THE WORKS WASHINGTON I HYING NEW EDITION, REVISED. VOL. VI. BRACEBIUDGE HALL NEAV YORK: G. P. PUTNAM 1860. u (. / ^-sjmi»«E ^, .,*. ,>^ 77^ found. ^ - BRACEBRIDGE HALL, THE HUMORISTS. a fiuMcM. GEOFFIJEY CRAYON, Gent. "tln.ler this .;lo.|.l I wiilk, Gentl,' «li<), haviiig siirvcyeil iiiii.sl of ilie teir peril-* this litUe spot." -n : pardon in}' rude a'^sa.iit. I am a travellc rial aiides of this globe, ain Intlier arrived, I CiiKiSTMAS Orpin. \nv. AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION COMPLETK IM ()NI<: VOLUMK. NEAY YORK: G. P. PUTNAM 18G0. I'g 51 E.VTEEED according to Act of Confess, in the year 1S57, Bt G. p. PUTNAM, th( Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. John F. Trow, Prinlor, Slereotypcr, and Eleclrofypt t 46, 4R& 50 Greene Street, M'tuepii timnd Jc Broome, New Yorl> The Author, . The Hall, THii Busy Man, Family Servants, Tire Widow, The Lovers, Family Relics, An Old Soldier, The Widow's Retinue, Ricady-Money Jack, Bachelors, Wives, Story Telling, The Stout Gentleman, Forest Trees, A Literary Antkjuary, The Farm House, Horsemanship, Love Symptoms, Falconry, Hawking, St. Mark's Eve, 42 48 52 56 62 66 73 75. 87 93 99 104 109 112 117 124 CONTEXTS. Gkntilitv, FoKTLxi: Tklung, Lo^'E Charms, The Library, t^iiTS. Student of Salamanca, English Country Gentlemen, A Bachelor's Confessions, English Gravity, Gipsies, May-Day Customs, A'lLLAGE M'ORTIIIES, . The SchLPH Hkyligkr, The Wehdixo, The Author's Farv.wki.i^ ILLUSTI! ATIOXS, 1. KsGLrsn Country Gkxti.em.vn, Front. 2. DoM'ii IIeymoek ANn tub Doctor, Title. 8. GiPSKY Kncampmknt, l-^!* 4. Ready Money Jack 27) 5. Teavellek akd tue Oochn, 342 VIGNETTES I x\ THE TEXT. nESIONED BY HERRICK, ENGRAVED BY RTCHARDSON. 1. Contents, v. 2. The Author, 9 3. Castle, 15 4. Wreath of English Ivy, 10 5. Falcon, 2.') 6. Doves 41 7. Poodle Dogs, «'•"' S. Hawking, 116 9. Knight 13S 10. Books and Birch, 278 11. English Eook, 291 12. English Oak and Rooks 8o9 13. Owl and IIorseshoe, 373 14. Pipes, 417 15. PuNcn-P.owL, 448 16. The End 465 Worthy Reader: On again taking pen ia hand, I would fain make a few observations at the outset, by Avay of bespeaking a right un- derstanding. The vohimes which I have ah-eady published have met with a reception far beyond my most sanguine expectations. I would willingly attribute this to their intrinsic merits ; but, in spite of the vanity of authorship, I cannot but be sensible thai their success has, in a great measure, been owing to a less flatter- ing cause. It has been a matter of marvel, to my European readers, that a man from the wilds of America should exj^ress himself in tolerable English. I was looked upon as something new and strange in literature ; a kind of demi-savage, with a feather in his hand, instead of on his head ; and there was a curiosity to hear what such a being had to say about civilized society. This novelty is now at an end, and of course the feeling of indulgence which it produced. I must now expect to bear the scrutiny of sterner criticisms, and to be measured by the same standard of contemporary writers ; and the very favor shown to my previous writings, Avill cause these to be treated with the greatest rigor ; as there is nothing for which the world is apt to punish a man more severely, than for having been over-praised. 1* 10 THE AUTIIOK. On this head, therefore, I wish to forestall the censoriousness of tlie reader ; and I entreat he will not think the worse of me for • tlie many injudicious things that may have been said in my com- mendation. I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, and treat of subjects that have already been discussed by abler pens. In- deed, various authors have boen mentioned as my models, to whom I should feel flattered if I thought I bore the slightest resem- blance ; but in truth I write after no model that I am conscious of, and I write with no idea of imitation or comijetition. In venturing occasionally on topics that have already been almost exhausted by English authors, I do it, not with the presumption of challenging a comparison, but with the hope that some new interest may be given to such topics, when discussed by the pen of a stranger. If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwelling with fondness on subjects trite and commonplace with the reader, I beg the circumstances under which I w^ite may be kept in recol- lection. Having been born and brought up in a new country, yet educated from infancy in the literature of an old one, my mind was early filled Avitli historical and poetical associations, connected with places, and manners, and customs of Europe ; but which could rarely be applied to those of my ow^n country. To a mind thus peculiarly prepared, the most ordinary object and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange matter an( interesting novelty. England is as classic ground to an Ameri can, as Italy is to an Englishman ; and old London teems witl as much historical association as mighty Rome. Indeed, it is ditlicult to describe the whimsical medley of ideas that throng upon his mind on landing among English THE AUTHOR. lo those of my native city. It was, to me, the great centre of the world, round which every thing seemed to revolve. I recollect contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a paltry little print of the Thames, and London Bridge, and St. Paul's, that was in front of an old magazine ; and a picture of Kensington Gardens, with gentlemen in three-cornered hats and broad skirts, and ladies in hoops and lappets, that bung up in my bedroom ; even the ven- erable cut of St. John's Gate, that has stood, time out of mind, in front of the Gentleman's Magazine, was not without its charms to me ; and I en\-ied the odd-looking little men that appeared to be loitering about its arches. How then did my heart warm when the towers of Westmin- ster Abbey were pointed out to me, rising above the rich groves of St. James's Park, with a thin blue haze above their gray pin- nacles ! I could not behold this great mausoleum of what is most illustrious in our paternal of odd pieces from all parts of the house, chosen on account THE BUSY MAX. 21 of their suiting his notions, or fitting some corner of his apart- ment ; and he is very eloquent in praise of an ancient elbow- chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into a censure on modern chairs, as having degenerated from the dignity and com- fort of high-backed antiquity. Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he calls his study. Here are some hanging shelves, of his own construction, on which are several old works on hawking, hunting, and far- riery, and a collection or two of poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeth, which he studies out of compliment to the Squire ; together with the Novelist's Magazine, the Sporting Magazine, the Eacing Calendar, a volume or two of the Newgate Calendar, a book of peerage, and another of heraldry. His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet ; and about the walls of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing- tackle, whips, spurs, and a favorite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he inherits from his grandfather. He has, also, a couple of old single-keyed flutes, and a fiddle w^hich he has repeatedly patched and mended himself, affirming it to be a veritable Cremona; though I have never heard him extract a single note from it that was not enough to make one's blood run cold. From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the still- ness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune ; for he prides himself on having a choice collection of good old Eng- lish music, and will scarcely have any thing to do with modern composers. The time, however, at which his musical powers are of most use, is now and then of an evening, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall, and he passes among them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus- 22 BRACEBUIDGE HALL. 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 endeavoring to paint glasses ; in a word, it is the cabinet of a man of many accom- plishments, who knows a little of every thing, and does nothing well. After I had spent some time in his apartment, admiring the ingenuity of his small inventions, he took me about the establish- ment, to visit the stables, dog-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 bhds in durance, completing their education. Among the num- ber was a fine falcon, which Master Simon had in especial train- ing, and he told me that he would show^ me, in a few days, some rare sport of the good old-fashioned kind. In the course of our roimd, I noticed that the grooms, gamekeeper, whippers-iu, and other retainers, seemed all to be on somewhat of a familiar foot- ^^ ing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke with him, though it was evident they had great deference for his opinion in matters relating to their functions. There was one exception, however, in a testy old huntsman, as hot as a pepper-corn ; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a thread- THE BUSY MAN. 23 bare velvet jjckey-cap, and a jDair 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 dif- fer from Master Simon now and then, out of mere captiousness. This was particularly the case with respect to the treat \nent 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 mj)in(/, 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 notwithstanding, and seemed to hold all this technical lore in utter disrespect. I was surprised at the good humor with which Master Simon bore his contradictions, till he explained the matter to me after- wards. ' Old Christy is the most ancient servant in the place, hav- ing lived among dogs and horses the greater part of a century, and been in the service of Mr. Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree of every horse on the place, and has bestrode the great-great grandsires of most of them. He can give a circum- stantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or seventy years, and has a history for every stag's head about the house, and every hunting trophy nailed to the door of the dog-kennel. All the present race have grown up under his eye, and humor him in his old age. He once attended the Squire to Oxford, when he was student there, and enlightened the whole university with his hunting lore. All this is enough to make the old man opin- ionated, since he finds, on all these matters of first-rate impor- tance, he knows more than the rest of the world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges that he derived his first knowledge in hunting from the instructions of Christv ; and 24 EBACEBRIDGE HALL. T much question -whether the old man does not still look upon him as rather a greenhorn. On our return homewards, as we were crossing the lawn in front of the house, we heard the porter's bell ring at the lodge, and shortly afterwards, a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the avenue. At sight of it my companion paused, considered it for a moment, and then, making a sudden exclamation, hurried away to meet it. As it approached I discovered a fair, fresh- looking elderly lady, dressed in an old-fashioned riding-habit, with a broad-brimmed white beaver hat, such as may be seen in Sir Joshua Eeynolds' paintings. She rode a sleek white pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on an over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the rear came an ancient cumbrous chariot drawn by two very corpulent horses, driven by as corpulent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fanciful green livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched prim personage, with a look somewhat between a lady's companion, and a lady's maid, and two pampered curs, that showed their ugly faces, and barked out of each window. There was a general turning out of the garrison to receive tids new-comer. The Squire assisted her to alight, and saluted her affectionately ; the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they em braced with the romantic fervor of boarding-school friends : she was escorted into the house by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed distinguished favor ; and a line of the old servants, who had collected in the Hall, bowed most profoundly as she passed. I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous and devout 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 af the rest of the familv, he took occasion to notice the fat coach- THE BUSY MAN, 25 man ; to pat the sleek carriage horses, and, above all, to say a civil word to my lady's gentlewoman, the prim, sour-looking ves- tal in the chariot. I had no more of his company for the rest of the morning. He was swept off in the vortex that followed in the wake of this lady. Once indeed he paused for a moment, as he was hurrying on some errand of the good lady's, to let me know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the Squire's, of large fortune, which the captain would inherit, and that her estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in all England. FAMILY SERVANTS. Verily old ser^auts are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping. They are like rat^ In a mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the antiquity and fatness of their abode. Ix my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often be tempted to dwell upon circumstances of a trite and ordinary nature, from -^ their appearing to me illustrative of genuine national character. It seems to me to be the study of the Squire to adhere, as much as possible, to what he considers the old landmarks of English manners. His servants all understand his ways, and for the most part have been accustomed to them from infancy ; so that, upon the whole, his household presents one of the few tolerable specimens that can now be met wdth, of the establishment of an English country gentleman of the old school. By the by, the servants are not the least characteristic part of the household: the housekeeper, for instance, has been born and brought up at the Hall, and has never been twenty miles from it ; yet she has a stately air that would not disgrace a lady that had figured at the court of Queen Elizabeth. I am half inclined to think she has caught it from living so much among the old family pictures. It may, however, be owing to a consciousness of her importance in the sphere in which she has always moved ; for she is greatly respected in the neighbor- FAMILY SERVANTS. 27 ing village, and among the farmers' wives, and has high author- ity in the household, ruling over the servants with quiet but un disputed sway. She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose and chin. Her dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small, well-starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festooned and open in front, which, on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the family, or an inheritance from her mother, who was housekeeper before her. I have a reverence for these old garments, as I make no doubt they have figured about these apartments in days long past, when they have set off the charms of some peerless family beauty ; and I have sometimes looked from the old housekeeper to the neighboring. portraits, to see whether I could not recognize her antiquated brocade in the dress of some one of those long- waisted dames that smile on me from the walls. Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, and she wears over it a small cap, nicely plaited, and brought down under the chin. Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a proper dignity of station. The Hall is her world, and the history of the family the only loistory she knows, excepting that which she has read in the Bible. She can give a biography of every portrait in the picture gallery, and is a complete family chronicle. She is treated with great consideration by the Squire. In- deed, Master Simon tells me that there is a traditional anecdote current among the servants, of the Squire's having been seen kissing her in 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 28 BEACEBRIDGE HALL. take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused the hantl 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 which will occasionally take place among the most orderly servants, arising from the common propensity of the gov- erned to talk against administration ; but he has left it off, of late years, since he has risen into place, and shakes his head re- bukingly when it is mentioned. It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell upon the looks of the Squire when he was a young man at college ; and she maintains that none of his sons can compare with their father when he was of their age, and was dressed out in his full suit of scarlet, with his hair craped and powdered, and his three- cornered hat. She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted baggage, named Phoebe Wilkins, who has been transplanted to the Hall within a year or two, and been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is a kind of attendant and companion of the fair Julia's ; and from loitering about the young lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, and inheriting second-hand finery, has become something between a waiting-maid and a slipshod fine lady. She is considered a kind of heii'ess among the servants, as she will inherit all her aunt's property ; which, if report be true, must be a round sum of good golden guineas, the accumulated wealth of two housekeepers' savings ; not to mention the heredi- tary wardrobe, and the many little valuables and knick-knacks treasured up in the housekeepers' room. Indeed, the old house- keeper has the reputation among the servants and the villager.s FAMILY SEKVAI^TS. 29 of being passing rich ; and there is a japanned chest of drawers and a large iron-bound coflfer 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 know- ledge, he commonly admits her superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the Hall, after one of his visits to the other branches of the fa,mily, without bringing Mrs. Wilkins some remembrance from the ladies of the house where he has been staying. Indeed, all the children of the house look up to the old lady with habitual respfect 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 favorite, probably from being the youngest, though he is the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks upon her from boyhood. I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, which, I be- lieve, is peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is removed at din- ner, the old housekeeper sails into the room, and stands behind the Squire's chair, when he fills her a glass of wine with his own hands, in which she drinks the health of the company in a truly respectful yet dignified manner, and then retires. The Squire received the custom from his father, and has always continued it. There is a peculiar character about the servants of old Eng- lish families, that reside principally in the country. They have a quiet, orderly, respectful mode of doing their duties. They are always neat in their persons, and appropriately, and, if I may use the phrase, technically dressed ; they move about the house with- out hurry or noise ; there is nothing of the bustle of employment. 30 BRACEBKIDGE HALT.. or the voice of commaud ; nothing of that obtrusive housewifery which amounts to a torment. You are not persecuted by the pro- cess of making you comfortable ; yet every thing is done, and 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 in- dulgence, nor rewarded by many commendations ; for the Eng- lish are laconic and reserved toward their domestics ; but an approving nod and a kiud word from master or mistress goes as far here, as an excess of praise or indulgence elsewhere. Neither do servants often exhibit any animated marks of affection to their employers; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their attach- ments ; and the reciprocal regard of masters and servants, though not ardently exj)ressed, is powerful and lasting in old English families. The title of " an old family servant " carries with it a thou- sand kind associations, in all parts of the world ; and there is no claim upon the homebred charities of the heart more irresistible than that of having been " born in the house." It is common to see gray-headed domestics of this kind attached to an English family of the " old school," who continue in it to the day of their death, in the enjoyment of steady, unaffected kindness, and the performance of faithful, unofficious duty. I think such instances of attachment speak well for both master and servant, and the frequency of them speaks well for national character. These observations, however, hold good only with families of the description I have mentioned ; and with such as are somewhat retired, and pass the greater part of their time in the country. FAMILY SERVANTS. 31 As to the powdered menials that throng the halls of fashionable town residences, they equally reflect the character of the estab- lishments to which they belong ; and I know no more complete epitome of dissolute heartlessness, and pampered inutility. But the good " old family servant " — the one who has always been linked, in idea, with the home of our heart ; who has led us to school in the days of prattling cliildhood ; who has been the confidant of our boyish cares, and schemes, and enterprises ; Avho has hailed us as we came home at vacations, and been the promo- ter of all our holiday sports ; who, when we, in wandering man- hood, have left the paternal roof, and only return thither at in- tervals, will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that of our parents ; who. now grown gray and infirm with age, still totters about the house of our fathers, in fond and faithful servitude ; who claims us, in a manner, as his own ; and hastens with queru- lous eagerness to anticipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon us at table ; and who, when we retire at night to the chamber that still goes by our name, will linger about the room to have one more kind look, and one more pleasant word about times that are past — who does not experience towards such a being a feeling of almost filial affection ? 'I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the grave- stones of such valuable domestics, recorded with the simple truth of natural feeling. I have two before me at this moment ; one copied from a tombstone of a church in Warwickshire : " Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential servant to George Birch, Esq., of Hamstead Hall. His grateful friend and master caused this inscription to be written in memory of his dis- cretion, fidelity, diligence, and continence. He died (a bachelor) Hged 84, having lived 44 years in the same family." 32 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham churca yard: " Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who departed this life on the 8th of September, 1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of 60 years in one family ; by each individual of which he lived respected, and died lamented by the sole survivor." Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me the glow about the heart that I felt while copying this honest epitaph in the church-yard of Eltham. I sympathized with this "sole survivor " of a family mourning over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, no doubt, a living memento of times and friends that had passed away ; and in considering this record of long and devoted service, I call to mind the touch- ing 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 attendantof his lamented daughter, the Princess Amelia. George III. possessed much of the strong, domestic feeling of the old English country gentleman; and it is an incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the human heart, a monarch erecting a monument in honor ot the humble vii-tues of a menial. THE WIDOW. She was so charitable and pitious She would weep if that she saw a mous Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled; Of sn:all 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. Chaucbk. Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made by Lady Lilly- craft on her arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that I had imagined ; but, on the contrary, a degree of nature, and simple heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long waist ; she rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzed out, and put up with pins. Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but the deli- cacy of her features shows that she may once have been beauti- ful ; and she has a very fair and well-shaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain. I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars concern- ing her. She was a great belle in town between thirty and forty years since, and reigned for two seasons with all the insolence of 2* 34 BEACEBRIDGE HALL. beauty, refusing several excellent offers ; when, unfortunately, slie was robbed of her charms and ber 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 for- mer admirer, whose passion had suddenly revived ; " having," as he said, " always loved her mind rather than her person." The baronet did not enjoy her miud and fortune above six months, and had scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke his neck in a fox-chase, and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remained on her estate in the country ever since, and has never shown any desire to return to town, and revisit the scene of her early triumphs and fatal malady. All her favorite recollections, however, re^'ert to that short period of her youtliful beauty. She has no idea of town but as it was at that time : and continually forgets that the place and people must have changed materially in the course of nearly half a century. She will often speak of the toasts of those days as if still reigning ; and, until very recently, used to talk with delight of the royal family, and the beauty of the young princes and princesses. She cannot be brought to think of the present king otherwise than as an elegant young man, rather wild, but who danced a minuet divinely ; and before he came to the crown, would often mention him as the " sweet young prince." She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, where the gentlemen appeared in gold-laced coats and cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops, and SAvept so proudly along the grassy avenues ; and she thinks the ladies let themselves sadly down in their dig- nity, when they gave up cushioned head-dresses, and high-heeled shoes. She has much to say too of the officers who were in the «^,rain of her admirers ; and speaks familiarly of many wild young THE WIDOW. 35 blades, who are now, perhaps, hobbling about watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes. Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discour- aged her or not, I cannot say ; but though her merits and her riches have attracted many suitors, she has never been tempted to venture again into the happy state. This is singular, too, for she seems of a most soft and susceptible heart ; is always talking of love and connubial felicity, and is a great stickler for old-fash- ioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She lives, however, after her own taste. Her house, I am told, must have been built and furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison : every thing about it is some- what formal and stately ; but has been softened down into a de- gree of voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady, very tender- hearted and romantic, and who loves her ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down on them. Flowers of the most rare and delicate kind are placed about the rooms and on little japanned stands ; and sweet bags lie about the tables and mantelpieces. The house is full of pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing birds, who are as care- fully waited upon as she is herself. She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure, living on white meats, and little ladylike dishes, though her servants have substantial old English fare, as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they are so indulged, that they are all spoiled ; and when they lose their present place, they will be fit for no other. Her ladyship is one of those easy-tempered beings, that are always doomed to be much liked, but ill served by their domestics, and cheated by all the world. Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of which she 36 BKACEBEIDGE HALL. has a most extensive library, and a constant supply from the publishers in town. Her erudition in this line of literature is immense ; she has kept pace with the press for half a 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 ; thougli 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 Avritten now-a-days equal to Pamela and Sir Charles Grandison ; and she places the Castle of Otranto at the head of all romances. She does a vast deal of good in her neighborhood, and is im- posed upon by every beggar in the county. She is the benefac- tress of a village adjoining her estate, and takes an especial interest in all its love affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on ; every lovelorn damsel is sure to find a patient lis- tener and a sage adviser in her ladyship. She takes great pains to reconcile all love-quarrels, and should any faithless swain per- sist in his inconstancy, he is sure to draw on himself the good lady's violent indignation. I have learned these particulars partly from Frank Brace- bridge, and partly from Master Simon. I am now able to account for the assiduous attention of the latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of his favorite resorts, where he is a very important personage. He makes her a visit of business once a year, when he looks into all her affairs ; which, as she is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He examines the books of the overseer, and shoots about the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with game, notwithstanding that it is poached by all the vagabonds in the neighborhood. THE WIDOW. 37 It is thouglit, as I before liinted,^ that the captain will inherit the greater part of her property, having always been her chief favorite : for, in fact, she is partial to a red coat. She has now come to the Hall to be present at his nuptials, having a great dis- position to interest herself in all matters of love and matrimony. JjoaK THE LOVERS. Kise uj), my love, my fair one, and come awaj"-; for lo the winter is past, the lain Is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is some, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. Song of Solomon. To a man who is little of a philosopher, and a bachelor to boot ; and -R-ho, by dint of some experience in the follies of life, begins to look with a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of woman ; to such a man, I say, there is something very entertain- ing 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, inex- perienced in coquetry, who has made her first conquest ; while the captain regards her with that mixture of fondness and exul- tation with which a youthful lover is apt to contemplate so beau- teous a prize. I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing along one Df the retired walks. The sun was shining with delicious warmth, making great masses of bright verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, t'lat " harbinger of spring," was faintly heard from THE LOVERS. 39 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 negli- gently by her side was a bunch of flowers. In this way they were sauntering slowly along ; and when I considered them, and the scene in which they were moving, I could not but think it a thousand pities that the season should ever change, or that young- people should ever grow older, or that blossoms should give way to fruit, or that lovers should ever get married. From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I understand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a favorite college friend of the Sqiiire ; who, after leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and served for many years in India, where he Avas 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. l^he 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, Avho was dying of a consumption, and to make her happy in the assurance that her child should never want a protector. The good Squire returned with his prattling charge to his stronghold, where he has brought her up with a tenderness truly paternal. As he has taken some pains to superintend her educa- tion, and form her taste, she has grown up with many of his no- tions, and considers him the Avisest as well as the best of men. Much of her time, too, has been passed with Lady Lillycraft, wlio 40 BEACEBEEDGE HAEL. 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 at the Hall. She has been a pet with them from childhood, and every one seems to lay some claim to her education ; so that it is no wonder she should be extremely accomplished. The gardener taught her to rear flow- ers, of which she is extremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she approaches ; and as she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of having taught her to ride ; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon her as a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an insight into the mysteries of the toilet, having been dressing-maid in her young days to the late Mrs. Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this last claim, as I have noticed that the dress of the young lady had an air of the old school, though managed with native taste, and that her hair was put up very much in the style of Sir Peter Lely's portraits in the picture gallery. Her very musical attainments partake of this old-fashioned character, and most of her songs are such as are not at the pres- ent day to be found on the piano of a modern performer. I have, however, seen so much of modern fashions, modern accomplish- ments, and modern fine ladies, that I relish this tinge of antiqua- ted 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, THE LOVERS. 41 or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some simple old melody, as from listening to a lady amateur sky-lark it up and down through the finest bravura of Eossini or Mozart. We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally, be- tween her and the captain, assisted sometimes by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubiously, on his violin ; being very apt to get out, and to halt a note or two in the rear. Sometimes he even thrums a little on the piano, and takes a part in a trio, in which his voice can generally be distinguished by a certain quavering tone, and an occasional false note. I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him after one of her songs, when I found he took to himself the whole credit of having formed her musical taste, assuring me that she was very apt; and, indeed, summing up her whole character in his know- ing way, by adding, that " she was a very nice girl, and had no nonsense about her." / FAMILY RELICS. My Infeliee's face, her brow, her eye, The dimple on her cheek: and such sweet skill Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown, These lips look fresh and lively as her own. False colors last after the true be dead. Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, Of all the music set upon her tongue, Of all that was past woman's excellence In her white bosom ; look, a painted board Circumscribes all ! DiisKi-ai. An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. It abounds with illustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes, and humors, and manners, of successive generations. The alterations and additions, in different styles of architecture ; the furniture, plate, pictures, hangings ; the warlike and sporting im- plements of different ages and fancies ; all furnish food for curi- ous and amusing speculation. As the Squire is very careful in collectiag and preserving all family relics, the Hall is full of re- membrances of the kind. In looking about the establishment, I can picture to myself the characters and habits that have pre- vailed at different eras of the family history. I have mentioned on a former occasion the armor of the crusaders which hangs uj) in the Hall. There are also several jackboots, with enormously FAMILY KELICS. 43 thick soles and high heels, which belonged to a set of cavaliers, who filled the Hall with the din and stir of arms during the time of the Covenanters. A number of enormous drinking vessels of antique fashion, with huge Venice glasses, and green hock-glasses, with the apostles in relief on them, remain as monuments of a generation or two of hard livers, who led a life of roaring rev- elry, and first introduced the gout into the family. I shall pass over several more such indications of temporary tastes of the Squire's predecessors ; but I cannot forbear to no- tice a pair of antlers in the great hall, which is one of the tro- phies of a hard-riding squire of former times, who was the Nim- rod of these parts. There are many traditions of his wonderful feats in hunting still existing, Avhich are related by old Christy, the huntsman, who gets exceedingly nettled if they are in the least doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a few miles from the Hall, which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap, from his having cleared it in the ardor of the chase ; there can be no doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows the very dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks on each side of the chasm. Master Simon holds the memory of this Squire in great ven- eration, and has a number of extraordinary stories to tell con- cerning him, Avhich he repeats at all hunting dinners ; and I am told that they wax more and more marvellous the older they grow. He has also a pair of Eippon spurs which belonged to this mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on particular occasions. The place, however, which abounds most with mementoes of past times, is the picture gallery ; and there is something strangely pleasing, though melancholy, in considering the long rows of por- traits which compose the greater part of the collection. They 44 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. furnisli a kind of narrative of the lives of the family -worthies which I am enabled to read with the assistance of the venerable housekeeper, who is the family chronicler, prompted occasionally by Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine lady, for instance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her as a little girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a kitten in her arms, and ogling the spectator out of the corners of her eyes, as if she could not turn her head. In another we find her in the freshness of youthful beauty, when she was a celebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause several unfortunate gentlemen to run desperate and write bad poetry. In another she is depicted as a stately dame, in the maturity of her charms ; next to the portrait of her husband, a gallant colonel in full-bottomed wig and gold-laced hat, who Avas killed abroad ; and, finally, her mon- ument is in the church, the spire of Avhich may be seen from the window, where her eflSgy is carved in marble, and represents her as a venerable dame of seventy-six. In like manner I have followed some of the family great men through a series of pictures, from early boyhood to the robe of dignity, or truncheon of command, and so on by degrees, until they were garnered up in the common repository, the neighboring church. There is one group that particularly interested me. It con- sisted of four sisters of nearly the same age, who flourished about a century since, and, if I may judge from their portraits, w^ere extremely beautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gayety and romance this old mansion must have been, when they were in the heyday of their charms ; when they passed like beautiful visions through its halls, or stejjped daintily to music in the revels and dances of the cedar gallery ; or printed, with delicate feet, the FAMILY RELICS. 45 vels'et verdure of these lawns. How must they have been looked up to with mingled love, and pride, and reverence, by the old family servants ; and followed with almost painful admiration by the aching eyes of rival admirers ! How must melody, and song, and tender serenade, have breathed about these courts, and their echoes whispered to the loitering tread of lovers ! How must these very turrets have made the hearts of the young galliards thrill as they first discerned them from afar, rising from among the trees, and pictured to themselves the beauties casketed like gems within these walls ! Indeed, I have discovered about the place several faint records of this reign of love and romance, when the Hall was a kind of Court of Beauty. Several of the old romances in the library have marginal notes expressing sympathy and approbation, where there are long speeches extolling ladies' charms, or protesting eternal fidelity, or bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair one. The inter- views, and declarations, and parting scenes of tender lovers, also bear evidence of having been frequently read, and are scored and marked with notes of admii-ation, and have initials written on the margins ; most of which annotations have the day of the month and year annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, have scraps of poetry engraved on them with diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs. Philips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these seem to have been inscribed by lovers ; and others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a little inaccu- rate in the spelling, have evidently been written by the young ladies themselves, or by female friends, who have been on visits to the Hall. Mrs. Philips seems to have been their favorite au- thor, and they have distributed the names of her heroes and he- roines among their circle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a male -\ 46 BEA.CEBRIDGE HALL. hand, the verse bewails the cruelty of beauty, and the sufferings of constant love ; while in a female hand it prudishly confines itself to lamenting the parting of female friends. The bow-win- dow of my bed-room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by one of these beauties, has several of these inscriptions. I have one at this moment before my eyes, called " Camilla parting with Leonora : " " How perished is the joy that's past, The present how unsteady ! What comfort can be great and last, When this is gone ah-eady ? " And close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some adventurous lover, who had stolen into the lady's chamber during her absence : "THEODOSIUS to CAMILLA. I'd rather in your favor live, Than in a lasting name ; And much a greater rate would give, For happiness than fame. Theodosius, 1700." When I look at these faint records of gallantry and tender- ness ; when I contemplate the fading portraits of these beautiful girls, and think too that they have long since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, and passed away, and with them all their graces, their triumphs, their rivalries, their admirers ; the whole empire of love and pleasure in which they ruled — " all dead, all buried, o\v's EETIXn:. 53 I do not mean to applv the latter part of these observations to Lady Lillycraft, for whose simple kind-heartedness I have a very great respect, and who is really a most amiable and worthy being. I cannot refrain, however, from mentioning some of the motley retinae she has brought with her ; and which, indeed, be- speak the overflowing kindness of her nature, which requires her - "i>e surrounded with objects on wljich 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 fet horses ; and only drives out when he thinks proper, and when he thinks it will be " good for the cattle." She has a favorite page to attend upon her person : a hand- some boy of about twelve years of age, but a mischievous varlet, ^^ very much spoiled, and in a fair way to be good for nothing. He is dressed in green, with a profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons about his clothes. She always has one or two attendants of the kind, who are replaced by others as soon as they grow to fourteen years of age. She has brought two dogs with her, also, out of a number of pets which she maintains at home. One is a fiit 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, grav muzzled curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, that kindles like a coal if you only look at him ; bis nose turns up ; his mouth is drawn into wrinkles, so as to show his teeth ; in short, he has alto<^ther 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 64 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. makes use of more than three legs at a time, keeping the other drawn up as a reserve. This last wretch is called Beauty. These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown to vulgar dogs ; and are petted and nursed by Lady Lillycraft with the tenderest kindness. They are pampered and fed with delicacies by their fellow-minion, the page ; but their stomachs are often weak and out of order, so that they cannot eat ; though I have now and then seen the page give them a mischievous pinch, or thwack over the head, when his mistress was not by. They have cushions for their express use, on which they lie before the fire, and yet are apt to shiver and moan if there is the least draught of air. When any one enters the room, they make a tyrannical barking that is absolutely deafening. They are insolent to all the other dogs of the establishment. . There is a noble stag- hound, a great favorite of the Squire's, who is a privileged visitor to the parlor ; but the moment he makes his appearance, these mtruders 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 are a continual source of misery to the household : as they are always in the way, they every now and then get their toes trod on, and then there is a yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation on the part of their mistress, that fill the room with clamor and confusion. Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, Mrs. Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; one of the most intoler- able and intolerant virgins that ever lived. She has kept her vir- tue by her until it has turned sour, and now every word and look THE WIDOW'S EETINUE. 55 smacks of verjuice, j She is tlie 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 encroach- ing, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has got the complete upper hand, and tyrannizes over the good lady in secret Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great confi- dence, to her friends, but hushes up the subject immediately, if Mrs. Hannah makes her appearance. Indeed, she has been so accustomed to be attended by her, that she thinks she could not do without her ; though one great study of her life is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good humor, by little presents and kindnesses. Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled with awe, for this ancient spinster. He told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a cursed brimstone — in fact, he added ano- ther epithet, which I would not repeat for the world. I have re- marked, however, that he is always extremely civil to lier when they meet. READY-MONEY JACK. My purse, it is my privy wyfe, This song I dare both syng and say. It keepeth men from grievous stryfe When every man for hymself shall pay. As I ryde in ryche array For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe ; Bythys matter I dare well saye. Ever gramercy myne owne purse. Book op Hunting. On the skirts of tlie neigliboring 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 in 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 Eeady-Money Jack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighborhood. The first place where he attracted my attention was in the church-yard on Sunday ; where he sat on a tombstone after the service, with his hat a little on one side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors ; and, as I presumed, expounding the law and the projjhets ; until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he was Duly expatiating on the merits of a broAvn horse. He presented READY-MONEY JACK. 51 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 colored sUk 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 sil- ver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of figured chintz, 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 scar- let garters. His stockings were blue, with white clocks ; he wore large silver shoe-buckles; a broad paste buckle in his hatband; his sleeve-buttons Avere gold seven-shilling pieces ; and he had two or three guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain. On making some inquiries about him, I gathered, that he was descended from a line of farmers that had always lived on the same spot, and owned the same property ; and that half of the church-yard was taken up with the tombstones of his race. He has all his life been an important character in the place. When a youngster he was one of the most roaring blades of the neigh- borhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renoAvned Pinner of "Wakefield, he was the village champion ; carried off the prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country round 3* 58 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 Keady-Money Jack were to take the field even now, there is no one could stand before him. When Jack's father died, the neighbors shook their heads, and predicted that young hopeful would soon make way with the old homestead ; but Jack falsified all their predictions. The moment he succeeded to the paternal farm, he assumed a new character : took a wife ; attended resolutely to his affairs, and became an in- dustrious, thrifty farmer. With the family property be 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 every thing in cash down ; and never danced except he could do it to the music of his own money in both pockets. He has never been without a hundred or two pounds in gold by him, and never allows a debt to stand unpaid. This has gained him his current name, of which, by the by, he is a little proud ; and has caused him to be looked upon as a very wealthy man by all the village. Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never denied him- self the amusements of life, but has taken a share in every pass- ing pleasure. It is his maxim, that " he that works hard can aff"ord to play." He is, therefore, an attendant at all the country fau'S and wakes, and has signalized himself by feats of strength and prowess on every village green in the shire. He often makes his appearance at horse-races, and sports his 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 keej)s up the rustic revels, and hospitalities too, for which his paternal farmhouse has always been noted ; has RKADY-MONEY JACK. 59 plenty of good clieer and dancing at harvest-liome, and, above all, keeps the " merry night," * as it is termed, at Christmas. AVith all his love of amusement, however, Jack is by no means a boisterous jovial companion. He is seldom known to laugh even in the midst of his gayety ; but maintains the same grave, lion-like demeanor. He is very slow at 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, he always presides at them, and is appealed to on all occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace on the village green at holiday games, and quells all brawls and quarrels by collaring the parties and shaking them heartily, if refractory. No one ever pretends to raise a hand against him, or to contend against his decisions ; the young men have grown up in habitual awe of his prowess, and in implicit deference to him as the champion and lord of the green. He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the landlady having been a sweetheart of his in early life, and he having always continued on kind terms with her. He seldom, however, drinks any thing but a draft of ale ; smokes his pipe, and pays his reckoning before leaving the tap-room. Here he " gives his little senate laws;" decides bets, which are very generally re- ferred to him ; determines upon the characters and qualities of * Merry Night. A rustic merry-making in a farmhouse 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 midniirlit. 60 BKACEBEIDGE HALL. horses ; and, indeed, plays now and then the part of a judge, in settling petty disputes between neighbors, which otherwise might have been nursed by country attorneys into tolerable law-suits. Jack is very candid and impartial in his decisions, but he has not a head to carry a long argument, and is very apt to get perplexed and out of patience if there is much pleading. He generally breaks through the argument with a strong voice, and brings matters to a summary conclusion, by pronouncing what he calls the " upshot of the business," or, in other words, " the long and the short of the matter." Jack made a journey to London a great many years since, which has furnished him with topics of conversation ever since. He saw the old king on the terrace at Windsor, who stopped, and pointed him out to one of the princesses, being probably struck with Jack's truly yeomanlike appearance. This is a favorite an- ecdote with him, and has no doubt had a great effect in making him a most loyal subject ever since, in spite of taxes and poors' rates. He was also at Bartholomew fair, where he had half the buttons cut off his coat ; and a gang of pickpockets, attracted by his external show of gold and silver, made a regular attempt to hustle him as he was gazing at a show ; but for once they caught a tartar ; for Jack enacted as great wonders among the gang, as Samson did among the Philistines. One of his neigh- bors, 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 Eobin Hood hunself. Of late years the old fellow has begun to take the world easily; he works less, and indulges in greater leisure, his son readt-:moxi!:y jack. 61 having grown up, and succeeded to him Loth in the labors of the farm, and the exploits of the green. Like all sons of distin- guished men, however, his father's renown is a disadvantage to him, for he can never come up to public expectation. Though a tine active fellow of three-and-twenty, and quite the " cock of the walk," yet the old people declare he is nothing like what Eeady- Money Jack was at his time of life. The youngster himself ac- kno^Yledg•es his inferiority, and has a wonderful opinion of the old man, who indeed taught him all his athletic accomplishments, and holds such a sway over him, that I am told, even to this day, he would have no hesitation to take him in hands, if he rebelled against paternal government. The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and shows him to all his visitors, as a specimen of old English " heart of oak." He frequently calls at his house, and tastes some of his home- brewed, which is excellent. He made Jack a present of old Tusser's " Hundred Points of good Husbandrie," which has fur- nished 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 favorite passages, and knows many of the poetical maxims by heart. Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or fluttered by high acquaintances, and though he cherishes a sturdy independence of mind and manner, yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of the Squire, whom he has known from boyhood, and pronounces " a true gentleman every inch of him." He is, also, on excellent terms with Master Simon, who is a kind of privy counsellor to the family ; but his great favorite is the Oxonian, whom he taught to wrestle and play at quarter-staff when a boy, and considers the most promising young gentleman in the whole county. BACHELORS. The Bachelor most joyfully In pleasant plight doth pass his dales, Goodfellowship and companie He doth maintain and keep alwaies. Etax's Old Ballais. There is no character in tlie comedy of human life more difficult to play -well, than that of an old Bachelor. When a single gen- tleman, therefore, arrives at that critical period "when he begins to consider it an impertinent question to be asked his age, I would advise him to look well to his ways. This period, it is true, is much later with some men than with others ; I have witnessed more than once the meeting of two wrinkled old lads of this kind, who had not seen each other for several years, and have been amused by the amicable exchange of compliments on each other's appearance that takes place on such occasions. There is always one invariable observation: "Why, bless my soul! you look younger than when last I saw you ! " Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old. I am led to make these remarks by the conduct of Master Simon and the general, who have become great cronies. As the former is the youngest by many years, he is regarded as quite a BACHELOKS. 63 youthful blade by the general, who, moreover, looks upon him as a man of great Avit and prodigious acquirements. I have already hinted that Master Simon is a family beau, and considered rather a young fellow by all the elderly ladies of the connection ; for an old bachelor, in an old family connection, is something like an actor in a regular dramatic corps, who seems to " flourish in im- mortal youth," and will continue to play the Eomeos and Ean- gers for half a century together. Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, and takes a different hue with every different companion : he is very attenuv* and officious, and somewhat sentimental, with Lady Lillycraft ; copies out little namby-pamby ditties and love-songs for her, and draws quivers, and doves, and darts, and Cupids to be worked on the corners of her pocket-handkerchiefs. He indulges, however, in very considerable latitude with the other married ladies of the family ; and has many sly pleasantries to whisper to them, that provoke an equivocal laugh and a tap of the fan. But when he gets among young company, such as Frank Bracebridge, the Ox- onian, and the general, he is apt to put on the mad wag, and to talk in a very bachelor-like strain about the sex. In this he has been encouraged by the example of the gene- ral, whom he looks up to as a man that "has seen the Avorld. The general, in fact, tells shocking stories after dinner, when the ladies have retired, which he gives as some of the choice things that are served up at the Mulligatawney club ; a knot of boon companions in London. He also repeats the fat jokes of old Ma- jor Pendergast, the wit of the club, and which, though the gen- tleman can hardly repeat them for laughing, always make Mr. Bracebridge look grave, he having a great antipathy to an inde- cent jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance of the 64 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. declension in gay life, by whicli a young man of pleasure is apt to cool down into an obscene old gentleman. I saw bim and Master Simon, an evening or two since, con- versing with a buxom milkmaid in a meadoAV ; and from tbeir elbowing eacb other now and then, and the general's shaking his shoulders, blowing up his cheeks, and breaking out into a short fit of irrepressible laughter, I had no doubt they were playing the mischief with the girl. As I looked at them through a hedge, I could not but think +''':y would have made a tolerable group for a modern picture of Susannah and the two elders. It is true, the girl seemed in no wise alarmed at the force of the enemy; and I question, had either of them been alone, whether she would not have been more than they would have ventured to encounter. Such veteran roys- ters are daring wags when together, and will put any female to the blush with their jokes ; but they are as quiet as lambs when they fall singly into the clutches of a fine woman. In spite of the general's years, he evidently is a little vain of his person, and ambitious of conquests. I have observed him on Sunday in church, eyeing the country girls most suspiciously ; and have seen him leer upon them with a downright amorous look, even when he has been gallanting Lady Lillycraft, with great ceremony, through the church-yard. The general, in fact, is a veteran in the service of Cupid rather than of Mars, having sig- nalized himself in aU the garrison towns and country quarters, and seen service in every baU-room of England. Xot a celebra- ted beauty but he has laid siege to ; and if his word may be taken in a matter wherein no man is apt to be over-veracious, it is incredible the success he has had with the fair. At present he is like a worn-out warrior, retired from service; but who still BACHELORS. 65 cocks his beaver with a military air, and talks stoutly of fighting whenever he comes within the smell of gunpowder. I have heard him speak his mind very freely over his bottle, about the folly of the captain in taking a wife ; as he thinks a young soldier should care for nothing but his " bottle and kind landlady." But, in fact, he says, the service on the continent has had a sad effect upon the ycung men ; they have been ruined by light wines and French quadrilles. " They've nothing," he says, " of the spirit of the old service. There are none of your six- bottle men left, that were the souls of a mess-dinner, and used to play the very deuce among the women." As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a free and easy man, with no baggage to take care of but his portmanteau ; but a married man, with his wife hanging on his arm, always puts Mm in mind of a chamber-candlestick, Avith its extinguisher hitched to it. I should not mind all this if it were merely confined to the general ; but I fear he will be the ruin of my friend. Master Simon, who already begins to echo his heresies, and to talk in the style of a gentleman that has seen life, and lived upon the town. Indeed, the general seems to have taken Master Simon in hand, and talks of showing him the lions when he comes to town, and of introducing him to a knot of choice spirits at the Mulligataw- ney club ; which, I understand, is composed of old nabobs, oflScers in the company's employ, and other " men of Ind," that have seen service in the East, and returned home burnt out with curry, and touched with the liver complaint. They have their regular club, where they eat MuHigatawney soup, smoke the hookah, talk about Tippoo Saib, Seringapatam, and tiger-hunting ; and are tediously agreeable in each other's company. TOVES. Believe me, man, there is no greater blisse Than is the quiet joy of loving -wife ; Which whoso wants, half of himselfe doth misse ; Friend without change, playfellow without strife; Food without fulnesse, counsailc without pride. Is this sweet doubling of our single life. Sir p. Sidney. There is so much talk about matrimony going on around me, in consequence of the approaching event for which we are assembled at the Hall, that I confess I find my thoughts singularly exercised on the subject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the establishment seem to be passing through a kind of fiery ordeal ; for Lady Lilly- craft is one of those tender, romance-read dames of the old school, whose mind is filled with flames and darts, and who breathe nothing but constancy and wedlock. She is for ever immersed in the concerns of the heart ; and to use a poetical phrase, is per- fectly surrounded by " the purple light of love." The very gene- ral seems to feel the influence of this sentimental atmosphere ; to melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for the time, to forget all his heresies about matrimony and the sex. The good lady is generally surrounded by Httle documents of her prevalent taste ; novels of a tender nature ; richly-bound little books of poetry, that are filled with sonnets and love tales, and AVIViiS. 67 perfumed with rose-leaves ; and she has always an album at hand, for which she claims the contributions of aU her friends. On looking over this last repository the other day, I found a series of poetical extracts, in the Sc[uire's handwriting, which might have been intended as matrimonial hints to his ward. I was so much struck with several of them, that I took the liberty of copying them out. They are from the old play of Thomas Davenport, pubHshed in 1G61, entitled "The City Night-Cap ; " in which is drawn out and exempHfied, in the part of Abstemia, the character of a patient and faithful wife, which I think might vie with that of the renowned Griselda. I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels should always end at the wedding, and should not give us another act, and another volume, to let us know how the hero and heroine conducted themselves when married. Their main object seems to be merely to instruct young ladies how to get husbands, but not how to keep them : now this last, I speak it with aU due diffi- dence, appears to me to be a desideratum in modern married life. It is appalling to those Avho have not yet adventured into the holy state, to see how soon the flame of romantic love burns out, or rather is quenched in matrimony ; and how deplorably the pas- sionate poetic lover declines into the phlegmatic, prosaic husband. I am inclined to attribute this very much to the defect just men- tioned in the plays and novels, which form so important a branch of study of our young ladies ; and which teach them how to be heroines, but leave them totally at a loss when they come to be wives. The play from which the quotations before me were made, however, is an exception to this remark ; and I cannot refuse my- self the pleasure of adducing some of them for the benefit of the reader, and for the honor of an old writer, Avho has bravely at- 68 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. tempted to a\\-aken dramatic interest in favor of a Avoman, even after she was married ! The following is a commendation of Abstemia to her husband Lorenzo : She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence ; Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks, She inflames love with wonder,) hut because She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. She's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness, The poorest call her courteous ; and which is excellent, (Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom Or never walks abroad in your company. And then with such street bashfulness, as if She were venturing on crack'd ice, and takes delight To step into the print your foot hath made, And will follow you whole fields ; so she will drive Tcdiousness out of time with her sweet character. Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia had the misfor- tune to incur the unmerited jealousy of her husband. Instead, however, of resenting his harsh treatment with clamorous upbraid- ings, and with the stormy violence of high, windy virtue, by which the sparks of anger are so often blown into a flame, she en- dures it with the meekness of conscious, but patient virtue ; and makes the following beautiful appeal to a friend who has wit- nessed her long-suffering : Hast thou not seen me Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suflfers The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom. And yet is presently so smooth, the eye Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made ? WIVES. 69 Lorenzo, being wrougbt on by false reiwesentations, at length repudiates her. To the last, however, she maintains her patient sweetness, and her love for him, in spite of liis cruelty. She de- plores his error, even more than his unkindness ; and laments the delusion which has turned his very affection into a source of bit- terness. There is a moving pathos in her parting address to Lo- renzo after their divorce : Farewell, Lorenzo, "VMiom my soul doth love : if you e'er marry, May you meet a good wife, so good that you May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy Of your suspicion : and if you hear hereafter That I am dead, inquire but my last words, And you shall know that to the last I loved you. And when you walk forth with your second choice Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me, Imagine that you see me, lean and pale, Strewing your path with flowers But may she never live to pay my debts : [f but in thought she wrong you, may she die [n the conception of the injury. Pray make me wealthy with one kiss : farewell, sir : Let it not grieve you when you shall remember That I was innocent : nor this forget, Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan, She walks but thorow thorns to find a throne. In a short time Lorenzo discovers Ms error, and the innocence cf hi3 injured wife. In the transports of his repentance, he calls to mind all her feminine excellence ; her gentle, uncomplaining, womanly fortitude under wrongs and sorrows : 70 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. Oh Abstemia ! How lovely thou lookest now ! now thou appearest Chaster than is the morning's modesty That rises with a blush, over whose bosom The western wind creeps softly ; now I remember How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye Would dwell on mine, as if it were not weU, Unless it look'd where I look'd : oh how proud She was, when she could cross herself to please me ! But where now is this fair soul ? Like a silver cloud She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea. And wUl be foiind no more. It is but doing riglit by the reader, if interested in tbe fate of Abstemia by the preceding extracts, to say, that she was restored to the arms and affections of her husband, rendered fonder than ever, by that disposition in every good heart to atone for past in- justice, by an overflowing measure of returning kindness : Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms ; I am now Confirmed past all suspicion ; thou art far Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winds That blow from off the coast, and cheer the sailor With the sweet savor of their spices, want The delight flows in thee. I have been more affected and interested by this little dra- matic picture than by many a popular love tale ; though, as I said before, I do not think it likely either Abstemia or patient Grizzle stands much chance of being taken for a model. Still I like to see poetry now and then extending its views beyond the wedding day, and teaching a lady how to make herself attractive ■\VIYES. 71 even after marriage. There is no great need of enforcing on an unmarried lady the necessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any great art requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to please. Nature has multiplied attractions around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needs no foreign aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most on her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman can expect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when he Avas a lover. Men are always doomed to be duped, not so much by the arts of the sex, as by their own imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A woman should therefore ascertain what was the charm which rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and endeavor to keep it up when she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly was, the chariness of herself and her conduct, which an unmarried female always observes. She should maintain the same niceness and re- serve in her person and habits, and endeavor still to preserve a freshness and virgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should remember that the province of woman is to be wooed, not to woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses instead of winning him. The secret of a woman's power does not consist so much in giving, as in withholding. A woman may give up too much even to her hus- band. It is to a thousand little delicacies of conduct that she must trust to keep alive passion, and to protect herself from that dangerous familiarity, that thorough acquaintance with every weakness and imperfection incident to matrimony. By these means she may still maintain her power, though she has surren- 12 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. dered her person, and may continue the romance of love even beyond the honey-moon. " She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy Taylor, " must entice him to an eternal dearnesse by the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of chastity, the ornament of meeknesse, and the jewels of faith and charity. She must have no painting but blushings ; her brightness must be purity, and she must shine round about with sweetnesses and friendship ; and she shall be pleasant while she lives, and desired Avhen she dies." I have wandered into a rambling series of remarks on a trite subject, and a dangerous one for a bachelor to meddle with. That I may not, however, appear to confine my observations entirely to the wife, I will conclude Avith another quotation from Jeremy Taylor, in which the duties of both parties are mentioned ; while I would recommend his sermon on the marriage ring to aU those who, wiser than myself, are about entering the happy state of wedlock. " There is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns them both alike, and is only distinguished by names, and hath its va- riety by circumstances and little accidents : and what in one is called love, in the other is called reverence ; and what in the wife is obedience, the same in the man is duty. He provides, and she dispenses ; he gives commandments, and she rules by them ; he rules her by authority, and she rules him by love ; she ought by all means to please him, and he must by no means displease STORY-TELLING. f. A FAVORITE evening pastime at tlie Hall, and one which the wor- thy Squire is fond of promoting, is story-telling, " a good old- fashioned fireside amusement," as he terms it. Indeed, I believe he promotes it chiefly because it was one of the choice recrea- tions in those days of yore, Avhen ladies and gentlemen were not much in the habit of reading. Be this as it may, he will often, at suj^per table, when conversation flags, call on some one or other of the company for a story, as it was formerly the custom to call for a song ; and it is edifying to see the exemplary patience, and even satisfaction, with which the good old gentleman will sii and listen to some hackneyed tale that he has heard for at least a hundred times. In this Avay one evening the current of anecdotes and stories ran upon mysterious personages that have figured at difierent times, and filled the world with doubts and conjecture ; such as the "Wandering Jew, the Man with the Iron Mask, who tormented the curiosity of all Europe ; the Invisible Girl, and last, though not least, the Pigfaced Lady. At length one of the company was called upon who had the most unpromising physiognomy for a story-teller that ever I had seen. He was a thin, pale, weazen-faced man, extremely nervous, who had sat at one corner of the table, shrunk up, as it were, 4 74 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. into himself, and almost swallowed up in the cape of his coat, as a turtle in its shell. The very demand seemed to throw him into a nervous agita- tion, yet he did not refuse. He emerged his head out of his shell, made a few odd grimaces and gesticulations, before he could get his muscles into order, or his voice under command, and then offered to give some account of a mysterious personage whom he had recently encountered in the course of his travels, and one whom he thought fully entitled of being classed with the Man with the Iron Mask. I was so much struck with his extraordinary narrative, that I have written it out to the best of my recollection, for the amuse- ment of the reader. I think it has in it all the elements of that mysterious and romantic narrative, so greedily sought after at the present day. THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. A STxVGE-COACH KOMANCE. I'll cross It, though it blast rue ! Hamlet. It Avas a rainy Sunday in the gloomy month of November. I had been detained, in the course of a journey, by a slight indis- position, from -which I was recovering ; but was still feverish, and obliged to keep withui doors all day, in an inn of the small town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn ! — whoever has had the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered against the casements ; the bells tolled for church with a melancholy sound. I went to the windows in quest of something to amuse the eye ; but it seemed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach of all amusement. The win- dows of my bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and. stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting-room commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered w ith wet straw that had been kicked about by travellers and stable-boys. In one corner Avas a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island, of muck ; there were several half- drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was 16 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. a miserable, crest-fallen cock, clrencliecl out of all life and spirit •, liis drooping tail matted, as it were, into a single feather, along Avliich the water trickled from his hack ; near the cart was a half- dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, Avith wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide ; a wall- eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head out of a Avindow, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves ; an unhappy cur, chained to a doghoiise hard by, uttered something every now and then, between a bark and a yelp; a drab of a kitchen wench tramped backwards and for- wards through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself; every thing, in short, was comfortless and forlorn, except- ing a crew of hardened ducks, assembled like boon companions round a puddle, and making a riotous noise over their liquor. I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. My room soon became insupportable. I abandoned it, and sought what is technically called the traveller«'-room. This is a public room set apart at most inns for the accommodation of a class of wayfarers, called travellers, or riders ; a kind of commercial knights-errant, who are incessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They are the only successors that I know of at the present day to the knights-errant of yore. They lead the same kind of roving, adventurous life, only changing the lance for a driving-Avhip, the buckler for a pattern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benjamin. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and standing of some substantial tradesman, or manufacturer, and are ready at any time to bargain in his name ; it being the fashion noAvadays to trade, instead of fight, Avith one another. As the room of the hostel, in the good old fighting times, Avould be hung round at THE STOUT GEXTLEMAX. 11 night -witli the armor of way--worn -warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions, and yawning helmets ; so the travellers'-room is garnished with the harnessing of their successors, with box-coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oU-cloth covered hats. I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies to talk with, but was disappointed. There Avere, indeed, two or three in the room ; but I could make nothing of them. One was just finish- ing his breakfast-, quarrelling with his bread and butter, and huffing the waiter j another buttoned on a pair of gaiters, with many execrations at Boots for n»t having cleaned his shoes well ; a third sat drumming on the table with his fingers and looking at the rain as it streamed down the window-glass ; they all appeared jinfected by the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, ^thout exchanging a word. .*? • .. I sauntered to the window,'^nd»' stood gazing at the people, picking^ their way to church, with petticoats hoisted midleg high, and dripping umbrellas. The bell ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I then amused myself with watching the daugh- ters of a tradesman opposite ; who, being confined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, gjul' I had'nothii;^ fitrther from without to amuse me. "What wiis I to do to pass away the long-lived day? I was sadly nervous and' lonely ; and every thing about an inn seems calculated to- make a dull day ten times duller. Old newspapers, snuelling of beer and tobacco smoke, and which I had already read half a dozen times. Good-for-nothing books, that were worse than rainy ^veather. I bojed myself to death with an old volume of the Lady^ Magazine. ^ I read all the commonplace names 78 BRACEBKIDGE HAI,L. of ambitious travellers scrawled on the panes of glass ; the eter- nal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, and the Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons ; and I deciphered sev- eral scraps of fatiguing in-window poetry which I have met with in aU parts of the world. The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the slovenly, rag- ged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along ; there was no variety even in the rain : it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — patter — patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk showier, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course of the morning, a horn blew, and a stage-coach whirled ihrough the street, with outside passengers stuck all over it, cowering imder cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking Avith the steams of w^et box- coats and upper Benjamins. The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carrcty-headed hostler, and that nondescript animal ycleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an inn ; but the bustle was transient ; the coach again whirled on its way ; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes ; the street again became silent, and the rain continued to rain on. In fact, there Avas no hope of its clearing up ; the barometer pointed to rainy weather ; mine hostess' tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, and rubbing her paws over her ears ; and, on referring to the Almanac, I found a direful pre- diction stretching from the top of the page to the bottom through the whole month, " expect — much — rain — about — tkis — time ! " THE STOUT GENTLEMAJT. "79 I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they would never creep by. The very ticking of the clock became irksome. At length the stillness of the house was interrupted by the ring- ing of a bell. Shortly after I heard the voice of a waiter at the bar : " The stout gentleman in No. 13, wants his breakfast. Tea and bread and butter, with ham and eggs ; the eggs not to be too much done." In such a situation as mine, every incident is of importance. Here was a subject of speculation presented to my mind, and ample exercise for my imagination. I am prone to paint pictures to myself, and on this occasion I had some materials to work upon. Had the guest up stairs been mentioned as Mr. Smith, or Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, or merely as " the gentleman in No. 13," it would have been a perfect blank to me. I should have thought nothing of it ; but " The stout gentle- man ! " — the very name had something in it of the picturesque. It at once gave the size ; it embodied the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did the rest. He w%is stout, or, as some tei m it, lusty ; in all probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, some people expanding as they grow old. By his breakfasting rather late, and in his own room, he must be a man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the necessity of early rising ; no doubt a round, rosy, lusty old gen- tleman. There was another violent ringing. The stout gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He was evidently a man of im- portance ; " well to do in the world ; " accustomed to be promptly waited upon ; of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hungry , '' perhaps,' thought I, " he may be some London Alderman ; oi who knows but he may be a Member of Parliament '? " 80 BEACEBRIDGE HALL. The breakfast was sent up, and there Avas a short interval of silence ; he was, doubtless, making the tea. Presently there was a violent ringing ; and before it could be answered, another ring- ing still more violent. "Bless me-! what a choleric old gentle- man ! " The waiter came down in a huff. The butter was ran- cid, the eggs were over-done, the ham was too salt ; — the stout gentleman was evidently nice in his eating ; one of those who eat and growl, and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state militant with the household. The hostess got into a fume. I should observe that she was a brisk, coquettish woman ; a little of a shrew, and something of a slammerkin, but very pretty withal ; with a nincompoop for a husband, as shrews are apt to have. She rated the servants roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a breakfast, but said not a word against the stout gentleman ; by which I clearly perceived that he must be a man of consequence, entitled to make a noise and to give trouble at a country inn. Other eggs, and ham, and bread and butter were sent up. They ap- peared to be more graciously received ; at least there Avas no fur- ther complaint. I had not made many turns about the travellers' -room, Avhen there Avas another ringing. Shortly afterwards there Avas a stir and an inquest about the house. The stout gentleman Avanted the Times or the Chronicle newspaper. I set him doAvn, there- fore, for a Avhig ; or rather, from his being so absolute and lordly Avhere he had a chance, I suspected him of being a radical. Hunt, I had heard, Avas a large man ; " who knoAvs," thought I, "but it is Hunt himself! " My curiosity began to be aAvakened. I inquired of the Avaiter Avho Avas this stout gentleman that Avas making all this stir ; but THE STOUT GENTLEMAX. 81 I could get no information : nobody seemed to know his name. The hmdlords of hustling inns seldom trouble their heads about the names or occupations of their transient guests. The color of a coat, the shape or size of the person, is enough to suggest a travelling name. It is either the tall gentleman, oi* the short gentleman, or the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff- color ; or, as in the present instance, the stout gentleman. A designation of the kind once hit on answers every purpose, and saves all further inquiry. Eain — rain — rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain ! iSTo such thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no occupation nor amusement within. By and by I heard some one walking over head. It was in the stout gentleman's room. He evidently was a large man by the heaviness of his tread ; and an old man from his wearing such creaking soles. "He is doubtless," thought I, " some rich old square-toes of regular habits, and is now taking exercise after breakfast." I now read all the advertisements of coaches and hotels that were stuck about the mantelpiece. The Lady's Magazine had become an abomination to me ; it was as tedious as the day itself. I wandered out, not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my room. I had not been there long, when there was a squall from a neighboring bedroom. A door opened and slammed violently; a chambermaid, that I had remarked for having a ruddy, good-humored face, went down stairs in a violent flurry. The stout gentleman had been rude to her ! This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce in a moment. This unknown personage could not be an old gentle- man ; for old gentlemen are not apt to be so obstreperous to chambermaids. He could not be a young gentleman ; for young 4* 82 BEACEBKIDGE HALL. gentlemen are not apt to inspire such indignation. He must be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly into the bargain, or the girl would not have taken the matter in such terrible dudgeon I confess I was sorely puzzled. In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. I caught a glance of her as she came tramping up stairs ; her face glow- ing, her cap flaring, her tongue wagging the whole way. '•' She'd have no such doings in her house, she'd warrant. If gentlemen did spend money freely, it was no rule. She'd have no servant maids of hers treated in that way, when they were about their work, that's what she wouldn't." As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and above all Avith pretty women, I slunk back into my room, and partly closed the door ; but my curiosity was too much excited not to listen. The landlady marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and en- tered it with a storm : the door closed after her. I heard her voice in high windy clamor for a moment or two. Then it grad- ually subsided, like a gust of wind in a garret ; then there was a laugh ; then I heard nothing more. After a little while my landlady came out with an odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which was a little on one side. As she went down stairs, I heard the landlord ask her what was the matter ; she said, " Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool." — I was more than ever perplexed what to make of this unaccountable personage, who could put a good-natured chambermaid in a pas- sion, and send away a termagant landlady in smiles. He could not be so old, nor cross, nor ugly either. I had to go to work at his picture again, and to paint him entirely different. I now set him down for one of those stout gentlemen that are frequently met with swaggering about the THE STOUT GENTLEMAN". 83 doors of country inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher hand- kerchiefs, whose bulk is a little assisted by malt-liquors. Men who have seen the world, and been sworn at Highgate ; who are used to tavern life ; up to all the tricks of tapsters, and knowing in the ways of sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small scale ; who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea ; who call all the waiters by name, touzle the maids, gossip with the landady at the bar, and prose over a pint of port, or a glass of negus, after dinner. The morning wore away in forming these and similar sur- mises. As fast as I wove one system of belief, some movement of the unknown would completely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts again into confusion. Such are the solitary operations of a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely nervous ; and the continual meditation on the concerns of this invisible personage began to have its eifect : — I was getting a fit of the fidgets. Dinner-time came. I hoped the stout gentleman might dine in the travellers'-room, and that I might at length get a view of his person ; but no — he had dinner served in his own room. AVhat could be the meaning of this solitude and mystery "? He could not be a radical ; there was something too aristocratical in thus keeping himself apart from the rest of the world, and con- demning himself to his own dull company throughout a rainy day. And then, too, he lived too Avell for a discontented politi- cian. He seemed to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over his Avine like a jolly friend of good living. Indeed, my doubts on this head Avere soon at an end ; for he could not have finished his first bottle before I could faintly hear him humming a tune ; and on listening, I found it to be " God save the King." 84 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. 'Twas plain, then, he was no radical, but a faithful subject ; one Avho grew loyal over his bottle, and was ready to stand by king and constitution, when he could stand by nothing else. But who could he be ? My conjectures began to run wild. Was he not some personage of distinction travelling incog. ? " God knows ! " said I, at my wit's end ; " it may be one of the royal family fof aught I know, for they are all stout gentlemen ! " The weather continued rainy. The mysterious unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, his chair, for I did not hear him move. In the mean time, as the day advanced, the travellers'-rooin began to be frequented. Some, Avho had just arrived, came in buttoned-up in box-coats ; others came home who had been dispersed about the town ; some took their dinners, and some their tea. Had I been in a different mood, I should have found entertainment in studying this peculiar class of men. There were two especially, who were regular wags of the road, and up) to all the standing jokes of travellers. They had a thou- sand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and Ethelinda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name every time, and chuckling amazingly at their own wag- gery. My mind, however, had been completely engrossed by the stout gentleman. He had kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was not now to be diverted from the scent. The evening gradually wore away. The travellers read the papers two or three times over. Some drew round the fire and told long stories about their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and breakings down. They discussed the credit of different merchants and different inns ; and the two wags told several choice anecdotes of pretty chambermaids, and kind land- ladies. All this passed as they were quietly taking what they THE STOUT GENTLEMAIf. 85 called their night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind ; after which they one after another rang for " Boots " and the cham- bermaid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into mar- vellously uncomfortable slippers. There was now only one man left ; a short-legged, long- bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by himself, Avith a glass of port wine negus, and a spoon ; sip- ping and stirring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing Avas left but the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing before him ; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the little light that remained in the chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box-coats of de- parted travellers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heard the ticking of the clock, Avith the deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop — drop — drop, from the eaves of the house. The church bells chimed midnight. All at once the stout gentleman began to walk over head, pacing slowly backAvards and forAvards. There Avas something extremely aAvfal in all this, especially to one in my state of nerves. These ghastly great-coats, these guttural breathings, and the creaking footsteps of this mysterious being. His steps greAV fainter and fainter, and at length died aAvay. I could bear it no longer. I Avas Avound up to the desperation of a hero of romance. *' Be he Avho or what he may," said I to myself, " I'll have a sight of him ! " I seized a chamber candle, and hurried up to No. 13. The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered : the room Avas de- serted. There stood a large, broad-bottomed elboAv-chair at a 86 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. table, on wliich was an empty tumbler, and a " Times," newspa- per, and tlie room smelt powerfully of Stilton cbeese. The mysterious stranger bad evidently but just retired. I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my room, wbicb bad been changed to the front of the house. As I went along the corridor, I saw a large pair of boots, with dirty, Avaxed tops, standing at the door of a bedchamber. They doubtless belonged to the un- known ; but it would not do to disturb so redoubtable a person- age in his den ; he might discharge a pistol, or something worse, at my head. I went to bed, therefore, and lay awake half the night in a terribly nervous state ; and even when I fell asleep, I Avas still haunted in my dreams by the idea of the stout gentle- man and his wax-topped boots. I slept rather late the next morning, and was awakened by some stir and bustle in the house, which I could not at first com- prehend ; until getting more awake, I found there was a mail coach starting from the door. Suddenly there Avas a cry from be- low, " The gentleman has forgot his umbrella ! look for the gen tleman's umbrella in No. 13 ! " I heard an immediate scamper- ing of a chambermaid along the passage, and a shrill reply as she ran, " Here it is ! here's the gentleman's umbrella ! " The mysterious stranger then was on the point of setting off. This was the only chance I should ever have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed, scrambled to the window, snatched aside the cm-tains, and just caught a glimpse of the rear of a person get- ting in at the coach-door. The skirts of a brown coat parted behind, and gave me a full view of the broad disk of a pair of drab breeches. The door closed — " all right ! " was the word — the coach whirled off : — and that was all I ever saw of the stout gentleman ! FOREST TREES. "A living gallery of aged trees." One of the favorite themes of boasting with the Squire is the noble trees on his estate, -which, in truth, has some of the finest I have seen in England. There is something august and solemn in the great avenues of stately oaks that gather their branches to- gether high in air, and seem to reduce the pedestrians beneath them to mere pigmies. " An avenue of oaks or elrns," the Squire observes, " is the true colonnade that should lead to a gentleman's house. As to stone and marble, any one can rear them at once, they are the work of the day ; but commend me to the colonnades which have grown old and great with the family, and tell by their grandeur hosv long the family has endured." The Squire has great reverence for certain venerable trees, gray with moss, which he considers as the ancient nobility of his domain. There is the ruin of an enormous oak, which has been so much battered by time and tempest, that scarce any thing is left ; though he says Christy recollects when, in his boyhood, it was healthy and flourishing, until it was struck by lightning. It is now a mere trunk, with one twisted bough stretching up into the air, leaving a green branch at the end of it. This sturdy wreck is much valued by the Squire ; he calls it his standard- bearer, and compares it to a veteran Avarrior beaten down in bat- 88 BKACEBEIDGE HALT.. tie, but bearing up his banner to the last. He has actually had a fence built round it, to protect it as much as possible from fur ther injury. It is with great difficulty he can ever be brought to have any tree cut down on his estate. To some he looks with reverence, as having been planted by his ancestors ; to others with a kind of paternal aflPection, as having been planted by himself; and he feels a degree of awe in bringing down, with a few strokes of the axe, what it has cost centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but sympathize, in some degree, with the good Squire on the sub- ject. Though brought up in a country overrun Avith forests, where trees are apt to be considered mere incumbrances, and to be laid low without hesitation or remorse, yet I could never see a fine tree hewn down without concern. The poets, who are naturally lovers of trees, as they are of every thing that is beau- tiful, have artfully awakened great interest in their favor, by representing them as the habitations of sylvan deities ; insomuch that every great tree had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence was limited to its duration. Evelyn, in his Sylva, makes several pleasing and fanciful allusions to this superstition. " As the fall," says he, " of a very aged oak, giving a crack like thunder, has often been heard at many miles' distance ; con- strained though I often am to fell them with reluctance, I do not at any time remember to have heard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to be dispossessed of their ancient habitations) without some emotion and pity." And again, in alluding to a violent storm that had devastated the woodlands, he says, " Methinks I still hear, sure I am that I still feel, the dismal groans of our forests ; the late dreadful hurricane having subverted so many thousands of goodly oaks, prostrating the trees, laying them in FOEEST TREES. 89 ghastly postures, like "whole regiments fallen in battle by the sword of the conqueror, and crushing all that grew beneath them. The public accounts," he adds, " reckon no less than three thou sand brave oalcs in one part only of the forest of Dean blown down." I have paused more than once in the wilderness of America, to contemplate the traces of some blast of wind, which seemed to have rushed down from the clouds, and ripped its way through the bosom of the woodlands ; rooting up, shivering, and splinter- ing the stoutest trees, and leaving a long track of desolation. There was something awful in the vast havoc made among these gigantic plants ; and in considering their magnificent remains, so rudely torn and mangled, and hurled down to perish prematurely on their native soil, I was conscious of a strong movement of the sympathy so feelingly expressed by Evelyn. I recollect, also, hearing a traveller of poetical temperament expressing the kind of horror which he felt on beholding, on the banks of the Mis- souri, an oak of prodigious size, which had been, in a manner, overpowered by an enormous wild grape-vine. The vine had clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and thence had wound about every branch and twig, until the mighty tree had withered in its embrace. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in the hideous coils of the monster Python. It was the lion of trees perishing in the embraces of a vegetable boa. I am fond of listening to the conversation of English gentle- men on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and dis- crimination, and what strong, unaffected interest they will discuss topics, Avhich, in other countries, are abandoned to mere wood- men, or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble earl descant on park and forest scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his es- 90 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. tate, with as mucli pride and teclmical precision as though he had been discussing the merits of statues in his collection. I found that he had even gone considerable distances to examine trees, which were celebrated among rural amateurs ; for it seems that tree.s, like horses, have their established points of excellence ; and that there are some in England which enjoy very extensive celebrity among tree-fanciers from being perfect in their kind. There is something nobly simple and pure in such a taste : it argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak, looks forward to future ages, and plants for pos- terity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the idea, that the acorn which he has buried in the earth will grow up into a lofty pile, and keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefit- ing mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his pater- nal fields. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philan- thropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland sce- nery that enters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, which embower this island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of great spirits of FOREST TREES. 91 past ages, wlio have sought for relaxation among them from the tumult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse be- neath their shade. Who can walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of Penshurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the elegant Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood ; or can look without fondness upon the tree that is said to have been planted on his birthday ; or can ramble among the classic bowers of Plag- ley ; or can pause among the solitudes of "Windsor Forest, and look at the oaks around, huge, gray, and time-worn, like the old castle towers, and not feel as if he were surrounded by so many monuments of long-enduring glory 1 It is, when viewed in this light, that planted groves, and stately avenues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the more luxuriant beauties of un- assisted nature. It is then they teem with moral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting story of human existence. It is incumbent, then, on the high and generous spirits of an ancient nation, to cherish these sacred groves which surround their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their de- scendants. Kepublican as I am by birth, and brought up as I have been in republican principles and habits, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence for titled rank, merely because it is titled ; but I trust that I am neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I can both see and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, ex- tends the existence of the possessor. He does not feel himself a mere individual link in creation, responsible only for his own brief term of being. He carries back his existence in proud recollection, and he extends it forward in honorable anticipation. m^ 92 BHACEEEIDGE HALL. He lives witK Ms ancestry, aAd lie lives vrith his posteritr. To both does he consider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he has received mnch from those who have gone before, so he feels bonnd to transmit much to those who are to come after him. His domestic imdertakings seem to implv a longer exist- ence than those of ordinary men ; none are so apt to bmld and plant for fature centuries, as those noble-spirited men. -who have received their heritages from foregone ages. I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and pride ■with "which I have noticed English gentlemen, of generous tempera- ments, and high aristocratic feelings, contemplating those mag- nificent trees, rising like towers and pyramids, fix)m the midst of their paternal lands. There is an affinity between all nature, animate and inanimate : the oak, in the pride and Instihood of its growth, seems to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and intellectual man. With its mighty pillar rising straight and direct towards heaven, bearing up its leafy honors fit)m the impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sun- shine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should he; a refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a defence for the defenceless ; warding off from them the peltings of the storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. ' He who is this, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is othenrise. Abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the grandeur and pros- perity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the oppressive hand of power, who would mtirmur at his fate ? — ■ " "Why cumbereth he the grotmd t " ^ A LITERARY AyilQUARY. Printed bookes he coacemnes, as a novelty of this latter age; but a manusenpt h3 pores on ereriasringlj- ; especiallr if the corer be all moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis bet-weene every syllable. Mico-CosjioGiLLPniE, 1633. The Squire receives great svmpathv and support, in liis anti- quated humors, from the parson, of whom I made some mention on mv former visit to the Hall, and "who acts as a kind of family chaplain. He has been cherished by the Squire almost constantly since the time that they were fellow-students at Oxford : for it is one of the peculiar advantages of these great universities, that they often link the poor scholar to the rich patron, by early and heartfelt ties, which last through life, without the usual humilia- tions of dependence and patronage. Under the fostering protec- tion of the Squire, therefore, the little parson has pursued his studies in peace. Having lived almost entirely among books, and those, too, old books, he is qidte ignorant of the world, and his mind is as antiquated as the garden at the Hall, where the flow- ers are all arranged in formal beds, and the yew-trees clipped into urns and peacocks. His taste for literary antiquities was first imbibed in the Bod- leian Library at Oxford ; where, when a student, he passed many an hour foraging among the old manuscripts. He has since, at different times, visited most of the curious libraries in England, 04 BEACEBEIDGE HALL. and has ransacked many of the cathedrals. With all his quaint and curious learning, he has nothing of arrogance or pedantry ; but that unaffected earnestness and guileless simplicity which seem to belong to the literary antiquary. He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in his man- ner ; yet, on his favorite theme, he kindles up, and at times is even eloquent. No fox-hunter, recounting his last day's sport, could be more animated than I have seen the worthy parson, when relating his search after a curious document, Avhich he had traced from library to library, until he fairly unearthed it in the dusty chapter-house of a cathedral. When, too, he describes some venerable manuscript, with its rich illuminations, its thick creamy vellum, its glossy ink, and the odor of the cloisters that seemed to exhale from it, he rivals the enthusiasm of a Parisian epicure, expatiating on the merits of a Perigord pie, or a Pate de Strasbourg. His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick dreams about gorgeous old works in "silk linings, tripled gold bands, and tinted leather, locked up in wire cases, and secured from the vulgar hands of the mere reader ; " and, to continue the happy expressions of an ingenious writer, " dazzling one's eyes like east- ern beauties, peering through their jealousies." * He has a great desire, however, to read such works in the old libraries and chapter-houses to which they belong ; for he thinks a black-letter volume reads best in one of those venerable cham- bers where the light struggles through dusty lancet windows and painted glass ; and that it loses half its zest if taken away from the neighborhood of the quaintly-carved oaken book-case and Gothic reading-desk. At his suggestion the Squire has had the * D'Israeli. Curiosities of Literature. A LTTEEABT ANTIQUAET. 95 library furnislied in this antique taste, and several of the win- doAYS glazed with painted glass, that they may throw a properly tempered light upon the pages of their favorite old authors. The parson, I am told, has been for some time meditating a commentary on Strutt, Brand, and Douce, in which he means to detect them in sundry dangerous errors in respect to popular games and superstitions ; a work to which the Squire looks for- ward with great interest. He is, also, a casual contributor to that long-established repository of national customs and antiquities, the Gentleman's Magazine, and is one of those who every now and then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete custom or rare legend ; nay, it is said that some of his communications have been at least six inches in length. He frequently receives parcels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, containing mouldy volumes and almost illegible manuscripts ; for it is singular what an active correspondence is kept up among literary antiquaries, and how soon the fame of any rare volume, or unique copy, just discovered among the rubbish of a library, is circulated among them. The parson is more busy than common just now, being a little flurried by an advertisement of a work, said to be preparing for the press, on the mythology of the middle ages. The little man has long been gathering together all the hobgoblin tales he could collect, illustrative of the superstitions of former times ; and he is in a complete fever, lest this formidable rival should take the field before him. Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called at the parson- age, in company with Mr. Bracebridge and the general. The parson had not been seen for several days, which was a matter of some surprise, as he was an almost daily visiter at the Hall. We found him in his study ; a small dusky chamber, lighted by a 90 BRACEBEIDGE HALL. lattice-windov/ that looked into the church-yard, and was over- shadowed 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 rap- ture from the world, and shut himself up to enjoy a literary honey-moon undisturbed. Never did boarding-school girl devour the pages of a sentimental novel, or Don Quixote a chivalrous ro- mance, with more intense delight than did the little man banquet on the pages of this delicious work. It was Dibdin's Biblio- graphical Tour ; a work calculated to have as intoxicating an effect on the imaginations of literary antiquaries, as the adven- tures of the heroes of the round-table, on all true knights ; or the tales of the early American voyagers on the ardent spirits of the age, filling them with dreams of Mexican and Peruvian mines, and of the golden realm of El Dorado. The good parson had looked forward to this bibliographical expedition as of far greater importance than those to Africa, or the North Pole. With Avhat eagerness had he seized upon the history of the enterprise ! with Avhat interest had he followed the redoubtable bibliographer and his graphical squire in their ad- venturous roamings among Norman castles, and cathedrals, and French libraries, and German convents and universities ; pene- trating into the prison-houses of vellum manuscripts, and exquis- itely illuminated missals, and revealing their beauties to the Avorld ! When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy on this most curious and entertaining work, he drew forth from a little drawer a manuscript, lately received from a correspondent, which had perplexed him sadly. It was written in Norman French, in very A LTTEKARY ANTIQUAKT. 97 ancient characters, and so faded and mouldered away as to be almost illegible. It was apparently an old Norman drinking song, which might have been brought over by one of William the Con- queror's carousing followers. The writing was just legible enough to keep a keen antiquity-hunter on a doubtful chase ; here and there he Avould be completely thrown out, and then there would l»e 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 endeavored to assist him, but was equally baffled. The old general listened for some time to the discussion, and then asked the parson, if he had read Captain Morris's, or George Stevens's, or Anacreon Moore's bacchanalian songs ; on the other replying in the negative, " Oh, then," said the general, with a sagacious nod, " if you want a drinking song, I can furnish you with the latest collection — I did not know you had a turn for those kind of things ; and I can lend you the Encyclopedia of Wit into the bargain. I never travel without them ; they're ex- cellent 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 rub- 5 98 BRACEBRTDGE HALL. bish of ages. What a Magnus Apollo, for instance, -will Moore become, among sober divines and dusty schoolmen ! Even his festive and amatory songs, Avhich are now the mere quickeners of our social moments, or the delights of our drawing-rooms, will then become matters of laborious research and painful collation. How many a grave professor will then waste his midnight oil, or worry his brain through a long morning, endeavoring to restore the pure text, or illustrate the biographical hints of " Come, tell me, says Eosa, as kissing and kissed ; " and how many an arid old bookworm, like the worthy little parson, will give up in de- spair, after vainly striving to fill up some fatal hiatus in " Fanny of Timmol ! " Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as Moore that are doomed to consume the oil of future antiquaries. Many a poor scribbler, who is now, apparently, sent to oblivion by pastry-cooks and cheesemongers, will then rise again in fragments, and flourish in learned immortality. After all, thought I, time is not such an invariable destroyer as he is represented. If he pulls down, he likewise builds up ; if he hnpoverishes one, he enriches another ; his very dilapidation furnishes matter for new works of controversy, and his rust is more precious than the most costly gilding. Under his plastic hand trifles rise into importance ; the nonsense of one age be- comes the wisdom of another ; the levity of the wit gravitates into the learning of the pedant, and an ancient farthing mould- ers into infinitely more value than a modern guinea. THE FARM-HOUSE. hay- Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles. Beaumont aed Fletcuer. I WAS SO much, pleased with the anecdotes which were told me of Keady-Money Jack Tibbets, that I got Master Simon, a day or two since, to take me to his house. It Avas an old-fashioned farm- house, built of brick, with curiously twisted chimneys. It stood at a little distance from the road, with a southern exposure, look- ing upon a soft, green slope of meadow. There was a small gar- den in front, Avith a row of beehives humming among beds of sweet herbs and flowers. Well-scoured milking-tubs, with, bright copper hoops, hung on the garden paling. Fruit trees were trained up against the cottage, and pots of flowers stood in the windows. A fat, superannuated mastiff lay in the sunshine at the door ; Avith a sleek cat sleeping peacefully across him. Mr. Tibbets was from home at the time of our calling, but Ave Avere received with hearty and homely Avelcome by liis Avife ; a notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for Avives ; since, according to Master Simon's account, she never contradicts honest Jack, and yet manages to have her own Avay, and to con- 'T trol him in every thing. 100 BRACEBKIDGE HALL. She received us in the main room of the house, a kind of par- lor and hall, with great brown beams of timber across it, which Mr, Tibbets is apt to point out with some exultation, observing, that they don't put such timber in houses nowadays. The fur- niture was old-fashioned, strong, and highly polished ; the Avails were hung with colored prints of the story of the Prodigal Son, who was represented in a red coat and leather breeches. Over the fireplace was a blunderbuss, and a hard-favored likeness of Keady-Money Jack, taken, Avhen 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 refresh- ment, and tempted us with a variety of household dainties, so that we were glad to compound by tasting some of her home- made wines. While we were there, the son and heir-apparent came home ; a good-looking young fellow^, and something of a rustic beau. He took us over the premises, and sliowed us the whole establishment. An air of homely but substantial plenty prevailed throughout ; every thing was of the best materials, and in the best condition. Nothing was out of place, or ill made ; and you saw every where the signs of a man who took care to have the worth of his money, and paid as he w^ent. The farm-yard was well stocked ; imder a shed was a taxed cart, in trim order, in which Eeady-Money Jack took his Avife about the country. His well-fed horse neighed from the stable, and when led out into the yard, to use the Avords of young Jack, ■' he shone like a bottle ; " for he said the old man made it a rule that every thing about him should fare as Avell as he did himself. I was pleased to see the pride Avhich the young felloAv seemed THE FAKM-nOUSE. 101 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 any thing ; and, if possible, paying in gold and silver. He had a great dis- like to paper money, and seldom Avent without a considerable sum in gold about him. On my observing that it was a wonder he had never been waylaid and robbed, the young fellow smiled at the idea of any one venturing upon such an exploit, for I believe he thinks the old man would be a match for Eobin Hood and all his gang. I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into any house Avithout having a Avorld of private talk Avith 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 parlor, Avhere they had a long Avhispering conference together ; in which I saw by his shrugs that there Avere some dubious matters discussed, and by his nods that he agreed with every thing she said. After Ave had come out, the young man accompanied us a lit- tle distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked and talked together for nearly half an hour. Master Simon, who has the usual propensity of confidants to blab every thing to the next friend they meet with, let me know that there was a love affair in the question ; the young fellow having been smitten with the charms of Phoebe Wilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall. Like most other love concerns, it had brought its troubles and perplexities. Dame Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossiping terms Avith the housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house ; but when the neighbors spoke to 102 BRACEBKIDGE HALL. her of the likelihood of a match between her son and Phcehe Wilkins, " Marry come up ! " she scouted the very idea. The girl had acted as Lady's maid, and it was beneath the blood of the Tibbets, who had lived on their own lands time out of mind, and owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the heir- apparent marry a servant ! These vaporings had faithfully been carried to the housekeep- er's ears, by one of their mutual, go-between friends. The old housekeeper's blood, if not as ancient, was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets. She had been accustomed to carry a high head at the Hall, and among the villagers ; and her faded brocade rustled with indignation at the slight cast upon her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer. She maintained that her niece 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 Avas as idle as any young lady in the land ; and when somebody died, would receive something that would be worth the notice of some folks, with all their ready money." A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two worthy dames, and the young people were forbidden to think of one ano- ther. As to young Jack, he was too much in love to reason upon the matter ; and being a little heady, and not standing in much awe of his mother, was ready to sacrifice the whole dignity of the Tibbets to his passion. He had lately, however, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, in consequence of some coquetry on her part, and at present stood aloof. The politic mother was exert- ing all her ingenuity to widen this accidental breach ; but, as is most commonly the case, the more she meddled with this perverse inclination of her son, the stronger it grew. In the mean time Old Eeady-Money was kept completely in the dark ; both parties THE FARM-HOUSE. lOS were in awe and uncertainty as to what might be his way of tak ing the matter, and dreaded to aAvaken the sleeping lion. Be- tween father and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business, and at her wit's end. It is true there was no great danger of honest Keady-Money's finding the thing out, if left to himself, for he was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick of apprehension ; but there was daily risk of his attention being aroused by those cobwebs which his indefatigable wife was continually spinning about his nose. Such is the distracted state of politics in the domestic empire of Keady-Money Jack ; which only shows the intrigues and inter- nal dangers to which the best regulated governments are liable. In this perplexed situation of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to Master Simon for counsel ; and, with all his ex- perience in meddling with other peo^^le's concerns, he finds it an exceedingly diflScult part to play, to agree with both parties, see- ing that their opinions and wishes are so diametrically opposite. HORSEMA]N^SHIP. A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one put b« th horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great crabshcll brought out of China, and some imagined it to be one of the pagan temples, in which the canibals adored the divell. Tatlok, the watek 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 humor is a source of much entertainment among the young men of the family ; the Oxonian, particularly, takes a mischievous pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing the old man against the grain, and then smoothing him down again ; for the old fellow is as ready to bristle up his back as a porcupine. He rides a venerable hunter called Pepper, which is a counterpart of himself, a heady, cross-grained animal, that frets the flesh oflf its bones ; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villanous tricks. He is as tough, and nearly as old as his rider, who has ridden him time out of mind, and is, indeed, the only one that can do any thing with him. Sometimes, however, they have a complete quar- rel, 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 Avrongheaded contest that ensues ; for they are quite knowing in each other's ways, and in the art of teasing and fretting each other. Not- withstanding these doughty brawls, however, there is nothing that IIOKSEMAKSHIP. 103 nettles old Christy sooner than to question the merits of his horse ; which he upholds as tenaciously as a faithful husband will vindi- cate the virtues of the termagant spouse, that gives him a curtain lecture every night of his life. The young men call old Christy their " j^rofessor of equita- tion," and in accounting for the appellation, they let me into some particulars of the Squire's mode of bringing up his children. There is an odd mixture of eccentricity and good sense in all the opinions of my worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, where plain brick-work is set off with pointed arches and quaint tracery. Though the main groundwork of his opinions is cor- rect, yet he has a thousand little notions, picked up from old books, which stand out whimsically on the surface of his mind. Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, Markam, and such like old English writers, for his manuals. At an early age he took the lads out of their mother's hands, who was disposed, as mothers are apt to be, to make fine, orderly children of them, that should keep out of sun and rain, and never soil their hands, nor tear their clothes. In place of this, the Squire turned them loose to run free and wild about the park, without heeding wind or weather. He was, also, particularly attentive in making them bold and expert horse men ; and these were the days Avhen old Christy, the huntsman, enjoyed great importance, as the lads were put under his care to practise them at the leaping-bars, and to keep an eye upon them in the chase. The Squire always objected to their riding in carriages of any kiod, 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 5* 106 BRACEEEIDGE HALL. Quaternio, " a kind of solecism, and to savor of effeminacy, for a young gentleman in the flourishing time of his age to creep into a coach, and to shroud himself from wind and Aveather : our great delight was to outbrave the blustering Boreas upon a great horse ; to arm and prepare ourselves to go with Mars and Bellona into the field was our sport and pastime ; coaches and caroches we left unto them for whom they Avere first invented, for ladies and gen- tlemen, and decrepit age and impotent people." The Squire insists that the English gentlemen have lost much of their hardiness and manhood since the introduction of car- riages. " Compare," he will say, " the fine gentleman of former times, ever on horseback, booted and spurred, and travel-stained, but open, frank, manly, and chivalrous, with the fine gentleman of the present day, full of aftectation 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 no- tions, by almost living in their saddles, and having their foaming steeds ' like proud seas under them.' There is something," he adds, " in bestriding a fine horse, that makes a man feel more than mortal. He seems to have doubled his nature, and to have added to his own courage and sagacity the power, the speed, and stateliness of the superb animal on which he is mounted." " It is a great delight," says old Nashe, " to see a young gen- tleman Avith his skill and cunning, by his voice, rod, and spur, better to manage and to command the great Bucephalus, than the strongest Milo, Avith all his strength ; one Avhile 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 eee him make him advance, to yorke, to go back, and side long. HOESEMANSHIP. 107 to turn on either hand ; to gallop the gallop galliard ; to do the capriole, the chambetta, and dance the curvetty." In conformity to these ideas, the Squire had them all on horseback at an early age, and made them ride, slap dash, about the country, without flinching at hedge, or ditch, or stone-wall, to the imminent danger of their necks. Even the fair Julia was partially included in this system ; and, under the instructions of old Christy, has become one of the best horsewomen in the country. 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 for- mer times, when Queen Elizabeth Avould 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 differ- ence must there be, both in mind and body, between a joyous high-spirited dame of those days, glowing with health and exer- cise, freshened by every breeze, seated loftily and gracefully on her saddle, with plume on head, and hawk on hand, and her de- scendant of the present day, the pale victim of routs and ball- rooms, sunk languidly in one corner of an enervating carriage." The Squire's equestrian system has been attended with great success, for his sons, having passed through the whole course of instruction without breaking neck or limb, are now healthful, spirited, and active, and have the true Englishman's love for a horse. If their manliness and frankness are praised in their father's hearing, he quotes the old Persian maxim, and says, they have been taught "to ride, to shoot, and to speak the truth." It is true the Oxonian has now and then practised the old gentleman's doctrines a little in the extreme. He is a gay young- ster, rather fonder of his horse than his book, with a little dash 108 BEACEBEIDGE HALL. of tlie dandy ; tliough the ladies all declare that he is " the flower of the flock." The first year that he was sent to Oxford, he had a tutor appointed to overlook him, a dry chip of the university. When he returned home in the vacation, the Squire made many inquiries about how he liked his college, his studies, and his tutor. " Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I've parted with him some time since." " You have ; and pray, why so "? " " Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, and I was a little short of funds ; so I discharged my tutor, and took a horse, you know." " Ah, I was not aware of that, Tom," said the Squire, mildly. When Tom returned to college, his allowance was doubled, that he might be enabled to keep both horse and tutor. LOVE SYMPTOMS. I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be most apparently in love. Maeston. I SHOULD not be surprised if we should have another pair of tur- tles at the Hall ; for Master Simon has informed me, in great confidence, that he suspects the general of some design upon the susceptible heart of Lady Lillycraft. I have, indeed, noticed a growing attention and courtesy' in the veteran towards her lady- ship ; he softens very much in her company, sits by her at table, and entertains her with long stories about Seringapatam, and pleasant anecdotes of the Mulligatawney club. I have even seen him present her with a full-blown rose from the hot-house, in a style of the most captivating gallantry, and it was accepted with great suavity and graciousness ; for her ladyship delights in re- cei\dng the homage and attention of the sex. Indeed, the general was one of the earliest admirers that dan- gled in her train during her short reign of beauty ; and they flirted together for half a season in London, some thirty or forty years since. She reminded him lately, in the course of a con- versation about former days, of the time when he used to ride a white horse, and to canter so gallantly by the side of her carriage in Hyde Park ; whereupon I have remarked that the veteran has regularly escorted her since, when she rides out on horseback ; and, I suspect, he almost persuades himself that he makes as cap- tivating an appearance as in his youthful days. 110 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. It would be an interesting and memorable circumstance in the clironicles 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 t\yo burnt-out hearts. It would be an instance of perdurable fidelity, worthy of being placed beside those recorded in one of the Squire's favorite tomes, commemorating the constancy of the olden times ; in which times, we are told, "Men and wymmen coulde love togyders seven yeres, and no licours lustes were betwene them, and thenne was love, trouthe, and feythfulnes ; and lo in lyke wyse was used love in Kyng Arthurs dayes." * Still, however, this may be nothing but a little venerable flir- tation, the general being a veteran dangler, and the good lady habituated to these kind of attentions. Master Simon, on the other hand, thinks the general is looking about him with the wary eye of an old campaigner ; and now that he is on the wane, is desirous of getting into warm winter-quarters. Much allow- ance, however, must be made for Master Simon's uneasiness on the subject, for he looks on Lady Lillycraft's house as one of his strongholds, where he is lord of the ascendant ; and, with all his admiration of the general, I much doubt whether he would like to see him lord of the lady and the establishment. There are certain other symptoms, notwithstanding, that give an air of probability to Master Simon's intimations. Thus, for instance, I have observed that the general has been very assidu- ous in his attentions to her ladyship's dogs, and has several times exposed his fingers to imminent jeopardy, in attempting to pat Beauty on the head. It is to be hoped his advances to the mis- tress will be more favorably received, as all his overtures towards * Morte d' Arthur. LOVE SYMPTOMS. Ill a caress are greeted by the pestilent little cur with a Avary kind- ling of the eye, and a most venomous growl. He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards my lady's gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs. Hannah, whom he used to speak of in a way that I do not choose to mention. Whether she has the same suspicions with Master Simon or not, I cannot say ; but she receives his civilities with no better grace than the impla- cable 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 Queen was the theme for the great part of the morning, and the poor gentleman sat perfectly silent. I found him not long after in the library, with spectacles on nose, a book in his hand, and fast asleep. On my approach he awoke, slipped the spectacles into his pocket, and began to read very attentively. After a lit- tle while he put a paper in the place, and laid the volume aside, which I perceived was the Fairy Queen. I have had the curi- osity to watch how he got on in his poetical studies ; but, though I have repeatedly seen him with the book in his hand yet I find the paper has not advanced above three or four pages ; the gen- eral being extremely apt to fall asleep when he reads. FALCONRY. Ne is there hawk which mantleth on her perch, Whether high tow' ring or accousting low, But I the measure of her ilight doe search, And all her prey and all her diet know. Spessek. There are several grand sources of lamentation furnished to the worthy Squire, by the improvement of society, and the grievous advancement of knowledge ; among which none, I believe, causes him more frequent regret than the unfortunate invention of gun- powder. To this he continually traces the decay of some favorite custom, and, indeed, the general 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 Agin- court, the French chivalry was completely destroyed by the bow- men of England. The yeomanry, too, have never been what they were, Avhen, in times of peace, they were constantly exercised with the bow, and archery Avas a favorite holiday pastime." Among the other evils Avhich have followed in the train of this fatal invention of gimpowder, the Squire classes the total decline of the noble art of falconry. " Shooting," he says, " is a FALCOJN'RT. 113 skulking, treacherous, solitary sport in comparison ; but hawking was a gallant, open, sunshiny recreation ; it was the generous sport of hunting carried into the skies." " It was, moreover," he says, " according to Braithwaite, the stately amusement of ' high and mounting spirits ; ' for, as the old Welsh proverb affirms, in those times ' you might know a gen- tleman 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 hecself completely equipped, in riding forth, unless she had her tassel-gentel held by jesses on her deli- cate 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 in finding that, among the various«recreations of former times, which he has endeavored to revive in the little Avorld in which he rules, he has bestoAved great attention on the noble art of falconry. In this he, of course, has been seconded by his in- defatigable coadjutor. Master Simon ; and even the parson has thrown considerable light on their labors, by various hints on the subject, which he has met with in old English works. As to the precious work of that famous dame, Juliana Barnes ; the Gentle- man's Academie, by Markham ; and the other well-known treati- ses that were the manuals of ancient sportsmen, they have them at their fingers' ends ; but they have more especially studied some old tapestry in the house, whereon is represented a party of cav- aliers and stately dames, with doublets, caps, and flaimting feath- ers, mounted on horse, with attendants on foot, all in animated pursuit of the game. 114 BRACEBKIDGE HALL. The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any hawks in his neighborhood, but gives a liberal bounty for all that are l)rou"ht him alive ; so that the Hall is well stocked with all kinds of birds of prey. On these he and Master Simon have exhausted their patience and ingenuity, endeavoring to " reclaim " them, as it is termed, and to train them up for the sport ; but they have met with continual checks and disappointments. Their feathered school has turned out the most untractable and graceless scholars : nor is it the least of their labor to- drill the retainers who were to act as ushers under them, and to take immediate charge of these refractory birds. Old Christy and the gamekeeper both, for a tune, 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 disputes with him as to feeding and training the hawks. He reads to him long passages from the old authors I have mentioned ; but Christy, who cannot read, has a sovereign contempt for all book-knowledge, and persists in treating the hawks according to his own notions, which are drawn from his experience, in younger days, in the rearing of game-cocks. The consequence is, that, between these jarring systems, the poor birds have had a most trying and unhappy time of it. Many have fallen victims to Christy's feeding and Master Simon's phy- faicking ; for the latter has gone to work secundem artcm, and has FALCONRY. 1 1 b 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 madft him to despond about success. He has lately, however, been made happy by the receipt of a fine Welsh falcon, which Master Simon terms a stately highflyer. It is a present from the Squire's friend. Sir Watkyn Williams Wynne ; and is, no doubt, a descendant of some ancient line of Welsh princes of the air, that have long lorded it over their king- dom of clouds, from Wynnstay to the very summit of Snowden, 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 armor. There have been some de- murs as to whether the bird was in proper health and training ; but these have been overruled by the vehement desire to play with a new toy ; and it has been determined, right or wrong, in season or out of season, to have a day's sport in hawking to- morrow. The Hall, as usual, whenever the Squire is about to make some new sally on his hobby, is all agog with the thing. Miss Templeton, who is brought up in reverence for all her guardian's humors, has proposed to be of the party, and Lady Lillycraft has talked also of riding out to the scene of action and looking on. This has gratified the old gentleman extremely ; he hails it as an auspicious omen of tlie revival of falconry, and does not despair 116 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. but the time will come when it will be again the pride of a tine lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference to a parrot or a lap-dog. I have amused myself with the bustling preparations of that busy spirit, Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he re- ceives from that genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They have had half a dozen consultations about how the hawk is to be prepared for the morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got in a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably given up the point, observing, in a good-humored tone, " Well, well, have it your own way, Christy ; only don't put yourself in a passion ; " a reply which always nettles the old man ten times more than ever. HAWKING. The soaring Lawk, from fist tlaat Hies, Her falconer dotli constrain, Sometimes to range the ground about, To find her out again ; xVnd if by sight, or sound of bell, His falcon he may sec, Wo ho! he cries, with cheerful voice— The gladdest man is he. Handfull op Pleasant Delites. At an Ccarly hour this morning the Hall was in a bustle, prepar- ing for the sport of the day. I heard Master Simon whistling and singing under my window at sunrise, as he was preparing the jesses for the hawk's legs, and could distinguish now and then a stanza of one of his favorite old ditties : " In peascod time, when hound to horn Gives note that buck be kill'd ; And little hoy 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 hang- ers-on Avere in motion, reinforced by volunteer idlers from the vil- lage. The horses were led up and down before the door ; every 118 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. body had something to say, and something to do, and hurried hither and thither ; there was a direful yelping of dogs ; some that were to accompany us being eager to set off, and others that were to stay at home being whipped back to their kennels. In short, for once, the good Squire's mansion might have been taken as a good specimen of one of the rantipole establishments of the good old feudal times. Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall prepared to take the field. The fair Julia was of the party, in a hunting dress, with a light plume of feathers in her riding-hat. As she mounted her favorite galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that old Christy forgot his usual crustiness, and hastened to adjust her saddle and bridle. He touched his cap as she smiled on him and thanked him ; and then, looking round at the other attendants, gave a knowing nod of his head, in which I read pride and ex- ultation at the charming appearance of his pupil. Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to witness the sport. She was dressed in her broad white beaver, tied under the chin, and a riding habit of the last century. She rode her sleek, am- bling pony, whose motion was as easy as a rocking-chair, and was gallantly escorted by the general, who looked not unlike one of the doughty heroes in the old prints of the battle of Blenheim. The parson, likewise, accompanied her on the other side ; for this was a learned amusement in which he took great interest ; and indeed, had given much counsel, from his knowledge of old customs. At length every thing was arranged, and we set off from the Hall. The exercise on horseback puts one in fine spirits ; and the scene was gay and animating. The young men of the family accompanied Miss Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in HAWKING. 119 her saddle, her plumes dancing and -waving in the air ; and the group had a charming effect as they appeared and disappeared among the trees, cantering along with the bounding animation of youth. The Squire and Master Simon rode together, accompa- nied by old Christy, mounted on Pepper. The latter bore the hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most accustomed to him. There was a rabble rout on foot, composed of retainers from the Hall, and some idlers from the village, with two or three spaniels, for the purpose of starting the game. A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in the rear, com- posed of Lady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, the parson, and a fat footman. Her ladyship ambled gently along on her pony, while the general, mounted on a tall hunter, looked down upon her with an air of the most protecting gallantry. For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this last party, or rather lagged behind, that I might take in the Avhole 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 w^ere in quest of herons which were said to keep about this stream. There was some disputing, already, among the leaders of the sport. The Squire, Master Simon, and old Christy, came every now and then to a pause, to consult together, like the field-officers in an army ; and I saw, by certain motions of the head, that Christy was as positive as any old wrong-headed German commander. As we were prancing up this quiet meadow every sound we aiade was answered by a distinct echo from the sunny wall of an 120 BRACEBEDDGE HALL. old building on the opposite margin of the stream ; and I paused to listen to this " spirit of a sound," which seems to love such quiet and beautiful places. The parson informed me that this was the ruin of an ancient grange, and was supposed, by the country people, to be haunted by a dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, something like Eobin Good-fellow. They often fancied the echo to be the voice of the dobbie answering them, and were rather shy of disturbing it after dark. He added, that the Squire was very careful of this ruin, on account of the superstition connected with it. As I considered this local habitation of an " airy no- thing," I called to mind the fine description of an echo in Web- ster's Duchess of Malfy : " Yond side o' th' river lies a wall. Piece of a cloister, wbich in my opinion Gives the best echo that you ever heard : So plain is the distinction of our words, That many have supposed it a spirit That answers. The parson went on to comment on a pleasing and fanciful appellation which the Jews of old gave to the echo, which they called Bath-kool, that is to say, " the daughter of the voice ; " they considered it an oracle, supplying in the second temple the want of the urim and thummim, with which the first was hon- ored.* The little man was just entering very largely and learn- edly upon the subject, when we were startled by a prodigious bawling, shouting, and yelping. A fliglit of crows, alarmed by the approach of our forces, had suddenly rose from a meadow ; a cry was put up by the rabble rout on foot. "Now, Christy! now * Beleker's Monde enchante. HAWKING. 121 is your time, Christy ! " The Squire and Master Simon, who were beating np the river banks in quest of a heron, called out eagerly to Christy to keep quiet ; the old man, vexed and bewil- dered by the confusion of voices, completely lost his head ; in his flurry he slipped off the hood, cast off the falcon, and away flew the crows, and away soared the hawk. I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady Lillycraft and her escort, whence I had a good view of the sport. I was pleased with the 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 Avith clamorous sympathy. The hawk had singled out a quarry from among the carrion crew. It was curious to see the efforts of the two birds to get above each other ; one to make the fatal swoop, the other to avoid it. Now they crossed athwart a bright feathery cloud, and now they were against a clear blue sky. I confess, being no sports- man, I was more interested for the poor bird that Avas striving for its life, than for the hawk that was playing the part of a merce- nary soldier. At length the hawk got the upper hand, and made a rushing stoop at her quarry, but the latter made as sudden a surge downwards, and slanting up again, evaded the blow, scream- ing and making the best of his way for a dry tree on the brow of a neighboring hill ; while the hawk, disappointed of her bloAv, soared up again into the air, and appeared to be " raking" off. It was in vain old Christy called, and Avhistled, and endeaA'ored to lure her doAvn ; she paid no regard to him : and, indeed, his calls Avere drowned in the shouts and yelps of the army of militia that had folloAved him into the field. 122 BEACEBEIDGE HALL. Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillycraft made me turn my head. I beheld a complete confusion among the sportsmen in the little vale below us. They Avere galloping and running towards the edge of a bank ; and I was shocked to see Miss Tem- pleton's horse galloping at large without his rider. I rode to the place to which the others were hurrying, and when I reached the bank, which almost overhung the stream, I saw at the foot of it, the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, and apparently lifeless, supported in the arms of her frantic lover. In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes turned upward, she had unwarily approached too near the bank ; it had given way with her, and she and her horse had been precipitated to the pebbled margin of the river. I never saw greater consternation. The captain was dis- tracted; Lady Lillycraft fainting, the Squire in dismay, and Master Simon at his wit's ends. The beautiful creature at length showed signs of returning life ; she opened her eyes ; looked around her upon the anxious group, and comprehending in a mo- ment the nature of the scene, gave a sweet smile, and putting her hand in her lover's, exclaimed feebly, " I am not much hurt, Guy! " I could have taken her to my heart for that single exclamation. It was found, indeed, that she had escaped almost miracu- lously, with a contusion of the head, a sprained ankle, and some slight bruises. After her wound was stanched, she was taken to a neighboring cottage, until a -carriage could be summoned to convey her home ; and when this had arrived, the cavalcade, which had issued forth so gayly on this enterprise, returned sloAvly and pensively to the IlaU. I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown by this young creature, who amidst pain and danger, had been anxious HAWKING. 123 only to relieve the distress of tliose around her. I was gratified, therefore, by the universal concern displayed by the domestics on our return. They came crowding down the avenue, each eager to render assistance. The butler stood ready with some curiously delicate cordial ; the old housekeeper was provided with half a dozen nostrums, prepared by her own hands, according to the family receipt book ; whUe her niece, the melting Phoebe, having no other way of assisting, stood wringing her hands, and weeping aloud. The most material effect that is likely to follow this accident, is a postponement of the nuptials, which were close at hand. Though I commiserate the impatience of the captain on that ac- count, yet I should not otherwise be sorry at the delay, as it will give me a better opportunity of studying the characters here assembled, with which I grow more and more entertained. I cannot but perceive that the worthy Squire is quite discon- certed at the unlucky result of his hawking experiment, and this unfortunate illustration of his eulogy on female equitation. Old Christy, too, is very waspish, having been sorely twitted by Mas- ter Simon for having let his hawk fly at carrion. As to the fal- con, in the confusion occasioned by the fair Julia's disaster, the bird Avas totally forgotten. I make no doubt she has made the best of her way back to the hospitable haU of Sir Watkyn Wil- liams W}Tine ; and may very possibly, at this present writing, be pluming her wings among the bre'ezy bowers of WjTinstay. ST. MARK'S EVE. O 'tis a fearfLil thing to be no more. Or If to be, to wander after death ! To walk as spirits do, in brakes all daj^, 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. Deyden. The conversation this evening at supper-table took a curious turn on tlie subject of a superstition, formerly very prevalent in tbia part of tbe country, relative to the present night of the year, which is the Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the parson in- formed us, that if any one Avould 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 Avas 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 ST. mark's eve. 125 mysteriouBly at a i^erson, it was like a death warrant ; and sLe bad 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 sul- len, melancholy temperament, who bad kept two vigils, and be- gan 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 Avas tern pestuous. It was reported about the village, however, that he had seen his own phantom pass by him into the church. This led to the mention of another superstition of an equally strange and melancholy kind, which, however, is chiefly confined to Wales. It is respecting what are called corpse candles, little wandering fires, of a pale bluish light, that move about like tapers in the open air, and are supposed to designate the way some corpse is to go. One was seen at Lanylar, late at night, hovering up and down, along the bank of the Istwith, and was watched by the neighbors until they v/ere tired, and went to bed. Not long afterwards there came a comely country lass, from Montgomeryshire, 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 sub- siding of the water. She at length endeavored to cross, but the poor girl was drowned in the attempt.* There was something mournful in this little anecdote of rural superstition, tb:it seemed to affect all the listeners. Indeed, it is curious to remaik how completely a conversation of the kind will * Aubrey's Miscel. 126 BKACEBEIDGE HALL absorb the attention of a circle, and sober down its gayety, how- ever boisterous. By degrees I noticed that every one was lean- ing 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 LiUycraft 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 Avith smiles ; but I never knew the most gay or the most enlightened of audiences, that were not, if the conversation continued for any length of time, completely and solemnly inter- ested in it. There is, I believe, a degree of superstition lurking in every mind ; and I doubt if any one can thoroughly examine all his secret notions and impulses without detecting it, hidden, perhaps, even from himself. It seems, in fact, to be a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, acting independently of oui 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 Avritings evince a mind subject to powerful exaltations, is said to believe in omens and secret inti- mations. Coesar, it is well known, Avas greatly under the influ- ence of such belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, and his presiding star. As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that he is strongly inclined to superstition. He is naturally credulous, and passes so much of his time searching out popvdar traditions and super- natural tales, that his mind has probably become infected by them. He has lately been immersed in the Demouolatria ot Nicholas Eemigius, concerning supernatural occurrences in Lor- raine, ai:d the Avritings of Joachimus Camerarius, called by Vos- ST. mark's es'-r. 121 sius the Phcenix of Germany ; and he entertains the ladies with Btories from them, that make them almost afraid to go to bed at night. I have been charmed myself Avith some of the wild little superstitions which he has adduced from Blefkcnius, Schefter, and others, such as those of the Laplanders about the domestic spirits which wake them at night, and summon them to go and fish ; of Thor, the deity of thunder, who has power of life and death, health and sickness, and who, armed with the rainbow, shoots his arrows at those evil demons which live on the tops of rocks and mountaius, 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 supernatural doctrines, and making philosophers and saints fight for him. He expatiates at large on the opinions of the ancient philosophers about larves, or noctur- nal phantoms, the spirits of the wicked, which wandered like ex- iles about the earth ; and about those spiritual beings which abode in the air, but descended occasionally to earth, and mingled among mortals, acting as agents between them and the gods. He quotes also from Philo the rabbi, the contemporary of the apostles, and, according to some, the friend of St. Paul, who says that the air is full of spirits of diflferent ranks ; some destined for a time to exist in mortal bodies, from Avhich, 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 Avhen he quotes from the fathers of the church ; such as St. Jerome, who gives it as the opinion of all the doctors, that the air is filled with 128 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 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 Alexandrinus, who is of opinion that the souls of the blessed have knowledge of what passes among men, the same as angels have. I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have taken such hold of my imagination, that I cannot sleep. The room in which I sit is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The walls are hung with tapestry, the figures of which are faded, and look like unsubstantial shapes melting away from sight. Over the fireplace is the portrait of a lady, who, according to the housekeeper's tradition, pined to death for the loss of her lover in the battle of Blenheim. She has a most pale and plaintive countenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon me. The family have long since retired. I have heard their steps die away, and the distant doors clap to after them. The murmur of voices, and the peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. The clock from the church, in which so many of the former inhabitants of this house lie buried, has chimed the awful hour of midnight. I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky land- scape, watching the lights disappearing, one by one, from the distant village ; and the moon rising in her silent majesty, and ' leading up all the silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed upon these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imper- fectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mmd has been crowded by " thick coming fancies," concerning those spiritual beings which " -walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.' ST. mark's eve. 129 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, in- culcated by the early fathers, that there are guardian angels ap- pointed to watch over cities and nations ; to take care of the welfare of good men, and to guard and guide the steps of help- less infancy. " Nothing," says St. Jerome, " gives us a greater idea of the dignity of our soul, than that God has given each of us, at the moment of our birth, an angel to have care of it." Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit the scenes and beings which were dear to them during the body's existence, though it has been debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime. However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the attention involuntarily yielded to it whenever it is made the subject of serious discus- sion ; 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 philosfjphy, a vague doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perhaps Avill never be per- fectly eradicated ; as it is concerning a matter that does not ad- mit of positive demonstration. Every thing connected with our spiritual nature is full of doubt and difficulty. " We are fear- fully 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 6* 130 BKACEBEIDGE HALL. witli 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 Avhere it is seated, and how it operates, are all matters of mere speculation, and con- tradictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spirit- ual essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is con- tinually present to our consciousness, how can we pretend to as- certain or to deny its powers and operations when released from its fleshly prison-house? It is more the manner, therefore, in which this su23erstition has been degraded, than its intrinsic ab- surdity, that has brought it into contempt. Kaise it above the frivolous purposes to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror with which it has been surrounded, and none of the whole circle of visionary creeds could more delightfully elevate the imagination, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would become a sovereign comfort at the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of our mortal sepa- ration. 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 affectionate 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 smUed unseen around us, revealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein we live over again the hours of past endearment ? A belief of this kind would, I should think, be a new incentive to virtue ; rendering us circumspect even in our secret moments, from the idea that those we once loved and hon- ored 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 pil- ST. MARK'S EVE 131 grimage tlirougli the wilderness of this world, and find that those who set forward with us, lovingly, and cheerily, on the journey, have one by one dropped away from our side. Place the super- stition in 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 whom I have loved as I never again shall love in this world ; — who have loved me as I never again shall be loved ! If such beings do ever retain in their blessed spheres the attachments which they felt on earth ; if they take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and are 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 thral- dom and restraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by bounds and barriers ; shackled by mortal infirmities, and subject to all tlie gross impediments of matter. In vain would they seek to act independently of the body, and to mingle together in spiritual intercourse. They can only act here through their fleshly organs. Their earthly loves are made up of transient embraces and long separations. The most intimate friendship, of what brief and scattered portions of time does it consist ! We take each other by the hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few short moments, and then days, months, years intervene, and we see and know nothing of each 132 BEACEBEIDGE HALL. 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 death, nor absence, nor any thing else to in terrupt our felicity. *^* In the foregoing paper I have alluded to the writings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. They abound with wild theo- ries ; but among them are many truly poetical flights ; and their ideas are often very beautifully expressed. Their speculations on the nature of angels are curious and fanciful, though much resem- bling the doctrines of the ancient philosophers. In the writings of the Eabbi Eleazer is an account of the temptation of our first parents, and the fall of the angels, Avhich 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 im- portance ? Is he any thing else than vanity ? for he can scarcely reason a little on terrestrial things." To which God replied, " Do you imagine that I Avill be exalted and glorified only by you here above ? I am the same below that I am here. Who is there among you that can call all the creatures by their names ! " There was none found among them that could do so. At that moment Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their name. Seeing which, the ministering angels said among themselves, ST. MARK'S EVE. I'Vi '•' Let us consult together how we may cause Adam to sin against the Creator, otherwise he will not fail to become our master." Sammael, who was a great prince in the heavens, was present at this council, with the saints of the first order, and the seraphim of six bands. Sammael chose several out of the twelve orders to accompany him, and descended below, for the purpose of visiting all the creatures which God had created. He found none more cunning and more fit to do evil than the serpent. The Eabbi then treats of the seduction and the fall of man ; of the consequent fall of the demon, and the punishment which God inflicted on Adam, Eve, and the serpent. " He made them all come before him ; pronounced nine maledictions on Adam and Eve, and condemned them to suffer death ; and he precipitated Sammael and all his band from heaven. He cut off the feet of the serpent, which had before the figure of a camel, (Sammael having been mounted on him,) and he cursed him among all beasts and animals." GENTILITY. True Gentrie standeth in the trade Of virtuous life, not in the fleshly line ; For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. MiKKOR FOR Magistrates. I HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of the Squire in the educa- tion of his sons ; but I Avould not have it thought that his instruc- tions were directed chiefly to their personal accomplishments. He took great pains also to form their minds, and to inculcate what he calls good old English principles, such as are laid down in the writings of Peachem and his contemporaries. There is one au- thor 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 enthusiaain of youth, and to make them ashamed of that romance which is the dawn of generous manhood, and to impart to them a cold polish and a premature worldliness." " Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make a young man a mere man of pleasure ; but an English gentleman should not be a mere man of pleasure. He has no right to such selfish indulgence. His case, his leisure, his opulence, are debts due to GENTILITY. 135 his country, which he must ever stand ready to discharge. He shoukl be a man at all points ; simple, frank, courteous, intelli- gent, accomplished, and informed ; upright, intrepid, and disin- terested ; one who can mingle among freemen ; who can cope with statesmen ; who can champion his country and its rights either at home or abroad. In a country like England, where there is such free and unbounded scope for the exertion of intellect, and where opinion and example have such weight with the people, every gentleman of fortune and leisure should feel himself bound to employ himself in some way towards promoting the prosperity or glory of the nation. In a country Avhere intellect and action are trammelled and restrained, men of rank and fortune may become idlers and triflers with impunity; but an English coxcomb is inexcusable ; and this, perhaps, is the reason why he is the most offensive and insujiportable coxcomb in the world." The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, would often hold forth in this manner to his sons when they were about leav- ing the paternal roof; one to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and one to the university. He used to have them with him in the library, which is hung Avith the portraits of Sydney, Surrey, Ealeigh, "Wyat, and others. " Look at those models of true Eng- lish gentlemen, my sons," he would say with enthusiasm ; " those were men that Avreathed the graces of the most delicate and re- fined taste around the stern virtues of the soldier ; that mingled what was gentle and gracious, with what was hardy and manly ; that possessed the true chivalry of spirit which is the exalted essence of manhood. They are the lights by which the youth of the country should array themselves. They were the patterns and idols of their country at home ; they were the illustrators of its dignity abroad. ' Surrey,' says Camden, ' was the first nobleman 130 BKACEBKIDGE HALL. that illustrated his high birth with the beauty of learning. He was acknowledged to be the gallantest man, the politest lover, and the completest gentleman of his time.' And as to Wyat, his friend Surrey most amiably testifies of him, that his person was majestic and beautiful, his visage ' stern and mild ; ' that he sung, and played the lute with remarkable sweetness ; spoke for- eign languages with grace and fluency, and possessed an inex- haustible fund of wit. And see what a high commendation is passed upon these illustrious friends : ' They were the two chief- tains, who, having travelled into Italy, and there tasted the sweet and stately measures and style of the Italian poetry, greatly pol- ished 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 sen- timent, and who illustrated his chivalrous spirit so gloriously in the field. And Sir Walter Kaleigh, the elegant courtier, the in- trepid soldier, the enterprising discoverer, the enlightened jDhi- losopher, the magnanimous martyr. These are the men for Eng- lish gentlemen to study. Chesterfield, with his cold and courtly maxims, would have chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would have blighted all the budding romance of their tempera- ments. Sydney would never have written his Arcadia, nor Sur- rey have challenged the world in vindication of the beauties of his Geraldine. These are the men, my sons," the Squire will con- tinue, " that show to Avhat 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." GENTILITY. 137 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 distin- guishes him from the mercenary bravo but a spirit of patriotism, or thirst for glory. It is the fashion, nowadays, my son," said he, " to laugh at the spirit of chivalry ; when that spirit is really extinct, the profession of the soldier becomes a mere trade of blood." He then set before him the conduct of Edward the Black Prince, who is his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, generous, affable, humane ; gallant in the field ; but when he came to dwell on his courtesy toward his prisoner, the king of France ; how he received him in his tent, rather as a conqueror than as a captive ; attended on him at table like one of his retinue ; rode uncovered beside him on his entry into London, mounted on a common pal- frey, while his prisoner was mounted in state on a white steed of stately beauty ; the tears of enthusiasm stood in the old gentle- man's eyes. Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put in his son's hands, as a manual, one of his favorite old volumes, the Life of the Chevalier Bayard, by Godefroy ; on a blank page of which he had written an extract from the Morte d' Arthur, containing the eulogy of Sir Ector over the body of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, which the Squire considers as comprising the excellencies of a true soldier. " Ah, Sir Launcelot ! thou wert head of all Chris- tian knights • now there thou liest : thou were never matched of none earthly knights-hands. And thou wert the curtiest knight 138 BEACJEBKIDGE HAI.L. that ever bare shield. And tliou 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 kind- est man that ever strook with sword ; and thou were the goodli- est person that ever came among the presse of knights. And thou were the meekest man and the gentlest that ever eate in hall among ladies. And thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put speare in rest." OF TK l7BP.:.iTy} y;f^.3 p p"> FORTUNE-TELLmG. Each cit7, 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 h.ay-cock. Mekey 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 whence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from among the trees. The sound of music is always attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there is good humor, or good-will. We passed along a footpath, and had a peep, through a break in the hedge, at the musician and his party, when the Oxonian gave us a wink, and told us that if we would follow him, we should have some sport. It proved to he a gipsy encampment, consisting of three or four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets and sail cloth, spread over hoops stuck in the ground. It was on one side of a green lane, close under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad beech- tree spreading above it. A small rill tinkled along close by, through the fresh sward, that looked like a carpet. 140 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of iron, over a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and two old gipsies, in red cloaks, sat croucked on the grass, gossiping over their evening cup of tea ; for these creatm-es, 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 IhieWsh-looking dog was lying before the fire. Some of the younger gipsies were danc- ing 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, v.ith a pair of fine roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, oflFered 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 de-vised. Her dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over clean, but of a variety of most harmonious and agreeable colors ; for these beings have a singularly fine eye for colors. Her straw hat was in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm. The Oxonian ofiered at once to have his fortune told, and the girl began with the usual volubility of her race ; but he drew her on one side, near the hedge, as he said he had no idea of having his secrets overheard. I saw he was talking to her instead of she to him, and by his glancing towards us now and then, that he was giving the baggage some private hints. When they returned to us, he assumed a very serious air. " Zounds ! " said he, " it's very astonishing how these creatures come by their knowledge ; this girl has told me some things that I thought no one knew but mvself I " FOETUNE-TELLING. 141 The girl now assailed tlie general : " Come, your honor," said she, " I see by your face you're a lucky man ; but you're not happy in your mind ; you're not, indeed, sir : but have a good heart, and give me a good piece of silver, and I'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 colored up, was a little fluttered, and suffered himself to be drawn aside under the hedge, where he appeared to listen to her with great earnestness, and at the end paid her half-a-crown with the air of a man that has got the worth of his money. The girl next made her attack upon Master Simon, who, how- ever, was too old a bird to be caught, knowing that it would end in an attack upon his purse, about Avhich 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 broad jokes, and put on something of the rake-helly air, that we see now and then assumed on the stage, by the sad-boy gentlemen of the old school. " Ah, your honor," said the girl, with a malicious leer, " you were not in such a tantrum last year, when I told you about the widow you know Avho ; but if you had taken a friend's advice, you'd never have come away from Doncaster races with a flea in your ear ! " 142 BRACEBRLDGE HAIX. 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 j)retty face concerned, she soon wheedled me out of my money, and, in return, read me a for- tune ; which, if it prove true, and I am determined to believe it, ■will make me one of the luckiest men in the chronicles of Cupid. I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all this oraculai mystery, and was disposed to amuse himself with the general, whose tender approaches to the widow have attracted the notic( of the wag. I was a little curious, however, to know the mean- ing of the dark hints which had so suddenly disconcerted Mastei Simon ; and took occasion to fall in the rear with the Oxonian on our way home, when he laughed heartily at my questions, and gave me ample information on the subject. The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon has met with a sad rebuff since my Christmas visit to the Hall. He used at that time to be joked about a widow, a fine dashing woman, as he privately informed me. I had supposed the pleasure he be- trayed on these occasions resulted from the usual fondness of old bachelors for being teased about getting married, and about flirt- ing, 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 extraordinary expense in new clothes, and had actually got Frank Bracebridge to order him a coat from Stultz. He began to throw out hints about the importance of a man's settling him- self in life before he grew old ; he would look grave whenevei rOETUNE-TELLESTG. 143 the widow and matrimony were mentioned in the same sentence ; and privately asked the opinion of the Squire and parson about the prudence of marrying a widow with a rich jointure, but Avho had several children. An important member of a great family connection cannot harp much upon the theme of matrimony without its taking wind ; and it soon got buzzed about that Mr. Simon Bracebridge was actually gone to Doncaster races, with a new horse ; but that he meant to return in a curricle with a lady by his side. Master Simon did, indeed, go to the races, and that with a new horse ; and the dashing widow did make her appearance in her curricle ; but it was unfortunately driven by a strapping young Irish dra- goon, with whom even Master Simon's self-complacency would not allow him to venture into competition, and to whom she was mar- ried shortly afterwards. It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon for several months, having never before been fully committed. The dullest head in the family had a joke upon him ; and there is no one that likes less to be bantered than an absolute joker. He took refuge for a time at Lady Lillycraft's until the matter should blow over ; and occupied himself by looking over her accounts, regulating the village choir, and inculcating loyalty into a pet bullfinch, by teaching him to whistle " God save the King." He has now pretty nearly recovered from the mortification ; holds up his head, and laughs as much as any one ; again affects to pity married men, and is particularly facetious about widows, when Lady Lillycraft is not by. His only time of trial is when the general gets hold of him, who is infinitely heavy and perse- vering in his waggery, and will interweave a dull joke through the various topics of a whole dinner-time. Master Simon often 144 BRACEBRIDGE HAIX. parries these attacks by a stanza from his old work of " Cupid's Solicitor for Love : " " 'Tis in vain to wooe a widow over long In once or twice her mind you may perceive ; Widows are subtle, be they old or young, 7^ '\>^ And by their wiles young men they will deceive." ^'> I** £?..