagers ; and her faded bro 
 cade rustled with indignation at the slight cast upon 
 her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer. She main 
 tained 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 on the land ; and 
 when somebody died, would receive something that 
 would be worth the notice of some folks with all their 
 ready money." 
 
 A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two 
 worthy dames, and the young people were forbidden 
 to think of one another. As to young Jack, he was 
 too much in love to reason upon the matter ; and 
 being a little heady, and not standing in much awe of 
 
THE FAT^M-HOUSE 123 
 
 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 in 
 genuity to widen this accidental breach ; but, as is 
 most commonly the case, the more she meddled with 
 this perverse inclination of her son, the stronger it 
 grew. In the meantime Old Ready-Money was 
 kept completely in the dark ; both parties were in 
 awe and uncertainty as to what might be his way of 
 taking the matter, and dreaded to awaken the sleeping 
 lion. Between father and son, therefore, the worthy 
 Mrs Tibbets was full of business and at her wits end. 
 It is true that there was no great danger of honest 
 Ready-Money s finding the thing out, if left to him 
 self; for he was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by 
 no means quick of apprehension ; but there was daily 
 risk of his attention being aroused by those cobwebs 
 which his indefatigable wife was continually spinning 
 about his nose. 
 
 Such is the distracted state of politics in the 
 domestic empire of Ready-Money Jack ; which only 
 shows the intrigues and internal dangers to which 
 the best regulated governments are liable. In this 
 perplexing situation of their affairs, both mother and 
 son have applied to Master Simon for counsel ; and, 
 with all his experience in meddling with other people s 
 concerns, he finds it an exceedingly difficult part to 
 play, to agree with both parties, seeing that their 
 opinions and wishes are so diametrically opposite. 
 
A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one put 
 both horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great crab- 
 shell brought out of China, and some imagined it to be one of the 
 Pagan temples in which the Cannibals adored the divell. 
 
 TAYLOR, THE WATER POET, 
 
 I HAVE made casual mention, more than once, of one 
 of the squire s antiquated retainers, old Christy the 
 huntsman. I find that his crabbed humour is a source 
 of much entertainment among the young men of the 
 family; the Oxonian, particularly, takes a mischievous 
 pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing the old man 
 against the grain, and then smoothing him down 
 again ; for the old fellow is as ready to bristle up his 
 back as a porcupine. He rides a venerable hunter 
 called Pepper, which is a counterpart of himself, a 
 heady, cross-gained animal, that frets the flesh off its 
 bones ; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villainous 
 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 anything with him. Some 
 times, 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 
 wrongheaded contest that ensues ; for they are quite 
 knowing in each other s ways and in the art of teas- 
 
 124 
 
HORSEMANSHIP 125 
 
 ing and fretting each other. Notwithstanding these 
 doughty brawls, however, there is nothing that nettles 
 old Christy sooner than to question the merits of his 
 horse ; which he upholds as tenaciously as a faithful 
 husband will vindicate the virtues of the termagant 
 spouse that gives him a curtain lecture every night of 
 his life. 
 
 The young men call old Christy their " professor 
 of equitation," and in accounting for the appellation, 
 they let me into some particulars of the squire s mode 
 of bringing up his children. There is an odd mixture 
 of eccentricity and good sense in all the opinions of 
 my worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, 
 where plain brickwork is set off with pointed arches 
 and plain tracery. Though the main groundwork of 
 his opinions is correct, yet he has a thousand little 
 notions, picked up from old books, which stand out 
 whimsically on the surface of his mind. 
 
 Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peacham, 
 Markham, and such old English writers, for his 
 manuals. At an early age he took the lads out of 
 their mother s hands, who was 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 horsemen ; and these 
 were the days when old Christy, the huntsman, en 
 joyed great importance, as the lads were put under 
 his care to practise them at the leaping-bars, and to 
 keep an eye upon them in the chase. 
 
126 CH<F(ISTM4S AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 The squire always objected to their using carnages 
 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 )uatern io, " a 
 kind of solecism, and to savour of effeminacy, for a 
 young gentleman in the flourishing time of his age to 
 creep into a coach, and to shroud himself from wind 
 and weather : our great delight was to out-brave the 
 blustering boreas upon a great horse ; to arm and 
 prepare ourselves to go with Mars and Bellona into 
 the field was our sport and pastime ; coaches and 
 caroches we left unto them for whom they were first 
 invented, for ladies and gentlemen, and decrepit age 
 and impotent people." 
 
 The squire insists that the English gentlemen have 
 lost much of their hardiness and manhood since the 
 introduction of carriages. "Compare," he will say, 
 " the fine gentleman of former times, ever on horse 
 back, booted and spurred, and travel-stained, but 
 open, frank, manly, and chivalrous, with the fine 
 gentleman of the present day, full of affectation and 
 effeminacy, rolling along a turnpike in his voluptuous 
 vehicle. The young men of those days were rendered 
 brave, and lofty, and generous, in their notions, by 
 almost living in their saddles, and having, their foam 
 ing 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 stateli- 
 ness of the superb animal on which he is mounted." 
 
 "It is a great delight," says old Nashe, "to see a 
 
HO^EMANSHIP 127 
 
 young gentleman with his skill and cunning, by his 
 voice, rod, and spur, better to manage and to command 
 the great Bucephalus, than the strongest Milo, with 
 all his strength ; one while to see him make him tread, 
 trot, and gallop the ring ; and one after to see him 
 make him gather up roundly, to bear his head steadily ; 
 to run a full career swiftly ; to stop a sudden lightly ; 
 anon after to see him make him advance, to yorke, 
 to go back and side long, to turn on either hand ; to 
 gallop the gallop galliard ; to do the capriole, the 
 chambetta, and dance the curvetty." 
 
 In conformity to these ideas, the squire had them 
 all on horseback at an early age, and made them ride, 
 slap dash, about the country, without flinching at 
 hedge or ditch, or stone wall, to the imminent danger 
 of their necks. 
 
 Even the fair Julia was partially included in this 
 system ; and, under the instuctions 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 ride. "And then 
 think," he will say, " what nobler and sweeter beings 
 it made them. What a difference must there be, both 
 in mind and body, between a joyous high-spirited 
 dame of those days, glowing with health and exercise, 
 freshened by every breeze that blows, seated loftily 
 and gracefully on her saddle, with plume on head, and 
 hawk on hand, and her descendant of the present day, 
 the pale victim of routs and ball-rooms, sunk languidly 
 in one corner of an enervating carriage." 
 
1 28 CH^STMAS Ar B^ACEB^KIDGE HALL 
 
 The squire s equestrian system has been attended 
 with great success, for his sons, having passed through 
 the whole course of instruction without breaking neck 
 or limb, are now healthful, spirited, and active, and 
 have the true Englishman s love for a horse. If their 
 manliness and frankness are praised in their father s 
 hearing, he quotes the old Persian maxim, and says, 
 they have been taught "to ride, to shoot, and to speak 
 the truth." 
 
 It is true the Oxonian has now and then practised 
 the old gentleman s doctrines a little in the extreme. 
 He is a gay youngster, rather fonder of his horse than 
 his book, with a little dash of the dandy ; though the 
 ladies all declare that he is " the flower of the flock." 
 The first year that he was sent to Oxford, he had a 
 tutor appointed to overlook him, a dry chip of the 
 university. When he returned home in the vacation, 
 the squire made many inquiries about how he liked 
 his college, his studies, and his tutor. 
 
 " Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I have parted with him 
 some time since." 
 
 " You have ; and, pray, why so ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, 
 and I was a little short of funds ; so I discharged my 
 tutor, and took a horse, you know." 
 
 "Ah, I was not aware of that, Tom," said the 
 squire, mildly. 
 
 When Tom returned to college his allowance was 
 doubled that he might be enabled to keep both horse 
 and tutor. 
 
&x 
 
 seen him present 
 a full-blown rose- 
 
LOVE SYMPTOMS 
 
 will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, ami be most 
 
 apparently in love. 
 
 MARSTON. 
 
 I SHOULD not be surprised if we should have another 
 pair of turtles at the Hall, for Master Simon has in 
 formed me, in great confidence, that he suspects the 
 general of some design upon the susceptible heart of 
 Lady Lillycraft. I have, indeed, noticed a growing 
 attention and courtesy in the veteran towards her 
 ladyship ; he softens very much in her company, sits 
 by her at table, and entertains her with long stories 
 about 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 receiving the homage and atten 
 tion of the sex. 
 
 Indeed, the general was one of the earliest admirers 
 that dangled in her train during her short reign of 
 beauty ; and they flirted together for half a season in 
 London, some thirty or forty years since. She re 
 minded him lately, in the course of conversation about 
 former days, of the time when he used to ride a white 
 horse and to canter so gallantly by the side of her 
 i 129 
 
1 3 o CHl^ISTMAS AT B ( RACEB ( I(IDGE HALL 
 
 carriage in Hyde Park ; whereupon I have remarked 
 that the veteran has regularly escorted her since, when 
 she rides out on horseback ; and I suspect he almost 
 persuades himself that he makes as captivating an 
 appearance as in his youthful days. 
 
 It would be an interesting and memorable circum 
 stance in the chronicles of Cupid, if this spark of the 
 tender passion, after lying dormant for such a length 
 of time, should again be fanned into a flame, from 
 amidst the ashes of two burnt out hearts. It would 
 be an instance of perdurable fidelity, worthy of being 
 placed beside those recorded in one of the squire s 
 favourite tomes, commemorating the constancy of the 
 olden times ; in which times, we are told, " Men and 
 wymmene coulde love togyders seven yeres, and no 
 licours luste swere betwene them, and thenne was 
 love, trouthe, and feythfulness ; and lo in lyke wyse 
 was used love in Kyng Arthurs dayes." 1 
 
 Still, however, this may be nothing but a little 
 venerable flirtation, the general being a veteran 
 dangler, and the good lady habituated to these kind ot 
 attentions. Master Simon, on the other hand, thinks 
 the general is looking about him with the wary eye of 
 an old campaigner ; and now that he is on the wane, 
 is desirous of getting into warm winter quarters. 
 
 Much allowance, however, must be made for 
 Master Simon s uneasiness on the subject, for he looks 
 on Lady Lillycraft s house as one of the strongholds 
 where he is lord of the ascendant ; and, with all his 
 admiration of the general, I much doubt whether he 
 would like to see him lord of the lady and the establish 
 ment. 
 
 1 Mori (? Arthur. 
 
LOVE STMPTOMS 131 
 
 There are certain other symptoms, notwithstanding, 
 that give an air of probability of Master Simon s 
 intimations. Thus, for instance, I have observed that 
 the general has been very assiduous in his attentions 
 to her ladyship s dogs, and has several times exposed 
 his fingers to imminent jeopardy, in attempting to 
 pat Beauty on the head. It is to be hoped his advances 
 to the mistress will be more favourably received, as all 
 his overtures towards a caress are greeted by the 
 pestilent little cur with a wary kindling of the eye, 
 and a most venomous growl. 
 
 He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards 
 the lady s gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs. Hannah, 
 whom he used to speak of in a way that I do not 
 choose to mention. Whether she has the same 
 suspicions with Master Simon or not, I cannot say ; 
 but she receives his civilities with no better grace than 
 the implacable Beauty ; unscrewing her mouth into 
 a most acid smile, and looking as though she could 
 bite a piece out of him. In short the poor general 
 seems to have as formidable foes to contend with as a 
 hero of ancient fairy tale ; who had to fight his way 
 to his enchanted princess through ferocious monsters 
 of every kind, and to encounter the brimstone terrors 
 of some fiery dragon. 
 
 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 completely out. 
 It happened the other day that Spenser s Fairy <jueen 
 was the theme for the great part of the morning, and 
 the poor general sat perfectly silent. I found him not 
 
1 32 CH^SrMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 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 <j)ueen. I have had 
 the curiosity to watch how he got on in his poetical 
 studies; but though I have repeatedly seen him with 
 the book in his hand, yet I find the paper has not 
 advanced above three or four pages ; the general being 
 extremely apt to fall asleep when he reads. 
 
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. SPKNSKR. 
 
 THERE are several grand sources of lamentation 
 furnished to the worthy squire, by the improvement of 
 society, and the grievous advancement of knowledge ; 
 among which there is none, I believe, that causes him 
 more frequent regret than the unfortunate invention of 
 gunpowder. To this, he continually traces the decay 
 of some favourite custom, and, indeed, the general 
 downfall of all chivalrous and romantic usages. 
 " English soldiers," he says, " have never been the 
 men they were in the days of the cross-bow and the 
 long-bow ; when they depended upon the strength of 
 the arm, and the English archer could draw a cloth 
 yard-shaft to the head. These were the times when, 
 at the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt, the 
 French chivalry was completely destroyed by the 
 bowmen 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 favourite holiday pastime." 
 
 Among the other evils which have followed in the 
 train of this fatal invention of gunpowder, the squire 
 
 133 
 
i 3 4 CH<I(ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 classes the total decline of the noble art of falconry. 
 " Shooting," he says, " is a skulking, treacherous, 
 solitary sport in comparison ; but hawking was a 
 gallant, open, sunshiny recreation ; it was the gener 
 ous sport of hunting carried into the skies." 
 
 " It was, moreover," he says, " according to Braithe- 
 waite, the stately amusement of * high and mounting 
 spirits ; for, as the old Welsh proverb affirms, in those 
 times You might know a gentleman by his hawk, 
 horse, and greyhound. Indeed, a cavalier was seldom 
 seen abroad without his hawk on his fist ; and even a 
 lady of rank did not think herself completely equipped, 
 in riding forth, unless she had her tassal-gentel 
 held by jesses on her delicate hand. It was thought 
 in those excellent days, according to an old 
 writer, quite sufficient for noblemen to winde 
 their horn, and to carry their hawke fair ; and 
 leave study and learning to the children of mean 
 people. " 
 
 Knowing the good squire s hobby, therefore, I have 
 not been surprised at finding that, among the various 
 recreations of former times which he has endeavoured 
 to revive in the little world in which he rules, he has 
 bestowed great attention on the noble art of falconry. 
 In this he of course has been seconded by his inde 
 fatigable coadjutor, Master Simon : and even the 
 parson has thrown considerable light on their labours, 
 by various hints on the subject, which he has met with 
 in old English works. As to the precious work of 
 that famous dame, Juliana Barnes ; the Gentleman s 
 Academic^ by Markham ; and the other well-known 
 treatises that were the manuals of ancient sportsmen, 
 they have them at their fingers ends ; but they have 
 
135 
 
 more especially studied some old tapestry in the house, 
 whereon is represented a party of cavaliers and stately 
 dames, with doublets, caps, and flaunting feathers, 
 mounted on horse, with attendants on foot, all in 
 animated pursuit of game. 
 
 The squire has discountenanced the killing of any 
 hawks in his neighbourhood, but gives a liberal bounty 
 for all that are brought him alive ; so that the Hall is 
 well stocked with all kinds of birds of prey. On these 
 he and Master Simon have exhausted their patience 
 and ingenuity, endeavouring to "reclaim" them, as 
 it is termed, and to train them up for the sport ; but 
 they have met with continual checks and disappoint 
 ments. Their feathered school has turned out the 
 most untractable and graceless scholars ; nor is it the 
 least of their trouble to drill the retainers who were to 
 act as ushers under them, and to take immediate charge 
 of these refractory birds. Old Christy and the game 
 keeper both, for a time, set their faces against the 
 whole plan of education ; Christy having been nettled 
 at hearing what he terms a wild-goose chase put on a 
 par with a fox-hunt ; and the gamekeeper having 
 always been accustomed to look upon hawks as arrant 
 poachers, which it was his duty to shoot down, and 
 nail, in terrorem, against 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 dis 
 putes with him as to feeding and training the hawks. 
 He reads to him long passages from the old authors I 
 have mentioned ; but Christy, who cannot read, has 
 a sovereign contempt for all book-knowledge, and 
 
136 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 persists in treating the hawks according to his own 
 notions, which are drawn from his experience, in 
 younger days, in rearing of game cocks. 
 
 The consequence is, that, between these jarring 
 systems, the poor birds have had a most trying and 
 unhappy time of it. Many have fallen victims to 
 Christy s feeding and Master Simon s physicking ; for 
 the latter has gone to work secundem artem^ and has 
 given them all the vomitings and scourings laid down 
 in the books ; never were poor hawks so fed and 
 physicked before. Others have been lost by being but 
 half " reclaimed," or tamed ; for on being taken into 
 the field, they have " raked " after the game quite out 
 of hearing of the call, and never returned to school. 
 
 All these disappointments had been petty, yet sore 
 grievances to the squire, and had made him to despond 
 about success. He has lately, however, been made 
 happy by the receipt of a fine Welsh falcon, which 
 Master Simon terms a stately highflyer. It is a present 
 from the squire s friend, Sir Watkyn Williams Wynn ; 
 and is, no doubt, a descendant of some ancient line of 
 Welsh princes of the air, that have long lorded it over 
 their kingdom of clouds, from Wynnstay to the very 
 summit of Snowdon, or the brow of Penmanmawr. 
 
 Ever since the squire received this invaluable 
 present, he has been as impatient to sally forth and 
 make proof of it, as was Don Quixote to assay his suit 
 of armour. There have been some demurs as to 
 whether the bird was in proper health and training ; 
 but these have been overruled by the vehement desire 
 to play with a new toy ; and it has been determined, 
 right or wrong, in season or out of season, to have a 
 day s sport in hawking to-morrow. 
 
137 
 
 The Hall, as usual, whenever the squire is about to 
 make some new sally on his hobby, is all agog with 
 the thing. Miss Templeton, who is brought up in 
 reverence for all her guardian s humours, has proposed 
 to be of the party, and Lady Lillycraft has talked also 
 of riding out to the scene of action and looking on. 
 This has gratified the old gentleman extremely ; he 
 hails it as an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry, 
 and does not despair but the time will come when it 
 will be again the pride of a fine lady to carry about a 
 noble falcon in preference to a parrot or a lap-dog. 
 
 I have amused myself with the bustling prepara 
 tions of that busy spirit, Master Simon, and the con 
 tinual thwartings he receives from that genuine son 
 of a pepper-box, old Christy. They have had half-a- 
 dozen consultations about how the hawk is to be 
 prepared for the morning s 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-humoured tone, " Well, well, have it your 
 own way, Christy ; only don t put yourself in a 
 passion ; " a reply which always nettles the old man 
 ten times more than ever. 
 
The soaring hawk, from fist that flies, 
 
 Her falconer doth constrain 
 Sometimes to range the ground about 
 
 To find her out again ; 
 And if by sight, or sound of bell, 
 
 His falcon he may see, 
 Wo ho ! he cries, with cheerful voice 
 
 The gladdest man is he. 
 
 " HANDEFULL OF PLEASANT DELITES." 
 
 AT an early hour this morning the Hall was in a 
 bustle, preparing for the sport of the day. I heard 
 Master Simon whistling and singing under my window 
 at sunrise, as he was preparing the jesses for the hawk s 
 legs, and could distinguish now and then a stanza of 
 one of his favourite old ditties : 
 
 " In peascod time, when hound to horn 
 
 Gives note that buck be kill d ; 
 And little boy with pipe of corn 
 Is tending sheep a-field," &c. 
 
 A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was 
 served up in the great Hall. The whole garrison of 
 retainers and hangers-on were in motion, reinforced 
 by volunteer idlers from the village. The horses 
 were led up and down before the door ; everybody 
 had something to say and something to do, and hurried 
 138 
 
HAWKING 139 
 
 hither and thither ; there was a direful yelping of 
 dogs ; some that were to accompany us being eager 
 to set off, and others that were to stay at home being 
 whipped back to their kennels. In short, for once, 
 the good squire s mansion might have been taken as 
 a good specimen of one of the rantipole establishments 
 of the good old feudal times. 
 
 Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall 
 prepared to take the field. The fair Julia was of the 
 party, in a hunting-dress, with a light plume of 
 feathers in her riding-hat. As she mounted her 
 favourite Galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that 
 old Christy forgot his usual crustiness, and hastened 
 to adjust her saddle and bridle. He touched his cap 
 as she smiled on him and thanked him ; and then, 
 looking round at the other attendants, gave a know 
 ing nod of his head, in which I read pride and 
 exultation at the charming appearance of his pupil. 
 
 Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to witness 
 the sport. She was dressed in her broad white beaver, 
 tied under the chin, and a riding-habit of the last 
 century. She rode her sleek, ambling pony, whose 
 motion was as easy as a rocking-chair ; and was 
 gallantly escorted by the general, who looked not 
 unlike one of the doughty heroes in the old prints of 
 the battle of Blenheim. The parson, likewise, ac 
 companied her on the other side ; for this was a 
 learned amusement in which he took great interest ; 
 and, indeed, had given much counsel, from his 
 knowledge of old customs. 
 
 At length everything was arranged, and off we set 
 from the Hall. The exercise on horseback puts one 
 in fine spirits ; and the scene was gay and animating. 
 
140 CHRISTMAS AT B^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 The young men of the family accompanied Miss 
 Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in her 
 saddle, her plumes dancing and waving in the air ; 
 and the group had a charming effect as they appeared 
 and disappeared among the trees, cantering along, 
 with the bounding animation of youth. The squire 
 and Master Simon rode together, accompanied by old 
 Christy, mounted on Pepper. The latter bore the 
 hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most 
 accustomed to him. There was a rabble rout on foot, 
 composed of retainers from the Hall, and some idlers 
 from the village, with two or three spaniels, for the 
 purpose of starting the game. 
 
 A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in the 
 rear, composed of Lady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, 
 the parson, and a fat footman. Her ladyship ambled 
 gently along on her pony, while the general, mounted 
 on a tall hunter, looked down upon her with an air 
 of the most protecting gallantry. 
 
 For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this 
 last party, or rather lagged behind, that I might take 
 in the whole picture ; and the parson occasionally 
 slackened his pace and jogged on in company with 
 me. 
 
 The sport led us at some distance from the Hall, in a 
 soft meadow reeking with the moist verdure of spring. 
 A little river ran through it, bordered by willows, 
 which had put forth their tender early foliage. The 
 sportsmen were in quest of herons which were said to 
 keep about this stream. 
 
 There was some disputing already among the 
 leaders of the sport. The squire, Master Simon, and 
 old Christy, came every now and then to a pause, to 
 
HAWKING 141 
 
 consult together, like the field officers in an army ; 
 and I saw by certain motions of the head, that Christy 
 was as positive as any old wrong-headed German 
 commander. 
 
 As we were prancing up this quiet meadow every 
 sound we made was answered by a distinct echo, from 
 the sunny wall of an old building, that lay on the 
 opposite margin of the stream ; and I paused to listen 
 to the " spirit of a sound," which seems to love such 
 quiet and beautiful places. The parson informed me 
 that this was the ruin of an ancient grange, and was 
 supposed, by the country people, to be haunted by a 
 dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, something like Robin- 
 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 nothing," I called 
 to mind the fine description of an echo in Webster s 
 Duchess of Malfy : 
 
 " Yond side o th river lies a wall, 
 
 Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion 
 Gives, the best echo that you have ever heard : 
 So plain in the distinction of our words 
 That many have supposed it a spirit 
 That answers." 
 
 The parson went on to comment on a pleasing 
 and fanciful appellation which the Jews of old gave 
 to the echo, which they called Bath-kool, that is to 
 say, " the daughter of the voice ; " they considered it 
 an oracle, supplying in the second temple the want of 
 
i 4 2 CH^STMAS AT B<%ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 the Urim and Thummim, with which the first was 
 honoured. 1 The little man was just entering very 
 largely and learnedly upon the subject, when we were 
 startled by a prodigious bawling, shouting, and yelp 
 ing. A flight of crows, alarmed by the approach of 
 our forces, had suddenly risen from a meadow ; a cry 
 was put up by the rabble rout on foot. " Now, 
 Christy ! now is your time, Christy ! " The squire 
 and Master Simon, who were beating up the river 
 banks in quest of a heron, called out eagerly to Christy 
 to keep quiet ; the old man, vexed and bewildered by 
 the confusion of voices, completely lost his head : in 
 his flurry he slipped off the hood, cast off the falcon, 
 and away flew the crows, and away soared the hawk. 
 
 I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady 
 Lillycraft and her escort, from 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 the clear blue sky. I confess, being no 
 sportsman, I was more interested for the poor bird 
 that was striving for its life, than for the hawk that 
 was playing the part of a mercenary soldier. At 
 
 1 Bekker s Monde Enchante. 
 
HAWKING 143 
 
 length the hawk got the upper hand, and made a 
 rushing stoop at her quarry, but the latter made as 
 sudden a surge downwards, and slanting up again 
 evaded the blow, screaming and making the best of 
 his way for a dry tree on the brow of a neighbouring 
 hill ; while the hawk, disappointed of her blow, soared 
 up again into the air, and appeared to be " raking " 
 off. It was in vain old Christy called, and whistled, 
 and endeavoured to lure her down ; she paid no regard 
 to him ; and, indeed, his calls were drowned in the 
 shouts and yelps of the army of militia that had 
 followed him into the field. 
 
 Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillycraft 
 made me turn my head. I beheld a complete con 
 fusion among the sportsmen in the little vale below 
 us. They were galloping and running towards the 
 edge of a bank ; and I was shocked to see Miss 
 Templeton s horse galloping at large without his 
 rider. I rode to the place to which the others were 
 hurrying, and when I reached the bank, which 
 almost overhung the stream, I saw at the foot of it 
 the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, and apparently lifeless, 
 supported in the arms of her frantic lover. 
 
 In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes turned 
 upward, she had unwarily approached too near the 
 bank ; it had given way with her, and she and her 
 horse had been precipitated to the pebbled margin of 
 the river. 
 
 I never saw greater consternation. The captain 
 was distracted ; Lady Lillycraft fainting ; the 
 squire in dismay ; and Master Simon at his wits 
 end. The beautiful creature at length showed 
 signs of returning life j she opened her eyes ; looked 
 
144 CH%lSTAfjfS Ar BtRACEBtRlDGE HALL 
 
 around her upon the anxious group, and compre 
 hending in a moment the nature of the scene, 
 gave a sweet smile, and putting her hand in her 
 lover s, exclaimed feebly, " I am not much hurt, 
 Guy ! " I could have taken her to my heart for 
 that single exclamation. 
 
 It was found, indeed, that she had escaped, almost 
 miraculously, with a contusion of the head, a sprained 
 ankle, and some slight bruises. After her wound was 
 stanched, she was taken to a neighbouring cottage 
 until a carriage could be summoned to convey her 
 home; and when this had arrived the cavalcade, which 
 had issued forth so gaily on this enterprise, returned 
 slowly and pensively to the Hall. 
 
 I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown 
 by this young creature, who, amidst pain and danger, 
 had been anxious only to relieve the distress of those 
 around her. I was gratified, therefore, by the uni 
 versal concern displayed by the domestics on our 
 return. They came crowding down the a venue, each 
 eager to render assistance. The butler stood ready 
 with some curiously delicate cordial ; the old house 
 keeper was provided with half a dozen nostrums, pre 
 pared by 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 im 
 patience 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 
 
HAWKING 145 
 
 assembled, with which I grow more and more 
 entertained. 
 
 I cannot but perceive that the worthy squire is 
 quite disconcerted at the unlucky result of his hawk 
 ing experiment, and this unfortunate illustration of 
 his eulogy on female equitation. Old Christy, too, 
 is very waspish, having been sorely twitted by Master 
 Simon for having let his hawk fly at carrion. As to 
 the falcon, in the confusion occasioned by the fair 
 Julia s 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 Williams Wynn ; 
 and may very possibly, at this present writing, be 
 pluming her wings among the breezy bowers of 
 Wynnstay. 
 
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. 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 
 146 
 
ST. MA^S EVE 147 
 
 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 vigils, and began to excite some talk in the 
 village, when, fortunately for the public comfort, he 
 died shortly after his third watching ; very probably 
 from a cold that he had taken, as the night was 
 tempestuous. It was reported about the village, 
 however, that he had seen his own phantom pass by 
 him into the church. 
 
 This led to the mention of another superstition of 
 an equally strange and melancholy kind, which, how 
 ever, 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. One was seen at Lanylar, late 
 at night, hovering up and down, along the bank of 
 the Istwith, and was watched by the neighbours until 
 they were tired, and went to bed. Not long after 
 wards there came a comely country lass, from Mont 
 gomeryshire, 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 water. She at length endeavoured 
 to cross, but the poor girl was drowned in the 
 attempt. 1 
 
 1 Aubrey s Miscel. 
 
148 CH<HISTMAS AT: B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 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 absorb the 
 attention of a circle, and sober down its gaiety, 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 wedding-day, 
 Lady Lillycraft turned pale. 
 
 I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the 
 kind into various evening circles ; they were often 
 commenced in jest, and listened to with smiles ; but 
 I never knew the most gay or the most enlightened 
 of audiences, that were not, if the conversation 
 continued for any length of time, completely and 
 solemnly interested in it. There is, I believe, a 
 degree of superstition lurking in every mind ; and I 
 doubt if any one can thoroughly examine all his 
 secret notions and impulses without detecting it, 
 hidden, perhaps, even from himself. It seems, indeed, 
 to be a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, 
 and to act independently of our reason. 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 powerful exaltation, is said to believe 
 in omens and secret intimations. 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 
 
ST. MA RjeS EVE 149 
 
 is strongly inclined to superstition. He is naturally 
 credulous, and passes so much of his time searching 
 out popular traditions and supernatural tales, that his 
 mind has probably become infected by them. He 
 has lately been immersed in the Demonolatria of 
 Nicholas Remigius concerning supernatural occur 
 rences in Lorraine, and the writings of Joachimus 
 Camerarius, called by Vossius the Phoenix of 
 Germany ; and he entertains the ladies with stories 
 from them, that make them almost afraid to go to 
 bed at night. I have been charmed myself with some 
 of the wild, little superstitions which he has adduced 
 from Bleflcenius, 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 that live on the tops of rocks and mountains, 
 and infest the lakes ; of the Juhles or Juhlafolket, 
 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 super 
 natural 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, which wandered 
 like exiles about the earth ; and about those spiritual 
 beings which abode in the air, but descended occa 
 sionally to earth, and mingled among mortals, acting 
 
 
150 CH^SrMAS AT B1(ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 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, 
 who 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 it from the fathers of the church ; 
 such as St. Jerome, who gives it as the opinion of all 
 the doctors, that the air is rilled with powers opposed 
 to each other ; and Lactantius, who says that corrupt 
 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 Alexan- 
 drinus, 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 counten 
 ance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon me. 
 The family have long since retired. I have heard 
 their steps die away, and the distant doors clap to 
 after them. The murmur of voices, and the peal of 
 
ST. MA KJCS EVE 151 
 
 remote laughter, no longer reach the car. The clock 
 from the church, in which so many of the former 
 inhabitants of this house He buried, has chimed the 
 awful hour of midnight. 
 
 I have sat by the window and mused upon the 
 dusky landscape, 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 
 grovesand shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imperfectly 
 lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has 
 been crowded by " thick coming fancies " concerning 
 those spiritual beings which 
 
 " walk the earth 
 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 
 
 Are there, indeed, such beings ? Is this space between 
 us and the Deity filled up by innumerable orders of 
 spiritual beings, forming the same gradations between 
 the human soul and divine perfection, that we see 
 prevailing from humanity downwards to the meanest 
 insect ? It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine, incul 
 cated 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 
 dignity of our soul, than that God has given each of 
 us, at the moment of our birth, an angel to have care 
 over 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 
 
152 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in 
 itself is awfully solemn and sublime. However 
 lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the attention involun 
 tarily yielded to it whenever it is made the subject of 
 serious discussion ; its prevalence in all ages and 
 countries, and even among newly-discovered nations, 
 that have had no previous interchange of thought 
 with other parts of the world, prove it to be one of 
 those mysterious, and almost instinctive beliefs, to 
 which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally incline. 
 In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a 
 vague doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perhaps 
 will never be perfectly eradicated, as it is concerning a 
 matter that does not admit of a positive demonstration. 
 Everything connected with our spiritual nature is full 
 of doubt and difficulty. " We are fearfully and 
 wonderfully made ; " we are surrounded by mysteries, 
 and we are mysteries even to ourselves. Who yet has 
 been able to comprehend and describe the nature of 
 the soul, its connection with the body, or in what part 
 of the frame it is situated ? We know merely that it 
 does exist ; but whence it came, and when it entered 
 into us, and how it is retained, and where it is seated, 
 and how it operates, are all matters of mere speculation 
 and contradictory 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 
 fleshy prison-house ? It is more the manner, therefore, 
 in which this superstition has been degraded, than 
 its intrinsic absurdity, that has brought it into con 
 tempt. Raise it above the frivolous purposes to which 
 
ST. MA<F(K y S EVE 153 
 
 it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror 
 with which it has been surrounded, and there is none 
 of the whole circle of visionary creeds that could more 
 delightfully elevate the imagination, or more tenderly 
 affect the heart. It would become a sovereign com 
 fort 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 our welfare ? That affec 
 tionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when 
 we slept, keeping a 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, beanewincentive tovirtue; 
 rendering us circumspect even in our most secret 
 moments, from the idea that those we once loved and 
 honoured were invisible witnesses of all our actions. 
 
 It would take away, too, from that loneliness and 
 destitution which we are apt to feel more and more 
 as we get on in our pilgrimage through the wilder 
 ness of this world, and find that those who set forward 
 with us, lovingly and cheerily, on the journey, have 
 one by one dropped away from our side. Place the 
 superstition in this light, and I confess I should like 
 to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that is 
 incompatible with the tender and merciful nature of 
 our religion, nor revolting to the wishes and affections 
 of the heart. 
 
 There are departed beings that I have loved as I 
 never again shall love in this world ; that have loved 
 
154 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 me as I never again shall be loved ! If such beings 
 do ever retain in their blessed spheres the attachments 
 which they felt on earth ; if they take an interest in 
 the poor concerns of transient mortality, and are per 
 mitted 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 thraldom and 
 restraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by bonds 
 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 fleshy organs. 
 Their earthly loves are made of no 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 other. Or, granting that we dwell 
 together for the full season of this our mortal life, 
 the grave soon closes its gates between us, and then 
 our spirits are doomed to remain in separation and 
 widowhood ; until they meet again in that more 
 perfect state of being, where soul will dwell with 
 soul in blissful communion, and there will be neither 
 
ST. MA^S EVE 155 
 
 death, nor absence, nor anything else to interrupt our 
 felicity. 
 
 %* In the foregoing paper I have alluded to the 
 writings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. They 
 abound with wild theories ; but among them are 
 many truly poetical flights ; and their ideas are often 
 very beautifully expressed. Their speculations on 
 the nature of the angels are curious and fanciful, 
 though much resembling the doctrines of the ancient 
 philosophers. In the writings of the Rabbi Eleazer 
 is an account of the temptation of our first parents 
 and the fall of the angels, which the parson pointed 
 out to me as having probably furnished some of the 
 groundwork for Paradise Lost. 
 
 According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said 
 to the Deity, "What is there in man that thou makest 
 him of such importance ? Is he anything 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 names. Seeing which, 
 the ministering angels said among themselves, " 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 
 
156 CH^STMAS AT B<I(ACEB<t(IDGE HALL 
 
 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 mounted on him), and he 
 cursed him among all beasts and animals." 
 
True Gentrie standeth in the trade 
 
 Of virtuous life, not in the fleshly line 5 
 For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. 
 
 " MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES." 
 
 I HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of the squire in 
 the education of his sons ; but I would not have it 
 thought that his instructions were directed chiefly to 
 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 contem 
 poraries. 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 hollow perfidious courtliness. 
 " His maxims," he affirms, " were calculated to chill 
 the delightful enthusiasm of youth ; to make them 
 ashamed of that romance which is the dawn of gener 
 ous 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 
 
 57 
 
158 CH<I(ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 leisure, his opulence, are debts due to his country, 
 which he must ever stand ready to discharge. He 
 should be a man at all points ; simple, frank, courteous, 
 intelligent, accomplished, and informed ; upright, in 
 trepid, and disinterested ; one that can mingle among 
 freemen ; that can cope with statesmen ; that can 
 champion his country and its rights either at home or 
 abroad. In a country like England, where there is 
 such free and unbounded scope for the exertion of 
 intellect, and where opinion and example have such 
 weight with the people, every gentleman of fortune 
 and leisure should feel himself bound to employ him 
 self in some way towards promoting the prosperity or 
 glory of the nation. In a country where intellect 
 and action are trammelled and restrained, men of rank 
 and fortune may become idlers and triflers with im 
 punity ; 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 leaving the paternal roof; one 
 to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and one to 
 the university. He used to have them with him in 
 the library, which is hung with the portraits of 
 Sydney, Surrey, Raleigh, Wyat, and others. "Look 
 at those models of true English 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 
 
GENTILirr 159 
 
 are the lights by which the youth of the country 
 should array themselves. They were the patterns and 
 the idols of their country at home ; they were the 
 illustrators of its dignity abroad. Surrey, says 
 Camden, c was the first nobleman that illustrated his 
 high birth with the beauty of learning. He was ac 
 knowledged to be the gallantest man, the politest 
 lover, and the completest gentleman of his time. 
 And as to Wyat, his friend Surrey most amiably testi 
 fies 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 : 
 4 They were the two chieftains, who, having travelled 
 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 senti 
 ment, and who illustrated his chivalrous spirit so 
 gloriously in the field. And Sir Walter Raleigh, the 
 elegant courtier, the intrepid soldier, the enterprising 
 discoverer, the enlightened philosopher, the magnani 
 mous martyr. These are the men for English gentle 
 men 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 never 
 have written his Arcadia^ nor Surrey have challenged 
 
160 CH^STMAS AT BT^ACEBT^IDGE HALL 
 
 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 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 profession, is a mere sanguinary 
 hireling. Nothing distinguishes them from the 
 mercenary bravo but a spirit of patriotism, or a thirst 
 for glory. It is the fashion, nowadays, my son," 
 said he, " to laugh at the spirit of chivalry ; when that 
 spirit is really extinct, the profession of the soldier 
 becomes a mere trade of blood." He then set before 
 him the conduct of Edward the Black Prince, who 
 is his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, generous, affable, 
 humane ; gallant in the field : but when he came to 
 dwell on his courtesy towards his prisoner, the king of 
 France ; how he received him into 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. 
 
GENTILirr 161 
 
 Finally, on taking leave, the good squire put in his 
 son s hands, as a manual, one of his favourite old 
 volumes, the Life of the Chevalier Bayard^ by 
 Godefroy ; on a blank page of which he had written 
 an extract from the Mart 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 a true soldier. <c Ah, Sir Launcelot ! 
 thou wert head of all Christian 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 sinfull man that ever loved woman. 
 And thou were the kindest man that ever strook with 
 sword ; and thou were the goodliest person that ever 
 came among the presse of knights. And thou were 
 the meekest man and the gentlest that ever eate in 
 hall among ladies. And thou were the sternest knight 
 to thy mortal foe that ever put speare in the rest." 
 
FO<%TUNE-TELLING 
 
 Each city, each town, and every village, 
 
 Affords us either an alms or pillage. 
 
 And if the weather be cold and raw, 
 
 Then in a barn we tumble on straw. 
 
 If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock, 
 
 The fields will afford us a hedge or a hay-cock. 
 
 " MERRY BEGGARS." 
 
 As I was walking one evening with the Oxonian, 
 Master Simon, and the general, in a meadow not far 
 from the village, we heard the sound of a fiddle rudely 
 played, and looking in the direction from whence it 
 came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from 
 among the trees. The sound of music is always 
 attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there is good 
 humour, or goodwill. We passed along a footpath, 
 and had a peep, through a break in the hedge, at the 
 musician and his party, when the Oxonian gave us a 
 wink, and told us that if we would follow him we 
 should have some sport. 
 
 It proved to be a gipsy encampment, consisting of 
 three or four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets 
 and sail cloth, spread over hoops that were stuck in 
 the ground. It was on one side of a green lane, close 
 under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad beech-tree 
 spreading above it. A small rill tinkled along close 
 by, through the fresh sward, that looked like a carpet. 
 
 162 
 
FOItpUNE-TELLING 163 
 
 A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of 
 iron, over a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and 
 two old gipsies, in red cloaks, sat crouched on the 
 grass, gossiping over their evening cup of tea ; for 
 these creatures, though they live in the open air, have 
 their ideas of fireside comforts. There were two or 
 three children sleeping on the straw with which the 
 tents were littered ; a couple of donkeys were grazing 
 in the lane, and a thievish-looking dog was lying before 
 the fire. Some of the younger gipsies were dancing 
 to the music of a fiddle, played by a tall, slender 
 stripling, in an old frock coat, with a peacock s feather 
 stuck in his hatband. 
 
 As we approached, a gipsy girl, with a pair of fine 
 roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to tell 
 our fortunes. I 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 a figured chintz, 
 rather ragged, and not over clean, but of a variety 
 of most harmonious and agreeable colours ; for these 
 beings have a singularly fine eye for colours. 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 over 
 heard. 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. 
 
1 64 CH<RJ.STMAS AT B ^ACEB RIDGE HALL 
 
 When they returned to us, he assumed a very serious 
 air, u Zounds ! " said he, " it s very astonishing how 
 these creatures come by their knowledge ; this girl has 
 told me some things that I thought no one knew but 
 myself!" 
 
 The girl now assailed the general : " Come, your 
 honour," said she, " I see by your face you re a lucky 
 man ; but you re not happy in your mind ; you re 
 not, indeed, sir ; but have a good heart, and give me 
 a good piece of silver, and I ll tell you a nice 
 fortune." 
 
 The general had received all her approaches with a 
 banter, and had suffered her to get hold of his hand ; 
 but at the mention of the piece of silver, he hemmed, 
 looked grave, and turning to us, asked if we had not 
 better continue our walk. " Come, my master," said 
 the girl archly, " you d 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 
 something in a low voice, at which the general 
 coloured up, was a little fluttered, and suffered himself 
 to be drawn aside under the hedge, where he appeared 
 to listen to her with great earnestness, and at the end 
 paid her half-a-crown with the air of a man that has 
 got the worth of his money. 
 
 The girl next made her attack upon Master Simon, 
 who, however, was too old a bird to be caught, know 
 ing 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 under the chin, played her off with rather 
 

FO^UNE-TELLING 165 
 
 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. a Ah, 
 your honour," said the girl, with a malicious leer, 
 " you were not in such a tantrum last year when I 
 told you about the widow you know who ; but if you 
 had taken a friend s advice, you d never have come 
 away from Doncaster races with a flea in your ear ! " 
 
 There was a secret sting in this speech that seemed 
 quite to disconcert Master Simon. He jerked away 
 his hand in a pet, smacked his whip, whistled to his 
 dogs, and intimated that it was high time to go home. 
 The girl, however, was determined not to lose her 
 harvest. She now turned upon me, and, as I have a 
 weakness of spirit where there is a pretty face con 
 cerned, she soon wheedled me out of my money, and, 
 in return, read me a fortune, which, if* it prove true, 
 and I am determined to believe it, will make me one 
 of the luckiest men in the chronicles of Cupid. 
 
 I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all 
 this oracular mystery, and was disposed to amuse 
 himself with the general, whose tender approaches to 
 the widow have attracted the notice of the wag. I 
 was a little curious, however, to know the meaning of 
 the dark hints which had so suddenly 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 in 
 formation 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 
 
r66 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 me. I had supposed the pleasure he betrayed on these 
 occasions resulted from the usual fondness of old 
 bachelors for being teased about getting married, and 
 about flirting, and being fickle and false-hearted. I 
 am assured, however, that Master Simon had really 
 persuaded himself the widow had a kindness for him ; 
 in consequence of which he had been at some extra 
 ordinary expense in new clothes, and had actually got 
 Frank Bracebridge to order him a coat from Stultz. 
 He began to throw out hints about the importance of 
 a man s settling himself in life before he grew old ; 
 he would look grave whenever the widow and matri 
 mony 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 ap 
 pearance in her curricle; but it was unfortunately 
 driven by a strapping young Irish dragoon, with whom 
 even Master Simon s self-complacency would not 
 allow him to enter into competition, and to whom she 
 was married shortly after. 
 
 It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon for 
 several months, having never before been fully com 
 mitted. The dullest head in the family had a joke 
 upon him ; and there is no one that likes less to be 
 
FO<%TUNE-TELLING 167 
 
 bantered than an absolute joker. He took refuge for 
 a time at Lady Lillycraft s, until the matter should 
 blow over -, and occupied himself by looking over her 
 accounts, regulating the village choir, and inculcating 
 loyalty into a pet bullfinch by teaching him to whistle 
 " God save the King." 
 
 He has now pretty nearly recovered from the 
 mortification ; holds up his head, and laughs as much 
 as any one ; again affects to pity married men, and is 
 particularly facetious about widows, when Lady Lilly- 
 craft is not by. His only time of trial is when the 
 general gets hold of him, who is infinitely heavy and 
 persevering in his waggery, and will interweave a dull 
 joke through the various topics of a whole dinner-time. 
 Master Simon often parries these attacks by a stanza 
 from his old work of Cupid s Solicitor for Love : 
 
 " "Tis in vain to woo a widow over long, 
 
 In once or twice her mind you may perceive ; 
 Widows are subtle, be they old or young, 
 
 And by their wiles young men they will deceive." 
 
Come, do not weep, my girl, 
 
 Forget him, pretty pensiveness ; there will 
 Come others, every day, as good as he. 
 
 SIR J. SUCKLING. 
 
 THE approach of a wedding in a family is always an 
 event of great importance, but particularly so in a 
 household like this, in a retired part of the country. 
 Master Simon, who is a 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 in 
 cantation. 
 
 It is amusing to notice how the oddities of the head 
 of a family flow down through all the branches. The 
 squire, in the indulgence of his love of everything that 
 smacks of old times, has held so many grave conversa 
 tions with the parson at table, about popular super 
 stitions and traditional rites, that they have been 
 carried from the parlour to the kitchen by the listen 
 ing domestics, and, being apparently sanctioned by 
 such high authorities, the whole house has become 
 infected by them. 
 
 The servants are all versed in the common modes 
 168 
 
169 
 
 of trying luck, and the charms to ensure constancy. 
 They read their fortunes by drawing strokes in the 
 ashes, or by repeating a form of words, and looking 
 in a pail of water. St. Mark s Eve, I am told, was a 
 busy time with them ; being an appointed night for 
 certain mystic ceremonies. Several of them sowed 
 hemp-seed, to be reaped by their true lovers ; and they 
 even ventured upon the solemn and fearful preparation 
 of the dumb-cake. This must be done fasting, and 
 in silence. The ingredients are handed down in 
 traditional form : " An egg-shell full of salt, an egg 
 shell full of malt, and an egg-shell full of barley-meal." 
 When the cake is ready, it is put 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 knowing what 
 horrible consequence would ensue ! 
 
 The experiments in the present instance came to 
 no result ; they that sowed the hemp-seed forgot the 
 magic rhyme that they were to pronounce, so the true 
 lover never appeared ; and as to the dumb-cake, what 
 between the awful stillness they had to keep, and the 
 awfulness of the midnight hour, their hearts failed 
 them when they had put the cake in the pan, so that, 
 on the striking of the great house-clock in the servants 
 hall, they were seized with a sudden panic, and ran 
 out of the room, to which they did not return until 
 morning, when they found the mystic cake burnt to a 
 cinder. 
 
 The most persevering at these spells, however, is 
 Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper s niece. As she is 
 a kind of privileged personage, and rather idle, she has 
 more time to occupy herself with these matters. She 
 
1 70 CH^STMAS Ar B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 has alway had her head full of love and matrimony. 
 She knows the dreaming-book by heart, and is quite an 
 oracle among the little girls of the family, who always 
 come to her to interpret their dreams in the mornings. 
 During the present gaiety of the house, however, 
 the poor girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to 
 use the housekeeper s words, " has fallen into a sad 
 hystericky way lately." It seems that she was born 
 and brought up in the village, where her father was 
 parish-clerk, and she was an early playmate and sweet 
 heart of young Jack Tibbets. Since she has come to 
 live at the Hall, however, her head has been a little 
 turned. Being very pretty, and naturally genteel, she 
 has been much noticed and indulged ; and being the 
 housekeeper s niece, she has held an equivocal station 
 between a servant and a companion. She has learnt 
 something of fashions and notions among the young 
 ladies, which have effected quite a metamorphosis ; 
 insomuch that her finery at church on Sundays has 
 given mortal offence to her former intimates in the 
 village. This has occasioned the misrepresentations 
 which have awakened the implacable family pride of 
 Dame Tibbets. But what is worse, Phoebe, having 
 a spice of coquetry in her disposition, showed it on 
 one or two occasions to her lover, which produced a 
 downright quarrel ; and Jack, being very proud and 
 fiery, has absolutely turned his back upon her for 
 several successive Sundays. 
 
 The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, and 
 would fain make up with her lover ; but he feels his 
 security, and stands aloof. In this he is doubtless en 
 couraged by his mother, who is continually reminding 
 him of what he owes to his family ; for this same 
 
171 
 
 family pride seems doomed to be the eternal bane of 
 lovers. 
 
 As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, I have 
 felt quite concerned for the luckless Phoebe, ever since 
 I heard her story. It is a sad thing to be thwarted in 
 love at any time, but particularly so at this tender 
 season of the year, when every living thing, even to 
 the very butterfly, is sporting with its mate ; and the 
 green fields and the budding groves, and the singing 
 of the birds, and the sweet smell of the flowers, are 
 enough to turn the head of a love-sick girl. I am 
 told that the coolness of Young Ready-Money lies 
 heavy at poor Phoebe s heart. Instead of singing 
 about the house as formerly, she goes about pale and 
 sighing, and is apt to break into tears when her com 
 panions are full of merriment. 
 
 Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady 
 Lillycraft, has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, 
 up and down the avenue, of an evening ; and has en 
 deavoured to squeeze some of her own verjuice into 
 the other s milky nature. She speaks with contempt 
 and abhorrence of the whole sex, and advises Phcebe 
 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 fond 
 ness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman j 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 damsel. She is continually trying 
 her fortune in a variety of ways. I am told that she 
 
1 72 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 has absolutely fasted for six Wednesdays and three 
 Fridays successively, having understood that it was a 
 sovereign charm to ensure being married to one s 
 liking within the year. She carries about, also, a 
 lock of her sweetheart s hair, and a riband he once 
 gave her, being a mode of producing constancy in her 
 lover. She even went so far as to try her fortune by 
 the moon, which has always had much to do with 
 lovers dreams and fancies. For this purpose she went 
 out in the night of the full moon, knelt on a stone in 
 the meadow, and repeated the old traditional rhyme : 
 
 " All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee : 
 I pray thee, good moon, now show to me 
 The youth who my future husband shall be." 
 
 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 j at any rate, she had 
 dreamt of him all night ; both of which, the old dame 
 assured her, were most happy signs. It has since 
 turned out that the person in the meadow was old 
 Christy, the huntsman, who was walking his nightly 
 rounds with the great stag-hound ; so that Phoebe s 
 faith in the charm is completely shaken. 
 
BACHELORS CONFESSIONS 
 
 I ll have a private, pensive, single life. 
 
 "THE COLLIK* or 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 appear 
 ance ; he had put on a bright green riding-coat, with 
 a bunch of violets in the button-hole, and had the air 
 of an old bachelor trying to rejuvenate himself. He 
 had not, however, his usual briskness and vivacity, but 
 loitered about the room with somewhat of absence of 
 manner, humming the old song, " Go, lovely rose, 
 tell her that wastes her time and me ; " and then, lean 
 ing against the window, and looking upon the land 
 scape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not 
 been accustomed to see Master Simon in a pensive 
 mood, I thought there might be some vexation prey 
 ing on his mind, and I endeavoured to introduce a 
 cheerful strain of conversation ; but he was not in 
 the vein to follow it up, and proposed that we should 
 take a walk. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, of that soft vernal 
 temperature, that seems to thaw all the frost out of 
 one s blood, and to set all nature in a ferment. The 
 very fishes felt its influence : the cautious trout 
 
 173 
 
1 74 CH^STMAS AT B ( HACEB ( I(IDGE HALL 
 
 ventured out of his dark hole to seek his mate, the 
 roach and the dace rose up to the surface of the brook 
 to bask in the sunshine, and the amorous frog piped 
 from among the rushes. If ever an oyster can really 
 fall in love, as has been said or sung, it must be on 
 such a morning. 
 
 The weather certainly had its effect even upon 
 Master Simon, for he seemed obstinately bent upon 
 the pensive mood. Instead of stepping briskly along, 
 smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties, or 
 telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and 
 talked about the approaching nuptials ; from whence 
 he made several digressions upon the character of 
 womankind, touched a little upon the tender passion, 
 and made sundry very excellent, though rather trite, 
 observations upon disappointments in love. It was 
 evident that he had something on his mind which he 
 wished to impart, but felt awkward in approaching it. 
 I was curious to see to what this strain would lead ; 
 but I was determined not to assist him. Indeed, I 
 mischievously pretended to turn the conversation, and 
 talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and hunting ; 
 but he was very brief in his replies, and invariably 
 got back, by hook or by crook, into the sentimental 
 vein. 
 
 At length we came to a clump of trees that over 
 hung a whispering brook, with a rustic bench at their 
 feet. The trees were grievously scored with letters 
 and devices, which had grown out of all shape and 
 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 
 
A BACHELORS CONFESSIONS 175 
 
 them one by one into the water, and at length, turn 
 ing somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me if ever I 
 had been in love. I confess the question startled me 
 a little, as I am not over fond of making confessions 
 of my amorous follies ; and, above all, should never 
 dream of choosing my friend Master Simon for a 
 confidant. He did not wait, however, for a reply ; the 
 inquiry was merely a prelude to a confession on his own 
 part, and after several circumlocutions and whimsical 
 preambles, he fairly disburthened himself of a very 
 tolerable story of his having been crossed in love. 
 
 The reader will, very probably, suppose that it related 
 to the gay widow who jilted him not long since at 
 Doncaster races ; no such thing. Is was about a 
 sentimental passion that he once had for a most 
 beautiful young lady, who wrote poetry and played 
 on the harp. He used to serenade her ; and indeed 
 he described several tender and gallant scenes, in which 
 he was evidently picturing himself in his mind s eye 
 as some elegant hero of romance, though, unfortun 
 ately for the tale, I only saw him as he stood before 
 me, a dapper little old bachelor, with a face like an 
 apple that has dried with the bloom on it. 
 
 What were the particulars of this tender tale I have 
 already forgotten ; indeed I listened to it with a heart 
 like a very pebble stone, having hard work to repress a 
 smile while Master Simon was putting on the amorous 
 swain, uttering every now and then a sigh, and en 
 deavouring 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 ; 
 
176 CH^STMAS AT B<I(ACEB e I(lDGE HALL 
 
 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 upon " 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. 
 
 I have seldom met with an old bachelor that had 
 not, at some time or other, his nonsensical moment, 
 when he would become tender and sentimental, talk 
 about the concerns of the heart, and have some con 
 fession of a delicate nature to make. Almost every 
 man has some little trait of romance in his life, which 
 he looks back to with fondness, and about which he 
 he is apt to grow garrulous occasionally. He re 
 collects himself as he was at the time, young and 
 gamesome ; and forgets that his hearers have no other 
 idea of the hero of the tale, but such as he may appear 
 at the time of telling it ; peradventure, a withered, 
 whimsical, spindle-shanked old gentleman. With 
 married men, it is true, this is not so frequently the 
 case ; their amorous romance is apt to decline after 
 marriage ; why, I cannot for the life of me imagine ; 
 but with a bachelor, though it may slumber, it never 
 dies. It is always liable to break out again in transient 
 flashes, and never so much as on a spring morning in 
 
A BACHELORS CONFESSIONS 177 
 
 the country ; or on a winter evening, when seated in 
 his solitary chamber, stirring up the fire and talking 
 of" matrimony. 
 
 The moment that Master Simon had gone through 
 his confession, and, to use the common phrase, " had 
 made a clean breast of it," he became quite himself 
 again. He had settled the point which had been 
 worrying his mind, and doubtless considered himself 
 established as a man of sentiment in my opinion. 
 Before we had finished our morning s stroll, he was 
 singing as blithe as a grasshopper, whistling to his 
 dogs, and telling droll stories ; and I recollect that he 
 was particularly facetious that day at dinner on the 
 subject of matrimony, and 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 
 
 Metric England ! 
 
 ANCIENT PHRASE. 
 
 THERE is nothing so rare as for a man to ride his 
 hobby without molestation. I find the squire has not 
 so undisturbed an indulgence in his humours as I had 
 imagined, but has been repeatedly thwarted of late, 
 and has suffered a kind of well-meaning persecution 
 from a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of some weight, 
 at least of purse, who has recently moved into the 
 neighbourhood. He is a worthy and substantial 
 manufacturer, who, having accumulated a large for 
 tune by dint of steam-engines and spinning-jennies, 
 has retired from business, and set up for a country 
 gentleman. He has taken an old country seat and 
 refitted it ; and painted and plastered it, until it looks 
 not unlike his own manufactory. He had been par 
 ticularly 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 foot-path that led across his fields ; and given warn 
 ing, in staring letters, that whoever should be found 
 trespassing on those grounds would be prosecuted with 
 the utmost rigour of the law. He has brought into 
 178 
 
ENGLISH GRAVITY 179 
 
 the country with him all the practical maxims of town 
 and the bustling habits of business ; and is one of 
 those sensible, useful, prosing, troublesome, intoler 
 able old gentlemen, that go about wearying and 
 worrying society with 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 neighbourhood, 
 which happens to run diametrically opposite to some 
 one or other of the squire s peculiar notions ; but 
 which is " too sensible a measure " to be openly 
 opposed. He has annoyed him excessively by enforc 
 ing the vagrant laws, persecuting the gipsies, and en 
 deavouring to suppress country wakes and holiday 
 games, which he considers great nuisances, and repro 
 bates as causes of the deadly sin of idleness. 
 
 There is evidently in all this a little of the ostenta 
 tion of newly-acquired confidence ; 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 makes frequent use of the phrase, 
 "the gentry of the neighbourhood." 
 
 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 frolicking at the 
 village on the approaching May-Day. It drew, he 
 said, idle people together from all parts of the neigh 
 bourhood, who spent the day fiddling, dancing, and 
 
1 80 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 carousing, instead of staying at home to work for their 
 families. 
 
 Now, as the squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of 
 these May-Day revels, it may be supposed that the 
 suggestions of the sagacious Mr. Faddy were not re 
 ceived with the best grace in the 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 poetical cobwebs invaded by this buzzing blue-bottle 
 fly of traffic. In his warmth he inveighed against the 
 whole race of manufacturers, who, I found, were sore 
 disturbers of his comfort. "Sir," said he, with 
 emotion, " it makes my heart bleed to see all our fine 
 streams dammed up and bestrid 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 manu 
 factories, and its sturdy peasantry into pin-makers and 
 stocking weavers ? I have looked in vain for merry 
 Sherwood, and all the greenwood haunts of Robin 
 Hood ; the whole country is covered with manu 
 facturing towns. I have stood on the ruins of Dudley 
 Castle, and looked round, with an aching heart, on 
 what were once its feudal domains of verdant and 
 beautiful country. Sir, I beheld a mere Campus 
 Phlegracus ; 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 beings ; the clanking wheels 
 and engines, seen through the murky atmosphere, 
 
ENGLISH GT(AVirY 181 
 
 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 such themes ; 
 and I could hardly help smiling at this whimsical 
 lamentation over national industry and public improve 
 ment. I am told, however, that he really grieves at 
 the growing spirit of trade, as destroying the charm 
 of life. He considers every new shorthand mode of 
 doing things, as an inroad of snug, sordid method ; and 
 thinks that this will soon become a mere matter-of- 
 fact world, where life will be reduced to a mathe 
 matical 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 commerce 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 splendour 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 Courts, the Christmas mummeries, and the 
 maskings and bonfires about the streets. London, 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 ex- 
 
1 82 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 ample, 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 city picture of 
 the times, given by Stow, which resembles the lively 
 scenes one may often see in the gay city of Paris ; for 
 he tells us that on holidays, after evening prayers, the 
 maidens in London used to assemble before the door 
 in sight of their masters and dames, and while one 
 played on a timbrel, the others danced for garlands, 
 hanged athwart the street. 
 
 "Where will we meet with such merry groups 
 nowadays ? " the squire will exclaim, shaking his 
 head mournfully ; " and then as to the gaiety that 
 prevailed in dress throughout all ranks of society, and 
 made the very streets so fine and picturesque. I 
 have myself, says Gervais Markham, c met an ordinary 
 tapster 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 
 players stage of gorgeous attire, the ape of all nations 
 superfluities, the continual masquer in outlandish 
 habiliments. " 
 
 Such are a few of the authorities quoted by the 
 squire by way of contrasting what he 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-coloured coat and gaiters." 
 
ENGLISH o^nrr 183 
 
 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 favourite 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 j but England s gayest customs pre 
 vailed at times when her common people enjoyed 
 comparatively few of the comforts and conveniences 
 that they do at present. It may be still more attri 
 buted to the universal spirit of gain, and the calcu 
 lating habits that commerce has introduced ; but I am 
 inclined to attribute it chiefly to the gradual increase 
 of the liberty of the subject, and the growing freedom 
 and activity of opinion. 
 
 A free people are apt to be grave and thoughtful. 
 They have high and important matters to occupy 
 their minds. They feel that it is 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 de 
 meanour. A nation becomes less gay, but more in 
 tellectually happy 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 dis 
 cussion and almost to reflection ; it is then that they 
 turn to the safer occupation of taste and amusement ; 
 
1 84 CH<I(ISTMAS AT B C I(ACEB ( I(IDGE HALL 
 
 trifles rise to importance, and occupy the craving 
 activity of intellect. No being is more void of care 
 and reflection than the slave; none dances more 
 gaily in his intervals of labour ; 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 govern 
 ments 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. Within late years they 
 have had more opportunity 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. 
 
What s that to absolute freedom, such as the very beggars have 5 to 
 feast and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day where 
 they please ; and so on still, the whole country or kingdom over ? 
 There s liberty ! the birds of the air can take no more. 
 
 " JOVIAL CREW." 
 
 SINCE the meeting with the gipsies, which I have 
 related in a former paper, I have observed several 
 of them haunting the purlieus of the Hall, in spite of 
 a positive interdiction of the squire. They are part 
 of a gang that has long kept about this neighbourhood, 
 to the great annoyance of the farmers, whose poultry 
 yards often suffer from their nocturnal invasions. 
 They are, however, in some measure, patronised by the 
 squire, who considers the race as belonging to the good 
 old times ; which, to confess the private truth, seem 
 to have abounded with good-for-nothing characters. 
 
 This roving crew is called " 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 that 
 takes place in park, or 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 nursery rhyme : 
 
 185 
 
1 86 CH<I(1STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 " Who goes round the house at night ? 
 
 None but bloody Tom ! 
 Who steals all the sheep at night ? 
 None but one by one ! " 
 
 In short, Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of the 
 neighbourhood ; 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 en 
 trapping him ; and Christy often patrols the park 
 with his dogs, for the purpose, but all in vain. It is 
 said that the squire winks hard at his misdeeds, having 
 an indulgent feeling towards the vagabond, because of 
 his being very expert at all kinds of games, a great 
 shot with the cross-bow, and the best morris dancer in 
 the country. 
 
 The squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested 
 about the skirts of his estate, on condition that they 
 do not come about the house. The approaching 
 wedding, however, has made a kind of Saturnalia at 
 the Hall, and has caused a suspension of all sober rule. 
 It has produced a great sensation throughout the 
 female part of the household ; not a housemaid but 
 dreams of wedding favours, and has a husband running 
 in her head. Such a time is a harvest for the gipsies : 
 there is a public footpath leading across one part of 
 the park, by which they have free ingress, and they 
 are continually hovering about the grounds, telling 
 the servant girls fortunes, or getting smuggled in to 
 the young ladies. 
 
 I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much 
 by furnishing them with hints in private, and be 
 wildering all the weak brains in the house with their 
 wonderful revelations. The general certainly was 
 
GIPSIES 187 
 
 very much astonished by the communications made to 
 him the other evening by the gipsy girl: he kept a 
 wary silence towards us on the subject, and affected 
 to treat it lightly ; but I have noticed that he has 
 since redoubled his attentions to Lady Lillycraft and 
 her dogs. 
 
 I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper s 
 pretty and love-sick niece, holding a long conference 
 with one of these old sibyls behind a large tree in the 
 avenue, and often looking round to see that she was 
 not observed. I make no doubt that she was 
 endeavouring to get some favourable augury about 
 the result of her love quarrel with young Ready- 
 Money, as oracles have always been more consulted 
 on love affairs than upon any thing else. I fear, how 
 ever, that in this instance the response was not so 
 favourable as usual, for I perceived poor Phoebe 
 returning pensively towards the house ; her head 
 hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the riband 
 trailing along the ground. 
 
 At another time, as I turned a corner of a terrace, 
 at the bottom of the garden, just by a clump of trees, 
 and a large stone urn, I came upon a bevy of the 
 young girls of the family, attended by this same 
 Phoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the 
 meaning of their blushing and giggling, and their 
 apparent agitation, until I saw the red cloak of a gipsy 
 vanishing among the shrubbery. A few moments 
 after, I caught sight of Master Simon and the 
 Oxonian stealing along one of the walks of the 
 garden, chuckling and laughing at their successful 
 waggery ; having evidently put the gipsy up to the 
 thing, and instructed her what to say. 
 
j 88 CH<HISTMAS AT B^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 After all, there is something strangely pleasing in 
 these tamperings with the future, even where we are 
 convinced of the fallacy of the prediction. It is 
 singular how willingly the mind will half deceive 
 itself, and with what a degree of awe we will listen 
 even to these babblers about futurity. For my part, I 
 cannot feel angry with these poor vagabonds, that 
 seek to deceive us into bright hopes and expectations. 
 I have always been something of a castle-builder, and 
 have found my liveliest pleasures to arise from the 
 illusions which fancy has cast- over common-place 
 realities. As I get on in life, I find it more difficult 
 to deceive myself in this delightful manner ; and I 
 should be thankful to any prophet, however false, that 
 would conjure the clouds which hang over futurity 
 into palaces, and all its doubtful regions into fairy 
 land. 
 
 The squire, who, as I have observed, has a private 
 goodwill towards gipsies, has suffered considerable 
 annoyance on their account. Not that they requite 
 his indulgence with ingratitude, for they do not 
 depredate very flagrantly on his estate ; but because 
 their pilferings and misdeeds occasion loud murmurs 
 in the village. I can readily understand the old 
 gentleman s humour on this point ; I have a great 
 toleration for all kinds of vagrant, sunshiny existence, 
 and must confess I take a pleasure in observing the 
 ways of gipsies. The English, who are accustomed 
 to them from childhood, and often suffer from their 
 petty depredations, consider them as mere nuisances ; 
 but I have been very much struck with their 
 peculiarities. I like to behold their clear olive com 
 plexions, their romantic black eyes, their raven locks, 
 
GIPSIES 189 
 
 their lithe, slender figures, and to hear them, in low 
 silver tones, dealing forth magnificent promises of 
 honours and estates, of world s worth, and ladies 
 love. 
 
 Their mode of life, too, has something in it very 
 fanciful and picturesque. They are the free denizens 
 of nature, and maintain a primitive independence, in 
 spite of law and gospel ; of county gaols and country 
 magistrates. It is curious to see the obstinate 
 adherence to the wild, unsettled habits of savage life 
 transmitted from generation to generation, and 
 preserved in the midst of one of the most cultivated, 
 populous, and systematic countries in the world. 
 They are totally distinct from the busy, thrifty people 
 about them. They seem to be like the Indians of 
 America, either above or below the ordinary cares and 
 anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power, of honours, 
 of wealth ; and indifferent to the fluctuations of the 
 times, the rise or fall of grain, or stock, or empires, 
 they seem to laugh at the toiling, fretting world 
 around them, and to live according to the philosophy 
 of the old song : 
 
 " Who would ambition shun, 
 And love to lie i the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 And pleased with what he gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy, 
 But winter and rough weather/ 
 
 In this way they wander from county to county, 
 keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in plenteous 
 neighbourhoods, where there are fat farms and rich 
 
190 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 country seats. Their encampments 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 spread 
 ing wood. They are always to be found lurking 
 about fairs and races, and rustic gatherings, wherever 
 there is pleasure, and throng, and idleness. They are 
 the oracles of milkmaids and simple serving girls ; and 
 sometimes have even the honour of perusing the 
 white hands of gentlemen s daughters, when rambling 
 about their fathers grounds. They are the bane of 
 good housewives and thrifty farmers, and odious in 
 the eyes of country justices; but, like all other 
 vagabond beings, they have something to commend 
 them to the fancy. They are among the last traces, 
 in these matter-of-fact days, of the motley population 
 of former times ; and are whimsically associated in 
 my mind with fairies and witches, Robin Good- 
 Fellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantastical person 
 ages of poetry. 
 
MID-DAY CUSTOMS 
 
 Happy the age, and harmlesse were the dayes 
 
 (For then true love and amity was found) 
 When every village did a May-pole raise, 
 
 And Whitson-ales and May-games did abound : 
 And all the lusty yonkers in a rout, 
 With merry lasses daunc d the rod about, 
 Then friendship to their banquets bid the guests, 
 And poore men far d the better for their feast. 
 
 PASguit s " PALINODIA." 
 
 THE month of April has nearly passed away, and 
 we are fast approaching that poetical day, which was 
 considered, in old times, as the boundary that parted 
 the 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 account of several of 
 his favourite forest trees, when we heard the strokes 
 of an axe from the midst of a thick copse. The 
 191 
 
192 CH<%ISTMAS AT B<I(ACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 squire paused and listened, with manifest signs of 
 uneasiness. He turned his steps in the direction of 
 the sound. The strokes grew louder and louder as 
 we advanced ; there was evidently a vigorous arm 
 wielding the axe. The squire quickened his pace, 
 but in vain ; a loud crack and a succeeding crash told 
 that the mischief had been done, and some child of 
 the forest laid low. When we came to the place, we 
 found Master Simon and several others standing about 
 a tall and beautifully straight young tree, which had 
 just been felled. 
 
 The squire, though a man of most harmonious dis 
 positions, 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 further service. If anything 
 could have soothed the ire of my worthy host, it 
 would have been the reflection that this 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 lamenta 
 tion, and making a kind of funeral eulogy, like Mark 
 Anthony 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 deter 
 mined, he said, to hold the sovereign power of life and 
 death in his own hands. 
 
 This mention of the May-pole struck my attention, 
 
MA T-DA T CUSTOMS 1 93 
 
 and I inquired whether the old customs connected 
 with it were really kept up in this part of the country. 
 The squire shook his head mournfully ; and I found 
 I had touched on one of his tender points, for he grew 
 quite melancholy in bewailing the total decline of old 
 May-Day. Though it is regularly celebrated in the 
 neighbouring village, yet it has been merely resusci 
 tated by the worthy squire, and is kept up in a forced 
 state of existence at his expense. He meets with 
 continual discouragements; and finds great diffi 
 culty in getting the country bumpkins to play 
 their parts tolerably. He manages to have every 
 year a u 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 vestiges of ancient customs which 
 1 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 
 flavour 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 
 
194 CH^STMAS A*I B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 a May-pole. It was on the banks of the Dee, close 
 by the picturesque old bridge that stretches across the 
 river from the quaint little city of Chester. I had 
 already been carried back into former days by the anti 
 quities 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 com 
 pleted the illusion. My fancy adorned it with wreaths 
 of flowers, and peopled the green bank with all the 
 dancing revelry of May-Day. The mere sight of 
 this May-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and 
 spread a charm over the country for the rest of the 
 day ; and as I traversed a part of the fair plain ot 
 Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales, and 
 looked from among swelling hills down a long, 
 green valley, through which the " Deva wound its 
 wizard stream," my imagination turned all into a 
 perfect Arcadia. 
 
 Whether it be owing to such poetical associations 
 early instilled into my mind, or whether there is, as it 
 were, a sympathetic revival and budding forth of the 
 feelings at this season, certain it is, that I always 
 experience, wherever I may be placed, a delightful 
 expansion 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 that is going on in the groves, and im 
 patient 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 
 
MAT-DAT CUSTOMS 195 
 
 of May ; when the sweets of the country were breathed 
 into the town, and flowers were cried about the 
 streets. I have considered the treasures of flowers 
 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, when the doors were 
 decorated with flowering branches, when every hat 
 was decked with hawthorn, and Robin Hood, P riar 
 Tuck, Maid Marian, the morris-dancers, and all the 
 other fantastic masks and revellers, were performing 
 their antics about the May-pole in every part of the 
 city. 
 
 I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old 
 customs merely because of their antiquity. But while 
 I rejoice in the decline of many of the rude usages and 
 coarse amusements of former days, 1 cannot but 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 per 
 vading gravity of the nation. I value every custom that 
 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 decline of this custom may be traced ; and the 
 rural dance on the green, and the homely May-Day 
 pageant have gradually disappeared, in proportion as 
 the peasantry have become expensive and artificial in 
 their pleasures, and too knowing for simple enjoy 
 ment. 
 
 Some attempts, the squire informs me, have been 
 
196 cH^srMAS AT B<P^CEB<HIDGE HALL 
 
 made of late years, by men of both taste and learning, 
 to rally back the popular feeling to these standards of 
 primitive simplicity ; but the time has gone by, the 
 feeling has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic, 
 the country apes the manners and amusements of the 
 town, and little is heard of May-Day at present, except 
 from the lamentations of authors, who sigh after it 
 from among the brick walls of the city : 
 
 "For O, for O, the Hobby Horse is forgot." 
 

 
 refactions vtih &*. old irw&lui y 
 
(I " 
 
 V VILLAGE WO RTHIES 
 
 Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the worst 
 dog in the street would hurt my little finger. 
 
 " COLLIER OF CROVDON." 
 
 As the neighbouring village is one of those out-of- 
 the-way, but gossiping little places, where a small 
 matter makes a great stir, it is not to be supposed 
 that the approach of a festival like that of May-Dav 
 can be regarded with indifference, especially since it 
 is made a matter of such moment by the great folks 
 at the Hall. Master Simon, who is the faithful 
 factotum of the worthy squire, and jumps with 
 his humour in everything, is frequent just now in 
 his visits to the village, to give directions for the 
 impending 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 Caesar of the village. 
 It is true the squire is the protecting power, but his 
 factotum is the active and busy agent. He inter 
 meddles in all its concerns, is acquainted with all the 
 inhabitants and their domestic history, gives counsel 
 to the old folks in their business matters, and the 
 
 197 
 
198 CH^STMAS Ar B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 young folks in their love affairs, and enjoys the 
 proud satisfaction of being a great man in a little 
 world. 
 
 He is the dispenser, too, of the squire s charity, 
 which is bounteous; and, to do Master Simon justice, 
 he performs this part of his functions with great 
 alacrity. Indeed I have been entertained with the 
 mixture of bustle, importance, and kind-heartedness 
 which he displays. He is of too vivacious a tempera 
 ment to comfort the afflicted by sitting down moping 
 and whining and blowing noses in concert ; but goes 
 whisking about like a sparrow, chirping consolation 
 into every hole and corner of the village. I have 
 seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him for half 
 an hour together with some long phthisical tale of 
 distress, which Master Simon listened to with many 
 a bob of the head, smack of his dog-whip, and other 
 symptoms of impatience, though he afterwards made 
 a most faithful and circumstantial report of the case 
 to the squire. I have watched him, too, during one 
 of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannuated 
 villager, who is a pensioner of the squire, where he 
 fidgeted about the room without sitting down, made 
 many excellent off-hand reflections with the old 
 invalid, who was propped up in his chair, about the 
 shortness of life, the certainty of death, and the 
 necessity of preparing for " that awful change ; " 
 quoted several texts of Scripture very incorrectly, but 
 much to the edification of the cottager s wife ; and 
 on coming out pinched the daughter s rosy cheek, 
 and wondered what was in the young men, that such 
 a pretty face did not get a husband. 
 
 He has also his cabinet councillors in the village, 
 
VILLAGE WORRIES 199 
 
 with whom he is very busy just now, preparing for 
 the May-Day ceremonies. Among these is the 
 village tailor, a pale-faced fellow, that plays the 
 clarionet in the church choir ; and, being a great 
 musical genius, has frequent meetings of the band at 
 his house, where they "make night hideous" by their 
 concerts. He is, in consequence, high in favour with 
 Master Simon ; and, through his influence, has the 
 making, or rather marring, of all the liveries of the 
 Hall ; which generally look as though they had been 
 cut out by one of those scientific tailors of the Flying 
 Island of Laputa, who took measure of their customers 
 with a quadrant. The tailor, in fact, might rise to 
 be one of the monied men of the village, was he not 
 rather too prone to gossip, and keep holidays, and 
 give concerts, and blow all his substance, real and 
 personal, through his clarionet ; which literally keeps 
 him poor both in body and estate. He has for the 
 present thrown by all his regular work, and suffered 
 the breeches of the village to go unmade and un- 
 mended, while he is occupied in making garlands of 
 party-coloured rags, in imitation of flowers, for the 
 decoration of the May-pole. 
 
 Another of Master Simon s councillors is the 
 apothecary, a short, and rather fat man, with a pair 
 of prominent eyes, that diverge like those of a lobster. 
 He is the village wise man ; very sententious, and 
 full of profound remarks on shallow subjects. Master 
 Simon often quotes his sayings, and mentions him as 
 rather an extraordinary man ; and even consults him 
 occasionally in desperate cases of the dogs and horses. 
 Indeed he seems to have been overwhelmed by the 
 apothecary s philosophy, which is exactly one observa- 
 
200 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 don deep, consisting of indisputable maxims, such as 
 may be gathered from the mottoes of tobacco boxes. 
 I had a specimen of his philosophy in my very first 
 conversation with him ; in the course of which he 
 observed, with great solemnity and emphasis, that 
 u man is a compound of wisdom and folly ; " upon 
 which Master Simon, who had hold of my arm, 
 pressed very hard upon it, and whispered in my ear, 
 "That s a devilish shrewd remark ! " 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 
 
 There will no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on 
 the heels of Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a traveller. 
 For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which maketh her 
 bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth some fleece 
 which maketh him a beggar in his youth, by buying that for a pound 
 which he cannot sell again for a penny repentance. 
 
 LILLY S " EUPHUES." 
 
 AMONG the worthies of the village, that enjoy the 
 peculiar confidence of Master Simon, is one who has 
 struck my fancy so much that I have thought him 
 worthy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the 
 schoolmaster, a thin, elderly man, rather threadbare 
 and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and with 
 an easy, good-humoured look, not often met with in 
 his craft. I have been interested in his favour by a 
 few anecdotes which I have picked up concerning 
 him. 
 
 He is a native of the village, and was a contem 
 porary 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 battles ; and they 
 
 201 
 
202 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 were inseparable friends. This mutual kindness 
 continued even after they left school, notwithstanding 
 the dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to 
 ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to till 
 his paternal acres ; while the other loitered negligently 
 on in the path of learning, until he penetrated even 
 into the confines of Latin and mathematics. 
 
 In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading 
 voyages and travels, and was smitten with a desire to 
 see the world. This desire increased upon him as he 
 grew up ; so, early one bright, sunny morning, he 
 put all his effects in a knapsack, slung it on his back, 
 took staff in hand, and called in his way to take leave 
 of his early schoolmate. Jack was just going out 
 with the plough : the friends shook hands over the 
 farmhouse gate ; Jack drove his team afield, and 
 Slingsby whistled "over the hills, and far away," and 
 sallied forth gaily to " seek his fortune." 
 
 Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby 
 was forgotten ; when, one mellow Sunday afternoon 
 in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in life, 
 with a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen 
 gaiters, and a few things tied in a handkerchief, and 
 slung on the end of a stick, was seen loitering through 
 the village. He appeared to regard several houses 
 attentively, to peer into the windows that were open, 
 to eye the villagers wistfully as they returned from 
 church, and then to pass some time in the churchyard, 
 reading the tombstones. 
 
 At length he found his way to the farm-house of 
 Ready-Money Jack, but paused ere he attempted the 
 wicket ; contemplating the picture of substantial 
 independence before him. In the porch of the house 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 203 
 
 sat Ready-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress, with his 
 hat upon his head, his pipe in his mouth, and his 
 tankard before him, the monarch of all he surveyed. 
 Beside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds 
 of poultry were heard from the well-stocked -farm-yard ; 
 the bees hummed from their hives in the garden ; the 
 cattle lowed in the rich meadow ; while the crammed 
 barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant 
 harvest. 
 
 The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubi 
 ously towards the house. The mastiff growled at the 
 sight of the suspicious - looking intruder, but was 
 immediately silenced by his master, who, taking his 
 pipe from his mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect 
 the address of this equivocal personage. The stranger 
 eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimen 
 sions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel; then cast 
 a glance upon his own threadbare and starveling con 
 dition, and the scanty bundle which he held in his 
 hand ; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch to 
 make it meet his receding waistband ; and casting 
 another look, half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy 
 yeoman, U I suppose," said he, "Mr. Tibbets, you 
 have forgot old times and old playmates ? " 
 
 The latter gazed at him with scrutinising look, 
 but acknowledged that he had no recollection of him. 
 
 <c Like enough, like enough," said the stranger; 
 " everybody seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby ? " 
 
 "Why, no sure ! it can t be Tom Slingsby? " 
 
 " Yes, but it is, though ! " replied the stranger, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling ; 
 thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony the grip 
 
204 CH^STMAS AT B<I(ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 of a giant, and slapping the other hand on a bench, 
 " Sit down there," cried he, " Tom Slingsby ! " 
 
 A long conversation ensued about old times, while 
 Slingsby was regaled with the best cheer that the 
 farm-house afforded ; for he was hungry as well as 
 wayworn, and had the keen appetite of a poor 
 pedestrian. The early playmates then talked over 
 their subsequent lives and adventures. Jack had but 
 little to relate, and was never good at a long story. 
 A prosperous life, passed at home, has little incident 
 for narrative ; it is only poor devils, that are tossed 
 about the world, that are the true heroes of story. 
 Jack had stuck by the paternal farm, followed the 
 same plough that his forefathers had driven, and had 
 waxed richer and richer as he grew older. As to 
 Tom Slingsby, he was an exemplification of the old 
 proverb, " A rolling stone gathers no moss." He had 
 sought his fortune about the world, without ever find 
 ing it, being a thing oftener found at home than 
 abroad. He had been in all kinds of situations, and 
 had learnt a dozen different modes of making a living ; 
 but had found his way back to his native village 
 rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack 
 having dwindled down to a scanty bundle. 
 
 As luck would have it, the squire was passing by 
 the farm-house that very evening, and called there, as 
 is often his custom. He found the two schoolmates 
 still gossiping in the porch, and, according to the 
 good old Scottish song, " taking a cup of kindness 
 yet, for auld lang syne." The squire was struck by 
 the contrast in appearance and fortunes of these early 
 playmates. Ready - Money Jack, seated in lordly 
 state, surrounded by the good things of this life, with 
 

 i4{ t pi 3$ ( 
 
 4^ i^ " 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 205 
 
 golden guineas hanging to his very watch chain, and 
 the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a weasel, with all 
 his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and walking-staff, 
 lying on the ground beside him. 
 
 The good squire s heart warmed towards the luck 
 less cosmopolite, for he is a little prone to like such 
 half-vagrant characters. He cast about in his mind 
 how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby 
 in his native village. Honest Jack had already offered 
 him a present shelter under his roof, in spite of the 
 hints, and winks, and half remonstrances of the 
 shrewd Dame Tibbets ; but how to provide for his 
 permanent maintenance was the question. Luckily 
 the squire bethought himself that the village school 
 was without a teacher. A little farther conversation 
 convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that as 
 for anything else, and in a day or two he was seen 
 swaying the rod of empire in the very school-house 
 where he had often been horsed in the days of his 
 boyhood. 
 
 Here he has remained for several years, and being 
 honoured by the countenance of the squire, and the 
 fast friendship of Mr. Tibbets, he has grown into 
 much importance and consideration in the village. I 
 am told, however, that he still shows, now and then, 
 a degree of restlessness, and a disposition to rove 
 abroad again, and see a little more of the world ; an 
 inclination which seems particularly to haunt him 
 about spring-time. There is nothing so difficult to 
 conquer as the vagrant humour, when once it has 
 been fully indulged. 
 
 Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, 
 I have more than once mused upon the picture pre- 
 
206 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 sented by him and his schoolmate Ready-Money Jack, 
 on their coming together again after so long a separa 
 tion. 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 monoton 
 ous existence, and envies the traveller, whose life is a 
 constant tissue of wonder and adventure ; while he, 
 who is tossed about the world, looks back with many 
 a sigh to the safe and quiet shore which he has 
 abandoned. I cannot help thinking, however, that 
 the man that stays at home, and cultivates the com 
 forts and pleasures daily springing up around him, 
 stands the best chance for happiness. There is 
 nothing so fascinating to a young mind as the idea 
 of travelling ; and there is very witchcraft in the old 
 phrase found in every nursery tale, of" going to seek 
 one s fortune." A continual change of place, and 
 change of object, promises a continual succession of 
 adventure and gratification of curiosity. But there 
 is a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears 
 its death in its very gratification. Curiosity languishes 
 under repeated stimulants, novelties cease to excite 
 surprise, until at length we cannot wonder even at a 
 miracle. He who has sallied forth into the world, 
 like poor Slingsby, full of sunny anticipations, finds 
 too soon how different the distant scene becomes when 
 visited. The smooth place roughens as he approaches ; 
 the wild place becomes tame and barren ; the fairy 
 tints that beguiled him on still fly to the distant hill, 
 or gather upon the land he has left behind, and every 
 part of the landscape seems greener than the spot he 
 stands on. 
 
But to come down from great men and higher matters to my little 
 children and poor school-house again ; I will, God willing, go for 
 ward orderly, as I proposed, to instruct children and young men both 
 for learning and manners. ROGER ASCHAM. 
 
 HAVING given the reader a slight sketch of the village 
 schoolmaster, he may be curious to learn something 
 concerning his school. As the squire takes much 
 interest in the education of the neighbouring children, 
 he put into the hands of the teacher, on first installing 
 him in office, a copy of Roger Ascham s Schoolmaster, 
 and advised him, moreover, to con over that portion 
 of old Peachum which treats of the duty of masters, 
 and which condemns the favourite method of making 
 boys wise by flagellation. 
 
 He exhorted Slingsby not to break down or depress 
 the free spirit of the boys, by harshness and slavish 
 fear, but to lead them freely and joyously on in the 
 path of knowledge, making it pleasant and desirable 
 in their eyes. He wished to see the youth trained up 
 in the manners and habitudes of the peasantry of the 
 good old times, and thus to lay the foundation for the 
 accomplishment of his favourite object, the revival of 
 old English customs and character. He recommended 
 that all the ancient holidays should be observed, and 
 207 
 
CH<HI$TMAS AT B^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 that the sports of the boys, in their hours of play, 
 should be regulated according to the standard authori 
 ties laid down by Strutt ; a copy of whose invaluable 
 work, decorated with plates, was deposited in the 
 school-house. Above all, he exhorted the pedagogue 
 to abstain from the use of birch, an instrument of in 
 struction which the good squire regards with abhor 
 rence, as fit only for the coercion of brute natures, that 
 cannot be reasoned with. 
 
 Mr. Slingsby has followed the squire s instructions 
 to the best of his disposition and abilities. He never 
 flogs the boys, because he is too easy, good-humoured 
 a creature to inflict pain on a worm. He is bountiful 
 in holidays, because he loves holidays himself, and has 
 a sympathy with the urchins impatience of confine 
 ment, from having divers times experienced its irk- 
 someness during the time that he was seeing the 
 world. As to sports and pastimes, the boys are faith 
 fully exercised in all that are on record, quoits, races, 
 prison-bars, tipcat, trap-ball, bandy-ball, wrestling, 
 leaping, and what not. The only misfortune is, that 
 having banished the birch, honest Slingsby has not 
 studied Roger Ascham sufficiently to find out a sub 
 stitute, or rather he has not the management in his 
 nature to apply one ; his school, therefore, though 
 one of the happiest, is one of the most unruly in the 
 country ; and never was a pedagogue more liked, or 
 less heeded, by his disciples than Slingsby. 
 
 He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of himself, 
 being another stray sheep that has returned to the 
 village fold. This no other than the son of the 
 musical tailor, who had bestowed some cost upon his 
 education, hoping to see him one day arrive at the 
 
THE SCHOOL 209 
 
 dignity of an exciseman, or at least of a parish clerk. 
 The lad grew up, however, as idle and musical as his 
 father; and, being captivated by the drum and fife of 
 a recruiting party, he followed them off to the army. 
 He returned not long since, out of money, and out at 
 elbows, the prodigal son of the village. He remained 
 for some time lounging about the place in half-tattered 
 soldier s dress, with a foraging cap on one side of his 
 head, jerking stones across the brook, or loitering 
 about the tavern door, a burthen to his father, and re 
 garded with great coldness by all warm householders. 
 
 Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards 
 the youth. It might be the kindness he bore to his 
 father, who is one of the schoolmaster s greatest 
 cronies ; it might be that secret sympathy, which 
 draws men of vagrant propensities towards each other ; 
 for there is something truly magnetic in the vagabond 
 feeling ; or it might be, that he remembered the time 
 when he himself had come back, like this youngster, 
 a wreck to his native place. At any rate, whatever 
 the motive, Slingsby drew towards the youth. They 
 had many conversations in the village tap-room about 
 foreign parts, and the various scenes and places they 
 had witnessed during their wayfaring about the world. 
 The more Slingsby talked with him, the more he 
 found him to his taste, and finding him almost as 
 learned as himself, he forthwith engaged him as an 
 assistant, or usher in the school. 
 
 Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may 
 be supposed, flourishes apace ; and if the scholars do 
 not become versed in all the holiday accomplishments 
 of the good old times, to the squire s heart s content, 
 it will not be the fault of their teachers. The pro- 
 o 
 
2 TO CH^STMAS AT B<%ACE BRIDGE HALL 
 
 digal son has become almost as popular among the 
 boys as the pedagogue himself. His instructions are 
 not limited to school hours ; and having inherited the 
 musical taste and talents of his father, he has bitten 
 the whole school with the mania. He is a great hand 
 at beating a drum, which is often heard rumbling 
 from the rear of the school-house. He is teaching 
 half the boys of the village, also, to play the fife, and 
 the pandean pipes ; and they weary the whole neigh 
 bourhood with their vague piping, as they sit perched 
 on stiles, or loitering about the barn-doors in the 
 evenings. Among the other exercises of the school, 
 also, he has introduced the ancient art of archery, one 
 of the squire s favourite themes, with such success, 
 that the whipsters roam in truant bands about the 
 neighbourhood, practising with their bows and arrows 
 upon the birds of the air, and the beasts of the field ; 
 and not unfrequently making a foray into the squire s 
 domains, to the great indignation of the gamekeepers. 
 In a word, so completely are the ancient English 
 customs and habits cultivated at this school, that I 
 should not be surprised if the squire should live to see 
 one of his poetic visions realised, and a brood reared 
 up, worthy successors to Robin Hood, and his merry 
 gang of outlaws. 
 
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN 
 
 I am a rogue if I do not think I was designed for the helm of state ; I 
 am so full of nimble stratagems, that I should have ordered affairs, 
 and carried it against the stream of a faction, with as much ease as a 
 skipper would laver against the wind. 
 
 "THE GOBLINS." 
 
 IN one of my visits to the village with Master Simon, 
 he proposed that we should stop at the inn, which he 
 wished to show me, as a specimen of a real country 
 inn, the headquarters of village gossip. I had re 
 marked it before, in my perambulations about the 
 place. It has a deep, old-fashioned porch, leading 
 into a large hall, which serves for tap-room and 
 travellers room ; having a wide fire-place, with high- 
 backed settles on each side, where the wise men of 
 the village gossip over their ale, and hold their sessions 
 during the long winter evenings. The landlord is an 
 easy, indolent fellow, shaped a little like one of his 
 own beer barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping at his 
 door, with his wig on one side, and his hands in his 
 pockets, whilst his wife and daughter attend to 
 customers. His wife, however, is fully competent to 
 manage the establishment ; and, indeed, from long 
 habitude, rules over all the frequenters of the tap 
 room as completely as if they were her dependants 
 instead of her patrons. Not a veteran ale-bibber but 
 
 211 
 
212 CH<%ISTM4S AT B^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 pays homage to her, having, no doubt, been often in 
 her arrears. I have already hinted that she is on very 
 good terms with Ready-Money Jack. He was a 
 sweetheart of hers in early life, and has always 
 countenanced the tavern on her account. Indeed, he 
 is quite " the cock of the walk " at the tap-room. 
 
 As we approached the inn, we heard some one talk 
 ing with great volubility, and distinguished the omin 
 ous words " taxes, * " poor s rates," and "agricultural 
 distress." It proved to be a thin, loquacious fellow, 
 who had penned the landlord up in one corner of the 
 porch, with his hands in his pockets as usual, listening 
 with an air of the most vacant acquiescence. 
 
 The sight seemed to have a curious effect on 
 Master Simon, as he squeezed my arm, and, altering 
 his course, sheered wide of the porch as though he had 
 not had any idea of entering. This evident evasion 
 induced me to notice the orator more particularly. 
 He was meagre, but active in his make, with a long, 
 pale, bilious face ; a black, ill-shaven beard, a feverish 
 eye, and a hat sharpened up at the sides, into a most 
 pragmatical shape. He had a newspaper in his hand, 
 and seemed to be commenting on its contents, to the 
 thorough conviction of mine host. 
 
 At sight of Master Simon the landlord was evidently 
 a little flurried, and began to rub his hands, edge away 
 from his corner, and make several profound publican 
 bows ; while the orator took no other notice of my 
 companion than to talk rather louder than before, and 
 with, as I thought, something of an air of defiance. 
 Master Simon, however, as I have before said, sheered 
 off from the porch, and passed on, pressing my arm 
 within his, and whispering as we got by, in a tone of 
 
* 
 
 /^ wtk 
 most vAtAnt Acuiescence 
 
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN 213 
 
 awe and horror, " That s a radical ! he reads 
 Cobbett !" 
 
 I endeavoured to get a more particular account of 
 him from my companion, but he seemed unwilling 
 even to talk about him, answering only in general 
 terms, that he was " a cursed busy fellow, that had a 
 confounded trick of talking, and was apt to bother 
 one about the national debt, and such nonsense ; " 
 from which I suspected that Master Simon had been 
 rendered wary of him by some accidental encounter 
 on the field of argument : for these radicals are con 
 tinually roving about in quest of wordy warfare, and 
 never so happy as when they can tilt a gentleman 
 logician out of his saddle. 
 
 On subsequent inquiry my suspicions have been 
 confirmed. I find the radical has but recently found 
 his way into the village, where he threatens to commit 
 fearful devastations with his doctrines. He has already 
 made two or three complete converts, or new lights ; 
 has shaken the faith of several others ; and has 
 grievously puzzled the brains of many of the oldest 
 villagers, who had never thought about politics, or 
 scarce anything else, during their whole lives. 
 
 He is lean and meagre from the constant restlessness 
 of mind and body ; worrying about with newspapers 
 and pamphlets in his pockets, which he is ready to pull 
 out on all occasions. He has shocked several of the 
 staunchest villagers by talking lightly of the squire 
 and his family ; and hinting that it would be better 
 the park should be cut up into small farms and 
 kitchen gardens, or feed good mutton instead ot 
 worthless deer. 
 
 He is a great thorn in the side of the squire, who is 
 
2i 4 CH<%ISTMJS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 sadly afraid that he will introduce politics into the 
 village, and turn it into an unhappy, thinking com 
 munity. He is a still greater grievance to Master 
 Simon, who has hitherto been able to sway the 
 political opinions of the place, without much cost of 
 learning or logic ; but has been very much puzzled of 
 late to weed out the doubts and heresies already sown 
 by this champion of reform. Indeed, the latter has 
 taken complete command at the tap-room of the 
 tavern, not so much because he has convinced, as 
 because he has out-talked all the established oracles. 
 The apothecary, with all his philosophy, was as nought 
 before him. He has convinced and converted the 
 landlord at least a dozen times ; who, however, is 
 liable to be convinced and converted the other way 
 by the next person with whom he talks. It is true 
 the radical has a violent antagonist in the landlady, 
 who is vehemently loyal, and thoroughly devoted to 
 the king, Master Simon, and the squire. She now 
 and then comes out upon the reformer with all the 
 fierceness of a cat-o -mountain, and does not spare her 
 own soft-headed husband, for listening to what she 
 terms such " low-lived politics." What makes the 
 good woman the more violent, is the perfect coolness 
 with which the radical listens to her attacks, drawing 
 his face up into a provoking supercilious smile 5 and 
 when she has talked herself out of breath, quietly 
 asking her for a taste of her home-brewed. 
 
 The only person who is in any way a match for 
 this redoubtable politician is Ready-Money Jack 
 Tibbets, who maintains his stand in the tap-room, in 
 defiance of the radical and all his works. Jack is one 
 of the most loyal men in the country, without being 
 
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN 215 
 
 able to reason about the matter. He has that admir 
 able quality for a tough arguer, also, that he never 
 knows when he is beat. He has half-a-dozen old 
 maxims, which he advances on all occasions, and 
 though his antagonist may overturn them never so 
 often, yet he always brings them anew into the field. 
 He is like the robber in Ariosto, who, though his head 
 might be cut off half a hundred times, yet whipped it 
 on his shoulders again in a twinkling, and returned as 
 sound a man as ever to the charge. 
 
 Whatever does not square with Jack s simple and 
 obvious creed, he sets down for u French politics ; " 
 for, notwithstanding the peace, he cannot be per 
 suaded that the French are not still laying plots to 
 ruin the nation, and to get hold of the Bank of 
 England. The radical attempted to overwhelm him 
 one day by a long passage from a newspaper ; but 
 Jack neither reads nor believes on newspapers. In 
 reply he gave him one of the stanzas which he has 
 by heart from his favourite, and indeed only author, 
 old Tusser, and which he calls his Golden Rules : 
 
 Leave Princes affairs undescanted on, 
 And tend to such doings as stand thee upon : 
 Fear God, and offend not the King nor his laws, 
 And keep thyself out of the magistrate s claws. 
 
 When Tibbets had pronounced this with great 
 emphasis, he pulled out a well-filled leathern purse, 
 took out a handful of gold and silver, paid his score 
 at the bar with great punctuality, returned his money, 
 piece by piece, into his purse, his purse into his pocket 
 which he buttoned up, and then giving his cudgel a 
 stout thump upon the floor, and bidding the radical 
 
2 1 6 CHUISTMA S AT B1(ACEB < RIDGE HALL 
 
 c< Good morning, sir ! " with the tone of a man who 
 conceives he has completely done for his antagonist, 
 he walked with lion-like gravity out of the house. 
 Two or three of Jack s admirers who were present, 
 and had been afraid to take the field themselves, looked 
 upon this as a perfect triumph, and winked at each 
 other when the radical s back was turned. " Ay, ay ! " 
 said mine host, as soon as the radical was out of 
 hearing, "let old Jack alone; I ll warrant he ll give 
 him his own ! " 
 
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
 In still repeated circles, screaming loud, 
 The jay, the pie, and e en the boding owl, 
 That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 IN a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crowns a 
 terrace walk, just on the skirts of the garden, is an 
 ancient rookery, which is one of the most important 
 provinces in the squire s rural domains. The old 
 gentleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not 
 suffer one of them to be killed, in consequence of 
 which they have increased amazingly ; the tree tops 
 are loaded with their nests ; they have encroached 
 upon the great avenue, and have even established, in 
 times long past, a colony among the elms and pines of 
 the churchyard, which, like other distant colonies, has 
 already thrown off allegiance to the mother-country. 
 
 The rooks are looked upon by the squire as a very 
 ancient and honourable line of gentry, highly aristo- 
 cratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached to 
 church and state ; as their building so loftily, keeping 
 about churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable 
 groves of old castles and manor-houses, sufficiently 
 manifests. The good opinion thus expressed by the 
 squire put me upon observing more narrowly these 
 217 
 
218 CHRISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 very respectable birds ; for I confess, to my shame, I 
 had been apt to confound them with their cousins- 
 german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, they 
 bear so great a family resemblance. Nothing, it seems, 
 could be more unjust or injurious, than such a mistake. 
 The rooks and crows are, among the feathered tribes, 
 what the Spaniards and Portuguese are among nations, 
 the least loving, in consequence of their neighbour 
 hood and similarity. The rooks are old-established 
 housekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk, that have had 
 their hereditary abodes time out of mind ; but as to 
 the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, 
 gipsy race, roving about the country, without any 
 settled home ; " their hands are against everybody, 
 and everybody s against them," and they are gibbeted 
 in every cornfield. Master Simon assures me that a 
 female rook that should so far forget herself as to 
 consort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, 
 and indeed would be totally discarded by all her 
 genteel acquaintance. 
 
 The squire is very watchful over the interests and 
 concerns of his sable neighbours. As to Master 
 Simon, he even pretends to know many of them by 
 sight, and to have given names to them ; he points 
 out several which he says are old heads of families, and 
 compares them to worthy old citizens, beforehand in 
 the world, that wear cocked hats and silver buckles in 
 their shoes. Notwithstanding the protecting bene 
 volence of the squire, and their being residents in his 
 empire, they seem to acknowledge no allegiance, and 
 to hold no intercourse or intimacy. Their airy 
 tenements are built almost out of the reach of gun 
 shot ; and, notwithstanding their vicinity to the Hall, 
 
THE ttpOKE^r 219 
 
 they maintain a most reserved and distrustful shyness 
 of mankind. 
 
 There is one season of the year, however, which 
 brings all birds in a manner to a level, and tames the 
 pride of the loftiest highflyer ; which is the season of 
 building their nests. This takes place early in the 
 spring, when the forest trees first begin to show their 
 buds ; the long withy ends of the branches to turn 
 green ; when the wild strawberry, and other herbage 
 of the sheltered woodlands, put forth their tender and 
 tinted leaves, and the daisy and the primrose peep 
 from under the hedges. At this time there is a 
 general bustle among the feathered tribes ; an 
 incessant fluttering about, and a cheerful chirping, 
 indicative, like the germination of the vegetable world, 
 of the reviving life and fecundity of the year. 
 
 It is then that the rooks forget their usual state- 
 liness, and their shy and lofty habits. Instead of 
 keeping up in the high regions of the air, swinging 
 on the breezy tree tops, and looking down with 
 sovereign contempt upon the humble crawlers upon 
 earth, they are fain to throw off for a time the 
 dignity of the gentleman, to come down to the 
 ground, and put on the painstaking and industrious 
 character of a labourer. They now lose their natural 
 shyness, become fearless and familiar, and may be 
 seen plying about in all directions, with an air of 
 great assiduity, in search of building materials. Every 
 now and then your path will be crossed by one of these 
 busy old gentlemen, worrying about with awkward 
 gait, as if troubled with the gout or with corns on 
 his toes, casting about many a prying look, turning 
 down first one eye, then the other, in earnest con- 
 
220 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 sideration upon every straw he meets with, until 
 espying some mighty twig, large enough to make a 
 rafter for his air-castle, he will seize upon it with 
 avidity, and hurry away with it to the tree top ; fear 
 ing, apparently, lest you should dispute with him the 
 invaluable prize. 
 
 Like other castle-builders, these airy architects 
 seem rather fanciful in the materials with which they 
 build, and to like those most which come from a 
 distance. Thus, though there are abundance of dry 
 twigs on the surrounding trees, yet they never think 
 of making use of them, but go foraging in distant lands, 
 and come sailing home, one by one, from the ends of 
 the earth, each bearing in his bill some precious piece 
 of timber. 
 
 Nor must I avoid mentioning what, I grieve to 
 say, rather derogates from the grave and honourable 
 character of these ancient gentlefolk, that during the 
 architectural season, they are subject to great dissen 
 sions among themselves ; that they make no scruple 
 to defraud and plunder each other ; and that some 
 times the rookery is a scene of hideous brawl and 
 commotion, in consequence of some delinquency of 
 the kind. One of the partners generally remains on 
 the nest to guard it from depredation ; and I have 
 seen severe contests when some sly neighbour has 
 endeavoured to filch away a tempting rafter that has 
 captivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit 
 any suspicion hastily that should throw a stigma on 
 the general character of so worshipful a people, I am 
 inclined to think that these larcenies are very much 
 discountenanced by the higher classes, and even 
 rigorously punished by those in authority; for I have 
 
THE OKE 221 
 
 now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon 
 the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, carry 
 off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprietor. 
 I have concluded this to be some signal punishment 
 inflicted upon him by the officers of the police, for 
 some pilfering misdemeanour ; or, perhaps, that it was 
 a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into his house. 
 I have been amused with another of their move 
 ments during the building season. The steward has 
 suffered a considerable number of sheep to graze on a 
 lawn near the house, somewhat to the annoyance of 
 the squire, who thinks this an innovation on the 
 dignity of a park, which ought to be devoted to deer 
 only. Be this as it may, there is a green knoll, not 
 far from the drawing-room window, where the ewes 
 and lambs are accustomed to assemble towards even 
 ing for the benefit of the setting sun. No sooner 
 were they gathered here, at the time when these 
 politic birds were building, than a stately old rook, 
 who Master Simon assured me was the chief magis 
 trate of this community, would settle down upon the 
 head of one of the ewes, who, seeming conscious of 
 this condescension, would desist from grazing, and 
 stand fixed in motionless reverence of her august 
 brethren ; the rest of the rookery would then come 
 wheeling down, in imitation of their leader, until 
 every ewe had two or three of them cawing, and 
 fluttering, and battling upon her back. Whether 
 they requited the submission of the sheep by levying 
 a contribution upon their fleece for the benefit of the 
 rookery, I am not certain, though I presume they 
 followed the usual custom of protecting powers. 
 The latter part of Mav is the time of great tribula- 
 
222 CH^ISTMM Ar B<F(ACEB<RIDGE HALL 
 
 tion among the rookeries, when the young are just 
 able to leave the nests, and balance themselves on 
 the neighbouring branches. Now comes on the 
 season of " rook shooting ; " a terrible slaughter of 
 the innocents. The squire, of course, prohibits all 
 invasion of the kind on his territories ; but I am told 
 that a lamentable havoc takes place in the colony 
 about the old church. Upon this devoted common- 
 weath the village charges " with all its chivalry." 
 Every idle wight that is lucky enough to possess an 
 old gun or blunderbuss, together with all the archery 
 of Slingsby s school, take the field on the occasion. 
 In vain does the little parson interfere, or remon 
 strate in angry tones, from his study window that 
 looks into the churchyard ; there is a continual popping 
 from morning to night. Being no great marksmen, 
 their shots are not often effective ; but every now 
 and then a great shout from the besieging army of 
 bumpkins makes known the downfall of some un 
 lucky, squab rook, which comes to the ground with 
 the emphasis of a squashed apple-dumpling. 
 
 Nor is the rookery entirely free from other troubles 
 and disasters. In so aristocratical and lofty-minded a 
 community, which boasts so much ancient blood and 
 hereditary pride, it is natural to suppose that questions 
 of etiquette will sometimes arise, and affairs of honour 
 ensue. In fact, this is very often the case: bitter 
 quarrels break out between individuals, which produce 
 sad scufflings on the tree tops, and I have more than 
 once seen a regular duel take place between two 
 doughty heroes of the rookery. Their field of battle is 
 generally the air ; and their contest is managed in the 
 most scientific and elegant manner ; wheeling round 
 
THE ( %OOKE ( %r 223 
 
 and round each other, and towering higher and higher 
 to get the Vantage ground, until they sometimes dis 
 appear in the clouds before the combat is determined. 
 
 They have also fierce combats now and then with 
 an invading hawk, and will drive him off from their 
 territories by a posse comitatus. They are also ex 
 tremely tenacious of their domains, and will suffer 
 no other bird to inhabit the grove or its vicinity. 
 There was a very ancient and respectable old bachelor 
 owl that had long had his lodgings in a corner of the 
 grove, but has been fairly ejected by the rooks, and 
 has retired, disgusted with the world, to a neighbour 
 ing wood, where he leads the life of a hermit, and 
 makes nightly complaints of his ill-treatment. 
 
 The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may 
 generally be heard in the still evenings, when the 
 rooks are all at rest ; and I often listened to them of a 
 moonlight night, with a kind of mysterious gratifica 
 tion. This grey- bearded misanthrope of course is 
 highly respected by the squire, but the servants have 
 superstitious notions about him ; and it would be 
 difficult to get the dairymaid to venture after dark 
 near to the wood which he inhabits. 
 
 Besides the private quarrels of the rooks, there are 
 other misfortunes to which they are liable, and which 
 often bring distress into the most respectable families 
 of the rookery. Having the true baronial spirit of the 
 good old feudal times, they are apt now and then to 
 issue forth from their castles on a foray, and to lay the 
 plebeian fields of the neighbouring country under 
 contribution ; in the course of which chivalrous ex 
 peditions they now and then get a shot from the rusty 
 artillery of some refractory farmer. Occasionally, 
 
224 CHRISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 too, while they are quietly taking the air beyond the 
 park boundaries, they have the incaution to come 
 within the reach of the truant bowmen of Slingsby s 
 school, and receive a flight shot from some unlucky 
 urchin s arrow. In such case the wounded adventurer 
 will sometimes have just strength enough to bring 
 himself home, and giving up the ghost at the rookery, 
 will hang dangling " all abroad " on a bough, like a 
 thief on a gibbet ; an awful warning to his friends, 
 and an object of great commiseration to the squire. 
 
 But, maugreall these untoward incidents, the rooks 
 have, upon the whole, a happy holiday life of it. 
 When their young are reared, and fairly launched 
 upon their native element, the air, the cares of the old 
 folks seem over, and they resume all their aristocrati- 
 cal dignity and idleness. I have envied them the 
 enjoyment which they appear to have in their ethereal 
 heights, sporting with clamorous exultation about their 
 lofty bowers ; sometimes hovering over them, some 
 times partially alighting upon the topmost branches, 
 and there balancing with outstretched wings, and 
 swinging in the breeze. Sometimes they seem to take 
 a fashionable drive to the church, and amuse them 
 selves by circling in airy rings about its spire ; at 
 other times a mere garrison is left at home to mount 
 guard in their stronghold at the grove, while the rest 
 roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. About sunset 
 the garrison gives notice of their return ; their faint 
 cawing will be heard from a great distance, and they 
 will be seen far off like a sable cloud, and then nearer 
 and nearer, until they all come soaring home. Then 
 they perform several grand circuits in the air, over the 
 Hall and garden, wheeling closer and closer, until they 
 
THE OKE^T 225 
 
 gradually settle down upon the grove, when a pro 
 digious cawing takes place, as though they were 
 relating their day s adventures. 
 
 I like at such times to walk about these dusky 
 groves, and hear the various sounds of these airy people 
 roosted so high above me. As the gloom increases, 
 their conversation subsides, and they seem to be 
 gradually dropping asleep ; but every now and then 
 there is a querulous note, as if some one was quarrel 
 ling for a pillow, or a little more of the blanket. It is 
 late in the evening before they completely sink to 
 repose, and then their old anchorite neighbour, the 
 owl, begins his lonely hootings from his bachelor s hall 
 in the wood. 
 
It is the choice time of the year, 
 For the violets now appear ; 
 Now the rose receives its birth, 
 And pretty primrose decks the earth. 
 
 Then to the May-pole come away, 
 
 For it is now a holiday. 
 
 "ACTION AND DIANA." 
 
 As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one of 
 those half dreams, half reveries, which are so pleasant 
 in the country, when the birds are singing about the 
 window, and the sunbeams peeping through the 
 curtains, I was roused by the sound of music. On 
 going downstairs, I found a number of villagers 
 dressed in their holiday clothes, bearing a pole orna 
 mented with garlands and ribands, and accompanied 
 by the village band of music, under the direction of 
 the tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clarionet. 
 They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, as it is called, 
 "the May," in their hats, and had brought green 
 branches and flowers to decorate the Hall door and 
 windows. They had come to give notice that the 
 May-pole was reared on the green, and to invite the 
 household to witness the sports. The Hall, according 
 to custom, became a scene of hurry and delightful 
 confusion. The servants were all agog with May and 
 226 
 
MAY-DAT 227 
 
 music ; and there was no keeping either the tongues 
 or the feet of the maids quiet, who were anticipating 
 the sports of the green, and the evening dance. 
 
 I repaired to the village at an early hour to enjoy 
 the merry-making. The morning was pure and 
 sunny, such as a May morning is always described. 
 The fields were white with daisies, the hawthorn was 
 covered with its fragrant blossoms, the bee hummed 
 about every bank, and the swallow played high in the 
 air about the village steeple. It was one of those 
 genial days when we seem to draw in pleasure with 
 the very air we breathe, and to feel happy we know 
 not why. Whoever has felt the worth of worthy 
 man, or has doted on lovely woman, will, on such a 
 day, call them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all 
 alive with long-buried recollections. "For thenne," 
 says the excellent romance of King Arthur, " lovers 
 call ageyne to their mynde old gentilnes and old 
 servyse, and many kind dedes that were forgotten by 
 neglygence." 
 
 Before reaching the village, I saw the May-pole 
 towering above the cottages, with its gay garlands and 
 streamers, and heard the sound of music. I found 
 that there had been booths set up near it, for the 
 reception of company ; and a bower of green branches 
 and flowers for the Queen of May, a fresh, rosy- 
 cheeked girl of the village. 
 
 A band of morris-dancers were capering on the 
 green in their fantastic dresses, jingling with hawks 
 bells, with a boy dressed up as Maid Marian, and the 
 attendant fool rattling his box to collect contributions 
 from the bystanders. The gipsy women, too, were 
 already plying their mystery in by-corners of the 
 
228 CH<RJSTMAS AT B^ACEB^DGE HALL 
 
 village, reading the hands of the simple country girls, 
 and no doubt promising them all good husbands and 
 tribes of children. 
 
 The squire made his appearance in the course of the 
 morning, attended by the parson, and was received 
 with loud acclamations. He mingled among the 
 country people throughout the day, giving and re 
 ceiving pleasure wherever he went. The amusements 
 of the day were under the management of Slingsby, 
 the schoolmaster, who is not merely lord of misrule in 
 his school, but master of the revels to the village. He 
 was bustling about with the perplexed and anxious air 
 of a man who has the oppressive burthen of promoting 
 other people s merriment upon his mind. He had 
 involved himself in a dozen scrapes in consequence of 
 a politic intrigue, which, by the by, Master Simon and 
 the Oxonian were at the bottom of, which had for 
 object the election of the Queen of May. He had 
 met with violent opposition from a faction of ale- 
 drinkers, who were in favour of a bouncing barmaid, 
 the daughter of the innkeeper ; but he had been too 
 strongly backed not to carry his point, though it shows 
 that these rural crowns, like all others, are objects of 
 great ambition and heart-burning. I am told that 
 Master Simon takes great interest, though in an under 
 hand way, in the election of these May-Day Queens, 
 and that the chaplet is generally secured for some 
 rustic beauty that has found favour in his eyes. 
 
 In the course of the day there were various games 
 of strength and agility on the green, at which a knot 
 of village veterans presided, as judges of the lists. 
 Among these I perceived that Ready-Money Jack 
 took the lead, looking with a learned and critical eye 
 
MAT-DAT 229 
 
 on the merits of the different candidates ; and though 
 he was very laconic, and sometimes merely expressed 
 himself by a nod, yet it was evident that his opinions 
 far outweighed those of the most loquacious. 
 
 Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and 
 carried off most of the prizes, though in some of the 
 feats of agility he was rivalled by the " prodigal son," 
 who appeared much in his element on this occasion ; 
 but his most formidable competitor was the notorious 
 gipsy, the redoubtable "Star-light Tom." I was re 
 joiced at having an opportunity of seeing this u minion 
 of the moon " in broad daylight. I found him a tall, 
 swarthy, good-looking fellow, with a lofty air, some 
 thing like what I have seen in an Indian chieftain ; 
 and with a certain lounging, easy, and almost graceful 
 carriage, which I have often remarked in beings of 
 the lazzaroni order, that lead an idle, loitering life, 
 and have a gentleman-like contempt of labour. 
 
 Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred the 
 ground together, and indulged a vast deal of harmless 
 raking among the buxom country girls. Master 
 Simon would give some of them a kiss on meeting 
 with them, and would ask after their sisters, for he is 
 acquainted with most of the farmers families. Some 
 times he would whisper, and affect to talk mis 
 chievously with them, and, if bantered on the subject, 
 would turn it off with a laugh, though it was evident 
 he liked to be suspected of being a gay Lothario 
 amongst them. 
 
 He had much to say to the farmers about their 
 farms, and seemed to know all their horses by name. 
 There was an old fellow, with a round, ruddy face, 
 and a night-cap under his hat, the village wit, who 
 
230 CH1(ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 took several occasions to crack a joke with him in the 
 hearing of his companions, to whom he would turn 
 and wink hard when Master Simon had passed. 
 
 The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at 
 one time, been interrupted by the appearance of the 
 radical on the ground, with two or three of his disciples. 
 He soon got engaged in argument in the very thick 
 of the throng, above which I could hear his voice, 
 and now and then see his meagre hand, half a mile 
 out of the sleeve, elevated in the air in violent gesticu 
 lation, and flourishing a pamphlet by way of 
 truncheon. He was decrying these idle nonsensical 
 amusements in times of public distress, when it was 
 every one s business to think of other matters, and to 
 be miserable. The honest village logicians could 
 make no stand against him, especially as he was 
 seconded by his proselytes ; when, to their great joy, 
 Master Simon and the general came drifting down 
 into the field of action. I saw that Master Simon 
 was for making off, as soon as he found himself in the 
 neighbourhood of this fire-ship ; but the general was 
 too loyal to suffer such talk in his hearing, and 
 thought, no doubt, that a look and a word from a 
 gentleman would be sufficient to shut up so shabby 
 an orator. The latter, however, was no respecter of 
 persons, but rather seemed to exult in having such 
 important antagonists. He talked with greater 
 volubility than ever, and soon drowned them with 
 declamation on the subject of taxes, poor s rates, and 
 the national debt. Master Simon endeavoured to brush 
 along in his usual excursive manner, which had always 
 answered amazingly well with the villagers ; but the 
 radical was one of those pestilent fellows that pin a 
 
MAT-DAT 231 
 
 man down to facts, and, indeed, he had two or three 
 pamphlets in his pocket, to support every thing he 
 advanced by printed documents. The general, too, 
 found himself betrayed into a more serious action 
 than his dignity could brook, and looked like a mighty 
 Dutch Indiaman grievously peppered by a petty 
 privateer. It was in vain that he swelled and looked 
 big, and talked large, and endeavoured to make up by 
 pomp of manner for poverty of matter ; every home- 
 thrust of the radical made him wheeze like a bellows, 
 and seemed to let a volume of wind out of him. In 
 a word, the two worthies from the Hall were com 
 pletely dumbfounded, and this, too, in the presence of 
 several of Master Simon s staunch admirers, who had 
 always looked up to him as infallible. I do not know 
 how he and the general would have managed to draw 
 their forces decently from the field, had there not 
 been a match at grinning through a horse-collar 
 announced, whereupon the radical retired with great 
 expression of contempt, and as soon as his back was 
 turned, the argument was carried against him all 
 hollow. 
 
 " Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, general ? " 
 said Master Simon ; " there s no talking with one of 
 these chaps when he once gets that confounded 
 Cobbett in his head." 
 
 "S blood, sir ! " said the general, wiping his fore 
 head, "such fellows ought all to be transported ! " 
 
 In the latter part of the day the ladies from the 
 Hall paid a visit to the green. The fair Julia made 
 her appearance, leaning on her lover s arm, and look- 
 extremely pale and interesting. As she is a great 
 favourite in the village, where she has been known 
 
232 CH1(ISTMAS AT B ( I(ACEB < RJ.DGE HALL 
 
 since childhood, and as her late accident had been 
 much talked about, the sight of her caused very 
 manifest delight, and some of the old women of the 
 village blessed her sweet face as she passed. 
 
 While they were walking about, I noticed the 
 schoolmaster in earnest conversation with the young 
 girl that represented the Queen of May, evidently 
 endeavouring to spirit her up to some formidable 
 undertaking. At length, as the party from the Hall 
 approached her bower, she came forth, faltering at 
 every step, until she reached the spot where the fair 
 Julia stood between her lover and Lady Lillycraft. 
 The little Queen then took the chaplet of flowers from 
 her head, and attempted to put it on that of the bride 
 elect ; but the confusion of both was so great, that 
 the wreath would have fallen to the ground, had not 
 the officer caught it, and, laughing, placed it upon the 
 blushing brows of his mistress. There was something 
 charming in the very embarrassment of these two young 
 creatures, both so beautiful, yet so different in their 
 kinds of beauty. Master Simon told me, afterwards, 
 that the Queen of May was to have spoken a few verses 
 which the schoolmaster had written for her ; but that 
 she had neither wit to understand, nor memory to 
 recollect them. " Besides," added he, " between you 
 and I, she murders the king s English abominably ; 
 so she has acted the part of a wise woman in holding 
 her tongue, and trusting to her pretty face." 
 
 Among the other characters from the Hall was Mrs. 
 Hannah, my Lady Lillycraft s gentlewoman : to my 
 surprise she was escorted by old Christy the huntsman, 
 and followed by his ghost of a greyhound ; but I find 
 they are very old acquaintances, being drawn together 
 
MAY-DAT 233 
 
 from some sympathy of disposition. Mrs. Hannah 
 moved about with starched dignity among the rustics, 
 who drew back from her with more awe than 
 they did from her mistress. Her mouth seemed shut 
 as with a clasp ; excepting that I now and then heard 
 the word " fellows ! " escape from between her lips, 
 as she got accidentally jostled in the crowd. 
 
 But there was one other heart present that did not 
 enter into the merriment of the scene, which was that 
 of the simple Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper s niece. 
 The poor girl has continued to pine and whine for 
 some time past, in consequence of the obstinate cold 
 ness of her lover ; never was a little flirtation more 
 severely punished. She appeared this day on the 
 green, gallanted by a smart servant out of livery, 
 and had evidently resolved to try the hazardous ex 
 periment of awakening the jealousy of her lover. 
 She was dressed in her very best ; affected an air of 
 great gaiety : talked loud and girlishly, and laughed 
 when there was nothing to laugh at. There was, 
 however, an aching, heavy heart, in the poor baggage s 
 bosom, in spite of all her levity. Her eye turned 
 every now and then in quest of her reckless lover, and 
 her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious gaiety vanished, 
 on seeing him paying his rustic homage to the little 
 May-Day Queen. 
 
 My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and 
 bustle. Music was heard from a distance ; a banner 
 was seen advancing up the road, preceded by a rustic 
 band playing something like a march, and followed 
 by a sturdy throng of country lads, the chivalry of a 
 neighbouring and rival village. 
 
 No sooner had they reached the green than they 
 
234 CH<I(ISTMAS AT B<I(ACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 challenged the heroes of the day to new trials of 
 strength and activity. Several gymnastic contests 
 ensued for the honour of the respective villages. In 
 the course of these exercises, young Tibbets and the 
 champion of the adverse party had an obstinate match 
 at wrestling. They tugged, and strained, and panted, 
 without either getting the mastery, until both came 
 to the ground, and rolled upon the green. Just then 
 the disconsolate Phoebe came by. She saw her re 
 creant lover in fierce contest, as she thought, and in 
 danger. In a moment pride, pique, and coquetry 
 were forgotten ; she rushed into the ring, seized upon 
 the rival champion by the hair, and was on the point 
 of wreaking on him her puny vengeance, when a 
 buxom, strapping, country lass, the sweetheart of the 
 prostrate swain, pounced upon her like a hawk, and 
 would have stripped her of her fine plumage in a 
 twinkling, had she also not been seized in her turn. 
 
 A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the 
 two villages became embroiled. Blows began to be 
 dealt, and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe was carried 
 off from the field in hysterics. In vain did the sages 
 of the village interfere. The sententious apothecary 
 endeavoured to pour the soothing oil of his philosophy 
 upon this tempestuous sea of passion, but was tumbled 
 into the dust. Slingsby, the pedagogue, who is a 
 great lover of peace, went into the middle of the 
 throng, as marshal of the day, to put an end to the 
 commotion, but was rent in twain, and came out with 
 his garment hanging in two strips from his shoulders ; 
 upon which the prodigal son dashed in with fury to 
 revenge the insult which his patron had sustained. 
 The tumult thickened ; I caught glimpses of the 
 
A complete Cumuli /nsued 
 
 4V 
 
MAT-DAT 235 
 
 jockey-cap of old Christy, like the helmet of a 
 chieftain, bobbing about in the midst of the scuffle ; 
 while Mrs. Hannah, separated from her doughty 
 protector, was squalling and striking at right and 
 left with a faded parasol ; being tossed and tousled 
 about by the crowd in such wise as never happened 
 to maiden gentlewoman before. 
 
 At length I beheld old Ready-Money Jack making 
 his way into the very thickest of the throng ; tearing 
 it, as it were, apart, and enforcing peace, vi et armis. 
 It was surprising to see the sudden quiet that ensued. 
 The storm settled down at once into tranquillity. 
 The parties, having no real grounds of hostility, were 
 readily pacified, and in fact were a little at a loss to 
 know why and how they had got by the ears. 
 Slingsby was speedily stitched together again by his 
 friend the tailor, and resumed his usual good humour. 
 Mrs. Hannah drew on one side to plume her rumpled 
 feathers ; and old Christy, having repaired his 
 damages, took her under his arm, and they swept 
 back again to the Hall, ten times more bitter against 
 mankind than ever. 
 
 The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in recover 
 ing from the agitation of the scene. Young Jack 
 was evidently very much moved by the heroism of the 
 unlucky Phoebe. His mother, who had been 
 summoned to the field of action by news of the affray, 
 was in a sad panic, and had need of all her manage 
 ment to keep him from following his mistress, and 
 coming to a perfect reconciliation. 
 
 What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the 
 good managing dame was, that the matter had roused 
 the slow apprehension of old Ready-Money himself; 
 
236 CH<HISTMAS AT B^CEBISIDGE HALL 
 
 who was very much struck by the intrepid interference 
 of so pretty and delicate a girl, and was sadly puzzled 
 to understand the meaning of the violent agitation in 
 his family. 
 
 When all this came to the ears of the squire, he 
 was grievously scandalised that his May-Day fete 
 should have been disgraced by such a brawl. He 
 ordered Phoebe to appear before him ; but the girl 
 was so frightened and distressed, that she came sobbing 
 and trembling, and, at the first question he asked, fell 
 again into hysterics. Lady Lillycraft, who had under 
 stood that there was an affair of the heart at the 
 bottom of this distress, immediately took the girl into 
 great favour and protection, and made her peace 
 with the squire. This was the only thing that dis 
 turbed the harmony of the day, if we except the 
 discomfiture of Master Simon and the general by the 
 radical. Upon the whole, therefore, the squire had 
 very fair reason to be satisfied that he had rode his 
 hobby throughout the day without any other molesta 
 tion. 
 
 The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive 
 that all this was but a faint shadow of the once gay and 
 fanciful rites of May. The peasantry have lost the 
 proper feeling for these rites, and have grown almost 
 as strange to them as the boors of La Mancha were 
 to the customs of chivalry in the days of the valorous 
 Don Quixote. Indeed, I considered it a proof of the 
 discretion with which the squire rides his hobby, that 
 he had not pushed the thing any farther, nor 
 attempted to revive many obsolete usages of the day, 
 which, in the present matter-of-fact times, would 
 appear affected and absurd. I must say, though I do 
 
MAT-DAT 237 
 
 it under the rose, the general brawl in which this 
 festival had nearly terminated, has made me doubt 
 whether these rural customs of the good old times 
 were always so very loving and innocent as we are 
 apt to fancy them ; and whether the peasantry in 
 those times were really so Arcadian as they have been 
 fondly represented. I begin to fear 
 
 " Those days were never ; airy dreams 
 
 Sat for the picture, and the poet s hand, 
 Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
 Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
 Grant it ; I still must envy them an age 
 That favoured such a dream." 
 
From fire, from water, and all things amiss 
 
 Deliver the house of an honest justice. " THE WIDOW." 
 
 THE serenity of the Hall has been suddenly inter 
 rupted by a very important occurrence. In the course 
 of this morning a posse of villagers was seen trooping 
 up the avenue, with boys shouting in advance. As it 
 drew near, we perceived Ready-Money Jack Tibbets 
 striding along, wielding his cudgel in one hand, and with 
 the other grasping the collar of a tall fellow, whom, 
 on still nearer approach, we recognised for the re 
 doubtable gipsy hero, Star-light Tom. He was, now, 
 however, completely cowed and crest-fallen, and his 
 courage seemed to have quailed in the iron grip of 
 the lion-hearted Jack. 
 
 The whole gang of gipsy women and children 
 came draggling in the rear; some in tears, others 
 making a violent clamour about the ears of old 
 Ready-Money, who, however, trudged on in silence 
 with his prey, heeding their abuse as little as a 
 hawk that has pounced upon a barn-door hero re 
 gards the outcries and cacklings of his whole feathered 
 seraglio. 
 
 He had passed through the village on his way to the 
 Hall, and of course had made a great sensation in that 
 238 
 
THE CULP^T 239 
 
 most excitable place, where every event is a matter 
 of gaze and gossip. The report flew like wildfire that 
 Star-light Tom was in custody. The ale-drinkers 
 forthwith abandoned the tap-room ; Slingsby s school 
 broke loose, and master and boys swelled the tide 
 that came rolling at the heels of old Ready-Money 
 and his captive. 
 
 The uproar increased as they approached the Hall ; 
 it aroused the whole garrison of dogs, and the crew of 
 hangers-on. The great mastiff barked from the dog 
 house ; the staghound and the greyhound, and the 
 spaniel, issued barking from the Hall door, and my 
 Lady Lillycraft s little dogs ramped and barked from 
 the parlour window. I remarked, however, that the 
 gipsy dogs made no reply to all these menaces and 
 insults, but crept close to the gang, looking round 
 with a guilty, poaching air, and now and then glanc 
 ing up a dubious eye to their owners ; which shows 
 that the moral dignity, even of dogs, may be ruined 
 by bad company ! 
 
 When the throng reached the front of the house, 
 they were brought to a halt by a kind of advanced 
 guard, composed of old Christy, the gamekeeper, and 
 two or three servants of the house, who had been 
 brought out by the noise. The common herd of the 
 village fell back with respect ; the boys were driven 
 back by Christy and his compeers ; while Ready- 
 Money Jack maintained his ground and his hold of the 
 prisoner, and was surrounded by the tailor, the school 
 master, and several other dignitaries of the village, 
 and by the clamorous brood of gipsies, who were 
 neither to be silenced nor intimidated. 
 
 By this time the whole household were brought to 
 
B<HACEB<HIDGE HALL 
 
 to the doors and windows, and the squire to the portal. 
 An audience was demanded by Ready-Money Jack, 
 who had detected the prisoner in the very act of 
 sheep-stealing on his domains, and had borne him off 
 to be examined before the squire, who is in the com 
 mission of the peace. 
 
 A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the 
 servants hall, a large chamber, with a stone floor and 
 a long table in the centre, at one end of which, just 
 under an enormous clock, was placed the squire s 
 chair of justice, while Master Simon took his place at 
 the table as clerk of the court. An attempt had been 
 made by old Christy to keep out the gipsy gang, but 
 in vain ; and they, with the village worthies, and the 
 household, half filled the hall. The old housekeeper 
 and the butler were in a panic at this dangerous 
 irruption. They hurried away all the valuable things 
 and portable articles that were at hand, and even kept 
 a dragon watch on the gipsies, lest they should carry 
 off the house clock or the deal table. 
 
 Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor, the game 
 keeper, acted as constables to guard the prisoner, 
 triumphing in having at last got this terrible offender 
 in their clutches. Indeed I am inclined to think the 
 old man bore some peevish recollection of having been 
 handled rather roughly by the gipsy in the chance- 
 medley affair of May-Day. 
 
 Silence was now commanded by Master Simon ; 
 but it was difficult to be enforced in such a motley 
 assemblage. There was a continual snarling and 
 yelping of dogs, and, as fast as it was quelled in one 
 corner, it broke out in another. The poor gipsy curs, 
 who, like errant thieves, could not hold up their heads 
 
THE CULP^T 241 
 
 in an honest house, were worried and insulted by the 
 gentleman dogs of the establishment, without offering 
 to make resistance ; the very curs of my Lady Lilly- 
 craft bullied them with impunity. 
 
 The examination was conducted with great mild 
 ness and indulgence by the squire, partly from the 
 kindness of his nature, and partly, I suspect, because 
 his heart yearned towards the culprit, who had found 
 great favour in his eyes, as I have already observed, 
 from the skill he had at various times displayed in 
 archery, morris-dancing, and other obsolete accom 
 plishments. Proofs, however, were too strong. 
 Ready-Money Jack told his story in a straightfor 
 ward, independent way, nothing daunted by the 
 presence in which he found himself. He had suffered 
 from various depredations on his sheep-fold and 
 poultry-yard, and had at length kept watch, and 
 caught the delinquent in the very act of making off 
 with a sheep on his shoulders. 
 
 Tibbets was repeatedly interrupted, in the course of 
 his testimony, by the culprit s mother, a furious old 
 beldame, with an insufferable tongue, and who, in 
 fact, was several times kept, with some difficulty, 
 from flying at him tooth and nail. The wife, too, of 
 the prisoner, whom I am told he does not beat above 
 half a dozen times a-week, completely interested 
 Lady Lillycraft in her husband s behalf, by her tears 
 and supplications; and several of the other gipsy 
 women were awakening strong sympathy among 
 the young girls and maid-servants in the back 
 ground. The pretty, black-eyed gipsy girl, whom 
 I .have mentioned on a former occasion as the 
 sibyl that read the fortunes of the general, en- 
 Q 
 
242 CH^ISTMjfS Ar B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 deavoured to wheedle that doughty warrior into 
 their interests, and even made some approaches to 
 her old acquaintance, Master Simon ; but was re 
 pelled by the latter with all the dignity of office, 
 having assumed a look of gravity and importance 
 suitable to the occasion. 
 
 I was a little surprised, at first, to find honest 
 Slingsby, the schoolmaster, rather opposed to his old 
 crony Tibbets, and coming forwards as a kind of 
 advocate for the accused. It seems that he had taken 
 compassion on the forlorn fortunes of Star-light Tom, 
 and had been trying his eloquence in his favour the 
 whole way from the village, but without effect. 
 During the examination of Ready-Money Jack, 
 Slingsby had stood like " dejected Pity at his side," 
 seeking every now and then, by a soft word to soothe 
 any exacerbation of his ire, or to qualify any harsh 
 expression. He now ventured to make a few obser 
 vations to the squire in palliation of the delinquent s 
 offence ; but poor Slingsby spoke more from the 
 heart than the head, and was evidently actuated 
 merely by a general sympathy for every poor devil 
 in trouble, and a liberal toleration for all kinds of 
 vagabond existence. 
 
 The ladies, too, large and small, with the kind- 
 heartedness of their sex, were zealous on the side of 
 mercy, and interceded strenuously with the squire ; 
 insomuch that the prisoner, finding himself unex 
 pectedly surrounded by active friends, once more 
 reared his crest, and seemed disposed for a time to put 
 on the air of injured innocence. The squire, how 
 ever, with all his benevolence of heart, and his lurking 
 weakness towards the prisoner, was too conscientious 
 
THE CULP^T 243 
 
 to swerve from the strict path of justice. There was 
 abundant concurrent testimony that made the proof 
 of guilt incontrovertible, and Star-light Tom s 
 mittimus was made out accordingly. 
 
 The sympathy of the ladies was now greater than 
 ever; they even made some attempts to mollify the 
 ire of Ready-Money Jack ; but that sturdy potentate 
 had been too much incensed by the repeated incursions 
 that had been made into his territories by the predatory 
 band of Star-light Tom, and he was resolved, he said, 
 to drive the "varmint reptiles" out of the neighbour 
 hood. To avoid all further importunities, as soon as 
 the mittimus was made out, he girded up his loins, 
 and strode back to his seat of empire, accompanied by 
 his interceding friend, Slingsby, and followed by a 
 detachment of the gipsy gang, who hung on his rear, 
 assailing him with mingled prayers and execrations. 
 
 The question now was, how to dispose of the 
 prisoner ; a matter of great moment in this peaceful 
 establishment, where so formidable a character as 
 Star-light Tom was like a hawk entrapped in a dove 
 cot. As the hubbub and examination had occupied a 
 considerable time, it was too late in the day to send 
 him to the county prison, and that of the village was 
 sadly out of repair from long want of occupation. 
 Old Christy, who took great interest in the affair, 
 proposed that the culprit should be committed for the 
 night to an upper loft of a kind of tower in one of the 
 out-houses, where he and the gamekeeper would mount 
 guard. After much deliberation this measure was 
 adopted ; the premises in question were examined and 
 made secure, and Christy and his- trusty ally, the one 
 armed with a fowling-piece, the other with an ancient 
 
244 CH^STMAS AT B<HACEB<%IDGE HALL 
 
 blunderbuss, turned out as sentries to keep watch over 
 this donjon-keep. 
 
 Such is the momentous affair that has just taken 
 place, and it is an event of too great moment in this 
 quiet little world, not to turn it completely topsy 
 turvy. Labour is at a stand. The house has been a 
 scene of confusion the whole evening. It has been 
 beleaguered by gipsy women, with their children on 
 their backs, wailing and lamenting ; while the old 
 virago of a mother has cruised up and down the lawn 
 in front, shaking her head and muttering to herself, 
 or now and then breaking out into a paroxysm of rage, 
 brandishing her fist at the Hall, and denouncing ill 
 luck upon Ready-Money Jack, and even upon the 
 squire himself. 
 
 Lady Lillycraft has given repeated audiences to the 
 culprit s weeping wife, at the Hall door ; and the 
 servant-maids have stolen out to confer with the gipsy 
 women under the trees. As to the little ladies of the 
 family, they are all outrageous at Ready-Money Jack, 
 whom they look upon in the light of a tyrannical 
 giant of fairy tale. Phoebe Wilkins, contrary to her 
 usual nature, is the only one that is pitiless in the 
 affair. She thinks Mr. Tibbets quite in the right ; 
 and thinks the gipsies deserve to be punished severely 
 for meddling with the sheep of the Tibbets s. 
 
 In the meantime the females of the family have 
 evinced all the provident kindness of the sex, ever 
 ready to soothe and succour the distressed, right or 
 wrong. Lady Lillycraft has had a mattress taken to 
 the out-house, and comforts and delicacies of all kinds 
 have been taken to the prisoner; even the little girls 
 have sent their cakes and sweetmeats ; so that, I ll 
 
THE CULP^T 245 
 
 warrant, the vagabond has never fared so well in his 
 life before. Old Christy, it is true, looks upon every 
 thing with a wary eye ; struts about with his blunder 
 buss with the air of a veteran campaigner, and will 
 hardly allow himself to be spoken to. The gipsy 
 women dare not come within gunshot, and every 
 tatterdemallion of a boy has been frightened from the 
 park. The old fellow is determined to lodge Star 
 light Tom in prison with his own hands ; and hopes, 
 he says, to see one of the poaching crew made an 
 example of. 
 
 I doubt, after all, whether the worthy squire is not 
 the greatest sufferer in the whole affair. His honour 
 able sense of duty obliges him to be rigid, but the 
 overflowing kindness of his nature makes this a 
 grievous trial to him. 
 
 He is not accustomed to have such demands upon 
 his justice in his truly patriarchal domain ; and it 
 wounds his benevolent spirit, that, while prosperity 
 and happiness are flowing in thus bounteously upon 
 him, he should have to inflict misery upon a fellow- 
 being. 
 
 He has been troubled and cast down the whole 
 evening ; took leave of the family, on going to bed, 
 with a sigh, instead of his usual hearty and affectionate 
 tone, and will, in all probability, have a far more sleep 
 less night than his prisoner. Indeed this unlucky 
 affair has cast a damp upon the whole household, as 
 there appears to be an universal opinion that the un 
 lucky culprit will come to the gallows. 
 
 Morning. The clouds of last evening are all blown 
 over. A load has been taken from the squire s heart, 
 and every face is once more in smiles. The game- 
 
246 CH1(ISTMAS Ar B<RACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 keeper made his appearance at an early hour, com 
 pletely shame-faced and crestfallen. Star-light Tom 
 had made his escape in the night ; how he had got 
 out of the loft no one could tell ; the devil, they 
 think, must have assisted him. Old Christy was so 
 mortified that he would not show his face, but had 
 shut himself up in his stronghold at the dog-kennel, 
 and would not be spoken with. What has particularly 
 relieved the squire is, that there is very little likeli 
 hood of the culprit s being retaken, having gone off 
 on one of the old gentleman s best hunters. 
 
FA MILT MISFO RTUNES 
 
 The night has been unruly : where we lay, 
 The chimneys were blown down. 
 
 " MACBETH." 
 
 WE have for a day or two past had a flaw of unruly 
 weather, which has intruded itself into this fair and 
 flowery month, and for a time has quite marred the 
 beauty of the landscape. Last night the storm 
 attained its crisis ; the rain beat in torrents against 
 the casements, and the wind piped and blustered 
 about the old Hall with quite a wintry vehemence. 
 The morning, however, dawned clear and serene ; 
 the face of the heavens seemed as if newly washed, 
 and the sun shone with a brightness that was un- 
 dimmed by a single vapour. Nothing overhead gave 
 traces of the recent storm ; but on looking from my 
 window, I beheld sad ravage among the shrubs and 
 flowers ; the garden walks had formed the channels 
 for little torrents ; trees were lopped of their branches, 
 and a small silver stream that wound through the 
 park, and ran at the bottom of the lawn, had swelled 
 into a turbid, yellow sheet of water. 
 
 In an establishment like this, where the mansion is 
 vast, ancient, and somewhat afflicted with the in 
 firmities of age, and where there are numerous and 
 extensive dependencies, a storm is an event of a very 
 247 
 
248 CHRISTMAS Ar B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 grave nature, and brings in its train a multiplicity of 
 cares and disasters. 
 
 While the squire was taking his breakfast in the 
 great hall, he was continually interrupted by some 
 bearer of ill tidings from some part or other of his 
 domains ; he appeared to me like the commander of 
 a besieged city, after some grand assault, receiving at 
 his head-quarters reports of damages sustained in the 
 various quarters of the place. At one time the house 
 keeper brought him intelligence of a chimney blown 
 down, and a desperate leak sprung in the roof over 
 the picture gallery, which threatened to obliterate a 
 whole generation of his ancestors. Then the steward 
 came in with a doleful story of the mischief done in 
 the woodlands ; while the gamekeeper bemoaned the 
 loss of one of his finest bucks, whose bloated carcase 
 was seen floating along the swollen current of the 
 river. 
 
 When the squire issued forth, he was accosted, 
 before the door, by the old paralytic gardener, with 
 a face full of trouble, reporting, as I supposed, the 
 devastation of his flower-beds, and the destruction of 
 his wall-fruit. I remarked, however, that his intelli 
 gence caused a peculiar expression of concern, not 
 only with the squire and Master Simon, but with the 
 fair Julia and Lady Lillycraft, who happened to be 
 present. From a few words which reached my ear, 
 I found there was some tale of domestic calamity in 
 the case, and that some unfortunate family had been 
 rendered houseless by the storm. Many ejaculations 
 of pity broke from the ladies ; I heard the expressions 
 of " poor helpless beings," and " unfortunate little 
 creatures," several times repeated ; to which the old 
 
FA MILT MISFO^UNES 249 
 
 gardener replied by very melancholy shakes of the 
 head. 
 
 I felt so interested, that I could not help calling to 
 the gardener, as he was retiring, and asking what un 
 fortunate family it was that had suffered so severely ? 
 The old man touched his hat, and gazed at me for an 
 instant, as if hardly comprehending my question. 
 " Family ! " replied he ; " there be no family in the 
 case, your honour ; but there have been sad mischief 
 done in the rookery ! " 
 
 I had noticed the day before that the high and 
 gusty winds which prevailed had occasioned great dis 
 quiet among these airy householders ; their nests 
 being all filled with young, who were in danger of 
 being tilted out of their tree-rocked cradles. Indeed, 
 the old birds themselves seemed to have hard work to 
 maintain a foothold ; some kept hovering and cawing 
 in the air ; or, if they ventured to alight, they had to 
 hold fast, flap their wings, and spread their tails, and 
 thus remain see-sawing on the topmost twigs. 
 
 In the course of the night, however, an awful 
 calamity had taken place in this most sage and politic 
 community. There was a great tree, the tallest in 
 the grove, which seemed to have been the kind of 
 court-end of the metropolis, and crowded with the 
 residences of those whom Master Simon considers the 
 nobility and gentry. A decayed limb of this tree had 
 given way with the violence of the storm, and had come 
 down with all its air-castles. 
 
 One should be well aware of the humours of the 
 good squire and his household, to understand the 
 general concern expressed at this disaster. It was 
 quite a public calamity in this rural empire, and all 
 
250 CH^STMAS AT B<HACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 seemed to feel for the poor rooks as for fellow citizens 
 in distress. 
 
 The ground had been strewed with the callow 
 young, which were now cherished in the aprons and 
 bosoms of the maid-servants, and the little ladies of 
 the family. I was pleased with this touch of nature ; 
 this feminine sympathy in the sufferings of the off 
 spring, and the maternal anxiety of the parent birds. 
 
 It was interesting, too, to witness the general 
 agitation and distress that seemed to prevail through 
 out the feathered community ; the common cause 
 that was made of it, and the incessant hovering, and 
 fluttering, and lamenting, that took place in the 
 whole rookery. There is a chord of sympathy that 
 runs through the whole feathered race as to any mis 
 fortunes of the young ; and the cries of a wounded 
 bird in the breeding season will throw a whole grove 
 in a flutter and an alarm. Indeed, why should I con 
 fine it to the feathered tribe ? Nature seems to me 
 to have implanted an exquisite sympathy on this sub 
 ject, which extends through all her works. It is an 
 invariable attribute of the female heart to melt at the 
 cry of early helplessness, and to take an instinctive 
 interest in the distresses of the parent and its young. 
 On the present occasion the ladies of the family were 
 full of pity and commiseration ; and I shall never 
 forget the look that Lady Lillycraft gave the general, 
 on his observing that the young birds would make an 
 excellent curry, or an especial good rook-pie. 
 
The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, 
 
 Sing all a green willow ; 
 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
 Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 
 
 " OLD SONG." 
 
 THE fair Julia having nearly recovered from the effects 
 of her hawking disaster, it begins to be thought high 
 time to appoint a day for the wedding. As every 
 domestic event in a venerable and aristocratic family 
 connection like this is a matter of moment, the fixing 
 upon this important day has, of course, given rise to 
 much conference and debate. 
 
 Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately 
 sprung up, originating in the peculiar humours that 
 are prevalent at the Hall. Thus, I have overheard a 
 very solemn consultation between Lady Lillycraft, the 
 parson, and Master Simon, as to whether the marriage 
 ought not to be postponed until the coming month. 
 
 With all the charms of the flowery month of May, 
 there is, I find, an ancient prejudice against it as a 
 marrying month. An old proverb says, "To wed in 
 May, is to wed poverty." Now, as Lady Lillycraft 
 is very much given to believe in lucky and unlucky 
 times and seasons, and indeed is very superstitious 
 251 
 
252 CH<%ISTMAS Ar B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 on all points relating to the tender passion, this old 
 proverb seems to have taken great hold upon her 
 mind. She recollects two or three instances in her 
 own knowledge of matches that took place in this 
 month, and proved very unfortunate. Indeed, an 
 own cousin of hers, who married on a May-day, lost 
 her husband by a fall from his horse, after they had 
 lived happily together for twenty years. 
 
 The parson appeared to give great weight to her 
 ladyship s objections, and acknowledged the existence 
 of a prejudice of the kind, not merely confined to 
 modern times, but prevalent likewise among the 
 ancients. In confirmation of this, he quoted a 
 passage from Ovid, which had a great effect on 
 Lady Lillycraft, being given in a language which 
 she did not understand. Even Master Simon was 
 staggered by it ; for he listened with a puzzled air, 
 and then, shaking his head, sagaciously observed, that 
 Ovid was certainly a very wise man. 
 
 From this sage conference I likewise gathered 
 several other important pieces of information relative 
 to weddings ; such as that if two were celebrated in 
 the same church on the same day, the first would be 
 happy, the second unfortunate. If, on going to 
 church, the bridal party should meet the funeral of a 
 female, it was an omen that the bride would die first ; 
 if of a male, the bridegroom. If the newly-married 
 couple were to dance together on their wedding-day, 
 the wife would thenceforth rule the roast ; with many 
 other curious and unquestionable facts of the same 
 nature, all which made me ponder more than ever 
 upon the perils which surround this happy state, and 
 the thoughtless ignorance of mortals as to the awful 
 
TROUBLES 253 
 
 risks they run in entering upon it. I abstain, how 
 ever, from enlarging upon this topic, having no in 
 clination to promote the increase of bachelors. 
 
 Notwithstanding the due weight which the squire 
 gives to traditional saws and ancient opinions, yet I 
 am happy to find that he makes a firm stand for the 
 credit of this loving month, and brings to his aid a 
 whole legion of poetical authorities ; all which, I pre 
 sume, have been conclusive with the young couple, as 
 I understand they are perfectly willing to marry in 
 May, and abide the consequences. In a few days, 
 therefore, the wedding is to take place, and the Hall 
 is in a buzz of anticipation. The housekeeper is 
 bustling about from morning till night, with a look 
 full of business and importance, having a thousand 
 arrangements to make, the squire intending to keep 
 open house on the occasion ; and as to the house 
 maids, you cannot look one of them in the face, but 
 the rogue begins to colour up and simper. 
 
 While, however, this leading love affair is going on 
 with a tranquillity quite inconsistent with the rules of 
 romance, I cannot say that the under-plots are equally 
 propitious. The "opening bud of love" between 
 the general and Lady Lillycraft seems to have ex 
 perienced some blight in the course of this genial 
 season. I do not think the general has ever been 
 able to retrieve the ground he lost when he fell 
 asleep during the captain s story. Indeed, Master 
 Simon thinks his case is completely desperate, her 
 ladyship having determined that he is quite destitute 
 of sentiment. 
 
 The season has been equally unpropitious to the 
 love-thorn Phoebe Wilkins. I fear the reader will be 
 
254 CH^STMAS AT B<I(ACEB<I(IDGE HALL 
 
 impatient at having this humble amour so often 
 alluded to ; but I confess I am apt to take a great 
 interest in the love troubles of simple girls of this class. 
 Few people have an idea of the world of care and per 
 plexity that these poor damsels have in managing the 
 affairs of the heart. 
 
 We talk and write about the tender passion ; we 
 give it all the colourings of sentiment and romance, 
 and lay the scene of its influence in high life ; but, 
 after all, I doubt whether its sway is not more 
 absolute among females of a humbler sphere. How 
 often, could we but look into the heart, should we 
 find the sentiment throbbing in all its violence, in the 
 bosom of the poor lady s maid, rather than in that of 
 the brilliant beauty she is decking out for conquest ; 
 whose brain is probably bewildered with beaux, ball 
 rooms, and wax-light chandeliers. 
 
 With these humble beings love is an honest, en 
 grossing concern. They have no ideas of settlements, 
 establishments, equipages, and pin-money. The 
 heart the heart is all-in-all with them, poor things ! 
 There is seldom one of them but has her love cares, 
 and love secrets ; her doubts, and hopes, and fears, 
 equal to those of any heroine of romance, and ten 
 times as sincere. And then, too, there is her secret 
 hoard of love documents ; the broken sixpence, the 
 gilded brooch, the lock of hair, the unintelligible love 
 scrawl, all treasured up in her box of Sunday finery, 
 for private contemplation. 
 
 How many crosses and trials is she exposed to from 
 some lynx-eyed dame, or staid old vestal of a mistress, 
 who keeps a dragon watch over her virtue, and scouts 
 the lover from the door ! But then, how sweet are 
 
255 
 
 the little love scenes, snatched at distant intervals of 
 holiday, fondly dwelt on through many a long day of 
 household labour and confinement ! If in the country, 
 it is the dance at the fair or wake, the interview in 
 the churchyard after service, or the evening stroll in 
 the green lane. If in town, it is perhaps merely a 
 stolen moment of delicious talk between the bars of 
 the area, fearful every instant of being seen ; and then, 
 how lightly will the simple creature carol all day 
 afterwards at her labour ! 
 
 Poor baggage ! after all her crosses and difficulties, 
 when she marries, what is it but to exchange a life of 
 comparative ease and comfort for one of toil and un 
 certainty ? Perhaps, too, the lover, for whom, in the 
 fondness of her nature, she has committed herself to 
 fortune s freaks, turns out a worthless churl, the dis 
 solute, hard-hearted husband of low life ; who, taking 
 to the alehouse, leaves her to a cheerless home, to 
 labour, penury, and child-bearing. 
 
 When I see poor Phoebe going about with drooping 
 eye, and her head hanging " all o one side," I cannot 
 help calling to mind the pathetic little picture drawn 
 by Desdemona : 
 
 My mother had a maid, called Barbara ; 
 She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad, 
 And did forsake her ; she had a song of willow, 
 An old thing twas j but it express d her fortune, 
 And she died singing it. 
 
 I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve for 
 Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet "rule the 
 roast," in the ancient empire of the Tibbets ! She is 
 not fit to battle with hard hearts or hard times. She 
 was, I am told, the pet of her poor mother, who was 
 
256 CH^STMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 proud of the beauty of her child, and brought her up 
 more tenderly than a village girl ought to be ; and ever 
 since she has been left an orphan, the good ladies at the 
 Hall have completed the softening and spoiling of her. 
 I have recently observed her holding long confer 
 ences in the churchyard, and up and down one of the 
 lanes near the village, with Slingsby, the schoolmaster. 
 I at first thought the pedagogue might be touched 
 with the tender malady so prevalent in these parts of 
 late ; but I did him injustice. Honest Slingsby, it 
 seems, was a friend and crony of her late father, the 
 parish clerk ; and is on intimate terms with the 
 Tibbets family. Prompted, therefore, by his good 
 will towards all parties, and secretly instigated, 
 perhaps, by the managing dame Tibbets, he has 
 undertaken to talk with Phoebe upon the subject. 
 He gives her, however, but little encouragement. 
 Slingsby has a formidable opinion of the aristocratical 
 feeling of old Ready-Money, and thinks, if Phoebe 
 were even to make the matter up with the son, she 
 would find the father totally hostile to the match. 
 The poor damsel, therefore, is reduced almost to 
 despair ; and Slingsby, who is too good-natured not to 
 sympathise in her distress, has advised her to give up 
 all thoughts of young Jack, and has promised as a 
 substitute his learned coadjutor, the prodigal son. He 
 has even, in the fulness of his heart, offered to give up 
 the school-house to them, though it would leave him 
 once more adrift in the wide world. 
 
No more, no more, much honor aye betide 
 The lofty bridegroom, and the lovely bride ; 
 That all of their succeeding days may say, 
 Each day appears like to a wedding day. 
 
 BRAITHWAITI. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING the doubts and demurs of Lady 
 Lillycraft, and all the grave objections that were con 
 jured up against the month of May, yet the Wedding 
 has at length happily taken place. It was celebrated 
 at the village church in presence of a numerous com 
 pany of relatives and friends, and many of the tenantry. 
 The squire must needs have something of the old 
 ceremonies observed on the occasion ; so at the gate 
 of the churchyard, several little girls of the village, 
 dressed in white, were in readiness with baskets of 
 flowers, which they strewed before the bride ; and the 
 butler bore before her the bride-cup, a great silver 
 embossed bowl, one of the family reliques from the 
 days of the hard drinkers. This was filled with rich 
 wine, and decorated with a branch of rosemary, tied 
 with gay ribands, according to ancient custom. 
 
 " Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," says 
 the old proverb ; and it was as sunny and auspicious a 
 morning as heart could wish. The bride looked un 
 commonly beautiful ; but, in fact, what woman does 
 R 257 
 
258 CH<HISTMA$ AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 not look interesting on her wedding-day ? I know 
 no sight more charming and touching than that of a 
 young and timid bride, in her robes of virgin white, 
 led up trembling to the altar. When I thus behold 
 a lovely girl, in the tenderness of her years, forsaking 
 the house of her fathers and the home of her child 
 hood, and, with the implicit, confiding, and the sweet 
 selfabandonment which belong to woman, giving up 
 all the world for the man of her choice ; when I hear 
 her, in the good old language of the ritual, yielding 
 herself to him " for better for worse, for richer for 
 poorer, in sickness and in health ; to love, honour, 
 and obey, till death us do part," it brings to my mind 
 the beautiful and affecting self-devotion of Ruth : 
 " Whither thou goest I will go, and where thou 
 lodgest I will lodge ; thy people shall be my people, 
 and thy God my God." 
 
 The fair Julia was supported on the trying occasion 
 by Lady Lillycraft, whose heart was overflowing with 
 its wonted sympathy in all matters of love and matri 
 mony. As the bride approached the altar, her face 
 would be one moment covered with blushes, and the 
 next deadly pale ; and she seemed almost ready to 
 shrink from sight among her female companions. 
 
 I do not know what it is that makes everyone 
 serious, and, as it were, awe-struck at a marriage 
 ceremony, which is generally considered as an occasion 
 of festivity and rejoicing. As the ceremony was per 
 forming, I observed many a rosy face among the 
 country girls turn pale, and I did not see a smile 
 throughout the church. The young ladies from the 
 Hall were almost as much frightened as if it had been 
 their own case, and stole many a look of sympathy 
 
THE WEDDING 259 
 
 at their trembling companion. A tear stood in the 
 eye of the sensitive Lady Lillycraft : and as to 
 Phoebe Willdns, who was present, she absolutely 
 wept and sobbed aloud ; but it is hard to tell half 
 the time what these fond, foolish creatures are 
 crying about. 
 
 The captain, too, though naturally gay and uncon 
 cerned, was much agitated on the occasion, and, in 
 attempting to put the ring upon the bride s finger, 
 dropped it on the floor ; which Lady Lillycraft has 
 since assured me is a very lucky omen. Even Master 
 Simon had lost his usual vivacity, and had assumed a 
 most whimsically solemn face, which he is apt to do 
 on all occasions of ceremony. He had much whisper 
 ing with the parson and parish-clerk, for he is always 
 a busy personage in the scene ; and he echoed the 
 clerk s amen with a solemnity and devotion that 
 edified the whole assemblage. 
 
 The moment, however, that the ceremony was 
 over, the transition was magical. The bride-cup was 
 passed round, according to ancient usage, for the com 
 pany to drink to a happy union ; every one s feelings 
 seemed to break forth from restraint ; Master Simon 
 had a world of bachelor pleasantries to utter, and as 
 to the gallant general, he bowed and cooed about the 
 dulcet Lady Lillycraft, like a mighty cock pigeon 
 about his dame. 
 
 The villagers gathered in the churchyard to cheer 
 the happy couple as they left the church ; and the 
 musical tailor had marshalled his band, and set up a 
 hideous discord, as the blushing and smiling bride 
 passed through a lane of honest peasantry to her 
 carriage. The children shouted and threw up their 
 
2 6o CH<%ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 hats ; the bells rung a merry peal that set all the 
 crows and rooks flying and cawing about the air, 
 and threatened to bring down the battlements of 
 the old tower ; and there was a continual popping 
 off of rusty firelocks from every part of the neighbour 
 hood. 
 
 The prodigal son distinguished himself on the 
 occasion, having hoisted a flag on the top of the 
 school-house, and kept the village in a hubbub from 
 sunrise with the sound of drum, and fife, and pandean 
 pipe ; in which species of music several of his scholars 
 are making wonderful proficiency. In his great zeal, 
 however, he had nearly done mischief; for, on re 
 turning from church, the horses of the bride s carnage 
 took fright from the discharge of a row of old gun- 
 barrels, which he had mounted as a park of artillery 
 in front of the school-house, to give the captain a 
 military salute as he passed. 
 
 The day passed off with great rustic rejoicings. 
 Tables were spread under the trees in the park, where 
 all the peasantry of the neighbourhood were regaled 
 with roast beef and plum-pudding, and oceans of ale. 
 Ready-Money Jack presided at one of the tables, and 
 became so full of good cheer, as to unbend from his 
 usual gravity, to sing a song out of all tune, and give 
 two or three shouts of laughter, that almost electrified 
 his neighbours, like so many peals of thunder. The 
 schoolmaster and the apothecary vied with each other 
 in making speeches over their liquor ; and there were 
 occasional glees and musical performances by the 
 village band, that must have frightened every faun 
 and dryad from the park. Even old Christy, who 
 had got on a new dress, from top to toe, and shone in 
 
N - 
 
THE WEDDING 261 
 
 all the splendour of bright leather breeches, and an 
 enormous wedding favour in his cap, forgot his usual 
 crustiness, became inspired by wine and wassail, and 
 absolutely danced a hornpipe on one of the tables, 
 with all the grace and agility of a mannikin hung 
 upon wires. 
 
 Equal gaiety reigned within doors, where a large 
 party of friends were entertained. Every one laughed 
 at his own pleasantry, without attending to that of his 
 neighbours. Loads of bride-cake was distributed. 
 The young ladies were all busy in passing morsels of 
 it through the wedding ring to dream on, and I 
 myself assisted a fine little boarding-school girl in 
 putting up a quantity for her companions, which I 
 have no doubt will set all the little heads in the school 
 gadding, for a week at least. 
 
 After dinner all the company, great and small, 
 gentle and simple, abandoned themselves to the dance : 
 not the modern quadrille, with its graceful gravity, 
 but the merry, social, old country dance ; the true 
 dance, as the squire says, for a wedding occasion ; as 
 it sets all the world jigging in couples, hand in hand, 
 and makes every eye and every heart dance merrily to 
 the music. According to frank old usage, the gentle 
 folks of the Hall mingled, for a time, in the dance of 
 the peasantry, who had a great tent erected for a ball 
 room ; and I think I never saw Master Simon more 
 in his element than when figuring about among his 
 rustic admirers, as master of the ceremonies ; and, 
 with a mingled air of protection and gallantry, leading 
 out the quondam Queen of May all blushing at the 
 signal honour conferred upon her. 
 
 In the evening, the whole village was illuminated, 
 
262 CH<F(ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 excepting the house of the radical, who has not shown 
 his face during the rejoicings. There was a display 
 of fireworks at the school-house, got up by the 
 prodigal son, which had wellnigh set fire to the 
 building. The squire is so much pleased with the 
 extraordinary services of this last-mentioned worthy, 
 that he talks of enrolling him in his list of valuable 
 retainers, and promoting him to some important post 
 on the estate ; peradventure to be falconer, if the 
 hawks can ever be brought into proper training. 
 
 There is a well-known old proverb that says, "one 
 wedding makes many" or something to the same 
 purpose ; and I should not be surprised if it holds 
 good in the present instance. I have seen several 
 flirtations among the young people, that have been 
 brought together on this occasion ; and a great deal 
 of strolling about in pairs, among the retired walks 
 and blossoming shrubberies of the old garden ; and if 
 groves were really given to whispering, as poets would 
 fain make us believe, Heaven knows what love-tales 
 the grave-looking old trees about this venerable 
 country-seat might blab to the world. 
 
 The general, too, has waxed very zealous in his 
 devotions within the last few days, as the time of her 
 ladyship s departure approaches. I observed him 
 casting many a tender look at her during the wedding 
 dinner, while the courses were changing ; though he 
 was always liable to be interrupted in his adoration by 
 the appearance of any new delicacy. The general, 
 in fact, has arrived at that time of life when the heart 
 and the stomach maintain a kind of balance of power ; 
 and when a man is apt to be perplexed in his affections 
 between a fine woman and a truffled turkev. Her 
 
THE ITEDDING 263 
 
 ladyship was certainly rivalled through the whole of 
 the first course by a dish of stewed carp ; and there 
 was one glance, which was evidently intended to be a 
 point-blank shot at her heart, and could scarcely have 
 failed to effect a practicable breach, had it not un 
 luckily been diverted away to a tempting breast of 
 lamb, in which it immediately produced a formidable 
 incision. 
 
 Thus did the faithless general go on, coquetting 
 during the whole dinner, and committing an infidelity 
 with every new dish ; until, in the end, he was so 
 overpowered by the attentions he had paid to fish, 
 flesh, and fowl ; to pastry, jelly, cream, and blanc 
 mange, that he seemed to sink within himself: his 
 eyes swam beneath their lids, and their fire was so 
 much slackened, that he could no longer discharge 
 a single glance that would reach across the table. 
 Upon the whole, I fear the general ate himself into 
 as much disgrace, at this memorable dinner, as I have 
 seen him sleep himself into on a former occasion. 
 
 I am told, moreover, that young Jack Tibbets was 
 so touched by the wedding ceremony, at which he was 
 present, and so captivated by the sensibility of poor 
 Phoebe Wilkins, who certainly looked all the better 
 for her tears, that he had a reconciliation with her 
 that very day, after dinner, in one of the groves of 
 the park, and danced with her in the evening ; to 
 the complete confusion of all Dame Tibbets domestic 
 politics. I met them walking together in the park, 
 shortly after the reconciliation must have taken place. 
 Young Jack carried himself gaily and manfully ; but 
 Phoebe hung her head, blushing, as I approached. 
 However, just as she passed me, and dropped a curtsy, 
 
264 CH1(ISTMAS AT B ( %ACEB ( %IDGE HALL 
 
 I caught a shy gleam of her eye from under her 
 bonnet ; but it was immediately cast down again. 
 I saw enough in that single gleam, and in the 
 involuntary smile that dimpled about her rosy lips, to 
 feel satisfied that the little gipsy s heart was happy 
 again. 
 
 What is more, Lady Lillycraft, with her usual 
 benevolence and zeal in all matters of this tender 
 nature, on hearing of the reconciliation of the lovers, 
 undertook the critical task of breaking the matter to 
 Ready-Money Jack. She thought there was no time 
 like the present, and attacked the sturdy old yeoman 
 that very evening in the park, while his heart was 
 yet lifted up with the squire s good cheer. Jack was 
 a little surprised at being drawn aside by her ladyship, 
 but was not to be flurried by such an honour : he was 
 still more surprised by the nature of her communica 
 tion, and by this first intelligence of an affair that had 
 been passing under his eye. He listened, however, 
 with his usual gravity, as her ladyship represented the 
 advantages of the match, the good qualities of the girl, 
 and the distress which she had lately suffered ; at 
 length his eye began to kindle, and his hand to play 
 with the head of his cudgel. Lady Lillycraft saw that 
 something in the narrative had gone wrong, and 
 hastened to mollify his rising ire by reiterating the 
 soft-hearted Phoebe s merit and fidelity, and her great 
 unhappiness, when old Ready-Money suddenly inter 
 rupted her by exclaiming, that if Jack did not marry 
 the wench, he d break every bone in his body! The 
 match, therefore, is considered a settled thing ; Dame 
 Tibbets and the housekeeper have made friends, and 
 drank tea together ; and Phoebe has again recovered 
 
THE WEDDING 265 
 
 her good looks and good spirits, and is carolling from 
 morning till night like a lark. 
 
 But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one that 
 I should be almost afraid to mention, did I not know 
 that I was writing for readers well acquainted in the 
 waywardness of this most mischievous deity. The 
 morning after the wedding, therefore, while Lady 
 Lillycraft was making preparations for her departure, 
 an audience was requested by her immaculate hand 
 maid, Mrs. Hannah, who, with much priming of the 
 mouth, and many maidenly hesitations, requested 
 leave to stay behind, and that Lady Lillycraft would 
 supply her place with some other servant. Her 
 ladyship was astonished : " What ! Hannah going to 
 quit her, that had lived with her so long ! " 
 
 " Why, one could not help it ; one must settle in 
 life some time or other." 
 
 The good lady was still lost in amazement ; at 
 length the secret was gasped from the dry lips of the 
 maiden gentlewoman : " she had been some time 
 thinking of changing her condition, and at length had 
 given her word, last evening, to Mr. Christy, the 
 huntsman." 
 
 How, or when, or where this singular courtship had 
 been carried on, I have not been able to learn ; nor 
 how she has been able, with the vinegar of her dis 
 position, to soften the stony heart of old Nimrod ; 
 so, however, it is, and it has astonished every one. 
 With all her ladyship s love of match-making, this 
 last fume of Hymen s torch has been too much for her. 
 She has endeavoured to reason with Mrs. Hannah, but 
 all in vain ; her mind was made up, and she grew tart 
 on the least contradiction. Lady Lillycraft applied to 
 
266 CH1(ISTMAS AT B^CEB^DGE HALL 
 
 the squire for his interference. " She did not know 
 what she should do without Mrs. Hannah, she had 
 been used to have her about her so long a time." 
 
 The squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, 
 as relieving the good lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, 
 under whose sway she had suffered for years. Instead 
 of thwarting the affair, therefore, he has given it his 
 full countenance ; and declares that he will setup the 
 young couple in one of the best cottages on his estate. 
 The approbation of the squire has been followed by 
 that of the whole household : they all declare, that if 
 ever matches are really made in heaven, this must 
 have been j for that old Christy and Mrs. Hannah 
 were as evidently formed to be linked together as ever 
 were pepper-box and vinegar-cruet. 
 
 As soon as this matter was arranged, Lady Lilly- 
 craft took her leave of the family at the Hall ; taking 
 with her the captain and his blushing bride, who are 
 to pass the honeymoon with her. Master Simon 
 accompanied them on horseback, and indeed means to 
 ride on ahead to make preparations. The general, 
 who was fishing in vain for an invitation to her seat, 
 handed her ladyship into her carriage with a heavy 
 sigh ; upon which his bosom friend, Master Simon, 
 who was just mounting his horse, gave me a knowing 
 wink, made an abominably wry face, and, leaning from 
 his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, " It won t 
 do ! " Then putting spurs to his horse, away he 
 cantered off. The general stood for some time 
 waving his hat after the carriage as it rolled down the 
 avenue, until he was seized with a fit of sneezing, from 
 exposing his head to the cool breeze. I observed that 
 he turned rather thoughtfully to the house ; whistling 
 
THE WEDDING 267 
 
 thoughtfully to himself, with his hands behind his 
 back, and an exceedingly dubious air. 
 
 The company have now almost all taken their 
 departure. I have determined to do the same to 
 morrow morning ; and I hope my reader may not 
 think that I have already lingered too long at the Hall. 
 I have been tempted to do so, however, because I 
 thought I had lit upon one of the retired places where 
 there are yet some traces to be met with of old English 
 character. A little while hence, and all these will 
 probably have passed away. Ready-Money Jack will 
 sleep with his fathers : the good squire, and all his 
 peculiarities, will be buried in the neighbouring church. 
 The old Hall will be modernised into a fashionable 
 country-seat, or, peradventure, a manufactory. The 
 park will be cut up into petty farms and kitchen- 
 gardens. A daily coach will run through the village ; 
 it will become, like all other common-place villages 
 thronged with coachmen, post-boys, tipplers, and 
 politicians ; and Christmas, May-Day, and all the other 
 hearty merry-makings of the "good old times" will 
 be forgotten. 
 
 THE END 
 
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