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diff --git a/old/60485-0.txt b/old/60485-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d156c2a..0000000 --- a/old/60485-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,23550 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rural Life of England, by William Howitt - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Rural Life of England - -Author: William Howitt - -Illustrator: Thomas Bewick - S. Williams - -Release Date: October 18, 2019 [EBook #60485] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RURAL LIFE OF ENGLAND *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - Text printed in italics has been transcribed between _underscores_, - text printed in Fraktur has been transcribed between ~tildes~. Small - capitals have been replaced with ALL CAPITALS. - - More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text. - - - - - THE - RURAL LIFE OF ENGLAND. - - BY - WILLIAM HOWITT, - AUTHOR OF THE “BOOK OF THE SEASONS,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND REVISED. - WITH - ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD BY BEWICK AND S. WILLIAMS. - - LONDON: - LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS. - 1840. - - - - - LONDON: - PRINTED BY MANNING AND MASON, - IVY-LANE, ST. PAUL’S. - - - - - Preparing for Publication, in One Volume, 8vo. - - THE BALLAD POETRY OF MRS. HOWITT. - - To be beautifully embellished with Wood Engravings from original - Designs. - - - - - TO - THOMAS AND PHEBE HOWITT, - OF HEANOR, IN THE COUNTY OF DERBY. - - -MY DEAR PARENTS, - -There are no living persons to whom this Volume can be with so much -propriety inscribed as to you. To you my heart desires to present some -visible token of that affection and gratitude which animate it in -reviewing all the good it has derived from you. It was to your -inculcations, but far more to the spirit of your daily life,--to the -purity, integrity, independent feeling, and simple religion,--in fact, -to the pervading and perpetual atmosphere of your house, that I owe -every thing which has directed me onward in life: scorning whatever is -mean; aspiring after whatever is generous and noble; loving the poor and -the weak, and fearless of the strong; in a word, every thing which has -not only prolonged life but blessed and sanctified it. Following your -counsels and example, I have striven not so much for wealth as for an -independent spirit and a pure conscience. Do I not owe you much for -these? But besides this, it was under your roof that I passed a -childhood and youth the happiest that ever were passed; it was there -that I imbibed that love of nature, which must live though it cannot die -with me. But beyond this, the present volume is descriptive of that -rural life, to which your ancestors for many generations, and yourselves -to an honourable old age, have been invariably and deeply attached. To -you, therefore, for these and a thousand other kindred reasons, - - THE PRESENT VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, - BY YOUR AFFECTIONATE SON, - THE AUTHOR. - - - O, dear Britain! O my mother isle! - Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy - To me, a son, a brother, and a friend, - A husband, and a father! who revere - All bonds of natural love, and find them all - Within the limits of thy rocky shores. - O native Britain! O my mother isle! - How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy - To me, who from thy lakes and mountain rills, - Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas, - Have drank in all my intellectual life, - All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts, - All adoration of the God in nature, - All lovely and all honourable things, - Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel - The joys and greatness of its future being. - There lives not form nor feeling in my soul - Unborrowed from my country. O divine - And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole - And most magnificent temple, in the which - I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs, - Loving the God who made me. - - _Coleridge._ - - - - -PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. - - -The kind and most cordial greeting which this work has received from the -public, and by which a very large impression has been speedily -exhausted, demands a prompt and grateful acknowledgement. After all, the -highest gratification which an author can derive from his writings, -next to the persuasion that he has effected some good to his -fellow-creatures, is felt in the generous echo of his own sentiments, -which reaches him from the amiable and intelligent of his countrymen and -countrywomen, on all sides and of every class, and in the nearer -sympathy and communication into which he is brought with such minds. -With respect to the opinions of the Press, there is one fact connected -with this work which I state with peculiar gratification, because it -does honour to human nature,--and that is, that the very warmest -approbation has been, in the greater number of instances, bestowed upon -it by those critics to whom the author is most decidedly opposed in -political opinion. I cannot, either, refrain from observing, that though -I did hope to find a quick response in the hearts of Englishmen on a -subject in which both the author and his countrymen are alike so deeply -interested, I could not anticipate the delight which Americans have -manifested in it; and I must take this opportunity, as it is the only -one afforded me, to express my sense of the interesting letter of “An -American Lady--a stranger in this country,” with a copy of Bryant’s -Poems. - -Many evidences of the interest felt in this work by my English readers, -known and unknown, and of the benefit thence derived to the work by most -valuable corrections and novel information, will become apparent in the -progress of perusal. - -I have only to add, chiefly from the preface to the former edition, that -my object in this volume has been to present to the reader a view of the -Rural Life of England at the present period, as seen in all classes and -all parts of the country. For this purpose I have not merely depended -upon my acquaintance with rural life, which has been that of a great -portion of my own life from boyhood, but I have literally travelled, and -a great deal of it on foot, from the Land’s-End to the Tweed, -penetrating into the retirements, and witnessing the domestic life of -the country in primitive seclusions and under rustic roofs. If the -mountains and valleys, the fair plains and sea-coasts, the halls and -farm-houses, the granges, and cottages of shepherds, miners, peasants, -or fishermen, be visited in this volume with a tenth part of the -enjoyment with which I have visited them in their reality, it must be a -delightful book indeed; for no moments of my existence have been more -deliciously spent, than those in which I have wandered from spot to spot -of this happy and beautiful island, surveying its ancient monuments, and -its present living men and manners. - -The embellishments of this volume are both designed and engraved by -Samuel Williams: the only exceptions being, that I am indebted to our -accomplished friend the late Miss Twamley of Birmingham, now Mrs. -Meredith, of Australia, for the sketch on the title-page; for those of -the Charcoal-burner’s Hut, and Morgan Lewis’s last View of the Fairies, -to our excellent young friend Miss Tregellis, of Neath Abbey; that of -Purkiss’s Hut, New Forest, to Mrs. Southey; and to the amiable family of -the late FATHER OF MODERN WOOD-ENGRAVING--the unrivalled THOMAS BEWICK, -for the Otter-Hunt, at page 302, and the Street-Scene at page 324 of -this work, left at his death by that eminent artist unpublished. Both -pieces will be found characteristic of the hand from which they come; -and the Street-Scene, in particular, is full of those happy satirical -sallies which give such piquancy to many of his productions. - - W. H. - - _West-end Cottage, Esher, Surrey, - April 16th, 1840._ - - - - -LIST OF EMBELLISHMENTS. - - - Page - 1. Vignette: Summer-house, near Claremont Title - 2. Old English Hall 1 - 3. Grouse-Shooting in the Highlands 29 - 4. Oxen Ploughing 58 - 5. A Garden Scene 67 - 6. The Solitary House 139 - 7. Cattle in the Shade 164 - 8. Sir Roger de Coverley and the Gipsies 165 - 9. Ladies personating Gipsies 195 - 10. Daleswomen going to a Shout 221 - 11. Old Dalesman and Traveller 248 - 12. Figures on a Screen in Annesley Hall 286 - 13. The Otter Hunt, by Bewick 302 - 14. Classical Rural Scenes 305 - 15. Scene in a Town Street, by Bewick 324 - 16. Wild Horses in New Forest 366 - 17. Purkiss’s Cottage, New Forest 376 - 18. Charcoal-burners’ Hut 379 - 19. Wild English Cattle in Chillingham Park 395 - 20. Woman driving Geese 431 - 21. Procession of Village Maidens at Whitsuntide 444 - 22. Morgan Lewis shewing the last haunt of the Fairies 479 - 23. The Village Inn 480 - 24. A Sea Scene 502 - 25. A Donkey Race 515 - 26. Bird-catching 573 - 27. Tickling Trout 615 - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PART I. - - LIFE OF THE ARISTOCRACY. - - CHAPTER I. - Page - - Pre-eminence of England as a Place of Country Residence -- Its - Political and Moral Position -- the Conveniences conferred by the - Perfection of the Arts on Social Life -- Its Literature, Spirit of - Freedom, Religious Feeling, and Philanthropic Institutions -- the - Delightfulness of its Country Residences; with its Parks, Lawns, - Woods, Gardens, etc. -- the Variety of Scenery in a small compass - -- Advantages of its Climate, notwithstanding all just cause of - complaint -- Its Soil sanctified by Noble Deeds, and Intellectual - Renown -- Real Superiority of England as a Place of Residence; - shewn by its Effects on Foreigners -- Willis’s Description of its - Effect on him 1 - - CHAPTER II. - - Enviable Position of the English Country Gentleman as regards all - the Pleasures and Advantages of Life -- every Art and Energy - exerted in his Favour -- by them his House surrounded with - Delights -- the News and the Luxuries of the World brought to his - Table -- Books, Music, Paintings at his command -- Farming, - Gardening, Planting, Field-sports all within his grasp -- Scenes - which offer themselves to extend his Pleasures -- the Service of - his Country open to him -- Facilities for Travel -- Pursuits and - Pleasures afforded by Country Life to Ladies 10 - - CHAPTER III. - - Life of the Gentry in the Country -- Effect of the Annual Visit of - the Aristocracy to Town -- Pleasure of re-assembling at their - Country Houses -- Impressions of our Country Houses and Country - Life on Foreigners -- the German Prince’s Description of the Dairy - at Woburn Abbey -- Willis’s Description of the Mode of Life at - Gordon Castle -- The peculiar Charms of this kind of Life 18 - - CHAPTER IV. - - Routine of Country Sports -- Hunting, Shooting, Coursing, pursued - in a different Style to that of our Ancestors -- each its own - Season, Apparatus, and Appointments -- English Sportsmen - communicate their Knowledge through the Press -- the Extinction - of Falconry -- the Perfection of Fox-hunting in this Country -- - Manner in which some Old Sportsmen amuse themselves during the - Summer -- Favour into which Angling has risen of late years -- our - Tourist-Anglers -- Grouse-Shooting: its exciting Nature -- - Symptoms of the approach of 12th of August in England, the same as - exhibited in Scotland -- Sportsmen on their way to the Highlands - by the Packet -- the Contrast between them and Pedestrianizing - Students -- Tom Oakleigh’s Description of the Commencement of - Grouse-Shooting on the Moors -- other Features of it, both there - and in Scotland -- Return from Partridge-Shooting -- a Word with - the Too-Sensitive 29 - - CHAPTER V. - - Scientific Farming: Its State, Implements, and Admirers, Ancient - and Modern -- Agricultural Pursuits delighted in by the greatest - Men of all Ages -- Attachment of the Roman Nobility to them -- - Cicero’s enthusiastic Encomiums on Country Affairs -- Farming now - practised as a Science -- Vast Improvements during the last - Century -- Multiplicity of its Modern Implements -- Benefits - derived from Chemistry and Mechanics -- Progressive Improvements - in Tillage, Breed of Cattle, Wool, Machinery, etc. by Tull, - Menzies, Bakewell, Lord Somerville, Coke, Duke of Bedford, the - Culleys, etc. -- by Periodicals and Associations -- Men to whom - Agricultural Interests are peculiarly Indebted -- Characters of - the Duke of Buccleugh and Lord Somerville, by Sir Walter Scott -- - Anecdote of the Duke of Portland 49 - - CHAPTER VI. - - Planting: Its Pleasures -- Vast Effect of the Writings of Evelyn - in England, and Dr. Johnson in Scotland -- Evidences of the Growth - of the Planting Spirit in all Parts of the Kingdom -- Wordsworth’s - Complaint of the Larch in the Lake Country -- Larch Plantations of - the Duke of Athol -- His calculated Profits -- Monteith of - Stirling’s Calculations of the Profits of 100 Acres of Oak - Planting in seventy years -- Anecdote of an extensive Planter 59 - - CHAPTER VII. - - Gardens -- Pleasures of them -- Retrospective View of English - Gardens -- Influence of our Imaginative Writers on their Character - -- Writers before the Reign of Elizabeth -- the Roman Style of - Gardens under the name of Italian, French and Dutch Gardens, - prevalent till the 18th Century, overturned by the Writings of - Addison, Pope, and Walpole, and by the Works of Bridgman, Kent, - and Brown -- Gardens of Hampton Court, Nonsuch, Theobalds, etc., - as described by Hentzner in 1598 -- the Old Style of Gardens - appropriate to the Old Houses and the Character of the Times -- - Advantages of the Prevalence of different Tastes at different - Periods pointed out -- Laborious Lives and Travels of our earlier - Gardeners and Botanists -- our Old Gardens interesting objects in - different parts of the Kingdom -- their Classical Antiquity - pleaded in their favour 67 - - CHAPTER VIII. - - Country Excitements -- Diminution of the Enjoyment of Country Life - by Petty Rivalries and Jealousies; and by the Neglect of Walking - -- Racing a great cause of excitement to the Gentry in the Country - -- the Present State of the Turf, as shewn by Nimrod -- Variety - afforded by Race and Country Balls, Musical Festivals, etc. -- - Confirmation -- Parade of Assize Time -- the Sheriff’s Pageant 77 - - - PART II. - - LIFE OF THE AGRICULTURAL POPULATION. - - CHAPTER I. - - The English Farmer: his Character, and Mode of Life -- Picture of - the approach to a Market-Town on a Market-Day -- Farmers going in - and coming out -- Contrast between the Space occupied by the - Concerns of the Farmer and the City Trader -- Enviable Aspect of - the Farmer’s Abode -- his Life and Soul in his Profession -- his - Conversation -- a great Charm in Nature working with him -- - Delight which Poets and Great Men have found in Farming -- the - Intellectual Grade of the Farmer -- Pressing Hospitalities of - Farmers and their Wives -- a Sketch of one Day’s Feasting at a - Farm-House -- Dinner, and its chaos of Good Things -- Tea, and the - arrival of Fresh Guests -- who they are -- Traits of Character - both of Men and Women of this Class -- the Dance, and the - Departure 87 - - CHAPTER II. - - The English Farmer as operated upon by Modern Circumstances -- - Complaint of Cobbett that the Farmer is spoiled by Modern - Refinement -- In what Degree this is true -- Men of all Ranks to - be found amongst Farmers -- the Old Farmer in retired Parts of - England as Rustic as ever -- Effects of Political Economy -- Evils - of the Large Farm System -- the Farmer in a Healthy State of the - Country -- Drawbacks on the Pleasantness of Farm Houses -- the - Remedy easy -- Advantages and Disadvantages of Large Farms stated - -- Instance of the Success of a Small Farmer, and its obvious - Causes -- Just Equilibrium of Interests, an open field for - Enterprise necessary to National Prosperity 99 - - CHAPTER III. - - Farm-Servants, and their Mode of Life -- a Peak-of-Derbyshireman’s - Address to his Guest -- the Plodding Farmer and his Wife -- the - Journal of a Farmer’s Day, by Mr. Robinson of Cambridge -- Mode in - which Farm-Servants, both Men and Women, are brought up -- - Ordinary Course of the Farmer-Man’s Life -- the same in Harvest -- - Sketch of him as preparing for Plough, or for the Team -- Custom - of going out with the Wagon to deliver Corn, etc. -- Anecdote of a - “Statesman’s” Wife in Cumberland 107 - - CHAPTER IV. - - The Bondage System of the North of England -- Manner in which it - strikes a Stranger from the South -- Bands of Women working in the - Fields -- Mode of Maintaining the Hinds -- Description of their - Cottages -- Cottage of the Herd of Middleton -- Cobbett’s Surprise - on discovering the Bondage System -- his View of its Effects on - the Population and Productiveness of the Country -- Curious Coach - Scene near Morpeth -- Cobbett’s Address to the Chopsticks of the - South on the State of the Bondage District -- Bondage Farms and - Farm-yards -- Lodgings of the Hinds -- their Allowance of Corn and - Pease -- the Schoolmaster paid in Meal -- Precarious Nature of the - Tenure of their Houses -- Enormous Rent of the Land -- the - Farm-yards, Corn Factories -- Scantiness of the Population - compared with the Agricultural Districts of the South -- Hardships - of the System on the Hinds -- a Certificate required from the last - Master -- the same Custom in the Collieries of the Midland - Counties -- Statements of Mr. and Mrs. Grey, Mr. Dodds, etc. -- - Concluding Remarks 119 - - CHAPTER V. - - The Terrors of a Solitary House -- Sense of Insecurity which a - Townsman feels in a Solitary House at Night -- Wide Difference in - our Feeling of such a Place by Day and by Night -- Nervous Fancies - excited by them on Stormy Nights -- Decrease of Burglaries and - Highway Robberies through Modern Improvements -- Noble Defence of - his House by Colonel Purcell -- Attack of the House of a Welsh - Gentleman, Mr. Powell, and his Murder -- Fact related by a - Minister of the Society of Friends -- Sturdy Rogues -- Fright of - an Old Gentleman with one -- Cowardice inspired by living in a - Solitary House -- Superstitions generated by such Places -- - Concluding Remarks 139 - - CHAPTER VI. - - Midsummer in the Fields -- the Spiritual Effect of Green Fields at - Midsummer -- True Wisdom of Izaak Walton -- Delicious Haunts of - the Angler at this Season -- Profound Repose of Trees -- Rich - Mosaic of Fields -- Sound of Birds at this Season -- Mowers at - work -- Delights of Brooksides, with their Plants and Insects -- - Curious Metamorphosis of Midges -- Beauty of Dragon-flies -- - Summer Birds -- Feelings connected with this fleeting Season 159 - - - PART III. - - PICTURESQUE AND MORAL FEATURES OF THE COUNTRY. - - CHAPTER I. - - Gipsies: their History and present State -- Gipsies Part and - Parcel of the English Landscape -- an essential Portion of our - Poetry and Literature -- Uses made of them by many kinds of - Writers -- Gipsy Adventure of Sir Roger de Coverley -- Gipsy - Sketches by Wordsworth, Cowper, Crabbe, and others -- Inquiries - after their Origin -- the Notion of the Ettrick Shepherd of it -- - Arab-like Character of Gipsies -- Researches of Grellman and - Buttner into the Gipsy Origin -- Account of their Numbers, - Treatment, and Habits in all Nations -- their Language -- various - Names by which they are and have been known -- M. Hasse’s Theory - of their Antiquity -- pointed out by Herodotus and Strabo -- - Causes of their more numerous Appearance in Western Europe about - the year 1400 -- their first entry into France in 1427, as - described by Pasquin -- Banished by Proclamation -- the same - Policy pursued in other Countries -- Cruelties practised on them - in Spain -- Order to drive them from France with Fire and Sword -- - Attempt to expel them from Sweden, Denmark, Italy, and England -- - Entry respecting them in the Parish Records of Uttoxeter -- the - Inquiries of Mr. Hoyland into their History and Condition -- his - Visits to their Haunts at Norwood and London -- their Annual - Progresses from London through various Counties -- Mr. Hoyland’s - Researches in Scotland -- the Border-Country their chief Resort -- - Letter of Sir Walter Scott respecting them -- Remarkable Scene - with them at Riding the Marches near Yetholm -- Sir Walter Scott’s - recognition of one of them at Kelso Fair -- the Family of the Faas - -- Old Will Faa, the Gipsy King’s Journey to see the Laird on his - Death-bed -- Meg Merrilies one of their Clan -- the Author’s Visit - to Yetholm -- the Gipsy Houses -- the Feud between them and the - Shepherds -- Old Will Faa, the present King -- the Importance - given him by Sir Walter Scott’s Writings -- his Smuggling and - Fighting -- his Portrait by Sir Martin Arthur Shee -- General - Review of their Numbers and Condition in these Kingdoms -- Camp - near Nottingham, and Death of the Gipsy King -- Peculiarities of - the whole Race -- their estimated Numbers in Europe -- Children - sent to School in London -- Gipsy Wife reading her Bible to her - Children -- Feelings naturally presented by the sight of a Gang -- - Gipsies of New Forest -- Exertions of Mr. Crabbe and the Home - Missionary Society -- Gipsies’ Advocate published -- Mrs. - Southey’s Account of the New Forest Gipsies, and particularly the - Stanley family -- Anecdote of George III. and the dying Gipsy -- - Curious Accidental Meeting of the Author with two Ladies of Rank - acting the Gipsies in Surrey 165 - - CHAPTER II. - - Nooks of the World, or a Peep into the Back Settlements of England - -- Beauty and Repose of many such Places to the eye -- their - Intellectual Slumber -- Wordsworth’s Description of a Farmer-lad - -- the Books generally to be found in primitive Cottages -- Worst - State of Morals in Districts partly Agricultural and partly - Manufacturing -- Exertions of the Methodists -- the Effect of - Political Pressure on the Working Class -- Necessity of sound - Education -- the Effect of it in Scotland -- Rural Book Societies - recommended -- An Example of the Effect of Reading on a Working - Man -- Sordid Character of the People of some Property in obscure - Hamlets -- A Physician living in a Dove-Cote -- Sketch of a - Country Proprietor and his Family -- the Farmer Brothers -- the - Land Agent’s account of a curious Dinner Scene at the Squire’s -- - a worthy Example of the Old School of Country Gentlemen -- - Education the great need of the Rural Districts 196 - - CHAPTER III. - - Nooks of the World: Part II. -- Life in the Dales of Lancashire - and Yorkshire -- Wide Contrast between the Aspect and Condition of - the Agricultural and Manufacturing Districts -- Poverty and - Rudeness of some Parts of Lancashire -- Half-wild Children in the - Lancashire Hills -- Old Factory System -- Wild Country between - Lancashire and the Yorkshire Dales -- General Character of the - Dales -- Primitive Simplicity of the People -- Formerly much - visited by George Fox -- a Friend’s Meeting -- Dent Dale -- - Singular Appearance of the Bed of the River Dent -- Rural - Occupation and Vehicles -- Population of a Dale divided into - little Communities -- Customs at a Birth -- Knitting Parties -- - Knitting Songs -- other Particulars of their Knitting Habits -- - Instances of Eccentricities of Character -- Dislike of Factories - -- Every Person and House has its Name -- Singular Story of - Deception practised on a rich Widow -- Peculiar Customs of the - Dales -- their Hospitality 221 - - CHAPTER IV. - - Old English Houses -- General Impression of them -- the strong - Historic Interest connected with them -- a delightful Record of - such Abodes might be written -- Feelings that arise in passing - through them -- their various Styles, Furniture, Pictures, - Tapestry, and Arms, Memorials of the Changes of National Power and - Manners -- Passages of most Tragical Interest indicated by many of - our Family Pictures -- Treasures of Ancient Art collected in our - Noble Houses -- Horace Walpole’s Wish, that all our Noble Mansions - were congregated in London -- beneficial Influence of the Country - Residence of the Aristocracy -- Feelings of Horace Walpole on - visiting his Father’s House at Houghton 249 - - CHAPTER V. - - Hardwicke Hall -- the Author’s Visit to it on the present Duke’s - coming of Age -- Scenes which presented themselves -- a Second - Visit with a Party of Friends -- a Third Visit after the lapse of - Twenty Years -- Present Aspect of the Place -- Building Mania of - Bess of Hardwicke -- Remains of the Old Hall of Hardwicke -- Gog - and Magog -- Arabella Stewart, and Queen of Scots imprisoned there - -- Chapel -- Old Tapestry -- Family Gallery -- Good Taste by which - the House is kept in its Original State -- Statue of the Queen of - Scots -- Mrs. Jameson’s Account of Hardwicke -- the Duke there -- - his Apartments -- Contrast of different Ages presented by such - Houses as Hardwicke, Haddon, and Chatsworth 257 - - CHAPTER VI. - - Annesley Hall, and Hucknall -- Annesley Hall, the abode of Mary - Chaworth, most singularly overlooked by Visiters to Newstead -- - Tomb and Funeral of Lord Byron -- Scene in the Vault on the - Evening of the Funeral -- Moore’s Visit to the Tomb -- Variety of - Visiters shewn by the Book kept by the Clerk -- Inscription by - Lord Byron’s Sister -- Interesting Signatures -- ANNESLEY HALL -- - the Hill mentioned by Byron in “The Dream” -- Curious Mistake by - Moore -- the “Diadem of Trees in circular array,” cut down by Mary - Chaworth’s Husband -- a Mechanic’s Exclamation on hearing of it -- - Interesting Aspect of the Old Place in its Woods -- State of - Desolation in which it was found by the Author -- the Old - Housekeeper -- Description of the Interior -- Superstitions of the - Place -- Paper Cuttings on the Drawing-room Screen -- Likeness of - Mary Chaworth thereon -- Fine Old Terrace -- Scene of Lord Byron’s - last Interview with Mary Chaworth -- her melancholy after-life - here -- Impressions during the Visit to this Place 268 - - CHAPTER VII. - - Newstead Abbey -- Picturesque Approach to it -- Recollection of a - former Visit -- the Desolation of the Place then -- Byron’s own - Description of it -- the Gallery -- the Library -- Sculls and - Crucifix -- Dog’s Tomb -- the Satyr Statues -- Eccentric Character - of the former Lord Byron -- Anecdotes of Lord Byron’s Minority -- - Paintings connected with the Poet’s History -- General good Taste - displayed by the present Possessor of the Abbey -- Exceptions to - this Taste -- General Description of the Abbey from Don Juan -- - Houses of Fletcher and Rushton -- Tree inscribed by Lord Byron -- - Demolition of the Mill -- Concluding Remarks on the Old Houses of - England, and List of the most remarkable 290 - - CHAPTER VIII. - - Characteristics of Park Scenery 302 - - - PART IV. - - CAUSES OF THE STRONG ATTACHMENT OF THE ENGLISH TO COUNTRY LIFE. - - CHAPTER I. - - Love of the Sublime and Beautiful in Nature more eminently - developed in Modern than in Classical Literature -- the Fact - striking, that the Love of Nature is so conspicuous in our - Literature, more faint in that of the Continent, still more in - that of the Ancients -- this Affection only developed in - proportion to the Intellectual Culture of our Nature -- the same - Objects pursued in Art as in Literature, the Sublime and Beautiful - -- the Greek Poets more cognizant of the Amenities than the - Sublimity of Nature -- Homer the greatest Exception -- Instances - of his higher Perceptions -- Hesiod nearly destitute of it -- - Theocritus most alive to the Picturesque -- his Picture of the Two - Fishermen, of King Anycus, of a Drinking-cup -- his luxurious - Sense of Out-of-door Enjoyment -- Love of Nature amongst the - Romans -- one Cause of the continuance of their Simplicity of Life - -- instanced in Virgil, Horace, and Cicero -- Modern Literature a - New World of Feeling and Sentiment -- Difference between Longinus - and Burke -- Love of Nature in the Ancients, incidental -- Ours a - perpetual Affection -- Instanced in Wordsworth, Shelley, and Byron - -- Originating cause to be found in Christianity -- Development of - it in the Hebrew Literature -- Completion of it in the Christian - Revelation -- Proofs of this 305 - - CHAPTER II. - - Development of the Love of the Country greater in English than in - Continental Literature -- Comparison of our Literature, in various - Departments, with the Continental -- German Literature kindred to - the English -- The Idylls of Voss -- Testimony of a French Writer - to our greater Love of Nature -- the Influence of the Writings of - John Wilson in Blackwood’s Magazine, and of Bewick’s Wood-cuts 324 - - CHAPTER III. - - Influence of Wood-engraving on the Love of the Picturesque in the - Country -- Introduction of Stereotyping Wood-cuts in the Cheap - Magazines -- Probable Results from the Use of the Art -- in what - respects Wood is superior to Copper or Steel -- Causes that - prevent the Successors of Bewick equalling him in Knowledge of - Nature -- how this Defect is to be remedied 341 - - - PART V. - - THE FORESTS OF ENGLAND. - - CHAPTER I. - - The Forests of England -- Our Forests amongst our most interesting - Objects -- Scenery of England as we may suppose it in the Feudal - Ages, and as it is now -- Charms with which our Imaginations and - Town Restraints have invested the Feudal Times -- Antiquity of our - Forests -- Derivation of the Name -- New Forest created by the - Conqueror; Sixty-seven Forests previously existing -- Various - Opinions respecting the Origin of New Forest -- the Ravages of - William, and Death of his two Sons and Grandson in it -- Number of - Forests, Chases, and Parks formerly belonging to the Crown -- - Forest System an Imperium in Imperio -- Its Courts, Laws, and - Officers -- Consequences of the few Judges, and long Intervals - between Trials -- Severity of both Laws and Oaths on the Officers - -- Freeholds granted in Forests subject to the Forest Laws -- - Forest Boundaries of a peculiar Description -- Drifts of the - Forest -- Barbarous Penalties for killing Deer decreed by the - Norman Kings -- these softened by successive Monarchs -- Preamble - of the Assise of the Forest of Edward I. -- Law of Attachment of - Offenders in the Forest expressed in an old Rhyme -- Lawing of - Dogs; in what it consisted -- Other curious Provisions of the - Assises of the Forests -- Regarders appointed by Henry II. -- - their Duties -- Inquisitions into the State of Forests by - Elizabeth -- the Forest Laws disused after the Revolution -- List - of the Ancient Forests 348 - - CHAPTER II. - - New Forest -- Retains more of its Forest Character than any other - -- Boundaries now nearly the same as in Charles II.’s time -- - Places in the Forest -- Its Features as you pass through it -- as - compared with other Forests -- not the Ruin of a Forest, but a - Forest in its Prime -- the Cause of this -- Picturesque Style of - the Cottages and small Enclosures in its Neighbourhood -- a Day’s - Stroll through it by the Author -- Feelings inspired by its - Solitude and Air of Antiquity -- Forest Farms, Swine, Cattle and - their Bells -- Spot where Rufus was killed, near Stony-Cross -- - the Descendants of Purkess, who conveyed the body of Rufus to - Winchester -- Tradition of the Cart-wheel -- Gilpin’s Parsonage - and School -- his Opinion of the Origin of the New Forest Horses - -- Wild Population of the Forest -- Adventure of a Physician with - them -- Forest Walks and Lodges -- Stirrup of Rufus preserved at - Lyndhurst -- the Forest Court a singular Scene, as described by - Mr. Stewart Rose 366 - - CHAPTER III. - - Sherwood Forest -- In a very different State to New Forest -- - Celebrated as the Scene of Robin Hood’s Exploits -- the Norman - Kings, especially John, fond of Hunting there -- Formerly of great - Extent; containing Nottingham, Mansfield, Annesley, Newstead, etc. - -- Its Constitution and Affairs -- Curious Fact regarding the - Byrons and Chaworths -- Present Extent of the Forest -- Bilhaghe - an unique and impressive Remains of a Portion of it -- Birkland a - beautiful Tract of Birch Woodland -- Its Fairyland Character -- - Concluding Remarks 380 - - CHAPTER IV. - - Forest Enclosures -- Injuries to the Arts, Manufactures, and the - Intellectual Taste of the Public to be apprehended from such - Enclosures -- Logic of Lawyers and Land-Surveyors -- Open Lands - needed for Public Enjoyment -- that Open Lands are Unproductive, - shewn to be a very false Notion -- the Unchristian Principle on - which Enclosures have been conducted -- Enclosures inimical to our - National Interests -- Numbers who seek the Refreshment of Summer - Visits to our Forests, Coasts, Moors, and Mountains -- the - Utilitarian Enclosures of certain Lands recommended 388 - - CHAPTER V. - - Wild English Cattle -- Places where they still exist -- Bewick’s - Description of them -- the Author’s Visit to Chillingham Park in - 1836, to see the great Herd -- Lord Tankerville’s Account of them 393 - - - PART VI. - - HABITS, AMUSEMENTS, AND CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE. - - CHAPTER I. - - Cottage Life -- Wide Space between the Life of the Hall and that - of the Cottage -- the Routine of the Labourer’s Life -- a Blow - aimed at his Domestic Security -- a Highland Hut -- a Night passed - in one -- Abodes of Poverty called Rookeries -- the Beauty of - English Cottages in some Parts of England -- a Thought on seeing - such by Professor Wilson -- Delightfulness of some of the Cottages - of the Wealthy and Refined 402 - - CHAPTER II. - - Popular Festivals and Festivities -- Sketch of their History -- of - Catholic Origin -- The great Change in the Public Taste regarding - them traced to the Reformation -- Subsequent co-operating Causes - pointed out -- the Intellectual Character of the Popular Taste - still Progressive 414 - - CHAPTER III. - - May-Day Festivities -- Formerly celebrated with more Gaiety than - any others -- Came down from Pagan Antiquity in all their Arcadian - Beauty -- It was the Festival of the Poets -- None now more - entirely obsolete -- Washington Irving’s Delight at seeing - Plough-bullocks and May-poles in the Neighbourhood of Newstead -- - great Decline of these things during the last Thirty Years even - there -- a few May-poles still to be found in Nottinghamshire and - Derbyshire -- May-dances quite gone by -- May day celebrated with - enthusiasm by the Poets -- European Observance of May derived from - the Roman Festival of Flora -- Saxon Customs of this period of the - year -- Druid Customs -- Blowing of Horns at Oxford and other - places -- Custom mentioned by Erasmus, of placing a Deer’s Horns - on St. Paul’s Altar -- Custom of the Hindus -- Beltane in Ireland - and Scotland -- May-feast of Northumberland -- Fishing for the - Wedding-ring -- Roman Feast of Flora imitated in France and - England -- Various Additions here of Robin Hood, Maid Marian, - Friar Tuck, etc. -- Spenser and Herrick’s description of May-day - Festivities -- Henry VIII., Elizabeth, and James I.’s going - a-Maying -- Sheriffs and Aldermen of London going a-Maying -- - Congratulated by Lydgate the Poet -- In 1644, all May-poles pulled - down -- In 1654 Maying again, in presence of the Lord Protector -- - Great May-pole in the Strand raised again at the Restoration -- - Aubrey’s Account of the May-booms in Holland -- Complaints of - Aubrey and Evelyn of Injury done to the Woods by Mayers -- May - Customs that yet remain 421 - - CHAPTER IV. - - Easter Festivities -- May the Festival of the Young, Easter that - of the Church -- Celebration of Easter in Catholic Countries -- - Royal Distribution of Alms on Maunday Thursday at Whitehall, still - kept up -- Easter at Moscow, Jerusalem, Rome, and other Places -- - Eating Hot-cross buns, and going to Church the sole remaining - Ceremonies in England -- Easter Morning as described by Goethe -- - Strange Plays acted in Churches by the Monks at Easter -- - Churchwardens’ Accounts at Reading for such Expenses -- Paschal - Lights -- Lighting the Annual Fire at the Holy Sepulchre at - Jerusalem -- Easter Customs in various Countries -- Paschal Eggs - -- Peculiar Privileges attached to their Presentation in Russia -- - Courts shut, and Business suspended formerly in London -- Still a - Time of great Recreation to Mechanics there -- Less observed in - Country Towns -- Pace-eggs still given in some Countries -- - Heaving, or Lifting -- Ball Play 432 - - CHAPTER V. - - Whitsuntide Festivities -- Sole Religious Festival that continues - a Popular one -- this partly owing to Friendly Societies -- Joyous - Aspect of this Village Fete -- Whitsuntide Village Processions as - seen by the Author in his Youth -- fine Subject for a Painter -- - these Love-Feasts of the People very appropriate to this Period, - being that of the AGAPAI, or Love-Feasts of the early Christians - -- Objections to their being held at Public Houses -- this - remediable -- Whitsuntide as witnessed at Warsop in - Nottinghamshire -- Concluding Remarks 444 - - CHAPTER VI. - - Christmas Festivities -- the Festival of the Fireside -- Its - Ancient Usages made familiar by our Popular Writers -- Burton’s - Account of Christmas Games -- Withers’ Poetical Description of - Christmas 200 years ago -- Scott’s View of them as seen in the - past -- Pageants at this Season in Catholic Countries, as at Rome, - Naples, and in Spain -- Interesting Domestic Custom in Germany -- - Christmas as now passed by the Poor, and by the Middle and Higher - Classes -- the Waits -- Christmas Visiting and Country Games -- - Christmas Carols, as sung about Manchester, collected by the late - Miss Jewsbury -- Christmas Customs still kept up -- George and the - Dragon -- Blessing Orchards, etc. -- Concluding Remarks on the - Present State of Popular Festivals 451 - - CHAPTER VII. - - The Fairy Superstitions -- Fairies all vanished from the Country - -- gone in Chaucer’s Days -- Bishop Corbett’s Farewell to them -- - Hogg their last Poet -- Fairies of Caldon-Low -- Made Immortal by - Milton and Shakspeare -- Belief of them yet lingering in Wales -- - Robin Goodfellow and the Lubberfiend of Milton thrown out of - employ by the Thrashing Machine -- Fairie’s-Waterfall at - Aberpergum -- Morgan Lewis the Neath Guide’s Account of their - positive Departure 473 - - CHAPTER VIII. - - The Village Inn -- the Old-fashioned Village Inn a very different - place to the New Beer-Shop -- its General Aspect -- its Old Tree - -- Remarkable Tree of this kind at the Golden Grove, near Chertsey - -- the Country Inn Kitchen -- Description of Landlords by which - such Inns are kept -- their Cleanness and Rural Plenty -- - Patronized by all Classes, from the Squire downwards -- Humorous - Characters often found there -- Curious Scene once witnessed by - the Author at a Country Inn in Yorkshire -- The New Beer-Shops a - universal Nuisance 480 - - CHAPTER IX. - - Popular Places of Resort -- Wakes, Statutes, and Fairs -- the - Wake, the Feast of the Dedication of the Parish Church, now - dwindled into a Village Holiday -- Anticipation of it by the Rural - People -- Wake Festivities -- the Wake, in some places yet - connected with Church-rites. -- STATUTES: Meetings by Legal - Statute for the Hiring of Servants -- Attendance of Farmers, their - Wives, and Men and Women Servants -- their Appearance -- - Shepherds, Ploughmen, Milkmaids, and their Insignia -- - Earnest-Money -- Afternoon Jollification -- in the Northern - Counties the Bondage Girls hired at similar Meetings -- FAIRS: - Places of both Business and Pleasure to all Classes of Country - People -- Nottingham Great October and Goose Fair taken as a - specimen -- Preparations for its Attendance -- Fair Scenery and - Characters -- Proclamation of the Fair -- Corporation Procession - -- Gig Fair -- Peculiar Tastes and Pleasures of Fair-goers -- Good - Subjects for the Painter presented 493 - - CHAPTER X. - - Popular Places of Resort, _continued_ -- The Rural Watering Place 502 - - CHAPTER XI. - - Sports and Pastimes of the People -- History of their Changes and - Present State -- Sports generated by the Feudal Habits -- Sports - introduced by the Catholic Church -- the mere brutal Portion of - both these remaining in the last Century -- many of these now - abolished, and a better Class encouraged -- Sports and Pastimes - prevalent in Farming Districts and obscure Hamlets -- Prevalence - of Cricket -- Description of a Cricket-Match between Nottingham - and the Sussex Club -- Auguries drawn from the Present Popular - Taste 515 - - CHAPTER XII. - - WRESTLING: Its History and present Practice -- this Exercise, - formerly so general, now confined to a few Counties -- Cornwall - and Devon, Lancashire, Cumberland and Westmoreland -- these - Counties possessing Practices peculiar to themselves -- Grand - Annual Wrestling in Clerkenwell, formerly attended by the Lord - Mayor and Corporation of London -- Curious Anecdote of a Minister - of the Society of Friends of that day -- West of England and - Westmoreland and Cumberland Clubs in London -- Attempt of Sir - Thomas Parkyn to establish Wrestling in Nottinghamshire -- Cornish - Wrestling -- Fuller’s Opinion of it -- Account of it by an - Eye-witness -- Champions of Cornwall and Devon -- Games - established at St. Ives in Cornwall by John Knill -- the Canns of - Dartmoor, and Widdicombs of the Moors -- Description of a Match at - the Eagle Tavern Green, City Road, in 1826, between Devon and - Cornwall 531 - - CHAPTER XIII. - - Favourite Pursuits of English Cottagers and Workmen -- the Genius - of the Working Class -- its Effects on the Happiness of that Class - -- almost every Man his Hobby -- Pigeon-fanciers, Dog-fanciers, - Lovers of Music, Singing, Bellringing, Poaching, Bird-stuffing, - Bird-catching -- A Caveat against kidnapping of Nightingales -- - Interior of a Bird-catcher’s House -- Anecdote of a Bird catcher - -- Angling, its effect on the Spirits -- Lovers of Gardens and - Bees -- Anecdote of a Bee-lover and the Abbess of Caverswall -- - Florists -- Entomologists -- Crabbe’s Description of some known to - him -- Artisan’s Gardens -- Account of 5000 of these at Nottingham - -- Happiness to be diffused through the Working-class by sound - Legislation 541 - - CHAPTER XIV. - - Sunday in the Country -- Goethe’s Description of a Sunday in - Germany -- Applicable in a great degree to Sunday here -- Trip to - Richmond by the Steamer, and its Result -- Passing of Sunday by - many Inhabitants of large Towns -- the Street Preacher -- the - Sailor’s Chapel -- the Irvingite Street-Preacher -- A Camp-meeting - -- Profound Air of Repose in the Country on this Day -- The Farmer - and his Household -- Groups going Churchward -- the Country Church - a Place congenial to Worship -- Social Pleasures of Sunday Evening - -- Millions who enjoy the Blessings of a Day of Rest -- Holy - Influence of Sunday -- Evening Walk 555 - - CHAPTER XV. - - Cheap Pleasures of Country Life -- No great Events needed by the - Lover of Nature to render him Happy -- Recollections of early - Delight in the Country -- Objects of Pleasurable Observation as - they present themselves in the course of the Seasons -- Splendid - Pictures presented by Nature -- the Spirit of Peace and Gladness - inspired by Nature, which renders so delightful the Writings of - White, Evelyn, Walton, etc. -- Testimonies of Coleridge and Sir - Henry Wotton to the profound Satisfaction to be found in Country - Life 574 - - CHAPTER XVI. - - Lingering Customs -- Rapid Disappearance of Old English Customs -- - the Beautiful Custom of Hanging Garlands in Village Churches at - the Funerals of Young Maidens, nearly extinct -- Character of the - Primitive Times lingers in the Village Church -- Old-fashioned - Congregations -- Genuine Old Village Clerk -- Circumstances - occurring to the Author in Village Churches -- their Superstitions - -- Village Notions of Angels and Cherubims -- Country Customs at - Funerals -- Poetical Procession of Rush-bearing -- Sanding at - Knutsford -- Eggs and Salt given to Children -- Eating Simnel Cake - -- Riding Stang, May Bushes and their Significance -- Homage to - the New Moon -- Charms -- Superstitions connected with the - Foxglove, the Dog-rose, the Cuckoo, Pigeon’s Feathers, etc. -- - Closing of Churchyards of late years -- Richard Howitt’s Remarks - on this Practice 582 - - CHAPTER XVII. - - Education of the Rural Population -- what Education is doing, and - leaving undone in the Poetry of Village Life -- Peculiar Social - Condition of Surrey -- its Effect on the Peasantry -- Need of - Schools -- Mr. Allen’s School of Industry at Lindfield in Sussex - -- Schools of Industry established by the Earl of Lovelace, and - Lady Noel Byron -- School of Lady Noel Byron, at Ealing, Middlesex - -- School of the Earl of Lovelace, at Oakham, Surrey 593 - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - Concluding Chapter -- an extensive Observation of our own Country - recommended -- Every Part presents some Variety of Beauty, Custom, - or other Object worthy of Notice -- Some of these to be found on a - Summer’s Route from London to Devon and Cornwall -- Others in - Routes of the Solitary Pedestrian through the Western, Midland, - and Northern Counties -- the wide Growth of the Spirit of - Enjoyment in such Excursions -- Numbers which throng to all our - Places of Natural Beauty, or Historic Interest -- Concluding - Remarks 603 - - -[Illustration] - - - - -PART I. - -RURAL LIFE, PURSUITS, AND ADVANTAGES OF THE GENTRY OF ENGLAND. - - -CHAPTER I. - -PRE-EMINENCE OF ENGLAND AS A PLACE OF COUNTRY RESIDENCE. - -Let every man who has a sufficiency for the enjoyment of life, thank -heaven most fervently that he lives in this country and age. They may -tell us of the beauty of southern skies, and the softness of southern -climates; but where is the land which a man would rather choose to call -himself a native of--because it combines more of the requisites for a -happy and useful existence; more of the moral, social, and intellectual -advantages, without which fair skies or soft climates would become -dolorous, or at best, indifferent? I say, let every man gratefully -rejoice, who has the means of commanding the full blessings of English -life,--for alas! there are thousands and millions of our countrymen who -possess but a scanty portion of these; whose lives are too long and -continuous a course of toil and anxiety to permit them even to look -round them and see how vast are the powers of enjoyment in this country, -and how few of those sources of ease, comfort, and refined pleasure are -within their reach. I trust a better day is coming to this portion of -our population; that many circumstances are working together to confer -on the toiling children of these kingdoms the social rewards which their -unwearied industry so richly merits; but for those who already hold in -their hands the golden key, where is the country like England? If we are -naturally proud of making a portion of a mighty and a glorious kingdom, -where is the kingdom like England? It is a land of which the most -ambitious or magnanimous spirit may well say with a high emotion--“That -is my country!” Over what an extent of the earth it stretches its -territories; over what swarming and diversified millions it extends its -sceptre! On every side of the globe, lie its outspread regions; under -every aspect of heaven, walk its free or tributary people. In the West -Indies; in the vaster dominions of the East; in America and Australia; -through each wide continent, and many a fair island! But its political -and moral power extends even far beyond these. What nation is there, -however great, that does not look with breathless anxiety to the -movements of England; what country is not bound up with it in the -strongest interests and hopes; what country is there which does not feel -the influence of its moral energy? Through all the cities and forests of -Republican America, the spirit of England, as well as its language, -lives and glows. France, Germany, and even Russia to the depths of its -frozen heart, feel the emanations of its free and popular institutions. -Every pulse of love which beats here--every principle of justice that is -more clearly recognised--every sentiment of Christianity that is -elevated on the broad basis of the human heart, hence spreads through -the earth as from a centre of moral life, and produces in the remotest -regions its portion of civilization. - - Hence do I love my country!--and partake - Of kindred agitations for her sake; - She visits oftentimes my midnight dream; - Her glory meets me with the earliest beam - Of light, which tells that morning is awake.--_Wordsworth._ - -It is something to make a part, however small, of such a nation. It is -something to feel that you have such a scope of power and beneficence in -the earth. But when you add to this, the food laid up for the heart and -the intellect in this island--the wealth of literature and science; the -spirit of freedom in which they are nourished, and by which they are -prosecuted; the sound religious feeling which has always distinguished -it as a nation; the philanthropic institutions that exist in it--every -true heart must felicitate itself that its lot is cast in this kingdom. - -Such are the moral, political, and intellectual advantages of English -life, which must make any noble-minded and reflecting man feel, as he -considers his position in the scale of humanity, that he is “a citizen -of no mean city.” But our social advantages are not a whit behind these. -Can any state of society be well conceived, on which the arts and -sciences, literature, and general knowledge, can shed more social -conveniences and refined enjoyments? In our houses, in our furniture, in -all the materials for our dresses, in the apparatus for our tables and -the endless variety of good things by which they are supplied, for which -every region has been traversed, and every art in bringing them home, or -raising them at home, has been exerted; in books and paintings; in the -wonderful provision and accumulation of every article in our shops, that -the real wants or the most fanciful desires of men or women may seek -for; in our gardens, roads, the beautiful and affluent cultivation of -the country,--what nation is there, or has there been, which can for a -moment bear a comparison with England? - - Ye miserable ancients, had ye these? - -And this we may ask, not merely as it respects gas, steam, the -marvellous developments of chemistry and electro-magnetism, by which the -mode and embellishment of our existence have been so much changed -already, and which promise yet changes too vast to be readily -familiarized to the imagination,--but of a thousand other privileges and -conveniences in which England is pre-eminent. It is, however, to our -rural life that we are about to devote our attention; and it is in rural -life that the superiority of England is, perhaps, more striking, than in -any other respect. Over the whole face of our country the charm of a -refined existence is diffused. There is nothing which strikes foreigners -so much as the beauty of our country abodes, and the peculiarity of our -country life. The elegances, the arts, and refinements of the city, are -carried out and blended, from end to end of the island, so beautifully -with the peaceful simplicity of the country, that nothing excites more -the admiration of strangers than those rural paradises, the halls, -castles, abbeys, lodges, and cottages, in which our nobility and gentry -spend more or less of every year. Let Prince Pückler Muskau, Washington -Irving, Willis, Count Pecchio, Rice, and others, tell you how beautiful, -in their eyes, appeared the parks, lawns, fields, and the whole country -of England, cultivated like a garden. It is true that our climate is not -to be boasted of for its perpetual serenity. It has had no lack of -abuse, both from our own countrymen and others. We are none of us -without a pretty lively memory of its freaks and changes, its mists and -tempests; its winters wild as some of late, and its springs that are -often so tardy in their arrival, that they find summer standing in the -gate to tell them they are no longer wanted. All this we know; yet which -of us is not ready to forgive all this, and to say with a full heart, - - England, with all thy faults, I love thee still! - -Which of us is not grateful and discerning enough to remember, that even -our fickle and imperfect climate has qualities to which England owes -much of its glory, and we, many a proud feeling and victorious energy? -Which of us can forget, that this abused climate, is that which has not -enervated by its heats, has not seduced by its amenities, has not -depopulated by its malaria, so that under its baneful influence we have -become feeble, listless, reckless of honour or virtue; the mean, the -slothful, the crouching slaves of barbarians, or even effeminate -despots: it is that which has done none of these things; produced no -such effects as these; but it is that which has raised millions of -frames strong and muscular and combatant, and enduring as the oaks of -its rocky hills; that has nerved those frames to the contempt alike of -danger and effeminacy; and has quickened them with hearts full of -godlike aspirations after a virtuous glory. What a long line--what ages -after ages, of invincible heroes, of dauntless martyrs for freedom and -religion, of solemn sages and lawgivers, of philosophers and poets, men -sober, and prescient, and splendid in all their endowments as any -country ever produced;--what a line of these has flourished amid the -glooms and severities of this abused climate; and while Italy has sunk -into subjection, and Greece has lain waste beneath the feet of the -Turk--has piled up by a succession of matchless endeavours the fame and -power of England, to the height of its present greatness. - - In our halls is hung - Armoury of the invincible knights of old: - We must be free or die, who speak the tongue - That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold - Which Milton held. In every thing we are sprung - Of earth’s best blood, have titles manifold. - -And will any man tell me that the spirit of our climate has had nothing -to do with begetting and nourishing the energy which has borne on to -immortality these great men; which has quickened us with “earth’s best -blood;” which has given us “titles manifold?” The gloom and desolate -majesty of autumn--the wild magnificence of thunder-storms, with their -vivid lightnings, their awful uproar, the lurid darkness of their -clouds, and the outshining of rainbows--have these had no effect -on the meditations of divines and the songs of poets? Has the -soul-concentrating power of winter driven our writers into their closets -in vain? Have the fireside festivities of our darkest season; have the -blazing yule-clog, and the merriment of the old English hall--things -which have grown out of the very asperity of the climate, left no traces -in our literature? Did Milton, Bacon, Spenser, Shakspeare, and such -spirits, walk through our solemn halls, whether of learning, or -religion, or baronial pomp, all of which have been raised by the very -genius of a pensive climate; or did they climb our mountains, and roam -our forests, amid winds that roared in the boughs and whirled their -leaves at their feet, and gather thence no imagery, no similes, no -vigour of thought and language, such as still skies and flowery meadows -could not originate? Let us turn to the lays and romances of Scott and -Byron, and see whether brown heaths and splintered mountains; the savage -ruins of craggy coasts, moaning billows, mists, and rains; the thunder -of cataracts, and the sleep of glens, all seen and felt under the -alternations of seasons and of weather, such only as an unsettled -climate could shew,--have not tinged their spirits, and therefore their -works, with hues of an immortal beauty, the splendid product of a -boisterous climate. Why, they are these influences which have had no -small share in the creation of such men as Burns, Bloomfield, Hogg, and -Clare--the shepherd-poets of a free land, and an out-of-door life. Yes, -we are indebted to our climate for a mass of good, a host of advantages -of which we little dream, till we begin to count them up. - -And are all our experiences of the English climate those of gloom? Are -there no glorious sunsets, no summer evenings, balmy as our dreams of -heaven, no long sunny days of summer, no dewy mornings, whose freshness -brings with it ideas of earth in its youth, and the glades of Paradise -trod by the fair feet of Eve? Have we no sweet memories of youth and -friendship, in which such hours, such days, in which fields of harvest, -hay-harvest and corn-harvest, with all their rejoicing rustic companies, -lie in the sunshine? Are there none of excursions through the mountains, -along the sea shores, of sailing on fair lakes, or lying by running -waters in green and flowery dales, while overhead shone out skies so -blue and serene that they seemed as though they could never change? In -every English bosom there lie many such sweet memories; and if we look -through the whole of one of the worst seasons that we have, what -intervals of pleasant weather we find in it. One of the great charms of -this country too, dependent on its climate, is that rich and almost -perpetual greenness, of which strangers always speak with admiration. - -But what of climate? There are other claims on our affections for this -noble country, which, were its climate the most splendid under heaven, -would yet cast that far into the shade. What binds us closely to it, -next to our living ties, is that every inch of English ground is -sanctified by noble deeds, and intellectual renown; but on this topic -Mrs. Howitt has, in her Wood-Leighton, put into the mouth of a worthy -clergyman of Staffordshire, words that will better express my feelings, -than any I can now use. - -“I know not how it is; I cannot comprehend the feeling, with which many -quit this noble country for ever for strange lands. And yet it may be -said, that hundreds do it every day; and for thousands it may indeed be -well. For those who have had no prospect but the daily struggle for -existence; for those whose minds have not been opened and quickened -into a sense of the higher and more spiritual enjoyments which this -country affords; for the labouring many, the valleys of Australia or the -vast forests and prairies of America may be alluring. But to me,--and -therefore, it seems, equally to other men with like tastes and -attachments--to quit England, noble, fearless, magnanimous, and -Christian England, would be to cut asunder life, and hope, and happiness -at once. No! till I voyage to ‘the better land,’ I could never quit -England. What! after all the ages that have been spent in making it -habitable, and home-like; after all the blood shed in its defence, and -for the maintaining of its civil polity; after all the consumption of -patriotic thought and enterprise, the labours of philosophers, divines, -and statesmen, to civilize and Christianize it; after the time, the -capital, the energies employed, from age to age, to cultivate its -fields, dry up marshes, build bridges, and lay down roads, raise cities, -and fill every house with the products of the arts and the wealth of -literature; can there be a spot of earth that can pretend to a tithe of -its advantages, or a spot that creates in the heart that higher tone -necessary for their full enjoyment? Why, every spot of this island is -sanctified, not only by the efforts of countless patriots, but as the -birth-place and abode of men of genius. Go where you will, places -present themselves to your eyes which are stamped with the memory of -some one or other of those ‘burning and shining lights,’ that have -illuminated the atmosphere of England with their collective splendour, -and made it visible to the men of farthest climates. Even in this -secluded district, which, beautiful as it is, is comparatively little -known or spoken of, amongst the generality of English people, how many -literary recollections surround you! To say nothing of the actors in -great historical scenes; the Talbots, Shrewsburys, Dudleys, and Bagots -of former ages; or the Ansons, Vernons, St. Vincents, and Pagets of the -later and present ones; in this county were born those excellent -bishops, Hurd and Newton, and the venerable antiquary and herald, Elias -Ashmole. To say nothing of the amount of taste and knowledge that exist -in the best classes of society hereabout, we have to-day passed the -houses of Thomas Gisborne and Edward Cooper, clergymen who have done -honour to their profession by their talents and the liberality of their -sentiments. In that antiquated Fauld Hall, once lived old Squire -Burton, the brother of the author of the ‘Anatomy of Melancholy;’ and -there is little doubt that some part of that remarkable work was written -there. By that Dove, Izaak Walton, that pious old man, that lover of the -fields, and historian of the worthies of the church, used to stroll and -meditate, or converse with his friend Charles Cotton, a Staffordshire -man too. In the woods of Wotton, which are very visible hence by -daylight, once wandered a very different, but very distinguished person, -the wayward Rousseau. In Uttoxeter, that great, but ill-used, and -ill-understood astronomer, Flamstead, received the greater part of his -education; and from Lichfield, the spires of whose cathedral we have -seen to-day, went out Johnson and Garrick, each to achieve supremacy in -his own track of distinction. And there, too, lived Anna Seward, who, -with all her egotism and faults of taste, was superior to the women of -her age, and had the sagacity to perceive amongst the very first, the -dawning fame of Southey and Sir Walter Scott. - -“If this comparatively obscure district can thus boast of having given -birth or abode to so many influential intellects, what shall not -England--entire and glory-crowned England? And who shall not feel proud -to own himself of its race and kindred; and, if he can secure for -himself a moderate share of its common goods, be happy to live and die -in it!” - -Thus it is all England through. There is no part of it, in which you do -not become aware that there some portion of our national glory has -originated. The very coachmen as you traverse the highways, continually -point out to you spots made sacred by men and their acts. There say -they, was born, or lived, Milton or Shakspeare, Locke or Bacon, Pope or -Dryden; that was the castle of Chaucer; there, now, lives Wordsworth, -Southey, or Moore. There Queen Elizabeth was confined in her youth, here -she confined Mary of Scotland in her age. There Wickliffe lived, and -here his ashes were scattered in the air by his enemies. There Hooker -watched his sheep while he pondered on his Ecclesiastical Polity. Here -was born Cromwell, or Hampden--here was the favourite retreat of -Chatham, Fox, Pitt, or other person, who in his day exerted a powerful -influence on the mind or fortunes of this country. These perpetual -monitions that we are walking in a land filled from end to end with -glorious reminiscences, make country residence in England so delightful. -But the testimony of foreigners is more conclusive than our own; and -therefore, we will close this chapter with the impression which the -entrance into England made on two Americans--Washington Irving and Mr. -Willis. Irving’s mind was full of the inspiration of the character of -England as he had found it in books. “There is to an American, a volume -of associations with the very name. It is the land of promise, teeming -with every thing of which his childhood has heard, or on which his -studious years have pondered. The ships of war, that prowled like -guardian giants along the coast; the headlands of Ireland, stretching -out into the Channel; the Welsh mountains, towering into the clouds; all -were objects of intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, I -reconnoitred the shores with a telescope. My eye dwelt with delight on -neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies and green grass-plots. I saw -the mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of -a village church rising from the brow of a neighbouring hill--all were -characteristic of England.” That is the feeling of an American, arriving -here directly from his own country: this is that of one coming from the -European Continent. Mr. Willis says, on landing at Dover: “My companion -led the way to an hotel, and we were introduced by _English_ waiters (I -had not seen such a thing in three years, and it was quite like being -waited on by gentlemen) to two blazing coal fires in the coffee-room of -the ‘Ship.’ O, what a comfortable place it appeared! A rich Turkey -carpet snugly fitted; nicely rubbed mahogany tables; the morning papers -from London; bell-ropes that _would_ ring the bell; doors that _would_ -shut; a landlady that spoke English, and was kind and civil; and, though -there were eight or ten people in the room, no noise above the rustle of -a newspaper, and positively rich red damask curtains, neither -second-hand nor shabby, to the windows! A greater contrast than this, to -the things that answer to them on the Continent, could scarcely be -imagined. The fires were burning brilliantly, and the coffee-room was in -the nicest order when we descended to our breakfast at six the next -morning. The tea-kettle singing on the hearth, the toast was hot, and -done to a turn, and the waiter was neither sleepy nor uncivil,--all, -again, very unlike a morning at an hotel in _La belle_ France. England -is described always very justly, and always in the same words, ‘it is -all one garden.’ There is scarce a cottage, between Dover and London -(seventy miles) where a poet might not be happy to live. I saw a hundred -little spots I coveted with quite a heart-ache. Everybody seemed -employed, and everybody well-made and healthy. The relief from the -deformity and disease of the way-side beggars of the Continent was very -striking.” - -It is through this England, thus worthy of our love, whether as seen by -our own eyes, or the eyes of intelligent foreigners, that we are about -to make our progress, visiting plain and mountain, farm and hamlet, and -making acquaintance with the dwellings, habits, and feelings of both -gentle and simple. - - -CHAPTER II. - -ENVIABLE POSITION OF THE ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMAN, AS REGARDS ALL THE -PLEASURES AND ADVANTAGES OF LIFE. - -Alexander of Macedon said if he were not Alexander, he would choose to -be Diogenes; Alexander of Russia also said if he were not Alexander, he -would choose to be an English gentleman. And truly, it would require -some ingenuity to discover any earthly lot like that of the English -gentleman. The wealth and refinement at which this country has arrived, -have thrown round English rural life every possible charm. Every art and -energy is exerted in favour of the English gentleman. Look at the -ancient castle, or the mansion of later ages, and then at the dwelling -of the private gentleman now, and what a difference! The castle with its -dungeon-like apartments, its few loop-holes for windows, its walls, -mounds, moats, drawbridges, and other defences to keep out the hostile -prowlers which a semi-savage state of society brought, ever and anon, -around it. Look at its naked walls, its massy, lumbering doors, its -floors spread with rushes, and the rude style in which bed and board -were constructed and served; and then turn your eyes on the modern -mansion of the country gentleman. What a lovely sight is that! What a -bright and pleasant abode, instead of that heavy, martial pile! What a -fair country--what a peaceful, well-ordered population surround it, -instead of dreary forests, and savage hordes! And look again at the -mansion of the feudal ages; see its large, cheerless, tapestried halls, -its ill-fitting doors and windows, through which the wintry winds come -whistling and careering. What naked, or rush-strewn floors still; what -rude fashion of furniture, and vessels for the table; what a rude style -of cookery; what a dearth of books; what a miserable and scanty display -of portraits on the walls, making those they are intended to represent, -look grim and hard as a generation of ogres. Then again, look at the -modern mansion. What a snug and silken nest of delight is that. See what -the progress of the arts and civilization has done for it. How light and -airily it rises in some lovely spot. How it is carpeted, and draped with -rich hangings and curtains. What soft and elegant beds; what a superior -grace in the fashion of furniture, and all household utensils. Silver -and gold, brass and steel, porcelain and glass, into what rich and -beautiful shapes have they been wrought by skilful hands for all -purposes. See what a variety of rooms; what a variety of inventions in -those rooms, which artificial and refined wants have called into -existence. What books enrich the fair library; what glorious paintings -grace its delicately-papered walls. Hark! music is issuing from -instruments of novel and most ingenious construction. And all around -what a splendidly cultivated country! What lovely gardens, in which -flowers from every region are blowing. Here is a vast change!--a vast -advance from the rude life of our ancestors; and the more we look into -the present state of domestic life, the more we shall perceive the -admirable perfection of its economy and arrangements. What was the life -of our great nobility formerly in their country halls? With little -intercourse with the capital; in the midst of huge forests, and almost -impassable roads; hunting and carousing were their chief pleasures and -employments, amid a throng of rude retainers. Look now at the mode of -life of a private gentleman of no extraordinary revenue. When he comes -down in a morning, he finds on his breakfast-table the papers which left -London probably on the previous evening, bringing him the news of the -whole world. There is nothing which is going on in Parliament, in the -courts of law, in public meetings in the capital, or in any town of the -kingdom; no birth, marriage, death, or any occurrence of importance, but -they are all laid before him; there is nothing done or said in the -mercantile, the literary, the scientific world, nothing which can affect -the interests of his country in the most remote degree; nothing, indeed, -which can thoroughly affect the well-being of men all the world over, -but there it is too. He sits in the midst of his woods and groves, in -the quietness of the country a hundred miles from the capital, and is as -well acquainted with the movements and incidents of society as a -reigning prince could have been some years ago, by couriers, -correspondents, spies, fast-sailing packets, and similar agencies, -maintained by all the aid and revenues of a nation. And for his morning -meal, China and the Indies, east and west, send him their tea, coffee, -sugar, chocolate, and preserved fruits. Lapland sends its reindeer -tongues; Westphalia its hams; and his own rich land abundance of rural -dainties. When breakfast is over, if he ask himself how he shall pass -the day, what numerous and inexhaustible resources present themselves to -his choice. Will he have music? The ladies of his family can give it -him, in a high style of excellence. Does he love paintings? His walls, -and those of his wealthy neighbours, are covered with them. There are -said to be more of the works of the great masters accumulated in our -English houses than in all the world besides. Is he fond of books? What -a mass of knowledge is piled up around him! Greece, Rome, Palestine, -Arabia, India, France, Germany, Italy, every country, ancient or modern, -which has distinguished itself by its genius and intelligence, has -poured into his halls its accumulated wealth of heart and imagination. -There is hoarded up in his library, food for the most insatiate spirit -for an eternity. In the literature and science merely of this country, -he possesses more than the enjoyment of a life. Think only of the works -of our historians and divines, of our travellers,--our natural, moral, -and scientific philosophers; of the wit, the pathos, the immense extent -of inventions and facts in our general literature; of the glorious and -ennobling themes of our great poets. What a mighty difference is there -between the existence of one of our old baronial ancestors, who could -not read, but as he sate over his winter fire solaced his spirit with -the lays of a wandering minstrel; and of him who has at his command all -the intellectual splendour, power and wit, the satire, the joyous story, -the humour, the elegance of phrase and of mind, the profound sentiment -and high argument of such men as Chaucer, Spenser, Ben Jonson, -Shakspeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Milton, Dryden, Addison, Steele, -Pope, Sam Johnson, Goldsmith, Cowper, and the noble poets of the present -day. Is it possible that _ennui_ can come near a man who can at any -moment call to his presence our Jeremy Taylors and Tillotsons, our -Barrows, Burnets, and Stillingfleets--our travellers from every corner -of the earth, and our great novelists with their everlasting inventions? -Why, there is more delight in one good country library, than any one -mortal life can consume. If a man’s house were situated in a desert of -sand, the magic of this divine literature were enough to raise around -him an elysium of perpetual greenness. - -But it is not merely within doors that the singular privileges of an -English gentleman lie. He need only step out, and he sees them -surrounding him on every side. His gardens--by the labours and -discoveries of centuries, by the genius of some men who have blended the -spirit of nature most happily with that of art, and by the researches of -others who have collected into this country the vegetable beauty and -wealth of the whole world--have been made more delightful than those of -Alcinous or Armida. Look at his glazed walls, his hot and green houses, -which supply his table with the most delicious dessert. But go -on--advance beyond the boundaries of his gardens, and the pleasant -winding walks of his shrubberies, and where are you? In the midst of his -park, his farms, his woods, and plantations. Now every one knows the -healthful and perpetual recreation to be found in any one of these -places; the intense delight which many of our country gentlemen take in -them, and the beauty and pre-eminence of our English parks, farms, and -woods, in consequence. We shall speak more particularly of them -presently; but it must not here be forgotten what a boundless field of -enjoyment, and increase of wealth, science has of late years opened to -the amateur farmer, and to the country gentlemen in general. To their -fields, agricultural chemistry, mineralogy, botany, vegetable -physiology, entomology, etc., have brought new and inexhaustible charms. -They have, in a manner, enlarged the territories of the smallest -proprietor into kingdoms of boundless extent and interest. In the study -of soils, their defects and remedies; in the selection of plants most -consonant to the earth in which they are to grow, or the adaptation of -the earth to them; in the inquiry into the mineral wealth that lies -below the surface; in cultivating an acquaintance with the various -animals, and especially insects, on whose presence or absence depends in -a great degree the proper growth or destruction of crops and young -woods: in all these the country gentleman has a source of noble and -profitable employment for the main part unknown to his ancestors, and -worthy of his most earnest pursuit. - -But, if all these means of happiness were not enough to satisfy his -desires, or did not chime in with his taste, see what another field of -animating and praiseworthy endeavour lies before him still, in the -official service of his country. Retaining his character of a country -gentleman, he can accept the office of a magistrate, and become, if so -disposed, a real benefactor and peacemaker to his neighbourhood. But he -need not stop here. There is no country, not excepting British America, -where the path of public service lies so open to a man of fortune, or is -so wide in its reach. He can enter Parliament; and residing part of the -year in the country, can during the other part take his place in an -assembly, that for the importance of its discussions and acts has no -fellow; for there is no other legislative assembly in the whole world -where, with similar freedom of constitution, the same mighty mass of -human interests is concerned--to which the same vast extent of influence -is appended. I need do no more in proof of this, than merely point to -the position of England amid the nations of the earth; her wealth and -activity at home; her enormous territories abroad. Over all this,--over -this extent of country, over these millions of beings, there is not a -single country gentleman who has the ambition, but who may be called to -exercise an influence. Here is a field of labour, enough of itself to -fill the amplest desires, and by which, if he have the talent, any man -of fortune may rise to the highest pitch of rank and distinction. - -But if the country gentleman have not the ambition, or the love of so -active a life; if he desire to enjoy himself in a different way, there -is yet abundant choice. He may travel, if he please; and what a rich -expanse of pleasures and interests lies before him in that direction. In -our own islands there is a variety of scenery not to be rivalled in the -same space in any other part of the world. The mountains, the lakes, the -rivers of Wales, Scotland, Ireland, those of Cumberland and Derbyshire; -the rich plains; the busy cities, with all their arts and curious -manufactures; our ports, with all their interesting scenes; the various -historical and antiquarian objects; the numerous breeds of cattle, -sheep, and horses; the varied kinds of vegetable products, and modes of -farming;--these, to a mind of any taste and intelligence, offer -plentiful matter of observation in short summer excursions. And what -splendid roads, fleet horses, convenient carriages, and excellent inns, -are ready to convey him on the way, or receive him for refreshment. If -he is disposed to go abroad, who has the money, or the education, to -give facility and advantage to travel in every region like the English -gentleman?--Such are the privileges and pleasures attendant on the -country gentleman of England. In all these he has, or may have, the -society of women whose beauty and intelligence are everywhere -acknowledged; and for the ladies of England living in the country, there -are books, music, the garden, the conservatory--an abundance of elegant -and womanly occupations. There are drives through woods and fields of -the most delicious character; there is social intercourse with -neighbouring wealthy families, and a host of kind offices to poor ones, -which present the sweetest sources of enjoyment. - -I think the extraordinary blessings and privileges of English rural life -have never been sufficiently considered. It is only when we begin to -count them up that we become aware of their amount, and surpassing -character. What is there of divine sentiment or earthly knowledge, of -physical, intellectual, or religious good; what is there of generous, -social, reflective, retiring or aspiring; what is there of freshness and -beauty; of luxurious in life, or preparatory to a peaceful death; what -is there that can purify the spirit, ennoble the heart, and prompt men -to a wise and extensive beneficence, which may not be found in English -rural life? It has every thing in it which is beautiful, and may become -glorious and godlike. - - Such golden deeds lead on to golden days, - Days of domestic peace--by him who plays - On the great stage how uneventful thought; - Yet with a thousand busy projects fraught, - A thousand incidents that stir the mind - To pleasure, such as leaves no sting behind! - Such as the heart delights in--and records - Within how silently--in more than words! - A Holiday--the frugal banquet spread - On the fresh herbage, near the fountain-head. - With quips and cranks--what time the woodlark there - Scatters his loose notes on the sultry air; - What time the kingfisher sits hushed below, - Where silver-bright the water-lilies blow:-- - A Wake--the booths whitening the village green, - Where Punch and Scaramouch aloft are seen; - Sign beyond sign in close array unfurled, - Picturing at large the wonders of the world; - And far and wide, over the Vicar’s pale, - Black hoods and scarlet crossing hill and dale, - All, all abroad, and music in the gale:-- - A Wedding Dance--a dance into the night, - On the barn-floor, when maiden feet are light; - When the young bride receives the promised dower, - And flowers are flung, herself a fairer flower: - A Morning-visit to the poor man’s shed, - (Who would be rich while one was wanting bread?) - Where all are emulous to bring relief, - And tears are falling fast--but not for grief;-- - A Walk in Spring--GRATTAN, like those with thee - By the heath-side (who had not envied me?) - When the sweet limes, so full of bees in June, - Led us to meet beneath their boughs at noon: - And thou didst say which of the great and wise, - Could they but hear and at thy bidding rise, - Thou would’st call up and question. - Graver things - Come in their turn. Morning and evening brings - Its holy office; and the sabbath bell, - That over wood and wild, and mountain-dell, - Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy, - With sounds most musical, most melancholy, - Not on his ear is lost. Then he pursues - The pathway leading through the aged yews, - Nor unattended; and when all are there, - Pours out his spirit in the House of Prayer,-- - That House with many a funeral-garland hung, - Of virgin white--memorials of the young; - The last yet fresh when marriage chimes were ringing, - And hope and joy in other hearts were springing;-- - That House where age led in by filial love,-- - Their looks composed, their thoughts on things above, - The world forgot, or all its wrongs forgiven-- - Who would not say they trod the path to Heaven? - - _Rogers’ Human Life._ - - -CHAPTER III. - -LIFE OF THE GENTRY IN THE COUNTRY. - -One of the chief features of the life of the nobility and gentry of -England, is their annual visit to the metropolis; and it is one which -has a most essential influence upon the general character of rural life -itself. The greater part of the families of rank and fortune flock up to -town annually, as punctually as the Jews flocked up to Jerusalem at the -time of the Passover; and it may be said for the purpose of worship too, -though worship of a different kind--that of fashion. A considerable -portion of them being, more or less, connected with one or other House -of Parliament, go up at the opening of Parliament, generally in -February, and remain there till the adjournment, often in July; but the -true season does not commence till April. - - When April verdure springs in Grosvenor Square, - Then the furred beauty comes to winter there.--_Rogers._ - -Much has been said of the evil effect of this aristocratic habit, of -spending so much time in the metropolis; of the vast sums there spent in -ostentatious rivalry, in equipage and establishments; in the -dissipations of theatres, operas, routes, and gaming-houses; and -unquestionably, there is much truth in it. On the other hand, it cannot -be denied that this annual assembling together has some advantages. A -great degree of knowledge and refinement results from it, amid all the -attendant folly and extravagance. The wealthy are brought into contact -with vast numbers of their equals and superiors, and that sullen and -haughty habit of reserve is worn off, which is always contracted by -those who live in solitary seclusion, in the midst of vast estates, -with none but tenants and dependents around them. They are also brought -into contact with men of talent and intelligence. They move amongst -books and works of art, and are induced by different motives to become -patrons and possessors of these things. If they spend large sums in -splendid houses and establishments in town, such houses and such -establishments become equally necessary to them in the country; and it -is by this means that, instead of old and dreary castles and chateaux, -we have such beautiful mansions, so filled with rich paintings and -elegant furniture, dispersed all over England. From these places, as -centres existing here and there, similar tastes are spread through the -less wealthy classes, and the elegances of life flow into the -parsonages, cottages, and abodes of persons of less income and less -intercourse with society. In town, undoubtedly, a vast number of the -aristocracy spend their time and money very foolishly; but it is equally -true, that many others spend theirs very beneficially to the country. -Men of fortune from all quarters of the kingdom there meet, and every -thing which regards the improvement of their estates is discussed. They -hear of different plans pursued in different parts of the kingdom. They -make acquaintances, and these acquaintances lead to visits, in which -they observe, and copy all that can add to the embellishment of their -abodes, and the value and productiveness of their gardens and estates. -If many acquire a relish only for Newmarket, and the gaming club, and a -strong distaste for the quiet enjoyments of the country; many, on the -other hand, come down to their estates after a season of hurry and -over-excitement, with a fresh feeling for the beauty and repose of their -country abodes. The possessors of great houses and estates, invite a -party to spend the recess, or especially the shooting season, with them. -Thus the world of fashion is broken up and scattered from the metropolis -into a multitude of lesser circles, and into every corner of the empire. -I can conceive nothing which bears on its surface the aspect of the -perfection of human society, so much as this assembling of a choice -party of those who have nothing to do but to enjoy life, in the house of -some hospitable wealthy man, in some one of the terrestrial paradises of -this kingdom,--far off, in some retired vale of England, where the -country and its manners remain almost as simple and picturesque as they -did ages ago. In some fine Elizabethan mansion, some splendid baronial -castle, as Warwick, Alnwick, or Raby; or in some rich old abbey; amid -woods and parks, or seated on one of our wild coasts; or amid the -mountains of Wales or Scotland, with all their beautiful scenery, rocks, -hanging cliffs, dashing waterfalls, rapid rivers, and fairy wildernesses -around them. Here, assembled from the crush and rush of London in its -fulness, with new books and new music brought down with them; with -plenty of topics suggested by the incidents of the past season in the -saloons of the fashionable, and in Parliament; with every luxury before -them; with fine shrubberies and parks, and with every vehicle and -facility for riding and driving through field or forest, or sailing on -river or ocean; if people are not happy in such circumstances, where is -the fault? - -And imagine the possessor of a noble estate coming down to receive his -friends there. To a high and generous mind there must be something very -delightful in it. When he enters his own neighbourhood, he enters his -own kingdom. The very market-town through which he last passes, is, -probably, totally or three-fourths of it his property. If he be a kind -and liberal man, the respect which is there testified towards him, has -in it the most cordial of flatteries. When he touches his own land, -every thing acknowledges his absolute sway. On all sides he sees -symptoms of welcome. Wherever he looks, they are the woods, the parks, -the fields of his ancestors, and now his own, that meet his eyes. The -freshness and greenness of the fields, the sombre grandeur of the woods, -the peaceful elegance of his house, all the odours of flowers breathing -through the rooms, and the sight of rich fruits on his walls and in his -hothouses; after the heat, dust, crowding, noise, political contention, -and turning night into day, of London, must be peculiarly grateful. Here -he is sole lord and master; and from him, he feels, flow the good of his -dependent people, and the pleasures of his distinguished guests. The -same where - - Far to the south a mountain vale retires, - Rich in its groves, and glens, and village spires; - Its upland lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung, - Its wizard stream, nor nameless nor unsung; - And through the various year, the various day, - Where scenes of glory burst and melt away.--_Rogers._ - -The hamlet, which shews its thatched roofs and lowly smoking chimneys -near, is all his own; nay, the rustic church is part and parcel of the -family estate. It was probably built and endowed by his ancestors. The -living is in his gift, and is perhaps enjoyed by a relative, or college -chum. The very churchyard, with its simple headstones, and green mounds, -is separated often only by a sunk fence from his grounds. It blends into -them, and the old grey tower lifts itself amongst trees which form one -majestic mass with his own. The sabbath-bell rings, and he enters that -old porch with his guests; he sees the banner of some brave ancestor -float above his head, and the hatchments and memorial inscriptions of -others on the walls. What can be more delicately flattering to all the -feelings of a human creature; what lot can be more perfect? - -The ease and perfect freedom from ceremony in these rural gatherings is -a feature which has always excited the admiration of foreigners. Every -guest has his own apartment, where he can retire at pleasure, and after -taking his meals in common can spend the day as he chooses. But, as I -have before said, we see our own customs and manners better in the -descriptions of foreigners, because they are described by them as they -are seen, with the freshness of novelty. Prince Pückler Muskau speaks -with enthusiasm of the country-houses and park scenery of England. His -book, indeed, is full of such pictures of country life and scenery. The -beautiful dairies which he sometimes found in noblemen’s parks delighted -him extremely. Thus he speaks of the one at Woburn Abbey:--“The dairy is -a prominent and beautiful object. It is a sort of Chinese temple, -decorated with a profusion of white marble, and coloured glasses; in the -centre is a fountain, and round the walls hundreds of large dishes and -bowls, of Chinese and Japan porcelain of every form and colour, filled -with new milk and cream. The ‘consoles’ upon which these vessels stand, -are perfect models for Chinese furniture. The windows are of -ground-glass, with Chinese painting, which shews fantastically enough by -the dim light.” - -But the testimony of Mr. Willis as an American, and therefore accustomed -to a life and sentiment more allied to our own, is still stronger. His -account of his visit to Gordon Castle is a perfect example of all such -scenes, and is an exact counterpart of the German Prince’s description -of the English “vie de château,” in his third volume, p. 311. - -“The immense iron gate, surmounted by the Gordon arms; the handsome and -spacious stone lodges on either side; the canonically fat porter, in -white stockings and grey livery, lifting his hat as he swung open the -massive portal, all bespoke the entrance to a noble residence. The road -within was edged with velvet sward, and rolled to the smoothness of a -terrace walk; the winding avenue lengthened away before with trees of -every variety of foliage; light carriages passed me, driven by gentlemen -or ladies, bound on their afternoon airing; a groom led up and down two -beautiful blood-horses, prancing along with side-saddles and morocco -stirrups; and keepers with hounds and terriers, gentlemen on foot, -idling along the walks, and servants in different liveries hurrying to -and fro, betokened a scene of busy gaiety before me. I had hardly noted -these various circumstances, before a sudden curve in the road brought -the castle into view,--a vast stone pile with castellated wings; and in -another moment I was at the door, where a dozen lounging and powdered -menials were waiting on a party of ladies and gentlemen to their several -carriages. It was the moment for the afternoon drive. - -“The last phaeton dashed away, and my chaise advanced to the door. A -handsome boy, in a kind of page’s dress, immediately came to the window, -addressed me by name, and informed me that his Grace was out -deer-shooting, but that my room was prepared, and he was ordered to wait -on me. I followed him through a hall lined with statues, deers’ horns, -and armour, and was ushered into a large chamber looking out on a park, -extending with its lawns and woods to the edge of the horizon. A more -lovely view never feasted human eye. - -“‘Who is at the castle?’ I asked, as the boy busied himself in -unstrapping my portmanteau. ‘O, a great many, sir’--he stopped in his -occupation, and began counting on his fingers a long list of lords and -ladies. ‘And how many sit down to dinner?’ ‘Above ninety, sir, besides -the Duke and Duchess.’ ‘That will do;’ and off tripped my slender -gentleman, with his laced jacket, giving the fire a terrible stir-up in -his way out, and turning back to inform me that the dinner hour was -seven precisely. - -“It was a mild, bright afternoon, quite warm for the end of an English -September, and with a fire in the room, and a soft sunshine pouring in -at the windows, a seat at the open casement was far from disagreeable. I -passed the time till the sun set, looking out on the park. Hill and -valley lay between my eye and the horizon; sheep fed in picturesque -flocks; and small fallow-deer grazed near them; the trees were planted, -and the distant forest shaped by the hand of taste; and broad and -beautiful as was the expanse taken in by the eye, it was evidently one -princely possession. A mile from the castle-wall, the shaven sward -extended in a carpet of velvet softness, as bright as emerald, studded -by clumps of shrubbery, like flowers wrought elegantly in tapestry; and -across it bounded occasionally a hare, and the pheasants fed undisturbed -near the thickets, or a lady with flowing riding-dress and flaunting -feather, dashed into sight upon her fleet blood-palfrey, and was lost -the next moment in the woods, or a boy put his pony to its mettle up the -ascent, or a gamekeeper idled into sight with his gun in the hollow of -his arm, and his hounds at his heels. And all this little world of -enjoyment and luxury and beauty lay in the hand of one man, and was -created by his wealth in those northern wilds of Scotland, a day’s -journey almost from the possession of another human being! I never -realized so forcibly the splendid results of wealth and primogeniture. - -“The sun set in a blaze of fire among the pointed firs crowning the -hills; and by the occasional prance of a horse’s feet on the gravel, and -the roll of rapid wheels, and now and then a gay laugh and many voices, -the different parties were returning to the Castle. Soon after, a loud -gong sounded through the galleries, the signal to dress, and I left my -musing occupation unwillingly to make my toilet for an appearance in a -formidable circle of titled aristocrats, not one of whom I had ever -seen, the Duke himself a stranger to me, except through the kind letter -of invitation lying on the table. - -“I was sitting by the fire, imagining forms and faces for the different -persons who had been named to me, when there was a knock at the door, -and a tall, white-haired gentleman, of noble physiognomy, but singularly -cordial address, entered with a broad red ribbon across his breast, and -welcomed me most heartily to the castle. The gong sounded at the next -moment, and in our way down, he named over his other guests, and -prepared me, in a measure, for the introductions which followed. The -drawing-room was crowded like a _soirée_. The Duchess, a tall and very -handsome woman, with a smile of the most winning sweetness, received me -at the door, and I was presented successively to every person present. -Dinner was announced immediately, and the difficult question of -precedence being sooner settled than I had ever seen it before in so -large a party, we passed through files of servants to the dining-room. -It was a large and very lofty hall, supported, at the ends, by marble -columns, within which was stationed a band of music playing -delightfully. The walls were lined with full-length family pictures, -from old knights in armour to the modern dukes in kilt of the Gordon -plaid; and on the sideboards stood services of gold plate, the most -gorgeously massive, and the most beautiful in workmanship I have ever -seen. There were, among the vases, several large coursing-cups, won by -the Duke’s hounds, of exquisite shape and ornament. - -“I fell into my place between a gentleman and a very beautiful woman, of -perhaps, twenty-two, neither of whose names I remembered, though I had -but just been introduced. The Duke probably anticipated as much, and as -I took my seat, he called out to me, from the top of the table, that I -had on my right, Lady ----, ‘the most agreeable woman in Scotland.’ It -was unnecessary to say that she was the most lovely. - -“I have been struck everywhere in England with the beauty of the higher -classes, and as I looked around me upon the aristocratic company at the -table, I thought I had never seen ‘Heaven’s image double-stamped as man, -and noble,’ so unequivocally clear. * * * The band ceased playing when -the ladies left the table; the gentlemen closed up, conversation assumed -a merrier cast, coffee and _liqueurs_ were brought in when the wines -began to be circulated more slowly, and at eleven there was a general -move to the drawing-room. Cards, tea, music, filled up the time till -twelve, and then the ladies took their departure, and the gentlemen sat -down to supper. I got to bed somewhere about two o’clock; and thus ended -an evening, which I had anticipated as stiff and embarrassing, but which -is marked in my tablets as one of the most social and kindly I have had -the good fortune to record on my travels. - -“I arose late in the morning, and found the large party already -assembled about the breakfast table. I was struck on entering, with the -different air of the room. The deep windows opening out upon the park, -had the effect of sombre landscapes in oaken frames; the troops of -liveried servants, the glitter of plate, the music, that had contributed -to the splendour of the scene the night before, were gone. The Duke sat -laughing at the head of the table, with a newspaper in his hand, dressed -in a coarse shooting-jacket and coloured cravat; the Duchess was in a -plain morning dress and cap of the simplest character; and the high-born -women about the table, whom I had left glittering with jewels, and -dressed in all the attractions of fashion, appeared in the simplest -_coiffure_ and a toilet of studied plainness. The ten or twelve noblemen -present were engrossed with their letters or newspapers over tea and -toast,--and in them, perhaps, the transformation was still greater. The -_soigné_ man of fashion of the night before, faultless in costume and -distinguished in his appearance--in the full force of the term--was -enveloped now in a coat of fustian, with a coarse waistcoat of plaid, a -gingham cravat, and hob-nailed shoes, for shooting; and in place of the -gay hilarity of the supper-table, wore a face of calm indifference, and -eat his breakfast, and read the paper in a rarely broken silence. I -wondered as I looked about me, what would be the impression of many -people in my own country, could they look in upon that plain party, -aware that it was composed of the proudest nobility and the highest -fashion of England. - -“Breakfast in England is a confidential and unceremonious hour, and -servants are generally dispensed with. This is to me, I confess, an -advantage it has over every other meal. I detest eating with twenty tall -fellows standing opposite, whose business it is to watch me. The coffee -and tea were on the table, with toast, muffins, oat-cakes, marmalade, -jellies, fish, and all the paraphernalia of a Scotch breakfast; and on -the sideboard stood cold meats for those who liked them, and they were -expected to go to it and help themselves. Nothing could be more easy, -unceremonious, and affable, than the whole tone of the meal. One after -another rose and fell into groups in the windows, or walked up and down -the long room, and, with one or two others, I joined the duke at the -head of the table, who gave us some interesting particulars of the -salmon-fisheries of the Spey. The privilege of fishing the river within -his lands is bought of him at the pretty sum of eight thousand pounds -a-year. - -“The ladies went off unaccompanied to their walks in the park and other -avocations; those bound for the covers, joined the gamekeepers, who were -waiting with their dogs in the leash at the stables; and some paired off -to the billiard-room. Still suffering from lameness, I declined all -invitations to the shooting parties, who started across the park, with -the dogs leaping about them in a frenzy of delight, and accepted the -duke’s kind offer of a pony phaeton to drive down to the kennels. The -duke’s breed, both of setters and hounds, is celebrated throughout the -kingdom. They occupy a spacious building in the centre of a wood, a -quadrangle enclosing a court, and large enough for a respectable -farm-house. The chief huntsman and his family, and perhaps a gamekeeper -or two, lodge on the premises, and the dogs are divided by palings -across the court. I was rather startled to be introduced into the same -enclosure with a dozen gigantic bloodhounds, as high as my breast, the -keeper’s whip in my hand, the only defence. I was not easier for the -man’s assertion, that, without it, they would ‘have the life out of me -in a crack.’ They came around me very quietly, and one immense fellow, -with a chest like a horse, and a head of the finest expression, stood up -and laid his paws on my shoulders, with the deliberation of a friend -about to favour me with some grave advice. One can scarce believe that -these noble creatures have not reason like ourselves. Those slender, -thoroughbred heads, large speaking eyes, and beautiful limbs and -graceful action, should be gifted with more than mere animal instinct. -The greyhounds were the beauties of the kennel, however; I never had -seen such perfect creatures. The setters were in the next division, and -really they were quite lovely. The rare tan and black dog of this race, -with his silky floss hair, intelligent muzzle, good-humoured face, and -caressing fondness, quite excited my admiration. There were thirty or -forty of these, old and young, and a friend of the duke’s would as soon -ask him for a church living, as for the present of one of them. The -former would be by much the smaller favour. Then there were terriers of -four or five breeds; of one family of which, long-haired, long-bodied, -short-legged, and perfectly white little wretches, the keeper seemed -particularly fond. * * * * - -“The routine of Gordon Castle was what each one chose to make it. -Between breakfast and lunch, the ladies were generally invisible, and -the gentlemen rode or shot, or played billiards, or kept in their rooms. -At two o’clock, a dish or two of hot game and a profusion of cold meats -were set on the small tables in the dining-room, and every body came in -for a kind of lounging half-meal, which occupied perhaps an hour. Thence -all adjourned to the drawing-room, under the windows of which were drawn -up carriages of all descriptions, with grooms, outriders, footmen, and -saddle-horses for gentlemen and ladies. Parties were then made up for -driving or riding, and from a pony-chaise to a phaeton-and-four, there -was no class of vehicle which was not at your disposal. In ten minutes -the carriages were usually all filled, and away they flew, some to the -banks of the Spey, or the sea-side, some to the drives in the park, and -with the delightful consciousness, that, speed where you would, the -horizon scarce limited the possession of your host, and you were -everywhere at home. The ornamental gates flying open at your approach, -miles distant from the castle; the herds of red-deer trooping away from -the sound of wheels in the silent park; the stately pheasants feeding -tamely in the immense preserves; the hares scarcely troubling themselves -to get out of the length of the whip; the stalking gamekeepers lifting -their hats in the dark recesses of the forest,--there was something in -this, perpetually reminding you of privileges; which, as a novelty, was -far from disagreeable. I could not at the time bring myself to feel, -what perhaps would be more poetical and republican, that a ride in the -wild and unfenced forest of my own country would have been more to my -taste. - -“The second afternoon of my arrival, I took a seat in the carriage with -Lord A., and we followed the duchess, who drove herself in a -pony-chaise, to visit a school on the estate. Attached to a small gothic -chapel, a five minutes’ drive from the castle, stood a building in the -same style, appropriated to the instruction of the children of the -duke’s tenantry. There were a hundred and thirty little creatures, from -two years to five or six, and like all infant schools, in these days of -improved education, it was an interesting and affecting sight. The last -one I had been in, was at Athens, and though I missed here the dark eyes -and Grecian faces of the Ægean, I saw health and beauty, of a kind -which stirred up more images of home, and promised, perhaps, more for -the future. * * * * - -“The number at the dinner-table of Gordon Castle was seldom less than -thirty; but the company was continually varied by departures and -arrivals. No sensation was made by either one or the other. A -travelling-carriage dashed up to the door, was disburdened of its load, -and drove round to the stables, and the question was seldom asked, ‘Who -is arrived?’ You are sure to see at dinner--and an addition of half a -dozen to the party, made no perceptible difference in any thing. -Leave-takings were managed in the same quiet way. Adieus were made to -the duke and duchess, and to no one else, except he happened to -encounter the parting guest upon the staircase, or were more than a -common acquaintance. In short, in every way the _gêne_ of life seemed -weeded out, and if unhappiness or _ennui_ found its way into the castle, -it was introduced in the sufferer’s own bosom. For me, I gave myself up -to enjoyment with an _abandon_ I could not resist. With kindness and -courtesy in every look, the luxuries and comforts of a regal -establishment at my freest disposal; solitude when I pleased, company -when I pleased,--the whole visible horizon fenced in for the enjoyment -of a household, of which I was a temporary portion, and no enemy except -time and the gout, I felt as if I had been spirited into some castle of -felicity, and had not come by the royal mail-coach at all.” - -This is one of the most perfect and graphic descriptions of English -aristocratical life in the country, which was ever written. It is, -indeed, on the highest and broadest scale, and is not to be equalled by -every country gentleman; but in kind and in degree, the same character -and spirit extend to all such life, and I have therefore taken the -liberty of transcribing Mr. Willis’s sketch as completely as my limits -would admit. Nothing, were a volume written on the subject, could bring -it more palpably and correctly before the mind of the reader; and I -think that if there be a perfection in human life, it is to be found, so -far as all the goods of providence and the easy elegances of society can -make it so, in the rural life of the English nobility and gentry. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE ROUTINE OF COUNTRY SPORTS. - -In my last chapter I took a view of the variety given to rural life by -the annual visit to town: but if a gentleman have no desire so to vary -his existence; if he love the country too well to leave it at all, most -plentiful are the resources which offer themselves for pleasantly -speeding on the time. If he be attached merely to field sports, not a -moment of the whole year but he may fill up with his peculiar enjoyment. -Racing, hunting, coursing, shooting, fishing, all offer themselves to -his choice; and rural sports, as every thing else in English life, are -so systematized; every thing belonging to them is so exactly regulated; -all their necessary implements and accessories, are brought to such an -admirable pitch of perfection by the advancement of the arts, that the -pleasures of the sportsman are rendered complete, and are diffused over -every portion of the year. Field sports have long ceased to be followed -in that rude and promiscuous manner which they were when forests overrun -the greater part of Europe, and hunting was almost necessary to -existence. Parties of hunters no longer go out with dogs of various -kinds--greyhounds, hounds, spaniels, and terriers, all in leash, as our -ancestors frequently did, ready to slip them on any kind of game which -might present itself, and with bows also ready to make more sure of -their prey. We have no battues, such as are still to be found in some -parts of the continent, and which used to be the common mode of hunting -in the Highlands, when the beasts of a whole district were driven into a -small space, and subjected to a promiscuous slaughter; a scene such as -Taylor the water-poet describes himself as witnessing in the Braes of -Mar; nor such as those perpetrated by the King of Naples in Austria, -Bohemia, and Moravia, in which he killed 5 bears, 1820 boars, 1950 deer, -1145 does, 1625 roebucks, 1121 rabbits, 13 wolves, 17 badgers, 16,354 -hares, 354 foxes, 15,350 pheasants, and 12,335 partridges. Such scenes -are not to be witnessed in this country. Every field sport is here -become a science. Hunting, coursing, shooting, each has its own season, -its well-defined bounds, its peculiar horses, dogs, and weapons. Our -horses and dogs, by long and anxious attention to the preservation of -their specific characters, and to the improvement of their breed, are -become pre-eminent, each in their own department. Our sporting nobility -and gentry have not contented themselves with becoming thoroughly -skilful in every thing relating to field diversions; but have many of -them communicated their knowledge through the press to their countrymen, -and have thus furnished our libraries with more practical information of -this kind than ever was possessed by any one country at any one time; -and contributed to make these pursuits as effective, elegant, and -attractive as possible. It is not my province to go into the details of -any particular sports; for them I refer the reader to Daniel, Beckford, -Col. Thornton, Sir John Sebright, Col. Hawker, Tom Oakleigh, Nimrod, and -the sporting magazines. My business is to shew how gentlemen may and do -spend their time in the country. And in the mere catalogue of -out-of-door sports, are there not racing, hunting, coursing, shooting, -angling? Hawking once was an elegant addition to this list; but that has -nearly fallen into disuse in this country, and may be said to exist only -in the practice of Sir John Sebright, and the grand falconer of England, -the Duke of St. Albans. Archery too, once the great boast of our -forests, and the constant attendant on the hunt, has, as a field -exercise, followed hawking. It has of late years been revived and -practised by the gentry as a graceful amusement, and an occasion for -assembling together at certain periods in the country; but as an adjunct -of the field sports it is past for ever. Racing, every one knows, is a -matter of intense interest with a great portion of the nobility, gentry, -and others; and those who delight in it, know where to find Newmarket, -Epsom, Ascot Heath, Doncaster, and other places, often to their cost: -almost every county and considerable town, has its course and annual -races. These, however, to the country gentleman, unless he be one whose -great and costly passion is for breeding and betting on race-horses, are -but occasional excitements: the rest run their round of seasons as -regularly as the seasons themselves; and place a lover of field sports -in the country at any point of the year, and one or more of them are -ready for his enjoyment. Is it winter? He has choice of all, except it -be angling. Hunting, coursing, shooting, are all in their full season. -Hunting, as I have said, is more confined in its range than it was -anciently; but it is more regular, less fatiguing, less savage in its -character, more complete in its practice and appointments. There is now -neither the boar, the bear, nor the wolf, to try the courage of our -youth, and stag and buck hunting may be considered as rare and almost -local amusements,--but we may quote the words of a great authority as to -the position which hunting occupies amongst the rural sports of England. -“There is certainly no country in the world, where the sport of hunting -on horseback is carried to such a height as in Great Britain at the -present day, and where the pleasures of a fox-chase are so well -understood, and conducted on such purely scientific principles. It is -considered the _beau idéal_ of hunting by those who pursue it. There can -be no doubt, that it is infinitely superior to stag-hunting, for the -real sportsman can only enjoy that chase, when the deer is sought for, -and found like other game which are pursued by hounds. In the case of -finding an out-lying fallow-deer, which is unharboured in this manner, -great sport is frequently afforded; but this is rarely to be met with in -Great Britain: so that fox-hunting is now the chief amusement of the -true British sportsman: and a noble one it is--the artifices and -dexterity employed by this lively, crafty animal, to avoid the dogs, are -worthy of our admiration, as he exhibits more devices for -self-preservation than any other beast of the chase. In many parts of -this and the sister island, hare-hunting is much followed, but -fox-hunters consider it as a sport only fit for women and old men,--but, -although it is less arduous than that of the fox-chase, there are charms -attached to it which compensate for the hard riding of the other.” - -I do not enter here into the question of cruelty in this sport, nor into -the other question of injury resulting from it to crops and fences, on -which grounds many so strongly object to hunting, and on the former -ground, indeed, to all field sports. Lord Byron, for instance, thought -hunting a barbarous amusement, fit only for a barbarous country. It is -not my intention to undertake the defence of this old English sport from -the standing charge against it, we here have only to deal with it as a -feature of rural life; and though one cannot say much in praise of its -humanity, it cannot be denied that it is a pursuit of a vigorous and -exciting character. A fine field of hunters in their scarlet coats, -rushing over forest, heath, fence or stream, on noble steeds, and with a -pack of beautiful dogs in full cry, is a very picturesque and animating -spectacle. - -Through the winter, then, up to the very approach of spring, hunting -offers whatever charms it possesses; pheasant, woodcock and snipe -shooting, in the woods and by the streams, are in all their glory. It is -the time for pursuing all manner of wild fowl, in fens and along the -sea-coast; and if any one would know what are the eager and adventurous -pleasures of that pursuit, let him join some old fowler for a week -amongst the reeds of Cambridge, Huntingdon, or Lincolnshire,--now laying -his traps and springes, now crouching amongst the green masses of flags -and other water plants, or crawling on hands and knees for a shot at -teal, widgeon, or wild duck; now visiting the decoys, or shooting right -and left amongst the rising and contorting snipes. Or let him read Col. -Hawker’s delightful description of swivel shooting on the coasts, the -mud-launchers and followers of the sea flocks by night. Those are sports -which require a spice of enthusiasm and love of adventure far above the -pitch of the ordinary sportsman. - -When spring arrives, and warns the shooter to give rest to the -creatures of his pursuit, that they may pair, produce, and rear their -broods; as he lays down the gun, he can take up the angle. Many a keen -and devoted old sportsman, however, never knows when to lay down the -gun. Though he will no longer fire at game, he likes through the spring -and summer months to carry his gun on his arm through the woods, to -knock down what he calls vermin,--stoats, weazels, polecats, jays, -magpies, hawks, owls; all those creatures that destroy game, or their -young broods, or suck their eggs. He is fond of spying out the nests of -partridges and pheasants, and from time to time marking their progress. -It is a grand anticipative pleasure to him when, passing along the -furrow of the standing corn, his old pointer, or favourite spaniel -starts the young birds just able to take the wing, and he counts them -over with a silent exultation. He is fond of seeing to the training of -his young dogs, of selecting fresh ones, of putting his fowling-pieces -and all his shooting gear in order. There are some old sportsmen of my -acquaintance, who, during what they call this idle time, have made -collections of curious birds and small animals which might furnish some -facts to natural history. An old uncle of mine in Derbyshire, who has -shot away a fine estate, I scarcely ever recollect to have seen out of -doors without his gun. I saw him lately, when in that county, a feeble, -worn-out old man, just able to totter about, but still with the gun on -his arm. For those, however, who can find it in their hearts to lay -aside the gun at the prescribed time, and yet long for rural sports, -what can so delightfully fill up the spring and summer as the -fishing-rod? There is no rural art, except that of shooting, for which -modern science and invention have done so much as angling. Since Izaak -Walton gave such an impetus to this taste by his delicious old book, it -has gradually assumed a new and fascinating character. A host of -contrivances have been expended on fishing tackle. What splendid rods -for simple angling, trolling, or fly-fishing, are now offered to the -admiring eyes of the amateur! what a multitude of apparatus of one kind -or other! what silver fish and endless artificial flies Angling has -become widened and exalted in its sphere with the general expansion of -knowledge and the improvement of taste. It has associated itself with -the pleasures and refinements of literature and poetry. All those charms -which worthy Izaak threw round it, have continued to cling to it, and -others have grown up around them. The love of nature, the love of travel -have intertwined themselves with the love of angling. Angling has thence -become, as it were, a new and more attractive pursuit--a matter of taste -and science as well as of health and pleasure. It is found that it may -not only be followed by the tourist without diverting him from his -primal objects, but that it adds most essentially to the delights of a -summer excursion. Since Wordsworth and John Wilson set up their -“Angler’s Tent” on the banks of Wast-Water, “at the head of that wild -and solitary lake, which they had reached by the mountain-path that -passes Barn-Moor-Tarn from Eskdale,” making an angling excursion of -seven days amongst the mountains of Westmoreland, Lancashire, and -Cumberland, having “their tent, large panniers filled with its -furniture, provisions, etc., loaded upon horses, which, while the -anglers, who separated every morning, pursued each his own sport up the -torrents, were carried over the mountains to the appointed place, by -some lake or stream, where they were to meet again in the evening;” and - - that solitary trade, - Mid rural peace in peacefulness pursued, - Through rocky glen, wild moor, and hanging wood, - White flowering meadow, and romantic glade; - -since Sir Humphry Davy went angling and philosophising in the mountain -tarns, and along the trout and salmon streams not only of Scotland and -Ireland, but of France and Switzerland, the enthusiasm for angling has -grown into a grand and expansive passion. We have our “Anglers in -Wales,” our “Anglers in Ireland;” Stephen Oliver has flourished his -lines over the streams of the north, Jesse over the gentle and majestic -Thames. The only wonder is, that, as our countrymen walk to and fro -through all known regions of the earth, we do not hear of anglers in the -Danube--the Ister--the Indus--the Joliba,--of trolling in La Plata, and -fly-fishing in South Africa and Australia. All that will come in its own -good time: meanwhile let us remind our country friends of the further -blessings which await them, even should all the rapid streams of our -mountain rivers and rivulets, Loch Leven trout, Loch Fine herrings, and -salmon pulled flouncing from the crystal waters of the Teith or the -Shannon, to be crimped and grilled by most delicious art, satiate them -before the summer is over. The 12th of August approaches! the gun is -roused from its slumber--the dogs are howling in ecstasy on their -release from the kennel--the heather is burst into all its crimson -splendour on the moors and the mountains, and grouse-shooting is at hand -once more! - -That sentence is enough to make a sportsman start to his feet if it were -but whispered to him in his deepest after-dinner doze. In “The Book of -the Seasons” I asserted that sportsmen felt the animating influence of -nature and its beauty in their pursuits. For that passage many have been -the gentle lectures of the tender-hearted; but that it was a true -passage has been shewn by the thanks which many sportsmen have given me -for that simple vindication, and by the repeated quotation of the whole -article in their books. That they do feel it, is plainly shewn in many -papers of the sporting magazines; but nowhere more vividly than in “The -Oakleigh Shooting Code.” If the unction with which the paper on -grouse-shooting is written in that book were more diffused through works -of the like nature, vain would be all arguments to check the love of -shooting. The feeling on this subject has been evidenced by the avidity -with which that part of the book has been quoted far and wide. But the -spirit of the picturesque is not more prominent in these chapters than -in the description of Oakleigh Hall, and of the “wide-ranging treeless -view of the smooth-turfed limestone hills, the white rocks breaking out -in patches, so characteristic of Derbyshire.” - -But we are pausing on our way to the Highlands; and surely nothing can -be so inspiring and exciting in the whole circle of sporting scenes as a -trip to the moors and mountains of the north, in the height of -summer--in the beauty of summer weather, and in the full beauty of the -scenery itself. If the season is fine--the roads are dry--the walks are -dry--the bogs are become, many of them, passable, the heather is in full -bloom, the fresh air of the mountains, or the waters in sailing thither, -the rapid changes of scene, the novel aspects of life and nature in -progressing onward, by the carriage, the railway, the steamer, with all -their varying groups of tourists and pleasure-seekers, of men of -business and men of idleness, are full of enjoyment. To the man from the -rich monotonous Lowlands, from the large town, from the heart of the -metropolis perhaps, from the weary yoke of business, public or private, -of law, of college study, of parliament and committees, what can be more -penetrating and delicious than the breathing of the fresh buoyant air, -the pleasant flitting of the breeze, the dash of sunny waters, the -aspect of mountains and moors in all their shadow and gloom, or in their -brightness as they rise in their clear still beauty into the azure -heavens, or bask broad and brown in the noon-sun? There go the happy -sportsmen; seated on the deck of some fast-sailing steamer, with human -groups around them; they are fast approaching the “land of the mountain -and the flood.” They already seem to tread the elastic turf, to smell -the heather bloom, and the peat fire of the Highland hut; to climb the -moory hill, to hear the thunder of the linn, or pace the pebbly shore of -the birch-skirted lake. They have left dull scenes or dry studies -behind, and a volume of Walter Scott’s novels is in their hands, living -with all the character and traditions of the mountain-land before them. -Well then, is it not a blessed circumstance that our poets and romancers -have kindled the spirit of these things in the heart of our countrymen, -that such places lie within our own island, and that science has so -quickened our transit to them? Let us just note a few of the symptoms -which shew us that this memorable 12th of August is at hand. In the -market towns you see the country sportsman hastening along the streets, -paying quick visits to his gunsmith, ammunition dealer, tailor, draper, -etc. He is getting all his requisites together. His dogs are at his -heels. Then you see him already invested in his jacket and straw hat, -driving off in his gig, phaeton, or other carriage, with keeper or -companion, and perhaps a couple of dogs stowed away with him. You see -the keeper and the dog-cart on their way too. As you get northward these -signs thicken. In large towns, as Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, -Edinburgh, you see keeper-like looking men, with pointers and setters -for sale tied up to some palisade, or lamp-post, at the corner of a -street. But woe to those who have to purchase dogs under such -circumstances. It is ten to one but they are grievously gulled; or if -they _should_ chance to stumble upon a tolerable dog, there is not time -for that mutual knowledge to grow up which should exist between the -sportsman and his companion of the field. He that sees beforehand his -trip to the hills, should beforehand have all in readiness: he who on a -summer ramble is smitten with a sudden desire of grouse-shooting, must -however, do the best he can. - -When you pass into Scotland, the signals of the time grow more -conspicuous. In the newspapers, you see everywhere advertisements of -Highland tracts to be let as shooting-grounds. When you get into the -Highlands themselves, you find in all the inns maps of the neighbouring -estates, divided into shooting-grounds for letting. It is very probable -that the income derived from this source by the Highland proprietors -frequently far exceeds the rental of the same estates for the grazing of -sheep and cattle. The waters and the heaths seem to be the most -profitable property of a great part of the Highlands. Almost every -stream and loch is carefully preserved and let as a trout or salmon -fishery, many of them for enormous sums; and so far is this carried, -that sportsmen who are not inclined to pay eighty or a hundred pounds -a-year for a shooting ground, complain that Ireland is the only country -now for shooting in any degree of freedom. Sometimes several gentlemen -join at a shooting ground; and it is a picturesque sight to see them, -and their dogs and keepers, drawing towards their particular locations -as the day approaches. - -On the 10th of August, 1836, we sailed up the Grand Caledonian Canal -from Fort William to Inverness in the steam-packet with a large party of -these gentlemen. Of their number, principally military men-- - - Captains, and colonels, and men at arms; - -some notion may be formed from the fact that we had on board upwards of -seventy dogs, mostly beautiful setters; a perfect pyramid of gun-cases -was piled on the deck, and dog-carts and keepers completed the scene. - -One of the singular features of English life at the present moment is -the swarming of summer tourists in all interesting quarters. In these -Highland regions the consequent effect is often truly ludicrous. Into -one miserable village, or one poor solitary inn, pour, day after day, -the summer through, from seventy to a hundred people. The impossibility -of such a place accommodating such a company is the first thing which -strikes every one. The moment, therefore, that the vessel touches the -quay, out rushes the whole throng, and a race commences to the house or -village to secure beds for the night. Such is the impetus of the rush -that the first arrivers are frequently driven by the “pressure from -without” up the stairs to the very roof. A scene of the most laughable -confusion is exhibited. All are clamouring for beds; nobody can be heard -or attended to; and generally all who can, burst into rooms which are -not locked up, and take forcible possession. Such scenes, any one who -has gone up this canal, or to the Western Isles must have seen,--at -Oban, at Tobermory, and at Inverness, which last place boasts three -inns, and where, on our arrival with a hundred fellow-passengers, we -found three hundred others had just landed from a London steamer! Our -sportsmen, however, who were well aware of the statistics of the north, -had written beforehand, and secured bed-rooms at all the -sleeping-places, which were duly locked up against their arrival, and -they sate very composedly to witness the race of worse-informed mortals. - -On this occasion a very characteristic contrast was presented between -the sportsmen and a number of students who were on board at the time. -These students, many of whom spend the college recess in pedestrianizing -through the Highlands, have a character almost as peculiar to themselves -as the German Bürschen. In twos and threes, with their knapsacks on -their backs, they may be seen rambling on, wherever there is fine -scenery or spots of note to be visited. They step on board a packet at -one place, and go off at another, steering away into the hills; ready to -take up their quarters at such abode as may offer--the road-side inn or -the smoky hut of the Gael. Wherever you see them, they are all curiosity -and enthusiasm; all on fire with the sublime and beautiful--athirst for -knowledge; historical, antiquarian, traditionary, botanical, -geological--anything in the shape of knowledge. They are the first to -climb the hill, to reach the waterfall, to crowd round every spot of -tragic interest; everywhere they go agog with imagination, and -everywhere they lament that they do not feel adequately, the power, and -beauty, and grandeur of the objects of their attention. Such a group we -had on board. On the other hand, the sportsmen had but one object, -which absorbed all their interests and faculties. They cared not at that -moment for the Fall of Foyers, saw scarcely the splendid mountains and -glens around. Their souls were in the brown hills of their shooting -grounds--the fever of the 12th of August was upon them. They kept -together, talking of guns, dogs, grouse, roebucks; all their -conversation was larded and illustrated with the phraseology of their -own favourite pursuit. They were, many of them, clad in a close jacket -and trousers of shepherd’s tartan, with their telescope slung at their -backs. They seemed to look on the students as so many hair-brained and -romantic striplings--the students on them, as so many creatures of the -chase. As we proceeded, the fiery Nimrods were, one after another, put -out at the opening of beautiful glens, and at the foot of wild mountains -where their huts lay, and the vessel received a considerable accession -of silence by the departure of their keepers, who, having found a -Highland piper on board, got up a dance in the steerage cabin, and kept -that end of the vessel pretty well alive both day and night. Having thus -brought them to their grounds, there can be no better narrator of what -passes there than Thomas Oakleigh. - -“On the 11th of August the sportsman arrives at his shooting quarters; -probably some isolated tavern, ‘old as the hills,’--if such a house as -the grouse-shooter occasionally locates himself in, in the northern or -midland counties of England, or in Scotland, where oatcake and peat -supply the place of bread and fuel, can be called a tavern. The place, -humble in character, has been the immemorial resort of sportsmen in -August, although during the rest of the year, sometimes many months -elapse ere a customer, save some itinerant salesman calling for his mug -of beer, ‘darkens the door.’ * * * At the house will be found all the -keepers, and tenters, and poachers, and young men from the country -round, assembled, amounting in the whole to not more than some eight or -ten persons, all _knowing ones_, each anxious to display his knowledge -of the number and locality of the broods, but each differing, wide as -the poles asunder, in his statement, except on four points, in which all -are agreed, viz.--_That the hatching season has been finer than was ever -known before! That the broods are larger and more numerous than were -ever counted before! That the birds are heavier and stronger than were -ever seen before! and that they will, on the following day, lie better -than they ever did on any previous opening day in the recollection of -the oldest person present!_ Each successive season being, in their idea, -more propitious than its precursor! Anxiety and expectation are now -arrived at a climax. At night, the blithe and jocund peasantry mingle -with their superiors: their pursuits are for once something akin. In the -field-sports they can sympathize together: the peasant and the peer -associate; the plough-boy and the squire talk familiarly together; it is -the privilege of the former, his prescriptive right. The circling cup, -and lighthearted and hilarious laugh promiscuously go round! This night -distinctions are unknown--and would that it were oftener so! * * * Long -before midnight, all who can obtain beds retire, though not an eye is -drowsy. The retainers lie on sofas, elbow-chairs, or whatever else -presents itself; but sleep is almost a stranger during the night. The -soldier before battle, is not more anxious as to the result of the -morrow, than is the sportsman on the night of the 11th of August! -Morning dawns, ‘and heavily with _mists_ comes on the day.’ The -occupiers of benches and chairs are first on the alert: the landlady is -called; breakfast is prepared--the dogs are looked at; all is tumult, -noise, and confusion. Reckless must he be that can rest longer in -bed--‘the cootie moor-cocks crowsely crow;’ breakfast is hastily -dispatched--next is heard the howling and yelping of dogs, the cracking -of whips, the snapping of locks, the charging, and flashing, and firing -of guns, and every other note of preparation. The march is sounded, and -away they wind for the heather and hills, true _peep-o’-day boys_, far, -far from the busy, money-getting world, to breathe empyreal air; to -enjoy a sport that should be monopolized by princes--if, indeed, princes -could be found deserving of such a monopoly! Every person the shooter -meets with seems this day to have thrown off his sordid cloak, and to be -divested of those meaner passions which render life miserable: all are -now warm, open-hearted, frank, sincere, and obliging. The sportsman’s -shooting-dress is a sibboleth, which introduces him alike to his -superiors, to his fellows, and his inferiors: an acquaintance is formed -at first sight: there are no distant looks, no coldness, no outpouring -of arrogance, or avarice, or pride; but a happy rivalry exists, to -eclipse each other in the number and size of birds killed--the chief -object of emulation being to kill the finest old cock. Let us be -understood to express that this happy state of things subsists only so -long as the shooter’s peregrinations are circumscribed by the limits of -his own or friend’s manor. The moment he becomes a borderer, a very -different reception awaits him! To the sportsman in training, full of -health and strength, and well appointed, it is of little consequence -whether there be game or not. The inspiriting character of the sport, -and the wild beauty of the scenery, so different from what he is -elsewhere in the habit of contemplating, hold out a charm that dispels -fatigue! He feels not the drudgery. To him the hills are lovely in every -aspect; whether beneath a hot, autumnal sun, with not a cloud to -intercept the torrid beam, or beneath the dark canopy of thunder-clouds; -whether in the frosty morn or in the dewy eve--whether, when through the -clear atmosphere he surveys, as it were in a map, the countries that lie -stretched around and beneath him, or when he wanders darkly on, amidst -eternal mists that roll continuously past him--still a charm pervades -the hills. The sun shines brighter, and the storm rages more furiously -than in the valleys! The very sterility pleases: and to him who has been -brought thither by the rapid means of travelling now adopted, from some -bustling mart of trade or vortex of fashion, the novelty of loneliness -is agreeably exciting! The stillness that reigns around is as wonderful -to him as the solidity of land to the stranded sailor! Scarcely is there -a change of scene--stillness and solitude, hill and ravine, sky and -heather, everywhere magnificent, the outline everywhere bold, and where -the view terminates amid rocks and crags, frequently sublime! At -noonday, near some rocky summit, perchance on the shepherd’s stone, the -shooter seats himself, and shares his last sandwich with his panting -dogs. We will suppose him to be on the boundary of the muir-lands: on -one hand he sees an unbounded expanse of heathery hills, by no means -monotonous if he will look upon them with the eye of a painter, for -there is every shade of yellow, green, brown, and purple,--the last is -the prevailing colour at this season, the heather being in bloom: nor -are the hills monotonous, if he looks at them with the eye of a -sportsman, for by this time (we suppose him to have been shooting all -the morning) he will have performed many feats, or at any rate will have -met with several adventures, and the ground before him is the field of -his fame. He now looks with interest on many a rock, and cliff, and -hill, which lately appeared but as one of so many ‘crags, knolls, and -mounds confusedly hurled!’ He contemplates the site of his achievements, -as a general surveys a field of battle during an interval of strife; the -experience of the morning has taught him a lesson, and he plans a fresh -campaign for the afternoon, or the morrow, or probably the next season, -should the same hills be again destined to be the scene of his exploits. -The shooter looks down on the other hand from his rocky summit, and, in -the bright relief, through the white rents in the clouds, sees the -far-off meadows and hamlets, the woods, the rivers, and the lake. He -rises, and renews his task. The invigorating influence of the bracing -wind on the heights, lends the sportsman additional strength--he puts -forth every effort, every nerve is strained--he feels an artificial glow -after nature is exhausted, and returns to the cot where he had -previously spent a sleepless night, to enjoy his glass of grog, and such -a _snooze_ as the citizen never knew!” - -This is a graphic and true picture of the outset of grouse-shooting; but -it is but one amongst many of the exciting situations and picturesque -positions which this fine sport presents. There is a wide difference, -too, between the grouse-shooting of the north of England and of the -Highlands. On the English moors, the majority of shooters who assemble -there, are the friends or acquaintances of the proprietors, or of their -friends and acquaintances, who have received invitations, or procured -the favour to shoot for a day or two at the opening of the season. The -outbreak on the morning of the 12th, is therefore proportionably -multitudinous and bustling. The throng of the people on the preceding -evening, crowded into the inns and cottages in the neighbourhood where -the best shooting lies, is often amazing. Many sportsmen, who on other -occasions would think scorn to enter such a hovel, or jostle in such a -crowd, may be seen waiting in patient endurance, in a situation in which -a beggar would not envy them. Others will be seen stretched on their -cloaks on the floor, while their dogs are occupying their beds, or the -soft bottom of a huge old chair; their great anxiety being, to have -their dogs fresh and able for the coming day. At the faintest peep of -dawn, which is about three o’clock at that season, loud is the sound of -guns on all sides, going off farther and farther in the distance. At -noon, on some picturesque and breezy hill, you may see a large party -congregated to luncheon, where provisions and drink have been conveyed -by appointment. There, ten or a dozen sportsmen seated on the ground, -all warm in body and mind--their dogs watching eagerly for their share -of the feast, which is thrown them with liberal hand--their guns reared -against some rock--their game thrown picturesquely on the moorland -turf--Flibbertigibbets, with their asses who have brought up the baskets -of provisions, the keg of beer, and bottles of porter, are running about -and acting the waiters in a style of genuine originality; while keepers -and markers are at once lunching and keeping an eye on the dogs, lest -they are too troublesome to their masters; who are all talking together -with inconceivable ardour of their individual achievements. The -situation, the mixture of men and animals, of personages and costumes, -all go to make up a striking picture. On the English moorlands, however, -grouse-shooting is but as it were a brilliant and passing flash. As the -enjoyment of the sport is generally a matter of grace and friendship, -and is sought by numbers who can only devote to the excursion, at the -best, a few days, it is a scene of animation and havoc for a week or ten -days, and then its glory is over. During this time, however, the keepers -on many estates make a rich harvest, by presents from gentlemen for -attendance and guidance to the best haunts of the game--by the loan of -dogs at good interest to such as have not come well provided, or have -met with accidents, or whose dogs, as is sometimes the case, unused to -this kind of sport and scenery, have bolted and disappeared at the first -general discharge of guns; and by furnishing, _sub rosâ_, grouse at a -guinea a brace to certain luckless braggadocios, who have boastingly -promised to various friends at home plenty of game from the moors; and -have not been able to ruffle a single feather! In the Highlands the -scene is different. The grounds are more generally rented by individuals -or parties; they are wider and wilder, and both from their extent and -distance from the populous districts of England are more thinly -scattered with shooters. There, some of the sportsmen take their -families to their cottages on their shooting-ground, and on which they -have probably bestowed some trouble and expense, to render them -sufficiently comfortable and convenient for a few months’ occasional -summer sojourn, and what in nature can afford a more delicious change -from the ordinary course and place of life? Up far amongst the wild -mountains and moorlands, amid every fresh and magnificent object--amid -fairyland glens of birch and hills of pine, the sight of crystal, rapid, -sunny streams, and the sound of waterfalls, in the lands of strange and -startling traditions. To intelligent children full of the enjoyment of -life and healthful curiosity, in such scenery every thing is wonderful -and delightful; to ladies of taste, such a life for a brief season must -be equally pleasant. There are some ladies, indeed, of the highest rank, -who are in the regular habit of spending a certain portion of every year -in the Highlands; and one in particular, of ducal rank, who at that -season rambles far and wide amongst the cottages and the beautiful -scenery of her native hills, telling her daughters, that if they there -indulge in English luxuries, they must prepare them themselves,--such is -the simplicity of her mountain residence and establishment; and they -take their Cook’s Oracle, and wonderfully enjoy the change. The language -and costume of the inhabitants are those of a foreign country; every -object has its novelty, and the little elegancies of books, music, and -furniture, which can be conveyed to such an abode, strike all the more -from the stern nature without. Then there is the finest fishing in the -lochs and mountain-streams, the most delightful sailing in many places, -and in the woods there are the shy roebuck and sometimes the red-deer to -be pursued. The grouse and black-cock shooting season is, therefore, -longer and steadier there; but the full perfection of its enjoyment is -to be found, perhaps, after all, only by the happy mortal who makes one -of the select party collected at one of the great Highland houses of the -aristocracy, where the best shooting, every requisite of horses, dogs, -attendants, etc., are furnished--and where, after the fatigues of the -day, the sportsman returns to his own clean room, to an excellent -dinner, music, and refined society. But, amid all these seductions, -nothing will make the thorough English sportsman forget the first of -September. Back he comes, and enters on that regular succession of -partridge, pheasant, woodcock, snipe, and wild-fowl shooting, of hunting -and coursing, which diversify and fill up the autumn and winter of -English rural life. To these pleasures then we leave him. - - -A WORD WITH THE TOO SENSITIVE. - -I have not attempted to defend the hunter, the courser, or even the -shooter, in the preceding chapter, from the charge of cruelty which is -perpetually directed against them--they are a sturdy, and now a very -intelligent people; often numbering amongst them many of our principal -senators, authors, and men of taste, and very capable of vindicating -themselves; but I must enact the shield-bearer for a moment, for that -very worthy and much-abused old man, Izaak Walton, and the craft which -he has made so fashionable. Spite even of Lord Byron’s jingle about the -hook and gullet, and a stout fish to pull it, they may say what they -will of the old man’s cruelty and inconsistency--the death of a worm, a -frog, or a fish, is the height of his infliction, and what is that to -the ten thousand deaths of cattle, sheep, lambs, fish, and fowl of all -kinds, that are daily perpetrated for the sustenance of these same -squeamish cavillers! They remind me of a delicate lady, at whose house I -was one day, and on passing the kitchen door at ten in the morning, saw -a turkey suspended by its heels, and bleeding from its bill, drop by -drop. Supposing it was just in its last struggles from a recent -death-wound, I passed on, and found the lady lying on her sofa -overwhelmed in tears over a most touching story. I was charmed with her -sensibility; and the very delightful conversation which I held with her, -only heightened my opinion of the goodness of her heart. On accidentally -passing by the same kitchen door in the afternoon, six hours afterwards, -I beheld, to my astonishment, the same turkey suspended from the same -nail, still bleeding, drop by drop, and still giving an occasional -flutter with its wings! Hastening to the kitchen, I inquired of the -cook, if she knew that the turkey was not dead. “O yes, sir,” she -replied, “it won’t be dead, may-happen, these two hours. We always kill -turkeys that way, it so improves their colour; they have a vein opened -under the tongue, and only bleed a drop at a time!” “And does your -mistress know of this your mode of killing turkeys?” “O yes, bless you -sir, it’s our regular way; missis often sees ’em as she goes to the -gardens--and she says sometimes, ‘Poor things! I don’t like to see ’em, -Betty; I wish you would hang them where I should not see ’em!’” I was -sick! I was dizzy! It was the hour of dinner, but I walked quietly away, - - And ne’er repassed that _bloody_ threshold more! - -I say, what is Izaak Walton’s cruelty to this, and to many another such -perpetration on the part of the tender and sentimental? What is it to -the grinding and oppression of the poor that is every day going on in -society,--to the driving of wheels and the urging of steam-engines, -matched against whose iron power thousands daily waste their vital -energies? What is it to the laying on of burdens of expense and trouble -by the exactions of law, of divinity, of custom,--burdens grievous to be -borne, and which they who impose them, will not so much as touch with -one of their little fingers? - - They sit at home and turn an easy wheel, - And set sharp racks to work to pinch and peel.--_John Keats._ - -These things are done and suffered by human beings, and then go the very -doers of these things, and cry out mightily against the angler for -pricking the gristle of a fish’s mouth! - -I do not mean to advocate cruelty--far from it! I would have all men as -gentle and humane as possible; nor do I argue that because the world is -full of cruelty, it is any reason that more cruelty should be tolerated: -but I mean to say, that it is a reason why there should not be so much -permission to the greater evils, and so much clamour against the less. -Is there more suffering caused by angling than by taking fishes by the -net? Not a thousandth,--not a ten thousandth part! Where one fish is -taken with a hook, it may be safely said that a thousand are taken with -the net: for daily are the seas, lakes, and rivers swept with nets; and -cod, haddock, halibut, salmon, crabs, lobsters, and every species of -fish that supplies our markets, are gathered in thousands and ten -thousands--to say nothing of herrings and pilchards by millions. Over -these there is no lamentation; and yet their sufferings are as -great--for the suffering does not consist so much in the momentary -puncture of a hook, as in the dying for lack of their native element. -Then go these tender-hearted creatures and feast upon turtles that have -come long voyages nailed to the decks of ships in living agonies; upon -crabs, lobsters, prawns, and shrimps, that have been scalded to death; -and thrust oysters alive into fires; and fry living eels in pans, and -curse poor anglers before their gods for cruel monsters, and bless their -own souls for pity and goodness, forgetting all the fish-torments they -have inflicted! - -“Ay, but”--they turn round upon you suddenly with what they deem a -decisive and unanswerable argument--“Ay, but they cannot approve of -making the miseries of sentient creatures a pleasure.” What! is there no -pleasure in feasting upon crabs that have been scalded, and eels that -have been fried alive? In sucking the juices of an oyster, that has -gaped in fiery agony between the bars of your kitchen grate? But the -whole argument is a sophism and a fallacy. Nobody _does_ seek a -pleasure, or make an amusement of the misery of a living creature. The -pleasure is in the pursuit of an object, and the art and activity by -which a wild creature is captured, and in all those concomitants of -pleasant scenery and pleasant seasons that enter into the enjoyment of -rural sports;--the _suffering_ is only the _casual adjunct_, which you -would spare to your victim if you could, and which any humane man will -make as small as possible. And over what, after all, do these very -sensitive persons lament? Over the momentary pang of a creature, which -forms but one atom in a living series, every individual of which is both -pursuing and pursued, is preying, or is preyed upon. The fish is eagerly -pursuing the fly, one fish is pursuing the other, and so it is through -the whole chain of living things; and this is the order and system -established by the very centre and principle of love, by the beneficent -Creator of all life. The too sensitively humane, will again -exclaim--“Yes, this is right in the inferior animals: it is their -nature, and they only follow the impulse which their Maker has given -them.” True; but what is right in them, is equally right in man;--the -argument applies with double force in his case. For, is there no such -impulse implanted in him? Let every sportsman answer it; let the history -of the world answer it; let the heart of every nine-tenths of the human -race answer it. Yes, the very fact that we do pursue such sports, and -enjoy them, is an irrefragable answer. The principle of chase and taking -of prey, which is impressed on almost all living things, from the -minutest insect to the lion of the African desert, is impressed with -double force on man. By the strong dictates of our nature, by the very -words of the Holy Scriptures, every creature is given us for food; our -dominion over them, is made absolute. The amiable Cowper asserted that -dogs would not pursue game, if they were not taught to do so. We admit -the excellent nature of the man, but every day proves that, in this -instance, he was talking beyond his knowledge. Every one who knows -anything of dogs, knows, that if you bring them up in a town, and keep -them away from the habits of their own class to their full growth, the -moment they get into the country they will pursue each their peculiar -game, with the utmost avidity, and after their own manner. There is -then, unquestionably, an instinctive propensity in one animal to prey -upon another--in man pre-eminently so--and it is not the work of wisdom -to quench this tendency, but to follow it with all possible gentleness -and humanity. - - -CHAPTER V. - -SCIENTIFIC FARMING. - - Res rustica, sine dubitatione, proxima, et quasi consanguinea - Sapientiæ est. - - _Columella De Re Rustica._ - - Oh, blessed, who drinks the bliss that Hymen yields, - And plucks life’s roses in his quiet fields.--_Ebenezer Elliot._ - - -There may be a difference of opinion as to the strict utility or wisdom -of the pursuits noticed in the last chapter;--of the excellence and -rationality of those which form the subject of this, there can be none. -Nothing can be more consonant to nature, nothing more delightful, -nothing more beneficial to the country, or more worthy of any man, than -the Georgical occupations which form so prominent a feature in the rural -life of England. Whether a country gentleman seek profit or pleasure in -them, he can, at any time, find them. While he is increasing the value -of his estate, he is in the midst of health, peace, and a series of -operations which have now become purely scientific, and have called in -to their accomplishment various other sciences and arts. In every age of -the world agricultural pursuits have formed the delight of the greatest -nations and the noblest men. Some of the most illustrious kings and -prophets of Israel were taken from the fold or the plough. David and -Elisha are great names in the history of rural affairs. King Uzziah -“built towers in the desert, and digged many wells, for he had much -cattle both in the low country and in the plains; husbandmen also, and -vinedressers in the mountains, and in Carmel, for he loved husbandry.” -How delightful are the associations which the literature of Greece and -Rome has thrown around country affairs! Homer, Hesiod, and -Theocritus--how elysian are the glimpses they give us into rural life! -how simple, how peaceful, how picturesque! Laertes, that venerable old -monarch, pruning his vines, and fetching young stocks from the woods for -his fences. Eumeus, at his rustic lodge, entertaining his prince and his -king. Hesiod himself, wandering at the feet of Helicon, less impressed -with the sublimity of the poet than with the spirit of the husbandman! -He shews us the very infancy of agriculture: - - Forget not when you sow the grain, to mind - That a boy follows with a rake behind; - And strictly charge him, as you drive, with care - The seeds to cover, and the birds to scare. - - _Works and Days_, B. 2. - -The harrow, an implement well known to King David, for he put the -subjected Ammonites under it, was unknown then in Greece! They _raked_ -in the grain. That was but the second stage in the progress of tillage; -the first undoubtedly being that in which their plough was a pointed -stick, and their harrow a bush; as the most ancient drawing of hay-forks -shews that they were forked sticks cut from the thicket. But to leave -those primitive times of Greece,--there is no nation that at once -acquired so vast a military renown and yet retained such a passion for -the peaceful pursuits of agriculture as Rome. Nothing is so soon -familiarized to the mind of the school-boy as the fact of their -generals, dictators, and emperors tilling their own lands--leaving them -with reluctance for state honours, and retiring to them with gladness to -end their days in meditative tranquillity. Cicero tells us that couriers -were first introduced by them, to run between the capitol and their -farms, that they themselves might leave them only on most important -occasions. Almost every one of their writers on rural affairs, whose -works have reached us, were men of distinction in the state. Varro was -consul; Cato, the most remarkable man of his time, filled the highest -offices; Columella and Palladius were men of note; and Pliny, a -patrician officer, was governor of Spain. But what is more remarkable -even is, that such men as Virgil, Horace, and Cicero, men of -imaginative genius, and so involved in court life, or the business of -government, should be such passionate lovers of rural concerns. Everyone -knows how their writings overflow with the praises of country life, and -what delight they took in their farms and villas. Cicero seems as though -he could never have done with telling us of the pleasure he took in -farming. “I might expatiate,” he says, “on the beauty of verdant groves -and meadows, on the charming aspects of vineyards and olive-yards, but -to say all in one word, there cannot be a more pleasing, or a more -profitable scene than that of a well-cultivated farm. In my opinion, -indeed, no kind of occupation is more fraught with happiness, not only -as the business of husbandry is of singular utility to mankind, but, as -I have said, being attended with its own peculiar pleasures. I will add -too, as a further recommendation, and let it restore me to the good -graces of the voluptuous, that it supplies both the table and the altar -with the greatest variety and abundance. Accordingly, the magazines of -the skilful and industrious farmer are plentifully stored with wine and -oil, with milk, cheese, and honey; as his yards abound with poultry, and -his fields with flocks and herds of kids, lambs, and porkets. The garden -also furnishes him with an additional source of delicacies, in allusion -to which the farmers pleasantly call a certain piece of ground allotted -to that particular use, their _dessert_. I must not omit, likewise, that -in the intervals of their more important business, and in order to -heighten the relish of the rest, the sports of the field claim a share -of their amusements. * * * Of country occupations I profess myself a -warm admirer. They are pleasures perfectly consistent with every degree -of advanced years, as they approach the nearest of all others to those -of the purely philosophical kind. They are derived from observing the -nature and properties of their own earth, which yields a ready obedience -to the cultivator’s industry, and returns with interest what he deposits -in her charge.”--_De Senectute._ - -He then goes on to tell us what delight he took in the cultivation of -the vine; in watching the springing and progress of corn; the green -blade pushing forth, shooting into a knotted stem, nourished and -supported by the fibres of the root, terminated in the ear in which the -grain is lodged in regular order, and defended from the depredations of -birds by its bearded spikes. He tells us that he could name numbers of -his most distinguished friends and neighbours, and some of them at very -advanced ages, who take such interest in all that is going on at their -farms, that they will be present at every important agricultural -operation--many of them engaged in improvements of which they will see -neither the benefit nor the end. “And what,” says he, “do these noble -husbandmen, when they are asked for what purpose they dig and plant, -reply,--‘In obedience to the immortal gods, by whose bountiful -providence we received these fields from our ancestors, and whose will -it is that we should deliver them down with improvement to posterity!’” -And this generous and high sense of duty it was which animated the -Romans during the better portion of their republic, and kept alive their -virtue and their simplicity of life, so far as to give them power to -despise wealth, and to command the fortunes of other men. Cicero is -delighted with this noble principle, and he reverts with enthusiasm to -the picture of Manlius Curius, who, after having conquered the Samnites, -the Sabines, and even Pyrrhus himself, passed the honourable remainder -of his age in cultivating his farm. He adds, “I can never behold his -villa without reflecting with the highest degree of admiration both on -the singular moderation of his mind, and the general simplicity of the -age in which he flourished. Here it was, while sitting by his fireside, -that he nobly rejected the gold which was offered him on the part of the -Samnites, and rejected it with this memorable saying, ‘that he placed -his glory, not on the abundance of his own wealth, but in commanding -those amongst whom it abounded.’” With equal exultation he refers to the -enthusiasm into which Xenophon in his treatise of ŒCONOMICS breaks forth -in the praise of agriculture, and relates the interview of Lysander, the -Spartan ambassador, with Cyrus the younger, as told by Socrates to his -friend Critobulus, in which Cyrus assures Lysander that all the trees, -shrubs, etc., which he admired in his garden, were planted by his own -hand. - -But if such were the charms which agriculture had for the Roman -nobility, how much greater ought it to possess for the nobles and -gentlemen of England! Amid all the advantages and recreations which have -been pointed out in the preceding chapters as surrounding the country -life of modern England, that of scientific farming is certainly one of -the greatest. It is a pursuit full of interest and variety, at once -natural, philosophical, and dignified. It is difficult to imagine a man -of wealth and education more usefully or honourably employed than in -directing the culture and improvement of his estate. Agriculture is now -become, indeed, as Cicero termed it in his day, “the nearest of all -employments to the purely philosophical kind.” It is a science which -requires a first-rate education to prosecute it to its full capability, -to make the other arts and sciences of modern times bear upon it, and -co-operate with it, so as to add something to its progression, or even -to apply beneficially the knowledge of its already established -principles and practices.[1] It is no longer an occupation which -requires a man to forego the refined pleasures of society, to bury -himself amid woods and wildernesses in some obscure hamlet far from the -enjoyments and intelligence of the world. As we have already seen, -locate himself where he will in these islands, the arts, the elegances, -the news and knowledge of civilized life, will penetrate to him by swift -agencies, and give him all the real advantages of the city in the peace -and fulness of his retirement. And what a noble art is agriculture now -become! Look at the manner it is now practised by the most skilful of -its professors. Let any one just turn over the leaves of Mr. Loudon’s -Encyclopædia of Agriculture, and trace the progress of its implements -only, from the plough of the ancients in the shape of a mere pick, to -the almost endless machines which the active brains of men and their -advancing knowledge of mechanics have given to the scientific farmer. -Let any one turn to the list of engravings of farming apparatus in the -same excellent work, amounting to about 300, and he will obtain some -idea of the amount of science and invention now devoted to the use of -the agriculturist. There are no men who have availed themselves of the -progress of the arts and of general knowledge more than they. Mechanics, -chemistry, hydraulics, steam, all have been seized upon, to develope the -principles, or facilitate the operations of agriculture. Within the -last century the strides which have been made in this interesting -department of knowledge are admirable. The Netherlands may be said to -have been the mother of our modern agriculture--Scotland its nurse. -Tull’s system of horse-hoeing and drill husbandry has been introduced by -Dawson, and has brought after it a numerous train of drills, -dibbling-machines, horse-hoes, ploughs, rollers, scufflers, scarifiers, -watering-machines, brakes, drill-harrows, etc., which we now see almost -everywhere where the old system of plain ploughing, harrowing, and -broad-cast sowing prevailed to the infinite loss of seed and growth of -weeds. Then comes the thrashing machine invented by Menzies, and -improved by Meikle from stage to stage, successively adapted to horses, -wind, water, and eventually the giant power of steam, thus giving to the -operations of the barn a rapidity equal to the skill and neatness -displayed in the field. The scientific genius of Sir Humphry Davy, -Thompson, Fourcroy, Parmentier, Kirwan, Gay Lussac, and many other -eminent chemists, have been employed to investigate more accurately the -real nature of soils and manures, and a vast increase of productive -power has been the result. Bones, a source of fertility till of late -entirely wasted, have done wonders; rape-dust, malt-dust, oil, fish, -salt, wood and peat ashes, soot, gypsum, and many other substances, have -been made the active agents of human subsistence. The best mixture of -crops has been determined by numerous experiments; and the benefits of -stall-feeding clearly demonstrated. Mangel-würzel, trifolium -incarnatum--a plant which from its rich crimson hue would be an ornament -of our fields even were it not a profitable production--and other -vegetables, have been added to that plenteous growth of clover, dills, -lucerne, rape, turnips, etc., with which modern tillage has enriched -both summer and winter stalls. The improvement of the breed of cattle -and sheep by Bakewell of Dishly, and the Culleys; the growth of finer -and better wools by the introduction and crossing with the Merino by -Lord Somerville and others, have been as remarkable as the superior -cultivation of the soil. The science of draining has found devotees -equally ardent, and has produced the most striking consequences. In many -instances the mere act of draining has quadrupled the produce of land. -In the weald of Kent, land which produced only a rental of five -shillings an acre, has been raised by this process to five-and-twenty. -And all these objects have been watched over, canvassed, and stimulated -by the establishment of agricultural societies, agricultural journals -and newspapers, and ploughing matches. Agricultural associations are now -to be found in almost every county, and in different districts of the -same county, which offer premiums on the best specimens of horses, -cattle, and sheep; the best ploughing, and the most steady and -industrious farm and household servants. It is a new feature in rural -life, to see the whole farming population of a district hastening on a -given day, gentlemen, farmers, and farm-servants all in their best -array, to some one spot where the cattle are shewn, the ploughing is -done, the prizes are awarded by umpires chosen from the most skilful, -and the different parties then going to a good dinner, and a long talk -and hearty toasting of all the interests of agriculture. - - [1] This education is now likely to be extended to the great body of - farmers. In Ireland, at Templemoyle, a college is established where - the sons of farmers are instructed in every branch of science which - can enable them to pursue agriculture successfully, while they daily - work certain hours on the farm attached, thus making a familiar - practical acquaintance with all the best processes of cultivation - under the ablest professors. Similar colleges are also contemplated - for England. - -It is really too, as curious to see on our scientific farms the vast -variety of implements and machines which these causes have -produced;--ploughs--about a dozen and a half swing-ploughs, and upwards -of a dozen wheel-ploughs of different constructions, and by different -patentees; harrows, drills, cultivators. Every species of soil and crop -has its peculiar apparatus; in the field and the farm-yard; for getting -seed into the ground, clearing and dressing when there, for thrashing it -out and cleaning it for market; for sowing peas, beans, turnips, -carrots, parsnips, etc., for chopping, slicing, and preparing them for -cattle; their machines for tedding hay, for stacking it with least -possible risk, for cutting and steaming it; for ploughing up weeds, -ploughing up moorlands, and even roads; for reaping by wholesale, and -raking by wholesale; for tapping deep springs, and guttering the surface -for the escape of top-water; there are their machines for paring and -levelling lumpy lands; for cross-cutting furrows to make rough mossy -land take seed better; their channels, sluices, and schemes for -irrigation. And then, who shall tell all their implements for -hay-binding, rope-twisting, furze-pounding for cattle; their novel -churns, their ratteries, their new-fangled mole-traps, their -poultry-feeders, and pheasant-feeders, by which those birds are enabled -to help themselves from tin boxes supplied with grain for them, without -feathered depredators being able to go shares with them. Truly Solomon -might say that men now-a-days have sought out many inventions! - -But who shall calculate all the thoughts and the labours of such men as -Fitzherbert, Tusser, Gooch, Platt, Hartlib, Weston, Markham, Sir Walter -Raleigh, Sir John Norden, John Evelyn, Worlidge, Stillingfleet, Harte, -Arthur Young, Maxwell, Lord Kaimes, Sir John Sinclair, etc. etc.? Who -shall aggregate and estimate the numerous and valuable suggestions and -articles of anonymous writers in the journals; and the personal labours -and fostering influence of such men as the late Dukes of Buccleugh, and -of Bedford, the Duke of Portland, Earl Spencer, the late Lord -Somerville, Mr. Coke of Holkham, now the Earl of Leicester, and many -other noblemen and gentlemen who have spent their lives in the -unostentatious but most meritorious endeavour to perfect the -agricultural science of England? With the exception of naturalists, -there are no men whose pursuits seem to me to yield them so much real -happiness as intelligent agriculturists whose hearts are in the -business; and though there are men whose offices or professions place -them more in the public eye, there are none who are more truly the -benefactors of their country. Such were Lord Somerville and the Duke of -Buccleugh, as described by Sir Walter Scott; and there is a passage in -his memoir of the latter nobleman well worth the notice of those who -propagate or believe in the nonsense of the economists on the -non-influence of absenteeism. “In the year 1817, when the poor stood so -much in need of employment, a friend asked the Duke why his Grace did -not prepare to go to London in the spring? By way of answer, the Duke -shewed him a list of day-labourers then employed in improvements on his -different estates, the number of whom, exclusive of his regular -establishments, amounted to _nine hundred and forty-seven persons_. If -we allow to each labourer two persons, whose support depended on his -wages, the Duke was in a manner foregoing, during this severe year, the -privilege of his rank, in order to provide with more convenience for a -little army of nearly three thousand persons, many of whom must -otherwise have found it difficult to obtain subsistence. The result of -such conduct is twice blessed; both in the means which it employs, and -in the end which it attains in the general improvement of the country. -This anecdote forms a good answer to those theorists who pretend that -the residence of proprietors on their estates is a matter of -indifference to the inhabitants of that district. Had the Duke been -residing, and spending his revenue elsewhere, one half of these poor -people would have wanted employment and food; and would probably have -been little comforted by any metaphysical arguments upon population, -which could have been presented to their investigation.”--_Scott’s Prose -Works_, vol. 4. - -Many such things may be daily heard of the present Duke of Portland, in -the neighbourhood of Welbeck Abbey, in Nottinghamshire; which convince -you that he is one of those men that contrive to pass through life -without much noise, but reaping happiness and respect in abundance, and -while gratifying the taste for rural occupation, conferring the most -lasting benefits upon the country. I shall close this section of this -chapter with the _substance_ of one such act, related to me some years -ago. In the manner of relation it may therefore differ somewhat from -that in which originally told, but in fact I believe it to be perfectly -correct. The Duke found that one of his tenants, a small farmer, was -falling, year after year, into arrears of rent. The steward wished to -know what should be done. The Duke rode to the farm; saw that it was -rapidly deteriorating, and the man, who was really an experienced and -industrious farmer, totally unable to manage it, from poverty. In fact, -all that was on the farm was not enough to pay the arrears. “John,” said -the Duke, as the farmer came to meet him as he rode up to the house, “I -want to look over the farm a little.” As they went along,--“Really,” -said he, “every thing is in very bad case. This won’t do. I see you are -quite under it. All your stock and crops won’t pay the rent in arrear. I -will tell you what I must do. I must take the farm into my own hands. -You shall look after it for me, and I will pay you your wages.” Of -course there was no saying nay,--the poor man bowed assent. Presently -there came a reinforcement of stock, then loads of manure,--at the -proper time, seed, and wood from the plantations for repairing gates and -buildings. The Duke rode over frequently. The man exerted himself, and -seemed really quite relieved from a load of care by the change. Things -speedily assumed a new aspect. The crops and stock flourished; fences -and outbuildings were put into good order. In two or three rent days, -it was seen by the steward’s books that the farm was paying its way. The -Duke on his next visit, said, “Well, John, I think the farm does very -well now. We will change again. You shall be tenant again; and as you -now have your head fairly above water, I hope you will be able to keep -it there.” The Duke rode off at his usual rapid rate. The man stood in -astonishment; but a happy fellow he was, when on applying to the steward -he found that he was actually re-entered as tenant to the farm just as -it stood in its restored condition;--I will venture to say, however, -that the Duke himself was the happier man of the two. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER VI. - -PLANTING. - - “Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a - tree; it will be growing, Jock, when _ye’re sleeping_.”--_Heart of - Mid-Lothian._ - -What we have just said of the pleasures and benefit of scientific -farming, may be said also of planting; it is but another interesting -mode of employing time by landed proprietors, at once for recreation and -the improvement of their estates. What, indeed, can be more delightful -than planning future woods, where, perhaps, now sterile heather, or -naked declivities present themselves; clothing, warming, diversifying in -imagination your vicinity; then turning your visions into realities, and -watching the growth of your forests? Since John Evelyn wrote his -eloquent Sylva, and displayed the deplorable condition of our woodlands, -and since Dr. Johnson penned his sarcastic Tour to the Hebrides, both -England and Scotland have done much to repair the ravages made in the -course of ages in our woods. A strong spirit on the subject has grown up -in the minds of our landed gentry, and vast numbers of trees of all -kinds suitable to our climate have been planted in different parts of -the island. The Commissioners of Woods and Forests have made extensive -plantations of oak in the New Forest, and other places. In the -neighbourhood of all gentlemen’s houses we see evidences of liberal -planting: and the rich effect of these young woods is well calculated to -strengthen the love of planting. In this part of Surrey, wood, indeed, -seems the great growth of the country. Look over the landscape from -Richmond Hill, from Claremont, from St. George’s or St. Anne’s Hill, and -it is one wide sea of wood. The same is the case in the bordering -regions of Buckingham and Berk shires. Richmond Park, Hampton-Court -Park, Bushy Park, Claremont and Esher Parks, Oatlands, Painshill, -Windsor, Ockham, Bookham--the whole wide country is covered with parks, -woods, and fields, the very hedge-rows of which are dense, continuous -lines of trees. Look into the part of Kent approaching the metropolis -from the heights of Norwood, and the prospect is the same. Many of the -extensive commons hereabout, as Bookham and Streatham commons, are -scattered with fine oaks, some of them very ancient, and diversified -with thickets and green glades, and rather resemble old forests and -parks, than commons as seen elsewhere. Then again, the sandy heaths of -Surrey are covered in many places with miles of Scotch firs. There -certainly is no want of wood in these parts. In the sandy wastes of Old -Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire, many thousand acres, principally of -larch, have been planted on the estates of the Dukes of Portland and -Newcastle, Lord Scarborough, Earl Manvers, Colonels Need, Wildman, and -other proprietors. Even the cold hills of the Peak of Derbyshire have -been planted in some parts extensively; and lands in those districts -which were literally unproductive, are now a source of considerable -income from the thinning of the woods. In Scotland the same change is -very visible. All along the borders the good lands are beautifully -cultivated, the bad extensively planted. From the dreary flats about -Gretna Green to the borders of Northumberland and Berwickshire, this is -the case. Passing into Scotland by the Cheviots, we saw extensive woods -on the border lands of the Duke of Northumberland, Earl Tankerville, Mr. -Collingwood, Mr. St. Paul, etc. The cold and wild tract between Kelso -and Edinburgh presents cheering appearances of the extension of the -planting spirit. In the counties of Argyle, Ross, and Inverness, which -Monteith of Stirling, in his Forester’s Guide, particularly points out -as wanting wood, we were struck with the great extent of planting -already done. Every summer tourist up the Clyde sees how much the woods -round Roseneath have sheltered and beautified it--and the woods around -Inverary Castle are, to a great extent, very splendid--while all the -way thence to Oban you pass through mountain glens and over moorlands -enriched with woods. The Duke of Athol, about Athol and Dunkeld, has -planted upwards of 15,000 acres. The Duke of Montrose has been a great -planter. Sir Walter Scott was a diligent planter, as the young woods -round Abbotsford testify; and there are no moments of his life in which -we can imagine him happier than when mounted on his pony he progressed -through his plantations at his leisure, with his pruning-knife in his -hand. But what he did on his own estate is trivial to what he did by his -writings. He may be said to have planted more trees by his pen than any -man alive has with his spade. He himself tells us that the simple words -put into the mouth of the Laird of Dumbiedikes, and placed as a motto at -the head of this chapter, induced a certain Earl to plant a large tract -of country. - -In the neighbourhood of Dingwall, Beuley, Beaufort,--from Inverness to -Culloden,--in short, in almost every part of the Highlands,--you find -extensive young woods of larch and pine. Many of these, it must be -confessed, have apparently been made with more regard to profit than -beauty. In many of the sweet straths, and along the feet of the -mountains, the long monotonous reaches of larch--an unbroken, unvaried -succession of pointed pyramids--present but an indifferent contrast to -the free slopes of beauty which the native growth of the birches -exhibits; dotting glens and embosoming lochs with a fairyland -loveliness. As they become large, and are thinned properly, or rather, -where they are planted thinly, on the plan of the Duke of Athol, this -defect may be remedied. Scotch firs, when large, assume a wild forest -majesty; and larches in mountainous situations, of an ancient growth, -have an Alpine sweep of boughs that is extremely picturesque and -graceful; but young crowded firs of any kind are too formal for beauty. - -Mr. Wordsworth, in his Guide to the Lakes of Westmoreland and -Cumberland, complains grievously of the injury done to the scenery -there, by the injudicious planting of larch. “Larch and fir plantations -have been spread, not merely with a view to profit, but in many -instances for the sake of ornament. To those who plant for profit, and -are thrusting every other tree out of the way, to make room for their -favourite, the larch, I would utter first a regret, that they should -have selected these lovely vales for their vegetable manufactory, when -there is so much barren and irreclaimable land in the neighbouring -moors, and in other parts of the island, which might have been had for -this purpose at a far cheaper rate.--It must be acknowledged that the -larch, till it has outgrown the size of a shrub, shews, when looked at -singly, some elegance of form and appearance, especially in spring, -decorated, as it then is, by the pink tassels of its blossoms; but, as a -tree, it is less than any other pleasing. Its branches--for boughs it -has none--have no variety in the youth of the tree, and little dignity -even when it attains its full growth; _leaves_ it cannot be said to -have, consequently affords neither shade nor shelter. In spring, the -larch becomes green long before the native trees, and its green is so -peculiar and vivid, that, finding nothing to harmonize with it, wherever -it comes forth a disagreeable speck is produced. In summer, when all -other trees are in their pride, it is of a dingy, lifeless hue; in -autumn, of a spiritless unvaried yellow; and in winter, it is still more -lamentably distinguished from any other deciduous tree of the forest, -for they seem only to sleep, but the larch seems absolutely dead. If an -attempt be made to mingle thickets, or a certain proportion of other -forest trees, with the larch, its horizontal branches intolerantly cut -them down, as with a scythe, or force them to spindle up to keep pace -with it. The terminating spike renders it impossible that the several -trees, where planted in numbers, should ever blend together so as to -form a mass, or masses of wood. Add thousands to tens of thousands, and -the appearance is still the same--a collection of separate individual -trees, obstinately presenting themselves as such; and which, from -whatever point they are looked at, if but seen, may be counted upon the -fingers. Sunshine, or shadow, has little power to adorn the surface of -such a wood; and the trees not carrying up their heads, the wind raises -amongst them no majestic undulations.” - -There is much truth in these remarks, and they cannot be too much borne -in mind by all planters where picturesque beauty is an object. On dreary -moors, where the larch is planted merely for profit, and where the -_tout-ensemble_ cannot readily be attained, woods of it often present a -great degree of pleasantness by contrast. They give you green glades -and narrow footpaths, between heath and fern, their slender boughs -hanging above you, especially in the freshness of their foliage, very -agreeably. As a matter of profit, and for the value of its timber, few -species of wood can compete with it. The following extract from the -Transactions of the Highland Society, gives a very striking view of its -importance. “Larch will supply ship-timber at a great height above the -region of the oak; and while a seventy-four gun ship will require the -oak timber of seventy-five acres, it will not require more than the -timber of ten acres of larch; the trees, in both cases being sixty-eight -years old. The larch, at Dunkeld, grows at the height of 1300 feet above -the level of the sea; the spruce at 1200; the Scotch pine at 700; and -deciduous trees at not higher than 500. The larch, in comparison with -the Scotch pine, is found to produce three and three-quarter times more -timber, and that timber of seven times more value. The larch also, being -a deciduous tree, instead of injuring the pasture under it, improves it. -The late Duke of Athol, John the Second, planted in the last year of his -life, 6500 Scotch acres of mountain ground solely with the larch, which -in the course of seventy-two years from the time of planting will be a -forest of timber fit for the building of the largest class of ships in -her majesty’s navy. It will have been thinned out to about 400 trees per -acre. Each tree will contain at the least fifty cubic feet, or one load -of timber, which, at the low price of one shilling the cubic foot, only -one half of its present value, will give 1000_l._ per acre, or in all, a -sum of 6,500,000_l._ sterling. Besides this there will have been a -return of 7_l._ per acre from the thinnings, after deducting all expense -of thinning, and the original outlay of planting. Further still, the -land on which the larch is planted, is not worth above ninepence or one -shilling per acre. After the thinnings of the last thirty years, the -larch will make it worth at least ten shillings per acre by the -improvement of the pasturage, on which cattle can be kept summer and -winter.” - -That is pretty well. This calculation is made upon land stated at 1_s._ -per acre, planted with larch; but Monteith, an experienced timber -planter and valuer, gives us for oak planted on land of 1_l._ per acre -yearly rent, the following statement. - -“If the proprietor, for instance, plants 100 acres of ground, the trees -being placed four feet distant from each other, each acre will contain -3422 plants. If it be planted with hard woods, chiefly oaks, and a few -firs to nurse them up, supposing it is a plantation purely for profit, -the expense of plants and planting, - - per acre, will be 6_l._ £ 600 0 0 - - Rent of land for ten years, at 1_l._ per acre, - per annum 1000 0 0 - - Interest on rent 225 0 0 - - Expenses of thinning, pruning, and training up - for 10 years, at 1_l._ per acre per annum 1000 0 0 - ---------- - Total expenditure £ 2825 0 0 - - Deduct produce of 1000 trees thinned from each - acre, during the first 10 years, at 2_l._ per - acre £ 200 0 0 - - Deduct value of 2422 trees left on the ground - after the first 10 years, at 7_l._ 10_s._ per - acre 750 0 0 950 0 0 - ---------- - Total outlay at the end of 10 years £ 1875 0 0 - - To which add expense of thinning and pruning for - the next 10 years, at 2_l._ per acre £ 200 0 0 - - Rent of the land for the same period at 1_l._ - per acre per annum 1000 0 0 - - Interest on the rent for the same period 275 0 0 - - Interest on 1875_l._ for 10 years 937 0 0 2412 0 0 - ---------- - Total outlay for 20 years £ 4287 0 0 - - Deduct produce of 1000 trees thinned out during - the last 10 years, from each acre, at 6_d._ each, - or 25_l._ per acre £ 2500 0 0 - - Deduct for 1422 trees which fall to be enhanced in - value during the last 10 years, and will come to - at least 35_l._ 11_s._ per acre 3555 0 0 6055 0 0 - ---------- - £ 1768 0 0 - - Deduct from this the value of these 1000 trees - as they were first estimated at the end of the - first 10 years, at 3_l._ 2_s._ per acre 310 0 0 - ---------- - Thus leaving a balance in favour, of £ 1458 0 0” - -Hitherto the amount of gain is comparatively small, but this calculation -continued according to the growth of the trees for ten years more, will -leave the balance no less than 23,667_l._ And to the end of forty years -from first planting, the round sum of 41,000_l._ “These calculations,” -says Monteith, “may, to those who have paid no attention to the subject, -excite wonder if not doubt, but in making them the author has been -careful to lessen rather than exaggerate the profits: and if the -plantation shall have been carried to the age of sixty or seventy years, -and properly thinned, etc., the value will be double what it was at -forty years.” Thus, if 100 acres in seventy years will yield 80,000_l._ -planted with oak, 6000 acres will yield about 5,000,000_l._; while 6000 -acres of the larch plantations of Athol in the same period are -calculated to yield about 6,000,000_l._ There is sufficient agreement to -lead us to suppose the calculations probably accurate, and what a -splendid inducement to judicious planting do these calculations present! - -The following facts, given in the “Encyclopædia Britannica,” (vol. i., -art. Agriculture), are also particularly interesting to the planter. Mr. -Pavier, in the fourth volume of the Bath Papers, computes the value of -fifty acres of oak timber in 100 years to be 12,100_l._, which is nearly -2_l._ 10_s._ annually per acre; and if we consider that this is -continually accumulating, without any of that expense or risk to which -annual crops are subject, it is probable that timber-planting may be -accounted one of the most profitable departments of husbandry. Evelyn -calculates the profit of 1000 acres of oak land in 150 years at no less -than 670,000_l._ - -The following table shews the increase of trees from their first -planting. It was taken from the Marquis of Lansdowne’s plantation, begun -in the year 1765, and the calculation made in 1786. It is about six -acres in extent, the soil partly a swampy meadow upon a gravelly bottom. -The measures were taken at five feet above the surface of the ground; -the small trees having been occasionally drawn for posts and rails, as -well as rafters for cottages, and when peeled of the bark will stand -well for seven years. - - Circumference in - Feet in height. Feet. Inches. - - Lombardy Poplar 60 to 80 4 8 - Abeel 50-70 4 6 - Plane 50-60 3 6 - Acacia 50-60 2 4 - Elm 40-60 3 6 - Chestnut 30-50 2 9 - Weymouth Pine 30-50 2 5 - Chester ditto 30-50 2 5 - Scotch Fir 30-50 2 10 - Spruce 30-50 2 2 - Larch 50-60 3 10 - -From this table it appears that the planting of timber trees, when the -return can be waited for twenty years, will undoubtedly repay the -original cost of planting as well as the interest of the money laid out, -which is better worth the attention of the proprietor of land, as the -ground on which they grow may be supposed good for cattle also. - -In Argyleshire, there are probably 40,000 acres of natural coppice wood -which are cut periodically; commonly every nineteen or twenty years, and -are understood to return about 1_l._ an acre annually. Very extensive -plantations have been formed by the Duke of Argyle, and other -proprietors. About thirty years ago those of his Grace were reckoned to -contain 2,000,000 trees, worth then 4_s._ each amounting to the enormous -sum of 400,000_l._ - -I knew a certain old military officer who during his early years was a -captain in a militia regiment. His brother officers were a gay set of -fellows, and were continually drawing on their private incomes, and -often coming to him to borrow money; but he made it a rule never to -spend more than his own pay, and as to money, he never had any to lend. -He went down to his estate every spring and autumn, and planted as many -acres of trees as his rental would allow him. His planting gave him a -perpetual plea of poverty. At a certain age he retired on his half-pay. -A large family was growing around him, but his woods were growing too. -Many a time have I seen him, mounted on an old brood mare, with a sort -of capacious game-bag across her loins, with his gun slung at his -shoulder, his saws and pruning-knives strapped behind his saddle, going -away into his woods: and keeping the calculations of Monteith, and of -the larch plantations of Athol, in mind, I can now imagine the profound -satisfaction which the old gentleman, through a long course of years, -must have felt in the depths of his forest solitudes. He is still -living, at an advanced age. His family is large, and has been expensive; -but his woods were large too, and no doubt their _thinnings_ have proved -very grateful _thinnings_ of his family charges. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER VII. - -GARDENS. - -We must now wind up, in a few words, what we have to say of the country -life of the gentry, and these words must be on their gardens. In these, -as in all those other sources of enjoyment that surround them, -perfection seems to be reached. They live in the midst of scenes which, -while they appear nature itself, are the result of art consummated only -by ages of labour, research, science, travel, and the most remarkable -discoveries. Nothing can be more delicious than the rural paradises -which now surround our country houses. Walks, waters, lawns of velvet -softness, trees casting broad shadows, or whispering in the stirrings of -the breeze; seclusion and yet airiness; flowers from all regions, -besides all the luxuries which the kitchen-garden, the orchard, -conservatories, hothouses, and sunny walls pour upon our tables, are so -blended and diffused around our dwellings, that nothing on earth can be -more delectable. It is impossible, without looking back through many -ages of English life, to form any idea of the real advantages which we -enjoy of this kind,--of the immense stride we have made from the bare -and rigid life of our ancestors. How many of the fruits or flowers, or -culinary vegetables, which we possess in such excellence and perfection, -did this country originally produce? Few, indeed, of our indigenous -flowers are retained in our gardens, few of our vegetables besides the -cabbage and the carrot; and what were the ancient British fruits besides -the crab and the bullace? But we have only to look back to the feudal -times to see the wide difference between our gardens and those then -existing; for all that could be enjoyed of a garden must be compressed -within the narrow boundary of the castle moat. Every thing without was -subject to continual ravage and destruction; and though orchards were -planted without, and suffered to take their chance, the ladies’ little -parterre occupied some sheltered nook of the court, or space between -grim towers: - - Now was there maide fast by the touris wall, - A garden faire, and in the corneris set - An herbere grew; with wandis long and small, - Railit about, and so with treeis set - Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, - That lyfe was now, walkyng there for bye, - That myght within scarce any wight espye. - - _The Quair, by James I. of Scotland._ - -And the plot of culinary herbs occupied some sheltered spot within the -moat; which when it is recollected how many other requisites of -existence and defence were also compressed into the same -space--soldiers, arms, and machines of war; sleeping and eating rooms; -room for the stabling and fodder of horses, and often of cattle; space -for daily exercise, martial or recreative; bowls, tilting or -tennis,--when cooped up by their enemies, or made cautious by critical -times, small indeed must have been the space or the leisure for gardens. -Even in 1540, Leland in his Itinerary, tells us that our nobility still -dwelt in castles, and there retained the usual defences of moats, and -drawbridges. This was especially the case, the nearer they approached to -the Scotch or Welsh borders; though in the vicinity of London villas and -palaces had long sprung up. At Wressel Castle, near Howden, in -Yorkshire, he says, “The gardens within the mote, and the orchardes -without, were exceeding fair. And yn the orchardes were mounts, _opere -topiario_, writhen about with degrees like the turnings in cokil -shelles, to come to the top without payn.” The career, indeed, by which -our gardens have reached their present condition, has been, as I have -said, the career of many ages, revolutions, and stupendous events. It is -not only curious, but most interesting to trace all those circumstances -which have contributed to raise horticulture to its present -eminence,--the great national events, the extension of discovery, of the -arts, of general knowledge; the deep ponderings in cells and fields; the -achievements of genius, of enterprise; the combinations of science, and -the variations of taste which have brought it to what it is. The history -of our gardening is, in fact, the history of Europe. The monks, whose -religious character gave them an extraordinary security, as they were -the first restorers of agriculture, so they were the first extenders and -improvers of our gardens. Their long pilgrimages from one holy shrine to -another, through France, Germany, and Italy, made them early acquainted -with a variety of culinary and medicinal herbs, and with various fruits; -and amongst the ruins of abbeys we still find a tribe of plants that -they thus naturalized. The crusades gave the next extension to -horticultural knowledge; the growing commerce and wealth of Europe -fostered it still farther; and the successive magnificent discoveries of -the Indies, America, the isles of the Pacific and Australia, with all -their new and splendid and invaluable productions, raised the desire for -such things to the highest pitch; and made our gardens and greenhouses -affluent beyond all imagination. What hosts of new and curious plants do -they still send us every season! From every corner of the earth are they -daily reaching us: the average value of the plants in Loddige’s gardens -is calculated at 200,000_l._ But what a blank would they now be but for -the mighty spirit of commerce, the thirst of discovery, and of -traversing distant regions, which animate such numbers of our -countrymen, and send them out to extend our geography, geology, and -natural history, or to prosecute astronomical and philosophical science -under every portion of the heavens? And besides these causes, how much -is yet to be accounted for by the tastes of peculiar ages--out of the -peculiar studies of the times, and the singular genius of particular men -thence arising. The influence of poets and imaginative writers upon the -character of our gardens has been extreme. Whether an age were poetical -or mathematical, made a mighty difference in the garden-style of the -time. C. Matius, the favourite of Augustus Cæsar, introduced the fashion -at Rome of clipping trees into shapes of animals and other grotesque -forms; Pliny admired the invention, and celebrated it under the name of -topiary-work; and so strongly did it take hold on the spirits of men, -that it descended to all the nations of Europe, and was not exploded by -us till the last century. Sir Henry Wotton, the tasteful and poetical -courtier of Queen Elizabeth, and ambassador of James to Venice, with -notions of the fitness of a garden far beyond his age, yet thought it -“_a graceful and natural conceit_” in Michael Angelo to make a -fountain-figure in the shape of “a sturdy washerwoman, washing and -winding of linen clothes, in which act she wrings out the water which -made the fountain.” And again Addison, followed by Pope and Walpole, -overturned this ancient fondness for pleached walks, and tonsured trees, -and quaint fountain-figures, whether of Neptunes, Niles, or washerwomen. -Then the great change of the social system, from the feudal and military -to civil and domestic, produced a correspondent change in the culture of -gardens. While the country was rent to pieces by contentions for the -crown, there could be little leisure or taste for gardens; but when men -became peaceful, and collected their habitations into clusters, they -naturally began to embellish both them and their environs. - -From the reign of Edward III. to that of Henry VIII. we look over a -large space, and find but slight improvement in horticulture, and scanty -traces of its literature. A bushel of onions in Richard II.’s reign cost -twelve shillings of our present money: Henry VII. records himself, in a -MS. preserved in the Remembrance Office, that apples were in his day one -and two shillings each, a red one fetching the highest price; and Henry -VIII.’s queen, Catherine, when she wanted a salad, sent to Flanders for -it. The very first book which was written on the culture of the soil in -this country, appears to be Walter de Henly’s--“De Yconomia sive -Housbandria,” Then came Nicholas Bollar’s books, “De Arborum -Plantatione,” and “De Generatione Arborum et Modo Generandi et -Plantandi,” and some other MS. writings. Richard II. rewarded botanical -skill in the person of John Bray with a pension. Henry Calcoensis in the -fifteenth century composed a Synopsis Herbaria, and translated Palladius -de Re Rustica into Gaelic. In the sixteenth century William Horman, -Vice-Provost of Eton, wrote Herbarum Synonyma and Indexes to Cato, -Varro, Columella, and Palladius; and in the same century Wynkin de Worde -printed “Mayster Groshede’s Boke of Husbandry,” which contained -instructions for planting and grafting of trees and vines. Arnold’s -Chronicle in 1521, had a chapter on the same subject, and how to raise a -salad in an hour; and Pynson published the “Boke of Surveying and -Improvements.” Then came Dr. Bulleyn, Dodoneus, Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, -and Tusser; and that is the history of gardens and their literature till -the time of Henry VIII.; but thence to the eighteenth century,--to the -days of Bridgman and Kent, what multitudes of grand, quaint, and -artificial gardens were spread over the country. Nonsuch, Theobalds, -Greenwich, Hampton-Court, Hatfield, Moor-Park, Chatsworth, Beaconsfield, -Cashiobury, Ham, and many another, stood in all that stately formality -which Henry and Elizabeth admired, and in which our Surreys, Leicesters, -Essexes; the splendid nobles of the Tudor dynasty, the gay ladies and -gallants of Charles II.’s court, had walked and talked, fluttered in -glittering processions, or flirted in green alleys and bowers of -topiary-work; and amid figures, in lead or stone, fountains, cascades, -copper trees dropping sudden showers on the astonished passers under, -stately terraces with gilded balustrades, and curious quincunx, -obelisks, and pyramids--fitting objects of the admiration of those who -walked in high-heeled shoes, ruffs and fardingales, with fan in hand, or -in trunk-hose and laced doublets. - -“The palace of Nonsuch,” said Hentzner in 1598, “is encompassed with -parks full of deer, delicious gardens, groves ornamented with -trellis-work, cabinets of verdure (summer-houses, or seats cut in yew), -and walls so embowered with trees, that it seems to be a place pitched -upon by pleasure herself to dwell in along with health. In the pleasure -and artificial gardens are many columns and pyramids of marble; two -fountains that spout water, one round, the other like a pyramid, upon -which are perched small birds that stream water out of their bills. In -the grove of Diana is a very agreeable fountain, with Actæon turned into -a stag, as he was sprinkled by the goddess and the nymphs, with -inscriptions. Here is, besides, another pyramid of marble full of -concealed pipes, which spurt upon all who come within their reach.” In -the gardens of Lord Burleigh, at Theobalds, he tells us are nine knots, -artificially and _exquisitely_ made, one of which was set for the -likeness of the king’s arms. One might walk two miles in the walks -before he came to the end. - -In Hampton-Court, was a fountain with syrens and other statues by -Fanelli. At Kensington were bastions and counterscarps of clipped yew -and variegated holly, being the objects of wonder and admiration under -the name of the siege of Troy. At Chatsworth the temporary cascade, the -water-god, the copper-tree, and the jets-d’eau, still remain in all -their glory. - -The hands of Bridgman, Kent and Brown, and the pens of Addison, Pope, -and Walpole, have put all this ancient glory of Roman style to the -flight; and driven us, perhaps, into danger of going too far after -nature. The winding walks, the turfy lawns, the bowery shrubberies, the -green slopes to the margin of waters, the retention of rocks and -thickets where they naturally stood,--all this is very beautiful, and -many a sweet elysian scene do they spread around our English houses. But -in imitating nature we are apt to imitate her as she appears in her -rudest places, and not as she would modify herself in the vicinity of -human habitations. We are apt to make too little difference between the -garden and the field; between the shrubbery and the wood. We are come to -think that all which differs from wild nature is artificial, and -therefore absurd. Something too much of this, I think, we are beginning -to feel we have had amongst us. It has been the fashion to cry down all -gardens as ugly and tasteless, which are not shaped by our modern -notions. The formalities of the French and Dutch have been sufficiently -condemned. For my part, I like even them in their place. One would no -more think of laying out grounds now in this manner, than of wearing -Elizabethan ruffs, or bag-wigs and basket-hilted swords; yet the old -French and Dutch gardens, as the appendages of a quaint old house, are -in my opinion, beautiful. They are like many other things--not so much -beautiful in themselves, as beautiful by association--as memorials of -certain characters and ages. A garden, after all, is an artificial -thing; and though formed from the materials of nature, may be allowed to -mould them into something very different from nature. There is a wild -beauty of nature, and there is a beauty in nature linked to art: one -looks for a very different kind of beauty in fields and mountains, to -what one does in a garden. The one delights you by a certain rude -freedom and untamed magnificence; the other, by smoothness and -elegance--by velvet lawns, bowery arbours, winding paths, fair branching -shrubs, fountains, and juxta-position of many rare flowers. - -It appears to me that it is an inestimable advantage as it regards our -gardens, that the former taste of the nation has differed so much from -its present one. Without this, what a loss of variety we should have -suffered! If the taste of the present generation had been that of all -past ages, what could there have been in the gardens of our past kings, -nobles, and historical characters to mark them as strongly and -emphatically as they are now marked? They now, indeed, seem to belong to -men and things gone by; and I would as soon almost see one of our -venerable cathedrals rased with the ground, as one of those old gardens -rooted up. There is something in them of a sombre and becoming -melancholy. They are in keeping with the houses they surround, and the -portraits in the galleries of those houses. When we wander through the -pleached alleys, and by the time-stained fountains of these old gardens, -perished years indeed seem to come back again to us. In the centre of -some vast avenue of majestic elms or limes, sweeping their boughs to the -ground, “the dial-stone aged and green” arrests our attention, and -points not to the present hour, but to the past. Our historic memories -are intimately connected with such places. Our Howards, Essexes, -Surreys, and Wolseys, were the magnificent founders and creators of such -places; and in such, Shakspeare and Spenser, Milton and Bacon, and -Sidney mused. It is astonishing what numbers of our poets, philosophers, -and literati, are connected with the history of our gardens by their -writings, or love of them. Sir Henry Wotton, Parkinson, Ray, John -Evelyn, Sir Walter Raleigh, Bacon, Addison, Pope, Sir William Temple, -who not only wrote “the Garden of Epicurus,” but so delighted in -gardening that he directed in his will that his heart should be buried -beneath the sun-dial in his garden at Moor-Park in Surrey, where it -accordingly was deposited in a silver box: Horace Walpole, Locke, -Cowley, Shenstone, Charles Cotton, Waller, Bishop Fleetwood, Spence, the -author of Polymetis, Gilpin of the Forest Scenery, Mason, Dr. Darwin, -Cowper, and many others, have their fame linked to the history or the -love of gardens. - -There is something very interesting too, in the biography of our old -patriarchs of English gardening. There is scarcely one of those large -nurseries and gardens round London but is connected with them, as their -founders, or improvers--as the Tradescants of Lambeth,--London and Wise -of Brompton,--Philip Miller of Chelsea,--Gray of Fulham,--Furber of -Kensington,--Lee of Hammersmith. It is cheering to observe how much our -monarchs, from Henry VIII. to George III. were, with their principal -nobility, almost to a man, whatever was their character in other -respects, not even excepting the dissipated Charles II., munificent -patrons of gardening, and founders of grand gardens. It is interesting -to read of the giant labours, and now apparently curious locations of -our early gardeners and herbalists. How Dr. Turner imbibed botanical -knowledge from Lucas Ghinus at Bologna, and came and established a -“garden of rare plants” at Kew; while Mrs. Gape had another at -Westminster, which furnished the first specimens for Chelsea garden. How -Ray, and Lobel, and Penny, roamed everywhere in search of new plants. -How Didymus Mountain published his “Gardener’s Labyrinth:” how Sir Hugh -Platt, of Lincoln’s-Inn, gentleman, wrote the Jewel House of Art and -Nature, the Paradise of Kew, and the Garden of Eden, and had, moreover, -a garden in St. Martin’s Lane. How the “Rei Rusticæ” of Conrad -Heresbach, counsellor to the Duke of Cleve, was translated by Barnaby -Googe, and reprinted by Gervase Markham, gentleman, of Gotham in -Nottinghamshire. How old John Gerarde travelled, when young, up the -Baltic, and had his “Physick Garden” in Holborn. How John Parkinson -travelled forty years before he wrote his “Paradisus,” and was appointed -by Charles I. for his Theatre of Plants, Botanicus Regius Primarius. How -Gabriel Plattes, though styled by his cotemporaries, “an excellent -genius,” and “of an adventurous caste of mind,” died miserably in the -streets. How Walter Blythe of Oliver Cromwell’s army wrote the “Survey -of Husbandry,” which Professor Martyn pronounces “an incomparable work.” -How Samuel Hartlib, the son of a Polish merchant, the friend of Milton, -of Archbishop Usher and Joseph Meade, wrote his “Legacy,” and assisted -in establishing the embryo Royal Society; how John Tradescant was in -Russia, and accompanied the fleet sent against the Algerines in 1620, -and collected on that occasion plants in Barbary, and in the isles of -the Mediterranean; and how his son John, afterwards made a voyage in -pursuit of plants to Virginia, “and brought many new ones back with -him.” How their Museum, established in South Lambeth, and called -“Tradescant’s Ark,” was the constant resort of the great and learned; -how it fell into the hands of Elias Ashmole, and became the _Ashmolean_ -Museum. - -These, and such facts, shew us by what labours and steps our present -garden-wealth has been raised; and diffuse an interest over a number of -places familiar to us. Go, indeed, into what part of the island we will, -we find some object of attraction and curiosity in the gardens attached -to our old houses. As the coach passes the residence of Colonel Howard, -at Leven’s Bridge in Westmoreland, it stops, the passengers get out, and -mount upon its top, and there behold a fine old Elizabethan house, -standing in the midst of a garden of that age, with all its -topiary-work, its fountains, statues, and lawns. At Stonyhurst in -Lancashire, now a Jesuit’s College, I was delighted to find a beautiful -old garden of this description, which I have elsewhere described; and at -Margam Abbey in South Wales, I found a fine assemblage of orange trees, -the very trees which Sir Henry Wotton sent from Italy as a present to -James I. These trees had been thrown ashore here by the wreck of the -vessel, and the owner of the place, by the king’s permission, built a -splendid orangery to receive them, which stood in the centre of a garden -surrounded on three sides by woody hills; and in which fuchsias, at -least ten feet high, with stems thick as a man’s arm, were growing in -the open air, and tulip-trees large as the forest trees around. But what -gave a still greater charm to this garden was, that the ruins of a fine -old abbey stood here and there on its lawn; arches, overgrown with -bushes, and the graceful pillars of a noble chapter-house, around whose -feet lay stones of ancient tombs and curious sculpture. These are the -things which give so delicious a variety to our English gardens: and -when we bear in mind that many of those artifices and figures which we -have been accustomed to treat with contempt as _Dutch_, are in reality -_Roman_; that such things once stood in the magnificent gardens of -Lucullus and Sallust; that the Romans gathered them again from the -Eastern nations; that they are not only classical, but that, like many -of the rites of our church and religious festivals, they are the -reliques of the most ancient times, I think we shall be inclined to -regard them with a greater degree of interest--not as objects to imitate -or to place in any competition with our own more natural style, but as -things which are of the most remote antiquity, and give a curious -diversity to our country abodes. For my part, when I see even a -fantastic peacock spreading its tail in yew in some old cottage or -farm-house garden I think of Pliny and his admiration of such -topiary-work, and would not have it cut down for the world. Even those -summer-houses built in trees, such as that built by the King of Belgium, -in Winter-Down wood, near Claremont; a sketch of which is presented in -the title-page--were Roman fancies; were formed, Pliny tells us, amid -the branches of any monarch trees that grew within their grounds, and -that even Caligula had one in a plane-tree, near his villa at Velitræ, -which he called his Nest. - -Here then to all the sweet nests of English gardens, new or old, we bid -adieu, with blessings on their pleasantness. - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -COUNTRY EXCITEMENTS. - -Before closing this department of my work, I must just glance at a few -occurrences which serve to give an occasional variety to rural life, and -may be classed under the head of Country Excitements. These are races, -race-balls, county-balls, concerts, musical festivals, elections, -assizes, and confirmations. It will not be requisite to do more than -merely mention the greater part of these, for, to describe at length the -race-ball and county-balls, the winter concerts of the county town and -the musical festivals, would require a separate volume, and they indeed, -after all, belong more to the town than to the country. Having, -therefore, simply pointed them out as sources of occasional variety to -wealthy families during their stay in the country, I shall confine -myself in these concluding remarks, to those few particulars which -belong more entirely to my subject. Balls and musical exhibitions are -sufficiently alike everywhere, to need no distinct details here. It is -enough that they serve to break the rural torpor of those who regard -existence as only genuine during the London season. The application of -the profits both of these balls, and of the musical festivals that have -of late years been held in different places, to the support of -infirmaries, and to other public objects of benevolence, deserves the -highest commendation. Thus dismissing these amusements, neither I nor my -readers, I am sure, would wish to have the uproar and exasperation of -the county election introduced into this peaceful volume; enough that -when it does come to the country Hall, it comes, often as a hurricane, -and frequently shakes it to the foundation, leaving in its track debts -and mortgages, shyness between neighbours, and rancour amongst old -friends. - -It would not be giving a faithful view of country life, however, were we -to keep out of sight all agitating causes, and all existing drawbacks to -the felicity for which such ample materials exist in it. Surveying those -splendid materials, as displayed in the preceding chapters,--those -abundant means and opportunities, which the wealthy possess for enjoying -their lives in the country;--it would be giving a most one-sided view of -the rural life of the rich, if we left it to be inferred that “the trail -of the serpent” was not to be perceived at times on the fair lawns, and -up the marble steps of rural palaces; that the great “Bubbly-Jock,” -(Turkey-Cock) which Scott contended that every man found in his path did -not shew himself there. The Serpent and the Bubbly-Jock which disturb -and poison the rural life of the educated classes in England, are the -very same which dash with bitter all English society in the same -classes. They are the pride of life, and the pride of the eye. They are -that continual struggle for precedence, and those jealousies which are -generated by a false social system. Every man lives now-a-day for public -observation. He builds his house, and organizes his establishment, so as -to strike public opinion as much as possible. Every man is at strife -with his neighbour in the matter of worldly greatness. The consequence -is, that a false standard of estimation, both of men and things, is -established--shew is substituted for real happiness; and no man is -valued for his moral or intellectual qualities, so much as for the -grandeur of his house, the style of his equipage, the richness of his -dinner service, and the heavy extravagance of his dinners. The result of -this is, that most are living to the full extent of their means, many -beyond it, and few are finding, in the whole round of their life, that -alone, which better and higher natures seek--the interchange of heart -and mind, which yields present delight, creates permanent attachments, -and fills the memory with enduring satisfaction. - -This, it must be confessed, is a wretched state of things; but it is one -which every person conversant with society knows to exist, and which -intelligent foreigners witness with unfeigned surprise. The worst of it -is that this unnatural system of life becomes the most sensibly felt in -the country. In large towns every man finds a sufficient circle after -his own taste: there the petty influences of locality are broken up by -the multitude of objects, and the ample choice in association. But in -small towns, and country neighbourhoods, where wealthy or educated -families are thinly scattered, nothing can be more lamentable, and, were -it not lamentable, nothing could be more ludicrous, than the state of -rivalry, heart-burning, jealousy, personal mortification, or personal -pride, from mere accidents of condition or favour. The titled have a -fixed rank, and are comparatively at their ease, but in the great mass -of those who have wealth, more or less, without title, what a mighty and -eating sore is the struggle for distinction. In the little town, or -thinly-scattered neighbourhood, every one is measuring out his imaginary -dignity to see if it does not exceed, at least by some inches, that of -one or other of his neighbours. The lower you descend in the scale, the -more exacting becomes the spirit of exclusiveness. The professions look -down upon the trades; the trades on one another. Everywhere the same -uneasy spirit shews itself. Nothing can be more ludicrous, or amusing to -the philosophic spectator, than to observe how leadership is assumed in -every country neighbourhood by certain wealthy families; how carefully -that leadership is avoided and opposed by other families. How the -majority of families aspire to move in one or the other circle; what -wretched and anomalous animals those feel themselves that are not -recognised by either. How the man who drives his close carriage looks -down upon him who only drives his barouche or phaeton; how both contemn -the poor occupier of a gig. I have heard of a gentleman of large fortune -who, for some years after his residence in a particular neighbourhood, -did not set up his close carriage, but afterwards feeling it more -agreeable to do so, was astonished to find himself called upon by a host -of carriage-keeping people, who did not seem previously aware of his -existence; and rightly deeming the calls to be made upon his carriage, -rather than himself, sent round his empty carriage to deliver cards in -return. It was a biting satire on a melancholy condition of society, the -full force of which can only be perceived by such as have heard the -continual exultations of those who have dined with such a great person -on such a day, and the equally eager complaints of others, of the pride -and exclusiveness they meet with; who have listened to the long -catalogue of slights, dead cuts, and offences, and witnessed the -perpetual heart-burnings incident to such a state of things. These are -the follies that press the charm of existence out of the hearts of -thousands, and make the country often a purgatory where it might be a -paradise. - -There is another cause which diminishes in a great degree the enjoyment -that might be found in the country, and that is, the almost total -cessation of walking amongst the wealthy. Since the universal use of -carriages, for anything I can see, thousands of people might just as -well be born without legs at all. It would be easy to move them from the -bed to the carriage,--thence to the dinner-table, and again to bed. In -the country, and especially in the country not far from towns, how -rarely do you see the rich except in their luxurious carriages! How -rarely do you meet them walking, or even on horseback, as you used to -do! Sir Roger de Coverley rode on horseback to the assizes in his -day--were he living now, he would roll there in his carriage--lest some -one should imagine that he had mortgaged his estate, and laid down his -carriage in retrenchment. During the twelve months that I have resided -in this neighbourhood--a neighbourhood studded all over with wealthy -houses, nothing has surprised me, and the friends who have visited me -here, so much as the great rarity of seeing any of the wealthy classes -on their legs. With the exception of the Queen and her attendant ladies, -who during the then Princess’s abode at Claremont, might be every day -met in the winter, walking in frost and snow, and facing the sharpest -winds of the sharpest weather, I scarcely remember to have met -half-a-dozen of the wealthy classes on foot a mile from their -residences. And yet what splendid, airy heaths, what delicious woods, -what nooks of bowery foliage, what views into far landscapes, are there -all around! It is true, as some of them have observed, that they walk in -their own grounds; but what grounds, however beautiful, can compensate -for the fresh feeling of the heath and the down; for the dim solemnity -of the wild wood; for open, breezy hills, the winding lane, the sight of -rustic cottages by the forest side, the tinkle of the herd or the -sheep-bell, and all the wild sounds and aspects of earth and heaven, to -be met with only in the free regions of nature? They who neglect to -walk, or confine their strolls merely to the lawn and the shrubbery, -lose nine-tenths of the enjoyment of the country. Those young men, whom -it is a pleasure to see with their knapsacks on their backs ranging over -moor and mountain, by lake or ocean, in Scotland or Wales, taste more of -the life of life in a few summer months than many dwellers in the -country ever dream of through their whole existence. I speak advisedly, -for I traverse the country in all directions, let me be where I will; -and if any _ladies_ think themselves too delicate for walking, I can -point them out delicate ladies too that have made excursions on foot -through mountain regions of five hundred miles at a time, and recur to -those seasons as amongst the most delightful of their lives. - -But my desire that all should make their country life as happy as it is -capable of being made--which must be by living more to nature and less -to fashion--by using both their physical and moral energies; by -respecting themselves, and leaving the respect of others to follow as -the natural result of a true and pure tone of spirit--is detaining me -too long. I must hasten on; and amongst the most prominent of the -country excitements, give a passing word to racing. If any one wishes to -know how far the turf influences the course of country life, he has only -to read the following passage from Nimrod. “Deservedly high as Newmarket -stands in the history of the British turf, it is but as a speck on the -ocean when compared with the sum total of our provincial meetings, of -which there are about one hundred and twenty in England, Scotland, and -Wales--several of them twice in the year. Epsom, Ascot, York, Doncaster, -and Goodwood, stand first in respect of the value of the prizes, the -rank of the company, and the interest attached to them in the sporting -world; although several other cities and towns have lately exhibited -very tempting bills of fare to owners of good race-horses. In point of -antiquity we believe the Roodee of Chester claims pre-eminence of all -country race-meetings;--and certainly it has long been in high repute. -Falling early in the racing year--always the first Monday in May--it is -most numerously attended by the families of the extensive and very -aristocratic neighbourhood in which it is placed; and always continues -five days.”--_The Turf_, p. 246. - -Every one who has seen the crowds of wealthy people who flock to a -celebrated race-meeting, and throng the stand and the carriage -stations, with brilliant dresses and gay equipages, may imagine, then, -how much excitement is spread through that class of society during their -stay in the country; by one hundred and twenty race-meetings in one -quarter or other of the island; especially as the greater part of these -occur during the months that they are absent from town. So having read -the passage quoted from Nimrod, he has only to turn to the volume -itself--a volume written with great ability; and, making allowance for -the author’s sporting predilections, in an excellent spirit, and he will -thus find that course described as such a horrible resort of blacklegs -and desperadoes, of traitorous jockeys and _poisoning_ trainers, as -makes one at once recoil from the recital, and wonder that our young -nobles and gentlemen should commit themselves and their fortunes to such -hands; or that the fair and the refined should consent to gaze on such a -scene of infamy. Hear Nimrod’s own words--“How many fine domains have -been shared amongst these hosts of rapacious sharks, during the last two -hundred years! and unless the system be altered--how many more are -doomed to fall into the same gulf! For, we lament to say, the evil has -increased; all heretofore, indeed, has been ‘tarts and cheesecakes’ to -the villanous proceedings of the last twenty years on the English turf.” -Let us move on to less repulsive scenes. - -Amongst these may be reckoned the periodical arrivals of the bishops and -the judges. The arrival of the bishop to perform the ceremony of -confirmation, is but a triennial occurrence, but it is one of the most -imposing of the rites of the church. The flocking of the clergy and -their families to town; the processions of country children on foot, and -led by the parish clerk or schoolmaster, or in carts and other rustic -vehicles; the gathering of the children of the rich towards the church -in their white dresses, and in gay carriages; the assembling of all -classes in the common temple of their religion; the solemnity of the -address and the imposition of hands by the prelate; the stately music of -the organ, and the silent looking on of the congregated people--all -combine to produce a very striking spectacle--a spectacle which to those -who believe in its essentiality and efficacy, has something in it -touching and beautiful. - -But perhaps the parade of the assize time, is the most picturesque of -this class of occurrences. There is more of the old English ceremony, -custom, and costume about it. The judges who go through the land as the -representatives of majesty, certainly go through it _en prince_. Nothing -can be more unlike than their progress to, and their state in, the -courts in town, and the same things in their provincial tour of justice. -In town you may see the Lord Chief Justice mount his horse at his own -door, and ride quietly away towards Westminster Hall. You may see Lord -Abinger in the Court of Exchequer, sitting very much at his ease in his -black gown and wig of modest dimensions, dispatching business in a -work-a-day manner; but in the country you find these very men arrayed in -their scarlet and ermine, seated in much greater state, and dispensing -justice in a much fuller court than, except on extraordinary occasions, -attends them in town. - -The high-sheriff of every county, selected from its best families, in -preparation for the arrival of the county judge, has put his equipage -and train in order. His carriage, his horses, his harness, all have -undergone a rigid examination, and are all put into the highest -condition that paint, gilding, varnish, lining, and plate, can bestow; -or if he be a young man of some spirit and ambition, he has purchased a -new carriage for the occasion. His tenants and household servants, to -the number of forty or fifty, have been put into a new livery in the cut -of the old yeomen, and generally of some bright or peculiar colour, -green, blue, white, or delicate drab, as indeed the livery of the -gentlemen may be. Mounted on their horses, and with their javelins or -halberds, and preceded by two trumpeters, who, old Aubrey can tell you, -are a very ancient essential on such occasions, they escort the sheriff -on his way to meet the judges. The sheriff who has thus showily -appointed what are provincially termed his javelin-men, has not in the -meantime neglected himself. He has put on at least a court dress, and in -cases where he has happened to be a man of taste, and a man of figure to -boot, he has put on a rich suit of the fashion of Sir Charles Grandison, -or of some one of his ancestors, as he stands in full-length portraiture -in his family gallery. He issues from his hall, arrayed perhaps in a -rich mulberry coloured coat with huge embroidered cuffs and -button-holes, huge gold buttons, and lining of primrose serge; a -splendid waistcoat of gold brocaded satin, with ample pockets and flaps -reaching half-way to his knees; satin breeches, and silk stockings with -immense clocks; large gold buckles at his knees and upon his shoes. Add -to this his sword, his cocked hat, and his cravat and ruffles of fine -point lace, and you have the high-sheriff in all his glory, just as we -saw him in one of our county assize courts not many years ago, sitting -on the right hand of the judge; and it must be confessed in admirable -keeping with his old-world robes of scarlet and ermine. Well, he enters -the county town with his troop of javelin-men, his trumpeters blowing -stoutly before him. He takes up his lodgings there, and on the morning -of the judge’s approach, he marches out in the same style, followed by a -long train of the gentlemen and tradesmen of the place, who are anxious -to testify their respect to the ancient forms of justice, and the -representative of the monarch. He advances some mile or two on the way -by which the judge is to arrive. There the procession halts, generally -in a position which commands a view of the road by which the judge is -expected. Anon, there is a stir, a looking out amongst them, your eye -follows theirs, and you see a carriage, dusty and travel-soiled, come -driving rapidly on. It is that of the judge. As they drive up, the -javelin-men and gentlemen uncover; the sheriff descends from his -carriage; his gowned and bewigged lordship descends from his; the -sheriff makes his bow and his compliments; the judge enters the carriage -of the sheriff with him, his own carriage falls into the rear, and the -procession now moves on towards the town, with bannered trumpets -blowing, and amid a continually increasing crowd of spectators. There is -something very quaint and old English in the whole affair; and as I have -seen the sheriff and his train thus, waiting the approach of the judge -on some rising ground in the public road, the scene has brought back to -my imagination a feeling of the past times--simpler in heart than the -present, but more formal in manner, and perhaps fonder of solemn parade. -But the bells are ringing merrily to welcome the learned judge, and -thousands are thronging to see the sight of the sheriff and his men, and -to catch a glimpse of the judge’s wig as the coach passes, and many of -them to wonder how the sheriff can seem so much at his ease with such an -awful man: while within the strong walls of the prison, the sounds of -bells and the trampling feet of the crowds without, are causing stout -hearts and miserable hearts to tremble and feel chill. - -Well, the procession and the throng “go sounding through the town,” and -the court being opened in due form, they arrive at the judge’s lodgings, -whence, after a suitable time allowed for the judge’s refreshment, they -proceed to church. Whatever may be the effect of this custom of the -judge’s going to church before proceeding to discharge his awful duties -of deciding upon the destinies of his fellow men, it is a beautiful one, -and bespeaks in those who instituted it, a just sense of the value of -human life, and of the true source whence all right judgment must -proceed. It was well, and more than well, that the judge should be sent -to hear from the Christian minister, that the temper in which a judge -should sit to decide the fate of his fellow mortals, should be that of -the Christian--the divine union of justice and mercy. It was well that -he should be reminded that every act of his judgment in the court about -to open, must one day be rejudged, in a court and before a judge, from -which there can be no appeal. - -As they move on towards the great mother-church, thousands on thousands -throng to gaze. Every window presents its quota of protruded heads; -every flight of steps before the doors of houses, and every other -elevated spot, is occupied. Boys are hanging by lamp-posts, and on iron -palisades, like bats. The procession used to be much enlivened by the -presence of the mayor and corporation in their robes, and with the mace -borne before them; but the New Corporation Act has led to a woful -stripping of this pageant. The sheriff selects the clergyman to preach -on the occasion, who is generally some young friend or relative whom he -wishes to bring into notice. This ceremony being over, the judge returns -to the court; the grand jury, selected from the gentlemen of the county, -present their bills, and the trials proceed. In the sheriff’s gallery -may be seen some of his friends, perhaps the ladies of his family and -other acquaintances, with others, all introduced by ticket; on the bench -by the judge, may often be seen seated with the sheriff, some great man -or lady of the neighbourhood, especially if some trial in which one of -their own body, some disputed will which involves a large property, or -similar cause of interest, draws them from their homes, and fills the -court to suffocation. While the court continues, day by day you see the -train of javelin-men come marching on foot with the state carriage of -the sheriff, to conduct him from his lodgings to those of the judge, and -back again at the close of the court in the evening, till the trials are -ended; and judge, sheriff, gay carriage, with its splendid hammer-cloth, -jolly coachman, and slim footmen, in their cocked hats and flaxen wigs, -javelin-men, and crowd, all meet and vanish away, and the excitement of -the assize is over for another half-year. - -Such are the principal country excitements; and to these may be added -those of another class, which have sprung up of late years, and have -done much good--the floral and horticultural shews. These have been -warmly patronized by the aristocracy; and it forms a striking feature in -modern country life, to see carriages and pedestrians hastening, on -certain days to certain places, where different flowers and fruits, in -their respective seasons, are displayed with great taste, and with -brilliant effect. The place of meeting is sometimes at a country inn, -where, on the bowling-green, tents are pitched, in which the flowers or -fruits are exhibited, and the whole scene is extremely gay. Such a one I -saw at Kingston Hill, near Richmond Park--a Dahlia shew: on the end of -the house an invitation to all England being gorgeously emblazoned in -dahlia-flowers, surmounted by the crown royal, and the good English -initials Q. V.; looking as though the worthy horticulturists meant to -set the rational example of using the English language to the English -people. - - - - -PART II. - -LIFE OF THE AGRICULTURAL POPULATION. - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE ENGLISH FARMER. - -There are few things which give one such a feeling of the prosperity of -the country, as seeing the country people pour into a large town on -market-day. There they come, streaming along all the roads that lead to -it from the wide country round. The footpaths are filled with a hardy -and homely succession of pedestrians, men and women, with their baskets -on their arms, containing their butter, eggs, apples, mushrooms, -walnuts, nuts, elderberries, blackberries, bundles of herbs, young -pigeons, fowls, or whatever happens to be in season. There are boys and -girls too, similarly loaded, and also with baskets of birds’ nests in -spring, cages of young birds, and old birds, baskets of tame rabbits, -and bunches of cowslips, primroses, and all kinds of flowers and country -productions imaginable. The carriage-road is equally alive, with people -riding and driving along; farmers and country gentlemen, country -clergymen, parish overseers, and various other personages, drawn to the -market-town by some real or imagined business, are rattling forward on -horseback, or in carriages of various kinds, gigs, and spring-carts, and -carts without springs. There are carriers’ wagons, and covered carts -without end, many of them shewing from their open fronts, whole troops -of women snugly seated; while their dogs chained beneath, go struggling -and barking along, pushing their heads forward in their collars every -minute as if they would hang themselves. This is in the morning; and in -the afternoon you see them pouring out again, and directing their course -to many a far-off hamlet and old-fashioned abode. But there is a wide -difference between coming in and going out. The wagons and carts go -heavily and soberly, for they are laden with good solid commodities, -groceries and draperies, mops, brushes, hardware and crockery, -newspapers for the politicians, and sundry parcels of teas, sugars, and -soaps, and such et ceteras, for the village shops; but the farmers go -riding and driving out three times as fast as they came in, for they are -primed with good dinners and strong beer. They have chaffered, and -smoked, and talked with the great grazier and the great corn-factor, and -their horses are full of corn too, and away they go, in fours and fives, -filling the whole width of the road, and raising a dust, if there be the -least dust to be raised, or making the mud fly in all directions; away -they go, talking all together, while their horses are trotting at such a -pace as one would think would shake the very teeth out of their heads. -The sober foot-people who are trudging homeward more soberly than they -came, say, as they fly past, “One wouldn’t think times very bad -neither.” And the carriers hold their horses’ heads as they rush past, -and smiling significantly, say, just as they are gone past,--“Well done -my lads! that’s it; go it my lads, go it! Yo riden, though your horses -go a-foot!” - -There is no class of men, if times are but tolerably good, that enjoy -themselves so highly as farmers. They are little kings. Their concerns -are not huddled into a corner, as those of the town tradesman are. In -town, many a man who turns thousands of pounds per week, is hemmed in -close by buildings, and cuts no figure at all. A narrow shop, a -contracted warehouse, without an inch of room besides to turn him, on -any hand; without a yard, a stable, or outhouse of any description; -perhaps hoisted aloft, up three or four pair of dirty stairs, is all the -room that the wealthy tradesman often can bless himself with; and there, -day after day, month after month, year after year, he is to be found, -like a bat in a hole of a wall, or a toad in the heart of a stone, or of -an oak tree. Spring, and summer, and autumn, go round; sunshine and -flowers spread over the world; the sweetest breezes blow, the sweetest -waters murmur along the vales, but they are all lost upon him; he is the -doleful prisoner of Mammon, and so he lives and dies. The farmer would -not take the wealth of the world on such terms. His concerns, however -small, spread themselves out in a pleasant amplitude both to his eye and -heart. His house stands in its own stately solitude; his offices and -outhouses stand round extensively, without any stubborn and limiting -contraction; his acres stretch over hill and dale; there his flocks and -herds are feeding; there his labourers are toiling,--he is king and sole -commander there. He lives amongst the purest air and the most delicious -quiet. Often when I see those healthy, hardy, full-grown sons of the -soil going out of town, I envy them the freshness and the repose of the -spots to which they are going. Ample old-fashioned kitchens, with their -chimney-corners of the true, projecting, beamed and seated construction, -still remaining; blazing fires in winter, shining on suspended hams and -flitches, guns supported on hooks above, dogs basking on the hearth -below; cool, shady parlours in summer, with open windows, and odours -from garden and shrubbery blowing in; gardens wet with purest dews, and -humming at noon-tide with bees; and green fields and verdurous trees, or -deep woodlands lying all round, where a hundred rejoicing voices of -birds or other creatures are heard, and winds blow to and fro, full of -health and life-enjoyment. How enviable do such places seem to the -fretted spirits of towns, who are compelled not only to bear their -burthen of cares, but to enter daily into the public strife against -selfish evil and ever-spreading corruption. When one calls to mind the -simple abundance of farm-houses, their rich cream and milk, and -unadulterated butter, and bread grown upon their own lands, sweet as -that which Christ broke, and blessed as he gave to his disciples; their -fruits ripe and fresh plucked from the sunny wall, or the garden bed, or -the pleasant old orchard; when one casts one’s eyes upon, or calls to -one’s memory the aspect of these houses, many of them so antiquely -picturesque, or so bright-looking and comfortable, in deep retired -valleys, by beautiful streams, or amongst fragrant woodlands, one cannot -help saying with King James of Scotland, when he met Johnny Armstrong:-- - - What want these knaves that a king should have? - -But they are not outward and surrounding advantages merely, which give -zest to the life of the farmer. He is more proud of it, and more -attached to it, than any other class of men, be they whom they may, are -of theirs. The whole heart, soul, and being of the farmer are in his -profession. The members of other professions and trades, however full -they may be of their concerns, have their mouths tied up by the -etiquette of society. A man is not allowed to talk of his trade concerns -except at the risk of being laughed at, and being set down as an -egotistic ignoramus. But who shall laugh at or scout the farmer for -talking of his concerns? Of nothing else does he, in nine cases out of -ten, think, talk, or care. And though he may be called a bore by all -other classes, what concerns it him? for other classes are just as great -bores to him, and he seeks not their company. The farmers are a large -class, and they associate and converse principally with each other. -“Their talk is of bullocks,” it is true, but to them it is the most -interesting talk of all. What is so delightful to them as to meet at -each other’s houses, and with bright glasses of nectarous ale, or more -potent spirit sparkling before them, and pipe in mouth, to talk of -markets, rents, tithes, new improvements, and the promise of crops? To -walk over their lands of a Sunday afternoon together, and pronounce on -the condition of growing corn, turnips, and grass; on this drainage, or -that neighbour’s odd management; on the appearance of sheep, cattle, and -horses. And this is to be excused, and in a great degree to be admired. -For those are no artificial objects on which they expend their lives and -souls; they are the delightful things of nature on which they operate; -and nature operates with them in all their labours, and sweetens them to -their spirits. This is the grand secret of their everlasting attachment -to, and enjoyment of agricultural life. They work with nature, and only -modulate and benefit by her functions, as she takes up, quickens, and -completes the work of their hands. There is a living principle in all -their labours, which distinguishes them from most other trades. The -earth gives its strength to the seed they throw into it--to the cattle -that walk upon it. The winds blow, the waters run for them; the very -frosts and snows of winter give salutary checks to the rankness of -vegetation, and lighten the soil, and destroy what is noxious for them; -and every principle of animal and vegetable existence and organization -co-operates to support and enrich them. There is a charm in this which -must last while the spirit of man feels the stirrings of the spirit and -power of God around him. It may be said that rude farmers do not reason -on these things in this manner. No, in many, too many, instances I grant -it; but they feel. There is scarcely any bosom so cloddish but feels -more or less of this, and by no other cause can an explanation be given -of the enthusiasm of farmers for their profession. It is not because -they can sooner enrich themselves by it--that they are more independent -in it--that they have greater social advantages in it. In all these -particulars the balance is in favour of the active and enterprising -tradesman; but it is this charm which has infused its sweetness into the -bosoms of all rural people in all ages of the world. From the days of -the patriarchs to the present, what expressions of delight the greatest -minds have uttered on behalf of such a life. Think of Homer, Theocritus, -Virgil, and Horace; of Cicero, whom I have elsewhere quoted; and of the -many great men of this country, some of whom too I have noticed, who -have devoted themselves with such eagerness to it. - -That farmers are as intelligent as a parallel grade of society in large -towns I do not mean to assert; that they are as truly aware of, and as -united to defend, their real interests I will assert as little. Their -solitary and isolated mode of existence weighs against them in these -points; but that they have generally a sounder morality than a similar -class of townsmen is indisputable. They have a simplicity of mind as -well as manners that is more than an equivalent for the polish and -conventional customs of society, and with this a cordiality that is very -delightful, and very rarely now to be found--the good, homely heartiness -of Old English days. - -They, indeed, so vividly enjoy the common blessings of life, from their -vigorous health, and unvitiated appetites, as well as from the cravings -of their inner being, finding their food in the daily communion with -nature, instead of that book-knowledge which is so extensively diffused -through all classes of the city, and which, too commonly, while it -quickens the intellect, and widens the sphere of observation, I am sorry -to say, deadens the human sympathies and distorts the heart--that they -make so much of their kindness appear in heaping upon you bodily -comforts and refreshments as is often truly ludicrous. They would have -you eat and drink for ever. One meal succeeds to another with a -profusion and an importunity of hospitality that are overwhelming. They -eat their bread with a sweetness and a capacity, generated by their -active and laborious habits, that we, who lead more sedentary lives, and -with minds and energies dissipated by a hundred objects unknown to them, -have no idea of. People of all other classes place a great portion of -their happiness in giving and eating great feasts; but a farmer seems to -think all the good things of life are involved in feasting, and would -feast you not once a year, but every day, and all day long, if he could. - -Let us just glance at the routine of one day of good fellowship, such as -is seen in farm-houses where there is plenty, and yet no great pretence -to gentility. We have seen many such scenes. - -The farmer invites his friends to dine with him. He will have a party. -Suppose it at some period of the year when he is least busy; for his -engagements depending on the progress of the seasons, and his whole -wealth being at the mercy of the elements, he cannot postpone his -duties, but must take them as they fall out. Suppose it then just before -the commencement of hay-harvest, for then he has a short pause, between -the putting in of his last crop of potatoes or corn, shutting up his -fields, and clearing his green-corn lands, and that moment when the -first scythe enters his hay-fields, when a course of arduous and anxious -labours begins, that will not cease till all his crops are safely -housed,--hay, corn, beans, pease, and potatoes. Suppose at this pause in -the growing time of summer, or after harvest, or amid the festive days -of Christmas, he feels himself comparatively at leisure, in good -spirits, and disposed to enjoy himself. He and his wife arrange their -plans. Invitations are sent. On market-day he lays in all -necessaries,--tea, coffee, prime cuts of beef and other meat; wine and -spirits; sugar and spices. At home there is busy preparation. His garden -is cleaned up; an operation of rare occurrence with a busy farmer, who -thinks so much of his fields that he thinks but little of his garden. -His stables and his rick-yard are put in order. The very manes and tails -of his horses are trimmed, for all will have to pass under the critical -notice of his friends, and he feels his professional character at stake. -In the house there is equal activity. There is a world of cleaning and -setting in order. Floors are scoured. The best carpets are put down. -This room is found to want fresh staining; painting wants doing here and -there, both within and without. Trees also want nailing and trimming on -the walls; and it is probable there may want some spout repairing, or -tiles renewing, that have often been talked of, but never could have -time found for their doing. The house and all about it look fifty per -cent. the better. The neatly cleaned walks and closely mown grass-plots; -the brightly cleaned windows, and the scarlet curtains, and the purely -white blinds seen within, give an air of completeness that is very -satisfactory. - -And then within begin the mighty preparations for the feast. Geese, -turkeys, ducks and fowls are killed and pulled, and part are cooked, and -part are made ready for cooking. If the farmer shoots, and it be the -season, there are hares and rabbits, pheasants and partridges, brought -to the larder; if he do not, he makes friends with the keeper, who -occasionally takes a social pipe and glass with him; or he makes a -direct request to his landlord for this indulgence. Hams are boiled, -pies are made, puddings of the richest composition are put together. If -it be Christmas, loud is the chopping of meat for minced-pies, busy the -mixing of spices; and the washing and picking of currants and raisins; -and pork-pies and sausages of most savoury and approved manipulation are -raised into material existence. If the sucking-pig escapes whipping--and -we hope no honest farmer is now cruel enough for this operation--creams -and syllabubs do not; they are whipped, not to death, but into life. -There are blanc-mange and jellies, crystalline and fragrant; clouted -creams, and cream of strawberries, raspberries, and I know not what -melting and delicious things. And O! such cheesecakes, and such patties, -and such little cakes of various names and natures, for tea, and -_entremets_, and dessert. I see the oven-door open and shut, as the iron -tray of nicely laden patty-pans goes into the oven, or comes out with a -rich perfection, and with odours most delicious, most mouth-melting, -most inexpressible! The good and skilful dame, and the no less skilful -and comely daughters, if she have them, and they are grown up to years -of discretion in these delicate and culinary arts--what is not their -depth of occupation! What glowing looks are theirs; what speculations; -what contrivances and anticipations! I would fain take an easy chair in -some cool corner of this milk-and-honey-flowing kitchen, and watch all -their sweet employment, and hear all their sweet words in a grateful -silence. But they are far from the end of their labours. Nuts, walnuts, -apples and pears, and other fruit, according as the season may be, are -produced from their stores, or from the sunny walls and trees, wiped -from every trace of mould or dust from the store-room, and placed in -their proper receivers of glass, or china, or possibly of plate. Wine -and spirit decanters are to be washed and carefully dried, and to be -charged with their bright contents. The discovery of the richest cheese -in the whole cheese-room is to be made by tasting; butter is to be -moulded in small cakes, and imprinted with patterns of the deepest and -most elegant figure, and a thousand other things made, or done, of which -the tasting were to be desired rather than the catalogue to be -particularized, for, wonderful and manifold are all thy works, O thou -accomplished spouse of a wealthy farmer! - -What dainties has that greater oven received into its more capacious -cavern. Bread of the most exquisite fineness; and pies of varied -character--fruit, pork, beef-steak, and giblet--if in Devon or Cornwall, -_sweet_ giblet, a pie that all England besides knows not -of,--figgy-bread, and saffron-cake of transcendant brilliance and taste. - -And then comes the great day! The guests are invited to dinner; but they -have been enjoined to _come early_, and they come early with a -vengeance. They will not come as the guests of night-loving citizens and -aristocrats come, at from six to nine in the evening;--no, at ten and -eleven in the morning you shall see their faces, that never yet were -ashamed of day-light, and that tell of fresh air and early hours. Then -come rattling in sundry vehicles with their cargoes of men and women; -lively salutations are exchanged; the horses are led away to the -stables, and the guests into the house to doff great coats and cloaks, -hats and bonnets, and sit down to luncheon. And there it is ready set -out. “They’ll want something after their drive,” says the host. “To be -sure,” says the hostess; and there is plenty in truth. A boiled ham, a -neat’s tongue; a piece of cold beef; fowls and beef-steak-pie; tarts, -and bread, cheese and butter; coffee for the ladies, and fine old ale -for the gentlemen. - -“Now do help yourselves,” exclaims the host from one end of the table, -“I am sure you must be very hungry after such a ride.” “I am sure you -must indeed,” echoes the hostess from the other, while a dozen voices -cry all at once, “O, really I don’t think I can touch a bit. We got -breakfast the moment before we set off;” and all the time deep are the -incisions made into the various viands: and plentifully heaped are -plates; and bright liquor is poured into glasses, and a great deal of -talk of this and that, and inquiries after this and that person go on; a -hearty luncheon is made, and the gentlemen are ready to set out and look -about them. They are warned by the hostess to remember that dinner will -be on table at one o’clock--“exactly at one!” and assuming hats and -sticks, away they go. - -While they perambulate the farm, and pass learned judgments on land, -cattle, and crops; and make besides excursions into neighbouring lands, -to some particular experiment in management, or extraordinary production -of combined art and nature, our hostess shews her female friends her -dairy, her cheese-room, her poultry-yard, and discussions as scientific -are going on, on the best modes of fattening calves, rearing turkey -broods, and on all the most approved manipulations of cheese and butter. -The quantities produced from a certain number of cows are compared, and -many wonders expressed that lands of apparent equality of richness -should some yield little butter and much cheese, and others little -cheese and much butter; facts well known to all such ladies, but not -easy of explanation by heads that pretend to see further into the heart -of a difficulty than they do. A walk is probably proposed and undertaken -through the garden and orchard, and flowers and fruits are descanted on; -and all this time in the house roasting, and boiling, and baking, are -going on gloriously. Savoury steams are rolling about under the -ceilings; busy damsels with faces rosier than ever, are running to and -fro on the floors; stable-boys are turned into knife-cleaners, and -plough-lads into peelers of potatoes and watchers of boiling pots, and -turnspits. - -The hour arrives; and a sound of loud voices somewhere at hand announces -that our agricultural friends are returned punctually to their time, -with many a joke on their fears of the ladies’ tongues. Not that they -seemed to want any dinner--no, they made such a luncheon; but they had -such a natural fear of being scolded. Well, here they all are;--and here -are the ladies all in full dress. Hands that have been handling prime -stock, or rooting in the earth, or thrust into hay-ricks and corn-heaps, -are washed, and down they sit to such a dinner as might satisfy a crew -of shipwrecked men. There are seldom any of your “wishy-washy soups,” -except it be very cold weather, and seldom more than two courses; but -then they _are_ courses! All of the meat kind seems set on the table at -once. Off go the covers, and what a perplexing but unconsumable variety! -Such pieces of roast beef, veal, and lamb; such hams, and turkeys, and -geese; such game, and pies of pigeons or other things equally good, with -vegetables of all kinds in season--peas, potatoes, cauliflowers, -kidney-beans, lettuces, and whatever the season can produce. The most -potent of ale and porter, the most crystalline and cool water, are -freely supplied, and wine for those that will. When these things have -had ample respect paid to them, they vanish, and the table is covered -with plum-puddings and fruit tarts, cheesecakes, syllabubs, and all the -nicknackery of whipped creams and jellies that female invention can -produce. And then, a dessert of equal profusion. Why should we tantalize -ourselves with the vision of all those nuts, walnuts, almonds, raisins, -fruits, and confections? Enough that they are there; that the wine -circulates--foreign and English--port and sherry--gooseberry and -damson--malt and birch--elderflower and cowslip,--and loud is the -clamour of voices male and female. If there be not quite so much -refinement of tone and manner, quite so much fastidiousness of phrase -and action, as in some other places, there is at least more hearty -laughter, more natural jocularity, and many a - - Random shot of country wit, - -as Burns calls it. A vast of talk there is of all the country round; -every strange circumstance; every incident and change of condition, and -new alliance amongst their mutual friends and acquaintances, pass under -review. The ladies withdraw; and the gentlemen draw together; spirits -take place of wine, and pipes are lighted. We know what subjects will -interest them--farming improvements and politics--and so it goes till -tea-time. - -When summoned to tea, there are additional faces. The pastor and his -wife, perhaps a son and daughter, or daughters, are there; and there is -the clerk too,--the very model of respect and reverence towards his -clerical superior. Whatever that learned authority asserts, this zealous -and “dearly-beloved Moses” testifies. He calls attention to what the -vicar says; he repeats with great satisfaction his sayings. There too, -is the surgeon, and often the veterinary surgeon, especially as he also -is often a farmer, and in intercourse with all the farmers far and near. -This may seem an odd jumble of ranks, but it is no more odd than true. -Who that has seen anything of rural life has not seen odder medleys? -Besides, money in all grades of society can do miracles. There are -clergymen in many parishes, who maintain their own ideas of dignity, and -seldom move out of the circle of squires and dames; but there are -others, and in perfectly rural districts there are abundance of others, -that know how to mix more freely with the yeomanry of their flocks, and -lose nothing neither. If they respect themselves, they insure the -respect, and what is better, the attachment of their hearers. - -But the vicar’s presence on such a day is felt. There is a more palpable -approximation towards silence;--a drawing tighter of the reins of -conversational freedom. The great talkers of after-dinner are now become -great listeners, and often on such occasions I have seen a scene worthy -of the sound sense of English yeomen; for the pastor addresses his -observations and inquiries now to this individual, and now to that; and -now converses in a tone of pleasant humour with the ladies; so that you -may often hear as sober discussions on the passing topics of the day, -and on the prospects of the country, and especially of that part of it -to which they belong, delivered in a homely manner perhaps, but with a -discrimination and practical knowledge that are very gratifying. And on -the part of the females you shall see so many symptoms of -good-heartedness and real matronly mind as make you feel that sense, -soul, and true sympathies, are of no particular grade, or particular -style of life. - -But there must be a dance for the young, and there are cards for the -more sedate; and then again, to a supper as profuse, with its hot game, -and fowls, and fresh pastry, as if it had been the sole meal cooked in -the house that day. The pastor and his company depart; the wine and -spirits circulate; all begin to talk of parting, and are loth to part, -till it grows late; and they have some of them six or seven miles to go, -perhaps, on a pitch-dark night, through by-ways, and with roads not to -be boasted of. All at once, however, up rise the men to go, for their -wives, who asked and looked with imploring eyes in vain, now shew -themselves cloaked and bonneted, and the carriages are heard with -grinding wheels at the door. There is a boisterous shaking of hands, a -score of invitations to come and do likewise, given to their -entertainers, and they mount and away! When you see the blackness of the -night, and consider that they have not eschewed good liquor, and -perceive at what a rate they drive away, you expect nothing less than to -hear the next day, that they have dashed their vehicles to atoms against -some post, or precipitated themselves into some quarry; but all is -right. They best know their own capabilities, and are at home, safe and -sound. - -Such is a specimen of the festivities of what may be called the middle -and substantial class of farmers; and the same thing holds, in degree, -to the very lowest grade of them. The smallest farmer will bring you out -the very best he has; he will spare nothing, on a holiday occasion; and -his wife will present you with her simple slice of cake, and a glass of -currant or cowslip wine, with an _empressement_, and a welcome that you -feel to the heart is real, and a bestowal of a real pleasure to the -offerer. - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE ENGLISH FARMER, AS OPERATED UPON BY MODERN CAUSES AND THEORIES. - -Cobbett complains that the farmer has been spoiled by the growth of -luxurious habits and effeminacy in the nation. That the simple old -furniture is cast out of their houses; that carpets are laid on their -floors; that there are sofas and pianos to be found where there used to -be wooden benches and the spinning-wheel; that the daughters are sent to -boarding-school, instead of to market; and the sons, instead of growing -up sturdy husbandmen, like their fathers, are made clerks, shopkeepers, -or some such “skimmy-dish things.” - -It is true enough that the general style of living and furnishing has -progressed amongst the farmers as amongst all other classes of the -community. And perhaps there has been too much of this. But it should be -recollected that Cobbett was opposed to popular education altogether. He -would have the rural population physically well off, but it should be -physically only. He would have them feed and work and sleep like their -sturdy horses or oxen: but is such a state desirable? Is it not far more -noble, far more truly human, to have all classes partaking, as far as -their circumstances will allow them, of the pleasures of mind? I would -have real knowledge go hand in hand with real religious principle and -moral feeling, and where they go, a certain and inseparable degree of -refinement of manner and embellishment of abode will go with them. -Would I have the follies and affectations of the modern boarding-school -go into the farm-house? By no means. It is by the circulation of -healthful knowledge that all this is to be rooted out, and the race of -finical and half-genteel, and wholly ridiculous boarding-school misses -to be changed into usefully taught and really valuable and amiable -women. We should avoid one extreme as the other. - -It should be recollected, too, that amongst farmers are to be found men -of all ranks and grades. Farming has been, and is, a fashionable -pursuit. We have ducal farmers, and from them all degrees downwards. -Gentlemen’s stewards, educated men, are farmers; and many farmers are -persons whose capital employed in their extensive concerns would -purchase the estates of nobles. All these, of course, live and partake -of the habits, general character, and refinements of the classes to -which they, by their wealth, really belong: and amongst the medium class -of farmers we find as little aspiring of gentility, as amongst the same -grade of tradesmen. Nay, go into the really rural and retired parts of -the country, and they are simple and rustic enough. Let those who doubt -it go into the dales of Yorkshire; into the Peak, and retirements of -Derbyshire; into the vales of Nottinghamshire, and midland counties; let -them traverse Buckinghamshire and Shropshire; let them go into the wild -valleys of Cornwall; ay, into the genuine country of almost any part of -England, and they will find stone floors and naked tables, and pewter -plates, and straw beds, and homely living enough in all conscience. They -may see oxen ploughing in the fields with simple, heavy, wooden yokes, -such as were used five hundred years ago; and horses harnessed with -collars of straw, and an old rope or two, not altogether worth -half-a-crown, doing the tillage of large farms. They may eat a -turnip-pie in one place, and oatmeal cake, or an oatmeal pudding in -another, and bless their stars if they see a bit of butcher’s meat once -a week. Yes, there are primitive living and primitive habits left over -vast districts of England yet, which, we trust, under a better view of -things, will receive no change, except such as springs from the gradual -and sound growth of true knowledge. - -But they bring up their sons to be clerks and such “skimmy-dish things” -in towns. Ay, there is the rub; and this we owe to the rage for large -rentals inspired by the war prices; by false notions of improvement -generated during the heyday of farming prosperity; by gentlemen making -stewards of lawyers, who have no real knowledge of farming interests, -and can, therefore, have no sympathies with the small farmer, or -patience with him in the day of his difficulty, and whose only object is -to get the greatest rent at the easiest rate. But above all, this we owe -to the detestable doctrine of political economy, by which a dozen of -moderate farms are swallowed up in one overgrown one,--a desert, from -which both small farmers and labourers were compelled to depart, to make -way for machinery, and Irish labourers at fourpence a day. Where were -the farmers to put their sons when they were brought up? The small -farms, the natural resource for divided capitals and commencements in -agricultural life, were, in a great measure, annihilated; and a most -useful race of men as far as possible rooted out. Thank God! this -abomination and worse than Egyptian plague, is now seen through, and -what is better, is _felt_. We shall yet have farms from fifty to a -hundred acres, where men of small capital may try their fortunes, and -have a chance of mounting up, instead of being thrust down into the -hopeless condition of serfs. We may have humble homesteads, where a -father and his sons may work together; where labour may await their -days, and an independent fireside their hours of rest. Where a lowly, -but a happy people may congregate at Christmas and other festivals, and -the old games of blindman’s-buff, turn-trencher, and forfeits, may long -be pursued in the evening firelight of rustic rooms. - -The farmer has had his ups and downs. During the war he was too -prosperous; since then he has been at times ground to the dust by low -prices and high rents. Heaven send him a better day! We would see him as -he is, in a healthy state of the country,--a rural king, sowing his corn -and reaping his harvest with a glad heart, and amid the rejoicings of a -numerous peasantry. - -Of the great advance in the science of farming; of the various improved -modes of management, and ingenious machines invented for facilitating -the farmer’s labours, I have spoken under the head of the country -gentleman’s pursuits and recreations. One or two other observations on -the farmer and his life, may as well be given here. - -One of the greatest drawbacks to the pleasantness of their abodes, is to -be found in their miry roads and yards, and the stagnant pools and -drainages that, in the greater number of instances, stand somewhere -about them. One would think that the latter nuisances were intended by -them to neutralize the effects of so much good fresh air as they have; -to act as a check, lest they should, surrounded as they are, by every -conducive to health and longevity, really live too long. There is -scarcely a farm-house but has one of those drain pools, into which all -the liquid refuse of their yards runs, and into which dead dogs and cats -find their way as a matter of course. In summer, these places are green -over, and often stand thick with the bubbles of a pestiferous -fermentation; to all which they appear totally insensible, and must be -really so, or they would contrive to locate them at a greater distance, -or have them carried in a water-cart, and dispersed over their grass -lands, where they would be of infinite service. - -It is in winter that they are beset by miry roads; and have often yards -so deep in dirt, that you cannot reach them on foot without getting over -the shoes. They and their men stalk to and fro through a six-inch depth -of mire as if they trod on a Turkey carpet; but I have often amused -myself with imagining what would be the consternation of a cockney, or -indeed of any townsman only accustomed to clean roads and good -pavements, to find himself set down in the middle of one of those lanes -that lead up to farm-houses, or away into their fields, or even in one -of their fold-yards. But to find himself in one of these, as I have done -many a time on a dark night, and with a necessity of proceeding,--oh -patience! patience! then it is really felt to be a virtue. To slip, and -plunge, and flounder on in such a darksome, deep-rutted, slipping and -stick-fast road--sometimes the puddle soaking into your shoes, and -sometimes sent by the pressure of your tread as from a squirt into your -face:--“hic labor, hoc opus est.” - -A few hours’ work now and then with an iron scraper in the yard, and a -spade to let off the water in the lanes into the ditches, and the -nuisance were prevented. One would have thought that the universal -excellence of all the highways now would have made them sensible of the -luxury of a good, dry footing; but they seem really quite unaware of it, -except you point it out, and then they will tell you in good humour -that they have road-menders at work regularly twice a-year--dry weather -and frost! - -I must here, too, say a word on the subject of small farms. Political -economists, carrying out their theories of the power of capital, and the -division of employments, have written many very plausible things in -recommendation of large farms. They tell you that the men of capital, -who alone can hold large farms, can alone afford to avail themselves of -the aid of machinery for accelerating their operations; of expensive -manures, such as bones, the ashes of bog-earth, such as are burnt in -Berks and Wiltshire; and of new and improved breeds of sheep and cattle; -all of which require long purses, that can pay, and wait for distant -returns. These are all excellent reasons for having such men and such -farms in the country, by which the march and spirit of improvement may -be kept up, and from which, as from reservoirs, may, in due course, -overflow the advantages they introduce to their less wealthy neighbours -at a cheaper rate; but they are no arguments at all against the -retention of less farms. It is, in fact, a well-known circumstance, that -the speculative and amateur farmers generally farm at a greater expense -than their neighbours, an expense, in most cases, never fully made up by -the returns, and often really ruinous. That enlightened, systematic -views, the division of employments, and a judicious outlay of capital, -not always in every man’s power, enable large farmers to sell at a lower -rate than smaller and poorer farmers, is to a certain degree true, but -by no means to the extent supposed. No farm which exceeds the ready and -daily survey of the cultivator will be found to produce these -advantages. Beyond that extent, there must be overlookers employed, and -these must be maintained at a great, and probably greater cost than a -small farmer lives at on his rented farm; nor can such a system be -expected to carry the intentions of the principal into effect with a -success like that of his personal surveillance. The small farmer has -motives to exertion which do not exist in a troop of hired labourers. -Slave labour is notoriously inferior to the labour of freemen, because -the freeman has internal motives that the slave never can have; and in -the same manner a small farmer who labours on his own rented farm has -motives to exertion that the common labourer, who labours for a daily -sum, cannot have. If the small farmer employ any of these, he employs -them under the influence of his own eye and example, and thereby -communicates a stimulus that is absent on a larger scale of cultivation. -The small farmer lives economically; frequently, there is no question, -more economically, and yet better than the labourer, because he has all -his faculties and energies at work to improve his farm and better his -condition; circumstances that do not operate on the labourer, who -receives just a bare sufficiency in his wage, and sees no possibility, -and therefore entertains no hope, of accumulation. The small farmer -works hard himself; his children, if he have them, assist him, and his -wife too, who also is a manager and a worker. He looks round him, for -his eyes are sharpened by his interests, and observes the plans, and -measures, and improvements of his wealthier neighbour, adopts what he -can of them, and often makes cheap and ingenious substitutes for others. -Even if it were a fact, that the large farmer could drive the small -farmer out of the country, it would be a circumstance most deeply to be -deplored. It would extinguish a class of men of hardy, homely, and -independent habits--a serious loss to the nation. It would break those -steps out of the ladder of human aspiration, and the improvement of -condition, that would have a most fatal influence on all society. An -impassable gulf would be placed between the aristocracy of capital and -the freedom of labour; which would produce, as its natural results, -insolence, effeminacy, and corruption of manners, on the one side, and -perpetual poverty, hopeless poverty, abjectness of spirit, or sullen and -dangerous discontent, on the other. Even if, as Miss Martineau, in her -interesting stories, has asserted, it were true that the labourer would -be better clothed and fed than the small farmer, would the mere comfort -of food and clothes make up, to men living in a free and Christian -country, and within the daily reach of its influences, for the -destruction of that ascending path which hope alone can travel? There -would soon, on such a system, either in agriculture or manufactures, be -but two classes in the country,--the great capitalist and the slave. The -great capitalist would stand, like Aaron armed with his serpent rod, to -eat up all the lesser serpents that attempted to lift their heads above -that level which he had condemned them to. The mass would be doomed to a -perpetual despair of even advancing one step out of the thraldom of -labour and command, and their spirits would die within them, or live -only to snatch and destroy what they could not legitimately reach. - -But such, happily, is not the case. Circumstances place a limit to such -things. The small farmer can and does exist, and has existed, and in -many cases, flourished too, in the face of all changes, and surrounded -by large farms cultivated with all the skill of modern art, and all the -power of capital. I have seen and known such, and happier and more -comfortable people do not exist. I do not mean by a small farm, what -Miss Martineau has called such,--some dozen acres--mere cottage -allotments--but farms of from fifty to a hundred acres. There must be -full employment for a pair of horses, or there is created by their keep -an undue charge for labour, which is a serious preventive of success. -But where there is that full employment, a small farmer may live and -prosper. The political economist generally reasons in straight lines. He -will not turn aside to calculate the force of incidental circumstances; -and yet, these incidental circumstances frequently alter a question -entirely. For instance, a small farm may lie near a large town, and -thereby furnish the tenant with a very lucrative trade in milk; and such -incidental circumstances, owing to a location favourable for market, and -other causes, frequently exist. Small farmers often pay attention to -sources of profit, nearly, if not altogether, overlooked by larger ones. -Who does not know what sums are made by cottagers and small occupiers, -of the produce of their gardens and orchards, by carefully looking after -it, and some one of the family bringing it to market, and standing with -it themselves; while the great farmer seldom looks very narrowly to the -growth or preservation of either, and therefore incurs both badness of -crop and waste; and if he sends it to market, he sends it to the -huckster at a wholesale price, to save the annoyance of standing with -it. Small concerns, having small establishments, and _no dignity to -support_, nor other cares to divert the attention, find in these -resources alone frequently an income itself nearly equal to their -expenditure. - -To determine questions of this kind there requires a close examination -into all their bearings, and into the habits and feelings of those -concerned. The truth of the matter, as regards the most profitable size -of farms, and their general benefit to the public, seems to be, that -there should be some of various sizes, that various degrees of capital -and capacity of management may be accommodated; that there may be a -chance for those beginning who have little to begin with, and a chance -of the active and enterprising rising, as activity and enterprise -should. This seems the only system by which the healthful temperament of -a community can be kept up; and that just equilibrium of interests, and -that ascending scale of advantages maintained, by which not merely the -wealth, but the real happiness of a state is promoted. - - -CHAPTER III. - -FARM-SERVANTS. - - The clown, the child of nature, without guile, - Blessed with an infant’s ignorance of all - But his own simple pleasures; now and then - A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair.--_Cowper._ - - -We have in a preceding chapter, taken a view of the English farmer. We -have seen him at market--in his fields, and in his house receiving his -friends to a holiday feast. If we were to go to the farm-house on any -other day, and at any season of the year, and survey the farmer and his -men in their daily and ordinary course of life, we should always see -something to interest us; and we should have to contemplate a mode of -existence forming a strong contrast to that of townsmen; and, -notwithstanding the innovation which the progress of modern habits has -made on life in the country, still presenting a picture of simplicity, -homeliness, and quiet, which no other life retains. Thousands, indeed, -looking into a farm-house, surveying its furniture, the apparatus and -supply of its table, the manners and the language of its inhabitants, -would wonder where, after all, was the vast change said to have taken -place in the habits of the agricultural population. O! rude and -antiquated enough in all conscience, are hundreds of our farm-houses and -their inmates, in many an obscure district of merry England yet. The -spots are not difficult to be found even now, where the old oak table, -with legs as thick and black as those of an elephant, is spread in the -homely house-place, for the farmer and his family--wife, children, -servants, male and female; and is heaped with the rude plenty of beans -and bacon, beef and cabbage, fried potatoes and bacon, huge puddings -with “dip” as it is called, that is, sauce of flour, butter, and water -boiled, sharpened with vinegar or verjuice, and sweetened with brown -sugar or more economical molasses--“dip,” so called, no doubt, because -all formerly dipped their morsel into it; a table where bread and -cheese, and beer, and good milk porridge and oatmeal porridge, or -stirabout, still resist the introduction of tea and coffee and such -trash, as the stout old husbandman terms it. Let no one say that modern -language and modern habits have driven away the ancient rusticity, while -such dialogues between the farmer and guest as the following may be -heard--and such may yet be heard in the Peak of Derbyshire, where this -really passed. - -_Farmer at table to his guest._--Ite, mon, ite! - -_Guest._--Au have iten, mon. Au’ve iten till Au’m weelly brussen. - -_Farmer._--Then ite, and brust thee out mon: au wooden we hadden to -brussen thee wee.[2] - - [2] This is the present genuine dialect of the Peak, and is nearly as - pure Saxon. It is curious to see in the southern agricultural - counties, how the old Saxon terms are worn out by a greater - intercourse with London and townspeople, although the people - themselves have a most Saxon look, with their fair complexions and - light brown hair; while, as you proceed northward, the Saxon becomes - more and more prevalent in the country dialects. In the midland - counties bracken is the common term for fern--in the south not a - peasant ever heard it. The dialects of Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, - and Staffordshire, are so similar to that of the Sassenach of - Scotland, the Lowland Scots, that the language of Burns was nearly as - familiar to me when I first read his poems, as that of my village - neighbours; and the Scotch read that clever romance of low life, - “Bilberry Thurland,” with a great relish, the dialogues of which are - genuine Nottinghamshire, because they said, it was such good Scotch. I - have noticed that the plays of the boys in Derbyshire and in the - Scotch Lowlands have similar names, differing from the English names - in general; as the English game of bandy, in Derbyshire is shinny, in - Scotland shinty. - -It is no rare sight to see the farmer himself, with his clouted shoon -and his fustian coat, ribbed blue or black worsted stockings, and -breeches of corduroy; to see him arousing his household, at five o’clock -of a morning, and his wife hurrying the servant-wenches, as they call -them, from their beds, crying,--“Up, up, boulder-heads!” that is -pebble-heads, or heavy-heads, and asking them if they mean to lie till -the sun burns their eyes out; having them up to light fires, sweep the -hearth, and get to milking, cheese-making, churning, and what not; -while he gets his men and boys to their duties,--in winter, to fodder -the horses and cows, and prepare for ploughing, or carting out manure; -to supply the “young beast,”--young cattle, in the straw-yard with food; -to chop turnips, carrots, mangel-würzel, cut hay, boil potatoes for -feeding pigs or bullocks; thrash, winnow, or sack corn. In summer, to be -off to the harvest-field. The wife is ready to take a turn at the churn, -or to turn up her gown-sleeves to the shoulders, and kneeling down on a -straw cushion, to press the sweet curd to the bottom of the cheese-pan. -To boil the whey for making whey butter, to press the curd into the -cheese-vats; place the new cheese in the press; to salt and turn, and -look after those cheeses which are in the different stages of the -progress from perfect newness and white softness, to their investment -with the unctuous coating of a goodly age. He is ready to go with the -men into the farm; she is ready to see that the calves are properly fed, -and to bargain with the butcher for the fat ones; to feed her geese, -turkeys, guinea-fowls, and barn-door fowls; to see after the collection -of eggs; how the milk is going on in the dairy, the cream churning, and -moulding of butter for sale. In some counties, especially in the west of -England, numerous are those homely and most useful dames that you see -mounted on their horses with nothing but a flat pad, or a stuffed sack -under them, jogging to market to dispose of the products of their dairy -and poultry yard, as fresh, hale, and independent, as their grandmothers -were. As to the farmer himself, he can hold the plough as his father did -before him. He hates your newfangled notions; he despises your -fine-fingered chaps, that are brought up at boarding-schools till they -are fit for nothing but to ride on smart whisk-tailed nags to market, -and carry a bit of a sample-bag in their pockets; and had rather, ten -times, be off to the hunt or the race-course than to market at all; or -to be running after a dog and gun, breaking down fences and trampling -over turnip and potato crops, when they ought to be watching that other -idlers did not commit such depredations. He sits with his men, and works -with his men; and, while he does as much as the best of them--follows -the plough, the harrow, or the drill, empties the manure-cart on his -fallows, loads the hay or the corn-wagon,--he many a time says to -himself that the “master’s eye does still more than his hand.” The -celebrated Mr. Robinson of Cambridge, who was fond of farming, gives in -a letter to a friend, a most striking view of the perpetual recurrence -of the little occupations which present themselves to the practical -farmer, and however apparently trivial, are really important, and full -of pleasure to those whose hearts are in such pursuit.--“Rose at three -o’clock; crawled into the library, and met one who said,--‘work while ye -have the light; the night cometh, when no man can work: my father -worketh hitherto, and I work.’ Rang the great bell, and roused the girls -to milking, went up to the farm, roused the horsekeeper, fed the horses -while he was getting up; called the boy to suckle the calves and clean -out the cow-house; lighted the pipe, walked round the garden to see what -was wanted there; went up to the paddock to see if the weaning calves -were well; went down to the ferry to see if the boy had scooped and -cleaned the boat; returned to the farm, examined the shoulders, heels, -traces, chaff and corn of eight horses going to plough, mended the -acre-staff, cut some thongs, whip-corded the plough-boys’ whips, pumped -the troughs full, saw the hogs fed, examined the swill-tubs, and then -the cellar; ordered a quarter of malt, for the hogs want grains, and the -men want beer; filled the pipe again, returned to the river, and bought -a lighter of turf for dairy fires, and another of sedge for ovens; -hunted out the wheelbarrows, and set them a trundling; returned to the -farm, called the men to breakfast, and cut the boys’ bread and cheese, -and saw the wooden bottles filled; sent one plough to the three roods, -another to the three half-acres, and so on; shut the gates, and the -clock struck five; breakfasted; set two men to ditch the five roods, two -men to chop sods, and spread about the land, two more to throw up manure -in the yard, and three men and six women to weed wheat; set on the -carpenter to repair cow-cribs, and set them up till winter; the wheeler, -to mend the old carts, cart-ladders, rakes, etc., preparatory to -hay-time and harvest; walked to the six-acres, found hogs in the grass, -went back and set a man to hedge and thorn; sold the butcher a fat calf -and the suckler a lean one.--The clock strikes nine; walked into the -barley-field; barleys fine--picked off a few tiles and stones, and cut a -few thistles; the peas fine but foul; the charlock must be topped; the -tares doubtful, the fly seems to have taken them; prayed for rain, but -could not see a cloud; came round to the wheat-field, wheats rather -thin, but the finest colour in the world; sent four women on to the -shortest wheats; ordered one man to weed along the ridge of the long -wheats, and two women to keep rank and file with him in the furrows; -thistles many, blue-bottles no end; traversed all the wheat-field, came -to the fallow-field; the ditchers have run crooked, set them straight; -the flag sods cut too much, the rush sods too little, strength wasted, -shew the men how to three-corner them; laid out more work for the -ditchers, went to the ploughs, set the foot a little higher, cut a -wedge, set the coulter deeper, must go and get a new mould-board against -to-morrow; went to the other plough, gathered up some wood and tied over -the traces, mended a horse-tree, tied a thong to the plough-hammer, went -to see which lands wanted ploughing first, sat down under a bush, -wondered how any man could be so silly as to call me _reverend_; read -two verses in the Bible of the loving-kindness of the Lord in the midst -of his temple, hummed a tune of thankfulness, rose up, whistled, the -dogs wagged their tails, and away we went, dined, drunk some milk and -fell asleep, woke by the carpenter for some slats which the sawyers must -cut, etc. etc.” - -So spends many a farmer of the old stamp his day, and at night he takes -his seat on the settle, under the old wide chimney--his wife has her -little work-table set near--the “wenches” darning their stockings, or -making up a cap for Sunday, and the men sitting on the other side of the -hearth, with their shoes off. He now enjoys of all things, to talk over -his labours and plans with the men,--they canvass the best method of -doing this and that--lay out the course of to-morrow--what land is to be -broke up, or laid down; where barley, wheat, oats, etc. shall be sown, -or if they be growing, when they shall be cut. In harvest-time, -lambing-time, in potato setting and gathering time, in fact, almost all -summer long, there is no sitting on the hearth--it is out of bed with -the sun, and after the long hard day--supper, and to bed again. It is -only in winter that there is any sitting by the fire, which is seldom -diversified further than by the coming in of a neighbouring farmer, or -the reading of the weekly news. - -Such is the rustic, plodding life of many a farmer in England, and -there is no part of the population for which so little has been done, -and of which so little is thought, as of their farm-servants. Scarcely -any of these got any education before the establishment of Sunday -schools--how few of them do yet, compared with the working population of -towns? The girls help their mothers--the labourers’ wives--in their -cottages, as soon almost as they can waddle about. They are scarcely -more than infants themselves, when they are set to take care of other -infants. The little creatures go lugging about great fat babies that -really seem as heavy as themselves. You may see them on the commons, or -little open green spots in the lanes near their homes, congregating -together, two or three juvenile nurses, with their charges, carrying -them along, or letting them roll on the sward, while they try to catch a -few minutes of play with one another, or with that tribe of bairns at -their heels--too old to need nursing, and too young to begin nursing -others. As they get bigger they are found useful in the house--they mop -and brush, and feed the pig, and run to the town for things; and as soon -as they get to ten or twelve, out they go to nurse at the farm-houses; a -little older, they “go to service;” there they soon aspire to be -dairymaids, or housemaids, if their ambition does not prompt them to -seek places in the towns,--and so they go on scrubbing and scouring, and -lending a hand in the harvest-field, till they are married to some young -fellow, who takes a cottage and sets up day-labourer. This is their -life; and the men’s is just similar. As soon as they can run about, they -are set to watch a gate that stands at the end of the lane or the common -to stop cattle from straying, and there through long solitary days they -pick up a few halfpence by opening it for travellers. They are sent to -scare birds from corn just sown, or just ripening, where - - They stroll, the lonely Crusoes of the fields-- - -as Bloomfield has beautifully described them from his own experience. -They help to glean, to gather potatoes, to pop beans into holes in -dibbling time, to pick hops, to gather up apples for the cider-mill, to -gather mushrooms and blackberries for market, to herd flocks of geese, -or young turkeys, or lambs at weaning time; they even help to drive -sheep to market, or to the wash at shearing time; they can go to the -town with a huge pair of clouted ancle-boots to be mended, as you may -see them trudging along over the moors, or along the footpath of the -fields, with the strings of the boots tied together, and slung over the -shoulder--one boot behind and the other before; and then they are very -useful to lift and carry about the farm-yard, to shred turnips, or -beet-root--to hold a sack open--to bring in wood for the fire, or to -rear turfs for drying on the moors, as the man cuts them with his paring -shovel, or to rear peat-bricks for drying. They are mighty useful -animals in their day and generation, and as they get bigger, they -successively learn to drive plough, and then to hold it; to drive the -team, and finally to do all the labours of a man. That is the growing up -of a farm-servant. All this time he is learning his business, but he is -learning nothing else,--he is growing up into a tall, long, -smock-frocked, straw-hatted, ancle-booted fellow, with a gait as -graceful as one of his own plough-bullocks. He has grown up, and gone to -service; and there he is, as simple, as ignorant, and as laborious a -creature as one of the wagon-horses that he drives. The mechanic sees -his weekly newspaper over his pipe and pot; but the clodhopper, the -chopstick, the hawbuck, the hind, the Johnny-raw, or by whatever name, -in whatever district, he may be called, is every where the same; he sees -no newspaper, and if he did, he could not read it; and if he hears his -master reading it, ten to one but he drops asleep over it. In fact, he -has no interest in it. He knows there is such a place as the next town, -for he goes there to statutes, and to the fair; and he has heard of -Lunnon, and the French, and Buonaparte, and of late years of America, -and he has some dreamy notion that he should like to go there if he -could raise the wind, and thought he could find the way--and that is all -that he knows of the globe and its concerns, beyond his own fields. The -mechanic has his library, and he reads, and finds that he has a mind, -and a hundred tastes and pleasures that he never dreamed of before; the -clodhopper has no library, and if he had, books in his present state -would be to him only so many things set on end upon shelves. He is as -much of an animal as air and exercise, strong living and sound sleeping, -can make him, and he is nothing more. Just see the daily course of his -life. Harvest-time is the jubilee of his year. It is a time of incessant -and hurrying occupation--but that is a benefit to him--it is an -excitement, and he wants exciting. It rouses him out of that beclouded -and unimaginative dreamy state in which he stalks along the solitary -fields, or wields the flail in the barn; digs the drain or the ditch, or -plashes the fence, from day to day and week to week. The energies that -he has, and they are chiefly physical, are all called forth. He is in a -bustle. The weather is fine and warm--his blood flows quicker. The gates -are thrown open--the hay rustles in the meadow, or the golden corn -stands in shock amid the stubble: the wagons are rattling along the -lanes and the fields. His neighbours are all called out to assist. The -labourers leave every thing else, and are all in the harvest-field. The -women leave their cottages, and are there too. Young, middle-aged, and -old,--all are there, to work or to glean. The comely maiden with her -rosy face, her beaming eyes, and fair figure, brings with her mirth and -joke. The stout village matrons have drawn footless stockings on their -arms to protect them from the sun and stubble--they have pinned up their -bed-gowns behind, or doffed themselves to the brown stays and -linsey-woolsey petticoat, and are amongst the best hands in the field. -Even the old are feebly pulling at a rake, or putting hay into wain-row, -or looking on, and telling what they have done in their time. The -beer-keg is in the field, and the horn often goes round. The lunch is -eaten under the tree, or amongst the sheaves. In the house at noon, -there is a great setting out of dinner; beans and bacon, huge puddings -and dumplings are plentiful,--it is a joyous and a stirring time. There -is no other season of the year in which the farm-servant enjoys himself -so much as in harvest; not even in his few other days of relaxation--on -his visit to the fair, to the statutes, to the ploughing match, or on -_Mothering_ Sunday, when all the “servant-lads” and “servant-wenches” -are, in some parts of the country, set at liberty for a day, to go and -see their mothers. See him at any other time, and what a plodding, -simple, monotonous life he leads! He rises at an early hour--we have -seen in this chapter at _what an hour_ the Rev. Mr. Robinson had his men -up;--if he be going to work in the farm-yard, he goes out and gets to it -till breakfast-time: but if he be going to plough, or to do work at a -distance, or to carry corn home that has been sold at market by his -master, or to fetch bones, rape-dust, or other manure from the town, or -coals from the pit, he is up, whether it be summer or winter, at an hour -at which townspeople are often not gone to bed. In early spring, and -autumn he gets up to plough at five and six o’clock in a morning. It is -pitch dark, and dismally cold. He strikes a light with his tinder, for -lucifers he never saw, and has only heard of, as a horrible invention -for setting ricks on fire. He slips on his ancle-boots without lacing -them, and out he goes to fodder his horses, and rub them down. That -done, he comes in again. - -The “servant wench” has lit the fire and set out his breakfast for him -and his fellows; huge basins of milk porridge, and loaves as big as -beehives, and pretty much of the same shape, and as brown as the back of -their own hands. To this fare he betakes himself with a capacity that -only country air and hard labour can give. Having made havoc with as -much of these as would serve a round family of citizens to breakfast, he -then stretches out his hand to a capacious dish of cold fat bacon of -about six inches thick; nay, I once saw bacon on such a table actually -ten inches thick, and all one solid mass of fat. This is set on the top -of half a peck of cold boiled beans that were left the day before, and -however strange such viands might seem to a townsman at six o’clock, or -earlier, in a morning, they vanish as rapidly as if they did not follow -that mess of porridge, and those huge hunches of bread. Well, to a -certainty he has now done. Nay, don’t be in such haste--he has _not_ -done; he has his eye on the great brown loaf again. He must have a snack -of bread and cheese; so he takes his knife out of his waistcoat pocket, -a gigantic clasp knife, assuredly made by the knowing Sheffielder to hew -down such loaves, and lie in such pockets, and fill such stomachs, and -for no other earthly purpose. See! he cuts a massy fragment of the rich -curly kissing-crust, that hangs like a fretted cornice from the upper -half of the loaf, and places it between the little finger and the thick -of his left hand; he cuts a corresponding piece of cheese, and places it -between the thumb and the two fore-fingers of the same hand, and -alternately cutting his bread and cheese with his clasp-knife (for he -would not use another for that purpose on any account), as Betty sets a -mug of ale before him, he wipes his mouth and says, as he lifts the mug, -to his younger companion, who has all this time been faithfully and -valiantly imitating him,--“Well, Jack, we must be off, lad; take a -draught, then get the horses out, and I’ll be with thee.” - -This is pretty well for five or six o’clock in a morning; but it is -quite as likely that it is only one or two in the morning, as it -certainly is, if he be going to a distance with a load, or for a load of -any thing. The breakfast is as liberally handled, and Betty mean time -has put up their luncheons or “ten-o’clocks”--huge masses of bread and -cheese, or cold bacon, or cold meat, and a bottle of ale if they are -going to plough. Having now breakfasted, he has only to lace his boots, -which he generally does in the most inconvenient posture, and not before -he has filled himself till it is tenfold additionally inconvenient--so -with a face into which all the blood in his body seems to rush, and with -many a grunt, he accomplishes his task, and away he goes;--his whip -cracks, his gears jingle, his wagon rumbles, and he is gone. If, -however, he be going to plough, he will duly about eleven o’clock lunch -under a tree, while his horses rest and eat their hay; and then, at -three or four o’clock, he will loose them from the plough, and return -home to a dinner as plentiful as his breakfast; his horses are fed, and -he goes to bed. If he be going out with corn, or for coals, he is off, -as I have said, probably by two o’clock, and in his wagon he duly takes -with him a truss of hay and a truss of straw. The hay is for his horses -to eat at some wayside public-house, and the straw is for payment for -their standing in the stable. The straw is worth a shilling, and in some -places, at certain seasons, eighteen-pence. If he does not take straw, -he takes a shilling in money. He carries his luncheon and eats it in the -alehouse, and he has a shilling for himself and companion to drink, and -treat the hostler. This is a custom as old as farms and corn-mills -themselves. If it be winter weather, you shall meet him, probably, with -straw-bands wrapped round his legs, or even round his hat for warmth; -and in heavy rain his Macintosh is a sack-bag, which he throws over his -shoulders, and goes on defying the weather for a whole day. In sudden -squalls and thunder showers in summer, you may see him, and frequently a -whole cluster of harvesters, take shelter under his wagon till the storm -is over. By the evening fire, in some farm-houses, they mend their -shoes, or shape and polish the heads of flails which they have cut from -the black-thorn bush, and have had in a loft or under their bed -seasoning for the last six months, or they get into some horse-play, or -they doze - - Till chilblains wake them, or the snapping fire. - -And on Sundays they go to church in the morning to get a quiet nod. -Perhaps it is to them that the Apostle alludes when he says--“And your -young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.” For -the only chance of their worship seems to be in their dreams--the daily -exposure to the air on the six days making them as drowsy as bats on the -seventh. In the afternoon they lean over gates, or play at quoits:--and -there is the life of a farmer man-servant, till he is metamorphosed into -a labourer by marrying and setting up his cottage, finding himself, and -receiving weekly instead of yearly wages. Such is the farm-servant, -whether you see him in his white, his blue, his tawny, or his -olive-green smock-frock, in his straw-hat, or his wide-awake, according -to the prevailing fashion of different parts of the country--and truly, -seeing him and his fellows, we may ask with Wordsworth-- - - What kindly warmth from touch of fostering hand, - What penetrating power of sun or breeze - Shall e’er dissolve the crust wherein his soul - Sleeps, like a caterpillar sheathed in ice? - This torpor is no pitiable work - Of modern ingenuity; no town - Or crowded city may be taxed with aught - Of sottish vice, or desperate breach of law, - To which in after years he may be roused. - This boy the fields produce:--his spade and hoe-- - The carter’s whip that on his shoulder rests, - In air high-towering with a boorish pomp, - The sceptre of his sway: his country’s name, - Her equal rights, her churches and her schools-- - What have they done for him? And, let me ask, - For tens of thousands, uninformed as he?[3] - - [3] Who would believe it, that such is the profound ignorance amongst - the peasantry even of the Cumberland hills--amongst that peasantry - where Wordsworth himself has found his Michaels, his Matthews, and - many another man and woman that in his hands have become classical and - enduring specimens of rustic heart and mind, that such facts as the - following could occur, and yet this did occur there not very long ago. - The “statesmen,” that is, small proprietors there, are a people very - little susceptible of religious excitement; and, we may believe, have, - in past years, been very much neglected by their natural instructors. - You hear of no “revivals” amongst them, and the Methodists have little - success amongst them. Some person, speaking with the wife of one of - these “statesmen” on religious subjects, found that she had not even - heard of such a person as Jesus Christ! Astonished at the discovery, - he began to tell her of his history; of his coming to save the world, - and of his being put to death. Having listened to all this very - attentively, she inquired where this occured; and that being answered, - she asked, “and when was it?” this being also told her, she very - gravely observed--“Well, its sae far off, and sae lang since, we’ll - fain believe that it isna true!” - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE BONDAGE SYSTEM OF THE NORTH OF ENGLAND. - - -A person from the south or midland counties of England, journeying -northward, is struck when he enters Durham, or Northumberland, with the -sight of bands of women working in the fields under the surveillance of -one man. One or two such bands, of from half a dozen to a dozen women, -generally young, might be passed over; but when they recur again and -again, and you observe them wherever you go, they become a marked -feature of the agricultural system of the country, and you naturally -inquire how it is that such regular bands of female labourers prevail -there. The answer, in the provincial tongue, is--“O they are the -Boneditchers,” _i. e._ Bondagers. Bondagers! that is an odd sound, you -think, in England. What, have we bondage, a rural serfdom, still -existing in free and fair England? Even so. The thing is astounding -enough, but it is a fact. As I cast my eyes for the first time on these -female bands in the fields, working under their drivers, I was, before -making any inquiry respecting them, irresistibly reminded of the -slave-gangs of the West Indies: turnip-hoeing, somehow, associated -itself strangely in my brain with sugar-cane dressing; but when I heard -these women called Bondagers, the association became tenfold strong. - -On all the large estates in these counties, and in the south of -Scotland, the bondage system prevails. No married labourer is permitted -to dwell on these estates unless he enters into bond to comply with this -system. These labourers are termed hinds. Small houses are built for -them on the farms, and on some of the estates--as those of the Duke of -Northumberland--all these cottages are numbered, and the number is -painted on the door. A hind, therefore, engaging to work on one of the -farms belonging to the estate, has a house assigned him. He has 4_l._ a -year in money; the keep of a cow; his fuel found him,--a prescribed -quantity of coal, wood, or peat, to each cottage; he is allowed to plant -a certain quantity of land with potatoes; and has thirteen boles of corn -furnished him for his family consumption; one-third being oats, -one-third barley, and one-third peas. In return for these advantages, he -is bound to give his labour the year round, and also to furnish a woman -labourer at 1_s._ per day during harvest, and 8_d._ per day for the rest -of the year. Now it appears, at once, that this is no hereditary -serfdom--such a thing could not exist in this country; but it is the -next thing to it, and no doubt has descended from it; being serfdom in -its mitigated form, in which alone modern notions and feelings would -tolerate it. It may even be said that it is a voluntary system; that it -is merely married hinds doing that which unmarried farm-servants do -everywhere else--hire themselves on certain conditions from year to -year. The great question is, whether these conditions are just, and -favourable to the social and moral improvement of the labouring class. -Whether, indeed, it be quite of so voluntary a nature as, at first -sight, appears; whether it be favourable to the onward movement of the -community in knowledge, virtue, and active and enterprising habits. -These are questions which concern the public; and these I shall -endeavour to answer in that candid and dispassionate spirit which public -good requires. - -In the first place, then, it is only just to say that their cottages, -though they vary a good deal on different estates, are in themselves, in -some cases, not bad. Indeed, some of those which we entered on the -estates of the Duke of Northumberland, were much more comfortable than -labourers’ cottages often are. Each has its number painted on the door, -within a crescent,--the crest of the Northumberland family; and though -this has a look rather savouring too much of a badge of servitude, yet -within many of them are very comfortable. They are all built pretty much -on one principle, and that very different to the labourers’ houses of -the south. They are copied, in fact, from the Scotch cottages. They are -of one story, and generally of one room. On one side is the fireplace, -with an oven on one hand and a boiler on the other; on the opposite side -of the cottage is the great partition for the beds, which are two in -number, with sliding doors or curtains. The ceiling is formed by poles -nailed across from one side of the roof to the other, about half a yard -above where it begins to slope, and covered with matting. From the -matting to the wall the slope is covered with a piece of chintz in the -best cottages; in others, with some showy calico print, with ordinary -wall-paper, or even with paper daubed with various colours and patterns. -This is the regular style of the hind’s cottage; varying in neatness and -comfort, it must be confessed, however, from one another by many -degrees. Many are very naked, dirty, and squalid. Where they happen to -stand separate, on open heaths, and in glens of the hills, nature throws -around them so much of wild freedom and picturesqueness as makes them -very agreeable. The cottages of the shepherds are often very snug and -curious. We went into the cottage of the herd of Middleton, at the foot -of the Cheviots, an estate formerly belonging to Greenwich Hospital. -This hut was of more than ordinary size, as it was required to -accommodate several shepherds. The part of the house on your left as you -entered was divided into two rooms. The one was a sort of entrance -lobby, where stood the cheese-press and the pails, and where hung up -various shepherds’ plaids, great coats, and strong shoes. In one place -hung a mass of little caps with strings to them, ready to tie upon the -sheeps’ heads when they become galled by the fly in summer; in another -were suspended wool-shears and crooks. The other little room was the -dairy, with the oddest assemblage of wooden quaighs or little pails -imaginable. Over these rooms, a step-ladder led to an open attic in the -roof, which formed at once the sleeping apartment of the shepherds and a -store-room. Here were three or four beds, some of them woollen -mattresses on rude stump-bedsteads; others pieces of wicker-work, like -the lower half of a pot-crate cut off, about half a yard high, filled -with straw, and a few blankets laid upon it. There were lots of fleeces -of wool stowed away; and lasts and awls stuck into the spars, shewed -that the herds occasionally amused their leisure in winter and bad -weather by cobbling their shoes. The half of the house on your right -hand on entering, was at all points such as I have before described, -with its coved and matted ceiling, its chintz cornice, and its two beds -with sliding doors. But the majority of the cottages of the hinds about -the great farm-houses, are dismal abodes. They are generally built in a -low, and sometimes in a dreary quadrangle, without those additions of -gardens, piggeries, etc., which so much enrich and embellish the -cottages of the labourers in many parts of the kingdom. And what is the -state of feeling within? is it that of contentment or acquiescence? I am -bound to say that many inquiries made in various places, discovered one -general sentiment of discontent with the system. But in the first place, -let us take a view of the general aspect of the country under this -system as it appears to a stranger from the south, and here we have at -hand the graphic descriptions of Cobbett, from his tour in Scotland and -the northern counties of England, in 1832. - -He does not seem to have become aware of the existence of the system -while in Durham and Northumberland. He perceived, what no man can pass -through those counties without seeing, the large-farm system in full -operation, and with all its consequences in its face. “From Morpeth to -within four miles of Hexham the land is very indifferent; the farms of -an enormous extent. I saw in one place more than a hundred corn-stacks -in one yard, each having from six to seven Surrey wagon-loads of sheaves -in one stack; and not another house to be seen within a mile or two of -the farm-house. There appears to be no such thing as barns, but merely a -place to take in a stack at a time, and thrash it out by a machine. The -country seems to be almost wholly destitute of people: immense tracts of -corn land, but neither cottages nor churches.” p. 56. This was the first -glimpse of the thing; it had not yet broken fully upon him; but he had -not gone much further before the vast solitude of the depopulative -system began to press upon his brain, and to set those indignant -feelings and theorizings at work in him, which belonged so peculiarly to -his nature. “From Morpeth to Alnwick, the country, generally speaking, -is very poor as to land, scarcely any trees at all; the farms enormously -extensive: only two churches, I think, in the whole of the twenty miles, -_i. e._ from Newcastle to Alnwick. Scarcely any thing worthy the name of -a tree, and not one single dwelling having the appearance of a -labourer’s house. Here appears to be neither hedging nor ditching; no -such thing as a sheep-fold or a hurdle to be seen; the cattle and sheep -very few in number; _the farm-servants living in the farm-houses, and -very few of them_; the thrashing done by machinery and horses; _a -country without people_. This is a pretty country to take a minister -from, to govern the south of England! a pretty country to take a Lord -Chancellor from, to prattle about _poor-laws_, and about _surplus -population_! My LORD GREY has, in fact, spent his life here, and -BROUGHAM has spent his life in the inns of court, or in the botheration -of speculative books. How should either of them know any thing about the -eastern, southern, or western counties? I wish I had my dignitary, DR. -BLACK, here; I would soon make him see that he has all these number of -years been talking about the bull’s horns instead of his tail and -buttocks. Besides the indescribable pleasure of having seen NEWCASTLE, -the SHIELDSES, SUNDERLAND, DURHAM, and HEXHAM, I have now discovered the -true ground of all the errors of the Scotch _feelosophers_, with regard -to population, and with regard to poor-laws. The two countries are as -different as any things of the same nature can possibly be; that which -applies to the one does not at all apply to the other. The agricultural -counties are covered all over with parish churches, and with people -thinly distributed here and there. Only look at the two counties of -Dorset and Durham. Dorset contains 1005 square miles; Durham contains -1061 square miles. Dorset has 271 _parishes_; Durham has 75 parishes. -The population of Dorset is scattered all over the whole county; there -being no town of any magnitude in it. The population of Durham, though -larger than that of Dorset, is almost all gathered together at the -mouths of the TYNE, the WEAR, and the TEES. Northumberland has 1871 -square miles; and Suffolk has 1512 square miles. Northumberland has -_eighty-eight parishes_; and Suffolk has _five hundred and ten -parishes_. So here is a county one-third part smaller than that of -Northumberland, with _six times as many villages in it_! What comparison -is there to be made between states of society so essentially different? -What rule is there, with regard to population and poor-laws, which can -apply to both cases? * * * Blind and thoughtless must that man be, who -imagines that all but _farms_ in the south are unproductive. I much -question whether, taking a strip three miles each way from the road, -coming from NEWCASTLE to ALNWICK, an equal quantity of what is called -_waste ground_ in Surrey, together with the cottages that skirt it, do -not exceed such strip of ground in point of produce. Yes; the cows, -pigs, geese, poultry, gardens, bees, and fuel that arise from these -_wastes_, far exceed, even in the capacity of sustaining people, similar -breadths of ground, distributed into these large farms, in the poorer -parts of Northumberland. I have seen not less than ten thousand geese in -one tract of common, in about six miles, going from CHOBHAM towards -FARNHAM in Surrey. I believe these geese alone, raised entirely by care -and the common, to be worth more than the clear profit that can be drawn -from any similar breadth of land between MORPETH and ALNWICK.” - -There are two important particulars connected with this statement: one -regards the sustenance of life, and the other morals. Much has been said -of the morals of the hinds of Northumberland under this system, and in -the main their morals may be good; but one or two facts I can state, as -it regards the morals of the common people in general in both counties. -In going over this very ground, of which Cobbett has been speaking, we -witnessed such a scene as we never witnessed in any other part of -England. We had taken our places in an afternoon coach, going from -Newcastle to Morpeth. It was market-day, and we had not proceeded far -out of Newcastle when we found that the coach in which we were, had -actually _two-and-thirty passengers_. They consisted of country-people -returning from market, who were taken up principally on the road. There -were _nine_ inside, and _twenty-three_ outside; _six of whom sat piled -on each other’s knees, on the driving-box_! The greater part of them -were drunk; and the number of tipsy fellows staggering along the road, -exceeded what we ever saw in any other quarter. We happened to be too at -Alnwick fair, and we never saw the farmers and drovers more freely -indulge in drink and noise. Moreover, from Alnwick to Belford we had a -wealthy farmer in the coach, who was raving drunk, shouted out of the -windows, chafed like a wild beast in a cage, and presented a spectacle -such as I have never seen in a coach elsewhere. So much for the morals -of that region. - -But Cobbett had not yet seen the finest lands, or got a glimpse of the -Bondage System. He still goes on expressing his astonishment at the -solitude, the vast farms with their steam thrashing-machines; “so that -the elements seem to be pressed into the amiable service of sweeping the -people from the earth, in order that the whole amount may go into the -hands of a small number of persons, that they may squander it at London, -Paris, or Rome.” It was only after he had traversed the Lothians that -the full discovery broke upon him; so that, after all, he never seems to -have perceived that the Bondage System was prevalent in England, but -speaks of it as exclusively a Scotch system. There is every reason to -believe it a relic of ancient feudalism; but it is certain that but for -the doctrines of the Edinburgh Economists it would have long ago -vanished from our soil. When Cobbett arrived at Edinburgh, there he -seemed to take breath, and clear his lungs for a good tirade against the -system; which he does thus, in his first letter to the _Chopsticks_ of -the south. “This city is fifty-six miles from the Tweed, which separates -England from Scotland. I have come through the country in a post-chaise, -stopped one night upon the road, and have made every inquiry, in order -that I might be able to ascertain the exact state of the labourers on -the land. With the exception of about seven miles, the land is the -finest that I ever saw in my life, though I have seen every fine vale in -every county in England, and in the United States of America. I never -saw any land a tenth-part so good. You will know what the land is, when -I tell you that it is by no means uncommon for it to produce seven -English quarters of wheat upon one English acre; and forty tons of -turnips upon one English acre; and that there are, almost in every half -mile, from fifty to a hundred acres of turnips in one piece, sometimes -white turnips, and sometimes Swedes; all in rows, as straight as a line, -and without a weed to be seen in any of these beautiful fields. - -“Oh! how you will wish to be here! ‘Lord,’ you will say to yourselves, -‘what pretty villages there must be; what nice churches and churchyards. -Oh! and what preciously nice alehouses! Come, Jack, let us set off to -Scotland! What nice gardens we shall have to our cottages there! What -beautiful flowers our wives will have, climbing up about the windows, -and on both sides of the paths leading from the wicket up to the door! -And what prancing and barking pigs we shall have running out upon the -common, and what a flock of geese grazing upon the green!’ - -“Stop! stop! I have not come to listen to you, but to make you listen to -me. Let me tell you, then, that there is neither village, nor church, -nor alehouse, nor garden, nor cottage, nor flowers, nor pig, nor goose, -nor common, nor green; but the thing is thus:--1. The farms of a whole -county are, generally speaking, the property of one lord. 2. They are so -large, that the corn-stacks frequently amount to more than a hundred -upon one farm, each stack having in it, on an average, from fifteen to -twenty English quarters of corn. 3. The farmer’s house is a house big -enough and fine enough for a gentleman to live in; the farm-yard is a -square, with buildings on the sides of it for horses, cattle, and -implements; the stack-yard is on one side of this, the stacks all in -rows, and the place as big as a little town. 4. On the side of the -farm-yard next to the stack-yard, there is a place to thrash the corn -in; and there is, close by this, always a thrashing-machine, sometimes -worked by horses, sometimes by water, sometimes by wind, and sometimes -by steam, there being no such thing as a barn or a flail in the whole -country. - -“‘Well,’ say you, ‘but out of such a quantity of corn, and of beef, and -of mutton, there must some come to the share of the chopsticks, to be -sure!’ Don’t be too sure yet; but hold your tongue, and hear my story. -The single labourers are kept in this manner: about four of them are put -into a shed, quite away from the farm-house, and out of the farm-yard; -which shed, Dr. Jameson, in his Dictionary, calls a ‘boothie,’ a place, -says he, where labouring servants are lodged. A boothie means a little -booth; and here these men live and sleep, having a certain allowance of -oat, barley, and pea meal, upon which they live, mixing it with water, -or with milk when they are allowed the use of a cow, which they have to -milk themselves. They are allowed some little matter of money besides, -to buy clothes with, but never dream of being allowed to set foot within -the walls of the farm-house. They hire for the year, under very severe -punishment in case of misbehaviour, or quitting service; and cannot have -fresh service, without a _character_ from the _last master_, and also -from the _minister of the parish_! - -“Pretty well that for a knife and fork chopstick of Sussex, who has -been used to sit round the fire with the master and mistress, and pull -about and tickle the laughing maids! Pretty well _that_! But it is the -life of the married labourer that will delight you. Upon a steam-engine -farm, there are perhaps eight or ten of these. There is, at a -considerable distance from the farm-yard, a sort of _barrack_ erected -for these to live in. It is a long shed, stone walls and pantile roof, -and divided into a certain number of _boothies_, each having a door and -one little window, all the doors being on one side of the shed, and -there being no _back-doors_; no such thing, for them, appears ever to be -thought of. The ground in front of the shed is wide or narrow according -to circumstances, but quite smooth; merely a place to walk upon. Each -distinct _boothie_ is about seventeen feet one way, and fifteen feet the -other way, as nearly as my eye could determine. There is no ceiling, and -no floor but the earth. In this place, a man and his wife and family -have to live. When they go into it there is nothing but the four bare -walls, and the tiles over their head, and a small fireplace. To make the -most of the room, they at their own cost erect _berths_, like those in a -barrack-room, which they get up into when they go to bed; and here they -are, a man, and his wife, and a parcel of children, squeezed up in this -miserable hole, with their meal and their washing tackle, and all their -other things; and yet it is quite surprising how decent the women -endeavour to keep the place. These women, for I found all the men out at -work, appeared to be most industrious creatures, to be extremely -obliging, and of good disposition; and the shame is, that they are -permitted to enjoy so small a portion of the fruit of all their labours, -of all their cares. - -“But if their dwelling-places be bad, their food is worse, being fed -upon exactly that which we feed hogs and horses upon. The married man -receives in money about four pounds for the whole year: and he has -besides sixty bushels of oats, thirty bushels of barley, twelve bushels -of peas, and three bushels of potatoes, with ground allowed him to plant -the potatoes. The master gives him the keep of a cow the year round; but -he must find the cow himself; he pays for his own fuel; he must find a -woman to reap for twenty whole days in the harvest, as payment for the -rent of his boothie. He has no wheat,--the meal altogether amounts to -about six pounds for every day in the year; the oatmeal is eaten in -porridge; the barley-meal and pea-meal are mixed together, and baked -into a sort of cakes, upon an iron plate put over the fire; they -sometimes get a pig, and feed it upon the potatoes. - -“Thus they never have one bit of wheaten bread, or of wheaten flour, nor -of beef, nor mutton, though the land is covered with wheat and with -cattle. The hiring is for a year, beginning on the 26th of May, and not -at Michaelmas. The farmer takes the man just at the season to get the -sweat out of him; and if he dies, he dies when the main work is done. -The labourer is wholly at the mercy of the master, who, if he will not -keep him beyond the year, can totally ruin him, by refusing him a -character. The cow is a thing more in name than in reality; she may be -about to calve when the 26th of May comes: the wife may be in such a -situation as to make removal perilous to her life. This family has _no -home_; and no home can any man be said to have, who can thus be -dislodged every year of his life at the will of his master. It -frequently happens, that the poor creatures are compelled to sell their -cow for next to nothing; and, indeed, the _necessity of character from -the last employer_, makes the man a real slave, worse off than the negro -by many degrees; for here there is neither law to ensure him relief, nor -motive in the master to attend to his health, or to preserve his life. - -“Six days from daylight to dark these good, and laborious, and patient, -and kind people labour. On an average they have six English miles to go -to church. Here are therefore twelve miles to walk on Sunday; and the -consequence is, that they very seldom go. But, say you, what do they do -with all the wheat, and all the beef, and all the mutton? and what -becomes of all the money that they are sold for? Why, the cattle and -sheep walk into England upon their legs; the wheat is put into ships to -be sent to London or elsewhere; and as to the money, the farmer is -allowed to have a little of it, but almost the whole of it is sent to -the landlord, to be gambled, or otherwise squandered away at _London_, -at _Paris_, or at _Rome_. The rent of the land is enormous; four, five, -six, or seven pounds for an English acre. The farmer is not allowed to -get much; almost the whole goes into the pockets of the lords; the -labourers are their slaves, and the farmers their slave-drivers. The -farm-yards are, in fact, _factories_ for making corn and meat, carried -on principally by the means of horses and machinery. There are no -people; and these men seem to think that people are not necessary to a -state. I came over a tract of country a great deal bigger than the -county of Suffolk, with only three towns in it, and a couple of -villages, while the county of Suffolk has 29 market-towns and 491 -villages. Yet our precious government seems to wish to reduce England to -the state of this part of Scotland; and you are abused and reproached, -and called ignorant, because you will not reside in a _boothie_, and -live upon the food which we give to horses and hogs.” pp. 102-7. - -This is the description of one of the most accurate observers of all -that related to the working man that ever lived. Such is the comparison -which he draws between the condition of the hinds, and of the southern -chopsticks. Such is his opinion of the superior condition of the -southern peasantry, that he says he would not be the man who should -propose to one of them to adopt the condition of a hind, especially if -the fellow should have a bill-hook in his hand. Cobbett’s description is -as accurate as it is graphic. Let any one compare it with my own in the -early part of this paper, made from personal observation in the summer -of 1836. Such was the painful impression left upon Cobbett’s mind, that -he reverts to it again and again. He tells us of a visit made to a farm -near Dunfermline, and of the wretched abodes and food of the men he -found there; but the last extract contains the substance of the Bondage -System. - -Let it be understood that the system to the Bondagers, so called, is no -hardship. They are principally girls from sixteen to twenty years of -age. Full of health and spirits, and glad enough to range over the farm -fields in a troop, with a stout young fellow, laughing and -gossiping,--the grievance is none of theirs; but the poor hind’s, who -has to maintain them. Just when his family becomes large, and he has -need of all his earnings to feed, and clothe, and educate his troop of -children, then he is compelled to hire and maintain a woman to eat up -his children’s food; and to take away in her wages that little pittance -of cash that is allowed him, as many a wife with tears in her eyes has -said, “to clothe the puir bairns and put them to school.” But the system -is not without its injurious effect on the Bondager herself. It has -been said that the Bondagers are of service in the hind’s cottage, but -the wives over the whole space where the bondage system prevails tell -you that the Bondagers are of little or no use in the house. They look -upon themselves as hired to work on the farm, and they neither are very -willing to work in the house, nor very capable. They get out-of-door -tastes and habits; they loathe the confinement of the house; they -dislike its duties. “They are fit only,” say the women, to “mind the -bairns a bit about the door.” And this is one of the evils of the -system. Instead of women brought up to manage a house, to care for -children, to make a fireside comfortable, and to manage the domestic -resources well, they come to housekeeping ignorant, unprepared, and in a -great measure disqualified for it. They can hoe turnips and potatoes to -a miracle, but know very little about the most approved methods of -cooking them. They can rake hay better than comb children’s hair; drive -a cart or a harrow with a better grace than rock a cradle, and help more -nimbly in the barn than in the ingle. - -The two points of most importance are those of the hind’s being -compelled to have a character from the last master, and of being at his -mercy, to turn him not only out of employ, but out of house and home. I -think little of their having no wheaten flour. Many a hardy race of -peasants, and even farmers, both in Scotland and England, in mountain -districts, never see any thing in the shape of bread but oat-cake. In -Lancashire, Yorkshire, Cumberland, and the Peak of Derbyshire, there are -thousands that would not thank you for wheaten bread. The girdle-cakes, -as they call them, which the wives of the hinds make, of mixed barley -and pea meal, I frequently ate of and enjoyed. They are about an inch -thick, and eight or ten inches in diameter, and taste perceptibly of the -pea. These, and milk, are a simple, but not a despicable food; but the -fact, that these poor people must bring a character from the last master -before they can be employed again, is one which may seem at first sight -a reasonable demand, but is in fact the binding link of a most subtle -and consummate slavery. I have seen the effect of this system in the -Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire collieries. There, amongst the master -colliers, a combination was entered into, and for aught I know still -exists, to regulate the price of coal, and the quantity each master -should relatively get. This rule, that no man should be employed except -he brought a character from his last master, was adopted; and what was -the consequence? That every man was the bounden slave of him in whose -employment he was; and that soon the price of coals was raised to three -times their actual value, and the labour of the men restricted to about -three half-days, or a day and a half, per week. - -Let any one imagine a body of men bound by one common interest, holding -in their possession all the population of several counties, and -subjecting their men to this rule. Can there be a more positive -despotism? The hind is at the mercy of the caprice, the anger, or the -cupidity of the man in whose hand he is; and if he dismiss him, as I -said in the early part of this paper, where is he to go? As Cobbett -justly remarks, he has NO HOME; and nothing but utter and irretrievable -ruin is before him. Such a condition is unfit for any Englishman; such -power as that of the master no man ought to hold. A condition like this -must generate a slavish character. Can that noble independence of -feeling belong to a hind, which is the boast of the humblest Englishman, -while he holds employment, home, character, everything at the utter -mercy of another? I have now laid before the reader the combined -evidence of my own observation and that of a great observer of the -working classes, both in town and country, in the north and the south, -and I leave it to the judgment of any man whether such a system is good -or bad: but I cannot help picturing to myself what would be the -consequence of the spread of this system of large farm and bondage all -over England. Let us suppose, as we must in that case, almost all our -working population cooped up in large towns in shops and factories, and -all the country thrown into large farms to provide them with corn--what -an England would it then be! The poetry and the picturesque of rural -life would be annihilated; the delicious cottages and gardens, the open -common, and the shouting of children would vanish; the scores of sweet -old-fashioned hamlets, where an humble sociality and primitive -simplicity yet remain, would no more be found; all those charms and -amenities of country life, which have inspired poets and patriots with -strains and with deeds that have crowned England with half her glory, -would have perished; all that series of gradations of rank and -character, from the plough-boy and the milk-maid, the free labourer, the -yeoman, the small farmer, the substantial farmer, up to the gentleman, -would have gone too; - - And a bold peasantry, its country’s pride, - -would be replaced by a race of stupid and sequacious slaves, tilling the -solitary lands of vast landholders, who must become selfish and hardened -in their natures, from the want of all those claims upon their better -sympathies which the more varied state of society at present presents. -The question, therefore, does not merely involve the comforts of the -hind, but the welfare and character of the country at large; and I think -no man who desires England not merely to maintain its noble reputation, -but to advance in social wisdom and benevolence, can wish for the wider -spread, or even the continuance of the Bondage System. I think all must -unite with me in saying, let the very name perish from the plains of -England, where it sounds like a Siberian word.[4] Let labour be free; -and this TRUCK SYSTEM of the agriculturists be abolished, not by Act of -Parliament, but by public principle and sound policy. It is a system -which wrongs all parties. It wrongs the hind, for it robs his children -of comfort and knowledge; it wrongs the farmer, for what he saves in -labour he pays in rent, while he gains only the character of a -taskmaster; and it wrongs the landholder, for it puts his petty -pecuniary interest into the balance against his honour and integrity; -and causes him to be regarded as a tyrant, in hearts where he might be -honoured as a natural protector, and revered as a father. - - [4] Since the publication of the former edition of this work, I - understand _the name has been changed_; that, in May 1839, it was - agreed to call the _Bondagers_ _Woman’s-workers_; a clumsy - appellation, and which does not at all do away with anything more in - the system _than its name_. - - * * * * * - -This account of the Bondage System in the first edition, excited, as was -to be expected, a strong feeling in the public mind, both in the north -and the south. In the south great surprise, for it was a system totally -unknown to nine-tenths of readers; in the north great indignation on the -part of the supporters of the system. I have received many conflicting -statements from the Bondage district,--some thanking me for having made -public so accurate a description of an objectionable system; others -vindicating the system, and applauding it. I need not here notice those -communications which accorded with my own personal observations and -inquiries; but as my object is simply truth, I am more desirous to give -a counter-statement, so that all readers may draw their own inferences. -The most able, and in itself most interesting, defence of the system, I -received from the lady of John Grey, Esq. of Dilstone House, -Northumberland. Mr. Grey is well known as an active magistrate, an -eminent agriculturist and promoter of the interests of the agricultural -class; and Mrs. Grey is evidently a lady of a vigorous intellect and a -noble nature. She is a native of Northumberland, proud of her county, -and thoroughly persuaded of the excellence of its agricultural system. I -regret that my space will not permit me to give more than a very summary -notice of her vindication, nor more than a mere reference to the -documents by Mr. Grey, Mr. Gilly of Norham, the author of the “Life of -Felix Neff,” and Mr. Blackden of Ford Castle, which, however, may be -found in Mr. Frederick Hill’s works on National Education, under the -head of “Northern District.” - -Mrs. Grey denies that Cobbett, though a graphic writer, is an accurate -one. She denies that a character is required with a hind from his last -master, but merely a certificate called “The Lines,” stating that he is -free from his former service. She asserts that all hinds _have_ gardens; -and that Bondagers make good domestic servants, and wives. She reports -that Mr. Grey only remembers _two_ instances of his hinds receiving -parochial relief, and adds that she never saw _two_ instances of their -own hinds being intoxicated. - -But her description of the cottages of hinds and their way of life, is -perfectly Arcadian. “In a glance at cottage life in Northumberland, such -as 20 years of intimate observation has shewn it to me, let me introduce -you into one of the ‘miserable holes’ where, according to Cobbett, this -‘slave population’ are ‘squeezed up.’ Observe, if you please, its -furniture. There are a couple of neatly painted or fir-wood -_press-beds_; a dresser and shelves, on which are ranged a goodly -display of well-hoarded delf, or of modern blue-and-white Staffordshire -ware. There is also a _press_ or cupboard, in which are kept the nicer -articles of food, and below which are drawers for the clothes of the -family. A clock, in a handsome oaken case, ticks, not behind the door, -but in some conspicuous situation; and, in many families, is added a -_mahogany_ half-chest of drawers for the female finery. I admit that -_the houses are generally too small, and the want of a back-door and a -commodious second apartment_, are great evils; but _this is the -landlord’s blame_; and my object is only to shew that the hind, though -esteemed by you ‘many degrees worse than a negro,’ has yet the means of -making these insufficient abodes look most respectable and comfortable. -The press-beds form a partition, behind which is a small space -containing in one part a bed for the Bondager, and in another, a little -dairy and pantry containing stores of meat, flour, etc. This space ought -to be larger, and to form a second respectable apartment, but, such as -it is, it is well filled with the necessaries of life, which is no small -matter to the inhabitant. We might censure, too, the matted ceiling, -were not the eye immediately attracted from it by the plentiful store of -bacon which hangs below it, together with hanging shelves containing a -supply of cheeses, pot-herbs, etc., and in other parts bunches of yarn -ready for making into stockings or blankets. Then, as to clothing, the -men on Sundays are both respectably and handsomely dressed, and the -women,--yes, these very ‘slaves’, the Bondagers, may be seen with their -light print or Merino gowns, their winter’s plaid, and their summer’s -_Thibet_, or spun silk shawls; their Tuscan or Dunstable bonnets; and -their open-work cotton stockings, or smart boots. A _tawdry_ figure is a -rare sight; the generality are comfortably and neatly attired, and their -dress good in quality. - -“When the ‘slave-gangs’ are at work in the fields under their ‘driver’ -in winter, they are certainly a motley and uncouth group; many of them -having on their fathers’ great coats, and others long woollen dresses, -reaching to their ankles, above their other clothes, to defend them from -the cold. But in summer, the jaunty air of their short white, or light -cotton jackets, an article of dress which has somewhat the appearance of -the waist of a lady’s riding-habit, with its open collar displaying a -gay handkerchief beneath, with their pink or blue gingham petticoats, -give them quite a picturesque appearance. - -“I should like to shew you too, what a pleasant sight it is when you pay -a visit of enquiry on the occasion of a _birth_. You will find the -mother laid among her well-bleached sheets, and comfortable home-made -blankets, surmounted by a gaily-patched quilt; and though you may be no -admirer--as gentlemen seldom are--of new-born babies, yet, when the -little thing is brought out of its snug cradle for your inspection, you -cannot but cast an approving glance on its nicely-plaited cap, and the -warm flannels and neatly made frock (often ornamented with braiding), -which bespeak it the child of competence and comfort. The Bondager too -is there, rather _dressed_ for the occasion (though ‘said by the wives -to be of little or no use to them’), it being customary for her to stay -at home to look after the house and nurse the mother, till she is well -enough to resume her duties. Should it be a first-born, you are invited -to inspect the baby’s wardrobe, and there is little appearance of -wretchedness in the sufficient stock of neat little garments ‘laid up in -lavender’ for the little stranger. It is expected, too, that you should -drink the child’s health, and a bottle of wine or spirits is produced -from the cupboard, along with a noble cheese, and a loaf to match it, -which it would be thought very ‘mean’ not to have to offer on such -occasions.” Mrs. Grey luxuriates in descriptions of the “_white loaf_ -which the women always have, and the dainty _white cake_ for tea, -kneaded with butter or cream, when a friend comes to visit them; of the -fat things with which their cows and their pigs overflow their dairy and -larder; of their general good fare; and of the many days when the -Bondager is not at field-work, but stays to spin, knit, wash and iron -for the household,-- always milking the cow, and frequently churning and -making cheese.” She adds that the hinds’ wives make great profit of -their butter, about 5_l._ a year; and that they have “great spinning -matches, and spin all the woollen articles that they use.” - -Mr. Grey in “Two Letters on the State of the Agricultural Interests, and -the Condition of the Labouring Poor,” published by Ridgway, London, -1831, draws a similar picture, describing the hind’s cottage as “a scene -of comfort and contentment.” - -Now these hinds must be very unreasonable fellows. Spite of all their -bounteous and Arcadian lot; spite of their cottages being “scenes of -comfort and contentment,” they certainly were, as described in the -preceding pages, found by us, in 1836, in a most _dis_contented state. -And since then they have turned out in great numbers, calling upon their -employers to abolish the system. In public meetings held at Wooller, and -elsewhere, they described their situation as wretched, and their average -weekly gains at about 5_s._ 6¾_d._ Mr. L. Hindmarsh, in a paper on the -Bondage System, read at Newcastle, in August, 1838, bears testimony to -the great dissatisfaction of the hinds. Mr. Grey, in his pamphlet -alluded to above, states, on the other hand, that the “conditions” of -the hind, as they are called, were in 1831, the year of its publication, -as follows; and that however the market-price may vary the quantities -are _invariably the same_, and _always of the very best quality_; -varying with the price of grain from £30 to £40 a year. - - £. _s._ _d._ - 36 bushels of oats 6 12 0 - 24 ditto barley 5 12 0 - 12 ditto peas 3 0 0 - 3 ditto wheat 1 5 0 - 3 ditto rye 0 15 0 - 36 ditto potatoes, at 1_s._ 6_d._ 2 14 0 - 24 pounds of wool 1 0 0 - A cow’s keep for the year 9 0 0 - Cottage and garden 3 0 0 - Coals, carrying from the pit 2 0 0 - Cash 3 10 0 - ----------- - £ 38 8 0 - ----------- - -This is also exclusive of what the other branches of the family earn; -the females receiving 10_d._ or 1_s._ a day generally, and 2_s._ or -2_s._ 6_d._ in harvest. - -Besides the general discontent and turn-out just noticed, which Mrs. -Grey attributes to the waywardness of human nature, we must introduce -these facts. The morals of these districts have been highly extolled, -and both Mr. and Mrs. Grey strongly reiterate the eulogium. Mrs. Grey -does not recollect _two_ instances of intoxication amongst the hinds in -her life; we saw many one day, as already stated. In the Fourth Annual -Report of the Poor Law Commissioners, even while advocating “the hinding -system,” we find these singular paragraphs: “Whatever general merits may -or may not otherwise have distinguished Northumberland and Durham from -more pauperized districts, these counties must not lay claim to -superiority in reference to bastardy, for in no part of England was -bastardy more prevalent than in portions of this district, and in none -was the practice of relief to the mother more pertinaciously upheld. The -Newcastle parishes of All Saints’ and St. Andrews, together with the -parishes of Sunderland and Berwick, _are the only places we can call to -mind_ where a weekly allowance for every legitimate child was not a -matter of course. - -“The difficulties of inducing children in competent circumstances to -contribute to the support of their aged parents (whose maintenance the -parish had hitherto taken off their hands), were quite as great, if not -relatively greater, considering the wages of labour, in the north as in -the south.” - -So much for morals; now for the Arcadian cottages. The Newcastle Courant -of November 23d, 1838, stated that “Thomas Dodds, Esq., surgeon, read a -very valuable paper on ‘Improvement in Cottage Architecture, and the -domestic comfort of the peasantry of North Northumberland.’ Mr. Dodds’ -long personal observation, arising from his medical practice,” it is -stated, “peculiarly qualified him for the discussion of this important -and interesting subject,” and Mr. Dodds very summarily and pithily -characterized these abodes as “a disgrace to Northumberland.” He -contrasted them with “the splendid edifices, commemorative columns, and -magnificent streets, which the people of Northumberland are raising.” He -said, “The _miserable tenements of numbers of this class_ are less -carefully constructed than the stables of their horses, formed, as they -are, _in a majority of cases, of only one apartment_, open to the roof, -with earthen floor, and four-paned windows that dim the light of day, a -part of which is often occupied by the cow; and where the decencies of -life cannot be observed, there being no separate apartments for the -females of the family, one of whom is often a stranger in the capacity -of a servant to work ‘the bondage.’” He represented them equally -detrimental to health as to comfort and morals; and gave many instances -from personal observation, especially a case at that moment of a family -of eight persons, near Alnwick, all lying ill of typhus fever in their -one room with the corpse of one of them laid out in the midst of them. -He added a ludicrous anecdote of a cow which, in the night, leaped, in -some sudden fear, from its fastening behind the bed of a hind at -Hawkhill, right through the bed, and alighted on the hearth, bringing -the bed at one crash upon the people in it, and severely injuring the -man’s wife. Mr. Dodds called the attention of his hearers to some -cottages of the Duke of Northumberland erected at Brislee, as models for -cottage architecture, and strongly urged that “the hinds should _be no -longer compelled to seek in sleep and oblivion the only solace of his -cheerless dwelling_,” but have “an ingle blinking bonnily,” where he -might “spend his hours of relaxation in innocent amusements, or in -reading books suited to his way of life.” - -“A vote of thanks to Mr. Dodds for this address was moved by John -Lambert, Esq., and _carried by acclamation_.” - -What then are we to infer from these very conflicting statements? Why, -that where the people are discontented, and the appeal to their wealthy -neighbours on their behalf is received with acclamation,--the evil must -be the actual condition, and the “cottage scenes of comfort and -contentment,” the exceptions. Mrs. Grey admits that she “has endeavoured -to present the _sunny side_ of the picture as the reverse of my gloomy -one.” I can well believe that she lives on the sunny side of humanity; -and that her enlightened husband, and the most liberal portion of the -agriculturists, so treat their hinds as to form the exception. It is -only another proof of the wisdom of Pope’s words that “whate’er is best -administered is best.” That, under a pure despotism, people may be -perfectly happy if they happen to have a kind tyrant. That the hinds -under the bondage system may be, moral, flourishing, and happy, when -they have kind and sympathizing employers but that does not prove that -the system itself has a tendency to such happy results, nor consequently -remove our objections to it. _Any_ condition of the people is good where -Christian benevolence and enlightened regard are exercised towards them, -and any system, even the bondage system, is better than that deadly -neglect of the peasantry by the landowners, which too much prevails in -many parts of the south. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE TERRORS OF A SOLITARY HOUSE. - -The citizen who lives in a compact house in the centre of a great city; -whose doors and windows are secured at night by bars, bolts, shutters, -locks, and hinges of the most approved and patented construction; who, -if he look out of doors, looks upon splendid rows of lamps; upon human -habitations all about him; whose house can only be assailed behind by -climbing over the tops of other houses; or before, by eluding troops of -passengers and watchmen, whom the smallest alarm would hurry to the -spot: I say, if such a man could be suddenly set down in one of our many -thousand country houses, what a feeling of unprotected solitude would -fall upon him. To sit by the fire of many a farm-house, or cottage, and -hear the unopposed wind come sighing and howling about it; to hear the -trees swaying and rustling in the gale, infusing a most forlorn sense of -the absence of all neighbouring abodes; to look on the simple casements -and the old-fashioned locks and bolts, and to think what would their -resistance be to the determined attack of bold thieves;--I imagine it -would give many such worthy citizen a new and not very enviable feeling. -But if he were to step out before the door of such a house at nine or -ten o’clock of a winter or autumnal night, what a state of naked -jeopardy it would seem to stand in! Perhaps all solitary -darkness;--nothing to be heard but the sound of neighbouring woods; or -the roar of distant waters; or the baying of the ban-dogs at the -scattered and far-off farm-houses; the wind puffing upon him with a wild -freshness, as from the face of vast and solitary moors; or perhaps some -gleam of moonlight, or the wild, lurid light which hovers in the horizon -of a winter-night sky, revealing to him desolate wastes, or gloomy -surrounding woods. In truth, there is many a sweet spot that, in summer -weather, and by fair daylight, do seem very paradises; of which we -exclaim, in passing, “Ay! there could I live and die, and never desire -to leave it!” There are thousands of such sweet places, which, when -night drops down, assume strange horrors, and make us wish for towers -and towns, watchmen, walkers of streets, and gaslight. One seems to have -no security in any thing. A single house five or six miles from a -neighbour. Mercy! why it is the very place for a murder! What would it -avail there to cry help! murder! Murder might be perpetrated a dozen -times before help could come! - -Just one such fancy as that, and what a prison! a trap! does such a -place become to a fearful heart. We look on the walls, and think them -slight as card-board; on the roof, and it becomes in our eyes no better -than a layer of rushes. If we were attacked here, it were all over! This -gimcrack tenement would be crushed in before the brawny hand of a thief. -And to think of out-of-doors! Yes! of that pleasant out-of-doors, which -in the day we glorified ourselves in. Those forest tracts of heath, and -gorse, and flowering broom, where the trout hid themselves beneath the -overhanging banks of the most transparent streams--ugh! they are now the -very lurking-places of danger! What admirable concealment for -liers-in-wait, are the deep beds of heather. How black do those bushes -of broom and gorse look to a suspicious fancy! They are just the very -things for lurking assassins to crouch behind. And what is worse, those -woods! those woods that come straggling up to the very doors; putting -forward a single tree here and there, as advanced guards of picturesque -beauty in the glowing summer noon, or in the spring, when their leaves -are all delicately new. Beauty! how could we ever think them beautiful, -though we saw them stand in their assembled majesty; though they did -tower aloft with their rugged, gashed, and deeply-indented stems, and -make a sound as of many waters in their tops, and cast down pleasant -shadows on the mossy turf beneath; and though the thrush and the -nightingale did sing triumphantly in their thickets. Beautiful! they are -horrible! Their blackness of darkness now makes us shudder. Their breezy -roar is fearful beyond description. Let daylight and summer sunshine -come, and make them look as pleasant as they will, we would not have a -wood henceforward within a mile of us. Why, up to the walls of your -house, under your very windows, may evil eyes now be glaring from behind -those sturdy boles;--they seem to have grown there just to suit the -purposes of robbery and murder. We look now to the dogs and guns for -assistance, but they give us but cold comfort: for the guns only remind -us that at this moment the muzzle of one may be at that chink in the -shutter, at that hole out of which a knot has dropped, and in another -moment we are in eternity! And the dogs!--see, they rise! they set up -the bristles on their backs! they growl! they bark! our fears are true! -the place is beset! - -This may seem rather exaggerated, read by good daylight, or by the fire -of a city hearth; but this is the natural spirit of the solitary house. -It is that which many a one has felt. It has cured many a one of longing -to live in a “sweet sequestered cot;” nay, it is the spirit felt by the -naturalized inhabitants of such solitary places. I look upon such places -to generate fears and superstitions too, in no ordinary degree. The -inhabitants of solitary houses are often most arrant cowards; and for -this there are many causes. A sense of exposure to danger if it be not -lost by time, is more likely to generate timidity of disposition than -courage. Then, the sound of woods and waters; the mysterious sighings -and moanings, and lumberings, that winds and other causes occasion -amongst the old walls and decayed roofs, and ill-fastened doors and -casements of large old country houses, have a wonderful influence on the -minds of the ignorant and simple, who pass their lives in the solitude -of fields; and go to and fro between their homes and the scene of their -duties, often through deep and lonesome dells, through deep, -o’ershadowed lanes by night; by the cross-road, and over the dreary -moor: all places of no good character. Superstitious legends hang all -about such neighbourhoods; and traditions enough to freeze the blood of -the ignorant, taint a dozen spots round every such place. In this field -a girl was killed by her jealous, or only too favoured lover: to the -boughs of that old oak, a man was found hanging: in that deep dark pool -the poor blind fiddler was found drowned: in that old stone-quarry, and -under that high cliff, deeds were done that have mingled a blackness -with their name. Nay, in one such locality, the head of a woodman was -found by some mowers returning in the evening from their work. There it -lay in the green path of a narrow dingle, horrid and blackening in the -sun. It was supposed to have been severed from the wretched man’s body -with his own axe, by a band of poachers, who charged him with being a -spy upon them. The body was found cast into a neighbouring marsh. - -What lonely country but has these petrifying horrors? And is it -wonderful that they have their effect on the simple peasantry? -especially as they are the constant topics round the evening fire, along -with a thousand haunted-house and churchyard stories; ghosts, and -highway robberies, and - - Horrid stabs in groves forlorn, - And murders done in caves.--_Hood._ - -The very means of defence sometimes become the aggravators of their -evils. The dogs and guns have added to the catalogue of their tales of -horror. The dogs, as conscious of their solitary station as their -masters, and with true canine instinct, feeling a great charge and -responsibility upon them, set up the most clamourous barkings at the -least noise in the night, and often seem to take a melancholy pleasure, -a whole night through, in uttering such awful and long-spun howls as are -seldom heard in more secure and cheerful situations. These are often -looked upon as prognostics of family troubles, and occasion great fears. -Who has not heard these dismal howlings at old halls, and been witness -to the anxiety they occasioned? And, if a branch blown by the wind do -but scrape against a pane, or an unlucky pig get into the garden, the -dogs are all barking outrageously, and the family is up, in the certain -belief that they are beset with thieves; and it has been no unfrequent -circumstance, on retiring to rest again, that loaded pistols have been -left about on tables, and the servants on coming down next morning, with -that fatal propensity to sport with fire-arms, have playfully menaced, -and actually shot one another in their rashness. Such a catastrophe -occurred in the family of a relative of mine, on just such an occasion. -But truly, the horrors and depredations which formerly were perpetrated -in such places, were enough to make a solitary house a terrible sojourn -in the night. A single cottage on a great heath; a toll-bar on a wild -road, far from a town; a wealthy farm-house in a retired region; an old -hall or grange, amongst gloomy woods. These were places in which such -outrages were committed in former years as filled the newspapers of the -time with continual details of terror; and would furnish volumes of the -most dreadful stories. It is said that the diminution of highway -robberies and stopping of mails, once so frequent, has been in a great -measure occasioned by the system of banking and paper-money. Instead of -travellers, carrying with them large bags of gold, a letter by post -transmits a bill to any amount, which, if intercepted is of no use to -the thief, because the fact is immediately notified to the bank, and -payment prevented; and notes being numbered, makes it a matter of the -highest risk to offer them, lest the public be apprized of the numbers, -and the offender be secured. But the wonderful improvement of all our -roads since the days of M‘Adam, the consequently increased speed of -travelling--the increased population and cultivation of the country, all -have combined to spoil the trade of the public plunderer. And the press, -as in other respects so in this, has added a marvellous influence. -Scarcely has a crime of any sort against society been committed, but it -raises a hue and cry; handbills and paragraphs in newspapers are flying -far and wide, and dexterous must be the offender who escapes. The house -of a friend of mine was entered on a Sunday night, and by means of -handbills four of the thieves were secured on the Monday, and tried and -transported on the Tuesday. But fifty years ago this could not have been -done in a country place. The traveller had to wade through mud and deep -ruts, along our well-frequented roads; and if assailed it was impossible -to fly. Desperate bands of thieves made nocturnal assaults upon solitary -houses; and, long ere a hue and cry could be raised, they had vanished -into woods and heaths, or had fled beyond the slow flight of lumbering -mails, and newspapers that did not reach their readers sometimes for a -fortnight. Those were the times for fearful tragedies in lonely -dwellings, which even yet furnish thrilling themes for winter firesides. - -There is an account of the attack of the house of Colonel Purcell, which -appeared in the newspapers at the time, and was twice reprinted in the -Kaleidoscope, a Liverpool literary paper; the last time soon after the -gallant Colonel’s death, in 1822, which, although it belongs to Ireland, -a country whence not volumes, but whole libraries of such recitals might -be imported, I shall insert here, because it so well illustrates the -sort of horrors to which lonely houses were, in this country, formerly -very much exposed; and from which they are not now entirely exempt; and -because perhaps no greater instance of manly courage is upon record. A -similar one, of female intrepidity, in a young woman who defended a -toll-bar, in which she was alone, against a band of thieves, and shot -several of them, I recollect seeing some years ago in the newspapers. - - -EXTRAORDINARY INTREPIDITY OF SIR JOHN PURCELL. - -At the Cork Assizes, Maurice Noonan stood indicted for a burglary, and -attempting to rob the house of Sir John Purcell, at Highfort, on the -night of the 11th of March, 1812. - -Sir John Purcell said, that, on the night of the 11th of March last, -after he had retired to bed, he heard some noise outside the window of -his parlour. He slept on the ground-floor, in a room immediately -adjoining the parlour. There was a door from one room into the other; -but this having been found inconvenient, and there being another passage -from the bed-chamber more accommodating, it was nailed up, and some of -the furniture of the parlour placed against it. Shortly after Sir John -heard the noise in the front of his house, the windows of the parlour -were dashed in, and the noise, occasioned by the feet of the robbers in -leaping from the windows down upon the floor, appeared to denote a gang -not less than fourteen in number, as it struck him. He immediately got -out of bed; and the first resolution he took being to make resistance, -it was with no small mortification that he reflected upon the unarmed -condition in which he was placed, being destitute of a single weapon of -the ordinary sort. In this state he spent little time in deliberation, -as it almost immediately occurred to him, that, having supped in the -bed-chamber on that night, a knife had been left behind by accident, and -he instantly proceeded to grope in the dark for this weapon, which -happily he found, before the door leading from the parlour into the -bed-chamber had been broken. While he stood in calm but resolute -expectation that the progress of the robbers would soon lead them to the -bed-chamber, he heard the furniture which had been placed against the -nailed-up door, expeditiously displaced, and immediately afterwards the -door was burst open. The moon shone with great brightness, and when the -door was thrown open, the light streaming in through three large windows -in the parlour, afforded Sir John a view that might have made an -intrepid spirit not a little apprehensive. His bed-room was darkened to -excess, in consequence of the shutters of the windows, as well as the -curtains being closed; and thus while he stood enveloped in darkness, he -saw standing before him, by the brightness of the moonlight, a body of -men well armed; and of those who were in the van of the gang, he -observed that a few were blackened. Armed only with this case-knife, and -aided only by a dauntless heart, he took his station by the side of the -door, and in a moment after one of the villains entered from the parlour -into the dark room. Instantly upon advancing, Sir John plunged the knife -at him, the point of which entered under the right arm, and in a line -with the nipple, and so home was the blow sent, that the knife passed -into the robber’s body, until Sir John’s hand stopped its further -progress. Upon receiving this thrust, the villain reeled back into the -parlour, crying out blasphemously that he was killed; and shortly after -another advanced, who was received in a similar manner, and who also -staggered back into the parlour, crying out that he was wounded. A -voice from the outside gave orders to fire into the dark room. Upon -which, a man stepped forward with a short gun in his hand, which had the -butt broke off at the small, and which had a piece of cord tied round -the barrel and stock near the swell. As this fellow stood in the act to -fire, Sir John had the amazing coolness to look at his intended -murderer, and without betraying any audible emotion whatever, which -might point out the exact spot which he was standing in, he calmly -calculated his own safety from the shot which was preparing for him. He -saw that the contents of the piece were likely to pass close to his -breast without menacing him with, at least, any serious wound, and in -this state of pain and manly expectation, he stood without flinching -until the piece was fired, and its contents harmlessly lodged in the -wall. It was loaded with a brace of bullets and three slugs. As soon as -the robber fired, Sir John made a pass at him with the knife, and -wounded him in the arm, which he repeated again in a moment with similar -effect; and as the others had done, the villain after being wounded, -retired, exclaiming that he was wounded. The robbers immediately rushed -forward from the parlour into the dark room, and then it was that Sir -John’s mind recognised the deepest sense of danger, not to be oppressed -by it, however, but to surmount it. He thought that all chance of -preserving his own life was over; and he resolved to sell that life -still dearer to his intended murderers, than even what they had already -paid for the attempt to deprive him of it. He did not lose a moment -after the villains had entered the room, to act with the determination -he had so instantaneously adopted. He struck at the fourth fellow with -his knife, and wounded him, and at the same instant he received a blow -on the head, and found himself grappled with. He shortened his hold of -the knife, and stabbed repeatedly at the fellow with whom he found -himself engaged. The floor being slippery with the blood of the wounded -men, Sir John and his adversary both fell, and while they were on the -ground, Sir John thinking that his thrusts with his knife, though made -with all his force, did not seem to produce the decisive effect, which -they had in the beginning of the conflict, he examined the point of his -weapon with his finger, and found that the blade of it had been bent -near the point. As he lay struggling on the ground, he endeavoured, but -unsuccessfully, to straighten the curvature of the knife; but while one -hand was employed in this attempt, he perceived that the grasp of his -adversary was losing its constraint and pressure, and in a moment or two -after, he found himself released from it; the limbs of the robber were, -in fact, by this time, unnerved by death. Sir John found that this -fellow had a sword in his hand, and this he immediately seized, and gave -several blows with it, his knife being no longer serviceable. At length -the robbers, finding so many of their party had been killed or wounded, -employed themselves in removing the bodies; and Sir John took this -opportunity of retiring to a place a little apart from the house, where -he remained a short time. They dragged their companions into the -parlour, and having placed chairs with the backs upwards, by means of -these they lifted the bodies out of the windows, and afterwards took -them away. When the robbers retired, Sir John returned to the house, and -called up a man-servant from his bed, who, during this long and bloody -conflict, had not appeared, and had consequently received from his -master warm and loud upbraiding for his cowardice. Sir John then placed -his daughter-in-law, and grandchild, who were his only inmates, in -places of safety, and took such precautions as circumstances pointed -out, till the daylight appeared. The next day, the alarm having been -given, search was made after the robbers, and Sir John, having gone to -the house of the prisoner Noonan, upon searching, he found concealed -under his bed, the identical short gun with which one of the robbers had -fired at him. Noonan was immediately secured and sent to gaol, and upon -being visited by Sir John Purcell, he acknowledged that Sir John “had -like to do for him,” and was proceeding to show, until Sir John -prevented him, the wounds he had received from the knife in his arm. - -An accomplice of the name of John Daniel Sullivan was produced, who -deposed to the same effect. The party met at Noonan’s house; that they -were nine in number, and had arms; that the prisoner was one of the -number, and that he carried a small gun. Upon the gun, which was in the -court, being produced, with which Sir John had been fired at, the -witness said it was that with which the prisoner was armed the night of -the attack; that two men were killed, and three dreadfully wounded. The -witness stood a long and rigorous examination by Mr. Counsellor -O’Connell; but none of the facts seemed to be shaken, though every use -was made of the guilty character of the witness. The prisoner made no -defence, and Judge Mayne then proceeded to charge the jury, and -commended with approbation the bravery and presence of mind displayed -throughout a conflict so very unequal and bloody, by Sir John Purcell. -The jury, after a few minutes, returned their verdict--guilty. - -But it was not only plunder which excited these fearful attacks; party -and family feuds were prosecuted in the same savage spirit, even by the -light of day. I have heard my wife’s mother relate the following -incident, which occurred in her own neighbourhood. About sixty-five -years ago there lived at Llanelwth Hall, midway between Llandilo and -Llandovery, a gentleman of considerable fortune of the name of Powell. -He had separated from his wife, by whom he had two daughters,--and her -brother, Captain Bowen, inflamed by the animosity which naturally arises -out of such family divisions, and supposed to be instigated by a -paramour of the lady’s of the name of Williams, engaged, in concert with -this Williams, a band of men to accompany him on a pretended smuggling -expedition; and having plied them well with promises of ample payment -and plenty of liquor--a bottle of brandy and a pair of new shoes for the -day--marched up to Powell’s house at twelve o’clock at noon, and at the -time of Llandilo fair, when the conspirators knew that Powell’s servants -would be absent. The only persons actually left in the house with him, -were an old woman, and a daughter of this very Bowen’s. The conspirators -advanced to the front door, and entered the hall, where the old woman -met them. Her they seized, and bound to the leg of an old massy oak -table. Powell, attracted to the hall by the noise, was immediately -seized and literally hewn to pieces in the most horrible manner in the -presence of the old woman, and of the murderer’s own daughter, who -alarmed at the entrance of so grim a band, had concealed herself under -this table. The girl from that hour lost her senses, and wandered about -the country, a confirmed maniac. My informant often saw this girl at her -mother’s, who was kind to her, and where she often therefore came, -having a particular seat by the fire always left for her. In a lucid -interval, they once ventured to ask her what she recollected of this -shocking event. She said that she believed she had fainted, and on -coming to herself, saw her father stand with a hatchet over her uncle in -the act to give him another blow, and that she actually saw her uncle’s -face hanging over his shoulder. At this point of the recital, the -recollection of the horrors of it came upon her so strongly, that she -fell into one of her most violent fits of madness, and they never dared -to mention the subject afterwards in her presence. - -A fall of snow happening while the murderers were in the house, caused -them to be tracked and secured, and Bowen and several, if not all, of -his accomplices were executed. Williams made his escape, and was -afterwards taken as a sailor on board an American vessel during the war, -where he was recognised by some of his countrymen. He made, however, a -second escape, as is supposed through the connivance of some relenting -neighbour, and never was heard of afterwards. My informant well -recollects two of these murderers coming to her mother’s house at -Cyfarthfa, a few days after the perpetration of the outrage, having so -long managed to elude their pursuers. They were equipped as travelling -tinkers; but they had new knapsacks, and what was more provocative of -notice at that moment, very downcast and melancholy aspects. They felt -by the looks which the mistress of the house fixed on them, that they -were suspected, and immediately hastened away over the hills towards -Aberdare, where they were secured the next day. - -A fact related by a minister of the Society of Friends, shews at once -the primitive simplicity which still prevails in some retired districts, -and the evident power of faith in Providence over the spirit of evil. In -one of the thinly-peopled dales of that very beautiful, and yet by -parts, very bleak and dreary region--the Peak of Derbyshire, stood a -single house far from neighbours. It was inhabited by a farmer and his -family, who lived in such a state of isolation, so unmolested by -intruders, and unapprehensive of danger, that they were hardly in the -habit of fastening their door at night. The farmer who had a great -distance to go to market, was sometimes late before he got back,--late -it may be supposed according to their habits; for in such old-fashioned -places, where there is nothing to excite and keep alive the attention -but their daily labour, the good people when the day’s duties are at an -end, drop into bed almost before the sun himself; and are all up, and -pursuing their several occupations, almost before the sun too. On these -occasions, the good woman used to retire to rest at the usual time, and -her husband returning found no latch nor bolt to obstruct his entrance. -But one time the wife hearing some one come up to the door, and enter -the house, supposed it was her husband; but, after the usual time had -elapsed, and he did not come to bed, she got up and went down stairs, -when her terror and astonishment may be imagined, for she saw a great -sturdy fellow in the act of reconnoitring for plunder. At the first view -of him, she afterwards said, she felt ready to drop; but being naturally -courageous, and of a deeply religious disposition, she immediately -recovered sufficient self-possession to avoid any outcry, and to walk -with apparent firmness to a chair which stood on one side of the -fireplace. The marauder immediately seated himself in another chair -which stood opposite, and fixed his eyes upon her with a most savage -expression. Her courage was now almost spent; but recollecting herself, -she put up an inward prayer to the Almighty for protection, and threw -herself upon his providence. She immediately felt her internal strength -revive, and looked steadfastly at the man, who now had drawn from his -pocket a large clasp-knife, opened it, and with a murderous expression -in his eyes, appeared ready to spring upon her. She however evinced no -visible emotion; she said not a word; but continued to pray for -deliverance, or resignation; and to look on the fearful man with a calm -seriousness. He rose up, looked at her, then at the knife; then wiped it -across his hand; then again eagerly glanced at her; when, at once, a -sudden damp seemed to fall upon him; his eyes seemed to blench before -her still fixed gaze; he closed his knife, and went out. At a single -spring she reached the door; shot the bolt with a convulsive rapidity, -and fell senseless on the floor. When she recovered from her swoon, she -was filled with the utmost anxiety on account of her husband, lest the -villain should meet him by the way. But presently, she heard his -well-known step; his well-known voice on finding the door fastened; and -let him in with a heart trembling with mingled agitation and -thankfulness. Great as had been her faith on this occasion, and great -the interposition of Providence, we may be sure that she would not risk -the exercise of the one, or tempt the other, by neglecting in future to -shoot the bolt of the door; and her husband, at once taught the danger -of his house and of his own passage home, made it a rule to leave the -market-town at least an hour earlier after the winter markets. - -The unwelcome visitant in this anecdote is one of that class of -offenders called “sturdy rogues.” Of the real “sturdy rogue” the city, -amongst all its numerous varieties of rogues, knows nothing. He forms -one of the terrors of the solitary house. They are such places that he -haunts, because he there finds opportunities in the absence of the men -to frighten and bully the women. If he find only a single woman left, as -is often the case in harvest time, or at fair or market time, when all -the family that can leave have left, he then makes the terror of his -presence a means of extorting large booty. What can be more fearful than -for a single individual, but especially for a woman, at a lonely house, -while all the men are absent in the fields, or elsewhere, to see a huge -brawny fellow of ill looks come to the door, peering about with a -suspicious inquisitiveness, armed with a sturdy staff, followed, -perhaps, by a strong sullen bull-dog, professing himself a tinker, a -rag-gatherer, a rat-catcher--anything, under which to hide evil designs? -Nothing, truly, can be more appalling, except when under the garb of a -woman, you feel assured that you have a man before you; or a troop of -fellows acting the distressed tradesmen, or sailors with nothing on -their bodies, perhaps, but a pair of trousers, and on their heads a -handkerchief tied. When such sturdy vagabonds come, and first cringe and -beg in a piteous tone, till, having spied out the real nakedness of the -place, as to physical strength, they rise in their demands, hint strange -things; instead of going away when desired, walk into the house, grow -insolent, and at length downright thievish and outrageous,--these are -circumstances of peculiar terror not to be exceeded in human experience, -and which yet have been often experienced by the dwellers in solitary -houses. - -I have heard a lady describe her sensations in such a situation. A -figure in a man’s hat, tied down with an India silk handkerchief, blue -cloak and stuff petticoat, suddenly appeared before her, and demanded a -supply of articles of female attire. She offered half-a-crown to be rid -of this unpleasant guest, for there was something about her which filled -the lady with apprehension; but the money was refused, and with a -gesture that threw open the cloak, and revealed the real figure of a -man, with naked arms, and in a white Marseilles waistcoat. The demand -for women’s garments was complied with as speedily as possible, and the -person hastily went away. The next day, the lady on going to the -neighbouring town, beheld a large handbill in the post-office window, -offering a reward of 100_l._ for the apprehension of a delinquent -charged with high crimes and misdemeanours, and described as “a Dane -well known to the nobility and gentry, having been master of the -ceremonies at Brighton and Tunbridge Wells.” It was the very description -of her yesterday’s guest. - -But when night is added to such a situation, how much is its fearfulness -increased! Imagine one or two unprotected women sitting by the fire of a -lone house, on a winter’s evening, with a consciousness of the -insecurity of their situation upon them. How instinct with danger -becomes every thing, every movement, every sound!--the stirring of the -trees--the whispering of the wind--the rustling of a leaf--the cry of a -bird. They are not wishing to listen, but cannot help it; they are all -sense; all eye and ear. A foot is heard without, and is lost again! A -face is suddenly placed against a pane in the window! the latch of the -door is slowly raised in their sight, or the click of one is heard where -it is not seen. Imagine this, and you imagine what has thrilled through -the heart, and frozen the blood of many a tenant of a solitary house. - -These are not the least of the causes that contribute to produce that -timidity of disposition which, in an early part of the chapter, I have -said to belong to many country people. My grandfather’s house was such a -place. It stood in a solitary valley, with a great wood flanking the -northern side. It had all sorts of legends and superstitions hanging -about it. This field, and that lane, and one chamber or outbuilding or -another, had a character that made them all hermetically sealed to a -human foot after dark-hour, as it is there called. My grandmother was a -bold woman in some respects, but these fears were perfectly triumphant -over her; and she had, on one occasion, met with an incident which did -not make her feel very comfortable alone in her house, in the day time. -An Ajax of a woman once besieged her when left entirely by herself; who -finding the doors secured against her, began smashing the windows with -her fists, as with two sledge-hammers; and declared she would wash her -hands in her heart’s blood. My grandfather too, had had a little -adventure which just served to shew what courage he had, or rather had -not. In that primitive time and place, if a tailor were wanted, he did -not do his work at his own house, but came to that of his employer, and -there worked, day after day, till the job was finished; that is, till -all making and mending that could possibly be found about the house by a -general examination of garments, was completed. He then adjourned to -another house, and so went the round of the parish. I know not whether -the tailors of those primitive times were as philosophical as Heinrich -Johann Jung Stilling, and his fellows of Germany, who thus went from -house to house, and both there with their employers, and on Sundays when -they wandered into the woods, held the most interesting conversations on -religion, philosophy, and literature: if this were the case, our country -tailors have very much retrograded; and yet it would almost seem so, for -my grandfather was passionately fond of Paradise Lost, and on a terribly -snowy day had been reading it all day to the tailor, who had established -himself by the parlour fire, with all his implements and work before -him. He had been thus employed; but the tailor was gone, and the old -gentleman having supped, dropped asleep on the sofa. When he awoke it -was late in the night; no one had ventured to disturb him, but all had -gone to bed. The house was still; the fire burning low; but he had -scarcely become aware of his situation before he was aware also of the -presence of some one. As he lay, he saw a man step out of the next room -into the one in which he was. The man immediately caught sight of the -old gentleman, and suddenly stopped, fixing his eyes upon him; and -perhaps to ascertain whether he were asleep, he stepped back and drew -himself up in the shadow of the clock-case. The old gentleman slowly -raised himself up without a word, keeping his eyes fixed on the shadow -of the clock-case, till he had gained his feet, when with a hop, stride, -and jump, he cleared the floor, and flew up stairs at three steps at a -time. Here he raised a fierce alarm, crying--“there is a sturdy rogue -in the house! there is a sturdy rogue in the house!” But this alarm, -instead of getting anybody up, only kept them faster in bed. Neither -man, woman, nor child, would stir; neither son nor servant, except to -bolt every one his own chamber door. In the morning they found the thief -had taken himself off through a window, with the modest loan of a piece -of bacon. - -This house, however, was not quite out of hearing of neighbours. Beyond -the wood was a village, thence called Wood-end; and a large horn was -hung in the kitchen at the Fall,--so this house was named, which was -blown on any occasion of alarm, and brought the inhabitants of the -Wood-end thither speedily. The cowardice which had grown upon this -family in such matters,--for in others they were bold as lions, and one -son was actually killed in a duel,--was become so notorious, that it -once brought a good joke upon them. The farm-servants were sitting, -after their day’s labour, by the kitchen fire at the close of a winter’s -day. Preparation was making for tea, and there were some of those rich -tea-cakes which wealthy country ladies know so well how to make, in the -act of buttering. Now I dare say that the sight of those delicious cakes -set the mouths of all those hearty working men a-watering; but there was -a cunning rogue of a lad amongst them, who immediately conceived the -felicitous design of getting possession of them. It is only necessary to -say that his name was Jack; for all Jacks have a spice of roguery in -them. Jack was just cogitating on this enterprise, when his mistress -said, “Jack, those sheep in the Hard-meadow have not been seen to-day. -Your legs are younger than anybody else’s; so up and count them before -you go to bed;--it is moonlight.” Jack, whose blood after the chill of -the day was circulating most luxuriously in his veins before that warm -hearth, felt inwardly chagrined that so many great lubberly fellows -should be passed over, and this unwelcome business be put upon him. -“Ay,” thought he, “they may talk of young legs, but mistress knows very -well that none of those burly fellows _dare_ go all the way to the -Hard-meadow to-night,--through the dingle; over the brook; and past the -hovel where old Chalkings was found dead last August, with his hand -still holding fast his tramp-basket, though his clothes were rotten on -his back! No! Jack must trudge, though the old gentleman himself were in -the way!” This persuasion furnished him at once with a scheme of -revenge, and of coming at the tea-cakes. He therefore rose slowly, and -with well-feigned reluctance; put on his clouted shoes, which he had put -off to indulge his feet with their accustomed portion of liberty and -warmth before he went to bed; and folding round him a sack-bag, the -common mantle and dread-naught of carters and farmers in wet or cold -weather, he went out. Instead of marching off to the Hard-meadow, -however, of which he had not the most remote intention, he went -leisurely round to the front door, which he knew would be unfastened; -for what inhabitants of an old country-house would think of fastening -doors till bed-time? He entered quietly; ascended the front stairs; and -reaching a large, old oaken chest which stood on the landing-place, all -carved and adorned with minster-work, he struck three bold strokes on -the lid with a pebble which he had picked up in the yard for the -purpose. - -At the sound, up started every soul in the kitchen. “What is that?” said -every one at once in consternation. The mistress ordered the maid to run -and see; but the maid declared that she would not go for the world. “Go -you, then, Betty cook--go Joe--go Harry!” No, neither Betty, Joe, Harry, -nor anybody else would stir a foot. They all stood together aghast, when -a strange rumbling and grinding sound assailed their ears. It was Jack -rubbing the pebble a few times over the carved lid of the chest. This -was too much for endurance. A great fellow in a paroxysm of terror, -snatched down the horn from its nail, and blew a tremendous blast. It -was not long neither before its effect was seen. The people of Wood-end -came running in a wild troop, armed with brooms, pitchforks, spits, -scythes, and rusty swords. They were already assured by the dismal blast -of the horn that something fearful had occurred, but the sight of the -white faces of the family made them grow white too. “What is the matter! -What is the matter in heaven’s name?” “O! such sounds, such rumblings, -somewhere upstairs!” In the heat of the moment, if heat it could be -called, it was resolved to move in a body to the mysterious spot. -Swords, scythes, pitchforks fell into due rank; candles were held by -trembling hands; and in a truly _fearful_ phalanx they marched across -the sitting-room and reached the stair-foot. Here was a sudden pause; -for there seemed to be heavy footsteps actually descending. They -listened--tramp! tramp! it was true; and back fled the whole armed and -alarmed troop into the kitchen, and banged the door after them. What was -now to be done? Every thing which fear could suggest or terror could -enact was done. They were on the crisis of flying out of the house, and -taking refuge at Wood-end, when Jack was heard cheerfully whistling as -if returning from the field. Jack had made the tramp upon the stairs; -for, hearing the sound of the horn, and the approach of many feet below, -he thought it was time to be going; and had the armed troop been -courageous enough, they would have taken him in the fact. But their -fears saved both him and his joke. He came up with a well-affected -astonishment at seeing such a body of wild and strangely armed folk. -“What is the matter?” exclaimed Jack; and the matter was detailed by a -dozen voices, and with a dozen embellishments. “Pshaw!” said Jack, “it -is all nonsense, I know. It is a horse kicking in the stable; or a cat -that has chucked a tile out of the gutter, or something. Give me a -candle; I durst go!” A candle was readily put into his hands, and he -marched off, all following him to the foot of the staircase, but not a -soul daring to mount a single step after him. Up Jack went--“Why,” he -shouted, “here’s nothing!” “O!” they cried from below, “look under the -beds; look into the closets,” and look into every imaginable place. Jack -went very obediently, and duly and successively returned a shout, that -there was nothing; it was all nonsense! At this there was more fear and -consternation than ever. A thief might have been tolerated; but these -supernatural noises! Who was to sleep in such a house? There was nothing -for it, however, but for them to adjourn and move to the kitchen, and -talk it all over; and torture it into a thousand forms; and exaggerate -it into something unprecedentedly awful and ominous. The Wood-endians -were regaled with a good portion of brown-stout; thanked for their -valuable services, and they set off. The family was left alone. -“Mistress,” said Jack, “now you’d better get your tea; I am sure you -must want it.” “Nay Jack,” said she, “I have had _my_ tea: no tea for me -to-night. I haven’t a heart like thee, Jack; take my share and welcome.” - -Jack sate down with the servant maids, and talked of this strange -affair, which he persisted in calling “all nonsense;” and devoured the -cakes which he had determined to win. Many a time did he laugh in his -sleeve as he heard this “great fright,” as it came to be called, talked -over, and painted in many new colours by the fireside; but he kept his -counsel strictly while he continued to live there; for he knew a -terrible castigation would be the sure consequence of a disclosure; but -after he quitted the place, he made a full and merry confession to his -new comrades, and occasioned one long laughter to run all the country -round. The people of the Fall, backed by the Wood-endians, persisted -that the noises were something supernatural, and that this was an -after-invention of Jack’s to disgrace them; but Jack and the public -continued to have the laugh on their side. - -After all, I know not whether the world of sprites and hobgoblins may -not assume a greater latitude of action and revelation in these -out-of-the-world places than in populous ones; whether the Lars and -Lemures, the Fairies, Robin-goodfellows, Hobthrushes and Barguests, may -not linger about the regions where there is a certain quietness, a -simplicity of heart and faith, and ample old rooms, attics, galleries -and grim halls to range over, seeing that they hate cities, and -knowledge, and the conceit that attends upon them; for certainly, I -myself have seen such sights and heard such sounds as would puzzle Dr. -Brewster himself, with all his natural magic, to account for. In an old -house in which my father lived when I was a boy, we had such a capering -of the chairs, or what seemed such in the rooms over our heads; such -aerial music in a certain chimney corner, as if Puck himself were -playing on the bagpipes; such running of black cats up the bed-curtains -and down again, and disappearing no one knew how; and such a variety of -similar supernatural exhibitions, as was truly amusing. And a friend of -mine, having suffered a joiner to lay a quantity of elm boards in a -little room near a kitchen chimney to dry, was so annoyed by their -tumbling and jumbling about, that when the man came the next day to -fetch part of them, he desired him to take the whole, giving him the -reason for it. “O!” said the man, “you need not be alarmed at that--that -is always the way before a coffin is wanted!” As if the ghost of the -deceased came and selected the boards for the coffin of its old -world-mate the body. - -But enough of the terrors of solitary houses without those of -superstition. I close my chapter; and yet I expect, dear readers, that -in every place where you peruse this, you will say, “O, these are -nothing to what I could have told. If Mr. Howitt had but heard so and -so.” Thank you, my kind and fair friends in a thousand places--I wish I -had. - - -CHAPTER VI. - -MIDSUMMER IN THE FIELDS. - -I never see a clear stream running through the fields at this beautiful -time of the year but I wish, like old Izaak Walton, to take rod and line -and a pleasant book, and wander away into some sylvan, or romantic -region, and give myself up wholly to the influence of the season; to -angle, and read, and dream by the ever-lapsing water, in green and -flowery meadows, for days and weeks, caring no more for all that is -going on in this great and many-coloured world, than if there was no -world at all beyond these happy meadows so full of sunshine and -quietness. Truly that good old man had hit on one of the ways to true -enjoyment of life. He knew that simple habits and desires were mighty -ingredients in genuine happiness; that to enjoy ourselves, we must first -cast the world and all its cares out of our hearts; we must actually -renounce its pomps and vanities; and then how sweet becomes every summer -bank; how bright every summer stream; what a delicious tranquillity -falls upon our hearts; what a self-enjoyment reigns all through it; what -a love of God kindles in it from all the fair things around. They may -say what they will of the old prince of anglers, of his cruelty and -inconsistency; from those charges I have vindicated him in another -place,--we know that he was pious and humane. We know that, in the -stillness of his haunts, and the leisure of his latter days, wise and -kind thoughts flowed in upon his soul, and that the beauty and -sweetness of nature which surrounded him, inspired him with feelings of -joy and admiration, that streamed up towards the clear heavens above him -in grateful thanksgiving. It is these things which have given to his -volume an everlasting charm; and that affect me, at this particular time -of the year, with a desire to haunt like places It may be the green -banks of the beautiful streams of Derbyshire--the Wye, or the Dove; for -now are they most lovely, running on amongst the verdant hills and bosky -dales of the Peak, surrounded by summer’s richest charms. Their banks -are overhung with deep grass, and many a fair flower droops over them; -the foliage of the trees that shroud their many windings, is most -delicate; and above them grey rocks lift their heads, or greenest hills -swell away to the blue sky. And as evening falls over them what a -softness clothes those verdant mountains! what a depth of shadow fills -those hollows! what a voice of waters rises on the hushed landscape! But -even here, in the vale of Trent, it is beautiful. There are a thousand -charms gathered about one of these little streams that are hastening -towards our fair river. They are charms that belong to this point of -time, and that in a week or two will be gone. The spring is gone, with -all her long anticipated pleasures. The snowdrop, the crocus, the -blue-bell, the primrose, and the cowslip, where are they? They are all -buried children of a delicate time, too soon hurried by. - -But see! here are delights that will presently be as irrevocably gone. -It is evening. What a calm and basking sunshine lies on the green -landscape. Look round,--all is richness, and beauty, and glory. Those -tall elms which surround the churchyard, letting the grey tower get but -a passing glimpse of the river, and that other magnificent arcade of -similar trees which stretch up the side of the same fair stream,--how -they hang in the most verdant and luxuriant masses of foliage! What a -soft, hazy twilight floats about them! What a slumberous calm rests on -them! Slumberous did I say? no, it is not slumberous; it has nothing of -sleep in its profound repose. It is the depth of a contemplative trance; -as if every tree were a living, thinking spirit, lost in the vastness of -some absorbing thought. It is the hush of a dream-land; the motionless -majesty of an enchanted forest, bearing the spell of an infrangible -silence. And see, over those wide meadows, what an affluence of -vegetation! See how that herd of cattle, in colour and form, and -grouping, worthy of the pencil of Cuyp or Ruysdael, graces the plenty of -that field of most lustrous gold; and all round, the grass growing for -the scythe almost overtops the hedges in its abundance. As we track the -narrow footpath through them, we cannot avoid a lively admiration of the -rich mosaic of colours that are woven all amongst them--the yellow -rattle--the crimson stems and heads of the burnet, that plant of -beautiful leaves--the golden trifolium--the light quake-grass--the azure -milkwort, and clover scenting all the air. Hark! the cuckoo sends her -voice from the distance, clear and continuous:-- - - Hail to thee, shouting Cuckoo! in my youth - Thou wert long time, the Ariel of my hope, - The marvel of a summer! it did soothe - To listen to thee on some sunny slope, - Where the high oaks forbade an ampler scope, - Than of the blue skies upward--and to sit, - Canopied, in the gladdening horoscope - Which thou, my planet, flung--a pleasant fit, - Long time my hours endeared, my kindling fancy smit. - - And thus I love thee still--thy monotone, - The selfsame transport flashes through my frame, - And when thy voice, sweet sibyl, all is flown - My eager ear, I cannot choose but blame. - O may the world these feelings never tame! - If age o’er me her silver tresses spread, - I still would call thee by a lover’s name, - And deem the spirit of delight unfled, - Nor bear, though grey without, a heart to Nature dead! - - _Wiffen’s Aonian Hours._ - -And lo! there are the mowers at work! there are the hay-makers! Green -swaths of mown grass--haycocks, and wagons ready to bear them away--it -is summer, indeed! What a fragrance comes floating on the gale from the -clover in the standing grass, from the new-mown hay; and from those -sycamore trees, with all their pendant flowers. It is delicious; and yet -one cannot help regretting that the year has advanced so far. There, the -wild rose is putting out; the elder is already in flower; they are all -beautiful, but saddening signs of the swift-winged time. Let us sit down -by this little stream, and enjoy the pleasantness that it presents; -without a thought of the future. Ah! this sweet place is just in its -pride. The flags have sprung thickly in the bed of the brook, and their -yellow flowers are beginning to shew themselves. The green locks of the -water-ranunculuses are lifted by the stream, and their flowers form -snowy islands on the surface; the water-lilies spread out their leaves -upon it, like the palettes of fairy painters; and that opposite bank, -what a prodigal scene of vigorous and abundant vegetation it is. There -are the blue geraniums, as lovely as ever; the meadow-sweet is hastening -to put out its foam-like flowers, that species of golden-flowered -mustard occupies the connecting space between the land and water; and -hare-bells, the jagged pink lychnis, and flowering grass of various -kinds, make the whole bank beautiful. Every plant that is wont to shew -itself at this season, is in its place, to give its quota of the -accustomed character to the spot; every insect, to beautify it with its -hues, and enliven it with its peculiar sound:-- - - There is the grashopper, my summer friend,-- - The minute sound of many a sunny hour - Passed on a thymy hill, when I could send - My soul in search thereof by bank and bower, - Till lured far from it by a foxglove flower, - Nodding too dangerously above the crag, - Not to excite the passion and the power - To climb the steep, and down the blossom drag:-- - Them the marsh-crocus joined, and yellow water-flag. - - Shrill sings the drowsy wassailer in his dome, - Yon grassy wilderness, where curls the fern, - And creeps the ivy; with the wish to roam - He spreads his sails, and bright is his sojourn, - ’Mid chalices with dews in every urn; - All flying things a like delight have found-- - Where’er I gaze, to what new region turn, - Ten thousand insects in the air abound, - Flitting on glancing wings that yield a summer’s sound. - - _Wiffen’s Aonian Hours._ - -The May-flies, in thousands, are come forth to their little day of life, -and are flying up, and dropping again in their own peculiar way. The -stone-fly is found head downwards on the bole of that tree. The midges -are celebrating their airy and labyrinthine dances with an amazing -adroitness. These little creatures pass through a metamorphosis, as they -settle on you in your summer walks by river sides, that must strike the -careful observer with admiration. You may sometimes see a column of them -by the margin of the river, like a column of smoke; and when you come -near, numbers of them will settle upon your clothes--small, white, and -fleecy creatures. Observe them carefully, and you will see them shake -their wings, as in a little convulsive agony, press them to the sides of -their body, and fairly creep out of their skins. These skins, fine white -films, drawn like a glove from their bodies, and from their very legs, -which are but like fine hairs themselves, they leave behind, and dart -off into the air as to a new life, and with an accession of new beauty. -Dragon-flies of all sizes and colours are hovering, and skimming, and -settling amongst the water-plants, or on some natural twig, evidently -full of enjoyment. The great azure-bodied one, with its filmy wings, -darts past with reckless speed; and slender ones--blue and purple, and -dun, and black, with long jointed bodies, made as of shining silk by the -fingers of some fair lady, and animated for a week or two of summer -sunshine by some frolic spell, now pursue each other, and now rest as in -sleep. The whitethroat goes flying with a curious cowering motion over -the top of the tall grass from one bush to another, where it hops -unseen, and repeats its favourite “chaw-chaw.” The willow-warbler, the -mocking-bird of England, maintains its incessant imitations of the -swallow, the sparrow, the chaffinch, and the whitethroat, flitting and -chattering in the bushes that overhang the stream. The landrail repeats -its continuous “crake-crake” from the meadow grass, and the water itself -ripples on, clear and musical, and chequered with small shadows from -many a leaf and bent and moving bough. We lift up our heads--and in the -west what a ruby sun--what a gorgeous assemblage of sunset clouds! - -Readers and friends, are these not the characters of June fields and -June brook-sides? Do they not recal to your memory many a pleasant -walk, many a pleasant place, and many pleasant friends? They must: for -there is nothing gives us so vivid a sense of the careering of time as -the passing of spring and summer. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -PART III. - -PICTURESQUE AND MORAL FEATURES OF THE COUNTRY. - - -CHAPTER I. - -GIPSIES. - - All hail! ye British Buccaneers! - Ye English Ishmaelites, all hail! - A jovial and marauding band, - Against the goodliest of the land - Ye go, and ye prevail. - - Man’s cultured Eden casts ye forth, - Where’er ye list to wander wide, - Wild heaths and wilder glens to tread, - The spacious earth before you spread, - Your hearts your only guide. - - _The Gipsy King._ By RICHARD HOWITT. - - -The picture of the Rural Life of England must be wofully defective which -should omit those singular and most picturesque squatters on heaths and -in lanes, the Gipsies. They make part and parcel of the landscape -scenery of England. They are an essential portion of our poetry and -literature. They are moulded into our memories, and all our -associations of the country by the surprise of our first seeing -them,--by the stories of their cunning, their petty larcenies, their -fortune-tellings,--and by the writings of almost all our best poets and -essayists. The poets being vividly impressed by anything picturesque, -and partaking of some mystery and romance, universally talk of them with -an unction of enjoyment. Romance writers have found them more profitable -subjects than her Majesty does--Scott and Victor Hugo especially. But -the first introduction to them, which most of us had in print, and to -which the mind of every man of taste must instantly revert on seeing or -hearing of them, is that most admirable and racy one in the -Spectator,--that gipsy adventure of our truly beloved and honoured -friend, Sir Roger de Coverley--that perfect model of an old English -gentleman. Who does not think of this scene with a peculiar delight, -especially since it has received so exquisite a representation from the -pencil of Leslie? “As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my -friend Sir Roger, we saw at a little distance from us a troop of -gipsies. Upon the first discovery of them, my friend was in some doubt -whether he should not exert the Justice of the Peace upon a band of -lawless vagrants; but not having his clerk with him, who is a necessary -counsellor on these occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare -the worse for it, he let the thought drop, but at the same time gave me -a particular account of the mischiefs they do in the country in stealing -peoples’ goods, and spoiling their servants. If a stray piece of linen -hangs upon a hedge, says Sir Roger, they are sure to have it; if the hog -loses its way in the fields, it is ten to one but it becomes their prey. -Our geese cannot live in peace for them. - -“‘If a man prosecutes them with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay -for it. They generally straggle into this part of the country about this -time of the year, and set the heads of our servant maids so agog for -husbands, that we do not expect to have any business done as it should -be while they are in the country. I have an honest dairymaid who crosses -their hands with a piece of silver every summer, and never fails being -promised the handsomest young fellow in the parish for her pains. Your -friend the butler has been fool enough to be seduced by them; and though -he is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon, every time his fortune -is told him, generally shuts himself up in the pantry with an old gipsy -for above half an hour once a twelvemonth. Sweethearts are the things -which they live upon, which they bestow very plentifully upon all those -that apply themselves to them. You see now and then some handsome young -jades amongst them,--the sluts have very often white teeth and black -eyes.’ - -“Sir Roger observing that I listened with great attention to his account -of a people who were so entirely new to me, told me that if I would, -they should tell us our fortunes. As I was very well pleased with the -knight’s proposal, we rid up and communicated our hands to them. A -Cassandra of the race, after having examined my lines very diligently, -told me that I loved a pretty maid in a corner; that I was a good -woman’s man; with some other particulars which I do not think proper to -relate. My friend Sir Roger alighted from his horse, and exposing his -palm to two or three that stood by him, they crumpled it into all -shapes, and diligently scanned every wrinkle that could be made in it; -when one of them, who was older and more sunburnt than the rest, told -him that he had a widow in his line of life. Upon which the knight -cried, ‘go, go, you are an idle baggage,’ and at the same time smiled -upon me. The gipsy, finding that he was not displeased in his heart, -told him, after a further inquiry into his hand, that his true-love was -constant, and that he should dream of her to-night. My old friend cried, -‘Pish,’ and bid her go on. The gipsy told him that he was a bachelor, -but would not be so long; and that he was dearer to somebody than he -thought. The knight still repeated that she was an idle baggage, and bid -her go on. ‘Ah, master,’ says the gipsy, ‘that roguish leer of yours -makes a woman’s heart ache. You have not that simper about the mouth for -nothing.’ The uncouth gibberish with which all this was uttered, like -the darkness of an oracle, made us the more attentive to it. To be -short, the knight left the money with her that he had crossed the hand -with, and got up again on his horse. - -“As we were riding away, Sir Roger told me, that he knew several -sensible people who believed these gipsies now and then foretold very -strange things; and for half an hour together appeared more jocund than -ordinary. In the height of his good humour, meeting a common beggar upon -the road who was no conjuror, as he went to relieve him, he found his -pocket picked; that being a kind of palmistry at which this race of -vermin are very dexterous.” - -This is a perfect piece of gipsyism. Wordsworth, Cowper, Crabbe, and -others of our poets, have given very graphic sketches of them; but in -all these descriptions you have the same characteristics, those of a -strange, vagabond, out-of-door, artful, and fortune-telling people. This -was for a long time the only point of view in which they were regarded. -That they were a thievish and uncivilizable race everybody knew, but -what was their real origin, or what their real country, few cared to -inquire. It, in fact, quite satisfied the public to consider them as -what they pretended to be, Egyptians. In all the descriptions I have -alluded to, no reference whatever is made to their origin. Addison alone -hints that he could give some historical remarks on this idle people, -but he does not think it worth while. But a more inquisitive age came. -It began to strike the minds of intelligent men, as the love of the -picturesque, the love of whatever was quiet, ancient, singular, or -poetic in the features of the country grew into a strong public feeling, -that there was something far more curious and mysterious about this -people than merely met the eye. That they were a peculiar variety of the -human species, and had hereditary causes, whether prejudices or -traditions, which stamped them, as distinctly and as stubbornly, a -separate portion of humanity as the Jews, became obvious enough. That -which had been supposed a mere gibberish in their mouths, was found to -be true Eastern language, and it was discovered that they not merely -“infested all Europe,” as Addison remarked, but all the world. In every -quarter of it they were found, exhibiting the same strange and -unchangeable lineaments, manners, and habits; in Egypt, as separate from -the Egyptians in speech and custom, as they are separate from the -English in England. Great curiosity was now excited concerning them, and -we get a glimpse, in the following verses of the Ettrick Shepherd, of -the speculations which arose out of the consequent inquiries. - - Hast thou not noted on the by-way side, - Where England’s loanings stretch unsoiled and wide, - Or by the brook that through the valley pours, - Where mimic waves play lightly through the flowers, - A noisy crew far straggling through the glade, - Busied with trifles, or in slumber laid, - Their children lolling round them on the grass, - Or pestering with their sports the patient ass? - The wrinkled grandam there you may espy, - The ripe young maiden with her glossy eye; - Men in their prime--the striplings dark and dun, - Scathed by the storms, and freckled by the sun; - O mark them well when next the group you see, - In vacant barn, or resting on the lea; - They are the remnant of a race of old-- - Spare not the trifle for your fortune told! - For there shalt thou behold with nature blent - A tint of mind in every lineament, - A mould of soul distinct, but hard to trace, - Unknown except to Israel’s wandering race; - For thence, as sages say, their line they drew-- - O mark them well! the tales of old are true! - -In these verses, which seem intended by Hogg as the commencement of a -poem on the Gipsy history, he goes on to tell us that they were a tribe -of Arabs that during the Crusades were induced to act as guides and -allies of the Crusaders against Jerusalem, and were therefore compelled, -on the retreat of the Christians, to flee too. It was not at all -surprising that they should be regarded as the real descendants of -Ishmael, for they have all the characteristics of his race,--an Eastern -people, retaining all their features of mind or body in unchangeable -fixedness--neither growing fairer in the temperate latitudes, nor darker -in the sultry ones; perpetual wanderers and dwellers in tents; active, -fond of horses, often herdsmen, artful, thievish, restrained by no -principle but that of a cunning policy from laying hands on any man’s -possessions; fond to enthusiasm of the chase after game, though obliged -to follow it at midnight; as everlastingly isolated by their organic or -moral conformation from the people amongst whom they dwell as the Jews -themselves. The very prophecy seemed fulfilled in them, beyond what it -could be in Araby itself, where they have been repeatedly subdued to the -dominion of some conqueror, while this tribe seems in all countries to -maintain its character as the genuine posterity of him who was to be a -wild hunter in perpetual independence. - -The Germans, however, who pursue every subject of curious inquiry with -the same searching perseverance, took up this Gipsy mystery; and the -result of their researches, founded principally on their language, at -present leads to the adoption of the theory that they are a Hindu tribe. -For a full view of the subject, I must refer my readers to the works of -Grellman and Buttner, who have pursued this inquiry with great learning -and zeal, or to a very able summary in Malte Brun’s Geography: my limits -will compel me to take a more rapid notice of it. The sum and substance -of their case is this. They find occupation in some countries as smiths -and tinkers; they mend broken plates, and sell wooden ware. A class of -them in Moldavia and Wallachia lead a settled life, and gain a -subsistence by working and searching for gold in the beds of rivers. -Those in the Bannat of Hungary are horse-dealers, and are gradually -obeying the enactments of Joseph II., by which they are compelled to -cultivate the land; but the great majority in Europe abhor a permanent -residence and stated hours of labour. The women abuse the credulity of -the German and Polish peasants, who imagine that they cure their cattle -by witchcraft, and predict fortunate events by inspecting the lineaments -of the hand. It is lawful for the wives of the Tchinganes in Turkey to -commit adultery with impunity. Many individuals of both sexes, -particularly throughout Hungary, are passionately fond of music, the -only science in which they have, as yet, attained any degree of -perfection. They are the favourite minstrels of the country people: some -have arrived at eminence in cathedrals and the choirs of princes. Their -guitar is heard in the romantic woods of Spain; and many gipsies, less -indolent than the indolent Spaniards, exercise in that country the trade -of publicans. They follow willingly whatever occupations most men hate -and condemn. In Hungary and Transylvania, they are the flayers of dead -horses, and executioners of criminals; the mass of the nation is -composed of thieves and mendicants. The total number of these savages in -Europe has never been considered less than 300,000; Grellman says -700,000; of these, 150,000 are in Turkey; 70,000 in Wallachia and -Moldavia; 40,000 in Hungary and Transylvania; the rest are scattered -through Russia, Prussia, Poland, Germany, Jutland, Spain, and other -countries. Persia and Egypt are infested with them. They have appeared -in Spanish America. - -Who then are these people? Grellman and Buttner do not hesitate to -pronounce them to be one of the low Indian castes, Soudras or Correvas, -expelled from their country during one of its great revolutions, -probably that of Tamerlane, about the year 1400. Their habits as -tinkers, musicians, horse-dealers, etc. etc., already alluded to, are -exactly in keeping with this supposition; but what is far stronger -evidence is, that their language, formerly supposed to be the gibberish -of thieves and pickpockets, is really Indostanée. In the tents of these -wanderers is spoken the dialects of the _Vedas_, the _Puranas_, the -_Brachmans_, and the _Budahs_. This, in different tribes, is in some -degree dashed with words of Sclavonic, Persic, Permiac, Finnic, Wogoul, -and Hungarian. The structure of the auxiliary verb is the same as others -in the Indo-Pelasgic tongues, but the pronouns have a remarkable analogy -with the Persic, and the declension of nouns with the Turkish. Pallas -infers from their dialect that their ancient country was Moultan, and -their origin the same as that of the Hindu merchants at present at -Astrakhan. Bartolomeo believes they come from Guzerat, perhaps from the -neighbourhood of Tatta, where a horde of pirates called Tchinganes still -reside. Lastly, Richardson boasts of having found them among the -Bazigurs, a wandering tribe of minstrels and dancers. No caste, however, -bears so strong a resemblance to them as that of the Soudras, who have -no fixed abodes, but live in tents, and sell baskets, mend kettles, and -tell fortunes. - -The names by which they have been, or are known in different countries -are various. They call themselves Romi, Manusch, and Gadzi, each of -these appellatives being connected with a different language--the Copt, -the Sanscrit, and the Celtic. In Poland and Wallachia they are Zingani; -in Italy and Hungary, Zingari; in Lithuania, Zigonas; Ziguene in -Germany; Tchinganes in Turkey; the Atchinganes of the middle ages; in -Spain they are Gitanos; in France, Bohemians, from their having passed -out of Bohemia into that country. By the Persians they are called Sisech -Hindou, or Black Indians. But the most ancient and general name is that -of Sinte, or inhabitants of the banks of the Sinde, or Indus. The -celebrated M. Hasse, has indeed proved that for the last 3000 years -there have been in Europe wandering tribes bearing the name of Sigynes, -or Sinte. He considers the modern gipsies as the descendants of these -ancient hordes. Herodotus points out the Sigynes on the north side of -the Ister. Strabo describes a people called Siginii, inhabiting the -Hyrcanian mountains near the Caspian sea. Pliny speaks of the Caucasian -Singi, and of the Indian Singæ. Hesychius reconciles the opinions of the -ancients, and calls the Sinde an Indian people. They were noted for -their cowardice; for submitting to the lash of Scythian masters, the -prostitution of their women, whose name became a term of reproach. -Different branches of the same people were scattered through Macedonia, -in which was a Sinti district, and in Lemnos, where the Sinties were the -workmen of Vulcan. - -It will now be sufficiently obvious to the reader what a singular, -ancient, and mysterious people are these gipsies, that haunt our lanes -and commons, and form so striking and poetical a feature in our country -scenery. After all the zealous and learned researches into their history -and origin, nothing appears yet established beyond the fact, that they -are older than Herodotus, the most ancient of profane historians; that -for more than 3000 years they have been wandering through the world as -they do at present; and that their language exhibits incontestable -evidence of an oriental origin. The ravages of Tamerlane may perhaps -help to account for the circumstance of their pressing upon Western -Europe in 1400 in such unusual numbers; but they were wanderers long -before Tamerlane’s days. Were they enemies of Krishna? for they boast of -having formerly rejected Christ. They pretend that they were once a -happy people, under kings of their own; but their traditionary knowledge -seems nearly extinct. Perhaps an increasing acquaintance with the East -and Eastern literature may cast some light on the origin of this -peculiar variety of the human race. In the mean time we may proceed to -take a close view of them as they now appear in this kingdom. From the -first moment of their attracting the public attention in this part of -Europe, they have always exhibited the same artful character,--a -character above the trammels of either superstition or religion. They -have therefore adopted the most plausible pretences to effect their -purposes; and for a long time triumphed over the credulity of the -christian princes, at all times over that of the common people. Their -first appearance in France, as related by Pasquin, is curious enough. -“On August 27th, 1427, came to Paris twelve penitents, Penanciers, as -they called themselves, viz.: a duke, an earl, and ten men, all on -horseback, and calling themselves good christians. They were of Lower -Egypt, and gave out, that not long before, the christians had subdued -their country, and obliged them to embrace christianity on pain of -death. Those who were baptized were great lords in their own country, -and had a king and queen there. Soon after their conversion, the -Saracens overran the country, and obliged them to renounce christianity. -When the emperor of Germany, the king of Poland, and the christian -princes heard of this, they fell upon them, and obliged the whole of -them, both great and small, to quit the country, and go to the Pope at -Rome, who enjoined them seven years’ penance, to wander over the world -without lying in a bed. - -“They had been wandering five years when they came to Paris. First the -principal people, and soon after the commonalty, about 100 or -120--reduced, according to their account, from 1000 or 1200, when they -went from home; the rest, with their king and queen, being dead. They -were lodged by the police at some distance from the city, at Chapel St. -Denis. - -“Nearly all of them had their ears bored, and wore two silver rings in -each, which they said were esteemed ornaments in their country. The men -were black; their hair curled; the women, remarkably black; their only -clothes a large old duffle garment, tied over their shoulders with a -cloth or cord, and under it a miserable rocket. In fact, they were the -most poor, miserable creatures that ever had been seen in France; and, -notwithstanding their poverty, there were amongst them women who, by -looking into people’s hands, told their fortunes, and what was worse, -they picked people’s pockets of their money, and got it into their own, -by telling these things through art magic, etc.” - -The subtlety of these modern Gibeonites cannot be sufficiently admired. -They did not venture to alarm the country by coming at once in full -strength into it, but sent a detachment, mounted on horseback as -princes, to pave the way by their tale of sufferings; then came a larger -troop, in true Gibeonitish condition, to excite the popular -commiseration; and that being done, their numbers gradually increased; -and under these and similar pretences, they rambled over France for a -whole century, when their real character being sufficiently obvious, and -their numbers daily increasing, they were banished by proclamation. The -same policy was pursued towards them in all the countries of Europe, if -we except Hungary and Wallachia. In Spain, sentence of banishment being -found ineffectual, in 1492 an edict of extermination was published; but -they only slunk into the mountains and woods, and reappeared in a while -as numerously as before. The order of banishment not succeeding in -France, in 1561 all governors of cities were commanded to drive them -away with fire and sword; and in 1612 a new order for their -extermination came out. In 1572, they were expelled from the territories -of Milan and Parma, as they had before been driven from the Venetian -boundaries. In Denmark, Sweden, and the Netherlands, repeated enactments -were made for their expulsion. In Germany, from 1500 to 1577, various -similar decrees were promulgated against them. Under these laws they -suffered incredible miseries. They were imprisoned; chased about like -wild beasts, and put to death without mercy: but, as the European states -did not act in concert, when they were driven from one they found an -asylum in another; and whenever the storm blew over, they again -gradually reappeared in their old haunts. The Empress Theresa, and -afterwards the Emperor Joseph II., seem to have been the only sovereigns -who set themselves in earnest to reclaim and civilize this singular -people; and we have seen that in Hungary some of them are gradually -submitting to the regulations made by these wise monarchs. - -Their introduction to this kingdom, and their after-treatment were -similar. At first they were received as princes and kings, and excited -commiseration by the tale of their injuries. They had royal and -parliamentary passes granted them, to go through the country seeking -relief, as many of the parish records yet bear testimony. So late as -1647 there appears an entry in the constable’s accounts at Uttoxeter, in -Staffordshire, of four shillings being given to forty-six Egyptians, -travelling with a pass from parliament, to seek relief by the space of -six months. But when this delusion was past, and it was seen that they -had no intention of quitting the country, they became persecuted by -justices of the peace and parish constables, as thieves and vagrants; -and the rapid enclosures of waste lands during the war, tended greatly -to break up their haunts, and put them into great straits. - -About twenty years ago John Hoyland, a minister of the Society of -Friends, being struck with commiseration for their condition, began to -inquire into their real character; and the researches of Grellman being -made known to him, he visited their encampments in various places in -Northamptonshire, Hainault Forest, and Norwood, near London. He also -sought them out in their winter quarters in London; and the result of -his inquiries satisfied him that the English gipsies were a genuine -portion of the great tribe described by Grellman; that they possessed -the same oriental language, specimens of which he has given in his -history. Mr. Hoyland could not ascertain what were the actual numbers of -these people in England. They had been stated in parliament to be not -less than 30,000, but on what authority did not appear; but it was very -evident that enclosures, and the severity of the magistrates, had -reduced their numbers. Probably many of them had emigrated. Norwood used -to be their great resort, but its enclosure had broken up that -rendezvous, yet it nevertheless appeared, that considerable numbers -wintered in London, and at the earliest approach of spring set out on -their summer progress through various parts of the country, especially -in the counties of Surrey, Bedford, Buckingham, Hereford, Monmouth, -Somerset, Wilts, Southampton, Cambridge, and Huntingdon. - -Subsequent inquiries have shewn that these people retire into other -large towns in winter besides London, particularly Bristol. That in town -their chief haunts are in Tottenham-court-road, Banbridge-street, -Bolton-street, Church-lane, Battle-bridge, Tunbridge-street, -Tothill-fields, and White-street. In Bristol, they are chiefly found in -St. Philips, Newfoundland-street, Bedminster, and at the March and -September fairs. About London, in April, May, and June, they get work in -the market-gardens. In July and August they move into Sussex and Kent -for harvest-work, where they continue. Through September, great numbers -of them find employment in the hop districts of those counties, and of -Surrey. They constantly encamp on the commons near London. On Wimbledon -Common, at Christmas 1831, there were no less than seventy of them. In -the parks of Richmond, Greenwich, Windsor, and all the resorts of summer -visitants from town, the gipsy women are to be found exercising their -vocation of fortune-tellers. On this account many of them encamp about -Blackheath, Woolwich-heath, Lordship-lane, near Deptford, and -Plum-street, near Woolwich. The Archbishop’s Wall, near Canterbury; -Staple and Wingham Well, near the same city, and Buckland, near Dover, -and the New Forest, Hampshire, are great haunts; they also flock in -great numbers to Ascot, Epsom, and other races. - -Mr. Hoyland extended his researches to Scotland, and the most prompt -assistance was offered him in his inquiries in that country. A circular -was dispatched to the sheriff of every county, soliciting, through the -medium of an official organ, all the intelligence which could be -obtained on the subject. It was found that there were very few gipsies -in Scotland at all. From thirteen counties the reports were--“No gipsies -resident in them.” From most others the answer was, that they appeared -there only as occasional passengers. The Border appeared to be their -chief resort, and respecting those Sir Walter Scott, then plain Walter -Scott, addressed a very characteristic letter to the author. His account -of them tallies exactly with that he has given in his celebrated novels. -He and Mr. Smith, the Baillie of Kelso, agree in describing them as a -single colony at Yetholm, and one family removed thence to Kelso. This -colony appears to have acquired a character more daring and impetuous -than the gipsies of England; in fact, to have exhibited the true old -Border spirit: probably partly from example and partly from intercourse -with some of the Border families. Mr. Baillie Smith gives the following -instance of this spirit:--“Between Yetholm and the Border farms in -Northumberland, there were formerly, as in most border situations, some -uncultivated lands, called the Plea Lands, or Debateable Lands, the -pasturage of which was generally eaten up by the sorners and vagabonds -on both sides of the marches. Many years ago, Lord Tankerville and some -other of the English borderers, made their request to Sir David Bennet -and the late Mr. Wauchope, of Niddry, that they would accompany them at -a riding of the Plea Lands, who readily complied with their request. -They were induced to this, as they understood that the gipsies had -taken offence, on the supposition that they might be circumscribed in -their pasture for their shelties, and asses, which they had held a long -time, partly by stealth and partly by violence. Both threats and -entreaties were employed to keep them away; and at last Sir David -obtained a promise from some of the heads of the gang, that none of them -would shew their faces on the occasion. - -“They, however, got upon the hills in the neighbourhood, whence they -could see every thing that passed. At first they were very quiet, but -when they saw the English Court-Book spread out on a cushion before the -clerk, and apparently taken in a line of direction interfering with that -which they considered to be their privileged ground, it was with great -difficulty that the most moderate of them could restrain the rest from -running down and taking vengeance even in sight of their own lord of the -manor. They only abstained for a short time, and no sooner had Sir David -and the other gentlemen taken leave of each other in the most polite and -friendly manner, as border chiefs are wont to do, since border feuds -ceased, and had departed to a sufficient distance, than the clan, armed -with bludgeons and pitchforks, and such other hostile weapons as they -could find, rushed down in a body, and before the chiefs on either side -had reached their homes, there was neither English tenant, horse, cow, -or sheep, left upon the premises.” - -This account of their descent on the Plea Lands is like one of Sir -Walter Scott’s own vivid sketches of border life; and the following -anecdote, also related by Mr. Baillie Smith, shews how truly they had -imbibed the border spirit of clanship. “When I first knew any thing -about the colony, old Will Faa was their king, or leader, and had held -the sovereignty for many years. Meeting at Kelso with Mr. Walter Scott, -whose discriminating habits and just observations I had occasion to know -from his youth, and at the same time seeing one of my Yetholm friends in -the horse-market, I merely said to Mr. Scott, ‘Try to get before that -man with the long drab coat; look at him on your return, and tell me -whether you ever saw him, and what you think of him.’ He was so good as -to indulge me; and rejoining me said without hesitation, ‘I never saw -the man that I know of, but he is one of the gipsies of Yetholm that you -told me of several years ago.’ I need scarcely say that he was perfectly -right. - -“The descendants of Faa, now take the name of _Fall_, from the Messrs. -Fall of Dunbar, who, they pride themselves in saying, are of the same -stock and lineage. When old Will Faa was upwards of eighty years of age, -he called on me at Kelso, in his way to Edinburgh, telling me that he -was going to see the laird, the late Mr. Nisbett of Dirleton, as he -understood that he was very unwell, and himself now being old, and not -so stout as he had been, he wished to see him once more before he died. -The old man set out by the nearest road, which was by no means his -common practice. Next market-day some of the farmers informed me that -they had been in Edinburgh, and seen Will Faa upon the bridge (the south -bridge was not built then), that he was tossing about his old brown hat, -and huzzaing with great vociferation, that he had seen the laird before -he died. Indeed Will himself had no time to lose, for having set his -face homewards, by the way of the sea-coast, to vary his route, as is -the general custom with the gang, he only got the length of Coldingham -when he was taken ill and died.” - -No one can fail to recognise in these border gipsies the Faas and -Gordons of Guy Mannering, the desperate clan of Meg Merrilies and -Derncleugh. Scott, indeed, informs us that his prototype of Meg -Merrilies was Jean Gordon, an inhabitant of Kirk-Yetholm in the Cheviot -hills, adjoining to the English border. The Faas, of which family her -mother was, were the lineal descendants of John Faa, who styled himself -Lord and King of Little Egypt, and with a numerous retinue entered -Scotland, in the reign of Queen Mary. - -The difference between the English and Scotch gipsies was singularly -exemplified in Jean Gordon’s own family. The English gipsies have -generally had the policy to commit no capital offences; but Jean’s sons -were all hanged one day. Scott, in the eighth chapter of Guy Mannering, -says, their mixture with the Border people gave them a peculiar -ferocity, quite alien to their original character. “They understood all -out-of-door sports, especially otter-hunting, fishing, and finding game. -They had the best and boldest terriers, and sometimes had good pointers -for sale. In winter the women told fortunes, the men shewed tricks of -legerdemain; and these accomplishments helped to wile away a weary or -stormy evening in the circle of the ‘farmer’s ha’.’ The wildness of -their character, and the indomitable pride with which they despised all -regular labour, commanded a certain awe, which was not diminished by the -consideration that these strollers were a vindictive race, and were -restrained by no check either of fear or conscience, from taking -desperate vengeance upon those who had offended them. These tribes were, -in short, the _Parias_ of Scotland, living like wild Indians among -European settlements; and like them, judged of rather by their own -customs, habits, and opinions, than as if they had been members of the -civilized part of the community. Some hordes of them yet remain, chiefly -in such situations as afford a ready escape into a waste country, or -into another jurisdiction. Nor are the features of their character much -softened. Their numbers are, however, so greatly diminished, that -instead of one hundred thousand, as calculated by Fletcher of Saltoun, -it would now perhaps be impossible to collect above five hundred -throughout all Scotland.” - -Since writing so far, I have visited Kirk-Yetholm, and can testify to -the correctness of these details. It was in June, 1836, that I was at -this remarkable haunt of this singular class of gipsies. The tribe was -then, according to their regular custom, encamping, probably far off on -the heaths of Scotland, or in the green lanes of England; and their -houses, to the number of about a score, stood along one side of the -village, all tenantless, with closed shutters, and doors barricadoed -with boards, or locked or nailed up. We asked to whom they belonged, and -were told that they were the _Trayvelers_, Anglice, Traveller’s houses. -They had a strange look of desertion amid the peopled village. Along the -lane side leading to the neighbouring hills extended a strip of land, -divided into as many allotments as there were houses, in which were -growing their crops of corn and potatoes, left till their return to -providence and the forbearance of their neighbours; and we were assured -that the tribe would not make their appearance here till the crops were -ready to house, when they would come and get them in, and then away -again till the setting in of winter. We found the feud between them and -the shepherds still kept up as hotly as ever, and likely to continue so, -from the peculiar location of the land above spoken of, on which they -claim to pasture their horses. About a mile from the village lies a -region of pastoral hills, most beautiful in their greenness and -loftiness. They are covered from vale to summit with the softest and -finest turf, and their loftiest steeps are dotted with flocks. In the -very midst of these hills, loftier and more naked than the rest, rises -the one which the gipsies and other inhabitants of Yetholm claim. -Nothing could be more ingeniously contrived, if by contrivance it had -been done, to effect a constant bickering between the shepherds and the -Yetholmers. The gipsies of course drive their horses up to their own -hill, and nothing is more natural than that seeing better pasture all -around them, and no fence to prevent them, they should go down and enjoy -it. It is equally natural that the shepherds should be on the look-out, -and the moment they find the horses trespassing, should drive them out -into the lane leading to the village, and close the gates behind them. -This also is expected by the gipsies, and the moment the horses make -their appearance at the village, they are driven back again to the -hills. Here is perpetual food for resentment and hostility, and to such -a height does it sometimes rise, that a gentleman of Kelso informed me -that he has seen at Yetholm wool-fair such affrays between the gipsies -and the shepherds as would outdo Donnybrook. - -We found a Will Faa still the reputed king of the tribe. He was an old -man, having none of the common features of the gipsy--his Border blood -having done away with the black eyes and swarthy skin; but Will had all -the propensities of the gipsy, except that of encamping; smuggling, -fishing, and shooting appeared to have been the business of his life. We -were told that in an affray with the revenue officers he had defended a -narrow bridge somewhere near Bamborough Castle, while his party made -their escape, and had stood fighting singly with his cudgel, till it was -cut down by the cutlasses of the officers to “twa nieves lang,” and till -he finally got a cut across the arm which disabled him. When we asked -him of the truth of this story, his grey eyes kindled up into a wild -fire, and stretching out his two arms together, he shewed us, with a -significant gesture, that one was still at least two inches longer than -the other. Old Will Faa had risen into great importance through the -writings of Sir Walter Scott. He told us that Sir Martin Archer Shee had -been down to take his likeness. He was in daily request at the houses -of the neighbouring nobility and gentry to catch trout for them, being -intimately acquainted with all the streams of the country round, and all -the arts of filling his creel out of them. Will, therefore, is sure to -be found either by the side of one of the trout streams, or in the -kitchen of some of the neighbouring halls, telling his exploits and -drinking his toddy. His niece, who was absent with the tribe, was said -to be the belle of the camp; a true gipsy beauty, dark and “weel -fa’ured.” - -Such is the present state of the gipsies of England and Scotland. Their -numbers are evidently everywhere on the decrease; yet what do remain in -England retain all their ancient characteristics. These characteristics -have never been more accurately delineated than by Richard Howitt, in -his poem of the “Gipsy King,” in the Metropolitan Magazine for June -1836. The groups proceeding to the coronation of their king are living. - - Now come in groups the gipsy tribes, - From northern hills, from southern plains; - And many a panniered ass is swinging - The child that to itself is singing - Along the flowery lanes. - - Stout men are loud in wrangling talk, - Where older tongues are gruff and tame; - Keen maiden laughter rings aloft, - Whilst many an undervoice is soft - From many a talking dame. - - Their beaver hats are weather stained,-- - The one black plume is sadly gay; - Their squalid brats are slung behind, - In cloaks that flutter to the wind, - Of scarlet, brown, and grey. - -The king himself is distinguished by some touches that are the life -itself, but which I never recollect seeing elsewhere introduced. - - The slouching hat our hero wore, - The crown wherewith he king was crowned; - Wherein a pipe and a crow’s feather - Were stuck in fellowship together, - Was by a hundred winters browned. - - His sceptre was a stout oak sapling, - Round which a snake well-carved was wreathed; - Cunning and strength that well bespoke, - Whilst from his frame, as from an oak, - “Deliberate valour breathed.” - - His footstool was the solid earth; - His court spread out in pomp before him, - The heath arrayed in summer’s smiles; - His empire broad the British isles; - His dome the heaven’s arched o’er him. - - Antique and flowing was his dress; - And from his temples, bold and bare, - Fell back in many a dusky tress, - As liberal as the wilderness, - His ample growth of hair. - - Like Cromwell’s was his hardy front, - Where thought but feeling none was shewn; - Where underneath a flitting grace, - Was firmly built up in his face, - A hardness as of stone. - -They are not to be confounded with a tribe of wandering potters, who -live in tents like them. The true gipsies are readily distinguished by -their invariable jet-black hair, black sparkling eyes, Indian -complexions, and their genuine oriental language. On the extensive -heaths of Surrey, since my residence in that county, I have met with -frequent camps of them. In the midland counties, although there is less -waste land, they are not unfrequently to be seen. They are there chiefly -the Lovell, Boswell, and Kemp gangs. They are great people still for -kings and chiefs. Every district has its king. One of these died in the -summer of 1835, in their camp in Bestwood Park, in Nottinghamshire; and -thousands of people went to see him lie in state. They conveyed his body -in a cart to Eastwood, a distance of nine miles, and would fain have -stipulated with the clergyman for his interment in the church; not on -account of any notion of the sanctity of the place, but for its -security. This being refused, they chose a place in the churchyard, for -which they paid a handsome sum, and ordered it to be fenced off with -iron railings. An old beldame of the tribe said to me, that it was hard -that he could not be buried in a church, as most of his ancestors had -been before him. - -This gang had no less than nine horses, which in the day time grazed in -the bare lanes; but if they were not turned into the fields at night, -they throve wonderfully on bad commons. The farmers complained -dreadfully of their pulling up their hedges for fuel. The whole race -seems to have no fear of man; they are troubled with no _mauvaise -honte_. The men seldom condescend to solicit you, but the women are -always anxious to lay hold of your money under pretence of telling your -fortune; and the moment you approach their encampment, out comes a troop -of little impudent, though not insolent, rogues, to beg every thing and -any thing they can. The women, many of them, in their youth, are fine -strapping figures, with handsome brown faces and most brilliant and -speaking eyes,--they have a peculiar _poco-curante_ air and jaunty gait, -and are extremely fond of finery. Their costume is unique, and pretty -uniform,--scarlet cloaks, black beaver hats with broad slouching brims, -or black velvet bonnets with large wide pokes trimmed with lace; a -handkerchief thrown over the head under the bonnet, and tied beneath the -chin; long pendant ear-rings, black stockings, and ankle-boots. So far -from shunning any intercourse or inquiries, they approach you with a -ready smile and a style of flattery peculiar to them. “A good day to -you, sir; your honour is born to fortune. I see that by the cast of your -countenance. It was a right luckly planet that shone on your honour’s -birth!” If you know any thing of their language, they are only too glad -to talk to you in it. Accost a gipsy with “Shaushan, Palla?” “how do you -do, brother?” and you will see the effect. - -This singular race of people, of whom Grellman calculates there are not -less than 700,000 in Europe, seemed to demand a more comprehensive -account in the Rural Life of England, than has hitherto been given in -any one work. Many of my readers, I am persuaded, will regard them for -their antiquity, the mystery of their origin, the strangeness of their -history and life, with deeper feelings than they have hitherto done; and -it may be well for such as live in those parts of the country which the -gipsies haunt, to ask themselves whether something may not be done by -education, and other means, to reclaim those wild denizens of heaths and -lanes, or to give them some greater portion of the knowledge and -benefits of civilized life. A considerable number have sent their -children to schools during the winters in London; and these children, -though compared by one of their schoolmasters, at their first entrance, -to wild birds suddenly put into a cage, and ready to beat themselves -against the bars, having no sense of restraint, soon became not only -perfectly orderly, amongst the very first for quickness and avidity in -learning, but expressed the utmost regret when obliged to leave at -spring. I once saw a woman in a gipsy tent, reading the Bible to a -circle of nine children, all her own! and though, on coming near, her -blue eyes and light hair shewed her to be an English woman, the -daughter, as I found, of a gamekeeper, who had married one of the -Boswell gang, yet the interest which the children took in her reading of -the Bible, and the interest which she assured me the whole camp took in -it, were sufficient evidence that it is only for want of being taught -that they still remain in ignorance of the best knowledge. They have -been so long treated with contempt and severity, that they naturally -look on all men as their enemies. For my part, when I see a horde of -them coming on some solitary way, with their dark Indian faces, their -scarlet-cloaked women, their troops of little vivacious savages, their -asses and horses laden with beds and tents, and, trudging after them, -their guardian dogs,--I cannot help looking on them as an Eastern tribe, -as fugitives of a most ancient family, as a living enigma in human -history--and feeling that, with all their Arab-like propensities, they -have great claims on our sympathies, and on the splendid privileges of a -christian land. - - -GIPSIES OF NEW FOREST. - -Since the former edition went to press, I have learned that the New -Forest has long been a great haunt of gipsies, particularly of one -remarkable family--the Stanleys. I hear with pleasure that the Home -Missionary Society has likewise taken up the cause of the gipsies in -various parts of the country with a good deal of spirit, and a volume -has been put into my hands, entitled “The Gipsies’ Advocate.” This is -edited by the Rev. James Crabbe, a worthy dissenting minister of -Southampton, and has run into a third edition. Mr. Crabbe seems a most -earnest and indefatigable apostle of this neglected people. Hoyland’s -“Survey of the Gipsies,” together with some painfully interesting -circumstances connected with the execution of one of them, turned his -attention to their case so early as 1827. He soon fell in with one of -the New Forest clan, William Stanley, who, having in his youth been a -soldier, had become acquainted with the Bible through attending church, -and eventually became so anxious to christianize his gipsy kinsmen, that -he went to travel about amongst them, reading the Bible in their tents. -Mr. Crabbe soon formed a committee in Southampton for the reclamation of -the gipsies, visiting them in their camps, and persuading them to allow -their children to be put to school, and to learn trades. He visited the -camps in various places, and sought them out, and preached to them at -Epsom Races, and in the hop-grounds at Farnham. Stanley served as his -messenger and assistant. The committee seems to have met with great -success. At the date of the edition which I quote, 1832, there were -twenty-three reformed gipsies living in Southampton, and upwards of -forty attending divine service there. The gipsies in almost all -instances had evinced the most lively sense of the attention shewn them, -and a desire to avail themselves of the privileges of learning to read -and of hearing preaching. This little volume contains also some -interesting accounts of the attempts to civilize the gipsies in Russia -and Germany, and particularly of the zealous endeavours of the Countess -von Reden of Buchwald in Silesia. - -But from the gipsies of the continent we must return to those of the New -Forest of England; of whom Miss Bowles, now Mrs. Southey, was kind -enough to send me the following curious particulars:-- - -“The gipsies who mostly frequent this neighbourhood,--or did frequent -it, for their visits are now ‘few and far between,’--are Lees and -Stanleys; I should have said Stanleys and Lees--for the former tribe -hold up their heads very high above the Lees, and call themselves ‘the -better sort of travellers.’ Some years ago a party of these Stanleys -came from a distant part of the country to attend a wedding at Newport, -in the Isle of Wight. They stopped at the turnpike-gate near my house, -being on friendly terms with the tollman and his family, who had often -done them kind offices, and to the daughter who is now in my service -(1838) they entrusted the important office of making up grey silk -spencers and smart flowered chintz petticoats for each of the women; -encamping in the neighbourhood while the work was in hand, and ‘_very -particular_’ the ladies were about ‘_good fits_,’ etc. Then they went to -the best hatters in the town, and ordered hats on purpose for them--of -the long felt, wide-brimmed sort for the women. The tradesmen hesitated -about giving credit, as they required, till their return from the -island, at which they were highly indignant. ‘What!’ stormed one, whom -they called Brother John--‘What! refuse credit to a gentleman -ratcatcher!’ But they obtained it, and paid honourably on their return, -and as honestly remunerated the sempstress for making their gay dresses. - -“This same party often camped at a spot in the forest called Marl-pit -Oak--and nearer to my residence on a hill near the road, called Gally -Hill, and were not ill thought of by the farmers and poor people, and -one or two forest girls would sometimes steal to their tents, sure of a -savoury regale. The wonder is, how they lived so well--for their kettles -were not filled with the produce of poaching or of thefts in the -hen-roost--still less with meat ‘_that had died of its own accord_,’ as -the people say. No; they used frequently to go back from the town laden -with good joints honestly purchased and paid for at the butchers. - -“On one occasion, a day or two before Easter Sunday, Brother John and -two of the ladies of the tribe displayed their marketing to my -neighbours at the turnpike-gate--a fine breast, loin, and leg of veal. -‘To-morrow’s Easter Sunday;’ said they, ‘and we always have a feast of -veal on that day.’ (Singular! is it not?) ‘How can you contrive to roast -it at your fires?’ inquired the woman who is now my servant. ‘Better _a -deal_ than you can at your poor pinched in grates,’ was the answer; ‘and -then we shall have rice-puddings, capital rice-puddings.’ ‘But you can’t -_bake_, if you can roast?’ ‘Can’t we? come and taste if you ever knowed -better baking in your life.’ (I should have accepted the invitation if -it had been made to me). And then they described their culinary process. -Having mixed their ingredients--all of the best--in a large brown pan of -that sort of ware which is fireproof, they covered it with another of -the same sort, set it deep in a bed of glowing peat-ashes, and heaped it -over to a foot depth with the same. I have no doubt of the excellency of -the method,--not very unlike that in use by many of the savage tribes. -There were seven daughters of this particular family of the Stanleys, -all splendid beauties;--one but too celebrated, ‘the beautiful Caroline -Stanley.’ She fell into worse company than that of her own people, and -on two or three occasions was absent from them for a year and more at a -time, living in splendour as ‘maitresse en titre,’ to more than one -officer of high rank; dashed about in elegant carriages, clothed in -‘silken sheen,’ and all sorts of bravery, and carried it with a high -hand (poor Caroline!) through her seasons of ‘bad eminence.’ But all the -while she was out of her element; the free creature of the woods pined -to be _there_ again; and some fine morning she would be off without -leave taking, and leaving behind her every atom of the dear-bought -finery, that had become fetters to her. I knew her well by sight, and -such a _Cleopatra_ of _regal beauty_ I never could have imaged to -myself. - -“A short time before her first initiation in civilization and -corruption, I saw her showing off in high style. I called to give some -order to my milliner, but sat quietly down to await her leisure, finding -her engaged in high disputation with the gipsy beauty, who was rating -her in no measured terms for some deviation from orders in the making of -a bonnet which Caroline was in the act of trying on before the glass. -And such airs and graces she gave herself! I never was more diverted. - -“‘Woman!’ she called the poor milliner, at every sentence. ‘Did you -think, because I’m a gipsy, I’d wear such a thing as this,’ said she, -and dashed off the bonnet--an expensive one of black velvet, with a deep -lace flounce--to the farther end of the room. When I last heard of her, -a few years back, she was wandering--withered and haggard--with her -diminished tribe. It has been much diminished of late years by the -conviction and transportation of many of the men for horse-stealing; of -their proficiency in which I have had sad experience. Some years ago, I -lost a very beautiful and favourite pony, at the same time that a rather -valuable mare was stolen from a neighbour of mine (a farrier), and a -young galloway from another man, named Edward Pierce. Having done every -thing in our power to regain our lost steeds, we at last gave up the -pursuit as useless. - -“Nearly two years afterwards, my neighbour, the farrier, came to ask me -if I would join him and Pierce in some further endeavours to recover the -stolen horses, which we had a fair chance of doing, he thought, -according to the letter he presented for my perusal, a curious one it -was, dated, ‘The Hulks, Portsmouth.’ The writer (one of the Stanleys) -stated, that having been condemned to seven years’ transportation, for a -recent offence, he wished to stock himself with a few comforts for his -voyage, and, therefore, if we, the losers of such and such horses, -stolen at such a time, would make it ‘worth his while,’ he would put us -in a way to have them back again. He began his letter (it was addressed -to Pierce), ‘Dear friend,’ and said at the conclusion, that not liking -to go by his own name in such a place, and in his present circumstances, -he had taken the liberty to use his, and begged to be addressed as -Edward Pierce. One of the girl Stanleys married a Blake, and prosperous -vagabonds they were,--kept a chaise-cart, and a fine horse, with -expensive plated harness. On the occasion of the christening of their -first child, which took place at Beaulieu, they invited all the farmers -and respectable country folk for miles round to a feast on the heath, -and a sumptuous feast it was, and every thing ‘done decently and in -order.’ Abundance of good things, eatables and drinkables. - -“The tables, borrowed for the occasion, almost elegantly spread. Liquor -in abundance, good ale and strong, but no abuse of it. Fiddling and -dancing afterwards till the long summer day closed in, and then the wild -hosts and their civilized guests parted with mutual good-will; the most -respectable of the latter (good substantial farmers, their wives and -families) protesting they had never been so well treated, or in company -more decently conducted. - -“Mr. Crabbe alludes at p. 29 of the ‘Gipsies’ Advocate,’ to a -circumstance connected with gipsy burials, as having occurred in the -neighbouring county of Wilts. I suspect it to be the same which was -related to me two years ago, by the vicar of a parish in the New Forest, -who had it from his intimate friend the curate of a Wiltshire parish, -the name of which I forget. A small party of gipsies had remained -stationary in the neighbourhood for an unusual length of time, detained -by the illness of one of them, a very young woman and beautiful--lately -married to a man as comely as herself. ‘One of the finest young men,’ -the curate said, ‘he ever set eyes on.’ The woman died, and soon after -the husband came, almost in a state of distraction, to apply for leave -to bury her in the church. The permission could not be granted, though -the man pleaded with passionate earnestness, saying, _any required sum_, -however large, should be forthcoming, might he but lay her in the -church. Finding that to be impossible, he bought a piece of ground in -the churchyard, made a deep vault, where she was interred, and over it -caused a monument to be erected, which was not only costly but in good -taste, as was the simple record inscribed on it. This occurred several -years ago, and not once has he omitted an annual visit to the grave -since the day of his wife’s interment. - -“The magistrates, country gentlemen, and farmers, in the neighbourhood -of Mr. Crabbe’s gipsy colony, complain bitterly of the effects of his -benevolent scheme--affirming that it subjects them to the perpetual -depredations of swarms of vagrants of all sorts, and that the good man -himself is the dupe of nine-tenths of these persons, who allow him for a -time to reckon them among his reformed gipsies. Be it as it may that -this well meaning man is or is not imposed on, certain it is, that as a -nation we are chargeable with culpable neglect towards these wild -denizens. We ‘compass sea and land to make one proselyte,’ and at home, -we suffer fellow beings to live and die among us, as unheeded and -uncared for (far more so) as ‘the beasts that perish.’” - -We may illustrate this just remark of Mrs. Southey’s, and at the same -time, the occasional scenes of wild life in England, by quoting from Mr. -Crabbe’s volume the following extraordinary anecdote. - -“George III. being out one day hunting, the chase lay through the skirts -of the forest. The stag had been hard run, and to escape the dogs, had -crossed the river in a deep part. The dogs could not be brought to -follow; and it became necessary, in order to come up with it, to make a -circuitous route along the banks of the river, through some thick and -troublesome underwood. The roughness of the ground, the long grass, and -frequent thickets, obliged the sportsmen to separate from each other; -each one endeavouring to make the best and speediest route he could. -Before they had reached the end of the forest, the king’s horse -manifested signs of fatigue and uneasiness, so much so, that his -Majesty resolved upon yielding the pleasures of the chase to those of -compassion for his horse. With this view he turned down the first avenue -of the forest, and determined on riding quietly to the oaks, there to -wait for some of his attendants. The king had only proceeded a few -yards, when, instead of the cry of the hounds he fancied he heard the -cry of human distress. As he rode forward, he heard it more -distinctly:--‘Oh, my mother! my mother! God pity and bless my poor -mother!’ The curiosity and kindness of the sovereign led him instantly -to the spot. It was a little green plot on one side of the forest, where -was spread on the grass, under a branching oak, a little pallet, half -covered with a kind of tent; and a basket or two with some packs, lay on -the ground at a few paces distant from the tent. Near to the root of the -tree he observed a little swarthy girl about eight years of age, on her -knees praying, while her little black eyes ran down with tears. Distress -of any kind was always relieved by his Majesty, for he had a heart which -melted at human woe. ‘What my child, is the cause of your weeping?’ he -asked, ‘For what do you pray?’ The little creature at first started, -then rose from her knees; and pointing to the tent, said,--‘Oh sir, my -dying mother!’ ‘What?’ said his Majesty, dismounting, and fastening his -horse up to the branches of the oak, ‘what, my child? tell me all about -it.’ The little creature now led the king to the tent; where lay, partly -covered, a middle-aged female gipsy in the last stages of a decline, and -in the last moments of life. She turned her dying eyes expressively to -the royal visiter, then looked up to heaven, but not a word did she -utter; the organs of speech had ceased their office; _the silver cord -was loosed, and the wheel broken at the cistern_. The little girl then -wept aloud, and stooping down, wiped the dying sweat from her mother’s -face. The king, much affected, asked the child her name, and of her -family, and how long her mother had been ill. Just at that moment -another gipsy girl, much older, came out of breath to the spot. She had -been to the town of W------, and brought some medicine for her dying -mother. Observing a stranger, she curtsied modestly, and hastening to -her mother, knelt down by her side, kissed her pallid lips, and burst -into tears. ‘What, my dear child,’ said his Majesty, ‘can be done for -you?’ ‘O sir,’ she replied, ‘my dying mother wanted a religious person -to teach her, and to pray with her before she died. I ran all the way -before it was light this morning to W------, and asked for a minister, -_but no one could I get to come with me to pray with my dear mother_!’ -The dying woman seemed sensible of what her daughter was saying, and her -countenance was much agitated. The air was again rent with the cries of -the distressed daughters. The king, full of kindness, instantly -endeavoured to comfort them. He said, ‘I am a minister, and God has sent -me to instruct and comfort your mother.’ He then sate down on a pack by -the side of the pallet, and taking the hand of the dying gipsy, -discoursed on the demerit of sin, and the nature of redemption. He then -pointed her to Christ, the all-sufficient Saviour. While doing this, the -poor creature seemed to gather consolation and hope: her eyes sparkled -with brightness, and her countenance became animated. She looked up--she -smiled; but it was the last smile; it was the glimmering of expiring -nature. As the expression of peace, however, remained strong in her -countenance, it was not till some time had elapsed, that they perceived -the struggling spirit had left mortality. - -“It was at this moment that some of his Majesty’s attendants, who had -missed him at the chase, and had been riding through the forest in -search of him, rode up, and found him comforting the afflicted gipsies. -It was an affecting sight, and worthy of everlasting record in the -annals of kings. - -“He now rose up, put some gold into the hands of the afflicted girls, -promised them his protection, and bade them look to heaven. He then -wiped the tears from his eyes, and mounted his horse. His attendants, -greatly affected, stood in silent admiration. Lord L------ was going to -speak, but his Majesty, turning to the gipsies, and pointing to the -breathless corpse, and to the weeping girls, said, with strong -emotion,--‘Who, my lord, who, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto these?’” - - -GIPSIES OF FASHION. - -An incident which occurred to me in the summer of 1837, shewed me most -strikingly how next to impossible it is for the peculiar manner and -costume of the English gipsies to be personated. In an evening drive on -the 27th of July, with a young friend staying with us, as we passed -through, or by, the little rustic hamlet of Stoke D’Abernon, for it -consists of houses scattered along one side of the road, I was struck -with two singular female figures at a little distance before us. They -were both young--the one about the middle size, the other rather taller. -The taller one was dressed in a dark cotton bedgown, dark petticoat, -grey stockings, and shoes; on her head was tied a yellow silk -handkerchief, and in her hand she held, as a walking-staff, a long stout -hazel wand, recently cut from the hedge. The other had on also a short -bedgown, but of a pink colour, striped and figured with white, a dark -petticoat, and ankle-boots. On her head she wore an old straw bonnet. As -my eye caught them at a distance,--the one standing with her tall stick -by a pool on one side of the way, the other in the act of begging from, -or addressing, a gentleman who was sitting on a stile, I could not help -exclaiming,--“What have we got here!--Maria de Moulins and Madge -Wildfire?” As we drew near, they came running up to us, and, one on each -side of the pony-chaise, began begging most importunately: “Will you -give us sixpence? Do give us sixpence! Do, dear gentleman, give us -sixpence! Dear lady, do tell the gentleman to give us sixpence!” It was -only necessary to give a slight glance at the faces of these beggars, -and to hear one tone of their voices, to know that it was a frolic--that -they were _ladies_ of education and family, from some of the -neighbouring country houses, thus dressed up. They had hair and eyes jet -black as any gipsies; and after all that has been said of the beauty of -some of the gipsy women--and they have a great deal--were handsomer than -any gipsies I ever saw. The taller, who appeared the younger of the two, -was a very lovely woman, of a slender figure, the exquisite symmetry of -which was not to be disguised by the rustic dress she had assumed. The -other had, or affected, a slight lisp. Irresistible as such beggars -might appear, I resolved to refuse them, in order to see how they would -keep up the attempt, and how they would take a refusal. I therefore -said, laughing, “O! I have no sixpences for beggars like you; you -certainly are very charming beggars; you have chosen a very rustic -costume; you act your part very well indeed, and I hope you will enjoy -your frolic.” All this time I kept driving on at a good pace; but the -resolute damsels still ran on, importuning for a sixpence. One soon -dropped behind--the taller one still ran on with her stick in her hand, -in a voice of much softness and sweetness still begging for sixpence--as -they were poor strangers, and had got nothing all day! As she ran, this -sort of badinage passed:--“Where do you come from?” “O, we have come all -the way from Epsom to meet our young man here, and he has deceived -us.”--“Well, I hope no young man will deceive you more cruelly.” “Dear -gentleman, if you won’t give us sixpence, give us a penny then to buy us -a glass of ale!” “O, you are no ale drinkers--what should you think of a -glass of gin?” “I should like something, for I am _very_ tired: and what -is sixpence to you?--you have a very good horse in your chaise; I have -no doubt you are a gentleman of independent fortune--_do_ give us -sixpence!” “No, I wish I were half as rich as you are.” Here the Queen -of Love and Beauty stopped, and turned round with an air of very -beautiful disdain. As she went back to join her companion, we were again -struck with the grace of her form, and the buoyancy of her carriage. - -My impression was that these ladies were merely acting beggars; but we -soon found that they were acting gipsies; for they offered to tell -almost every body’s fortunes, and actually did tell some. As we -returned, we met them coming up a hollow woody lane, near Bookham -Common, about a mile from where we left them; and behold! they and the -gentleman who was there sitting on the stile--a military-looking man -with light mustachios--were walking familiarly on together. It was -evident that they had found “their young man!” It was a group worthy of -the pencil of Stothard; and on the opposite side of the lane, from a -cottage above it, out were come a countrywoman, and six or seven -children, of different ages, in their rustic costume, and stood to look -at them--a little picture after the very heart of Collins. The moment -our actresses saw us, they motioned their escort to move off to the -other side of the way, and to walk on, as though he did not belong to -them, and again renewed their importunity as we passed. I merely smiled, -and moved my hat to them. As we proceeded, I stopped and asked of all -the country people I met--who was that gentleman? and who the ladies -dressed as beggars? The miller thought the gentleman was from Bookham -Lodge, the seat of Captain Blackwood--he heard a large party of gentry -was just come there; “but the women, sir, they are Dutch women!” Dutch -women! Broom-girls, in fact! Broom-girls, with legs and arms like young -elephants! and broad solid figures, as if cut out of blocks of wood--how -very like those slim and elegant creatures! But it was enough for the -worthy miller, whose fortune they _had_ offered to tell, that they had -on short bedgowns and dark petticoats. A grocer from Epsom, with his -spring-cart, going as they do all round the country, from one -gentleman’s house to another, had had his fortune told by them, and was -lost in amaze at the announcement that he had had nine children, six of -whom were still living--five girls and one boy; the very facts to a -hair! A farmer and his wife at Stoke, never dreamt that the gentleman -whom they had noticed belonged to these “young baggages of beggars,” -that had been sitting on the bank by the road-side opposite their house; -but his wife said one of them was the handsomest beggar she _ever_ saw. -“Ay, they were both good-looking,” said the man, “and had famous things -on.” The groom at the parsonage-gate “didn’t know the gentleman in the -mustachios; but the women, bless you, they were no _ladies_.” “Why?” “O, -they carried it on too far for ladies here, I assure you.” “What did -they do?” “O! they came ringing at the bell like new ’uns; six or seven -times they called us out--they would take no nay.” - -Little did these fair _ladies_, when sallying out for this frolic in the -sylvan lanes of Surrey, dream, I dare say, that they should meet “a -chiel takin’ notes,” that would put their exploits into print. Here they -are, however; and if they should chance to see this, I must tell them, -that they were very sweet nondescripts, but not very perfect beggars; -and far, far indeed, from perfect Zinganies. For Madge Wildfires, they -were not amiss; but beggars, impudent as they are, seldom ask for -sixpences; seldom appear in new apparel; never run by the side of -carriages--that is left to beggar children. Pleading looks, and a -pitiful whining tone, with low genuflections, mark the young -beggar-woman, as she stands fixed at one place;--her husband is dead, -and she is going home to her parents or parish; or he is gone for a -soldier, and she is following to the garrison. Lancashire witches they -would have done for capitally--but then witches don’t tell fortunes by -palmistry; their vocation is by spell and cauldron; and as for gipsies, -why it is just as difficult to mistake the particular expression and -cultivated voice of an English lady, as it is the features and voice of -the real gipsy-woman. Black eyes and black hair these ladies had; but -they had neither the olive skin, nor the bold, easy _degagée_ air of the -gipsy belle; and what do gipsies with such beautifully _slender_ and -delicate hands? They were importunate; but nothing but a life and an -education in the gipsy-camp, and perhaps the blood and descent of the -gipsy, can give the peculiar style of palaver--the _suaviter in -modo_--the unique flattery--the “you are born fortunate, sir”--with -which the gipsy accosts you. And the costume! The gipsy wears nothing -short. She has a long gown,--a long red cloak--a handkerchief tied over -her head, it is true, but upon _it_ a large flapping bonnet with lace -trimming, or black beaver hat;--instead of that fairy form, she is -generally strapping, tall, and strong--and instead of those taper ankles -and small feet, which could evidently dance down the four-and-twenty -hours, she has her lower limbs arrayed in black stockings and stout -shoes that would do for a wagoner. Young gipsy women walk with sticks! -how rarely do you see an old one with one? Knowing now who these ladies -were, I should, beforehand, have expected a closer personation of the -gipsy; but the result only proves the difficulty of the attempt. It -must, however be confessed, that this was as pretty a little rural -adventure as one could desire to meet with. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER II. - -NOOKS OF THE WORLD; - -OR, A PEEP INTO THE BACK SETTLEMENTS OF ENGLAND. - -There are thousands of places in this beautiful kingdom, which if you -could change their situation--if you could take some plain, monotonous, -and uninteresting tracts from the neighbourhood of large cities, from -positions barren and of daily observance, and place these in their -stead--would acquire an incalculable value; while the common spots would -serve the present inhabitants of those sweet places just as well, and -often far better, for the ordinary purposes of their lives--for walking -over in the day, sleeping in during the night, and raising grass, -cattle, and corn upon. The dwellers of cities--the men who have made -fortunes, or are making them, and yet long for the quietness and beauty -of the country--but especially the literary, the nature-loving, the -poetical--would, to use a common expression, jump at them; and, if it -were in their power to secure them, would make heavens-upon-earth of -them. Yes! they are such spots as thousands are longing for; as the -day-dreaming young, and the world-weary old, are yearning after, and -painting to their mind’s eye, daily in great cities; and the dull, the -common-place, the unpercipient of their beauty and their glory, are -dwelling in them;--paradisiacal fields and magnificent mountains; or -cloudy hollows in their mottled sides; or little _cleuchs_ and glens, -hidden and green--overhung with wild wood--rocky, and resounding with -dashing and splashing streams;--places, where the eye sees the distant -flocks and their slowly-stalking shepherds--the climbing goat, the -soaring eagle: and the ear catches their far-off cries; whence a -thousand splendours and pageants, changing aspects, and kindling and -dying glories, in earth and sky, are witnessed; the cheerful arising of -morning--the still, crimson, violet, purple, azure, dim grey, and then -dark fading away of day into night, are watched; where the high and -clear grandeur and solitude of night, with its moon and stars, and -wandering breezes, and soul-enwrapping freshness, are seen and felt. -Such places as these, and the brown or summer-empurpled heath, with its -patch of ancient forest; its blasted, shattered, yet living old trees, -greeting you with feelings and fancies of long-past centuries; the -clear, rushing brook; the bubbling and most crystalline spring; and the -turf that springs under your feet with a delicious elasticity, and sends -up to your senses a fresh and forest-born odour; or cottages perched in -the sides of glades, or on eminences by the sea--the soul-inspiring -sea--with its wide views of coming and going ships, its fresh gales, and -its everlasting change of light and life, on its waters, and on its -shores; its sailors, and its fishermen, with all their doings, families, -and dependencies--every one of them thoroughly covered and saturated -with the spirit of picturesque and homely beauty; or inland hollows and -fields, and old hamlets, lying amid great woods and slopes of wondrous -loveliness;--if we could but turn things round, and bring these near us, -and unite, at once, city advantages, city society, and them! But it -never can be! And there are living in them, from generation to -generation, numbers of people who are not to be envied, because they -know nothing at all of the enviableness of their situation. - -We are continually labouring to improve society--to diffuse -education--to confer higher and ampler religious knowledge; but these -people know little of all this--experience little of its effect; for -their abodes, and natural paradises, lie far from the great tracks of -travel and commerce; far from our great roads; in the most -out-of-the-world places--the very nooks of the world. - -If you come by chance upon them, you are struck with their admirable -beauty, their solemn repose, their fresh and basking solitude. You -cannot help exclaiming, What happy people must these be! But, when you -come to look closer into them, the delusion vanishes. They do not, in -fact, see any beauty that you see. Their minds have never been stirred -from the sluggish routine of their daily life; their mental eye has -never been unsealed, and directed to survey the advantages of their -situation. They have been occupied with other things. Like the farmer’s -lad mentioned by Wordsworth, their souls have become encrusted in their -own torpor. - - A sample should I give - Of what this stock produces, to enrich - The tender age of life, ye would exclaim, - “Is this the whistling plough-boy whose shrill notes - Impart new gladness to the morning air?” - Forgive me, if I venture to suspect - That many, sweet to hear of in soft verse, - Are of no finer frame;--his joints are stiff; - Beneath a cumbrous frock that to the knees - Invests the thriving churl, his legs appear, - Fellows to those that lustily upheld - The wooden-stools, for everlasting use, - Whereon our fathers sate. And mark his brow! - Under whose shaggy canopy are set - Two eyes, not dim, but of a healthy stare; - Wide, sluggish, blank, and ignorant and strange; - Proclaiming boldly that they never drew - A look or motion of intelligence, - From infant conning of the Christ-cross-row, - Or puzzling through a Primer, line by line, - Till perfect mastery crown the pains at last. - - _The Excursion_, B. 8. - -This, however, is one of the worst specimens of the most stupified -class--farm-servants. Wordsworth himself makes his good and wise -_Wanderer_, a shepherd in his youth, and describes him, when a lad, as -impressed with the deepest sense of nature’s majesty. He represents him, -in one of the noblest passages of the language, as witnessing the sun -rise from some bold headland, and - - Rapt into still communion that transcends - The imperfect offices of prayer and praise. - -And, indeed, the mountaineer must be generally excepted from that -torpor of mind I have alluded to. The forms of nature that perpetually -surround him, are so bold and sublime, that they almost irresistibly -impress, excite, and colour his spirit within him; and those legends and -stirring histories which generally abound in them, co-operate with these -natural influences. This unawakened intellect dwells more generally amid -the humbler and quieter forms of natural beauty; in the “sleepy hollows” -of more champaign regions. - -It might be supposed that these nooks of the world would, in their -seclusion, possess very much one moral character; but nothing can be -more untrue. Universally, they may seem old-fashioned, and full of a -sweet tranquillity; but their inhabitants differ widely in character in -different parts of the country--widely often in a short space, and in a -manner that can only be accounted for by their less or greater communion -with towns, less or greater degree of education extended to them--and -the kind extended. Where they are far from towns, and hold little -intercourse with them, and have no manufactory in them, they may be -dull, but they are seldom very vicious. If they have had little -education, they lead a very mechanical sort of life; are often very -boorish, and have very confined notions and contracted wishes; are rude -in manner, but not bad in heart. I have been in places--ay, in this -newspaper-reading age, where a newspaper never comes; where they have no -public-house, no school, no church, and no doctor; and yet the district -has been populous. But, in similarly situated places, where yet they had -a simple, pious pastor--some primitive patriarch, like the venerable -Robert Walker, of whom so admirable an account is given by Wordsworth; -where they have been blest with such a man amongst them, and where they -have had a school; where they knew little of what was going on in the -world, and where yet you were sure to find, in some crypt-like hole in -the wall, or in a little fireside window, about half a dozen books--the -Bible, “Hervey’s Meditations among the Tombs,” “Baxter’s Saint’s -Everlasting Rest,” “Romaine’s Life of Faith,” or his “Drop of Honey from -the Rock Christ,” “Macgowan’s Life of Christ,” or “Drelincourt on -Death,” and such like volumes; or “Robinson Crusoe,” “Philip Quarle,” -“The History of Henry the Earl of Moreland,” “Pilgrim’s Progress,” or -“Pamela;”--have you found a simplicity of heart and manner, a quiet -prosperity, a nearer approach to the Arcadian idea of rural life, than -anywhere else in this country. There are yet such places to be found in -our island, notwithstanding the awful truth of what was said by -Coleridge, that “Care, like a foul hag, sits on us all; one class -presses with iron foot upon the wounded heads beneath, and all struggle -for a worthless supremacy, and all, to rise to it, move shackled by -their expenses.” - -But these are now few and far between; and they are certainly “nooks of -the world,” far from manufacturing towns; for my experience coincides -with that of Captain Lloyd, as given in his “Field Sports of the -North:”--“Manufactures, of whatever nature they may be, may certainly -tend to enrich individuals, but, to my mind, they add little to the -happiness of the community at large. In what parts of any country in the -world, are such scenes of vice and squalid misery to be witnessed, as in -manufacturing districts?” What he adds is very true--that, though it may -appear singular, yet it is a fact, that the farther we retreat from -great towns and manufactories, a greater degree of comfort is generally -to be observed amongst the peasantry. It is, indeed, a strange relief to -the spirit of one who has known something of the eager striving of the -world, to come upon a spot where the inhabitants are passing through -life, as it were, in a dreamlike pilgrimage, half unconscious of its -trials and evils--an existence which, if it have not the merit of great -and triumphant virtue, has that absence of selfish cunning, pride, -sorrow, and degradation, which one would seek for in vain amid more -bustling scenes. To find the young, soberly and cheerfully fulfilling -their daily duties--nowhere affluence, but everywhere plenty and comfort -observable--and the old, in their last tranquil days, seated in their -easy chairs, or on the stone bench at their doors, glad to chat with you -on all they have known on earth and hoped for in heaven--why, it would -be more easy to scathe such a place with the evil spirit of the town, -than to raise it in the scale of moral life. The experiment of -improvement there, you feel, would be a hazardous one. It were easy and -desirable to give more knowledge: but not easy to give it unaccompanied -by those blighting contaminations that at present cling to it. - -It is in those rural districts into which manufactories have -spread--that are partly manufacturing and partly agricultural--that the -population assumes its worst shape. The state of morals and manners -amongst the working population of our great towns is terrible--far more -so than casual observers are aware of. After all that has been done to -reform and educate the working class, the torrent of corruption rolls -on. The most active friends of education, the most active labourers in -it, are ready to despair, and sometimes exclaim,--“What have we done, -after all!” There, the spirit of man is aroused to a marvellous -activity; but it is an unhealthful activity, and overpowers, in its -extravagance, all attempts to direct it aright. “Evil communications -corrupt good manners” faster than good communications can counteract -them; and where the rural population, in its simplicity, comes in -contact with this spirit, it receives the contagion in its most -exaggerated form--a desolating moral pestilence; and suffers in person -and in mind. There, spread all the vice and baseness of the lowest grade -of the town, made hideous by still greater vulgarity and ignorance, and -unawed by the higher authorities, unchecked by the better influences -which there prevail, in the example and exertions of a higher caste of -society. - -The Methodists have done much to check the progress of demoralization in -these districts. They have given vast numbers education; they have taken -them away from the pot-house and the gambling-house; from low haunts and -low pursuits. They have placed them in a certain circle, and invested -them with a degree of moral and social importance. They have placed them -where they have a character to sustain, and higher objects to strive -after; where they have ceased to be operated upon by a perpetual series -of evil influences, and have been brought under the regular operation of -good ones. They have rescued them from brutality of mind and manners, -and given them a more refined association on earth, and a warm hope of a -still better existence hereafter. If they have not done all that could -be desired, with such materials, they have done much, and the country -owes them much. The thorough mastery of the evil requires the -application of yet greater power--it requires a NATIONAL POWER. The evil -lies deeper than the surface; it lies in the distorted nature of our -social relations; and, _before the population can be effectually -reformed, its condition must be physically ameliorated_! - -There never was a more momentous and sure truth pronounced, than that -pronounced by Christ,--“They who take the sword, shall fall by the -sword.” If they do not fall by its edge, they will by its hilt. It is -under this evil that we are now labouring. As a nation we have fallen, -through war, into all our present misery and crime. It is impossible -that the great European kingdoms, with their present wealth and -cultivated surfaces, in their present artificial state of society, can -carry on war without enduring evils far more extensive, tremendous, and -lasting, than the mere ravaging of lands, the destruction of towns, or -even of human lives. We are, as a nation, an awful proof of this at this -moment. By the chances of war, at one time manufacturing and farming -almost for the world; prospering, apparently, on the miseries of whole -kingdoms wrapt in one wide scene of promiscuous carnage and anarchy, our -tradesmen and agriculturists commanded their own terms; and hence, on -the one hand, they accumulated large fortunes, while, on the other, the -nation, by its enormous military preparations--its fleets and armies -marching and sailing everywhere, prepared to meet emergencies at all -points and in all climes; by its aids and subsidies abroad; by its -wasteful expenditure at home--piled up the most astounding debt ever -heard of in the annals of the world. A vast working population was not -merely demanded by this unnatural state of excitement, but might be said -to be forced into existence, to supply all manner of articles to realms -too busy in mutual slaughter to be able to manufacture or plough for -themselves. Every thing assumed a new and wonderful value. All classes, -the working classes as well as the rest, with the apparent growing -prosperity, advanced into habits of higher refinement and luxury. The -tables of mechanics were heaped with loads of viands of the best -quality, and of the highest price, as earliest in the market; their -houses were crowded with furniture, till they themselves could scarcely -turn round in them--clocks, sometimes two or three in one house; chests -of drawers and tables thronged into the smallest rooms; looking-glasses, -tea-trays, and prints, stuck on every possible space on the walls; and, -from the ceiling depending hams, bags, baskets, fly-cages of many -colours, and a miscellaneous congregation of other articles, that gave -their abodes more the aspect of warerooms or museums, than the -dwellings of the working class. Dress advanced in the same ratio; horses -and gigs were in vast request; and the publicans and keepers of -tea-gardens made ample fortunes. - -The war ceased. Commerce was thrown open to the competition of the -world. The continental nations began to breathe, and to look round on -their condition. Their poverty and their spirit of emulation, the sight -of their own stripped condition, and of England apparently enriched -beyond calculation at their expense, set them rapidly about helping -themselves. This could not but be quickly and deeply felt here. To -maintain our position, all manner of artificial means were adopted. -Every class, feeling the tide of wealth changing its course, strove to -keep what it had got. The working class, as individually the weakest, -because they had spent their gains as they came, went to the ground. The -value of every necessary of life was kept up as much as possible by -legal enactments. The rate of wages fell. The manufacturers, impelled by -the same necessity of struggling for the maintenance of their rank, were -plunged into the most eager competition; the utmost pressure of -reduction fell on the labour of the operatives, who, with their acquired -habits, were ill able to bear it. They were thrust down to a condition -the most pitiful and morally destructive--to excessive labour, to -semi-starvation, to pauperism. They could not send their children to -school--not so much from the expense of schooling--for that was made -light by public contribution, and new plans of facility in teaching -large numbers--but because they wanted every penny their children could -earn, by any means, to aid in the common support. Hence, mere infants -were crowded in pestilent mills when they should have been growing in -the fresh air, and were stunted and blighted in body and in mind--a -system, the evil of which became so enormous as to call loudly upon the -attention of the legislature, and the indignant wonder of the nation. -The parents themselves had not a moment’s time to watch over their -welfare or their morals; at least sixteen hours’ unremitting daily -labour being necessary to the most miserable existence. Evils -accumulated on all sides. The working class considered themselves cast -off from the sympathies of the upper classes, regarded and valued but as -tools and machines; their children grew into ignorant depravity, in -spite of all efforts of law or philanthropy to prevent them. These -causes still operate wherever manufacturing extends: and till the -condition of this great class, whether in towns or villages, can be -amended; till time for domestic relaxation can be given to the man, and -a Christian, rather than a literary, education to the boy--an -inculcation of the beauty and necessity of the great Christian -principles; the necessity of reverencing the laws of God; doing, in all -their intercourse with their fellow men, as they would be done by; the -necessity of purity of life and justice of action, rather than the cant -of religious feeling, and the blind mystery of sectarian doctrine,--the -law and the philanthropy must be in vain. - -To the simple, and yet uncontaminated parts of the country, there is yet -a different kind of education that I should rejoice to see extended. It -should be, to open the eyes of the rural population to the advantages of -their situation;--to awaken a taste for the enjoyment of nature;--to -give them a touch of the poetical;--to teach them to see the -pleasantness of their quiet lives,--of their cottages and gardens,--of -the freshness of the air and country around them, especially as -contrasted with the poor and squalid alleys where those of their own -rank, living in towns, necessarily take up their abode,--of the -advantages in point of health and purity afforded to their children by -their position,--of the majestic beauty of the day, with its morning -animation, its evening sunsets, and twilights almost as beautiful; its -nightly blue altitude, with its moon and stars:--all this might be -readily done by the conversation of intelligent people, and by the -diffusion of cheap publications amongst them; and done, too, without -diminishing the relish for the daily business of their lives. Airy and -dreamy notions--notions of false refinement, and aspirations of soaring -beyond their own sphere--are not inspired by sound and good -intelligence, but by defective and bad education. - -The sort of education I mean has long been realized in Scotland, and -with the happiest results. There, large towns and manufactories have -produced their legitimate effect, as with us; but, in the rural -districts, every child, by national provision, has a sound, plain -education given him. He is brought up in habits of economy, and -sentiments of rational religion, and the most solemn and thorough -morality. The consequence is, that almost all grow up with a sense of -self-respect; a sense of the dignity of human nature; a determined -resolve of depending on their own exertions: and though no people are so -national, because they are made sensible of the beauty of their country -and the honourable deeds of their forefathers, yet, if they cannot find -means of living at home without degradation, and, indeed, without -bettering their condition, they soberly march off, and find some place -where they can, though it be at the very ends of the earth. - -Nothing is better known than the intelligence and order that distinguish -a great portion of the rural population of Scotland. No people are more -diligent and persevering in their proper avocations; and yet none are -more alive to the delights of literature. Amid wild mountain tracks and -vast heaths, where you scarcely see a house as you pass along for miles, -and where you could not have passed two generations ago without danger -of robbery or the dirk, they have book societies, and send new books to -and fro to one another, with an alacrity and punctuality that are most -delightful. When I have been pedestrianizing in that country, I have -frequently accosted men at their work, or in their working -dress--perhaps with their axe or their spade in their hands, and three -or four children at their heels--and found them well acquainted with the -latest good publications, and entertaining the soundest notions of them, -without the aid of critics. Such men in England would probably not have -been able to read at all. They would have known nothing but the routine -of their business, the state of the crop, and the gossip of the -neighbourhood: but there, sturdy and laborious men, tanned with the sun, -or smeared with the marl in which they had been delving, have not only -been able to give all the knowledge of the district; its histories and -traditions; the proprietorships, and other particulars of the -neighbourhood; but their eyes have brightened at the mention of their -great patriots, reformers, and philosophers, and their tongues have -grown perfectly eloquent in discussing the works of their poets and -other writers. The names of Wallace, Bruce, Knox, Fletcher of Saltoun, -the Covenanters, Scott, Burns, Hogg, Campbell, Wilson, and others, have -been spells that have made them march away miles with me, when they -could not get me into their own houses, and find it difficult to turn -back. - -Now, why should not this be so in England? Why should not similar means -produce similar effects? They must and would; and by imbuing the rural -population with a spirit as sound and rational, we should not only raise -it in the social scale to a degree of worth and happiness at present not -easily imaginable, but render the most important service to the country, -by attaching “a bold peasantry, the country’s pride,” to their native -soil, by the most powerful of ties, and rendering them both able and -more determined to live in honourable dependence on self-exertion. BOOK -SOCIETIES, under local management, should do for the COUNTRY what -MECHANICS’ LIBRARIES are doing for the TOWNS--building up those habits, -and perfecting those healthful tastes, for which popular education is -but the bare foundation. - -Wordsworth gives an account of the early years of his Wanderer, which, -under such a system, might be that of thousands. - - Early had he learned - To reverence the volume that displays - The mystery, the life which cannot die:-- - What wonder if his being thus became - Sublime and comprehensive! Low desires, - Low thoughts, there had no place; yet was his heart - Lowly; for he was meek in gratitude, - Oft as he called those ecstasies to mind, - And whence they flowed; and from them he acquired - Wisdom, which works through patience:--hence he learned - In oft-recurring hours of sober thought - To look on nature with a humble heart, - Self-questioned, where it did not understand, - And with a superstitious eye of love. - So passed the time; yet to the nearest town - He duly went, with what small overplus - His earnings might supply, and brought away - The book that most had tempted his desires, - While at the stall he read. Among the hills - He gazed upon that mighty orb of song, - The divine Milton. Lore of different kind, - The annual savings of a toilsome life, - His schoolmaster supplied; books that explain - The purer elements of truth, involved, - In lines and numbers, and, by charm severe, - (Especially perceived where nature droops, - And feeling is suppressed) preserve the mind - Busy in solitude and poverty. - - Yet still uppermost, - Nature was at his heart, as if he felt, - Though yet he knew not how, a wasting power - In all things that from her sweet influence - Might tend to wean him. Therefore, with her hues, - Her forms, and with the spirit of her forms, - He clothed the nakedness of austere truth, - While yet he lingered in the rudiments - Of science, and among her simplest laws, - His triangles--they were the stars of heaven, - The silent stars! Oft did he take delight - To measure th’ altitude of some tall crag - That is the eagle’s birthplace, or some peak - Familiar with forgotten years.---- - In dreams, in study, and in ardent thought, - Thus was he reared; much wanting to assist - The growth of intellect, yet gaining more, - And every moral feeling of his soul - Strengthened and braced, by breathing in content - The keen, the wholesome air of poverty, - And drinking from the well of homely life. - - _The Excursion_, B. 1. - -Such a process I should rejoice to see producing such characters in -England. Yes! Milton, Thomson, Cowper, the pious and tender Montgomery, -and Bloomfield, one of their own kind, would be noble and enriching -studies for the simplest cottage, and cottage-garden, and field-walk. -Some of our condensed historians, our best essayists and divines, -travellers, naturalists in a popular shape, and writers of fiction, as -Scott, and Edgeworth, and De Foe, might be with vast advantage diffused -amongst them. Let us hope it will one day be so. And already I know some -who have reaped those blessings of an awakened heart and intellect, too -long denied to the hard path of poverty, and which render them not the -less sedate, industrious, and provident, but, on the contrary, more so. -They have made them, in the humblest of stations, the happiest of men; -quickened their sensibilities towards their wives and children; -converted the fields, the places of their daily toil, into places of -earnest meditative delight--schools of perpetual observation of God’s -creative energy and wisdom. - -It was but the other day that the farming-man of a neighbouring lady -having been pointed out to me as at once remarkably fond of reading and -attached to his profession, I entered into conversation with him; and -it is long since I experienced such a cordial pleasure as in the -contemplation of the character that opened upon me. He was a strong man; -not to be distinguished by his dress and appearance from those of his -class, but having a very intelligent countenance; and the vigorous, -healthful feelings, and right views, that seemed to fill not only his -mind but his whole frame, spoke volumes for that vast enjoyment and -elevation of character which a rightly directed taste for reading would -diffuse amongst our peasantry. His sound appreciation of those authors -he had read--some of our best poets, historians, essayists, and -travellers--was truly cheering, when contrasted with the miserable and -frippery taste which distinguishes a large class of readers; where -a-thousand-times-repeated novels of fashionable life, neither original -in conception nor of any worth in their object--the languid offspring of -a tinsel and exotic existence--are read because they can be read without -the labour of thinking. While such works are poured in legions upon the -public, like a host of dead leaves from the forest, driven along in -mimic life by a mighty wind--and while such things are suffered to swell -the Puffiads of publishers, and shoulder away, or discourage, the -substantial labours of high intellect--it is truly reviving to see the -awakening of mind in the common people. It is, I am persuaded, from the -people that a regenerating power must come--a new infusion of better -blood into our literary system. The inanities of fashion must weary the -spirit of a great nation, and be thrown off; strong, native genius, from -the measureless, unploughed regions of the popular mind--robust, -gigantic, uneffeminated by luxury, glitter, and sloth--will rise up, and -put all soulless artificialities to shame; and already mighty are the -symptoms of such a change manifested, in an array of names that might be -adduced. But I must not be led farther away by this seducing topic. - -I found this countryman was a member of our Artisans’ Library, and every -Saturday evening he walked over to the town to exchange his books. I -asked him whether reading did not make him less satisfied with his daily -work; his answer deserves universal attention:--“Before he read, his -work was weary to him; for, in the solitary fields, an empty head -measured the time out tediously, to double its length; but, now, no -place was so sweet as the solitary fields: he had always something -pleasant floating across his mind; and the labour was delightful, and -the day only too short.” Seeing his ardent attachment to the country, I -sent him the last edition of “The Book of the Seasons;” and I must here -give a _verbatim et literatim_ extract from the note in which he -acknowledged its receipt, because it not only contains an experimental -proof of the falsity of a common alarm on the subject of popular -education, but shews at what a little cost much happiness may be -conveyed to a poor man:--“Believe me, dear sir, this kind act has made -an impression on my heart that time will not easily erase. There are -none of your works, in my opinion, more valuable than this. The study of -nature is not only the most delightful, but the most elevating. This -will be true in _every station_ of life. But how much more ought the -_poor man_ to prize this study! which if prized and pursued as it ought, -will enable him to bear, with patient resignation and cheerfulness, the -_lot_ by providence assigned him. O sir! I pity the working man who -possesses not a _taste_ for reading. ’Tis true, it may sometimes lead -him to neglect the other more important duties of his station; but his -better and more enlightened judgment will soon correct itself in this -particular, and will enable him, while he steadily and diligently -pursues his private studies, and participates in intellectual enjoyment, -to prize, as he ought, his _character as a man_ in every relative duty -of life.” - -What a nation would this be, filled with a peasantry holding such views, -and possessing such a consequent character as this! - -The sources of enjoyment in nature have been too long closed to the -poor. The rich can wander from side to side of the island, and explore -its coasts, its fields, and forests--but the poor man is fettered to the -spot. The rich can enter the galleries and exhibitions of cities, and -contemplate all the great works of art; the poor _ought to be taught to -know_ that, if they cannot see the works of art--statues and -paintings--they can see those of God;--if they cannot gaze on the finest -forms of beauty from the chisel of the sculptor, they may be taught to -distinguish the beauty of all _living_ forms;--if they cannot behold -splendid paintings of landscapes, of mountains, of sea-coasts, of -sunrises and sunsets; they can see, one or other of them, all the -originals of these--originals to whose magnificence and glory the copies -never can approach. To the poor, but properly educated man, every walk -will become a luxury, a poem, a painting--a source of the sweetest -feelings and the most elevating reflections. - -But there is one class in these back settlements of England to whom a -liberal education is most requisite, and to whom it would be most -difficult to give it--the class of smaller resident proprietors. The -effect of the possession of property in such places is singular and most -lamentable. It produces the most impenetrable hardness of nature--the -most selfish and sordid dispositions. Everywhere, the tendency of -accumulation is to generate selfishness: but, in towns, there are many -counteracting influences; the emulative desire of vying, in mode of -life, with equals and superiors--the greater spread of information--the -various objects of pleasure and association, which keep open the avenues -of expenditure, not only in the purse, but in the heart. Here there are -none. Amusements and dissipations are self-gratulatingly denounced as -gross follies and sins; objects of display, as pride. The consequence -is, that habits of the strangest parsimony prevail--the rudest -furniture, the rudest style of living. Men who, in a town or its -neighbourhood, would appear as gentlemen, and, perhaps, keep a carriage, -there wear often clouted shoes, threadbare and patched clothes, and a -hat not worth a farthing; and all in a fashion of the most awkward -rusticity. All wisdom is supposed to lie in penuriousness. They have -abundance of maxims for ever in their mouths, full of that philosophy; -as “Penny-wise and pound-foolish”--“A penny saved is a penny got”--“A -pin a-day’s a groat a-year.” All ideas seem absorbed in the one grand -idea of accumulating coin, that will never be of more value to them than -so many oyster-shells. Such a thing as a noble or generous sentiment -would be a surprise to their own souls. Of such men are made the hardest -overseers of the poor; whose screwing, iron-handed administration of -relief is the boast of the parish, and has led to the most monstrous -abuses. To them all objects are alike; they have no discrimination; the -old and young, the idle and industrious, the sturdy vagabond, and the -helpless and dying!--they deem it a virtue to deny them all, till a -higher power forces the reluctant doit from their gripe. They are surly, -yet proud churls, living wrapped in a sense of their own importance; for -they see nobody above them, except there be a squire or a lord in the -parish; and they see little of him, and then only to make their passing -obsequious bow; for they are at once - - Tyrants to the weak, and cowards to the strong. - -Any education, any change, would be a blessing to these men, that would -bring them into collision with those of their own supposed standing, but -with better education and more liberal views and habits. The excess to -which these causes operate in some of these out-of-the-world places, is -scarcely to be credited: they produce the strangest scenes and the -strangest characters. Let us take a specimen or two from one parish, -that would be easily paralleled in many others. - -In one part of this secluded neighbourhood, you approach extensive -woods, and behold amongst them a house of corresponding air and -dimensions--a mansion befitting a large landed proprietor. If you choose -to explore the outbuildings belonging to it, you will find there a -regularly educated and authorized physician, living in a dovecot, and -writing prescriptions for any that choose to employ him, for a crown, or -even half-a-crown, which he spends in drink. Paternal example and -inculcations made him what he is; unfitted him for success in his -profession, and left him dependent on his elder brother, who affords him -the asylum of his dovecot, yet so grudgingly that he has even attempted -to dislodge him by pulling off the roof; and the poor doctor owes his -retreat, not to his brother’s good-will, but to his own possession of a -brace of formidable bull-dogs, that menace the destruction of any -assailant. The dogs lie in his chamber when you enter, with their noses -on the ground, and their dark glittering eyes fixed steadily upon you, -and are ready, at a signal, to spring on you, and tear you to pieces. -The doctor’s free potations have now deprived him of the power of -locomotion; he cannot quit his pigeon-house; but one of his bull-dogs he -has trained to act as his emissary, and with a note suspended to his -neck by a tape, he goes to certain houses in the neighbouring village, -and so communicates his wishes to certain cronies of his, who are in the -habit of attending to them. The dog would tear any one to pieces that -attempted to stop him while on his master’s errands, being a very strong -and fierce creature; but, if he is not molested, he goes very civilly -along to his place of destination, and, when the note is taken off his -neck by the proper hands, returns with great punctuality and decorum. - -It must be said of this curiosity of a physician, that he is the -descendant of a very curious family; whose history for the last three -generations would be a regular series of eccentricities; and the first -of whom, here resident, was a celebrated piratical captain, who is said -to have come hither disguised as a peasant, seeking as secluded a -country as he could find, and driving before him an ass loaded with -gold. It is certain that he purchased very extensive estates, and that -one of his descendants was lately in Parliament, who, partaking of the -family qualities, excited more surprise and more laughter in the house, -than, perhaps, any man since the days of Sir Thomas Lethbridge. - -Not far thence, stands another residence. At some distance it appears a -goodly manor-house. It is large; with white walls and many antique -gables; a stately avenue of elms in front; tall pines about it, the -landmark of the whole country round: a spacious garden, with a -summer-house on the wall, seeming to have been built when there was some -taste there for those rural enjoyments which such a place is calculated -to afford to the amiable, country-loving, and refined. As you come near, -there appear signs of neglect and decay. Old timber, litter, and large -stones lie about; there are broken windows, unpainted and rotting -wood-work: every thing looks forlorn, as if it were the residence of -poverty on the verge of utter destitution. - -The fact is, the owner has landed property worth from thirty to forty -thousand pounds. But see the man himself! There he goes, limping across -his yard, having permanently injured one of his legs in some of his -farming operations. There he goes--a tall hard-featured, weather-beaten -man, dressed in the garb of the most rustic husbandman: strong clouted -ankle-boots, blue or black ribbed worsted stockings; corduroy -small-clothes; a yellow striped waistcoat, and a coat of coarse grey -cloth, cut short, in a rude fashion, and illustrated with metal buttons; -a hat that seems to have been originally made of coarse wool or dog’s -hair--to have cost some four-and-sixpence some dozen years ago--brown, -threadbare, and cocked up behind, by propping on his coat collar. - -He has brought up a family of three sons, and never spent on their -education three pounds. The consequence has been just what might be -expected. They came to know, as they grew up, “for quickly comes such -knowledge,” their expectations; and they turned out rude, savage, and -drunken. One married a servant girl, and she dying, the son brought -himself and several children to the old man’s to live. Warned by -this--for, with all his clownish parsimony, he has pride--the pride of -property--he has put the others on farms, and they have married farmer’s -daughters: but, always living in expectation of the old man’s death, -they attend to no business; always looking forward to the possession of -his wealth, they have already condemned a good part of it. If any man -could be punished that man is, for sparing the expense of their -education, and for the example set before them; for, what he has made -the sole object of all his thoughts and labours, he sees them -squandering, and knows that they will squander it all. But he himself is -not guilty of all this; he is but the victim of his own education, and -the maxims and manners of his ancestors. If he could have seen the -usefulness of education to his sons, he could not have found in his -heart to spend the necessary money; but he could not see it: anything -further than to be able to sign a receipt, and reckon a sum of money in -their heads, he called trash and nonsense. - -When his sons were growing towards men, I have chanced to pass his -farm-yard, and seen him and two of them filling a manure-cart; -labouring, puffing and blowing, and perspiring, as if their lives -depended on their labour; and the old man was urging them on with -continual curses--“Curse thy body, Dick! Curse thy body, Ben!--Ben! -Dick! Ben! Dick! work, lads, work!” And these hopeful sons were repaying -their father’s curses with the same horrible earnestness. - -A gentleman once told me that, having to call on this man about some -money transaction, he was detained till twelve o’clock, and desired to -stay dinner, that being his hour. Out of curiosity he consented. Every -thing about the house was in the rudest and most desolate state. I do -not know whether they had a cloth spread on the sturdy oak table, which -supported a set of pewter plates, a roasted fowl, and a pudding in a -huge brown earthen dish. The wife, stripped to her stays and quilted -petticoat, was too busy making cheese and scolding the servants to come -to dinner. The _pater familias_ and his guest sat down together. As he -cut up the fowl, the two great lads, Dick and Ben, then about twelve and -fourteen years of age, came with their wild eyes staring sharply out of -their bushy heads of wild hair, and hung over their father’s chair, one -on each side, with an eager expression of voracity; for they were not -asked to sit down. The father, as if he expected them to pounce on the -dinner and carry it off, kept a sharp look-out on them; and though, out -of deference to his guest, he restrained his curses, he kept -vociferating, as he turned first to one and then to the other, and then -gave a cut at the fowl--“Ben! Dick! get away, lads! get away! get away! -get away!” But the moment a leg and a wing were cut off, the lads made a -sudden spring, and each seizing a joint, bounded out of the apartment, -leaving the old man in wonder at the unmanageableness of his sons. From -such an education who can doubt the result?--a brood of savages, the -nuisance of the neighbourhood, and torment of the old man’s days. To -such a height has the old man’s agony arisen at times, as he saw the -wasteful conduct of his sons, that it is a pretty well established fact, -that on one occasion he threw himself down in a ditch in one of his own -fields, and--did not pray to die, for he never knew the beginning, -middle, or end of a prayer, but he _tried_ to die; but, after a long and -weary endeavour, finding it in vain, he got up and hobbled off home -again, saying--“Well, I see it is as hard to die as to live. I can’t -die! I can’t die! I must even bear it, till these lads kill me by -inches--and that must be a plaguy while first; for I measure two yards -of bad stuff, and I think I’m as hard as a nur,[5] and as tough as -whit-leather.” - - [5] Nur--a hard knot of wood used by boys at bandy instead of a ball. - -Ben, now upwards of forty years of age, still lives with the old man, -working as a labourer on his farm, and is maintained with his children. -Money he never sees: but his father allows him to sell bundles of straw; -and he may be seen, in an evening, with two bundles of straw under each -arm, proceeding to the alehouse in the next village, where he barters -them for the evening cup. Nay, the other night, a person encountered, as -he supposed, a thief, issuing from the old man’s yard, with a huge beam -on his shoulder. It was Ben, going to turn it into ale; who desired his -neighbour to say nothing. Nothing can more strikingly close this account -than the old man’s usual description of his three sons. “My son Dick has -Cain’s mark on his forehead; Ben, if ale was a guinea a-pint, and he had -but one guinea in the world, would buy a pint of ale; and, as for -Simon--he is a gentleman! He takes a certificate to shoot. He runs with -those long legs of his over three parishes, and comes slinging home with -a crow, or a pinet[6]--ay, ay, Simon is a gentleman!” - - [6] Magpie. - -In this same nook of the world might be seen, some years ago, two -brothers, stout farmers--farmers of their own property--heaping curses -and recriminations on each other about their possessions, in so loud a -voice that they have been heard half a mile off. This enmity outlasted -the elder, and burned in the breast of the younger for years after. For -it was some years after, that he attended the funeral of a niece whom he -left through life to the charity of another. When the funeral was over, -they adjourned with the parson to the public-house; and here the person -who had cared for the neglected niece, urged the uncle now to pay some -part of the funeral charges. “Yes,” said he, “thou hast been at a deal -of cost,” (these country people still retain the use of thou and thee), -“and here is sixpence for the parson’s glass of brandy and water.” The -astonished man pushed back the sixpence with contempt; but, at this -moment, in came a lad to tell them that the grave being made too near -that of the deceased brother, the earth had suddenly fallen in, and -broken in the lid of the old man’s coffin. At this, the living brother -started up in evident delight, and exclaimed--“Why, has it? Why, has it? -Thou tells me summut, lad! thou tells me summut!” And he gave him the -sixpence he had generously destined for the parson’s glass. - -A scene, described to me by a professional land-agent, would seem to -belong to the generation of Parson Adams and Squire Western, but it -actually occurred but the other day, and only seven miles from one of -our largest county towns. This land-agent was sent for on business by an -old gentleman of large landed estate in that county. As the gentleman’s -house was in a secluded situation, off the highways, and it was a fine, -cool, autumnal day, he took a footpath which led the whole way across -delightful fields, and after enjoying his walk through meadows and -woods, arrived at the Hall with a most vigorous appetite, just as the -squire and his housekeeper were sitting down to dinner. Of course, -nothing less could take place than an invitation for him to join them; -which he was not in the disposition by any means to decline. I need -scarcely say that the fact of the squire and his housekeeper sitting at -the same table indicates the ancient gentleman as one of the real old -school. He was, in fact, a tall, gaunt, meagre old fellow, whose sole -pleasure was putting out his rents on good security, and whose sole -family consisted of his housekeeper and one old amphibious animal, who, -if he had as many heads as occupations, would have carried at least four -more than Janus--occupying his talents, as he did, as gardener, groom, -serving-man, and three or four other personages. The whole house and -every thing about it bore amplest marks of neglect and antiquity. Not a -gate, or a door, or a window, or a carpet, or any other piece of -furniture, but was just as his father left it fifty years before, except -for the work which time, and such tying and patching as were absolutely -needful to keep certain things together, had done. Our agent looked with -some curiosity at the two covers on the table before them, which being -removed revealed a single partridge and three potatoes. The housekeeper -having cut the partridge into quarters, gave each of the gentlemen one, -and took the third herself. Our worthy land-agent supposing this to be -but a slight first course, was astounded to hear the squire say, he -hoped Mr. Mapleton would make a dinner--for he saw what there was! On -this significant hint Mr. Mapleton made haste to dispatch his quarter of -bird, and cast eager looks on the remaining quarter in the dish. The -housekeeper, indeed, was just proceeding to extend the knife and fork -towards it, saying, perhaps Mr. Mapleton would take the other quarter, -when the old gentleman said very smartly; “Don’t urge Mr. Mapleton -unpleasantly--don’t overdo him--I dare say he knows when he has had -enough, without so much teasing. I have made an excellent dinner -indeed!” - -Hereupon the housekeeper’s arms and weapons were drawn back abruptly; -the old gentleman rang the bell, and the shuffling old serving-man -entered and cleared all away. As the cloth and the housekeeper -disappeared, the squire also opened a tall cupboard on one side of the -fireplace, and Mr. Mapleton began to please his fancy with a forthcoming -apparition of wine. Having sate, however, some time, and hearing from -behind the tall door, which was drawn partly after the old squire so as -to conceal him, certain sounds as of decanting liquor, and as of a knife -coming in contact with a plate, sounds particularly familiar and -exciting to hungry ears, he contrived to lean back so far in his chair -as to catch a view of the tall figure of the squire standing with a -large plum-cake upon the shelf before him, into which he had made a -capacious incision; and a glass of wine, moreover, at a little distance. -This discovery naturally making our land-agent extremely restless, he -began to indicate his presence by sundry hems, shuffles, coughs, and -drummings on his chair, which immediately produced this consequence. The -old squire’s head protruded from behind the cupboard door with an -inquiring look; and finding the eyes of Mr. Mapleton as inquiringly -fixed on him, he said--“Mr. Mapleton, will you take a glass of wine?” -“Certainly, sir, with the greatest pleasure.” The wine was carefully -poured out, making various cluckings or sobbings in the throat of the -bottle, as very loath to leave it, and was set on the table before Mr. -Mapleton. No invitation, however, to a participation of the cake came; -and after sitting perhaps a quarter of an hour longer, listening to the -same inviting sounds of scraping plate and decantation, he was compelled -again to shuffle, hem, and drum. This had a similar happy effect to the -former attempt; out popped the squire’s head, with a--“Would you take -another glass, Mr. Mapleton?” “Certainly, sir, with the greatest -pleasure, I feel thirsty with my walk.” The bottle was produced and the -glass filled, but to put an end to any further intimations of thirst, -the door was instantly closed, the key dropped into the squire’s -capacious pocket, and the old gentleman forthwith entered upon business, -which, in fact, concerned thousands of pounds. - -Before closing this gallery of country oddities, I must say that, in -some instances, much goodness of heart is mixed up with this wild growth -of queerness. There are very many who will know of whom I am speaking, -when I say that there was in the last generation a gentleman in one of -the midland counties, who was affected with this singular species of -monomania: at every execution at the county-town he purchased the rope -or ropes of Jack Ketch. These ropes, duly labelled with the name of the -culprit, the date of his execution, and the crime for which he suffered, -were hung round a particular room. On one occasion, arriving at the -town, and being told that the criminal was reprieved, he -exclaimed--“Gracious Heavens, then I have lost my rope!” The son of this -gentleman still displays a good deal of hereditary eccentricity, but has -destroyed these ropes. Nevertheless, I am told, that the carving-knife -used in his kitchen is the very sword with which Lord Byron killed -Chaworth. He still lives in the same house, and, old bachelor as he is, -maintains the old English style and hospitality in a degree not often to -be witnessed now. His personal appearance is unique. He is tall, with a -ruddy countenance, with white whiskers, white waistcoat, white breeches, -and white lining to his coat. He always appears most scrupulously and -delicately clean. His estate is large; and whoever goes to his house on -business, finds bread and cheese and ale set before him. His housekeeper -is said to receive no regular wages, but every now and then a -fifty-pound note is put into her hands, so that she has grown tolerably -rich. It is a standing order in the house, that every poor person, come -whence he may, who has lost a cow, and is seeking to get another, shall -receive a sovereign. I have heard a gentleman say, who knows him well, -that his benevolence, particularly to young tradesmen, is most -extraordinary: and that being himself once supposed to be on his -death-bed, this worthy man came, sate down by him, cried like a child, -and told him if he had not provided for his children just as he wished, -that he had only to tell him what he would have done, and then and there -it should be done. No relationship whatever existed; and this noble -offer was not accepted. The same gentleman told me that it is the -regular habit of this worthy example of Old English simplicity and -goodness of heart, every evening, before he retires to rest, to sit -quietly for a certain time in his easy chair, endeavouring to discover -whether he has done any thing wrong during the day, or has possibly hurt -any one’s feelings; and if he fancies he has, he hastens the next -morning to set all right. It is delightful to have to record proofs of -the yet existing spirit of ancient hospitality and simple worth of -character.[7] - - [7] Since the first edition was published, this worthy but eccentric - gentleman is dead. - -In conclusion,--let me observe that some of the foregoing cases are -shocking ones; but they are only too true; and such are but the events -of every day in those sleepy hollows, where public opinion has no -weight, and where ignorance and avarice are handed down from age to age. -I have seen hundreds of such things in such places. And what mode of -regeneration shall reach this class of people, who have the rust of -whole ages in their souls? You cannot offer to them education, as you do -to the poor. You cannot reason with them, as with the poor. They have -too much pride. It can only be by educating all around them, that you -can reach them. When they feel the effect of the education of the poor, -their pride will compel them to educate their children. This will be one -of the many good results that will flow from the education of the poor -in the back settlements of England. Let us, then, direct the stream of -knowledge into the remotest of these obscure places. If the penny -periodicals were, by some means, made to circulate there, as they -circulate in towns--the _Penny Magazine_, and _Saturday Magazine_, with -their host of wood-cuts and useful facts; and _Chambers’ Edinburgh -Journal_, with its more refined and poetical spirit,--they would work a -great change. Prints and cuts from good originals would awaken a better -taste; higher ideas of the beauty of created forms: for I say with -Rogers, - - Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill - That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will; - And cheaply circulates through distant climes, - The fairest relics of the purest times. - -We blame our populace for not possessing the same refined taste as the -French and Italians; for being brutal and destructive; that parks, -public walks, and public buildings, cannot be thrown open to them -without receiving injury. We ought not to blame them for this; for is -not this the _English spirit_ that has been praised in Parliament? for -the encouragement of which, bull-baitings, dog-fightings, -cock-fightings, and boxings have been pleaded for by senators, as its -proper aliment? and the Romans, with their gladiatorial shows, quoted -as good precedents? Forgetting that while the Romans were a growing and -conquering people, they were a simple and domestic people. When they had -their amphitheatres and their bloody shows of battling-men and beasts, -they fell under imperial despotism, and thence into national -destruction. If we will have a better spirit, we must take better means -to produce it. We can never make our rural population too well informed. -Ireland, with all manner of horrible outrages, England with its -rick-burnings, and Scotland with its orderly peasantry, all point -towards the evils of ignorance and oppression, and the national -advantage and individual happiness that are to be reaped from the spread -of sound knowledge through our rural districts. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER III. - -NOOKS OF THE WORLD: - -LIFE IN THE DALES OF LANCASHIRE AND YORKSHIRE. - -The nooks of the world which we visited in our last chapter lay in -Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire; we will now change the scene a little -northward. Such secluded and original spots we might indeed readily -undertake to discover in almost every county of England; but I can only -give a few specimens from the great whole, and leave every one to look -about him for the rest. Lancashire is famous for its immense -manufactures, and consequent immense population. In ranging over its -wild, bleak hills, we are presently made sensible of the vast difference -between the character and habits of the working class, and the character -and habits of the pastoral and agricultural districts. We have no longer -those picturesque villages and cottages, half buried in their garden and -orchard trees; no longer those home-crofts, with their old, tall hedges; -no longer rows of beehives beneath their little thatched southern sheds; -those rich fields and farm-houses, surrounded with wealth of -corn-ricks, and herds and flocks. You have no longer that quiet and -Arcadian-looking population; hedgers and ditchers, ploughmen and -substantial farmers, who seem to keep through life the “peaceful tenor -of their way,” in old English fulness and content. There may be indeed, -and there are, such people scattered here and there; but they and their -abodes are not of the class which gives the predominant character to the -scenery. On the contrary, everywhere extend wild naked hills, in many -places totally unreclaimed; in others, enclosed, but exhibiting all the -signs of a neglected and spiritless husbandry; with stunted fences or -stone walls; and fields sodden with wet from want of drainage, and -consequently overgrown with rushes. Over these naked and desolate hills -are scattered to their very tops, in all directions, the habitations of -a swarming population of weavers; the people and their houses equally -unparticipant of those features which delight the poet and the painter. -The houses are erections of stone or brick, covered with glaring red -tiles, as free from any attempt at beauty or ornament as possible. -Without, where they have gardens, those gardens are as miserable and -neglected as the fields; within, they are squalid and comfortless. - -In some of these swarming villages, ay, and in the cottages of the large -manufacturing towns too, you can scarcely see a window with whole panes -of glass. In one house in the outskirts of Blackburn, and that, too, an -alehouse, we counted in a window of sixty panes, eight-and-forty broken -ones; and this window was of a pretty uniform character with its -fellows, both in that house, and the neighbouring ones. It is not -possible to conceive a more violent and melancholy contrast than that -which the filth, the poverty, and forlornness of these weavers’ and -spinners’ dwellings form to the neatness, comfort, and loveliness of the -cottages of the peasantry in many other parts of the kingdom. Any man -who had once been through this district, might again recognise the -locality if he were taken thither blindfold, by the very smell of -oatcake which floats about the villages, and the sound of the shuttles, -with their eternal “latitat! latitat!” I ranged wide over the bleak -hills in the neighbourhood of Padiham, Belthorne, Guide, and such -places, and the numbers and aspect of the population filled me with -astonishment. Through the long miserable streets of those villages, -children and dogs were thick as motes in the sun. The boys and men with -their hair shorn off, as with a pair of wool-shears, close to their -heads, till it stood up staring and bristly, and yet left hanging long -over their eyes, till it gave them a most villanous and hangman look. -What makes those rough heads more conspicuous, is their being so -frequently red; the testimony of nature to the ancient prevalence of the -Dane on these hills. The men are besides long and bony; the women often -of stalwart and masculine figure, and of a hardness of feature which -gives them no claims to be ranked amongst the most dangerous of the -“Lancashire witches.” Everywhere the rudeness of the rising generation -is wonderful. Everywhere the stare of mingled ignorance and insolence -meets you; everywhere a troop of lads is at your heels, with the clatter -of their wooden clogs, crying--“Fellee, gies a hawpenny!” - -In one village, and that too the celebrated Roman station of Ribchester, -our chaise was pursued by swarms of these wooden-shod lads like swarms -of flies, that were only beaten off for a moment to close in upon you -again, and their sisters shewed equally the extravagance of rudeness in -which they were suffered to grow up, by running out of the houses as we -passed, and poking mops and brushes at the horses’ heads. No one -attempted to restrain or rebuke them; and yet, what was odd enough, not -one of the adult population offered you the least insult, but if you -asked the way, gave you the most ready directions, and if you went into -their houses, treated you with perfect civility, and shewed an affection -for these wild brats that was honourable to their hearts, and wanted -only directing by a better intelligence. The uncouthness of these poor -people is not that of evil disposition, but of pressing poverty and -continued neglect. As is generally the case, in the poorest houses were -the largest families. Ten and eleven children in one small dirty hovel -was no uncommon sight, actually covering the very floor till there -seemed scarce room to sit down; and amid this crowd, the mother was -generally busy washing, or baking oatcakes; and the father making the -place resound with the “latitat, latitat” of his shuttle. One did not -wonder, seeing this, that the poor creatures are glad to turn out the -whole troop of children to play on the hills, the elder girls lugging -the babies along with them. - -The wildness into which some of these children in the more solitary -parts of the country grow, is, I imagine, not to be surpassed in any of -the back settlements of America. On the 5th of July, 1836, the day of -that remarkable thunder-storm, which visited a great part of the kingdom -with such fury, being driven into a cottage at the foot of Pendle by the -coming on of this storm, and while standing at the door watching its -progress, I observed the head of some human creature carefully protruded -from the doorway of an adjoining shed, and as suddenly withdrawn on -being observed. To ascertain what sort of person it belonged to, I went -into the shed, but at first found it too dark to allow me to discover -any thing. Presently, however, as objects became visible, I saw a little -creature, apparently a girl of ten years old, reared very erectly -against the opposite wall. On accosting her in a kind tone, and telling -her to come forward, and not to be afraid, she advanced from the wall, -and behold! there stood another little creature about the head shorter, -whom she had been concealing. I asked the elder child whether this -younger one was a girl. She answered--“Ne-a.” “Was it a boy?” “Ne-a.” -“What! neither boy nor girl! was she herself a girl?” “Ne-a.” “What was -it a boy that I was speaking to?” “Ne-a.” “What in the name of wonder -were they then?” “We are childer.” “Childer! and was the woman in the -house their mother?” “Ne-a.” “Who was she then?” “Ar Mam.” “O! your mam! -and do you keep cows in this shed?” “Ne-a.” “What then?” “Bee-as.” In -short, common English was quite unintelligible to these little -creatures, and their appearance was as wild as their speech. They were -two fine young creatures, nevertheless, especially the elder, whose form -and face were full of that symmetry and free grace that are sometimes -the growth of unrestrained nature, and would have delighted the sculptor -or the painter. Their only clothing was a sort of little bodice with -skirts, made of a reddish stuff, and rendered more picturesque by sundry -patches of scarlet cloth, no doubt from their mother’s old cloak. Their -heads, bosoms, and legs to the knees, were bare to all the influences of -earth and heaven; and on giving them each a penny, they bounded away -with the fleetness and elasticity of young roes. No doubt, the hills -and the heaths, the wild flowers of summer and the swift waters of the -glens, were the only live-long day companions of these children, who -came home only to their oatmeal dinner, and a bed as simple as their -garments. Imagine the violent change of life, by the sudden capture and -confinement of these little English savages, in the night-and-day noise, -labour, and foul atmosphere of the cotton purgatories! - -In the immediate neighbourhood of towns, many of the swelling ranges of -hills present a much more cultivated aspect, and delight the eye with -their smooth, green, and flowing outlines; and the valleys almost -everywhere, are woody, watered with clear rapid streams, and, in short, -are beautiful. But along these rise up the tall chimneys of vast and -innumerable factories, and even while looking on the palaces of the -master manufacturers, with their woods and gardens, and shrubbery lawns -around them, one cannot help thinking of all the horrors detailed before -the Committees of the House of Commons respecting the Factory System; of -the parentless and friendless little wretches, sent by wagon-loads from -distant workhouses to these prisons of labour and despair; of the young -frames crushed to the dust by incessant labour; of the beds into which -one set of children got, as another set got out, so that they were said -never to be cold the whole year round, till contagious fevers burst out -and swept away by hundreds these little victims of Mammon’s ever-urging, -never-ceasing wheel. Beautiful as are many of those wild glens and -recesses where, before the introduction of steam, the dashing rivulet -invited the cotton-spinners to erect their mills; and curious as the -remains of those simple original factories are, with their one great -water-wheel, which turned their spindles while there was water, but -during the drought of summer quite as often stood still; yet one is -haunted even there, amongst the shadows of fine old trees that throw -their arms athwart streams dashing down their beds of solid rock, by the -memory of little tender children who never knew pity or kindness, but -laboured on and on, through noon and through midnight, till they slept -and yet mechanically worked, and were often awaked only by the horrid -machinery rending off their little limbs. In places like these, where -now the old factories, and the large houses of the proprietors stand -deserted, or are inhabited by troops of poor creatures, whose poverty -makes them only appear the more desolate, we are told by such men as Mr. -Fielden of Oldham, once a factory child himself, and now a great -manufacturer, who dares to reveal the secrets of the prison-house, that -little creatures have even committed suicide to escape from a life worse -than ten deaths. And what a mighty system is this now become! What a -perpetual and vast supply of human life and energy it requires, with all -the facilities of improved machinery, with all the developed power of -steam, and with all the growing thirst of wealth to urge it on! We are -told that the state of the factories, and the children employed in them, -is greatly improved; and I trust they are; but if there be any truth in -the evidence given before the parliamentary committees, there is need of -great amelioration yet; and it is when we recollect these things, how -completely the labouring class has, in these districts, been regarded as -mere machinery for the accumulation of enormous capitals, that we cease -to wonder at their uncouth and degraded aspect, and at the neglect in -which they are suffered to swarm over these hills,--like the very weeds -of humanity, cast out into disregarded places, and left to spread and -increase in rank and deleterious luxuriance. The numbers of drunken men -that you meet in these districts in an evening, and the numbers of -_women_ that you see seated with their ale-pots and pipes round the -alehouse fires, a sight hardly elsewhere to be witnessed, form a -striking contrast to the state of things in the agricultural districts, -such as Craven, where you may pass through half-a-dozen villages, and -not find one pot-house. - -It was necessary to take a glimpse at these Lancashire hills in -reviewing the rural life of England; let us now pass into a tract of the -country which borders immediately upon them, and yet is so totally -unlike in its aspect and population. We shall now penetrate into perhaps -the most perfect nook of the world that England holds. The Yorkshire -dales are known to most by name, but to comparatively few by actual -visitation. They lie amongst that wild tract of hills which stretches -along the West Riding of Yorkshire, from Lancashire to Westmoreland, and -forms part, in fact, of the great mountainous chain which runs from -Derbyshire through these counties and Cumberland into Scotland. Some of -these hills are of great bulk and considerable altitude. The old rhymes -are well known of-- - - Ingleborough, Pendle, and Pennegent - Are the highest hills betwixt Scotland and Trent; - -and - - Pendle, Pennegent, and Ingleborough - Are the highest hills all England thorough. - -The Yorkshire dales stretch from the foot of Ingleborough north-east and -west, over a considerable space of country. It is a wild, and, in many -parts, a dreary region. Long ridges of hills covered with black heath, -or bare stone,--with stony wastes at their feet of the grimmest and most -time-worn character. All round Ingleborough the whole country seems to -have been so tossed, shaken, and undermined by the violence which at -some period broke it up into its present character, that its whole -subterranean space seems to be filled with caves and passages for winds -and waters that possess a remarkable connexion one with another, and -present a multitude of singular phenomena. On the Craven side lie those -celebrated spots Malham Cove and Gordale Scar, well known to tourists; -the one, a splendid range of precipice with a river issuing from its -base; the other, Gordale Scar, one of the most solemnly impressive of -nature’s works. It is the course of a river which has torn its way from -the top of a mountain, through a rugged descent in the solid rock, and -falls into a sort of cove surrounded by lofty precipices, which make -such a gloom, that on looking up, the stars are said sometimes to be -seen at noon. Amongst all the magnificent scenes which the mountainous -parts of these kingdoms present, I never visited one which impressed me -with so much awe and wonder as this. You approach it by no regular road; -you have even to ask permission to pass through the yard of a -farm-house, to get at it; and your way is then up a valley, along which -come two or three streams, running on with a wild beauty and abundance -that occupy and delight your attention. Suddenly, you pass round a rock, -and find yourself in this solemn cove, the high grey cliffs towering -above you on all sides, the water dropping from their summits in a -silver rain, and before you a river descending from a cleft in the -mountain, and falling, as it were, over a screen, and spreading in white -foam over it in a solemn and yet riotous beauty. This screen is formed -of the calcareous deposit of the water; and crossing the stream by the -stones which lie in it, you may mount from the greensward which carpets -the bottom of the cove, climb up this screen, and ascend along the side -of the falling torrent, up one of the most wild and desolate ravines, -till you issue on the mountain top, where the mountain cistus and the -crimson geranium wave their lovely flowers in the breeze. - -These scenes lie on the Craven side of Ingleborough, and as you wind -round his feet, though distantly, by Settle, to the dales, your way is -still amongst the loftiest fells, and past continual proofs of -subterranean agency, and agency of past violence. You are scarcely past -Settle, when by the road-side you see a trough overflowing with the most -beautifully transparent water. You stop to look at it, and it shrinks -before your eyes six or seven inches, perhaps, below the edge of the -trough, and then again comes gushing and flowing over. As you advance, -the very names of places that lie in view speak of a wild region, and -have something of the old British or Danish character in them. To your -left shine the waters distantly of Lancaster Sands, and Morecombe Bay, -and around you are the Great Stone of Four Stones, the Cross of Grete, -Yorda’s Cave, that is, the cave of Yorda, the Danish sorceress; -Weathercote Cave, and Hurtle-pot and Gingle-pot. Our progress over this -ground, though early in July, was amid clouds, wind and rain. The black -heights of Ingleborough were only visible at intervals through the -rolling rack, and all about Weathercote Cave, Hurtle-pot and Gingle-pot -were traces of the violence of outbursting waters. We found a capital -inn nearly opposite the Weathercote Cave, where one of the tallest of -imaginable women presented us with a luncheon of country fare,--oatcake, -cheese, and porter, and laid our cloaks and great-coats to dry while we -visited the Cave and the Pots. Weathercote Cave is not, as the -imagination would naturally suggest to any one, a cave in the side of a -hill or precipice, but a savage chasm in the ground, in which you hear -the thunder of falling waters. It is just such a place as one dreams of -in ancient Thessaly, haunted by Pan and the Satyrs. When you come to the -brink of this fearful chasm, which is overhung with trees and bushes, -you perceive a torrent falling in a column of white foam, and with a -thundering din, into a deep abyss. Down to the bottom of this abyss -there is a sloping descent, amongst loose and slippery stones. When you -reach the bottom, a cavern opens on your left, into which you may pass, -so as to avoid the mass of falling water, which is dashed upon a large -black stone, and then is absorbed by some unseen channel. The huge -blocks of stone which lie in this cave appear black and shining as -polished ebony. I suppose this chasm is at least a hundred feet deep, -and yet a few days before we were there, it had been filled to -overflowing with water, which had rushed from its mouth with such -violence as to rend down large trees around it. What is still more -remarkable, at a few hundred yards distance is another chasm of equal -depth, and of perpendicular descent, whence the torrents swallowed by -the Weathercote Cave during great rains are again ejected with -incredible violence. This had taken place, as we have said, a few days -before our visit, and though this gulf was now dry again, the evidences -of its fury were all around us. Wagon-loads of stones lay at its mouth, -which had been hurled up with the torrent of water, all churned or -hurtled (whence its name of Hurtle-pot) by its violence into the -roundness of pebbles; and trees were laid prostrate, with their branches -crushed into fragments, in the track by which the waters had escaped. -This track was towards the third singular abyss--Gingle-pot. This gulf -had a wider and more sloping mouth than the other, so that you could -descend a considerable depth into it, but there you found a black and -sullen water, which the people say has never been fathomed. It is said -to contain a species of black trout, which are caught, we were told, by -approaching the surface of the water with lighted torches by night, -towards which they rise. Several country fellows were amusing themselves -as we approached with rolling large stones into the abyss, which -certainly sunk into the water with an awful sound. - -Such is the region which abuts upon the Yorkshire dales. The dales -themselves are the intervening spaces betwixt high fells, which run in -long ranges one beyond another in a numerous succession. Some of these -dales possess a considerable breadth of meadow land, as Wensley-dale, -but the far greater number have scarcely more room in the bottom than is -occupied by the stream and the public road. Thus every dale seems a -little world in itself, being shut in by its high ranges of fell. If you -ascend to the ridge of one of these, you find another dale, lying at -your feet, with its own little community; were you to cross to the next -ridge, you would find another, and so on, far and wide. It is a land of -alternating ridge and hollow, ridge and hollow, or in the language of -the district, fell and dale, without any intervention of champaign -country. Wordsworth’s description in Peter Bell, shows that the poet had -been there, as well as the potter. - - And he had trudged through Yorkshire dales, - Among the rocks and winding scars; - Where deep and low the hamlets lie, - Beneath their little patch of sky, - And little lot of stars. - -Formerly, when there were no roads into these secluded dales, except -some shingly ravine, down which the pedestrian, or one of their native -ponies could with considerable caution, and sundry strikings of the foot -against loose stones, descend, few, except the inhabitants themselves, -could visit them, and they then must have possessed a primitive -character indeed. Now, however, good roads run through them, and a -greater intercourse with the surrounding country must have had its -effect, yet I know no other corner of England where still linger so -patriarchal a character and such peculiar habits. - -George Fox, in his travels far and wide through the realm to promulgate -his doctrines, penetrated into these dales. From the top of Pendle-hill -in Lancashire, where there is an immense prospect, he tells us in his -journal, that he had a vision of the triumphs of his ministry, and of -the thousands that would be converted to his peculiar faith. Descending -in the strength of this revelation, he marched northward, and speedily -found in these dales a primitive race, ready to adopt his opinions and -practices, so congenial to a simple and earnest-hearted people. There he -repeatedly came, and sojourned long; and the accounts of the -extraordinary meetings held, and the effect produced, have few parallels -in the histories of religious reformers. There is a little -Church-of-England chapel perched on the highest point of Kendal Fells, -not far from Sedburgh, which is in the outskirts of this district, -called Firbank Chapel, where a thousand people are said to have been -collected to hear him, and at which three hundred people were convinced -of the truth, to use his own words, at one time,--Francis Howgill, the -minister, being one of them. That little chapel is standing yet, perhaps -the very humblest fabric in England belonging to the Established Church, -old and dilapidated, and situated in one of the most singular and wild -situations. There are the identical little windows, at which some of the -old people stood within the chapel to listen to the preacher without, -thinking it strange to worship anywhere but in a church or chapel. Near -the door is a rock, on which he relates that he stood to preach. From -its high site you look around over dreary moors, and a vast tract of -outstretched country, and wonder whence the people gathered to his -ministry. But his fame was that of an apostle all round this country. In -Sedburgh churchyard stand two yew trees, under the shade of which, he, -on one occasion, preached, drawing all the people out of the church to -him. Within the dales themselves he planted several meetings, at -Aysgarth, Counterside and Laygate. These meetings still remain, and a -considerable number of Friends are scattered through the dales, of a -primitive and hospitable character. We went, on the only Sunday which we -passed in the dales, to his favourite meeting at Counterside, and could -almost have imagined that the remarkable times of his ministry were yet -remaining. We found the meeting situated amid a cluster of rustic -cottages in pleasant Simmerdale, by Simmerdale Water. The house in which -he usually lived during his visits to this valley adjoined the meeting; -a true old-fashioned house, where the remains of his oaken bedstead were -still preserved; and a very handsome one it must have been, and far too -much adorned with the vanity of carving for so plain a man, and so -homely a place. But the people were flocking from all sides, down the -fells, along the dales, to the meeting, not only the Friends themselves, -but the other dalespeople; and we found Mr. Joseph Pease, brother of the -M.P., and his lady, from Darlington, addressing a crowded audience. The -old times of Fox seemed indeed returned. The preacher’s discourse was -one of an earnest and affectionate eloquence, and the audience was of a -most simple and unworldly character. Almost every person, man or woman, -had a nosegay in hand; nosegays in truth, for they very liberally and -repeatedly applied them to the organ whence they are named. The herbs, -for they consisted rather of herbs than flowers, were as singular as the -appearance of such a host of nosegays itself. Not one of them was -without a piece of southernwood, in some instances almost amounting to a -bush, and evidently there entitled to its ancient name, “lads’-love and -lasses’-delight.” With this was grasped in many a hardy hand, thyme, and -alecost, and, in many, mint! No doubt the pungent qualities of these -herbs are found very useful stimulants in close and crowded places of -worship, and especially under a drowsy preacher, by those whose -occupations for the other six days lie chiefly out-of-doors, in the keen -air of hills and moors. That such is the object of them was sufficiently -indicated by a poor woman who offered us a little bunch of these herbs -as we entered the meeting-house, saying with a smile, “they are so -reviving.” - -Amongst the Friends, are a considerable number of substantial people, -who lead here a sort of patriarchal life, with their flocks and herds on -the hills around them. And their houses, placed on the slope of the -hills, yet not far above the level of the valley, with their ample -gardens, must be in the summer months most agreeable abodes. Old English -hospitality and kindness are found here in all their strength. We called -on several of the resident proprietors, and amongst others Mr. William -Fothergill, at Carr-End, since deceased. The garden of this gentleman -was a perfect paradise of roses. But the fine old intellectual man -himself, retaining beyond his eightieth year, and in this secluded -place, all the enthusiasm of youth, the love of books, and aspirations -after the spread of knowledge and freedom through the world, was a still -more attractive object. He was the descendant of two well-known men, Dr. -Fothergill, and Samuel Fothergill, an eminent minister in this society. -Talent and liberality of sentiment seem a congenial growth of these -dales, for the able and noble-minded Adam Sedgwick is a native of one of -them. - -To that valley, the beautiful vale of Dent, we may as well betake -ourselves, for in describing these retired regions, one portion may with -great propriety be taken as a specimen of the whole. Descending -therefore from the moors at Newby-Head, we found this southern entrance -of Dent-dale steep and narrow. As we proceeded, it wound on before us -for several miles, till we beheld the village of Dent lying at its -northern extremity. Dent’s-Town, as they call it, has a very Swiss look, -with its projecting roofs, and open galleries ascended by steps from the -outside. But what strikes you with most surprise in this dale is its -high state of cultivation. All the lower part of the dale is divided -into small enclosures, rich with grass and summer flowers, and -beautifully wooded; and amid the orchards and gardens, peep out houses -of various sizes and characters. The hills nearly meet at the bottom, -and ascend high, in two long ranges. The upper part, above the -enclosures, appears, in some parts, black with heath, but more generally -smooth and green, and dotted all over with flocks of sheep and geese. On -the wilder parts of these hills graze a great number of cattle, and a -shaggy race of ponies peculiar to them, with coats and manes long, and -bleached by the wintry winds, till they look at a distance, more like -wild bisons than horses. These dun ponies, before the progress of -enclosure, used sometimes to follow the tops of the hills right away -into Scotland, and have been fetched back from a distance of two hundred -miles. When they have shed their wintry coats, and ceased to have such a -look - - As of the dwellers out of doors; - -they often turn out very beautiful creatures, remarkably sure-footed, -and highly prized for drawing in ladies’ pony-carriages. But we must -descend into the valley: and here one of the most remarkable features is -the river. It has all the character of a mountain torrent; huge stones, -and masses of gravel everywhere demonstrating the occasional violence of -the waters. But what has the most singular effect, its bed is one of -solid stone, in some parts black or dark-grey marble, which is chafed -and worn by the fury of the stream in floods, in such a manner that it -looks itself like a rushing, billowy river, petrified by enchantment. A -great part of this bed during the summer is dry, and therefore the more -remarkable in its aspect. Here and there you may walk along it for a -considerable distance; then again it descends in precipices, and amid -blocks of stone of a gigantic character. One of these places is known by -the name of Hell’s Cauldron, no doubt, in rainy seasons, a most -appropriate name; for the river here, overhung with dark masses of -trees, falls over some huge steps of the stony bed into a deep and -black abyss, where the rending of the rocks and washing up of heaps of -debris, shew with what fury that cauldron boils. But what are still more -significant of this fury, are the hollows worn into the very mass of the -ledges of rocks over which it passes, one of which, overlooking the -abyss, is called the Pulpit, from its form, and in which you may stand. -These hollows, which are scooped out with wonderful regularity, appear -to be made by the churning and grinding of stones, which get in wherever -the softer parts of the rocks give way to the action of the floods. Yet -fearful as this Hell’s Cauldron must be when the stream is swollen, we -were told that a boy once slipped in, and was carried through it, and -washed up on the bank below, unhurt; calling out to his astounded -companions--“Here am I! where are you?” The public road runs along the -side of the stream, down the valley. This stream is crossed by two queer -little foot-bridges, called by the odd names of Tummy and Nelly, or -Tummy-Brig and Nelly-Brig, having been built by two persons of these -familiar names, to accommodate the inhabitants of the opposite sides of -the dale. And truly, as will be shortly evident, a great accommodation -they must be, not only in cases of actual business, but in those -visitings which go on in the dale. - -Not only the people and their houses have an old-fashioned look, but you -see continually out-of-doors lingering vestiges of long-past times and -ancient usages. There are sledges with which they bring stone and peat -from the tops of the fells. I have often wondered at the industry of -mountain-people in building up those stone walls, or dykes, as they call -them, which you often see running up the mountain sides, to very distant -and often very steep places; but crossing these fells, I discovered that -the labour was far less than it seemed at first sight. The material has -not to be carried up these lofty ascents; it abounds on their summits, -and has only to be loosened, and slid down the hill sides on sledges, as -they proceed, for they begin to build at the top, and not at the bottom. -So their peat for fuel is found in abundance on the wet and spongy tops -of these hills, and is dug, and reared on end to dry through the summer, -and in the autumn is slid down on sledges. In the Scottish Highlands you -see the women bringing the peat from the mountains in large creels, or -baskets, on their backs, while their husbands are perhaps angling in -the loch below; but here the men generally act a less lordly part; -cutting and drying the peat with the help of their boys, and sledging it -into the bargain. - -Besides these sledges, they have also that very ancient species of cart, -the tumbrel; or, as they call it, the Tumble-Car. This is of so -primitive a construction that the wheels do not revolve on a fixed axle, -but the axle and wheels all revolve together. The wheels themselves are -of a construction worthy of so pristine an axle; they are, in truth, -wheels of the original idea; not things of the complex construction of -nave, spokes, and fellies, but solid blocks of wood, into which the axle -is firmly inserted; upon this axle the body of the vehicle is laid, and -kept in its place by a couple of pegs. It is such a cart as you might -imagine rumbling down these hills in the days of their Saxon ancestors. -Since good roads have been opened through the dales, carts of modern -construction have followed, and these tumbrels will in awhile be no -longer seen. They have, however, this advantage; in descending the steep -sides of the hills, their clumsy construction of axle and wheel prevents -them from running down too fast, and this is the cause why they are -still retained. And yet this difficulty of movement sometimes becomes -the cause of awkward dilemmas. These tumbrels are apt to stick in the -bogs as they come down the fells, and are not easily drawn out. We were -assured that there was one then sticking in a bog on the hills, past all -chance of recovery; and some wag of the dale had made this distich on -the accident, denoting the peculiar pre-eminence of clumsiness in the -unfortunate vehicle. - - Willie O’Middlebrough’s tumble-car, - Many were better, and none waur. - -With a carriage so antique, one is not surprised to find gears of -corresponding character. Consequently, as in Cornwall, so here, collars -of straw and a few ropes often serve to harness out the team. - -As might be supposed, the inhabitants of one dale form a little -community or clan where every one is known to the rest, and where a -great degree of sociality and familiarity prevails; but the whole dale -sub-divides itself again into neighbourhoods, where a stronger _esprit -du corps_ exists. The dales are singularly marked by lines of ravines -and streams, which run down the sides of the fells from the bogs and -springs on the heights. These lines are commonly fringed on the lower -slopes by alders and other water-loving trees. The smaller streams are -called sikes, the larger gills, and the largest, being generally those -which run along the dale, becks. The space from gill to gill generally -constitutes a neighbourhood, or if that space is small, it may include -two or three gills. Within this boundary they feel it a duty, -established by time and immemorial usage, to perform all offices of good -neighbourhood, and especially that of associating together. For -instance, when a birth is about to take place, they have what is called -a Shout. The nearest neighbour undertakes the office of herald. She runs -from house to house, through the neighbourhood, though it be dead of -night, summoning all the wives with this cry--“Run, neighbour, run, for -neighbour such-a-one wants thy help--and take thy warming-pan with -thee!” The consequence is, that the house is speedily filled with women -and warming-pans; a scene ludicrous, and, one would imagine, -inconvenient enough too; but which the women of the dale all protest is -a great comfort. When the child is born, there is a great ceremony of -washing its head with brandy, which is performed by the father and his -male friends, who are assembled for the occasion; and who then fall to, -and make merry over their glasses. - -The assembled women regale themselves with a feast of their own kind, -being a particular species of bread made for the occasion, and -sweet-butter; that is, butter mixed with rum and sugar, and having in -truth no despicable flavour. Then comes the Wife-day, generally the -second Sunday after the birth, when all the women of the neighbourhood -who have attended at the Shout, go dressed in their best, to take tea, -and hold a regular gossip, each carrying with her a shilling and the -news of the neighbourhood. The highest possible offence that can be -given, is to pass over a person within the understood limits of the -neighbourhood--it is the dead-cut. Sometimes there occurs a false Shout, -either through the wantonness or malice of some ne’er-do-weel. In the -night, the mischievous wag runs from house to house, and calls all the -good wives to the dwelling whence they are hourly expecting such a -summons. When they get there, they find it a hoax, and come under the -name of May-goslings,--the term applied to this species of dupe. The -joke, however, is no venial one, for it is perhaps played off on a -severe and tempestuous night, and the good dames muffled up in their -cloaks, and lantern and warming-pan in hand, have to steer their way -down the sides of hills, and across becks hidden by the drifts of snow. -Similar assemblages take place at deaths, called Passings; and at -Christmas, when they eat yule bread and yule cheese, made after a -particular formula. - -But perhaps the most characteristic custom of the Dales, is what is -called their Sitting, or going-a-sitting. Knitting is a great practice -in the dales. Men, women, and children, all knit. Formerly you might -have met the wagoners knitting as they went along with their teams; but -this is now rare; for the greater influx of visiters, and their wonder -expressed at this and other practices, has made them rather ashamed of -some of them, and shy of strangers observing them. But the men still -knit a great deal in the houses; and the women knit incessantly. They -have knitting schools, where the children are taught; and where they -sing in chorus knitting songs, some of which appear as childish as the -nursery stories of the last generation. Yet all of them bear some -reference to their employment and mode of life; and the chorus, which -maintains regularity of action and keeps up the attention, is of more -importance than the words. Here is a specimen. - - Bell-wether o’ Barking,[8] cries baa, baa, - How many sheep have we lost to-day? - Nineteen have we lost, one have we fun, - Run Rockie,[9] run Rockie, run, run, run. - -This is sung while they knit one round of the stocking; when the second -round commences they begin again-- - - Bell-wether o’ Barking, cries baa, baa, - How many sheep have we lost to-day? - Eighteen have we lost, two have we fun, - Run Rockie, run Rockie, run, run, run; - -and so on till they have knit twenty rounds, decreasing the numbers on -the one hand, and increasing them on the other. These songs are sung -not only by the children in the schools, but also by the people at their -sittings, which are social assemblies of the neighbourhood, not for -eating and drinking, but merely for society. As soon as it becomes dark, -and the usual business of the day is over, and the young children are -put to bed, they rake or put out the fire; take their cloaks and -lanterns, and set out with their knitting to the house of the neighbour -where the sitting falls in rotation, for it is a regularly circulating -assembly from house to house through the particular neighbourhood. The -whole troop of neighbours being collected, they sit and knit, sing -knitting-songs, and tell knitting-stories. Here all the old stories and -traditions of the dale come up, and they often get so excited that they -say, “Neighbours, we’ll not part to night,” that is, till after twelve -o’clock. All this time their knitting goes on with unremitting speed. -They sit rocking to and fro like so many weird wizards. They burn no -candle, but knit by the light of the peat fire. And this rocking motion -is connected with a mode of knitting peculiar to the place, called -swaving, which is difficult to describe. Ordinary knitting is performed -by a variety of little motions, but this is a single uniform tossing -motion of both the hands at once, and the body often accompanying it -with a sort of sympathetic action. The knitting produced is just the -same as by the ordinary method. They knit with crooked pins called -pricks; and use a knitting-sheath consisting commonly of a hollow piece -of wood, as large as the sheath of a dagger, curved to the side, and -fixed in a belt called the cowband. The women of the north, in fact, -often sport very curious knitting sheaths. We have seen a wisp of straw -tied up pretty tightly, into which they stick their needles; and -sometimes a bunch of quills of at least half-a-hundred in number. These -sheaths and cowbands are often presents from their lovers to the young -women. Upon the band there is a hook, upon which the long end of the -knitting is suspended that it may not dangle. In this manner they knit -for the Kendal market, stockings, jackets, nightcaps, and a kind of caps -worn by the negroes, called bump-caps. These are made of very coarse -worsted, and knit a yard in length, one half of which is turned into the -other, before it has the appearance of a cap. - - [8] A mountain over-looking Dent Dale. - - [9] The shepherd’s dog. - -The smallness of their earnings may be inferred from the price for the -knitting of one of these caps being three-pence. But all knit, and -knitting is not so much their sole labour as an auxiliary gain. The -woman knits when her household work is done; the man when his -out-of-door work is done; as they walk about their garden, or go from -one village to another, the process is going on. We saw a stout rosy -girl driving some cows to the field. She had all the character of a -farmer’s servant. Without any thing on her head, in her short bedgown, -and wooden clogs, she went on after them with a great stick in her hand. -A lot of calves which were in the field, as she opened the gate, seemed -determined to rush out, but the damsel laid lustily about them with her -cudgel, and made them decamp. As we observed her proceedings from a -house opposite, and, amused at the contest between her and the calves, -said, “well done! dairymaid!” “O,” said the woman of the house, “that is -no dairymaid: she is the farmer’s only daughter, and will have quite a -fortune. She is the best knitter in the dale, and makes four bump-caps a -day;” that is, the young lady of fortune earned a shilling a day. - -The neighbouring dale, Garsdale, which is a narrower and more secluded -one than Dent, is a great knitting dale. The old men sit there in -companies round the fire, and so intent are they on their occupation and -stories, that they pin cloths on their shins to prevent their being -burnt; and sometimes they may be seen on a bench at the house-front, and -where they have come out to cool themselves, sitting in a row knitting -with their shin-cloths on, making the oddest appearance imaginable. - -It may be supposed that eccentricity of character is the growth of such -a place. A spirit of avarice is one of the most besetting evils. Many of -the people are proprietors of their little homesteads; but there is no -manufacturing beyond that of knitting, and money therefore is scarce. As -it is not to be got very easily, the disposition to hold and save it -becomes proportionably strong. They are extremely averse to suffer any -money to go out of the dale; and will buy nothing, if they can avoid it, -of people who travel the country with articles to sell; that would be -sending money out of the dale; but they will go to a shop in the dale, -and buy the same thing, not reflecting that the shopkeeper must first -purchase it out of the dale, and therefore send money out of the dale -to pay for it; and that what goes out of the dale for such articles -comes back again by the sale of their horses, cattle, and sheep. A -person who had been collector of the taxes in one of these dales, -described to us the excessive difficulty he had to collect the money, -even from those whom he knew always had it. They would put off payments -as long as possible, and when he went and told them it was positively -the last time he could call, they would sit doggedly, and declare that -Samson was strong and Solomon was wise, but neither could pay money when -they had not it. When they saw he would not depart, they would at length -get up, go up stairs, where they always kept their cash. There he could -hear them slowly open their chest, let down the lid again; open it again -in awhile; then shut it again, and walk about the room as if unable to -part with it. Then they would come to the top of the stairs, and shout -down, saying they would not pay it. Finding him still immovable, they -would come slowly down, but still persist--“I’ll nae gie it thee!” Then -perhaps soon after, as if relenting, they would come towards him, open -their hand with the money in it, extending it towards him; but when he -offered to take it, snatch it away, saying--“Nay; tou’st niver hae it!” -Finally, they would throw it to him, and with it abundance of angry -words. - -We met a man of a most gaunt and miserable appearance. A young man not -more than thirty years of age. He had all the aspect of a penurious -fellow. Dirty, unshaven, with soiled clothes and unwashed linen. He was -coming along the lane with a rude tumbrel. This man was a thorough miser -as ever existed. He lived totally alone. He suffered no woman to come -about his house. If his clothes ever were washed they were done by -himself, but he never bought an ounce of soap. He had bought a small -property; a house and some adjoining crofts, where he lived. From this -place he was called Tony of Todcrofts. This man was never known to part -with money except to the tax-gatherer. If he wanted a board put on his -cart, or a nail to keep it together, he bargained with the wheelwright -or the blacksmith to pay them in peat. He baked his own oatcake, and -paid the miller in peat for grinding his oats. He drank milk from his -own cow, and made his own clogs, cut from his own alder. He contrived -to purchase little, and what he did purchase he still paid for in peat. -On the fells he cut peat all summer, making days of uncommon length; and -in the autumn he drew it down with a sledge, and on one occasion, having -no horse, he carried the sledge, every time he re-ascended the hills, -upon his back. - -In a neighbouring dale we passed the farm called Barben-park, which we -were informed had been held by the family occupying it, on a lease for -three lives, now being in the last life; of which the rent is so low -that the tenant has oftener, on the rent-day, to receive money, on -account of taxes and rates, than to pay any away. The house struck us as -one of the most wild and solitary places of abode we had ever seen. It -stood on the fell side, and for many miles there appeared no other -house, nor any trace of human workmanship, but a few ruinous limekilns. -The inhabitants were represented as wild and rude as their location, yet -rich, the hills all round being covered with their sheep, ponies, -cattle, and geese, which seemed in a great measure to run wild, and -increase in a state of complete nature. There were said to be bulls of -great savageness amongst them--the bulls of Barben being as awfully -famous here as the bulls of Bashan of old; and foxes which the farmers -often turned out, and chased with all their men for miles along the -hills. A gentleman who had been at this house described the people as -living like ancient kings in the rude abundance of earthly plenty. In -Wensleydale there is a large farmer who keeps up the primitive custom of -two meals a day, from Candlemas to Martinmas, which is the depth of -winter. They breakfast at ten o’clock on cold meat, ale, cheese, etc.; -and do not go into the house again till six in the evening, by which -time they have not only returned from the fields, but have seen all -their cattle served for the night, and a hot dinner of meat, puddings, -and other good things, awaits them and their servants, who sit eating -and drinking till bed-time. - -In such a place a man’s appearance is no indication of his actual -condition as respects property. Men who have good estates will be seen -in a dress not worth three farthings altogether, except it were as a -curiosity. They tell a story with great glee, of an old Friend, John -Wilkinson, who sate in a patched coat on a large stone by the road-side, -knitting, when a gentleman riding by, stopped and fixed his eyes on him -as in compassion, and then threw him half-a-crown. He picked it up, told -him he was much obliged to him, but added--“May be I’se richer na tou,” -and returned him the money, desiring him to give it to some one who had -greater need of it. In fact, the old Friend was wealthy; and in this -case his pride overcame his acquisitive propensity; but that propensity -is unquestionably very powerful here, and another instance may be -mentioned which occasioned a good deal of laughter in the dale. An old -man of some property having a colt which he wanted breaking, instead of -putting it into the hands of the horsebreaker, thought he would break it -himself, and save the cost. Having brought it to carry him pretty well, -he was desirous of making it proof against starting at sudden alarms. He -therefore concerted with his wife that she should stand concealed behind -the yard gate, with her cloak thrown over her head, and as he entered on -the back of his colt, should pop out, and cry--Boh! Accordingly, in he -rode, out popped the good-wife, and cried Boh! so effectually, that the -horse made a desperate leap, and flung the old man with a terrible shock -upon the pavement. Recovering himself, however, without any broken -bones, though sorely bruised and shaken, he said, as he limped into the -house--“Ah, Mally! Mally! that was too big a boh! for an old man and a -young colt!” - -This propensity extends too amongst the women as well as the men: one -woman declared she would as lieve part with the skin off her back as -with her money. And yet there are things which they will not do for -money, as thousands of the poor in other districts do,--they won’t work -in a factory. The experiment was tried in this dale; but the people, -like the French, would only work just when they pleased, and soon would -not work at all. One would have thought that the strong love of gain -amongst them, and their industrious habits, would have insured success -to such an experiment; but they had too much love for their own -firesides, and the enjoyment of the fresh mountain air; the parents had -too much love for their children to subject them to the daily -incarceration amid heat, and dust, and flue from the cotton. The scheme -failed; the factory stands a ruinous monument of the attempt, and these -beautiful dales are yet free from the factory system. And yet, peaceful, -and far removed as they are from the acts and oppressions by which the -strong build their houses, and add field to field out of the toils of -the weak, they are not unacquainted with occasional instances of the -evils done with impunity in the nooks of the world. I do not mean to -represent such spots as Arcadias of purity and perfection. In the former -chapter, and in this, I have indicated the vices which flourish, and the -depravity which spreads in the shade of secluded life. The worst feature -of these dales is the penurious spirit which little opportunity of -profit produces; but I do not know that this spirit is a more sordid one -than pervades the lower streets and alleys of large towns. There is -along with it a strong sense of meum and tuum; a strong and uncorrupted -moral principle; and no man is in danger of either being filched of his -purse, or if he chanced to lose it by accident, of not regaining it. As -the pressure of poverty is not so tremendous, so the extinction of the -moral sense is by no means so great as in large towns; and, on the other -hand, how much more delightful a view of the social life of these people -we have, than of those of similar rank in our large manufacturing towns, -and especially amongst the lower classes of the metropolis, where they -tread on each other from their multitudes, and yet, from the same cause, -pass through life strangers to each other. Here the social sympathies -are strongly called forth; a sort of kinship seems to pervade the whole -neighbourhood; and they pass their lives, if in a good deal of poverty, -yet in mutual confidence, and very pleasant habits of association. Every -man and every spot has a name and share of distinction. Every gill and -beck have their appellation, as Hacker-gill; Arten-gill; How-gill; -Cow-gill; Spice-gill; Thomas O’Harbour-gill; Backstone-gill; Kale-beck; -Monkey-beck. Every house has its name;--as Tinkler’s Budget; Clint; -Henthwaite-Hall; Coat-Fall; The Birchen Tree; Lile-Town; Riveling; -Broad Mere; Hollins; Ellen-ha; Scale-gill-foot; Clinter-Bank; -Hollow-Mill,--all names in Dent. Their names for one another are the -most familiar possible; and they use the christian names, and attach the -christian names of their fathers and mothers in such a manner, that it -is difficult to get at many people’s surnames. They themselves know very -well John o’ Davits Fletcher, Kit o’ Willie, or Willie o’ Kit o’ Willie; -when if the real name of these people were John Davis, Catherine -Broadbent, or William Thistlethwaite, they would have to consider -awhile who was meant, if asked for by these names. - -The dales-people have, therefore, evidently good elements; a strong -social feeling; great simplicity of life and character; great -honesty;--and the extension of the facility of voting in elections by -dividing the counties, and appointing local polling places, has -demonstrated that they have a strong love of liberal principles. All -that appears wanting is exactly what is wanting in all these nooks, the -introduction of more knowledge by the diffusion of sound and cheap -publications, which would at once raise the moral tone, and inspire a -more adventurous disposition, as is the case with the Scotch; so that -those who do not find profitable employment in these pastoral dales, -should set out in quest of more promising fields of action. As to crimes -of magnitude, if you hear of them here, they are perpetrated by those in -a higher class. There was a story ringing through one of the dales when -we were there, which if half of it were true, was bad enough; and that -we might arrive at as much truth as possible, we visited and conversed -with those who were apparently likeliest to know it. It was said, and -this too by those who had been in daily intercourse with the -parties--that a very wealthy widow lady, who seemed to have been of weak -intellect, or at least so unaccustomed to the world, and matters of -business, as to become an easy prey to any clever and designing fellow, -had entrusted the management of her affairs to a lawyer of a -neighbouring town. That this lawyer twenty years ago made her will, in -which he had appointed himself one of the executors, and a gentleman of -high character, living at a great distance, the other. That he had left -in the will ten per cent. on the accumulations of her income to the -executors, besides 500_l._ each, for the trouble of their office. That a -man brought up in the house of the lady was left 5000_l._ That from the -original making of the will, it appeared never to have been read over -again at any time to the lady; but that she had frequently dictated or -written in pencil her instructions for its alteration in many -particulars, which instructions or alterations at the final reading of -the will after her decease nowhere appeared. That from the time the will -was made till that of her death, twenty years, her lawyer-executor had -continually tormented her with the fear of poverty. He had told her that -her income did not meet her expenses; and through these representations -had induced her to curtail her charities, and to lay down her carriage. -This, however, did not suffice, and his representations made the poor -lady miserable with the constant fear of coming poverty. In an agony of -feeling on this subject, she one day sent her confidential servant to -the lawyer to order him to sell her West Indian property. The lawyer -said, “tell your mistress from me, that her West Indian property is not -worth one farthing.” This the servant, whom we took the trouble of -seeing, confirmed to us. The poor woman, haunted with the fear of -poverty, at length took to her bed, and a few days before her death, -when, indeed, her recovery was hopeless, her lawyer appeared at her -bedside, and astounded her with the news, that so far from poverty, her -West Indian property was very large, and her surplus income had actually -accumulated in the funds to the sum of 80,000_l._! and the hypocritical -monster, with a refinement of cruelty perhaps never paralleled, humbly -asked her, “how she would wish it disposed of?” The previous progress of -the poor lady’s illness, and this overwhelming intelligence, rendered -any present disposal impossible. She was thrown into the most fearful -distress of mind,--and continually exclaiming, “O! please God that I -might recover, how different things should be!” died on the third day. - -When the will was read, the man who had 5000_l._ left him twenty years -ago, found it left him still; and yet this man had for years lost the -good opinion of the lady by his misconduct, and had not been permitted -to come into her presence for two years. This was a striking proof that -her will had not of late years been adapted to her altered mind. This -man, who first came into the lady’s house as a shoeblack, or some such -thing, and had on one occasion for his misconduct, the alternative -offered him either to quit her service, or be carried up to the top of -the neighbouring fell, on the back of one man and down again, while he -was flogged by another, and was of so base a nature that he had chosen -the flagellation, and continuance in a family where he was regarded with -contempt--this man had now actually purchased the lady’s house of the -executors, and lived in it! We walked past it, and naturally regarding -it with a good deal of curiosity, a ludicrous scene occurred. I suppose, -being strangers, and I having a moreen bag in my hand, it was inferred -from our particular observation of the place, that I was a lawyer, come -down on the behalf of some dissatisfied expectant, to inquire into the -case. However that might be, we presently saw the man’s wife, a very -common-looking person, and appearing wonderfully out of place as the -mistress of such a house, peeping at us from the windows, first on one -side of the house, and then on the other, and at the same time -attempting to screen herself from view by partly unclosing the shutters, -and placing herself behind them. Soon after, her daughter too came with -stealthy steps, out of the back door, crept cautiously round the house, -and posted herself behind a bush to watch us; nor had we advanced far -from the place, when the man himself came hurrying along, and went past -us with very black and inquisitive looks. - -We were told that on the will being read, the other executor being now -present, was not more amazed at the fact of his becoming, unknown to -himself, so greatly benefited by it, than he was at the general details -of it. He inquired of the lawyer if the will had been read to the lady -from time to time, in order to see whether it might require some -alteration, and being told by him that it had not, he seemed filled with -the utmost astonishment and indignation, and abruptly said to him--“Why, -there is nothing but damnation for you!” and with that proceeded in such -piercing terms to shew to the lawyer the cruelty and wickedness of his -conduct, that the man trembled through every joint. It was added that -the lawyer “never looked up afterwards,” but was in the greatest -distress of mind, and daily wasted away. That when the tenants of the -property, some time afterwards, went to pay their rents, they found him -propped up in bed with bolsters and pillows, a most pitiable object; his -inkhorn stitched into the bed-quilt by him, and yet his trembling hand -scarcely able to direct his pen into it. That such was the effect of -fear, and the visitings of conscience on his superstitious mind, that he -drank the water which dropped from the church-roof in rainy weather, in -the hope it would do him good! - -This is a most extraordinary story, but we found one of these quiet -dales ringing with it from end to end, and this was the account given by -most trustworthy people, who knew the parties well, and one of whom was -the lady’s confidential servant. Amongst the stories which we heard -relating to the past state of these dales, was one of the murder of a -Highland drover, in its particulars bearing a striking resemblance to -the story of Scott’s, told under that title. In Swale Dale is said to be -a race of gipsies, a very fine set of people; and a remarkable account -was given us of one of them, a singularly fine woman in her time, called -Nance of Swaledale. - -They have some singular customs in these dales, not yet mentioned. One -is, when a sow litters, they allow her to champ oats out of a beehive to -make the bees lucky; and salt is thrown into the fire, with the same -object, when the bees swarm. Another of their customs arises out of -their spirit of good neighbourhood, and mutual accommodation. In -sheep-shearing time, instead of every one shearing his flock solitarily, -they combine together in troops, and go from farm to farm, till they -have completed the whole, and celebrate the end of their labours at each -house, over a good supper given by the master; in which a sweet pie, -that is, a huge pie of legs of mutton cut small and seasoned with -currants, raisins, candied peel and sugar, and covered with a rich -crust, figures on the board, accompanied by another favourite dish of -fresh fried trout, and collops of ham, succeeded by gooseberry, or as -they call them, berry pasties, and curd cheesecakes, and strong drink in -plenty: a fiddle and a dance concluding the entertainment. The -sheep-washing as well as the shearing is accompanied by this jollity. - -In Deepdale, the farmers principally employ themselves at home in -sorting and carding wool for knitting. They call it _welding_; and the -fine locks, selected for the legs of the stockings, they call _leggin_, -whilst the coarser part goes by the name of _footing_. Two old people, -Laurence and Peggy Hodgson o’ Dockensyke, were both upwards of seventy, -when Peggy died. As she lay on her death-bed, she said to her husband, -“Laury, promise me ya thing,--at tou’ill not wed again when I’se gane.” -“Peggy, my lass,” answered Laurence, “do not mak me promise nae sic -thing; tou knaws I’se but young yet.” The old fellow did wed again, and -his brother, on returning from the wedding, made this report of the -bride:--“Why-a, she’s a rough ane. I’se welded her owre and owre, an’ I -canna find a lock o’ leggin in her; she’s a’ footing.” - -Here then I close this second chapter of the nooks of the world, bearing -grateful testimony that amongst the virtues of the dales-people, -hospitality and attachment to their pleasant hills and valleys are -pre-eminent. Wherever we went we found them only too happy to shew us -all the beauties of their country, the winding becks, the scars and -waterfalls, and prospects from the loftiest fells. When they had trudged -with us for many a weary mile, through moss and moor, they would hang -the girdle upon the peat-fire, and in a wonderfully short time have -those delicious little kettle-cakes, or as they call them, sad-cakes, -made of pastry, and thickly dotted with currants, smoking on the -tea-table. And when you came in at a late hour, would bring you out -those rural dainties, equally delicious, gooseberry tarts, with curds -and cream. Long may the simple virtues of the Dales remain, while -knowledge in its growth, roots out the more earthly traits of character, -and implants a bolder spirit of enterprise, with the present moral -integrity of mind. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER IV. - -OLD ENGLISH HOUSES. - -Our country houses, and especially the older ones, are in themselves an -inestimable national treasure. A thousand endearing associations gather -about them. I cannot conceive a more deeply interesting work than a -history of them which entered fully into the spirit of the times in -which they were raised, and through which they have stood. Which should -give us a view of the national changes which have passed over them; -mighty revolutions, whether abrupt and violent, or slow and silent, in -fortune, in manners, and in mind; and still more, which should, aided by -family paintings, family documents and traditions, unfold their domestic -annals. What an opening up of the human heart would be there! There is -nothing more splendid, or surprising, or fearful, or pathetic, or happy -and fanciful in romance, than would be there discovered. There is no -success, no glory of life and action, no image of princely or baronial -power, no strange freaks of fortune, none of the startling, or the -moving incidents of humanity but have there enrolled themselves. What -noble hearts; what great and pathetic spirits have dwelt at one time or -other in those old places; and then what beautiful and bewitching -creatures have cast through them the sunshine of their presence; have -made them glad with their wit, and their gay fancies, and their strong -affections; or have hallowed them with their sufferings and their -tears. O for the revelation of the fair forms; of the scenes of -successful or sorrowful love; of the bridals and the burials; of the -poetic dreams and pious aspirations, that have warmed or saddened these -old halls through the flight of ages! Much of this is gone for ever; -swept into the black and fathomless gulf of oblivion; but enough might -be recovered to make us wonder at what has passed upon our ancestral -soil, and to make us love it with a still deeper love. There is no -portion of our national history, or point of our national character, but -would be brought into the sweep of such narratives, and receive -illustration from them. Our warriors, statesmen, philosophers, divines, -poets, beauties and heroines more admirable than beauty could make them, -would all figure there.[10] In the galleries of many of these houses, -hang portraits to which traditions are attached that would freeze the -blood, or make it dance with ardour and delight; that would chain up the -listening spirit in breathless attention, in awe and curiosity. In the -very writings by which the estates are secured, in old charters, wills, -and other deeds, facts are traced and changes developed of the most -singular character; and in the oral annals of the families exist -correlative testimonies, which have been imprinted there by the intense -interest of the circumstances themselves. - - [10] This was written four years ago. Since then the author has - published the first volume of such a work, under the title of “Visits - to Remarkable Places, Old Halls, Battle Fields, etc.” - -How delightful it is to go through those hereditary abodes of ancient -and distinguished families, and to see, in the very construction of -them, images of the past times, and their modes of existence. Here you -pass through ample courts, amid rambling and extensive offices that once -were necessary to the jolly establishment of the age,--for hounds, -horses, hawks, and all their attendants and dependences. Here you come -into vast kitchens, with fireplaces at which three or four oxen might be -roasted at once, with mantelpieces wide as the arch of a bridge, and -chimneys as large as the steeple of a country church. Then you advance -into great halls, where scores of rude revellers have feasted in -returning from battle, or the chase, in the days of feudal running and -riding, of foraying and pilgrimages; of hard knocks and hard lying: ere -tea and coffee had supplanted beef and ale at breakfast; ere books had -charmed away spears and targets, tennis-courts and tourneys, and -political squabbles and parliamentary campaigning, the scouring of -marches, and firing of neighbours’ castles. Then again, you advance into -tapestried chambers, on whose walls mythological or scriptural histories -wrought by the fingers of high-born dames, at once impress you with a -sense of very still and leisurely and woodland times, when Crockford’s -and Almack’s were not; nor the active spirit of civilization had raised -up weavers, and spinners, and artificers of all kinds by thousands on -thousands, by towns-full and cities-full. And now you come to the very -closets and bowers of the ladies themselves--scenes of worn and faded -splendour, but shewing enough of their original state to mark their wide -difference from the silken boudoirs and luxurious dormitories of the -fair dames of this age of swarming and busy artisans; of ample rents and -city life; instead of hunting and fighting, of wars in the heart of -France, or civil wars at home, to call out the heads of houses, or -perhaps drive their families forth with fire and sword in their absence. -Then there is the antique chapel, and the library; the one having, in -most cases, been deserted by its ancient faith, the other still bearing -testimony to the range of reading of our old squires and nobles, since -reading became a part of their education, in a few grim folios,--a -Bible, a Gwillim’s Heraldry, one or two of our Chroniclers, and a few -Latin Classics or Fathers, for the enjoyment of the chaplain. - -But the armoury and the great gallery--these are the places in which a -flood of historic light pours in upon you, and the spirit of the past is -made so palpable, that you forget your real existence in this -utilitarian century; you forget reform in all its shapes--ballot, -household suffrage, triennial parliaments; you forget the cry of the -church and king; and the counter-cry from a million of eager voices, for -liberty of hearth and faith; you forget that all around you, from the -very walls that surround you to the distant sea, is nothing but fields -cultivated like gardens, secured by gates and fences, and tenfold more -costly and powerful parchment, to their particular owners; you forget -that towns stand by hundreds, and villages by thousands, filled with a -busy, an inquisitive, a reading, thinking, aspiring and irresistible -population; and that all the institutions, the opinions, the loves and -doings of the times when these things before you were matters of -familiar life, are gone, or are going, for ever: that, - - Another race has been, and other palms are won. - -Yes, mighty and impressive as these things are; deeply as they visit -your daily thought and nightly dreams; woven as they are with the thread -of your existence, and your hopes and belief of the future ages,--yes, -potent as they are, they vanish for a time. Here are swords, helmets, -coats of mail, and plate-armour standing up in its own massiveness; -shells from which the active bodies which moved them, have long ago -disappeared. Here are buff-coats, ponderous boots, and huge spurs; broad -hats, with sweeping feathers, and chains of gold, crosses and amulets, -which make the past for ever in time, the past for ever in spirit, come -back again with a vivid and intoxicating effect. You gaze upon arms and -relics which figured in all the battles and pilgrimages, the desperate -strifes and extravagant pageants of our ancestors; you behold things -which link your fancies to all the romantic ages of European history. -You forget the present; and exist amid forests, the stern strength of -castles and the venerable quiet of convents. You are ready to listen to -the distant bell of the abbey; for news of the crusaders; you expect as -you ride through the woods, to stumble upon the abode of the hermit. -These arms and fragments before you, were in the battles of Cressy and -Poictiers; in the wars of the Roses; in the Tourney of the Field of -Cloth-of-Gold; that mail, on the back of some stout knight, climbed over -the ramparts of Ascalon, or of Jerusalem itself; and those, bringing you -down the stream of events, are the equipments of Cavaliers and of -Puritan leaders, when the spirit of feudalism and that of progression -came so rudely into strife as to shake the kingdom like an earthquake. -You step into the gallery, and there are the very men whose iron -habiliments you have been contemplating; there are the rude portraitures -of the warriors of an earlier day; and there are the Sidneys, the -Howards, the Essexes and Leicesters, the Warwicks and Wiltons, of an -after one; the men that set up and pulled down kings, that waded through -the blood of others, or that poured out their own, for honour and -liberty. You have read of some handsome and gallant knight who wrought -some chivalric miracle, who perhaps died in its performance--he is -there! You have glowed over the accounts of arrogant and fascinating -beauties, who turned the heads of kings and nobles--they are there! -worthy of all their fame, their very shadows filling you with sighs and -dreams of loveliness, which will haunt you in the open sunshine, and -amid all the cheerful sounds of present life. - -But it is not merely these great historic characters. There are family -ones that constitute a history amongst themselves, most interesting and -touching. There are the founders of those families. There is the great -minister, who once rose to the favour of his sovereign, and swayed the -destinies of the kingdom; there is the great churchman, that climbed up -from plebeian obscurity to the primacy; there is the judge, who, from a -younger brother of an ancient line, became the fortunate founder of a -new one; there are admirals, generals, and nobles, who have figured in -the campaigns of every reign. There are stern forms that were despots in -their own sphere, or calm and smiling faces that have such blots and -dark passages attached to them as confound all your physiognomical -acuteness; and there are beautiful and gentle-looking creatures, that -are most strangely tainted with blood; noble matrons, who knew sorrows -for which neither their rank and affluence, no, nor the possessions of -ten kingdoms could make recompense; and lastly, there are young boys and -girls, that look on you with most innocent archness or open good-nature, -which perished like blossoms ere fully opened, or lived to make you -shudder over their remembrance. - -Such are many of our older houses, to say nothing of later and more -splendid ones; nothing of all the modern attractions that have been -added to their ancient ones; nothing of those sumptuous places which our -nobility have raised on their estates, and filled with all the luxurious -adornments of modern life, and with the wealth of art. And then those -houses stand scattered over all the kingdom, in fine old parks, in -gardens of quaint alleys and topiary work; or in the freer beauty of -modern lawns and shrubberies; objects of pleasure and pride to thousands -beside their own possessors. - -Horace Walpole wished that they were all collected in London, and then -should we have had such a capital as the world could not boast. Heaven -forgive him for the wish! A splendid capital no doubt we should have -had, but we should not have had such a country, such a people, such a -national strength and character as we have. It is by living scattered -through the realm, amid their own people, their own lands and woods, -that our gentry have retained such high independence of principle, and -such healthy tastes as they have done. It is by this means that -agriculture, and horticulture, and rural architecture, have been -promoted to the extent they have reached; that the whole kingdom has -become a paradise, and that the people have been linked to the interests -of their superiors. We have only too many temptations already to a -crowding into our capital. A city life to a wealthy aristocracy must -become a life of luxury and splendour, a life of dissipation and -rivalry. The enjoyments of society, of music, and of public spectacles, -at intervals, might refine the taste; but when this species of life -becomes almost perpetual, its certain consequence must be to deteriorate -and effeminate character; to weaken the domestic attachments; to divert -from, or disincline for that sober thought and those studies which lead -to greatness, or leave behind solid satisfaction. We have already too -much of this, and its effect will daily become more and more -conspicuous, as it is of more and more vital importance. Now, while the -people are struggling to acquire possession of rights that they long -knew not their claim to; now that they are growing informed, and -therefore quick to see and to feel--those on whom they look as their -natural and powerful rivals, are living at a distance from them; taking -no means to conciliate their good-will, or to retain their esteem. Their -humble neighbours feel no effect from their estates except the -withdrawal of their rents; and they ask themselves what claim these -people, who are living in our great Babylon, - - Minions of splendour, shrinking from distress,-- - -have upon their veneration or regard. Is it not in these noble ancestral -houses, amid their ancestral woods and lands, that the spirit of our -gentry is most likely to acquire a right tone? Here, where they are -surrounded by objects and memories of worth, of greatness and renown, -that the fire of a generous and glorious emulation is most likely to be -kindled; and that all the best feelings of their nature are likely to be -touched, and their best affections quickened? Even Horace Walpole -himself furnishes an instance in proof. Little as he had of the pensive -and poetical in him, his visit to the family place at Houghton called up -such thoughts and emotions as, if encouraged instead of avoided, might -have made him aware of higher qualities in himself than he was -habitually accustomed to display. “Here am I,” says he in one of his -letters, “at Houghton! and alone; in this spot where, except two hours -last month, I have not been in sixteen years! Think what a crowd of -reflections! No!--Gray and forty churchyards could not furnish so many; -nay, I know one must feel them with greater indifference than I possess, -to have patience to put them into verse. Here I am, probably for the -last time in my life, though not for the last time; every clock that -strikes tells me that I am one hour nearer to yonder church,--that -church into which I have not yet had courage to enter; where lies the -mother on whom I doated, and who doated on me! There are the two rival -mistresses of Houghton, neither of whom ever wished to enjoy it. There -too lies he who founded its greatness; to contribute to whose fall, -Europe was embroiled. There he sleeps in quiet and dignity, while his -friend and his foe, rather his false ally and real enemy, Newcastle and -Bath, are exhausting the dregs of their pitiful lives in squabbles and -pamphlets. - -“The surprise the pictures gave me is again renewed. Accustomed for many -years to see wretched daubs and varnished copies at auctions, I look at -these as enchantment.... A party arrived just as I did, to see the -house: a man and three women, in riding dresses, and they rode fast -through the apartments. I could not hurry before them fast enough; they -were not so long in seeing for the first time, as I could have been in -one room, to examine what I knew by heart. I remember formerly being -often diverted by this kind of _seers_; they come, ask what such a room -is called, in which Sir Robert lay: admire a lobster, or a cottage in a -market-piece; dispute whether the last room was green or purple; and -then hurry to the inn, for fear the fish should be overdressed. How -different my situation! Not a picture here but recals a history; not one -but I remember in Downing-street, or Chelsea, where queens and crowds -admired them, though seeing them as little as these travellers. - -“When I had drank tea I strolled into the garden. They told me it was -now called the _pleasure-ground_. What a dissonant idea of pleasure! -Those groves, those _alleys_, where I have passed so many charming -moments, are now stripped up, or overgrown; many fond paths I could not -unravel, though with a very exact clue in my memory. I met two -gamekeepers, and a thousand hares! In the days when all my soul was -tuned to pleasure and vivacity, I hated Houghton and its solitude; -yet I loved this garden; as now, with many regrets, I love -Houghton;--Houghton, I know not what to call it: a monument of grandeur -or ruin! How I wished this evening for Lord Bute! How I could preach to -him!--The servants wanted to lay me in the great apartment--what! to -make me pass the night as I had done my evening! It were like proposing -to Margaret Roper to be a duchess in the court which cut off her -father’s head, and imagining it could please her. I have chosen to sit -in my father’s little dressing-room, and am now in his escritoire, -where, in the height of his fortune, he used to receive the accounts of -his farmers, and deceive himself, or us, with the thoughts of his -economy. How wise a man, at once, and how weak! For what has he built -Houghton? For his grandson to annihilate, or his son to mourn over.” - - _Horace Walpole’s Letters_, vol. ii. pp. 227-8. - -Having made these preliminary observations, I will now give a specimen -or two from my native neighbourhood, because necessarily more familiar -with them; let every reader throughout England look round him in his, -and he will find others as interesting there. - - -CHAPTER V. - -HARDWICK HALL. - -Mrs. Jameson has lately given a very vivid and charming account of this -fine old place. I am not going to tread in her steps, but to describe -the impression it made upon myself at different times, in my own way, -and with reference to my own object. - -My first visit to it was when I was a youth of about seventeen. I had -heard nothing at all of it, and had no idea that it was an object of any -particular interest. I was at Mansfield, and casually heard that the -present Duke of Devonshire, its proprietor, was come of age, and that -there, as at his other houses, his birth-day was to be kept by his -tenants and the neighbouring peasantry in the old English style. The -house lies about five miles to the north of Mansfield, not far from the -Chesterfield road. I set off, and learning that there was a footway, I -passed through one or two quiet, old-fashioned villages, through -solitary fields and deep woody valleys, a road that for its beauty and -out-of-the-world air delighted me exceedingly. I at length found myself -at the entrance of a large old park. The tall towers of the hall had -been my landmarks all the way, and now that unique building, standing on -the broad, level plain, surrounded at a distance by the old oaks of the -park, burst upon me with an unexpected effect. It was unlike anything I -had seen; but there were solemn halls in the regions of poetry and -romance, that my imagination immediately classed it amongst. I advanced -toward it with indescribable feelings of wonder and delight. I could -have wished that it had been standing in its ordinary solitude, for -that seemed to my mind its true and natural state; but it was not so: -around it swarmed crowds of rustic revellers, and I determined to take -things as I found them; to consider this very scene as a feature of the -olden time; and to see how it went, about the baronial dwellings in the -feudal ages, on occasions like that. - -It was not long before I came upon a man lying on his face under the -trees,--he was dead drunk. Soon I passed another, and another, and -another: a little farther, and they lay about like the slain on the -outskirts of a battle. When I came into the open plain before the hall, -the sound of a band of music which had probably been some time silent -through the musicians themselves dining, reached me; I heard drunken -songs and wild outcries mingling with it. All about the lawn were -scattered clustered throngs. I saw barrels standing; spigots running; -men catching their hats full, and running here and there, while others -were snatching at their prize, and often spilling the ale on the ground. -Sometimes there were two or three trying to drink out of a hat at once; -others were stooping down to drink at the spigots; there were fighting, -scuffling, clamour, and confusion. All round the hall people swarmed -like bees. At the doors and gates dense masses were trying to force -their way in; while stout fellows were thumping away at their sculls -with huge staves, with an energy that one would have thought enough to -kill them by dozens, but which seemed to make little impression. - -While this was going on, being a slim youth, I slipped beneath the -uplifted arm of a stout yeoman, and made a safe ingress. I stood -astonished at the place into which I had entered. Those ample and lofty -rooms, in which stood huge pieces of roast-beef on huge pewter dishes, -and great leathern jacks, tankards, and modern jugs of ale, at which -scores of people were eating and drinking as voraciously as if they had -been fasting all the one-and-twenty years to do due honour to this great -birth-day; while the servants were running to and fro, filling up -foaming measures, which were emptied again with wonderful rapidity. -Those vast kitchens too, with their mighty fireplaces, and tongs, and -pokers, and spits fit for the kitchen of Polyphemus; with broiling cooks -and hurrying menials, called on by twenty voices at once. I made my way -to the front court, where, under canvass awnings, long tables were set -out for the tenantry and yeomanry of the neighbourhood, admitted by -ticket. O what a company of jolly, rosy, full-grown, well-fed fellows, -was there, making no sham onset on the plum-pudding and roast-beef of -Old England! The band kept up a triumphant din; but when it ceased for a -moment, what a rattle of knives and forks, and a clatter of ale-cups, -what a clamour of tongues and hearty laughter became perceptible! And -all round the court, the walls were covered with swarms of men, that -climbed up no trivial height to get a view of the jovial banquet, and -many a cry was raised to throw up thither some of those good things. And -sure enough, here went a piece of beef, and here a lump of pudding; and -a score of hands caught at them; and a hundred voices joined in the roar -of laughter as they were caught, or fell back again into the court, or -flew over the wall amongst the scrambling crowd. - -But suddenly there was in the midst of all this noise and jollity, a cry -of horror; and it was soon seen that one of the pointed stones that -stand at intervals on the top of the high wall all round the court, had -disappeared. It had given way with a man who clung to it, had fallen -upon him, and killed him on the spot. There was a momentary pause in the -festivity; a great running together to the spot of the catastrophe; but -the body was soon conveyed away to an outbuilding, and the tide of riot -rolled on. It was doomed, however, to receive a second check; for -another man, in the wild excitement of the time, and of the strong ale, -sprang at one bound over a wall that stood on the edge of a precipice, -and fell a shattered corpse into the hollow below. These were awful -events, and cast over some of the revellers a gloom that would not -disperse; but far the greater part were now too highly charged with -birth-day ale to be capable of reflection. All around was Bacchanalian -chaos. Singing, shouting, attempts at dancing, reeling, and tumbling. -Bodies lay thickly strewn through court and hall, and far around on the -lawn. Some gay sparks were, with mock respect, carried with much -struggling and laughter, and laid in sheds and stables and under trees, -and one especial dandy was deposited in a heap of soot. For myself, -perhaps the only sober person there, I hastened away, resolving to -revisit that fairy mansion in the time of its restored quiet. - -And in what a far different aspect did it present itself when I next saw -it; and with what a far different company did I witness it! It was on -one of the most glorious days of a splendid summer that we passed under -the shadow of its oaks, as happy and attached a company as ever met on -earth. Ah! they are all dispersed now! Out of a dozen glad hearts, not -more than three are living now. But let me forget that. We were a joyful -band of tried friends then. All, except myself and a young Yorkshire -damsel, light as a sylph, and lovely and frolic as a fairy, were in -carriages; we were on horseback; and scarcely had we entered the park, -when, as if the sight of its fine wide level had filled her with an -irresistible desire to scour across it, the madcap gave her horse the -rein, and darted away. Under the boughs of the oaks she stooped, and -flew along with arrowy swiftness. Every moment I expected to see her -caught by one of them, and dashed to the ground; but she was too -practised a horsewoman for that: she cleared the trees; the deer bounded -away as she came galloping towards them, and turned and gazed at her -from a distance; the rooks and daws, and lapwings feeding on the turf, -soared up and raised wild cries; but she sped on, and there was nothing -for me to do but to follow. I spurred forwards, but it was only to see -her rush, at the same reckless speed, down a deep descent, where one -trip of her horse--and nothing was more likely--and she would have flown -far over his head to certain death. Yet down she went, and down I -followed; but ere I reached the bottom, she was urging her horse up as -steep an ascent, on whose summit, as I approached it, I found her seated -on her panting steed, laughing at her exploit and my face of wonder. - -When we reached the Hall, there were all our friends in the court, and -the kind-hearted old gentleman, the head of the party, standing at the -great hall door, laughing heartily at the attempts of each of the -youngsters in succession to walk blindfold up a single row of the flags -that lead from the court-gates to the house. Every one began full of -confidence; but the laughter and cries of the rest soon proclaimed the -failure of the enterprise. When it came to the turn of our merry madcap, -up she walked with a bold step, and course as strait as if guided by a -clue, from gate to door. All at once exclaimed that she could see, and -busy hands were soon at work to fasten the handkerchief so artfully -round her head, that she could not possibly get a glimpse of daylight. -Again she was led to the gate, and again she marched up to the door as -quickly and directly as before. The wonder was great; but still it was -asserted that she _must_ see;--it was that fine Grecian nose of hers -that permitted a glance down beside it, enough for the guidance of the -spirited damsel; so handkerchief was bound on handkerchief, aslant and -athwart, to exclude every possibility of seeing; and again she was set -at the gate; and again went gaily and confidently to the door without -one erring footstep. There was a general murmur of applause and wonder. -I see that light and buoyant figure still advancing up the line of -flags; I see those golden locks dancing in the sunshine as she went; I -see that lovely countenance, those blue and laughing eyes, full of a -merry triumph, as her friends unbound her beautiful head. I see the same -glad creature, all vivacity and happiness, now sitting on the warm turf, -now bounding up long flights of stairs; now standing, to the terror of -her companions, on the jutting edge of a ruinous tower;--and can it be -true, that that fairy creature has long been dead! the light of those -lovely eyes extinguished! those lovely locks soiled with the damp -churchyard earth! Alas! we know too well how readily such things come to -pass. But no black presage came before us then. All around was summer -sunshine; we explored every nook in that old ivied ruin, the older house -of Hardwick, in which the Queen of Scots was confined; paced the -celebrated banqueting-room, adorned with the figures of Gog and Magog, -with an angel flying between them with a drawn sword. We rambled over -the leaden roof, and in the happy folly of youth, marked each other’s -foot upon it, with duly inscribed names and date. We went all through -the present house; through its tapestried rooms, along its gallery, into -its ancient chapel, and up to its armoury, a tower on the roof; and -finally adjourned to the neat little inn at Glapwell, to a merry tea, -and thence home. - -My next visit to Hardwick was in the autumn of 1834. My companions now -were, my true associate for the last seventeen years, and one little boy -and girl, who, as we advanced up the park, rambled on before us in eager -delight. Twenty years had passed since that youthful party I have just -mentioned was there;--twenty years to me of many sober experiences; of -naturally extended knowledge; of observation of our old English houses -in various parts of the kingdom: but as I once more approached Hardwick, -I felt that it had lost none of its effect,--nay, that that effect was -actually increased: it was more unworldly, more unlike any thing else, -or any thing belonging to common life; more poetical, more crowned and -overshadowed with beautiful and solemn associations, than it was when I -first beheld it in my youth. The distance you have to advance, from the -moment you emerge from amongst the trees of the park into a full view of -the Hall, until you reach it, tends greatly to heighten its effect. -There it stands, bold and alone, on a wide unobstructed plain. - -No trees crowd upon it, or break, for a moment, the view; it lifts -itself up in all its solemn and unique grandeur to the blue heavens, -like a fairy palace, in the days of old romance. It is a thing expressly -of by-gone times--darkened indeed by age, but not injured. Unlike modern -mansions, you see no bustle of human life about it; no gardens and -shrubberies; but wings of grey, and not very high walls, extending -to a considerable distance over the plain, from each end of the -house, inclosing what gardens there are, and paddocks. You see -no offices appended,--it seems a place freed from all mortal -necessities,--inhabited by beings above them. All offices, in fact, that -are not included within the regular walls of the house, are removed to a -considerable distance with the farm-yard. As you draw near, its grave -aspect strikes you more strongly; you become more sensible of its -loftiness, of the vast size of its windows, and of that singular parapet -which surmounts it. It is an oblong building, with three square towers -at each end, both projecting from, and rising much higher than, the body -of the building. The parapet surmounting these towers is a singular -piece of open-work of sweeping lines of stone, displaying the initials -of the builder, E. S.--Elizabeth Shrewsbury,--surmounted with the -coronet of an earl. On all sides of the house these letters and crown -strike your eye, and the whole parapet appears so unlike what is usually -wrought in stone, that you cannot help thinking that its singular -builder, old Bess of Hardwick, must have cut out the pattern in paper -with her scissars. It is difficult to say, whether this remarkable -woman had a greater genius for architecture or matrimony. She was the -daughter of John Hardwick of Hardwick, and sole heiress of this estate. -She married four times, always contriving to get the power over her -husband’s estates, by direct demise, or by intermarrying the children of -their former marriages with those of former husbands, so that she -brought into the family immense estates, and laid the foundation of four -dukedoms. Her genius for architecture is sufficiently conspicuous in -this unique pile, and in the engraving of Worksop Manor in Thoroton’s -Nottinghamshire, as erected by her, though since destroyed by fire,--a -building full of the same peculiar character. It is said that it having -been foretold her by some astrologer, that the moment she ceased to -build would be the moment of her death, she was perpetually engaged in -building. At length, as she was raising a set of almshouses at Derby, a -severe frost set in. All measures were resorted to necessary to enable -the men to continue their work: their mortar was dissolved with hot -water, and when that failed, with hot ale; but the frost triumphed--the -work ceased, and Bess of Hardwick expired! This noble building I trust -will long continue to perpetuate her memory, lifting aloft on its -parapet her conspicuous E. S. - -All the lower walls surrounding the courts and paddocks, are finished -with similar open-work of bands of curved and knotted stone. A colonnade -runs along each side of the house between the projecting towers, and the -entrance-front is enclosed by that court of which I have already spoken; -having its walls mounted, at intervals, with quaint pyramidal stones. On -this side of the house a fine valley opens itself, filled with noble -woods, a large water, and displaying beyond a hilly and pleasant -country. - -At about a hundred yards from the Hall stand the remains of the old one. -The progress of dilapidation upon this building, since my last visit, -was striking. Then you could ascend to the leaden roof; but now means -were adopted to prevent that, on account of its unsafe state; in fact, -the stairs themselves have partly fallen in; many of the floors of the -rooms have fallen through; the ceiling of the celebrated banqueting-room -itself has given way by places, and in others is propped up by stout -pieces of timber. The glory of Gog and Magog will soon be annihilated, -or they will be left on the walls, exposed to the astonished gaze of the -passer-by, as are some stucco alto-relievoes of stags under forest -trees on the chamber walls, with ivy drooping over them from the top of -the walls above, and tall trees that have sprung on the hearths of -destroyed rooms below, waving before them. This is the outward aspect of -those old halls where Mary Stuart, and the almost equally unfortunate -Arabella Stuart, once dwelt. Within, the present hall is as perfect a -specimen of an Elizabethan house, as can be wished. “The state -apartments are lofty and spacious, with numerous transom windows -admitting a profusion of light. The hall is hung with very curious -tapestry, which appears to be as ancient as the fifteenth century. On -one part of it, is a representation of boar-hunting, and on another of -otter-hunting. In the chapel, which is on the first floor, is a very -rich and curious altar-cloth, thirty feet long, hung round the rails of -the altar, with figures of saints under canopies wrought in needlework. -The great dining-room is on the same floor, over the chimney-piece of -which are the arms of the Countess of Shrewsbury, with the date of 1597. -The most remarkable apartments in this interesting edifice are the state -room, or room of audience, as it is called, and the gallery. The former -is sixty-four feet nine inches, by thirty-three feet, and twenty-six -feet four inches high. At one end of it is a canopy of state, and in -another part a bed, the hangings of which are very ancient. This room is -hung with tapestry, in which is represented the story of Ulysses; over -this are figures, rudely executed in plaster, in bas-relief, amongst -which is a representation of Diana and her nymphs. The gallery is about -170 feet long and 26 wide, extending the whole length of the eastern -side of the house; and hung with tapestry, on a part of which is the -date of 1478.”[11] The house has not only been kept in repair, but -exactly in the state in which its builder left it, as to furniture and -fitting up, with a very few exceptions, and these in the most accordant -taste. For instance, the Duke of Devonshire has brought hither his -family pictures from Chatsworth, so as to make this fine gallery the -family picture gallery. Not another painting has been suffered to enter. -He has also now added a most appropriate feature to the entrance hall, a -statue of the Queen of Scots, of the size of life, by Westmacott. It -stands on a pedestal of the same stone, bearing an armorial escutcheon. - - [11] Lyson’s Magna Britannia. - -Mrs. Jameson expresses strongly the effect of the huge escutcheons, the -carved arms thrust out from the wall, intended to hold lights, and the -great antlers, as she first entered this hall by night; but what would -have been the effect of seeing Mary Stuart herself standing full -opposite, as if to receive her to this place of her former -captivity.[12] To her, and to every imaginative person, the effect must -have been powerful, and solemnly impressive. Gray the poet, instead of -thinking that the Queen of Scots had but just walked down into the park -for half an hour, would have seen her visibly here. I have seen the -portraits of Queen Mary, both here and in Holyrood, but none of them -give me a thousandth part of the idea of what she must have been, -compared with this statue. - - [12] I do not mean literally that this house was the place of her - captivity, it was the old one. - -With these two exceptions, both of which tend to strengthen the -legitimate influence of the place, all besides is exactly as it was. You -ascend the broad, easy oak stairs; you see the chapel by their side, -with all its brocaded seats and cushions; you advance along vast -passages, where stand huge chests filled with coals, and having ample -crypts in the walls for chips and firewood. Here are none of the modern -contrivances to conceal these things; but they stand there before you, -with an air of rude abundance, according well with the ancient mixture -of baronial state and simplicity. You go on and on, through rooms all -hung with rich old tapestry, glowing with pictorial scenes from -scriptural or mythological history; all furnished with antique cabinets, -massy tables, high chairs covered with crimson velvet or ornamental -satin. You behold the very furniture used by Queen Mary; the very bed -she worked with her own fingers. But perhaps that spacious gallery, -extending along the whole front of the house, gives the imagination a -more feudal feeling than all. Its length, nearly two hundred feet; its -great height; its stupendous windows, composing nearly the whole front, -rattling and wailing as the wind sweeps along them. What a magnificent -sough, and even thunder of sound, must fill that wild old place in -stormy weather. There you see arranged, high and low, portraits of most -of the characters belonging to the family or history of the place, of -all degrees of execution. It is not my intention to give any details, -either of those or of the furniture; that having been done by Mrs. -Jameson with the accuracy and feeling that particularly distinguish her. -I aim only at imparting the general effect. It is enough therefore to -say that there are “many beautiful women and brave men:” portraits of -bluff Harry VIII.; those of the rival queens, Mary and Elizabeth; her -keeper, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and his masculine wife, Elizabeth of -Hardwick; and the philosophers, Boyle and Hobbs. One interesting -particular of Mrs. Jameson’s statement, however, we could not -verify:--the tradition of the nocturnal meeting of the rival queens in -the gallery. We never heard of it before; nor could we now find, by the -most particular inquiries, even among the domestics, any knowledge of -such a tradition. It was as new to them as to us; and we therefore set -it down as a pleasant poetical tradition of the fair author’s own -planting. - -The Duke was come hither from Chatsworth, to spend a week, and he seemed -to have come in the spirit befitting the place; for there was scarcely -more than its usual establishment; scarcely less than its usual -quietness perceptible. The Duke himself we had met on the road, and in -his absence were shewn through the apartments which he uses on these -occasions; and it had a curious effect amid all this staid and sombre -antiquity, to find, on a plain oak table in the library, the newspapers -of the day; the Athenæum, Court Journal, the Spectator, and Edinburgh -Review; the works of Dr. Channing; and Hood’s Tylney Hall, just then -published. What an antithesis! what a mighty contrast between the spirit -of the past and the present!--the life and stir of the politics and the -passing literature of the day, in a place belonging in history, -character, and all its appointments, to an age so different, and so long -gone by, with all its people and concerns. - -Nothing, perhaps, could mark more vividly the vast changes in the -manners and circumstances of different ages in England; the wonderful -advance in luxury and refinement of the modern ones, than by passing -from Hardwick to the old Hall of Haddon, built in 1427, when the feudal -system was in its strength; when the manor-house was but one remove from -the castle; to visit this with its rude halls, its massive tables, its -floors made from the planks of one mighty oak, its ancient arras and -quaint stucco-work; and then pass over to Chatsworth, only a few miles -distant, where to the past all the splendour of the present has been -added; modern architecture, and all its contrivances for domestic -convenience, comfort, and elegance; pictures, statuary, books, -magnificent furniture, glowing carpets; every thing that the art, -wealth, and ingenuity of this great nation can bring together into one -princely mansion. But as my limits will not admit of this, I shall -content myself with a survey of a more domestic kind, yet connected with -the poetical history of our own day--Annesley and Newstead. - - -CHAPTER VI. - -ANNESLEY HALL AND HUCKNALL. - -Early in the spring of 1834, I walked over with Charles Pemberton from -Nottingham, to see Annesley Hall, the birth-place and patrimony of Mary -Chaworth; a place made of immortal interest by the early attachment of -Lord Byron to this lady, and by the graphic strength and deep passion -with which he has recorded in his poems this most influential -circumstance of his youth. - -Annesley lies about nine miles north of Nottingham, itself--the scene of -his first and most lasting attachment--Newstead, his patrimonial -abode--and Hucknall, his burial-place; forming the three points of a -triangle, each of whose sides may be about two miles in length. Yet, -although Newstead and Hucknall have been visited by shoals of admirers, -this place, perhaps altogether the most interesting of the three, has -been wholly neglected. Few, or none of them, have thought it worth while -to go so little out of their way to see it; perhaps not one in a hundred -has known that it was so near; probably to those who inquired about it, -it might be replied, “you see that wooded ridge--there lies Annesley. -You see all that is worth seeing; it is a poor tumble-down place:” and -so they have been satisfied, and have returned in their wisdom to their -own place, at a hundred, or a thousand, miles distance. But what is -still more remarkable, while Mr. Murray has sent down an artist into -this neighbourhood to make drawings of Hucknall church and Newstead for -his Life and Poems of Lord Byron; and while others have encompassed sea -and land to give us thrice reiterated landscapes illustrative of his -biography and writings, and have even presented us with fictitious -portraits of the most interesting characters connected with his -fortunes,--they have totally passed over Annesley as altogether unworthy -of their notice, though it is a spot, at once, full of a melancholy -charm; of a sad, yet old English beauty; a spot, where every sod, and -stone, and tree, and hearth, is rife with the most strange and touching -memories in human existence; and where the genuine likeness of Mary -Chaworth, in the most lovely and happy moments of her life, is to be -found. - -Need I pause a moment to account for this? Does not the discerning -public always tread in one track? As sheep follow one leader, and -traverse the heath in a long extended line, so does the public follow -the first trumpeter of the praises of one place. It has been fashionable -to visit Newstead, and it _has_ been visited;--but as Annesley was not -at first thought of, it has not been visited at all. Well! we have -visited it; and if there be any power in the most melancholy of mortal -fortunes--in the retracing the day-dreams of an illustrious spirit--in -the gathering of all English feelings round the strongest combination of -the glories of nature, with the aspect of decay in the fortunes and -habitation of an ancient race, we shall visit it again and again.[13] - - [13] Since this was published in the Athenæum in the autumn of 1834, - Washington Irving has published his interesting visit to Newstead and - _Annesley_. - -That wooded ridge was our landmark from the first step of our journey, -and we soon reached Hucknall. The approach to Hucknall is pleasant; the -place itself is a long and unpicturesque village. Count Gamba is said to -have been struck with its resemblance to Missolonghi. Sixteen years have -now passed since the funeral of Lord Byron took place here, and yet it -seems to me but as yesterday. His admirers, in after ages, will -naturally picture to themselves the church, on that occasion, -overflowing with the intelligent and poetical part of the population of -the neighbourhood. A poet who had spent a good deal of his boyhood and -youth in it--whose patrimonial estate lay here--who had gone hence, and -won so splendid a renown--whose life had been a series of circumstances -and events as striking and romantic as his poetry--who had finally been -cut down in his prime, in so brilliant an attempt to restore the -freedom and ancient glory of Greece--would naturally be supposed to come -back to the tomb of his ancestors, amidst the confluence of a thousand -strongly-excited hearts. But it was not so. There was a considerable -number of persons present, but the church was by no means crowded, and -the spectators were, with very few exceptions, of that class which is -collected, by idle curiosity on the approach of any not very wonderful -procession; who would have collected to gaze as much at the funeral of -his lordship’s grandfather, or his own, though he had not written a line -of poetry, or lifted the sword of freedom;--probably, with threefold -eagerness at that of a wealthy cit, because there would have been more -of bustle and assuming blazonry about it. With the exception of the -undertaker’s hired company; of Sir John Cam Hobhouse, and his lordship’s -attorney, Mr. Hanson; his Greek servant Tita, and his old follower -Fletcher, the rest of the attendants were the villagers, and a certain -number of people from Nottingham, of a similar class, and led by similar -motives. There was not a score of those who are called “the respectable” -from Nottingham; scarcely one of the gentry of the county. This strange -fact can only be accounted for by the circumstance that Nottingham and -its vicinity are famous for the manufacture of lace and stockings, but, -like many other manufacturing districts, possess no such decided -attachment to literature. Many readers there are, undoubtedly, in both -town and country, but readers chiefly for pastime--for the filling up of -a certain space between and after business--and a laudable way too of so -filling it; but not readers from any unconquerable passion for, or -attachment to, literature for its own sake. A few literary persons have -lived in or about the neighbourhood, but these are the exception; the -character of the district is manufacturing and political, but by no -means literary, nor ever was; therefore, the strongest feeling with -which Lord Byron was regarded there, was a political one. Though an -aristocrat in birth and bearing, he was a very thorough radical in -principle. Hence, he had only the sympathy of the radicals with him, -those consisting chiefly of the working classes. The whigs of the town -and the gentry of the county, chiefly tories, regarded him only in a -political light, and paid him not the respect of their presence. - -The religious world had a high prejudice against him for his manifold -sins of speech, opinion, and life; they of course were not there. No -party had so much more admiration of genius--conception of the lofty, -intellectual achievements of the noble poet, discernment of the abundant -qualifying, and, in fact, overbalancing grace and beauty, and even -religious sentiment, which breathed through many of his writings--for no -man had more ennobling and truly religious feelings rooted in his soul -by the contemplation of the magnificence of God’s handiworks in -creation; or felt occasionally, more deeply the spiritualizing influence -that pervades nature;--no party had so much more of this tone of mind, -than of their political or sectarian bias, as to forget all those minor -things in his wonderful talent--his early death--his redeeming -qualities, and last deeds--and the honour he had conferred, as an -everlasting heritage, on this country. - -In the evening, after the people who had attended the funeral were -dispersed, I went down to the church and entered the vault. There was a -reporter from one of the London newspapers copying the inscriptions on -the coffins by the light of a lamp; and a great hobble-de-hoy of a -farmer’s lad was kneeling on the case that contained the poet’s heart, -and lolling on the coffin with his elbows, as he watched the reporter, -in a manner that indicated the most perfect absence of all thought of -the place where he was, or the person on whose remains he was perched. - -In the churchyard, a group of the villagers were eagerly discussing the -particulars of the funeral, and the character of the deceased. One man -attempted to account for the apparently indifferent manner in which the -clergyman performed the burial service, by his having understood that he -felt himself disgraced by having to bury an atheist. “An atheist!” -exclaimed an old woman, “tell me that he was an atheist! D’ ye think an -atheist would be beloved by his servants as this man was? Why, they fret -themselves almost to death about him. And d’ ye think they would have -made so much of him in foreign parts? Why, they almost worshipped him as -a god in Grecia!” giving the final _a_ a sound almost as long as one’s -finger. This was conclusive--the wondering auditors had nothing to -reply--they quietly withdrew their several ways, and I mine. - -The church was broken into soon after the funeral, and the black cloth -with which the pulpit was hung on this occasion, carried away: and this -is not the only forcible entry that has been made through Lord Byron’s -being buried there; for the clerk told me, that when Moore came to see -it with Colonel Wildman, being impatient of the clerk’s arrival, who -lives at some distance, the poet had contrived to climb up to a window, -open it, and get in, where the worthy bearer of the keys found him, to -his great astonishment. - -The indifference shewn by the people of Nottingham towards the great -poet, would not seem to have abated, if we are to judge by the entries -in an album kept by the clerk, and which was presented for that purpose -about twelve years ago by Dr. Bowring. The signatures of visiters in -1834 amounted to upwards of eight hundred, amongst which appear the -names of people from North and South America, Russia, the Indies, and -various other distant places and countries, but few from Nottingham or -its shire, who might be supposed to be amongst the best read and best -informed portion of its population. This, however, must be allowed, that -the names entered in the clerk’s book afford no just criterion of the -number or quality of the visiters to the poet’s tomb, as many of the -most poetical and refined minds might naturally feel reluctant to place -their signatures in such a medley of mawkish sentiment as is always -found in such albums. A few clergymen, we, however, were pleased to see, -had there placed their names; and some dissenting ministers had ventured -so far as to do likewise, and to preach some pretty little sermons over -him in the book, which opens thus: - - TO THE - Immortal and Illustrious Fame - OF - LORD BYRON, - THE FIRST POET OF THE AGE IN WHICH HE LIVED, - THESE TRIBUTES, - WEAK AND UNWORTHY OF HIM, - BUT IN THEMSELVES SINCERE, - Are Inscribed, - WITH THE DEEPEST REVERENCE. - - _July, 1825._ - -At this period no monument--not even so simple a slab as records the -death of the humblest villager in the neighbourhood--had been erected to -mark the spot in which all that is mortal of the greatest man of our day -reposes; and he has been buried more than twelve months.--_July, 1825._ - - So should it be: let o’er this grave - No monumental banners wave; - Let no word speak--no trophy tell - Aught that may break the charming spell, - By which, as on this sacred ground - He kneels, the pilgrim’s heart is bound. - A still, resistless influence, - Unseen, but felt, binds up the sense; - While every whisper seems to breathe - Of the mighty dead who sleeps beneath. - --And though the master-hand is cold, - And though the lyre it once controlled - Rests mute in death; yet from the gloom - Which dwells about this holy tomb, - Silence breathes out more eloquent, - Than epitaph or monument. - One laurel wreath--the poet’s crown-- - Is here by hand unworthy thrown; - One tear that so much worth should die, - Fills, as I kneel, my sorrowing eye; - This is the simple offering, - Poor, but earnest, which I bring. - The tear has dried; the wreath shall fade, - The hand that twined it soon be laid - In cold obstruction--but the fame - Of him who tears and wreath shall claim - From most remote posterity, - While Britain lives, can never die!--J. B. - -The following list contains almost all the names that are known to the -public, or are distinguished by rank or peculiarity of circumstance:-- - - The Count Pietro Gamba, Jan. 31st, 1825. - The Duke of Sussex visited Lord Byron’s tomb, October 1824. - Lieut.-Colonel Wildman. - Lieut.-Colonel Charles Lallemand. - The Count de Blankensee, Chamberlain to the King of Prussia, Sept. - 7th, 1825. - 1825, Sept. 23. William Fletcher visited his ever-to-be-lamented - lord and master’s tomb. - 10th month. Jeremiah Wiffen, Woburn Abbey, Bedfordshire. - 1826, July 30. C. R. Pemberton, a wanderer. - 1828, Jan. 21. Thomas Moore. - Sept. 12. Sir Francis S. Darwin, and party. - Nov. 21. Lieut.-Colonel D’Aguilar. - ------ Eliza D’Aguilar. - Dec. 1. Lieut.-Colonel James Hughes of Llysdulles. - 1829, Sept. 3. Lord Byron’s Sister, the Honourable Augusta Mary - Leigh, visited this church. - 1831, May 17. Rev. Joseph Gilbert, Nottingham. - ------ Ann Gilbert (formerly Ann Taylor of Ongar). - Aug. 22. Lieut.-Gen. and Mrs. Need, Fountain Dale. - 1832, Jan. 8. M. Van Buren, Minister Plenipotentiary from the - United States. - ------ Washington Irving. - ------ John Van Buren, New York, U. S. America. - Dec. 27. Lady Lammine, Salendale. - 1834, Feb. 15. Domingo Maria Ruiz de la Vega, Ex-Deputy of the - Spanish Cortes, from Granada. - Feb. 23. J. Bellairs, Esq., visited Newstead Abbey, and Lord - Byron’s tomb, such as it is--one of his greatest - admirers of the day! - ------ W. Arundale, of London, accompanied the said J. B.! - March 8. J. Murray, Jun. Albemarle-street, London. - -Although we did not, at this time, enter even the churchyard, thoughts -and feelings which had presented themselves in this very spot, on the -day of Lord Byron’s funeral, again returned. - - His birth, his death, dark fortunes, and brief life, - Wondrous and wild as his impetuous lay, - Passed through my mind; his wanderings, loves, and strife; - I saw him marching on from day to day: - The kilted boy, roaming mid mountains grey; - The noble youth, whose life-blood was a flame, - In the bright land of demi-gods astray; - The monarch of the lyre, whose haughty name - Spread on from shore to shore, the watchword of all fame; - - And then, a lifeless form! The spell was broke; - The wizard’s wild enchantment was destroyed; - He who at will did dreadful forms invoke, - And called up beautiful spirits from the void, - Back to the scenes in which he early joyed, - He came but knew it not. In vain earth’s bloom-- - In vain the sky’s clear beauty, which oft buoyed - His spirit to delight; an early doom - Brought him in glory’s arms to the awaiting tomb. - - He lies--how quietly that heart which yet - Never could slumber, slumbers now for aye! - He lies--where first, love, fame, his young soul set - With passionate power on flame; where gleam the grey - Turrets of Newstead, through the solemn sway - Of verdurous woods; and where that hoary crown - Of lofty trees, “in circular array,” - Shroud Mary’s Hall, who thither may look down, - And think how he loved her, ay, more than his renown. - - -ANNESLEY HALL. - -From Hucknall we ascended chiefly through open, wild lands:--to our -right the wooded valley of Newstead, every moment spreading itself out -more broadly; and before us the forest heights of Annesley, growing more -bold and attractive. A wild gusty breeze, and dark flying clouds, added -sensibly to the deep solitude and picturesque character of the scene. We -soon passed a cottage, having beside it an old brick pillar surmounted -with a stone ball, and before it an avenue of lime trees, which appeared -some time to have formed the boundary or place of entrance to the park; -then a new lodge, and found ourselves at the foot of the steep hill, -styled in Byron’s Dream-- - - A gentle hill, - Green, and of mild declivity. - -The greenness and mildness of declivity, however, we afterwards found -were on the side by which Byron and Mary Chaworth had ascended it from -her house; on this side it is a remarkably barren and extremely steep -hill. However, up we went, and on the summit discovered the strict -accuracy of his delineation of it. - - I saw two beings in the hues of youth, - Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill, - Green, and of mild declivity; the last, - As ’t were the cape of a long ridge of such, - Save that there was no sea to lave its base, - But a most living landscape, and the wave - Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men - Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke - Arising from such rustic roofs:--the hill - Was crowned with a peculiar diadem - Of trees in circular array, so fixed, - Not by the sport of Nature, but of man. - -A most living landscape it is indeed, including all the objects so -vividly here given; amongst them, the most conspicuous, the house of his -living ancestors, and the house where he has joined them in death; and -extending from the woody skirts of Sherwood Forest to the mill-crowned -heights of Nottingham. By the way, a strange mistake of Moore’s here -presented itself. Immediately after the passage just quoted, Byron -proceeds to speak further of this young pair, and says:-- - - Even _now_ she loved another, - And on the summit of that hill she stood, - Looking afar, if yet her lover’s steed - Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. - -Moore, commenting on this, tells us that the image of the lover’s steed -was suggested by the Nottingham race-ground,--a race-ground actually -nine miles off, and moreover lying in a hollow and totally hidden from -view; had the lady’s eyes, indeed, been so marvellously good as to -discern a horse nine miles off! Mary Chaworth, in fact, was looking for -her lover’s steed along the road as it winds up the common from -Hucknall. - -But a stranger discovery soon made us forget this _Irish bull_. We had -no sooner reached the summit of the hill, than to our inexpressible -astonishment we found the very trees so strikingly pointed out in this -most interesting poem, “the trees in circular array”--cut down! These -trees, and none else, cut down! There were the trees crowning the whole -length of the “long ridge” standing in their greyness; and there were -the stumps of “the trees in circular array” in the earth at our feet! An -immediate and irresistible conviction forced itself on our minds; but we -write it not; we merely state the fact, that that memorable landmark of -love, made interesting to every age by the poetry of passion, had been -removed. Our indignation may be imagined when we found that not only had -the trees been cut down, but there was an actual attempt to cut down the -hill itself, by making a gravel-pit there;--of all places in the world, -to think of making a gravel-pit on the top of that steep hill, when it -might be got from the bottom of any hill in the neighbourhood. We have -since been told that it was the intention of its present proprietor, the -husband of Mary Chaworth, to have cut down all the trees upon that hill; -but that his design was prevented by the interference of his eldest -son, to whom the estate descends by entail; and that he was compelled by -the spirited conduct of the son, to plant the hill afresh; but he has -complied with the letter, overlooking the spirit of the agreement, in -the most perfect style, having planted the sides of the hill all over -with fir-trees, so that it will in a short time shroud the place, and -smother it completely from the view.[14] - - [14] Mentioning the felling of these trees to a mechanic soon - afterwards,--“Trees,” I added, “that might be seen so far.” “Seen, - sir!” he exclaimed, “those trees were seen all over the world!” He - meant through the medium of Byron’s poetry. It was an expression, and - accompanied by an energy of feeling, that would have done honour to - any man. - -The indignation we felt on this occasion, perhaps, made us more sensibly -alive to the character of the place. Byron, in some juvenile verses, -exclaims-- - - Hills of Annesley, bleak and barren, - Where my thoughtless childhood strayed, - How the northern tempests warring, - How! above thy tufted shade. - -So strongly did the wind drive over this ridge, that we could scarcely -make head against it; and remembering to have heard of a temple which -formerly crowned this hill, but had been blown down either by tempest or -war, we looked amongst the broken ground, and perceived considerable -remains of masonry, probably the foundations of the temple: nor can a -finer situation for such an erection be imagined. - -The trees which crowned “the ridge,” and which, at a distance, appeared -large, we soon saw, were of stunted growth, with tops curled, and -sturdy, as if accustomed to wrestle with the tempests. An avenue of them -stretched away into distant woods. Large decayed branches lay here and -there beneath, indicating a solitude and neglect of the place pleasing -to the imagination. Before us, across a descending slope--the hill of -mild and green declivity--extended, right and left, noble woods; and in -the midst of them, in the midst of a smaller crescent of wood, we -descried the tall grey chimneys and ivy-covered walls and gables of the -old Hall, and the top of the church-tower. We hastened down,--observing -on our left, in an old forest-slope, a large herd of deer, which had a -good effect,--and struck into a footpath that led directly up towards -the house. As we drew nearer, the old building, hung with luxuriant ivy -and shrouded among tall trees, far overtopping its tall chimneys; amid -shrubberies of wondrous growth of evergreens, among which are -conspicuous, three remarkable ilexes, with black-green foliage crowning -their short thick black trunks, and with grassy openings sloping down to -the warm south; struck us forcibly with its picturesque and silent -beauty. We found ourselves now, apparently at the back of a high -garden-wall, by the side of which ran a row of lime trees, which seemed -at one time to have been pollarded and trained espalier-wise, but had -now sent up heads of a luxuriant and fantastic growth. On our other -hand, lay a wood, from which the thickets being cleared away, left us -ample view of its ivy-mantled trees, and the ground beneath them one -green expanse of dog’s-mercury and fresh leaves of the blue-bell. Tufts -of primroses were scattered all about, and the wood-anemonies trembled -in the wind. But over all, such a mantle of deep silence seemed cast, -that it reminded us of some enchanted place in the fairy and -forest-stories of Tieck. - -At the top of this road, turning suddenly to the left, we found -ourselves before - - The massy gate of that old hall, - -from which Byron declares that, - - Mounting his steed he went his way, - And ne’er repassed that hoary threshold more. - -But all was silent and lifeless. No person was to be discerned in the -court to which it opened; there were no signs of life except in the -cooing of some pigeons and the cawing of certain jackdaws. We went round -the outbuildings into the churchyard, which is level with the top of the -court-wall, and looks directly into it. We leaned over a massy parapet, -and looked down into this court; the spell of an invincible silence -seemed to cover the whole place. In the gravel walks which ran round the -court, there were traces of carriage wheels; but you felt as if no -carriage with the bustle and vivacity of active life could ever more -enter there. In the centre of the grass-plot, a basin surrounded by a -hedge of honeysuckle, and which had doubtless once possessed the life -and beauty of a fountain, now shewed only water, black, stagnant, and -covered with masses of yellow moss. We were close to the house; its -curtained windows gave it an air of habitation; but no sound nor visible -indication of the presence of man was about it. We walked along the -green and picturesque churchyard: the back of the buildings on this side -of the court bounded part of it; they were in the last state of decay; -wide gaps in the roof gave us a view into dark and dreary stables. We -came to the farm-yard, also joining the churchyard: it had the same -aspect of desertion. There was neither cattle nor ricks in it, but the -brandreth, or frame on which a rick once stood, littered with decaying -straw, and its air of desolation made more striking by a piece of old -wooden balustrade cast upon it. There were barn-doors standing wide -open; and the litter of the yard even appeared dusty and grey with age. -You felt sure no human foot could have disturbed it for years. We -descended from the churchyard, and went round the farm-buildings once -more towards the old “massy gate.” At the back of these buildings were -nailed the trophies of the gamekeeper by hundreds, we might, we think, -say thousands; wild cats, dried to blackness, stretched their downward -heads and legs from the wall; hawks, magpies, and jays, hung in tattered -remnants; but all grey and even green with age; and the heads of birds -in plenteous rows, nailed beak upward, were dried and shrivelled by the -sun, and winds, and frosts, of many summers and winters, till their -distinctive characters were lost. They all seemed to speak the same -silent language:--to say, Ay, this was once the abode of a prosperous -old family; here were abundance of friends, and dependents going to and -fro; horses and hounds going forth in vociferous joy; abroad was the -chase and the sound of the gun,--within were spits turning, and good -fellowship; but all this is long since over--a blight and a sorrow have -fallen here. - -We now approached the “massy gateway” by a wide entrance, which a pair -of great doors had once closed--one of these had fallen from its hinges, -and the other swung in the wind, banging against its post with a hollow -sound, whose echoes told of vacancy. Above the gateway, the vane on the -cupola turned to and fro in the gusty air, with a dreary queek-quake, -queek-quake: all besides was still. We stood and looked at each other -with an expression that said,--Did you ever see any thing like this? At -this moment an old grey dog came softly out of the court--the first -living thing we had seen except the jackdaws and the pigeons; quietly he -came, as if he too felt the nature of his abode. It was with no vivacity -of action, or noisy bark: he stood and silently wagged his tail; and as -we drew near him, as silently retreated into the court. We entered this -silent place, and looked around. The house formed its western end; -stables and coach-houses formed its north and eastern sides; the south -was open to the shrubbery. The ivy hung in huge masses from all the -walls. In the eastern end was the “massy gateway” mentioned by Byron, -arched over, and surmounted by a clock and cupola. So profoundly -lifeless and deserted seemed the place, that though the clock-finger -pointed to the true time of the day--exactly half-past twelve -o’clock--our imaginations refused for some time to believe that the -clock could actually be going: we felt positive astonishment when it -proved to us that it really did. - -We now resolved to ascertain at the house itself, if it had any living -inhabitants; and on approaching the hall-door, we heard a sound in a -stable; we went in, and descried, in a dismal room adjoining it, a man -sitting by a fire in a corner, and a dog lying on the hearth. The man -and the place were alike forlorn. They were dirty, squalid, desolate. We -had said, who could have supposed so abandoned a spot so near -Nottingham? but who could have imagined so wild and banditti-like a -being as that man, within so short a distance of a large town? His dress -and person had every character of reckless neglect; his black hair hung -about his pale face; he had no handkerchief about his neck; he sate and -devoured his dinner, which he appeared to have cooked with his own -hands, looking up at us with ruffian stupidity, as he answered our -questions with a surly bluntness, without ceasing to help himself, with -a large pocket-knife, and no fork, to his meal. He told us we could not -see the house--master never let it be seen. When asked, why? he could -not tell--but it was so; but we might ask the old woman in the house. -Away we went, and a jewel of an old woman we found. - -She was the very _beau ideal_ of an old servant; all simplicity and -fidelity, full of the history of the family; wrapped up in its fortunes -and its honours--a part and parcel of the race and place, for she had -been in the family above sixty years,--being taken, as she said, when -she was ten years old, by Mary Chaworth’s grandfather, and put to -school, and taught to read and write, to mark and to flower; for she -would, he said, be a nice sharp girl to wait on him. “Oh! he was a -pretty man--a very pretty, well-behaved gentleman,” said she with a -sigh. Old Nanny Marsland, for such was her name, seemed a pure and -unsophisticated creature; the regular influx of visiters had not spoiled -her; the curious and the pert, and the idle, the insolent and the -foolish, had not troubled the clear sincere current of her thoughts; had -not made her heart and spirit turn inward, in self-defence, and -converted her into the subtle and parrot shew-woman. - -She never dreamt of any thing being blameable that had been done by any -of _the family_. She delighted to talk of the Hall and its people; and -feeling her solitude,--for she was the sole regular occupant,--some one -to talk to was a luxury. Could we have hoped for a creature more to our -hearts’ desire? Under her guidance we progressed through this most -interesting old place; thoughts and feelings, never to be forgotten, -springing up at every step. - -The house is not large; and desertion had stamped within, the same -characters as on all without. Damp had disfigured the walls; a fire of -cheerful pine-logs blazed in the hall and in the kitchen; but everywhere -else was the chill and gloom of the old neglected mansion. All the more -modern furniture, and most of the paintings, had been removed, and -thereby the keeping of the abode was but the better preserved. We know -not how to describe the feelings with which we traversed these rooms. It -was as if the hall of one of our old English families had been hidden -beneath a magic cloud for ages, and suddenly revealed to our eyes, now, -at a time when every thing belonging to this country is so much -changed;--houses, men, manners, and opinions. When we entered the -old-fashioned family hall, standing as it stood ages ago, furnished as -it was ages ago, with its antique stove, its antique sofas, if so they -can be called, made of wood carved, and curiously painted, and cushioned -with scarlet, standing on each side of the fire; the antique French -timepiece on its bracket; its various old cabinets and tables standing -by walls; and its floor of large and small squares of alternating black -marble and white stone--the domestic sanctuary of a race whom we regard -as our progenitors, but widely different to ourselves, seemed suddenly -revealed to us, and we could almost have expected to see the rough, -boisterous squire, or the stately baron, issue from one of the -side-doors; or to hear the rustling of the silken robe of some -long-waisted dame, who could occasionally leap a five-barred gate as -readily as she could dance at the Christmas festival; or one of high and -solemn beauty, in whom devotion, deep, uninquiring and undoubting, was -the great principle and passion of life; to whom the domestic chapel was -a holy place; the chaplain her daily counsellor; and the distribution of -alms her daily occupation. We saw before us the hearthstone of a race -that lived in the full enjoyment of aristocratic ascendancy, when rank -was old and undisputed; when neither mercantile wealth had pressed on -their nobility on the one hand, nor popular knowledge and rights on the -other; when the gentry lived only to be reverenced and obeyed, every one -in the midst of his own forests and domains as a king, and led forth his -tenants and serfs to the wars of his country, or to the chase of his own -wide wilds; when field sports and jovial feastings, and love-making, -were the life-employment of men and women, who took rank and power as an -unquestioned heritage, and never troubled their brain with gathering -knowledge: and all below them were supposed to be happy, because they -were ignorant and submissive. - -This hall, which occupies the centre of the building, is nearly sixty -feet long by thirty wide, supported by two elliptic arches and Ionic -pillars. The middle of the room is now occupied by a billiard-table, -which formerly stood in an upper room, called the terrace-room, of which -we shall speak presently. The great door, entering from the porch, was -secured by a massy bar of wood which had been rudely let into the walls -at each end, at the time of the riots of the Reform Bill, when -Nottingham Castle was burnt, and when the mob were expected here, who -owed the proprietor a piece of retribution, and actually attempted to -burn his house at Colwick; whence his wife, Mary Chaworth, only escaped -by being carried from her bed, where illness had long confined her, and -hidden for some hours in the shrubbery during excessive rain, and -afterwards conveyed across the Trent in a boat. At the lower end of this -hall an easy flight of steps leads to the upper apartments. Near the -fire, at the upper end, a few steps lead into a beautiful little -breakfast-room, which looks out into the garden, and forms one of the -projections of the building, the staircase at the lower end forming the -other: the three large, old-fashioned windows which light the hall, -lying on this side, and looking out into a little parterre, fenced off -with a trellis-fence, even with the two projections we have spoken -of--such a parterre as one often meets with, belonging to old houses--a -little favoured sanctuary of garden-ground, where choice flowers were -trained, and which was the especial care of page and gardener, before -ladies took to gardening themselves. This, which is now a perfect -wilderness, almost overrun with shrubs and the tall tree-like laurels -which encumber wall and window, and almost exclude daylight from the -hall, to the great annoyance of our good old woman, was once, as was -fitting, the favourite flower-garden of Mary Chaworth. - -The little breakfast-room we mentioned, looks out not only by a side -window into the parterre, but also by two large low windows into the -garden; a fine old garden, with a fine stately old terrace, one of the -noblest it was ever our good fortune to see, and such a one as Danby or -Turner would be proud to enrich their fine pictures with. In this room -were a few family portraits. One a small full-length figure, which the -old woman very significantly told us was Byron’s Chaworth; that is, the -Chaworth killed by the poet’s grandfather in a duel. Another portrait -she informed us was the last Lord Chaworth; for this estate, which had -been in the family of the Annesleys from the time of the Conquest, came -into that of Lord Viscount Chaworth of Armagh, in Ireland, by the -marriage of one of his ancestors with the sole heiress, Alice de -Annesley, in the reign of Henry VI. “And this,” she said, pointing to a -female portrait, “was his lawful wife.” “What then,” we said, “there was -an unlawful wife, was there?” “Yes,” she added, “she is here.” We -glanced at the picture placed in the shady corner by the window, next, -however, to Lord Chaworth, and exclaimed, “and a good judge was his -Lordship too!” A creature of most perfect and wondrous beauty it was -that we beheld. What a fine, rich, oval countenance and noble forehead -slightly shaded by auburn locks! what large dark eyes of inexpressible -expression! what a soft, delicate, yet beautiful and sunny complexion! -what a beautiful rounding of the cheek, chin, and throat! what exquisite -features! what a perfect mixture of nobility of mind, with elegance and -simplicity of taste. Never did we behold a more enchanting vision of -youth and beauty; and all this hidden for generations in a dark nook of -this old hall, unmentioned, and unknown. It were worth a journey from -London but to gaze upon. Beautiful as this portrait is, it represents a -mole upon either cheek; but this, instead of detracting from the -loveliness of the face, as might be imagined, only appears to give it -character and individuality, and vouches for the fidelity of the -likeness. The painting, too, is extremely well done; far superior to any -thing else in the house, except it be the satin petticoat of a Miss -Burdett in the terrace-room. “And who,” we inquired, “was this charming -creature?” “She was a girl of the village, sir,” was the reply. “What! -could the village produce a creature like her?” “Yes: his Lordship took -her into the house as a servant; but she did not like him and went away; -however, he got her afterwards, and built a house for her on the estate, -and she had one child. But she died, poor thing! all was not right -somehow; and all her money she put in a cupboard for her son,--they -would shew you the cupboard in the house to this day; and on the very -night she died, her own relations came and took away the money;--things -weren’t as they should have been! and she came again.” “What, was this -the lady that we have heard an old man say, came up out of a well, and -sat in a tree by moonlight, combing her hair?” “No, Lord bless you! that -was another; but the parson _laid her_, and the well is covered in; but -for all that she walks yet!” We smiled at the good woman’s very orthodox -belief in ghosts; but we know not whether we should not be apt to catch -the contagion of superstitious feeling, if we were to dwell all alone in -this old house as she does, and hear the winds howling and sighing about -it at night; the long ivy rustling about the windows, and dashing -against the panes; and the owls hooting about in many a wild, piercing, -and melancholy tone; and feel oneself in the unparticipated solitude of -those ancient rooms, with all their trains of sad memories. - -Besides this portrait of the beautiful and unhappy Mrs. Milner, we -bestowed a look of great interest on one of much attraction, the -daughter of Viscount Chaworth--not beautiful, but full of the -fascination of cultivated mind, and of a heart so living and loving, -that it caused the eyelids to droop over their beamy orbs, with an -expression that made you tremble for the peace of its possessor. One -other picture attracted our attention from its singularity. It -represents a landscape, apparently, “the hill of green and mild -declivity,” the line of trees, and the trees in circular array, from -among which rises the temple we spoke of before, and which our cicerone -assured us had been considered “the finest in all England, but had been -blown down in Oliver Cromwell’s days.” In the foreground stands, as if -painted in enamel, a gentleman in a strange sort of dress-jerkin, of -white satin, with a short petticoat of purple velvet bordered with gold -lace. On his right hand his amazonian lady, half the head taller than -himself, clad in a riding-dress of green, bordered likewise with -gold-lace; and on either side of them a son, in the full dress of -William and Mary’s reign; with powdered wigs, long lapped scarlet coats, -waistcoats, and breeches, with white silk stockings on their neat little -legs, and lace ruffles at their hands, each with his little head turned -on one side;--the one caressing a fawn, the other a greyhound; and the -family group completed by the groom standing a little behind, holding -the lady’s palfrey ready saddled for her use. These, and a portrait of -the son of Lord Chaworth, are all the family pictures which the house -contains. - -Leaving then this room, we re-crossed the hall, and ascending the -staircase at the lower end, entered the drawing-room, which is over the -hall--a handsome room, and the best furnished in the house. The most -interesting piece of furniture it contains, or perhaps, which the house -itself contains, is a screen covered over with a great number of -cuttings in black paper, done by a Mrs. Goodchild, and representing a -great variety of family incidents and character--those little passing -incidents in life, which, though rarely chronicled, are most influential -on its fortunes--on which often its very destiny hangs. The receipt of a -letter--the first meeting--the last parting--how much do these things -involve! Here we were introduced to Mary Chaworth, the lovely and -graceful maiden, full of hope, and life, and gaiety; with her friends -and dependents about her; at the very time when Lord Byron became -attached to her. Of the accuracy of this likeness we have no doubt, from -the wonderful fidelity of some of the others, with whose persons we are -acquainted. - -[Illustration] - -In one place she is represented as sitting in a room, her attitude one -of terror. A man is before her presenting a pistol, and a little -terrified page is concealing himself under a table. In another, she sits -with her mother and a gentleman at tea; a foot-man behind waiting upon -them. Again, she is in the gardens or grounds, walking with her cousin, -Miss Radford; her rustic hat thrown back upon her shoulders; her -beautiful head turned aside; and her hand put forth to receive a letter -from a page, kneeling on one knee,--a letter from her lover and -subsequent husband. - -Again, she is playing with a little child; and in all, her figure is -full of exquisite grace and vivacity, and the profile of the face -remarkably fine. It is impossible to say with what intense interest we -examined these memorials of private life; these passages so full of -vitality and character, incidental, but important--the very essence of -an autobiography. - -On a small table in this room lay a rich fan belonging to Mary Chaworth, -which the old woman told us had been laid down by her there on some -particular occasion--perhaps the last time she used it, and, therefore, -was never moved from the spot. We observed, too, another of those little -incidents of family history in this house, which have something -peculiarly touching in them. On the staircase stood the sea-chest of a -son who died at sea. It stood as it had been sent home after his death, -sealed up, and the seals still unbroken. Poor Nanny Marsland said -sorrowfully--“Ah, poor fellow! he was a pious lad; he would fain have -been a clergyman, but he could not be that--for the living went to his -elder brother. He did not like the sea; but he used to write to the poor -dear lady, his mother, and say--‘God’s will be done!’ Eh! what sweet -letters he used to send, if you could but have heard them--but it’s all -one--he’s gone; and his poor mother, that used to sit and cry over -them--she’s gone too!” - -From the drawing-room we passed to the one called the terrace-room, from -its opening by a glass door upon the terrace, which runs along the top -of the garden at right angles with the house, and level with this second -story, descending to the garden by a double flight of broad stone steps, -in the middle of its length, which is about eighty yards. This room -formerly contained the billiard-table, and in it Mary Chaworth and her -noble lover passed much time. He was fond of the terrace, and used to -pace backwards and forwards upon it, and amuse himself with shooting -with a pistol at a door. It was here that she last saw him, with the -exception of a dinner-visit, after his return from his travels. It was -here that he took his last leave of Mary Chaworth, when - - He went his way, - And ne’er repassed that hoary threshold more. - -It was here, then, those ill-fated ones stood, and lingered, and -conversed, for at least two hours. Mary Chaworth was here all life and -spirit, full of youth, and beauty, and hope. What a change fell upon her -after-life! She now stood here, the last scion of a time-honoured race, -with large possessions, with the fond belief of sharing them in joy with -the chosen of her life. Never did human life present a sadder contrast! -There are many reasons why we should draw a veil over this mournful -history, much of which will never be known; suffice it to say, that it -was not without most real, deep, and agonizing causes, that years after, - - In her home, her native home, - She dwelt begirt with growing infancy, - Daughters and sons of beauty,--but behold! - - Upon her face there was the tint of grief, - The settled shadow of an inward strife, - And an unquiet drooping of the eye, - As if its lid was charged with unshed tears. - -It was not without a fearful outraging of trusting affections, the -desolation of a spirit trodden and crushed by that which should have -shielded it, that - - She was changed - As by the sickness of the soul: her mind - Had wandered from its dwelling, and her eyes - They had not their own lustre, but the look - Which is not of the earth; she was become - The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts - Were combinations of disjointed things; - And forms impalpable and unperceived - Of others’ sight, familiar were to hers. - -There must have come a day, a soul-prostrating day, when she must have -felt the grand mistake she had made, in casting away a heart that never -ceased to love her and sorrow for her, and a mind that wrapt her, even -severed as it was from her, in an imperishable halo of glory. - -There is nothing in all the histories of broken affections and mortal -sorrows, more striking and melancholy than the idea of this lady, so -bright and joyous-hearted in her youth, sitting in her latter years, for -days and weeks, alone and secluded, uninterrupted by any one, in this -old house, weeping over the poems which commented in burning words on -the individual fortunes of herself and Lord Byron-- - - The one - To end in madness--both in misery. - -With this idea vividly impressed on our spirits, a darker shade seemed -to settle down on those antiquated rooms;--we passed out into the -garden, at the door at which Byron passed; we trod that stately terrace, -and gazed at the old vase placed in the centre of its massy balustrade, -bearing the original escutcheon of the Lord Chaworth, and standing a -brave object as seen from the garden, into which we descended, and -wandered amongst its high-grown evergreens. But every thing was tinged -with the spirit and fate of that unhappy lady. The walks were overgrown -with grass; and tufts of snowdrop leaves, now grown wild and shaggy, as -they do after the flower is over, grew in them; and tufts of a beautiful -and peculiar kind of fumitory, with its pink bloom, and the daffodils -and primroses of early spring looked out from amongst the large forest -trees that surround the garden. Every thing, even the smallest, seemed -in unison with that great spirit of silence and desolation which hovered -over the place; and the gusty winds that swept the long wood-walk by -which we came away, gave us a most fitting adieu. - - * * * * * - -We only saw just in time, this interesting old place in its desolation. -It is now repaired, altered, and, I understand, every historical -identity as far as possible destroyed. - - -CHAPTER VII. - -NEWSTEAD. - -We left Annesley, as we have said, by that long wood-walk which leads to -the Mansfield road; and advancing on that road about a mile, then turned -to the right through a deep defile down into the fields. Here we found -ourselves in an extensive natural amphitheatre, surrounded by bold -declivities--in some places bleak and barren, in others, richly embossed -with furze and broom. Before us, at the distance of another mile, lay -Newstead amid its woods, across a moory flat. The wind whistled and -sighed amongst the dry, white, wiry grass, of last year’s growth, as we -walked along; and a solitary heron, with slow strokes of its ample -wings, flew athwart--not our path, for path we had none, having been -tempted into the fields by the beauty of the scene. We followed the -course of a little stream, clear as crystal, and swift as human life, -and soon found ourselves at the tail of the lake so often referred to by -Lord Byron. - - Before the mansion lay a lucid lake, - Broad as transparent, deep and freshly fed - By a river, which its softened way did take - In currents through the calmer water spread - Around; the wild fowl nestled in the brake - And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed: - The woods sloped downward to its brink, and stood - With their green faces fixed upon the flood. - -It was a scene that would have delighted Bewick for its picturesque -sedgyness. The streams that fed it came down a woody valley shaggy with -sedge--the lake thereabout being bordered with tall masses of it. There -was a little island all overgrown with it and water-loving trees; and -wild fowl in abundance were hastening to hide themselves in its covert, -or arose and flew around with a varied clangour. Another moment, and we -passed a green knoll, and were in front of the Abbey. John Evelyn, who -once visited it, was much struck with the resemblance between its -situation and that of Fontainbleau. - -Here all was neat and habitable--had an air of human life and human -attention about it, that formed a strong contrast to the scene of -melancholy desolation we had left; and also to this same scene when I -visited it years ago, at the time when it was sold, I believe, to a Mr. -Claughton, who afterwards, for some cause or other, threw up the -bargain. To give an idea of the impression this place made upon me, I -shall merely refer to an account furnished by me many years ago to a -periodical of the time, which account was partly quoted by Galt in his -Life of Lord Byron, and made liberal use of by Moore, though without -acknowledgment. I was a boy, rambling through the woods nutting, when -suddenly, I came in front of the Abbey, which I had never seen before, -and learned from a peasant who happened to be near, that I might get to -see it for the value of an ounce of tobacco given to old Murray, a -grey-headed old man--who had been in the family from a boy, and who now, -at his own request, lies buried in Hucknall churchyard, as close to the -family vault as it was possible to lay him. He and a maid-servant were -then the only inmates of the place, being left to superintend the -removal of the goods. I marched up to the dismal-looking porch in front, -to which you ascended by a flight of steps, and gave a thundering knock, -which almost startled me by the hollow sound it seemed to send through -the ancient building. After waiting a good while, some one approached, -and began to withdraw bars and bolts, and to let fall chains; and -presently, the old grey-headed man opened the massy door cautiously, to -a width just sufficient to enable him to see who was there. Finding -nothing more formidable than a boy, he opened wide, and I inquired if I -could see the place. The old man first looked at me, and then around, -and said, “How many are there of you?” As he was evidently calculating -the probable amount of profit, I gave him such evidence of sufficient -reward that his doors instantly flew open, and he desired me to wander -where I pleased, till he could return to me, having left some important -affair in _medias res_. Here then was a wilderness of an old house -thrown open to me, and the effect it had on my youthful imagination is -indescribable. - -The embellishments which the abbey had received from his lordship, had -more of the brilliant conception of the poet in them than of the sober -calculations of common life. I passed through many rooms which he had -superbly finished, but over which he had permitted so wretched a roof to -remain, that, in about half a dozen years, the rain had visited his -proudest chambers; the paper had rotted on the walls, and fell in -comfortless sheets upon glowing carpets and canopies; upon beds of -crimson and gold; clogging the glittering wings of eagles, and -dishonouring coronets. From many rooms the furniture was gone. In the -entrance hall alone remained the paintings of his old friends--the dog -and bear. - - The mansion’s self was vast and venerable, - With more of the romantic than had been - Elsewhere preserved; the cloisters still were stable, - The cells too and refectory I ween; - An exquisite small chapel had been able - Still unimpaired to decorate the scene; - The rest had been reformed, replaced, or sunk, - And spoke more of the baron than the monk. - - Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, joined - By no quite lawful marriage of the arts, - Might shock a connoisseur; but, when combined, - Formed a whole, which, irregular in parts, - Yet left a grand impression on the mind, - At least, of those whose eyes are in their hearts. - -The long and gloomy gallery, which, whoever views will be strongly -reminded of Lara, as indeed a survey of this place will awake more than -one scene in that poem,--had not yet relinquished the sombre pictures of -its ancient race-- - - That frowned - In rude, but antique portraiture around. - -In the study, which is a small chamber overlooking the garden, the books -were packed up; but there remained a sofa, over which hung a sword in a -gilt sheath; and at the end of the room opposite the window stood a pair -of light fancy stands, each supporting a couple of the most perfect and -finely-polished skulls I ever saw; most probably selected, along with -the far-famed one converted into a drinking-cup, and inscribed with some -well-known verses, from a vast number taken from the abbey cemetery, and -piled up in the form of a mausoleum, but since recommitted to the -ground. Between them hung a gilt crucifix. - -To those skulls he evidently alludes in Lara, where he makes his -servants ask one another-- - - Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head, - Which hands profane had gathered from the dead, - That still beside his open volume lay, - As if to startle all save him away? - -And they most probably suggested that fine passage in Childe Harold-- - - Remove yon skull from out those shattered heaps: - Is that a temple where a God may dwell? - Why, even the worm at last disdains her shattered cell! - - Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall, - Its chambers desolate, and portals foul; - Yes, this was once ambition’s airy hall, - The dome of thought, the palace of the soul; - Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, - The gay recess of wisdom and of wit, - And passion’s host, that never brooked control: - Can all, saint, sage, or sophist ever writ. - People this lonely tower, this tenement refit? - -In the servants’ hall, lay a stone coffin, in which were fencing gloves -and foils; and on the wall of the ample but cheerless kitchen, was -painted in large letters, “Waste not, want not.” - -During a great part of his lordship’s minority, the abbey was in the -occupation of Lord Grey de Ruthen, his hounds, and divers colonies of -jackdaws, swallows, and starlings. The internal traces of this Goth were -swept away; but without, all appeared as rude and unreclaimed as he -could have left it. I must confess, that if I was astonished at the -heterogeneous mixture of splendour and ruin within, I was more so at the -perfect uniformity of wildness without. I never had been able to -conceive poetic genius in its domestic bower, without figuring it, -diffusing the polish of its delicate taste on every thing about it. But -here the spirit of beauty seemed to have dwelt, but not to have been -caressed;--it was the spirit of the wilderness. The gardens were exactly -as their late owner described them in his earliest poems:-- - - Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle; - Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay; - In thy once smiling gardens the hemlock and thistle, - Now choke up the rose, that late bloomed in the way. - -With the exception of the dog’s tomb--a conspicuous and elegant object, -placed on an ascent of several steps, crowned with a lambent flame, and -panelled with white marble tablets, of which that containing the -celebrated epitaph was at that time removed, I do not recollect the -slightest trace of culture or improvement. The late lord, a stern and -desperate character, who is never mentioned by the neighbouring peasants -without a significant shake of the head, might have returned and -recognised every thing about him, except, perchance, an additional crop -of weeds. There still gloomily slept the old pond, into which he is said -to have hurled his lady in one of his fits of fury, whence she was -rescued by the gardener; a courageous blade, who was the lord’s master, -and chastised him for his barbarity. There still, at the end of the -garden, in a grove of oak, two towering satyrs--he with his club, and -Mrs. Satyr, with her chubby, cloven-footed brat, placed on pedestals, at -the intersections of the narrow and gloomy pathways, struck for a -moment, with their grim visages, and silent, shaggy forms, the fear into -your bosoms, which is felt by the neighbouring peasantry at “_the old -lord’s devils_.” - -In the lake below the abbey, the artificial rock, which he piled at a -vast expense, still reared its lofty head; but the frigate which -fulfilled old Mother Shipton’s prophecy, by sailing on dry land to this -place from a distant port, had long vanished; and the only relics of his -naval whim were this rock, and his ship-boy, the venerable old Murray, -who accompanied me round the premises. The dark, haughty, impetuous, and -mad deeds of this nobleman, the poet’s grandfather, no doubt, by making -a vivid impression on his youthful fancy, furnished some of the -principal materials for the formation of his lordship’s favourite and -ever-recurring poetical hero. His manners and acts are the theme of -many a winter’s evening in that neighbourhood. In one of his paroxysms -of wrath, he shot his coachman, for giving, in his opinion, an improper -precedence, threw the corpse into the carriage, to his lady, mounted, -and drove himself. In a quarrel, which originally arose out of a dispute -between their gamekeepers, he killed his neighbour, Mr. Chaworth, the -lord of the adjoining manor. This rencontre took place at the Star and -Garter, Pall-Mall, after a convivial meeting--a club of Nottinghamshire -gentlemen. His lordship was committed to the Tower, and on April 16th, -1765, placed at the bar of the House of Lords, and without one -dissentient voice, convicted of manslaughter, and discharged on paying -his fees, having pleaded certain privileges under a statute of Queen -Anne. The particulars may be seen in Vol. X. of State Trials, published -by order of the House of Peers. - -The old lord, from some cause of irritation against his son, said to be -on account of his marriage, who died before coming to the title, did all -he could to injure the estate. He is said to have pulled down a -considerable part of the house, and sold the materials; he cut down very -extensive plantations, and sold the young trees to the bakers of -Nottingham to heat their ovens with, or to the nurserymen; two of which, -Lombardy poplars, bought at that time, now stand at the head of a -fish-pond of my father’s, grown to an immense size. - -Mr. Moore has justly remarked, that Lord Byron derived the great -peculiarities of his character from his ancestors. After I came away -from the abbey, I asked many people in the neighbourhood what sort of a -man the noble poet had been. The impression of his energetic but -eccentric character was obvious in their reply. “He is the deuce of a -fellow for strange fancies; he flogs the old lord to nothing: but he is -a hearty good fellow for all that.” - -One of these fancies, as related by the miller at the head of the lake, -was, to get into a boat, with his two noble Newfoundland dogs, row into -the middle of the lake, then dropping the oars, tumble into the water. -The faithful animals would immediately follow, seize him by the collar, -one on each side, and bear him to land. This miller told me that every -month he came to be weighed, and if he found himself lighter he -appeared highly delighted; but if heavier, he went away in obvious ill -humour, and without saying a word. At this time even, _i. e._ before he -came of age, he had the greatest horror of corpulency, to which he -deemed himself hereditarily prone, and used to lie a certain time every -day in a hot-bed, made on purpose, to reduce himself. The -master-builder, who had been engaged in the restoration of the abbey, -said much about a certain _Kaled_, who then was with him,--probably the -same that accompanied him to Brighton, as his younger brother,--and of -the wild life kept up, and mad pranks played off, by him and his -companions. He described the mornings passing in the most profound -quiet, for his lordship and his guests did not rise till about one -o’clock; in the afternoon, the place was all alive with them;--they were -seen careering in all directions; at midnight, the old abbey was all lit -up, and resounded with their jollity. On one occasion they were called -up to extricate an unfortunate wight from the old stone coffin, where, -in some of their mad pranks, he had secreted himself, and fitted it so -well, that it was with difficulty he was drawn out, amid the merriment -of his comrades. No person, indeed, could form any correct notion of -Byron from his poetry, till the publication of his Don Juan, which -exhibits more of the style of his youthful conversational manner than -any other of his writings, except his journal. I have heard a lady who -used to see him at Mrs. Byron’s, at Nottingham, say that he was then, in -his teens, a most rackety fellow; was very fond of going into the -kitchen, and baking oatmeal cakes on the fireshovel; on which occasions, -the cook would sometimes pin a napkin to his coat, which being -discovered on his return to the parlour, he would rush out and pursue -the maids in all directions, and, to use the lady’s phrase, turn the -house upside down. When they went away, he always took care to ask the -servants if his mother had given them any thing; and on their replying -in the negative, he would say, “No, no! I knew that well enough;” when -he would make them a handsome present. - -Such anecdotes of his youth abound; but one is too characteristic to be -omitted. An old man of the name of Kemp, of Farnsfield, was one day in -Southwell, when a dog in the minster-yard fell upon his little dog. He -was beating it off, when a genteel boy came up, and in a very decided -tone said, “Let them fight it out--they find their own clothes, don’t -they?” The old man said, clothes or no clothes, his dog should not be -worried. A stander-by asked him if he knew to whom he spoke. The old man -said he neither knew nor cared. “It is Lord Byron,” said the person; but -the old man said he did not care whether he was a lord or a duke, they -should not worry his dog; and having got his little dog under his arm, -he marched off in none of the best humour. Some time afterwards, -however, seeing “Hours of Idleness and other Poems, by Lord Byron,” -advertised, he recollected the spirit of the lad with so much -admiration, that he took his stick and set off to Newark to purchase the -book, and always afterwards remained a great admirer of his works. - -Such was my acquaintance with the place then; it is now a good, -substantial, and very comfortable family mansion. With its external -appearance the public is well acquainted through various prints; and the -only objects in the interior, which can much interest strangers, as -connected with the history of Lord Byron, are equally familiar. The -picture of his wolf-dog, and his Newfoundland-dog--the living -Newfoundland-dog which he had with him in Greece; the skull-cup kept in -a cabinet in the drawing-room, and the little chapel and cloisters -mentioned by him. There are also in a lumber-room the identical -stone-coffin, and the foils I saw there twenty years ago, and a portrait -of old Murray smoking his pipe. There is also the well-known portrait by -Phillips. A full-length likeness of him as about to embark on his first -travels, which was in the drawing-room at that time, is now gone, but -has been engraved for Mr. Murray’s edition of his Life and Works. - -It is fortunate for the public that the place has fallen into the hands -of a gentleman who affords the utmost facility for the inspection of it -by strangers. Nothing can exceed the easy courtesy with which it is -thrown open to them; and, as an old schoolfellow of Lord Byron’s, we -believe Colonel Wildman is as desirous as any man can be not to -obliterate any traces of his lordship’s former life here. There are some -particulars, however, in which I think this care might have been carried -more thoroughly into act. In the first place, I think a style of -architecture in restoring the abbey might have been adopted more -abbey-like--more in keeping with the old part of it--and more consonant -to the particular state of feeling with which admirers of the noble -poet’s genius would be likely to approach it. To my taste it is too -square and massy in its _tout ensemble_. I do not see why the architect, -whoever he was, should have gone back in the date of his style beyond -that of the ancient remains. The old western front is a specimen of what -Rickman calls the early English order of Anglo-Gothic architecture; so -light, so airy, so pure and beautiful, that the juxta-position of a -heavy Norman style, and especially of the ponderous, square, and stunted -tower at the south-west corner, is strange, and anything but pleasing. A -greater variety of outline--the projection of porches and -buttresses--the aspiring altitude of pointed gables--clustered chimneys, -and slender, sky-seeking turrets, would certainly have given greater -effect. Instead of a square mass of stone, as it appears at a distance, -it would have proclaimed its own beauty to the eye from every far-off -point at which it may be discovered. Any one who has seen Fonthill, -Abbotsford from the Galashiel’s road, or Ilam from the entrance of -Dovedale, may imagine how much more that effect would be in accordance, -not only with a low situation, but with the mental impressions of a -poetic visiter. - -I cannot help, too, regretting that the poet’s study should now be -converted into a common bed-room; and most of all, that the antique -fountain which stood in front of the abbey, and makes so strong a -feature in the very graphic picture of the place drawn in Don Juan, -should be removed. It now adorns the inner quadrangle, or cloister -court, and is certainly a very beautiful object there, as may be seen by -the print in Murray’s edition of Byron’s Works. I do not wonder at -Colonel Wildman desiring to grace this court with a fountain, but I -wonder extremely at his gracing it with _this_ fountain. I must for ever -deplore its removal, as the breaking up of that most vivid picture of -the front, given by the poet to all posterity:-- - - A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile, - While yet the church was Rome’s, stood half apart, - In a grand arch, which once screened many an aisle. - These last had disappeared--a loss to art; - The first yet frowned superbly o’er the soil, - And kindled feelings in the roughest heart, - Which mourned the power of time’s or tempest’s march, - In gazing on that venerable arch. - - Within a niche nigh to its pinnacle, - Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone: - And these had fallen, not when the friars fell, - But in the war which struck Charles from his throne. - - * * * * * - - But in a higher niche, alone, but crowned, - The Virgin Mother of the God-born Child, - With her son in her blessed arms, looked round, - Spared by some chance, when all beside was spoiled; - She made the earth below seem holy ground. - This may be superstition weak, or wild; - But even the painted relics of a shrine - Of any worship, wake some thoughts divine. - - A mighty window, hollow in the centre; - Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings, - Through which the deepened glories once could enter, - Streaming from off the sun like seraph’s wings, - Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now fainter, - The gale sweeps through its fretwork; and oft sings - The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire - Lie with their hallelujahs quenched like fire. - - Amid the court a Gothic fountain played, - Symmetrical, but decked with carvings quaint-- - Strange faces, like to men in masquerade, - And here, perhaps, a monster, there a saint: - The spring gushed through grim mouths, of granite made, - And sparkled into basins, where it spent - Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles, - Like man’s vain glory, and his vainer troubles. - -It was seeing how exactly all this was a copy of the original--how there -stood the mighty window, shewing through it the garden and dog’s -tomb--how the Virgin there still stood aloft with her child, distinct, -bold, and beautiful--but the fountain was gone, that we could not help -loudly expressing our regret. When the valet who attended us came to the -inner court, “There,” he said, “you see is the fountain--it is all -there, quite perfect.” “Yes, yes,” we could not help replying, “that is -the very thing we are sorry for--its being all there. A man might cut -off his nose, and put it in his pocket, and when any one wondered at his -mutilated face, cry, ‘O, it is all here; I have it in my pocket.’ The -mischief would be, that it was in the wrong place, and his face spoiled -for ever.” To every visiter of taste, the abbey front must be thus -injured whilst it and the poet’s description of it last together. - -These are things to regret; for the rest, the place is a very pleasant -place. The new stone-work is very substantially and well done; there is -a great deal of modern elegance about the house; a fortune must have -been spent upon it. The grounds before the new front are extremely -improved; and the old gardens, with very correct feeling, have been -suffered to retain their ancient character. An oak planted by Lord Byron -is shewn; and why should he not have a tree as well as Shakspeare, -Milton, and Johnson? The initials of himself and his sister upon a tree -in the satyr-grove at the end of the garden, are said to have been -pointed out by his sister herself, the Honourable Mrs. Leigh, on her -visit there some time ago. The tree has two boles issuing from one root, -a very appropriate emblem of their consanguinity. - -The scenery around presents many features that recal incidents in his -life, or passages in his poems. There are the houses where Fletcher and -Rushton lived--the two followers of his, who are addressed in the ballad -in the first canto of Childe Harold, beginning at the third stanza-- - - Come hither, hither, my little page: - -But in the progress of improvement, the mill, where he used to be -weighed, is just now destroyed. Down the valley, in front of the abbey, -is a rich prospect over woods, and around are distant slopes scattered -with young plantations, that in time will add eminently to the beauty of -this secluded spot; and supply the place, in some degree, of those old -and magnificent woods in which the abbey was formerly embosomed. - -Here ended our ramble, having gone over ground and through places that -the genius of one man in a brief life has sanctified to all times; for -like us-- - - Hither romantic pilgrims shall betake - Themselves from distant lands. When we are still - In centuries of sleep, his fame will wake, - And his great memory with deep feelings fill - These scenes that he has trod, and hallow every hill. - -Here too we leave the Old Houses of England, in the words of John -Evelyn:--“Other there are, sweet and delectable country-seats and villas -of the noblesse, and rich and opulent gentry, built and environed with -parks, paddocks, plantations, etc.: adapted to country and rural seats, -dispersed through the whole nation, conspicuous, not only for the -structure of their houses, built upon the best rules of architecture, -but for situation, gardens, canals, walks, avenues, parks, forests, -ponds, prospects, and vistas; groves, woods, and large plantations; and -other the most charming and delightful recesses, natural and artificial; -but to enumerate and describe what were extraordinary in these and the -rest would furnish volumes, for who has not either seen, admired, or -heard of-- - - Audley-End, Althorpe, Auckland, Aqualate-Hall, Alnwick, Allington, - Ampthill, Astwell, Aldermaston, Aston, Alveston, Alton-Abbey. - - Bolsover, Badminster, Breckley, Burghly-on-the-Hill, and the other - Burghly, Breton, Buckhurst, Buckland, Belvoir, Blechington, Blenheim, - Blythfield, Bestwood, Broomhall, Beaudesert. - - Castle-Rising, Castle-Ashby, Castle-Donnington, Castle-Howard, - Chatsworth, Chartley, Cornbury, Cashiobury, Cobham, Cowdrey, - Caversham, Cranbourn-Park, Clumber, Charlton, Copt-Hall, Claverton, - famous for Sir William Bassett’s vineyard, producing forty hogsheads - of wine yearly; nor must I forget that of Deepden, planted by the - Honourable Charles Howard, of Norfolk, my worthy neighbour in Surrey. - - Drayton, Donnington-Park, Dean. - - Eastwell, Euston, Eccleswould, Edscombe, Easton, Epping. - - Falston, Flankford, Fonthill, Fountains-Abbey. - - Greystock, Goodrick, Grooby, Grafton, Gayhurst, Golden-Grove. - - Hardwick, Hadden, Hornby, Hatfield, Haland, Heathfield, Hinton, - Holme-Pierrepont, Horstmounceaux, Houghton. - - Ichinfield, Ilam, Ingestre. - - Kirby, Knowsley, Keddleston. - - Longleat, Latham, Lensal, Latimer, Lyne-Hall, Lawnsborough. - - Morepark, Mulgrave, Marlborough, Margum, Mount Edgcombe. - - Normanby, North-Hall, Norborough, Newnham, Newstead. - - St. Ostlo, Oxnead. - - Petworth, Penshurst, Paston-Hall. - - Quorndon, Quickswood. - - Ragland, Retford, Ragley, Ricot, Rockingham, Raby. - - Sherbourn, Sherley, Swallowfield, Stanton-Harold, Shasford, Shaftbury, - Shugborough, Sandon, Stowe, Stansted, Scots-Hall, Sands of the Vine. - - Theobalds, Thornkill, Thornhill, Trentham. - - Up-Park. - - Wilton, Wrest, Woburn, Wollaton, Worksop-Manor, Woodstock, which, as - Camden tells us, was the first park in England, Wimburn, Writtle-Park, - Warwick-Castle, Wentworth.” - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -CHARACTERISTICS OF PARK SCENERY. - -How delicious is our old park scenery! How wise that such places as -Richmond, Greenwich, and such old parks in the neighbourhood of the -Metropolis, are kept up and kept open, that our citizens may -occasionally get out of the smoke and noise of the great Babel, and -breathe all their freshness, and feel all their influence! Who does not -often, in the midst of brick-and-mortar regions, summon up before his -imagination this old park or forest scenery? The ferny or heathy slopes, -under old, stately, gnarled oaks, or thorns as old, with ivy having -stems nearly as thick as their own, climbing up them, and clinging to -them, and sometimes incorporating itself so completely with their heads, -as to make them look entirely ivy-trees. The footpaths, with turf short -and soft as velvet, running through the bracken. The sunny silence that -lies on the open glades and brown uplands; the cool breezy feeling under -the shade; the grashopper _chithering_ amongst the bents; the hawk -hovering and whimpering over-head; the keeper lounging along in -velveteen jacket, and with his gun, at a distance, or firing at some -destructive bird. The herds of deer, fallow or red, congregated beneath -the shadow of the trees, or lying in the sun if not too warm, their -quick ears and tails keeping up a perpetual twinkle; the belling of -scattered deer, as they go bounding and mincing daintily across the -openings, here and there,--the old ones hoarse and deep, the young -shrill and plaintive. Cattle with whisking tails, grazing sedately; the -woodpecker’s laughter from afar; the little tree-creeper running up the -ancient boles, always beginning at the bottom, and going upwards with a -quick, gliding, progress--the quaint cries of other birds and wild -creatures, the daws and the rooks feeding together, and mingling their -different voices of pert and grave accent. The squirrel running with -extended tail along the ground, or flourishing it over his head, as he -sits on the tree; or fixing himself, when suddenly come upon, in the -attitude of an old, brown, decayed branch by the tree side, as -motionless as the deadest branch in the forest. The hum of insects all -around you, the low still murmur of sunny music, - - Nature’s ceaseless hum, - Voice of the desert, never dumb. - -The pheasant’s crow; the pheasant with all her brood springing around -you, one by one, from the turf where you are standing amid the -bracken--here one! there one! close under your feet, with a sudden, -startling whirr,--to compare nature with art, country scenes with city -ones, like so many squibs and crackers fired off about you in smart -succession, where you don’t look for them. That most ancient and most -original of all ladders, a bough with some pegs driven through it, -reared against a tree for the keeper to reach the nests of hawks or -magpies, or to fetch down a brood of young jackdaws for a pie, quite as -savoury a dish as one made with young rooks or pigeons; or for him to -sit aloft amongst the foliage, and watch for the approach of deer, or -fawn, when he is commissioned to shoot one. The profound and basking -silence all around you, as you sit on some dry ferny mound, and look far -and wide through the glimmering heat, or the cool shadow. The far-off -sounds--rooks telling of some old Hall that stands slumberously amid the -woods; or dogs, sending from their hidden kennel amongst the trees, -their sonorous yelling. Forest smells, that rise up deliciously as you -cross dim thickets or tread the spongy turf all fragrant with thyme, and -sprinkled with the light harebell. Huge limbs of oak riven off by -tempests, or the old oak itself, a vast, knotty, and decayed mass, lying -on the ground, and perhaps the woodman gravely labouring upon it, -lopping its boughs, riving its huge, misshapen stem, piling it in stacks -of cord-wood, or binding them into billets. The keeper’s house near, in -its own paled enclosure; and all about, old thorns hung with the dried -and haggard remains of wild-cats, polecats, weasels, hawks, owls, jays, -and other _vermin_, as he deems them; or the same most picturesquely -displayed on the sturdy boles of the vast oaks; and lastly, the mere, -the lake, in the depth of the woodlands, shrouded in screening masses of -flags and reeds, the beautiful flowering-rush, the magnificent great -water-dock, with leaves as huge and green as if they grew by some Indian -river--the tall club-mace, the thousands of wild-ducks, teals, or -wigeons, that start up at your approach with clattering wings, and cries -of quick alarm. - -Who that has wandered through our old parks and forests, is not familiar -with all these sights and sounds? does not long to witness them again, -ever and anon, when he has been “long in city pent,” till he is fain to -mount his horse and ride off into some such ancient, quiet, and dreamy -region, as Crabbe suddenly mounted his, and rode forty miles to see -again the sea? - -[Illustration] - - - - -PART IV. - -CAUSES OF THE STRONG ATTACHMENT OF THE ENGLISH TO COUNTRY LIFE. - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE LOVE OF THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL IN NATURE MORE EMINENTLY DEVELOPED -IN MODERN LITERATURE THAN IN THE CLASSICAL. - -One of the most conspicuous features of English literature, is that -intense love of the sublime and beautiful in Nature, which pervades, -with a living spirit, the works of our poets; gives so peculiar a charm -to the writings of our naturalists; possesses great prominence in our -travellers; is mingled with the fervent breathings of our religious -treatises; and even finds its way into the volumes of our philosophy. If -we look into the literature of the continental nations, we find it -existing there, more or less, but in a lower tone than in our own; if we -look back into that of the ancients, we find it there too, but still -fainter, more confined in its scope, and scattered, as it were, into -distant and isolated spots. I think nothing can be more striking than -the truth of this; and it is a curious matter of observation, that there -should be this great distinction, and of inquiry whence it has arisen. -The love of the beauty and sublimity of Nature is an inherent principle -in the human soul; but like all other of our finer qualities, it is -later in its development than the common ones, and requires, not -repression, but fostering and cultivation. It is like the love of the -fine arts; it slumbers in the bosom that passes through life in its -native rudeness. It lies in the unploughed ground of the human mind,--a -seed buried below the influence that alone can call it into activity. - - Yes, like unfolded flowers beneath the sea; - Like the man’s thoughts, dark in the infant brain; - Like aught that is, which wraps what is to be; - -there it lies, deep in the soil of common events and cares, and -untouched by the divine atmosphere of knowledge which a more easy and -advanced condition brings with it. In others, it is partially vivified, -but cannot flourish; it is choked with the cares of the world, and the -deceitfulness of riches; but in minds that are fed with substantial -knowledge, and have their intellectual power reached, and their -affections kindled by the blessedness of refined and Christian -culture,--then it grows with their growth and strengthens with their -strength. It daily enlarges its grasp, and its appetite; it expands -perpetually the circle of its horizon. The love of the fine arts is but -a modification of this great passion. Their objects are the same--the -sublime and the beautiful; and the same purity and elevation of taste -accompany them both. This is the original and legitimate passion. In our -love of the fine arts, our attention is occupied with human imitations -of what is beautiful in nature;--in this, we fix our admiration at once -on the magnificent works of the Great Artist of the Universe. - -We might, therefore, reasonably expect to find in the literature of the -ancients, what is actually the case, a less refined, less expanded, less -penetrating and absorbing existence of this affection. Everywhere the -love of nature must exist. In all ages and all countries, so is the -outward universe framed to influence the inward, that men must be -impressed by the grandeur of creation, and attracted by its beauty, so -far as the human is at all advanced beyond the limits of mere animal -existence. But in the ancient world education was never popular; it -extended only to a few; and of these few a majority were occupied in the -pursuits of art, or the speculations of philosophy; and poetry, and -especially the poetry of nature, had scanty followers. The great poets -of all ages, even of those but semi-civilized, must necessarily have -minds so sensitive to the influence of all kinds of beauty that they -could not help being alive to that of nature; and this was the case with -the great poets of Greece. We put out of the present question the -dramatic and lyrical ones; for to them the passions and interests of men -were the engrossing objects; but in Homer, Hesiod, and Theocritus, we -may fairly expect to discover the amount of the ancients’ perception of -natural beauty, and their love of it. But in these how far is it behind -what it is in the moderns. They were often enraptured with the -pleasantness of nature, but it was seldom with more than its -pleasantness. Their Elysian Fields are composed of flowery meads, with -pleasant trees and running waters, where the happy spirits led a life of -luxurious repose. Their celebrated Arcadia is faithfully described in -such Idyllia as those of Bion and Moschus;--youths and damsels feeding -their flocks amid the charms of a pastoral country, to whose beauties -they were alive in proportion as they ministered to luxurious enjoyment. -Beyond this they seldom looked;--seldom describe the sublime aspects and -phenomena of the universe. Homer, indeed, is the greatest -exception,--his soul was cast in a mighty mould. His beautiful -description of a moonlight night is known to all readers. He speaks, -too, of the splendour of the starry heavens; and he describes tempests -with great majesty; but this rather as they are terrible in their -effects on men, than as sublime in themselves. Minds even of the noblest -class had not arrived at that full comprehension of nature which sees -sublimity in the gloom and terror of tempests, independent of their -effects; the grandeur of beauty in desolation itself; in splintered -mountains, wild wildernesses, and the awfulness of solitude. They had -not become tremblingly alive to all the lesser traces and shades of -beauty in the face of nature, for they had not reached either of the -extremities of perception--the vast on one hand--minute perfection on -the other. They did not pursue the forms of beauty into leaf and flower; -into the cheerful culture of the field, or the brown tinges of the -desert. They did not watch the growing or fading lights of the sky, and -the colours, as they lived or died on the distant mountain tops;--the -passing of light and shadow over earth and ocean. Their acquaintance -with the subtle spirit of the universe had not become so intimate. They -abode most in the general; they admired in the mass; for they had not -arrived at the refinement of very delicate, or extensive analysis; and -they did not go out to admire as the moderns; their admiration of nature -was not advanced, as with us, into an art and a passion. Beauty rather -fell upon their senses than was inquired after. They were pleased, and -did not always seek out the operative causes of their sensations. Their -mention of their delight was, therefore, generally incidental. They were -in the condition and state of mind of the old man in Wordsworth’s -ballad, who says-- - - Think you, mid all this mighty sum - Of things for ever speaking, - That nothing of itself will come, - But we must still be seeking? - -That Homer had an eye for the sublime features of earth, the nobler -forms of animal life, and phenomena of nature,--his bold and beautiful -similes, scattered all through the Iliad, of storms, of overflowing -rivers, of forests on flame, of the lion, the horse, and others, -sufficiently testify; that he had a most exquisite sense of the -picturesque, is shewn in almost every page of the Odyssey; in the cave -of Polypheme; in good old king Laertes occupied in his farm; and in the -whole episode of Ulysses at the lodge of Eumeus, the goatherd. But yet -it is, after all, only in contemplating some scene of delicious rural -beauty, something akin to Arcadian sweetness, that he breaks out into -anything like a rapture. The abode of Calypso, as seen by Hermes on his -approach to it, is an exact instance. - - Then, swift ascending from the azure wave, - He took the path that winded to the cave. - Large was the grot in which the nymph he found, - The fair-haired nymph, with every beauty crowned. - She sate and sung; the rocks resound the lays; - The cave was brightened with the rising blaze; - Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile, - Flamed on the hearth, and wide perfumed the isle, - While she with work and song the time divides, - And through the loom the golden shuttle guides. - Without the grot a various sylvan scene - Appeared around, and groves of living green; - Poplars and alders, ever quivering, played, - And nodding cypress formed a grateful shade; - On whose high branches, waving with the storm, - The birds of broadest wing their mansion form; - The chough, the sea-mew, and loquacious crow, - And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. - Depending vines the delving caverns screen, - With purple clusters blushing through the green. - Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil; - And every fountain forms a separate rill, - In mazy, winding wanderings down the hill: - Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were crowned, - And glowing violets threw odours round-- - A scene, where if a god should cast his sight, - A god might gaze and wander with delight! - Joy touched the messenger of heaven; he stayed - Entranced, and all the blissful haunt surveyed. - - _Odyssey_, B. v. - -In Hesiod, the perception of even the delights of the summer field were -far fainter. Though he fed his flock at the foot of Mount Helicon, he -has little to say in praise of its aspect; and though he gives you great -insight into the state of agriculture, and the simple mode of life of -the country people, a very few verses furnish almost all the praise of -nature which he had to bestow. His mind seemed occupied in tracing the -genealogy of the gods, and framing grave maxims for the regulation of -human conduct. - -Of all the Greek writers, Theocritus is the one that luxuriates most in -natural beauty. His sense of the picturesque is keen, and his penciling -of such subjects is most vigorous and graphic. His two fishermen remind -us of Crabbe; nothing can be more exquisite. - - Two ancient fishers in a straw-thatched shed-- - Leaves were their walls, and sea-weed was their bed, - Reclined their weary limbs; hard by were laid - Baskets and all their implements of trade; - Rods, hooks, and lines composed of stout horse-hairs, - And nets of various sorts, and various snares, - The seine, the cast-net, and the wicker maze, - To waste the watery tribe a thousand ways; - A crazy boat was drawn upon a plank; - Mats were their pillow, wove of osiers dank; - Skins, caps, and coats, a rugged covering made; - This was their wealth, their labour and their trade. - No pot to boil, no watch-dog to defend, - Yet blessed they lived with penury their friend; - None visited their shed, save, every tide, - The wanton waves that washed its tottering side. - - _Idyl._ xxi. - -Then again, nothing can be more picturesque, nothing more boldly graphic -and solemnly poetical, than the situation in which he makes Castor and -Pollux find Anycus, the king of Bebrycia; nothing more striking than the -image of that chief. - - Meanwhile, the royal brothers devious strayed - Far from the shore, and sought the cooling shade. - Hard by, a hill with waving forests crowned, - Their eyes attracted; in the dale they found - A spring perennial in a rocky cave: - Full to the margin flowed the lucid wave; - Below small fountains gushed, and murmuring near, - Sparkled like silver, and as silver clear. - Above, tall pines and poplars quivering played, - And planes and cypress in dark greens arrayed; - Around balm-breathing flowers of every hue, - The bees’ ambrosia, in the meadows grew. - There sate a chief, tremendous to the eye, - His couch the rock, his canopy the sky; - The gauntlet’s strokes his cheeks and ears around, - Had marked his face with many a desperate wound. - Round as a globe, and prominent his chest, - Broad was his back, but broader was his breast; - Firm was his flesh, with iron sinews fraught, - Like some Colossus on an anvil wrought. - - _Id._ xxii. - -His description of an ancient drinking-cup appears to me to have no -rival in all the round of literature, ancient or modern, except Keats’ -description of an antique vase. It is life and beauty itself. The -figures stand out in bold relief, cut with an energy and precision most -wonderful, and with a grace that makes itself felt to the very depths of -the spirit. - - A deep, two-handled cup, whose brim is crowned - With ivy, joined with helichryse around; - Small tendrils with close-clasping arms uphold - The fruit rich speckled with the seeds of gold. - Within, a woman’s well-wrought image shines, - A vest her limbs, her locks a cawl confines; - And near, two neat-curled youths in amorous strains, - With fruitless strife communicate their pains; - Smiling, by turns she views the rival pair; - Grief swells their eyes, their heavy hearts despair. - Hard by, a fisherman, advanced in years, - On the rough margin of a rock appears; - Intent he stands to enclose the fish below, - Lifts a large net, and labours with the throw; - Such strong expression rises on the sight, - You’d swear the man exerted all his might; - For his round neck with turgid veins appears-- - _In years he seems, yet not impaired by years_. - A vineyard next with intersected lines,-- - And red, ripe clusters load the bending vines. - To guard the fruit a boy sits idly by, - In ambush near two skulking foxes lie; - This, plots the branches of ripe grapes to strip, - And that, more daring, meditates the scrip; - Resolved, ere long, to seize the savoury prey, - And send the youngster dinnerless away; - Meanwhile on rushes all his art he plies, - In framing traps for grashoppers and flies; - And earnest only on his own designs, - Forgets his satchel, and neglects his vines. - - _Id._ i. - -What a glorious subject would this be for one of our modern sculptors. - -But in Theocritus, as in Homer, they are Arcadian amenities that engross -almost all his passion for nature. They are flowery fields, running -waters, summer shades, and the hum of bees; all the elements of -voluptuous dreaming and indolent entrancement; the most delicious of all -idleness, lying abroad with the blue sky above you, and the mossy turf -beneath you, and the bubble of running waters, and the whisper of forest -branches near, to lull you to repose. Is it not so? When is it that he -invites you to out-of-door enjoyment? - - Now when meridian beams inflame the day; - Now when green lizards in the hedges lie; - And crested larks forsake the fervid sky. - - _Id._ vii. - -And whither would he lead you at this sultry, blazing hour? Ah! hear -him! - - Here rest we: lo! cyperus decks the ground, - Oaks lend their shade, and sweet bees murmur round - Their honeyed hives; here, two cool fountains spring; - Here merrily the birds on branches sing; - Here pines in clusters more umbrageous grow, - Wave high their heads, and scatter cones below. - - _Id._ v. - -Ah! cunning Sicilian! well didst thou know where life shed its most -delicious dreams. Anacreon at his wine, and Tibullus in the rapture of -one of his sweetest love-visions, was a novice in true enjoyment to -thee. Hark! to the very sounds which he conjures up! There is nothing -startling--nothing exciting.--No! there is enough of excitement already -in the climate, in the summer heat, in the very scenes and persons from -whose city revels he has just withdrawn. The true secret now is, to -summon up only images of luxurious rest; of calm beauty; of refreshing -coolness; that the blood, already running riot, may flow in the veins -like the nectar of the gods, and send up to the brain images and trains -of images of the very poetry of Elysium. Hark to the sounds about you! - - Sweet low the herds along the pastured ground; - Sweet is the vocal reed’s melodious sound; - Sweet pipes the jocund herdsman. - -But I will give one more extract from him, which seems to combine all -the fascinations he loved to paint as existing in the summer woodlands. - - He courteous bade us on soft beds recline, - Of lentesch and young branches of the vine; - Poplars and elms above their foliage spread, - Lent a cool shade, and waved the breezy head. - Below, a stream, from the nymphs’ sacred cave, - In free meanders led its murmuring wave; - In the warm sunbeams, verdant shrubs among, - Shrill grashoppers renewed their plaintive song; - At distance far, concealed in shades alone, - The nightingale poured forth her tuneful moan: - The lark, the goldfinch, warbled lays of love, - And sweetly pensive cooed the turtle-dove; - While honey-bees, for ever on the wing, - Hummed round the flowers, and sipped the silver spring. - The rich, ripe season gratified the sense - With summer’s sweets and autumn’s redolence. - Apples and pears lay strewed in heaps around, - And the plum’s loaded branches kissed the ground. - - _Id._ vii. - -Well, we must pass over from the Greeks to the Romans, and I have found -it so difficult to escape from Theocritus, that we must make short work -of it here. Of Cicero, Seneca, the Plinys,--I will say nothing. We all -know how they delighted in their country villas and gardens. We all know -how Cicero, in his Treatise on Old Age, has declared his fondness for -farming; and how, between his pleadings in the Forum, he used to seek -the refreshment of a walk in a grove of plane-trees. We know how, during -the best ages of the Commonwealth, their generals and dictators were -brought from the plough and their country retreats--a fine feature in -the Roman character, and one which may, in part, account for their so -long retaining the simplicity of their tastes, and that high tone of -virtue which generally accompanies a daily intercourse with the spirit -of nature. All this we know; but what is still more remarkable is, that -Horace and Virgil, two of the most courtly poets that ever existed, yet -were both passionately fond of the country, and perpetually declare in -their writings that there is nothing in the splendour and fascinations -of city life, to compare with the serene felicity of a rural one. Horace -is perpetually rejoicing over his Sabine farm; and Virgil has, in his -Georgics, described all the rural economy of the age with a gusto that -is felt in every line. His details fill us with admiration at the great -resemblance of the science of these matters at that time, and at this. -With scarcely an exception, in all modes of rural management, in all -kinds of farming stock--sheep, cattle, and horses, he would be now -pronounced a consummate judge; and his rules for the culture of fields -and gardens, would serve for studies here, notwithstanding the -difference of the Italian and English climates. But it is only in that -celebrated passage beginning-- - - O fortunatos nimiùm, sua si bona nôrint, - Agricolas! - -in his second Georgic, so often quoted, that he seems to get into a -rapture when contemplating the charms of a country life. We may take -this as a sufficient example, and as very delightful in itself. - - Oh happy, if he knew his happy state, - The swain who free from business and debate, - Receives his easy food from Nature’s hand, - And just returns of cultivated land. - No palace with a lofty gate he wants, - To admit the tide of early visitants, - With eager eyes, devouring as they pass, - The breathing figures of Corinthian brass; - No statues threaten from high pedestals, - No Persian arras hides his homely walls - With antic vests, which, through their shadowy fold, - Betray the streaks of ill-dissembled gold. - He boasts no wool where native white is dyed - With purple poison of Assyrian pride. - No costly drugs of Araby defile, - With foreign scents, the sweetness of his oil: - But easy quiet, a secure retreat, - A harmless life that knows not how to cheat, - With home-bred plenty the rich owner bless, - And rural pleasures crown his happiness. - Unvexed with quarrels, undisturbed by noise, - The country king his peaceful realm enjoys. - - * * * * - - Ye sacred Muses! with whose beauty fired, - My soul is ravished, and my brain inspired-- - Whose priest I am, whose holy fillets wear-- - Would you your poet’s first petition hear; - Give me the way of wandering stars to know, - The depths of heaven above, and earth below. - - * * * * - - But if my heavy blood restrain the flight - Of my free soul, aspiring to the height - Of nature, and unclouded fields of light-- - My next desire is, void of care and strife, - To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life-- - A country cottage near a crystal flood, - A winding valley, and a lofty wood. - Some god conduct me to the sacred shades - Where Bacchanals are sung by Spartan maids; - Or lift me high to Hemus’ hilly crown, - Or in the plains of Tempe lay me down, - Or lead me to some solitary place, - And cover my retreat from human race. - -Turn now to the modern world of literature; and what a blaze of light, -what a warmth, what a spirit, what a passion bursts upon us! We step, -indeed, into a new world. All here is glowing, clear in view, tender in -feeling; full of a new, profound, popular, and yet domestic sentiment--a -sentiment befitting “the large utterance of the early gods,” and yet -hallowing and making more brotherly the bosoms of men. We are, in fact, -as far advanced beyond the ancients in our knowledge of nature, as we -are in that of “the life and immortality brought to light by the -gospel.” With all the admiration of the ancients for the loveliness of -nature, with all their enjoyment of its amenities, what is there in them -like the hungering and thirsting, the yearning after her, of such hearts -as those of Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, and a thousand other -lights of modern literature? The mighty difference is, indeed, most -strikingly manifested by comparing Longinus and Burke. The Palmyrian -secretary, amongst his five sources of the sublime, does not even -include the influence of natural objects. His treatise is, indeed, more -truly a treatise on writing strongly and elegantly, than on the sublime. -Like the poets, he perceives the amenities of the country; but there is -only one passage in his whole work in which he speaks out plainly of the -sublimity of external nature. “The impulse of nature inclines to admire -not a little transparent rivulet that ministers to our necessities; but -the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or still more, the Ocean. We are never -surprised at the sight of a small fire that burns clearly, and blazes -out on our private hearth; but view with amaze the celestial fires, -though they are often obscured by vapours and eclipses. Nor do we reckon -anything in nature more wonderful than the boiling furnaces of Etna, -which cast out stones, and sometimes whole rocks from their labouring -abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid and unmingled flame.” - -See how Burke has expanded and worked out this glimpse of the true view. -He is full of the mighty influence of Nature’s sublime features. Her -heights and depths, her horrors and glooms, the demonstrations of her -power and grandeur in storms, earthquakes, and volcanoes. Infinity and -Eternity are all before him in their awful majesty, and furnish him with -some of his deepest sources and most splendid illustrations of the -sublime. - -But the fact must be evident to every one. A single glance from the -ancients to the moderns, and what a contrast! Throughout all the -writings of the most enthusiastic ancients, where are the burning, -passionate longings after nature that are transfused through all our -modern literature? Nature is not with us a thing incidentally alluded -to,--a thing to be voluptuously enjoyed when we find ourselves in the -flowery lap of May; ours is a living, permeating, perpetual affection. -We seek after communion with her as one of the highest enjoyments of our -existence; we seek it to soothe the ruffling of our spirits; to calm our -world-vexed hearts; to fill us with the divine presence and -overshadowing of beauty. The love of her is with us a daily attraction; -the knowledge of her a daily pursuit; we have advanced her cognizance -and admiration into a science. Our naturalists feel the breathings of a -celestial spirit come from her secret shrines, even while they are -seeking after and arranging her lesser forms and productions. Our -romance writers dip their pens in her hues to cast a fascination upon -their narratives; and our travellers climb every mountain, traverse -every sea, explore every distant region, to catch fresh glimpses of her -beauty. True, many of these may not, and do not, feel all the attachment -they profess--there are thousands who do but affect it, as they do any -other fashion; but their very imitation, and their very number, do -homage to the great worship of the age. - -But it is through our poetry that the admiration of nature is diffused -as one great soul. From Chaucer to the most recent poet, it is the -universal spirit. It would seem a contradiction now, to say that a man -is a poet, but that he has no ardent feeling for nature. In fact, a new -language, a new kind of inspiration, distinguish the modern poets from -the ancients altogether. Great as each may respectively be, their -object, their vision, and their tone in this particular, are widely -opposed. When do we find one of the classical writers, speaking thus of -his youth? - - Like a roe - I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides - Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, - Wherever nature led; more like a man - Flying from something that he dreads, than one - Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then, - To me was all in all--I cannot paint - What then I was. The sounding cataract - Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, - The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, - Their colours and their forms were then to me - An appetite, a feeling, and a love, - That had no need of a remoter charm - By thought supplied, or any interest - Unborrowed of the eye. - - _Wordsworth._ - -We should be startled to hear an ancient exclaim, like Shelley: - - Magnificent! - How glorious art thou earth! And if thou be - The shadow of some spirit lovelier still, - Though evil stain its work, and it should be, - Like its creation, weak yet beautiful, - I could fall down and worship that and thee. - Even now my heart adoreth. Wonderful! - -What would be our astonishment, if we were to stumble in an ancient -poet, upon stanzas like these? - - I live not in myself, but I become - Portion of that around me; and to me - High mountains are a feeling, but the hum - Of human cities torture; I can see - Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be - A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, - Classed among creatures, when the soul can flee, - And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain - Of ocean or the stars, mingle and not in vain. - - And thus I am absorbed, and this is life! - I look upon the peopled desert past, - As on a place of agony and strife - Where for some sin, to sorrow I was cast. - To act and suffer, but remount at last - With a fresh pinion; which I feel to spring, - Though young, yet waxing vigorous, as the blast - Which it would cope with, on delighted wing - Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling. - - And when, at length, the mind shall all be free - From what it hates in this degraded form, - Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be - Existent happier in the fly and worm,-- - When elements to elements conform, - And dust is what it should be, shall I not - Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm? - The bodiless thought, the spirit of each spot, - Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot? - - Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part - Of me and of my soul, as I of them? - Is not the love of these deep in my heart - With a pure passion? Shall I not contemn - All objects, if compared with these? and stem - A tide of suffering rather than forego - Such feelings, for the hard and worldly phlegm - Of those whose eyes are only turned below, - Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts that dare not glow? - -To quote all that bears evidence of this wonderful revolution in the -very heart of literature would be, not to quote indeed, but to take the -whole mass of modern poetry. Powerfully as the spirit of the ancients -was attracted by the sublimity of mortal passion and mortal fortunes; by -the strife of families and nations, by the strife of emotions in the -soul, and the out-bursting of a blasting or a beneficent sublimity in -the deeds of men; and magnificent as are the monuments of tragic or -heroic grandeur they have erected on this foundation,--so powerfully is -the spirit of the moderns drawn, excited, and inflamed by the sublimity -of nature, and beautiful and endearing are the strains it has elicited. -And whence is this mighty change? Ay, that is the question. Whence is it -that the love of Nature has, in the latter ages, become so much more -passionate, intense, engrossing, refined, elevated, etherealized? Is it -because we see Nature with different eyes? Is it that we see something -in it that the classics did not? It is! It is to that omnipotent -principle that has so utterly changed the whole system of human -philosophy, morals, politics, literature, and social life--the hopes, -the fortunes, the reasonings of men, that we owe it. IT IS TO -CHRISTIANITY! The veil which was rent asunder in the hour that its -Divine Founder consummated his mission, was plucked away not only from -the heart of man, not only from the immortality of his being, but from -the face of Nature. A mystery and a doubt which had hung athwart the sky -like a vast and gloomy cloud, was withdrawn, and man beheld Creation as -the assured work of God: saw a parental hand guiding, sustaining, and -embellishing it: and immediately felt himself brought into a near -kinship with it, and into an everlasting sympathy with all that was -beautiful around him,--not simply for the beauty itself, but because it -was the work of the one Great Father--the one Great Fountain of all life -and blessing. - -The very introduction to the Hebrew literature in the Old Testament, -must have produced a deep and delightful change in human feeling. The -contrast between the sentiment and the very language of nature, as -addressed to man in the literature of the Greeks and that of the -Hebrews, was startling, warming and wonderful beyond measure. The beauty -of natural objects was no longer a thing apart;--a thing to be admired -on its own account; it was allied to a deep sentiment, it became linked -to the life of our inner nature. Waters were beheld as the bountiful -blessing of Him “who giveth rain upon the earth, and sendeth waters upon -the field.” They became the emblem of that inward purity of which the -noblest pagan could form no adequate conception, but which the God of -the Hebrews required. They symbolized many of the evils, as well as the -refreshments of life. Now they typified, “brethren that deal deceitfully -as a brook, and as the stream of brooks that pass away; which are -brackish by reason of the ice, and wherein the snow is hid:” now, they -were as the billows of affliction,--scenes of trouble--“all thy billows -have gone over me:” and now they were as the refreshment of a thirsty -soul. The greenness of the grass and of the branch pointed to the -beauty, the fleeting beauty of life; and now to the insecure prosperity -of the unjust:--“He is green before the sun, and his branch shooteth -forth in his garden; his roots are wrapped about the heap, and he seeth -the place of stones. If he destroy him from his place, then it shall -deny him, saying I have not seen him. Behold this is the joy of his way, -and out of the earth shall others grow.” - -Every thing in nature, the flower--the wind--the spider’s web--darkness -and light--calm and tempest--drought and flood--the shadow and the -noon-day heat--a great rock in a weary land--every thing about us, and -above us, acquired in this splendid and inimitable literature, a new and -touching meaning; a meaning bound up with our lives; a worth coeval -with our highest hopes, or most fervent desires. Every thing became a -moral and a warning. They were made to illustrate not only the -operations of providence, but to cast a new light upon our intellectual -being. They did not, indeed, speak out as to the exact value stamped -upon man by the Deity, but they gave intimations more profound and -startling than anything in the whole round of pagan philosophy. And -then, there was an undertone of sorrow, a voice of plaintive regret over -man--a delicacy and tenderness of phrase that wonderfully attracted and -endeared. What ineffable melancholy is there in these following -sentiments! What an intense longing after life, and yet, what a longing -for death! What a vivid feeling of the grinding evils of mortal being; -and what images of the fulness of peace in the grave!--“Why died I not -from the womb? For now should I have lain still, and been quiet; I -should have slept: then had I been at rest. With kings and counsellors -of the earth, which had built desolate places for themselves; or with -princes that had gold, who filled their houses with silver; or, as a -hidden, untimely birth, I had not been; as infants which never saw the -light. There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary are at -rest. There the prisoners rest together, they hear not the voice of the -oppressor. The small and the great is there; and the servant is free -from his master. Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery; and -life unto the bitter in soul? Which long for death, but it cometh not; -and dig for it more than for hid treasures? Which rejoice exceedingly, -and are glad when they can find the grave?” Job iii. 11-22. - -But this new alliance with nature; this new and spiritual beauty cast -upon every thing, was not all. The magnificence of Creation and its -phenomena were made tenfold conspicuous; and still beyond this, men were -no longer left to suppose, or even to contend that the world was the -workmanship of Deity. They were no longer left to bewilder themselves -amongst a host of imaginary gods,--the universe in its majesty, and -God--the one sublime and eternal founder and preserver of it, were -flashed upon the spiritual vision in the broadest and brightest light. -Here was seen the clear and continuous history of Creation:--God, the -sole and immortal, sate upon the circle of the world, and its -inhabitants were as grashoppers before him. The sun, moon, and stars -were of his ordaining and appointing; night and day, times and seasons, -revolved before him; his were the cattle on a thousand hills; his all -the swarming tribes of humanity. The prophetic writings proclaimed his -deity, his power and attributes, in language unparalleled in splendour, -and with imagery which embraced all that is glorious, resplendent, -beautiful and soothing, or dark, desolate and withering, in nature. - -Such was the effect of the Old Testament;--and then came the New!--then -came Christ! The Old shewed us the Deity in unspeakable majesty;--his -creation as beautiful and sublime;--Christ proclaimed him THE FATHER OF -MEN; and in those words poured on earth a new light. The words which -guaranteed the eternity of our spirits, chased a dimness from the sky -which had hung there from the days of Adam: they rent down the curtains -of death and oblivion, and let fall upon earth such a tide of sunshine -as never warmed it till then. The atmosphere of heaven gushed down to -earth. From that hour a new and inextinguishable interest was given us -in nature. It was the work of our Father: it was the birthplace of -millions of everlasting souls. Its hills and valleys then smiled in an -ethereal beauty, for they were then to our eyes spread out by a mighty -and tender parent for our happy abodes. The waters ran with a voice of -gladness; the clouds sailed over us with a new aspect of delight; the -wind blew, and the leaves fluttered in it, and whispered everywhere of -life--eternal consciousness--eternal enjoyment of intellect and of love. -Through all things we felt a portion of the divine, paternal Spirit -diffused, and “the wilderness and the solitary place” thenceforth had a -language for our hearts full of the holy peace and the revelations of -eternity. Then the musing poet felt, what it has been reserved for one -in our day only fully to express:-- - - A presence that disturbed him with the joy - Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime - Of something far more deeply interfused, - Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, - And the round ocean, and the living air, - And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: - A motion and a spirit that impels - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, - And rolls through all things. Therefore is he still - A lover of the meadows and the woods - And mountains; and of all that we behold - From this green earth: of all the mighty world - Of eye and ear, both what they half create - And what perceive; well pleased to recognise - In nature and the language of the sense, - The anchor of his purest thoughts; the nurse, - The guide, the guardian of his heart, and soul - Of all his moral being. - -Thus, then, is dissipated the mystery of the more intense love of Nature -evinced by the moderns than the ancients. It is but part of that gift of -divine revelation which has endowed us with so many other advantages -over those grand old philosophers of antiquity, who in the depths of -their hearts, darkened and abused by many an hereditary superstition, -yet found some of the unquenched embers of that fire of love and -knowledge originally kindled there by the Creator, and cherished and -fanned them into a noble flame. Had they heard from heaven these living -words pronounced--GOD IS LOVE!--had they seen the great ladder of -revelation reared from earth to heaven, and been permitted to trace -every radiant step by which man is allowed to ascend from these lower -regions into the blaze of God’s own paradise, their spirits would have -kindled into as intense a glow as ours, and their vision have become as -conscious of surrounding glories. GOD IS LOVE! These are words of -miraculous power. Once assured that the very principle and source of all -life is love, and that it is destined to cast its beams on our heads -through eternal ages, we become filled with a felicity beyond the power -of earthly evil. All those intimations that creation itself had given -us, are confirmed. We feel the influence of the great principle of -beneficence in the joy of our own being; in the cheerfulness of -surrounding humanity; in the voices and songs of happy creatures; in the -face of earth, and the lights of heaven. Seas, mountains, and forests, -all become imbued with beauty as they are contemplated in love; and -their aspects and their sounds fill us with sensations of happiness. -When we read in the Phædon of Plato, the few and feeble grounds, as they -now appear to us, on which that good old Socrates raised his arguments -for the immortality of the soul; when we hear his exultation on -discovering in Anaxagoras the principle laid down, that “the divine -intellect was the cause of all beings,” we feel with what deep transport -he would have witnessed the gates of eternity set wide by the Divine -hand; and in what hues of heaven the very circumstance would have -invested all about him. Yes! the only difference between modern -literature and that of the ancients, lies in our grand advantage over -them in this particular. It is from the literature of the Bible, and the -heirship of immortality laid open to us in it, that we owe our enlarged -conceptions of natural beauty, and our quickened affections towards the -handiworks of God. We walk about the world as its true heirs, and heirs -of far more than it has to give. We walk about in confidence, in love, -and in peaceful hope; for we know that we are the rightful sons of the -house; and that neither death nor distance can interrupt our progress -towards the home-paradise of the Divine Father. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE PRE-EMINENCE OF THE LOVE OF NATURE IN THE ENGLISH LITERATURE OVER -THAT OF ALL OTHER MODERN NATIONS--THE PROMOTION OF THIS PASSION BY THE -WRITINGS OF PROFESSOR WILSON, IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE; AND BY THE -WOOD-CUTS OF BEWICK--MEANS OF STILL FURTHER ENCOURAGING IT. - -In the former chapter I have endeavoured to point out the existence of a -striking difference as it regards the love of nature between the -classical and modern literature, and to explain, and I hope -successfully, the principal causes of it. But it is not the less true, -that almost as great a difference exists in this same respect between -our British literature, and that of almost all other modern nations. I -do not intend to go about very laboriously to attempt to prove this -fact, for I think it stands sufficiently self-evident on the face of all -modern literature. In science, in art, in history; philosophy, natural -and moral; in theological, philological and classical inquiries, the -continental nations have attained the highest honours. In biography the -French are unrivalled; in autobiography the Germans are equally so. In -some species of poetry the Germans contest the palm with us; in -mathematical industry, and historical research, they are greatly our -superiors; but with the solitary exceptions of Gesner, Sturm, and St. -Pierre, where have they any writers to range with our Evelyns, Whites, -and Waltons? or poets, with our Thomsons and Bloomfields? or indeed, -with the whole series of our poets who do not professedly write on the -country, but are irresistibly led to it; and from whom the love of it -breaks out on all occasions? In the French, the social feeling is the -most strongly developed; in the Italian, passion and fancy; in the -German, the metaphysical. The Germans, indeed, most strongly resemble -the English in their literary tastes. There seems to be a fellow-feeling -between them, resulting from ancient kinship. They have a similar -character of simplicity; they are alike grave, solid, and domestic, and -prone to deep and melancholy thought. They have a love of nature deep as -ours, for the tone of their minds makes them, in every thing they do -attach themselves to, earnest and enthusiastic. In every thing relating -to the affections, their literature is unrivalled; their feelings are -profound, tender, and spiritual; and while a false and superficial taste -has made rapid strides amongst us of late years--a taste for glitter, -shew, and fashion, the natural accompaniment of wealth and luxury, a -growing fondness for German literature must be hailed as a good omen; as -likely to give a new infusion of heart and mind to our writings; to -re-awaken our love for the simple, the domestic--the fireside love; in -fact, to bring us back to what was the ancient character of the English; -high-toned in morals, simple in manners, manly and affectionate in -heart. Their love of nature is as deep as ours; but it is not so equally -and extensively diffused. The solemn and speculative cast of their -genius has tended to link it with the gloom of forests and tempests, and -with the wild fictions of the supernatural, rather than to scatter it -over every cheerful field, and cause it to brood over every sunny -cottage-garden, amid the odour of flowers and the hum of bees. There is -something wonderfully attractive in their descriptions of the -old-fashioned homeliness of their rural and domestic manners; in the -unbustling quietness of their lives, and in the holy strength of their -family attachments. Such writings as that Idyl of Voss, describing the -manner of life of the venerable pastor of Grenau, the autobiographies of -Goethe and Stilling, seem to carry us back into the simple ages of our -own country. That which characterised them, seems to be preserved to the -present hour in Germany; and then, the affectionate intellectuality of -their minds, and their very language, so homely and yet so expressive, -cause them to abound in such touches of natural pathos as are nowhere -else to be found. Yet, when their love of nature exhibits itself in -descriptions of country life, amid all these charms, we are often -tempted to exclaim with the pastor’s wife in Voss, when in a pic-nic -party they discovered, while taking tea under the forest trees, that -they had forgotten the tea-spoons, and had to substitute pieces of stick -for them--“O, dear nature, thou art almost too natural!” - -But the aspect of the different countries is sufficiently indicative of -the natural feeling. Instead of the solitary chateau, or baronial -castle, amid dark forests, or wide unfenced plains; instead of the great -landed proprietors crowding into large towns, and the very labourers -huddling themselves into villages, and going, as they do, in some parts -of France, seven or eight miles on asses to their daily work in the -fields, the hills and valleys of England are studded all over with the -dwellings of the landed gentry, and the cottages of their husbandmen. -Villas amid shrubberies and gardens; villages environed with -old-fashioned crofts; farm-houses and cottages, singly or in groups--a -continuous chain of cultivation and rustic residences stretches from end -to end and side to side of the island. Our wealthy aristocrats have -caught a fatal passion for burying themselves in the capital in a -perpetual turmoil of political agitations, ostentatious rivalry, and -dissipation--a passion fatal to their own happiness and to the whole -character of their minds; but the love of the country is yet strong -enough in large classes to maintain our pre-eminence in this respect. -The testimony of foreigners, however, is stronger than our own; and -foreigners are always struck with the garden-like aspect of England; and -the charms of our country houses. A number of a French literary paper, -“Le Panorama de Londres,” has fallen accidentally into my hands, while -writing this, which contains an article--De la Poesie Anglaise et de la -Poesie Allemande--from which I transcribe the following passages. - -“England has produced her great epic poet, her great dramatic poet; and -the last age gave her reasoning poets in abundance. The time for the one -and the other is past. By a revolution, the causes of which it would be -difficult to trace, her poetry has changed both its character and -object; and strange enough, under the reign of a civilization the most -advanced, her poetry has returned to nature. At first, the fact strikes -us as an unaccountable anomaly; for what country owes so much to art as -England? The very aspect of the country shews everywhere the hand of -man. A scientific culture has changed its whole face. The forests have -ceased to be impenetrable; the rivers to be wild torrents; the mountains -themselves to be savage. Human industry has appropriated every thing; -fire, air, earth, every thing is subjected, every thing is tamed. The -very animals seem to submit themselves voluntarily to the service of -man. The horse himself, the English horse, so swift and powerful, -scarcely neighs with impatience, or capers with eagerness; his very -impetuosity is docile. The Englishman is in one sense the king of the -world. It is for him that every thing is in motion around him: yet he -himself is bound by unchangeable customs. He fears change. He has even a -religion of an established order. One would think nothing could be more -prosaic than a country thus laboured; yet, nevertheless, all Europe -resounds with the songs of her poets. Amid the miracles of industry, the -profusion of riches, the refinement of luxury; in the face of -steam-engines, suspension bridges, and railroads, imagination has lost -nothing of its ancient empire; on the contrary, during the last thirty -years, she has acquired more; she has been borne, as by an irresistible -influence, towards the description of natural objects and simple -sentiments. She has revelled in the charms of a poetry whose freshness -seemed to belong to another age. The fact is, if we regard England more -attentively, we shall discover her under a different aspect to what has -been usually ascribed to her; and shall be less astonished to find her -poetic in seeing her picturesque. That agriculture, so marvellous, is -far from having given up every thing to the useful; its object seems -rather to have been to embellish than to fertilize the earth. Those -fields so well tilled, are green and riant; those quiet streams flow -brimful through rich meadows; and, thanks to beautiful trees and living -hedges, the very plains are charming. Those seats where opulence parades -all its splendour, are environed by greensward pastured by abundant -cattle; and the art which designs those immense parks, seems to have no -object but to put into a frame a beautiful landscape. The taste is no -longer to dig lakes, to cast up mounts, to plant thickets; but to -inclose whole rivers, woods, and mountains. Everywhere you discover the -sentiment of the beauty of nature. You find it in every class. Neither -riches nor poverty have been able to extinguish it. We observe in other -countries that the sentiment is unknown to the peasantry. They are the -towns which they admire: to them the country is merely useful. But in -England everybody loves the country; even those who cultivate it. The -most humble cottage is a proof of it. The taste which rarely -distinguishes the architecture of the English towns, is reserved, I -think, for the country houses. The little gardens which lead to them; -the orchards which surround them; even the very bushes of jessamine or -of rose, which crown their porches or tapestry their walls, seem -designed to delight the eye. Amid the treasures of an admirable -vegetation--gothic ruins, the towers of an old manor, the arches of an -abbey, the ivy which clothes the walls of a parish church; the tree -scathed and decaying, which has no value but its age; all these things -are respected by every one as the monuments of the past, or the -ornaments of the country. The whole population interests itself in every -thing which adorns its abode; and this nation, the queen of commerce and -industry, seems to recollect with affection, that it is to the earth -that she owes her wealth, her glory, and her greatness. - -“An analogous sentiment pervades the poetry of the English. The verses -of their good poets seem to have been composed in the open air; all -external objects are by them faithfully portrayed; the impressions they -produce are faithfully rendered. Simple sentiments, those of a domestic -nature, so well protected by a country life, in them preserve all their -force and all their purity. Their recitals are often the most touching -and familiar; when they turn upon great adventures, they are related as -they would be on a winter’s evening before the fire of an ancient -castle, or of a humble cottage. Scarcely an English poet is wanting in -descriptive talent, not even the least celebrated amongst them. It -shines with great _eclat_ in Burns, in Crabbe, in Walter Scott. Lord -Byron, who has so many others, possesses none perhaps in a greater -degree than this.” - -It is to be hoped that the English poetry will always maintain this -character; will always remain the powerful ally of the love of the -country: one great means of preserving those features of English rural -life so delightfully described in the foregoing extract. Amid the -fascinations and temptations to a corruption of taste, from the mighty -wealth and political influence of this country, it is to the combined -effect of real, simple Christianity, the love of nature, and of that -literature which is in alliance with those great conservative powers, -that we must look for the maintenance of a sound national heart and -intellect; and consequently, of that great moral ascendency, and genuine -glory, that as a nation we have obtained. I long with a most earnest -longing, for our stability in this respect; for the preservation of -those pure, simple, holy tastes which have led our countrymen in all -ages, since reading and civilization came upon them, to delight in the -pleasant fields, in the pleasant country houses, in the profound peace -of noble woods, so favourable to high and solemn musings; and in all -those healthful and animating sports and pursuits that belong to such a -life. It has been through the influence of these tastes, and of these -home-born but exalted pleasures, by the strong human sympathies -engendered by living amongst our manly and high-minded peasantry--the -hardy sons and bold defenders of their natal soil,--the strong-hearted -old fathers,--the fair and modest daughters of uncorrupted England; by -living amongst them as their leaders, counsellors, and protectors; by -musing over the inspiring annals of the past days of England; on the -solid tomes of our legislators, our divines, philosophers and poets, in -the calm twilight of ancient halls, or in the sunny seats of their broad -bay-windows, looking out on fields purchased by the blood of patriots, -and hoary forests, that have witnessed the toils of their ancestors, or -perhaps received them to their dim bosoms in times of danger; it is by -such aliment that the British heart has been nourished, and grown to its -present greatness, when its pulsations are felt to the very ends of the -earth, and by millions of confiding or submissive men, whose destinies -depend upon its motions. Our arms may have been wielded in many a mighty -battle for the accomplishment of this magnificent end, but it was here -that the power of victory grew: our counsels may have, wearily, and -stroke by stroke, worked out this ample breadth of glory; but it is -here, and it was thus, that the wisdom, and the prudence, and the -irresistible fortitude sprung, increased, and gave to those brave men -and high measures their vigour and stability; here that they were born, -and fostered to their beneficent fulness. - -Therefore would I have every thing which may tend to keep alive this -genuine spirit of England, may keep open all the sources of its strength -and its inspiration, encouraged: every taste for the sweet serenity, the -animating freshness, the preserving purity of country life, promoted; -every thing which can embellish or render it desirable. For this cause I -delight in the every-day spreading attachment to all branches of Natural -History; in the great encouragement given to all books on country -affairs; and in the advancing love of landscape-painting, by which the -most enchanting views of our mountains, coasts, wild lakes, forests, and -pastoral downs will be brought into our cities, and spread in sunshine -and in poetry along their walls. For this I am thankful, with a deep -thankfulness, for the mighty strains of poetry that have been poured out -in this age, brimmed and gushing over with the august spirit of nature: -for Wordsworth and Coleridge; Rogers and Campbell; for Shelley and Byron -and Keats, and for many another noble bard; for the Romances of Scott, -which have pre-eminently piled quenchless fuel on this social flame, by -sanctifying many of the most beautiful scenes in the kingdom with the -highest historical remembrances; and not less, for that wonderful series -of articles by Wilson, in Blackwood’s Magazine,--in their kind, as truly -amazing, and as truly glorious, as the romances of Scott, or the poetry -of Wordsworth. Far and wide and much as these papers have been admired, -wherever the English language is read, I still question whether any one -man has a just idea of them as a whole. Whatever may be our opinion of -the side which this powerful journal has taken in politics, it must be -admitted that while it has fought the battles of Toryism with vigour, it -has fought them in a noble spirit. There was a day when a foul -influence had crept into it; when it was personal, rancorous, and apt -to descend to language and details below the dignity of its strength; -but that day is gone by, and it has been seen with lively satisfaction -by all parties that it has purged itself of this evil nature, and as it -has become peerless in fame,--it has become more and more generous, -forgiving, and superior to every petty nature and narrow feeling. Its -politics are ultra, but they are full of intellect; and they who desire -to see what _can_ be said on the Tory side, see it there. But the great -attraction to literary men has long been, that splendid series of ample, -diffuse, yet overflowing papers, in which every thing relating to poetry -and nature find a place. These are singly, and in themselves, specimens -of transcendent power; but taken altogether, as a series, are, in the -sure unity of one great and correct spirit, such a treasury of criticism -as is without a parallel in the annals of literature. For, while they -are full of the soundest opinions, because they are the offspring of a -deeply poetical mind--a mind strong in the guiding instincts of nature; -they are preserved from the dryness and technicality of ordinary -criticism by this very poetic temperament. They come upon you like some -abounding torrent, streaming on, amid the wildest and noblest scenes; -amid mountains and forests and flowery meadows; and bringing to your -senses, at once, all their freshness of odours, dews, and living sounds. -They are the gorgeous outpourings of a wild, erratic eloquence, that, in -its magnificent rush, throws out the most startling, and apparently -conflicting dogmas, yet all bound together by a strong bond of sound -sense and incorruptible feeling. - -They are all poetry:--sometimes, in its weakest and most diluted form; -again, gushing into the most melting pathos; and then again playing and -frolicking like a happy boy, half beside himself with holiday freedom -and sunshine; then vapouring, and rhodomontading, and reeling along in -the very drunkenness of a luxuriant fancy, intoxicated at the -ambrosia-fountains of the heart; and then, like a strong man, all at -once recovering his power and self-possession--if self-possession that -can be called, which, in the next moment, gives way to a new impulse, -and soars up into the highest regions of eloquence, pouring forth the -noblest sentiments and most fervid imaginations, as from an oracle of -quenchless inspiration. - -It is in this manner, and this spirit, that the writer has--reviewed -shall I say? no, not reviewed, but proclaimed, trumpeted to the farthest -regions, idealized, etherealized, and made almost more glorious than -they are in their own solemn grandeur, the poems of Wordsworth, of -Milton, of Shakspeare, of Spenser, of Homer, and of many another genuine -bard. And it is thus that he has led you over the heathy mountains and -along the fairy glens of the north, to many a sweet secluded loch, into -many a Highland hut. It is thus that he loves to make you observe the -noble peasant striding along in his prime of youth--in his sedate -manhood--in his hoary age, more beautiful than youth, for then he is -crowned with the wisdom of his simple experience of the trials and -vanity of life, and of the feeling that he draws near to eternity. It is -thus that he bids you stand, and mark the fair young maiden busied about -the door of her parental hut, more graceful and happy in the engrossment -of her simple duties, beneath the sun and the blue heavens, than the -very daughter of the palace in the lap of her artificial enchantments. -It is thus he shews you the young mother tossing her laughing infant in -the open air, while her two elder children are rolling on the sunny -sward, or scrambling up the heathy brae; and her mother sits silently by -the door, in the basking tranquillity of age. It is thus that he fills -you with the noblest sympathies, with the purest human feelings; and -then astonishes you with some sudden feat of leaping, running, or -wrestling; and as suddenly is gone with rod in hand, following the -course of a clear rapid stream, eagerly intent upon trout or salmon. And -then he is the poet again, every atom of him, meek as a bard of -nineteen, or of ninety; all tenderness, purity, and holiness; the poet -of the City of the Plague, or of the Children’s Dance, forcing you to -forget that he ever swaggered in an article, or rollocked in a Noctes. -He is now basking in the shine of a May-day, amid the sparkling dews, -the waving flowers, the running waters, and all the delights of earth, -air, and the blue o’erspanning sky. - -These are papers that have already done infinite service to the cause of -poetry and nature; and therefore do I rejoice in their existence, and -addition to all that sublime accumulation of fervid poetry and prose in -the praise and love of the country, with which our English literature, -above all others, is enriched. - -But there is one person to whom I must still give a separate mention; an -individual to whom we owe a signal increase of country delight,--Thomas -Bewick. Every painter of landscape is a friend to the best feelings and -tastes of humanity; but Bewick has, in a manner, created a new art. He -has struck out a peculiar mode of embellishing books with snatches of -rural scenery, that will, if pursued in the true spirit, do more to -diffuse a love of the country than all other modes of engraving put -together. To see what may be done, let us only see what he has done. -Through his revival of the art of wood-cutting, we have now hundreds of -wood-engravers, and thousands of wood-embellished books: yet lay your -hands on any one of these volumes, and, with all deference to the great -talent evinced, the great beauty produced,--till you open Bewick you -shall not know what wood-cutting is capable of doing for books on the -country. - -I have heard some wood-engravers speak with contempt of Bewick, and -say--“Why he was very well for his time of day, but we have scores that -can excel him now.” To such men I have only one reply--“you don’t -understand the country. I grant you there are many who can produce a -more showy print; but it was not show which Bewick aimed at,--it was -truth: and if you will know which is most excellent, take the one and -the other; and let them be both opened before some country family of -taste, and you will see that your print will dazzle the eye for a -moment; it will be a moment of surprise and delight; but when the moment -is past, the eye will fall on Bewick, and there it will be riveted; and -there, the longer it dwells the stronger will be its fascination, and it -will be the beginning of an everlasting love.” And why is this? Simply -because we have in one, splendour of style; in the other, Nature! pure, -faithful, and picturesque Nature,--Nature in her most felicitous, or -most solemn moments. I have heard those who loved the country, and loved -it because they knew it, say, that the opening of Bewick was a new era -in their lives. I have seen how his volumes are loved, and treasured, -and reverted to, time after time, in many a country house; the more -familiar, the more prized; the oftener seen, the oftener desired. - -And why should it not be so? It is not so much as a triumph of art, as a -triumph of genius, that they are love-worthy. Yet as specimens of art -they have eminent merit. See, in what a small space he gives you a whole -landscape--a whole wide heath, or stormy coast, with their appropriate -objects. See, with a single line, a single touch, what a world of effect -he has achieved! But it is the spirit of the conception, and the sacred -fidelity to Nature, which stamp their value upon his works. They are the -works of an eye which sees in a moment what in a scene advances beyond -common-place; what in it has a story, a moral, a sarcasm, or touch of -transcendent beauty. They are the works of a heart bound by a bond of -indissoluble love to the sweetness and peace of nature; rich in -recollections of all her forms and hues; and of a spirit which cherished -no ambition, no hope on earth, superior to that of throwing into his -transcriptions the express image of his beloved Nature. - -This is the great secret of the delight in his wood-cuts. They are full -of all those beauties, those fine yet impressive beauties, that arrest -the gaze of the lovers of nature; and they are so faithful that they -never deceive, or disappoint the experienced eye. The vignettes of his -Natural History are in themselves a series of stories so clearly told -that they require no explanation, and are full of the most varied human -interest. He delights in the picturesque and beautiful in nature, and -the grotesque in life. Whatever he introduces, its genuine -characteristics are all about it; beast or bird, there it is in the very -scenery, and amid the very concomitants that you see it surrounded by in -nature. You miss nothing that you find in the same situation in the real -scene and circumstance; and, what is of more consequence, you never see -a single thing introduced which has no business there. He is the very -Burns of wood-engraving. He has the same intense love of nature; his -bold freedom of spirit; his flashes of indignant feeling; his love of -satire; and his ridicule of human vanity and cant. In his landscapes, he -gives you every thing the most poetical:--wide, wild moors; the -desolation of winter; the falling fane, and the crumbling tower; wild -scenes on northern shores, with their rocks and sea-fowl, their wrecks -and tempests. In his village scenes you have every feature of village -life given with a precision and a spirit equally admirable. He delights -to seize hold on humanity even in some of its degradations, as -drunkenness and gluttony, and Hogarth-like, to excite your disgust -against the abuse of God’s good things and man’s high nature. He -delights equally to exhibit those ragged rapscallions that abound in the -streets of towns, and the purlieus of villages; uncultivated, neglected, -and therefore graceless, reckless--vulgarity and wickedness stamped on -their features, and even in their strong, close-cut, thick-set heads of -hair; full of mischief and cruelty from top to toe. There you have them, -just in the commission of those barbarities or depredations that speak -volumes for the necessity of better popular education: and as for -beggars, strollers with bear and monkey, lame soldiers, and all the -groups of tatterdemalions that are scattered all over this country, -there is no end of them. At times he is full of whim; at others half in -jest, and half in solemn earnest. Again, he touches you with pity for -the aged and forlorn; and often rises into a tone of deep moral warning, -and into actual demonstrations of the sublime and beautiful. - -The elements in their majesty are made to laugh to scorn the inflated -vanity of man. A stately church has sometime been reared on a pleasant -and commanding mount near the sea. You are made to call to mind the -pride and the gratulation in which it was erected in the palmy days of -the Catholic faith. You see it in its newness, with all its fair -proportions and noble completeness--a beautiful temple to the Christian -Deity. You see how the country people come in awe and wonder to behold -it; into what a silence of veneration they drop as they approach; with -what a prostration of astonishment of heart they enter, while the new -and merry bells sound above their heads; and all abroad the glad -sunshine of summer is pouring, and casts its light into the glorious -interior; and the sea-breeze comes fluttering with a full delight; and -every thing seems to speak of triumph, stability, and enduring joy. You -know with what solemn pomp the prelate, in full canonicals, and followed -by his train of clerical brethren in their becoming robes, and -surrounded by the powerful and the beautiful of the neighbourhood, -proceeds to perform the rites of consecration. And with what pride the -great family, who have given the land to God, and expended the revenues -of ample estates for many years in erecting this goodly fabric, see all, -hear all, and find hard work to conceal the inward swell of gratified -ambition. How they look on all the accomplished miracle of the place; -the lofty, arched roof above; the stately columns along the aisles; the -priest in his pulpit; the people in their seats. With what proud -gratulation they hear the voices of the choristers break forth, and fill -“this house which they have built.” With what a high, elating, -intoxicating feeling, with what a proud joy they kneel down on the -silken cushions, and open the golden clasps of their richly-painted -missals! All this we see; and then the dream of strength and glory and -endurance is gone;--is gone from them and you. There stands the ancient -church! Ancient? Yes, it is now ancient. All that dream of delight, all -that throng of wondering people, have long passed away. Yes! the very -founders, whose hearts beat in pride, are now dust and ashes beneath -your feet;--ay, and their children and children’s children to the sixth -or seventh generation. That noble fabric, then so fair of hue; so -admirable in its workmanship; so sharp in all its mouldings, and -delicate in its tracery; that temple in which so many prayers were put -up for the mariner tossed on that wilderness of mighty waters on which -it looked--is a ruin! The winds and the tempests of ages have blown and -beaten upon it. The ocean has come in fury, and rent away its western -front, that so gloriously used to fling back the splendours of the -setting sun; and the very mound of the dead is rifled by the billows. -What is that which I read upon a fallen stone, over which the waves, at -every returning tide, wash with insulting strength? “This stone is -erected to perpetuate the memory of ----.” O pride! O vanity and -swelling confidence of “man that is a worm”--what a rebuke! But what is -this? Another stone fallen--and fallen yet lower;--“Custos Rotulorum, of -the County of ----.” And have time and tide not spared even this great -man? Is the very keeper of the Rolls gone, and his monument after him? -Where then is human stability? The waves, and that ransacked monument, -and that stately ruin of a church, all say, not on earth; not in the -works of man. The very house which he had raised, the very ground which -he had consecrated, are pulled down by the elements; and even the bones -of himself and children are swept into the great deep. I do not know, in -the catalogue of the paintings with which this country is enriched, one -that speaks with a more sublime power to the imagination than this -wood-cut of the littleness of human pride; and of the only sure hope of -honour and endurance, in the eternity of virtue. - -There is another sketch of a similar class, but of an opposite -inculcation. While that strikes at the vaunting spirit of human pride, -this speaks a sad consolation to the struggling and miserable. It is a -moonlight view of a solitary burial-ground. It is like one of those in -Scotland, distant from the place of worship; perhaps on a lonely heath. -There is not a building in view to give the least feeling of proximity -to human life. It is still--far off--and alone. The moon pours a -melancholy light on the wild, grassy turf, and the foliage that -overhangs the enclosing wall; and here and there, stoop the heavy -headstones of the dead. On one in the foreground is inscribed--“GOOD -TIMES, BAD TIMES, AND ALL TIMES GET OVER.” - -His churchyard scenes, indeed, are all full of the most beautiful and -truly human sentiment. In one, you have an old man reading a -headstone,--“VANITAS, VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS.” It is a sentiment which -strikes down to the bottom of his soul, as a voice of warning from -heaven, and the voice of memory from the days of his past life. The old -man stands propt on his staff, and you cannot misinterpret the thoughts -which throng upon him. He is carried back through all his days; his days -of boyhood and buoyant youth; his days of manly ardour and triumph; his -days of trial and decay--to the very hour in which he stands here. The -wife of his youth lies in the dust at his feet; his very children are -all gone before him, or remain to neglect him; his friends have dropped -away, one after another; he alone is left, a shattered remnant of other -and happier times: left in a noisy and a crowded world. Truly it -is--“vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” - -But see, here comes a boy driving his hoop. He bounds over the very -ground, past the very stone which has conjured up in the old man’s heart -such a host of sad thoughts. But none of them come to him. To him all is -new; the world is fair; the present is Paradise. He scarcely looks -around him, and yet he enjoys all nature. The sunshine plays upon his -head; the air visits his cheek; the earth is green beneath him. He -thinks not of the dead under his feet; of the awful stones around him. -He does not even see the old man himself,--a more striking memorial of -mortality and the vanity of life than all the rest. This is true human -life: age, sad and observant of every solemn memento; youth, in the -reckless happiness of its own charmed existence. - -There is but a slight step, and hardly that, from his satire to his -humour, for one commonly partakes of the other, and in no instance are -these mingled qualities more happily shewn than in the cut now engraved, -for the first time, and placed at the head of this chapter. But in -humorous incidents he abounds. Here is a good woman hanging out her -clothes. A gipsy-like beggar-woman, with a child at her back, is going -out of the garden, and in true beggar recklessness leaves the gate open. -While the unconscious dame is busy at her line, in come the hens. One of -them is already strutting across her clean white linen, that lies on the -grass-plot, and leaving conspicuous marks of her dirty feet; and in are -marching a whole drove of young pigs, with the old sow at their heels. -In another place is seen the snug garden of some curious florist, with -auriculas blooming in pots, and some choice plant under a large glass; -and here too a mischievous sow has conducted her brood; and some of them -have made their way through the paling, and are in full career towards -the auriculas. Another moment, and glass, flowers, all will be one piece -of destruction. The old sow, shut out by her bulk, and a yoke upon her -neck, the token of her propensities, stands watching from beneath her -huge slouch ears, with the utmost satisfaction, this scene of -devastation. - -Here again, is a country lad mounted on a shaggy pony, and doubtless -sent on some important errand; but a flight of birds has captivated his -attention, and so engaged is he in watching, that the pony has wandered -out of the way, and has reached the precipitous brink of a river. The -lad still gazing after the birds, finding the pony halt, bangs him with -his cudgel; the pony hangs back, and the little dog behind with uplifted -foot wonders what the lad can mean. There are two men fetching a tub of -water from a water-cask, but they are so lost in gossip, that the water -is running all away. A countryman to avoid paying toll at a bridge, is -fording the river below, holding the tail of his cow. But his hat is -blown off, and he dare not let go his hold to save it. He will get a -good wetting, and suffer greater loss than the toll; while the tollman -and a traveller on the bridge witness and enjoy his dilemma. Another -countryman is crossing a river in a style grotesque enough. The old man -is wading; on his back is his wife, on her’s a child, and on her head a -loaded basket. If the old man’s foot slip, what a catastrophe! In one -place is an old dame going to the village spring, and finding a whole -flock of geese frolicking in it. Her looks of execration and her -uplifted stick are infinitely amusing. In another, is an old dame about -to mount a stile, and a tremendous bull presenting himself on the other -side. Notwithstanding the bold bearing and protruded cudgel of the old -dame, one knows not whether it be most dangerous to fight or flee. And -here is the string of a kite caught on the hat of a countryman crossing -a stream on horseback. It would be difficult to decide whether the -distress of the man or that of the boys is the greater. On goes the -horse, and the rider tries in vain to get rid of the string. His fate is -to be pulled backward off the horse, or that of the boys to be dragged -into the stream, or to lose their kite. - -There is another class of vignettes, in which cruelty to animals is held -up to abhorrence. There is the man with his cart, striking his horse on -the head with a bludgeon; his hat has fallen off in his passion. Ragged -lads are belabouring an ass with a gorse bush. A hardened lad has a cat -and dog harnessed to a little cart in which is a child; the cat is -nearly terrified to death at the dog, the child is crying amain; and the -lad is trying to force the whole team into the water. In most of these -cuts a gallows is seen in the distance, as the probable goal of the -career. - -Another class is that of country accidents, full of appropriate spirit; -men crossing streams by means of the long boughs of trees, which are -breaking and letting them fall. A blind man led by his dog, crossing a -narrow foot-bridge, where the hand-rail is broken down, and his hat is -blown away by the wind. Old people caught in storms on wide, open -heaths; old, weary people far away from any town, as indicated by a -milestone marked XI. miles on one side, and XV. on the other. But they -are endless, and of endless variety. There are some, as I have said, -truly sublime. A shipwrecked man on a rock in mid-ocean praying; the -waves leaping and thundering around him; no single vessel in view, his -only hope in God. The hull of a vessel lying stranded on a solitary -coast. It is evident that it has been there for years; for its ribbed -timbers are laid bare, and it speaks both of human catastrophe, and -solitude, and decay. A fine contrast,--a circle of men on a village -green witnessing a fight, all vulgar eagerness and tumultuous passion; -the rainbow, that circle of heaven, spanning the sky beyond them in such -pure beauty--in the profound calm and holiness of nature. - -Through all these representations, the spirit of the picturesque is -poured without measure. Such winter scenes! such summer scenes! all the -occupations and figures of rustic existence; fishermen, hunters, -shooters, ploughmen, all in their peculiar scenery and costume. There -are anglers in such delicious places, by such clear, rapid, winding -waters, with such overhanging rocks and foliage, that one longs -instantaneously to be an angler. We have all the spirit of Izaak -Walton’s book, in two square inches of wood-engraving: his descriptions -of natural beauty, his deep feeling of country enjoyment, and his single -and thankful contentment in his art. There are men and boys sleeping on -sunny grass, or beneath the shade of summer trees! O! so luxuriously, -that we long to be sleeping there too. There are such wild sea-shores, -and caverned rocks, with boys climbing up to get at the sea-fowls’ eggs, -and such stormy waters, that we are wild with desire to wander by those -rocks and waves. The sedgy water-sides, such as are found on moors where -the wild ducks and snipes and herons haunt, are inimitable. Nature is -everywhere so gloriously, yet so unostentatiously portrayed, as none but -the most ardent and devoted of her lovers can portray her. There is -nothing gaudy, shewy, or ambitious; she is most simple, and therefore -most beautiful. - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE PRESENT STATE OF WOOD-ENGRAVING AS IT REGARDS RURAL SUBJECTS. - - Unmeaning glitter, unprecedented softness, unprincipled novelty, shall - sometimes set aside for awhile the truth and simplicity of nature, and - the approbation of ages.--_Life of Ryland._ - - -From what has been said in the last chapter, it is obvious that had -Bewick been but one of a series of wood-engravers during the established -period of the art, his merit would have been eminent and peculiar; but -when it is recollected that, at one stride, he brought it to comparative -perfection, our obligations to him are wonderfully increased. - -The direct consequence of his revival of the art is, that we have now -tens of thousands of volumes embellished with wood-cuts, and upwards of -two hundred engravers in this department. The Penny Magazine alone is -said to pay for its wood-cutting 2000_l._ per annum. This magazine and -some of its cheap cotemporaries have made a peculiar application of this -art, which is, in itself, a great national blessing. By stereotyping -wood-engravings, they are enabled to strike off any number of copies of -them with their letter-press, and by this means, prints of a large size, -and of great strength of effect, are made to circulate amongst the -people, even to an extent to which the only limits must be those of -education. Thus are many pictorial subjects placed before the eyes of -tens of thousands who could otherwise never have seen them. Subjects -from the paintings of the old masters; landscapes from every country on -the globe, with their peculiar characteristics; prints of ancient and -modern buildings; of ancient and modern sculpture; of animals, plants; -in fact, every subject of natural or human history, all brought livingly -to the sight, and at such an amazingly trivial expense, that the desire -of knowledge is, at once, quickened and gratified in a degree of which -our fathers had not the most distant idea; nor of the effect of which -have we, perhaps, any adequate conception. We feel, however, that it -must be full of virtue and happiness. Throughout thousands and tens of -thousands of cottages shall the eyes which, without these blessed -facilities, would never have glanced on anything beyond the objects -surrounding their daily life, now gaze in living delight on the -magnificent scenes, the beautiful productions of every land and climate; -on the stern or fantastic splendour of foreign towns and cities, domes -and minarets; on the forms and costumes, the dwellings and implements of -the most distant nations; on the animal natures of air, earth, and -ocean; on the faces of men who have been the lights, or terrors of the -world; of those who have fought for, and thought for, sung for, and died -for man and his cause; the spread of knowledge and religion; in fact, -for that social and illimitable happiness of which these things are the -precursors; a happiness that shall be brought to every house, in city or -in desert, to every fireside, however humble. - -This is a great and beneficent result, from the union of two noble arts: -for whatever tends to embellish human life; to give to toiling men a -refining pleasure; to bring them from base excitements and public haunts -to the pure and peaceful enjoyments of home; to draw them to their own -ingles; to induce them to sit among their children, and delight their -eyes with objects of beauty, and feed their growing spirits with those -natural facts, in which the wisdom and goodness of God are made so -sensible to young minds; whatever does this, does the work of love; the -work of human happiness and national greatness. To enlighten the general -mass, and at the same time to kindle the noblest feelings of the soul of -man, are the sure means to build up the state with true citizens; to -protect the people from despotism, and government from popular caprice. - -This, I say, is one great result; yet even this does not seem to me the -highest legitimate province of the art. It is obvious that prints of the -kind described--of buildings, portraits, or historic scenes, must after -all come from metal with greater perfection than from wood. To most -subjects metal gives a richness and delicacy that wood can never equal. -Wood can give great strength and boldness, but accompanied nevertheless -with something of hardness and constraint. It is only the power of -striking off prints with the letter-press which gives wood that -admirable advantage over metal of which I have been speaking. It -becomes, in that case, a substitute for metal, where metal could not be -used without defeating the ultimate object by its expense. There it is -merely a good substitute for metal. But there is one department in which -it is superior even to metal; and that is in such vignette -representations of rural life and scenery as Bewick has used it in. Here -it triumphs over metal; for it does not here require so much brilliance, -or richness, or extreme delicacy, as a certain homely beauty belonging -to rustic objects. The beauty of nature does not consist in showiness -and dazzling lustre, so much as in pleasing colours, a simple grace of -form, and a certain roughness and opacity of surface, on which the eye -can rest longer without fatigue than on more polished substances. Now it -is in these qualities that Bewick’s engravings abound. He is sacredly -faithful to Nature. He catches at once the spirit of the country and of -its wild denizens. He is simple, beautiful, but not glaring;--Nature is -never so. - -Yet amongst all our wood-engravers,--and many of them are continually -employed on rural subjects,--it is as true as it may seem astonishing, -that there is not one of them who can bear a moment’s comparison with -Bewick as a delineator of rural life. This is owing to no deficiency of -talent--we have many artists of the highest talent--it is owing to other -causes. If it seem surprising that no one, from the time of Bewick’s -restoration of the art to the present moment, should have equalled him -in the representation of nature, it is not more surprising than that -from the time of Milton to that of Cowper no one wrote good blank verse; -that with Milton’s free and natural majesty as a model before them, we -should have had nothing better than the stilted stiffness of Akenside, -and the pompous inflations and ungrammatical distortions of Thomson. The -same causes in both cases have produced the same effect. Our artists, -like the poets, have forsaken nature herself, to study and imitate one -another. While our artists are employed to depict nature, they are -living in our mighty capital, cut off from the very face of nature. They -have full employ; for the eyes of those for whom they labour are not -more familiar with the country than their own. Dash and meretricious -show captivate the multitude, and therefore dash and show are given in -abundance; the wondering lover of nature looks for her in vain. The -ambitious and frippery taste of the age is stamped on all the most -excellent productions of what should be the rustic burin. We now and -then see a better spirit; things overflowing with talent; and on the -very verge of nature. Such are some of the beautiful recent -illustrations of Gray’s Elegy, Chevy-Chace, Aiken’s Calendar of the -Year, Knight’s Pictorial Shakspeare, the bold sketches in Hone’s -Table-Book, and the elegant ones in some of their books for the young -published by Darton and Clark, Tegg, and others: but, in general, our -most skilful artists are not contented with the simplicity of nature; -they want better bread than can be made of wheat. Hence while they are -admired in cities, Bewick reigns sole and triumphant all through the -country. - -But how is this to be remedied? As I have said, we have talent -and manual skill equal to any thing; what we want are purer -designs,--designs, in fact, from Nature! We want subjects drawn from the -same source that Bewick drew them. I do not mean that our artists should -imitate Bewick; no, that they should imitate Nature,--the true, the -beautiful, the unambitious. Had Bewick lived a thousand years, he would -every day have seen some new subject, some new features, in the -everlasting changes and combinations that surround the fixed spirit of -the universe. We have pupils of his--Harvey and Nesbit in particular, -and why do not they, with their high talent, produce the same genuine -nature? The answer is obvious. They are citizens. They have abandoned -the daily cognizance of Nature; they have taken a directly opposite -course to Bewick. He was an inseparable companion of Nature from his -boyhood. All his life long he was watching after, and pursuing her into -her most hidden retirements. To him - - High mountains were a feeling, but the hum - Of human cities torture. - -He had tried the life of London, but he could not bear it. His soul was -robbed of its nourishment. He was shut up, blinded, famished in that -huge wilderness of stone; dinned by that eternal chaos of confused -sounds. He gasped for the free air; he pined for the dews; for the -solemn roar of the ocean; for the glories of rising and setting suns. -His father when he sent him from his country home at Cherryburn, to be -apprenticed to Mr. Bielby at Newcastle, said to him at parting--“Now -Thomas, thou art going to lead a different life to what thou hast led -here: thou art going from constant fresh air and activity, to the -closeness of a town and a sedentary occupation: thou must be up in a -morning, and get a run.” And Thomas followed faithfully, for it chimed -exactly with his own bent, his father’s injunction. Every morning, rain -or shine, often without his hat, and his bushy head of black hair -ruffling in the wind, he would be seen scampering up the street towards -the country; and the opposite neighbours would cry--“There goes Bielby’s -fond boy.” These morning excursions he kept up during his life; and they -did not suffice him. After the expiration of his apprenticeship, he -roamed far and wide through the glorious and soul-embuing scenery of -Scotland. Year after year, and day after day, it was his delight to -stroll over heaths and moors, by sedgy pools and running waters. He saw -bird, beast, and fish, from his hidden places, in all the freedom of -their wild life. He saw the angler casting his line; the fowler setting -his net and his springes; the farmer’s boy amusing his solitude, when - - He strolled, the lonely Crusoe of the fields-- - -prowling after water-fowl amid the reedy haunts; watching the flight of -birds with greedy eyes; lighting fires under the screening hedge, and -collecting sticks for fuel, and blowing them on hands and knees into a -flame. Such were his loves, his studies, his perpetual occupations; and -to have similar results, we must have persons of a similar passion and -pursuit. We must have designers; for we have plenty of manual -dexterity, capable of executing any design to the minutest shade,--we -must have designers in whom Nature is, at once, an appetite, a perpetual -study, and quenchless delight. Landscape painters we have of this -character. Turner, with his gorgeous creations; Copley Fielding, with -his heaths and downs, in which miles of space are put upon a few feet of -canvass, and that soul of solitude poured upon you in a gallery, which -you before encountered only in the heart of living nature; Collins, with -his exquisite sea-sides and rustic pieces; Hunt, with his really rustic -characters; Barrett, with his sunsets; Stanfield, Cattermole, and -others. We want a designer of wood-cuts of a similar character. What -scenes of peerless beauty and infinite variety might an individual give -us, who would devote himself, heart and soul, to this object; who would -ramble all through the varied and beautiful scenery of these glorious -islands at successive intervals; who would pedestrianize in simple -style; who would stroll along our wild shores; amongst our magnificent -hills; prowl in fens and forests with fowlers and keepers; and seek -refreshment by the fireside of the wayside inn; and take up his -temporary abode in obscure and old-fashioned villages. Such a man might -send into our metropolis, and thence, through the aid of the engravers, -to every part of the kingdom, such snatches of natural loveliness, such -portions of rural scenery and rural life, as should make themselves felt -to be the genuine product of nature--for nature will be felt, and kindle -a purer taste and a stronger affection for the country. - -I am not insensible to all the difficulties which lie in the way of such -a devotion; nor that such a scheme will be pronounced chimerical by -those who, at a far slighter cost, can please a less informed taste: but -till we have such a man, we shall not have a second Bewick; and till -such a mode of study is, more or less, adopted, we shall never have that -love of the genuine country gratified, which assuredly and extensively -exists. - -Since writing the foregoing remarks, it is with great pleasure that I -have seen the arts of designing and wood-engraving beginning to separate -themselves, and that of designing for the wood-engravers taking its -place as a distinct profession.[15] Harvey, Browne, Sargent, Lambert, -Gilbert, and Melville, have for some time been designers of this -description. This important step has only to be followed up by designers -in the manner pointed out in this chapter, to insure that complete -return to nature which is so much to be desired, and where such an -exhaustless field of beauty and life awaits the observant artist, as -would place the present pre-eminent manual skill of our wood-engravers -in its true and well-merited position. - - [15] The London and Westminster Review, August, 1838, in an article on - wood-engraving, very judiciously suggested that it was an art well - calculated for the pursuit of ladies, and one which they might convert - not only into a source of profit to themselves, but of public - advantage. No doubt of it. It is an art simple and of easy - acquisition. But why not ladies who are good sketchers become - designers for wood-cuts at once? They have all the requisite - qualifications already in their hands; and what fresh and original - treasures of taste and fancy are now slumbering, lost to the world, - which they might embellish, in the minds and portfolios of ladies. So - vastly is the demand for wood-engravings every day growing, that - nothing is more difficult than to obtain designs, or when obtained to - get them cut. Ladies, therefore, who have a genius for design, would - soon find their value amongst the publishers; and while the profession - of a designer is both elegant and feminine, how much more independent, - and much less laborious, it would be than needlework, or the duties - and position of a governess. - - - - -PART V. - -THE FORESTS OF ENGLAND. - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE FORESTS OF ENGLAND. - -Amongst the most interesting features of the country are our forests. -There is nothing that we come in contact with, which conveys to our -minds such vivid impressions of the progression of England in power and -population; which presents such startling contrasts between the present -and the past. We look back into the England which an old forest brings -to our mind, and see a country one wild expanse of woodlands, heaths, -and mosses. Here and there a little simple town sending up - - Its fleecy smoke amongst the forest boughs. - From age to age no tumult did arouse - Its peaceful dwellers; there they lived and died, - Passing a dreamy life, diversified - By nought of novelty, save, now and then, - A horn, resounding through the neighbouring glen, - Woke them as from a trance, and led them out - To catch a brief glimpse of the hunt’s wild route; - The music of the hounds; the tramp and rush - Of steeds and men;--and then a sudden hush - Left round the eager listeners;--the deep mood - Of awful, dead, and twilight solitude, - Fallen again upon that forest vast. - -We see in the distance the stately castle of the feudal lord; we hear -the bell of the convent from the neighbouring dale. There are solitary -hamlets and scattered cottages, with mud walls and thatched roofs, -peeping from the ocean of umbrageous tree-tops, and little patches of -cultivation. Born thralls are tilling the lands of the thane, or -watching his flocks and herds, to defend them from the wolves and bears; -foresters are going their rounds beneath hoary oaks, on the watch for -trespassers on venison and vert. We meet with the pilgrim with his -scallop shell, and sandal shoon; we come suddenly on the solitude of the -hermit, where some spring bubbles from the forest turf, or scatters its -waters down the fern-hung rocks. Perhaps the noble and his train sweep -past in pursuit of the stag or boar; perhaps the outlaw and his train in -the same pursuit, and setting at defiance, amid vast woods and tracks -familiar to himself, all the keen officers, and bloody statutes of -forest law. - - It is a pleasure but to hear - The bridles ringing sharp and clear - Amid the forest green; - To hear the rattle of the sheaves, - And coursers rustling in the leaves. - With merry blasts between. - - _Stewart Rose’s Red King._ - -Perhaps there is the sound of martial alarm--the clash of sudden onset -in the forest glade. The dwellings of the vassals surrounding the lord’s -castle are in flames, fired by the band of some hostile noble. Such is -the England into which an old forest carries our imagination;--partially -peopled with feudal barons and unlettered serfs; without commerce -abroad; without union within; brave, yet demi-savage; aspiring, but -violent; pious, yet sanguinary in all its penal enactments. When we step -out of memory and imagination into the cheerful daylight and conscious -present, what an England now! All those forests, with three or four -exceptions, are gone!--their names alone left in the land by the -powerful impressions of time and custom. One wide expanse of -cultivation;--the garden of the world;--swarming towns, splendid cities, -busy and populous hamlets appearing everywhere, and fenced fields -interscattered with patrician dwellings; not crowned with towers, lit by -mere loop-holes, defended with bastioned gateways, portcullises, and -drawbridges, and moats; but standing with open aspects of peaceful -beauty, amid fair gardens and fair lawns, undefended by feudal ramparts, -because a thousand times more strongly fortified by the security of -enlightened laws. We see a swarming people, free, and full of -knowledge, even to its hinds and mechanics, in possession of the highest -arts of life; the hills and dales covered with their harvests and their -cattle;--the seas round the whole globe with their ships;--a people, at -once the most powerful and the most civilized on the earth. - -Those old feudal towers are, for the most part, crumbling into ruin, the -wasting vestiges of a barbarous system, or embellished and adapted to -the spirit of the present times. Those abbeys and convents, standing in -similar ruins, or exhibiting still more marvellous change,--the altars -pulled down, the chantries silenced, and the professors of a sacred -celibacy driven out, and replaced by men of the world, with their wives -and families;--no longer places of worship, but places of domestic -abode. Those two mighty powers, Feudalism and Popery--gone for ever! - -Here is an astounding change. A stupendous march has been going on from -that time to this; and one from which, is there a man, however much he -may murmur at the present times, who would be willing to recede a single -step? Would the noble be willing to give up the delights of London for a -feudal castle surrounded by wild woods and wastes, a troop of rude -retainers, and no resources but the year’s round of hunting, or of party -feuds--not of tongues in Westminster, but of swords and firebrands in -the forests? Would he acquiesce in this, when the country can scarcely -keep him a few months, though he can assemble round him kindred spirits, -books, the elegancies and mind of social life, and the speediest news of -the whole world? Would the country gentleman like to sink into a feudal -retainer? The merchant follow his procession of packhorses through -narrow roads, and in high peril of bandits? The farmer drop down into -the born thrall? The parish priest convert his pleasant parsonage and -family into the solitary bachelorship of popery? Would the man most -pressed by the cares and heart-griping necessities of this populous and -struggling time, be willing to accept the quiet simplicity of those -days, with their monotonous solitude, ignorance, servitude, and -perpetual danger of arbitrary infliction of death or mutilation? - -And yet, in what colours of the rose do our imaginations clothe these -times! The repose, the simplicity, the picturesque solitude, come before -us with a peculiar feeling of delight. And so, no doubt, there was a -wild charm about them. The old minstrels delighted to sing about them, -and they did it with a feeling of nature. The green shaws, the merry -green woods, especially when “the leaves were lark and long” in summer; -when - - The wood wele sang and would not cease, - Sitting upon the spray; - -the exploits of the outlaw; the hymn of the lonely anchorite; the -vesper-bell of the convent; and the chivalrous adventures of knights and -dames in forests and hoary holts, fired them with a genuine enthusiasm, -and communicate their warmth to us. No doubt, too, that baron and -esquire, forester and lawless pursuer of the deer, had all a wild -delight in their life; and instinctively closing the eyes of our mind -upon what was dark and unpalatable in their practice, we open them to -all that was free, peaceful, and in contrast with our own situation and -mode of existence. We rush from cities and social anxieties into the -free world of woods and wildernesses, with hearts that feel the cool -refreshments of nature. To us it is a novelty, with all its piquancy -about it; and we cannot bide long enough to wear off the charm. We come, -too, with the high poetry of a thousand intellectual associations to -take possession of woodland freedom. We have all the power of Milton, -Shakspeare, Spenser, and Ariosto, upon us; and how delicious seems the -picturesque England of the feudal ages! We have, indeed, now too little -of what they had too much. They, like the modern Americans, would gladly -have exchanged some of their trees for cultivated lands; they had too -much of a good thing; in popular phraseology, they could not see the -wood for trees; but O! how delightful are those tree-lands to us, -prisoners of civilization, and walkers amongst brick-walls. - -Let us wander awhile now amongst those fresh woodlands. Our old -chroniclers tell us, that this kingdom was once nearly overspread with -forests; that they existed from time immemorial; that is, long before -the Norman dynasty commenced, by which they were more perfectly defined, -carefully fenced, and protected with sanguinary laws. They were that -part of the country, and indeed, the greater part, which retained its -original state. That which remained uninclosed, and therefore called -forest, or _foresta, uasi ferarum statio_, because there naturally -retired and made their abode the wild creatures, _feræ naturæ_. All this -was held to belong to the king; and when the Conqueror began to reign, -who had occasion to give away and divide large tracts amongst his -military followers, he began to exercise more strictly his prerogative -over the remainder. Not satisfied with sixty-nine forests, lying in -almost every part of the kingdom, such, and so many, says Evelyn, as no -other realm of Europe had, he laid waste a vast tract of country in -Hampshire, and created another, thence called the New Forest, because it -was the last added to the ancient ones, except that of Hampton Court, -the work of Henry VIII. - -Various theories respecting the origin of this New Forest have occupied -the attention, and divided the opinions of antiquarians and historians. -Polydore Virgil asserted that the Conqueror’s motive for afforesting so -large a tract of country here, was because it enabled him to maintain it -secure from the intrusion of all but his own creatures, and thereby -always to have a most convenient station for the escape of his -followers, in case of any revolt, to their own country, or for the -secret and secure arrival of fresh forces thence. Mr. Camden, however, -has satisfactorily shewn, that no such object was attributed to him by -the chroniclers of his own and immediately succeeding times, who -certainly were sufficiently bitter against him, for his haughty temper, -and the reckless atrocities which he committed in carrying into effect -his system of policy, the thorough breaking of the Saxon spirit, and the -establishment of his own noblesse. No such motive, however plausible, -was attributed to him for five hundred years. As Mr. Carte very -reasonably suggests, if such was his intention, he would have carried it -into effect within the first five years of his reign, during which time -he was engaged in putting down disaffection, and strengthening his -position. In the pursuance of these objects he was not in the habit of -stopping short at trifles on the score of humanity. “His horrible -devastation,” says William of Malmsbury, “of great part of Yorkshire, -and all the counties belonging to England north of the Humber, was made -that the Danes and Scots invading his kingdom that way might find no -subsistence, and to punish the people for disaffection to his -government; without regarding what number of innocent persons would be -involved in the destruction.” We are told, even by one of the Norman -historians--Ord. Vit. iv. p. 314, 515, and by Ingulph. p. 79, who speak -of it with horror, that above 160,000 men, women and children, perished -by famine in those ruined counties. The devastation was such that, for -above sixty miles, where before there had been many large and -flourishing towns, besides a great number of villages and fine -country-seats, not a single hamlet was to be seen; the whole country was -uncultivated, and remained so till Henry II.’s reign. - -If we date the making of this forest at the same time with the -publishing of the forest laws, it will follow that it was made merely -for the pleasures of the chase. This was natural enough, when we reflect -that he had taken up his favourite residence at Winchester; and this is -the reason assigned by all the authorities nearest to his own time. The -Saxon Chronicler, believed to be cotemporary with William, assigns this -sole reason, and adds--“William loved great deer, as if he had been -their father;” which Henry of Huntingdon copies. No trace of other -motive appears in Gemeticensis, his own chaplain, Knyton, Ordericus -Vitalis, Simon Dunelmensis, Brompton, William of Malmsbury, Florence of -Worcester, Matthew Paris, Hemingford, or other ancient authority. In -such a man the passion for the chase was cause sufficient. In all early -stages of a country, where it abounds with forests, and intellectual -resources hardly exist, hunting must constitute the great passion of -life. The Britons, the Saxons, were passionate hunters. Harold had -already restrained all forests to his own use, and William put the -finishing stroke to the system. Here, however, occurs a second point of -difference of opinion in the historians. Some tell us that he made this -forest, others, that he merely enlarged it. It is certain that the -ancient forest of Ythene existed here before; but it is probable that it -had become rather a woodland than a preserve of game; and that William’s -enlargement was almost, in fact, a new creation: and strictly speaking, -entirely so, as a forest, having its defined boundaries, its stock of -deer, its appointed officers, and its code of laws and courts:--this, -the very name of New Forest clearly implies. - -Others, again, attribute to his son Rufus, the enlargement and the -devastations, and thence look upon his own death, in the very spot -where he had pulled down a church, as a direct divine judgment. There -can be little doubt but that both had a hand in it. The Conqueror -probably laid waste and depopulated so as to complete the boundaries of -his forest, and carry out his conceived plans, and Rufus went on, on the -old royal principle, of making a solitude and calling it peace, to pull -down churches, and remove what hamlets or cottages yet remained to -interfere with princely ideas of forest seclusion. That William did all -that is attributed to him, is declared by all the historians of that and -immediately succeeding times; and Gemeticensis, his own chaplain, -distinctly declares that it was the popular belief that the death of his -two sons, Richard and Rufus, and his grandson, the son of Robert, were -judgments of God upon him for his atrocities committed here in the -making of it. These atrocities consisted in laying waste the country to -the extent of thirty miles in length, or ninety in circumference, the -extent still attributed to it; destroying towns, chapels, manors and -mansion-houses; according to some writers, twenty-two mother-churches, -to others thirty-six, and to others thirty-two. Unquestionably the -number was great; two churches only being mentioned in his own Survey in -Doomsday Book, between A.D. 1083 and 1086, the 17th and 20th of his -reign, as standing in all that space, while in the rest of the county -there were 100. This violence he completed by driving out the -inhabitants, and stocking the land with deer, stags, and other game. - -Such was the origin and extent of the ancient royal forests of England, -all preserved and maintained for the especial and exclusive pastime of -the kings. Truly the state of a king was then kingly indeed: 69 forests, -13 chases, and upwards of 750 parks existing in England. There were, in -Yorkshire alone, in Henry VIII.’s time, 275 woods, besides parks and -chases, most of them containing 500 acres. Over all these the king could -sport; for it was the highest honour to a subject to receive a visit -from the king to hunt in his chase, or free warren, while no subject, -except by special permission and favour, could hunt in the royal parks. -These 69 forests of immense extent, lying in all parts of England, and -occupying no small portion of its surface, all stood then for the sole -gratification of the royal pleasure of the chase, and supplying the -king’s household; and few persons have now any idea of the state, -dignity, and systematic severity of this great hunting establishment of -England, maintained through all succeeding reigns to the time of the -Commonwealth, and some part of it much longer. Each forest was an -imperium in imperio, having its staff of officers,--the lord warden, his -deputy, a steward and bow-bearer, rangers, keepers or foresters, -verdurers, agistors, regarders, bailiffs, woodwards, beadles, etc. etc., -with their own courts. First the COURT of ATTACHMENT, held every forty -days, in which all attachments against offenders in the forest were -received, evidence heard upon them, and were enrolled to be presented at -the COURT of SWAINMOTE. This swainmote was held three times every year, -which all the swains, or free tenants, were bound to attend. The warder -or his steward presided, and the foresters, verderers, and other -ministers of the forest were the judges. Here all the attachments -enrolled in the records of the Court of Attachment were received and -examined, but no award or judgment was made or executed by this court; -but it swore in a grand jury to examine these attachments, of which all -that appeared made on sufficient grounds and evidence were reserved for -the decision of the JUSTICE-SEAT, or highest court of the forest. The -justice-seat, or Court of Eyre in the forest, was held once in three -years. Two justices in Eyre were appointed as supreme judges in these -courts: one having jurisdiction in all the forests north, and the other -over those south of the Trent. Yet there appears in the early reigns to -have been great irregularity in the appointment of these justices. -Sometimes there were two, according to the legitimate ordinance; at -others we find three going the circuit, or _jornay_, as it was called, -in Edward I.’s reign, when in the 15th year of that reign, three are -named as going the jornay of the north; viz. Sir William Vesey, Thomas -Normanville, and Richard of Gryppinge, justices. This Sir William Vesey, -Richard of Gryppinge, and their fellows, justices, are repeatedly -mentioned in the king’s writs. This might arise from the discovery that -collusion and bribery to cover peculation had been the consequence of -one justice going alone; for it is complained, that it “was fonden that -oure lorde the kynge had sustained grete and many folde hurte fro the -jornay of Robert Neville.” Great peculation and appointment of his own -creatures for his own purposes were proved against Robert Evringham, and -he was “deposed from his office of chief forestershippe of fee in the -Forest of Sherwood for ever.”[16] - - [16] MS. documents respecting Sherwood Forest, in Bromley House - Library, Nottingham. - -Every officer was sworn to present to the court of attachment, every -offender against the laws of the forest, for the decision of the -justices, through the process already described; a system of most -summary rigour, without favour or concealment; yet abuses still crept -in; and the long term between the coming of the justices--three -years--tended greatly to this; for as no case could be finally decided -till then, it afforded vast scope for the powerful and wealthy to try -the force of bribery on the justice, as well as made the case fearfully -severe on those who could not find bail or give security, and must -therefore be in gaol all that time; especially as a man might be taken -up on presumption. This, therefore, became a gross injustice to the -innocent. - -You would imagine from the oaths of the different officers, that their -duties were all alike, for they bound them all to seize, secure, and -present for attachment all persons committing any depredations on _vert -or venison_; vert, curiously enough Anglicized--Green Hugh, _i. e._ -green hue, and so continually written in the Assisæ Forestæ, meaning -every thing having a green leaf, and therefore extending from the forest -trees to the underwood and shrubs which formed cover for the game, and -also to the grass which was the food of the game. All persons seen -suspiciously strolling about on the highways, especially if in cloaks, -with dogs in leash, or out of it, pursuing small birds, squirrels, or -vermin, cutting turf, peat, or boughs, or fallen timber, heath, or fern, -without proper authority. The dwellers in the purlieus of the forest -were kept a strict eye upon; and all gates, or fences, or dykes were -presentable which were too high for the deer to pass from one part of -the forest to another. The forests were very systematically divided into -walks, or keepings, wards or regards, over which was a properly -subordinate succession of officers. The ranger had surveillance over the -principal keepers; they over their deputy keepers, and night-walkers. -The verderers had especially to look after the vert, although sworn to -watch for and bring to punishment, offenders of all kinds, and to them -must all offenders be brought to give surety to appear at the -attachment. Besides these, there were in every township, and every -regard, woodwards and their men, who attended to the felling and -accounting for all timber. There were agistors also to look after the -agistment of cattle. The swainmote was empowered to inquire and to see -that all officers punctually performed their forest duties, going -regularly their rounds; and that they paid the wages of their deputies, -so that none might be tempted to commit depredations on the game, wood, -browze, peat, turf, deers’ horns, or any other product of the forest. A -sharp vigilance was kept up on this head, and severe punishment awarded -for such offenders. No produce of the forest might be taken out of it -without a direct warrant from the justice or warden; neither cattle, -timber, dead deer, vert, nor anything whatever. Those who had freeholds -within the forest, as came to be the case in time, through grants from -kings to favourites of one kind or another, were subject to the same -restriction. And where warrant was granted for any of these purposes, or -for supplying the religious houses with wood for burning, etc., the -verderers were to see that no more was actually taken out than the -warrant allowed, and were punished if convicted of failing in this -duty.[17] Perambulations at stated periods were made throughout each -forest, its enclosures, purlieus, and boundaries, to ascertain that all -was kept in order, and that there was neither waste of vert nor -_venison_, which included all game; nor encroachment within, nor -without. The external boundaries of a forest, were not like those of a -park, walls or pales, but metes and bounds, meres, rivers, and hills, -otherwise it was not a forest. - - [17] Yet a curious instance is recorded in one of the Inquisitions of - Sherwood Forest, of the way in which the vigilance of these laws was - evaded. The Countess of Newcastle, whose husband was probably at that - time governor of Newark Castle, had procured large quantities of - timber out of the forest, under a warrant to furnish such timber for - the necessary repairs of that castle. The quantity delivered led to an - inquiry, and it was found that the castle was not repaired at all, but - that the timber had been sold, and the countess had got the cash. Yet - after this it was again found, that not being able to procure another - warrant for timber, she had, however, got one for the delivery of - cord-wood for burning, and under the title of cord-wood, the - deputy-warden had supplied her with some of the best oaks of the - forest. On a second investigation it turned out that the deputy-warden - was a partner in a timber trade--that timber was thus procured through - the means of the countess’s plea of public service, and that she and - the deputy shared the spoil. - -Drifts of the forest were made at least twice in the year. “By the -Assises of Pickeringe and Lancaster, the officers of the forest did use -to make drifts at least twice in the year: the first, fifteen days -before Midsummer, at the beginning of the _fencemonth_, that the forest -might be avoided and emptied of all cattle during that time. And every -commoner was then forced to come and challenge his beasts, and take them -away, or they were taken by the officers of the forest as strays. The -second drift was at Holyrood-day, when the agistors did begin to agist -the king’s demesne woods, and all beasts and cattle of all sorts then -found in them were driven by the officers of the forest to some -convenient place, and impounded, and then warning was given that every -man should come and fetch his own. Forests are driven for three causes. -First, for the avoiding of surcharging; secondly, for the avoiding of -_forreners_, who have no right; thirdly, that no beasts be commoned that -are not legally commonable, as geese, goats, sheep, and swine, which are -not commonable. Swine, however, were admitted to the woods of the king’s -forests if their noses were duly ringed, and paid for their run there, a -sum called pannage; and owners of woods in the forests might run such -swine in their own woods. Upon reasonable causes the officers of the -forest may make their drifts oftener if they will.” - - _Manwood’s Forest Laws_, pp. 86-7. - -Such was the general constitution of a forest, with its courts, -officers, laws, and customs; and so systematic does it seem; -surveillance and subdivision so regularly descending downward, till it -included watch and ward over every part, and the familiar acquaintance -of every forester with his own location, that one really wonders how any -Robin Hood could long escape amongst them. The difficulty of the thing -no doubt it was that contributed so much to raise his renown. But the -vast extent of the forests, the obscurity of the wooded parts, and the -immense out-boundaries laying them open to the nocturnal incursions of -marauders, still account for the traditionary exploits of deer-stealers, -in spite of the then forest-law, which itself gave a strong spice of -interest to the adventurer. - -The severity of the laws under William and his immediate successors was -monstrous. “In the Saxon times,” says Blackstone, “though no man was -allowed to kill or chace the king’s deer, yet he might start any game, -pursue and kill it on his own estate, but the rigour of those new -constitutions vested the sole property of all the game in England in the -king alone; and no man was entitled to disturb any fowl of the air, or -any beast of the field, of such kinds as were specifically reserved for -the royal amusement of the sovereign, without express license from the -king, of a chase or a free warren; and these franchises were granted as -much to preserve the breed of animals as to indulge the subject. From a -similar principle to which, though the forest laws are now mitigated, -and by degrees grown entirely obsolete, yet from this root has sprung a -bastard slip, known by the name of the GAME LAW, now arrived to and -wantoning in its highest vigour; both founded upon the same notion of -permanent property in wild creatures, and both productive of the same -tyranny to the commons; but with this difference, that the forest laws -established only one mighty hunter throughout the land; the game laws -have raised a little Nimrod in every manor. And in one respect, the -ancient law was much less unreasonable than the modern, for the king’s -grantee of a chase or free-warren might kill game in every part of his -franchise, but now, though a freeholder of less than 100_l._ a-year is -forbidden to kill a partridge upon his own estate, yet nobody else, not -even the lord of the manor, unless he hath a grant of free-warren, can -do it without committing a trespass, and subjecting himself to an -action.”--_Commentaries_, iv. 415, 8vo. - -The full rigour of the forest laws of the Norman dynasty must be a -curious subject of contemplation to an Englishman now. William decreed -the eyes of any person to be pulled out, who took either a buck or a -boar. Rufus made the stealing of a doe, a hanging matter. The taking a -hare was fined 20_s._, and a coney 10_s._, as money was then! Eadmer -adds, that fifty persons of fortune, being apprehended by the last -prince for killing his bucks, were forced to purge themselves by the -fire of ordeal, etc. Henry I. made no distinction between him who killed -a man, and him who killed a buck; and punished them who destroyed the -game, though not in the forest, either by forfeiture of their goods or -loss of limbs. The monstrous severities of Geoffrey de Langley, who, in -the reign of Henry II. had a patent for all benefits accruing from the -expeditation of dogs, and rode through most parts of England with an -armed band, committing the greatest oppressions, and extorting vast -sums, especially from the northern gentry, are recorded with indignation -by Matthew Paris. Richard I. enacted mutilation and pulling out of eyes -for hunting in the forest, though he afterwards relaxed a little, and -contented himself with banishment, imprisonment, or fine. Whoever was -summoned to the chase, and refused to go, paid a fine of 50_s._ to the -king. - -The feeling created amongst the people by this bloody code, may be -imagined by the language of John of Salisbury, who, after speaking of -the higher offences, says,--“What is more extraordinary is, that it is -often made by law criminal to set traps or snares for birds, to allure -them by springes and pipes, or use any craft to take them; and offenders -are punished by forfeiture of goods, loss of limbs, or even death. One -would suppose that the birds of the air and the fish of the sea were -common to all; but they belong to the crown, and are claimed by the -forest laws wherever they fly. Hands off! keep clear! lest you incur the -guilt of high treason, and fall into the clutch of the hunters. The -swains are driven from their fields, while the beasts of the forest have -a liberty of roving; and the farmer’s meadows are taken from him to -increase their pasture. The new-sown grounds are taken from the farmer, -the pastures from the grazier and shepherd; the beehives are turned away -from the flowery bank, and the very bees are hardly allowed their -natural liberty.”--_Polycraticon_, i. 4. - -Ah! Johannes Sarisburiensis, thou wert a radical! Can any body read the -indignant spirit of this passage, and say that radicalism is anything -new under the sun? This is the very soul of Hampden. The inhumanity of -those proceedings occasioned frequent disturbances, till the revolt of -the barons extorted from Henry III. the CHARTA DE FORESTA, by which he -repealed those severe laws, and enacted others more equitable. These, -again, were from time to time softened by different monarchs, as -civilization and popular power and influence advanced, by what are -called _Assises of the Forest_, which were a kind of revision and -re-enactment of the forest laws, by different kings; omitting or -modifying any former provisions which might seem contrary to the spirit -of the time; and adding such others as were deemed necessary. As, for -instance, the assise of Edward I., the preamble of which was -thus:--“Here followeth the Assise of Forest of our lorde the kinge E., -sonne of kinge H. and his commandements of his forests in englonde, made -by the assent and counsell of Archbusshoppes, busshoppes, abbots, earls, -barons, knyghtes of all his realme.” This consists of twenty items; and -provides principally, that any person found in the forest, or the woods -of the forest, trespassing on the venison, shall be taken, and, on -conviction of hunting or taking the king’s venison, he shall be -imprisoned, and not delivered without the king’s especial commandment, -or that of his justice of the forest.[18] That all trespassers on the -vert shall be taken before the verderers, and they shall find sufficient -surety to come before the next court of attachment; and such attachment -shall be enrolled, to be presented to the justices of the forest when -they next come into those parts to hold the pleas of the forest. That -none who held woods within the forest should suffer those woods to be -without a keeper, or they should be taken into the king’s hands again. -Such holders of woods, or any other persons inhabiting within the -forest, should not have any bows, arrows, or arbalasts; or any brach, -greyhound, or any other engine “to hurte the king of his Deare.” But any -dogs introduced into the forest shall be expeditated; or, according to -the English phrase, lamed, so that they may not be able to seize the -deer; and that the expeditation, or laming of dogs, shall be made every -three years. This practice of laming is differently described by -different writers. Some define it as consisting in cutting off at least -one of the fore-feet; others in cutting off the claws only; and others, -in cutting out the fleshy part of both fore-paws. Probably the practice -differed in different forests, and different ages. At all events, the -dogs were so mutilated as to be unable to seize a deer; the Latin term -implies the actual lopping off the foot. Future assizes confine this -laming to mastiffs; no greyhounds, brachs, or brackets being allowed -entrance at all. No mower was allowed to bring “a great mastiff to drive -away the deer of our lord the king, but little dogs to look after such -things as lie open.” - - [18] An old rhyme, full of mystery to uninitiated ears, contained the - law of attachment in this case. Any person was to be seized and - conveyed before a forester or verderer, who was found,-- - - At dog-draw, stable-stand, - Back-berond, or bloody-hand. - - Which mean,--_at dog-draw_, having a dog in a leash, following a deer - by the scent, in order to come upon it and slay it; or having wounded - a deer, and following the dog-draw, or guidance of the dog to overtake - it. _At stable-stand_, standing in the forest with bow ready to - discharge at the deer, or with a dog in a leash ready to slip him on - its appearance. _At back-bear_ or _back-berond_, actually carrying any - forest property away. _At bloody-hand_, with hands or person bloody, - as from the actual slaughter of game. Though three of these are truly - called by the lawyers _presumption_, they were held sufficient for - attachment and conviction. - -The assize continues--but no holders of _foreign_ woods in the forest -shall agiste[19] before the regular time of the king’s agistment, “which -begins at mychalmas and lastes to martinmasse then next followinge.” -That none shall assart[20] in the forest without being taken before the -verderer, and giving surety to appear at the next attachment. That no -tanner or whittawer of leather dwell in the forest, out of boroughs, -towns, etc. That any archbishops, bishops, barons, or knight being found -hunting, the forester shall demand “a wedde and a pledge,” and if he -refuse, the forester shall see “his dede,” and cause it to be enrolled -to be presented before the justice of the forest. Other assizes say, -that the bodies of such dignitaries, whether temporal or spiritual, -shall be seized till they give security for their appearance; but that -any such nobleman, or dignitary, being sent for to the king on any -business, shall have the privilege of hunting one or two deer as he goes -through the forest, and the same on his return, provided it be in view -of the forester, otherwise he shall blow a horn, lest he seem to steal -it. - - [19] That is, turn in cattle to graze, at so much per head, which was - done in most forests, and the money paid to the verderer,--a certain - number of persons mostly having a right of common besides, by grant or - charter. - - [20] Root up the covert and make a clearing. - -That any man going along the king’s highway, through a forest, with a -bow, shall bear it without string; or with dogs, he shall have them -coupled, and his greyhounds “knytted in a leash.” That if any damage be -done to the king’s vert or venison, or waste, of which no rational -account can be given, the foresters, or verderers, under whose care the -said charges have been, shall be taken, and no satisfaction but their -own bodies shall be received till the king, or his justice, have had -their will of them. Yet, so early as Henry II., it was found that all -these strict provisions being insufficient to prevent waste of the -woods, and “extreme minishing of the deere,” the office of regarder was -established. The regarders were originally to be knights, but “other -good people” were afterwards admitted. They were to be chosen by the -king’s writ, and there were to be twelve in each forest. The foresters -and verderers were gentlemen: the former appointed by the king’s -letters-patent; the latter by writ in full county, like our present -members of parliament; yet were the regarders set as inspectors over -them. They were to go through every part of the forest, accompanied by -the foresters, verderers, woodwards, bailiffs, and beadles, and examine -into the state of vert and venison; comparing them with the reports of -their predecessors, and seeing that no waste, or embezzlement, or -improper, or superabundant agistment was made; that no assarts, or -purprestures[21] were attempted. This, however, they could not do when -they pleased. They were summoned by writ, once in three years, -preparatory to the coming of the justice to hold his pleas, to whom they -were to deliver their roll, duly signed and sealed. - - [21] Encroachments and obstructions of several kinds, such as - impediments in the highways, turning dykes, building swine-cotes, - mills, etc. - -Queen Elizabeth, who found that, during the minority of her brother -Edward and the troubled reign of her sister Mary, great waste, -destruction, and embezzlement had taken place, made repeated inquests -into the state of the forests by her commissioners, and had general -surveys and valuations made. She descends in her assizes to the very -bees, which it seems built then abundantly in our woods, as they do in -the American forests now--the old, hollow oaks, being very storehouses -of honey. Hawks, herons, the nests of hawks, and every species of beast -that had been held the legitimate denizens of forests by her -predecessors, as stags, bucks, hares, badgers, foxes, and even cats and -squirrels, are enumerated. - -These forest laws continued till the Commonwealth. One court of justice -was held after the Restoration; but after the Revolution of 1688, they -fell into desuetude, and now all offences against the forests are -cognizable by the common laws of the land. - -For the fullest information on this subject, see Cowel, Heskett, Coke, -and Blackstone; or Manwood on Forest Laws. - -The English Forests were formerly as follows: - - 1. Aiden, Northumberland. - 2. Allerdale, Cumberland. - 3. Amsty, Yorkshire. - 4. Arden, Warwick. - 5. Ashdown, Sussex. - 6. Bere, Hants. - 7. Bernwood, Bucks. - 8. Beverley, York. - 9. Blakemore, or Forest of Watchet, Dorset. - 10. Braden, Wilts. - 11. Charnwood, Leicester. - 12. Cheviot, Northumberland. - 13. Chute, Hants. - 14. Clun. - 15. Cors. - 16. Dartmoor, Devon. - 17. Darval, Hereford. - 18. Dean, Gloucester. - 19. Deeping, Lincoln. - 20. Delamere, Cheshire. - 21. Epping, Essex. - 22. Exmore, Devon. - 23. Feckenham, Worcester. - 24. Gillingham, Somerset. - 25. Gáltres, York. - 26. Hainault, Essex. - 27. Hampton Court, Middlesex. - 28. Hardwicke, York. - 29. Hartlebury. - 30. Huckestow, Shropshire. - 31. Inglewood, Cumberland. - 32. Kingswood, Gloucester. - 33. Knaresborough, York. - 34. Langden, Durham. - 35. Leonard. - 36. Lee. - 37. Leicester, Leicester. - 38. Mendip, Somerset. - 39. Malvern, Worcester. - 40. Martindale, Cumberland. - 41. Maxwell, Cheshire. - 42. Needwood, Stafford. - 43. New Forest, Hants. - 44. Pamber, Hants. - 45. Peak, Derbyshire. - 46. Penrise. - 47. Perbroke, Dorset. - 48. Rath. - 49. Riddlesdale, Northumberland. - 50. Rockingham, Northampton. - 51. Rychiche, Somerset. - 52. Salcey, Northampton. - 53. Savornac, Wilts. - The only forest in possession of a subject. - 54. Selwood, Somerset. - 55. Sherwood, Nottingham. - 56. Staines, Middlesex. - 57. Teesdale, Durham. - 58. Waltham, Essex. - 59. Whittlebury, Northampton. - 60. Wichwood, Oxford. - 61. Wencedale. - 62. Westbere. - 63. Windsor, Berks. - 64. Whinfield, Westmorland. - 65. Wirrol, Cheshire. - 66. Whitby, Yorkshire. - 67. Woolmer. - 68. Wyre, Worcester. - 69. Wrokene, Salop. - -Of these, most are now dis-afforested, and have left only their names. -Those which remain are under the management of a board of commissioners; -the chief of whom is, by virtue of his office, always one of the -ministers of the Crown. Needwood is principally inclosed, leaving, -however, a portion belonging to the crown, and one lodge. It had -formerly four wards and four keepers, with each a handsome lodge, now in -the hands of different private gentlemen. In Elizabeth’s reign it was -about 24 miles in circumference, and in 1658 it contained 9220 acres of -land. In 1684 it contained 47,150 trees, and 10,000 cord of hollies and -underwood, valued at 30,710_l._ It and Bagot’s Park, formerly part of -it, still contain some of the largest oaks in England. Windsor is the -Royal Park, and the most complete and splendid example of a park in the -world.--Of New Forest, and Sherwood, I propose to speak more -particularly. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER II. - -NEW FOREST. - -This forest seems to retain not only more of the forest character than -all our other forests, but to have maintained more exactly its ancient -boundaries. William of Malmsbury says, the Conqueror laid waste thirty -miles of country for this forest. The perambulation of the 22d of -Charles II., extending from Milton south along the Avon west, to -Bramshire north, and within Southampton Water east, by Fawley and Boldre -back to Milton, includes about thirty miles square, and this is the -extent that is now attributed to it by the inhabitants of the -neighbourhood. In the present hundred of New Forest, we have the -parishes of Minstead, Fawley, and Boldre; the chapels, or curacies of -Lyndhurst, Beaulieu, Exbury, and Brokenhurst. It is indeed the only one -of our forests which now can give us a perfect idea of what an English -forest was in the feudal ages. It has not acquired, like Windsor, too -much of a park-like character by containing a royal residence; nor has -it been enclosed, and shaped into quadrangular fields: but there it is, -in its original extent,--vast, wild, stocked with deer; with its -alternations of woods and heaths, morasses and thickets; interspersed -with hamlets and farms, and forest-huts, as were the forests of old. - -There are the glorious ruins of Beaulieu, of which the able historian of -Winchester thus speaks:--“The curious traveller who visits Beaulieu, -descends at once into a lovely vale, enclosed with lofty trees, covered -with the richest verdure, and watered by a flowing river, the whole of -which seem to be the effect of magic. In the most enchanting part of -this scene stands the ancient abbey. He will see, in the first place, -the outward gate of the sanctuary, to which the brave but unfortunate -Margaret of Anjou, the venturous impostor, Perkin Warbeck, and other -fugitive victims of the laws, fled, with breathless haste, for safety. -He will next come to the abbot’s house, with its turrets, moats, and -other miniature fortifications, as perfect, and in as good condition as -when it was first built. Here fugitives of distinction were entertained. -From this he will enter and survey the spacious and noble refectory, now -the parish church, rich with innumerable ornaments and monuments of past -ages. Finally, he will trace in the splendid remains of the cloisters, -chapter-house, and church, the chief effort, if not of the piety, at -least of the taste and magnificence of the unfortunate king John.” - -As you go from Southampton to Lyndhurst, you have a fine ride through -the lower regions of the forest, and see enough to make you desire to -steal away into the beautiful woodlands. Lovely streams come winding out -of its shades, and hasten towards the sea. You get glimpses of forest -glades, and peeps under the trees into distant park-like expanses, or -heathy-wastes. The deer are wandering here and there: here you see whole -troops of those ponies peculiar to this forest; pheasants and partridges -come often running out on the way before you. All about grow hollies, -which were encouraged in most ancient forests for winter browze; and you -have glimpses of forest trees that were enough to enrich all the -landscape painters in the world. But if you wish to know really what -New Forest is, you must plunge into its very heart, and explore its -farthest recesses. You may go on from wood to wood, and from heath to -heath; now coming out on the high ground, as on the Ringwood road, the -wild forest lying visible for miles around, and the country towards -Southampton and to the very sea, all spread out wide and beautifully to -the eye;--now descending into profound solitudes, and the depth of -woodland gloom. It is a wild, wide region, in which you may satiate -yourselves with nature in its primitive freedom. In Bilhaghe, in the -forest of Sherwood, you find a fragment of an ancient forest unique in -its kind,--a region of old oaks, shattered by the tempests of five -hundred years, and standing in all the hoary grandeur of age; and are -thereby struck with a quick feeling of the mighty flight of time,--of -the utter change and revolution of manners and government since those -trees were in their prime; but when you step into the New Forest, you -step at once out of the present world into the past. You do not see it -existing before your eyes as a remnant of antiquity, but as a portion of -it, into which, as by some charm, you are carried. It is not a decaying -relic; it is a perfect and present thing. The trees are not scathed and -hollow skeletons, except in some few places, but stand the full-grown -and vigorous giants of the wood. This is owing to the timber being cut -down for the navy ere it begins to perish, and yet being left to attain -a sufficient growth, and to furnish vast woods that extend over hill and -dale, and give you foot-room for days and weeks without fear of -exhausting the novelty. It looks now as it must have looked to the eye -of one of our Norman monarchs, except that the marks of the Conqueror’s -ravages and fires are worn out; the ruins of churches and cottages are -buried beneath the accumulated mosses and earth of ages; and peaceful -smoke ascends from woodland habitations. - -In my brief visit to it, I set out from Lyndhurst, and walked up to -Stony-Cross, the place of Rufus’s death. From the moment that I turned -up out of Lyndhurst, I seemed to have entered an ancient region. There -was an old-world primitive air about every thing, that filled me with a -peculiar feeling of poetry. I left behind the nineteenth century, and -was existing in the twelfth or fourteenth. Open knolls, and ascending -woodlands on one side, covered with majestic beeches, and the village -children playing under them; on the other, the most rustic cottages, -almost buried in the midst of their orchard trees, and thatched as -Hampshire cottages only are--in such projecting abundance,--such flowing -lines. Thatch does not here seem the stiff and intractable thing it does -elsewhere; nor is it cut in that square, straight-haired fashion; but it -seems the kindliest thing in the world. It bends over gables and antique -casements in the roof, and comes sweeping down over fronts resting on -pillars, and forming verandas and porches; or over the ends of the -houses, down to the very ground, forming the nicest sheds for plants, or -places to deposit garden-tools, milk-pails, or other rural apparatus. -The whole of the cottages thereabout are in equal taste with the roof; -so different to the red, staring, square brick houses of manufacturing -districts. They seem, as no doubt they are, erected in the spirit, and -under the influence, of the _genius loci_. The beehives in their rustic -rows; the little crofts, all belong to a primitive country. I went on; -now coming to small groups of such places; now to others of superior -pretensions, but equally blent with the spirit of the surrounding -nature;--little paradises of cultivated life. As I advanced, heathery -hills stretched away on one hand; woods came down thickly and closely on -the other, and a winding road beneath the shade of large old trees, -conducted me to one of the most retired and peaceful of hamlets. It was -Minstead. There was an old school-house; and beneath the large trees -that overshadowed the way, lay huge trunks of trees cut ready for -conveyance to the naval dockyards; and the forest children, on their way -to school, were playing amongst them; now climbing upon them, now -pushing each other off with merry laughter; boys and girls, as I -approached, scampering away, and into the school. - -I know not how it is, but such places of woodland and old-fashioned -seclusion, of such repose and picturesque simplicity, always bring -strongly to my mind the stories of Tieck. There must be a great -similarity in the aspect of these scenes, and of those which he has so -much delighted to describe. I thought of the old woman with her dog and -bird. Every solitary cottage seemed just as hers was. I seemed to hear -the birch-trees shiver in the breeze, the dog bark, and the bird sing -its magic song: - - Alone in wood so gay - ’Tis good to stay, - Morrow like to-day - For ever and aye: - O, I do love to stay - Alone in wood so gay. - -It was early autumn. All birds really had ceased to sing; and the deep -hush of nature but made more distinct this spirit-song, amid the -delicious reveries in which I went wandering along, enveloped as in a -heavenly cloud. All over the moorland ground spread the crimson glow of -the heather. I went onward and upward; passing the gates of forest -lodges, and looking down into valleys, whence arose the smoke of huts -and charcoal fires. And anon, I stood upon the airy height, and saw -woods below, and felt near me solitude, and a spirit that had brooded -there for ages. I passed over high, still heaths, treading on plants -that grow only in nature’s most uncultivated soil, to the mighty beeches -of Boldre Wood, and thence away to fresh masses of forest. Herds of -red-deer rose from the fern, and went bounding away, and dashed into the -depths of the woods; troops of those grey and long-tailed forest horses -turned to gaze as I passed down the open glades; and the red squirrels -in hundreds, scampered up from the ground where they were feeding on -fallen mast and the kernels of pine-cones, and stamped and chattered on -the boughs above me. - -A lady who till recently lived on the skirts of the forest, and who -moreover has walked through the spirit-land with power, and is known and -honoured by all true lovers of pathos and imagination, had solemnly -warned me not to attempt to pass through the larger woods without a -guide; but what guide, except such as herself, or as the venerable -William Gilpin would have been, could one have that we should not wish -away ten times in a minute? If we must be lost, why, so let it be,--but -let us be lost in the freedom of one’s own thoughts and feelings. -Delighted with the true woodland wildness and solemnity of beauty, I -roved onward through the widest woods that came in my way, and once, -indeed, I imagined that a guide would really have been agreeable. -Awaking as from a dream, I saw far around me one deep shadow, one thick -and continuous roof of boughs, and thousands of hoary boles standing -clothed, as it were, with the very spirit of silence. A track in the -wood seemed to lead in the direction I aimed at; but having gone on for -an hour, here admiring the magnificent sweep of some grand old trees as -they hung into a glade or a ravine, some delicious opening in the deep -woods, or the grotesque figures of particular trees which seemed to have -been blasted into blackness, and contorted into inimitable crookedness -by the savage genius of the place,--I found myself again before one of -those very remarkable trees which I had passed long before. It was too -singular to be mistaken, and I paused to hold a serious council with -myself. As I stood, I became more than ever sensible of the tomb-like -silence in which I was. There was not the slightest sound of running -water, whispering leaf, or the voice of any creature; the beating of my -own heart, the ticking of my watch, were alone heard. It was that deep -stillness which has been felt there by others. - - The watchmen from the castle top - Almost might hear an acorn drop, - It was so calm and still; - Might hear the stags in Hocknell groan, - And catch, by fits, the distant moan - Of King-garn’s little rill. - - _The Red King._ - -Whichever way I looked the forest stretched in one dense twilight. It -was the very realization of that appalling hush and bewildering -continuity of shade so often described by travellers in the American -woods. I had lost now all sense of any particular direction, and the -only chance of reaching the outside of the wood was to go as much as -possible in one direct line. Away then I went--but soon found myself -entangled in the thickest underwood--actually overhead in rank weeds; -now on the verge of an impassable bog, and now on that of a deep ravine. -Fortunately for me, the summer had been remarkably dry, and the ravines -were dry too,--I could descend into them, and climb out on the other -side. But the more I struggled on, the more I became confounded. Pausing -to consider my situation, I saw a hairy face and a large pair of eyes -fixed on me. Had it been a satyr, I felt that I should not have been -surprised, it seemed so satyr-like a place. It was only a stag--which, -with its head just above the tall fern, and its antlers amongst the -boughs, looked very much like Kühleborn of the Undine story. As I moved -towards him he dashed away through the jungle, for so only could it be -called, and I could long hear the crash of his progress. Ever and anon, -huge swine with a fierce guffaw rushed from their lairs--one might have -imagined them the wild boars of a German forest. At length I caught the -tinkle of a cow-bell--a cheerful sound, for it must be in some open part -of the forest, and from its distinctness not far distant. Thitherward I -turned, and soon emerged into a sort of island in the sea of woods, a -farm, like an American clearing. I sate down on a fallen tree to cool -and rest myself, and was struck with the beauty of the place. These -green fields lying so peacefully amid the woods, which, in one place -pushed forward their scattered trees, in another retreated; here -sprinkling them out thinly on the common, and there hanging their masses -of dark foliage over a low-thatched hut or two. The quiet farm-house -too, surrounded by its belt of tall hollies; the flocks of geese -dispersed over the short turf, and the cows coming home out of the -forest to be milked: it was a most peaceful picture, and unlike all that -citizens are accustomed to contemplate, except in Spenser or the German -writers. These cow-bells too, have something in their sound so quaint -and woodland. They are slung by a leathern strap from the neck of the -leader, having neither sound nor shape of a common bell, but are like a -tin canister, with a ring at the bottom to suspend them by. They seem -like the first rudimental attempt at a bell, and have a sound dull and -horny, rather than clear and ringing. The leaders of these herds are -said to have a singular sagacity in tracking the woods, and finding -their way to particular spots and home again, by extraordinary and -intricate ways. - -Having now a clear conception of my position, I proceeded leisurely -towards Stony-Cross, the reputed place of the catastrophe of Rufus. The -tree whence the fatal arrow glanced, or, at least, the one marked by -popular tradition as it, was standing till about a century ago, when a -triangular stone was set down to identify the spot; with these -inscriptions, one on each side: - - 1. Here stood the oak, on which an arrow, shot by Sir Walter Tyrrell - at a stag, glanced and struck King William the Second, surnamed Rufus, - in the breast, of which he instantly died, on the second of August, - A.D. 1100. - - * * * * * - - 2. King William the Second, surnamed Rufus, being slain, as is before - related, was laid in a cart belonging to one Purkess, and drawn from - hence to Winchester, and was buried in the cathedral church of that - city. - - * * * * * - - 3. A.D. 1745: That the place where an event so memorable had happened, - might not be hereafter unknown, this stone was set up by John Lord - Delawar, who has seen the tree growing in this place. - - * * * * * - -This place is called in Doomsday Book, Truham, by Leland, Thorougham, by -other writers, Choringham, and Chuham. It is now known by the name of -Stony-Cross. Leland says that, in his time (the reign of Henry VIII.) a -chapel was standing near the place, most probably built by some of King -William’s descendants, to pray for his soul; it being the general -opinion of the time, that the divine judgment for his cruelties in the -forest had fallen upon him here more expressly, because here he had -actually destroyed a church. No trace of such a thing is now visible, -and indeed, it is one of the singularities of this spot, that so little -vestige of the destroyed villages, churches, etc. is to be discovered. - -Great numbers of people visit Stony-Cross in the summer. Large parties -come out from Southampton, Winchester, and the neighbouring towns, and -pic-nic under the trees that are scattered about; and a pleasanter place -for a summer day’s excursion cannot be well imagined. There is a great -charm in visiting a spot marked by a singular historical event 700 years -ago, and finding it so similar in all its present features. - -It lies on a wide slope amongst the woods. From the Ringwood road above, -splendid views over the country present themselves; not far off is a -capital inn, and below are a few scattered cottages, standing amid their -orchards, a picture of forest simplicity and peace. When I was there, -the trees hung with loads of fruit, yet the little wooden houses stood, -some of them empty and unprotected; their inhabitants, I suppose, being -out working in the woods. I sate on the trunk of a fallen tree, and -contemplated them with a feeling of delight. Supposing that it might be -in one of them that the descendants of the Purkess who conveyed the -king’s body to Winchester, lived, I went to the only one where there -appeared anybody at home, to inquire, and learned that Purkess had lived -at Minstead, a mile off. This village is said to have received its name -from the exclamation of Rufus, when the arrow struck him;--“O myne -stede!” Yet he is said to have died instantly: if, therefore, this were -the spot of his death, how came Minstead by the name? But the house of -Purkess was at Minstead; and the man also is said to have lived near, in -a small hut, and maintained his family by burning charcoal. Possibly the -difficulty may be explained by what is very likely, that Purkess might -be working in the wood at the time of the accident, and conveyed the -body to his house before he conveyed it thence to Winchester in his -cart. The name of Purkess is not mentioned by any historian, but the -fact of the body being so conveyed is, and constant tradition says that -Purkess was the man, and that he received as a reward the grant of an -acre or two round his hut. His male descendants have continued to occupy -the same house, and carry on the same trade from that time till very -recently. The last of the lineal occupiers of the hut died an old man a -few years ago; his daughter had married away, and his son, having -learned some other trade, had gone to Southampton to practise it; so -that here a singular residence of 700 years ends. The family is said to -be the most ancient in the county. It was said that a piece of the wheel -of the cart on which the body was conveyed, had always been preserved in -the hut. When I asked if this were true, “Yes,” said the cottager, “the -old man had a curious old piece of wood that he used to shew, and when -the parties were gone, he used to laugh and say, ‘it did very well for -the gentlemen.’” Alas! for the honour of all relics that are too -shrewdly inquired into! - -Mrs. Southey, on reading the former edition, wrote me the following -interesting particulars of the Purkess family. “Many of the race and -name are still living in and about Minstead. The old cottage of _the_ -Purkess who ‘found the monarch’s corse,’ stood close to an estate of my -father’s, now in possession of the Buckleys, where some of my childish -years were spent. A damsel of the family,--Lydia Purkess, a true forest -damsel, who had three or four colts for her portion, and used to break -them in herself without saddle or bridle, other than a rope,--was a -great ally of mine, wee thing that I was, bringing me whortle-berries, -and service-berries, and dormice, and all sorts of things, to our -trysting-place in the holly hedge that divided our domains. The same -damsel, when a _little broken in_ herself, became in after years our -servant, and lived _here_ many years, till she married. She came to -visit me the other day, and I made her vivify my recollection about the -old cottage and the cart wheel. The forester you questioned on the -subject was an _envious churl_. The cottage was pulled down when -falling, about five years ago. The part of _the_ wheel did exist (who -dares question our forest creed?) in the possession of the _same -Purkesses_ till the death of my Lydia’s grandfather, and what became of -it then she cannot tell. When George III. came last into Hampshire, -taking up his abode at Cuffnell, near Minstead, he sent for the heir of -the Purkesses and their heirloom, the wheel, but it was with ‘the things -which have been and are no more.’ I have preserved a sketch of the old -cottage; without doubt, I should think, _one_ of the most ancient, if -not _the most_, in the forest. The reed-pen drawing I send you is a -fac-simile of that sketch.” - -[Illustration] - - And still--so runs our forest creed, - Flourish the pious yeoman’s seed, - Ev’n in the self-same spot: - One horse and cart their little store, - Like their forefathers; neither more - Nor less, the children’s lot.--_The Red King._ - -Much interesting information respecting this fine old forest is to be -found in “Gilpin’s Forest Scenery.” The Rev. William Gilpin lived at -Boldre, in a sweet old parsonage, in a fine situation, facing noble -woods. He built and endowed a school-house there, out of the profits of -the sale of his drawings, and lies buried in that churchyard. I visited -his tomb with Mrs. Southey, who lived near, and who, like all poetical -people who live near one, has an attachment to the forest as -enthusiastic as that of her venerable friend Gilpin himself. - -Gilpin supposes that the peculiar breed of wild horses with which this -forest abounds, are a race descended from the Spanish jennets, driven -ashore on the coast of Hampshire in the dispersion of the Invincible -Armada. Great numbers of these are annually taken and sold. They are -useful for any kind of employment, and are remarkable for being -sure-footed. The colts are either hunted down by horsemen, or caught by -stratagem. He gives also a curious account of herding the hogs in this -forest, which has been so frequently quoted that most readers must be -familiar with it. - -There is a numerous population within the limits of this forest; having -got a habitation there by one means or another. On the skirts of the -forest, and round its vast heaths, are numbers of poor huts, whose -inmates have very little visible means of existence, but profess -themselves to be woodmen, charcoal-burners, and so on; but it is pretty -well understood that poaching and smuggling are their more probable -vocations. Some of their cabins are the rudest erections of boughs, -turf, and heather. Their poles for charcoal-burning are reared in huge -pyramids, with the smaller ends uppermost; and they tell a story in the -forest, of a popular physician who was sent for on some urgent occasion, -and coming to a certain place was met by a party of men, who told him he -must submit to be blindfolded. He did not feel in a condition to resist, -and therefore acquiesced in the proposal with an apparent good will, -though inly not so well pleased with the adventure. He continued to see -sufficiently to discover that they took him down a wild and dismal glen. -It was evening; and the light of the charcoal fires was seen glimmering -here and there. They came to a huge pile of poles, which the men partly -removed, and led him through a sort of labyrinthine passage within them, -where his bandage was removed, and he found his patient lying in the -midst of a hut, which furnished plenty of evidence that it was not -merely the retreat, but the depôt of smugglers. Without, however, -seeming to notice anything but his patient, he prescribed, received his -fee, was again bandaged, and reconducted to the spot where he had been -met, and wished a very good night. - -“Foresters and Borderers,” says John Evelyn, “are not generally so civil -and reasonable as might be wished.” And that seems to be exactly the -character of those in the New Forest. Many of them, like those in the -woods of America, are mere squatters, but the attempt to disturb them is -much the same as to disturb a hornets’ nest. Conscious that there is no -strength but in making common cause, they are all up in arms at any -attempt to dislodge any of them. A few years ago, I read in the -newspapers of an attempt of the farmers to remove some of these -suspicious neighbours to a greater distance, which brought out such a -host of hostile foresters against them, threatening to burn their houses -over their heads, as compelled them to send for the military. This is -just in keeping with the character given of them in the neighbourhood. -They are a fine race of men, say they, but many of them desperate. In -severe winters the distress and destitution of these wild people have -sometimes been found to be beyond description, both in intensity and -extent. - -In this forest are nine walks, and to each a keeper. It has also two -rangers, a bowbearer, and landwarden. There is also an officer of modern -date in the constitution of a forest, the purveyor, appointed by the -commissioners of the dockyards at Plymouth, whose business is to assign -timber for the use of the navy. There are also various inferior -officers, as vermin killers, etc. Many of these offices are now merely -sinecures, and are held by gentlemen who rarely see the forest; the -greater part of their concern with it being to receive their salaries, -and the number of fat bucks belonging by prescription to the office. The -lodges were handsome buildings, fit for the residence of any gentleman, -and were mostly so occupied. The one at Lyndhurst, called “The King’s -House,” where George III. used to take up his residence during his -hunting expeditions, is a substantial brick building close to the road. -In it is preserved one of the stirrups of Rufus. - - And still, in merry Lyndhurst hall, - Red William’s stirrup decks the wall; - Who lists, the sight may see; - And a fair stone, in green Malwood, - Informs the traveller where stood - The memorable tree. - -In a note to this stanza of “The Red King,” a poem on the death of -Rufus, by William Stewart Rose, bowbearer of the New Forest, and -therefore, as he himself tells us, successor to Sir Walter Tyrrell, Mr. -Rose says--“the stirrup, suspended among smoked escutcheons of the royal -arms, and stags’ antlers, makes a good addition to the forest ornaments -of the hall of judicature. The justice-seat and bar are of ancient and -massive oak; an enormous bacon-rack of the same age and materials, -surmounts the whole. The green habits of the judge and officers assort -well with the rest; and it is impossible to see a court held under this -sylvan pomp and circumstance--to view the mixed and oddly accoutred -rabble of people attached--to hear their defences, founded on some wild -notions of natural law, delivered in an uncouth jargon, still -considerably dashed with Anglo-Saxon--to observe the _sang-froid_ with -which they hear the decision of their judges, and, not least, to observe -the prompt dispatch of justice--it is impossible, I say, to witness such -a scene (as a spectator once observed to me), without being transported -in imagination back to the fourteenth century.” - -With the exception of this and Lady-Cross Lodge, all the forest lodges -now standing are those appropriated to the use of the under-keepers. -Those appropriated to the principal keeper were all pulled down on the -decease of the last _royal_ Lord Warden, H. R. H. the Duke of -Gloucester. Boldrewood was the last that fell, on the death of the -Dowager Lady Londonderry, to whom it was lent by her son, the present -Marquess. - -The fall of these fine old lodges reminds us of one feature which this -forest and its neighbourhood possessed in Catholic times, and which it -has never lost, the glorious old abbeys. We have already spoken of -Beaulieu, but never of Netley and of Binstead in the Isle of Wight -opposite, so beautifully alluded to by Mr. Moile in his most -extraordinary poems. The State Trials, which few people are acquainted -with, but all lovers of poetry ought to know, must have also conferred -something of their own character. - - “In Netley Abbey,--on the neighbouring isle, - The woods of Binstead shade as fair a pile;-- - Where sloping meadows fringe the shores with green, - A river of the ocean rolls between, - Whose murmurs, borne on sunny winds, disport - Through oriel windows, and a cloistered court; - O’er hills so fair, o’er terraces so sweet, - The sea comes twice each day to kiss their feet;-- - Where sounding caverns mine the garden bowers, - Where groves intone where many an ilex towers, - And many a fragrant breath exhales from fruit and flowers:-- - And lowing herds and feathered warblers there - Make mystic concords with repose and prayer; - Mixed with the hum of apiaries near, - The mill’s far cataract, and the sea-boy’s cheer, - Whose oars beat time to litanies at noon, - Or hymns at complin by the rising moon; - Where, after chimes, each chapel echoes round - Like one aerial instrument of sound, - Some vast harmonious fabric of the Lord’s.” - -The Commissioners of Woods and Forests have made extensive plantations -in various parts of the forest, which appear in a thriving condition, -and are belted with a variety of pines--Scotch, silver fir, Weymouth -pine, pinasters, etc., whose contrasted foliage makes a rich appearance. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER III. - -SHERWOOD FOREST. - -New Forest, as we have now seen, still retains its completeness as a -forest--its herds of deer, its keepers going their daily rounds, its -wild horses, and swine almost as wild, and all its ancient extent of -wastes, woodlands, and forest people. A widely different condition does -this once noble forest exhibit. It was more than all celebrated as the -scene of the exploits of Robin Hood, and his merry men. In his day, it -extended from the town of Nottingham to Whitby in Yorkshire, or rather -it and the forest of Whitby lay open to each other, in perfect -contiguity. At a much later day it extended far into Derbyshire; but, -after many dis-afforestings and encroachments, in the reign of Queen -Elizabeth, it contained an equal space with that of New Forest at -present. Here our Norman kings delighted to come and enjoy their hunting -in summer at their palace of Clypstone, built by Henry II.; and an -especially favourite place of John, whose mark upon the forest trees -growing in that neighbourhood, has been repeatedly found of late years, -in cutting them up for timber. - -It was a pleasant region; varied with its hill and dale, fair -lakes,--some of which yet remain;--rivulets of most beautiful clearness; -woods of noble growth; and the abundant Trent rolling along its southern -side. In it lay Nottingham, Mansfield, Hardwick, Welbeck, Thoresby, -since the birthplace of Lady Mary Wortley Montague; Newstead, the abode -of Lord Byron; Annesley, the heritage of Mary Chaworth, and many another -ample domain. It was governed by a warden, his lieutenant, and a -steward; a bow-bearer, and a ranger; four verderers, twelve regarders, -four agistors, and twelve keepers in the main forest, under the chief -forester, who held it in fee, with liberty to destroy and kill at -pleasure, reserving 100 deer in each walk. There were also several -woodwards for every township within the forest, and one for every -principal wood. It had also five hays, or royal parks, each fenced in, -and furnished with its lodge; and having each a forester, going his -rounds on horseback, with a page; and two foresters on foot without a -page. These hays were Best-wood, Lindby-hay, Welhay, Birkland cum -Bilhay, and Clypstone. “In these hays no man commons,” says the -Inquisition of King Henry III., taken in the thirty-fifth year of his -reign, at St. John’s house in Nottingham. They were especial reserves of -game for the royal use, which was not to be disturbed by the intrusion -of any other men, or their cattle, on any pretence. - -Besides these, there were extensive woods and demesnes: Newstead, -Lyndhurst, Welbeck, Rufford, Romewood, Clumber, Kingshaghe, Carburton, -Arnall, Edwinstowe, Mansfield-Woodhouse, Hye Forest, Kyegill, and -Ravenshede, Bulwell Risse, Outhesland (_qy._ the land of Robert -Fitzouth, or Robin Hood’s land?) the barony of Southwell, and others, -full of great woods of oak, many of them 700 years old; thirteen hundred -head of red deer at the very last Inquisition, besides fallow deer -without number.[22] All this is broken up, and dispersed as a dream. -These royal hays and demesnes have been bestowed in grants by different -monarchs: as Newstead by Henry VIII. to Sir John Byron; Bestwood by -Charles II., to the Duke of St. Albans, his son by Nell Gwynn; and so -on, or sold. The great woods have fallen under the axe; and repeated -enclosures have reduced the open forest to that part which formerly went -by the name of the Hye-Forest; a tract of land of about ten miles long, -by three or four wide, extending from the Nottingham road, near -Mansfield west, to Clipstone Park east. This tract is, for the most -part, bare of trees. Near Mansfield there remains a considerable wood, -Harlowe Wood, and a fine scattering of old oaks near Berry-hill, in the -same neighbourhood; but the greater part is now an open waste, -stretching in a succession of low hills, and long winding valleys dark -with heather. A few solitary and battered oaks standing here and there, -the last melancholy remnants of these vast and ancient woods; the -beautiful springs; swift and crystaline brooks; and broad sheets of -water lying abroad amid the dark heath, and haunted by numbers of wild -ducks and the heron, still remain. Nature is not easily deprived of -these; and in summer, when the plover and the lark build there, and send -along those brown dales their merry whistle, or loud cries, and in -autumn when the whole waste bursts into a blaze of crimson beauty with -the blossoming heather, it is still, stripped as it is, a charming place -for a contemplative ride or stroll. Here twenty years ago, Captain -Cartwright might be seen following his hawks, and here still you meet a -few sportsmen, with their fine dogs leaping amongst the long heather and -red fern. - - [22] A curious fact is apparent on the face of “A Vewe taken by - special commandment from his Majesty to the Lord Warden of his forest, - of all the Red Deer in this forest, 1616.” The warden was obliged to - maintain 100 head of red deer in each of the twelve walks--1200 in the - whole. In this inquiry there proved to be 1260; but in Annesley, the - property of the Chaworths, and Newstead, the property of the Byrons, - there were only ten deer altogether. These Byrons and Chaworths were - always notorious Nimrods, and suffered none to escape them. In - Papplewick too, the adjoining parish, there were only two! The keepers - indeed affirmed that “some days” there were twenty in Annesley Hills, - and fourteen in Newstead Woods, but they did not appear to the - Commissioners. In another “Vewe,” taken in 1635, though the deer had - increased in other walks, so that the total numbers were 1367, in - Newstead and Annesley there were only 19! - -But at the Clipstone extremity of the forest, still remains a remnant of -its ancient woodlands unrifled, except of its deer--a specimen of what -the whole once was, and a specimen of consummate beauty and interest. -Birkland and Bilhaghe taken together form a tract of land extending from -Ollerton, along the side of Thoresby Park, the seat of Earl Manvers, to -Clipstone Park, of about five miles in length, and one or two in -width,--Bilhaghe is a forest of oaks; and is clothed with the most -impressive aspect of age that can perhaps be presented to the eye in -these kingdoms. Stonehenge does not give you a feeling of greater eld, -because it is not composed of a material so easily acted on by the -elements. But the hand of time has been on these woods, and has stamped -upon them a most imposing character. I cannot imagine a traveller coming -upon this spot without being startled, and asking himself--“what have we -got here?” It is the blasted and battered ruin of a forest. A thousand -years, ten thousand tempests, lightnings, winds, and wintry violence, -have all flung their utmost force on these trees, and there they stand, -trunk after trunk, scathed, hollow, grey, gnarled; stretching out their -bare, sturdy arms, or their mingled foliage and ruin--a life in death. -All is grey and old. The ground is grey beneath, the trees are grey with -clinging lichens, the very heather and fern that spring beneath them -have a character of the past. If you turn aside, and step amongst them, -your feet sink in a depth of moss and dry vegetation that is the growth -of ages, or rather that ages have not been able to destroy. You stand -and look round, and in the height of summer, all is silent; it is like -the fragment of a world worn out and forsaken. These were the trees -under which King John pursued the red deer 600 years ago. These were the -oaks beneath which Robin Hood led up his bold band of outlaws. These are -the oaks which have stood while king after king reigned; while the -Edwards and Henrys subdued Ireland, and ravaged Scotland and France; -while all Europe was seeking to rescue Jerusalem from the Saracens; -while the wars of York and Lancaster deluged the soil of all this -kingdom with blood; while Henry VIII. overthrew popery, wives, -ministers, and martyrs with one strong, ruthless hand; while Elizabeth, -with an equal hand of unshrinking might and decision, made all Europe -tremble at a woman’s name, and stand astonished at a woman’s jealousy, -when she butchered her cousin, the Queen of Scots. Here they stood, -while the monarchy of England fell to the ground before Cromwell and the -Covenanters; while Charles II., restored to his realm, but not to -wisdom, revelled; while under a new dynasty, the fortunes of England -have been urging through good and evil their course to a splendour and -dominion strangely mingled with suffering and disquiet, yet giving -prospect of a Christian glory beyond all precedent and conception. -Through all this these trees have here stood silently--and here they -are! monuments of ages that cannot be seen without raising in our souls -remembrance of all these mighty things. To the contemplative mind they -are inscribed all over with characters of strange power. They shew us at -a glance, and with a palpableness which few things besides possess, how -far the day of their first growth is past by; how far the ages of -feudalism and civilization lie asunder. All around them, instead of that -ocean of woods, heaths and morasses, come crowding up green fields, and -the boundary-marks of free men; and if we were to see a hoary pilgrim -suddenly make his appearance on the pavé of a great modern town, propped -on his long staff, and belted in his grey robe, with his sandal-shoon -and scallop-shell, we should not feel more strongly the discrepancy of -life and character between him and the spruce population around him, -than between these hoary and doddered oaks and the cultured country -which hems them in. - -But Bilhaghe is only the half of the forest-remains here: in a -continuous line with it lies Birkland--a tract which bears its character -in its name--the land of Birches! It is a forest perfectly unique. It is -equally ancient with Bilhaghe, but it has a less dilapidated air. There -are old and mighty oaks scattered through it, ay, some of them worn down -to the very ultimatum of ruin, without leaf or bough, standing huge -masses of blackness; but the birches, of which the main portion of the -forest consists, cannot boast the longevity of oaks. Their predecessors -have perished over and over, and they, though noble and unrivalled of -their kind, are infants compared with the oaken trunks which stand -amongst them. Birkland! it is a region of grace and poetry! I have seen -many a wood, and many a wood of birches, and some of them amazingly -beautiful too, in one quarter or another of this fair island, but in -England nothing that can compare with this. It must be confessed that -the birch woods which clothe the mountain sides, beautify the glens, and -stud the romantic lochs of Scotland, derive a charm from the lovely and -sublime forms of those mountains, glens, and waters, which is not to be -expected in this lowland country. The birch trees which rear their -silvery stems, tree above tree, on the rocks of the Trosachs; the birch -woods that fill the delicious valleys of Rosshire--which imparadise the -glens and feather the heathery mountain-sides of Glen-More nan -Alpin--the great glen of Scotland, traversed by the Caledonian -Canal--thousands of summer tourists can testify with me are lovely -beyond description; but Birkland has some advantages which they have -not. Its trees have reached a size that the northern ones have not; and -the peculiar mixture of their lady-like grace with the stern and ample -forms of these feudal oaks, produces an effect most fairylandish and -unrivalled. - -Advance up this long avenue, which the noble owner of this forest tract -has cut through it, and looking right and left as you proceed, you shall -not be able long to refrain from turning into the tempting openings that -ever and anon present themselves. Enter which you please,--you cannot be -wrong. You may wander for hours, and still find fresh aspects of -woodland beauty. These winding tracks, just wide enough for a couple of -people on horseback, or in a pony-phaeton to advance along, carpeted -with a mossy turf that springs under your feet with a delicious -elasticity, and closed in with shadowy trunks and flowery thickets--are -they not lovely? And then you come to some sudden opening, where the -long pensile branches of the birches, and the sweeping masses of oaken -boughs surround and shut you in with a delectable solitude, where you -may lie on the warm turf and read, or listen to the whispering leaves or -the solemn sough of the forest; or a merry party of you may laugh and -talk to your hearts’ content, glad as the blue sky above you; and vow -that you will come and pitch your tents here for a fortnight,--a jocund -company, like Shakspeare’s immortal troop in the forest of Arden. There -never was scenery to realize more perfectly our idea of that forest. But -go on: you enter on a wider expanse, on which a glorious oak stretches -out its vast circumference of boughs that droop to the very ground, and -form an ample tent, whose waving curtains fan you with the most grateful -air. Here you come upon the solitary foot-path that crosses the forest. -You hear the light clap of a gate, and presently beneath the glimpsing -trees, you see some rustic personage pursuing this path, and going -unconsciously past you as you stand amongst the thickets--some old man -with heavy pace, or village girl hurrying along as if those woods were -still haunted by dubious things. But advance, and here is a wide -prospect. The woodmen have cleared away the underwood; they have felled -trees that were overtopped and ruined by their fellows; and their -billets and fallen trunks, and split-up piles of blocks, are lying about -in pictorial simplicity. On all sides, standing in their solemn -steadfastness, you see huge, gnarled, strangely-coloured, and mossed -oaks, some riven and laid bare, from summit to root, with the -thunderbolts of past tempests. An immense tree is called the -Shamble-Oak, being said to be the one in which Robin Hood hung his -slaughtered deer; but which was more probably used by the keepers for -that purpose. By whomsoever it was so used, however, there still remain -the hooks within its vast hollow. The old birches, without doubt some of -the largest in England, shew like true satyrs of the woods--to the -height of a man, being shagged, indented, and cross-hatched, as it were, -into a most satyrly roughness, and contrast well with the higher bole, -which rises clear and shining as silver to the boughs, which sweep down -again to the ground in graceful lightness. - -There is no end to the variety of their aspect and grouping. From the -sylvan loveliness around you, you might fancy yourself in the outer -wilderness of some Armida’s garden. In spring, these woods are all alive -with the cawing of jackdaws, which build in thousands in the hollow -oaks; and as their bustle ceases as the evening falls, the nightingales -are heard, and the owl and the dorhawk come soaring through the dusky -air. - -It is just the region to grow poetical in. I never walk these woods -without forgetting for the time all the cares of towns and common life. -It is to me a palpable introduction into the old world of poetry and -romance. There is a spirit and feeling of the intellectual world that -falls on you as the peculiar spirit of the place. It seems to me that if -Milton, Shakspeare, Spenser, and all those noble poets whose minds have -moulded the better mind and character of this great country, were to -revisit it at times, when they had looked round them on the agitations -of city-life, to some such place would they come awhile to refresh -themselves with their old delights, and to hold high converse on the -present fashion and prospects of humanity. Nothing seems so natural to -these scenes, as to imagine their presence thus joined with the kindred -spirits of a later day--Scott, Byron, Shelley, Coleridge, Hogg, and the -like;--their religion, their passions, their doubts, their philosophical -mysticism all now blended down into a heavenly nobility and union of -heart and desire; their favourite fancies and pursuits still dear to -them as ever, but their intellectual vision widened to the embracement -of the universe. I seem to see Shelley and Keats going hand in hand -along some fair glade; the one pouring out all that soul of love which -possessed him, which he wished had been the foundation of the Christian -religion instead of faith, and who yet, blinded by the impetuosity of -youth and indignation against the despotism of priestcraft, failed to -see that this same love was the very life and glory of that system;--the -other young poet still uttering aloud his longings for time! time! in -which to achieve an eternity of fame:-- - - Oh! for ten years, that I may do the deed - That my own soul has to itself decreed! - -Or Lamb, speaking to those old friends of his earthly sojourn, of some -fair creature met in the valleys of heaven: - - She loves to walk - In the bright regions of empyreal light, - By the green pastures and the fragrant meads, - Where the perpetual flowers of Eden blow! - By crystal streams, and by the living waters, - Along whose margin grows the wondrous tree - Whose leaves shall heal the nations; underneath - Whose holy shade a refuge shall be found - From pain and want, and all the ills that wait - On mortal life, from sin and death for ever. - -But away, spirit of the woods! Time urges; the world calls: and we are -thrown once more into the midst of the stirring, rushing, unceasing -stream of men. These woods and their fairyland dreams are but our -luxuries; snatches of beauty and peace, caught as we go along the dusty -path of duty. The town has engulphed us; a human hum is in our ears; and -the thoughts and the cares of life are upon us once more. - - -CHAPTER IV. - -FOREST ENCLOSURES. - -Before I quit this part of my volume, let me say a word on the subject -of forest enclosures. There are certain persons who, from notions of -national benefit, are very desirous that all crown lands should be -disposed of; and all forests and wastes enclosed. As a matter of -national benefit I think them considerably mistaken. For the very -highest purposes of national benefit I desire, and that most earnestly, -to see them kept open. I know the logic regularly employed by these -people;--to make two blades of corn grow where one grew before; to make -all our lands in the highest degree productive of food. Now, if we were -cattle, or sheep, the great end of whose existence it was to graze well -and get fat, then is their reasoning most excellent. But I look upon -humanity as having other wants than mere physical ones. I too would have -all our lands produce us food: but then it should be food of various -kinds; food not only for one part, the corporeal, but for every part of -our nature; and in these forests and open lands the intellectual part of -the nation “have a food that these men know not of.” He who attends to -our mere animal prosperity may call himself an utilitarian, but the true -utilitarian comprehends in his scheme what is good for man in his -integral nature; for his spiritual and intellectual needs, as well as -for his bodily. But taking them on their own ground, these forest lands -are not mere unproductive wastes. They supply our dockyards with an -abundance of valuable timber; in them lie farms, and cottage homes, -with their orchards, gardens, and little enclosures. They maintain a -large population, and they pasture a vast quantity of cattle, sheep, -hogs, and horses. Take even such a tract as that of Dartmoor, now -stripped of its trees. There cattle and sheep run in great numbers; and -there lies about in inexhaustible quantities, granite, which supplies -labour in shaping it, and conveying it away, to a large body of men, and -goes forth to build our public works and adorn our metropolis. And there -too the mines employ, again, numerous people, and send up large -quantities of valuable metal. And what should we gain by an enclosure? -We should gain a greater supply of corn, which the farmers and landlords -sometimes find they have actually too much of.[23] Having hedged about -the kingdom with enactments to prevent the free importation of grain, -they ever and anon find that they grow so much of it that they cannot -really get a remunerating price for it. But even if we did want it, we -have only to throw open our ports, and have as much as we want, at -almost any price, and cattle too, which we could give our manufactures -in exchange for. This is all that the most sanguine advocates of -universal enclosure pretend that we should gain; and then let us see -what we should lose by it. In the first place, these lands would go to -swell the rentals of the rich, as all others enclosed have done. The -enclosure system has been one of unexampled absurdity and injustice. It -has been conducted on the principle of--“Unto him that hath shall be -given, and from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he -hath.” Unto him who could shew that he had land lying in proximity to -the waste about to be enclosed, has been given more, in the exact -proportion to the quantity which he had. The more he had, the more was -given him; and from him that had none, was taken away that which he -had--the custom of commoning his beasts on the waste. One would -naturally have supposed that in a _christian_ country there would have -been a desire to provide for those who had nothing. That in every parish -the waste land should have been, if allotted at all to the inhabitants, -allotted to those who had most need of it. The rule has always been -exactly the reverse; and the consequence has been that our poor -population, stripped of their old common rights, have been thrown upon -the parish; their little flock of sheep, their few cows, their geese, -their pigs, all gone; and no collateral help left them to eke out their -small earnings; and in case of loss of work, or sickness, no resource -but parish degradation;--the consequent evil influence upon the -character of the rural population has been enormous. They have a sense -of injustice, if they have not the power to resist it; and when they see -a system of this kind, they say--“much will have more,” and their -spirits are none the better for the feeling that accompanies the -melancholy truth. Now, the same system would assuredly be continued, -where common allotments took place; and in the sale of crown lands, a -few great persons would purchase them; a few farmers would live and pay -high rents, where hundreds of comfortable cottagers now live, who would -then be added to the list of paupers. - - [23] They did so especially in 1834 and 1835; when wheat was only - 38_s._ and 40_s._ per quarter. - -But it is not merely the poor that would lose by it. The miner, the -artist, the naturalist, the poet, the antiquarian, the lover of the -country, and the frequenter of it for health or relaxation, all would -suffer most seriously by it, and the country would suffer with them. In -the wastes of Devon and Cornwall, in those of Derbyshire, Warwickshire, -and Northumberland, the subterranean mass is worth, in many places, a -hundred times the surface. Enclose and cover up with cultivation these -wastes, and you bury by millions the wealth of the nation, and the bread -of the miners. At present, they lie open to the foot and the eye of the -scrutinizing and adventurous. They can traverse heaths and mountains, -and amid the barely covered rocks beneath them, or in the precipices -that tower above them, they can at leisure hunt out and discover the -sparkling vein, or the dull and secret ore; and open up a fountain of -labour and affluence that may run for ages. But enclose these wild -regions; warn off the curious inquirers with boards threatening -“prosecution as the law directs,” or as may now be seen on the premises -of an old lady in Surrey--that “anybody trespassing will be shot at -without farther notice!”--keep them out with fences, and cover up the -surface with accumulating soil and manure, and there may the riches of -Providence remain buried for ever. With the researches of the miner, you -restrict those of the geologist too. With the naturalist it fares the -same. Every spadegraft of your cultivation annihilates the habitats and -localities of animals, insects, and plants, which can exist only in the -unploughed wilderness. You destroy some of the most curious natural -productions of your country for ever, and circumscribe some of the most -healthful, heart-purifying, and spirit-cheering pursuits of men. Your -ploughs and mattocks pierce through and erase immediately the earthy -mounds, the circles, the stone vestiges of far-past ages, and with them -the pleasant journeys and inspiring speculations of antiquarians; as -well as a great portion of the historic light and evidences of the -nation. If you could root out the New Forest, you might possibly get as -well supplied with timber from some other quarter, but where would you -find the landscape painter such a treasury of sylvan and picturesque -beauty, such delicious nooks and hollows, and fair streams winding under -forest boughs? Where such groupings and endless variety of foliage and -forest stems? Where such lights and shades and colours as nature there -diffuses over her own regions in the everlasting circulation of the -seasons; and all within six or seven hours’ ride of the metropolis?[24] -I should like to know where you will find him substitutes for the naked, -waste, but glorious expanses of the Surrey heaths, of Dartmoor, -Stainmore, the high moors of Derbyshire, those of Northumberland, -Lancashire, or of Scotland--that land which has often been called poor, -but which from the influence of its wild and magnificent scenery is -continually pouring out a wealth of genius that is miraculous? Thank -God; they never can pull down its mountains, and reduce them to the dead -level, and quadrangular fields of cultivation; and into their fairyland -recesses there will always be a retreat from the engrossing, engulphing -spirit of mercantile calculation. - - [24] By the Southampton Railway, now brought within about three hours’ - journey of London. - -But I am passing from painting to poetry; and yet, one is so blended -with the other that I would ask the shrewdest person living to shew me -where they totally separate. Where then, I ask, will they find -substitutes for the painter, for our wild and desolate moors? There the -very air in its elastic freshness is full of health and inspiration to -him. There he draws an indemnity for his constitution from the deadly -effects of long and close confinement in cities and painting rooms. -There every turf is covered with a rude beauty to his eyes; there every -rock and stone is piled in bold and inimitable shapes of savage grandeur -by the spirit of nature for him; and the winds, and rains, and -vegetative powers of centuries have been busy tinging them with the hues -of his admiration. There, amid the sound of falling waters and the roar -of coming tempests, he feels all his faculties called into power and -life within him, and brings home, season after season, scenes that cover -the walls of our city homes with a wild magnificence. Enclose these -tracts; hem them in with walls and hedges, and he will no longer visit -them. You will no longer find him sitting on some moorland stone, -watching the stream which hurries with sea-like sound along its craggy -bed; or gazing on those rocky banks and long lines of trees that -overhang it, and mark its course along the desert. He will no longer fix -the solitary labourer, or the passing group, in their own peculiar -character, nor paint the lurid gloom of the storm as it comes with a -frown and a thunder of rains and winds only known in such shelterless -regions. And when you banish him, you banish the poet, and the lovers of -poets too. It is on our moors and our mountains that the profoundest -spirit of poetry dwells. There is an influence felt there, which has -more than half created our Shakspeares, Miltons, Spensers, Wordsworths, -Scotts, Coleridges, Shelleys, and other high spirits that have striven -to elevate the English mind above the mere ordinary enjoyments of life. -And is it true that any one ever felt the full charm of the works of -Scott, who was not familiar with heaths and mountains? Did any one ever -feel all the beauty of the opening of Ivanhoe who had not often lingered -in our forests? Has any one a true conception of “As you like it,” of -“Macbeth,” or of “The Midsummer Night’s Dream,” of “The Fairy Queen,” or -of many another divine creation of the British Muse, who is not -conversant with the free, beautiful, and untamed nature by whose -influence they are shaped? It is one of the great offices of the poet to -keep alive the love of nature; and it is, again, by a corresponding love -of nature that they must be comprehended and relished. The more you -reduce our whole island to a uniformity of colour and cultivation, the -more effectually you extinguish this great action and reaction, which -are health to the spirituality of the public mind. - -We are now arrived at a crisis in which we can afford a few forests and -moors to lie open; but we cannot afford to have our higher tastes and -feeling deprived of their legitimate aliment. Shut us up in towns, or -within an eternal continuity of hedges and ditches, and we shall cease -to be the high-souled people we are. We shall become the drudges of -selfish interests, or the victims of false taste. We must have some -openness, some freedom, some breathing places left us. As Abernethy -said, that the parks of London were its lungs; so our mountains, -forests, and moorlands, are the lungs of the whole country. It is there -that we rush away from counting-houses, factories, steam-engines, -railroads, politics, and sectarian factions, and breathe for a season -the air of physical and mental vigour; and feel the peace of nature; and -drink in from all things around us a new life, a new feeling, full of -the benevolent calm which is shed by its Creator over the world. Scott -said he must see the heather at least once a year, or he should die. -Crabbe mounted his horse in a passion of desire which could no longer be -resisted, and rode fifty miles to see the sea; and more or less of this -feeling lies in every bosom that is not totally dead to the true objects -of life. The failing in health; the over-worn in spirit; the followers -of a summer’s recreation, all seek our hills and sea-coasts, and plains, -where the peace or magnificence of nature, or where some celebrated -monument of the past is to be found. If any one would know the extent of -this delight in such things, or the numbers who indulge in it, let him -go, as I have elsewhere said, to any such place in this kingdom, on any -day through the summer and autumn. If we had the amount of the numbers -who make a summer excursion to the sea-side, or to our moorland and -mountain districts, it would be amazing. The parties who swarm along our -Derbyshire valleys, and in every nook of Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and -the Western Isles, are apparently without end. - -Now this is a very healthful taste, and one, that with all our trading, -manufacturing, and money-getting habits, we cannot too much encourage. -We complain of our countrymen seeking pleasure so much abroad, and shall -we diminish the objects of popular attraction at home? No, there never -was an age in which our forests and moorlands were of half the value -they are of to us now. As true utilitarians, we have the strongest -motives to keep them open, as we mean to keep alive the fine arts, -poetry, the love of antiquity, and the love of nature amongst us; as we -would retain and invigorate in us that higher life by which we have -climbed to our present national altitude; by which our sages and poets -have been nourished, and become the true teachers and inspirers of -virtue and nobility to the world; by which we are made to feel our -animal life even with a double zest; and are yet, I trust, destined to -make the name of England the greatest in the history of the world. - -I do not mean to say that no waste lands should be henceforth enclosed. -There are plenty, every one knows, that have no particular grace or -interest about them. Let them, in the name of all that is reasonable, be -hedged and ditched as soon as you please; but as for the village green, -the common lying near a town, the forest, and the moorland that has a -poetical charm about it, felt and acknowledged by the public--may the -axe and the spade that are lifted up against them be shivered to atoms, -and a curse, worse than the curse of Kehama, chase all commissioners, -land-surveyors, petitioning lawyers, and every species of fencer and -divider out of their boundaries for ever and ever. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER V. - -WILD ENGLISH CATTLE. - -We have a few herds of the original cattle which once abounded in -England and Scotland, still remaining. We have long ago destroyed our -wolves, bears, and boars; and it seems almost a miracle that a few of -these inhabitants of our ancient forests have been preserved. They form -the most interesting objects of those parts of the country where they -exist. Every one knows the use Scott has made of them in the Bride of -Lammermuir. There was formerly a fine herd of them at Drumlanrig in -Scotland. In England they were to be found at Burton-Constable in -Yorkshire; Wollaton near Nottingham; Gisburne in Craven; Lime-Hall in -Cheshire; Chartley Castle in Staffordshire; and Chillingham Castle in -Northumberland. That they were of the true old breed was sufficiently -testified by their common resemblance; being universally milk-white; -having only the tips of their horns, and their muzzles and ears -coloured. The only difference was, that in some herds, the tips and the -whole of the inside of the ears, were black, in others red or brown. -What may be the numbers remaining at Lime or Gisburne, I do not know. At -Wollaton they have become mixed with the common breed; but at Chartley -there are about twenty of them, where they retain their ancient -characteristics, and their wildness. Here, there are sundry -superstitions connected with them. It is believed and asserted, that if -they amount to more than a certain number, or if a calf of an unusual -colour is produced, some calamity happens in the family of the noble -owner, Earl Ferrers. This, it is asserted, was the case when one of the -earls was executed; and indeed, that every family calamity has been thus -prognosticated. - -The noblest herd is to be found at Chillingham Castle, on the -Northumbrian borders, the seat of the Earl of Tankerville. The park is -well calculated for the use of such animals. It lies in a solitary -country. Care seems taken to render the isolation as complete as -possible;--there is not even a public-house permitted by his lordship in -the small hamlet, which seems to exist just as the ancient, dependent -hamlet of the feudal castle did in the feudal times themselves. The -castle, a fine fabric, in true castellated style, and well befitting the -classic land of Northumberland--the region of Alnwick, Warkworth, and -Chevy-Chace--of the skirmishes of Douglas and Percy--of many an ancient -cross, convent, battle-stone, and hermit-cell, lies embosomed in its -woods at the foot of wild hills, which ascend eastward for a mile or -more, and terminate in a range of bare and craggy eminences of a fine -woodland character. This steep slope between the castle and these -heights is the park. Various woods and deep dells are scattered over it, -so that the cattle can choose a high and airy pasture between them, -where they see afar off any approach--a situation they seem particularly -to enjoy; or can, at the slightest alarm, plunge into the depth of woods -and glens. - -Bewick, who visited them, has given capital portraits of this -interesting race of cattle, and the following passages from his account -of them are marked by his usual accuracy. “At the first appearance of -any person, they set off in full gallop, and at the distance of two or -three hundred yards make a wheel round, and come boldly up again, -tossing their heads in a menacing manner. On a sudden they make a full -stop at the distance of forty or fifty yards, looking wildly at the -objects of their surprise; but on the least motion being made, they all -again turn round, and run off with equal speed, but not to the same -distance: forming a shorter circle, and again returning with a bolder -and more threatening aspect than before, they approach much nearer, -probably within thirty yards; when they make another stand, and again -run off. This they do several times, shortening their distance, and -advancing nearer, till they come within ten yards; when most people -think it prudent to leave them, not choosing to provoke them further; -for there is little doubt but in two or three times more they would make -an attack. - -“The mode of killing them was, perhaps, the only modern remains of the -grandeur of ancient hunting. On notice being given that a wild bull -would be killed on a certain day, the inhabitants of the neighbourhood -came mounted and armed with guns, etc., sometimes to the amount of a -hundred horse, and four or five hundred foot, who stood upon walls or -got into trees, while the horsemen rode out the bull from the rest of -the herd, until he stood at bay; when a marksman dismounted and shot. At -some of these huntings twenty or thirty of these shots have been fired -before he was subdued. On such occasions the bleeding victim grew -desperately furious, from the smarting of his wounds, and the shouts of -savage joy that were echoing from every side; but, from the number of -accidents that happened, this dangerous mode has been little practised -of late years; the park-keeper alone generally shooting them with a -rifled gun, at one shot. - -“When the cows calve, they hide their calves for a week or ten days, in -some sequestered situation, and go and suckle them two or three times -a-day. If any person come near the calves, they clap their heads close -to the ground, and lie like a hare in form to hide themselves. This is a -proof of their native wildness, and is corroborated by the following -circumstance, that happened to the writer of this narrative, who found a -hidden calf of two days old, very lean and very weak. On stroking its -head, it got up, pawed two or three times like an old bull, bellowed -very loud, stepped back a few steps, and bolted at his legs with all his -force. It then began to paw again, bellowed, stepped back, and bolted as -before; but knowing its intention, he stepped aside, and it missed him, -fell, and was so very weak, that it could not rise, though it made -several efforts. But it had done enough: the whole herd was alarmed, and -coming to its rescue, obliged him to retire; for the dams will allow no -person to touch their calves, without attacking them with impetuous -ferocity. - -“When any one happens to be wounded, or is grown feeble through age or -sickness, the rest of the herd set upon it and gore it to death. - -“The weight of the bulls is generally from forty to fifty stone the four -quarters; of the cows about thirty. The beef is finely marbled, and of -excellent flavour.” - -We visited the park in 1836, and were at great pains to get a sight of -this noble herd. We were told that the keeper was in the park and would -get us a view of it; but on going into it, we found him, and some others -of the household busily engaged in shooting fawns. For this purpose some -men on horseback were galloping round a herd of deer, and driving them -in a particular direction, where a keeper lay in ambush, near a narrow -opening between the woods, and when they came near enough, shot with his -rifle such fawns as he wanted. It was a scene of great animation: the -galloping men--the keeper seen cautiously peeping out, to watch for the -approach of the herd--the herd here collected into a dense group, in -watchfulness and alarm--and again streaming off in a long line across -the park, in some direction which seemed most to promise escape. The -cries of the old--the shriller cries of the young--the sudden flash and -report from the thicket--the fall of the fawn--and the flying of the -herd in some other direction, made up a lively though painful scene. - -But this spoiled our peculiar sport. The wild cattle, accustomed to be -fired at themselves occasionally, alarmed at the sound of the guns, had -retired to the most obscure woodland retreats of the park. Several -persons told us that they had seen the whole herd a few minutes before, -in the highest part of the park; but we traversed the woods in every -direction, and penetrated into their darkest recesses without getting a -glimpse of them. This we did for a couple of hours, and spite of the -warnings of those who were well acquainted with them, so great was my -anxiety to have a view of these fine animals. Two sawyers, who were -sawing timber at a pit up in a glade of the park, told us that a few -mornings before, on coming to their work, they found several bulls in -the glade, which began to shake their heads, and tear up the ground in a -style which induced them to betake themselves to the wood as nimbly as -possible. We were told too, that Mr. Landseer, while sketching some of -these cattle, found it advisable to retreat more than once; and that -people are not only frequently pursued, but that one man had been killed -by them the previous summer. However, trusting to my ability to mount a -tree, in case of need, I determined to hold on till I found them; and -having thus gone through all the woods but one, not excepting Robin -Hood’s Cleuch, for Robin has a traditionary retreat in many a place of -the north. I was certain they must be there, and therefore gave way to -the remonstrances of wiser heads, and retired to a distance to watch -their issuing forth. The firing of the guns in the lower part of the -park had ceased, and we were assured that the cattle would not be long -before they made their appearance. And sure enough, in about half an -hour, this grand herd of wild cattle came streaming out of this very -wood. There were upwards of a hundred of them; and they spread -themselves at equal distances across the steep glade, between this and -the next wood, and commenced a steady graze, ever and anon lifting up a -cautious head, to ascertain the actual absence of danger. It was a sight -well worthy of a long journey to see. Their number, their uniformity of -colour and shape, the wild shy look of the cows, the sturdy strength of -the bulls--some of them of a large size--and their clear snowy hue, -which made them conspicuous for many miles distant, as we occasionally -turned, on our way over the moors to Wooller, and saw them still grazing -in the very same spot and order. They reminded us of the herds of the -sun, amongst which Ulysses’ hungry crew made such havoc in the meads of -Trinacria. - -We were told that the hunting of the bulls had been renewed by Lord -Ossulston, the eldest son of the Earl of Tankerville, with whom it was a -very favourite pursuit--certainly the grandest species of chase yet -left in Britain, and the only one which the sense of danger incurred can -heighten and ennoble to anything like the same level as that of hunting -the tiger in India, or the bear in the northern countries of Europe. It -seems, as well he may, that the Earl is proud of this fine herd of -cattle, and, it is said, refuses on any terms to furnish any of his -noble neighbours with a pair of them to stock their parks similarly. It -is to be hoped that this interesting remnant of the native herd will -long be preserved in its present magnificent number and purity of breed. - -At the Meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science -at Newcastle, in August 1838, a paper was read on these wild cattle by -Mr. L. Hindmarsh. The only additional facts respecting them were -contained in a letter of Lord Tankerville to the writer. His lordship -stated that nothing had for generations been known of the origin of -these cattle in his family; and that they were mentioned in no family -document. That there was great probability of their location there being -very ancient. He describes them, as we found them, retiring into the -woods on any alarm, and having a faculty of traversing the woods so -quietly that it is difficult to obtain a sight of them. He states that -he himself has not been able in summer time to get a sight of them for -weeks together. That on the contrary, in winter time, being fed in the -inner park, they become pretty familiar, and will let you go near them, -especially when on horseback. His lordship describes them as very -uncertain in their disposition, sometimes struck with sudden panics, and -at others very fierce. “When they come down into the lower part of the -park, which they do at stated hours, they move like a regiment of -cavalry in single files, the bulls leading the van, or in retreat it is -the bulls which bring up the rear. Lord Ossulston was witness to a -curious way in which they took possession, as it were, of some new -pasture recently laid open to them. It was in the evening about sunset. -They began by lining the front of a small wood, which seemed quite alive -with them, when all of a sudden, they made a dart forward altogether in -a line, and charging close by him across the plain, they spread out, and -after a little time began feeding.” His lordship says, “Many stories -might be told of hair-breadth escapes, accidents of sundry kinds from -these cattle,” and gives an instance of a bull attacking a keeper, whom -he tossed three times, then knelt down on him, breaking several of his -ribs, and would soon have killed him, had not a number of gentlemen from -the castle with rifles succeeded in destroying the furious beast, but -not till they had lodged six or seven bullets in his skull. - - - - -PART VI. - -HABITS, AMUSEMENTS, AND CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE. - - -CHAPTER I. - -COTTAGE LIFE. - -What a mighty space lies between the palace and the cottage in this -country! ay, what a mighty space between the mansion of the private -gentleman and the hut of the labourer on his estate! To enter the one: -to see its stateliness and extent; all its offices, outbuildings, -gardens, greenhouses, hothouses; its extensive fruit-walls, and the -people labouring to furnish the table simply with fruit, vegetables, and -flowers; its coach-houses, harness-houses, stables, and all the steeds, -draught-horses, and saddle-horses, hunters, and ladies’ pads, ponies for -ladies’ airing-carriages, and ponies for children; and all the grooms -and attendants thereon; to see the waters for fish, the woods for game, -the elegant dairy for the supply of milk and cream, curds and butter, -and the dairymaids and managers belonging to them;--and then, to enter -the house itself, and see all its different suites of apartments, -drawing-rooms, boudoirs, sleeping-rooms, dining and breakfast rooms; its -steward’s, housekeeper’s and butler’s rooms; its ample kitchens and -larders, with their stores of provisions, fresh and dried; its stores -of costly plate, porcelain and crockery apparatus of a hundred kinds; -its cellars of wine and strong beer; its stores of linen; its library of -books; its collections of paintings, engravings, and statuary; the -jewels, musical instruments, and expensive and interminable -nick-knackery of the ladies; the guns and dogs; the cross-bows, -long-bows, nets, and other implements of amusement of the gentlemen; all -the rich carpeting and fittings-up of day-rooms, and night-rooms, with -every contrivance and luxury which a most ingenious and luxurious age -can furnish; and all the troops of servants, male and female, having -their own exclusive offices, to wait upon the person of lady or -gentleman, upon table, or carriage, or upon some one ministration of -pleasure or necessity: I say, to see all this, and then to enter the -cottage of a labourer, we must certainly think that one has too much for -the insurance of comfort, or the other must have extremely too little. -If the peasant can be satisfied with his establishment, and the -gentleman could not tell how to live without his, one would be almost -persuaded that they could not be of the same class of animals. Knowing, -however, that they are of the same species, it only shews of what -elastic stuff human nature is made; into what a nutshell it can compress -its cravings, and how immensely it can expand itself when the pressure -of necessity is withdrawn. I am not going here to moot the old question -of whereabout happiness lies in this strange disparity of circumstance; -it, no doubt, lies somewhere between the extremes. It certainly cannot -be created by external superfluities. _They_ lay open their possessors -to the exercise of despotic power; to the corruptions of pride and -luxury; to false taste, frivolous pursuits, and the diffusion of the -attention over so many objects as to prevent the heart from settling -firmly on any. They have a tendency to weaken the domestic attachments, -and the love of solid pursuits. On the other hand, the pressure of -poverty and ignorance certainly can, and too often does, lie so heavily -as to destroy the relish of life’s enjoyments in the cottager. Yet -happiness is a fireside thing; and the simplicity of cottage life, the -fewness of its objects, and the strong sympathies awakened by its trials -and sufferings, tend to condense the affections, and to strike deep the -roots of happiness in the sacred soil of consanguinity. When wealth is -accompanied by a desire to do good, it is a glorious and a happy -destiny; when lowly life is virtuous, easy, and enlightened, it is a -happy destiny too--for it is full of the strong zest of existence, and -strong affections. But this is not my present subject. - -When we go into the cottage of the working man, how forcibly are we -struck with the difference between his mode of life and our own. There -is his tenement of, at most, one or two rooms. His naked walls; bare -brick, stone or mud floor, as it may be: a few wooden, or rush-bottomed -chairs; a deal, or old oak table; a simple fireplace, with its oven -beside it, or, in many parts of the kingdom, no other fireplace than the -hearth; a few pots and pans--and you have his whole abode, goods and -chattels. He comes home weary from his out-door work, having eaten his -dinner under hedge or tree, and seats himself for a few hours with his -wife and children, then turns into a rude bed, standing perhaps on the -farther side of his only room, and out again before daylight, if it be -winter. He has no one to make a fire in his dressing-room, to lay out -his clothes, to assist him in his toilet; he flings on his patched -garments, washes his face in a wooden or earthen dish at the door; blows -up the fire, often gets ready his own breakfast, and is gone. - -Such is the routine of his life, from week to week and year to year; -Sundays, and a few holidays, are white days in his calendar. On them he -shaves, and puts on a clean shirt and better coat, drawn from that old -chest which contains the whole wardrobe of himself and children; his -wife has generally some separate drawer or bandbox, in which to stow her -lighter and more fragile gear. Then he walks round his little garden, if -he have it; goes with his wife and children to church or meeting; to sit -with a neighbour, or have a neighbour look in upon him. There he sits, -his children upon his knee, and tells them how his father used to talk -to _him_. - -This is cottage life in its best estate; in its unsophisticated and -unpauperised condition. He has no carriages, no horses, no cards of -invitation, or of admittance to places of amusement; none of the -luxuries, fascinations, or embellishments of life belong to him. It is -existence shorn of all its spreading and flowering branches, but not -pared to the quick. This is supposing the father of the family is sober -and industrious;--that he is neither a pot-house haunter, a gambler at -the cockpit, a boxer, a dog-fighter, a poacher, an idle, rackety and -demoralized fellow, as thousands are. This is supposing that he brings -home his week’s wages, and puts them into the hands of his wife, as -their best guardian and distributer;--saying,--“Here, my lass, this is -all that I have earned; thou must lay it out for the best; _I_ have -enough to do to win it.” - -And what are these wages, out of which to maintain his family, aided by -the lesser earnings of his wife, by taking in washing, helping in -harvest-fields, charring in more affluent people’s houses, and so on, -and the earnings of the children in similar ways, or in some -neighbouring factory? His own probably amount to nine, or, at most, -twelve shillings, and if his family be large, and there are several -workers among them, the whole united earnings may reach twenty shillings -per week; a sum which will hardly find other men wherewith to pay -toll-bars, or purchase gunpowder; a sum which we throw away repeatedly -on some bauble; and yet, on this will a whole family maintain life and -credit for a week, ay, and on much less too. In this little hut, which -we should hardly think would do for a cowshed or a hayloft, and to which -the stables of many gentlemen are real palaces, is the poor man packed -with all his kindred lives, interests, and affections: and so he carries -on the warfare of humanity, till He, who is no respecter of persons, -calls him to stand, side by side, before his throne with the rich man -who “has fared sumptuously every day.” - -Such are “the short and simple annals” of thousands and tens of -thousands in these kingdoms; and yet what fine strapping young fellows -spring up in these little cabins, men who have tilled the soil of -England and wielded at home her mechanic tools, and borne her arms -abroad, till their industry and genius, under the direction of higher -minds, have raised her to her present pitch of eminence; and what sweet -faces and lovely forms issue thence to Sunday worship, to village feast -and dance; or are seen by the evening passer-by in the light of the -ingle, amid the family group, making some smoky-raftered hut a little -temple of rare beauty, and of filial or sisterly affections. I often -thank God that the poor have their objects of admiration and attraction; -their domestic affections and their family ties, out of which spring a -thousand simple and substantial pleasures; that beauty and ability are -not the exclusive growth of hall and palace; and that, in this country -at least, the hand of arbitrary power dare seldom enter this charmed -circle, and tear asunder husband from wife, parent from children, -brother from sister, as it does in the lands of slavery. Yet our New -Poor Laws have aimed a deadly blow at this blessed security; and, till -the sound feeling of the nation shall have again disarmed them of this -fearful authority, every poor man’s family is liable, on the occurrence -of some chance stroke of destitution, to have to their misfortune, -bitter enough in itself, added the tenfold aggravation of being torn -asunder, and immured in the separate wards of a POVERTY PRISON. The very -supposition is horrible; and, if this system, this iron and -indiscriminating system,--a blind tyranny, knowing no difference between -accidental misfortune and habitual idleness, between worthy poverty and -audacious imposition, between misfortune and crime,--be the product of -Philanthropy, may Philanthropy be sunk to the bottom of the sea! - -But the cottage life I have been speaking of, is that of the better -class of cottagers; the sober and industrious peasantry: but how far -short of this condition is that of millions in this empire! To say -nothing of Irish cabins, the examples of what a state of destitution, -misery, and squalor men may sink into; how much below this is the -comfort of a Highland hut? What a contrast is there often between the -cottage of an English labourer, and the _steading_ of a Highland farmer. -There it stands, in a deep glen, between high, rocky mountains. His farm -is a wild sheep-track among the hills. Wheat, he grows none, for it is -too cold and weeping a climate. He has a little patch of oats for -crowdie and oatcake; potatoes he has, if the torrent has not risen -during sudden rains so high in the glen as to sweep his crop away. He -has contrived a little stock of hay for his cows, but where it can have -grown you cannot conceive, till some day, as you see a woman or a boy -herding the cattle amongst the patches of cultivation--for there are no -fences between the grass and arable land--you find one or the other -cutting the longer grass from the boggy waste with a sickle, and drying -it often in little sheaves as our farmers dry corn. But the house -itself;--it is a little, low, long building of mud, or rough stones; the -chimney composed of four short poles wrapped round with hay-bands; a -flat stone laid upon it to prevent the smoke being driven down into the -hut by the tempestuous winds from the hills; and another stone laid upon -that, to keep it from being blown away. The roof is thatched with -bracken, with the roots outermost; or often the same roof is a patchwork -of bracken, ling, broom, and turf. A little window of perhaps one pane -of thick glass, or of four of oiled paper. The door, which reaches to -the eaves, is so low that you must stoop to enter; and the smoke is -pouring out of it faster than it ascends from the chimney. A few goats -are, most likely, lying or standing about the door. You enter, and as -soon as you can discern anything through the eternal cloud of smoke, you -most probably find yourself in a crowd. The fire of peat lies in the -centre of the hut, surrounded by a few stones; wooden benches are nailed -on one side against the wall, and the other is partitioned off like a -large wooden cupboard, with sliding doors or curtains, for the family -bed, as you find all over Scotland, and even in Northumberland. The pigs -are running about the floor; hens are roosting over your head; the cows -are lowing in, what we should call, the parlour; nine or ten children, -or weans, as they call them, and a callant, or boy, who teaches the -weans, and the father and mother, and very probably their father and -mother, or one of them, in extreme age, are fixing their eyes on the -stranger. - -In the summer of 1836, Mrs. Howitt and myself passed the night in such a -dwelling, and a slight notice of the place may present, to many of our -readers, a new view of cottage life. It was in Rosshire, some thirty or -forty miles north-west of Inverness, at a spot called the Comrie, lying -between Loch Echilty and Loch Luichart. A wild, and yet most beautiful -spot it was,--a little strath opening itself out between the wooded -mountains which surround Loch Echilty, and the bare stony hills in the -direction of Strath Conan. We came upon it after wandering through the -delicious fairyland of birch woods that clothe that Loch in the very -romance of picturesque beauty, springing up amongst the wildest chaos of -crags, here hanging over the water, and here surrounding the ruinous -blackness of some solitary hut, that, but for children playing before -it, would appear to have been tenantless for years. A stern defile -guarded by vast masses of projecting rocks, by places clothed with the -richest drapery of crimson heather, by places naked and lividly grey, -and height above height still scattered with climbing birch trees, -brought us to a little nameless loch hidden in the woods, girt with a -dense margin of reeds, and covered with the most magnificent display of -white water-lilies, and then appeared two of those little huts in this -Highland solitude. The evening was rapidly sinking into night, and we -were uncertain how far it was to the next inn. Two women appeared at the -door of one of the huts, and rather startled us with the information, -that the nearest inn in the way we proposed to go, was distant -five-and-twenty miles! That another mile brought us to the ferry over -the Conan, where the carriage-road ceased, and all beyond was mountain -and moorland waste. We seemed, as it were, to be on the very verge of -civilization; and there appeared to be nothing for us but to retrace our -way for some miles, or to take up our lodging in this house. - -Weary as we were, this appeared the less objectionable alternative, and -we accepted the offer which the elder woman made us. The moment we did -so, the poor woman seemed struck with the rashness of her act. “What -shall I do for the like of you? What shall I find for the like of you?” -We assured her we should not be very fastidious guests, and in we went. -It was such a hut as I have just described. The fire lay on a hearth of -stones, with a few large stones built up against the mud wall to prevent -the house from being burnt. The woman’s husband, a farmer, was gone into -Morayshire with lambs; a hired shepherd sat on the side of the -partitioned bed, such as I have already described; two fine sheep-dogs -lay before the fire, and a troop of barelegged and kilted boys came -running in from some distant school. They were Macgregors, having come -hither from Dumbartonshire, and could, fortunately for us, speak -English. We sate on a bench in the ingle, and all these little -Macgregors, Grigor Macgregor, Peter and Duncan, and the rest, squatted -on the mud-floor, and alternately watched us and their eldest sister, a -fine barelegged lassie of eighteen, who was busy baking oatcakes for us. -It was a hot post both for herself and for us. She put on peats till the -hut was like an oven, and the smoke made our eyes smart almost past -endurance. Yet we watched the progress of her operation with great -interest, as she made a paste of oatmeal and water, rolled it out in -cakes, cut it into segments, baked them on an iron girdle over the fire, -and then reared them before the glowing peats to make them crisp. This -done, she found us some tea, and that was our supper. They had two or -three cows, but their milk was already in the process of being converted -into cheese; the potatoes and the oats of the last crop were exhausted, -and the wet season had prevented the ripening of the present. “There -was,” said our hostess, “a great cry in the country for food!” Our -fatigue, and this announcement, induced us to think we fared well. They -made us a comfortable bed in the spence, where we found four Gaelic -Bibles, and the History of Robinson Crusoe! Early in the morning we -pursued our way; but ere we took our leave, the poor woman came in from -fetching up her cows, her clothes wet to the very knees. When we -expressed our surprise--“O,” said she, “that is what we are used to -every day of our lives. While you have been in your bed, the herdboy has -three times gone round the corn-fields with his dogs, to chase away the -stags and roes into the woods. The last thing every night, while the -corn is growing in the field, he goes round--once again at midnight, and -then at the earliest dawn of day. Every night it must be done, or a -green blade would not be left. If you went in the gloaming with the man -into the wood, sir, you would see twenty stags as big as our cows. O -it’s an awful place for wild beasts--foxes and badgers, and serpents! -did you ever see a serpent, ma’am? Sometimes in a morning they rear -themselves up in a narrow path, and hiss at me bitterly.” As the poor -woman spoke, we stood at the door of her little tenement, and saw the -heavy dew lie glittering on the grass all round; and the primitive -cheese-press, consisting of a pole, one end of which was thrust into a -crevice of a rock, and the other weighted with a huge stone; and around -us were the heathy mountains and the woods; the mists and clouds -clinging to the sides of wild hills, or rolling away before the breeze -of morning; and the sound of the neighbouring torrent alone disturbing -the deep solitude. We could not avoid feeling how far was all this from -the cottage-life of England. We gave the poor woman what we thought a -fitting return for her hospitality, and left her overwhelmed with a -grateful astonishment, which shewed what was there the real value of -money. - -This is a scene in the scale of comfort far below the general run of -labourers’ houses in England; but yet how far, infinitely far lower, do -many of our working people’s abodes sink. What dens have we in -manufacturing towns! What little, filthy, dismal, yet high-rented dens! -What cabins do some of our colliers and miners inhabit! What noisome, -amphibious abodes abound in our fishing villages, such as Crabbe has -painted! What places have I seen in different parts of England, which -everywhere obtain the name of _Rookeries_,--huge piles built for some -purpose which has not answered; or some deserted hall, let off in little -tenements; the windows broken, and stopped with old rags and hats; the -ground all round trodden down, covered with ash-heaps; a few stunted -bushes, or gooseberry trees, where once had been a garden, displaying -the ragged and tattered wash of the indigence of indigence: altogether -exhibiting such an air of poverty as impoverishes one’s very spirit, and -fills it with a nameless feeling of disgust and despondence for days -after. Such a place I particularly recollect seeing somewhere between -Netherby and Gretna-Green; and, observing an old man “daundering about,” -as he called it, as without hope and object, I asked him how this place -came to look so forlorn--“O,” said he, “we once could run our cows on -the waste, and did very well, but that is taken away. Sir James asked -the steward what the poor people must do, ‘O, they will all hooly[25] -away,’ said he; but where are we to hooly to?” - - [25] Slip quietly away. A word often found in the old Border Ballads, - as “Then hooly, hooly up she rose,” etc. - -Ah! cottage life! There is much more hidden under that name than ever -inspired the wish to build _cottages ornées_, or to inhabit them. There -is a vast mass of human interests within its circle, of which the world -takes little note. The loves and hopes; the trials and struggles; the -sufferings, deaths, and burials; the festivities and religious -confraternities; the indignities that fret, and the necessities that -compel, to action and union our simple brethren and sisters. How little -is truly known; how much is consequently misjudged; how great is the -indifference concerning them in those who have the power to work -miracles of love and happiness amongst them, and must one day stand with -them at the footstool of our common Father, who will demand of his -children how each has loved his brethren. - -Let us turn our eyes, however, a moment from the dark side to the light -one. There is not a more beautiful sight in the world than that of our -English cottages, in those parts of the country where the violent -changes of the times have not been so sensibly felt. Where manufactures -have not introduced their red, staring, bald brick-houses, and what is -worse, their beershops and demoralization: where, in fact, a more -primitive simplicity remains. There, on the edges of the forests, in -quiet hamlets and sweet woody valleys, the little grey-thatched -cottages, with their gardens and old orchards, their rows of beehives, -and their porches clustered with jasmines and roses, stand:-- - - Hundreds of huts - All hidden in a sylvan gloom,--some perched - On verdant slopes from the low coppice cleared; - Some in deep dingles, secret as the nest - Of Robin Redbreast, built amongst the roots - Of pine, on whose tall top the throstle sings. - Hundreds of huts, yet all apart, and felt - Far from each other; ’mid the multitude - Of intervening stems; each glen or glade - By its own self a perfect solitude, - Hushed, but not mute. - - _John Wilson._ - -There they stand, and give one a poetical idea of peace and happiness -which is inexpressible. Well may they be the admiration of foreigners. -In many of the southern counties, but I think nowhere more than in -Hampshire, do the cottages realize, in my view, every conception that -our poets have given us of them. One does, no doubt, when looking on -their quiet beauty, endow them with a repose and exemption from mortal -sufferings that can belong to no human dwelling; and Professor Wilson, -in his poem called “An Evening in Furness Abbey,” which appeared in -Blackwood’s Magazine, September, 1829,--a poem flushed all over with the -violet hues of poetry, and overflowing with tenderness and grace, gives -one this very delightful expression of a thought which has occurred to -many of us-- - - The day goes by - On which our soul’s beloved dies! The day - On which the body of the dead is stretched - By hands that decked it when alive; the day - On which the dead is shrouded; and the day - Of burial--one and all go by! The grave - Grows green ere long; the churchyard seems a place - Of pleasant rest, and all the cottages, - That keep for ever sending funerals - Within its gates, look cheerful every one, - As if the dwellers therein never died, - And this earth slumbered in perpetual peace. - -But sobering down by such sad, yet sweet thoughts as these, our poetical -fancies of cottage life, and bringing them within the range of human -trouble and suffering, still these rustic abodes must inspire us with -ideas of a peace and purity of life, in most soothing contrast with the -hurry and immorality of cities. Blessings be on them wherever they -stand, in woodland valleys, or on open heaths, throughout fair England; -and may growing knowledge bring growth of happiness, widening the -capacity of enjoyment without touching the simplicity of feeling and the -strength of principle. Well may the weary wayfarer-- - - Lean on such humble gate and think the while, - O! that for me some home like this would smile; - Some cottage home to yield my aged form, - Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm. - -There are thousands of them inhabited by woodmen, labourers, or keepers, -that are fit dwellings for the truest poet that ever lived; and it is -the _ideal_ of these picturesque and peace-breathing English cottages -that has given origin to some of the sweetest paradises in the -world--the cottages of the wealthy and the tasteful. What most lovely -creations of this description now abound in the finest parts of England, -with their delicious shrubberies, velvet lawns, hidden walks, and rustic -garden-huts; their little paddocks lying amid woods, and skirted with -waters; spots breathing the odour of dewy flowers, and containing in -small space all the elegance and the country enjoyments of life. - -Happiness, it is true, is not to be dragged into such places; but what -places they are for the genuine lover of the country to invite her into! -The very feeling of the cumbrous pomp and circumstance of aristocratic -establishments in this country, makes one think of such sweet -hermitages with a sense of relief and congratulation. What more charming -abode has the wide earth for a spirit soothing itself with the pleasures -of literature and the consolation of genuine religion, far from the -wranglings pf political life, than such a one as the cottage, formerly -that of Mrs. Southey, at Buckland, on the border of the New Forest; of -Miss Mitford, at Three-Mile-Cross; or that of Wordsworth at Rydal? But -we must quit these earthly paradises to speak of other things. - - -CHAPTER II. - -POPULAR FESTIVALS AND FESTIVITIES. - -What a revolution of taste has taken place in the English people as it -regards popular festivals and festivities! Our ancestors were -passionately fond of shows, pageants, processions, and maskings. They -were fond of garlands and ribbons, dancing and festive merriment. -May-day, Easter, Whitsuntide, St. John’s Day, Yule, and many other -times, were times of general sport and gaiety. Music and flowers -abounded; mumming, morris-dancing, and many a quaint display of humour -and frolic spread over the country. The times, and the spirit of the -times, are changed:--we are become a sober people. England is no longer -merry England, but busy England; England full of wealth and -poverty--extravagance and care. There has been no small lamentation over -this change; and many of our writers have laboured hard to bring us once -more to adopt this state of things. They might as well attempt to bring -back jousts and tourneys[26], popery, and government without -representation. The times, and the spirit of the times are changed. -Strutt, Hone, Leigh Hunt, Miss Laurence, and many others, may expatiate -on the poetic beauty of these things: they may deplore the extinction of -this graceful rite, that jocund festivity, and pray us earnestly to -resume them once more; but can they give us our light hearts again? Can -they make the nation young again? Can they make us the simple, ignorant, -confiding people, living in the present, careless of the future, as our -ancestors were? Till they can do this, they must lament and exhort us in -vain. As soon might they bid the sun to retrace his path; the seasons -reverse their course; earth and heaven turn back in the path of their -years. What our ancestors were, they were from circumstances that are -gone for ever; and what we are, we are from another mighty succession of -circumstances, of which the memory and effect may no more be blotted -out, than the stars can be blotted out of the clear heavens of midnight. -The country has passed through deep baptisms, and processes of -fermentation which have worked out the lighter external characters, and -totally reorganised the moral as well as the political constitution of -the kingdom. The better qualities of the old English character I trust -we fully retain, but the more juvenile and fantastic ones are -irrevocably destroyed in the shock of most momentous convulsions. - - [26] Since the former edition of this work was written, _that_ even - _has_ been attempted. - -Amongst the many attempts to account for the sedater cast of the modern -popular mind, Sir E. Bulwer, in “England and the English,” has -attributed it to the spread of Methodism. Had he attributed it to -Puritanism he would have been nearer the mark. Methodism may possibly -have done something towards it, but it neither began early enough, nor -spread universally enough, to have the credit of this change. The decay -of popular festivities has been noticed and lamented by writers for the -last century. It has been going on both before and since the rise of -Methodism, with much the same pace of progression, and is equally felt -where Methodism is not allowed to shew its face, as where it exercises -its fullest power. Over what a great extent of this country does the -influence of high-church landlords prevail, where Methodism cannot get -footing; where the people are all expected to go soberly to church as in -the good old times; and yet there the people are just as grave, have -grown out of the sports and pastimes of their ancestors, just as much as -in the most Methodistic districts. In the manufacturing districts, where -the Methodists have gained most influence, it is true enough that they -have helped to expel an immense quantity of dog-fighting, cock-fighting, -bull-baiting, badger-baiting, boxing, and such blackguard amusements; -but Maying, guising, plough-bullocking, morris-dancing, were gone -before, or would have gone had not Methodism appeared. - -Mighty and many are the causes which have wrought this great national -change; causes which have been operating upon us for the last three -hundred years; and are so intimately connected with our whole national -progress, political and intellectual--with all our growing greatness, -with all our glory and our sorrows, that had not Methodism existed, that -character would have been exactly what it is. - -The Reformation laid the foundation of this change. While we had an -absolute pope, and an absolute king; while the people were neither -educated, nor allowed to read the Bible, nor to be represented in -Parliament; while the monarch and a few noble families held all the -lands of the kingdom, the lower classes had nothing to do but to follow -their masters to the wars, or live easily and dance gaily in times of -peace. The retainers of great houses, the labourers in the fields, -foresters and shepherds, following their solitary occupations, -constituted the bulk of the nation. Merchants and merchandise were few; -our great trading towns and interests did not exist; the days of -newspapers, of religious disputes, of literature and periodicals, were -not come. The people were either at work or at play. When their work was -over, play was their sole resource. They danced, they acted rude plays -and pantomimes, with all the zest and gaiety of children, for their -heads were as unoccupied with knowledge and grave concerns as those of -children. They lived in poverty it may be, but still they lived in that -state of simplicity and dependence which left them little care; and they -were cut off, by the impossibility of rising out of their original rank, -from all troublesome excitement. It was equally the concern of the civil -government and the hierarchy to encourage sports and festivities, to -keep them out of dangerous inquiries into their own condition, or -rights. In the great feudal halls, the minstrel, the jongleur, the -jester, and other ministers of gaiety; hawks and hounds abroad, jollity -and drinking at home, kept the minds of all idlers occupied with matters -to their taste. The clergy and monks promoted with an equal zeal of -policy, the festivals of saints, keeping of high days and holidays, -processions, games, and even acting the mysteries and miracle-plays. -While the system continued, this spirit and national character must have -continued likewise; but the Reformation burst like a volcano from -beneath, and scattered the whole smiling surface into disjointed -fragments, or buried it beneath the lava of ruin. - -Henry VIII. at once destroyed Monkery and the Catholic church. He at -once seized on the ecclesiastical lands, and snapped asunder the -ecclesiastical policy. The translation of the Bible let in a flood of -light that revealed all the phantasmagoria of the past, and prepared a -train of everlasting inquiries, disquietudes, and intellectual and -political triumphs for the future. The people saw they had been treated -as children, but they now awoke to the passions and the conscious power -of men. They had tasted of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and -their eyes were opened to their actual condition, never more to be -closed. The lands that were rudely seized and arbitrarily distributed, -created a new class in the community--the gentry--a link between the -aristocracy and the people;--possessing the knowledge of the one, and -sharing the interests of the other. Henry’s predecessors had hastened -this new era by curtailing the wealth and power of the nobility; and the -long wars of the houses of York and Lancaster had already done much of -this work for him; exterminating some, humbling others, and embarrassing -with debts the remainder. So were the elements of a more popular career -thrown into the midst of the nation; and the religious persecutions on -the Continent, by sending us swarms of jewellers, weavers, and other -artificers, laid the foundation of those trading propensities which have -now carried us to such a marvellous length. We came to be a trading and -colonizing people, and to possess a fleet in order to protect our new -interests. How rapidly this navy grew, indicating by its own growth that -of the general wealth and commercial enterprise of England, of which it -was the consequence, is seen by this circumstance. In that fine old -ballad of Sir Andrew Barton, Lord Howard is made to say to Henry VIII. -in 1511-- - - Sir Andrew’s shipp I bring with mee; - A braver shipp was never none; - _Now hath your grace two shipps of warr_, - _Before in England was but one_! - -This one was the _Great Harry_, built in 1504. In about 80 years only -afterwards, the English had thirty vessels of war at sea, and with these -dared to attack the Invincible Armada of Spain, consisting of one -hundred and thirty vessels, and by the assistance of a providential -tempest, totally dispersed and destroyed it. Then Howard of Effingham, -Drake, Frobisher, Hawkins, were the names of our commanders,--names -which thenceforward filled all the known world with terror, and gave to -England the empire of the seas. With this extension of national -interests, a more active and earnest spirit was diffused through the -people. The struggle with enemies abroad, and with the rapidly maturing -spirit of religious freedom at home, kept Elizabeth engaged, and induced -in her a rigour of persecution, and in the people a rigour of resistance -and the soul of martyrdom. Before the development of these antagonist -powers, all lightness fled; singing gave way to preaching and listening; -dancing, to running anxiously to know the fate of sufferers, and the -doctrines of fresh-springing teachers. So completely had the old relish -for merriment and pastimes died out, that her successor, James, -endeavoured to compel the people, by the publication of his “Book of -Sports” to be jocose and gamesome. But it would not do. The soul of the -people was now up in arms for their rights; and the despotic nature of -himself and his son, resisting their claims, kept up such a fever of -political strife in the kingdom as would have put out all jesting and -capering if they had not gone before. The hierarchy fell,--fell in one -wide chaos of civil contention; and, as if torrents of blood and volumes -of fire, and the trampling hoofs of thousands of careering cavalry had -not been enough to overwhelm and dash to pieces every remaining fragment -of jollity and popular fête,--in came Puritanism from Geneva, and the -Solemn League and Covenant from Scotland. There was a final close to all -the pageantry of processions and the merry saintliness of festivals: -they were denounced and abhorred as the carnality of Anti-Christ and the -rags of the scarlet woman. Charles II. indeed, could revive -licentiousness, but he could not bring back the holiday guise of “the -old profession.” And what has been the course of England since? One -ever-widening and ascending course of mighty wars, expanding commerce, -vast colonization, and the growth of science, literature, and general -knowledge. We are no longer a nation of feudal combatants, of piping -shepherds, and thoughtless peasantry,--but of busy, scheming, -money-collecting, family-creating men. Our last tremendous war put the -climax to this amazing career. In it all Europe seemed torn to pieces -and organized anew. We, as a people, were led by circumstances to put -forth the most stupendous energies that perhaps any nation ever did. To -defend our colonies; to support the interests of our allies with arms -and subsidies; to supply the whole of Europe with all species of -manufactures, and almost all species of merchandise, and through this -demand stimulating into existence the powers of steam and machinery, a -population of amazing numbers to maintain. And then, the shock and the -revulsion when this great war-system suddenly ceased! An immense debt, -vast taxes, the necessity of maintaining high prices, the necessity of -boundless competition and low wages that we might so compete with the -continent, returning to its old habits. - -Who does not know with what a fiery force this has fallen on the working -classes? What distress, what pauperization, what desperation, brought to -the very pitch of rebellion, they have gone through; and recollecting -this, can any one think otherwise than that it has been enough to sober -any people that is not destitute of every element of high character. If -we could, after a baptism like this, be still like the French, a -dancing, dissipation-loving people, we should, like them, have but a -fitful care to secure our liberties, and the comforts of good -government; like them, at this moment, we should be the victims of -successive revolutions, yielding no fruit but tyranny. But we are a -sober and a thoughtful people, and are therefore working out of the mass -of our difficulties the form of a renewed constitution, adapted to our -present enlarged views and experience. But besides this, our energies -have not been called forth for this good end alone; they have brought -with their exercise a high relish for intellectual pleasures. Our minds -have been stirred mightily, and, like animals that during their wintry -torpor feel no hunger, yet feel it keenly the moment they are awake, -they have become hungry for congenial aliment. We have fed on much -knowledge, and are no longer children, but full-grown men, with manly -appetites and experienced tastes. Could we now sit, as our ancestors -did, for nine hours together at a mystery? Could we endure to read -through the chronicles and romances of the middle ages,--books which -spun out their recitals to the most extraordinary length, and were never -too long; for books then were few? If we could not, so neither could the -simple pleasures and rural festivities satisfy the peasantry of this. -We are the creatures of new circumstances, and of a higher reach of -knowledge. A combination of causes, too puissant to be resisted, has -made hopeless all return to the juvenilities of the past. And after all, -happiness--of which the people, however unwisely, are always in quest, -does not consist in booths and garlands, drums and horns, or in capering -round a May-pole. Happiness is a fireside thing. It is a thing of grave -and earnest tone; and the deeper and truer it is, the more is it removed -from the riot of mere merriment: - - The highest mood allowed - To sinful creatures, for all happiness - Worthy that holy name, seems steeped in tears, - Like flowers in dew, or tinged with misty hues, - Like stars in halo. - - _John Wilson._ - -And the more our humble classes come to taste of the pleasures of books -and intellect, and the deep fireside affections which grow out of the -growth of heart and mind, the less charms will the outward forms of -rejoicing have for them. Beautiful and poetical, I grant, are many of -the old rites and customs of which we have been speaking; but they are -beautiful and poetical as belonging to their own times,--and many of -them, I am inclined to believe, as seen in the distance; for, seen at -hand, there is a vulgarity in most popular customs that offends -invariably our present tastes. Nor do I mean to say that our present -population cannot be cheerful. A more truly cheerful people never -existed; and they can dance and be merry too when they will; as -Christmas, and Whitsuntide, and their annual village feasts and their -harvest-homes can testify. Since the Reformation, the saints of the -calendar having become mere names in this country, their festivals have -accordingly died away. Whitsuntide, Easter, and Christmas seem almost -all that have maintained their stand; and of these we will speak a -little; but in the first place let us have a few words on May-Day. - - -CHAPTER III. - -MAY-DAY. - -May-day was celebrated with a gaiety and poetical grace far beyond all -other festivals. It had come down from the pagan times with all its -Arcadian beauty, and seemed to belong to those seasons more than to any -Christian occasions. It is one that the poets have all combined to -lavish their most delicious strains upon. The time of the year was -itself so inspiring,--with all its newness of feeling, its buds and -blossoms and smiling skies. It seemed just the chosen period for heaven -and earth and youth to mingle their gladness together. There is no -festivity that is so totally gone! Washington Irving in his very -interesting account of his visit to Newstead Abbey, takes the -opportunity to say, that he had been accused by the critics of -describing in his Sketch Book popular manners and customs that had gone -by, but that he had found those very customs existing in that -neighbourhood. That those who doubted the accuracy of his statements -must go north of the Trent. That he found May-poles standing in the -old-fashioned villages, and that a band of plough-bullocks even came to -the abbey while he was there. - -Washington Irving certainly seemed most agreeably impressed with the -primitive air of that part of Nottinghamshire, and it is interesting to -see the effect which places most familiar to you produce on the minds of -strangers of taste and poetical feeling. His delight at finding himself -in old Sherwood, the haunt of Robin Hood; in hearing the bells of -Mansfield at a distance; and his remarking the names of Wagstaff, -Hardstaff, Beardall, as names abounding about the forest, naturally -suggesting the character of those who first bore them--names so common -to our eyes as never to have awakened any such idea;--all this is very -agreeable; but let no lover of ancient customs go thither on the -strength of Washington Irving’s report, unless he means to travel much -farther north of the Trent than Newstead. There is certainly a May-pole -standing in the village of Linby near Newstead, and there is one in the -village of Farnsfield near Southwell; but I have been endeavouring to -recollect any others for twenty miles round and cannot do it, and though -garlands are generally hung on these poles on May-day, wreathed by the -hands of some fair damsel who has a lingering affection for the olden -times, and carried up by some adventurous lad; alas! the dance beneath -it, where is it? In the dales of Derbyshire, May-poles are more -frequent, but the dancing I never saw. In my own recollection, the -appearance of morris-dancers, guisers, plough-bullocks, and Christmas -carollers, has become more and more rare, and to find them we must go -into the retired hamlets of Staffordshire, and the dales of Yorkshire -and Lancashire. - -One would have thought that the May-day fête would have outlasted all -others, except it were Christmas, on the strength of the poetical wealth -of heart and fancy woven with it through our literature. Every writer of -any taste and fancy has referred with enthusiasm to May-day. Chaucer, -Spenser, Shakspeare, Fletcher, Milton, Browne, Herrick, and all our -later poets, have sung of it with all their hearts. Chaucer, in Palamon -and Arcite, describes Arcite going to the woods for garlands on May -morning, according to the old custom. He - - Is risen, and looketh on the merry day; - And for to do his observance to May, - Remembering on the point of his desire, - He on the courser, starting as the fire, - Is risen to the fieldés him to playe; - Out of the court were it a mile or tway: - And to the grove of which that I you told, - By Aventine his way began to hold, - To maken him a garland of the greves, - Were it of woodbine, or of hawthorn leaves, - And loud he sung, against the sunny sheen: - “O May, with all thy flowers and thy green, - Right welcome be thou, fairé, freshé May; - I hope that I some green here getten may.” - And from his courser with a lusty heart, - Into the grove full hastily he start, - And in a path he roamed up and down. - -Milton has many beautiful glances at it, and Shakspeare touches on it in -a hundred places, as in “The Midsummer Night’s Dream:” - - If thou lovest me then, - Steal forth thy father’s house to-morrow night; - And in a wood, a league without the town, - Where I did meet thee once with Helena, - To do observance to a morn of May, - There will I stay for thee. - -The European observance of this custom is principally derived from the -Romans, who have left traces of it in all the countries they subdued. It -was their festival of Flora. It was the time in which they sacrificed to -Maia; and in Spain, where this custom seems to remain much as they left -it, the village-queen still is called Maia. But we have traces of it as -it existed amongst the Saxons, whose barons at this time going to their -Wittenagemote, or Assembly of Wise Men, left their peasantry to a sort -of saturnalia, in which they chose a king, who chose his queen. He wore -an oaken, and she a hawthorn wreath; and together they gave laws to the -rustic sports, during those sweet days of freedom. The May-pole too, or -the column of May, was the grand standard of justice amongst these -people, in the EY-COMMONS, or fields of May: and the garland hung on its -top, was the signal for convening the people. Here it was that the -people, if they saw cause, deposed or punished their governors, their -barons and kings. It was one of the most ancient customs, which, says -Brande, has by repetition been from year to year perpetuated. - -But we have traces also of its mode of celebration among our Druid -ancestors, for it is certainly one of the old customs of the world, -having come down from the earliest ages of Paganism through various -channels. Dr. Clarke in his Travels, vol. ii. p. 229, has shewn that the -custom of blowing horns on this day, still continued at Oxford, -Cambridge, London, and other places, is derived from a festival of -Diana. These ancient customs of the country did not escape the notice of -Erasmus when in England, nor the ceremony of placing a deer’s head upon -the altar of St. Paul’s church, which was built upon the site of a -temple of Diana, by Ethelbert, king of Kent. Mr. Johnson, in his “Indian -Field Sports,” also states the curious circumstance, that the Hindoos -hold a vernal feast called BHUVIZAH, on the 9th of Baisach, exclusively -for such as keep horned cattle for use or profit, when _they erect a -pole and adorn it with garlands_; and perform much the same rites as -used to be adopted by the English on the first of May. Thus it appears -how ancient and how widely spread was this custom; and its celebration -by the Druids and Celts points it out as belonging to the worship of the -sun. In Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland, the people still kindle -fires on the tops of their mountains on this day, called Beal Fires, and -the festival then celebrated Beltane, or Bealtane. The practice is to be -traced in the mountainous and uncultivated parts of Cumberland, amongst -the Cheviots, and in many parts of Scotland. Mr. Pennant says--“On the -first of May, in the Highlands of Scotland, the herdsmen of every -district hold their Beltein. They cut a square trench in the ground, -leaving the turf in the middle. On that they make a fire of wood, on -which they dress a large caudle of eggs, butter, oatmeal, and milk, and -bring, besides the ingredients of the caudle, plenty of beer and whisky; -for each of the company must contribute something. The rite begins with -spilling some of the caudle on the ground, by way of libation. On that -every one takes a cake of oatmeal, on which are raised nine square -knobs, each dedicated to some particular being, the supposed preserver -of their flocks and herds; or to some particular animal, the real -destroyer of them. Each person then turns his face to the fire, breaks -off a knob, and flinging it over his shoulder, says--“This I give to -thee; preserve thou my sheep: this I give to thee; preserve thou my -horses:” and so on. After that they use the same ceremony to the noxious -animals--“This I give to thee O Fox! spare thou my lambs; this to thee O -hooded Crow! this to thee Eagle! When the ceremony is over they dine on -the caudle, etc. etc.” - -Something of this kind is retained in Northumberland, in the syllabub -prepared for the May-feast, which is made of warm milk from the cow, -sweet cake, and wine; and a kind of divination is practised by fishing -with a ladle for a wedding-ring, which is dropped into it for the -purpose of prognosticating who shall be first married. This divination -of the wedding-ring is practised in the midland counties on -Christmas-eve; and they have a peculiar kind of tall pots made expressly -for this purpose, called posset-pots. I have myself fished for the ring -on many a merry Christmas-eve. - -One cannot avoid seeing in these ceremonies their most ancient origin -and consequently wide-spread adoption. The throwing over the shoulder -offerings to good and evil powers is exactly that of all savage nations, -the effect of one uniform tradition. The American Indians, indeed, -seldom propitiate the good, but are very careful to appease, or prevent -the evil Manitou. These notions have, no doubt, everywhere contributed -to connect ideas of the presence and power of spiritual and fairy -creatures, and the extraordinary license of witchcraft on this night and -day. We cannot avoid thinking of the wizard rites of the Blocksburg in -Germany, made so familiar by Goëthe; and we see the reason why all -houses were defended by forest boughs, gathered with peculiar -ceremonies, and worn by the young on May-eve, in almost every European -country. - -What then were the exact ceremonies of May-day? The Romans celebrated -the feast of Flora in this manner. The young people went to the woods, -and brought back a quantity of boughs, with which they adorned their -houses. Women ran through the streets, and had the privilege of -insulting every one who came in their way. And here may we not see the -custom, still continued in France, though fallen into desuetude here, of -the _epousées_ (brides) of the month of May? The _epousées_ are the -little daughters of the common people, dressed in their best, and placed -on a chair, or bank, in the streets and public walks, on the first -Sunday in May. Other little girls, the brides’ companions, stand near -with plates, and tease the passengers for some money for their -_epousées_. - -Like the Romans, then, our ancestors celebrated May-day as a festival of -the young. The youth of both sexes rose shortly after midnight, and went -to some neighbouring wood, attended by songs and music, and breaking -green branches from the trees, adorned themselves with wreaths and -crowns of flowers. They returned home at the rising of the sun, and made -their windows and doors gay with garlands. In the villages they danced -during the day round the May-pole, which was hung to the very top with -wreaths and garlands, and afterwards remained the whole year untouched, -except by the seasons,--a fading emblem and consecrated offering to the -Goddess of Flowers. At night the villagers lighted up fires, and -indulged in revellings, after the Roman fashion. In this country they -added the pageant of Robin Hood and Maid Marian, with Friar Tuck, Will -Stutely, and others of their merry company; the dragon and the -hobby-horse,--all of which may be found fully described in Strutt’s -Queenhoo-Hall. - -Spenser and Herrick give very graphic pictures of these popular -festivities, which I shall here transcribe; and first, Spenser from the -Shepherds’ Calendar. - - Young folke now flocken in everywhere - To gather May buskets,[27] and smelling brere; - And home they hasten the posts to dight, - And all the kirk pillars, ere daylight: - With hawthorne buds, and sweet eglantine, - And garlands of roses, and sops-in-wine. - Sicker this morrow, no longer agoe, - I sawe a shole of shepherds outgoe - With singing and shouting, and jolly chere; - Before them rode a lustie tabrere, - That to the many a hornpipe played, - Wherto they dauncen, eche one with his mayd. - To see these folks make such jovisaunce - Made my heart after the pipe to daunce. - Tho to the greene-wood they speeden hem all, - To fetchen home May with their musicall, - And home they bringen, in a royall throne, - Crowned as king, and his queen attone - Was Lady Flora, on whome did attend - A fayre flock of faeries, and a fresh band - Of lovely nymphs. O that I were there - To helpen the ladies their May-bush beer! - - [27] Bushes. - -Herrick’s poem is in the form of a lover inviting his sweetheart to go -out a May-gathering. - -CORINNA’S GOING A-MAYING. - - Get up, get up for shame: the blooming morn - Upon her wings presents the God unshorn: - See how Aurora throws her fair - Fresh-quilted colours through the air: - Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see - The dew bespangling herb and tree. - - Each flower has wept and bowed towards the east - Above an hour ago, yet you not dressed: - Nay, not so much as out of bed - When all the birds have matins said, - And sung their thankful hymns; ’tis sin, - Nay, profanation to keep in; - When as a thousand virgins on this day - Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in May! - - Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen - To come forth like the spring time, fresh and green, - And sweet as Flora. Take no care - For jewels for your crown, or hair; - Fear not, the leaves will strew - Gems in abundance upon you: - Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, - Against you come, some orient pearls unwept. - Come and receive them, while the light - Hangs on the dew-locks of the night, - And Titan, on the eastern hill - Retires himself, or else stands still - Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying; - Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying! - - Come, my Corinna, come, and coming mark - How each field turns a street, each street a park, - Made green and trimmed with trees; see how - Devotion gives each house a bough, - A branch; each porch, and door, ere this, - An ark, a tabernacle is, - Made up of whitethorn, neatly interwove, - As if here were those cooler shades of love. - Can such delights be in the street, - And open fields, and we not see ’t? - Come, we’ll abroad, and let’s obey - The proclamation made for May; - And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; - But my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying! - - There’s not a budding boy or girl, this day, - But is got up and gone to bring in May: - A deal of youth, ere this, is come - Back, and with whitethorn laden home: - Some have despatched their cakes and cream, - Before that we have left to dream; - And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted troth, - And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth. - Many a green gown has been given; - Many a kiss both odd and even; - Many a glance too has been sent - From out the eye, love’s firmament; - Many a jest told, of the key’s betraying - This night, and locks picked; yet we’re not a-Maying! - - Come, let us go while we are in our prime, - And take the harmless folly of the time; - We shall grow old apace, and die - Before we know our liberty: - Our life is short, and our days run - As fast away as does the sun: - And as a vapour or a drop of rain, - Once lost can ne’er be formed again: - So when, or you or I are made - A fable, song, or fleeting shade; - All love, all liking, all delight, - Lie down with us in endless night, - Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, - Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying! - -Such were the festivities of youth and nature to which our monarchs, -especially Henry VIII., Elizabeth, and James, used to go forth and -participate. In the reign of the Maiden Queen, pageant seemed to arrive -at its greatest height, and the May-day festivities were celebrated in -their fullest manner; and so they continued, attracting the attention of -the royal and noble, as well as the vulgar, till the close of the reign -of James I. In “The Progresses of Queen Elizabeth,” vol. iv. part i., is -this entry: “May 8th, 1602. On May-day, the queen went a-Maying to Sir -Rich. Buckley’s, at Lewisham, some three or four miles off Greenwich.” -This may be supposed to be one of those scenes represented in Mr. -Leslie’s magnificent picture of May-day, in which Elizabeth is a -conspicuous object. It is recorded by Chambers that Henry VIII. made a -grand procession, with his queen Katherine and many lords and ladies, -from Greenwich to Shooter’s Hill, where they were met by a Robin Hood -pageant. In Henry VI.’s time, the aldermen and sheriffs of London went -to the Bishop of London’s wood, in the parish of Stebenheath, and there -had a worshipful dinner for themselves and other comers; and Lydgate the -poet, a monk of Bury, sent them by a pursuivant “a joyful commendation -of that season, containing sixteen stanzas in metre royall.” - -In April, 1644, there was an ordinance of the two houses of Parliament -for taking down all and singular May-poles; and in 1654, the Moderate -Intelligencer says--“this day was more observed by people’s _going -a-Maying_, than for divers years past, and indeed much _sin_ committed -by wicked meetings, with fighting, drunkenness, ribaldry and the like. -Great resort came to Hyde Park; many hundred of rich coaches, and -gallants in rich attire, but _most shameful powdered-hair men, and -painted and spotted women_.” And this before my Lord Protector! so that -the old spirit was rising up again from beneath the influence of -Puritanism; and the Restoration was again the signal for hoisting the -May-poles. In Hone’s Everyday Book, and in that valuable miscellany, -Time’s Telescope, many particulars of the rearing again the great -May-pole in the Strand, and of the latest May-pole standing in London, -may be found. - -Old Aubrey says, that in Holland they had their _May-booms_ before their -doors, but that he did not recollect seeing a May-pole in France. Yet -nothing is more certain than the custom of the French of planting tall -trees in their villages at this time, and of adorning their houses with -boughs, and of planting a shrub of some pleasant kind under the window, -or by the door of their sweethearts, before day-break, on a May-morning. -Aubrey complains himself bitterly of the people taking up great trees in -the forest of Woodstock to plant before their doors; and John Evelyn as -bitterly laments the havoc made in the woods in his time. They are safe -from such depredations now. Yet in different parts of England still, -till within these few years, lingered vestiges of this once great day. -At _Horncastle_ in Lincolnshire, the young people used to come marching -up to the May-pole with wands wreathed with cowslips, which they there -struck together in a wild enthusiasm, and scattered in a shower around -them. At _Padstow_ in Cornwall, they have, or had lately, the procession -of the hobby-horse. At Oxford on May-day, at four o’clock in the -morning, they ascend to the top of the tower of Magdalen College, and -used to sing a requiem for the soul of Henry VII., the founder, which -was afterwards changed to a concert of vocal and instrumental music, -consisting of several merry catches, and a concluding peal of the bells. -The clerks and choristers, with the rest of the performers, afterwards -breakfasted on a side of lamb. At Arthur’s Seat, at Edinburgh, they make -a grand assembly of young people about sunrise, to gather May-dew, and -dance. In Huntingdonshire, a correspondent of Time’s Telescope says, -that the children still exhibit garlands. They suspend a sort of crown -of hoops, wreathed and ornamented with flowers, ribbons, handkerchiefs, -necklaces, silver spoons, and whatever finery can be procured, at a -considerable height above the road, by a rope extending from chimney to -chimney of the cottages, while they attempt to throw their balls over it -from side to side, singing, and begging halfpence from the passengers. A -May-lady, or doll, or larger figure, sometimes makes an appendage in -some side nook. The money collected is afterwards spent in a -tea-drinking, with cakes, etc. May-garlands with dolls are carried at -Northampton by the neighbouring villagers, and at other places. At Great -Gransden in Cambridgeshire, at Hitchin, and elsewhere, they make a lord -and lady of May. At night, the farmers’ young servants go and cut -hawthorn, singing what they call the _Night-song_. They leave a bough at -each house, according to the number of young persons in it. On the -evening of May-day, and the following evening, they go round to every -house where they left a bush, singing _The May-Song_. One has a -handkerchief on a long wand for a flag, with which he keeps off the -crowd. The rest have ribbons in their hats. The May-Song consists of -sixteen verses, of a very religious cast. At Penzance, and in Wales, -they keep up May dances and other peculiar ceremonies. - -I have been more particular in detailing the rites and customs of this -festivity, because, once more popular than any, they are now become -more disused. There have been more attempts to revive the celebration of -May-day, from its supposed congeniality to the spirit of youth, than -that of any other festivity, but all in vain. The times, and the spirit -of the times, are changed. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER IV. - -EASTER FESTIVITIES. - -May-day was the great festival of the young. Easter was the great -festival of the church. It followed the dismal and abstemious time of -Lent, and came heralded by Palm-Sunday, the commemoration of our -Saviour’s riding into Jerusalem; Maundy-Thursday, the day on which he -washed the feet of his disciples; and Good-Friday, the day of his death. -All these days were kept with great circumstance. On Palm-Sunday there -was, and still is, in Catholic countries, a great procession to church, -with tapers and palm-branches, or sprigs of box as a substitute. Stowe -says that in the week before Easter, “had ye great shows made for the -fetching in of a _twisted tree_, or _withe_, as they termed it, out of -the woods into the king’s house, and the like into every man’s house of -honour and worship.” - -This was the sallow or large-leaved willow, whose catkins are now in -full bloom, and are still called palms by the country people. -Maundy-Thursday, or _Dies Mandati_, the day of the command to wash each -other’s feet, was a great day of humiliation and profession of Christian -benevolence. The pope washed the feet of certain poor men; kings and -princes did the same; in the monasteries the custom was general, and -long retained. After the ceremony, liberal donations were made to the -poor, of clothing, and of silver money; and refreshments were given them -to mitigate the severity of the fast; on the 15th of April, 1731, -Maundy-Thursday, a distribution was made at Whitehall, to 48 poor men -and 48 poor women, the king’s age then being 48--of boiled beef and -shoulders of mutton; loaves and fishes; shoes, stockings, linen, and -woollen cloth; and leathern bags with one, two, three, and four penny -pieces of silver, and shillings to each; about four pounds in value. The -Archbishop of York also washed the feet of a certain number of poor -persons. James II. was the last king who performed this in person: but a -relic of this custom is still preserved in the donations dispensed at -St. James’s on this day. In 1814, this donation was made with great -ceremony at Whitehall Chapel. In the morning, Dr. Carey, the -sub-almoner, and Mr. Hanley, the secretary of the Lord High Almoner, Mr. -Nost, and others belonging to the Lord Chamberlain’s office, attended by -40 yeomen of the guard, distributed to 75 poor women and 75 poor -men--being as many as the king was years old--a quantity of salt fish, -consisting of salmon, cod, and herrings; pieces of very fine beef, five -loaves of bread, and some ale to drink the king’s health. At three -o’clock they met again; the men on one side of the chapel, the women on -the other. A procession entered, consisting of a party of yeomen of the -guard, one of them carrying a large gold dish on his head, containing -150 bags with 75 silver pennies in each, for the poor people, which was -placed in the royal closet. They were followed by the sub-almoner in his -robes, with a sash of fine linen over his shoulder and crossing his -waist. He was followed by two boys, two girls, the secretary, and -another gentleman, with similar sashes, etc. etc.: all carrying large -nosegays. The church evening service was then performed; at the -conclusion of which the silver pennies were distributed, and woollen -cloth, linen, shoes and stockings, to the poor men and women, and, -according to ancient custom, a cup of wine, to drink the king’s health. -This ceremony is still continued in similar style. - -At Rome, the altar of the Capella Paolina is illuminated with more than -4000 wax tapers; and the pope and cardinals go thither in procession, -bringing the sacrament along with them, and leaving it there. Then the -pope blesses the people, and washes the feet of some pilgrims, and -serves them at dinner. At Moscow, Dr. Clarke says, the Archbishop washes -the feet of the Apostles, that is, twelve monks designed to represent -them. The archbishop takes off his robes, girds his loins with a towel, -and proceeds to wash their feet, till he comes to St. Peter, who rises -up, and the same interlocution takes place between him and the prelate -as is said to have done between our Saviour and that Apostle. - -The next day is GOOD-FRIDAY, so called by the English, but HOLY-FRIDAY -on the continent--the day of our Saviour’s death. Thousands of English -travellers have witnessed, and many described, the splendid pageant of -this night at St. Peter’s at Rome, on which the hundred lamps which burn -over the apostle’s tomb are extinguished, and a stupendous cross of -light appears suspended from the dome, between the altar and the nave, -shedding over the whole edifice a soft lustre delightful to the eye, and -highly favourable to picturesque representations. This exhibition is -supposed to have originated in the sublime imagination of Michael -Angelo, and he who beholds it will acknowledge that it is not unworthy -of the inventor. The magnitude of the cross, hanging as if -self-suspended, and like a meteor streaming in the air; the blaze that -it pours forth; the mixture of light and shade cast on the pillars, -arches, statues, and altars; the crowd of spectators placed in all the -different attitudes of curiosity, wonder, and devotion; the processions, -with their banners and crosses gliding successively in silence along the -nave, and kneeling around the altar: the penitents of all nations and -dresses collected in groups near the confessionals of their respective -languages; a cardinal occasionally advancing through the crowd, and as -he kneels, humbly bending his head to the pavement; in fine, the pontiff -himself without pomp and pageantry, prostrate before the altar, offering -up his adorations in silence, form a scene singularly striking. - -In various Catholic countries the lights are suddenly put out at the -sound of a bell, and a flagellation, in imitation of Christ’s -sufferings, commences in the dark, with such cries as make it a truly -terrific scene. The effect of the singing of the Miserere at Rome, in -the time of the darkness, has been described by several writers as -inexpressibly sublime. - -At Jerusalem the monks go in procession to Mount Calvary with a large -crucifix and image, where they take down the image from it with all the -minute procedure of taking down, unnailing, taking off the crown of -thorns, etc. etc. In Portugal, they act in the chapel the whole scene of -the Crucifixion, the Virgin Mary sitting at the foot of the cross with -Mary Magdalene and St. John; the coming of Nicodemus and Joseph of -Arimathea; the taking down by order of Pilate, and bringing the body in -procession to the tomb. - -Such are the ceremonies of Catholic countries: here the people eat -hot-cross buns, and go to church, and that is all. The first sound you -hear on awaking in the morning, is that of numerous voices crying -hot-cross buns, for every little boy has got a basket, and sets out with -a venture of buns on this day. Yet how few know or call to mind the -amazing antiquity of this custom. Mr. Bryant traces it to the time of -early Paganism, when little cakes called _bown_ were offered to Astarte, -the Catholics having politically engrafted all the Gentile customs on -their form of Christianity. - -Then came Easter-eve, on which the fast was most rigorous; and then -broke Easter-day, the joyous Sunday, the day of the resurrection. All -sorrow, fasting, and care now gave way to gaiety; and religious pageants -were established, and are so still in Catholic countries, to edify the -people. Goëthe gives a lively description of the effect of the coming -Easter morn upon Faust. He is just wearied out of life with ambitious -cravings, and about to swallow poison, when he hears the sound of bells, -and voices in chorus, singing--Christ ist erstanden! - -EASTER HYMN.--CHORUS OF ANGELS. - - Christ is from the grave arisen! - Joy is his. For him the weary - Earth has ceased its thraldom dreary, - And the cares that prey on mortals; - He hath burst the grave’s stern portals; - The grave is no prison: - The Lord hath arisen! - - FAUSTUS--O, those deep sounds, those voices rich and heavenly! - How powerfully they sway the soul, and force - The cup uplifted from the eager lips! - Proud bells, and do your peals already ring, - To greet the joyous dawn of Easter morn? - - _Hymn continued_.--CHORUS OF WOMEN. - - We laid him for burial - ’Mong aloes and myrrh, - His children and friends - Laid their dead master there! - All wrapped in his grave-dress - We left him in fear, - Ah! where shall we seek him? - The Lord is not here! - - CHORUS OF ANGELS. - - The Lord hath arisen-- - Sorrow no longer; - Temptation hath tried him, - But he was the stronger! - - Happy, happy victory! - Love, submission, self-denial - Marked the strengthening agony, - Marked the purifying trial: - The grave is no prison: - The Lord is arisen. - - FAUSTUS--Those bells announced the merry sports of youth; - This music welcomed in the happy spring; - And now am I once more a happy child, - And old remembrance twining round my heart, - Forbids this act, and checks my daring steps-- - Then sing ye forth--sweet songs that breathe of heaven! - Tears come, and earth hath won her child again. - - _Dr. Anster’s Translation._ - -In this beautiful incident, purely English readers may be apt to -attribute to German extravagance the chorus of angels; but Goëthe had in -his eye the Catholic pageants--pageants that once were common here. The -only theatres of the people were the churches, and the monks were the -actors. Plays were got up with a full _dramatis personæ_ of monks, in -dresses according to the characters they assumed. The sepulchre was -erected in the church near the altar, to represent the tomb wherein the -body of Christ was laid. At this tomb, which was built at an enormous -cost, and lighted at an equal one, and for which there was a gathering -from the people, there was a grand performance on Easter day. In some -churches Mary Magdalene, Mary of Bethany, and Mary of Nain, were -represented by three deacons clothed in dalmatics and amisses, with -their heads covered in the manner of women, and holding a vase in their -hands. These performers came through the middle of the choir, and -hastening towards the sepulchre with downcast looks, said together this -verse, “Who shall remove the stone for us?” Upon this, a boy clothed as -an angel, in albs, and holding a wheat-ear in his hand before the -sepulchre, said, “Whom do you seek in the sepulchre?” The Marys -answered, “Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.” The boy-angel -answered, “He is not here, but is risen,” and pointed to the place with -his finger. The boy-angel departed very quickly, and two priests in -tunics, sitting without the sepulchre, said, “Women, whom do you seek?” -The middle one of the three said, “Sir, if you have taken him away, say -so.” The priest, shewing the cross, said, “They have taken away the -Lord.” The two sitting priests said, “Whom do you seek, women?” The -Marys, kissing the place, afterwards went from the sepulchre. In the -meantime a priest, in the character of Christ, in an alb, with a stole, -holding a cross, met them on the left horn of the altar, and said, -“Mary!” Upon hearing this, the mock Mary threw herself at his feet, and -with a loud voice, cried, “_Cabboin!_” The priest representing Christ, -replied, nodding, “_Noli me tangere_;” touch me not. This being -finished, he again appeared at the right horn of the altar, and said to -them as they passed before it, “Haik,” do not fear. This being finished, -he concealed himself, and the women-priests, as though joyful at hearing -this, bowed to the altar, and turning towards the choir, sung “Alleluia, -the Lord is risen!” This was the signal for the bishop or priest to -begin and sing aloud, _Te Deum_. - -Brand quotes, from the churchwardens’ accounts at Reading, several items -paid, for nails for the sepulchre; for rosin for the Resurrection-play; -for making a Judas; for writing the plays themselves; and other such -purposes. Fosbrooke gives “the properties” of the Sepulchre-show of St. -Mary Redcliff church, at Bristol, from an original MS. in his -possession, formerly belonging to Chatterton, viz. “Memorandum:--That -Master Cannings hath delivered, the 4th day of July, in the year of our -Lord 1470, to Master Nicolas Pelles, vicar of Redcliff, Moses Conterin, -Philip Barthelmew, and John Brown, procurators of Redcliff aforesaid, a -new sepulchre, well gilt with fine gold, and a civer thereto; a image of -God Almighty rising out of the same sepulchre, with all the ordinance -that longeth thereto; that is to say, a lath made of timber and -iron-work thereto. Item; hereto longeth Heven made of timber and strined -cloths. Item; Hell made of timber, and iron-work thereto, with Devils -the number of thirteen. Item; four knights keeping the sepulchre with -their weapons in their hands; that is to say, two spears, two axes, -with two shields. Item; four pair of angels’ wings, for four angels, -made of timber and well painted. Item; the Fadre, the crown and visage; -the ball with a cross upon it, well gilt with fine gold. Item; the Holy -Ghost, coming out of Heven into the sepulchre. Item; longeth to the four -angels four _Perukes_.”--_Fosbroke’s British Monachism._ - -Throughout the Christian world, wherever the Catholic and Greek churches -extend, great and magnificent are the pageants, processions, and -rejoicings still of this day. The lights themselves at the sepulchre are -objects of great admiration. When this kingdom was catholic, the -_paschal_, or great Easter taper at Westminster Abbey, was three hundred -pounds weight. Sometimes a large wax light called a serpent was used; -its name being derived from its form, which was spiral, and was wound -round a rod. To light it, fire was struck from a flint consecrated by -the abbot. The _paschal_ in Durham cathedral was square wax, and reached -to within a man’s length of the roof, from whence this waxen enormity -was lighted by “a fine convenience.” From this superior light all others -were taken. Every taper in the church was purposely extinguished, in -order that this might supply a fresh stock of consecrated light, till at -the same season of the next year a similar parent torch was prepared. - -Of the lighting of the annual fire at the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, -Turner, in his Tour to the Levant, gives a similar account. “We entered -the church of the Holy Sepulchre with difficulty, our janizary carrying -before us a whip of several leathern thongs, which he used most -liberally. The church was filled with pilgrims and spectators, not less -in number than 7000. What a scene was before me! The Greek and Armenian -galleries overlooking the dome, were filled with female pilgrims of -those nations, enthusiastically looking towards the sepulchre, and -crossing themselves. Below me, the whole church, and particularly the -circular apartment containing the dome, was absolutely crammed with -pilgrims, men and women, hallooing, shouting, singing, and violently -struggling to be near the sepulchre, while the Turkish soldiers were -driving them back with their whips. One man I saw in the contention had -his right ear literally torn off. The place immediately near the window -whence the fire was given, was occupied by the richest pilgrims, who, -for this precedence, pay to the Turks 200 or 300 sequins. An old woman -sitting on the step of the door of the Greek church, had kept that seat -for a day and a night without moving, and paid two dollars to get it. A -ring was kept, as well as the tumult would allow, by the crowd around -the sepulchre, round which pilgrims were carried on others’ shoulders, -singing religious songs in Arabic and Greek; while, at other times, a -party of ten or twelve ran rioting round it, knocking down every one -that stood in their way. The Greek and Armenian bishops were shut in the -sepulchre at two o’clock with a single Turk, who is well paid to declare -that he saw the fire descend miraculously, or, at least, to keep -silence. Before they enter, the sepulchre is publicly inspected, and all -the lamps extinguished. - -“At twenty minutes to three, the fire was given from the window, and was -received with a tremendous and universal shout through the whole church. -On its first appearance, the torch was seized by a boy who rubbed it -against his face, hand, and neck, with such vehemence as to extinguish -it, for which he was well beaten by those near him. Eight different -times was the fire given from the window, and as every pilgrim carried -candles in his hand, in bunches of four, six, eight, or twelve, in ten -minutes the whole church was in a flame, and in five more nearly every -candle was extinguished. But what enthusiasm! The men rubbed them -against their heads and faces, their caps, and handkerchiefs; and the -women uncovered the bosom, directing the flame along their heads, necks, -and faces, and all crossing themselves during the operation, with the -utmost devotion and velocity. The candles, when a little of them is -burnt, are carried home, and ever afterwards preserved as sacred. -Messengers with lanterns, stood ready at the door, to carry the fire to -the Greek convent of Bethlehem, of the Cross at Sullah, and of St. Saba, -near the Dead Sea.” - -Equally curious, and far more splendid, are the ceremonies at Rome on -this day. The moment they suppose our Saviour is risen, the cannons of -the castle of St. Angelo are fired, and all the bells in the city begin -ringing at once. The people, throwing off their fasting weeds, give -themselves up to rejoicing. The church of St. Peter, and the whole -piazza before it, are crowded with all classes of persons in gala -dresses. The pope is carried in magnificent state, through the church, -shaded by waving peacocks’ feathers, attended by his _guardia nobile_, -in princely uniform, glittering with gold, their helmets adorned with -plumes of feathers; the ambassadors and their wives; the senators and -their trains; the Armenian bishops and priests, in very splendid robes; -the cardinals, bishops, and all the Roman troops in grand procession. -The pope blesses the people from the terrace, who receive the -benediction on their knees, and look up with eager eyes for the -indulgences that are scattered amongst them by some of the cardinals. In -the evening there is a grand illumination of St. Peter’s. “On entering -the Piazza,” says a traveller, “we beheld the architecture of the dome, -façade, and colonnade, all marked out by soft lamps: a bell tolled, and -in a moment, as if struck by a magical wand, the whole fabric burst into -a dazzling blaze of the most beautiful light; nor could we conceive how -the sudden transition was effected. Fireworks and festivities concluded -the evening.” - -In Spain, Portugal, South America, wherever indeed the Catholic religion -extends, similar church plays, pageants and rejoicings prevail. In the -Greek church, nay even in Turkey, Easter is a great festival. The -Russians celebrate it with extraordinary zeal. At Moscow no meetings of -any kind take place without repeating the expressions of peace and joy, -CHRISTOS VOSCRESS! Christ is risen! To which the answer always is the -same; VOISTINEY VOSCRESS! He is risen indeed! On Easter-Monday begins -the presentation of the Paschal eggs. Lovers to their mistresses, -relations to each other, servants to their masters, all bring ornamented -eggs. The meanest pauper in the street presenting an egg, and repeating -the words CHRISTOS VOSCRESS, may demand a salute even of the empress. -All business is laid aside; the upper ranks are engaged in visiting, -balls, dinners, suppers, masquerades; while boors fill the air with -their songs, or roll about the streets drunk. Servants appear in new and -tawdry liveries, and carriages in the most sumptuous parade. - -In all this may be seen what Easter was in England when it was a -Catholic country--what a change in our observance of times the -Reformation has produced! Fifteen days were the festivities usually kept -up; in many places servants were permitted to rest from their labours; -all courts of justice were shut up, and all public games of a worldly -nature were forbidden. Still in London it is a great week of relaxation -to the mechanics, who pour out to Greenwich and other places by -thousands to enjoy themselves. On Easter Monday 1834, as stated under -the head of “Sunday in the Country,” it appeared that no less than -100,000 persons went by the steam-vessels to different places. In large -towns, Easter-Monday is a holiday, and you may see a few swings, shows, -and whirligigs for the children; but as you go farther into the country, -all trace of this once great festival fades away. In the midland -counties you rarely see a Paschal, or as it is more commonly called, a -Pace-Egg. These eggs, which are almost as ancient as the Ark, of which -they are a symbol, are to be found in almost all civilized countries. -They are an emblem of the resurrection. As the whole living world went -into the ark, and were shut up for a season, like the life in the egg, -so by the egg, the ancients for ages symbolized the tradition of that -great event, bringing eggs to the altars of their gods. The Hindoos even -conceive their god Brahme, once in a cycle of ages, to enter into the -egg, with the whole animated universe, and to float, like the ark, on -the waters of eternity, till the time comes to reproduce himself and all -things with him. So the Gnostics engrafted this idea on the Christian -religion; for the entrance of Christ into the tomb, and his -resurrection, were at once typified by the ark, and the egg, its symbol. -This adopted custom, as all such customs do which have a sentiment in -them dear to the human heart, flew far and wide. We have seen that the -Russians give paschal-eggs: but what is more singular, the Mohammedans -do the same. In France, in the week preceding Easter, baskets full of -eggs boiled hard, of a red or violet colour, are seen in the streets, -and the children amuse themselves with playing with, and afterwards -eating them. In Egypt, the cattle and trees were coloured red at this -period, because, they said, the world was once on fire at this time. The -egg, placed on the paschal table of the Jews, was a symbol of the -destruction of the human race, and of its regeneration. The egg entered -into all the mysterious ceremonies called apocalyptic; and the Persians, -who present it at the commencement of the new year, know that an egg is -the symbol of the world. Throughout the country of Bonneval, on the day -preceding Easter Sunday, and during the first days of that week, the -clerks of the different parishes, beadles, and certain artisans, go -about from house to house to ask for their Easter eggs. In many places -the children make a sort of feast at breakfast in Easter on red or -yellow eggs. The Druids had the egg in their ceremonies; and near Dieppe -is a Druidical barrow, where a fête used to be held by the country -people, till the Revolution, where vast crowds of both sexes assembled -from the neighbouring villages, and gave themselves up to a day of -sports and rejoicing, in which eggs figured most singularly. - -The Pace-Eggs seem now to have retired northward in England. In -Yorkshire and Lancashire, and so northward, they may be found. They are -boiled hard, and beautifully coloured with various colours, some by -boiling them with different coloured ribbons bound round them; others by -colouring them of one colour, and scraping it away in a variety of -figures; others by boiling them within the coating of an onion, which -imparts to them the admired dye. Early in the morning of Easter-Monday, -in the Lancashire towns and villages where wooden clogs are worn, you -may hear a strange clatter on the pavement under your window. It is the -children, who are running to and fro, begging their Pace-Eggs. - -In Staffordshire, Shropshire, Lancashire, Cheshire, and Durham, they -still retain the custom of _heaving_ or _lifting_ on Easter Monday and -Tuesday. In some of these counties on Monday, the men lift the women by -taking hold of their arms and legs, which is repeated nine times; and on -Tuesday the women use the like ceremony with the men. In other places, -the men on one day go decorated with ribbons into every house into which -they can get an entrance, force every woman to be seated in this -vehicle, and lift her up three times with loud huzzas; and on the next -the women claim the same privilege. In some places the women sit out in -the streets, and practise this odd ceremony on every male passenger that -they can catch, giving him a salute round; afterwards laying him under -contribution, and the sum thus derived they lay out in a tea-drinking. - -Ball-play used to be practised on Easter-Sunday in the church, the -clergy and dignitaries joining in it. Corporations with the mace, sword, -and cap of maintenance, carried before them, used to go out on Monday, -to play at ball, and dance with the ladies. They used to eat -tansy-pudding and bacon as customary to the time. These, and many other, -to us, ridiculous customs were all of ancient pagan origin engrafted on -Christianity, and had all a symbolical meaning, most probably -unperceived by the multitude who used them. The lifting three times had -reference to the resurrection after three days; the ball was a symbol of -the world; tansy the bitter herbs of the passion, and bacon to express -their abhorrence of Jews, the destroyers of the Saviour. - -We now see how all these festivities were kept alive by the art and -power of the church, and how soon they fell into mere pageants when the -Reformation poured in a truer light. - -That the Reformation _did_ effect this change is most convincingly -proved by the retention of the old Catholic religious plays still in -Catholic countries. Mr. Hone, in his “Ancient Mysteries,” brings -together a variety of modern instances of such things on the continent; -and our travellers can furnish us with more. Moore’s mention of these -plays in his “Fudge Family in Paris,” in 1817, must be familiar to -everybody: - - What folly - To say that the French are not pious, dear Dolly, - When here one beholds so correctly and rightly, - The _Testament_ turned into melo-drames nightly; - And doubtless, so fond they’re of scriptural facts, - They will soon get the _Pentateuch_ up in five acts. - Here _Daniel_, in pantomime, bids bold defiance - To _Nebuchadnezzar_ and all his stuffed lions. - -In a note, he adds, that in this “_Daniel, ou la Fosse aux Lions_,” -JEHOVAH himself is made to appear! In 1822, M. Michelot, the Editor of -the _Mirour_, was arraigned at the tribunal for having ridiculed the -state religion, because he had published a description of a puppet-play -just then witnessed at Dieppe, consisting of the birth of Christ, the -passion, and the resurrection! and in which our Saviour, the Virgin, -Judas, Herod, etc., were most revoltingly introduced. During Congress at -Vienna in 1815, the _Allied Monarchs_ used to attend a _sacred comedy_, -of David, performed by the comedians of the National Theatre, in which -Austrian soldiers fired off their muskets and artillery in the character -of Jews and Philistines! It is needless to say that nothing of the kind -could be tolerated in this country. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER V. - -WHITSUNTIDE. - -This is the only ancient religious festival that has become a popular -one since the Reformation, through the addition of a modern -circumstance. Clubs, or Friendly Societies, have substituted for the old -church ceremonies, a strong motive to assemble in the early days of this -week as their anniversary; and the time of the year being so delightful, -this holiday has, in fact, become more than any other, what May-day was -to the people. Both men and women have their Friendly Societies, in -which every member pays a certain weekly or monthly sum, and on -occasions of sickness or misfortune, claims a weekly stipend, or a sum -of money to bury their dead. These Societies were very prudential -things, especially before the institution of Savings’ Banks, which are -still better; and in the vicinity of towns have become most important -resources for the working class, and especially servants. In the -country, Friendly Societies still do, and will probably long remain, -because Savings’ Banks are not easily introduced there. In a Savings’ -Bank, whatever a person deposits he receives with interest. It is safe, -and may be demanded any time. On the other hand, a man may contribute -for years to a club, and not want a penny for himself on account of -sickness, and at his death, with the exception of a fixed sum to bury -him, and one for his widow, all his fund goes from his family; or, what -is worse, he may pay for many years, and just when he wants help, he -finds the box empty, through the great run upon it by the sickness or -accidental disabling of his fellows; or the steward has proved dishonest -and has decamped; or he has failed. Many such cases have occurred, -especially during the violent changes of the last twenty years. In some -particular cases the capital of a dozen Friendly Societies has, by some -strange infatuation or artifice, been lodged in the hands of the same -man, who has proved bankrupt and ruined them all. These are the -drawbacks on Friendly Societies; and yet with these, they were better -than nothing for the poor, and some of them have, in many cases, been -remedied by the members sharing their fund amongst them once every seven -years. They were, and are often, the poor man’s sole resource and refuge -against the horror of falling on the parish, and have helped him through -his time of affliction without burthening his mind with a sense of shame -and dependence. - -Well then may they come together on one certain day or days throughout -the country, to hold a feast of fellowship and mutual congratulation in -a common hope. Their wealthier neighbours have encouraged them in this -bond of union and mutual help, and have become honorary members of their -clubs. It is a friendly and christian act. Accordingly, on Whit-Monday, -the sunshiny morning has broke over the villages of England with its -most holiday smile. All work has ceased. There has been, at first, a -Sabbath stillness, a repose, a display of holiday costume. Groups of men -have met here and there in the streets in quiet talk; the children have -begun to play, and make their shrill voices heard through the hamlets. -There have been stalls of sweetmeats and toys set out in the little -market-place on the green, by the shady walk, or under the well-known -tree. Suddenly the bells have struck up a joyous peal, and a spirit of -delight is diffused all over the rustic place, ay, all over every rustic -place in merry England. Forth comes streaming the village procession of -hardy men or comely women, all arrayed in their best, gay with ribbons -and scarfs, a band of music sounding before them; their broad banner of -peace and union flapping over their heads, and their wands shouldered -like the spears of an ancient army, or used as walking-staves. Forth -they stream from their club-room at the village alehouse. - - ’T is merry Whitsuntide, and merrily - Holiday goes in hamlet and green field; - Nature and men seem joined, for once, to try - The strength of Care, and force the carle to yield: - Summer abroad holds flow’ry revelry: - For revelry, the village bells are pealed; - The season’s self seems made for rural pleasure, - And rural joy flows with o’erflowing measure. - - Go where you will through England’s happy valleys, - Deep grows the grass, flowers bask, and wild bees hum; - And ever and anon, with joyous sallies, - Shouting, and music, and the busy drum - Tell you afar where mirth her rustics rallies, - In dusty sports, or ’mid the song and hum - Of Royal Oak, or bowling-green enclosure, - With bower and bench for smoking and composure. - - May’s jolly dance is past, and hanging high, - Her garlands swing and wither in the sun; - And now abroad gay posied banners fly, - Followed by peaceful troops, and boys that run - To see their sires go marching solemnly, - Shouldering their wands; and youths with ribbons won - From fond fair hands, that yielded them with pride, - And proudly worn this merry Whitsuntide. - - And then succeeds a lovelier sight,--the dames, - Wives, mothers, and arch sigh-awakening lasses, - Filling each gazing wight with wounds and flames, - Yet looking each demurely as she passes, - With flower-tipped wand, and bloom that flower outshames; - And, in the van of these sweet, happy faces - Marches the priest, whose sermon says, “be merry,” - The frank, good squire, and sage apothecary. - - W. H. - -Forth stream these happy bands from their club-room, making the -procession of the town before they go to church, and then again after -church and before going to dinner, for then begins the serious business -of feasting, too important to admit of any fresh holiday parade for the -rest of the day. Nothing can be more joyously picturesque than this -rural holiday. The time of the year--the latter end of May, or early -part of June, is itself jubilant. The new leaves are just out in all -their tender freshness: the flowers are engoldening the fields, and -making odorous the garden: there are sunshine and brightness to gladden -this festival of the lowly. In my mind are associated with this time, -from the earliest childhood, sunshine, flowers, the sound of bells, and -village bands of music. I see the clubs, as they are called, coming down -the village; a procession of its rustic population all in their best -attire. In front of them comes bearing the great banner, emblazoned with -some fitting scene and motto, old Harry Lomax the blacksmith, deputed to -that office for the brawny strength of his arms, and yet, if the wind be -stirring, evidently staggering under its weight, and finding enough to -do to hold it aloft. There it floats its length of blue and yellow, and -on its top nods the huge posy of peonies, laburnum flowers, and lilachs, -which our own garden has duly furnished. Then comes sounding the band of -drums, bassoons, hautboys, flutes, and clarionets: then the honorary -members--the freeholders of the place--the sage apothecary, and the -priest whose sermon says “be merry”--literally, for years, his text -being on this the words of Solomon--“Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow -we die.”--and then the simple sons of the hamlet, walking as stately and -as gravely as they can for the nods and smiles of all their neighbours -who do not join in the procession, but are all at door and window to see -them go by. There they go, passing down the shady lane with all the -village children at their heels, to the next hamlet half a mile off, -which furnishes members to the club, and must therefore witness their -glory. Now the banner and the gilded tops of their wands are seen -glancing between the hedge-row trees; their music comes merrily up the -hill; and as it dies away at the next turn, the drumming of distant -villages becomes audible in half a dozen different quarters. Then come, -one after another, the clubs of the neighbouring hamlets, as the old -ballad of the Earl of Murray very expressively says, “sounding through -the town;” giving occasion to a world of criticism and comparison to -the village gossips, no doubt always terminating in favour of their own -folk. - -But the most beautiful sight is that of the women’s clubs, which in some -places walk on the same day with those of the men, but more commonly on -Tuesday. Here the contrast between the band and banner-bearer, and the -female array that follows them, gives great effect. In some places they -are graced with the presence of some of the ladies of the neighbourhood -who are honorary members, and their cultivated countenances, and style -of bearing, again contrast with the simple elegance or showy finery of -the rustic train which succeeds, consisting of the sedate matrons and -blooming damsels of the village. Their light dresses, their gay ribbons -and bonnets, their happy, and often very handsome faces, cannot be seen -without feeling with Wordsworth, that - - Their beauty makes you glad. - -In all the pageants and processions that were ever seen, there is -nothing more beautiful than those light wands with which they walk, each -crowned with a nosegay of fresh flowers. These posied wands were worthy -of the most chastely graceful times of Greece; and amongst the youthful -forms are often such as Stothard would have gloried in seizing upon to -figure in his charming procession pieces. Indeed a Whitsuntide -procession in his hands would have formed altogether a picture equal to -his Canterbury Pilgrimage, and the Procession of the Flitch of Bacon. It -has never had justice done it, and Stothard is gone; but we have artists -remaining from whose pencil it may, and I trust will, receive honour -due. Why not Leslie add it to his Sir Roger Coverley going to church, or -Sir Roger and the Gipsies? I can see the painting already in my mind’s -eye. The village church is in one extremity; the banner of the men’s -club is stooping at the porch as the train is about to enter, and the -women’s club is advancing up the street in the foreground: the band -composed of figures full of strong character; the female figures full of -simple elegance and arch beauty,--their posied wands depicted with the -force of reality; the village street in perspective; the village -alehouse with depending sign; booths and stalls, and all round merry -faces and holiday forms. - -These love-feasts of the Friendly Societies seem very appropriately -celebrated at this festival, which was originally derived from the -AGAPAI, or love-feasts of the early Christians. It is, indeed, a great -improvement on the Whitsun-Ales, which succeeded the Agapai in the Roman -church. It is, as I have before observed, the happiest and almost sole -adaptation of a modern institution to an ancient custom by the Church of -England; a policy, on the contrary, so closely studied and extensively -practised by the Catholic church. The Whitsun-Ales were so called from -the churchwardens buying, and laying in from presents also, a large -quantity of malt, which they brewed into beer, and sold out in the -church or elsewhere. The profits, as well as those from Sunday -games--there being no poor-rates--were given to the poor, for whom this -was one mode of provision, according to the Christian rule, that all -festivities should be rendered innocent by alms. “In every parish,” says -Aubrey, “was a church-house, to which belonged spits, crocks, and other -utensils for dressing provisions. Here the housekeepers met. The young -people were there too; and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, -etc., the ancients sitting gravely by, and looking on.” - -King James, to check the progress of nonconformity, and keep people to -church, published his “Book of Sports,” and _commanded_ attendance on -Whitsun-ales, church-ales, etc.; but he soon found that forced sport is -no sport at all. These Friendly Societies, however, by adopting this -day, have revived the Agapai in a more popular shape, and long may they -continue, refined indeed, and made more temperate by better information, -and a better morality. These being held at public-houses, and their -monthly nights, on which they pay their contributions, being held there -too, has made many persons object to them; and the utilitarian spirit, -especially during periods of general distress, has induced many of them -to give up their bands, banners, and ribbons, and to throw the money -thus saved into the general stock: but if we are to retain any rustic -festival at all, we cannot, I think, have a more picturesque one, or at -a pleasanter time. Let all means be used to preserve a day of relaxation -and good-fellowship from gross intemperance, but let not the external -grace and rustic pageantry be shorn away. As I have met these -Whitsuntide processions in the retired villages of Staffordshire, or as -I saw them in the summer of 1835 at Warsop in Nottinghamshire, I would -wish to see them as many years hence as I may live. In the latter -village, Miss Hamilton, a lady of poetical taste, and author of several -poetical works, had painted the banner for this rural fête with her own -hands, and the flowers with which the wands were crowned were selected -and disposed in a spirit of true poetry. Long, I say, may this bright -day of rejoicing come to the hamlet; and the musing poet stop in the -glades of the near woodlands, and exclaim with Kirk White: - - Hark how the merry bells ring jocund round, - And now they die upon the veering breeze; - Anon they thunder loud, - Full on the musing ear. - - Wafted in varying cadence, by the shore - Of the still twinkling river, they bespeak - A day of jubilee, - An ancient holiday. - - And lo! the rural revels are begun, - And gaily echoing to the laughing sky, - On the smooth-shaven green - Resounds the voice of mirth. - - Mortals! be gladsome while ye have the power, - And laugh, and seize the glittering lapse of joy; - In time the bell will toll - That warns ye to your graves. - - -CHAPTER VI. - -CHRISTMAS. - -The next and last of these popular festivities that I shall notice at -any length, is jolly old Christmas,--the festival of the fireside; the -most domestic and heartfelt carnival of the year. It has changed its -features with the change of national manners and notions, but still it -is a time of gladness, of home re-union and rejoicing; a precious time, -and one so thoroughly suited to the grave yet cheerful spirit of -Englishmen, that it will not soon lose its hold on our affections. Its -old usages are so well known; they have been so repeatedly of late years -brought to our notice by Washington Irving, Walter Scott, Leigh Hunt in -his most graphic and cordial-spirited Months, Indicator, and London -Journal, and by many other lovers of the olden time, that I shall not -now particularly describe them. We have already seen how, in all our -religious festivals, the most ancient customs and rites have been -interwoven with Catholicism. Who does not recognise in the decoration of -our houses and churches with ivy, holly, and other evergreens, the -decorations of the altars of Greece and Rome with laurels and bays as -the symbols of the renewal of the year and the immortality of Nature? In -our mistletoe branches the practice of Druidical times? Who does not see -in the Abbot of Unreason, and his jolly crew, the Saturnalia of ancient -times? Those who do not, may find in Brand’s Antiquities, the various -volumes of Time’s Telescope, collected by my worthy friend John Millard, -and in Hone’s Everyday Table, and Year Books, matter on these subjects, -and on the Christmas pageants, rites, and processions of Rome, that -would of itself fill a large volume. In old times it was from Christmas -to Candlemas a period of general jollification; for the first twelve -days--a general carnival. The churches were decorated with evergreens; -midnight mass was celebrated with great pomp; according to Aubrey, they -danced in the church after prayers, crying Yole, Yole, Yole, etc. For a -fortnight before Christmas, and during its continuance, the mummers, or -guisers, in their grotesque array, went from house to house, acting -George and the Dragon, having the Princess Saba, the Doctor, and other -characters all playing and saying their parts in verse. Others acted -Alexander the Great, and the King of Egypt. Bands of carollers went -about singing; and all the great gentry had - - A good old fashion when Christmas was come, - To call in their old neighbours with bagpipe and drum. - -And then in those good old halls, what a feasting, and a sporting, and a -clamour was there! The Yule block on the fire, the plum-porridge and -mince-pies on the table, with mighty rounds of beef, plum-pudding, -turkeys, capons, geese, goose-pies, herons, and sundry other game and -good things. Ale of twelve months old circling round, and the old butler -and his serving-men carrying up the boar’s head, singing in chorus the -accustomed chant, as they set it before the lord of the feast: - - Caput Apri defero - Reddens laudes domino. - The boar’s head in hand bring I, - With garlands gay and rosemary; - I pray you all sing merrily, - Qui estis in convivio, etc. - -Then, as Burton in his Anatomie of Melancholie, tells us,--“what cards, -tables, dice, shovel-board, chesse-play, the philosopher’s game, small -trunkes, billiards, musicke, singing, dancing, ale-games, catches, -purposes, questions, merry tales of arrant knights, kings, queens, -lovers, lords, ladies, giants, dwarfs, thieves, fairies, goblins, -friars, witches, and the rest. Then what kissing under the mistletoe! -roaring of storms without, and blazing hearths and merry catches -within!” - -With all this rude happiness we cannot now linger; let us be thankful -that our ancestors, rich and poor, enjoyed it so thoroughly, enjoyed it -together, as became Christians, on the feast of the nativity of their -common Saviour. We will just review this state of things as it existed -in the time of old Wither, two hundred years ago; and the remembrance of -it, as it glanced on the imagination of Scott, and then turn to it as it -exists amongst us now. - -CHRISTMAS. - - So now is come our joyful’st feast; - Let every man be jolly; - Each room with ivy leaves is dressed, - And every post with holly. - - Though some churls at our mirth repine, - Round your foreheads garlands twine; - Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, - And let us all be merry. - - Now all our neighbours’ chimneys smoke, - And Christmas blocks are burning, - Their ovens they with baked meats choke, - And all their spits are turning. - - Without the door let sorrow lie; - And if from cold it hap to die, - We’ll bury it in a Christmas pie, - And evermore be merry. - - Now every lad is wondrous trim, - And no man minds his labour; - Our lasses have provided them - A bagpipe and a tabor: - - Young men and maids, and girls and boys, - Give life to one another’s joys; - And you anon shall by their noise - Perceive that they are merry. - - Rank misers now do sparing shun; - Their hall of music soundeth; - And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, - So all things there aboundeth. - - The country folks themselves advance - With crowdy-muttons out of France; - And Jack shall pipe, and Jyll shall dance, - And all the town be merry. - - Ned Squash hath fetched his bands from pawn, - And all his best apparel; - Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn - With dropping of the barrel. - - And those that hardly all the year - Had bread to eat, or rags to wear, - Will have both clothes and dainty fare, - And all the day be merry. - - Now poor men to the justices - With capons make their errants; - And if they hap to fail of these, - They plague them with their warrants: - - But now they find them with good cheer, - And what they want, they take in beer, - For Christmas comes but once a year, - And then they shall be merry. - - Good farmers in the country nurse - The poor, that else were undone; - Some landlords spend their money worse - On lust and pride in London. - - There the roysters they do play; - Drab and dice their lands away, - Which may be ours another day, - And therefore let’s be merry. - - The client now his suit forbears; - The prisoner’s heart is eased; - The debtor drinks away his cares, - And for the time is pleased. - - Though others’ purses be most fat, - Why should we pine or grieve at that? - Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, - And therefore let’s be merry. - - Hark! now the wags abroad do call - Each other forth to rambling; - Anon you’ll see them in the hall - For nuts and apples scrambling. - - Hark how the roofs with laughter sound, - Anon they’ll think the house goes round, - For they the cellar’s depth have found, - And then they will be merry. - - The wenches with their wassail bowls - About the streets are singing; - The boys are come to catch the owls, - The wild mare in it bringing. - - Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box, - And to the dealing of the ox - Our honest neighbours come by flocks, - And here they will be merry. - - Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes have, - And mute with every body; - The lowest now may play the knave, - And wise men play the noddy. - - Some youths will now a mumming go, - And others play at Rowland-bo, - And twenty other games boys mo, - Because they will be merry. - - Then wherefore in these merry daies - Should we, I pray, be duller? - No, let us sing some roundelays, - To make our mirth the fuller. - - And while we thus inspired sing, - Let all the streets with echoes ring; - Woods and hills and every thing, - Bear witness we are merry. - -This is, at once, quaint and graphic. It shews us the joys of our -ancestors in their homeliness and their strength. It is full of the -spirit of the time, and the impressions of surrounding things. Let us -now see the same days through the magic mist of a modern poet’s -imagination--a poet whose soul turned to all the beauty and picturesque -splendour, and the jollity of the past, with a passion never, in any -bosom, living with a stronger delight. How, in reverted vision of his -heart and mind is every thing purified, sanctified, and refined. What a -force of enjoyment breathes through the whole: how vividly are all the -characteristics of the time, its fable and its manners given; yet with -what a grace and delicacy, unknown to the poet of the times themselves. -We have here all the happiness, the hospitality, the generous simplicity -of the past, tinged with the beautiful illusions of the present. - -ANCIENT CHRISTMAS. - - And well our Christian sires of old - Loved, when the year its course had rolled, - And brought blithe Christmas back again, - With all its hospitable train. - Domestic and religious rite - Gave honour to the holy night: - On Christmas-eve the bells were rung; - On Christmas-eve the mass was sung; - That only night of all the year - Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. - The damsel donned her kirtle sheen; - The hall was dressed with holly green; - Forth to the wood did merry men go - To gather in the mistletoe. - Then opened wide the baron’s hall, - To vassals, tenants, serf, and all; - Power laid his rod of rule aside, - And Ceremony doffed his pride. - The heir with roses in his shoes, - That night might village partner choose; - The lord, underogating share - The vulgar game of “post and pair.” - All hailed with uncontrolled delight - And general voice the happy night, - That to the cottage, as the crown, - Brought tidings of Salvation down. - - The fire with well-dried logs supplied, - Went roaring up the chimney wide; - The huge hall table’s oaken face, - Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace, - Bore then upon its massive board - No mark to part the squire and lord. - Then was brought in the lusty braun - By old blue-coated serving-man; - Then the grim boar’s-head frowned on high, - Crested with bays and rosemary. - Well can the green-garbed ranger tell - How, when, and where the monster fell; - What dogs before his death he tore, - And all the baiting of the boar, - While round the merry wassail bowl, - Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trowl - There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by - Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie; - Nor failed old Scotland to produce, - At such high tide the savoury goose. - Then came the merry maskers in, - And carols roared with blithesome din; - If unmelodious was the song, - It was a hearty note and strong, - Who lists may in their mumming see - Traces of ancient mystery. - White shirt supplied the masquerade, - And smutted cheeks the vizor made; - But oh! what maskers richly dight - Can boast of bosoms half so light! - England was merry England then, - Old Christmas brought his sports again; - ’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; - ’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; - A Christmas gambol oft would cheer - A poor man’s heart through half the year. - - _Scott’s Marmion._ - -In these two poems we have sufficient picture of the past; what of these -things continue with the present? In Catholic countries, indeed, much of -the ancient show and circumstance remain. In Rome, all the splendour of -the church is called forth. On Christmas-eve, the pipes of the -Pifferari, or Calabrian minstrels, are heard in the streets. The -decorators are busy in draping the churches, clothing altars, and -festooning façades. Devout ladies and holy nuns are preparing dresses, -crowns, necklaces, and cradles, for the Madonna and Child of their -respective churches. The toilette of the Virgin is performed, and she -blazes in diamonds, or shines in tin, according to the riches of the -respective parish treasuries. In the Church of the Pantheon, says Lady -Morgan, she was crowned with gilt paper, and decked with glass beads, -and on the same day in Santa Maria Novella, we beheld the coal-black -face set off with rubies and sapphires, which glittered on her dusky -visage “like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear.” The cannons of St. Angelo -announce the festival; shops are shut, and saloons deserted. The -midnight supper and the midnight bands begin the holy revel, and the -splendid pomp in which the august ceremonies are performed at the -churches of the Quirinal, St. Louis, and the Ara Cœli, is succeeded by a -banquet of which even the poorest child of indigence contrives to -partake. The people from the mountains and the Campagna flock in to -witness and to enjoy the fête, and present a strange sight of wild -figures amid the inhabitants of the city. The churches are lit up with -thousands of wax tapers; the _culla_, or cradle of Christ, is removed -from the shrine at the chapel of Santa Maria Maggiore, and carried in -procession to the chapel of the Santa Croce, where it is exposed on the -high altar on Christmas-day to the admiration of the faithful. Musical -masses are performed; the Pope himself performs service in the Sextine -Chapel on Christmas-eve, and on Christmas-day his Holiness performs mass -in St. Peter’s, in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin; amid a most brilliant -assembly of people of all nations, princes, ambassadors, nobles, and -distinguished strangers. - -At Naples numbers of shepherds from the mountains of the Abruzzi and the -neighbouring Apennines, flock in two or three weeks before Christmas, -and go about the streets, playing on their bagpipes, as the Calabrians -do both here and in Rome. Most of the Neapolitan families engage some of -these itinerant musicians to play a quarter of an hour at their houses -on each day of the _Novena_: the wild appearance of these mountaineers, -and the shrill notes of their pipes attract the attention of travellers. -Fireworks are displayed here in the most extraordinary manner; and, as -in other parts of Italy, it is the custom to erect in the churches and -in private houses, representations of the birth of our Saviour;--the -stable, the shepherds, the oxen, the Virgin Mary, receiving the homage -of kings and their trains, are all exhibited with great ingenuity. A -similar custom prevailed in some parts of Spain. Such are the customs of -these and other catholic countries. In the north, where Christmas was -celebrated as a festival of the gods of the ancient Scandinavians, under -the name of Yule, it is now celebrated with great devotion; and in -Germany they have some domestic customs of a very interesting nature. -Coleridge, in the FRIEND, gives the following account of what he -witnessed himself. “The children make little presents to their parents, -and to each other; and the parents to their children. For three or four -months before Christmas, the girls are all busy; and the boys save their -pocket-money to make or purchase these presents. What the present is to -be, is cautiously kept secret, and the girls have a world of -contrivances to conceal it--such as working when they are out on -visits, and the others are not with them; getting up in the morning -before daylight, etc. Then, on the evening before Christmas-day, one of -the parlours is lighted up by the children, into which the parents must -not go. A great yew bough is fastened on the table at a little distance -from the wall; a multitude of little tapers are fixed in the bough, but -not so as to burn it till they are nearly consumed; and coloured paper, -etc. hangs and flutters from the twigs. Under this bough, the children -lay out in great order, the presents they mean for their parents, still -concealing in their pockets, what they intend for each other. Then the -parents are introduced, and each presents his little gift: they then -bring out the remainder, one by one, from their pockets, and present -them with kisses and embraces. When I witnessed this scene, there were -eight or nine children, and the eldest daughter and mother wept aloud -for joy and tenderness; and the tears ran down the face of the father, -and he clasped all his children so tight to his breast, it seemed as if -he did it to stifle the sob that was rising within him. I was very much -affected. The shadow of the bough and its appendages on the walls and -arching over on the ceiling, made a pretty picture; and then the rapture -of the very little ones, when at last the twigs and their needles began -to take fire and snap,--O, it was a delight for them! - -“On the next day, in the great parlour, the parents lay on the table the -presents for the children. A scene of more sober joy succeeds; as on -this day, after an old custom, the mother says privately to each of her -daughters, and the father to his sons, that which he has observed most -praiseworthy, and that which was most faulty in their conduct. Formerly, -and still in all the smaller towns and villages throughout North -Germany, these presents are sent by all the parents to some one fellow, -who, in high buskins, a white robe, a mask, and an enormous flax wig, -personates Knecht Rupert, _i. e._ the servant Rupert. On Christmas night -he goes round to every house, and says that Jesus Christ, his master, -sent him thither. The parents and elder children receive him with great -pomp and reverence, while the little ones are most terribly frightened. -He then inquires for the children, and according to the character which -he hears from the parents he gives them the intended presents, as if -they came out of heaven from Jesus Christ. Or if they should have been -bad children, he gives the parents a rod, and, in the name of his -master, recommends them to use it frequently. About seven or eight years -old, the children are let into the secret, and it is curious how -faithfully they keep it.” - -The bough mentioned by Coleridge as yew, is by other writers said to be -of birch. The Christ-child is said to come flying through the air on -golden wings; and causes the birch-bough fixed in the corner of the room -to grow, and to produce in the night, all manner of fruit; gilt -sweetmeats, apples, nuts, etc., for the good children. Richter makes -Quintus Fixlein recal one of these scenes of his youth, very -beautifully. “I will,” said he to himself, “go through the whole -Christmas-eve, from the very dawn, as I had it of old. At his very -rising he finds spangles on the table, sacred spangles from the -gold-leaf and silver-leaf with which the Christ-child has been -emblazoning and coating his apples and nuts, the presents of the night. -Then comes his mother, bringing him both Christianity and clothes; for -in drawing on his trousers, she easily recapitulated the ten -commandments; and in tying his garters, the Apostles’ creed. So soon as -candlelight was over, and daylight come, he clambers to the arm of the -settle, and then measures the nocturnal growth of the yellow wiry grove -of Christmas-birch. There was no such thing as school all day. About -three o’clock the old gardener takes his place on his large chair, with -his Cologne tobacco-pipe, and, after this, no mortal shall work a -stroke. He tells nothing but lies, of the aeronautic Christ-child, and -the jingling Ruprecht with his bells. In the dark our little Quintus -takes an apple, and divides it with all the figures of stereometry, and -spreads the fragments in two heaps on the table. Then, as the lighted -candle enters, he starts up in amazement at the unexpected present, and -says to his mother, ‘Look what the good Christ-child has given thee and -me, and I saw one of his wings glittering!’ And for this same glittering -he himself lies in wait the whole evening. - -“About eight o’clock, both of them with necks almost excoriated with -washing, and clean linen, and in universal anxiety lest the Holy -Christ-child find them up, are put to bed. What a magic night! What -tumult of dreaming hopes! The populous, motley, glittering cave of -fancy opens itself in the length of the night, and in the exhaustion of -dreaming effort, still darker and darker, fuller and more grotesque; but -the waking gives back to the thirsty heart its hopes. All accidental -tones, the cries of animals, of watchmen, are, for the timidly devout -fancy, sounds out of heaven; singing voices of angels in the air; church -music of the morning worship. - -“At last come rapid lights from the neighbourhood, playing through the -window on the walls, and the Christmas trumpets, and the crowing from -the steeple hurries both the boys from their bed. With their clothes in -their hands, without fear for the darkness, without feeling for the -morning frost, rushing, intoxicated, shouting, they hurry down stairs -into the dark room. Fancy riots in the pastry and fruit perfume of the -still eclipsed treasures, and haunts her air-castles by the glimmering -of the Hesperides-fruit with which the birch-tree is laden. While their -mother strikes a light, the falling sparks sportfully open and shroud -the dainties on the table, and the many-coloured grove on the wall; and -a single atom of that fire bears on it a hanging garden of Eden.” - -I am informed by a lady friend that German families in Manchester have -introduced this custom of the Christmas-tree, and that it is spreading -fast amongst the English there,--pine-tops being brought to market for -the pupose, which are generally illuminated with a taper for every day -in the year. - -Such are the rites, fancies, and ceremonies with which other, and -especially Catholic countries, have invested this ancient festival. What -now remain in our Protestant nation of these customs?--Much is gone; -many are the changes that have taken place in our manners and opinions; -and yet it is certain that we regard this season of festivity with a -strong and sacred affection. It is true that there is commonly but one -day of thorough holiday to the people; one day on which all shops are -shut; on which labour in a great measure ceases, and the poor join with -the rich in repose and worship. The poor, indeed, do not partake the -benefit of this season, as the poor of old time did; the houses of the -great are not, as they were then, open to all tenants and dependents. -There is now, indeed, upon the great man’s table, - - No mark to part the squire and lord; - -but there is a mark more immobile than the salt, set in the grain of our -minds. The distinctions of society have grown with our commercial -wealth, and have multiplied grades and relations. A sense of -independence too has sprung up in the lower classes, with commerce and -the growth of intelligence. The great man might, indeed, condescend to -call his tenants and dependents to his hall to a Christmas revel, but if -they went at all they would go reluctantly, and feel ill at ease. They -would feel it as a condescension, and not as springing out of the -heartiness of old customs. They would feel that they were out of their -element; for all classes know instinctively the broad differences of -habits, manners, and modes of thinking that separate them from each -other more effectually than any feudal institutions did their ancestors. -The pride of the yeoman would be more in danger of suffering than the -pride of the lord; the pride of the cottager than that of the farmer, if -invited to his table. When the brick floor and the wooden bench gave way -in the farm-house to the carpet and the mahogany chair, the feet of the -labourer ceased to tread familiarly round the farmer’s table. Harvest -meals and harvest-home suppers bring them together in rustic districts; -they are the remaining links of the old chain of society; but the -Christmas custom is broken, and is therefore no longer observable with -full content. This great difference between the past and present exists, -and therefore the rejoicing of the poor at this time is short and small: -would to heaven that the kindly feeling of the community would make it -greater! - -But, independent of this, to the rest of the community Christmas brings -much of its ancient pleasure. Each class within itself, enjoys it, -perhaps more deeply, if less noisily than of old. It is, as I have -before said, the festival of the fireside. Friends and families are -brought together by many circumstances. Summer tourists and out-of-door -pleasure-seekers have all turned home at the frown of winter. As it was -their delight in the early year to plan excursions, to make parties, and -then to fly forth in all directions, to enjoy new scenes, new faces, -summer skies, and sea-breezes; it is now their delight to assemble again -round their familiar firesides, with the old familiar faces, to talk -over all that they have seen, and said, and done. Parliament has -adjourned, and weary senators and their families have fled from London, -and are, once more, at their country seats. Children are come home from -school; business seems to pause, or to move less urgently in the dead -season of the year, and releases numbers from its tread-mill round to an -interval of relaxation. All the branches of families meet with spirits -eager for enjoyment; and storms, frosts, and darkness without, send them -for that enjoyment to the fire-bright hearth. - -Christmas-eve approaches, and with it signs of observance, and feasting, -and amusement. Holly, ivy, and mistletoe appear in vast quantities in -the markets, and almost every housekeeper, except those of the Society -of Friends, furnishes herself with a quantity to decorate her windows, -if not always to sport a kissing-bush. Churches, halls, city houses and -country cottages, are all seen with their windows stuck over with sprigs -of green and scarlet-berried holly. Mistletoe is said never to be -introduced into churches except by ignorance of the sextons, being held -in abhorrence by the early Christians on account of its prominence in -the Druidical ceremonies. And this is likely enough; but in the house it -maintains its station, and well merits it, by the beauty of its -divaricated branches of pale-green, and its pearly-white berries. But -Christmas-eve brings not only evergreens into request, but abundance of -more substantial things. The coaches to town are fairly loaded to the -utmost with geese, turkeys and game, as those downwards are with barrels -of oysters. The grocers are busy selling currants, raisins, spices, and -other good things, for the composition of mince-pies and Christmas -sweetmeats. Pigs are killed, and pork-pies, sausages, and spareribs -abound, from the greatest hall to the lowest hut. Heaven be thanked that -the blessing goes so far in this instance. It is a delight to think of -all the little children in the poor man’s house, that the year through -have lived coarsely if not sparely, now watching the fat pig from their -own sty cut up, and pies and spareribs, boiling pieces, black puddings -and sausages, springing up as from a magical storehouse unlocked by the -key of Old Christmas. O! it is a delicious time, when the father and the -mother can sit down amongst their throng of eager little ones, that -“feel their life in every limb,” and feast them to their hearts’ -content; and live with them for a short time amid substantial things and -savoury smells, and, after all, hang in the chimney-corner two noble -flitches for the coming year. - -These good things come with Christmas-eve, and with them come the -WAITES. Except in some few very primitive districts, these do not go -about for a week or more as they used to do, but merely on this night. -And it is a fact singularly unfortunate for Mr. Bulwer’s theory of the -effect of Methodism noticed before, that wherever Methodists exist they -are sure to be amongst these waites, and are, in many places, the only -ones. The strange, dreamy, yet delightful effect of the music and -singing of these waites, as you hear them in a state rather of sleep -than waking, who has not experienced? They are, as Fixlein expresses it, -to our conscious senses, but half dormant understandings, “sounds out of -heaven, singing voices of angels in the air.” I shall never forget the -delicious impressions of this midnight music on my childish spirit, and -would fain hear such strains on every returning Christmas-eve till I -cease to hear any mortal sounds. - -But Christmas morning comes; and ere daylight dawns, you are awoke by -the rejoicing music of all the village or the city bells, as it may be; -and cannot help feeling, spite of all that puritans and grave denouncers -of times and seasons have said, that there is something holy in the -remembrance of the time, which does your spirit good. Who can read these -verses of, Wordsworth’s addressed to his brother, without feeling the -truth of this? - -TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH. - - The minstrels played their Christmas tune - To-night beneath my cottage eaves; - While, smitten by the lofty moon, - The encircling laurels thick with leaves, - Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, - That overpowered their natural green. - - Through hill and valley every breeze - Had sank to rest with folded wings; - Keen was the air but could not freeze - Nor check the music of their strings; - So stout and hardy were the band - That scraped the chords with strenuous hand. - - And who but listened?--till was paid - Respect to every inmate’s claim; - The greeting given, the music played, - In honour of each household name, - Duly pronounced with lusty call, - And “merry Christmas” wished to all! - - O Brother! I revere the choice - Which took thee from thy native hills; - And it is given thee to rejoice; - Though public care full often tills - (Heaven only witness of the toil) - A barren and ungrateful soil. - - Yet would that thou with me and mine - Hadst heard this never-failing rite; - And seen on other faces shine - A true revival of the light-- - Which Nature and these rustic Powers, - In simple childhood, spread on ours! - - For pleasure hath not ceased to wait - On these expected, annual rounds, - Whether the rich man’s sumptuous gate - Call forth the unelaborate sounds, - Or they are offered at the door - That guards the dwelling of the poor. - - How touching when at midnight sweep - Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark, - To hear--and sink again to sleep! - Or, at an earlier call, to mark, - By blazing fire, the still suspense - Of self-complacent innocence. - - The mutual nod,--the grave disguise - Of hearts with gladness brimming o’er; - And some unbidden tears that rise - For names once heard, and heard no more: - Tears brightened by the serenade, - For infant in the cradle laid! - - Ah! not for emerald fields alone, - With ambient streams more pure and bright - Than fabled Cytherea’s zone - Glittering before the Thunderer’s sight, - Is to my heart of hearts endeared - The ground where we were born and reared! - - Hail! ancient Manners! sure defence, - Where they survive, of wholesome laws; - Remnants of love whose modest sense - Thus into narrow room withdraws; - Hail, Usages of pristine mould, - And ye, that guard them, Mountains old! - -Christmas-day then is come! and with it begins a heartfelt season of -social delight, and interchanges of kindred enjoyments. In large houses -are large parties, music and feasting, dancing and cards. Beautiful -faces and noble forms, the most fair and accomplished of England’s sons -and daughters, beautify the ample firesides of aristocratic halls. -Senators and judges, lawyers and clergymen, poets and philosophers, -there meet in cheerful and even sportive ease, amid the elegances of -polished life. In more old-fashioned, but substantial country abodes, -old-fashioned hilarity prevails. In the farm-house hearty spirits are -met. Here are dancing and feasting too; and often blindman’s-buff, -turn-trencher, and some of the simple games of the last age remain. In -all families, except the families of the poor, who seem too much -forgotten at this, as at other times in this refined age, there are -visits paid and received; parties going out, or coming in; and -everywhere abound, as indispensable to the season, mince-pies, and -wishes for “a merry Christmas and a happy New-Year.” - -It is only in the more primitive parts of the country that the olden -customs remain. The Christmas carols which were sung about from door to -door, for a week at least, not twenty years ago, are rarely heard now in -the midland counties. More northward, from the hills of Derbyshire, and -the bordering ones of Staffordshire, up through Lancashire, Yorkshire, -Northumberland, and Durham, you may frequently meet with them. The late -Mrs. Fletcher (Miss Jewsbury) one of the most highly-gifted, both in -talents and principle, of those who are early lost to the world, -collected a volume of such as are sung in the neighbourhood of -Manchester, and presented it to Mrs. Howitt. Amongst them are many of -the most ancient, such as--“Under the Leaves, or the Seven Virgins,” -beginning-- - - All under the leaves, and the leaves of life, - I met with virgins seven; - And one of them was Mary mild, - Our Lord’s Mother in Heaven. - -“The Moon shone bright,”--beginning with - - The moon shone bright, and the stars gave a light - A little before it was day, - The Lord our God he called to us, - And bade us awake and pray. - - Awake, awake, good people all, - Awake and you shall hear, - Our blessed Lord died on the cross - For us whom he loved so dear; - -and ending thus-- - - To day, though you’re alive and well, - Worth many a thousand pound, - To-morrow dead, and cold as clay, - Your corpse lies under ground. - - God bless the master of this house, - Mistress and children dear; - Joyful may their Christmas be, - And happy their New-Year. - -That singular old ballad of Dives and Lazarus, in which occur these -stanzas:-- - - As it fell out upon a day, - Poor Lazarus sickened and died; - There came two angels out of heaven - His soul therein to guide. - - “Rise up, rise up, brother Lazarus, - Thine heavenly guides are we; - Thy place it is provided in heaven, - To sit on an angel’s knee.” - - As it fell out upon a day, - Rich Dives sickened and died; - There came two serpents out of hell - His soul therein to guide. - - “Rise up, rise up, brother Dives, - Thine evil; guides are we; - Thy place it is provided in hell, - To sit on a serpent’s knee!” - -One has this home-thrusting stanza: - - So proud and lofty do some people grow, - Dressing themselves like players in a show; - They patch and paint, and dress like idle stuff, - As if God had not made them good enough. - -The well-known TWELVE JOYS: - - The first good joy that Mary had, it was the joy of one, - To see her own son Jesus to suck at her breast-bone; - To suck at her breast-bone, good man, and blessed shall he be, - Through, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the One United Three! etc. - -The equally popular one: - - God rest you, merry gentlemen, - Let nothing you dismay; - Remember Christ our Saviour - Was born on Christmas-day, - To save poor souls from Satan’s power, - Who’ve long time gone astray. - -Which ends thus: - - God bless the master of this house, - And mistress also; - And all the little children - That round the table go; - With their pockets full of money, - And their cellars full of beer; - And God send you a happy New-Year. - -Amongst them is found BETHLEHEM CITY. - - In Bethlehem city, in Jewry it was, - That Joseph and Mary together did pass; - And there to be tax’d, as many one mo, - When Cæsar commanded, in truth it was so. etc. - -And that fine hymn which is sung in some places at midnight by the -Waites, and which the Methodists have adopted for their early morning -service: - - Christians, awake! salute the happy morn, - Whereon the Saviour of the world was born. - -And the following, which, though evidently in a most defective state, I -shall give entire, as exhibiting a striking impress of the character of -the middle ages; and shewing how well they understood the true spirit of -Christ. - - Honour the leaves and the leaves of life, - Upon this blest holiday, - When Jesus asked his mother dear, - Whether he might go to play. - - To play! to play! said blessed Mary, - To play, then get you gone; - And see there be no complaint of you - At night when you come home. - - Sweet Jesus, he ran unto yonder town, - As far as the holy well; - And there he saw three as fine children - As ever eyes beheld. - He said, “God bless you every one, - And sweet may your sleep be; - And now, little children, I’ll play with you, - And you shall play with me.” - - “Nay, nay, we are lords’ and ladies’ sons-- - Thou art meaner than us all; - Thou art but a silly fair maid’s child, - Born in an oxen’s stall.” - - Sweet Jesus he turned himself about, - Neither laughed, nor smiled, nor spoke, - But the tears trickled down from his pretty little eyes, - Like waters from the rock. - - Sweet Jesus he ran to his mother dear, - As fast as he could run-- - O mother, I saw three as fine children - As ever were eyes set on. - I said “God bless you every one, - And sweet may your sleep be-- - And now, little children, I’ll play with you, - And you shall play with me.” - “Nay,” said they, “we’re lords’ and ladies’ sons, - Thou art meaner than us all; - For thou art but a poor fair maid’s child, - Born in an oxen’s stall.” - Then the tears trickled down from his pretty little eyes - As fast as they could fall. - - “Then,” said she, “go down to yonder town, - As far as the holy well, - And there take up those infants’ souls, - And dip them deep in hell.” - - “O no! O no!” sweet Jesus then said, - “O no! that never can be; - For there are many of those infants’ souls - Crying out for the help of me!” - -I must not close this article either without recalling to the -recollection of some of my readers that quaint old carol, which was sung -by bands of little children at Christmas, and which brings fairly before -us the paintings of the old masters, where Joseph is always represented -as so old a man, and Mary sits in the “oxen’s stall” with her crown on -her head. - - Joseph was an old man, and an old man was he, - And he married Mary, the Queen of Galilee. - -It goes on to describe how they went into the garden, and Queen Mary -asked Joseph to gather her some cherries, on which he turned very -crabbed, made Mary weep, and then all the cherry-trees made their -obeisance; - - And bowed down to Mary’s knee-- - And she gathered cherries by one, two, and three. - -These are in the spirit of the legend which relates that Jesus, when a -boy, was playing with other boys, when they made sparrows of clay, and -he made a sparrow too, but his sparrow became instantly alive, and flew -away. - -Simple were the times when such rude rhymes as these were framed, to be -sung before the doors and by the blazing yule-clogs of gentle and -simple. They are not calculated to stand the test of these days; the -schoolmaster will root them all out: but it is to be hoped that he will -leave untouched the cordial spirit of piety and affection so fitted to -make happy this desolate period of the year. - -In Yorkshire, Staffordshire, Cornwall, and Devon, the old spirit of -Christmas seems to be kept up more earnestly than in most other -counties. In Cornwall, they still exhibit the old dance of St. George -and the Dragon. A young friend of ours happening to be at Calden-Low in -the Staffordshire hills at Christmas, in came the band of bedizened -actors, and performed the whole ancient drama, personating St. George, -the King of Egypt, the fair Saba, the king’s daughter, the Doctor, and -other characters, with great energy and in rude verse. In Devon they -still bless the orchards on Christmas-eve, according to the old -verses:-- - - Wassail the trees, that they may beare - You many a plum, and many a peare: - For more or less fruits they will bring - As you do give them wassailing. - -In some places, they walk in procession to the principal orchards in -the parish. In each orchard one tree is selected as the representative -of the rest; and is saluted with a certain form of words. They then -either sprinkle the tree with cider, or dash a bowl of cider against it. -In other places, only the farmer and his servants assemble on the -occasion, and after immersing cakes in cider, hang them on the -apple-trees. They then sprinkle the trees with cider; pronounce their -incantation; dance about the tree, and then go home to feast. - -In Mr. Grant Stewart’s “Popular Superstitions of the Highlands,” may be -found an account of the Highland mode of celebrating Christmas; and here -we say a hearty good-bye to Jolly Old Christmas. - - * * * * * - -We have now made a hasty sketch of those old festivals which still -retain more or less of their ancient influence. We have endeavoured to -shew what is the present state of custom and feeling in these -particulars by contrasting it with the past. New Year’s-day is yet a day -of salutations; Valentine’s-day has yet some sportive observance amongst -the young; and Plough-Monday, here and there, in the thoroughly -agricultural districts, sends out its motley team. This consists of the -farm-servants and labourers. They are dressed in harlequin guise, with -wooden swords, plenty of ribbons, faces daubed with white-lead, red -ochre, and lamp-black. One is always dressed in woman’s clothes and -armed with a besom, a sort of burlesque mixture of Witch and Columbine. -Another drives the team of men-horses with a long wand, at the end of -which is tied a bladder instead of a lash; so that blows are given -without pain, but with plenty of noise. The insolence of these -Plough-bullocks, as they are called, which might accord with ancient -license, but does not at all suit modern habits, has contributed more -than anything else to put them down. They visited every house of any -account, and solicited a contribution in no very humble terms. If it was -refused, their practice was to plough up the garden walk, or do some -other mischief. One band ploughed up the palisades of a widow lady of -our acquaintance, and having to appear before a magistrate for it, and -to pay damages, never afterwards visited that neighbourhood. In some -places I have known them enter houses, whence they could only be -ejected by the main power of the collected neighbours; for they extended -their excursions often to the distance of ten miles or more, and where -they were the most unknown, there practised the most insolence. Nobody -regrets the discontinuance of this usage. - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE FAIRY SUPERSTITIONS. - -The Fairies, which gave in old times one of the most interesting and -poetical features to the country, have all vanished clean away. Of those -supernatural and airy beings who used to haunt the woodlands, hamlets, -and solitary houses of Old England, they were the first to depart. “They -were of the old profession”--true Catholics; and with Catholicism they -departed; and have only left their interest in the pages of our poets, -who still cling with fondness to the fairy mythology. Bogards, -barguests, ghosts, and hobgoblins, still, in many an obscure hamlet and -the more primitive parts of the country, maintain much of their ancient -power, and continue to quicken the steps of the clown in lonely places, -of the schoolboy past the churchyard, and to add a fearful interest to -the winter fireside stories in cottages and farms. Witchcraft, spite of -what Sir Walter Scott asserted in his Demonology, is far from having -ceased to have stanch believers in numerous places. Are not many of the -Methodists firmly persuaded of demoniacal possession? It is not long ago -that Mr. Heaton, one of their ministers, published a volume in support -of this doctrine, and detailed a very extraordinary case of possession -of a boy who mounted on the surbase of the room, and danced there, on a -space where he could not for a moment support himself when not under -this influence. In this curious book, which I sent to Sir Walter Scott, -and which he assured me he meant to make use of, but was, no doubt, -prevented by his quickly succeeding decline, is a minute account of all -the process of praying the spirit out of the lad, of the dogged -resistance of the demon, and their final triumph over him. John Wesley -was strongly impressed with a belief of such things, as may be seen in -his “News from the Invisible World,” and in the pages of the old series -of the Wesleyan Magazine. And if recent demoniacal possession be a -living faith of the nineteenth century, witchcraft has no lack of -votaries. In Nottingham, a town of seventy thousand inhabitants, I knew -a shoemaker who stood six feet in height, and “might dance in iron -mail,” who lately lived, and probably still lives, in constant dread of -the evil arts of witches and wizards. On the lintel and sill of his -door, he had the ancient charm of reversed horse-shoes nailed; but he -said, he found them of little use against the audacious malice of -witchcraft. He had standing regularly by his fireside a sack-bag of -salt, for he bought it by a sack at a time for the purpose, and of this -he frequently, during the day, but more especially on dark and stormy -nights, took a handful, with a few horsenail stumps, and crooked pins, -and casting them into the fire together, prayed to the Lord to torment -all witches and wizards in the neighbourhood, and he believed that they -were tormented. As I stood by the man’s fire while he related this, it -was burning with the beautiful purple hue of salt. On all other subjects -he appeared as grave and sober as his neighbours. - -In the obscure alleys of large towns, as well as in solitary situations, -fortunetellers still live, and to my own knowledge draw many customers, -besides the gipsies, who haunt there in winter time, and are the regular -professors of palmistry. Witches, spectres, gipsies, and cunning people, -still remain to diversify common life, spite of all the spread of -education; but the fairies, pleasant little people, are gone for ever, -and have been gone long. Chaucer, indeed, says that they were gone in -his day. - - In olde dayes of the king Artour, - Of which that Bretons speke gret honour, - All was this land ful filled of faerie; - The elf-quene, with her joly compagnie - Danced ful oft in many a grene mede. - This was the old opinion as I rede; - I speke of many hundred yeres ago; - But now can no man see non elves mo, - For now the grete charitee and prayeres - Of limitoures and other holy freeres, - That serchen every land and every streme, - As thikke as motes in the sonne beme, - Blissing halles, chambres, kitchenes and boures, - Citees and burghes, castles highe and toures, - Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, - This maketh that ther ben no fairies; - For ther as wont to walken was an elf, - Ther walketh now the limitour himself. - -And Dr. Corbet, bishop of Norwich, who died in 1635, wrote the following -interesting-- - -FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. - - Farewell rewards and fairies! - Good housewives now may say; - For now foule sluts in dairies, - Doe fare as well as they; - And though they sweepe their hearths no less - Than mayds were wont to doe, - Yet who of late for cleanliness - Finds sixpence in her shoe? - Lament, lament old Abbies, - The Fairies’ lost command; - They did but change priests’ babies, - But some have changed your land: - And all your children stolen from thence - Are now growne Puritanes, - Who live as changelings ever since - For love of your demesnes. - At morning and at evening both - You merry were and glad, - So little care of sleepe and sloth - Those pretty ladies had. - When Tom came home from labour, - Or Ciss to milking rose, - Then merrily went their tabour, - And merrily went their toes. - - Witness those rings and roundelayes - Of theirs which yet remain; - Were footed in Queen Mary’s days - On many a grassy playne. - But since of late Elizabeth, - And later James came in, - They never danced on any heath - As when the time hath bin. - - By which we note the fairies - Were of the old profession, - Their songs were _Ave Maries_, - Their dances were procession. - But now, alas! they all are dead, - Or gone beyond the seas, - Or farther for religion fled, - Or else they take their ease. - - A tell-tale in their company - They never could endure; - And whoso kept not secretly - Their mirth was punished sure. - It was a just and Christian deed - To pinch such black and blue; - O how the commonwealth doth need - Such justices as you. - - Now they have left our quarters; - A Register they have, - Who can peruse their charters, - A man both wise and grave. - A hundred of their merry pranks - By one that I could name - Are kept in store; con twenty marks - To William for the same. - - To William Churne of Staffordshire - Give laud and praises due, - Who every meal can mend your cheer - With tales both old and true: - To William all give audience, - And pray ye for his noddle; - For all the fairies’ evidence - Were lost if it were addle. - -Possibly the fairies may yet linger in the dales of Ettrick Forest, -where poor Hogg used to see them, and sung so many beautiful lays in -their honour that he may be styled the Poet Laureate of the Fairies. But -he is gone now--gone after many another great and shining light of the -age, having made the shepherd’s plaid almost as glorious as the -prophet’s mantle--and they may not choose to reveal themselves to -another. They may possibly yet pay an occasional visit to Staffordshire, -the county of William Churne; and we have, indeed, heard of them doing -some pleasant miracles on Midsummer-eve on Calden-Low. If we are to -believe the report of a certain little damsel, as given in Tait’s -Magazine, of June 1835-- - - Some, they played with the water, - And rolled it down the hill; - And this, they said, shall merrily turn - The poor old miller’s mill. - - For there has been no water - Ever since the first of May, - And a blithe man shall the miller be - By the dawning of the day. - - O, the miller, how he will laugh - As he sees the mill-dam rise-- - The jolly old miller how he will laugh - Till the tears fill both his eyes. - - And some they seized the little winds, - That sounded over the hill, - And each put a horn into his mouth, - And blew so sharp and shrill. - - “And there,” said one, “the merry winds go - Away from every horn, - And these shall clear the mildew dank - From the blind old widow’s corn.” - - O! the poor blind widow-- - Though she has mourned so long, - She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone, - And the corn stands stiff and strong. - - And some they brought the brown lintseed, - And flung it down from the Low; - “And this,” said they, “by the sunrise, - In the weaver’s croft shall grow.” - - O! the poor, lame weaver, - How he will laugh outright, - When he sees his dwindling flax-field - All full of flowers by night. - - Then up and spoke a brownie, - With a long beard on his chin, - “And I have spun the tow,” said he, - “And I want some more to spin. - - “I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth, - And I want to spin another; - A little sheet for Mary’s bed, - And an apron for her mother.” - - And with that I could not help but laugh, - And I laugh’d out loud and free, - And then on the top of the Calden-Low - There was no one left but me. - And all on the top of the Calden-Low - The mists were cold and grey, - And nothing I saw but the mossy stones, - That round about me lay. - -This deponent saith, that coming down from the Low, she saw all their -benevolent intentions already realized. It is to be hoped that such -visits may be again paid to Calden-Low, but we have our doubts. - -The Pixies may possibly still haunt those caves and dells in Devonshire -where Coleridge and Carrington saw them; but with those exceptions--and -they received on the faith of poets, who take license--we believe they -have all emigrated. In the lays of Shakspeare and Milton, they are made -immortal denizens of our soil; and we shall never see moonlight, or come -upon the VER-RINGS that still mark our plains and downs, without feeling -and poetically believing that the fairies have been there. In Wales, -however, the common people still declare that they abide. Scotland may -have given up the brownies, and kelpies, and urisks; and we may no -longer have hobthrushes dwelling amongst our rocks, or Robin Goodfellow, -alias Puck, alias Hobgoblin, playing his pranks, as in this confession: - - Whene’er night-wanderers I meet, - As from their night-sports they trudge home, - With counterfeiting voice I greete, - And call them on with me to roame, - Through woods, through lakes, - Through bogs, through brakes; - Or else unseen with them I go, - All in the nicke, - To play some tricke, - And frolicke it with ho, ho, ho! - Sometimes I meet them like a man; - Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound; - And to a horse I turn me can, - To trip and trot about them round. - But if to ride - My backe they stride, - More swift than wind away I go, - O’er hedge and lands, - Through pools and ponds - I winny, laughing ho, ho, ho! - -He may not come to play those pranks, nor as Milton has described his -visits to the farm: - - To earn the cream-bowl duly set. - -The thrashing-machine has thrown the lubber-fiend out of employment; but -the Welsh still declare themselves honoured by the continuance of these -night-wanderers. They have still the corpse-candles; and hear Gabriel’s -hounds hunting over the hills by night, and stoutly avow that the -fairies are as numerous there as ever. There is a waterfall at -Aberpergum, called the Fairies’ Waterfall, where they are, almost any -night to be heard singing; and I have heard a very grave Friend declare -that he has seen them dancing in a green meadow, as he rode home at -night. How long, indeed, this may continue, one cannot tell; for old -Morgan Lewis, who for fifty years has acted as guide to the beautiful -waterfalls of Neath Valley, and is a most firm believer in all the Fairy -faith, especially of their luring children away by assuming the forms of -their deceased relatives, and offering them _fairy-bread_ to eat, which -changes their natures, and they are compelled to join the Elfin -troop--declares that they are now gone from that neighbourhood; that -“the spirit of man is become too strong for them.” A fair friend has -sketched for me, the old man in the attitude of describing to a party -the exact spot on which his father saw their _very last_ appearance. -Behind him rises the Dînas Rock, from time immemorial the sanctum -sanctorum of Welsh fairyland; and old Morgan is exclaiming, “They are -gone! they are gone! and we’ll never see them more!” - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE VILLAGE INN. - -There is nothing more characteristic in rural life than a village -alehouse, or inn. It is the centre of information, and the regular, or -occasional rendezvous of almost everybody in the neighbourhood. You -there see all sorts of characters, or you hear of them. The whereabout -of everybody all around is there perfectly understood. I do not mean the -low pothouse--the new beer-shop of the new Beer-bill, with LICENSED TO -BE DRUNK ON THE PREMISES blazoned over the door in staring -characters--the Tom-and-Jerry of the midland counties--the Kidley-Wink -of the west of England. No, I mean the good old-fashioned country -alehouse; the substantial, well-to-do old country alehouse--situated on -a village green, or by the road-side, with a comfortable sweep out of -the road itself for carriages or carts to come round to the door, and -stand out of all harm’s way. The nice old-fashioned house, in a quiet, -rural, out-of-the-way, old-fashioned district. The very house which -Goldsmith in his day described-- - - Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, - Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, - And news much older than their ale went round. - -It is a low, white-washed, or slap-dashed, or stuccoed, or timber-framed -house, with its various roof, and steep gables; its casement windows -above, bright and clean, peeping out from amongst vines or jasmines, -where the innkeeper’s neat daughter, who acts the parts of chambermaid, -barmaid, and waiter, may be seen looking abroad; and its ample -bay-windows below, where parties may do the same, and where, as you -pass, you may occasionally see such parties--a pleasant-looking family, -or a group of young, gay people, with merry, and often very sweet faces -amongst them;--their post-chaise, travelling-carriage, barouche, or -spring-cart, according to their several styles and dignities, standing -at the door, under the great spreading tree. Ay, there is the old -spreading tree, that is as old, and probably older than the inn itself. -It is an elm, with a knotty mass of root swelled out around the base of -its sturdy stem into a prodigious heap--into a seat, in fact, on holiday -occasions, for a score of rustic revellers, or resters. In some cases, -where the root has not been so accommodating, a good stout bench runs -round it; or where the root is at all endangered by scratching dogs, -picking and hewing children, or rooting pigs of the village, it has -heaped up a good mound of earth round it; or it is protected by a circle -of wattled fence. - -You see the tree is a tree of mark and consequence; it is, indeed, _the -tree_. It is looked upon as part and parcel of the concern; of as much -consequence to the house as its sign; and it is often the sign -itself:--THE OLD ELM-TREE! Or it may be a yew--the very yew out of which -Robin Hood and Little John, Will Scarlett, or Will Stutely cut their -bows--yes, that house is “The Robin Hood.” Or it may be a mighty -ash--the One-Ash, or the Mony-Ash, as in the Peak of Derbyshire. Or it -is an oak of as much dignity--The Royal-Oak. Or it is a whole grove or -cluster, by character or tradition--The Seven-Sisters--or The -Four-Brothers--or The Nine-Oaks--all of which sisters, brothers, or nine -companions, except one, are decayed, dropped off, or thrown down, as -many a family beside has been. See!--the sign hangs in it, or is -suspended on its post just by, bearing the likeness of the original -tree, _attempted_ by some village artist. - -Just such a tree and such a house, all my Surrey, and many of my -metropolitan readers are familiar with at the foot of St. Anne’s Hill, -by Chertsey. The Golden-Grove, kept by James Snowden,--who does not know -it, that loves sweet scenery, sweet associations, or a pleasant steak -and pipe, or a tea-party on a holiday of nature, in one of the most -delicious nests imaginable? Yes! there is a nice old village inn for -you; and such a tree! There you have the picture of the Golden-Grove all -in a blaze of gold--somewhat dashed and dimmed, it is true, by the blaze -of many suns,--but there it is, in front of the inn, and by the old -tree. The inn, the hanging gardens and orchards, the rustic cottages -scattered about, the rich woods and splendid prospects above, the -beautiful meadows and winding streams below; why, they are enough to -arrest any traveller, and make him put up his horse, and determine to -breathe a little of this sweet air, and indulge in this Arcadian calm, -amid these embowering woodlands. And where is he? Below, in those fair -meadows, amid those cottage roofs and orchard trees, rises the low, -square church-tower of Chertsey:--Chertsey, where Cowley lived and died; -and where his garden still remains, as delicious as ever, with its -grassy walk winding by his favourite brook, and the little wooden bridge -leading into the richest meadows. And where his old house yet remains, -saving the porch pointing to the street, which was taken down for the -public safety, but the circumstance and its cause recorded on a tablet -on the wall, with this concluding line-- - - Here the last accents flowed from Cowley’s tongue. - -You then, poetical or enthusiastic traveller or visitant, tread the -ground which Abraham Cowley trod in his retirement; and what is more, -you tread the ground which Charles James Fox trod in his retirement. The -hill above is St. Anne’s,--conspicuous through a great part of Surrey, -Berks, Bucks, Herts, and Middlesex, delightful for its woods and for its -splendid panoramic views, including the winding Thames, Cooper’s Hill, -celebrated by Sir John Denham, Hampstead, Highgate, Harrow, and mighty -London itself, but still more delightful to the patriotic visitant, as -the place where Fox retired to refresh himself after his parliamentary -contests, and to recruit himself for fresh struggles for his country. It -is a place which Rogers by his pen, and Turner by his pencil, have made -still more sacred. Who does not know the lines of Rogers in his poem of -Human Life, in his last splendidly-embellished edition of his works, -referring to Fox?-- - - And now once more where most he wished to be, - In his own fields, breathing tranquillity-- - We hail him--not less happy Fox, than thee! - Thee at St. Anne’s so soon of care beguiled, - Playful, sincere, and artless as a child! - Thee, who wouldst watch a bird’s nest on the spray, - Through the green leaves exploring, day by day. - How oft from grove to grove, from seat to seat, - With thee conversing in thy loved retreat, - I saw the sun go down!--Ah, then ’twas thine, - Ne’er to forget some volume half divine, - Shakspeare’s or Dryden’s--through the chequered shade - Borne in thy hand behind thee as we strayed; - And where we sate (and many a halt we made), - To read there with a fervour all thine own, - And in thy grand and melancholy tone, - Some splendid passage, not to thee unknown, - Fit theme for long discourse.--Thy bell has tolled! - --But in thy place among us we behold - One who resembles thee. - -There is the place, drawn by Turner, exactly as it is; and there is -still living the widow of the great statesman, at the advanced age of -upwards of ninety years. - -It must be confessed that the Golden-Grove is located in a very golden -situation, and then--its tree! I suppose that is scarcely to be -rivalled. I have placed on my title-page the King of Belgium’s tree, but -James Snowden’s tree is every whit as remarkable. - -It is a grand old elm, with massy, wide-spreading horizontal branches, -on which is laid a stout oaken floor, fenced in by a strong parapet of -boards and palisades. It is an aerial, arborean lodge, reached by an -easy flight of steps, furnished with seats and tables, and canopied by -the green awning of the whole tree’s foliage--just the sylvan bower -that makes one long to see a joyous party in it on a summer’s day, -looking out with glad faces on the passers by; or a rustic company, with -their homely pots of ale, and the smoke of their pipes circling out -amongst the green leaves about them. - -This is the old-fashioned country alehouse, such as I am speaking of, -only that we are still merely at the entrance of it, still lingering and -haunting about the door, while the landlady and her daughter are on the -fidgets to receive us, and the old landlord comes out with his bare -head, and his rustic bow, and greets us with--“A fine old tree that, -sir! Their heads don’t ache as planted it, sir;” and the hostler is -advancing from the stable to take charge of our vehicle. But walk in. -How clean it is! Bless us, what a nice snug parlour! What an ample, -comfortable kitchen, or house-place as they call it, with its wide -fireplace! What an array of plates, dishes, and bright pewter pots on -the shelves around, and of hams and flitches dangling from the ceiling. -It is a substantial place; there is no fear of starvation here. The -joint is turning at the fire, and the tea-kitchen stands for ever -boiling, ready to mix a tumbler of spirits, or to make coffee or tea at -all hours. - -These country inns are, of course, some greater, some less; some richer, -some more simple--according to their custom, situation, or other -contingent circumstances; but they are generally clean to a miracle, and -plentiful places. The travelling carriages stop to bait there, for it is -between towns; the squire comes there occasionally, for he patronizes -it, and has all private and public meetings held there. Most probably it -is his own property, and its sign the arms of his family; and what is -quite as likely, the landlord is his old servant. Half of these places -are kept by old servants of the neighbouring families, who have married -and _retired_ to public life. The groom, the coachman, nay the valet or -the butler, has married the lady’s maid, or the comely laundress, or a -daughter of a neighbouring farmer, and there is nothing he can so -readily fashion himself to as an inn. It is something after his own -way--he is still waiting on somebody at table or at carriage. He is -knowing in horses and dogs, and he can’t be well spared out of the -neighbourhood. He is acquainted with all the farmers, and their -acquaintance all round, and they come to the house. In nine cases out -of ten he has a farm attached to his inn. In other cases, our country -innkeeper is a maltster too, or a miller; and these are the country inns -for good cheer. O, what cream, what fresh butter, what fresh eggs, what -fresh vegetables, what plump tender pullets, what geese and ducks for -the roasting, with all appendages of peas and onions, cucumbers and -asparagus, can that larder produce which is situated in the Goshen of -rural plenty; where the malt-kiln is at hand instead of the druggist’s -shop; where barley is steeped instead of coculus; where the hostel has a -plentiful garden at its back, and a good farm behind that. - -Go up to your bed-chamber; you are delighted with its sweetness--its -freshness--its cleanness. You fairly stand to snuff up the air that -comes in at the open window. You turn to admire the clean white bed--the -snowy sheets--the fresh carpet--the old-fashioned walnut drawers, and -wide elbow-chairs of massy workmanship, with damask cushions, clean, -though much worn, which have been purchased at the sale of some ancient -manor-house. All is as bright and clean as busy and country hands can -make them. There is lavender in the drawers! You may, indeed, if you -please, be laid in lavender; for you have only to look out of your -window, and the garden below has whole hedges of lavender, and there are -trees of rosemary nailed up your walls to the very window-sills of the -room. And then you see such filbert-bushes, such damson, and plum, and -apple, and pear trees, that you have visions of apple dumplings, damson -tarts, and a hundred other rural dainties. And now, if you want to study -the character of the place; if you are staying some few days, and are -curious in “the short and simple annals of the poor;” if you want to -paint like Moreland or Gainsborough; or to vie with Miss Mitford in -sunshiny pictures of an English village, there you are in the very -watch-tower of observation. - -You look out on the green, and there comes all the population--the old -to talk and smoke their pipes, the young to play at skittles, nine-pins, -quoits, or cricket. You see out over fields and farms; whatever, or -whoever you meet with in your walks,--cottage or hall, man, woman, or -child,--your landlord can give the whole history and mystery of it; and -besides, as I have said, there every body comes. The clergyman himself -comes there sometimes to meet his neighbours, on parish or other -affairs. All the gentlemen farmers and plodding farmers, the keepers, -the labourers,--every body has some business at one time or another -there. There are the privileged guests of the bar, the frequenters of -the best parlour, the rustic circle of the kitchen fireside. There the -wedding-party comes, and often dines there. There the very followers of -the funeral find some occasion or need of comfort to draw them.[28] -There the soldier on furlough halts--the recruits marching to their -destination halt too. If it be a country that is at all frequented for -its natural beauty or curiosities, or for sporting, there is always some -wild-looking animal or other, a “man at a loose end,” ready to guide you -to the moors, to act as a marker, to carry your game-bag, or your -fishing-basket. In all such places there is a wit, an eccentric, a good -singer. The Will Wimbles, the broken-down gentlemen, the never-do-wells, -all come there. You may see them, and hear them, and when they are gone, -may hear all their oddities and their histories; and every evening you -shall hear every piece of news, for five miles round, as related and -canvassed over by the guests amongst themselves. Many of these landlords -are themselves perfect originals; and by their humour, their racy -anecdotes, and “random shots of country wit,” draw numbers to their -ingle. If any of my readers have heard old Matthew Jobson, of the Nag’s -Head, Wythburn, at the foot of Helvelyn, holding forth in the midst of -the rustic frequenters of his hearth, they have a good notion of such -Bonifaces,--men that can furnish a Wordsworth or a Crabbe with the rough -diamond of a story which they set in imperishable gold,--or flash out -sparks of native wit that afterwards set the tables of city palaces in a -roar. - - [28] In Wales the attenders of a country funeral adjourn, as regularly - as they attend the funeral itself, to the alehouse; and it strikes an - Englishman very strangely, to meet a funeral going to the church, and - to hear the chief mourner, perhaps the widow, crying aloud, and - repeating as she goes, all the virtues of the deceased; and in an hour - after, to find the whole company seated in the public house, enveloped - in a canopy of tobacco-smoke, loud in talk, and drowning their sorrow - in their cups. I recollect how my feelings were harrowed by meeting - such a funeral, and a widow just so lamenting; but the gentleman with - me, a resident of the place, said “O, it is all the better--they run - off the poignancy of their feelings by their lamentations. Their grief - seems like one of their mountain torrents--loud and rapid, and then it - is gone.” - -But lest I should be accused of tempting my readers into the abodes of -publicans and sinners, I must again remind them that I am only talking -of those quiet, respectable old country inns, where the master and -mistress had a character to maintain, had a regard to the opinion of the -parson and the squire; and of those only as places of necessary -refreshment. As parts and parcels of English rural life, I am bound to -describe them; and who has not spent a pleasant hour in such a place -with a friend, on a pedestrianizing excursion, or with a rural party at -dinner or tea? And who has not rejoiced to escape from night and storms, -on wide heaths or amongst the mountains, to the “shelter of such rustic -roof?” Into such a house I remember, years ago, being driven by a wild -night of wind, rain, and pitchy darkness, on the edge of Yorkshire, and -the cheerful blaze of the fire, and the rustic group round it, as I -entered, were a right welcome contrast to the tempestuous blackness -without. Wet, and cold, and weary as I was, I had no intention of being -conducted to the best parlour of so small a house as this was, in so -secluded a part of the country, on a dismal night in October. Whoever is -obliged at such a season to betake himself to such humble hostel, let -him, if he do not find a good fire blazing in the parlour, seat himself -in the old chimney-corner: there he is sure of warmth and comfort in a -homely way. In summer a rustic inn, in the most obscure district, is -pleasant enough; but in winter beware! Travellers are few--the best -parlour is probably not used once a month, for all country incomers know -that the old chimney-corner is always warm. Instead, therefore, of being -led, as is the regular custom, on the arrival of a respectable looking -stranger, into the best parlour, while a fire is lighted, and of -waiting, chill and miserable, for its burning up, and for the coming of -your tea or supper, watching the smoking, snapping, fizzing sticks, and -the reek, refused ascent up the damp chimney, ever and anon puffing out -into the room in clouds--march at once into the common room, or ensconce -yourself as a privileged guest in the bar. If you find a fire blazing in -the parlour, that is indication that there is passing enough on that -road to keep one burning there: if not, the blazing ingle is your spot. -There I took my station, with a high wooden screen behind me, a bright -hearth before me; and having ordered a beef-steak and coffee, and -secured the room over this very one for my lodging, knowing that that -too is always dry in winter, I began to notice what company I had got. -The scene presented is worth describing, as a bit of rural life. About -half a dozen villagers occupied the centre of the great circular wooden -screen, at one end of which I was seated. Before them stood the common -three-legged round table of the country public-house, on which stood -their mugs of ale. The table, screen, fire-irons, floor, every thing had -an air of the greatest cleanness. Opposite to me, in one of the great -old elbow-chairs, so common in country inns in the north, some of them, -indeed, with rockers to them, in which full-grown people sit rocking -themselves with as much satisfaction as children, sate an old man in -duffil-grey trousers and jacket, and with his hat on; and close at my -left hand a tall, good-looking fellow of apparently fifty-five, who had -the dress of a master stonemason, but a look of vivacity and -knowingness, very different to the rest of the company. There was a look -of the wag, or the rake about him. He was, in fact, evidently a fellow -that in any place or station would be a gay, roystering blade; and if -dressed in a court dress, would cut a gallant figure too. He eyed me -with that expression which said he only wanted half a word to make -himself very communicative. The check which my entrance had given to the -talk and laughter which I heard on first opening the door, had now -passed, and I found a keen dispute going on, upon the important question -of how many quicksets there are in a yard, when planted four inches -asunder. The old man opposite I found was what a punster would term a -fencing-master,--a planter of fences,--a founder and establisher of -hawthorn hedges for the whole country round; and out of his profession -the dispute had arisen. The whole question hinged on the simple inquiry, -whether a quickset was put in at the very commencement of the line of -fence, or only at the end of the first four inches. In the first case -there would be evidently nine--in the latter only eight. The matter in -dispute was so simple and demonstrable, that one wondered how it could -afford a dispute at all. Some, however, contended there were eight -quicksets, and some that there were nine; and to demonstrate, they had -chalked out the line of fence with its division into yards, and -sub-division into four inches, on the hearth with a cinder; but the -dispute still went on as keenly as if the thing were not thus plainly -before their eyes, or as disputes continue in a more national assembly -on things as self-evident: and many an earnest appeal was made from both -sides to the old hedger, who having once given his decision, disdained -to return any further reply than by a quiet withdrawal of his pipe from -his mouth, a quiet draught of ale, and the simple asseveration of--“Nay, -I’m sure!” The debate might have grown as tediously prolix as the -debates just alluded to, had not my left-hand neighbour, the tall man of -lively aspect, turned to me, and, pointing to the cindery diagram on the -hearth, said, “What things these stay-at-home neighbours of mine can -make a dispute out of! What would Ben Jonson have thought of such -simpletons? Look here! if these noisy chaps had ever read a line of -Homer or Hesiod, they wouldn’t plague their seven senses out about -nothing at all. Why, any child of a twelvemonth old would settle their -mighty question with the first word it learned to speak. Eight or nine -quicksets indeed! and James Broadfoot there, who should know rather -better than them, for he has planted as many in his time as would reach -all round England, and Ireland to boot, has told them ten times over. -Eight or nine numbskulls, I say!” - -“O!” said I, a good deal surprised--“and so you have read Homer and -Hesiod, have you?” - -“To be sure I have,” replied my mercurial neighbour, “and a few other -poets too. I have not spent all my life in this sleepy-headed place, I -can assure you.” - -“What, you have travelled as well as read, then?” - -“Yes, and I have travelled too, master. Ben Jonson was a stonemason; and -if I am not a stonemason I am a sculptor, and that is first-cousin to -it. When Ben Jonson first entered London with a hod of mortar on his -head, and a two-foot rule in his pocket, I dare say he knew no more that -he had twenty plays in his head, than I knew of all the cherubims I -should carve, and the epitaphs I should cut; and yet I have cut a few in -my time, and written them too beforehand.” - -“O! and you are a poet too?” - -He nodded assent, and taking up his mug of ale, and fixing his eyes -stedfastly on me over the top of it as he drank with a look of -triumph,--then setting down his mug--“And if you want to know that, you -have only to walk into the churchyard in the morning, and there you’ll -find plenty of my verses, and cut with a pen of iron too, as Job wished -his elegy to be.” Here, however, lest I should not walk into the -churchyard, he recited a whole host of epitaphs, many of which must have -made epitaph-hunters stare, if they really were put on headstones. - -“Well,” I said, “you astonish me with your learning and wit. I certainly -did not look for such a person in this village--but pray where have you -travelled?” - -“O! it’s a long story--but this I can tell you--I have gone so near to -the end of the world that I could not put sixpence between my head and -the sky.” - -At this the whole company of disputants forgot their quicksets, lifted -their heads and cried--“Well done Septimus Scallop! That’s a good ’un. -If the gentleman can swallow that, he can anything.” - -“O!” said I, “I don’t doubt it.” - -“Don’t doubt it!” they shouted all at once--“don’t doubt it? Why, do you -think any man ever could get to where the sky was so low as he couldn’t -get in sixpence between his head and it?” - -“Yes he could, and often has done--make yourself sure of that. If a man -has not a sixpence he cannot put it between his head and the sky; and he -is pretty near the world’s end too, I think.” - -Here they all burst into a shout of laughter, in the midst of which open -flew the door, and a tall figure rushed into the middle of the house, -wrapped in a shaggy coat of many capes, dripping with wet, and holding -up a huge horn lantern. A face of wonderful length and of a ghastly -aspect glared from behind the lantern, and a voice of the most ludicrous -lamentation bawled out--“For God’s sake, lads, come and help me to find -my wagon and horses! I’ve lost my wagon! I’ve lost my wagon!” Up jumped -the whole knot of disputants, and demanded where he had lost it. The man -said that while he went to deliver a parcel in the village, the wagon -had gone on. That he heard it at a distance, and cried, “woa! woa!” but -the harder he cried, and the farther he went, the faster it went too. At -this intelligence away marched every one of the good-natured crew -excepting the wit. “And why don’t you go?” I asked.--“Go! pugh! It’s -only that soft brother of mine, Tim Scallop, the Doncaster carrier. I’ll -be bound now that the wagon hasn’t moved an inch from the spot he left -it in. He has heard the wind roaring, and doesn’t know it from his own -wagon wheels. Here these poor simpletons will go running their hearts -out for some miles, and then they will come back and find the horses -where he left them. I could go and lay my hand on them in five minutes. -But they are just as well employed as in griming Mrs. Tappit’s -hearthstone. Never mind;--I was telling you of what the hostler said to -Ben Jonson when Ben was reeling home early one morning from a carouse, -and Ben declared that he was never so pricked with a horsenail-stump in -his life-- - - BEN.--Thou silly groom - Take away thy broom, - And let Ben Jonson pass: - - GROOM.--O! rare Ben! - Turn back again, - And take another glass!” - -Septimus Scallop laughed at the hostler’s repartee, and I laughed too, -but my amusement had a different source from his. There was something -irresistibly ludicrous in the generous rushing forth of the whole -company to the aid of the poor carrier, except the witty brother! But he -was quite right: in about an hour, in came the good-natured men, -streaming with rain like drowned rats, and declaring that after running -three miles and finding no wagon, they bethought themselves of turning -back to where the carrier said it was lost; and there they had nearly -run their noses against it, standing exactly where he left it. - -So much for the village inn. Every traveller must have seen in such a -place many a similar piece of country life. A new class of alehouses has -sprung up under the New Beer Act, which being generally kept by people -without capital, often without character; their liquor supplied by the -public brewers, and adulterated by themselves; have done more to -demoralize the population of both town and country, than any other -legislative measure within the last century. In these low, dirty, -fuddling places, you may look in vain for - - The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, - The varnished clock that clicked behind the door. - -In manufacturing towns, and agricultural districts, they alike multiply -the temptations to the poor man, and by their low character are sure to -deteriorate his own. Against the swarms of these, in many places, the -quiet respectable old village inn has little chance. It must disappear, -or be kept by a different and a worse class of people; and when it goes, -it goes with Goldsmith’s graphic lamentation--for very different are the -_shops_ that succeed it: - - Vain transitory splendours! could not all - Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall! - Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart - An hour’s importance to the poor man’s heart. - Thither no more the peasant shall repair, - To sweet oblivion of his daily care; - No more the farmer’s news, the barber’s tale, - No more the woodman’s ballad shall prevail; - No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, - Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; - The host himself no longer shall be found, - Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; - Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, - Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. - - -CHAPTER IX. - -POPULAR PLACES OF RESORT.--WAKES, STATUTES, AND FAIRS. - -Besides the remains of the ancient festivals, the country people find a -great source of amusement in these gatherings. The WAKE is the parochial -feast of the dedication of the church. It has now dwindled into a -village holiday, shorn by the Reformation of all its ecclesiastical and -sacred character. But it furnishes a certain point in every year, in -every individual parish, to which the rural people can look forward as a -point of rest and mutual rejoicing. It is a time which leads them to -clean up their houses, to look forward and prepare for a renewal of -their wardrobe; and which cheers the spirit of many an otherwise -solitary and labouring person with the prospect of a short season of -relaxation, a short pause in the otherwise ever-going machinery of -servitude. The old people--parents, and grand-parents, say--when telling -of their children out at service, in some distant place, or married and -settled far off: “Well, well, we shall see them at the wake. They’ll all -be here, thank God, well and hearty, I hope.” The children, as they -groan at times under the tedium of perpetual labour, suddenly cheer up, -and say,--“Well, but we shall go home at the wake;”--a thing which is -regularly stipulated for at hiring; and the vision of that joyful time, -though but a moment in itself, puts out all the twilight of their weary -waiting. The time comes. The merry bells of the church are ringing on -the anniversary of that church’s completion, perhaps five or seven -hundred years ago. Merrily they ring; and simple and glad creatures, -young maidens, and youths, and comely pairs with a troop of children -round them, hear them, as they come over hill and dale, approaching from -all quarters the place of their nativity, and the place of their -ancestors: the one place, however small and however obscure, tinged all -over with the memories of childhood, and filled with the stories and -legends that were interwoven with the very grain of their minds by their -parents’ recitals in early life--the one place, therefore, which seems -the most important in the universe. They, like the Chinese, always place -in the maps of their simple thoughts their native village in the centre -of the earth. Over hill and dale they are coming, all in their holiday -array; and in many a bright little cottage, basking in the sunshine of -morning, are eager hearts looking out for them; wondering how Grace and -Thomas will look; whether they are much altered; and whether the -children of the married ones will be much grown. The beauty of these -village feasts is, that they do not occur all at one time, so that the -friends and acquaintance of the inhabitants of one place, come pouring -in to see them, and are ready in their turn to receive them at their -feast. - -They are times of pleasant exchange of hospitalities and renewals of -simple friendships. Out of doors there are stalls of toys and -sweetmeats, and whirligigs for the children; within, there is, for once, -plum-pudding and roast beef, and an infinity of such talk as best -pleases their tastes. Old notes of by-gone years are compared. Many are -recalled to remembrance who have not been thought of for a long time. -The hearts of the old are warmed by retracing their early exploits, and -early acquaintance, with all the pleasant exaggerations of memory; and -the young listen, and think with wonder on those good old times. - -In some old-fashioned places, these feasts are named from and mingled -with the remains of other old church rites. At Ilkeston in Derbyshire, -it is called the Cross-Dressing, and the cross in the village is dressed -up with oaken boughs, with their leaves gilt and spangled. At -Tissington, near Dovedale, the Well-Dressing or Well-Flowering, when -they dress up a beautiful spring with flowers, and have dances and -processions and much merriment, is their great feast, though it may not -happen to fall exactly on the day of the dedication of the church. At -Blidworth, in the old demesnes of Sherwood, it is their Rocking; I -suppose from its happening to fall on the day after Twelfth-day, or St. -Distaff’s-day, the custom of which is described by Herrick:-- - - Partly work, and partly play, - Ye must on St. Distaff’s-day: - From the plough soone free your teame, - Then come home and fother them. - If the maides a spinning goe, - Burn the flax and fire the tow. - Bring in pails of water then, - Let the maides bewash the men: - Give St. Distaff all the right, - Then bid Christmas sport good night. - And next morrow every one, - To his owne vocation. - -In different villages, different customs have allied themselves to the -great annual feast, the season of meeting of friends and relatives. Long -may these meetings remain bound up with, at least, one bright day in the -year. I trust, however knowledge and refinement may extend themselves, -they will never refine these rural holidays away. Let them root out -cruelty and rudeness, and drunkenness, as they have done already in a -great degree--for where now are bull-baitings, bear-baitings, -dog-fights, and cock-fights, which twenty years ago were the invariable -accompaniments and great attraction of these wakes? Let Christian -knowledge root out these things, and thus perfect this one white season -of the cottager’s year--making it entirely an occasion for cultivating -the best affections, and knitting together family ties. - - -STATUTES. - -These, which are called provincially STATITZ, or STATICE, are meetings -for hiring of farm and household servants, “according to statutes made -and provided,” and are held in certain central and convenient places. -They are attended merely by farmers, and people who happen to want men -or maid-servants, and by the servants themselves. By the latter they -are looked forward to with much interest. They furnish occasion for a -holiday. They are for the time their own masters, having left, or being -about to leave their places, and either to re-engage themselves, or to -seek new ones. They here meet their old acquaintances, and compare notes -of the past year, of the character of the different places they have -had; of what extraordinary has befallen them; and are full of new -schemes and speculations as to where they shall go; what advance of -wages they shall obtain; in what capacity they shall hire themselves. In -many parts of the country he who offers himself as a shepherd appears -with a lock of wool in his hat, placed under the band; the wagoner has a -bit of whipcord stuck there; the groom a bit of sponge; the milkmaid in -her bonnet a tuft of cow-hair; and the general run of farm-servants are -conspicuous enough as to what they are, by their carters’-frocks, or -slops, hob-nailed ankle boots, and out-of-door, half-waggish, -half-sheepish looks. - -It is a true country scene, to see all these rude sons of the soil -collected together from their farm-yards and solitary fields, where, far -from towns, they have gone whistling after the plough, sowing, or -gathering in harvest; and the girls that have been scrubbing, churning, -and milking, and occasionally helping in the hay or corn fields, here -dressed out in their rustic finery, and shewing such robust forms and -rosy faces as might astonish our over-delicate citizens. To see the -farmers going amongst them, inquiring after their accomplishments and -qualities, and cheapening them much as they would cheapen a horse; and -their no less wary wives negotiating with the buxom damsels of the mop -and pail. These matters all satisfactorily disposed of, and the -_Earnest_, or money given on account of future services, or as it is -otherwise called, the _Fastening-penny_, from its formerly being a -penny, though now a shilling, being given, away go the farmers and -farmeresses, and leave the lads and lasses to a day of jollity and fun. -The swains lose no time in selecting each his _chere-amie_ for the day; -and the afternoon is spent in eating, flirting, drinking, and dancing, -and then all separate their several ways, for at least another year. - -Some of these STATUTES in agricultural districts bring together a vast -concourse of people. In Warwickshire, Oxfordshire, and many other parts -of the country, these statutes are held about Old Michaelmas-day, when -all the servants, men and women, are at liberty from their servitude, -and have a week’s holiday to attend the different neighbouring statutes, -mops, or bull-roastings, as they are called. All work is at an end. -Day-labourers are the only men who can be got to do out-of-doors -offices; charwomen take the place of housemaids within; and good -housewives are often at their wits’ end what to do. As you enter towns -you find them swarming with the country lads and lasses, and oxen -roasting in the streets; booths, shows, eating, treating, and dancing -the order of the day. As you go along the highways you meet the young -country people streaming along in their rustic finery to or from the -towns; and when you arrive at a country inn, probably the door is barred -and bolted, if it be towards evening,--the servants being all gone to be -hired, the master to hire, and the mistress left alone, and no little -afraid of the loose strolling fellows who are abroad at this unsettled -time. I once went, when a boy, with my schoolmaster to Polesworth -Statute, in Warwickshire, and well remember that such was the crowd, -that although I saw a penny on the ground, and made many attempts to -stoop down and pick it up, I found it impossible to do it. In -Northumberland, Durham, and the south of Scotland, similar meetings are -held, where the hinds hire their Bondagers. - - -FAIRS. - -Statutes are places where the working class of the rural districts amuse -themselves, but fairs are great sources of pleasure to all classes of -country people. The farmers, and their wives and daughters; the -villagers of all descriptions; the cottagers from the most secluded -retreats; the squire and his family from the hall--all flock to the fair -of their county town, and find some business to be transacted, and a -world of pleasure to be enjoyed. There are cheese, cattle, horses, -poultry, geese, and a hundred other things, to be sold; and multitudes -of household articles, clothing, and trinkets to be bought; and, besides -all this, a vast of seeing and being seen to be done. I will describe -the great October Fair of Nottingham, called Goose-Fair, as a good -specimen of a country fair on a large scale. - -In the country, for many miles round, this fair is looked forward to by -young and old with views of business and recreation for months; and what -was done, and said, and seen at Goose-Fair; who was met there, and what -matches were made, serve for conversation for months afterwards. The -buyers and sellers of cheese, apples, onions, and a variety of other -articles, are making their preparations to be there; some of them from -distant counties; horse-jockeys are getting ready their strings of -horses; young people are putting their wardrobes in order, and expecting -all that such young people do expect on such occasions. In the town, two -or three days before, the signs of the approaching fair increase. Huge -caravans incessantly arrive, with their wild beasts, theatricals, -dwarfs, giants, and other prodigies and wonders. Then come trotting in -those light, neat covered wagons, containing the contents of sundry -bazaars that are speedily to spring up. As you go out of the town at any -end, you meet caravan after caravan, cart after cart, long troops of -horses tied head and tail, and groups of those wild and peculiar-looking -people, that are as necessary to a fair as flowers are to May;--all -kinds of strollers, beggars, gipsies, singers, dancers, players on -harps, Indian jugglers, Punch and Judy exhibitors, and similar wandering -artists and professors. - -For some days before the general fair commences, the horse-fair is going -on. You recognise all the knowing-ones in horse-flesh from all the -country round; country gentlemen and smart young farmers, and cunning -jockeys with their long drab great coats, short old boots, and their -jockey whips stuck carelessly under their arm. Horses of all kinds, -light and heavy, full blood, half blood, and no blood at all, are ridden -and driven to shew their action, along the pavement in all directions, -as if the aim of the riders was to run over everybody they could, and -break their own necks into the bargain. - -Then on the authentic day of the fair, forth comes the procession of the -corporation to proclaim the fair, and march up the market-place and down -again in their scarlet robes, mayor and aldermen, the mace borne and the -trumpet blown before them, and the beadles with their staves behind. -Having made this procession to the wonder of all children, and -sight-loving adults, they ascend into the Town-Hall, there, oddly -enough, called the Exchange, and the crier proclaims the fair from the -charter, at the prompting of the town-clerk. The fair is proclaimed, and -is already in existence. There is the market-place, an area of six -acres, jammed full of stalls, shows, bazaars, and people. From the -earliest hour of the morning, wagons loaded with cheese have been -arriving, which are now seen on one side of the market-place, pitched -down in piles, and in quantities enough, one would think, to serve all -England for a twelvemonth. There are the farmers, and their wives and -daughters, well wrapped up in good market coats, with numerous capes, -surveying with pride the workmanship of their hands, and the product of -their summer’s dairy; and there are the dealers busy amongst it with -their cheese-tasters, tasting and chaffering, and buying, and sending -off their purchases by wagons to the wharfs. It is incredible in what a -little time those great heaps of cheese vanish from the stones, and nuts -and onions in abundance. - -The whole market-place is now one mass of moving people, and -unintermitted din. Wombwell’s Menagerie displays all its gigantic -animals on its scenes; Holloway’s “Travelling Company of Comedians” are -dancing with harlequin and clown in front of their locomotive theatre; -wonderful women, and children, and animals; wonderful machinery, -panoramas, and prodigies are displayed on all sides in pictorial -enormity, and the united sounds of Wombwell’s fine band of musicians in -their beef-eater costume, the band of Holloway, the smaller ones of -other shows, and the bawlings, and invitings, and oratorical declamation -of a dozen different showmen, with bellowing of gongs and clashing of -cymbals, make up a sound enough to drive to distraction more swine than -ran into the sea of Gennesaret, but which seems, notwithstanding, -wonderfully delightful to ears grown weary of country quiet. It is -curious to see the numbers pouring in and out of these places; to see -the dense crowd of upturned faces collected before every show where -there are antics playing, and clowns and fools talking nonsense for -their entertainment. To hear the hearty laughs which follow their -standing jokes, is to feel how cheaply pleasure can be furnished to -hungry spirits. - -But the crowd of fair-goers walking round and round this annual Babel! -During the morning, business is the chief engrossment; but from noon -till eleven or twelve o’clock at night, pleasure is the pursuit. The -farmers’ daughters, who stood in their caped coats before their piles of -cheese, are now metamorphosed into most extraordinary belles, and have -found beaus as dashing as themselves. At all the stalls, purchases of -gingerbread, sweetmeats, nuts and oranges, are going on; and through the -bazaars--those modern additions to fairs, goes a perpetual stream of gay -people, admiring the endless variety of things that are there displayed -on either hand. Tea-caddies, workboxes of rosewood and pearl, china, -cut-glass, drums and trumpets, and all kinds of toys; bracelets and -necklaces, and all species of female trinkets; fans, and parlour -bellows, figures in porcelain and painted wood; purses, musical boxes, -and, in short, all the thousand contents of a bazaar. - -This afternoon portion of the fair is called the gig-fair, because -people come driving in their gigs to it; _i. e._ it is the -pleasure-fair, where smart people from all quarters come to see, and to -be seen. The second day of the fair, I believe, is the earliest on which -_very genteel_ people make their appearance, and then you may often see -numbers of country families of good standing mingling in the moving mass -of Vanity Fair. It is amusing enough to sit at a window, and look over -all the stirring and motley scene. To see the eternal stream of smart -dresses and fair faces go by. Round and round they move, in one dense -throng, every one apparently driven forward by the weight of the coming -crowd; and, taking into consideration the press, the noise, the -weariness of such thronged and continued walking, one is apt to wonder -how any human beings can find pleasure in it. But that they do find -pleasure, and an intense pleasure, their eager and multitudinous -flocking thither sufficiently denote. They come out of a quietness that -presents a little noise and dissipation as an agreeable contrast. They -come to attractions adapted to their taste. The greater part of them are -full of youth and expectation. There is no occasion on which so many -country flames are struck up as at a fair. And in truth, you see numbers -of fine healthy forms of both sexes in this crowd, and beautiful faces -in numbers sufficient to make you feel with the poet: - - The ancient spirit is not dead; - Old times, thought I, are breathing there; - Proud was I that my country bred - Such strength, a dignity so fair. - -It is a time, in fact, of universal country jollity, pleasure-taking, -love-making, present-making, treating, and youthful entertainment, -enjoyed to an extent that people of different tastes can form no -conception of. Many an important connexion is dated from the fair; many -a freak, a pleasure, a piece of wit and fun, are thence registered, and -talked of at country firesides to the latest period of life; and these -are all so much part and parcel of our common nature, that there must be -a stony place in the heart which does not strongly sympathise with the -actors and partakers of them. Joy, therefore, to all fair-goers! and -with the growth of greater intelligence and taste, long may the healthy -capacity of being lightly pleased retain its hold on the robust forms -and sweet faces of English Rural Life. - -I have often thought that we have artists who go all over the world in -quest of novelties of scene, costume, character, and grouping, many of -whom, if they came to an English fair, with minds capable of entering -into what they saw, might give us scenes and figures of more real -interest than they often bring back after years of absence. The -dancing-scene before Holloway’s; the figures and coquetting of country -belles and their lovers; and the picturesque simplicity of the old men -gazing like children on some wonder-promising showman, and now full of -consternation and amaze at some of them finding their purses clean -vanished from their pockets, would form good subjects for the pencil. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE RURAL WATERING-PLACE. - -A great deal has been written about our fashionable watering-places, but -there is another class of watering-places quite as amusing in their way, -of which the public knows little or nothing. There are the rural -watering-places, which are part and parcel of our subject, without which -any picture of rural life would be incomplete; and which I shall here -therefore take due notice of. These are the resort of what may be styled -the burgher and agricultural part of our population. The farmer, the -shopkeeper, the occupant of the clerk’s desk, or the mercantile -warehouse,--each and all of these feel the want of a periodical -relaxation from business and care, and the want of that change of scene -and circumstance, that may give a fresh feeling of both mental and -physical renovation. These, as they stand wearily sweltering in the hot -field, or bending over the everlasting counter, suddenly see in their -mind’s eye the flashing of the sea, and feel the breezes blow upon them -like a new life. They resolve on the instant “to go to the salt-water” -before the summer is over, and begin contriving when and how it shall -be, and what wives and children, or old cronies, can go with them. The -farmer sees that the only time for him will be in the interval between -hay and corn harvest, and speedily he has inoculated some of his friends -with the same desire. Many a jolly company is thus speedily made, and at -the fixed time away they go, in gigs and tax-carts, or on scampering -horses, with more life and spirit than most people return from more -celebrated places. In Lancashire the better class of the operatives in -the manufacturing districts, consider it as necessary “to go to the -salt-water” in the summer, as to be clothed and fed all the rest of the -year. From Preston, Blackburn, Bolton, Oldham, and all those great -spinning and weaving towns, you see them turning out by whole wagon and -cart-loads, bound for Blackpool and such places; and they who have not -seen the swarming loads of these men and women and children, their fast -driving, and their obstreperous merriment, have not seen one of the most -curious scenes of English life. - -In one of those strolls through different parts of the country in which -I have so often indulged myself, and in which I have always found so -much enjoyment, from the varieties of scenery and character which they -laid open to me, I once came upon a watering-place on the coast, that -afforded me no small matter for a day or two’s amusement. What could -have been the cause of the setting up of such a place as a scene of -pleasurable resort, it would be difficult to tell, except that it -possessed a most bounteous provision of two great articles in demand in -the autumnal months in cities--salt water and fresh air, for which a -thousand inconveniences would be endured. It was situated quite on the -flat coast of a flat country, a few miles from one of its sea-ports, yet -near enough to obtain speedily thence all those good things which hungry -mortals require--and who are so hungry as people bathing in sea water, -and imbibing sea air, and taking three times their usual exercise -without being distinctly aware of it? - -Strolling along the coast, I found a good hotel, with all the usual -marks of such an establishment about it. There were quantities of -people loitering about the sands in front and in the garden, and other -quantities looking out of windows with the sashes up; some of them, -particularly the ladies, holding colloquies out of the windows of upper -stories with some of the strollers below; post-chaises, and gigs, and -shandray carts, standing here and there in the side scenes; a row of -bathing-machines on the shore, awaiting the hour of the tide; and a loud -noise of voices from a neighbouring bowling-green. The odours of -roasting and baking that came from the hotel, were of the most inviting -description. I inclined to take up my abode there for a few hours at -least, but on entering, I found that as to obtaining a room, or a tithe -of a room, or even a chair at the table of the ordinary, it was quite -out of the question. “Lord bless you, sir,” said the landlady, a woman -of most surprising corporeal dimensions, in a white gown, an -orange-coloured neckerchief, and a large and very rosy face, as she -stood before the bar, filling the whole width of the passage; “Lord -bless you, sir, if you’d give me a thousand golden guineas in a silken -purse, I should not know where to put you. We’ve turned hundreds and -hundreds of most genteel people away, that we have, within this very -week, and the house is fit to burst now, it’s so hugeous full. But -you’ll get accommodated at the town.” “What town?” said I; “is there a -town near?” “Why, town we call it, but it’s the village, you know; it’s -Fastside here, not more than a mile off; if you follow the bank along -the shore, you’ll go straight to it. You can’t miss it.” Accordingly, -following the raised embankment along the shore, I soon descried -Fastside, a few scattered cottages, placed amongst their respective -crofts and gardens, and here and there a farm-house, with its -substantial array of ricks about it, denoting that the dwellers were -well off in the world. But I soon found that all the cottages, and many -of the farm-houses, had their boarders for the season, and that there -was scarcely one but was full. I had the good luck to spy an equipage, -and something like a departing group at the door of one of the cottages, -and as it moved away, to find that I could have the use of two rooms, a -parlour and chamber over it, if I liked to go to the expense. “Perhaps,” -said the neat cottage housewife, “as a single gentleman, you may not -like to occupy so much room, for just at this season we charge rather -high.” “And pray,” said I, “what may be the enormous price you are -charging for these rooms, then?” “Seven shillings a-week each room, and -half-a-crown for attendance,” looking at me with an inquiring eye, as if -apprehensive that I should be astounded at the sum. “What! the vast -charge of sixteen and sixpence per week,” I replied, smiling, “for two -rooms and attendance?” “Yes,” said the simple dame; “but then, you see, -you will have to live besides, and it all comes to a good deal. But may -be you are a gentleman, that doesn’t mind a trifle.” Having assured her -that there would, at all events, be no insurmountable obstacle in her -terms, I entered and took possession of two as rustic and nicely clean -rooms as could be found under such a humble roof. I had taken a fancy to -spend a few days, or a week at least, there. It was a new scene, and -peopled with new characters, that might be worth studying. The cottage -stood in a thoroughly rural garden, full of peas, beans, and cabbages, -with a little plot round the house, gay with marigolds, hollyhocks, and -roses, and sweet with rosemary and lavender. The old dame’s husband was -a shrimper, or fisher for shrimps, whom I soon came to see regularly -tracing the edge of the tide with his old white horse and net hung -behind him. She had, besides me, it seemed, another lodger, who, she -assured me, “was a very nice young man indeed, but, poor young -gentleman, he enjoyed but very indifferent health. Sometimes I think -he’s been crossed in love, for I happened to cast my eye on one of his -books--he reads a power of books--and there was a deal about love in it. -It was all in poetry, you see, and so on; and then again, I fancy he’s -consumptive, though I wouldn’t like to say a word to him, lest it should -cast him down, poor young man; but he reads too much, in my opinion, a -great deal too much; he’s never without a book in his hands when he’s in -doors; and that’s not wholesome, you are sure, to be sitting so many -hours in one posture, and with his eyes fixed in one place. But God -knows best what’s good for us all; and I often wonder whether he has a -mother. I should be sorely uneasy on his account, if I were her.” So the -good dame ran on, while she cooked me a mutton chop and took an account -of what tea and sugar and such things she must send for by the postman, -who was their daily carrier to the town. I listened to her talk, and -looked at the pot of balm of Gilead, and the red and white balsams -standing in the cottage window, and the large sleek and well-fed tabby -cat sleeping on the cushion of the old man’s chair, and was sure that I -was in good hands, and grew quite fond of my quarters. Before the day -was over, I became acquainted with the old shrimper, who came in after -his journey to the next town with his shrimps, and who was as -picturesque an old fellow as you would wish to see, and full of -character and anecdotes of the wrecks and sea accidents on that coast -for forty years past. I had been informed all about who were the -neighbours inhabiting the other cottages and farms, and had a good -inkling of their different characters too. I had walked out to the bank -when the tide was up, and round the garden, and actually got into -conversation with “the poor young man,” my fellow lodger. - -The next morning I was up early, and out to reconnoitre the place and -neighbourhood; and this young man having found out that I was also -addicted to the unwholesome practice of reading books, took at once a -great fancy to me, and went with me as guide and cicerone. I found that -all the mystery about him was, that he was a youth articled to an -attorney in great practice, and had stooped over the desk a little too -much, but was soon likely to be as strong and sound as ever, being -neither consumptive nor _crossed_ in love, although in love he certainly -was. A more simple-hearted, good-natured fellow, it was impossible could -exist. He had the most profound admiration of all poets and -philosophers, and read Goldsmith, Shenstone, and Addison, with a relish -that one would give a good deal for. As for Sir Walter Scott, and Lord -Byron, and Tom Moore, he knew half of their voluminous poetical works by -heart; mention any fine passage, and he immediately spouted you the -whole of it; and as for the Waverley Novels, he had evidently devoured -them entire, and was full of their wonders and characters. Yet, thus -fond of poetry and romance, it was not the less true that he had a fancy -for mathematics, and played on the fiddle and the flute into the -bargain. Nor was this all the extent of his tastes, he had quite a -_penchant_ for natural history; had he time, he declared he would study -botany, ornithology, geology, and conchology too; and yet, although such -a book-worm himself, he seemed to enjoy the company of the other -visiters there who never read at all. There was a whole troop that he -made acquaintance with, and whose characters he sketched to me, -particularly those of a merry set who lodged at a cottage opposite, -where he often went to amuse them with his fiddle. As my business was to -see what were the characters and the amusements of such a place, I -desired him to introduce me to them, but in the first place to let us -run a little over the country. - -The country was rich and flat, divided into great meadows full of -luxuriant grass, grazed by herds of fine cattle, and surrounded by noble -trees, which served to break up the monotony of the landscape. Here and -there you saw the tall, square, substantial tower of a village church -peeping over its surrounding screen of noble elms. We were accustomed to -stroll into these churchyards, admiring the singularly large and -excellent churches, all of solid stone; the spacious graveyard and the -large heavy headstones, adorned with carved skulls and cross-bones; and -gilded angels with long trumpets figured above the simple epitaphs of -the departed villagers. The farm-houses, too, surrounded also with tall -elms, and with a great air of wealth and comfort, drew our attention. As -we approached nearer to the sea, the country was more destitute of wood; -consisted of very large fields of corn, then beginning to change into -the rich hues of ripeness; fields also of woad, a plant used in dyeing, -and there extensively cultivated; and these fields intersected no longer -by hedges, but by deep wide ditches called dykes, in which grew plenty -of reeds, water-flags, a tall and splendid species of marsh ranunculus -(_R. lingua_) and yellow and white water-lilies. As we drew near to the -village, if village such scattered dwellings could be called, we were -struck with the peculiar aspect of the dry lanes, and the plants which -grew there, so different to those of an inland neighbourhood. They were -exactly such as Crabbe has described them in such a situation:-- - - There, fed by food they love, to rankest size, - Around the dwelling docks and wormwood rise; - Here the strong mallow strikes her slimy root; - Here the dull nightshade hangs her deadly fruit; - On hills of dust the henbane’s faded green, - And pencilled flower of sickly scent is seen; - At the wall’s base the fiery nettle springs, - With fruit globose and fierce with poisoned stings. - Above, the growth of many a year, is spread - The yellow level of the stonecrop’s bed; - In every chink delights the fern to grow, - With glossy leaf and tawny bloom below. - -The great embankment secured all this from the invasion of the sea, and, -winding along the flat sands, formed a delightful walk when the tide was -roaring up against it. Here also the male portion of the visiters came -to bathe; and, when the tide was up, nothing could be more delicious. -They could undress on the sunny sward of the mound at whatever distance -from the others they pleased, for there were many miles of the bank; and -the waves dashing gently against the grassy slope, received them on a -secure and smooth sand, at a depth sufficient to allow them either to -wade or swim. They generally, however, undressed near enough to swim or -wade in company, and to splash one another and play all manner of -practical jokes. - -When the tide was out, from this bank you had a view of a great extent -of level sands, monotonous enough in themselves, but animated by the -view of vessels in full sail passing along the Channel to or from the -neighbouring port, and by the flight and cries of the sea-birds. Along -these sands we ranged every day to a great distance, collecting shells, -leaping the narrow channels of salt water left in the hollows, shooting -gulls, watching the shrimps that were floating in the tide, and amusing -ourselves with the crabs, which, left in the holes in the strand, were -running sideways here and there in great trepidation, yet never so much -alarmed as not to be ready to seize and devour those of their own -species that were less in personal bulk and prowess than themselves. -Then, again, we found a good deal of employment in botanising amongst -the patches of sea-wilderness, which were not so often submersed by the -tide as to destroy the vegetation altogether, or to produce only fucus -and other sea-weeds. The rest-harrow, the eringo with its cerulean -leaves, the stag’s horn plantain, the glasswort or common (not the true) -samphire--these and many others had all an interest for us. In one place -we found the sea-convolvulus blowing in its rich and prodigal beauty on -the sands; and then we came to wild hills of sand thrown up by the -billows of ages, a whole region of desolation, overgrown with the -sea-wheat, and the tall yellow stems and umbels of the wild celery. - -Such was the scenery; the people of the cottages were generally -fishermen, with their families; and the visiters, farmers and persons of -that class, often with their families. At the house opposite us, as I -have said, was the merriest crew. My friend the young lawyer was in the -habit of running in and out amongst them as he pleased. He proposed that -we should go and dine with them, as they had a sort of ordinary table, -where you could dine at a fixed and very moderate charge, as all charges -indeed were there. Here we found about a dozen people. One, who appeared -and proved an old gentleman-farmer, a Mr. Milly, always took the head of -the table; and a merrier mortal could not have been there, except he who -occupied the other end, a fellow of infinite jest, like Sir John -Falstaff, and to the full as corpulent. Who and what he was, I know not, -save that he was a most fat and merry fellow, and went by the name of -Sir John between the young lawyer, whom I shall call Wilson, and myself. -This joyous old gentleman had his wife and son and daughter with him. -The son was a young man as fond of a practical joke as his father was of -a verbal one; nay, he was not short of a verbal one too, on occasions. -He was of a remarkably dark-brown complexion, and on some one asking him -how he came to be so dark, when the rest of his family were fair, he at -once replied, “Oh, can’t you fancy how that was? It happened when I was -a child in the cradle. I got turned on my face, and had like to have -been smothered. I got so black in the face, I have never recovered my -colour again. My mother can tell you all about it--can’t you mother?” At -this repartee, all the company laughed heartily, and truly it was a -company that could laugh heartily. They had merry hearts. Then there was -a good worthy farmer of the real old school. I was near saying that John -Farn was old, but, in fact, he was not more than five-and-thirty, but -his gravity gave him an appearance of something like age. He was dressed -in a suit of drab, with an ample coat of the good old farmerly cut, and -jack-boots like a trooper. But John Farn had a deal of sober sound -sense, and a mind that, had it been called out, would have been found -noble. I became very fond of John. The rest were young farmers and -tradesmen, full of youth and life. They had brought their horses with -them, and some of them gigs, and were fond of all mounting and scouring -away on the shore for miles together. - -The great business, indeed, was to bathe, and eat and drink, and ride or -walk, and play at quoits or bowls. If the tide was up early in the -morning, all would be up and out, and have their dip before breakfast. -Then they would come back hungry as hunters, and devour their coffee, -beef, and broiled ham, and shrimps fresh from the cauldron, and then -out, some to ride round to have a look at the neighbouring farms, or on -the shore to see the fishing smacks go out or come in. Others got to -quoits or bowls till dinner; and after a hearty meal and a good long -chat, they would slowly saunter up to the hotel, and see what company -was there, and take a glass and a pipe with some of them, and see the -newspaper, and perhaps have a game at bowls there, and then back to tea; -after which they grew very social, and called on the other boarders at -the cottages near, and strolled out with the ladies to the bank, which -was not far off; and so wiled the time away till supper. Four meals -a-day did they regularly sit down to, and enjoy themselves as much as if -they had not eaten for a day or two, praising all the time the wonderful -property of sea-air for getting an appetite. As sure as shrimps appeared -at breakfast, did soles at supper; and after supper one drew out his -bottle of wine, and another got his brandy and water, and all grew -merry. Those that liked it took a pipe, and it annoyed nobody. There was -plenty of joking and laughter, that it would have done the most -fastidious good to hear, and as much wit, and perhaps a good deal more, -than where there does not exist the same freedom. More jovial evenings I -never saw. Wilson gave them a tune on his flute, or took his fiddle; -they cleared the floor of the largest room, invited some of the -neighbouring visiters who had wives or daughters with them, and had a -dance. On such evenings Sir John Falstaff sat in the large bay-window of -the apartment for coolness, and wiped his brow and sang his merriest -songs. His songs were all merry, and he had a host of them: it was a -wonder where he had picked them up. His son often joined him, sometimes -his wife and daughter too. It was a merry family. Surely never could -care have found a way into their house. Not even the young man’s brown -complexion could give him a care; it only furnished him with a joke, and -made laughter contagious. Never could the old man have been so fat, had -care been able to lay hold on him. The whole of that huge bulk was a -mass of rejoicing. How his eyes did shine and twinkle with delight as he -sang! what silent laughter played around his mouth, and stole over his -ruddy cheeks, like gleams of pleasantest lightning of a summer’s night, -as he lifted his glass to his head, and listened to some one else! But, -alas! all his mirth was well-nigh closed one day. He was tempted by the -fineness of the weather into the tide, contrary to his wont, and his -doctor’s order. Some one suddenly missed him; all looked round: at a -distance something like a buoy was seen floating; it was Sir John; his -fat floated; his head had gone down like a stone; they just pulled him -up time enough to save him, but he was blacker in the face than ever his -son had been in the cradle, and got a fright that spoiled all his mirth -for some days. - -But there was a ball at the hotel, and every body was off to it; all -except Wilson, who was not well, and myself, who stayed to keep him -company. Even grave John Farn, in his drab suit and jackboots, would go. -Who would have thought that there was such a taste for pleasure in John -Farn? John Farn was very fond of hearing Wilson and myself talk of -books. He would come to our cottage, and sit and listen for hours to our -conversation, or take up some of our books himself, and read. I -perceived that there was an appetite for knowledge in him that had never -been called out, because it had had nothing to feed on; but it was clear -that it would soon, if it was in the way of aliment and excitement, -become fearfully voracious. When he found the name of Dryden in a -volume, he declared that he was born in the same parish. He put the book -into his pocket, and was missed all that day. Somebody, by chance, saw -him issue out of a great reed bed towards evening; he had read the -volume through, and declared that he should think ten times better of -his parish now for having produced such a man. Who would have thought -that John Farn, the Northamptonshire farmer and grazier, and who had -lived all his life amongst bullocks, and whose whole talk was of them, -would have fastened thus suddenly on a volume of Dryden’s poems? But -John used to accompany Wilson and myself, botanising along the shore -and the inland dykes; and it was curious to see with what a grave -enthusiasm he would climb in his great jack-boots over the roughest -fences; how he would leap across those wide dykes; how he would splash -through the salt-water pools and streams to tear up a flower or a -sea-weed that he wanted; and with what an earnest eye he would look and -listen as we mentioned its name, and pointed out its class in the -volume, or related its uses! There was an undiscovered world, and a -great one, in the soul of that John Farn. - -The more I saw of that man, the more I liked him. The stores of yet -unstirred life, both of intellect and feeling in his frame, became every -day more strongly apparent. He would sit with us on the sea-bank for -hours watching the tide come up, or watching its play and the play of -light and shadow over it when at flood, and drink down greedily all that -was said of this or other countries, all that had in it knowledge of any -kind. His whole body seemed full of the joyous excitement of a youth -that in years should have passed over him, but was yet unspent, and was -now only found. He rose up one day and said, “Let us hire a ship, and -sail out to some other country.” At the moment we laughed at the idea, -but John Farn persisted with the utmost gravity in his proposal, and -eventually we did hire a smack and sailed across to Norfolk. We visited -Lynn; walked over the grounds of the school where Eugene Aram was an -usher when he was taken for the murder; and nothing but the threatening -of the weather would have prevented us crossing over to the Continent. -As it was, it was delightful to see the childlike enjoyment with which -that grave man saw the breezy expanse of ocean, the fiery colour of its -waters as the vessel cut through them in the night, the seals that lay -on a mid-sea rock as we sailed along, and the birds of ocean screaming -and plunging in its billows. - -There was a legion of things in the bosom of John Farn that he knew -nothing of all the years that he had been buying and selling cattle, but -were now all bursting to the light with a startling vigour. I wonder -whether they have since troubled him, like blind giants groping their -way to the face of heaven, or whether, amid his cattle and his quiet -fields, they have collapsed again into dim and unconscious dreams; but -the last action which I witnessed in him, made me sure that his moral -feeling was as noble as I suspected his intellectual strength to be -great. - -There was a robbery at Uriah Sparey’s. Money and other articles were -missed from the packages of the guests. The suspicion fell on a servant -girl. Great was the stir, the inquiry, and the indignation. Mrs. Uriah -Sparey was vehement in her wrath. She insisted that the affair should -not be talked of lest it should bring discredit on her house; but to -satisfy her guests, she would turn the girl out of it that instant. The -girl with tears protested her innocence, but in vain. When she came to -open her own box, she declared that she was robbed too. Her wages, and -the money given her by visiters, were all gone. Mrs. Sparey exclaimed, -that “never did she see such an instance of guilty art as this! The girl -to remove from herself the charge of theft, to pretend that she herself -was robbed!” - -If the girl was guilty, she most admirably affected innocence; if she -was of a thievish nature, never did nature so defend vice under the fair -shield of virtuous lineaments. All saw and felt this; all had been much -pleased with the appearance and behaviour of the girl. Her vows of -innocence were now most natural; her tears fell with all the hot -vehemence of wronged truth; she earnestly implored that every search and -every inquiry should be made, that she might at least regain her -character; her money she cared little for. But Mrs. Uriah Sparey only -exclaimed, “Minx! get out of my house! I see what you want; you want to -fix the theft upon me!” All started at that singular exclamation, and -fixed their eyes on Mrs. Sparey; she coloured; but no one spoke. The -girl stood weeping by the door. Then said John Earn, “Go home, my girl, -go home, and let thy father and mother see into the matter for thee.” At -these words, the girl, whose tears were before flowing fast but freely, -burst into a sudden paroxysm of sobs and cries, and wrung her hands in -agony. “What is the matter?” asked John Farn; “has the poor girl no -parents?” “Yes, yes!” she exclaimed, suddenly looking at him, and the -tears stopping as if choked in their bed; “but how can I go to them with -the name of a thief?” The colour passed from her face, and she laid hold -on a chair to save herself from falling. “Mary!” said John Farn, “I will -not say who _is_ the thief; but this I say, I will hire thee for a year -and a day, and there is a guinea for earnest, and another to pay thy -coach fare down. Be at my house in a fortnight, and till then go and see -thy mother. Let them call thee thief that dare!” With that he rose up, -gave Mary his address, paid his bill to Mrs. Sparey, and marched out of -the house with his little round portmanteau under his arm. We all -hurried out after him, gave him by turns a hearty rattling shake of the -hand as he was about to mount his horse; and that was the last I saw of -John Farn. I know no more of him, yet would I, at a venture, rather take -the heart of that man, though compelled to take the long drab coat and -the jack-boots with it, than that of many a lord with his robes of -state, and all his lands and tenements besides. - -Such were a few days and their real incidents passed by me at a Rural -Watering-place some years ago. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER XI. - -SPORTS AND PASTIMES OF THE PEOPLE. HISTORY OF THEIR CHANGES, AND PRESENT -STATE. - -A mighty revolution has taken place in the sports and pastimes of the -common people. They, indeed, furnish a certain indication of the real -character of a people, and change with the changing spirit of a state. A -mighty revolution has taken place in this respect, within the last -thirty years, in England, and that entirely produced by the change of -feeling, and advance of character. But if we look back through the whole -course of English history, we shall find the sports and pastimes of the -people taking their form and character from the predominant spirit of -the age; in a great measure copied from the amusements and practices of -their superiors, and always influenced by them. While the feudal -constitution of society prevailed, and chivalry was in vogue, the sports -of the common people had a certain chivalric character. They saw jousts -and tourneys and feats of archery, and they jousted and tilted, and shot -at butts. Tilting at the quintain was, in all the chivalric ages, a -popular game. It was a Roman pastime, instituted for military practice, -and continued for the same object by the feudal nations; and was adopted -by the common people as a favourite game, because both the laws of -chivalry and their slender finances prevented them taking part in jousts -and tourneys. In Strutt may be found descriptions and quaint -illustrative engravings of the various kinds of this game. “The -Quintain,” says Strutt, quoting from Vegetius, _de re militari_, -Menestrier and others, “originally, was nothing more than the trunk of a -tree, or post set up for the practice of the tyroes in chivalry. -Afterwards a staff or spear was fixed in the earth, and a shield being -hung upon it, was the mark to strike at; the dexterity of the -performance consisted in striking the shield in such a manner as to -break the ligatures and bear it to the ground. In process of time this -diversion was improved, and instead of the staff and the shield, the -resemblance of a human figure, carved in wood, was introduced. To render -the appearance of this figure more formidable, it was generally made in -the likeness of a Turk, or a Saracen, armed at all points, having a -shield upon his left arm, and brandishing a club or a sabre in his -right. Hence this exercise was called by the Italians--‘running at the -armed man, or at the Saracen.’ The quintain thus fashioned, was placed -upon a pivot, and so contrived as to move round with facility. In -running at this figure, it was necessary for the tilter to direct his -lance with great adroitness, and make his stroke upon the forehead, -between the eyes, or upon the nose; for if he struck wide of those -parts, especially upon the shield, the quintain turned about with much -velocity, and in case he was not exceedingly careful, would give him a -severe blow upon the back with the wooden sabre held in the right hand, -which was considered as highly disgraceful to the performer, while it -excited the laughter and ridicule of the spectators. When many were -engaged in running at the Saracen, the conqueror was declared from the -number of strokes he had made, and the value of them. For instance, if -he struck the image upon the top of the nose between the eyes, it was -reckoned for three; if below the eyes upon the nose, for two; if under -the nose to the point of the chin, for one; all other strokes were not -counted: but, whoever struck upon the shield, and turned the quintain -round, was not permitted to run again upon the same day, but forfeited -his courses as a punishment for his unskilfulness.” Brande, in his -Popular Antiquities, tells us that the Saracen was often armed with a -bag of sand instead of a sabre, which came upon the back of the unlucky -tilter with such violence as to fling him to the earth with no enviable -shock. Various were the quintains, according to the age in which they -were used, or the means of the players. In some cases the quintain was -merely a common stake with a board fastened to it; in others, it was a -post with a cross-bar moving on a pivot, something like a turnstile, -with the sand-bag at one end of the bar, and the board, or shield, at -the other. In others, it was a water-butt set upon a post, so as to -throw its contents over the tilter if he struck it unskilfully. In -others, it was a living person holding a shield. There was also the -water-quintain. “A pole or a mast,” says Fitzstephen, “is fixed in the -midst of the Thames, during the Easter holidays, with a strong shield -attached to it; and a boat being previously placed at some distance, is -driven swiftly towards it by the force of oars, and the violence of the -tide, having a young man standing at the prow, who holds a lance in his -hand, with which he is to strike the shield; and if he be dexterous -enough to break the lance against it, and retain his place, his most -sanguine wishes are satisfied. On the contrary, if the lance be not -broken, he is sure to be thrown into the water, and the vessel goes away -without him; but, at the same time, two other boats are stationed near -to the shield, and furnished with many young persons, who are in -readiness to rescue the champion from danger.” It appears to have been a -very popular pastime, for the bridge, the wharfs, and the houses near -the river, were crowded with people on this occasion, who came, says the -author, to see the sports, and make themselves merry. - -Running at the quintain continued to be a favourite game till Queen -Elizabeth’s time; and was universal throughout the country. Plott, in -his History of Oxfordshire, mentions it, and Laneham describes a curious -instance of it exhibited at Kenilworth during the entertainment given by -the Earl of Leicester to Queen Elizabeth. “There was,” he says, “a -solemn country bridal; when in the castle was set up a quintain for -feats of arms, where, in a great company of men and lasses, the -bridegroom had the first course at the quintain, and broke his spear -_très hardiment_. But his mare in his manage did a little stumble, that -much-adoe had his manhood to sit in his saddle. But after the bridegroom -had made his course, rose the rest of the band, awhile in some order; -but soon after tag and rag, cut and long tail; where the specialty of -the sport was to see how some for his slackness had a good bob with the -bag, and some for his haste to topple downright, and come tumbling to -the post. Some striving so much at the first setting out that it seemed -a question between man and beast whether the race should be performed on -horseback or on foot; and some put forth with spurs, would run his race -byas, among the thickness of the throng, that down they came together, -hand over head. Another, while he directed his course to the quintain, -his judgment would carry him to a man among the people; another would -run and miss the quintain with his staff, and hit the board with his -hand.” - -Boys imitated this game on their own scale, drawing one another on -wooden horses to the quintain, or running at it on foot; and various -other rustic exercises were derived from it. Of archery we need not -speak, every one knowing how universal it was during the feudal ages; -and quarter-staff, quoits, flinging the hammer, pitching the bar, and -similar games were the offspring of the same state of society. Playing -at ball and at bowls were very ancient and kingly sports, and became -general amongst the people. They were ancient classical games, and no -doubt were introduced by the Romans into this country. They are -mentioned both in the oldest metrical romances, and the oldest of our -popular ballads. Tennis courts were common in England in the sixteenth -century, and the establishment of such places countenanced by the -monarchs. Henry VIII. was a tennis player. Fives courts, and places for -the practice of a variety of ball-games,--hand-ball, balloon-ball, -stool-ball, principally played at by women; hurling, foot-ball, golf, -bandy, stow-ball, pall-mall, club-ball, trap-ball, tip-ball, and that -which is now become the prince of English ball-games, cricket. - -Another circumstance in the feudal ages, which contributed to promote -these and other games, was, that towns were few. The majority of the -common people, living in the country; in forests and fields; watching -the game, or cultivating the lands, or tending the herds and flocks of -their lords, on open downs and wastes, naturally congregated with -greater zest in villages after the day’s tasks were over, and entered -into amusements with the lightheartedness of children; for they were as -ignorant of all other cares, of book-learning, and what was going on in -the world at a distance, as children. Hence their social pleasures were -of an Arcadian stamp--they danced, they leaped, they wrestled, they -kicked the foot-ball, or flung the hand-ball, the quoit, or the bar. - -But another circumstance which tended to fashion their amusements was -that the feudal ages were also the ages of the Catholic church; a church -which delighted to amuse the imaginations of the people with shows, -pageants, miracle-plays, and mysteries. The church festivals were all -scenes of holiday, feasting, and wonderment. Processions, and -representations of the acts and persons of their religious faith, kept -them fixed in admiration and insatiable delight. The churches were the -first and only theatres. In them all scripture subjects, personages, -doctrines, and even opinions were represented, and brought palpably -before the wondering people, in mysteries, moralities, and -miracle-plays. Things which now would justly be deemed the most -revolting blasphemies and desecrations of holy things, were then gravely -brought out by the church, for the entertainment and edification of the -people. I have already shewn something of this in speaking of the -religious festivals, as celebrated in Catholic countries, but we can -only see these things in their full growth, by looking back into the -middle ages. The theatrical exhibitions of London in the twelfth century -were of this kind; representations of the miracles wrought by -confessors, and the sufferings of holy martyrs. But these did not -suffice. These ecclesiastical actors penetrated into the Holy of Holies, -and dared to represent the sacred Trinity before the eyes of the mob. In -the mystery called Corpus-Christi, or Coventry-Play, being played in a -moveable theatre, by the mendicant friars of Coventry, the Deity himself -is represented seated on his throne, delivering a speech commencing -thus: - - Ego sum de Alpha et Omega, principium et finis. - My name is knowyn God and Kynge, - My worke for to make now wyl I wende, - In myself now resteth my reyninge, - It hath no gynnyng, ne noe ende. - -The angels then enter, singing from the church service, “To Thee all -angels cry aloud, the heavens and all the powers therein; to Thee the -cherubim and seraphim continually do cry, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of -Hosts.” Lucifer next makes his appearance, and desires to know if the -hymn they sang was in honour of God or of himself? The good angels -readily reply, in honour of God; the evil angels incline to worship -Lucifer, and he presumes to seat himself on the throne of the Deity, who -then banishes him into hell. - -In the mysteries, the Devil and his angels seem to have been the -principal comic actors; and by all kind of noises, strange gestures, and -contortions, excited the laughter of the people. At many of these plays -the kings and their courts, all the nobility and gentry of the time, as -well as the people, would sit with the highest delight, nine hours a -day, for six and eight days together. Nay, at the moralities, which were -not representations of facts, but moral reasonings and dialogues, -carried on by Virtues, Vices, Good Doctrine, Charity, Faith, Prudence, -Discretion, Death, and the like, they would sit equally long. The Scotch -were as persevering in these amusements as our own ancestors. They are -represented as sitting “frae nine houris afoir none till six houris at -evin,” at the representation of Sir David Lindsay’s “Satyr of the Three -Estates,” and in 1535, in the reign of the accomplished James IV. Here, -however, Sir David, the Chaucer of Scotland, had turned the weapons of -the church against itself, and through its favourite medium, the drama, -uttered the most caustic satire against it from the mouths of Rex -Humanitas, Wantonness, Solace, Placebo, Sensualitie, Homeliness, -Flattery, Falsehood, Deceit, Chastity, Divine Correction, etc. etc. - -Besides the church too, during the feudal times, there were the -festivities kept up in the castles and halls at Christmas, Easter, -birthdays, and other great days, on which all kinds of pageants, -mimings, masks, and frolics, were shewn to their followers and -dependents, by the great feudal lords; and their minstrels, mimes, and -jesters were made to exert their arts for their gratification. Wandering -minstrels and jongleurs went from house to house, and from village to -village, following their profession of entertainers of the people. All -these things combined to fashion the popular taste, and the popular -amusements, and all at the Reformation received their death-blow. It was -not, indeed, an instant death, but it was a slow and certain one; for -though the reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth seemed to carry pageants -and tourneys to their climax, the living principle of them was dying -out. The Catholic church, the great mother of all festivals and -mysteries, was overturned, and in the dispersion of its property the -rise of new classes and a new state of things originated; and so far had -these causes taken effect in the reign of James I., that he made public -proclamation in 1618, that “Whereas, we did justly, in our progress -through Lancashire, rebuke some Puritans and precise people, in -prohibiting and unlawfully punishing of our good people for using their -lawful recreations and honest exercises on Sundays and other holidays -after the afternoon service, it is our will that, at the end of Divine -service, our good people be not disturbed, letted, or discouraged, from -any lawful recreation, such as dancing, either for men or women; archery -for men, leaping, vaulting, or any other harmless recreation; nor for -having of May-games, Whitsun-ales, and Morris-dances, and the setting up -of May-poles, and other sports therewith used.” - -But the day was gone by. A new spirit was arisen, and was destined soon -to shew itself with overwhelming power. The days of Cromwell and the -Puritans were coming, when all these things were to be denounced as -popish and heathenish. The spirit and language at that time becoming -universally such as that displayed by Thomas Hall, B.D., Pastor of -King’s-Norton, in his Funebria Floræ, or the Downfall of May-games in -1660, in which he says, “The city of Rome, in the county of Babylon, has -contrary to the peace of our lord, his crown and dignity, brought in a -pack of practical fanatics, viz.: ignorants, atheists, papists, -drunkards, swearers, swashbucklers, maid-marians, morris-dancers, -maskes, mummers, May-pole stealers, health-drinkers, gamesters, lewd -men, light women, contemners of magistrates, affronters of ministers, -rebellious to masters, disobedient to parents, misspenders of time, and -abusers of the creature, etc.” - -This republican Puritanism, in its genuine style, was now again about to -cease, but the effects of it could never be obliterated by subsequent -kings. Compare the popular amusements as enumerated by Burton in his -“Anatomie of Melancholie,” a short time before the Commonwealth, with -those which remained thirty years ago,--the period when they expired -nearly altogether, and gave way to a new era. “Cards, dice, hawks, and -hounds,” he says, “are the recreations of the gentry; ringing, bowling, -shooting, playing with keel-pins, tronks, coits, foot-balls, balowns, -running at the quintain, and the like, are the common recreations of -country folk. Riding of great horses, running of rings, tilts and -tournaments, horse-races and wild-goose chases, are desports of greater -men. The country hath its recreations of May-games, feasts, fairs and -wakes; both town and country, bull-baitings and bear-baitings, in which -the countrymen and citizens greatly delight; dancing of ropes, -jugglings, comedies, tragedies, artillery-gardens, and cock-fightings, -Whitsun-ales, maskes, jesters, gladiators, and tumblers.” - -Thirty years ago, tilts and tournaments had gone after their parent -chivalry; archery had fallen before gunpowder; Whitsun-ales had followed -many another ecclesiastical merriment; comedies and tragedies had set up -their own secular houses apart from the church; and scarcely any of the -other amusements were left but bull-baiting, bear-baiting, -cock-fighting, and similar barbarities. The public mind had become -vulgarized and brutalized. The spirit of chivalry, with its pageants and -knightly feats, had diffused some sense of grace and graceful emulation -amongst the people; the church, amid all its ludicrous shows and -absurdities, had conveyed some moral principles; the wandering minstrels -had in their lays and ballads excited some feelings of honour, and many -a feeling of true nature and homely poetry: but all these sources of -inspiration, feeble and mingled with evil as they were, were dried up, -and during the long wars of the Hanoverian dynasty the common people -seem to have been neglected as rational and immortal beings, and -cultivated and educated only as the instruments and the food of war. -Accordingly, the minstrels had dwindled into ballad-singers, the -jongleurs into jugglers and mountebanks; the Arcadian amusements of the -country--May-games, dances on the green, wrestling and leaping, were -nearly extinct; and there remained the very characteristic sports of -bull-baiting, bear-baiting, badger-baiting, dog-fighting, -cock-fighting, and throwing at cocks on Shrove-Tuesday. Bear and bull -baitings were games that our queens Elizabeth and Anne had both -delighted in, but the more elegant pastimes of those queens and their -subjects had fallen into disuetude, the savage and brutal alone -remaining. This was natural enough. From the days of Marlborough to -those of Wellington, the common people had been bred for the -battle-field,--the food of the great European Moloch of war; and the -bloody spirit which casts out all the fairer spirits of grace and -gaiety, had been purposely and avowedly cherished, as the true English -spirit. Who that remembers these times, does not recollect the famous -speeches of Wyndham and his colleagues in favour of these brutal sports? -Who forgets their prognostics that if this spirit was destroyed, there -was an end of our martial ascendency? But the point of time had arrived -beyond which this spirit could not endure. The brutal and vulgarized -condition of the people flashed on the perception of the middle classes, -which amid all the noise of war had been progressing in intelligence and -refinement. Robert Raikes and Sunday-schools arose. A better spirit, a -better sense of our duties and responsibilities towards the people -awoke. It was seen that all over the country the more laudable sports of -the village green, and the village wakes, as quoits, nine-pins, -skittles, wrestling, leaping, cricket, and the other ball games; -will-pegs, jumping in sacks, and other athletic amusements, had lost -much of their relish, and were abandoned for the bloody spectacles of -the bull-ring and the cock-pit. Attempts were made to counteract this -spirit; Parliament was petitioned on the subject, and after the repulse -given to these attempts by the senators I have alluded to, nothing was -so common as to see the bulls led through the villages adorned with -ribbons, and bearing on their necks large placards of--“SANCTIONED BY -WYNDHAM AND PARLIAMENT!” - -I have before me now a curious specimen of the effect of such doctrines -on the minds of those even who are, by national authority, the public -teachers of the country, in a little volume published in 1819, by a -clergyman of the name of Chafin--“An Account of Cranbourn Chase.” He -says, “cockfighting also, in the last century was a favourite diversion, -greatly delighted in by persons of all ranks; and there was a nobleman, -Lord Albemarle Bertie, who was so fond of the amusement, that he -attended cock-pits when he was totally blind. And there were but few -gentlemen in the country, who did not keep and breed game cocks, and -were very anxious and careful in the breeding of them. Frequent matches -were made, and there were cock-pits in almost every village, the remains -of which are still visible. To this amusement also Cranbourn Chase -contributed, for the cocks bred in it were superior to others, both in -shape and make, and, as the feeders name it, handled better when brought -to their pens; insomuch that Lord Weymouth, of Longleat, an ancestor of -the present Marquis of Bath, for many years had a cock at walk at every -lodge in the chase, and the keepers were well rewarded for taking care -of them; and when they were brought chickens from Longleat, annually, -each game cock was accompanied with two dunghill hens, which became the -perquisite of the keeper when the cock was taken away. But _in our days -of refinement_, this amusement of cock-fighting hath been exploded, and, -in a great measure, abandoned, _being deemed to be barbarous and cruel_; -but in this _respect the writer thinks differently, and believes it to -be the least so of any diversions now in vogue_, and nothing equal as to -cruelty, to horse-racing, in which poor animals are involuntarily forced -against their nature to performances against their strength, with whips -and spurs, which, in jockey phrase, is styled _cutting up_. But in -fighting of cocks _the case is totally different_; for, instead of a -force against nature, it is an indulgence of natural propensities; for -cocks at their walks, and at full liberty, will seek each other for -battle as far as they can hear each other’s crowing; and _the arming -them with artificial weapons_, when they are brought in the pit to -fight, is _the very reverse of cruelty_, for the contest is sooner -ended, and sufferings trifling, in comparison to what they would have -been had they fought with their own natural weapons, _by lacerating -their bodies, and bruising each other in every tender part_.” - -Now, to feel the full force of the Rev. William Chafin’s notion of a -game that is the least cruel of any diversions now in vogue, it is -necessary to consider that these cocks are stimulated to contest by -heating food and artificial contrivances, such as keeping them within -the sight or crow of their rivals; that they are then clipped almost -bare of feathers; the feathers are clipped off their stomachs; their -heads cut clean of their wattles; their wings and tails cut short and -square; that they are, in fact, metamorphosed from the most -gallant-looking of birds into the most bare, comical, quaint, and -strutting objects in nature, I was going to say; but they are put out of -all nature, and are, lastly, armed with steel or silver spurs of an inch -long, sharp as needles. With these they kick and pierce each other, -“lacerating their bodies, and bruising each other in every tender part;” -fighting till their heads are all one mass of gore; till they are often -stark blind, and go staggering about like drunken men, till one has the -luck to strike the other clean through the head with his artificial -spur. This is a game which a clergyman, a teacher of Christianity, could -by custom come to think “the least cruel of all the diversions now in -vogue.” It is impossible to produce more striking evidence of the effect -of a familiarity with cruelty. It is just by the same process that men -come to approve of war and slavery. God be praised that all these bloody -sports are gone for ever from the soil of England. That bull, bear, and -badger baiting, have all, after many a hard contest, been eventually put -down; that for some years, so much has the mind of the common people -been raised and softened, there have scarcely been any cock-fighters, -except _noblemen_ and _gentlemen_, whose cock-pits have been the -nuisances of their neighbourhoods, and their game-cock caravans, -travelling from place to place with these cocks, have offended the -public eye. It is a satisfaction to record that in the year 1835, even -this brutal game was made illegal by Act of Parliament, and that through -the exertions of Joseph Pease, the only member of Parliament who is a -member of the Society of Friends. - -Since these atrocities have been exploded, their place has not been -supplied by an equal number of more commendable amusements. The people -of large towns, in particular, have not substituted a sufficient -equivalent. Politics and alehouses seem, till lately, to have furnished -their sole stimulants. There appears to have been a pause in that -important portion of human life, amusement, so far as the common people -are concerned; but it has been in appearance only. One of the greatest -changes that ever took place in human society, has been in this interval -maturing;--the change from the last stage of worn-out feudalism to the -commencement of the era of social regeneration;--a change from a system -in which the largest portion of mankind was regarded but as the -instruments of the luxury and revenge of the wealthy few,--to one in -which every part of the human family will be recognised as possessing -the same nature, and worthy of enjoying the same domestic and -intellectual blessings;--a change, in fact, from Gentilism to -Christianity; from the condition in which the great of the earth lorded -it over the poor, to that in which the common sympathies of our nature -will be honoured and obeyed; and a career of intelligence, benevolence, -and mutual good-will and good works will begin, to end in a prosperity -beyond our present imagination. And already what symptoms of this better -state of things break upon us! What schools, and Mechanics’ Libraries -and Institutes; what Friendly Societies, and plans on the part of the -wealthy for the benefit of the poor. For amusements there has been no -time. All workers, both in town and country, have been compelled to plod -on solemnly and half-despairingly from day to day, and from year to -year. But pleasures of a higher order, and more akin to genuine -happiness,--social pleasures and pleasures of the intellect, will open -upon and grow upon our more numerous brethren of the operative class. -They will find pleasures in books--boundless, unimagined, inexhaustible, -inexpressible pleasures;--pleasures in their wives and children, -pleasures in their firesides, and in the glorious face of nature, which -have hitherto been unknown to their eyes and hearts, sealed up in the -frost of ignorance and the contempt of the proud. And already we see the -commencement of that new order of pastimes which will assuredly result -from this new order of mind. In the country, indeed, you find with -pleasure occasionally, in some old-fashioned hamlet, the villagers and -farm-servants in an evening tossing the quoit, that relic of the ancient -discus; bowling, or playing at skittles; but rustics, in general, look -to wakes and fairs for amusement; and yet at wakes you do not see half -the sports there used to be,--as running, leaping, jumping in sacks; or -aiming at the snuff-boxes balanced on the will-pegs; and where these -games do remain, they are too frequently attached to alehouses, and made -gambling baits of. But, in town and country, it is the noble, and as -Miss Mitford, the fair historian of rural life, justly calls it, the -true English game of cricket, which shews whither the mind of the -people is tending, and what will be the future character of English -popular sports. - -This game seems to have absorbed into itself every other kind of -ball-game, trap-ball, tip-cat, or foot-ball. Foot-ball, indeed, seems to -have almost gone out of use with the enclosure of wastes and commons, -requiring a wide space for its exercise; but far and wide is spread the -love of cricketing, and it may now be safely ranked as the prince of -English athletic games. I will here describe a match of this fine sport, -which was played on the 7th and 9th of September 1835, between the -Sussex and the Nottingham Club, and the thoughts which it produced in me -at the time. - -The Nottingham Club challenged the Sussex to a match for fifty guineas -a-side; and played first at Brighton, where the Sussex men were beaten, -who then went to play the Nottingham men on their own ground. The match -commenced on Monday, September 7th, and was finished on Wednesday the -9th, about half-past four o’clock. Tuesday having been a wet day, there -was no playing. The Nottingham men beat again, having three wickets to -go down. A more animating sight of the kind never was seen. - -On Sunday morning early, we saw a crowd going up the street, and -immediately perceived that, in the centre of it, were the Sussex -cricketers, just arrived by the London coach, and going to an inn kept -by one of the Nottingham cricketers. They looked exceedingly -interesting, being a very fine set of fellows, in their white hats, and -with all their trunks, carpet-bags, and cloaks, coming, as we verily -believed, to be beaten. Our interest was strongly excited; and on Monday -morning we set off to the cricket-ground, which lies about a mile from -the town, in the Forest, as it is still called, though not a tree is -left upon it,--a long, furzy common, crowned at the top by about twenty -windmills, and descending in a steep slope to a fine level, round which -the race-course runs. Within the race-course lies the cricket-ground, -which was enclosed at each end with booths; and all up the forest-hill -were scattered booths, and tents with flags flying, fires burning, pots -boiling, ale-barrels standing, and asses, carts, and people bringing -still more good things. There were plenty of apple and ginger-beer -stalls; and lads going round with nuts and with waggish looks, -crying--“nuts, lads! nuts, lads!” In little hollows the nine-pin and -will-peg men had fixed themselves, to occupy loiterers; and, in short, -there was all the appearance of a fair. - -Standing at the farther side of the cricket-ground, it gave me the most -vivid idea possible of an amphitheatre filled with people. In fact, it -was an amphitheatre. Along each side of the ground ran a bank sloping -down to it, and it, and the booths and tents at the ends were occupied -with a dense mass of people, all as silent as the ground beneath them; -and all up the hill were groups, and on the race-stand an eager, -forward-leaning throng. There were said to be twenty thousand people, -all hushed as death, except when some exploit of the players produced a -thunder of applause. The playing was beautiful. Mr. Ward, late member of -Parliament for London, a great cricket-player, came from the Isle of -Wight to see the game, and declared himself highly delighted. But -nothing was so beautiful as the sudden shout, the rush, and breaking up -of the crowd, when the last decisive match was gained. To see the -scorers suddenly snatch up their chairs, and run off with them towards -the players’ tent; to see the bat of Bart Goode, the batsman on whom the -fate of the game depended, spinning up in the air, where he had sent it -in the ecstasy of the moment; and the crowd, that the instant before was -fixed and silent as the world itself, spreading all over the green space -where the white figures of the players had till then been so gravely and -apparently calmly contending,--spreading with a murmur as of the sea; -and over their heads, amid the deafening clamour and confusion, the -carrier-pigeon with a red ribbon tied to its tail, the signal of loss, -beating round and round as to ascertain its precise position, and then -flying off to bear the tidings to Brighton,--it was a beautiful sight, -and one that the most sedate person must have delighted to see. - -My thoughts on such occasions overpass the things moving before me, and -run on into consequences; and I could not help feeling what a great -change the last thirty years had produced in the mind, taste, feeling, -and moral character of our working population. What a wide difference -was here presented, to the rude rabbles formerly assembled to the most -barbarous and blackguard amusements imaginable. Why this is a near -approach to the athletic games of the Greeks; and no Greek crowd could -have behaved with more order and propriety, and evincing an intense -interest, excited not by any vulgar and unworthy cause, but by a fine -trial of skill and activity between their townsmen and their countrymen -of a distant county. Such an interest, arising out of such an emulation, -not only shews a great progression of the public taste, but will -wonderfully promote that progression. Here, if we have been disappointed -in many other instances, we see the actual and legitimate effect of -general education. It is because the general mind is quickened, raised, -and made capable of more refined impulses, that twenty thousand people -can now sit, day after day, to witness a contest of manly activity and -pure skill, and enjoy a high delight without drunkenness and brutal -rows. Never was a more respectable collection of people seen; and -although there were plenty of booths and tents well supplied with all -sorts of eatables and drinkables, and a good many took a necessary -refreshment, or a comfortable glass and a pipe, as they sat and looked -on, at the time we left there were no symptoms of drunkenness, but a -sight the most gratifying imaginable--thousands of poor workmen -streaming off homewards the moment the game was over, many of them with -their children, wives, or sweethearts. - -I say, therefore, that my thoughts ran on into consequences, and I saw, -in prospect, the great good which this better taste for amusement, this -purer species of emulation will produce. It is a beautiful sight to see -men coming from a distant part of England to contend in a noble -gymnastic exercise with those of another part of the country; and the -spirit of generous rivalry thus is spread wider and wider. You see while -a match is impending, what numbers of cricket-players are out in the -fields, from grown men to boys that can but just wield the lightest bat. -You see, even while the great game is going on, boys playing their -lesser games in the outskirts of the crowd; and when the match is -decided, the spirit is kindled and diffused farther than ever, by the -warm discussions of the various merits of the players, and the glory -acquired by the best. - -This is a spirit which deserves the attention both of the public and -the legislature, and if ever we come to see public grounds appropriated -to every large town for such exercises, as has been proposed in -Parliament by Mr. Buckingham, then not merely cricket but kindred sports -will be pursued, quoits, nine-pins, bowls, archery, leaping, and -running; all having a direct tendency to strengthen the body and quicken -the mind; to counteract both the physical and moral poisons of crowded -factories and thickly-populated towns. - -It may, indeed, be objected, that all such games would lead to betting; -but are we to shrink from every useful measure through fear of its -abuse? I say fearlessly, let us set the brand of public abhorrence on -such a practice, boldly and firmly, and the practice will disappear. It -is not long since the brutal practice of boxing had become a mania, and -seemed to set all public censure at defiance, but it did but -seem--public censure put it down. Let the higher classes too sanction -these laudable exercises by their presence as a public duty, and the -British people will, in my opinion, in coming years, exhibit scenes of -beautiful skill, activity, and grace, as imposing as Greece ever saw. In -the instance here selected, the two most obvious circumstances -were,--first, the absence of the higher classes, especially of the -ladies; and secondly, the most perfect and admirable decorum of the -people. - - -CHAPTER XII. - -WRESTLING. - -We must not close this department of our subject without saying a word -or two on wrestling. This exercise, which at one time was almost -universal, is now, like many others, fallen into general disuse; and is -confined almost entirely to Cornwall and Devon in the west, and the -counties of Chester, Lancaster, Cumberland, and Westmoreland in the -north. These counties, indeed, have always been pre-eminent in the -science of wrestling, and have possessed practices peculiar to -themselves. Formerly, the citizens of London were great wrestlers. Stow -tells us, that in the month of August, about the feast of St. -Bartholomew, there were divers days spent in wrestling. The lord mayor, -aldermen, and sheriffs being present, in a large tent pitched for that -purpose, near Clerkenwell; the officers of the city, namely, the -sheriffs, sergeants, and yeomen; the porters of the king’s beam, or -weighing-house, etc., gave a general challenge to such of the -inhabitants of the suburbs as thought themselves expert in this -exercise. In Sewell’s History of the Society of Friends, a curious -circumstance is recorded connected with this taste of the Londoners for -wrestling. Edward Burrough, a young and enthusiastic preacher in that -society, which then was newly formed, seeing a ring made for a wrestling -match in some part of the city where he was passing, and a man in it -awaiting the acceptance of his challenge by some one, suddenly stepped -into it, to the great amazement both of the champion and the spectators, -“who,” say the historian, “instead of some light and airy person, seeing -a grave and awful young man,” were utterly posed and confounded; and the -eloquent and zealous minister, taking advantage of this surprise, told -them he was prepared for a contest, but of another sort to what they -were looking for; and forthwith gave them such a sermon in his fiery and -vehement style of eloquence, which had gained him the name of Boanerges, -or the Son of Thunder, as wonderfully quieted them down, and sent them -away in a solemn frame of mind. - -This wrestling spirit, however, appears to have vanished for a long -period from London as well as the country, and to have been only of late -years revived by the West of England, and the Westmoreland, and -Cumberland Clubs. These have drawn together great numbers; the -spectators at the anniversary display of the Westmoreland club at -Chalk-Farm, in the spring of 1837, being about 8000. - -Sir Thomas Parkyn, of Bunny Park, in Nottinghamshire, who was a zealous -advocate and patron of wrestling, gave an annual prize for the best -wrestler, and ordered the continuance of the same in his will; but it -would not take root there, and the only remaining traces of his -endeavour are, his book on the Cornish Hug, and his effigy in a niche in -Bunny church, in the attitude in which a wrestler receives his -antagonist, with his favourite title of Thomas Luctator inscribed over -his head. - -It is singular that in the two extremities of the country, where -wrestling maintains its ancient popularity, adjoining counties, whose -rivalry, no doubt, keeps alive the interest in it, should maintain such -opposite practices. In some of the northern counties, kicking is -allowed, in others it is not. In Devon, kicking shins is a great part of -the game; in Cornwall it forms no part of it. Lancashire is famous for -its cross-buttock, and Cornwall for its hug. Cornwall and Devon, -however, possess unquestionably the pre-eminence in this ancient art, an -art which held an eminent rank in the Olympic games of Greece. “The -Cornish,” says Fuller, “are masters of the art of wrestling, so that if -the Olympian Games were now in fashion, they would come away with the -victory. Their hug is a crowning close with their fellow combatant, the -fruits whereof is his fair fall, or foil at the least.” “They learn the -art,” says Carew, “early in life, for you shall hardly find an assembly -of boys in Devon and Cornwall, where the untowardly among them will not -as readily give you a muster of this exercise, as you are prone to -require it.” - -A writer in Hone’s Every-Day Book, in 1828, says, “No kicks are allowed -in Cornwall except the players who are in the ring mutually agree to it. -A hat is thrown in as a challenge, which being accepted by another, the -combatants strip, and put on a coarse loose kind of jacket, of which -they take hold, and of nothing else. Play then commences. To constitute -a fair fall, both shoulders must touch the ground at or nearly the same -moment. To guard against foul play, to decide on the falls, and manage -the affairs of the day, four or six STICKLERS, as the umpires are -called, are chosen, to whom all these matters are left. Wrestling -thrives in the eastern part of Cornwall, particularly about Saint Austle -and Saint Columb. At the latter place, resides Polkinhorne, the champion -of Cornwall, and by many considered entitled to the championship of the -four western counties; Cann, the Devonshire champion, having declined to -meet him, Polkinhorne has not practised wrestling for several years -past, while Cann has carried off the prize at every place in Devon that -he shewed at. They certainly are both good ones. Parkins, a friend of -Polkinhorne’s, is a famous hand at these games; and so was Warner of -Redruth, till disabled in February 1825, by over-exertion on board the -Cambria brig, bound for Mexico.” - -This writer proceeds to state that John Knill, Esq. bequeathed the -income of an estate to be given in various prizes for racing, rowing, -and wrestling; these games to be held every fifth year for ever; and -that the first was celebrated in July 1801, around a mausoleum which he -erected in his lifetime on a high rock near St. Ives. “Early in the -morning, the roads from Helston, Truro, and Penzance, were lined with -horses and vehicles of every description, while thousands of travellers -on foot poured in from all quarters till noon, when the assembly formed. -The wrestlers entered the ring; a troop of virgins dressed in white, -danced and chanted a hymn composed for the occasion; the spectators -ranged themselves along the hills, and, at length, the mayor of St. -Ives appeared in his robes of state. The signal was given; the flags -were displayed from the towers of the castle; here the wrestlers exerted -their sinewy strength; here the rowers dashed through the waves, and the -songs of the damsels added delight to the scene. A dinner and ball at -the Union Hotel concluded the day. The games were again celebrated in -1806, 1811, 1816, and 1821, with increased favour and admiration.” - -So much for Cornish play; that of Devon, I have already said, is of a -different kind. The Devon wrestlers don’t practice the hug, but kick -shins dreadfully. For this purpose they have their shoes armed with -iron, and before going into the ring, they wrap up their legs with -numerous folds of carpeting to defend themselves from the violence of -the kicks. “The Devonshire men,” says the same writer, who professes to -be of neither county, and to admire the champions of both, “have no -under-play, nor have they one heaver. Visit a Devon ring, and you will -wait a tedious time after a man is thrown ere another appear. After -undergoing the necessary preparation for a good kicking, he enters, and -shakes his adversary by the hand, and kicks, and lays hold when he can -get a fit opportunity. If he is conscious of superior strength, he goes -to work, and by force of arm wrests his opponent off his legs, and lays -him flat; or if too heavy for this, he carries him round by the hip. But -when the men find that they are ‘much of a muchness,’ it is really -tiresome; caution is the word, and the hardest shoe, and the best -kicker, carries it. I have seen in Cornwall more persons at these games -when the prize has been a gold-laced hat, a waistcoat, or a pair of -gloves, than ever attend the sports in Devon, where the prizes are -liberal, for they don’t like to be kicked for a trifle; or even at the -famed meetings of later days in London, at the Eagle in the City-Road, -or the Golden Eagle in Mile-End. How is this? Why, in the latter places, -six, eight, and at farthest twelve standards, are as much as a day’s -play will admit of; while in Cornwall I have seen forty made in one day. -At Penzance, on Monday, 24th ultimo, thirty standards were made, and the -match concluded the day following. In Devon, what with the heavy shoes, -and thick padding, and time lost in equipment and kicking, half that -number cannot be made in a day. I have frequently seen men obliged to -leave the ring, and abandon the chance of a prize, owing solely to -hurts they have received by kicks from the knee downwards; nay, I have -seen Cann’s brothers, or relations, obliged to do so. To the eye of a -beholder unacquainted with wrestling, the Cornish mode must appear as -play; that of Devon--barbarous. It is an indisputable fact that no -Cornish wrestler of any note ever frequents the games in Devon, and that -whenever those from Devon have played in Cornwall, they have been -thrown--Jordans by Parkins, and so on.” - -I think any person not of Devon must give the preference to the play of -Cornwall as more scientific and less savage; but before we proceed to -compare the rival champions, let us give a little more display of the -Devonshire men by an eye-witness in 1820, who has related his visit to -the ring at Exmouth, in the London Magazine, with a great feeling of -enjoyment. He was told one morning that there was going to be a -wrestling, and that “the Canns would be there; and young Brockenden; and -Thorne, from Dawlish; and the men from the moors!” This excited his -imagination; as well it might, for there is something about the names of -these men, the Canns, the Brockendens, the Widdicombs of the moors, that -has a wild, grim, and wrestlerish sound; and accords well with those -grey, ancient, and romantic moorlands of the western regions of our -island. On approaching the ring he found a champion in it. “He was a -young man of extremely prepossessing appearance, stripped to the shirt, -and enclothed with the linen jacket with a green cock on the back, which -I have noticed to be the customary garment. His figure, which in its -country garb had not particularly impressed me with its size or -strength, now struck me as highly powerful, compact, and beautiful. His -limbs were well grown, and strongly set--yet rather slight than -otherwise--and his body was easy, slim, and yet peculiarly expressive of -power. The fronts of his legs from the knee to the ankle, were armed -with thick carpeting, to protect them from the kicks of his antagonist; -and even this strange armour did not give to his person the appearance -of clumsiness. His neck was bare, and certainly very fine;--but the -shape of his head struck me as being the most expressive and _poetical_ -(I use the term under correction) I had for a long time beheld--being -set off, I conceive, by the way in which his hair was arranged;--and -this was dark, hanging in thick _snakish_ curls on each side of his -forehead, and down the back part of his head: add to all this, a -handsome, melancholy, thin countenance, and you will have at once some -idea of the young man who now stood before me. I turned to a countryman -near me, and inquired who this youth might be, whose undaunted mien and -comely port had so taken my favour captive. ‘Who is _that_?’ said the -man, with a tone of surprise, accompanied with a look of profound pity -at my ignorance--‘why, one of the _Canns_ to be sure!’” But we will pass -over the first day’s play, and come to the evening of the second day’s -play. “The first shout of the master of the revels was--‘The younger -Cann, and Widdicomb of the Moors!’ and this was received with a low -murmur, and a deep interest which almost smothered sound. The younger -Cann was the stoutest of the brotherhood, finely formed and fair-haired. -He stripped and accoutred himself immediately: his brothers assisting in -buckling his leg-armour and fastening his jacket. There was evidently a -great anxiety in this group, but still the utmost confidence in ultimate -success; and I could not help taking part in the interest of the -brothers, and at the same time entertaining a full share of their faith -in their champion’s triumph. ‘And who,’ said I to a neighbour, ‘are -these Canns?’ ‘They are farmers; and there are five brothers, all -excellent wrestlers; but you only see three here to-night.’ But the fine -young wrestler stepped into the ring, and our conversation ceased. - -“The moon was now very clear, full, and bright; and its light fell upon -the noble person of Cann, and shewed every curl of his hair. The -Moor-man soon joined him--prepared for the conflict. He was a giant in -size, and from what I gathered around me, a man of most savage nature. -The popular feeling was painfully on Cann’s side. After the cup had been -pledged, the opponents seized each other with an iron grasp. Cann stood -boldly, but cautiously up, as conscious that he had much to do; and the -Moorman opposed him resolutely and grandly. The struggle was immediate; -and Cann, with one terrific wrench, threw his antagonist to the earth; -but he fell so doubtfully on his shoulder, that it seemed uncertain -whether he would fall on his back, which is necessary to victory, or -recover himself by rolling on his face. Cann looked proudly down upon -him, and saw him by a miraculous strain, which resembled that of a -Titan in pain, save the fall, by wrenching himself down on his face. His -shoulder and side were soiled--but he was not deemed vanquished. - -“By the order of the umpires the struggle was renewed, when owing, as I -conceived, to the slippery state of the grass, Cann fell on his knees, -and the Moor-man instantly hurled him on his back. All was uproar and -confusion--but Cann was declared to have received a fall--and gloom -spread itself over all! He could not be convinced of the justice of his -judges--a common case when the verdict is adverse--and it was in real -pain of spirit that he pulled off the jacket. - -“Young Brockenden followed next, with another man from the Moors; and he -received a doubtful fall, which was much cavilled at, but which the -judges, nevertheless, gave against him. It now grew late, and the clouds -thickened around, so that the wrestlers could scarcely be perceived. I -left the sports somewhat unwillingly; but I could not distinguish the -parties, and in truth, I was dispirited at my favourite’s being foiled. -I heard that the brother Canns retrieved the fame of the family--but the -darkness of the night, and the state of the grass, gave no chance, -either to the spectators or to the wrestlers. In the morning, the ring, -the awning, the scaffolding--had vanished; and the young fellows had -separated; the Canns to their farms--the men to the moors.” - -Having now taken a peep at both the Cornish and Devonshire men, let us -bring them into contact. In 1826, at the Eagle-Tavern Green, City-Road, -several matches took place between Devonshire and Cornish men, on the -19th, 20th, and 21st of September. The following exhibition of the -struggle between Abraham Cann, the champion of Dartmoor, and Warren of -Cornwall, is equal to a bass-relief from a Grecian frieze, and gives a -most graphic view of the systems of the two counties. It is from the -London Magazine, and evidently by the same writer. - -“The contest between Abraham Cann and Warren not only displayed this -difference of style, but was attended with a degree of suspense between -skill and strength, that rendered it extremely interesting. The former, -who is a son of a Devonshire farmer, has been backed against any man in -England for 500_l._ His figure is of the finest athletic proportions, -and his arm realizes the muscularity of ancient specimens. His power in -it is surprising: his hold is like that of a vice, and with ease he can -pinion the arms of the strongest adversary, if he once grips them, and -keep them as close together, or as far asunder, as he chooses. He stands -with his legs apart, his body quite upright, looking down -good-humouredly on his crouching opponent. In this instance, his -opponent, Warren, a miner, was a man of superior size, and of amazing -strength, not so well distributed, however, throughout his frame: his -arms and body being too lengthy in proportion to their bulk. His visage -was harsh beyond measure, and he did not disdain to use a little craft -with eye and hand, in order to distract his enemy’s attention. But he -had to deal with a man as collected as ever entered a ring. Cann put in -his hand as quietly as if he were going to seize a shy horse, and at -length, caught a slight hold between finger and thumb of Warren’s -sleeve. At this Warren flung away with the impetuosity of a surprised -horse. But it was in vain; there was no escape from Cann’s pinch, so the -miner seized his adversary in his turn, and at length both of them -grappled each other by the arm and the breast of the jacket. In a trice -Cann tripped his opponent with the toe in a most scientific but -ineffectual manner, throwing him clean to the ground, but not on his -back, as required. The second heat began similarly. Warren stooped more, -so as to keep his legs out of Cann’s reach, who punished him for it by -several kicks below the knee, which must have told severely if his shoes -had been on, after his country’s fashion. They shook each other -rudely--strained knee to knee--forced each other’s shoulders down, so as -to overbalance the body--but all ineffectually. They seemed to be quite -secure from each other’s efforts, as long as they held by the arm and -breast-collar, as ordinary wrestlers do. A new grip was to be effected. -Cann liberated one arm of his adversary, to seize him by the cape -behind; at that instant, Warren, profiting by his inclined posture and -his long arm, threw himself round the body of the Devon champion, and -fairly lifted him a foot from the ground, clutching him in his arms with -the grasp of a second Antæus. The Cornish men shouted aloud, ‘Well done, -Warren!’ to their hero, whose naturally pale visage glowed with the hope -of success. He seemed to have his opponent at his will, and to be fit to -fling him, as Hercules flung Lycas, any how he pleased. Devonshire then -trembled for its champion, and was mute. Indeed it was a moment of -heart-quaking suspense. But Cann was not daunted; his countenance -expressed anxiety, but not discomfiture. He was off terra firma, clasped -in the embrace of a powerful man, who waited but a single struggle of -his, to pitch him more effectually from him to the ground. Without -straining to disengage himself, Cann with unimaginable dexterity, glued -his back firmly to his opponent’s chest, lacing his feet round the -other’s knee-joints, and throwing one arm backward over Warren’s -shoulders so as to keep his own enormous shoulders pressed upon the -breast of his uplifter. In this position they stood, at least twenty -seconds, each labouring in one continuous strain, to bend the other, one -forward, the other backwards. Such a struggle could not last. Warren, -with the might of the other upon his stomach and chest, felt his balance -almost gone, as the energetic movements of his countenance indicated. -His feet too were motionless, by the coil of his adversary’s legs round -his; so, to save himself from falling backward, he stiffened his whole -body from the ankles upwards, and these last being the only liberated -joints, he inclined forward from them, so as to project both bodies, and -prostrate them in one column to the ground together. It was like the -slow and poising fall of an undermined tower. You had time to -contemplate the injury which Cann, the undermost, would sustain, if they -fell in that solid, unbending posture to the earth. But Cann ceased -bearing upon the spine as soon as he found his supporter going in an -adverse direction. With a presence of mind unrateable, he relaxed his -strain upon one of his adversary’s stretched legs, forcing the other -outwards with all the might of his foot, and pressing his elbow on the -opposite shoulder. This was sufficient to whisk his man undermost the -instant he unstiffened his knee--which Warren did not do till more than -half-way to the ground, when from the acquired rapidity of the falling -bodies, nothing was discernible. At the end of the fall, Warren was seen -sprawling on his back, and Cann, whom he had liberated to save himself, -had been thrown a few yards off, on all fours. Of course the victory -should have been adjudged to this last. When the partial referee was -appealed to, he decided that it was not a fair fall, as only one -shoulder had bulged the ground, though there was evidence on the back -of Warren that both had touched it pretty rudely. After much debating, a -new referee was appointed, and the old one expelled: when the candidates -again entered the lists. The crowning beauty of the whole was, that the -second fall was precisely a counterpart of the first. Warren made the -same move, only lifting his antagonist higher, with the view to throw -the upper part of his frame out of play. Cann turned himself exactly in -the same manner, using much greater effort than before, and apparently -more put to it by his opponent’s great strength. His share, however, in -upsetting his supporter was greater this time, as he relaxed one leg -much sooner, and adhered closer to the chest during the fall; for at the -close he was seen uppermost, still coiled round his massive adversary, -who admitted the fall, starting up, and offering his hand to the -victor.” - -Since then Polkinhorne of St. Columb has encountered Cann, and thrown -him, and is, or was, the acknowledged champion of the West. He is the -keeper of the principal inn at St. Columb, where I on one occasion -stopped, having shortly before taken a halfpenny ticket from his -dethroned rival, Cann of Dartmoor, at the foot-bridge between Plymouth -and Devonport, where he was, if he be not yet, stationed. - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -FAVOURITE PURSUITS OF ENGLISH COTTAGERS AND WORKMEN. - -In my last chapter I gave a general view of the present rural sports and -pastimes of the peasantry--perhaps as it regards wrestling, more -prominently than some readers might think judicious. But what _is_ -prominent in the country life of any part of England, it is my bounden -duty to set before my readers; and there is no feature of English life -more remarkable than the sanguine attachment of the people of some -particular parts to particular sports; more especially where those -sports have relaxed their ancient hold on the people in all other -districts, or have refused to be engrafted on other districts; as golf -continues to be one of the prime sports of Scotland, but will not travel -across the Tweed. Let us now, before closing the department of this work -appropriated to the peasantry, notice some characteristic features, -which I think must strongly interest us all. - -After all, the happiness of a people is not found in their amusements. -Amusements may indicate, in a certain degree, that a people is happy; -but real happiness is a thing of a more domestic nature. It is a Lar, -and belongs to the household, or is to be found in the quiet and -enclosed precincts of home gardens. A great portion of the happiness of -the common people is therefore little perceived, for it is unobtrusive; -and consists in following out those peculiar biases and _penchants_, -which in higher personages are termed genius. The genius of the working -classes, which from its deriving little help from science, or field of -exercise from circumstance, is seldom admitted to be genius at all, -still exhibits itself in a variety of ways, and contributes at once to -their prosperity, their happiness, and to the stamping of individual -character. A great deal of it is necessarily exerted in their particular -trades, and produces all that is beautiful and exquisite in handicraft -arts. That which gives an artisan eminence in the workshop of his -master, would probably have produced specimens of art that would have -claimed the admiration of the whole community. Those glorious specimens -of architectural perfection which adorn our chief cathedrals, the work -of the middle ages, are the evidences of masonic skill, which in this -age might probably have been employed on our plainer structures, or in -building steam-engines, or elaborating some piece of plate, or carving -the handles of parasols. Circumstance has much to do in the decision of -the fate of all genius and ingenuity. It is a striking fact, that the -greater number of artisans who eminently excel in their own line, -partake largely of the temperament and foibles of genius. They are often -irregular in their application to business, fond of company and of its -excitements; so that nothing is so common as to say, that man is an -inimitable workman, but that he will not work half his time, and is too -fond of the public-house, where he draws a circle of admirers around -him. But when a man is at once skilful, steady, and enthusiastic in his -art,--that man is a happy man. His mind has a constant subject of -reflection, of exercise, of satisfaction, before it. He sees with pride -the workmanship of his hands, and enjoys with as much inward delight the -reputation and applause it brings him, as does a poet, a philosopher, or -a conqueror the fame of their respective works. - -But, in many others, the peculiar instinct shews itself in some other -pursuit than their trade. It does not happen to them to have fallen upon -that profession which would have called forth the slumbering spirit, and -when it wakes it shews itself in some other form. These men are said to -have their HOBBY. They have a favourite scheme, or occupation, which -shares their attention with their trade, and often supersedes it. -Crabbe, that close observer of whatever passed in this grade of life, -has well described these propensities. If they shew themselves in a -man’s own trade: - - Then to the wealthy you will see denied - Comforts and joys that with the poor abide; - There are who labour through the year, and yet - No more have gained than--not to be in debt; - Who still maintain the same laborious course, - Yet pleasure hails them from some favourite source; - And health, amusement, children, wife, or friend, - With life’s dull views their consolations blend. - -But if the bias of the mind does not lie in the man’s own art: - - Nor these alone possess the lenient power - Of soothing life in the desponding hour; - Some favourite studies, some delightful care - The mind with trouble and distresses share; - And by a coin, a flower, a verse, a boat, - The stagnant spirits have been set afloat; - They pleased at first, and then the habit grew, - Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew. - Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see - Of humble tradesmen in their evening glee; - When of some pleasing,fancied good possessed, - Each grew alert, was busy, and was blest. - Whether the _call_-bird yield the hours delight, - Or magnified in microscope, the mite; - Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize - The gentle mind, they rule it, and they please. - -Yes, it is in these and many other occupations, dictated by individual -organization, or taste, that numbers of the working class find a world -of happiness. Some are amateurs of one kind, some of another; some are -rearers of fancy pigeons, some of fancy dogs; others are enthusiasts in -music, singing, bell-ringing, and make a noise in the world from -belfries, organ-lofts, orchestras, at harmonic meetings, and in rural -festivals. Some spend a whole life in seeking the perpetual motion; some -in devising improvements in steam-engines, and other machines. Whether -they deal with realities, or with chimeras, as too often they do, the -busy spirit of humanity will be at work in the breasts of the operative -class. In the country it assumes many a shape that is beautiful, and -others that are picturesque. Some are incorrigible poachers, from the -love of the pursuit of wild creatures, of strolling about in solitary -glens and woods, of night-watching, and adventure. Others have an -inextinguishable love of a gun,--these men all their lives are noted -for this propensity. They have a certain keeper-like appearance. They -affect fustian or velveteen jackets, with wide skirts, and huge pockets; -gaiters, and strong shoes. They have a lounging, yet unauthorized air, -which betrays them to be not the true men of office. They have always -some excuse for carrying a gun; they are stuffers of curious birds and -animals; or they procure them for one who is; and it is alike amazing -how they escape the penalties of the law for trespasses and destruction -of game, and yet bring home such owls, squirrels, herons, sea-birds, -curlews, plovers, martins, and fillimarts, shrikes, waxen-chatterers, -and foxes, and young fawns, as are not to be obtained except by a -traversing, daily and nightly, of parks, preserves, woods, and chases, -as must be perilous, and, indeed, impracticable to any other men. -Noblemen and gentlemen generally find it desirable in the end, to instal -this particular variety of the human species in all the honours and -freedom of keepership. Happy is the man of this stamp who reaches -America. That is the land for him! A land of woods, of herds of deer, -and turkeys, of bears and buffaloes. There he may roam the paradise of -back settlements, and satiate his soul with hunting and shooting; with -lying in wait, and with wild adventure, without fear of game-laws, and -the obstructions of monopoly. - -Others, again, have an indomitable passion for hunting otters, badgers, -polecats, rats, hedgehogs, and similar tenants of out-of-the-way dales, -river-sides, thickets and plantations; and have perpetually at their -heels, terriers of every kind, spaniels, and lurchers. These are -generally well entitled to be classed under the head of ragamuffins; and -are generally more than half poachers, being as ready to snap up a -leveret, rabbit, or young wild duck, as they are to destroy a stoat. But -the passion for their peculiar fancy is inextinguishable, and not to be -put out by a whole bench of magistrates, or a voyage to New South Wales, -for there the dogs would instinctively muster at their heels, and they -would be after the kangaroos at the very first opportunity. - -A congener of these, and yet of a somewhat more civilized grade, is the -bird-catcher and trainer. Beware of your nightingales that come in April -from some sunny land, and shew you the preference of settling for the -season in your shrubbery, or coppice. If this man be your neighbour, the -glorious song of midnight will soon experience a mysterious hush. You -hear it, and proclaim the news to your family. By day you catch its -not-to-be-mistaken notes amongst the budding trees, as you pass in and -out of your grounds. “There is the very same bird come to its favourite -spot,” you say, to delight your wife, or sister, or children, who clap -their hands, and run to carry the news into the housekeeper’s room. -“There is the fine old nightingale again in the shrubbery!” At evening -on are put bonnets and hats, shawls and cloaks, and forth sallies the -happy domestic group. The air is chill, for it is but April; yet the -moon is rising in her sweet pensiveness, and the freshness of the air -and the budding boughs are about you. Down the narrow path you go, where -the primroses gleam faintly from amongst the mossy stems of the -shrubbery trees. Past the rustic summer-house you go, down by the close -turf of the shadowy lawn--near to the brook, that flows so subduedly in -its singing murmurs that it cannot drown a single bird-note. You have -reached the little wooden bridge--and hark!--it is there sure enough! -Yes, to-night, and the next, and perhaps the next, it is there,--and -then it is gone. You wonder why. Can it have deserted its favourite -haunt? Can it be the stormy weather? The east wind must have silenced -it? No! it is moping in the cage of that villanous bird-catcher, who is -intending to aggravate his crime of kidnapping this prince of -air-minstrels, by fetching the blackbird which sings on the top of your -ash, and the thrush that flings back his notes from the distant elm. -Beware of your woodlarks, and your bullfinches, if this man be your -neighbour. He has an ear which recognises in a moment the master singer, -and he has a dozen arts to put in practice against his liberty. In his -little house is a collection of prisoners that would make any reasonable -person’s heart ache. He has blackbirds that are studying artificial -tunes,--marches and waltzes--how much more apt one would think them to -learn dirges and laments! But he has even poor Robin Redbreast put to -school under the nightingale--bullfinches that are blinded, and then -made to listen in doleful obedience to his flute or pipe. They are to be -piping bullfinches of great note and value. But let us leave the -melodious melancholy of his prison-house, and when we have lightened our -hearts in the open air, we may muster up charity enough to do the man -justice. He has, after all, no lack of kindness in his heart. He takes -them captive as the Christians take negroes--to civilize them, and make -them happier! His soul is in all that he does. I one day met an old man -and woman in a wood. As I drew near them I heard a strange chirping of -young birds. It was a fine summer evening. “How is this,” I said; “it is -time for the birds to be at roost, and yet I hear young ones chirping?” -“0!” said the old man--“here they are;” opening his basket, and shewing -a nest full of young canaries. “It was a fine evening,” said he, “and I -and my old woman thought a walk would do us good, and we thought it -would do the birds good too.” - -The delights of angling seize upon another class. People that have not -been inoculated with the true spirit, may wonder at the infatuation of -anglers--but true anglers leave them very contentedly to their -wondering, and follow their diversion with a keen delight. Many old men -there are of this class, that have in them a world of science,-- not -science of the book, or of regular tuition, but the science of actual -experience. Science that lives, and will die with them; except it be -dropped out piecemeal, and with the gravity becoming its importance, to -some young neophyte, who has won their good graces by his devotion to -their beloved craft. All the mysteries of times and seasons, of baits, -flies of every shape and hue; worms, gentles, beetles, compositions, or -substances found by proof to possess singular charms. These are a -possession which they hold with pride, and do not hold in vain. After a -close day in the shop or factory, what a luxury is a fine summer evening -to one of these men, following some rapid stream, or seated on a green -bank, deep in grass and flowers, pulling out the spotted trout, or -resolutely, but subtilely, bringing some huge pike or fair grayling from -his lurking place beneath the broad stump and spreading boughs of the -alder. Or a day, a summer’s day, to such a man, by the Dove, or the Wye, -amid the pleasant Derbyshire hills; by Yorkshire or Northumbrian stream; -by Trent or Tweed; or the banks of Yarrow; by Teith, or Leven, with the -glorious hills and heaths of Scotland round him! Why, such a day to such -a man, has in it a life and spirit of enjoyment to which the feelings of -cities and palaces are dim. The heart of such a man,--the power and -passion of deep felicity that come breathing from mountains and -moorlands; from clouds that sail above, and storms blustering and -growling in the wind; from all the mighty magnificence, the solitude and -antiquity of nature upon him--Ebenezer Elliott only can unfold. The -weight of the poor man’s life--the cares of poverty--the striving of -huge cities, visit him as he sits by the beautiful stream--beautiful as -a dream of eternity, and translucent as the everlasting canopy of heaven -above him;--they come--but he casts them off for the time, with the -power of one who feels himself strong in the kindred spirit of all -things around; strong in knowledge that he is a man; an immortal--a -child and pupil in the world-school of the Almighty. For that day he is -more than a king--he has the heart of humanity and the faith and spirit -of a saint. It is not the rod and line that floats before him--it is not -the flowing water, or the captured prey, that he perceives in those -moments of admission to the heart of nature, so much as the law of the -testimony of love and goodness written on every thing around him with -the pencil of Divine beauty. He is no longer the wearied and -oppressed--the trodden and despised--walking in thread-bare garments, -amid men who scarcely deign to look upon him as a brother man,--but he -is reassured and recognised to himself in his own soul as one of those -puzzling, aspiring and mysterious existences for whom all this splendid -world was built, and for whom eternity opens its expecting gates. These -are magnificent speculations for a poor angling weaver or carpenter; but -Ebenezer Elliott can tell us, that they are his legitimate thoughts when -he can break for an instant the bonds of this toiling age, and escape to -the open fields. Let us leave him dipping his line into the waters of -refreshing thought, and return to the cottage garden. There we shall see -another form of that beneficently varied taste which adds so much to the -poor man’s pleasures. - -We may look into many a cottage garden, and find it a little world of -beauty and pleasant cares. Here one poor man is a lover of bees. He has -stored his little sheltered garden with all sorts of flowers that bees -love, or that come out early in the year for them. On the sunny side of -his little domain you see his rustic shed with its row of hives; all -neatly thatched, and all sending out their busy stream of -honey-gatherers. There is no man of any reflection but must feel what a -source of enjoyment that row of hives has been. What cares and -contrivances have contributed to extend that row from the solitary -swarm, purchased perhaps in the days of deeper poverty than now presses -upon him. What summer-noon watchings there have been for the flight of -new swarms; what hurry and ringing of pans and fire-shovels to charm -them down; what recapturings and bringing back to the ancient bench to -form a new family in the little bee-state. - -There is one circumstance, however, connected with the keeping of bees, -which spoils the poetry of it; and that is the brimstone pit of -destruction that awaits them. But there is many a poor man that loves -his bees with a strong affection, and loathes to do them that grievous -wrong. He levies tribute, but does not destroy. I once saw a fine -instance of this feeling. A poor man, a lover and keeper of bees, heard -by chance that a swarm had taken up their abode in the roof of -Caverswall Nunnery in Staffordshire; and that the abbess was intending -to have them destroyed. His residence was at a distance of seven miles -from the Abbey, but he instantly put his favourite volume of “Huber on -Bees” in his pocket, and set out. Here, being admitted to the presence -of the abbess, he told his errand, and begged that she would not commit -so barbarous and inhospitable an act,--that providence seemed to have -directed those wonderful little creatures thither as it were, for the -certainty of protection from the hearts of Christian ladies. At least he -begged that she would read that book before she put her threat into -execution. He soon afterwards came to me with a face of great delight, -saying--“The abbess has read Huber, and she won’t destroy the bees!” - -Many cottagers, again, are most zealous and successful florists.[29] -This is a taste full of beauty, and possessing a high charm. To select -rich and suitable soils; to sow and plant; to nurse and shade, and -water; to watch the growth and expansion of flowers of great -promise;--it is sufficient for the enjoyment of one spirit. The number -of flowers now cultivated by florists is much increased to what it was. -They had only the polyanthus, auricula, hyacinth, carnation, tulip, and -ranunculus; but the splendid dahlia, and the pansy now engross much of -their attention and admiration. Others, again, are collectors and -admirers of insects; and as education extends, natural history will, no -doubt, receive many zealous adherents from the operative ranks. Crabbe -has described both these tastes as united in one man. - - There is my friend, the weaver; strong desires - Reign in his breast; ’tis beauty he admires. - See! to the shady grove he wings his way, - And feels in hope the raptures of the day. - Eager he looks; and soon to his glad eyes, - From the sweet bower, by nature formed, arise - Bright troops of virgin-moths, and new-born butterflies; - Who broke that morning from their half-year’s sleep, - To fly o’er flowers where they were wont to creep. - - Above the sovereign oak, a sovereign skims, - The _purple Emperor_, strong in wing and limbs: - There fair _Camilla_ takes her flight serene, - _Adonis_ blue, and _Paphia_, silver queen: - With every filmy fly from mead or bower, - And hungry _Sphynx_, who threads the honeyed flower; - She o’er the larkspurs’ bed, where sweets abound, - Views every bell, and hums the approving sound: - Poised on her busy plumes, with feelings nice, - She draws from every flower, nor tries a floret twice. - - He fears no bailiff’s wrath, no baron’s blame, - His is untaxed, and undisputed game; - Nor less the place of curious plants he knows; - He both his _Flora_ and his _Fauna_ shows. - For him is blooming in its rich array, - The glorious flower which bore the palm away. - In vain a rival tried his utmost art, - His was the prize, and joy o’erflowed his heart. - “This, this is beauty! cast, I pray, your eyes - On this my glory! see the grace--the size! - Was ever stem so tall, so stout, so strong, - Exact in breadth, in just proportion long; - These brilliant hues are all distinct and clean, - No kindred tint, no blending streaks between; - This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing, - A king of flowers, a flower for England’s king!” - - [29] So successful that they were amongst the first to raise fine - flowers before floral societies and flower-shows were in existence; - and the names of some of these village florists are attached to some - of the finest specimens, Hufton, Barker, and Redgate, appellations - which some of our finest carnations, polyanthuses, and ranunculuses - bear, are those of old Derbyshire villagers, well known to me, who - scarcely ever were out of their own rustic districts, but whose names - are thus made familiar all the country over. - -Lastly, the general pleasures of a garden form a grand item in the -enjoyments of the poor man. To shew what these pleasures are, to what an -extent they are enjoyed in some districts, even by town mechanics, and -how much further they may be extended, I shall quote a portion of a -paper published by me in November 1835, in Tait’s Magazine. - -There are, in the outskirts of Nottingham, upwards of 5000 gardens, the -bulk of which are occupied by the working class. A good many there are -belonging to the substantial tradesmen and wealthier inhabitants; but -the great mass are those of the mechanics. These lie on various sides of -the town, in expanses of many acres in a place, and many of them as much -as a mile and a half distant from the centre of the town. In the winter -they have rather a desolate aspect, with their naked trees and hedges, -and all their little summer-houses exposed, damp-looking, and forlorn; -but, in spring and summer, they look exceedingly well,--in spring all -starred with blossoms, all thick with leaves; and their summer-houses -peeping pleasantly from among them. The advantage of these gardens to -the working-class of a great manufacturing town, is beyond calculation; -and I believe no town in the kingdom has so many of them in proportion -to its population. It were to be desired that the example of the -Nottingham artisans was imitated by those of other great towns; or -rather that the taste for them was encouraged, and, in fact, created by -the example of the middle classes, and by patriotic persons laying out -fields for this purpose, and letting them at a reasonable rate. A wide -difference in the capability of indulging in this healthful species of -recreation, must of course, depend on the species of manufacture carried -on. Where steam-engines abound, and are at the foundation of all the -labours of a place, as in Manchester, for instance, there you will find -few gardens in the possession of the mechanics. The steam-engine is a -never-resting, unweariable, unpersuadable giant and despot; and will go -on thumping and setting thousands of wheels and spindles in motion; and -men must stand, as it were, the slaves of its unsleeping energies. O! -what was the fate of the ancient genii to the fate of our modern -mechanics! What was the fate of “the slaves of the lamp,” or the slaves -of talismanic ring, to that of the slaves of the steam-engine! _They_ -could vanish and lie at rest till came the irresistible call; they -could sport over ocean and desert, through the air and the clouds; they -could speed into the depths of space and wander amid the inconceivable -mysteries and miracles of unknown worlds, till the omnipotent spell -recalled them to execute some temporary wish of their tyrant, and then -return to a wide liberty. But the slave of the steam-engine must be at -the beck of _his_ tyrant night or day, with only such intervals as -barely suffice to restore his wearied strength and faculties:--therefore -you shall not see gardens flourish and summer-houses rise in the -vicinity of this hurrying and tremendous power. But where it is not, or -but partially predominates, there may the mechanic enjoy the real -pleasures of a garden. And how many are those pleasures! - -Early in spring--as soon, in fact, as the days begin to lengthen and the -shrewd air to dry up the wintry moisture--you see them getting into -their gardens, clearing away the dead stalks of last year’s growth, and -digging up the soil; but especially on fine days in February and March -are they busy. Trees are pruned, beds are dug, walks cleaned, and all -the refuse and decayed vegetation piled up in heaps; and the smoke of -the fires in which it is burnt, rolling up from many a garden, and -sending its pungent odour to meet you afar off. It is pleasant to see, -as the season advances, how busy their occupants become; bustling there -with their basses in their hands and their tools on their shoulders; -wheeling in manure; and clearing out their summer-houses; and what an -air of daily-increasing neatness they assume, till they are one wide -expanse of blossomed fruit-trees and flowering fragrance. Every garden -has its summer-house; and these are of all scales and grades, from the -erection of a few tub-staves, with an attempt to train a pumpkin or a -wild-hop over it, to substantial brick houses with glass windows, good -cellars for a deposit of choice wines, a kitchen, and all necessary -apparatus, and a good pump to supply them with water. Many are very -picturesque rustic huts, built with great taste, and hidden by tall -hedges in a perfect little paradise of lawn and shrubbery--most -delightful spots to go and read in of a summer day, or to take a dinner -or tea in with a pleasant party of friends. Some of these places which -belong to the substantial tradespeople have cost their occupiers from -one to five hundred pounds, and the pleasure they take in them may be -thence imagined; but many of the mechanics have very excellent -summer-houses, and there they delight to go, and smoke a solitary pipe, -as they look over the smiling face of their garden, or take a quiet -stroll amongst their flowers: or to take a pipe with a friend; or to -spend a Sunday afternoon, or a summer evening, with their families. The -amount of enjoyment which these gardens afford to a great number of -families is not easily to be calculated--and then the health and the -improved taste! You meet them coming home, having been busy for hours in -the freshness of the summer morning in them, and now are carrying home a -bass brimful of vegetables for the house. In the evening thitherward you -see groups and families going; the key which admits to the common paths -that lead between them is produced; a door is opened and closed; and you -feel that they are vanished into a pure and sacred retirement, such as -the mechanic of a large town could not possess without these suburban -gardens. And then to think of the alehouse, the drinking, noisy, -politics-bawling alehouse, where a great many of these very men would -most probably be, if they had not this attraction,--to think of this, -and then to see the variety of sources of a beautiful and healthful -interest which they create for themselves here:--what a contrast!--what -a most gratifying contrast! There are the worthy couple, sitting in the -open summer-house of one garden, quietly enjoying themselves, and -watching their children romping on the grass-plot, or playing about the -walks; in another, a social group of friends round the tea-table, or -enjoying the reward of all their spring labours, picking strawberries -fresh from the bed, or raspberries, gooseberries, and currants from the -bush. In one you find a grower of fine apples, pears, or plums, or of -large gooseberries; in another, a florist, with his show of tulips, -ranunculuses, hyacinths, carnations, or other choice flowers, that claim -all his leisure moments, and are a source of a thousand cares and -interests. And of these cares and interests, the neat awning of white -canvass, raised on its light frame of wood; the glasses, and screens of -board and matting, to defend those precious objects from every rude -attack of sun, wind, or rain--all these are sufficient testimonies; and -tell of hours early and late, in the dawn of morning and the dusk of -evening, when the happy man has been entranced in his zealous labours, -and absorbed in a thousand delicious fancies, and speculations of -perfection. Of late, the splendid dahlia and the pansy have become -objects of attention; and I believe of the latter flower, till recently -despised and overlooked, except in the old English cottage-garden, there -are now more than a hundred varieties, of such brilliance and richness -of hue, and many of them of such superb expanse of corolla, as merit all -the value set upon them. - -_This is the allotment system of the manufacturing town_; to the full as -desirable as that for the country, and which may be facilitated, fraught -as it is with abundant physical and moral good, by philanthropic -individuals to a great extent. At Nottingham, as I have observed, the -taste seems to have grown up originally of itself, and then, exciting -the attention of speculators, has been extended to its present growth by -them. The mechanics there have not their gardens at a cheap rate. They -all say that they could purchase their vegetables in the market for the -amount of their rent and incidental expenses; but then, they get the -health and the enjoyment, and their fruit and vegetables they get so -fresh. - -There are, according to a personal examination made by myself, now, -upwards of 5000 of these gardens, containing, as single gardens, 400 -square yards each,--the general scale of a garden; though a good many -are held as double, and even treble gardens. These let at from a -halfpenny to three halfpence per yard; but averaged at three farthings, -make a rental of 1_l._ 5_s._ per garden, or a total of 6250_l._ Five -thousand gardens of 400 yards each of clear garden ground, independent -of fences and roads, give 413 acres and about a rood. Now, if we add -one-fifth for fences and roads, the total quantity of land occupied is -496 acres, or we may say, in round numbers, 500 acres. Here then, 500 -acres, which at fifty shillings an acre--a good rent for ordinary -purposes, would yield a rent of 1250_l._; yield, by being converted into -gardens, a rent of 6250_l._, or a clear profit of 5000_l._ - -Thus, it is evident, that any persons willing to promote the taste for -gardening in the neighbourhood of towns, might double, in many -instances, the ordinary rent of the land, and yet let it in gardens at -half the price of these Nottingham ones. Even where land in the vicinity -of a large town is very highly rented, a halfpenny a yard, and ten -gardens to the acre, fences and roads included, would produce 8_l._ -6_s._ 8_d._ per acre; no contemptible sum; to say nothing of the real -kindness of the accommodation, and the health, pleasure, and pure taste -communicated to their fellow men; whilst, against the increased risk of -loss, and the increased trouble of the collection of rent, are to be set -the value of the garden stock, fruit trees, shrubs, and flower roots, -and the summer-houses, which enhance the value to the next tenant. - -Here I close this chapter, and this department of my work,--the habits -and amusements of the people. It is a subject to which I attach no -common importance. The people make the majority of our race; and if they -are all equally the objects of that divine care which created them, they -must be equally the objects of our truest sympathies. This has not -hitherto been sufficiently considered: but every day that consideration -must be forced more and more upon us; and we shall be made to feel that -no philosophy is good which does not include the poor in its theory; no -religion is sound which does not recognise their kinship; no legislation -is wise which does not operate for their physical and intellectual -benefit; and no country can be said to be truly prosperous, where the -multitude is not respectable, enlightened, moral, and happy. - -Let us all endeavour to hasten this period, as a living proof that -Christianity is really preached to the poor; and that our knowledge has -produced the most felicitous of its genuine fruits, in peopling this -great nation with a race such as no nation has yet possessed; such as -may eat, - - Well earned, the bread of service, yet may have - A mounting spirit;--one that entertains - Scorn of base action, deed dishonourable, - Or aught unseemly. - - _Charles Lamb._ - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY. - - ~Sonst stuerzte sich der Himmels-Liebe Kuss - Auf mich herab, in ernster Sabbathstille; - Da klang so ahndungsvoll des Glockentones Fuelle, - Und ein Gebet war bruenstiger Genuss: - Ein unbegreiflich holdes Sehnen - Trieb mich durch Wald und Wiesen hinzugehn, - Und unter tausend heissen Thraenen, - Fuehlt’ ich mir eine Welt entstehn.~ - - _Faust._ - - In other days, the kiss of heavenly love descended upon me in the - solemn stillness of the Sabbath; then the full-toned bell sounded so - fraught with mystic meaning, and a prayer was vivid enjoyment. A - longing, inconceivably sweet, drove me forth to wander over wood and - plain, and amid a thousand burning tears, I felt a world rise up to - me. - - _Hayward’s Translation._ - -Goethe, in his Faust, has given a very lively description of a -German multitude bursting out of the city to enjoy an Easter -Sunday;--mechanics, students, citizens’ daughters, servant-girls, -townsmen, beggars, old women ready to tell fortunes, soldiers, and -amongst the rest, his hero Faust and his friend Wagner, proceeding to -enjoy a country walk. They reach a rising ground; and Faust says--“Turn -and look back from this rising ground upon the town. From forth the -gloomy portal presses a motley crowd. Every one suns himself delightedly -to-day. They celebrate the rising of the LORD, for they themselves have -arisen: from the dark rooms of mean houses; from the bondage of -mechanical drudgery; from the confinement of gables and roofs; from the -stifling narrowness of streets; from the venerable gloom of -churches--are they raised up to the open light of day. But look! look! -how quickly the mass is scattering itself through the gardens and -fields; how the river, broad and long, tosses many a merry bark upon its -surface; and how this last wherry, overladen almost to sinking, moves -off. Even from the farthest paths of the mountain, gay-coloured dresses -glance upon us. I hear already the bustle of the village. This is the -true heaven of the multitude; big and little are huzzaing joyously. Here -I am a man--here I may be one.” - -Making allowance for the difference of national manners, this might -serve for a picture of Sunday in the neighbourhood of a large town in -England. Human nature is the same everywhere. The girls are looking out -for sweethearts; and both mechanics and students are seeking after the -best beer and the prettiest girl: - - ~Ein starkes bier, ein beitzender Toback, - Und eine Magd im Putz dass ist nun mein Geschmack.~ - -“Strong beer, stinging tobacco, and a girl all in her best,--that is the -taste for me,” cries one: and so it is here and everywhere. See how the -multitudes of our large manufacturing towns, and of London spend their -Sundays. They pour out into the country in all directions, but it is not -to enjoy the country only. They _do_ enjoy the country; but it is -because it heightens their wild delight in smoking, drinking, and -flirtation. Who does not know what innumerable haunts there are within -five, ten, or even twenty miles round London, to which these classes -repair on Sundays: tea-houses and tea-gardens, country inns, -hedge-alehouses, all the old and noted places where good beer and -tobacco, merry company, and noisy politics are to be found? Norwood, -Greenwich, Richmond, Hampton-Court, Windsor, the Nore, Herne-Bay, -Gravesend, Margate; and those old-fashioned places of resort that Hone -gives you glimpses of; such as Copenhagen-House, the Sluice-House, -Canonbury, etc.--what swarming votaries have they all.[30] And what an -immensity of new regions will the railroads that are now beginning to -stretch their lines from the metropolis in different directions, lay -open--_terræ incognitæ_, as it were, to the millions that in the dense -and ever-growing mass of monstrous London pant after an outburst into -the country. Truly may these say, through the medium of this modern and -most providential means of occasional dispersion:-- - - To morrow to fresh fields and pastures new! - - [30] The following calculation, made on Whit-Monday 1835, may give - some idea of the number of similar pleasure-seekers on a fine summer - Sunday. On Monday, between eight in the morning and nine at night, 191 - steam-vessels passed through the Pool to and from Margate, Herne-Bay, - Sheerness, Southend, the Nore, Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich, - including several on their way to and from Scotland, Ireland, and the - Continent. Each vessel averaged, at least, 500 persons. The above - calculation was made by Mr. Brown, a boat-builder in Wapping, who with - his servants, watched them all day. But many passed after nine, - swelling the number to upwards of 200; so that more than 100,000 - persons must have been afloat in the steamers on Monday, exclusive of - the passengers in small boats. Several steam-vessels carried 800 and - 900 souls each to the Nore and back, One steam-vessel brought back - from Greenwich 1000 persons, another 1300, and a third was actually - crowded with 1500 passengers. - -I well remember two ladies of high reputation in the literary world, -who, after reading Faust, were inspired with a desire to see how the -lower classes amused themselves on a Sunday in this country. It was, -they thought, a subject of profitable study. They could not divest -themselves of the idea that the people must wonderfully enjoy -themselves, in their own way; and perhaps they might imagine that they -should be received and complimented, as Faust and his friend Wagner -were. Well; the experiment was tried. Another gentleman and myself -accompanied them; and of all schemes we hit upon that of going by the -steam-packet to Richmond. It was a fine morning in May. Our packet and -another sailed from St. Katherine’s wharf with crowded decks, and a -bright sun over our heads, casting its animating glory upon tower and -town, over the majestic river, and the green country to which, anon, we -emerged. We swept under bridge after bridge, and saw the mighty -metropolis, with its vast wilderness of houses, wharfs, warehouses, and -great public buildings, rapidly glide away behind us; above all the -towers and spires of churches St. Paul’s lifting its solemn dome and -glittering cross; and then the villages, splendid villas, and beautiful -gardens, with the tall robinias in their new leaves, and covered with -their snow-white masses of flowers, in gay succession;--Lambeth, -Vauxhall, Chelsea, Battersea, Fulham, Putney, Barnes, Chiswick, Kew, -Richmond!--it was a fair and promising scene. - -The people on board were well-dressed. There were some portly, -middle-aged dames, with gold watches at their sides, and clad in richest -silks; and there were some as lovely young ones as London could shew. -You were sure that there were plenty of the very-well-to-do-in-the-world -about you, if there were none of the very refined; substantial -tradespeople, that would have the best the world could procure in -eating, drinking, and dressing. And there was a knot of Germans too; men -with great mustachios and laced coats; and damsels from whose tongues -the strong, homely, expressive German speech seemed to fall wondrous -softly. It was quite an attractive circumstance: for our fair friends, -being just in the fresh fervour of studying “Die Deutche Sprache,” and -reading Faust, imagined every thing in them interesting, and doubtless -fancied them just such characters as Goethe would have drawn much out -of. All seemed promising, when lo! we were at Richmond, and every thing -had been only orderly, cheerful, and nothing more. - -Ah well! this was English decorum on a Sunday; if it were not very -piquant, it was at least, very commendable. We stepped on shore, -lunched, strolled about on the terrace, amid streams of gay people; sat -on one of the seats, and gazed over that vast expanse of rich woodland, -meads, and villas; wandered down the green meadows towards Petersham and -Twickenham, into the woods below the Star-and-Garter, and back to the -packet. And now we were destined to see the character of the common -people on a Sunday jaunt. The moment the packet began to move, it began -to rain, and all the way it rained! rained! rained! The ladies took -refuge in the cabin. What a cabin! There were all the sober, orderly -throng of the morning, metamorphosed by the power of strong drink into a -rackety, roaring, drinking, smoking, insolent, and jammed-together crew. -The cabin was crushing full. The stairs were densely packed with people. -One of the ladies made a precipitate retreat upon deck, and there, with -only the protection of her parasol, stood with the patience of a martyr -and the temper of a saint, all the weary length of the voyage, through -dripping, drenching, never-ceasing rain! The other, with more fear of -her silks and satins, and determined to see what such a crowd _was_, -persisted in staying below. It was an act which only the highest heroism -could have maintained. There was a group taking tea at a side-table, all -well, very well-dressed people, and holding a conversation of such -language! such sentiments! such anecdotes! and accompanied with such -bursts of laughter! at what must have stricken people with any sense of -decency, dumb! And then there were those spruce youths, so modest in the -morning, now drinking pots of porter and smoking cigars. Yes, smoking -cigars, though the laws of the cabin, blazoned aloft, proclaimed--“No -smoking allowed in the cabin!”--Spite of all cabin, or cabinet, or -parliamentary laws, they drank, they smoked, they rolled voluminous -clouds from one to another; and when requested to desist, said--“O, -certainly! It is perfectly insufferable for people to smoke in such -company; they ought to be turned out.” And then all laughed together at -their own wit. The captain was called, and begged to enforce his own -law; and they cried, “O yes, captain! certainly, certainly,” and then -laughed again; and the captain smiled, and withdrew: for what captain -could seriously forbid smoke and drink that were purchased of himself? - -These drapers’ apprentices and shopmen, for such they seemed, gloried in -annoying the whole company; and for this purpose, they placed themselves -by the open window, so that the draft carried the smoke across all the -place. There did but prove to be one real gentleman in the whole troop, -who accommodated the lady with a seat--for not a soul besides would -stir--and said, as he saw her annoyance; for with all her endurance, -this was visible--“Madam, what a hell we have got into!” - -And such, thought I, is a specimen of the populace of the mighty and -enlightened London! Truly the schoolmaster has work enough yet before -him. - - It was a party in a parlour, - Crammed just as they on land are crammed; - Some sipping punch, some sipping tea, - All noisy, and all damned! - -Our fair friends wished to see the character of the common people in -their Sunday recreations, and they saw here a specimen that, I feel -persuaded, will satisfy them for life. One, at least, saw this; for the -other stood stoically silent upon deck, and saw nothing but rain! rain! -rain! O the weary time of that voyage! amid oaths and clamour, vulgarity -in all its shapes of swaggering, or maudlin foolishness, riot of action, -and indecorum of speech, drinking, smoking, crushing, laughing, -swearing,--a confusion carried along the fair Thames, and into the heart -of London, worse than that of Babel, and worthy of Pandemonium. How many -thousands of such Sunday revellers, steeped in drink, and roystering -vulgarity, were pouring into that mighty heart of civilization and -Christian knowledge, at the moment we joyfully skipped up -Westminster-stairs, and thanked heaven that the Goethe experiment was -over. - -What London exhibits on its own great scale, all our populous -manufacturing towns exhibit, each in its own degree. It is curious to -observe from the earliest hour of a Sunday morning, in fine weather, -what groups are pouring out into the country. There are mechanics who, -in their shops and factories,--while they have been caged up by their -imperious necessities during the week, and have only obtained thence -sights of the clear blue sky above, of the green fields laughing far -away, or have only caught the wafting of a refreshing gale on their -fevered cheek as they hurried homeward to a hasty meal, or back again to -the incarceration of Mammon,--have had their souls inflamed with desires -for breaking away into the free country. These have been planning, day -after day, whither they shall go on Sunday. To what distant village; to -what object of attraction. There have come visions of a neat country -alehouse to them; its clean hearth, sanded floor; its capital ale, and -aromatic pipe after a long walk; its pure unadulterated fare, sweet -bread, savoury rashers of bacon, beef steaks and onions, and all with -most mouth-watering odours. Others have seen clear hurrying -trout-streams, or deep still fish-ponds, lying all along wild moors, or -amid tangled woods; and they have determined to be with them. They will -take angle and net; they will strip off clothes, and take the trout with -their hands, from under the grassy banks of their little swift streams. -They will have a dash at the squire’s carp, when he and all his people -are at church. And, in other seasons, mushroom gathering, and nutting, -and all kinds of what is called Sabbath-breaking, come before them with -an unconquerable impetus. For to their minds--neglected, but full of -strong desires and pent-up energies--nature’s delights, wild pursuits, -bodily refreshments, and the enjoyment of one day’s full freedom from -towns, red walls, dry pavements, shops, masters, and even wives and -children, are mixed up into a strange, but wonderfully bewitching -excitement. These are going off, before the world in general is awake, -at four, five, or six o’clock in a morning, in clusters of twos and -threes, sixes and sevens, with long and eager strides, stout sticks in -their hands, and faces set towards the country with a determined -expression of fresh-air hungriness. And there, again, are going the -bird-catchers; two or three of them, with two or three children with -them, perhaps. They have some far-off green lane, or furzy common, or -airy down in their mind, to which they are hastening with their cages, -carried under a piece of green baize, or blinded with a handkerchief. -All the way will they stalk on at a four-mile rate, and these little -lads--the least not more than five years old--will go on trotting after -them, and never think of weariness till all the sport is over, and they -are making their way homeward in the evening. Then shall you see them -dragged along by one of their father’s hands; for the men will not -slacken pace for them, but pull them along with them; and you will see -those little legs go on, trot, trot, trot, till you think they will -actually be worn to the stumps before they reach home. These men and -eager lads you will find in some solitary spot seven or eight miles off, -if you go out so far, seated silently under a tall hedge or old tree, or -in some moorland thicket, watching their apparatus, which is placed at a -distance; their tame bird, of the species they are seeking to take, -chained by its leg to a crossed stick, or a bough thrust into the -ground. There it is, hopping about and chirping in the sunshine; and -around stand cages containing other decoy birds, and other cages ready -to receive the unsuspicious birds, that, attracted by the hopping and -chirping of their captive kinsmen, will presently come and alight near -them, and speedily get entangled in the limed twigs that are disposed -about, or will find the net that is ready spread for them, come swoop -over them. Every person who has walked the streets of London, has seen -the crowds of these little captives, larks, woodlarks, linnets, -goldfinches, nightingales, etc., in the shops, which have been thus -caught on all the great heaths and downs, for twenty miles round the -metropolis, by fowlers, who are nearly always thus employed there. - -Then, again, you see another Sunday class; tradesmen, shopkeepers, and -their assistants and apprentices,--all those who have friends in the -country,--on horseback or in gigs, driving off to spend the day with -those that come occasionally and pay them a visit at markets and fairs. -The faces of these are set for farm and other country-houses within -twenty miles round. There is not a horse or gig to be had for love or -money at any of the livery-stables on a Sunday. These hebdomadal -rusticators,--these good dinner-eaters, fruit-devourers, -curd-and-cream-consumers, pipe-smokers, and loungers in gardens, -garden-arbours, crofts, orchards,--these soi-disant judges of cattle, -crops, dogs, guns, game,--these haunters of country-houses, -complimenters of country beauties, and lovers of good country -fare,--have got them all. Yes, yes, many a pleasant Sunday in the -country do these men spend after their fashion,--none of the worst, if -none of the holiest; and yet they go to the village church too -sometimes, and wonder that so fine a preacher should be hidden in such a -place. Towards nine or ten o’clock in the evening, they will be pouring -back into the town as blithely as they rolled out in the morning, being -now primed with all those good things that lured them away so sharply -after breakfast. - -And, when they were gone, how sunnily and cheerily passed the day in the -town; the merry bells all ringing, the gay people all abroad, streaming -along the smooth pavements to church or chapel, or for the forenoon and -evening promenade, in their fresh and handsome attire. Such troops of -lovely women, such counterpoising numbers of goodly and well-dressed -men: all squalor, and poverty, and trouble, and distress, shrunk -backward into the alleys and dens out of sight; all cares and -tradesmanship shut up in the closed shops and warehouses; and nothing -but ease, leisure, bravery of equipment, and shew of wealth, walking in -the face of the sun, as if there was no reason why they should not walk -there for ever. The very beggars are gone, like swallows in autumn--not -one to be seen, except in the secret rendezvous where they pass one -long day of luxurious idleness. The barrack has sent forth its troop of -soldiers in their rich full-dress. They have marched with sounding music -to the great church, with their usual crowd of boys and idle men after -them. And then, morning, noon, or evening, you have seen a group of -people collect in the market-place, or some open street, that has grown -and grown into a large, dense crowd; and then you have seen a man -suddenly appear, with bare head, and book in hand, in the centre. This -is some field-preacher; one of many hundreds that on this day, in towns, -villages, rural lanes, or on heaths and commons, go out to preach to -them who are too indifferent, or too shabby, to come into a respectable -place of worship. - -We often think how strange it would have been to have lived in the days -of the Reformation, or of the Puritans, when men full of zeal went to -and fro, through the length and breadth of the land, to denounce the -dominant form of religion, and preach repentance and salvation from the -Bible. We have not the opposition and the persecution now, or we should -have just such men and such scenes. There is such freedom for every man -to choose his own mode of worship, and the religiously inclined have so -many modes to choose from, and to associate them with a circle of people -so much after their own hearts, that they have no impulse to seek -further; no, not to seek after those who have no particular desire to be -found; they think it enough that they have chapel-room and open doors -for those who will come. It is chiefly, therefore, the poor that are -left to seek after the poor; that feel it incumbent to “go out into the -highways and hedges and compel them to come in.” The mechanic, who has -been labouring hard all the week in his worldly vocation, now shaves and -washes, and dresses the best he may, and goes forth, fearing not the -sneers and the scorn of the great and learned, of the worldly-wise and -genteel, but comes into the very face of them, and before their gay -windows in the open square; often before the lofty church and majestic -cathedral, whose organ-tones are deeply pealing in his ears. There he -lifts up his homely features, his rudely clipped head; there he lifts up -his horny hand, that has for many a year dealt sturdy strokes to -inanimate matter, and now deals, with tenfold zeal, strokes as hard to -hearts as hard. There he lifts up his voice in no finely modulated or -practised tones, but with earnest pleadings and awful threatenings and -unfoldings of God’s judgments on the wicked and careless; and then, with -as earnest and affectionate expositions of his mercies, arrests, -terrifies, melts, and fills with new sensations and desires the hearts -of his fellows in the lowest regions of human life, who have lived -beyond the sound of heavenly promises, and of God’s love and fear in a -great measure, “because no one cared for their souls.” - -The wise may wonder; the learned may curl the lip of classical pride; -the gay and the happy, who live in splendid houses, and worship in -splendid pews and beneath high and arched roofs, may pass by, and not -even glance on the poor illiterate preacher and his spell-bound -audience; but that man is, after all, a patriot and a scholar; a good -subject of the realm--a good servant of heaven; and will probably effect -more real benefit in one day, than a dozen of us, who think sufficiently -well of our services to the commonwealth, shall effect in all our lives: -and till some comprehensive plan is adopted, by which the Sabbath may -lay all its advantages, all its holy peace, all its knowledge and -heavenly fruition, before every man, woman and child, in this great -empire, he must and shall do what he can to supply the deficiency. With -all his ignorance,--and he has much,--he has learned what is necessary -for the good of his own spirit, and the strength of natural sympathy has -taught him the way to communicate it to the hearts of his fellows. He -knows the language, the style, the tone of sentiment and the species of -argument that the soonest reaches them. He knows their besetments and -their wants, for he has been pursued by the same needs, tainted by the -same corruptions, baptized into the same distresses; he has an -experimental knowledge that no man of another class can have. With all -his extravagance,--and he has much,--he has not half the amount that we -daily see in more dignified places; and for the wildness, the error, the -eccentricity of his doctrines, ah! how much more readily could we match -them in those after whom carriages roll, and the world runs, and on whom -honours and wealth are heaped as an inadequate reward. See there, how he -extends his arms! how he beats the air! how he strains every muscle, and -exerts every fibre of his frame, till the perspiration rolls from his -heated brow; how he thunders, and makes the whole great area ring with -the outbreak of his terrors, his adjurations, and his appeals! And yet, -from the simple table on which he is mounted shall no folly proceed, -that has not its counterpart in the most dignified pulpit, wholly -freed--and that is a world of advantage--from the freezing indifference -that fills thousands with its torpidity. - -For the seamen, London and Liverpool, and other ports, offer their -floating or seamen’s chapels, where they may hear the gospel preached in -a language that goes straight to their hearts and understandings, but -which a landsman would attempt in vain. Like the lower orders in -general, they have a language and an experience of their own, and the -man who preaches to them in another language, and with other imagery, -cannot keep alive their attention, however eloquent, or however learned; -and he who attempts their language without a practical knowledge of -their life, only excites their ridicule. It is even necessary, -occasionally, to accommodate the language of Scripture to their ideas -and experience. A very popular preacher once requested permission to -address the sailors in their floating chapel at Liverpool, and, -attempting seamen’s language, told them that he who secured an interest -in Christ, cast anchor on a rock! At once all eyebrows were elevated in -amazement, and broad grins overspread every face. “Hear him! Hear him!” -they cried, one to another, “he talks of casting anchor _on a rock_!” -Yet there was no uncommon hardness, or propensity to scoffing in these -men; on the contrary, it was admirable to see, when Captain Scoresby, -the well-known northern voyager, addressed them, how they kindled with -interest, and melted down in emotion: when he told them how Christ -preached in a ship, how he loved the mariners of his days, the tears -started from their eyes, and rolled over scores of hardy cheeks that had -faced the fiercest gales, and been tanned by the hottest suns. It was, -and is still, I doubt not, delightful to see such an audience. There was -the smart sailor and his smart lass; others with their wives and -families; and old men who had spent the greatest portion of a long life -on the seas. Such a collection of black and curly heads, of bushy -whiskers, of the thin and white hair of age, of eyes gleaming with youth -and life, or dimmed by the extremity of years!--such an intent and -childlike throng of listeners! all so little accustomed to artifice,--to -conceal or feel shame for their emotions,--that the changes of their -expressions were as rapid and striking as those of the sun and wind on -their own element. There sate some happy fathers, with their children on -their knees, as though they saw so little of them, had found them so -lately, or must leave them so soon, that they could not have them near -enough. There sate strong men, touched to the depth of their hearts by -the pathos of the preacher, leaning against the side of the cabin, and -weeping unrestrained tears, or listening, with lips apart, in breathless -attention; and there sate women, who, when winds and tempests were -mentioned, turned a fond, anxious look to some dear one sitting by them; -and others, who when the voyagers at sea were prayed for, clasped their -hands, and looked to heaven unutterable things. Great must be the -comfort and the blessing of thus bringing Christianity to the knowledge -of our seafaring men. Great has been its effect amongst the fishermen of -Cornwall, as any one may see, who will visit the crowded chapels of St. -Ives, and other places. - -But there is still another class of preachers that may be encountered on -Sundays: the disciples of Irving. None of your simple mechanics, but -gentlemen--gentlemen in appearance, in manners, in education. You will -see such a one pulling out his pocket Bible, in some public situation, -and beginning to address the two or three that happen to stand near. The -singularity of the thing soon attracts others; there begins to be a -moving from all parts towards that spot, till there is at length a large -and dense crowd. There, in the midst of this wondering and promiscuous -circle, in the most cultivated tones, with the most proper action, and -in the purest language, you hear, perhaps, the Honourable and Reverend ----- himself, “dealing damnation round the land;” depicting his audience -in the most fearful colours, as fallen, utterly corrupt, blackened with -every imaginable sin, and wandering blindfold on the very brink of hell. -In the opinion of some of these preachers, all the world is lying in -ignorance and sin; all other preachers of all other creeds are blind -leaders of the blind; to him and his few coadjutors alone has the -mystery of godliness been revealed; “they are the men, and wisdom shall -die with them.” I must confess that to me, this cold Calvinism, this -abusive and declamatory zeal, though coming from very gentlemanly -mouths, is not a thousandth part so attractive as the warm-hearted, -liberal, and affectionate addresses of the illiterate mechanic. Nay, to -me it is excessively repulsive; and I would much rather find myself in -some far-off village, in some green lane, or on the heath, where such -are holding their summer camp-meeting. - - I love the sound of hymns - On some bright Sabbath morning, on the moor - Where all is still save praise; and where hard by - The ripe grain shakes its bright beard in the sun: - The wild bee hums more solemnly: the deep sky; - The fresh green grass, the sun, and sunny brook,-- - All look as if they knew the day, the hour, - And felt with man the need and joy of thanks. - - PHILIP BAILEY’S _Festus_. - -There at least are warmth and enthusiasm; there at least, if there be -extravagance, is also an exhibition of much character, and plenty of the -picturesque. A crowd of rustic people is assembled; a wagon is drawn -thither for a stage, and in it stand men with black skull-caps, or -coloured handkerchiefs tied upon their heads to prevent taking cold -after their violent exertions; men of those grave and massy, or thin, -worn, and sharp features, that tell of strong, rude intellects, or -active and consuming spirits; men in whose bright, quick eyes, or still, -deep gaze, from beneath shaggy brows, you read passions that will -lighten, or a shrewdness that will tell with strong effect. In their -addresses you are continually catching the most picturesque expressions, -the most unlooked-for illustrations,--often the most irresistibly -amusing. I heard one edifying his audience with an account of the apples -of the Dead Sea, gathered most likely, at a tenth transmission, from -Adam Clarke’s Commentaries. “Ay,” said he, “sin is fair to look at, but -foul to taste. It is like those apples that grow by the _Red Sea_. They -are yellow as gold on one side, and rosy-cheeked as a fair maid of a -morning on the other; but bite them,--yes, I say bite them, and they are -full of pepper and mustard!” - -Another was talking of God’s goodness, and applying Christ’s -illustration: “‘If you ask your father for bread, will he give you a -stone?’ Now, my brethren I don’t mean a stone of bread,--Christ didn’t -mean a stone of bread: for, may be, it was not sold by the stone in his -time; and he would not be a bad father neither, that gave you a stone of -bread at a time; but I mean a stone from the road,--a real pebble, as -cold as charity, as bare as the back of my hand, and as hard as the -heart of a sinner.” - -Now, none but those who had known the immense value of a stone of bread -would be likely to think of such a thing, or to guard against such a -mistake. But with such laughable errors, with much ignorance and -outrageous cant, there is often mixed up a rude intellectual strength, -and a freshness of thought that never knew the process of taming and -trammelling called education, and that fears no criticism; and flashes -of poetical light, that please the more for the rudeness of their -accompaniment. There are women, too, that exhort in soft voices and -pathetic tones on such occasions; and, suddenly the crowd will divide -itself into several companies, and go singing to different parts of the -field. Their hymns have a wild vivacity, a metaphoric boldness, and -strange as it may seem, a greater spirituality about them than those of -any other English sect that I have come in contact with. It is well -known that they are set to some of the finest and liveliest, and most -touching song-tunes; and hence, perhaps partly their startling effect; -having divested themselves of that dry and dolorous monotony that hangs -about sectarian hymns in general. They describe the Christian life under -the figure of battles and campaigns, with “Christ their conquering -captain” at their head; as pilgrimages, and night-watches; and hence -their addresses are full of the most vivid imagery. I well remember, in -the dusk of a fine summer evening, the moon hanging in the far western -sky, the dark leaves of the brookside alders rustling in the twilight -air, hearing, from the dim heath where they were holding their -camp-meetings, the wild sound of one of these hymns. It was the dialogue -of a spirit questioning and answering itself in the passage of death and -the entrance into the happy land, and the chorused words of “All is -well!--All is well!” came over the shadowy waste with an unearthly -effect. - -Singing then, such hymns,--but on these occasions chiefly of -supplication or triumph,--they kneel down, each company in a circle; the -leaders pray; and it is curious to see what looks of holy jealousy are -cast from one circle to another, as the voice of one leader predominates -over those of the others by its vehemence, its loudness, or its -eloquence; drawing speedily away all the audience of the less gifted. It -is scarcely now to be expected that we shall ever find a Whitefield, a -Wesley, a Fox, or a Bunyan, on such an occasion, but from the effect of -the enthusiasm, the earnestness, the wild energy and rude eloquence, -that I _have_ seen in a few humble men, I can well imagine, with Lord -Byron, what must be the impression made by one strong mind under the -broad blue sky, and amid the accompanying picturesqueness of scene and -people. - -But let us away into the far, far country! Into the still, pure, -unadulterated country. Ah! here indeed is a Sabbath! What a sunny peace, -what a calm yet glad repose lies on its fair hills; over all its solemn -woods! How its flowery dales, and deep, secluded valleys reflect the -holy tranquillity of heaven! It is morning; and the sun comes up the sky -as if he knew it was a day of universal pause in the workings of the -world; he shines over the glittering dews, and green leaves, and ten -thousand blossoms; and the birds fill the blue fresh air with a rapture -of music. The earth looks new and beautiful as on the day of its -creation; but it is as full of rest as if it drew near to its close--all -its revolutions past, all its turbulence hushed, all its mighty griefs -healed, its mysterious destinies accomplished; and the light of eternity -about to break over it with a new and imperishable power. Man rests from -his labours, and every thing rests with him. There lie the weary steeds -that have dragged the chain, and smarted under the lash--that have -pulled the plough and the ponderous wagon, or flown over hill and dale -at man’s bidding; there they lie, on the slope of the sunny field; and -the very sheep and cattle seem imbued with their luxurious enjoyment of -rest. The farmer has been walking into his fields, looking over this -gate and that fence, into enclosures of grass, mottled with flowers like -a carpet, or rich green corn growing almost visibly; at his cattle and -his flock; and now he comes back with leisurely steps, and enters the -shady quiet of his house. And it _is_ a shady quiet. The sun glances -about its porch, and flickers amongst the leaves on the wall, and the -sparrows chirp, and fly to and fro; but the dog lies and slumbers on -the step of the door, or only raises his head to snap at the flies that -molest him. The very cat, coiled up on a sunbright border in the garden, -sleeps voluptuously:--within, all is cleanness and rest. There is none -of the running and racketing of the busy week-day: the pressing of -curds, and shaping and turning of cheese; the rolling of the -barrel-churn; the scouring of pails; the pumping, and slopping, and -working, and chattering, and singing, and scolding of dairymaids. All -that can be dispensed with, is, and what must be done is done quietly, -and is early away. There is a clean, cool parlour; the open window lets -in the odour of the garden--the yet cool and delicious odour, and the -hum of bees. Flowers stand in their pots in the window; gathered flowers -stand on the breakfast table; and the farmer’s comely wife, already -dressed for the day, as she sees him come in, sits down to pour out his -coffee. Over the croft-gate the labourers are leaning, talking of the -last week’s achievements, and those of the week to come; and in many a -cottage garden the cottagers, with their wives and children, are -wandering up and down, admiring the growth of this and that; and every -one settles in his own mind, that his cabbages, and peas, and beans are -the best in the whole country; and that as for currants, gooseberries, -apricots, and strawberries, there never were such crops since trees and -bushes grew. - -But the bells ring out from the old church tower. The pastor is already -issuing from his pleasant parsonage; groups of peasantry are already -seen streaming over the uplands towards the village. In the lanes, gay -ribbons and Sunday-gowns glance from between the trees, and every house -sends forth its inhabitants to worship. Blessings on those old grey -fabrics, that stand on many a hill and in many a lowly hollow, all over -this beloved country; for much as we reprobate that system of private or -political patronage by which unqualified, unholy, and unchristian men -have sometimes been thrust into their ancient pulpits, I am of Sir -Walter Scott’s opinion, that no places are so congenial to the holy -simplicity of Christian worship as they are. They have an air of -antiquity about them--a shaded sanctity, and stand so venerably amid the -most English scenes, and the tombs of generations of the dead, that we -cannot enter them without having our imaginations and our hearts -powerfully impressed with every feeling and thought that can make us -love our country, and yet feel that it is not our abiding place. Those -antique arches, those low massy doors, were raised in days that are long -gone by; around these walls, nay, beneath our very feet, sleep those -who, in their generations, helped, each in his little sphere, to build -up England to her present pitch of greatness. We catch glimpses of that -deep veneration, of that unambitious simplicity of mind and manner that -we would fain hold fast amid our growing knowledge, and its inevitable -remodelling of the whole framework of society. We are made to feel -earnestly the desire to pluck the spirit of faith, the integrity of -character, and the whole heart of love to kin and country, out of the -ignorance and blind subjection of the past. Therefore is it that I have -always loved the village church, that I have delighted to stroll far -through the summer fields; and hear still onward its bells ringing -happily; to enter and sit down amongst its rustic congregation,--better -pleased with their murmur of responses, and their artless but earnest -chant, than with all the splendour and parade of more lofty fabrics. -Therefore is it that I long to see the people rescued from the thraldom -of aristocratic patronage, that they may select at their own will, the -pious and pure hearted to fill every pulpit in the land, and station in -every parish a lover of God, a lover of the country, and a lover of the -poor. - -But Sunday morning is past: the afternoon is rolling away; but it shall -not roll away without its dower of happiness shed on every down, and -into every beautiful vale of this fair kingdom. Closed are the doors of -the church, but opened are those of thousands and tens of thousands of -dwellings to receive friends and kindred. And around the pleasant -tea-table, happy groups are gathering in each other’s houses, freed from -the clinging, pressing, enslaving cares of the six days; and sweetly, -and full of renewing strength to the heart, does the evening there roll -away. And does it not roll as sweetly where, by many a cottage-door, the -aged grandfather and grandmother sit with two generations about them, -and bask in another glorious Sabbath sunset? And is it not sweet where -friends stroll through the delicious fields, in high or cheerful talk; -along the green lane, or broom-engoldened hill-side; or down into the -woodland valley, where the waters run clear and chimingly, amid the -dipping grass and the brooklime; and the yellow beams of the descending -sun glance serenely amongst the trees? And is it not sweet where, on -some sequestered stile, sit two happy lovers, or where they stray along -some twilight path, and the woodbine and the wild-rose are drooping -their flowery boughs over them, while earth and heaven, supremely lovely -in themselves, take new and divine hues from their own passionate -spirits; and youth and truth are theirs: the present is theirs in love, -the future is theirs in high confidence: all that makes glorious the -life of angels is theirs for the time. Yes! all through the breadth of -this great land,--through its cities, its villages, its fair fields, its -liberated millions are walking in the eye of heaven, drinking in its -sublime calm, refreshed by its gales, soothed by the peaceful beauty of -the earth. There is a pause of profound, holy tranquillity, in which -twilight drops down upon innumerable roofs, and prayers ascend from -countless hearths in city and in field, on heath and mountain,--and -then, ’tis gone; and the Sabbath is ended. - -But blessings, and ten thousand blessings be upon that day; and let -myriads of thanks stream up to the Throne of God, for this divine and -regenerating gift to man. As I have sate in some flowery dale, with the -sweetness of May around me, on a week-day, I have thought of all the -millions of immortal creatures toiling for their daily life in factories -and shops, amid the whirl of machinery and the greedy cravings of -mercantile gain, and suddenly this golden interval of time has lain -before me in all its brightness,--a time, and a perpetually recurring -time, in which the iron grasp of earthly tyranny is loosed, and Peace, -Faith, and Freedom, the angels of God, come down and walk once more -amongst men! - -Ten thousand blessings on this day, the friend of man and beast. The -bigot would rob it of its healthful freedom, on the one hand, and coop -man up in his work-a-day dungeons, and cause him to walk with downcast -eyes and demure steps; and the libertine would desecrate all its sober -decorum on the other. God, and the sound heart and sterling sense of -Englishmen, preserve it from both these evils! Let us still avoid -Puritan rigidity, and French dissipation. Let our children and our -servants, and those who toil for us in vaults, and shops, and -factories, between the intervals of solemn worship have freedom to walk -in the face of heaven and the beauty of earth, for in the great temple -of nature stand together, Health and Piety. For myself, I speak from -experience, it has always been my delight to go out on a Sunday, and -like Isaac, meditate in the fields, and especially, in the sweet -tranquillity and amid the gathering shadows of evening; and never in -temple or in closet, did more hallowed influences fall upon my heart. -With the twilight and the hush of earth, a tenderness has stolen upon -me; a desire for every thing pure and holy; a love for every creature on -which God has stamped the wonder of his handiwork; but especially for -every child of humanity; and then have I been made to feel that there is -no Oratory like that which has heaven itself for its roof, and no -teaching like the teaching of the SPIRIT which created, and still -overshadows the world with its Infinite wings. - -[Illustration] - - -CHAPTER XV. - -CHEAP PLEASURES OF COUNTRY LIFE. - -To the real lover of the country there needs no great events, no -exciting circumstances to effect his happiness. The freshness of the -country, and the profoundness of its quiet, are to him full of -happiness. The whole round of the seasons, the passage of every day, the -still walk amongst fields and woods, and by running waters, are to him -sources of perpetual pleasures. When “the winter is over and gone,” he -sees with joy the increased light amongst the breaking clouds and -dispersing fogs; he feels with delight the milder temperature; he passes -by, and observes the first bursting from the warm southern banks of -green, luxuriant plants,--the arum, the mercury, the crisp chervil, the -wrinkled leaves of the primrose, the blossomed branch of the apricot and -peach on the sunny walls of the cottage, and the almond in the garden -and shrubbery, like a tree of rosy sunshine, ere a leaf is yet seen; -these things he sees with a feeling that has more true delight in it -than ever was known to city drawing-room or palace. To me, the most -ordinary walk in the country is, and always has been a luxury. I -remember what joy these things gave me when a boy, and now they give me -again a boy’s heart. I remember the enjoyment I experienced, when an old -sportsman used to take his gun on his arm on a Saturday afternoon, when -my village school made holiday, and led me up long lanes, between high -mossy banks, where the little runnels come rushing and chiming along, -between high, overhanging hedges; and through wide, still, shady woods; -and across fields deep with greenest grass, and bright with sunshine, -and all the glory of spring; and everywhere pointed out to me the nests -of birds, each built in its peculiar situation; the robin and the -yellow-hammer on the bank; blackbirds and throstles in the hedges, or -under the roots of some old tree overhanging a stream, or set amongst -the boughs of the young fir-trees in the plantations. I remember how I -used to delight in the depth of rich grass and flowery weeds in the open -fields and along the sunshiny hedges; in the hedges themselves, all clad -in their young leaves, sprinkled with glittering morning dews, and -perhaps waving with the utmost prodigality of hawthorn bloom. I remember -too, with what earnest delight I used to gaze on the bushes of the -wild-rose briar, and admire the singular beauty of its finely-cut and -emerald-green leaves, amongst which the whitethroat framed its gauzy -nest. All this I remember: and while I think of it, I seem to hear the -lark singing in the clear air above me, as he used to do, with a - - Joy we never can come near: - -and I now see more clearly what it was that produced such an effect -upon me. It was that beauty, that wide-spreading, cheering, -heart-strengthening beauty--which God hath showered on the face of the -earth, to make us feel his presence in his works; and to learn to love -him as we go along the most solitary paths, and to rejoice in his -goodness, where the world comes not between us and the perception of it. -It was that beauty, which is indeed a revelation from heaven, that then -made itself felt in my young heart, and has only grown more dear to me -every year and every day, and I trust has not been wanting of all that -good effect which it is intended it should produce, by weaning us from -worldly pleasures, by bringing us to feel habitually the presence of -love, and providence, and divine purity, as we go along in solitude and -thought; in short, in keeping alive in our hearts the freshness of their -feelings and the strength of their better hopes. All this I remember, -and it is like the light of a perpetual summer morning in the far-off -horizon of memory; and I say, all these delicious feelings have gone -with me through life, and do, and will, go with all those who love -nature with a filial love. - -The first glimpses of spring have in our eyes and hearts an -indescribable charm. There is a freshness and a mellowness in the earth -then, after the frosts and rains of winter, that give a beauty to it -that it possesses at no other period of the year. I never see it, and -smell the odour of the upturned soil, without seeming to feel renewed -our ancient kinship with the earth whence we sprung, which gives us such -manifold blessings all our natural lives, and takes us to its peaceful -bosom when we lie down wearied, wasted, and heart-worn. When the -labourer cuts his ditches, and piles up his banks anew, there is a -beauty in the dark, clear, smooth earth, which his spade cleaves so -shiningly. As the children of the village hunt over the steep banks for -violets or snail-shells, or the early robin’s nest, your eye is made -conscious of the beauty of those banks, with their crumbling mould and -springing plants. As the drainer cuts his drain in the greensward of the -meadows; as the ploughman turns up the broad lea, all is rich and -beautiful. And then, as the hedges and trees clothe themselves in their -new and delicate foliage; as the winds come singing sonorously; as the -grass and flowers spring beneath your feet; as April now smiles out -joyously and bright, and now broods still and beneficent, with a gloom -in its sky so unlike the gloom of autumn or winter--a gloom casting a -dark shade on the distant landscape, while, in other quarters, the light -comes bursting and gushing through the thinner places of the clouds; and -fields lie hushed amid light mists, and scattered with a silvery dew in -such a living, prolific greenness, that you feel that the birth of -millions of flowers is rapidly maturing; that violets _must_ be -springing in legions along the hedges and in the copses; and that the -old, yellow English daffodil is nodding in tufts in village crofts, and -over the margins of mossy wells. - -At such times, so deeply do we feel the entrancing influence of spring, -that we cannot help breaking out into an affectionate apostrophe in -praise of her: - - All sadness from my heart is gone-- - All sadness, and all fears, - Till I forget that thou art one - Who metest out our years. - -And then, when May comes in, and we walk abroad some fine, sunshiny, -breezy, yet balmy day,--balmy in hollows and dells, and along southern -uplands; fresh blowing on the ridges of the downs--breezy in the forest -glades; and hear the ringing notes of the blackbird and thrush, and the -lark calling to high heaven itself in uncontrolable joy; and see -peasants out in fields and gardens, women, from the lady of the hall to -the dame of the cottage, drawn out to be genial lookers-on, and -directors in the renewal of flower-borders, in the sowing of seeds and -planting of shrubs; and see old men sitting on stone or wooden benches -on the warm side of the house, or leading some little child by the hand -down the lane,--two links come strangely together, from the extremities -of the chain of human life; one not having yet arrived at the troubles -of humanity, the other past them; yet what a wide, dark care-land lying -between them!--to see groups of children scattered here and there over -the happy fields, tracing the hedge-sides, or the clear streams, or -running to secure the first cowslips, while their clear voices come -ringing from the distant steeps and hill-tops, why--there is happiness -to the nature-loving and man-loving spirit, that is as far beyond the -power of human expression, as God’s goodness is beyond mortal -comprehension. - -There is a season of early spring marked by a succession of flowers that -has something in it to me more tenderly poetical than any other part of -the year. It is that between the appearance of the snowdrop and the -cowslip, with all the intermediate links of the crocus, the violet, the -primrose, the anemone, and the bluebell. They have, in themselves, such -delicate grace, and are surrounded in our minds by so many poetical -associations, and they mark the fleet passing of a period of so much -anticipation, that they are seen with a delight at their re-appearance, -and a regret that they must so soon be gone by. Then, too, they have the -world almost all to themselves. They are the few beloved children of the -early time. All their more gorgeous and joyous kindred are still -slumbering in the earth. They come forth and salute us amid the naked -landscape, amid wild, chill winds and beating rain. When the cowslip -disappears it is no longer so; all is greenness and sunshine; a thousand -blossoms hang on the forest bough, or flutter on the earth; and the -delicacy of our perceptions is lost in the profusion of beauty. - -But then, in that calmer season, when May has put on all its wealth and -splendour; when the fields are deep with grass, and golden and purple -with flowers; when the hawthorn is a miracle of beauty and sweetness, -perfuming the whole air, what paradises of delight are gardens--warm, -flowery, odorous--happy with the hum of bees: and old orchards, where -you may witness what Coleridge so feelingly describes in a noble -blank-verse letter to his brother:-- - - As now, on some delicious eve, - We in our sweet sequestered orchard plot - Sit on the tree crooked earthward; whose old boughs, - That hang above us in an arborous roof, - Stirred by the faint gale of departing May, - Send their loose blossoms slanting o’er our heads! - -And thus it is through every season. In June and July, the glow and -perpetual beauty of the country; the abundance of grass and flowers; the -charm of river sides, of angling in woodland streams; the magnificence -of thunder-storms; the breaking out of coolness and freshness after -them; the delights of running waters; bathing and sailing; the fragrance -of fields and gardens; the beauty of summer moonlight; the picturesque -cheerfulness of hay-harvest; the enjoyment of rich mountain scenery; -rambling amongst the brightness of morning dews, along valleys, past the -outstretched feet of heathy hills; lying on some moorland slope -conscious of all the singular hush and glow of noon; watching all the -varying lights and hues, listening to the varied sounds of evening in -glens, now basking in the yellow calm sunshine, now deep in gloom; amid -towering crags, by the dash of waters, or on some airy ridge that -catches the last glow of heaven, taking in a vast stretch of scenes that -defy alike the power of pen and pencil. - - Ah! slowly sink - Behind the western ridge, thou glorious sun! - Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, - Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds! - Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves! - And kindle, thou blue ocean! So my friend - Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, - Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round - On the wild landscape, gaze till all doth seem - Less gross than bodily; a living thing - Which acts upon the mind, and with such hues - As clothe the Almighty Spirit when he makes - Spirits perceive his presence. - - _Coleridge._ - -And then the corn-harvest, with all its happy human groups, and rich -colours; the calm, steady splendour of autumn days; the deepening -silence of the decaying year, its returning storms and pictorial tints; -the very gloom and awfulness with which the year retreats, sending the -spirit inwards. In all these scenes and changes, the soul of the lover -of Nature luxuriates; and even finds beauty and strength in the stern -visitations of winter. He goes with Nature in all her rounds, and -rejoices with her in all. There needs for him no great event, no -combination of stirring circumstances; it is not even necessary to him -that he be poet, or painter, or sportsman; if he have not the skill or -faculty of any, he has the spirit of all. For him there are spread out -in earth and heaven, pictures such as never graced the galleries of art. -He sees splendours, and scenes painted by the hand of the Almighty, for -whose faintest imitations the connoisseur would pay the price of an -estate. To him every landscape presents beauty; to him every gale -breathes pleasure; and every change of scene or season is a new -unfolding of enjoyment. He knows nothing of the heart-burnings and -jealousies which infest crowded places. He is not saddened by the sight -of wickedness, or the experience of ingratitude and deceit. He is exempt -from the _ennui_ of polished society; the sneers of its unkindly -criticism; and the hollowness of its professions. He converses with the -Great Spirit which lives through the universe, and fills the hearts that -open to its influence with purity, humanity, the sweetest sympathies, -the most holy desires; and overshadows them with that profound peace and -that inward satisfaction, which are themselves the most substantial -happiness. - -That these are no vain imaginations, but positive realities, scattered -abroad for universal acceptance as much as the blessings of air and -sunshine, we have only to open the works of our best writers to be -convinced of;--to see how the expression of their happiness breaks from -them continually. It is this overflowing and irrepressible gladness of a -heart resting on nature which gives such a charm to the writings of -White and Evelyn, and good old Izaak Walton. And the poets--they are -full of it. Listen to them, and then consider the nobility of their -views, and the lofty purity of their souls, and then admit the power and -depth of that influence which lives in Nature and speaks in -Christianity. - - So shalt thou see and hear - The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible - Of that eternal language which thy God - Utters; who from eternity doth teach - Himself in all, and all things in himself. - Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,-- - Whether the summer clothe the genial earth - With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing - Betwixt the turfs of snow in the bare branch - Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch - Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall, - Heard only in the traces of the blast; - Or if the secret ministry of frost - Shall hang them up in silent icicles, - Quietly shining to the quiet moon. - - _Coleridge._ - -And for the cordial, substantial, heart-filling contentment which is -gathered from the quietness of rural life, hear what Sir Henry Wotton, a -most accomplished man, who had seen much of court life, both at home and -abroad, says, - - Would the world now adopt me for her heir; - Would beauty’s queen entitle me the fair; - Fame speak me Fortune’s minion; could I vie - Angels[31] with India; with a speaking eye, - Command bare heads, bowed knees; strike justice dumb. - As well as blind and lame; or give a tongue - To stones by epitaphs; be called “great master” - In the loose rhymes of every poetaster-- - Could I be more than any man that lives, - Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives; - Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, - Than ever fortune would have made them mine; - And hold one minute of this holy leisure - Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. - - Welcome pure thoughts! welcome ye silent groves! - These guests, these courts my soul most dearly loves. - Now the winged people of the sky shall sing - My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring; - A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, - In which I will adore sweet virtue’s face. - Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, - No broken vows dwell here, no pale-faced fears; - Then here I’ll sit, and sigh my hot love’s folly, - And learn to affect a holy melancholy: - And if contentment be a stranger then, - I’ll ne’er look for it but in heaven again. - - [31] Piece of money value ten shillings. - -Such are the pleasures that lie in the path of the lover of the country; -pleasures like the blessings of the Gospel, to be had without money, and -without price. There are many, no doubt, who will deem them dull and -insignificant; but the peace which they bring “passeth understanding,” -and we can make a triumphant appeal from the frivolous and the -dissipated, to the wise and noble of every country and age. - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -LINGERING CUSTOMS. - - Many precious rites - And customs of our rural ancestry - Are gone, or stealing from us. - - _Wordsworth._ - - -How rapidly is the fashion of the ancient rural life of England -disappearing! Every one who lived in the country in his youth, and looks -back to that period now, feels how much is lost! How many of the -beautiful old customs, the hearty old customs, the poetical old customs, -are gone! Modern ambition, modern wealth, modern notions of social -proprieties, modern education, are all hewing at the root of the -poetical and picturesque, the simple and cordial in rural life; and what -are they substituting in their stead? We will endeavour, anon, to shew -what they are doing, and what they are leaving undone; just now let us -try to seize on the fluttering apparition of primitive custom, and bid -it a hearty good-bye, before it is gone for ever. I have, in another -place, shewn how all the more fanciful and refined of our village festal -habits have vanished. The May-day dances, and gathering of -May-branches--the scattering of flowers on holiday occasions in village -streets, and about our houses. Even the planting of flowers about the -graves in our village churchyards, once so common in England, is now -rarely to be seen. Camden in his Britannia, and John Evelyn mention that -it was the custom of their times in Surrey, but who in Surrey sees -anything of the kind now?[32] You may meet with a solitary shrub, or -with graves bound down with withes and briars; but nothing of that -general planting of flowering shrubs which you see in Wales. It is the -fate of champaign countries, to have their rustic customs sooner -obliterated than those of mountain regions. The Scotch still retain -their penny-weddings and Halloweens, the Welsh their singular wedding -customs, and funeral customs as singular; but how wonderfully have the -simple customs on these occasions of our English hamlets dwindled in our -days! Washington Irving, in an interesting paper in the Sketch-Book, -speaks of a practice in some villages of hanging up in the churches at -the funeral of a maiden, gloves and garlands cut in paper. In what -church is that done now-a-days? And yet, though I never saw a funeral in -which so beautiful and appropriate a practice was retained, I well -recollect seeing those gloves and garlands hanging in the church of my -native village in Derbyshire; and I have heard my mother say, that in -her younger days she has helped to cut and prepare them for the funeral -of young women of the place. The garlands were originally of actual -flowers--lilies and roses--and the gloves of white kid. For these had -become substituted simple white paper. There was a garland then, of -imitative roses and lilies wreathed round a bow of peeled willow--a pair -of gloves cut in paper, and a white handkerchief of the same material on -which was written some texts of Scripture, or some stanzas of poetry -applicable to the occasion, and to the hope of immortality in the -deceased; and these were not unfrequently chosen for the purpose by the -dying maiden herself. These emblems of purity and evanescent youth were -laid on the coffin during the funeral procession, as the sword and cap -of the soldier on his, and were then suspended in the body of the -church; and there hung, till they fell through time, or till all who had -an interest in the deceased were dead or departed. In all the village -churches into which I have been in various parts of the kingdom, I do -not recollect seeing any of those maiden trophies, except in this one; -and they, on the coming of a new incumbent, were removed in a general -church-cleaning many years ago. - - [32] In John Evelyn’s own churchyard at Wootten, there is now not the - least trace of this beautiful custom. - -And yet, where is it that our old customs, and the impress of past times -and generations, linger so strongly as about our village churches in -England! Entering one of them in some retired district on a Sunday, you -seem to step back into a past age. The quaint old place--its rude and -ancient pillars and arches--its oaken pews and pulpit, grown almost -black with years; the massy font, the grim, grotesque human heads for -corbels, every one differing from the other, where the mason seems to -have indulged his humorous fancy without regard to the sacred character -of the house in which they were to figure--the contrasting, though often -faded splendour of the squire’s pew; the heavy tombs, with procumbent -effigies of knight and dame--the mural tablets to the memory of departed -rectors; the hatchment in sign of some once important personage gone to -his long home--and the half-worn stones on which you tread, - - Where many a holy text around is strewn, - To teach the rustic moralist to die. - -And then, the simple congregation! All in their best attire, in cut and -texture guiltless of modern fashion: the clergyman, who with the air of -a gentleman, has probably caught somewhat of the Doric air of the -region; and the old clerk with his long coat, and long hair combed over -his shoulders, doling out his responses with a peculiar twang, to which -an ancient parish clerk can only attain. Then the little music-loft, -with its musicians, consisting of a bass-viol, a bassoon, and hautboy, -and the whole congregation singing with all their heart and soul. These -are remnants of antiquity that are nowhere else to be found. There is a -paper in Blackwood’s Magazine for April 1838, called “Church Music and -other Parochials,” which gives you a picture of things which everybody -who has gone to a thoroughly old-fashioned country church has seen over -and over. The old clerk, the writer says, always reads Cheberims and -Sepherims, and most unequivocally--“I am a Lion to my mother’s -children,” and truly he sometimes looks not unlike one: and when told by -the clergyman that he must take him to task to teach him to read and -give the responses differently, he replies--“Why, sir, if I must read -just like you there wouldn’t be a bit of difference between us.” - -Such is the peculiar elocution of the true old parish clerk, that even a -dog is sensible of it. I wandered into a rustic church where I -accidentally saw the congregation collecting, having at my heels a -little favourite spaniel. The church stood in the middle of a field at -some distance from the hamlet, and I did not see where to secure the dog -during the service; I therefore trusted to his general good behaviour, -and made him lie down under the seat. Here he slept very quietly for -some time; but at the very first sound of the clerk’s voice, which was -of the genuine traditional tone, up he jumped and began to bark most -vociferously. I kicked him with my heel; menaced him with look and hand; -set my foot on him; held his mouth--but all was in vain. While the -clergyman, who, I must confess, shewed great forbearance, perceiving -that I was a stranger, and who moreover betrayed by a suppressed smile -that he also perceived the true cause of the dog’s irritation, was -reading the lessons, the dog was perfectly still; again the clerk said, -“amen,” and again up started Fido and barked as loud as ever. The case -was hopeless--nothing remained but to retire. - -In some of these rustic temples you sometimes see things that would -electrify a city audience with surprise. I once saw a venerable -clergyman on the edge of Yorkshire perpetrate a pun in the midst of the -service with all gravity. As he was reading the morning lessons, a -fellow who had probably been a little elated over-night, or not -_im_probably the same morning, suddenly cried out--“Arise and -shine!”--The rector paused and said, “Who was that?” “It was Joseph -Twigg, sir,” responded some one. “Then _twig_ him out!” rejoined the -rector, as glibly and yet as gravely as possible. A smile, and indeed a -general display of open mouths and grinning teeth appeared in his -congregation--but Joseph Twigg was twigged out, and the rector went on. - -Around these old buildings cling all the ancient superstitions. They are -as much haunted as ever. They are as prolific of stories of ghosts and -apparitions as ever. There are yet young people who go and watch in -those old porches on St. Mark’s-eve to see whom they shall marry, and -will sow hempseed backward at midnight round the whole church for the -same purpose. In many parts of the country none will be buried on the -north side of the church; and accordingly that side of the churchyard is -commonly one unbroken level of greensward, although all the rest be -crowded to excess with graves. The north side of the church, by -immemorial custom, is the allotted portion of the suicide and the -outcast. Accordingly, in many churchyards, that part is purposely very -small. It is in many so little visited, that it is a wilderness, grown -in summer breast-high with mallows, nettles, chervil, elder bushes, - - Hemlocks and darnels dank. - -The writer of the article in Blackwood’s Magazine just mentioned, says, -“I have often tried to make out the exact ideas the poor people have of -angels--for they talk a great deal about them. The best that I can make -of it is, that they are children, or children’s heads and shoulders -winged, as represented in church paintings, and in plaster-of-Paris on -ceilings. We have a goodly row of them all the length of one ceiling, -and it cost the parish, or rather the then minister, I believe, who -indulged them, no trifle to have the eyes blacked, and nostrils, and a -touch of light red in the cheeks. It is notorious and scriptural, they -think, that the _body_ dies, but nothing being said about the head and -shoulders, they have a sort of belief that they are preserved to -angels--which are no other than dead young children.” There is no doubt -that nearly all the idea which many country people possess of cherubims -and angels is derived from these plaster heads, or from those cherubims -with full-blown cheeks and gilded wings, and those gilded angels with -long trumpets depicted on gravestones. Ministers preach about angels and -spirits as things which everybody comprehends, but which they have no -actual conception of, only as they see them represented by the chisels -and gold-leaf of country masons; and the story of the country fellow who -had shot an owl, and was thus accosted by his wife--“Don’t thee know -what thee hast done? Why, thee hast killed one of ar parson’s -cherabums!” is not so _outré_ as it might appear to many. - -But we must leave these superstitions to the winter fireside of the -hamlet. More of the old customs connected with funerals than with any -other events, remain in primitive districts. In Derbyshire, when the -body is laid out, the nurse who attended the deceased, and has performed -this last office, goes round to “bid to the berrin” (funeral). The names -of the parties to be invited are given to her, and away she trudges -from house to house, over hill and dale, sometimes to a considerable -distance. She delivers her message, and names the day and hour. -Refreshments are forthwith set before her. However she may protest that -she wants nothing--can eat nothing--out come, at least, the sweet loaf, -and currant or ginger wine. The family gathers round as she sits, to -hear all particulars of the illness; how it came on; what doctor was -employed; all the progress of the complaint; which leads probably to -whole histories of similar illnesses which _they_ have known,--all the -sayings of the deceased; the end he made, which is generally described -by saying, “he died like a lamb!”--“What sort of a corpse is it?” which -generally is answered by the information, that “he looks just like -himself for all the world--with a most heavenly smile on his -countenance.” All these matters are drunk in with great interest, and -with many solemn wishes that they may all make as comfortable an end. -Some trifle, sixpence or thereabout, is given to the nurse, and on she -trudges to the next place. There is no doubt but that the death of an -individual in one of these rustic places is felt ten times as much by -his acquaintance as that of a citizen by his. The bustle of persons and -events in city life so break down the force of the event, and so much -sooner elbow it out of mind. In the country, the moment a passing bell -is heard to toll, you see every individual all attention; every one -cries “hush.” They stand in the attitude of profound listeners. The -bell, by some signals which they all understand, proclaims to them the -sex, and married or single state of the deceased, and then counts out -his or her age.[33] Having ascertained these particulars, they begin to -speculate, for they already know everybody that is ill in the parish, -and thus generally discover pretty certainly before any other -intelligence reaches them, whose bell it is. That bell is sufficient -text for the discourse of the day. They run over all the biography of -the individual, and bring up many an anecdote of him and his -cotemporaries, which had long slept in their minds. When those invited -to the funeral arrive, a substantial meal is often given, followed by -wine and cake: and besides the customary distribution of scarfs, -hatbands and gloves, a packet of sponge-cake made on purpose, of a -prescriptive size and shape, and called “berrin-cake,” is delivered to -every one before the setting out of the funeral, to take home with him, -wrapped in fine writing paper, and sealed with black wax. Nothing can be -more solemn than the behaviour of all the spectators as the train passes -along the road, all passengers stopping till the funeral is gone by; all -taking off their hats, and watching its onward course in silence. In -some places the old custom of chanting a psalm as they proceed towards -the churchyard is still kept up, and nothing can be more impressive than -the effect of that chant, as it comes mingled with the solemn tolling of -the bell over some neighbouring hill, or along a quiet valley, of a -summer’s evening. When the train reaches the churchyard-gate, it halts, -and if the clergyman be not ready to receive it, the coffin is sometimes -set down upon trestles or chairs, and the company waits till the -clergyman appears. It seems to be looked upon as an established mark of -respect for the clergyman to meet the funeral at the gate, and it is -beautiful to see the serious and unhurried manner in which the country -clergyman of the more pure and primitive districts goes forth to receive -the dead to its resting-place, repeating aloud as he precedes the -funeral to the church, a portion of the service for the occasion. - - [33] The fourme of the Trinity was founden in manne, that was Adam our - forefadir, of earth oon personne, and Eve, of Adam, the secunde - persone; and of them both was the third persone. At the deth of a - manne three bellis shulde be ronge, as his knyll, in worscheppe of the - Trinetie; and for a womanne, who was the secunde persone of the - Trinetee, two bellis should be rungen.--_Ancient Homily._ - -The funeral of the young in the country has something particularly -striking in it--the coffin being borne by six of the deceased’s own age. -That of a young girl is more particularly so--the coffin being covered -with a white pall, the six bearers being dressed in white with white -hoods, the chief mourners in black with black hoods. - -Nothing can, in fact, be more widely different in feeling and effect -than town and country funerals. In town a strange corpse passes along, -amid thousands of strangers, and human nature seems shorn of that -interest which it ought, especially in its last stage, to possess. In -the country, every man, woman, and child goes down to the dust amid -those who have known them from their youth, and all miss them from their -place. Nature seems, in its silence to sympathise with the mourners. -The green mound of the rural churchyard opens to receive the slumberer -to a peaceful resting-place, and the yews or lindens which he climbed -when a boy in pursuit of bird’s-nest, moth, or cockchaffer, overshadow, -as it were, with a kindred feeling his grave. - -The custom of strewing flowers before the houses at weddings, and on -other occasions of rejoicing, is now nearly gone out, but at Knutsford -in Cheshire, and probably at some few other places, they have a practice -which seems to have sprung out of it. On all joyful occasions they -sprinkle the ground before the houses of all those who are supposed to -sympathise in the gladness, with red sand, and then taking a funnel, -filled with white sand, sprinkle a pattern of flowers on the red ground. -At weddings this is generally accompanied with a stanza or two of -traditionary verse. As - - Long may they live, - Happy may they be, - Blest with content, - And from misfortune free. - Long may they live, - Happy may they be; - And blest with a numerous - Pro-ge-ny. - -In the north of England a curious practice prevails the first time a -young child is sent out with the nurse. At every house of the parents’ -friends, where the nurse calls, it receives an egg and some salt; and in -Northumberland it is so general, that they carry a basket for the -purpose. The child of a friend of ours received from an old lady from -the north, an egg, a penny loaf, and a bunch of matches. The meaning of -which let the wise interpret as they can. - -Such customs linger northward more tenaciously than in the south, and -are even too numerous for record here. In various northern counties, -particularly Lancashire, Westmoreland, and Cumberland, they keep up the -ancient practice of rush-bearing; but instead of carrying rushes to -strew the church floor, as their ancestors did, who had no other floor -to the church, they now chiefly retain the gay garland of flowers -carried by young women, and accompanied by the rustic minstrels. In -Lancashire and Cheshire they still eat Simnel cake on Mid-lent Sunday, -that is, a particular saffron cake, called after Lambert Simnel, who was -a baker, and is supposed to have been famous for it. They _ride -stang_,[34] that is, set a scolding wife on a lean old horse, with the -face to the tail, and parade her through the village with a tremendous -clamour of frying pans, and other noise. They hang bushes at each -others’ doors on May morning which are expressive of each others’ -characters. A sort of language _des arbres_ established by antiquity, -expressing either compliment or sincere criticism, as it may be. A -branch of birch signifies a pretty girl; of alder or owler, as they call -it, a scold; of oak, a good woman; of broom, a good housewife: but -gorse, nettles, sawdust, or sycamore, cast the very worst imputations on -a woman’s character, and vary according as she be girl, wife or widow. -These are, it is said, not seldom used by the malicious to blast the -character of the innocent. The girls wear little bags of dragon’s-blood -upon their hearts to inspire their swains with love. They curtsey to the -new moon and turn the money in their pockets, which _ought_ to be -doubled before the moon is old. They shut their eyes when they see a -pie-ball horse, and wish a secret wish, taking care never to see the -same horse again, or it would spoil the charm. With them the dog-rose is -unlucky; if you give one, you will quarrel with the person, however dear -to you; if you form a design near one it will come to nought. A shooting -star is falling love in their eyes; and in their opinion the foxglove is -not like other flowers, it has knowledge; it knows when a spirit passes, -and always bows the head. They have, therefore, a secret awe of it. They -are careful to have money in their pockets when they hear the first note -of the cuckoo, for they will be rich or poor through the year -accordingly. They believe also that whatever they chance to be doing -when they first hear the cuckoo, they will do all the year. They have -the firmest faith that no person can die on a bed in which are the -feathers of pigeons or any wild birds. Such are some of the simple -chains with which ancient superstition bound the minds of our ancestors, -and which education has not yet quite worn asunder. - - [34] A stang means a pole, and probably the old custom was to use a - pole instead of a horse. - -There is, however, one good custom which the present age has rapidly -obliterated--that of leaving open the country churchyard. In towns, -there is perhaps less attraction to a churchyard in the mass of strange -corpses which are there congregated, and the wilderness of bare flags -which cover them; and there may be more cause for the vigilant -prevention of the violation of the sanctity and decorum of the spot. But -why must the country churchyard be shut up? Why should that generally -picturesque and quiet place be prohibited to the stranger or the -mourner? Some of the churchyards in these kingdoms are amongst the most -romantic and lovely spots within them. What ancient, quiet, delicious -spots have I seen of this kind amongst our mountains, and upon our -coasts! What prospects, landward and seaward, do some of them give! How -sweetly lies the rustic parsonage often along their side; its shrubbery -lawn scarcely separated from the sacred ground. Why should these be -closed? “There have been depredations,” say the authorities. Then let -the beadle see to it; let the offenders be punished; let the parish -school and the minister teach better manners; but let these haunts of -the sad or the meditative, be open to our feet as they were to those of -our fathers. I must confess that I strongly sympathise with my brother, -Richard Howitt, in the feelings expressed in Tait’s Magazine for June -1836. “The yew trees, which adorned, with a solemn gracefulness, the -churchyard of my native place, are cut down; the footpaths across it are -closed; the walls are raised; for stiles, there are gates locked, and -topped with iron spikes. A wider barrier than death is interposed -betwixt the living and the dead. I must confess that I like it not. Why -should man destroy the sanctities of time and nature? Beautiful is the -picture drawn by Crabbe:-- - - Yes! there are real mourners. I have seen - A fair, sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene; - Attention through the day her duties claimed, - And to be useful as resigned she aimed. - Neatly she dressed, nor vainly seemed to expect - Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect; - But when her wearied parents sank to sleep, - She sought her place to meditate and weep. - - * * * * * * - - She placed a decent stone his grave above, - Neatly engraved--an offering of her love: - For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed, - Awake alike to duty and the dead. - - * * * * * * - - Here will she come, and on the grave will sit, - Folding her arms in long abstracted fit; - But if observer pass will take her round, - And careless seem, for she would not be found. - -“Where is now the free and uninterrupted admission for such mourners? -Grief is a retiring creature, who ‘would not be found,’ and will not -knock at the door of the constituted authorities for the keys: she will -look lingeringly at the impassable barriers and retire. Easy of access -were churchyards until lately, with their pleasant footpaths, lying, -with the tranquillity of moonlight, in the bosom of towns and villages; -old, simple, and venerable,--trodden, it may be, too frequently by -unthinking feet--but able at all times to impress a feeling of -sacredness--fraught as they were with the solemnities of life and -death--on bosoms not over religious; and now, to a fanciful view, they -seem more the prisons than the resting-places of the dead.” - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -EDUCATION OF THE RURAL POPULATION. - -We have said that we will look at what education and other causes are -doing, and what they are leaving undone in the change of character which -they are effecting in the rural population. It appears by the Reports of -the Poor-Law and Charity Commissioners that education progresses more in -the northern and manufacturing districts than in the southern and -agricultural ones. This is, no doubt, very much the case; and what -education is leaving undone in these districts is, that it acts too -timidly, too much in the spirit of worldly wisdom. It is afraid of -making the people too intellectual; of raising their tastes, lest it -should spoil them as Gibeonites, hewers of wood and drawers of water. My -own experience is, that this is a grand mistake; that you cannot give -them too pure and lofty a standard of taste; and that especially, our -best and noblest poets, as Milton, Shakspeare, Wordsworth, Cowper, -Southey, Campbell, Burns, Bloomfield, etc. should be put into their -hands, and particularly into those of the agricultural population. What -can be so rational as to imbue the minds of those who are to spend their -lives in the fields with all those associations which render the country -doubly delightful? It is amazing what avidity they evince for such -writers when they are once made familiar with them; and whoever has his -mind well stored with the pure and noble sentiments of such writers will -never condescend to debase his nature by theft, idleness, and low -habits. The great alarm has always been that of lifting the poor by such -knowledge above their occupations, and filling their heads with airy -notions. I can only point again to the agricultural population of -Scotland, where such knowledge abounds. If the labourers have not the -genius of Burns, many of them have a great portion of the manly and -happy feeling with which - - He walked in glory and in joy, - Following his plough along the mountain side. - -There is every reason, so far as experiment goes, to suppose that the -same effect would follow in England. Where are there men so sober and -industrious as those artisans who are now the steadiest frequenters of -Mechanics’ Libraries? I have given, in the first chapter of the Nooks of -the World, a striking instance of the effects of such reading on an -agricultural labourer. Through my instigation several intelligent -families have made themselves acquainted with this meritorious man, and -speak with admiration of his manly and superior character. Let the -experiment be repeated far and wide! - -But education itself yet wants introducing to a vast extent into the -agricultural districts. The commissioners give a deplorable picture of -the neglect of the agricultural population in the counties bordering on -the metropolis. In some parts of Essex, Sussex, Kent, Buckinghamshire, -Berks, etc., schools of any description are unknown; in others not more -than one in fifteen of the labourers are represented as able to read. In -this county, Surrey, much the same state of things exists. I have been -astounded at the very few labourers that you meet with that can read; -and I think I see some striking causes for this neglect of the labouring -class in the peculiar state of society here--it has no middle link. A -vast number of the aristocracy reside in the county from its proximity -to town; and besides these, there are only the farmers and their -labourers; the servants of the aristocratic establishments--a numerous -and very peculiar class; and the few tradesmen who supply the great -houses. The many gradations of rank and property which are found in more -trading, manufacturing, and mixed districts do not here exist. It seems -as if the Normans and the Saxons had here descended from age to age; two -races, distinct in their habits as their condition, and with no one -principle of amalgamation. The aristocracy shut themselves up in their -houses and parks, and are rarely seen beyond them except in their -carriages, driving rapidly to town, or to each other’s isolated abodes. -They know nothing, and therefore can feel nothing for the toiling class. -The effect is visible enough. The working classes grow up with the sense -that they are regarded only as necessary implements of agriculture by -the aristocracy--and they are churlish and uncouth. They have not the -kindliness, and openness of countenance and manner that the peasantry of -more socially favourable districts have. The farmers too seem little to -employ them as house-servants, fed at their own table. You do not hear -of those jolly harvest-suppers, which you may still find in many -old-fashioned places, where master and man feast and rejoice together -over the in-gathered plenty. So far as downright rusticity goes, there -is as much of that within a dozen miles of London as in the farthest -county of England; but the peasants seem to have lost much of the -sentiment which those of more distant counties possess. They have their -wakes and fairs on their extensive commons and greens, and leap in bags, -and have wheelbarrow races, and races of women for certain articles of -female apparel, gipsies with their lucky-bags and will-pegs; but as to -anything of a poetical cast, I do not see it. What a fall from the -funeral train going chanting a psalm on its way to the churchyard, to -one which I saw the other day in this neighbourhood. The coffin was laid -on a cart, and secured with ropes; one shaggy horse went jostling it -along; another cart followed, occupied by the chief mourners, half a -dozen of them huddled together, and the rest succeeded on foot, in a -rude and straggling company. - -In many villages I see no church at all; and where they are seen, how -different to the fine old churches of most parts of England. As you cast -your eyes over a wide landscape, you look in vain for those tall taper -spires and massy towers which rise here and there in most English -scenery; and find perhaps somewhere a solitary little erection -resembling a little wooden dovecote. The piety of these parts never -expended itself much in church-building. The villages themselves are -often very picturesque. They are frequently scattered along extensive -commons, amidst abundant woods and grey heaths; generally buried in -their old orchards, and built with many pictorial angles and -projections; often thatched, and consisting of old framed timber-work, -or wood altogether, with gardens full of flowers, and goodly rows of -beehives. Vines run luxuriantly over their very roofs, and in autumn -hang with a prodigality of grapes; and as to the country itself, nothing -can be more pastorally and sylvanly sweet than this county. Its grey -heaths and pine woods, in one part, remind you of Scotland--its commons, -in others, covered with the greenest turf and scattered with oaks, have -the appearance of old forests; and wherever you go, you get glimpses -into fine woodland valleys, and of old solitary halls standing far off -in the midst of them; grey farm houses; old water mills; the most rustic -huts; some pastoral stream like the Mole, which goes wandering about -through this scenery, fringed with its flags and meadow-sweet, and with -its bullrushes bending in its copious stream, as if it were loath to -leave it; in short it is a region full of the spirit of the poetry of -Keats,--a region lying as it might lie - - -------------- Before the faëry broods - Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods; - Before King Oberon’s bright diadem, - Sceptre and mantle, clasped with dewy gem, - Frighted away the Driads and the Fauns - From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslipped lawns,-- - From beechen groves, and shadows numberless. - -But the people themselves seem lost in their umbrageous hamlets, and on -their commons, unthought of. There is the village of Oxshott, some three -miles hence.--Go through it on a Sunday, when the agricultural people -are all at leisure, and there they are as thick as motes in the sun, in -the middle of the village street. There appears to be no church, nor any -inhabitants but farmers and labourers. Boys, girls, men and women, all -seem to be out of doors, and all in their every-day garbs. The colour of -tawny soiled slops and straw-hats gives, as a painter would say, the -prevailing tint to the scene. The boys are busy enough playing at ball, -or cricket. The men seem to pass their time sitting on banks and stiles, -or gossiping and smoking in groups. Scarcely a soul will move out of the -way to let you pass on. The intellectual condition of this obscure -hamlet is strikingly indicated to every passer through, by a large -school-house bearing on its front, cut in stone, this proud title--“THE -ROYAL KENT SCHOOL, founded in 1820;”--but which has been since so far -_con_founded, that its windows are broken to atoms, and it is at once -recent and in ruins! This state of things should not be suffered to -continue. The vast wealth of the aristocracy living hereabout, and the -ignorance around them, very ill accord. Amongst the affluent families in -the county, there are, no doubt, many who would be anxious to secure an -education to the rural children, _if they actually knew that it was -needed_! In the village of Esher this has recently been done: let us -hope that other places will “go and do likewise.”[35] - - [35] I am told by intelligent people, who have spent the greater part - of their lives here, that the farmers are particularly jealous of the - peasantry receiving any education,--they conceive it would spoil them - as beasts of burden. This shews what is the deplorable ignorance of - _this_ class, too, of the rural population. - -Since writing the above, I have met with the following statements, in -Mr. Frederick Hill’s excellent work on National Education. They are in -his account of Mr. William Allen’s School of Industry at Lindfield, in -Sussex; and are, at once, most confirmatory of the view I have taken of -the state of things in this county, and of the remedy to be applied. To -benevolent and wealthy landed proprietors they are full of -encouragement. - -“We visited the school at Lindfield, in July 1831, and it had then been -established several years. Before fixing on the spot where to build his -school, Mr. Allen sent an intelligent young man on a tour through the -county, to find out where a school was most wanted. After a diligent -search, Lindfield was pitched upon as the centre of a district in which -the peasantry were in a very low state of ignorance. Lindfield is on the -road from London to Brighton; distant from London about thirty-seven -miles, from Brighton fifteen. - -“Not only did Mr. Allen receive no assistance in building his school, -but most of the wealthy inhabitants endeavoured to thwart him; while -among the peasantry themselves, the most preposterous stories were -afloat respecting his designs. These poor people had been so little -accustomed to see persons act from other than selfish motives, that -they could not believe it possible that any one would come and erect a -large building, at great cost and trouble to himself, merely from a -desire of promoting their good. They felt sure that all this outlay was -not without some secret object; and at last they explained all, much to -their own satisfaction, by referring it to the following notable -project.--The building was to be applied to the diabolical purpose of -kidnapping children; a high palisade was to be thrown up all round it, -and other measures taken to prevent entrance or escape. Then the school -was to be opened, and every thing carried on smoothly, and with great -appearance of kind and gentle treatment, until such a number of children -had been collected as would satisfy the rapacious desires of the -wretches who had hatched the wicked scheme; when all at once the gates -were to be closed upon them, and the poor innocents shipped off to some -distant land! - -“Greatly indeed must a school have been wanted where such unheard-of -absurdity could circulate and obtain credence. At length the building, a -most substantial and commodious one, was completed, though few indeed -were those who at once ventured within the dreaded bounds. However, by -dint of perseverance, this number was gradually increased. The few -children who did come, began in a short time to take home with them -sundry pence, which they had earned in plaiting straw, making baskets, -etc.; arts they were learning at school. The boys began to patch their -clothes and mend their shoes, without their parents having a penny to -pay for the work. Meanwhile there came no authentic accounts of ships -lying in wait on the neighbouring coast, nor had even the dreaded iron -palisades raised their pointed heads. Little by little, the poor -ignorant creatures became assured that there was nothing to fear, but, -on the contrary, much practical good to be derived from sending their -children to the school; and that strange and incredible as it might -seem, the London ‘gemman’ was really come among them as a friend and -benefactor. A breach being thus fairly made in the mud-bank of -prejudice, it was not long before the whole mass gave way. In short, the -scheme proved so completely successful, that at the time we visited the -school, almost every child whose parents lived within a distance of -three miles, was entered as a pupil, the total number on the list being -no less than 300. The children are at school eight hours each day; -three being employed in manual labour, and five in the ordinary school -exercises. There is a provision for a diversity of tastes in the classes -of industry; indeed the most unbounded liberality is manifest in all the -arrangements. Some are employed as shoemakers, others as tailors, and -others again, at platting, basket-making, weaving, printing, gardening, -or farming. The children work very cheerfully, and are found to like the -classes of industry better than the school. - -“The first employment to which the little workers are put, is platting -straw. When they are _au fait_ at this, which is generally at the end of -a few months, they are promoted to some other craft; the one of highest -dignity being that of printer. Before leaving school the child will -become tolerably expert at three or four trades. Those who work on the -farm have each the sole care of a plot of ground, measuring one-eighth -part of an acre, and each is required to do his own digging, sowing, -manuring, and reaping. An intelligent husbandman, however, is always on -the ground, to teach those who are at fault. The plots of land were all -clean and in nice order; and from the variety of produce, oats, turnips, -mangel-wurzel, potatoes, and cabbages, the whole had a curious and -amusing appearance, reminding one of the quilted counterpanes of former -years. We found the system of _matayer_ rent in use; each boy being -allowed one half of the produce for himself, the other half being paid -for the use of the land, the wear and tear of tools, etc. One lad, -twelve years old, had in this way received no less a sum than -twenty-three shillings and sixpence, as his share of the crop of the -preceding year; and we were told that such earnings were by no means -uncommon.” - -Lady Noel Byron established a school on a similar plan at Ealing, which -has been eminently successful. She there educates a number of boys in a -manner which must render them far better qualified to fulfil those -duties to which they will be called as they grow up, than has yet been -done by the old defective modes of England, and especially of English -villages. Besides being taught the most useful branches of English -education, they work three hours each day, partly for the institution, -partly for themselves, in their own gardens. Gardens of a sixteenth of -an acre are let to the elder boys at threepence a month; seeds they -either buy of their masters, or procure from their friends. Racks for -the tools are put up and numbered, so that each boy has a place for his -own, and in that he is required to keep them. The objects of this school -are to educate children destined for country pursuits, in a manner to -make them better workmen, and more intelligent and happy men than is at -present the case. For this purpose it was conceived necessary that they -should early acquire the habits of patient industry; that they should be -acquainted with the value of labour, and know the connexion between it -and property; that they should have intelligence, skill, and an -acquaintance with the objects with which they are surrounded; that the -higher sentiments, the social and moral part of their being, should -obtain a full development. - -So industriously have the boys laboured, and so well have they -succeeded, that their gardens, with few exceptions, present before the -crops are harvested, an appearance of neatness and good husbandry. They -have all since, either disposed of their vegetables or taken them home -to their families. But vegetables are not the only crop; around the -borders of each, flowers are cultivated. It is a great matter to induce -a taste for, and give a knowledge of, the manner of cultivating flowers. -They are luxuries within the power of every person to command. - -There is a considerable gaiety and alacrity in all this; the boys learn -to sing many cheerful and merry songs. They strike up a tune as they go -out in bands to works, and as they return, they do the same. - -It is with the greatest satisfaction that I add, similar schools have -been established by Mrs. Tuckfield in Devonshire, Mr. James Cropper in -Lancashire, and that the Earl of Lovelace has now built a school on the -same plan at Ockham in Surrey, where the same course of education will -be given to the peasant children of the neighbourhood. The institution -in fact, contains three schools, a boy’s, a girl’s, and an infant -school. Suitable buildings are in progress for teaching the boys the -rudiments of the most common handicraft trades, as shoemaking, -tailoring, carpentry, basket-making, etc. The girls are employed at -certain hours, in the dairy, the laundry, and in all kinds of household -work. For this purpose able masters and mistresses are engaged, who -have been prepared by an especial education and long practice for their -arduous office. On our first visit to this interesting establishment, -though it was far from being completed, we found about 130 children -educating in it. It was delightful to see the young chopsticks of this -county, where, from generation to generation, the intellect of the -working class has long been suffered to lie as dead and as barren as one -of their own sand-hills, clustered about the master in the school, -answering questions in geography and natural history with as much -quickness and obvious delight, as any children of city or of hall could -possibly do; their little ruddy faces, no longer indicative only of -health and stupidity, but fairly a-blaze with the workings of their -minds, the pleasant thirst of knowledge, and the generous emulation of -honest distinction. We walked through the house, and found the neat -little girls sewing and ironing, cleaning and scouring, engaged in those -very avocations which must some day give comfort to their homes. We saw -the boys turn out with their spades, and soon found some of them -planting forest trees in a nursery-ground, others planting their own -gardens; and what delighted us, was to find on the bordering of their -garden ground, a string of little flower-beds, belonging to the girls, -which carried me at once away to my own school-days and school-garden at -Ackworth. - -I have not room here to do more than indicate the existence of this most -invaluable school, in a part of the country where rural education is so -much wanted. And, indeed, where throughout England are not such -invaluable schools wanted? The attention of land owners everywhere ought -to be called to this patriotic experiment. Let but such schools as those -of the late Captain Brenton, William Allen, Lady Byron, and Lord -Lovelace, be once diffused throughout the towns and villages of England, -and a revolution will be effected, such as never yet was achieved in any -country. An educated population; men no longer apt to grow up in the -mere consciousness of their animal nature, but made acquainted with -their intellectual powers, their moral qualities and social affections; -women having the energies of their true character called forth, and -taught to give comfort, and the attraction of intelligence to their -homes,--then will England truly have “a bold peasantry, their country’s -pride.” Brutishness and low debauchery must disappear. All will feel the -claims which society has upon them; and all will see that, to attain a -common share of the good things of life, they must possess activity, -prudence, good management, and perseverance. Who can, indeed, imagine to -himself what this country must become, with a population thus -judiciously educated, filling its towns, its villages, its fields, and -overflowing into our colonies, with the certain and splendid dower of -industry and intellectual strength? - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -CONCLUDING CHAPTER. - - She smiles, including in her wide embrace - City, and town, and tower, and sea with ships - Sprinkled; be our companion while we track - Her rivers populous with gliding life; - While, free as air, o’er printless sands we march, - Or pierce the gloom of her majestic woods; - Roaming, or resting under grateful shade, - In peace and meditative cheerfulness. - - _Wordsworth._ - -We have now taken a comprehensive view of the rural life of England; of -the mode in which “gentle and simple,” rich and poor, pass their life in -the country; of the sports, the pastimes, the labours and various -pursuits which fill up the round of rural existence; of the charms and -advantages which there await the lovers of peace, of poetry, of natural -beauty, and of pure thoughts: and I think it must be confessed that -though other countries may boast a more brilliant climate, none can -offer a more varied and attractive beauty; other modes of life may be -more exciting, but none can be more calmly delightful, none more -conducive to a healthful and manly spirit. - -The more we see of our own country, the more do we love it; and it is -for this reason, that in closing this volume, I cannot take leave of my -readers without advising them to do as I have done,--see as much of it -as they can. There is no part of it but is filled with some high -historical or literary association: it is the land where brave men have -contended and poets sung, and philosophers and politicians have -meditated works and measures, of which the world is now reaping the -honour and enjoyment; there is no part of it but has some trace of those -manners and dialects which belong to the living of a thousand years ago, -and therefore are most interesting motives to our tracing back the -stream of time, and beholding the growth of our country’s fortunes from -age to age; there is no part of it, but has its swarming cities, or its -fields smiling like a garden beneath the triumphant effect of British -tillage,--or its wild hills and forests, that, untouched by the plough, -are left to be fruitful of free thoughts, of poetic feelings, of -picturesque beauty and magnificence, of health to the hearts and spirits -of our countrymen and countrywomen, necessary to generate those high -thoughts and maintain those endeavours that shall yet lead noble England -to the height of its destined honour. - -It is glorious, indeed, to visit the countries of ancient art and -renown--Greece, Italy, Egypt, or sacred Palestine--my spirit kindles at -the very mention of them,--yet whether it were my privilege or not to -traverse those glorious regions, I should still wish to wander over -every hill, and through every busy city of my native land. To me, I -repeat, there is no part of this illustrious country but opens some new -feeling of affection. As I pass over her plains, I am filled with -admiration of that skill and indefatigable industry which have covered -them with such affluence of cattle, such exuberant grass, such depths of -waving corn; as I pass by her rural halls and hamlet abodes, I find -myself perpetually on classic ground, amid the homes of poets and -patriots; when I enter her cities, I am struck with all their busy and -swarming children, with their endless manufactures; their institutions -for rebutting human evils, and raising the human character; with rich -men carrying on gigantic enterprises of commerce or national -improvement, and poor men associating to ascertain and defend their -rights. These are all animating objects of notice; and I will tell those -who may not hope to see much of foreign regions, that there is enough in -merry England to fill the longest life with delight, go where they will. -I would have those who are young and able, to take their knapsacks on -their backs, and with a stick in their hand, they may find pleasures -worth enjoying, go which way they will in these islands, though they do -as many an adventurer has done, set up their staff as an indicator, and -march off in the direction in which it falls.[36] - - [36] Jamais je n’ai tant pensé, tant existé, tant vécu, tant été moi, - si j’ose ainsi dire, que dans ceux voyages que j’ai faits seul et à - pied. La marche a quelque chose qui anime et avive mes idées; je ne - puis presque penser quand je reste en place; il faut que mon corps - soit en branle pour y mettre mon esprit. La vue de la campagne, la - succession des aspects agréables, le grand air, le grand appétit, la - bonne santé que je gagne en marchant, la liberté du cabaret, - l’éloignement de tout ce qui me fait sentir ma dépendance, de tout ce - qui me rappelle à ma situation, tout cela dégage mon âme, me donne une - plus grande audace de penser, me jette en quelque sorte dans - l’immensité des êtres pour les combiner, les choisir, me les - approprier sans gêne et sans crainte. Je dispose en maître de la - nature entière; mon cœur, errant d’objet en objet, s’unit, s’identifie - à ceux qui le flattent, s’entoure d’images charmantes, s’enivre de - sentiments délicieux. Si pour les fixer je m’amuse à les décrire en - moimême, quelle vigueur de pinceau, quelle fraîcheur de coloris, - quelle énergie d’expression je leur donne!--_Rousseau._ - -What a summer’s delight there lies in any one such progress. Suppose you -took your route from the metropolis through the south and west. How -delightful are the richly cultivated fields, the green hop-grounds, the -hanging woods of Kent; how pleasant the heathy hills and scattered -woodlands of Surrey; the thickly-strewn villas of the wealthy, the -vine-covered cottages and village greens of the poor. Are not the -flowery lanes and woody scenery of Berkshire, and the open downs of -Wiltshire worth traversing? What a sweet sylvan retirement in the one; -what an airy, wide-spreading amplitude of vision in the other! It were -worth somewhat to read Miss Mitford’s living sketches in her own sweet -neighbourhood; it were worth a great deal more to meet Miss Mitford -herself, as she lives amongst her simple neighbours, who know how much -she is their friend, or amongst her wealthy and educated ones, who know -how much she deserves of their esteem and admiration. Would it be -nothing to ramble amongst the ancient walls of Winchester, every spot of -which is as thickly strown with historical recollections as it is -venerable in presence? Would it be nothing to climb those downs, and see -around far-spreading greenness, sinking and swelling in the softest -lines of beauty; and below, vales, stretching in different directions, -contrasting their rich woodiness most strikingly with the bare -solitudes of the down? To see the venerable cathedral lifting its hoary -head from the vale, and numbers of subject churches shewing their -humbler towers and spires all along the valleys; and catch the glitter -of those streams which water those valleys, as they wind to the sun. I -have trodden these downs and dales in summer weather with feelings of -buoyant delight, that admit of no description. There is Stonehenge, -standing in the midst of Salisbury Plain, which is worth a long -pilgrimage to see. To see! Yes, and to feel in all its lonely grandeur, -with all its savage and mysterious antiquity upon it. It is a walk from -Salisbury, that, on a spring or autumn day, with a congenial spirit, -were enough to make that a life’s pleasant memory. Ascend first from -that truly old English city, along whose streets and past almost every -door run living streams of most beautiful water from the sweet brimful -Avon--to the ramparts of Old Sarum. What a stupendous work of antiquity -you stand upon; what a scene lies all around you! How beautifully rises -that noble cathedral above the subject city; how finely the magnificent -spire above the fabric itself! And _en passant_, what a feature of fair -and solemn dignity is the cathedral in our English cities! As you -approach them, and see afar off these noble monuments of past science -towering aloft in sublime dignity, you are at once reminded that you are -on classic ground; that you are about to enter a place where our -ancestors worked out some portion of the national fame; and are thereby -awakened from other thoughts to look about you for all that is worthy of -notice. But this is but a passing tribute to the grave beauty of those -glorious old piles--they deserve more; but other objects now call us on. -See what green and watered valleys allure you forward. See where the -downs stretch their solitary heads amid the clear and spiritual hues of -the sky. And as you go on, the chime of flocks, and the discovery of -sweet hamlets, and the voices of their children at play, and the tinkle -of the plough-team bells, shall make you feel that the rural peace and -delight of Old England are as strong in her heart as ever. For myself, -the smallest peculiarity of rural fashions and habits in different parts -of the country attracts my attention, and gives me a certain degree of -pleasure. The sight of herds of swine grazing in the wide fields of -Berkshire and Hampshire as orderly as sheep do, is what, at the first -view, gives an agreeable surprise to the man from the midland and -northern counties, where it is never seen. The sight of the clematis, -which flings its flowery masses over hedges and copses; of myrtles, -hydrangeas, fuchias, and other tender plants, blossoming in the gardens -of the south: the appearance of different birds and insects, as the -chough, the nightingale in greater frequency, the woodlark sending its -voice from the distant uplands; the large stag-beetle, and other -insects; these, and other things observed in one part of the island -which are never met with in another, small matters though they be in -themselves, all give a novel interest to some new spot, and some -agreeable hour. Nay to me, I say, the very varying of rural costumes and -implements are objects of interest. Those odd ladders in Berkshire, -stretching at the feet to a width of sometimes two yards, and then -tapering up rapidly; as if Berkshire peasants could not stand on such -ladders as all England beside stands on. The light wagons and carts in -the south, so different from the heavy ones of the midland counties; and -some of them so painted and adorned in front with large roses, and other -flowers; and their teams, with bells at their bridles, and frames of -bells over the leader’s head, and barbaric top-knots on their heads, and -scarlet fringes and tassels on their gears; and tails all bound up with -ribbons, and curious platting. The wagoners, each in his straw hat and -white slop, with - - His carter’s-whip, that on his shoulder rests, - In air high towering with a boorish pomp, - The sceptre of his sway. - -Horses at plough, harnessed with a simple collar of straw, and a few -ropes. Oxen with their heavy wooden yokes ploughing in one part of the -country as primitively as they did in the days of Alfred, ay, or of King -David; and shepherds with their crooks in another, shew to those who -never saw them but in books, that some of our oldest practices still -remain. - -The various constructions of billhooks, shovels, and wheelbarrows which -prevail in different quarters of the island, contribute to the -picturesque: from the clumsy rudiment of a barrow seen in Cornwall, -which lies on the ground without legs, and the sides of which are cut -out of two pieces of wood, rudely tapering off into handles; through all -the various shapes of that little vehicle, up to its most perfect one. -The shovels used by the labourers in the West of England, with handles -as tall as themselves, would make the men of the midland counties stare; -and again, the billhook of the midland counties, with a back edge as -well as a front one, would be equally strange to the chopsticks of -Surrey and Sussex. The various modes of country employment promote the -same effect. The ploughman whistling after his team; the shepherds on -the downs, driving their white flocks before them like a rolling cloud -to evening fold or morning pasture; the dwellers on heaths and moors, -paring the turf for fuel, or cutting from the peat-beds their black -bricks, and piling their black pyramids on the waste. Every different -district displays its peculiar employment. Durham and Northumberland -exhibit their extensive and curious coal mines; Yorkshire and Lancashire -their weaving and spinning; the hills of Derbyshire their lead mines; -Nottingham and Leicester shires their coals again; Lincoln and Norfolk -their vast corn farms; the Southern downs their shepherds; Devon and -Cornwall their tin and copper mines; Gloucester and Somerset display -their fields of teazles again, indicating that there our finest -broad-cloths are made; Stafford and Warwick shires swarm with -collieries, iron-founderies, and potteries; and so on. Each district has -its peculiar pursuit and occupation pointed out by nature, and all these -things give variety to the country and its inhabitants, and scatter -everywhere interesting subjects of inquiry for the passer-by. - -I say then, cross only the south of England, and how delightful were the -route to him who has the love of nature and of his country in his heart; -and no imperious cares to dispute it with them. Walk up, as I have said, -from Salisbury to Stonehenge. Sit down amid that solemn circle, on one -of its fallen stones:--contemplate the gigantic erection, reflect on its -antiquity, and what England has passed through and become while those -stones have stood there. Walk forth over that beautiful and immense -plain,--see the green circles, and lines, and mounds, which ancient -superstition or heroism have everywhere traced upon it, and which nature -has beautified with a carpet of turf as fine and soft as velvet. Join -those simple shepherds, and talk with them. Reflect, poetical as our -poets have made the shepherd and his life,--what must be the monotony of -that life in lowland counties--day after day, and month after month, -and year after year,--never varying, except from the geniality of summer -to winter; and what it must be then; how dreary its long reign of cold, -and wet and snow! - -When you leave them, plunge into the New Forest in Hampshire. There is a -region where a summer month might be whiled away as in a fairyland. -There, in the very heart of that old forest you find the spot where -Rufus fell by the bolt of Tyrell, looking very much as it might look -then. All around you lie forest and moorland for many a mile. The fallow -and red deer in thousands herd there as of old. The squirrels gambol in -the oaks above you; the swine rove in the thick fern and the deep glades -of the forest as in a state of nature. The dull tinkle of the cattle -bell comes through the wood; and ever and anon, as you wander forward, -you catch the blue smoke of some hidden abode curling over the tree -tops; and come to sylvan bowers, and little bough-overshadowed cottages, -as primitive as any that the reign of the Conqueror himself could have -shewn. What haunts are in these glades for poets: what streams flow -through their bosky banks, to soothe at once the ear and eye enamoured -of peace and beauty. What glades for endless grouping and colourings for -the painter. - -At Boldre you may find a spot worth seeing, for it is the parsonage once -inhabited by the venerable William Gilpin, the descendant of Barnard -Gilpin, the apostle of the north; the author of “Forest Scenery,”--and -near it is the school, which he built and endowed for the poor from the -sale of his drawings. Not very distant from this, stands the rural -dwelling for many years, and till lately, the residence of one of -England’s truest-hearted women, Caroline Bowles, now Mrs. Southey--and -not far off you have the woods of Netley Abbey--the Isle of Wight, the -Solent, and the open sea. - -But still move on through the fair fields of Dorset and Somerset, to the -enchanted land of Devon. If you want stern grandeur, follow its -north-western coast; if peaceful beauty, look down into some one of its -rich vales, green as an emerald, and pastured by its herds of red -cattle; if all the summer loveliness of woods and rivers, you may ascend -the Tamar or the Tavy, or many another stream; or you may stroll on -through valleys that for glorious solitudes, or fair English homes, amid -their woods and hills, shall leave you nothing to desire. If you want -sternness you may pass into Dartmoor. There are wastes and wilds, crags -of granite, views into far-off districts, and the sound of waters -hurrying away over their rocky beds, enough to satisfy the largest -hungering and thirsting after poetical delight. I shall never forget the -feelings of delicious entrancement with which I approached the outskirts -of Dartmoor. I found myself among the woods near Haytor Crags. It was an -autumn evening. The sun, near its setting, threw its yellow beams -amongst the trees, and lit up the ruddy tors on the opposite side of the -valley into a beautiful glow. Below, the deep dark river went sounding -on its way with a melancholy music, and as I wound up the steep road -beneath the gnarled oaks, I ever and anon caught glimpses of the winding -valley to the left, all beautiful with wild thickets and half shrouded -faces of rock, and still on high those glowing ruddy tors standing in -the blue air in their sublime silence. My road wound up, and up, the -heather and the bilberry on either hand shewing me that cultivation had -never disturbed the soil they grew in; and one sole woodlark from the -far-ascending forest to the right, filled the wide solitude with his -wild autumnal note. At that moment I reached an eminence, and at once -saw the dark crags of Dartmoor high aloft before me, and one large -solitary house in the valley beneath the woods. So fair, so silent, save -for the woodlark’s note and the moaning river, so unearthly did the -whole scene seem--that my imagination delighted to look upon it as an -enchanted land,--and to persuade itself that that house stood as it -would stand for ages, under the spell of silence, but beyond the reach -of death and change. - -But even there you need not rest--there lies a land of grey antiquity, -of desolate beauty still before you--Cornwall. It is a land almost -without a tree. That is, all its high and wild plains are destitute of -them, and the bulk of its surface is of this character. Some sweet and -sheltered vales it has, filled with noble wood, as that of Tresilian -near Truro; but over a great portion of it extend grey heaths. It is a -land where the wild furze seems never to have been rooted up, and where -the huge masses of stone that lie about its hills and valleys are clad -with the lichen of centuries. And yet how does this bare and barren land -fasten on your imagination! It is a country that seems to have retained -its ancient attachments longer than any other. The British tongue here -lingered till lately--as the ruins of King Arthur’s palace still crown -the stormy steep of Tintagel; and the saints that succeeded the heroic -race, seem to have left their names on almost every town and village. - -It were well worth a journey there merely to see the vast mines which -perforate the earth, and pass under the very sea; and the swarming -population that they employ. It were a beautiful sight to see the bands -of young maidens, that sit beneath long sheds, crushing the ore and -singing in chorus. But far more were it worth the trip to stand at the -Land’s-End, on that lofty, savage, and shattered coast, with the -Atlantic roaring all round you. The Hebrides themselves, wild and -desolate, and subject to obscuring mists as they are, never made me feel -more shipped into a dream-land than that scenery. At one moment the sun -shining over the calm sea, in whose transparent depths the tawny rocks -were seen far down. Right and left extend the dun cliffs and cavernous -precipices, and at their feet the white billows playing gracefully to -and fro over the nearly sunken rocks, as through the manes of huge -sea-lions. At the next moment all wrapt in the thickest obscurity of -mist; the sea only cognizable by its sound; the dun crags looming -through the fog vast and awfully, and all round you on the land nothing -visible, as you trace back your way, but huge grey stones that strew the -whole earth. In the midst of such a scene I came to a little deserted -hut, standing close by a solitary mere amongst the rocks, and the dreamy -effect became most perfect. What a quick and beautiful contrast was it -to this, as the very same night I pursued my way along the shore, the -clear moon hanging on the distant horizon, the waves of the ocean on one -hand coming up all luminous and breaking on the strand in billows of -fire, and on the other hand the sloping turf sown with glowworms for -some miles, thick as the stars overhead. - -I speak of the delight which a solitary man may gather up for ever from -such excursions; that will come before him again and again in all their -beauty from his past existence, into many a crowd and many a solitary -room; but how much more may be reaped by a congenial band of -affectionate spirits in such a course. To them, a thousand different -incidents or odd adventures, flashes of wit and moments of enjoyment, -combine to quicken both their pleasures and friendship. The very flight -from a shower, or the dining on a turnip-pie, no very uncommon dish in -the rural inns of Cornwall, may furnish merriment for the future. And if -this one route would be a delicious summer’s ramble, with all its -coasting and its sea-ports into the bargain, how many such stretch -themselves in every direction through England. The fair orchard-scenes -of Hereford and Worcester, in spring all one region of bloom and -fragrance,--the hills of Malvern and the Wrekin. The fairy dales of -Derbyshire; the sweet forest and pastoral scenes of Staffordshire; the -wild dales, the scars and tarns of Yorkshire; the equally beautiful -valleys and hills of Lancashire, with all those quaint old halls that -are scattered through it, memorials of past times, and all connected -with some incident or other of English history. And then there is -Northumberland--the classic ground of the ancient ballad--the country of -the Percy--of Chevy Chace--of the Hermit of Warkworth--of Otterburn and -Humbledown--of Flodden, and many another stirring scene. And besides all -these are the mountain regions of Cumberland, of Wales, of Scotland, and -Ireland, that by the power of steam are being brought every day more -within the reach of thousands. What an inexhaustible wealth of beauty -lies in those regions! These, if every other portion of the kingdom were -reduced by ploughing and manufacturing and steaming to the veriest -common-place, these, in the immortal strength of their nature, bid -defiance to the efforts of any antagonist, or reducing spirit. These -will still remain wild and fair, the refuge and haunt of the painter and -the poet--of all lovers of beauty, and breathers after quiet and -freshness. Nothing can pull down their lofty and scathed heads; nothing -can dry up those everlasting waters, that leap down their cliffs, and -run along their vales in gladness; nothing can certainly exterminate -those dark heaths, and drain off those mountain lakes, where health and -liberty seem to dwell together; nothing can efface the loveliness of -those regions, save the hand of Him who placed them there. I rejoice to -think that while this great nation remains, whatever may be the -magnitude of the designs for the good of the world in which Providence -purposes to employ it,--however populous it may be necessary for it to -become,--whatever the machinery and manufactories that may be needfully -at work in it; that while Cumberland, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland -continue, there will continue regions of indestructible beauty--of free -and unpruned nature, so fair that those who are not satisfied therewith, -would not be satisfied with the whole universe. More sublimity other -countries may boast, more beauty has fallen to the lot of none on God’s -globe. And what a satisfaction it is, to see that our poetry of late -years has awakened the public mind to a full sense of our natural -advantages. It may be said that many traverse the continent who never -see their own country, but it cannot be said that the beauty of our own -fair islands is overlooked. On the contrary, every one who travels -through them himself, sees how increasing are the numbers who do the -same. To many a point of beauty and historic interest I have been, from -the very Land’s-End to John O’Groat’s; and I do not know one spot of any -claims to attention, which I did not find numerously visited from the -earliest spring to late in the year. I once was at Loch Katrine early in -April, and there were arrivals of several carriages a day. I was at the -Land’s-End late in October, and as I reached the Logan Rock, a very -interesting party of young people were just coming away from it. As I -have said, I walked up to Stonehenge from Salisbury in order to enjoy it -in all its solitude. This was late in the autumn; yet I found a large -party there, and the shepherds assured me that every day, and all day -long, it would continue so till severe weather set in. When Dr. Johnson -went as far as the Hebrides, it was reckoned a rare thing. In the summer -of 1836, I visited Staffa and Iona in company with seventy persons; and -all summer long, three or four times a-week, do those places see -scarcely less than a hundred English people land upon them. - -Who indeed does not know how every pleasant place on our coasts, how the -Peak of Derbyshire, how all Wales, the Highlands of Scotland and many -parts of Ireland are annually thronged with people, who break away from -towns and trade to refresh their spirits with the invigorating spirit of -the mountains, and with the sights and sounds of ocean? Nay, such is the -pressure of the tourist current, that whatever place steam-vessels reach -in the mountain districts--it is one of the most ludicrous scenes -imaginable to see a packet come to the pier, and its whole swarm of -passengers leap ashore and proceed at full gallop to storm the inns for -beds and accommodation. I have myself, as I believe I have before -stated, been forced in the throng up to the very attics of one of these -inns by the rush of people, who filled the whole staircase, and indeed -house, calling out for beds, while the poor landlady was wringing her -hands in despair of reducing the clamorous chorus into some sort of -order. - -Ludicrous as this recital however is, the spirit which occasions it is -an excellent one. It is full of health and good moral feeling. It is one -which, if it goes on, hand in hand with our machinery and our -literature, must produce the happiest effects. I trust that this volume -will add its quota to that love of the country which I would desire to -see possessing a corner of every human being’s heart. While that is -there, I am sure there must be an undecayed portion of the original -heart of humanity,--a remnant, at least, of that tone of spirit which -makes heaven desirable, and which is capable of enjoying it. He that -loves the country as God has made it, in all its varying beauty and -immortal freshness, must love God and man too; and while he seeks in -mountain solitudes and on sea shores, relief from the weariness of too -long jostling in the crowd, will find with delight how this very -solitude will quicken his appetite for human society, and his perception -of the comforts and home-pleasures of towns. I declare, that when I have -been for weeks roaming amongst forests and mountain wastes, I feel, on -coming into a city, a sense of its life, activity, and social condition -which was before become comparatively dim. As I have entered one in the -early morning, and have seen the neat young housemaids rubbing the -knockers and cleaning down the steps of their masters’ doors, and have -caught glimpses, as I passed along, of well oil-clothed passages, and -well carpeted rooms, and fires already burning cheerfully,--I have felt -a sense of the comforts and pleasantness of English homes that I have -rarely felt besides. Or at evening, as we pass where blinds are yet -undrawn, and where fires are seen warmly illumining fair rooms, and -happy faces are congregated around them, who has not felt the same -thing? - -But we must now close this volume; and how can that be more fitly done -than by ending as we began, and acknowledging with a rejoicing -thankfulness, “that the lines have indeed fallen to us in pleasant -places,” in a land which it would be difficult to pronounce more blessed -in its literature, its religious spirit, or in the splendid dowry of its -natural beauty. - -[Illustration] - - -London; Printed by Manning and Mason, Ivy Lane. - - - - -WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - - VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES; - ~Old halls, Battle-fields,~ - AND SCENES ILLUSTRATIVE OF STRIKING PASSAGES - IN ENGLISH HISTORY AND POETRY. - -With Forty Illustrations by S. WILLIAMS, price One Guinea. - -CONTENTS. - -I.--Visit to Penshurst in Kent; the Ancient Seat of the Sidneys. -II.--Visit to the Field of Culloden. III.--Visit to Stratford-on-Avon; -and the Haunts of Shakspeare--Charlecote Hall--Clopton Hall, etc. -IV.--Visit to Combe Abbey, Warwickshire, as connected with Elizabeth of -Bohemia, and the Gunpowder Plot. V.--Visit to Lindisfarne, Flodden -Field, and the Scenery of Marmion. VI.--Visit to Bolton Priory, and -Scenes of the White Doe of Rylston. VII.--Visit to Hampton Court. -VIII.--Visits to Compton-Winyates, Warwickshire, a solitary old Seat -of the Marquis of Northampton. IX.--A Day-Dream at Tintagel. X.--Visit -to Staffa and Iona. XI.-Visit to Edge-Hill. XII.--Visit to the -Great Jesuits’ College at Stonyhurst, in Lancashire. XIII.--Visit -to the Ancient City of Winchester. XIV.--Visit to Wotton Hall, -Staffordshire--Alfieri and Rousseau in England--Traditions of Rousseau -at Wotton. XV.--Sacrament Sunday Kilmorac in the Highlands. - -“Written with the enthusiasm of a poet and the knowledge of an -antiquary.”--_Monthly Chronicle._ - - - THE BOY’S COUNTRY BOOK; - BEING THE REAL LIFE OF A COUNTRY BOY, - WRITTEN BY HIMSELF; - EXHIBITING ALL - THE AMUSEMENTS, PLEASURES, AND PURSUITS OF CHILDREN - IN THE COUNTRY. - -1 vol. fcap. 8vo., with about 40 Woodcuts by S. WILLIAMS, 8s. cloth -lettered. - -CONTENTS. - -I.--Sketch of his Life. II.--Peter Scroggins the Pony, and the Coal -Pits. III.--Journey into the Peak--Peak Scenery and Mines. IV.--Village -Trades, and Companions. V.--Spring and Summer Pleasures.--Birds, -Gardening, etc. VI.--Summer, Autumn, and Winter Pleasures.--Bathing, -Angling, Haymaking; Nutting, Acorn-gathering, Crab and Apple-gathering; -Woodmen, Charcoal-burners, and Wood Scenery; Amusements in Frost and -Snow. VII.--Domestic Animals, and their Treatment; Horsemanship; -Rabbit-keeping; Pigeons; Dogs, and their Exploits. VIII.--Juvenile -Mechanics. IX.--Occupations of the Children of the Poor. X.--Days at my -Grandfather’s. XI.--Fireside Amusements and Stories. XII.--Fireside -Tales--Seeking a Fortune, etc. XIII.--Fireside Amusements, and Village -Stories. XIV.--Philosophical Experiments and Sleight-of-hand Feats. -XV.--School Days. XVI.--School Days continued--Ackworth Scenes and -Characters. XVII.--A Summer-day’s Adventure of Three School Boys. -XVIII.--School Adventures at Tamworth. XIX.--Further Scenes and Events -at Tamworth. XX.--Rent-Night Suppers and Cousin John’s Stories. -XXI.--Conclusion; and Recollections of Early Life. - -“One of the most fascinating fictions, for young or old, that has ever -graced our literature.”--_Monthly Chronicle._ - - - COLONIZATION AND CHRISTIANITY; - A POPULAR HISTORY OF THE TREATMENT OF THE NATIVES, - IN ALL THEIR COLONIES, BY THE EUROPEANS. - -1 vol. post 8vo, 10_s._ 6_d._ cloth lettered. - -“We have no hesitation in pronouncing this the most important and -valuable work that Mr. Howitt has produced.”--_Tait’s Magazine._ - - -Preparing for Publication, in one Volume, 8vo. - - THE BALLAD POETRY OF MRS. HOWITT. - -To be beautifully Embellished by Wood Engravings from Original Designs. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - - The original language has been retained (including inconsistent and - erroneous spelling, use of diacriticals, capitalisation and - hyphenation), except as mentioned below. - - Depending on the hard- and software used and their settings, not all - elements may display as intended. - - Page 38, Bürschen: should be either Burschen (plural) or Bürschchen - (diminutive plural). - - Page 171, Ziguene: should be Zigeuner. - - Page 555, ahndungsvoll: should be ahnungsvoll. - - - Changes made - - Footnotes have been moved to under the paragraph or poem to which they - refer. - - Some obvious minor punctuation and typographical errors have been - corrected silently. - - Most of the corrections made have been verified with later editions of - the same book. - - Page xi: Embellishment numbers added - - Page xviii: part title CAUSES OF THE STRONG ATTACHMENT OF THE ENGLISH - TO COUNTRY LIFE. inserted cf. text - - Page xx: Purkiss changed to Purkess cf. text - - Page 28: géne changed to gêne - - Page 31: beau ideal changed to beau idéal - - Page 64: closing quote mark inserted at the end of the calculation - - Page 165: part title PICTURESQUE AND MORAL FEATURES OF THE COUNTRY - inserted cf. table of contents - - Page 173: overrun the country changed to overran the country - - Page 301: closing quote mark inserted after list of houses - - Page 348: part title THE FORESTS OF ENGLAND inserted cf. table of - contents - - Page 358/359: the lay-out of the quoted sources has been standardised - - Page 371: salvage genius changed to savage genius - - Page 376: this forests abounds changed to this forest abounds - - Page 414-415, footnote 26: the footnote marker was missing from the - source document; a later (1841) corrected edition has the footnote - marker after ... jousts and tourneys - - Page 491: closing quote mark inserted after verse - - Page 493: closing quote mark inserted after at the wake - - Page 587: opening quote mark inserted before What sort of a corpse. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Rural Life of England, by William Howitt - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RURAL LIFE OF ENGLAND *** - -***** This file should be named 60485-0.txt or 60485-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/8/60485/ - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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