THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris ; C, K. OGDEN THE MERRIE DAYS OF ENGLAND Uitklp of \\t (Dlku Millie. BY EDWARD McDERMOTT. ILLUSTRATED \\TTn TWENTY ENGRAVINGS, FROM DRAWINGS BY JOSEPH NASH, GEORGE THOMAS, BIRKET FOSTER, AND EDWARD CORBOULD. LONDON : WILLIAM KENT & CO. 86, FLEET STREET, (successors to DAVID BOGUE. ) 1859. London : — Printed by Richard Clay, Bread Street Hill. € ^u . . . I'm an old man, And love the good old ways. Southey. ::^yiOW pleafant are the ideas \3 which are afTociated with ** the merrie days of England ; " and how ftrik- ingly do they contrafh with our experience of the prefent time ! Turn aiide for a moment from the records of the mifdeeds of haughty Plantagenets ; the defolating wars of York and Lancafter; the terrible misfortunes of the Stuarts; the fanguinary conflids of Towton, of Bofworth, or of Nafeby ; and even amid thefe darker fcenes of our hiftory, abundant evidence is afforded that England was in truth ** a merrie England." iv IntrodiiBion. Our fathers fought manfully and earneftly at Creily and at Agincourt ; they worked well and nobly as they piled up caftle, and abbey, and groined cathedral ; but the flrife for exiftence was not so keen, nor the ftruggle of competition fo fierce then as now. At break of dawn and clofe of day, at the early blufh of May-tide, amid the bleak winter of Chriflmas, there were heard from the hill-fides and valleys of old England the joyous fhouts of a contented and a happy people. The peafant in his humble abode, the young trading Guilds of the towns, the noble in his manfion, the baron in his caftle, the monk in his abbey, and the courtier that applauded the king's jefler in the palace, were gay and light-hearted ; — men laughed and women fmiled, and minflrels fang, and all fared well in " the merrie days of England." Pale fludents, deeply read in their Hallams, their Humes, and their Rapins, tell us that there were no railways, no eledlric telegraphs, and no leviathan fleamers in the " olden time." Alas! we know it; and we read too that there were then no commercial panics, nor monfter workhoufes, nor fome other of the types of modern times, and products of this iron and progreflive age. And yet our fithers lived Introduction. v and died, and taught their children how to enjoy life and meet death, as befitted the " free-born Englifhman." We have culled trom poets and writers who lived in the ** Olden time," and from a few of our own day who have ftudied the paft, fome deicriptions of the fports, the paflimes, and the occupations of our forefathers, even when living amid wars and rumours of wars, civil diffenfions, and much perhaps that might well have been fpared for hiftory to record. Our pen and pencil '' iketches of the olden times " are not fubmitted as finished pidures ; our objed: is merely to prefent to this utilitarian age fome features of the " merrie days " of our anceftors. E. McD. THE TERRACE, CAMBERWELL. CONTENTS. PAGE COTTAGE HOMES OF ENGLAND i MAY DAY GAMES 6 SHEPHERDESSES AND MILKMAIDS 14 HARVEST HOME „ SPORTS AND PASTIMES a8 ROBIN HOOD 33 PLAYS AND MYSTERIES 43 THE MANSIONS OF MERRIE ENGLAND 51 THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 58 HUNTING AND HAWKING 6$ ANGLING IN DAYS OF OLD 78 JOUSTS AND TOURNAMENTS 87 FENCING AND SWORD PLAY 99 CANTERBURY PILGRIMS loi THE OLD ABBEYS OF ENGLAND - - ■ 1 1 1 THE OLD CASTLES OF ENGLAND 120 BARONIAL FEASTS n8 WANDERING MINSTRELS 135 CHRISTMAS-TIDE 149 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. DRAWN BY ENGRAVED BY PAGE THE COTTAGE HOMES OF ENGLAND . Birket Foster . E. Evans. Frontispiece MAY DAY GAMES Joseph Nash . W. J. Linton . . lo A FAIRE AND HAPPY MILKMAYD . . George Thomas . H. Harral . THE HOCK-CART George Thomas . IF. Thomas SHOOTING THE POPINJAY Joseph Nash . H. Harral . ROBIN HOOD IN FINSBURY FIELD . . George Thomas . W. Thomas NOAH'S ARK— A DRAMATIC MYSTERY E. H. Corbottld . E. Wimperis THE OLD MANSION HOUSE .... Joseph Nash . . W. J. Linton THE POOR AT HIS GATE Georsce Thomas . H. Harral . A STAG HUNT George Thomas . H. Harral . A HAWKING PARTY George Thomas . H. Harral . AN ANGLER'S MORNING Birket Foster . IV. T. Green THE TOURNAMENT E. H. Corbould . W. Aleasotn OLD ENGLISH PASTIMES— FENCING . Joseph Nash . W. J. Linton CANTERBURY PILGRIMS George Thomas . IV. Thomas THE ABBEY'S RUINED WALLS . . . Birket Foster . W. H. Palmer NORHAM CASTLE Birket Foster . J. Cooper . DINNER IN A BARONIAL HALL . . Joseph Nash . . T. Williams THE AGED MINSTREL Joseph Nash . . W.J. Linton CHRISTMAS REVELS Joseph Nash . W. Measom Initial Letters and Ortiaments desigtied by Harry ROGERS and T. Macquoid, 77ie Drawings by Joseph Nash, copied upon Wood by J. F. SKILL. 20 24 30 40 48 54 60 66 74 84 92 100 104 112 124 130 146 158 THE MERRIE DAYS OF ENGLAND. COTTAGE HOMES. ►HERE are few, if any fcenes in England which are more fuggeftive of the "merrie" days of the paft, than the pidurefque villages which are to be met with in every part of our country. Not only do they convey to the mind pleafant pidlures of rural life, of healthy occupations, of fimple pleafures, and contented minds ; but they carry us back, in imagination to the days when poets fang the charms of peafant life, and Spenfer told the loves of fhepherdefTes, and the wooings of " gentle herdfmen." Who has not been charmed with the fight of an Englifh village, neftling amid the B 2 Cottage Homes, foliage of fome thickly wooded fpot ; its humble fpire pointing with tapering finger to the clear blue heaven above ; its ancient church marking the hallowed fpot beneath whofe bright green turf. The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. As we look upon thefe "God's acres/' and their "mouldering heaps," we refle6t that many a time and oft the occupants of thofe " narrow cells " had wended their way along thofe grafl- grown walks, when the village chime fummoned them to their devout worfhip ; or when, at the folemn tolling of the bell, ftal- wart men fobbed, and maidens wept, as they bade the laft adieu to thofe alike " to fortune and to fame unknown." It is fuch a village church that Mrs. Hemans defcribes in her graceful fonnet : Crowning a flowery slope, it stood alone In gracious sanctity. A bright rill wound, Caressingly, about the holy ground ; And warbled with a never-dying tone Amidst the tombs. A hue of ages gone Seem'd, from that ivied porch, that solemn gleam, Of tower and cross, pale-quivering on the stream, O'er all th' ancestral woodlands to be thrown — And something yet more deep. The air was fraught With noble memories, whispering many a thought Of England's fathers: loftily serene,' They that had toil'd, watch'd, struggled to secure, Within such fabrics, worship free and pure, Reign'd there, the o'ershadowing spirit of the scene. THE COTTAGE HOMES OF ENGLAND. Cottage Homes. 3 And of the humble dwellings that clufter round that venerable fabric, the fame writer has faid : — The cottage homes of England I By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silver)- brooks, And round the hamlet fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves ; And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the birds beneath their eaves. Thefe cottage homes, and the ivy-mantled tower of the village church, have not greatly changed by fafhion or by time. They were reared in the days of " merrie England," and are not yet altogether fupplanted by model cottages. Darwin's pretty sketch of a ruflic dwelling in the laft century, compared with the defcription of Mifs Mitford of the prettieft cottage in " Our Milage," will fhow how little has been the change which a century has made. The rush-thatch'd cottage on the purple moor, Where ruddy children frolic round the door; The moss-grown antlers of the aged oak, The shaggy locks that fringe the colt unbroke ; The bearded goat, with nimble eyes that glare Through the long tissue of his hoary hair, As with quick foot he climbs some ruined wall, And crops the ivy which prevents its fall ; With rural charms the tranquil mind delight, And form a picture to th' admiring sight. " The prettieft cottage," fays Mifs Mitford, " on our village green, is the little dwelling of Dame Wilfon. It ftands in 4 Cottage Homes, a corner of the common, where the hedgerows go curving ofF into a fort of bay, round a clear bright pond, the earlieft haunt of the fwallow. A deep, woody, green lane, fuch as Hobima or Ruyfdael might have painted — a lane that hints of nightingales — forms one boundary of the garden, and a floping meadow the other ; while the cottage itfelf, a low, thatched, irregular building, backed by a blooming orchard, and covered with honeyfuckle and jefTamine, looks like the chofen abode of fnugnefs and comfort. And fo it is." The village of Micklethorpe, pidured by Charles Mackay in one of his best poems, is not lefs pleafing : — Embower'd amid the Surrey Hills The quiet village lay, Two rows of ancient cottages Beside the public way, A modest church, with ivied tower, And spire with mosses grey. Beneath the elm's o'er-arching boughs The little children ran ; The self-same shadows fleck'd the sward In days of good Queen Anne ; And then, as now, the children sang Beneath its branches tall — They grew, they loved, they sinned, they died — Tlie tree outlived them all. But still the human flow'rets grew. And still the children play'd, And ne'er the tree lack'd youthful feet To frolic in its shade. The ploughboy's whistle in the spring. Or chant of happy maid. Cottage Homes. 5 jVot lefs welcome will be the lines on the " Lovers' Tree," by Charles Shelton, a poet among a people who ftill look up to England as the honoured home of their fathers. By many a hedge-row'd pleasant way, By flow'ry meads, and leafy spots. By woods, by vagrant brooklets, gay With lilies and forget-me-nots, By mills, whose white sails smoothly spin — Scenes that might be contentment's realm — We reach our cheerful village inn ; But pass we first the village elm. It stands beside the village green, And there has stood three hundred years ; 'Mid change of time, and men, and scene, Alone, unchanged the look it wears : Though lightnings thrice have sear'd its head. Though storms have scatter'd many a bough, Its branches ne'er were wider spread, Ne'er furnished broader shade than now. Beneath its shade, when Anne was queen, Sad Strephon sigh'd his hopes and fears. And Damon piped of pastures green In coy, consenting Chloe's ears : For there the lovers ever came, In evening's soft obscurity ; And still their tree retains the name It took from them -The Lovers' Tree. MAY DAY. NCE In the year at leaft, the villages of England prefented a fcene of joyous fefti- vities. It was when the first of May ufhered in the vernal Spring, and when ^'J the hearty fummons was heard : — Come, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads, And away to the May-pole hie ; For every he, has got him a she, And the minstrel's standing by. " The youth of the country" (fays Stevenfon, the old writer upon Agriculture) " make ready for the morris dance, and the merry milkmaid fupplies them with ribands her true love had given her. The tall young oak is cut down for a May-pole, and the frolic fry of the town prevent the rifing of the fun, and, with joy in their faces, and boughs in their hands, they march before it," May Day. 7 to the village green. It was an incident of this feftive day, that Lady Craven has preferved In thefe lines : — Colin met Sylvia on the green Once on the charming first of May, And shepherds ne'er tell false, 1 ween, Yet 'twas by chance, the shepherds say. Colin he bow'd and blush'd, then said, " AVill you, sweet maid, this first of May, Begin the dance by Colin led, To make this quite his holiday?" Sylvia replied, " I ne'er from home Yet ventured till this first of May ; It is not fit for maids to roam. And make a shepherd's holiday." " It is most fit," replied the youth, " That Sylvia should, this first of May, By me be taught that love and truth Can make of life a holiday." At the entertainment given at Elvetham, by the Earl of Hereford, to Queen Elizabeth, in 1591, her Majefty was awakened in the morning by " three excellent mufitians, who, being difguifed in auncient country attire, did greete her with a plcafant fong of Corydon and Phillida, made in three partes of purpofe. The fong, as well for the worth of the dittie as the aptnefs of the note thereto applied, foe pleafed Her HighnefTe after it had been once fung, as to commande it again and highly to grace it with her cheerful] acceptaunce and commendation." We are unable to give the "note thereto applied;" but as it was favoured with an encore by 8 May Bay, one who was a fkilful muficlan, not lefs than an able fovereign, we may aflume that it was appropriate, and give only the words which Breton has preferved : — In the merrie moneth of Maye, In a morne by break of daye, With a troop of damsells playing, Forth I yode forsooth a Maying Where anon by a wood side, W^here as May was in his pride, I espied all alone Phillida and Corydon. Much adoe there was, God wot : He wold love and she wold not \ She sayde never man was trewe ; He sayes none was false to you. He sayed he had lovde her longe : She sayes love should have no wronge. Corydon would kisse her then : She sayes maids must kisse no men, Tyll they doe for good and all. When she made the shepherde call All the heavens to wytness truthe, Never lov'd a truer youthe. Then with many a prettie othe, Yea and naye, and faithe and trothe ; Such as gentle shepperdes use When they will not love abuse ; Love that had been long deluded, Was with kisses swete concluded ; And Phillida with garlands gaye. Was made the ladye of the Maye. May Day. 9 We find, too, in Herrick's Paftorals, a very prefTing invitation to the long (lumbering Corinna, to overcome her evident repugnance to early rifing, and abridge the light labours of the toilette, in order *' To do obfervance for a morn of May." Hear the impatient fwain how he appeals to the lingering maiden : — Get up, get up, for shame, the blooming morne Upon her wings presents the god unshorne. See how Aurora throwes her faire Fresh-quilted colours through the aire ; Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herbe and tree. Each flower has wept, and bowed towards the east. Above an hour since, yet you not drest, Nay ! not so much as out of bed ; When all the birds have matteyns seyd, And sung their thankfull hymnes to Heaven, 'tis sin, Nay, profanation to keep in. When as a thousand virgins on this day. Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in May. Come, my Corinna, come, and comming marke How each field turns a street, each street a parke, % Made green and dimmed with trees ; see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch ; each porch, each doore, ere this An arke, a tabernacle is. Made up of white-thorne neatly enterwove, 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 obay 1 he proclamation made for May : And sin no more as we have done by staying, But, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying. lo May Day. It was to a fcene fuch as Spenfer has thus defcribed, that the ardent lover invited the fair maiden : — Siker this morrow, no longer ago, I saw a shole of shepheards outgo, With singing and showting and jolly cheere ; Before them yode a lustie tabrere. That to the meynie a hornepipe plaid. Whereto they dauncen eche one with his maide. To see these folkes make such jovisaunce, Made my hart after the pipe to daunce. Tho' to the greene-woode they speeden them all, To fetchen home May with their musicall : And home they bringen, on a royall throne, Crown'd as king ; and his queen atone Was Ladie Flora, on whom did attend A faire flocke of faeries, and a fresh bend Of lovely nymphs. O, that I were there, To helpen the ladies their May-bush to beare. Even the grave mercers and merchants of London caught fomething of the hilarity of the villagers, for Stowe fays : — *' I find alfo that in the month of May, the citizens of London of all eftates, fingly in every parifh, or fometimes two or three parifhes joining together, had their feveral Mayings and did fetch in May-poles with divers warlike fhowes, with good archers, morris dancers, and other devices for paftime, all the day long, and toward the evening they had ftage plays and bonfires in the ftreets. Of thcfe Mayings, we read in the reign of Henry VL that the Aldermen and Sheriffs of London being on May-day at the Bifhop of London's wood, in the parifh of Stebonheath (Stepney), and having there a worfhippful dinner for themfelves and other com- MAY- DAY GAMES. May Diiy. i i moners, Lydgate the poet, that was a monk of Bury, feiit to them by a purfuivant a joyful commendation of that feason, containing fixteen ftaves of metre royal." A famous place for erecting the May-pole for the citizens was before the church of St. Andrew, in Leadenhall Street, now called in confequence St. Andrew Underfhaft. There was alfo a famous May-pole in the Strand, of which it was faid : — Fairly we marched on, till our approach Within the spacious passage of the Strand, Objected to our sight a summer broach Y'cleap'd a May Pole, which in all our land No city, town, nor streete can paralell. Nor can the lofty spire of Clerkenwell, Although we have the advantage of a rock, Pearch up more high his turning weather-cock. This remarkable May-pole was 134 feet in height, and it was ereded, as appears from an old tract,* "upon the coft of the parifhioners there adjacent, and the gracious confcnt of his facred Majefty, with the illuftrious Prince the Duke of York. This tree was a moft choice and remarkable piece ; 'twas made below Bridge, and brought in two parts up to Scotland Yard, near the King's Palace, and from thence it was conveyed, April 14th (i 661), to the Strand to be ereded. It was brought with a ftreamer flourifhing before it ; Drums beating all the way, and other fortes of mufick ; it was fupposed to be fo long, that Landfmen could not pofTibly raife * Cities Loyalty Displayed, 4to. (1661). 12 May Day. it ; (Prince James, Duke of York, Lord High Admiral of England, commanded twelve feamen off a boord to come and officiate the bufinefs, whereupon they came and brought their cables, Pullies, and other tacklings, with fix great anchors ;) after thefe were brought three Crowns, bore by three men bare-headed, and a ftreamer difplay- ing all the way before them ; Drums beating, and other mufick playing ; numerous multitudes of people thronging the ftreets with great fhouts and acclamations all day long. The May-pole then being joyned together, and hoopt about with bands of iron, the crown and cane with the King's Arms richly gilded, was placed on the head of it, a large top like a Balcony was about the middle of it." Then amid founds of trumpets and drums, the loud cheerings, and the fhouts of the people, the May-pole, " far more glorious, bigger, and higher than ever any one that ftood before it," was raifed upright, which highly did pleafe the merrie Monarch, and the illuftrious Prince, Duke of York ; and " little children did much rejoice, and antient people did clap their hands, faying, golden days began to appear." A crufade againft May-poles was commenced in the reign of the youthful Edward the Sixth ; and the Lords and Commons folemnly enadled in 1644, "that all and fingular May Poles that are or fhall be eredled, fhall be taken down and removed by the conftable," under a penalty upon " the faid officers, to be fined five fhillings every week till the faid May-pole be taken down." Almoft the firft act of the reft:ored Charles, was the repeal of thefe edids. May- poles are no longer an inftitution of the country, and '' Pafquil's May Day. 3 Palinodia " thus mourned the change in the cuftoms of merrie England : — Happy the age, and harmlesse were the dayes (For then true love and amity were found), When every village did a May Pole raise, And Whitsun ales and May Games did abound. And all the lusty yonkers in a rout, With merry lasses daunced the rod about, Then Friendship to their banquets bid the guests, And poore men fared the better for their feasts. The lords of castles, manners, townes, and towers. Rejoiced when they beheld the farmers flourish, And would come downe unto the summer bowers, To see the country gallants dance the Morrice. But since the summer Poles were overthrown, And all good sports and merriments decayed, How times and men are changed, so well is knowne, It were but labour lost if more were said. SHEPHERDS AND SHEPHERDESSES. •,x^HE charms of rural and pafloral life have '^^ in almoft every age been fung by ^^ poets ; fcenes of Arcadian innocence and fimplicity have been prefented by pain- ^i^^^ ters in funny piftures, and with the ;_^;C moft pleafmg colours ; and eifayifts and ^Ju^ novelifts have drawn abundant materials '^'-'^^^jj^ from paftoral life and occupations. The works of old Spenfer abound with the loves and woes of gentle fhepherds ; and Milton, turning his gaze awhile from a " Paradife Loft," and the glittering thrones of the Cherubim, found there was yet an elyfium on earth ; and exclaimed In the gladfome ftrains of " L'Allegro,"— Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, As the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns, and fallows gray Where the nibbling flocks do stray. Shepherds a?id Shepherdejfes. 15 It was fuch a fcene, perhaps, as that, which Sir Philip Sidney had already defcrihed in his *' Arcadia : " — "There were hills which garnifhed their proud heights with (lately trees ; humble valleys whofe bafe eftate feemed comforted with the refrefhing of filver rivers ; meadows enamelled with all forts of eye-pleafing flowers ; thickets which, being lined with moft pleafant fliade, were witnefled fo, by the cheerful difpofition of many well-tuned birds ; each pafture ftored with fheep feeding with fober fecurity, while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the dam's comfort ; here a fhepherd's boy piping as though he fhould never be old, there a young fhepherdefs knitting, and withal finging, and it feemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her hands kept time to her voice-mufic." Pope, too, has told of the happy fecurity of paftoral life, in the couplet, — Piping on their reeds the shepherds go, Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe. The elegant Wotton appreciated in his day thefe rural charms, and thus tuned his mufic to their praife : — Mistaken mortals ! did you know Where joy, heart's-ease, and comforts grow, You'd scorn proud towers. And seek them in these bowers ; Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, But blustering care could never tempest make, Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, Save of fountains that glide by us. 1 6 Shepherds and Shepherdejfes. Here's no fantastic masque or dance, But of our kids that frisk and prance ; Nor wars are seen, Unless upon the green' Two harmless lambs are butting one another — AVhich done, doth bleating run each to his mother ; And wounds are never found, Save what the ploughshare gives the ground. England's greateft dramatift makes the unfortunate Henry thus figh, on the hard-fought field of Towton, for the happinefs of a fhepherd's life : — Methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain ; To sit upon a hill as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run : How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year. How many years a mortal man may live. * * * * * So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah ! what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? Oh yes it doth ; a thousand fold it doth. And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds. His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, Shepherds and ShepherdeJJes. \n All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched on a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. LIften to Phlneas Fletcher, another poet of the golden age ; how frefh and invigorating is the fcene which he prefents to our view ! and how fimple and healthy are the occupations of the folding and unfolding of the flock, which form the fole charge and only care of the gentle and happy fhepherds ! Thrice, oh thrice happy, shepherd's life and state ! When courts are happiness' unhappy pawns ! His cottage low and safely humble gate Shuts out proud Fortune with her scorns and fawns : No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep ; Singing all day, his flock he learns to keep. Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep. Instead of music and base flattering tongues. Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise. The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs, And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes : In country plays is all the strife he uses ; Or sing, or dance unto the rural muses ; And but in music's sports all difference refuses. His certain life, that never can deceive him. Is full of thousand sweets and rich content : The smooth leaved beeches in the field receive him With coolest shades, till noon-tide rage is spent ; His life is neither toss'd in boist'rous seas Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease ; Pleased and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. D 1 8* Shepherds and Shepherdejfes. His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, While by his side his faithful spouse hath place ; His little son into his bosom creeps, The lively picture of his father's face : Never his humble house nor state torment him : Less he could like, if less his God had sent him ; And when he dies, green turfs with grassy tomb content him. With the dawn of day the fhepherds awaken to the pleafant call of John Fletcher, the companion of Beaumont, — Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep — See the blushing morn doth peep Through your windows, while the sun To the mountain-tops has run. Gilding all the vales below With his rising flames, which grow Brighter with his climbing still — Up ! ye lazy swains ! and fill Bag and bottle for the field ! Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield To the bitter north-east wind ; Call the maidens up, and find Who lies longest, that she may Be chidden for untimed delay. Feed your faithful dogs, and i)ray Heaven to keep you from decay ; So unfold, and then — away. At clofe of day, the flocks are to be folded, fo — Shepherds all, and maidens fair. Fold your flocks up, for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course has run. Shepherds and Shepherdejfes. \ g See the dew-drops, how they kiss Every little flower that is Hanging on their velvet heads, Like a rope of crystal beads ; See the heavy clouds low falling, And bright Hesperus down calling The dead night from underground ; At whose rising, mists unsound, Damps and vapours fly ai)ace, Hovering o'er the wanton face Of those pastures where they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom. Therefore, from such danger lock Ever}' one his loved flock ; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and, ere day. Bear a lamb or kid away ; Or the crafty thievish foe Break upon your simple flocks. To secure yourself from these Be not too secure in ease ; So shall you good shepherds prove, And deserve your master's love. Now, good night ! may sweetest slumbers And soft silence fall in numbers On your eyelids ! so farewell ! Thus I end my evening knell ! There are few portraits drawn with greater care, or finifh, than that one by the hands of Sir Thomas Overbury, of " A Fayre and happy milk-maid." " The golden eares of corne fill and kiHc her feet when flie reapes them as if they wifht to be bound and led prifoners by the 20 Shepherds and Shepherdeffes. fame hand that fell'd them. Her breath is her own, which fcents all the yeare long of June, like a new made hay cocke. She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart foft with pity ; and when winter evenings fall early (fitting at her merrie wheele), fhe fings a defiance to the giddy wheele of fortune. She doth all things with fo fweet a grace, it feems ignorance will not fuffer her to do ill, feeing her mind is to doe well. The gardsn and bee -hive are all her phyfick and chyrurgerye, and fhe lives the longer for't. She dares goe alone, and unfold fheepe i' the night, and feares no manner of ill becaufe jfhe means none ; ^et, to fay truth, fhe is never alone, for fhe is flill accompanied with old Jongs, honeji thoughts, and prayers, but fliort ones, yet they have their efficacy in that they are not pauled with enfuing idle cogitations. Thus lives fhe, and all her care is that fhe may die in the Jpr'ing-time, to have ftore of flowers ftucke upon her winding fheete." England has fhepherds now, and her hills and dales afford paflure for countlefs flocks ; but it is not " merrie England^' as in the days of yore: It is a land of exports and imports, a huge trading nation, the battle-ground of competition ; the arena of peaceful — or, as it is the fafhion to term it, " induftrial ftrife." Dyer's prophecy, in his poem of " The Fleece," now a century old, is rapidly being fulfilled. Shall we bunst .strong Darien's chain, Steer our bold fleets between the cloven rock.s, And through the great Pacific every joy Of civil life diffuse ? Are not her isles Numerous and large ? Have they not harbours calm, A FA I RE AND HAPTV MILK- MA YD. Shepherds and Shepherdeffes . 21 Inhabitants and manners? Haply, too, Peculiar sciences and other forms Of trade, and useful products to exchange For woolly vestures '? * * * A day will come, if not too deej) we drink The cup which luxury on careless wealth. Pernicious gift, bestows : a day will come When through new channels sailing, we shall clothe The Californian coast, and all the realms That stretch from Anian's Straits to proud Japan. HARVEST HOME. UT there was joy In the village homes of England, not alone at the dawn of Spring, and the advent of The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws, The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose ; but when Autumn had dyed the foliage of the foreft trees with Its many hues, and tinged the fields of waving grain with a golden tint ; when " the appointed Vv'eeks of harveft " arrived, and the hufbandman reaped where he had fown, then there went up again the merrle fhouts from the broad lands of Old England. Aye ! when reaping-machines were unknown ; when fteam -ploughs had not even been the fubjed: of dreams; when tall fadlory-like chimneys were not feen rearing their gracelefs Harvcjl Home. 23 forms above the homeftead, in bold rivalry with the modefl village fpire ; when the peafant's flail had no tirciefs competitor in the iron threfhing-machine, — they who reaped, and ploughed, and fowed, and mowed, were far merrier than in thefe days of model cottages, prize ploughmen, agricultural labourers, and aged paupers. " The harvefl: home " formed one of thofe occafions of rural feflivity of which Clare, the farm-labourer's fon, faid : — O Rural Life ! what charms thy meanness hide ; What sweet descrii)tions bards disdain to sing ; What loves, what graces on thy plains abide : Oh, could I soar me on the Muse's wing, What rifled charms should my researches bring ! Pleased would I wander where those charms reside ; Of rural sports and beauties would I sing ; Those beauties, Wealth, which you in vain deride, Beauties of richest bloom, superior to )Our pride. Stevenfon, the famous writer on Englifh Agriculture, tells how, in the good old times, the harvefl was wont to be celebrated : — " The furmenty pot welcomes home the harveft cart, and the garland of flowers crowns the captaine of the reapers. The pipe and the tabor are now fet bufily a-work, and the lad and the lafs will have no lead on their heels. O ! 'tis the merrie time wherein honeft neighbours make good cheer ; and God is glorified in his bleflings on the earth." Herrick gives us a lively fcene of Harveft Home : — ■ 24 Harveji Home. Come, sons of summer, by whose toile We are the lords of wine and oile ; By whose tough labour and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands ; Crown'd with the eares of corn, now come, And to the pipe sing harvest home. Come forth, my Lord, and see the cart Brest up with all the country art. See here a mankin, there a sheet, As spotless pure as it is sweet ; The horses, mares, and frisking fillies. Clad all in linen, white as lilies ; The harvest swains and wenches bound For joy to see the hock-cart crown'd. When Tufler wrote his " Five Hundred Points of Hufbandry," he evidently considered a good feaft and merrie making at harveft homes as one moft eflential of his " points," for he tells us : — In harvest time, harvest folke, servants and all. Should make altogether, good cheere in the hall : And fill out the black bole, of bleith to their song. And let them be merry all harvest time long. Once ended thy harvest, let none be l)cguilde, Please such as did please thee, man, woman, and child. Thus doing, with alway such help as they can, 'I'hou winnest the praise of the lal)(jurin;r man. i^_ W-TmO^S •_._ TlIK HDCKCAKT Harveji Home. 25 " TufTer Redivivus" adds: — " This, the poor labourer thinks, crowns all ; a good fupper muft be provided, and every one that did anything toward the Inning, niuft now have fome reward, as ribbons, laces, rows of pins to boys and girls, if never fo fmall, for their encouragement, and to be fure plumb-pudding. The men muft now have fome better than beft drink, which with a little tobacco, and their fcreaming for their largefles, their bufinefs will foon be done." Some quaint people who love the " good old times," even now rejoice to hear the jovial fong of the harveft men : — We have ploughed, we have sowed, We have reaped, we ha\e mowed, We have brought home every load, Hip, hip, hip, Harvest Home ! But there are '' potent, grave, and reverend fignors " now-a-days who feek to celebrate the harveft home by intcrefting ledlures on " Common Things," and fage advice to A merry and an artless throng, whose souls Beam through untutored glances — to patronize Savings' Banks, and fubfcribe to Burial Societies. Such lines as thofe of Tennyfon, brother of the Poet Laureate, are more fuited to the merrie days of England, than to the prefcnt grim and iron age of Political Economy : — Come, let us mount the breezy down. And hearken to the tumult blown Up from the campaign and the town. 26 Harveji Home. The harvest days are come again ; The vales are surging with the grain ; The merry work goes on amain ; Pale streaks of cloud scarce veil the blue, Against the golden harvest hue The Autumn trees look fresh and new; Wrinkled brows relax with glee, And aged life they laugh to see The sickness follow o'er the lea ; I see the little kerchief'd maid, With dimpling cheek and bodice staid, Mid the stout striplings half afraid ; Her red lip and her soft blue eye Mate the poppy's crimson dye And the cornflowers waving by ; I see the sire with bronzed chest ; Mad babes amid the blithe unrest Seem leaping from the mother's breast ; The mighty youth and supple child Go forth, the yellow sheaves are piled, The toil is mirth, the mirth is wild ! Old head and sunny forehead peers O'er the warm sea, or disappears, Drown'd amid the waving ears ; Barefoot urchins run, and hide In hollows, 'twixt the corn, or glide Towards the tall sheaf's sunny side ; HarveJ} Home. 27 Lusty pleasures, hob-nail'd fun, Throng into the noonday sun, And mid the merry reapers run. Draw the clear October out ; Another and another bout. Then back to labour with a shout : The banded sheaves stand orderly Against the purple Autumn sky, Like armies of Prosperity. Yet when the shadows eastwards seen O'er the smooth shorn fallows lean, And silence sits where they have been, Amid the gleaners I will stay. While the shout and roundelay Faint oft", and daylight dies away. SPORTS AND PASTIMES. F we would learn how merry were our ancef- tors, how thoroughly they gave themfelves - up to the enjoyment of their fports and paftimes, we could not have ftronger proof than is afforded in the fermon of Bifhop Latimer, preached before King Edward the Sixth. The good Bifhop there laments that the attradlions K of Robin Hood's day were greater than the charms of *i; his eloquence. " I came once myfelf," fays he, " to a place riding a journey homeward from London, and fent word overnight into the town that I would preach there in the morning becaufe it was a holy day, and I took my horfe and my company and went thither. (I thought I fhould have found a great company in the church.) When I came there, the church door was faft locked. I tarried there half-an-hour and more ; at laft the key was found, and one of the parifli comes to me and fays : * This is a bufy day with us, we cannot heare you ; this is Robin Hoodes daye ; the parifh is gone abroad to gather for sports and Pajiimes. 29 Robin Hoode.' I thought my rochet would have been regarded, though I were not : but it would not ferve, but was fayne to give place to Robin Hoode's men." This ardent love of merriment extended upwards from the people ; and if Latimer had to complain of the villagers' prefer- ence for Robin Hood, the venerable Thomas Cartwright certainly found the merry humour even of his clergy fomewhat in excefs, for we find him faying, in his " Admonition to Parliament againft the ufe of the Common Prayer," — *' If there be a bear or a bull to be baited in the afternoon, or a jackanapes to ride on horfeback, the minifter hurries the fervice over in a fhameful manner in order to be prefent at the fhow." Among the numerous fports and paftimes of the "merrie days of England," thofe which were conne(5ted with the ufe of the bow, were long held in the higheft efteem. From France our fathers imported the game of fhooting at the Popin-jay, thus referred to by an old writer — The wooden bird on horseback sliowing, By beat of drum with pipers blowing, They troop along huzzaing, tooting, To hold their annual game of shooting. The game as firft inftituted in France confifted of cruelly tethering a large bird in a field fo that it could fly only to a certain height, and the youth of the fecond order of nobles afTembled and took aim at him with their bows and arrows, in prcfence of the nobility, gentry, and magiftracy. He who killed the bird was named " king of the archers " for the year, and the next two beft 30 sports and Pajiimes. markfrnen were named to the office of the king's lieutenant, and ftandard-bearer. When the fport was introduced into England, a wooden bird was fubftituted for the live one, and the prize of vidory was awarded to the archer who could knock the *' Papeguay " off the pole. Stow tells of a large Clofe called the " Tazell," which in his day was let to the crofs-bow markers, where the citizens ufed to fhoot for prizes at the wooden bird. Henry the Eighth founded a perpetual corporation, called '' the Order of St. George," the members of which were permitted for paftime-fake to practife fhooting at all forts of marks and butts, and at ^' the game of the Popinjay." The fkill of the Englifh bowmen was tefted on many a battle-field, and the feats of William Cloudeflie, Adam Bell, and Clym of the Clough, not lefs than thofe of Robin Hood, have been cherifhed in the ballads and traditions of our country. We have, however, only to treat of archery as one of the fports and paftimes of merry England. Bulwer has given a vivid defcription, in the " Laft of the Barons," of one of the gatherings of the people at thefe trials of {kill : — " Open fpaces for the popular games and diverfion were then numerous in the fuburbs of the metropolis. Grateful to fome the frefh pool of Iflington ; to others, the grafs-bare fields of Finfbury ; to all, the hedgelefs plains of vail Mile-end. But the fite to which we are now fummoned was a new and maiden holiday-ground, lately beftowed upon the towns-folk of Weftminfter, by the power- ful Earl of Warwick. The ground was well fuited to the purpofe to which it was devoted. But what particularly now demands our attention was a broad plot in the ground, dedicated to the noble SHOOTIXC. THE POPINIAV sports and Pajlimes. o i diverfion of archery. The reigning houfe of York owed much of its military fuccefs to the fuperiority of the bowmen under its banners, and the Londoners themfelves were jealous of their repu- tation in this martial accomplishment. For the laft fifty years, notwithftanding the warlike nature of the times, the pracftice of the bow, in the intervals of peace, had been more negleded than feemed wife to the rulers. Both the king and his loyal city had of late taken much pains to enforce the due exercife of ' Goddes inftru- mente,' upon which an edidl had declared that ' the liberties and honour of England principally refted I ' * * * The butts, formed of turf, with a fmall white mark faftened by a very minute peg, were placed apart, one at each end, at the diftance of eleven fcore yards. At the extremity, where the fhooting commenced, the crowd aflem- bled, taking care to keep clear from the oppofite butt, as the warning word of ^ Fail ' was thundered forth ; but eager was the general murmur, and many were the wagers given and accepted, as fome well-known archer tried his chance. Near the butt that now formed the target, ftood the marker with his white wand ; and the rapidity with which archer after archer difcharged his fhaft, and then, if it mifled, hurried acrofs the ground to pick it up (for arrows were dear enough not to be lightly loft), amidft the jeers and laughter of the byftanders, was highly animated and diverting. As yet, however, no markfman had hit the white, though many had gone clofe to it, when Nicholas Alwyn ftepped forward ; and there was fomething fo unwarlike in his whole air, fo prim in his gait, fo careful in his deliberate furvey of the fhaft, and his precifc adjuftment of the leathern gauntlet that proteded the arm from 32 sports and Pajiimes. the painful twang of the ftrhig, that a general burft of laughter from the byftanders attefted their anticipation of a fignal failure. " ' 'Fore heaven ! ' said Montagu, * he handles his bow an' it were a yard meafure. One would think he were about to bargain for the bow-ftring, he eyes it fo clofely.' " ' And now,' faid Nicholas, flowly adjufting the arrow, ' a fhot for the honour of old Weflmoreland ! ' And as he fpoke, the arrow fprang gallantly forth, and quivered in the very heart of the white. There was a general movement of furprife among the fpedlators, as the marker thrice fhook his wand over his head. But Alwyn, as indifferent to their refpedl as he had been to their ridicule, turned and faid, with a fignificant glance at the filent nobles, * We fpringals of London can take care of our own, if need be.' " The great feat of Cloudeflie, the William Tell of England, was to fhoot the apple from the head of his child in the prefence of the king. The fkilful archer bound his fon of feven years old to a tree, placed an apple on the child's head, meafured one hundred and twenty yards from the ftake, entreated the fpedtators to be filent. And then drew out a fayre brode arrowe ; Hys bowe was great and longe, He set that arrowe in his bowe That was both styffe and stronge. Then CloudesHe cleft the aj)ple in two, As many a man myght see. " Over God forbode," sayde the kynge, "That thou sholde shote at me." ROBIN HOOD. uM^<^y^jJ^ T was natural that In the midft of all the " merrle - makynge " and the harveft feafts of olden times, our anceftors fhould have loved the memory of the good and bold " Robyn Hode," — as well as of that trio of liberty-loving Saxons, who years before had refifted and defied, in the faftnefles of their foreft-homes, the encroachments of Norman conquerors. WilHam and his fucceflbrs would have made of the broad lands of England only one vaft hunting field, and would have governed the vanqulfhed people by the curfew-bell and a game law. But Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudeflie, — all honour to their memories ! — laughed at the King's laws, and flew and ate the Plantagenets' venifon defpite his cruel 34 Robin Hood. edids. Later, when England's liberties appeared to have fallen for ever on the fatal field of Evefham, and " freedom fhrieked " when the brave Simon de Montfort was flain in bloody fight, the old Abbot of St. Colomb faid that "Robert Hood lived an outlawe among the woodland copfes and thickets," cherifhing there that love of liberty which has fince made England " great, glorious, and free." What would we not now give to fee Little John and Friar Tuck, in their foreft haunts, — this band of outlaws, clad in their Lincoln green, their bows flung over their fhoulders, and Robin tenderly leading his beloved Maid Marian through the foreft of Sherwood ? It muft have been a life of joyous excitement, and we might imagine that Shakefpeare had put into the mouth of Amiens, when in the funny glades of Arden, fome fong of the outlaws which tradition had preferved to his time : — Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. The banifhed Duke, reprefented in the wondrous drama of " As you Like It," living in his fylvan retirement, is but a pi(5lure of the brave Earl of Huntingdon, — our own Robin Hood of Sherwood foreft. " Where will the old Duke live ? " afks Oliver. " They fay he is already in the foreft of Arden, and Rob hi Hood. 35 a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England, and fleet the time careleffly as they did in the golden world." Let the elegant fketch of Drayton tell of Robin Hood, that, — In this our spacious isle, I think there is not one, But he hath heard some talk of him and Little John ; And to the end of time, the tales shall ne'er be done Of Sherlock, George-a-green, and Much the miller's son ; Of Tuck, the merry friar, which many a sermon made In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws and their trade. An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood Still ready at his call, that bowmen were right good ; All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue, His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew, When setting to their lips their little bugles shrill The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill. Their bauldricks set with studs, almost their shoulders cast, To which under their arms their shafts were buckled fast ; A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span. Who struck below the knee, not counted there a man : All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong : They not an arrow drew, but was a cloth-yard long. ******* And of these archers brave, there was not any one. But he could kill a deer his swiftest speed upon, Which they did boil and roast, in many a mighty wood. Sharp hunger the fine sauce to their more kingly food. Then taking them to rest, his merry men and he Slept many a summer's night under the greenwood tree. From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant store, What oftentimes he took he shared amongst the poor : No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way, To him before he went, but for his pass must pay. -The widow in distress he graciously relieved, 36 Robin Hood. And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin grieved : He from the husband's bed no married woman wan, But to his mistress dear, his loved Marian, Was ever constant known, which wheresoe'er she came. Was sovereign of the woods ; chief lady of the game : Her clothes tucked to her knee, and dainty braided hair, With bow and quiver armed, she wander'd here and there, Amongst the forests wild ; Diana never knew Such pleasures, nor such harts as Marian slew. The articles of that war which Rohin and his men waged againft the portion of fociety which fought to opprefs them, are duly fet forth in a very famous " playe of Robyn Hode, very proper to be played in Maye Games." In one of thefe fcenes Robyn commands all his yeomen to be cheerful, while Little John reads the " articles," — and thefe ordain that no man prefume to call our mafter by name of earle, lorde, baron, knight, or fquire, but fimply by the name of Robin Hood ; that faire Matilda be only known hereafter as " Maid Marian ; " that no pafTenger fhould be permitted to pafs *' till he with Robin feafte ; " thit they fhould never " the poore man wrong, nor fpare a prieft, a ufurer or clarke ; " and laftly — You shall defend with all your power, Maids, widows, orphants, and distressed men. A refrefhing pidlure of this foreft life is to be found in '' Knight's Old England : "— " What a world of funfhinc and green leaves, and flickering lights and fhadows, breaks in upon us, — excitement in the chace. Robin Hood. 17 whether they followed the deer, or were thcmfclves followed by the fherifF through bufh and brake, over bog and quagmire, — of enjoyment in their fhooting and wreftling matches, in their fword fights and fvvord dances, in their vifits to all the ruftic wakes and feafts of the neighbourhood, where they would be received as the moft welcome of guefl:s ! Now the outlaws would be vifited by the wandering minftrels, coming thither to amufe them with old ballads, and to gather a rich harveft of materials for new ones, that fhould be liflened to with the deepeft intereft and delight all England through ; not only while the authors recited them, but for centuries after the very names of fuch authors were forgotten. The legitimate poet minftrel would be followed by the humbler gleeman, forming one of a band of revellers, in which would be comprifed a taborer, a bag-piper, and dancers or tumblers, and who, tempted by the well-known liberality of the forefters, would penetrate the thick wood to find them. And great would be the applaufe at the humorous dances and accompanying fongs, at their balancings and tumblings, — wonderful, almofl: too wonderful, to be produced without the aid of evil fpirits, would feem their fleight-of-hand tricks. At another time there would fuddenly be heard echoing tlirough the foreft glades the founds of flrange buglers from flrange hunters. Their rich apparel fhows them to be of no ordinary rank. How dare they, then, intrude upon the foreft king ^. Nay, there is not any danger. Are there not lady hunters among the company ? and what fays the ballad, the truth of which every one attefls ? — 38 Robin Hood. Robyn loved one dere ladye, For doute of dedely synne Wolde he never do company harme, That any woman was ynne. So their hufbands, brothers, fons, and fathers, hunt freely through Sherwood in their company, fafe from the fudden arrow, aye, though even the hated fheriff himfelf be among them." We cannot tell, within our narrow limits, what fun and frolic, what merry humours, or what hair-breadth efcapes, Robin Hood enjoyed, nor tell of his adventures with the potter, the beggar, the tanner, and the tinker, or how he fought with the gallant Finder of Wakefield, when He leaned his back fast unto a thorn, And his foot against a stone ; And there he fought a long summer's day, A summer's day so long, Till that their swords on their broad bucklers, Were broke fast into their hands. Nor can we narrate all his facetious frolics with the old Bifhop of Flereford : — When Robin Hood took the bishop by the hand. And bound him fast to a tree ; And made him sing a mass, God wot, To him and his yeomandree. And then they brought him through the wood, And set him on his dapple gray ; And gave him the tail within his hand. And bad him for Robin Hood pray. Robin Hood. 39 And how, finally, Robin Hood took the bishop by the hand, And he caused the music to play ; And he made the old bishop to dance in his boots, And glad he could so get away. The bold forefter's horn is filenced, but the laft fccne which ended the ftrange eventful hiftory, was calm as fummcr funfet. The night dews fall not gentler to the ground, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft, as did bold Robin pafs away. A rare old ballad, called, " His Laft Farewell," prefents a fcene of refigned compofure which is highly charadleriftic : — When Robin Hood and Little John, Down a down, a down, a down. Went o'er that bank of broom, Said Robin Hood to Little John, We have shot for many a poind. Hey dozen, a doiun, a down. But I am not able to shoot more, My arrows will not flee ; I never hurt woman in all my life, Nor man in woman's company. I never hurt fair maid in all my time, Nor at my death shall it be ; But give me my bent bow in my hand, And a broad arrow I '11 let flee, And where this arrow is taken up. There shall my grave digged be. 40 Robin Hood. Lay me a green sod under my head, And another at my feet ; And lay my bent bow at my side, Which was my music sweet. And make my grave of gravel and green. Which is most right and meet. Let me have length and breadth enough, With a green sod under my feet ; That they may say when I am dead. Here lies bold Robin Hood. These words they readily promised him, Which did bold Robin please ; And there they buried Robin Hood, Near to the fair Kirkleys. Robin Hood was regarded by the common people as the reprefentatlve and the hero of a caufe far older and deeper even than that hi which De Montfort had fo nobly fallen ; we mean, the permanent proteft of the induftrious clafTes againft the galling injuftice and infulting immorality of that framework of Englifh fociety, and that fabric of ecclefiaftical as well as civil authority, which the iron arm of the Conqueft had eftablifhed. Under a fyftem of general oppreffion, — bafed avowedly on the right of conqueft, — the fuffering claffes beheld in a perfonage like Robert Hood a fort of particular Providence, which fcattered a few grains of equity amid that monftrous mafs of wrong. And when in his defenfive conflidls the well-aimed miffile entered the breaft of fome one of their petty tyrants, though regarded by the ruling powers as an arrow of malignant fate, it was hailed by the wrung [^^^S^^i^^^53f^' --^^rrib^^ ROBIN HOOD IN KINSnUKV KIKI.I*. Robin Hood. 41 and goaded people as a fhaft of protcding or avenging Heaven. The fervices of fuch a chieftain, too, afforded a ftire and tempting refuge for every Anglo-Saxon who, ftrong in heart and in mufcle, and ftung by intolerable infiilt, had flown in the face of the Norman owner, or his owner's bailiff, — for every villein who, in defending the decencies of his hearth, might have brained fome brutal collector of the poll-tax, — for every ruftic fportfman who had incurred death or mutilation, the ferocious penalty of the Anglo-Norman foreft laws, for '^ taking, killing, and eating deer." What wonder, then, that in the merrie days of England, men of all conditions, — the peafant in his cottage home, — the fober citizen in the bufy " chepe " of London, — the nobles, and even the monarch on his throne, fhould ftill preferve the memory of the good chivalrous bowman ? Thus it was, as Stowe tells us, that '' In the month of May, namely on May-day in the morning, every man, without impediment, would walk into the fweet meadows and green woods, there to rejoice their fpirits with the beauty and favour of fvv^eet flowers, and with the harmony of birds, praifing God in their kind ; and for example hereof, Edward Hall hath noted, that King Henry VIII., as in the 3rd of his reign, and divers other years, fo namely in the 7 th of his reign, on May-day in the morning, with Queen Katherine his wife, accompanied with many lords and ladies, rode a-Maying, from Greenwitch to the high ground of Shooter's Hill, where as they paffed by the way they efpied a company of tall yeomen, clothed all in green, with green hoods, and bows and arrows, to the G 42 Robi?i Hood. number of two hundred ; one, being their chieftain, was called Robin Hoode, who required the king and his company to ftay and fee his men fhoot ; whereunto the king granting, Robin Hoode whiftled, and all the two hundred archers fhot off, loofing all at once ; and when he whittled again they likewife fhot again ; their arrows whiftled by craft of the head fo that the noife was ftrange and loud, which greatly delighted the king, queen, and their company. Moreover this Robin Hoode defired the king, and queen, with their retinue, to enter the green wood, where, in arbours made of boughs, and decked with flowers, they were fet and ferved plentifully with venifon and wine by Robin Hoode and his men, to their great contentment, and had other pageants and paftimes." PLAYS AND MYSTERIES. ANY and various were the amufe- ments of our forefathers. Evidence of the abundance of national fports and paftime are to be met with in almoft all old Englifh writers; and in a work of fo unpromifing a title as the " Anatomy of Melancholy," by Burton, in the feventeenth century, we are told that " ringing, bowling, fhooting, playing with keel-pins, coits, pitch- ing of bars, hurling, wreftling, leaping, run- ning, fencing, muftering, fwimming, playing with wafters, foils, foot-balls, balowns, running at the quintain, and the like, are common recreations of country folks." To this long lift he adds, " Dancing, finging, mafking, mumming, and ftage plays, are reafonable recreations it in feafon ; as are May- games, wakes, and Whitfun Ales, if not at unfeafonable hours ; " 44 Plays and Myjleries. and the good-hearted Burton fays, " Let them," that is, the common people, " freely feaft, fing, dance, have puppet-plays, hobby-horfes, tabers ; crowds (fiddles), and bagpipes, and play at ball and barley brake. Plays, mafks, jefters, gladiators, tumblers, and jugglers, are to be winked at, left the people fhould do worfe than attend them." The love of pageants, fhows, theatrical performances and interludes, was very general among the people. To fuch an extent was it carried, that it was found materially to interfere with the devotions of the Sabbath. The minifters of the Church, according to Stephen Goflbn, were wont to '' poft over the fervice as faft as they can gal- loppe," for there were fome games "or interlude to be plaide, and if no place elfe can be gotten, this interlude muft be playde in the church." In order to regulate to fome extent this inclination to be merry, the magiftrates of London obtained an edi6l from Queen Elizabeth, to the effed; " that all heathenifli playes and interludes fhould be banifhed upon Sabbath dayes." The legiflature of thofe days believed that there was wifdom in laughter ; they fought only to apply to it the rule of the wifeft of men, that there was a fitting time for all things, and thefe times, they thought, were not alto- gether exclufive of Sundays, for we find in 1618 James publifhing the remarkable Declaration — *' Whereas we did juftly in our progrefTe through Lancafhire rebuke fome puritannes and precife people, in prohibiting and un- lawfully punifhing of our good people for ufing their lawfull recrea- tions and honeft exercifes on Sundayes and other holy dayes after the afternoon fcrmon or fervice ; It is our will that after the end of PL]ys and Myjleries. 4^ Divine fcrvice, our good people be not difturbed, letted, or difcou- raged from any lawfull recreation, fuch as dancing cither for men or women, archery for men, leaping, vaulting, or any other fuch harm- lefs recreation ; nor for having of May games, Whitfun Ales, and morris daunces, and the fetting up of May Poles, and other fports therewith ufed, fo as the fame be had in due and convenient time, without impediment or negled of Divine fervice. But withall we doe here account ftill as prohibited all unlawful! games to be ufed upon Sunday onely as beare and bull baiting, and interludes." Miracle-plays, dramas from Scripture, myfterics, fecular plays and interludes, were the germs from which the Britifh drama has arifen. In early times thefe plays were performed during the feafon of Lent. The parifh clerks of London were the chief performers in a play at Skinner's Well, near Smithfield, which we are told lafted three days, the performance being honoured by the prefence of the unhappy Richard IL and his queen, Ifabella of France. In 1490 the clerks alfo played for eight days, the fubjedt being *' the Creation of the World." The fcholars of St. Paul alfo formed a very celebrated company of miracle-players ; they appear to have been defirous of retaining a monopoly in this refpedl, and were no doubt, like members of the profeffion of the prefent dav, fomewhat influenced by feelings of jealoufy at the fuccefs of rivals. No doubt the parifli clerks were confidered as trenching fomewhat on their profefTion, for in 1378 they prefented a petition to Richard II. praying him " to prohibit fome unexpcrt people from prefenting the hiftory of the Old and New Teftament, to the great prejudice 46 Plays and Myjleries. of the faid clergy, who have been at great expenfe in order to reprefent it publickly at Chriftmas." The parilh clerks perfevered, and Royal Richard, the people's king, honoured their performance near the fpot where, a fhort time before, he had met his unruly fubjeds headed by Wat Tyler, and promifed that he would be their leader. There was too a famous Coventry play, of which Dugdale fays, — " Before the fuppreflion of the monafteries, this city (Coventry) was very famous for the pageants that were played therein upon Corpus Chrifti day, which occafioning very great confluence of people thither from far and near, was of no fmall benefit thereto : which pageants being adled with mighty ftate and reverence by the Grey Friars, had theatres for the feveral fcenes, very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all the eminent parts of the city for the better advantage of fpedators, and contained the flory of the Old and New Tefliament, compofed in the old Englifh rithme." This play confifted of forty ads, each of which formed a de- tached fubjed from the Scripture, beginning with the Creation, and ending with the Laft Judgment. We will not pretend to give an analyfis of this very comprehenfive drama. The defcription of the firft Ad, taken from Strutt's " Sports and Paftimes," will fuffice to convey a notion of the work. '■'■ In the firft pageant or ad, the Deity is reprefented feated on his throne by himfelf, delivering a fpeech of forty lines, beginning thus: — * Ego sum Alpha ct Omega, principium et finis.' Plays and Myjleries. 47 The angels then enter, Tinging from the Church Service, * To Thee all angels cry aloud, the heavens and all the powers therein. To Thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cr)'. Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hofts.' Lucifer next makes his appearance, and defires to know if the hymn they fang was in honour of God, or in honour of him ? The good angels readily reply, ' In honou* of God;' the evil angels incline to worihip Lucifer, and he pre- fumes to feat himfelf on the throne of the Deity, who commands him to depart from heaven to hell, which dreadful fentence he is compelled to obey, and with his wicked affociates defcends to the Lower Regions." Defpite the ferious and facred chara(5ler of the dramas, fome- thing of the comic element was generally introduced, to fatisfy the defire to be merry among the fpedators. Upon Beelzebub gene- rally devolved the tafk of raifing the pleafant laugh, and this, too, notwithftanding the fevere punifhment to which he was the vi(5tim. He was afTifted by a merry troop of under-devils, whofe variety of ftrange noifes, diftortions, and grimaces, made the fun grow faft and furious. It was efpecially agreeable to fee his Satanic Majefty well belaboured with clubs or cudgels, or hear him howl with pain, as he limped off maimed by the blow of fome unufually vigorous faint. It was a fine feat, too, to fee the application of the red-hot pincers by St. Dunllan to the nofe of Beelzebub; to fee other faints of leffer reputation and lefs refinement, fpit in his face, or cut off pieces of his tail, which always replaced themfelves with the vitality of the Polypi. When miracle-plays and myfteries gave place to 48 Plays and Myjleries. the newer entertainment of " Moralities/' the populace were made merry at the rebuffs or punifhments which the allegorical chara6lers of Pride, Avarice, and other vices or iniquities, received from Good Dodrine, Faith, Prudence, Charity, or fome other of the Chriftian virtues. " Iniquity," it is faid in the Staple of Newes, " came in like Hokos-pokos in a juggler's jerkin, with falfe fkirts like the knave of clubs ; " and complaint is made becaufe " Here is never a fiend to carry the Vice away ; befides he has never a wooden dagger ; I'd not give a rufh for a Vice that has not a wooden dagger to fnap at every one he meetes." A flage diredlion in one of the old plays fays that Vice is to lay about him luftily with a great pole, and tumble the charadters one over the other with " great noife and riot, for dyfport fake." There was uncouthnefs in all this merriment, no doubt ; and our fathers were fadly ignorant of the " genteel comedy " of the prefent day; but they went to their al fre/co-^l^ys to laugh, and not, as their children too often go to the modern theatre, to yawn. Old GofFe, in his play of "The Carelefs Shepherdefs," fliows us that in his day they would not endure a piece on the ftage that had not fome food for laughter. Several charaders are introduced upon the ftage in the prologue, as waiting for the commencement of the performance. One of them fays — Why, I would liave a fool in every act, Be 't comedy or tragedy : I've laugh'd Until I cry'd again, to see what faces The rogue will make. Oh ! it does me good To see him hold out's chin, hang down his hands, NOAH'S ARK A KKAMAlh MVSTKKV Plays iVid Myjleries. 49 And twirlc his Ijawblc. * * * * * I heard a fclhnv Once on the stage cry doodle doodle doue Beyond compare; I'd give th' other shilling To see him act the Changling once again. His companion replies — And so would I ; his part has all the wit, For none spcakes, carps, and quibbles beside him ; I'd rather see him leap, or laugh, or cry, Than hear the gravest speech in all the play. I never saw Rheade peeping through the curtain. But ravishing joy entered into my heart. Then comes a boy upon the ftage ; the firft fpcakcr inquires of him for the " Fool," and is told he will not perform that night, whereupon he fays — Well, since there will be ne'er a fool i' the play, I'll have my money again ; the comedy Will be as tedious to me as a sermon. Dearly did the merrie men of England love to fee ftrange fights ;— the talte is not yet quite extindt among their defcendants. Shakefpeare knew the weaknefs of his countrymen in this refpedl, for Stephano, when meeting with Caliban on Profpero's ifland, uncertain whether he is fifli or man, is made to fay, " Were I in England now as once I was, and had this fifh painted, not a holiday fool there but would give me a piece of filver. There would this monfter make a man,— any ftrange beaft there makes a man." The place of myfteries, and miracle-plays, and moralities, was fupplied H 5© Plays atid Myjleries. In later times by fhows and puppet-plays. The glories of Bartho- lomew fair have departed, but an old hand-bill preferred among the Harleian MSS. announces that — " At Crawley's Booth, over againft the Crown Tavern in Smithfield, during the time of Bartholomew Fair, will be prefented a little opera, called the Old Creation of the World, yet newly revived ; with the addition of Noah's Flood ; alfo feveral fountains playing water during the time of the play. The laft fcene does reprefent Noah and his family coming out of the Ark, with all the beafts 2 by 2, and all the fowls of the air (t^w In a profped: fitting upon trees ; likewlfe over the Ark Is feen the fun rifing in moft glorious manner : moreover, a multitude of Angels will be (^tn In a double rank, which prefents a double profped, one for the fun, the other for a palace, where will be (ttn fix Angels ringing of bells. Likewlfe Machines defcend from above, double and treble, with Dives rifing out of Hell, and Lazarus feen in Abraham's bofom, befides feveral figures dancing jiggs, farabands, and country dances, to the admiration of the fpedlators ; with the merry conceits of fquire Punch and Sir John Spendall." THE MANSIONS OF MERRIE ENGLAND. 'i-'^ HILE the lower claffes of England were happy in the good old times, thofe who were above them in rank, and who pofl'efTed more of the bleflings of fortune, they, too, were merry. The manfions of the old Englifh gentlemen, the caftles of the barons, and the abbeys of olden time, are they not infeparably aflbciated with ideas of life free from cares and anxiety, and pafled amid fcenes of plenty, manly fport, and healthy paftime ? Still among the moft pidlurefque beauties of our native land may be feen the manfions whofe noble halls have witnefTed many a gay and feftive fcene, have rung with the joyous laugh, and echoed the fimple ftrain of the minftrel in the bygone days of England. The stately homes of England ! How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land ! 52 The Manfio?2s of Merrie England. The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny glen ; And the swan gUdes past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The days when the old Enghfh manfions were not fubjedled to the improving fpirit and reforming tafte of the prefent times, are not feparated from us by any very long interval. Southey, in one of his Englifh Eclogues, connects the paft and prefent by the links of an old man's memory, and gives us at the fame time one of the moft pleafing and natural pidlures of gentle life and manners in thefe good old times. A young fquire, juft come into pofl'eflion of his eftate, had begun to improve away all the old features of the hall and grounds ; he had felled the trees, and altered the porch, and modernized the windows ; made ftraight the walks, and filled up the fifh-pond. He accofts a venerable man breaking the highway-ftones, and the two enter into conver- fation upon the changes which are being effedled in the old manfion- houfe, — changes fo great, that the old man fays: — If my jjoor old lady could rise u]) — God rest her soul ! — 't would grieve her to behold What wicked work is here. Ay, master ! fine old trees. Tord bless us ! I have heard my father say His grandfather could just remember back, When they were [slanted there. It was my task To keep them trimmed, and 'twas a pleasure to me. My poor old lady many a time would come T^he Maiifiofjs of Mcrrie England. ^''^ And tell mc where to clip, for she had played In childhood under them, and 'twas her jjride To keep them in their beauty. It n, * * * I could as soon Have ploughed my f:Uher's grave as cut them down. STRANGER. Come, come ! all is not wrong ; Those old dark windows — OLD MAX. 'I'hey^ demolished too ; The very redbreasts that so regular Came to my lady for her morning crumbs Won't know the windows now. There was a sweetbrier too that grew beside ; My lady loved at evening to sit there And knit, and her old dog lay at her feet And slept in the sun ; 't was an old favourite dog ; She did not love him less that he was old And feeble, anil lie always Iiad a place By the fireside ; and when he died at last, She made me dig a grave in the garden for him. For she was good to all : a woeful day 'T was for the poor when to her grave she went. At Christmas, Sir ! It would have warmed )Our heart if you had seen Her Christmas kitchen, — how the blazing fire Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs So cheerful red, — and as for mistletoe, The finest bush that grew in the countr\- round Was marked for Madam. Then her old ale went So bountiful about ! A Christmas cask, And 't was a noble one, — God help me, Sir ! But I shall never see such days again. 54 '^/^'^ Manfions of Merrie Kngland. *Twas a gloomy view for that old man to take, and ftone- breaking on the highways at fourfcore is not favourable to cheerful buoyancy of fpirits. " New-fangled whimfies " had not, how- ever, made the young fquire forget the hofpitality of his fathers who had gone before, and the old man's heart muft have warmed towards the ftranger when he replied — 'T would not be easy To make you like the outside ; but within, That is not changed, my friend ! you '11 always find The same old bounty and old welcome there. Pleafant it is to refledl that there are to be found fome who, like the young fquire, are ftill refolved to keep alive fome of the good old inftitutions and cuftoms of their anceftors. All honour to thofe who thus refpect the memories and imitate the condudl of their anceftors, and who can fympathife with Mrs. Howitt in her reverie on the old manfion of Lodore. I think of some old country hall, With carved porch and chimneys tall, And pleasant windows many a one, Set deep into the old grey stone; Hid among trees so large and green, 'T is only dimly to be seen. I think of its dusk garden bowers, The little plot of curious flowers : Its casements, wreathed with jessamine. Flung wide to let all odours in ; And all sweet sounds of bird and bee. And the cool fountains' melody ; THK OLD MANSION HOUSE. The Manfions of Merrie England. ^^ For in gone years tliey of my race Had 'mong the hills their dwelling-place : In an old mansion that doth stand As in the heart of fairy land. In the " merrie days of England " Lullingfworth was a fcene of joyous feftivities, but Charles Mackay fays of it now — It is an ancient house. Four hundred years ago Men dug its basements deep, And roof'd it from the wind ; And held within its walls The joyous marriage feast, The christening and the dance — ♦ * * * Four hundred years ago They scoop'd and fiU'd the moat, Where now the rank weeds grow, And water-lilies vie In whiteness with the swans, A solitary pair, That float, and feed, and float Beneath the crumbling bridge, And past the garden wall. Four hundred years ago They planted trees around, To shield it from the sun ; And still those oaks and elms. The patriarchs of the world, Extend their sturdy boughs To woo the summer breeze : The old house ivy grown, Red, green, and mossy gray. 56 The Manfions of Merrie England. Still lifts its gables quaint ; And in the evening sun Its windows, as of yore, Still gleam with ruddy light, Reflected from the west. Clofely refembling, by the intereft they excite and the pleaiing affoclatlons with which they are conne6led, are the few road-fide inns that may ftill be feen in fome parts of the country. The fcreaming locomotive now hurries along with its eager crowd of pleafure-feekers, or its care-worn worfi:\ippers of Mammon, high up on lofty embankments, or low down in deep cuttings or darkfome tunnels ; — fields, trees, manfions, abbeys, cafliles, are pafied ; but what knows or cares thofe helplefs, train-bound throngs of the charms or beauties of thofe rural fcenes, as they hafl:en to the dreary fi:ucco terminus to which they are booked ? The village and the wayfide inn are deferted ; — happily, however, fome few of them are refcued from total oblivion by fuch defcriptions as that of the May-pole, by Charles Dickens, in his ftory of " Barnaby Rudge : " — " The May-pole was an old building with more gable ends than a lazy man would care to count on a funny day ; huge zig- zag chimneys, out of which it feemed as though even fmoke could not choofc but come in more than naturally fantaftic fhapes imparted to it in its tortuous progrefs. The place was faid to have been built in the days of King Henry the Eighth ; and there was a legend not only that Queen Elizabeth had flept there The Manfions of Mcrn'e England. ^j one night while upon a hunting excurfion, but that next morning, while ftanding on a mounting-block before the door, with one foot in the ftirrup, the virgin monarch had then and there boxed and cuffed an unlucky page for fome neglecft of duty. The May- pole was really an old houfe, a very old houfe. Its windows were old diamond-pane lattices ; its floors were funken and uneven ; its ceilings blackened by the hand of time and heavy with malfive beams. Over the doorway was an ancient porch, quaintly and grotefquely carved. With its overhanging ftories, drowfy little panes of glafs, and front bulging out and projeding over the pathway, the old houfe looked as if it were nodding in its fleep. Indeed, it needed no very great ftretch of fancy to detedl in it other refemblances to humanity. The bricks of which it was built had originally been a deep dark red, but had grown yellow and difcoloured like an old man's ikin ; the fl:urdy timber had decayed like teeth ; and here and there the ivy, like a warm garment to comfort it in its age, wrapped its green leaves clofely round the time-worn walls." THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. ^^4) HOSE who dwelt in the ancient manfions of England were a clafs of men pro- Jg verbial for their hofpitality. The fineft fketch we have of an old Englifh gen- tleman is that which Chaucer has drawn of the Franklin who formed one of the troop of Canterbury pilgrims. The Franklin was one who ^X A 45 ufually held the office of fheriff and knight of ^ the fhire ; he difpenfed gratuitoufly among the people on his eftate a rude patriarchal juftice ; he m''^ was ever hofpitablc, and gave a generous and cordial welcome to all who approached him. When he appeared in public, he wore a furcoat of red lined with blue, with bars or ftripes of fringe or lace, a fmall blue hat, turned up at the edges, and black boots ; and — but Chaucer muft himfelf introduce his inimitable type of an old Englifh gentleman : — The Old Engli/Ji Gentleman. 59 White was his beard as is the daiesy, Of his complexion he was sanguine ; Well lov'd he by the morrow a sop in wine. To liven in delight was ever his wone,* For he was Epicurus' owen son ; That held opinion that plain delight Was verily felicity parfite. A householder, and that a great was he ; Saint Julian he was in his countr)', His bread, his ale was always after one : A better envined f man was no where none. Withouten bak'd meat never was his house, Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous ; It snowed, in his house, of meat and drink, Of alle dainties that men could of think, After the sundry seasons of the year : So changed he his meat and his suppe're. Full many a fat partridge had he in mew, And many a bream and many a luce % in stew. Woe was his cook, but if his sauce were Poignant and sharp, and ready all his gear. His table dormant in his hall alway. Stood ready cover'd all the longe day. At sessions there was he lord and sire ; Full oftentime he was knight of the shire. An anelace,§ and a gipcire || all of silk, Hung at his girdle, white as morrow milk. A sheriff had he been, and a countour, Was no where such a worthy vavasour. In Knight's " Cabinet Pidures of Englifh Life," the Franklin is thus drawn : — " Over all the perfons on his eftate, — harveft-men, plough- drivers, fhepherds, carters, fwineherds, labourers of all clafTes, — * Custom. + Good store of wine. + Pike. § A knife worn at the belt II A purse. 6o The Old EngliJJi Gentleman. the Franklin fwayed a mild and affectionate defpotifm. No one upon his eftate who was in health wanted employ and ample maintenance ; none who were ill, failed to receive attentions and medicine, and generous and fuitable food, from his lady or other members of his family. It was neceffary this fyftem fhould be exchanged ; but we are now finding, by painful experience, that it was not neceffary that all fhould be fwept away ; not at leaft till fome equivalent had been found for the better part. In the nineteenth century, alas ! thefe equivalents have yet to be dif- covered." Defcending a little later in the hiftoric age of England, we ftill find the fame pleafing idea prefented of the anceftor of the " John Bull " of the prefent day. In the time of the Stuarts people recounted in their ballads the jovial merits and rare houfe- hold virtues of the fine old Englifh gentlemen, fome of whofe fons fhowed, however, a difpofition not to walk in the good old ways ; and the people then mourned over the change, as they " faw a new fafhioned hall built where the old one ftood, and new fancies and whims introduced by young gallants, which their fathers knew not of." But the hearty old gentleman of Elizabeth's days was ever a popular favourite, and the people then fang, as modern folks love to do, An old song made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate. And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ; Like an old courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier. "AN OLD rORTER TO RKl.IKNK THK POOR AT lilS CATK. The Old EfigliJJj Gentleman. 6i With an old lady whose anger one word asswages ; They every quarter paid their old servants their wages, And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen, nor pages ; But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges. ^^'ith an old study full of learned books, With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks ; With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks. With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns, and bows. With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows ; And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose, And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose. ^\'ith a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come. To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum ; With good chear enough to furnish every old room, And old liquor able to make a cat speak and man dumb. With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds. That never hawked nor hunted but in his own grounds ; Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds, And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds. But to his eldest son his house and land assign'd, Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifuU mind. To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind. « « « • " A country gentleman," fays Macaulay, " who witnefTed the Revolution was probably in receipt of about the fourth part of the rent which his acres now yield to his pofterity. He was, therefore, as compared with his pofterity, a poor man, and was generally under the necefllty of refiding, with little interruption, 62 The Old EngliJJi Gentleman. on his eftate. The heir of an eftate often pafled his boyhood and youth with no better tutors than grooms and gamekeepers, and fcarce attained learning enough to fign his name to a mittimus. His chief ferious employment was the care of his property. He examined famples of grain, handled pigs, and on market-days made bargains over a tankard with drovers and hop-merchants. His table was loaded with coarfe plenty, and guefts were cordially welcomed to it ; but as the habit of drinking to excefs was general in the clafs to which he belonged, and as his fortune did not enable him to intoxicate large aflemblies daily with claret or canary, ftrong beer was the ordinary beverage. It was only at great houfes, or on great occafions, that foreign drink was placed on the board. The ladies of the houfe, whofe bufinefs it had com- monly been to cook the repaft, retired as foon as the difhes had been devoured, and left the gentlemen to their ale and tobacco. The coarfe jollity of the afternoon was often prolonged till the revellers were laid under the table. It was very feldom that the country gentleman caught glimpfes of the great world. His animofities were numerous and bitter. He hated Frenchmen and Italians, Scotchmen and Irifhmen, Papifts and Prefbyterians, Independents and Baptifts, Quakers and Jews. His wife and daughter were in tafte and acquirements below a houfekeeper or a ftill-room maid of the prefent day. They ftitched and fpun, brewed goofeberry wine, cured marigolds, and made the cruft for the venifon pafty. Unlettered as he was and unpolifhed, he was ftill in fome moft important points a gentleman." T^lie Old Englijlj Gentleman. 63 In the Auguftan age of our country the Englifh gentleman was ftlll one of the moft intereftlng types of our national charadler ; and in the writings of Addifon we find that amiable individual thus defcribed : — " There is no charader more defervedly efteemed than that of a country gentleman who underftands the ftation in which heaven and nature have placed him. He is a father to his tenants, a patron to his neighbours, and is fuperior to thofe of a lower fortune more by his benevolence than his pofTefTions. He juftly divides his time between folitude and company, fo as to ufe the one for the other. His life is employed in the good offices of an advocate, a referee, a companion, a mediator, and a friend." And in another part this type of national character is perfonified in the famous Sir Roger de Coverley. . The brilliant effayifl, while enjoying the hofpitality of this genial member of the Speculator's Club, had opportunities of obferving, at his refidence, the charms of an Englifh country gentleman's life. '' I am more at eafe," writes Addifon, " in Sir Roger's family, becaufe it confifts of fober and ftaid perfons ; for as the knight is the beft mafler in the world, he feldom changes his fervants; and as he is beloved by all about him, his fervants never care for leaving him ; by this means his domeftics are all in years, and grown old with their mafter. You would take his valet-de-chambre for his brother ; his butler is grey-headed ; his groom is one of the gravefl men that I have ever (ttn, and his coachman has the looks of a privy-councillor. You fee the goodnefs of the mafler 64 T'he Old Engiijh Gentleman. even in the old houfe-dog, and in a grey pad that is kept in the ftable with great care and tendernefs out of regard to his paft fervices, though he has been ufelefs for feveral years. " I could not but obferve with a great deal of pleafure the joy that appeared in the countenances of thefe ancient domeftics upon my friend's arrival at his country-feat. Some of them could not refrain from tears at the fight of their old mafter; every one of them prefled forward to do fomething for him, and feemed difcouraged if they were not employed. At the fame time the good old knight, with a mixture of the father and the mafter of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs v/ith feveral kind queftions relating to themfelves. This humanity and good nature engages everybody to him, fo that when he is pleafant upon any of them, all his family are in good humour, and none fo much as the perfon whom he diverts himfelf with : on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is eafy for a ftander-by to obferve a fecret concern in the looks of all his fervants." HUNTING AND HAWKING. s^ ^k ^f^BOUT the middle of the Ceven- '•.7 '^' teenth century, Burton wrote in his Anatomy of Melancholy that " Hunting and Hawking are honeft recreations, and fit for fome great men, but not for every bafe inferior perfon, who while they 7 1 maintain their faulkoner, and dogs, and hunting nags, f their wealth runs away with their hounds, and their fortunes fly away with their hawks ;" and that *' riding of great horfes, running at rings, tilts and Vj tournaments, horfe races, and wild goofe chafes, are difports of greater men, and good in themfelves, though many gentlemen by fuch means gallop quite out ot their fortunes." A charader introduced in the Cornifh Comedy, written and acfted by Powell in 1696, is made to fay, '^ What is a gentleman without his recreations ? With thefe we endca\'our to pafs away the K 66 Hmiting and Hawking, time which otherwife would lie heavily upon our hands. Hawks, hounds, and fetting dogs, are the true marks of a country gentleman." The citizens of London poflefTed in the olden time extenfive privileges for hunting, hawking, and fifhing ; and fo late as the reign of the firft of the Georges, the citizens were wont to enjoy themfelves with " riding on horfeback and hunting with my Lord Mayor's hounds when the common hunt goes out." From the earlieft period of our hiftory there exifls evidence of the love of the people for the pleafures of the chafe. Li the twelfth century John of Salifbury wrote, that in his time hunting and hawking were " efteemed the moft honourable employments and moft excellent virtues by our nobility, and they think it the height of worldly felicity to fpend the whole of their time in thefe diverfions." Gafton Earl of Foix kept fix hundred dogs in his caftle for the purpofe of hunting. The bifhops and clergy were not lefs great hunters, and it is recorded of one Walter, Bifhop of Rochefter, that he was fo fond of the fport that " at the age of fourfcore he made hunting his fole employment, to the total negledl of the duties of his office." The great Queen Elizabeth was not lefs fond of the fport than the venerable prelate of Rochefter ; for when in her feventy-feventh year, it was written of her by a courtier to Sir Robert Sidney, — " Her Majefty is well, and excellently difpofed to hunting, for every fecond day fhe is on horfeback, and continues the fport long." This love of the chafe has been preferved to the prefent day, and the great number of hunting fongs which are to be found HUNTING THE STAG Hunting and Hawking. 67 in the ballad literature of our country, attefts the popularity of the fport. Our fathers loved to hear the foreft mufic of the hounds Rend tlie thin air, and with a lusty cry Awake the drowsy echo, and confound Their perfect language in a mingled voice. Scott has drawn this vivid and animated fketch of the fport which our anceftors loved : — Waken, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day, All the jolly chase is here, With horse, and hawk, and hunting spear ; Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling ; Merrily, merrily, mingle they, " Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken, lords and ladies gay. The mist has left the mountain grey ; Springlets in the dawn are streaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming; And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green ; Now* we come to chant our lay, " Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken, lords and ladies gay, To the greenwood haste away ; \\q can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 68 Hunting and Hawking. We can show the marks he made When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; You shall see him brought to bay, — " Waken, lords and ladies gay." Louder, louder chant the lay, " Waken, lords and ladies gay ; " Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee Run a course as well as we ; Time, stern huntsman, who can baulk, Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk 1 Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay. And when the cheerful fummons was obeyed, the fportfman fang the merry fong which Douce wrote : — The hunt is up, the hunt is up ! Sing merrily we the hunt is up ; The birds they sing. The deer they fling, Hey, nonny, nony, no ! The hounds they cry. The hunters fly. Hey, trolilo, trololilo ! The hunt is up, the hunt is up, Sing merrily we the hunt is up. The wood resounds To hear the sounds. Hey, nonny, nony, no I The rocks report This merry sport, Hey, trolilo, trololilo ! The hunt is up, the hunt is up, Sing merrily we the hunt is up. Hunting and liaivking. 69 Then hie apace Unto the chace, Hey, nonny, nony, no ! While every thing Doth sweetly sing, Hey, trolilo, trololilo ! The hunt is up, the hunt is up, Sing merrily we the hunt is up. In later times, the merry fong of the hunters is heard in the well-known lines of O'Keefe, and the fine hunting fong which follows : — Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn, And spangles deck the thorn, The lowing herds now quit the lawn, The lark springs from the corn : Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng, Fleet Towler leads the cry ; Arise the burden of my song, — " This day a stag must die." The cordial takes its merry round. The laugh and joke prevail ; The huntsman blows a jovial sound, The dogs snuff up the gale ; The upland wilds they sweep along, O'er fields, through brakes they fly ; The game is roused \ too true the song — " This day a stag must die." 'Twas rosy morn when chaste Diana bright, From balmy slumbers springing light. Waked all her nymphs from pleasing rest, And thus her sylvan train address'd : 70 Hunting and Hawking. " From this high mount with me descend, And now to the joys of the chace ; O'er hills and dales our flight we bend, And match the fleet stag in our pace. " My silver bow is ready strung, My golden quiver graceful hung, — Away, my nymphs, away ; Let shouts to the welkin resound, And she who strikes the destined prey, Shall Queen of the Forest be crown'd." Thofe who moft enjoyed fuch fport in the time of the Stuarts were men like the one thus defcribed by WilHam Gilpin. " Mr. Haftings was low of ftature, but ftrong and adive ; of a ruddy complexion, with flaxen hair. His clothes were always of green cloth. His houfe was of the old fafhion, in the midft of a large park well {locked with deer, rabbits, and fifh-ponds. He had a long narrow bowling-green in it, and ufed to play with round fand-bowls. Here, too, he had a banqueting-room built, like a ftand in a large tree. He kept all forts of hounds that ran buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger ; and had hawks of all kinds, both long and fhort winged. His great hall was commonly ftrewed with marrow-bones, and full of hawk -perches, hounds, fpaniels, and terriers ; the upper end of it was hung with fox-fkins of this and laft year's killing. Here and there a polecat was intermixed, and hunters' poles In great abundance. The parlour was a large room, completely furnifhed in the fame ftyle. On a broad hearth, paved with brick, lay fome of the choiceft terriers. Hunting and Ham) king. 71 hounds, and fpaniels. One or two of the great chairs had htters of cats in them, which were not to be difturbed. Of thefe three or four always attended him at dinner, and a Httle white wand lay by his trencher to defend it if they were too troublefome. *' In the windows — which were very large — lay his arrows, crofT- bows, and other accoutrements. The corners of the room were filled with his befl: hunting and hawking poles. His oyfter-table flood at the lower end of the room, which was in conftant ufe twice a day, all the year round, for he never failed to eat oyfters, both at dinner and fupper, with which the neighbouring town of Pool fupplied him. At the upper end of the room ftood a fmall table with a double defk, one fide of which held a Church Bible, the other a Book of Martyrs. On different tables of the room lay hawks'-hoods, bells, old hats, with their crowns thruft in, full of pheafant eggs, tables, dice, cards, and a fi:ore of tobacco pipes. At the end of this room was a door which opened into a clofet, where ftood bottles of ftrong beer and wine, which never came out but in fingle glafi^es, which was the rule of the houfe ; for he never exceeded himfelf, nor permitted others to exceed. Anfwering to this clofet, was a door into an old chapel, which had long been difufed for devotion : but in the pulpit, as the fafeft place, was always to be found a cold fhin of beef, a venifon-pafty, a gammon of bacon, or a great apple pie, with thick cruft, well baked. His table coft him not much, but it was good to eat at. His fports fupplied all but beef and mutton, except on Fridays, when he had the beft of fifli. He never wanted a London pudding, and he 7 2 Hunting and Hawking. always fang it In with ^ My part lies therein-a.' He drank a glafs or two of wine, put fyrup of gilly-flowers into his fack, and had always a tun-glafs of fmall beer (landing by him, which he often ftirred about with rofemary. He lived to be an hundred, and never loft his eyefight, nor ufed fpedlacles. He got on horfeback without help, and rode to the death of the ftag till paft fourfcore." It was of this veteran Englifti fportfman, that Sir Egerton Brydges wrote, — Old Harry Hastings ! of thy forest life How whimsical, how picturesque the charms ; Yet it was sensual ! With thy hounds and horn How cheerily didst thou salute the morn ! With airy steed didst thou pursue thy strife, Sounding through all the woodland glades alarms ; Sunk not a dell, and not a thicket grew, But thy skill'd eye and long experience knew. The herds were thy acquaintance ; antler'd deer Knew when to trust thy voice, and when to fear ; And through the shadowy oaks of giant size, Thy bugle could the distant sylvans hear. And wood-nymphs from their bowery bed would rise. And echoes dancing round repeat their ecstasies. While the pleafures of the chafe have defcended to our own time, the fifter fport of hawking, which was pradlifed in the " merrie dayes" of England, has become obfolete. So intimately were the two defcriptions of fport conneded, that Strutt fays, " Perfons of high rank rarely appeared without their dogs and their hawks ; the latter they carried with them when they journeyed Huntifig and Haivking. 73 from one country to another, and would not part with them to pro- cure then- own liberty when taken prifoners. They were confidered as enfigns of nobility ; and no adion could be reckoned more dlf- honourable to a man of rank than to give up his hawk." Nay, their owners would not be feparated from them even when they attended the fervices of the church, for we hear Barclay com- plaining, at the clofe of the fifteenth century, that Into the church then comes another sotte, Withouten devotion, jetting uj) and down, Or to be scene, and showe his garded cote. Another on his fist, a sparhawke or fawcone, Or else a cokow ; wasting so his shone ; Before the aulter, he to and fro doth wander, With even as great devotion as doth a gander. In thefe times, when it was thought fufficient for noblemen " to winde their home and to carry their hawk fair, and leave ftudy and learning to their children," the accomplifhed Sir Triftram makes it his boaft in Spenfer, that Ne is there hawk which rnantleth her on pearch, Whether high tow'ring or accoasting low, But I the measure of her flight doth search, And all her prey, and all her diet know. All clafTes enjoyed the fport of hawking, but its great expenfe caufed the occupation to be almoft exclufively confined to royal perfonages, the nobility, and the bifhops and clergy. In the time of James I., one thoufand pounds were given for a call: of (two) hawks. Ladies frequently joined in this exciting fport ; and the oldeft work upon hawking extant in the prefent day, is the one written L 74 HunttJig a?2d Hawking, by the Priorefs of Sopewell Nunnery, near St. Alban's — Dame Juliana Berners ; called " The Treatyfes pertayninge to Hawk- ynge, Huntynge, and FyfThynge with an Angle, and alfo a right noble Treatyfe of the Lygnage of Col Armours, endynge with a Treatyfe which fpecyfyeth of Blafynge of Armys." This work contains fome marvellous remedies for the ills and ailments to which hawks appeared to be fubjed. In one very old manu- fcript, the owner of a hawk that has been ill and has fufficiently recovered to purfue the game is thus admonifhed : — " On the morrow tyde when thou goeft out to hawkynge, fay, * In the name of the Lord, the birds of Heaven fhall be beneath thy feet ;' alfo, if he be hurt by the heron, fay, '■ The lion of the tribe of Judah the root of David has conquered ; Hallelujah ! ' and if he be bite of any man, fay, ' He that the wicked man doth bind, the Lord at his coming fhall fet free.' " Shakefpeare thoroughly underftood the power of the falconer when he makes the pure and graceful Juliet, fighing for the return of her lover, fay Oh for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! In the conference between the angler, the hunter, and the falconer, with which Izaak Walton commences his famous work, wherein each commends his particular recreation, the falconer is made to fay in praife of the fport which he profelTes : — '* And firft for the Element that I ufe to trade in, which is the Air, an Element of more worth than weight, — an Element that II AWKlNc; Hunting and Hnivking. J^ doubtlefs exceeds both the Earth and the Water ; for though I fome- times deal in both, yet the Air is more properly mine. I and my Hawks ufe that moft, and it yields us mod recreation ; it ftops not the high foaring of my noble generous Falcon ; in it flie afccnds to fuch a height as the dull eyes of beafts and fifh are not able to reach to : their bodies are too grofs for fuch high elevations. In the air my troop of hawks foar up on high, and when they are luft in the fight of men, then they attend upon and convcrfe with the gods ; therefore I think my Eagle is fo juftly ftyled Jove's fervant in ordinary ; and that very Falcon that I am now going to fee deferves no meaner a ti'-le, for Hie ufually, in her flight, endangers herfelf, like the fon of Dasdalus, to have her wings fcorched by the Sun's heat, fhe flies fo near it ; but her mettle makes her carelefs of danger, for fhe then heeds nothing, but makes her nimble pinions cut the fluid air, and fo makes her highway over the fteepefl: mountains and deepefl: rivers, and in her glorious career looks with contempt upon thofe high Steeples and magnificent Palaces which we adore and wonder at ; from which height I can make her to defcend by a word from my mouth (which fhe both knows and obeys) to accept of meat from my hand, to own me for her mafter, to go home with me, and be willing the next day to afford me the like recreation." There is a flory told of a depofed Scottifh queen, who, anxious to preferve her fon from the traitors who had made herfelf a widow and her child an orphan, exchanged him with the daughter of a faithful friend ; and in order to avoid dete<5lion in any communica- 76 Hunting and Hawking. tions which they might have with each other relative to their children, the parents agreed to adopt the terms ufed in hawking, — And you shall learn, my gay goss hawk, Right well to breast a steed ; And so will I, your turtle dow, As well to write and read. And ye shall learn, my gay goss hawk. To wield both bow and brand ; And so will I, your turtle dow, To lay gowd with her hand. At kirk or market when we meet, We '11 dare make no avow ; But "Dame, how does my gay goss hawkl" " Madame, how does my dow % " The accomplifhments which Roland Graeme avowed to Catherine that he poflefTed, were that he could "fly a hawk, halloa to a hound, back a horfe, and wield lance, bow, and brand ; " and every one is familiar with the good and honeft old Adam Blackcock the falconer, introduced in the ftory of " The Betrothed." Highly exhilarating was this fport of falconry, as the company went galloping over hill and dale, with many daring feats of horfemanfhip ; or, when on foot, leaping with the hawking-poles over ditches and watercourfes in order to follow the flight of the hawk. Oh! 'twas royal fport — Then for an evening flight, A tiercel gentle, which I call, my masters, As he were sent a messenger to the moon, In such a place flies, as he seems to say, Hunting and Hawking. jj See me, or see me not ! The partridge sprung, He makes his stoop ; but, wanting breath, is forced To cancelier ; then, with such speed, as if He carried lightning in his wings, he strikes The trembling bird, who even in death appears Proud to be made his quarry. The grand falconer, too, In full drefs, with his falcon perched on his wrift, was a moft picturefque- looking individual ; and his attendants, bearing the perches for the hooded birds, made up a bufy, animated, and excited group. But the fport of hawking, like that of archery, gave way to other purfuits ; and the fowling-piece fuperfeded the hooded hawk, which, fince the days of Alfred, had been held in fuch high efteem by the gentle-born and chivalrous fpirits of " Old England." ANGLING. MONG the varied amufements and occupa- tions of our anceftors, there are none which has more votaries in the prefent day than that to which Izaak Walton was so devotedly attached, and which he pi \ defcribed on the title-page of his " Com- pleat Angler," of 1653, as *' the con- templative man's recreation." Many a pleafant pidure of this fport is to be found fcat- tered among the poets and profe wi iters of pad times ; but towering above them all (land the works of that great mafter of his craft, whom ^' neither blandifhment nor obftacle could fwerve from his mighty end when he went forth to kill iifh " — ■ old Izaak, fo gentle and fo good, who entreated his difciples always to put the worm " tenderly " on the hook : — He was the great progenitor of all That war upon the tenants of the stream ; He neither stumbled, stopt, nor had a fall Wlien he essay'd to war on dace, bleek, bream, Stone-loach, or i^ike, or other fish, I deem. ylngling, 79 We have often fancied that the good man believed he had fomething of a divine call to his work ; the motto which he prefixed to his " DifcoLirfe of Fifh and Fifhing," was " Simon Peter faid, I go afifliing ; and they faid, We alfo will go with thee." There is not a prettier fcene recorded in Englifh literature, than that of the two companions, Venator and Pifcator, on the banks of the gentle Lea ; — Ven. On my word, master, this is a gallant trout ; what shall we do with him ? Pisc, Marry, e'en eat him to supper. Wc"ll go to my hostess, from whence we came ; she told me, as I was going out of door, that my brother Peter, a good angler and a cheerful companion, had sent word he would lodge there to-night, and bring a friend with him. My hostess has two beds, and I know you and I may have the best. We'll rejoice with my brother Peter and his friend, tell tales, or sing ballads, or make a catch, or find some harmless sport to content us, and pass away a little time without offence to God or man. Ven, a match, good master : let's go to that house, for the linen looks white, and smells of lavender, and I long to lie in a pair of sheets that smell so. Let's be going, good master, for I am hungry again with fishing. PiSC. Nay, stay a little, good scholar. I caught my last trout with a worm ; now I will put on a minnow, and try a quarter of an hour about yonder trees for another, and so walk towards our lodgings. Look you, scholar, thereabout we shall have a bite presently, or not at all. Have with you, sir, o' my word I have hold of him. Oh, it is a great logger-headed Chub ! Come, hang him upon that willow twig, and let's be going. But turn out of the way a little, good scholar, towards yon high honeysuckle hedge ; there we'll sit and sing while this shower falls so gently on the teeming earth, and gives yet a sweeter smell to the lovely flowers that adorn these verdant meadows. Look ! under that broad beech-tree I sat down when I was last this way a fishing, and the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to have a friendly contention with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tree, 8o Angling. near the brow of that primrose hill ; there I sat viewing the silver streams glide silently toward their centre, the tempestuous sea ; but sometimes opposed by rugged roots and pebble-stones which broke their waves and turned them into foam ; and sometimes I beguiled time by viewing the harmless lambs— some leaping securely in the cool shade, while others sported themselves in the cheerful sun ; and saw others craving comfort from the swollen udders of their bleating dams. As I thus sat, these and other sights had so fully possessed my soul with content, that I thought, as the poet as happily expressed it, I was for that time lifted above earth, And possess'd joys not promised in my birth. As I left the place and entered into the next field, a second pleasure entertained me ; it was a handsome milk-maid, that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be, as too many men too often do ; but she cast away all care and sang like a nightingale. Her voice was good and the ditty fitted for it ; it was that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago ; and the milk-maid"s mother sang an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days. They w^ere old fashioned poetry, but choicely good ; I think much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in this critical age. Look yonder ! on my word, they both be a milking again. I will give her the Chub, and persuade them to sing those two songs again. And the milk-maid fang with a merry heart that choice fong, " Come, hve with me and be my love," — and Venator beftowed upon the honeft, innocent, pretty Maudlin that blefTmg of Sir Thomas Overbury, *' That fhe may die in the fpring, and being dead, may have good ftore of flowers ftuck round about her winding-fhcet." And the mother fang in reply — If that the world and love were young. And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move, To live with thee and be thy love. Angling. 8 1 But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; Then Philomel becometh dumb, And age complains of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields, To wayward winter reckoning ) ields ; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies. Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, — In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, The coral clasps and amber studs ; All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love. But could youth last and love still breed ; Had joys no date, nor age no need ; Then those delights my mind might move, To live with thee and be thy love. What a pleafant conclufion to the day's fport was that vilit to Bleak Hall ! and what a pidiire of contented happinefs and delicious comfort there is in the defcription of that " honell: alc- houfe, where would be found a cleanly room, lavender in the windows, and twenty ballads ftuck about the walls ; with a hoftefs both cleanly, handfome, and civil." AN'cll might Izaak and his companion fay, M 8 2 Angling. Oh, how happy 's here our leisure ! Oh, how innocent our pleasure ! Oh, ye valleys ; oh, ye mountains ; Oh, ye groves and crystal fountains ; How I love at liberty By turns to come and visit ye ! Let us not forget that this art of '^ Angling " was difcourfed of In one of the earlieft books that were printed in this country, by Wynkyn de Wode ; and what is not lefs remarkable is, that the work was written by a lady, — one whofe learning and accomplifhments have been praifed by Leland, Bale, and others. She was the fame who wrote on Hawking ; and fhe publifhed the feveral treatifes in one volume for the reafons thus given : — "And for by caufe that this prefent treatyfe fholde not come to the hondys of eche ydle perfone whyche wolde defire it, yf it were emprynted allone by itfelf, and put in a lytyll plaunflet ; therfore I have compyled it in a greter volume of dyverfe bokys, concernynge to gentyll and noble men, to the entent that the forfayde ydle perfones whyche fholde haue but lytyll mefure in the fayd dyfporte of fyffhynge fholde not by this meane uttcrely dyftroye it." Dame Juliana Berners, Priorefs of the Nunnery of Sopewell, fays in praife of her favourite fport, greatly preferable, in her opinion, to hawking, or hunting, or fowling, becaufe if his fport fail him — " The angler atte the leeft hathe hys holfom walke and mery at his eafe, a fwete ayre, of the fwetc fauoure of the meede flouers Angling. 83 that makyth him hungry; he hercth the melodyous armony of fowles; he feeth the yonge fwanncs, hcerons, duckcs, cotes, and many other fowles, with theyr brodes ; whyche me fcmyth better than alle the noyfe of houndys, the blaftes of hornys, and the fcrye of fouHs that hunter fawkeners and fowlers can make. And if the Angler take fyfl'he, furely, thcnne, is there noe man merier than he is in his fpyryte." Among the many diredions which the good priorefs gave to her readers in the fifteenth century, we extract only the following rules for taking pike, which fhow how pra<5lical was her knowledge, and how genuine her love of the fport : — " Take a frofhe (frog) and put it on your hoke at the nccke betweene the fkynne and the body, on the backe halfe, and put on a flote a yarde therefro', and cafte it where the pike haunteth, and you fhall haue hym. Another manere ; — Take the fame bayte and put it in as a fetida, and cafte it in the water wyth a corde and a corke, and ye fhall not fayl of hym. And yf ye lyft to have a gode fporte thenne, tye the corde to a gofe fote (goofe's foot), and ye fhall fe gode haulynge whether the gofe or the pike fhall haue the better." The lady entertained the opinion that Walton, many years after, adopted in his work, that angling " was the contemplative man's recreation," for fhe counfels : — " Alfo ye fhall not ufe this forfiyde crafty dyfporte for no couetyfenefs, to the encreafynge and fparynge of your money only ; but pryncypally for your folace, and to caufe the hclthe of your 84 Angling. body, and fpecyally of your foule ; for whenne ye purpoos to goo on your dyfportes in fylTJiynge, ye woll not defyre gretly manie perfones wyth you whyche myghte lette you of your game. And thenne you may ferue Godde deuowtly in fayenge afFe6tuoufly youre cuftomable prayer, and thus doynge ye fhalle efchew and voyde many vices." In later times we find that the gentler fex were invited to fhare in the pleafures of angling, and Bellman thus fummons his Amaryllis to the fport : — Waken, thou fair one ! up, Amaryllis ! Morning so still is ; Cool is the gale : The rainbow of heaven, With its hues seven, Brightness hath given To wood and dale. Sweet Amaryllis, let me convey thee ; In Neptune's arms nought shall affray thee ; Sleep's god no longer power has to stay thee, Over thy eyes and speech to prevail. Come out a-fishing ; nets forth are carrying ; Come without tarrying, Hasten with me. Jerkin and vail in — Come for the sailing, For trout and grayling : Baits will lay we. Awake, Amaryllis ! dearest, awaken ; Let me not go forth by thee forsaken ; Our course among dolphins and sirens taken. Onward sliall paddle our boat to the sea. AN AXGLKKS M * » K N 1 N < Angling. 85 John Donne, too, in a manner not unworthy of *' Kit Marlowe," has the pretty conceit : — Come, live with me and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove, Of golden sands and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks. There will the river whispering run, Warm'd by thine eyes more than the sun ; And there th' enamour'd fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray. Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legs with shells and weeds ; Or, curious traitors, sleave silk flies, Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes ; For thee thou need'st no such deceit, For thou thyself art thine own bait ; That fish that is not catch'd thereby, Alas ! is wiser far than 1. There are fome modern anglers who affecfl to defpife the good old rules and maxims of the gentle art laid down by Izaak Walton. The Indefatigable Hone has preferved in his " Every Day Book " a letter from a correfpondent who met a succefsful angler on that beautiful ftream in Derbyfhire, the Dove, whofe bafket was filled with the trout which he had taken. " '■ I afked him,' fays the writer, * if he had read " Walton's Complete Angler." ' Yes, he had it, and turning to me with an air of immenfe importance, faid, ' If he was alive now, he could 86 Angling. not take a fingle fifli.' * No/ I replied, ' how is that ? He could take plenty in his day ; and though I do not deny that there may have been great improvements in the art, yet fkill then fuc- cefsful would be equally fo noWy unlefs there has been a revolution amongft the fifh, and they have grown wifer.' ' Ay, there you have it,' he added ; ' the fifh are wifer, they won't take the fame baits.' I inftinctively glanced at the bait then upon the hook of my oracle, and — heaven and earth ! it was Walton's favourite bait, the drake fly." Whatever may be the caufe, the fport of angling does not now as a general rule yield fuch good and profitable returns as in old times. At the old Sluice Houfe, in comparatively modern days, fome good fport was to be had ; now the genius loci fings. Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch Leviathans that swim within the stream Of this famed River, now no longer Neiv, Yet still so called, come to the Sluice House. Here largest gudgeon live, and fattest roach Resort, and even barbel have been found. Here, too, does sometimes prey the rav'ning shark Of streams like this, that is to say, a jack. If fortune aid ye, ye perchance shall find. Upon an average within one day. At least a fish or two ; if ye do not. This will I promise ye, that ye shall have Most glorious nibbles ; come then, haste ye here. And with ye bring large stocks of baits and — patience. JOUSTS AND TOURNAMENTS. ;E learn from Fitz Stephen that fcven centuries ago it was the cuftom on every Sunday in Lent, immediately after dinner, for " great crowds of young Londoners, mounted on war horfes well trained to perform the neceffary turnings and evolutions, to ride into the fields in diftincfl bands, armed, haftelihus ferro dempto, with fhields and headlefs lances ; where they exhibited the reprefenta- tion of battles, and went through a variety of warlike exercifes ; at the fame time many of the young noblemen who liad not received the honour of knighthood, came from the king's court, and from the houfes of the great barons, to make trial of their fkill in arms, the hope of vi6lory animating their minds. The youth being divided into oppofite companies, encountered one another : in one place they fled, and others purfued, without being able to overtake them ; in another place one of the bands overtook and overturned the other." Thefe diverfions in which the citizens indulged became afterwards the exclufive fport of the nobility. 88 y^nft^ ^^id, Tournaments. and all under the rank of efquires were prohibited from taking part in jouft or tournament. The nrft Richard made laws and regulations for the condu6l of grand tournaments, which were announced to the world in thefe terms : — ■ "Hear now, lords, knights, and efquires, ladies and gentlewomen ; you are hereby acquainted that a fuperb achievement at arms and a grand and noble tournament will be held in the parade of Claren- cleux king-at-arms, on the part of the moft noble baron, lord of , and on the part of the moft noble baron, the lord of , In the parade of Norrais king-at-arms. The two barons on whofe parts the tournament is undertaken fhall be at their pavilions two days before the commencement of the fports, when each of them fhall caufe his arms to be nailed to his pavilion, and fet up his banner in the front of his parade ; and all thofe who wifli to be admitted as combatants on either fide muft in like manner fet up their arms and banners before the parades allotted to them. Upon the evening of the fame day they fhall fhow themfelves in their ftations, and expofe their helmets to view at the windows of their pavilions ; and then they may depart to make merry, dance, and live well." On the appointed day, the heralds fummoned the barons and knights to the lifts, crying aloud, " To achievement, knights and efquires, to achievement ! " and ftiortly after this firft notice the company of heralds again went to the pavilions, crying out, " Come forth, knights and efquires, come forth ! " In obedience to the fummons, the combatants placed themfelves in the lifts, " each 'Joiijls and Tourna7nents. 89 armed with a pointlcfs fword having the edges rebated, and with a bafton or truncheon hanging from their faddles, and they may ufe either the one or the other fo long as the fpeakers fhall give them permifTion by repeating the fentencc, * Laifler Ics alcr.'" The award of the prizes for the fuccefsful combatants was referved always to " the queenes highnefs and the ladyes there prcfcnt." Thefe tournaments were condu(5led with great difplay and magnificence. Strutt fays, "At the celebration of thefe paftimes, the lifts were fuperbly decorated and furrounded by the pavilions belonging to the champions, ornamented with their arms, banners, and banerolls. The fcafFolds for the reception of the nobility of both fexes, who came as fpedators, and thofe efpecially appointed for the royal family, were hung with tapeftry and embroideries of gold and filver. Every perfon, upon fuch occafions, appeared to the greateft advantage, decked in fumptuous array, and every part of the field prefented to the eve a rich difplay of magnificence. We may alfo add the fplendid appearance of the knights engaged in the fports ; themfelves and their horfcs were moft gorgeoufly arrayed, and their efquires and pages, together with the minftrels and heralds who fuperintended the ceremonies, were all of them clothed in coftly and glittering apparel. Such a fhow of pomp, where wealth, beauty, and grandeur were concentrated as it were in one focus, muft altogether have formed a wonderful fpedlacle, and made a ftrong imprcft^on on the mind, which was not a little heightened by the cries of the heralds, the clangour of the trumpets, the clafhing of the arms, the ruHiing N 90 y^^^fl^ ^^^^ Tournaments. together of the combatants, and the fhouts of the beholders ; and hence the popularity of thefe exhibitions may be eafily accounted for. The tournament and the jouft, efpecially the latter, afforded to thofe who were engaged in them an opportunity of appearing before ladies to the greatefl advantage ; they might at once dif- play their tafte and opulence by the coftlinefs and elegancy of their apparel, and their prowefs as foldiers ; therefore thefe pailimes became fafhionable among the nobility ; and It was probably for the fame reafon that they were prohibited to the commoners." But though the commoners might not take part in the fports, they were permitted to be prefent at their celebration ; and when it was fpread that at Sarum, or Wilton, or Warwick, or Kenilworth, or Stamford, or Walllngford, or Brakeley, or Mixeburg, or Blye, or Tykehill — the places appointed by royal ordinance for fuch fports, — a tournament would take place, then occurred fuch a fcene as that which Thornbury has recently fo graphically defcribed in his ballads — it was the Derby-day of Old England : — - Pilgrims with tlieir hood and cowl. Pursy burghers cheek by jowl ; Archers with the peacock's wing Fitting to the waxen string. Pedlars with their pack and bags, Beggars with their coloured rags, Silent monks, whose stony eyes Rest in trance upon the skies, Children sleeping at the breast. Merchants from the distant West, youjls and Tournaments. 91 All in gay confusion went To the Royal Tournament. Players with the painted face And a drunken nian's grimace ; Grooms who praise their raw-boned steeds, Old wives telling maple beads : Blackbirds from the hedges broke, Black crows from the beeches croak ; Glossy swallows in dismay From the mill-stream fled away ; The angry swan, with ruffled breast Frown'd upon her osier nest ; The wren hopp'd restless on the brake. The otter made the sedges shake ; The butterfly before our rout, Flew like a blossom blown about ; The colour'd leaves, a globe of life, Spun round and scatterd as in strife, Sweeping down the narrow lane Like the slant showers of the rain ; The lark in terror from the sod Flew up and straight appeal'd to God ; As a noisy band we went. Trotting to the Tournament. This fpedlacle was fuch an one, perhaps, as that which Scott has defcribed in the " Tahfman." The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats — There was winning of honour, and losing of seats — There was hewing with falchions, and splintering of staves, The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves. O, many a knight there fought bravely and well. Yet one w^as accounted his peers to excel, And 't was he whose sole armour on body and breast, Seem'd the weed of a damsel when bourne for her rest. 92 y^^^ift^ ^^^^ Tournaments. There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody and sore, But others respected his plight and forbore. '■'■ It is some oath of honour," they said, " and I trow, 'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow." Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament cease, He flung down his warder, the trumpets sang peace ; And the judges declare, and competitors yield. That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field. The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher. When before the fair Princess low louted a squire. And deliver'd a garment unseemly to view, "With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack'd and pierced through ; All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood. With the foam of the horses, with dust and with mud, Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween. Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean. " This token my master. Sir Thomas a' Kent, Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent ; He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit. He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit ; Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won. And now must the faith of my mistress be shown : For she who prompts knights on such danger to run, Must avouch his true service in front of the sun." While the tournament confifted of a general melee, ending in almoft every cafe in fome ferious and fatal accident, the jouft was a fucceffion of fmgle combats, which afforded to thofe engaged in them an opportunity of difplaying to greater advantage their fkill and prowefs. The Knights of the Round Table, an inftitu- tion generally aflbciated with the name of Prince Arthur, was founded for giving opportunities to the youth of the nobility m^ ^\ THE TOU K.\.\M KXT. yoiijls and Tournafuents. 93 for learning all the requifite accomplifhments of a foldier, tlic moft important of which was confidercd the art of joufting. The weapons ufcd in this diverfion were fpears without heads of iron, and the feat which was fought to be accomplifhed was ftriking the opponent upon the front of his helmet, fo as to beat him backwards from his horfe, or break the fpear. There were occafions when the lifts were formed, not for mere diverfion, or to win a lady's fmile, but for a purpofe fo grave as that for which Bolingbroke and Norfolk met on that famous occafion at Coventry, each " to prove himfelf a loyal gentleman." The famous duel was prevented, for when the fiery Bolingbroke and Norfolk Being mounted and both raised in their seats, Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, Their eyes of fire sparkhng through sights of steel, And the loud trumpet blowing them together, Then, then, ..... . . . . The king did throw his warder down, His own life hung upon the staff he threw ; Then threw he down himself. FroifTart has recorded that memorable joufting at St. Inglevere, where three French knights defended the lifts for thirty days againft all comers ; and, caufing the challenge to be well made known in England, upwards of one hundred knights and efquircs went over to Calais, faying, like true knights and gallant men that they were, " Thefe French knights only hold the tournament that they may have our company ; it is well done, and ftiows they 94 y^^^ift^ ^^^^ Touf^iamejits. do not want courage ; let us not difappoint them." The French knights were Sir Boucicaut the younger, the Lord Reginald de Roye, and the Lord de Saimpi. *' Sir John Holland," fays FroifTart, " v/as the firft who fent his fquire to touch the war- target of Sir Boucicaut, who inftantly ifTued from his paviHon completely armed. Having mounted his horfe, and grafped his fpear, which v/as ftifF and well fteeled, they took their diftances. When the two knights had for a fhort time eyed each other, they fpurred their horfes, and met full gallop with fuch force that Sir Boucicaut pierced the fliield of the Earl of Huntingdon, and the point of his lance flipped along his arm, but without wounding him ; the two knights, having palTed, continued their gallop to the end of the lift ; this courfe was much praifed. At the fecond courfe they hit each other flightly, but no harm was done, and their horfes refufed to complete the third. The Earl of Huntingdon, who wifhed to continue the tilt, and was heated, returned to his place, expedling that Sir Boucicaut would call for his lance, but he did not, and fhowed plainly he would not that day tilt more with the earl. Sir John Holland, feeing this, fent his fquire to touch the war-target of the Lord de Saimpi ; this knight, who was waiting for the combat, fallied out from his pavilion, and took his lance and fhield. When the earl faw he was ready, he violently fpurred his horfe, as did the Lord de Saimpi ; they couched their lances, and pointed them at each other. At the onfet their horfes croffed, notwithftanding which, they met ; but by this crofting, which was blamed, the earl youjis and 'Tournaments. 9^ was unhclmed. He returned to his people, who foon re-hclmed him, and having refumed their lances, they met full gallop, and hit each other with fuch force in the middle of their fhiclds, that they would have been unhorfed had they not kept tight feats by the preflure of their legs againft the horfes' fides ; they went to the proper places, where they refrefhed themfelves and took breath. Sir John Holland, who had a great defire to fhine at this tournament, had his helmet braced, and grafped his fpear again ; when the Lord de Saimpi, feeing him advance in a gallop did not decline meeting, but fpurring his horfe on inftantly, they gave blows on their helmets, that were luckily of well-tempered (teel, which made fparks of fire fly from them. At this courfe, the Lord de Saimpi lofl his helmet, but the two knights continued their career and returned to their places. This tilt was much pralfed, and the Englifh and French faid that the Earl of Hun- tingdon, Sir Boucicaut, and the Lord de Saimpi had excellently well joufted, without fparing or doing themfelves any damage. The earl wifhed to break another lance In honour of his lady, but It was refufed him ; he then quitted the lifts to make room for others, for he had run his fix lances with fuch ability and courage as gained him praife from all fides." When the Englifli knights had each run their tilts, they marched In a body to the French knights and faid, " All the knights who have accompanied us having now tilted, we take our leave of you and return to Calais, on our way to England. We know well that whoever may wlfii to try their fkill In arms will find you 96 y^^^ift^ ^^^^ Tournaments. here for thirty days according to your proclamation. On our return to England, we fhall fpeak loudly of your gallantry, and tell all thofe who may inquire of thefe deeds of arms, to come and witnefs them in perfon." " Many thanks," replied the three knights ; " they fhall be made welcome and delivered by deeds of arms as you have been, and we defire you will accept our beft acknowledgments for the courtefy you have fhown us." This was the ftyle of international courtefies which exifted in the chivalrous and romantic age of England. Thefe noble fports were of comparatively fhort duration, for " The tournaments of the fifteenth century provided with fo much care for the protedion of the combatants that the chief obje6l of the fport, the development of bravery, was loft; and the fire of emulation burned fo low in the breafts of the chief knights of the time, that they were content to have the number of blows that fhould be ftruck reduced to as mechanical a precifion as any of the commoneft arrangements of the tilt-yard. The fhock of the war horfes, that had formed one of the leading perils of the encounter, was prevented by a double barrier of partitions dividing the hoftile parties, and ftretching acrofs the area of the lifts ; while the thruft of the lance and the fword was alfo rendered harmlefs by the points being blunted." In the time of Elizabeth the prohibition againft taking part in joufts being ftill in force againft the lower claffes, tilting at the quintain, joufting upon the ice, and boat tilting were introduced. \Yhcn the maiden Queen vifited Sandwich in 1573, yoiiJIs and Tournaments. ()j fhe was entertained with a tilting upon the water, " where certain wallounds that could well fwym had prepared two boates, and in the middle of each boate was placed a borde, upon which horde there flood a man, and fo they met together, with either of them a ftaff and a fhield of wood ; and one of them did overthrowe another, at which the queene had good fport." Sir Henry Lee, who for many years held the proud office of Queen's Champion to Elizabeth, and was bound to prefcnt himfelf armed at the Tilt Yard (now Palace Yard), on the 27th of November of every year, feeling himfelf by the advance of age, unequal to the duties of braving knightly perils for his Queen, begged to be releafed from his office, and from his retirement may be dated the final decline of thefe chivalrous diverfions. The refignation was tendered on the 23rd of Elizabeth's reign, and in prefence of an aflembly unufually gay, numerous, and brilliant. It is thus defcribed in Knight's "Old England": — " The joufts being over, the Queen's aged knight, who has now done his devoirs in her fervice for the lall; time, prcfcnts himfelf at the foot of the ftairs leading to the Queen's gallery. Jull then, one of thofe cunning furprifes takes place, w^ithout which no fete of that age could have been confidered complete. The earth, as it were, fuddenly opening, there appeared an extraordinary and mofl: beautiful little chapel, or temple, of white taffeta fct upon pillars of porphyry, arched like unto a church, with many lamps burning in it, and the roof fretted with rich gothic work and gilding ; an altar within, covered with cloth of gold, and lighted o 98 y^^^i^ ^^'^^ Toiirnatnents. by two large wax candles, in rich candleflicks ; on this were laid certain princely prefents, Sir Harry Lee's parting memorials to the Queen. Strains of enchanting fweetnefs iflued from the temple as the aged knight drew near the throne, and Mr. Hales, her Majefty's fervant, a finger of admirable voice and fkill, accom- panied the inftruments with thefe touching verfes, fuppofed to be addre/Ted by Sir Henry to the Queen : — My golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd (Oh, Time ! too swift, and swiftness never ceasing), My youth 'gainst age, and age at youth hath spurn'd ; But spurn'd in vain — youtli waneth by increasing- Beauty, strength, and youth, flowers fading been ; Duty, faith, and love, are roots, and evergreen. My helmet now shall make an hive for bees, And lovers' songs shall turn to holy psalms , A man-at-arms must now sit on his knees And feed on prayers that are old age's alms. And so from court to cottage I depart, My saint is sure of mine unspotted heart. And when I sadly sit in homely cell, I '11 teach my swains this carol for a song : Blest be the hearts that think my sovereign well, Cursed be the souls that think to do her wrong Goddess, vouchsafe this aged man his right To be your beadsman now, that was your knight." FENCING. 'I ENCING was an art in which, as in Ml archery, great proficiency was formerly attained by Englifhmen. Ladies loved i?' r 1 ' to witnefs a difplay of the fencer's (kill. l«rv J- c'^ ' ^"' and to beftow rewards upon the suc- f^j cefsful fwordfman. The citizens of London pradifed the art extenfively. In the fixteenth century Smith- field was in the zenith of its fword play, and when its glory had pafled away, old writers were wont to fpeak with regret of the " fword and buckler age in Smithfield." At the commencement of the feventeenth century, we read in the old play of "Two Angry Women," by Henry Porter, "Sword and buckler fight begin to grow out of ufe. I am forry for it ; I fliall never fee good manhood again ; if it be once gone, this poking fight of rapier and dagger will come up, then a tall man, that is a courageous man and a good fword and buckler man, will be fpitted like a cat or a rabbit." Previous to this period " the art of defence and ufe of weapons " was, according to Stowe, " taught by profefied loo Fencing and Sword Play. mafters " In the city of London ; and a writer, who gives a defcription of the colleges and fchools in and about London in 1615, fays, " In the city there be manie profeffors of the fcience of defence, and very ikilful men in teaching the befl and moft offenfive and defenfive ufe of verie many weapons, as of the large fword, back-fword, rapier and dagger, fingle rapier, the cafe of rapiers, the fword and buckler or targate, the pike, the halberd, the long ftaff and others. Henry VIII. made the profefTors of this art a company or corporation by letters patent, wherein the art is intituled ' The noble fcience of Defence.' The manner of the proceeding of our fencers in their fchools is this : firft, they which defire to be taught at their admiflion are called fcholars, and as they profit, they take degrees and proceed to be provofts of defence; and that muft be wonne by public trial of their proficlence and of their fkill at certain weapons, which they call prizes, and in the prefence and view of many hundreds of people ; and at their next and laft prize well and fufficiently performed, they do proceed to be maifters of the fcience of defence, or maifters of fence as we commonly call them. The king ordained that none but fuch as have thus orderly proceeded by public act and trial, and have the approbation of the principal maifters of their company, may profcfs or teach this art of defence publicly in any part of England." OLD KNGLISH I'A > r I M ES— KENC I N (;. CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. V*^ ECIDEDLY the moft pidurefque features of " England's merrie days " are thofe con- ne(5led with the pilgrimages and journey- ings of the people. A vifit to Canterbury or to Walfingham was in old times a matter of no fmall difficulty ; but our anceftors entered upon the work carelefs of obflacles, and thought lefs ferioufly of the fatigue of the road than do the excurfionifts of the prefent day in taking their rtturn- tickets for the famous fhrine of a Beckett, or " eight hours at the fea-fide." Indeed the patron faint, to whofe fhrine thefe vifits of the pilgrims were made, was, when living, tlie lail: perfon in the world who would have wifhed that the journey fliould have been more unpleafant than was abfolutely neceffary. When the laint wore " hair fhirts, and ate the drieft of meats," it was after he had been difgraced by the king ; but times were not always fo hard with the martyred Bifliop of Canterbury. " He fed," fays an old trad, " with the fatteft, was clad with the fofteli, and kept I02 CaJiterbury Filgrims. company with the pleafanteft ; his bridle was of filver, his faddle of velvet, his flirrups, fpurs, and bofles, double gilt ; his expenfes far fiirpaffing the expenfes of an earl. And the king made him his chancellor, in which office he pafTed the pomp and pride of Thomas Wolfey, Cardinal, as far as the one's fhrine furpafleth the other's tomb in glory and riches ; and after that he was a man of war, and captain of five or fix thoufand men, in full harnefs as bright as St. George, and his fpear in his hand, and encountered whofoever came againfi; him, and overthrew the jollyeiL rutter that was in all the hofi; of France. And out of the field, hot from blood-fhedding, was he made Bifhop of Can- terbury, and did put off his helm, and put on his mitre ; put off his harnefs, and on with his robes ; and laid down his fpear, and took his crofs ere his hands were cold ; and fo came with a lufty courage of a man of war to fight another, while againfi: his prince, for the Pope, when his prince's caufe were with the law of God, and the pope's clean contrary." One Thorpe, an old writer, looked, it is true, upon thefe pilgrim- ages with fomething of a Puritan fpirit ; but was he not very properly tried for herefy ? — He fays, " Thefe men and women, that go on pilgrimages to Canterbury, to Beverley, to Karlington, to Walfingham, and to any other fuch places, are accurfed and made foolifli, fpending their money in wafl:e ;" and lie hints that the pilgrims went on their journeys more for the health of their bodies than of their fouls. Perhaps the quaint old man who faid this at the beginning of the fifteenth century, was not very Canterbury Filgrinis. 103 wrong in his eftimate of the real charader of pilgrimages ; and we fhould be difpofed to believe that the pilgrims were " merry," rather than very pious in thefe affairs, efpccially when he tells us, — *' I know well that when divers men and women will go thus after their own wills, they will arrange to have with them both men and women that can well fing wanton fongs, and fome other pilgrims will have with them bagpipes, fo tliat every town they come through, what with the noife of their finging, and with the found of their piping, and with the jingling of their Canterbury-bells, and with barking of dogs after them, they make more noife than if the king came there with all his clarions and many other minftrcls. And if thefe men and women be a month in their pilgrimages, many of them fhall be an half year after great janglers, tale-tellers, and liars." The good Archbifhop Arundel provided a fufficient anfwer to the ftcrn man who abufed the merry doinc:^ of the pilgrims — " When," faid the moft reverend prelate of 1407, "one of them that goeth barefoot ftriketh his toe upon a ftone and maketh him to bleed, it is well done that he or his fellow begin then a fong, or elfe take out of his bofom a bagpipe, for to drive away with fuch mirth the hurt of his fellow. For with fuch folace the travel and wearinefs of pilgrims is lightly and merrily brought forth." There is not a more pleafant pidure of Englifh life than that which Chaucer, the poet of charader and manners, has drawn of the motley band of pilgrims, who affembled on that April morning at the Tabard Inn, of Southwark, to wend their I04 Canterbury Pilgrims. way to the flirine of the " blifsful martyr " at Canterbury ; and for the fake of the pleafant company which were then brought together, we will not inquire too clofely into the motives by which they were adluated in undertaking the journey. Suffice it to fay, it was " the cuftom of the country," — for has not England's greateft poet written, Whanne that April with his shoures sote The droughte of March hath perced to the rote, And bathed every veine in swiche lienor Of which vertue engendred is the flour ; Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe Enspired hath in every holt and hethe The tend re croppes, and the yonge sonne, Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne, And smale foules maken melodie, That slepen alle nighte with open eye, So priketh hem nature in hir corages ; Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seken strange strondes, To serve hahves conthe in sondry londes ; And specially, from every shires ende Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende, The holy, blissful martyr for to seke That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. What a merry troup is that to which he then introduces us — thofe '' nine and twenty in a company" who arrived at the celebrated Tabard, In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all. The hoft receives his guefts with befitting attention, and marflials them to the great pilgrims' room. Firft comes the CANTERBUKV I'lLGRIMS. Canterbury Pilgrims. 105 Knight, a noble fpecimen of chivalry in all its gentlenefs and power, who has fought in no lefs than fifteen mortal battles, fome of them againft the heathens, but ftill remains in his port and bearing: " meek as a maid." Then comes the Priorefs, fmiling, fimple, and coy, at the gallant attentions of the knight, and looking down on the tender motto of the gold brooch attached to her beads, Amor vincit omnia ; fhe wears a handfome black cloak, over a white tunic, for flie is of the Benedidline order. Her fair forehead is " a fpan broad ; " her mouth, " full fmall, foft, and red ;" nofe, " tretis" (long and well proportioned), and her eyes are grey. She would weep if that she saw a mouse Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled. A Nun and three priefts follow in the train of the good and graceful woman, and then comes that royftering Wife of Bath, laughing loud and heartily with the fquire, who walks almoft blufhing by her fide. She has a winning countenance, " fair and red of hue," which is well fet off by the jaunty black hat, " broad as is a buckler or a targe." Already " hufbands at the church door has fhe had five," but the "wife of Bath" would not take it amifs if the fquire with '' lockcs curl'd as they were laid in prefs," and fo fond of '^ finging" and " floyting" all the day, would again lead her to the church porch. There is an attendant on the knight and fquire ; he carries " peacock arrows, bright and keen," "a forefter foothly is he as I guefs." Next p I o6 Canterbury Vilgrims. is the Parfon, poor, but " rich in holy thought and work," one who will rather give to his pariihioners than "curfen" like fome of his clerical brethren about the tithes. He is a man of learning and ability, but " no rain nor thunder," no ficknefs nor mis- fortune, prevents him from vlfiting " the fartheft in his parifh." Near him is the rich Monk, " a lord full fat, and in good point ; " he prefers " pricking and hunting for the hare," to poring and " pottering" over books : " Now certainly he is a fair prelate." There, too, is the " wanton and merry Friar ; " he has no idea of mortifying the flefh, and he will not want the good things of this life while there are riotous Franklins, or worthy women to be abfolved, or fo long as his harp and his fongs make him a welcome gueft at the taverns where his eyes do fometimes twinkle " as do the ftarres in a frofty night." The Sumpnour, of whofe vifage children are ufual " fore afeard," for he has " fire-red cherubinnes face," and " knobbes fitting on his cheeks," is among the company, as well as his friend the " Pardoner," with lanky yellow hair falling about his fhoulders. Behind them is the Miller, in his white coat and blue hood, his favourite bagpipes under his arm, and on his nofe that large wart and tuft of red briflling hair, which certainly detradls a little from his perfonal appearance. The Merchant, the Reeve or Steward, the Sergeant-at-law, and the Dodor, "grounded in af^ronomie" and knowing the caufe of every maladie, follow. Next comes one whom we find drawn in " the Cabinet Pidure of Englifh Life," as the " handfome looking ftately gentleman, with Canterbury Pilgrims. 107 the fnow-white hand and fanguine complexion, and the white filk gipciere or purfe hanging from his waift." It is the FrankHn, fometime knight of the fhire, '' Epicurus' owen fon," who is evidently fnuffing up with eager pleafure certain delicate fcents floating hitherwards from the kitchen, and offering up prayers that no unlucky accident may mar the delights of the table, that the fauce may not want in fharpnefs and poignancy, or his favourite difh be done a turn too much. He is certainly an epicure ; but he is alfo what epicures fometimes are not, exceedingly hofpitable ; you fhall never enter his houfe without finding great {lore of baked meats, fifh and flefh, or without experiencing the truth of the popular remark, " It fnowed in his houfe of meat and drink." The rear of this jovial party is brought up by the " Manciple," " wife in buying of visual ; " the Shipman, whom hot fummers has made " all brown ;" the " Cook," unrivalled for his " blanc mange ;" the Ploughman, brother of the worthy parfon ; the Haberdafher, the Carpenter, the Weaver, the Dyer and the maker of tapeflry ; and the poor '' clerk of Oxenford," with threadbare garment and hollow face ; and lafl of all followed to the fupper room the poet Chaucer himfelf. When that jovial hearty fupper is concluded, the hofl announces the merry fancy that has poffelTcd him towards his guefls. He tells them that they were to him "■ welcome right heartily," and "fain" would he do them ''mirth," — mirth, too, that fhould coft them nought, — as they journeyed on their way to the fhrine of the " blifsful martyr." In fuch a pilgrimage he fays : — io8 Canterbury Pilgrims. Comfort ne mirth is none, To riden by the way dumb as the stone ; And therefore would I maken you disport, As I said erst, I do you some comfort. And he fwears by his " father's foule that is dead " that they fhall be merry ; and calls upon them, in the fafhion which has defcended to our own day, to fignify their pleafure as to hearing his propofition by holding up their hands. There are no difientients, and the jovial hoft proceeds to explain his happy idea — Lordlings, quod he, now hearkeneth for the best, But take it not, I pray you, in disdain ; This is the point to speak it plat and plain, That each of you to shorten with your way In this journey shall tellen tales tway ; To Canterbury-ward, I mean it so, And homeward he shall tellen other two ; Of adventures that whilom have befall. And which of you that beareth him best of all ; That is to say, that telleth in this case, Tales of best sentence and most solace ; Shall have a supper at your aller cost, Here in this place, sitting by this post When that ye come again from Canterbury. And for to maken you the more merry I will myselven gladly with you ride, Right at mine owen cost, and be your guide ; And who that will my judgement withsay. Shall pay for all we spenden by the way. The plan is agreed to by the pilgrims with " full glad heart," and they pray him — CHRISTMAS KKXELS. Canterbury Pilgrims. 109 — that he would be our governor, And of our Talcs judge and reporter, And set a supper at a certain price ; And we would ruled be at his device In high and low. With the dawn of day the pilgrims fet forth, the hoft having reminded them of their engagement of the previous evening, refpeding implicit obedience to his rule ; and when fairly on their road, the knight commenced that feries of tales in which Chaucer has fo fuccefsfully depided the inner life, the habits, form of expreflion, and thoughts of the Engliih people during the ftirring times of the Plantagenets. At Walfingham, in the county of Norfolk, there was alfo a famous fhrine of " Our Lady," at which many pilgrims paid their homage, and in connexion with it there is one of the choiceft of England's old ballads : — As ye came from the holy land Of blessed Walsingham, O met you not with my true love, As by the way ye came 1 " How should I know your true love " That have met many a one, " As I came from the holy land, " That have both come and gone ? " My love is neither white nor browne, But as the heavens faire ; There is none hath her form divine. Either in earth or ayre. 1 1 o Canterbury Pilgrims. "Such a one did I meet, good sir, " With an angelicke face ; "Who like a nymphe, a queene appeard " Both in her gait, her grace." Yes : she hath cleane forsaken me, And left me all alone ; Who some time loved me as her life, And called me her owne. " What is the cause she leaves thee thus, "And a new way doth take; "That some time loved thee as her life, "And thee her joy did make V I that loved her all my youth, Growe old now as you see : Love liketh not the falling fruite. Nor yet the withered tree. For Love is like a carelesse childe, Forgetting promise past ; He is blind, or deaf, whenere he list ; His faith is never fast. His fond desire is fickle found, And yieldes a trustlesse joye ; Wonne with a world of toil and care, And lost ev'n with a toye. Such is the love of womankinde. Of Love's faire name abusde, Beneath which many vaine desires And follyes are excusde. But true love is a durable fyre, In the mind ever burnynge, Never sycke, never ould, never dead ; From itself never turninge. THE OLD ABBEYS OF ENGLAND. HE old Abbeys of England ! how plc- turefque they ftand in their ruins ! proud and defolate memorials of a time when the new-born freedom of thought and mind indulged in the wildeft freaks of its youthful excefTes ; and, aided by fovereign power, marked its progrefs towards refledling manhood by the wanton deftrudion of some of the nobleft edifices of our country. Time, the ruthlefs deftroyer, ftill fpares the old abbeys ; and Nature kindly clothes them with the mantling ivy, to protecfl them in their green old age. I do love these ancient ruins : We never tread upon them, but we set Our foot upon some rev'rend history ; And questionless, here in this open court, Which now lies naked to the injuries 1 1 2 The Old Abbeys of England. Of stormy weather, some lie interred, Loved the church so well, and gave so largely to't, They thought it should have canopied their bones Till doomsday \ but all things have their end ; Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, Must have like death that we have. Many a one who has gazed upon an old abbey noble in its ruins, the rank grafs growing in its deferted cloifters, the chambers and refedlories, once the bufy haunts of men, now filent and tenantlefs, will have felt fomething of that feeling which Shakefpeare has put into the mouth of Cromwell — The infant yet unborn Will curse the time the altars were pulled down. I pray now, where is Hospitality % Where now may poor distressed people go For to relieve their need, or rest their bones When weary travel doth oppress their limbs ? And where religious men should take them in, They'll now be kept back by a mastiff dog. A Norman abbey, while yet fome of its glories clung around it, is thus defcribed by Byron : — • It stood embosom'd in a happy valley, Crown'd by high woodlands, where the druid oak Stood like Caractacus in act to rally His host, with broad arms 'gainst the tlumder-stroke ; And from beneath his bouglis were seen to sally The dappled foresters — as day awoke. The branching stag swept down with all his herd. To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird. TIIK A1U5EVS RUINED WALLS. The Old Abbeys of England. i i 3 A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile (While yet the church was Rome's) stood half apart In a grand arch, which once screen'd many an aisle ; These last had disappear'd — a loss to art : The first yet frown'd superbly o'er the soil, And kindletl feelings in the roughest heart Which mourn'd the power of time's or tempest's march, In gazing on that venerable arch. Witliin a niche nigh to its pinnacle, Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone : But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, But in the war which struck Charles from the throne ; When each house was a fortalice — as tell The annals of full many a line undone ; The gallant cavaliers who fought in vain, For those who knew not to resign or reign. But in a higher niche, alone, but crown'd. The Virgin Mother of the God-born child. With her Son in her blessed arms, look'd round. Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil'd ; She made the earth below seem holy ground. This may be superstition weak or wild, But even the faintest relics of a shrine. Of any worship, wake some thoughts divine. Great changes have taken place in thefe edifices, even fince Milton, in " II Penferofo," was wont To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowered roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim, religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below ; 1 14 The Old Abbeys of England. In service high, and anthems clear, As may with sweetness through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes. Look upon this pi6lure, and upon this, — the abbey in its pride, the building in its decay — The hour has been, this mouldering pile Was robed in symmetry sublime ; Seen in stupendous strength to smile, And seemed to dare the power of Time. Netley Abbey, in days long gone by, was among the moft famous of our monaftic eftabllfhments. It neftled amid the luxu- rious foliage and rich verdure on the banks of the broad water at Southampton ; the towers of the abbey were the landmark of the happy mariner, and the peafant liftened with reverent joy to the vefper bell, and to the folemn chant of its inmates. All is changed. Ingoldfby refleds and moralizes over the fcene, — I saw thee, Netley, as the sun Across the western wave Was sinking slow, And a golden glow To thy roofless towers he gave ; And the ivy sheen. With its mantle of green, That wrapt thy walls around. Shone lovelily bright In that glorious light. And I felt 't was holy ground. The Old Abbeys of England. 1 1 5 Then I thought of the ancient time — The days of thy monks of old ; When to Matin, and Vesper, and Compline chime. The loud Hosanna roU'd, And thy courts and " long drawn aisles " among. Swell the full tide of sacred song. And yet, fair Netley, as I gaze Upon that grey and mouldering wall. The glories of thy palmy days Its very stones recall ! They " come like shadows, so depart " — I see thee as thou wert — and art. For many years after the firft dawn of the Reformation, the people loved to congregate in the old abbeys, but the ftately fabrics, negleded and defecrated, gradually funk into fuch graceful ruins as Tintern, and Kirkftall, and Newftead, and others. In the golden age of good Queen Befs, Bolton Abbey was a favourite place of Sabbath refort ; poetic legends fuch as that of '' The White Doe," '' foft and filent as a dream," and '* beauteous as the filver moon," had taken root in the popular mind and invefted the time-worn buildings with the charms of romance, and drawn to them the homage of a devout veneration. It is one of the days of Elizabeth's golden reign that Wordfworth defcribes — From Bolton's old monastic tower, The bells ring loud with gladsome power ; The sun is bright, the fields are gay, AVith people in their best array 1 1 6 The Old Abbeys of England. Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf, Along the banks of the crystal Wharf ; Through the vale retired and lowly. Trooping to that summons holy. And up among the moorlands, see What sprinklings of blithe company ! Of lasses, and of shepherd grooms, That down the steep hill force their way, Like cattle through the budded brooms ; Path or no path, what care they? And thus in joyous mood they hie To Bolton's mouldering Priory. ***** For in the shatter'd fabric's heart Remaineth one protected part 3 A rural chapel, neatly drest, In covert like a little nest ; And thither young and old repair, This Sabbath-day, for praise and prayer. Fast the churchyard fills ; — anon, Look again, they all are gone ; The cluster round the porch, and the folk Who sate in the shade of the Prior's Oak ! And scarcely have they disappeared Ere the prelusive hymn is heard : — With one consent the people rejoice, Filling the church with a lofty voice ! They sing a service which they feel, For 't is the sunrise now of zeal ; And faith and hope were in their prime In great Eliza's golden time. If there is one idea which more than another is afTociated with the paft of thefe old abbeys, it is that they were the abodes of peaceful and contented minds, of men who knew The Old Abbeys of England. i \j no care, and who were like the reft of England's fons — merry. From the earlieft of our national ballads, to the lateft jovial fong, " I am a Friar of Orders Grey," unbroken teftimony is borne to the merry life and fubftantial cheer of the inmates of Bolton and other abbeys. The eafy life, and exceedingly " well-to-do " condition of the merry abbot of Canterbury, forms the fubjed: of one humorous old ballad: — I'll tell you a story — a story so merry, Concerning the abbot of Canterbury; How for his housekeeping, and high renown, They rode post for him to fair London town. An hundred men, the king did hear say, The abbot kept in his house every day ; And fifty gold chains, without any doubt, In velvet coats waited the abbot about. How now ! Father Abbot, I hear it of thee, Thou keepest a far better house than me : And for thy housekeeping, and high renown, I fear thou work'st treason against my crown. My liege, quoth the abbot, I would it were known, I never spend nothing but what is my own ; And I trust your grace will do me no deere, For spending my own true-gotten gear. Yes, yes,— quoth he, — Abbot, thy fault is high, And now for the same thou needest must die ; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy body. 1 1 8 'The Old Abbeys of 'England. At first, quo' the king, — when I 'm in this stead, With my crown of gold so fair on my head ; Among all my liegemen of noble birth. Thou must tell me, to one penny, what I am worth. Secondly, tell me, without any doubt, How soon I may ride the world about ; And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly, what I do think. O, these are hard questions for my shallow wit. Nor I cannot answer your Grace as yet ; But if you will give me three weeks' space, I'll do my endeavour to answer your grace. And our fathers loved to hear how the great abbot, forely diftrefTed to anfwer thefe queries, was aflifted out of his difficulty by his poor fhepherd, who, perfonating the abbot, appeared before the king, and having anfwered two of the queftions, was told by his majefty. Now from the third question thou must not shrink. But tell me here truly what I do think. And the merry anfwer was. Yea that shall I do, and make your grace merry; You think — Pm the abbot of Catiterbury ; But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see, That am come to beg pardon for him and for me. And " the merry King John," as the ftory goes, wanted to make the fhepherd a "lord abbot;" but as the witty fellow could neither read nor write, the monarch rewarded the merry jeft with The Old Abbeys of England. 1 1 9 a penfion of '' four nobles a week," and a pardon for the old abbot. The good things of this life were not only enjoyed by the jovial churchmen at Canterbury and elfewhere, but prelates and abbots loved to engage in manly fports and paftimes ; and it is probable that Chaucer was not far wrong in his eftimate of their qualifications, when he hints on more than one occafion that they were more fkilled in riding and hunting than in divinity. The Archdeacon of Richmond, we are told, on his initiation to the priory of Bridlington, in Yorkfhire, in 1216, came attended by ninety-feven horfes, twenty-one dogs, and three hawks. In i 256, Walter de Suffield, Bifhop of Norwich, bequeathed by will his pack of hounds to the king ; whilft the abbot of Taviftock, who had alfo a pack, was commanded by his bifhop in 1348 to break it up. A famous hunter, contemporary with Chaucer, was William de Clowne, abbot of Leicefter, who died in 1377. His reputation for fkill in the fport of hare-hunting was fo great, that the king himfelf, his fon Edward, and certain noblemen, paid him an annual penfion that they might hunt with him. Peace to their afhes ! Thofe fine old abbeys, and rare old monks, we fhall never look upon the like again ! THE OLD CASTLES OF ENGLAND. *' LORIOUS were the barons of England ! they hve in fong and ftory, and their . heroic deeds are recorded on the brighteft pages of our hiftory ! They were bold men, and from their caftle homes they defied the tyranny which fought to enflave a brave people ; or, ifluing from their fortreffes, they upheld in the battle-field the honour of their country ; but when the ftern demands of war, or the promptings of chivalrous ardour, did not fummon them to the tented plain, their lordly caftles were the fcene of feftive ) mirth, and profufe hofpitality, rude perhaps in difplay, but genuine, high-fouled, and hearty in their charader. In foreign lands, as on England's foil, the barons of England won vi6tory from powerful hands : — The Old Cajiles of England. i 2 1 Witness the field of Cressy, on that day When volleying thunders roll'd unheard on high, For in that memorable fray, Broken, confused, and scatter'd in dismay, France had ears only for the conqueror's cry, "St. George, St. George for England! St. George and victor)'!" Bear witness, Poictiers ! where again the foe From that same hand received his overthrow. In vain essay'd Mont Joye, " St. Denis " rung From many a boastful tongue And many a hopeful heart in onset brave ; Their courage in the shock of battle quail'd, His dread response when sable Edward gave. And England and St. George again prevail'd. Bear witness, Agincourt, where once again The banner'd lilies on the ensanguined plain Were trampled by the fierce pursuer's feet ; And France, doom'd ever to defeat Against that foe, beheld her myriads fly Before the withering cry, " St. George, St. George for England ! St. George and victor)' ! " Pleafant indeed are the feelings with which, when travelling over the plains and valleys of our dear old England, we fee amid the charming varieties of Englifli landfcape fome noble tower and bat- tlements " bofom'd high in tufted trees." They are the pi6lurefque ruins of the old caftles of the barons — there was a time when there were eleven hundred of thefe homes of feudal lords in England. Thofe crumbling walls are the filent chroniclers of bygone years : R 1 2 2 T:'he Old Cajiles of England. Would they had tongues the deeds of yore to tell, What pageants sported in their mid-day sun ; What knight who in the lists could all excel, The envied laurel wreath of victory won. How changed is the fcene fince lords and ladies gay lived and loved, and wooed and fmiled, within thofe embattled walls — All ruined and wild is their roofless abode, And lonely the dark ravens' sheltering tree ; And travelled by few is the grass-covered road, Where the hunter of deer, and the warrior trode, To his hills that encircle the sea. From Grongar hill Dyer faw this charm of Englifh I'cenery — Gaudy as the opening dawn Lies a long and level lawn, On which a dark hill, steep and high. Holds and charms the wandering eye ! Deep are his feet in ToAvy's flood. His sides are clothed with waving wood ; And ancient towers crown his brow. That cast an ample look below ; Whose rugged walls the ivy creeps, And with her arms from falling keeps, 'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ; 'Tis now the apartment of the toad ; And there the fox securely feeds. And there the poisonous adder breeds, Concealed in ruin, moss, and weeds. While ever and anon there falls Huge heaps of hoary mouldered walls. Let us endeavour, with the aid of Sir Walter Scott, to realize the picture of one of our old caftles in the height of its lordly The Old Cajiles of England. 123 profperity. We fcled one of the moft famous of the border caftles of our country. Day set on Norham's castled steep, And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, And Cheviot's mountains lone : The battled towers, the donjon keep, The loophole grates, where captives weep, The flanking walls that round it sweep, In yellow lustre shone. The warriors on the turrets high, Moving athwart the evening sky, Seem'd forms of giant height : Their armour as it caught the rays Flash'd back again the western blaze, In lines of dazzling light. St. George's banner, broad and gay. Now faded, as the fading ray. Less bright, and less, was flung ; The evening gale had scarce the power To wave it on the Donjon Tower, So heavily it hung. The scouts had parted on their search, The castle gates were barr'd ; Above the gloomy portal arch, Timing his footsteps to a march,- The warder kept his guard ; Low humming, as he paced along, Some ancient Border gathering song. A distant trampling sound he hears ; He looks abroad, and soon appears. O'er Horncliff-hill, a plump of spears Beneath a pennon gay ; 124 ^1^^ 0/(^ Cajlles of England. A horseman darting from the crowd, Like lightning from a summer cloud, Spurs on his mettled courser proud, Before the dark array. Beneath the sable palisade That loosed the Castle barricade, His bugle horn he blew ; The warder hasted from the wall. And warn'd the captain in the hall, For well the blast he knew ; And joyfully that knight did call. To sewer, squire, and seneschal : "Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, Bring pasties of the doe. And quickly make the entrance free. And bid my heralds ready be. And every minstrel sound his glee, And all our trumpets blow ; And from the platform, spare ye not To fire a noble salvo-shot ; Lord Marmion waits below ! " Then to the Castle's lower ward Sped forty yeomen tall, The iron-studded gates unbarr'd. Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, The lofty palisade unsparr'd, And let the drawbridge fall. And there we leave the bold Marmion to the welcome provided for him. Charles Knight tells of other duties and occupations befides thofe of war, and paftime, and feafting, in which the lordly tenants XORHA.M CASTLE. The Old Cajlles of England. i 2 5 of the caftle fortrefTes of our country were wont to pafs their time. The great caftle-builder provided his walls and his courts, his keep and his dungeons ; but a chapel was no lefs Indifpenfable alike to his ftation and his adlual wants. Beleaguered or free, he muft be able at all times to hear the daily mafs, or, more grateful ftill to lordly ears, the pious orifon offered up for his own and his family's welfare ; he muft be able to fly to the chapel for fuccour when the " thick-coming fancies " of fuperftition prefs upon his imagination, and appal him by their myfterious influence, or when defeat or danger threatens ; there too in the hour of triumph muft he be found, his own voice mingling with the chant of prieft ; at births, baptifms, marriages, and deaths, the facred doors muft be ever at hand ; the child faft growing up to man's eftate, who has fpent his entire life within the caftle, looks forward to the chapel as the fcene that fliall uftier him into a world of glory, — already he feels the touch of the golden fpurs, the fway of the lofty plumes, the thrill of the fair hands that gird on his maiden fword ; already, with alternating hopes and fears, he anticipates his folitary midnight vigil within the chapel walls. And truly fuch a night in fuch a place as this, to which we have defcended below the keep of Newcaftle, was calculated to try the tone of the firmeft nerves ; for though beautiful — exceedingly beautiful it is in all that refpe<5ls the architediural ftyle to which it belongs, and of which it is a rare example — there are here no lofty pointed windows, with their ftoried panes, to admit the full broad beam of radiant fplendour, or to give 126 The Old Cajlles of Kngland. the idea of airinefs or elegance to the ftructure. All Is mafTive, great, and imprefTively folemn. The diftindlive features of the nineteenth century and the days of the feudal lords of England have feldom been more forcibly fhown than by FitzGreene Halleck, an American, who a few years fince vifited Alnwick Caftle, and penned the following : — Home of the Percy's high-born race, Home of their beautiful and brave, Alike their birth and burial-place, Their cradle and their grave ! Still sternly o'er the castle gate Their house's Lion stands in state, As in his proud departed hours ; And warriors frown in stone on high, And feudal banners " flout the sky " Above his princely towers. A gentle hill its side inclines, Lovely in England's fadeless green. To meet the quiet stream which winds Through this romantic scene. As silently and sweetly still, As when at evening on that hill, While summer's wind blew soft and low, Seated by gallant Hotspur's side, His Katherine was a happy bride, A thousand years ago. One solitary turret gray Still tells in melancholy glory The legend of the Cheviot day, The Percy's proudest Border story. The Old Cajlles of England. i 27 That day its roof was triumph's arch ; Then rang from aisle to pictured dome The light step of the soldier's march, The music of the trump and drum ; And babe, and sire, the old, the young, And the monk's hymn and minstrel's song, And woman's pure kiss, sweet and long, Welcomed her warrior home. Wild roses by the abbey towers Are gay in their young bud and bloom ; They were born of a race of funeral flowers That garlanded, in long-gone hours, A Templar's knightly tomb. He died, the sword in his mailed hand, On the holiest spot of the Blessed Land ; Where the Cross was damp'd with his dying breath. When blood ran free as festal wine, And the sainted air of Palestine Was thick with the darts of death. Wise with the lore of centuries. What tales, if there be " tongues in trees," Those giant oaks could tell, Of beings born and buried here ; Tales of the peasant and the peer, Tales of the bridal and the bier. The welcome and farewell, Since on their boughs the startled bird First in her twilight slumbers heard The Norman's curfew-bell. BARONIAL FEASTS. ARLY in England's hiftory, feudal lords, in their caftle homes, were right merry at their feftive boards. Mailed barons, grim of afpecfl, who dared to fhow their power in the prefence of crowned /^ defpots, and to draw their fwords in defence of Englifh liberties, or againft threatened invafion of their rights and privileges, ofttimes laid afide their armour, and difpenfed a rude but genuine hofpitality to all comers. Rough and ready were thofe Englifh barons to meet a worthy foeman on the field, or receive a trufty knight at their tables ; ready were they in their moated and embattled homes to bid the warder found defiance from their walls, or flourifh a glad welcome to the traveller to his well-fpread board. When wars in foreign climes, as at Crefly or Agincourt ; on their native foil, as at Towton and Evefham ; or, later, on the hard-fought fields of Bofworth or Nafeby, claimed no military fervice at their hands, — Baronial Feafts. 120 Then all was jollity, Feasting and mirth, light wantonness and laughter, Pijiing and playing, minstrelsies and smoking, Till life fled from us like an idle dream. In fancy we can hear fome baron who has led back his retainers, worn and waited by a long campaign, entering the mafTive portals of his caftle, telling to liftening knights and ladies what vi(^lories he had won ; what hardfhips he and his trufty band had endured, and exclaiming — But now we will have bellowing of beeves, Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots; Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore Of herds, flocks, and venison, poultry, Join'd to the brave heart's blood of John-a-barleycorn. And then would follow fuch a fcene as that which Scott has fo graphically defcribed in " The Lay of the Laft MInftrel : " — 'T was now the merry hour of noon, And in the lofty arched hall Was spread the gorgeous festival. Steward and squire with heedful haste Marshall'd the rank of ever}' guest ; Pages, with ready blades, were there, The mighty meal to carve and share. O'er capon, heronshrew, and crane. And princely peacock's gilded train ; And o'er the boar-head garnish'd brave, And cygnet from St. Marj's wave ; O'er ptarmigan and venison, The priest had spoke his benison i^o Baronial Feajh. Then rose the riot and the din, Above, beneath, without, within ! For, from its lofty balcony. Rang trumpet, shalm, and psaltery : Their clanging bowls old warriors quafif'd, Loudly they spoke and loudly laugh'd ; Whisper'd young knights in tones more mild, To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. The hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam, The clamour join'd with whistling scream, And flapp'd their wings, and shook their bells, In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. Round go the flasks of ruddy wine From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine. Their tasks the busy servers ply, And all is mirth and revelry. Or we may pldure to ourfelves fuch a feaft as that which Warton has drawn, when the Plantagenet monarch fhared the feftivities of the baron's banquet : — Stately the feast, and high the cheer : Girt with many an armed peer, And canopied with golden pall. Amid Cilgarran's castle hall. Sublime in formidable state And warlike splendour Henry sate ; Prepared to stain the briny flood Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood. Illumining the vaulted roof, A thousand torches flamed aloof: From massy cups, with golden gleam, Sparkled the red metheglin's stream : To grace the gorgeous festival, Along the lofty-window'd hall DINNER IN A liARONIAL HALL. Baronial Feajls. i 3 1 The storied tapestry was hung : With minstrelsy the rafters rung Of harps, that with reflected light From the proud gallery glittcr'd bright ; While gifted bards, a rival throng (From distant Mona, nurse of song ; From Teivi, fringed with umbrage brown ; From Elvy's vale and Cader's crown ; From many a shaggy precipice That shades lerne's hoarse abyss, And many a sunless solitude Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude), To crown the banc^uet's solemn close, Themes of British glory chose. The old ballad, called '^ Time's Alterations," after deploring the changes which modern cuftoms and times had introdticed, and referring to days that had paft, fays — The nobles of our land, Were much delighted then To have at their command A crew of lusty men, Which by their coats were known, Of tawny, red, or blue, With crests on their sleeves shown, When this old cap was new. And Stowe, in his *' Survey of London," has preferved many fadts which ferve to corroborate the truth of the old ballad. Among other nobles whofe names are thus preferved, are '* Robert Nevill, Earl of Warwick, with fix hundred men, all in red jackets em- broidered with ragged ftaves before and behind, and was lodged in Warwicke lane, in whofe houfe there was oftentimes fix oxen IJ2 Baronial Feajis. eaten at a breakfaft, and every tavern was full of his meat ; for he that had any acquaintance in that houfe might have there fo much of fodden and roaft meat as he could prick and carry upon a long dagger. More, I read that Hugh Spencer the elder was banifhed the realm, at which time it was found by inquifition that the faid Spencer had in fundry fhires fifty-one manors, he had twenty-eight thoufand flieep, one thoufand oxen and fteers, one thoufand two hundred kine with their calves ; forty mares with their colts, one hundred and fixty drawing- horfes, two thoufand hogs, three hundred bullocks, forty tuns of wine, fix hundred bacons, eighty carcafTes of MartilmafTe beef, fix hundred muttons in larder, ten tuns of cider, his armour, plate, and jewels, and ready money, better than ^10,000, thirty- fix facks of wool, and a library of books." The houfekeeping of Edward, late Earl of Derby, is not to be forgotten, who had two hundred and twenty men in check- roll, his feeding aged perfons twice every day, fixty and odd, befides " all comers thrice a week, appointed for his dealing days, and every Good Friday two thoufand feven hundred with meat, drink, and money." Richard Redman, Bifhop of Ely (1500, 17th of Henry VIL), " befides his great family houfekeeping, alms difh, and relief to the poor, wherefoever he was lodged, in his travelling, when at his coming or going to or from any town, the bells being rung, all the poor would come together, to whom he gave every one fixpence at the leafl." Barojiial Feajls. \ 3 3 Nicholas Weft, Biftiop of Ely (1532), " kept continually in his houfe an hundred fervants, giving to the one half of them 53J. 4/^. the piece, yearly ; to the other half, each 40J. the piece ; to every one for his winter gown, four yards of broadcloth, and for his fummer coat three yards and a half. lie daily gave at his gates, befides bread and drink, warm meat to two hundred poor people." " I have feen an account," writes the old chronicler, " made by H. Leicefter, cofferer to Thomas, Earl of Lancafter, for one whole year's expenfes in the Earl's houfe, amounting to 7,957/. 13 J. 4'^." Amid all this rude magnificence the claims of charity were not forgotten, either by the laity or the clergy ; and Bede tells that it was the cuftom among the prelates, ** having peradventure but wooden churches," to have *' notwithftanding on their board at their meals an alms difh, into the which was carved fonie good portion of meat and of every other difh brought to their table ; all of which was given to the poor, befides the fragments left ; infomuch as in a hard time a poor prelate, wanting viduals, hath caufed his alms difh, being filver, to be divided among the poor, wherewith to fhift as they could till God fhould fend them better flore." In the famous ballad of the " Blind Beggar of Bednall Green," we learn that — All kinds of dainties and delicates sweete Were brought for the banquet as it was most meete ; Partridge and plover, and venison most free, Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessie. 134 Baronial Feajls. In the time of Fuller, this profufe hofpitality of the Barons had begun to difappear ; but lufty yeomen ftill handed down from father to fon reverence for the good things of this life, and due refpedl to the demands of hofpitality. '' Some hold," fays Fuller, " that when Hofpitality died in England, fhe gave her laft groan among the yeomen of Kent. And ftill at our yeomen's tables, you fhall have as many joints as difties. No meat difguifed with ftrange fauces, no ftraggling joynt of a fheep in the midft of a pafture of grafte, befet with falads on every fide ; but more folid, fubftantial food ; no fervitors (more nimble with their hands, than the guefts with their teeth) take away meat before ftomachs are taken away. Here you have that which in itfelf is good made better by the ftore of it, and beft by the welcome to it." WANDERING MINSTRELS. ONG ago the lays of the minftrels were ® the delight of our anceftors. It was by the ftrains of the old bards, that infant genius was nurtured ; the ftern hv\ hearts of fteel-clad knights, and heroic barons, grew foft beneath the harper's power : and it was by the minftrel that the memory of illuftrlous adlions and noble deeds was kept alive in the hearts of the people, and handed down to later ages. We fee through the haze of years the minftrels aroufing the pafTions and awakening the flumbering energies of the people againft the Norman and Saxon invader; anon, their harps refound in the regal halls, or cheer the rude banquets where lufty barons and warlike knights regale themfelves ; then in fofter accents, they recount to liftening dames the ftories of devoted knights, of gallant deeds of chivalry, and of ladies' fmiles that rewarded the valiant and the brave. In the palace, in the caftle, in the rude manfion, amid the mirthful gatherings of the village wakes, among the 136 Wandering Minjlrels. merry men of Sherwood, and in the caves of outlaws, the minftrel always found a cordial welcome, and of him it has been truly faid— Thine was the voice that cheer d the brave and free, They had their hills, their chainless hands, and — thee. Pope thus apoftrophizes the memory of the old bards : — Hail, bards triumphant ! born in happier days. Immortal heirs of universal praise ; Whose honours will increase if ages grow. As streams roll down enlarging as they flow ; Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound, And worlds applaud that must not yet be found. In England's merry days, the charms of mufic were widely felt ; and in the days of Elizabeth, we had " muficians equal to any in Europe for their fkill, either in compofing or fetting of tunes, or fmging and playing on any kind of inftrument." Still earlier, in the time of the Venerable Bede, it was the cuftom " to hand the harp from one perfon to another In the convivial meetings, and every one who partook of the feftivity played upon it in his turn, fmging a fong to the mufic, for merriment fake." Even in this age of monfter concerts, Hullah-ism, Tonic-sol-fa Aflbciations, and mufic for the million, our fecial meetings are not fo merry as were thofe of the old time, when it was Merry in the liall when beards wagged all. The love of mufic, which the minftrels created and fuftained, was wide-fpread through the country. Richard Edwards, in a fine old fong to the lute, fang — Wandering Minstrels. 137 Where gripinge grefes the harte would wounde And doleful dumps the mynde oppresse, There musicke with her silver sound, With spede is wont to send rcdresse : For trobled minds in every sore, Sweet musicke hath a silver store. In joy yt maks our mirthe abounde, In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites ; Dcstracted heads relief hath founde By musickes pleasant swete delightes : Our senses, — what shall I say more ? — Are subject unto musickes lore. The charms and influence of mufic were well known to Shake- fpeare : — If music be the food of love, play on, Give me the excess of it ; that surfeiting The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ; — it had a dying fall ; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets. Stealing and giving odour. And the people who thus loved mufic were grateful, hofpitable and kind to the minftrel who brought its influence within their reach. Wordfworth, in his " Excurfion," fays of the palmieft time of the minftrels : — In days of yore how fortunately fared The minstrel ! wandering on from hall to hall, Baronial court or royal ; cheer'd with gifts Munificent, and love, and ladies' praise ; Now meeting on his road an armed knight, I 3 8 Wandering Minstrels, Now resting with a pilgrim by the side Of a clear brook ; beneath an abbey's roof One evening sumptuously lodged ; the next Humbly in a religious hospital ; Or with some merry outlaws of the wood ; Or haply shrouded in a hermit's cell. Him, sleeping or awake, the robber spared ; He walk'd — protected from the sword of war. By virtue of that sacred instrument, His harp, suspended at the traveller's side : His dear companion wheresoe'er he went, Opening from land to land an easy way By melody, and by the chann of verse. Some trace of this refpedl and kindnefs ftill lingers in the treat- ment of the humbler defcendants of the minftrels. In a very- pretty modern fong of Linley's, the " ballad-fmger " fings : — Waking at early day. Early I take my way, Trilling some ancient lay As I stroll along. Youthful hearts I cheer, Age delights to hear, Gay and grave draw near, While I sing my song. Humble though be my fare. Health is a boon I share, Little I dream of care. As thro' life I go. All some kindness show to me Where'er I chance to roam ; The' a wandering life I lead, I always find a home. Wandering Minstrels. 139 The moft famous ftory of the Englifh mniflrels is that of Blondel, who was attached to the court of Richard I., and who fucceeded in finding his royal mafter by means which an old writer has recorded in the following narrative : — " The Englifhmen were more than a whole yeare without hearing any tydings of their King, or in what place he was kept prifoner. He had trained up in his Court a Rimer or Minftrill called Blondell de Nefle; who being fo long without the fight of his Lord, his life feemed wearifome to him, and he became confounded with melancholly. Knowne it was that he came backe from the Holy Lande ; but none could tell in what country he had arrived. Whereupon this Blondell, refolving to make fearch for him in many countries, but he would hear fome newes of him ; after expenfe of divers dayes in travaile, he came to a town (by good hap) near to the caftell where his maifler King Richard was kept. Of his hoft he demanded to whom the caftell appertained, and the hoft told him that it belonged to the Duke of Auftria. Then he enquired whether there were any prifoners therein detained or no ; for alwayes he made fuch fecret queftioning wherefoever he came. And the hofte gave anfwer there was only one prifoner, but he knew not what he was, and yet he had been detained there more then the fpace of a yeare. When Blondell heard this he wrought fuch menes that he became acquainted with them of the caftell, as Minftrels doe eafily win acquaintance any where ; but fee the King he could not, neither underftande that it v/as he. One day he fat diredly before a window of the caftell where King Richard was 140 Wandering Minstrels. kept prifoner, and began to fing a fong in French what King Richard and Blondell had fometime compofed together. When King Richard heard the fong he knew it was Blondell that fung it ; and when Blondell paufed at halfe the fong, the king ^ began the other halfe and completed it/ Thus Blondell won knowledge of the King, and returning home into England, made the Barons of the Countrie acquainted where the King v/as." An ancient writer has preferved the original Provencal words of this famous fong ; and a very graceful rendering of them has been made by Dr. Burney and Mr. Ellis. We give the veriion of Dr. Burney : — BLONDEL. Your beauty, lady fair, None views witliout delight ; But still so cold an air, No passion can excite ; Yet this I patient see, While all are shunn'd like me. RICHARD. No nymph my heart can wound, If favour she divide ; And smiles on all around, Unwilling to decide ; I 'd rather hatred bear, Than love Avith others share. One of our national ballads tells how King Eftmere won his bride in the difguife of a harper. The good king had a younger brother, and, — As they were drinking ale and wine Within King Estmere's hall. Wandering Minjlrcls. 141 the young Adler inquired, AVhen will ye marry a wyfe, brothijr, A wyfe to glad us all ? Now Eftmere was a monarch who was defirous of maintaining his royal dignity, and appeared to be upon very good terms with himfelf; for his majefty " anfwered him haftilee:" I know not tliat ladye in any land That 's able to marrye with mee. He was reminded that the great king Adland had a " fayre " daughter that would not difcredit the monarch's dignity, and finally Eftmere and his younger brother departed on the delicate miftion of foliciting the hand of the fair princefs. They wifely refolved to go in perfon, becaufe Many throughe fals messengers are deceived ; and they " feared left foe ftiold " they. Arrived at the palace, they found the great king Adland leaning againft the gate. They informed him of their miftion, and were told that the King of Spain had already made an ofFer for the princefs, v/ho had Nicked him of naye, And I doubt sheele do you the same. Eftmere did not give way to defpondency, but faid that a foul paynim, who believed in Mahomet, a " heathen hound " in ftiort, ftiould not marry the fayre lady. The Benedid monarch faw the 1^2 Wandering Minjlrels. princefs, who with that franknefs and candour charafteriftic of the ladies in the olden time informed him at once — You be welcome, kyng Estmere, Right welcome unto me. And fhe told him that if he really loved her fo well and " hartilee" as he had profefTed, there was no neceffity for any long delay in the matter that he had " comen about." The good king plighted his troth, and took leave of the lady to return to his own country to make arrangements for the coming marriage. He had not ridden a mile out of the town before the King of Spain entered with many foldiers to marry and carry away the princefs. Eftmere and his brother were overtaken by one of the royal pages, and duly informed of this unpleafant ftate of affairs. The brothers took counfel as to the befl courfe to be adopted, when the younger one propofed to return to the town in difguife — And you shall be a harper, brother, Out of the north countrye ; And I'll be your boy so faine of fighte, And beare your harpe by your knee ; And you shall be the best harper That ever tooke harpe in hand ; And I will be the best singer That ever sung in this lande. The plan was adopted, the brothers returned, and the harper played fo well, that the King of Spain begged him to dcfift ; for if he con- tinued, he would entice his bride away from him. But, Eftmere Wandering Minjlrels. 14^ He played agayne both loud and shrille, And Adler he did syng; " O Ladye ! this is thy own true love, " Noe harper, but a kyng. " O ladye ! this is thy own true love, " As playnlye thou mayest see ; " And He rid thee of that foule paynim " Who partes thy love and thee." The ladye looked, the ladye blushte, And blushte and lookt agayne ; While Adler he hath drawn his brande. And hath the Sowdan slayne. This very naturally produced a " fcene ; " but the young men were fkllful at their fword, as well as at the harp, and after clearing the hall of the " kempery men,"— the King of Spain's foldiers, — King Estmere took that fayre lady^, And niarr}'ed her to his wifte, And brought her home to merry England, With her to leade his life. Gray gives us a majeftic pidure of an old bard at an interefting period of Britifh hiftory. Edward's conquering army were marching through a deep valley, when it was fuddenly arrefted in its courfe by the appearance of a venerable figure feated on the fummit of an inacceffible rock, who with a voice more than human reproached the king with the mifery and defolation which he had brought upon his country ; foretold the misfortunes of the Norman race, and with prophetic fpirit declared that all his cruelty fhould never 144 Wandering Minstrels, extinguifh the noble ardour of poetic genius, and that men fhould never be wanting to celebrate true virtue and valour in immortal ftrains, to expofe vice and infamous pleafure, and boldly cenfure tyranny and oppreffion. His fong ended, the venerable bard precipitated himfelf from the mountain, and was loft in the river that rolled at its feet. On a rock whose haughty brow- Frowns o'er cold Conway's foaming flood ; Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air ;) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. " Ruin seize thee, ruthless king ! - Confusion on thy banners wait ; Tho' fanned by conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. Helm nor hauberk's twisted mail. Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears. From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears." Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay. As down the steep of Snowden's shaggy side. He wound with toilsome march his long array. The memory of the ancient minftrels is always aflbciated with ideas of liberty and freedom — " The children of fong may not languifh in chains ; " and this idea is charmingly preferved by Moore in his fong of " The Minftrel Boy," where he tells how — Wandering Minstrels. 145 The minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ; The harp he loved ne'er sijoke again, For he tore its chords asunder ; And said, " No chains shall sully thee. Thou soul of mirth and bravery ! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They never shall sound in slavery." There ftill live in England many of the fongs of our fathers -many of thofe which, Mrs. Hemans tells, were — The songs their souls rejoiced to hear, When harps were in their hall ; And each proud note made lance and spear Thrill on the bannered wall. The songs that through our valleys green, Sent on from age to age, Like his own river's voice, have been The peasant's heritage. So let it be ! a light they shed O'er each old fount and grove ; A memory of the gentle dead ; A lingering spell of love. Murmuring the names of mighty men, They bid our streams roll on ; And link high thoughts to every glen. Where valiant deeds were done. Teach them your children round the hearth, When evening fires burn clear ; And in the fields of harvest mirth, And on the hills of deer. 146 Wandering Minstrels. So shall each unforgotten word, When far those loved ones roam, Call back the hearts which once it stirred, To childhood's holy home. A graphic pidlure is given of the Jafl of the bards in Scott's " Lay of the Laft Minftrel : "— The way was long, the wind was cold, The minstrel was infirm and old \ His wither'd cheek and tresses gray Seem'd to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy. Was carried by an orphan boy ; The last of all the bards was he, Who sang of Border chivalry ; For, well-a-day ! their date was fled. His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppress'd, Wish'd to be with them, and at rest. No more on prancing palfrey borne, He caroll'd, light as lark at morn ; No longer courted and caress'd. High placed in hall, a welcome guest. He pour'd, to lord and lady gay, The unpremeditated lay : Old times were changed, old manners gone ; A stranger fill'd the Stuarts' throne ; The bigots of the iron time Had caird his harmless art a crime. A wandering Harper, scorn'd and poor, He begg'd his bread from door to door. And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 'i'he harp a king had loved to hear. "THE AGED MINSTKKl. AUDIENCE GAINED." Wandering Minstrels. 147 As the old man toiled along by " Newark's (lately towers," — The Duchess mark'd his weary pace, His timid mien and reverend face, And bade her page the menials tell, That they should tend the old man well. The wants of the minftrel were readily fupplied, and the kind attention which he received having pleafed and gratified the poor old man, he would repay the favours which he had received by once more wakening the mufic of his harp ; for — Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He thought even yet the sooth to speak ; That, if she loved the harp to hear, He could make music to her ear. The humble boon was soon obtain'd, The aged Minstrel audience gain'd ; But, when he reach'd the room of state, Where she, with all her ladies, sate. Perchance he wish'd his boon denied : For, when to tune his harp he tried. His trembling hand had lost the ease Which marks security to please : And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, Came wildering o'er his aged brain. He tried to tune his harp in vain ! The pitying Duchess praised its chime. And gave him heart, and gave him time. Till every string's according glee Was blended into harmony. And then, he said, he would full fain He could recall an ancient strain He never thought to sing again. 1^8 Wandering Minstrels. It was not framed for village churls, But for high dames and mighty earls ; He had play'd it to King Charles the good, When he kept court in Holyrood ; And much he wish'd, yet fear'd, to try The long-forgotten melody. Amid the strings his fingers stray'd. And an uncertain warbling made. And oft he shook his hoary head. But when he caught the measure wild. The old man raised his face and smiled ; And lighten'd up his faded eye, With all a poet's ecstasy ! In varying cadence, soft or strong. He swept the sounding chords along : The present scene, the future lot. His toils, his wants, were all forgot : Cold diffidence, and age's frost, In the full tide of song were lost ; Each blank, in faithless memory void. The poet's glowing thought supplied ; And, while his heart responsive rung, 'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sung. What was the burden of that " Lay of the Laft Minftrel " we need not tell ; for who has not lingered over " that bright confummate flower, in which all the deareft of Scott's youthful fancies found expanfion for their {Irength, tendernefs, and beauty." CHRISTMAS-TIDE. HEERFULNESS was the charadleriftic of our fathers, not lefs in the genial fpring, the glowing fummer, and the grateful autumn, than in the bleak feafon, when the fmiling plains and valleys Put on their sno\vy robe of purest white. When winter fpread its lateft gloom, and " reigned tremendous o'er the conquered year," its rigours were foftened by the kindly feeling and generous hofpitality which prevailed in the caftles, the abbeys, and the manfions of old England. The hoar defpot was defpoiled of half his terrors, though he came in form more grim and terrible than even Chat- terton has painted him, — Pale, rugged Winter, bending o'er his tread, His grizzled hair bedropped with icy dew ; His eyes a dusky light, congealed and dead, His robe a tinge of light ethereal hue. I r o Christmas- Tide, His train a motley, sanguine, sable cloud, He limps along the russet dreary moor ; While rising whirlwinds, blasting, keen, and loud, Roll the white surges to the sounding shore. In December's froftieft days — aye, even when To " bitter chill" that with Keats we might fay, " The owl for all his feathers was a cold" — ftill the " defolate domain" of Winter was a limited one, for there were thofe who would fing that famous fong of Shakefpere, — When icicles hang by the wall. And Dick the shepherd blows his nail. And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail ; When blood is nipj^'d, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whoo ; Tu-whit, to-whoo, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow. And coughing drowns the parson's saw. And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-wlioo ; Tu-whit, to-whoo, a merry note. While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Thofe were the days when the Yule-log blazed and crackled in the gaping chimney, and its flood of light banifhed gloom from the lofty arched halls of our fathers. Shouts of boifterous Christmas- Tide. 1 ;i mirth, with beating of drums and blowing of trumpets, rung through the clear, crifp, frofty air, as the crowd of retainers and fervants, with flare of torches and rude mechanical contrivances, brought the log from the adjoining foreft. Among many Chriftmas ceremonies which Herrick, who loved to fmg of May-poles, hock- carts, and waflail-wakes, has defcribed, may be found this joyous invitation to be merry : — Come, briny with a noise, My merr)' merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing ; While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your hearts' desiring. AVith the last year's brand, Light the new block, and For good success in his spending. On your psalteries play. That sweet luck may Come while the log is a tending. Drink now the strong beer, Cut the white loaf here ; The while the meat is a shredding For the rare mince-pie. And the plums stand by To fill the i^aste that's a kneading. Another very agreeable part of the Chriftmas feftivities of olden time is told by Stevenfon in his '* Twelve Months." Of this feftive feafon he fays : — " Now capons and hens, befides turkeys, gecfc, ducks, v/ith beef and mutton, muft all die ; for I J 2 Christmas-Tide, in twelve days multitude of people will not be fed with a little. Now plums and fpice, fugar and honey, fquare it among pies and broth. Now a journeyman cares not a rufh for his mafter, though he begs his plum-porridge all the twelve days. Now or never muft the mufic be in time, for the youth muft dance and fing to get them in a heat, while the aged fit by the fire. The country-maid leaves half her market, and muft be fent again if ftie forgets a pack of cards on Chriftmas-eve. Great is the contention of holly and ivy, whether mafter or dame wears the breeches ; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will fweetly lick his fingers." Then comes the old ceremony of the introdudlion of the boar's head, the memory of which Wynken de Wode has preferved. The bore's head in hande bring I, With garlandes gay and rosemary; I pray you all sing merely, Qui estis in convivio. The bore's head, I understande. Is the chefe servyce in this lande ; Loke wherever it be fonde, Servite cum Cantico. Be gladde, lords, both more and lesse, For this ordaineth our stewarde To cheer you all this Christmasse, The bore's head with mustarde. While the feaft was going on, bearded minftrels fang — Lord lings from a distant home, To seek old Christmas are we come, Who loves our minstrelsy ? Christmas-"! lae. 153 And here unless report mis-say, The greybeard dwells, and on this day Keeps yearly wassel, ever gay With festive mirth and glee. Lordlings, list, for we tell you true, Christmas loves the jolly crew That cloudy care defy : His liberal board is deftly spread With manchet leaves and wastel bread. His guests with fish and flesh are led. Nor lack the stately pye. Lordlings, it is our host's command, And Christmas joins him hand in hand To drain the brimming bowl ; And I'll be foremost to obey. Then pledge me, sirs, and drink away. For Christmas revels here to-day, And sways without controul. Now wassel to you all ! and merry may you be, And foul that wight befall, who drinks not health to me. When the minftrels had finifhed their fong, another voice attunes itfelf to fing — Now thrice welcome, Christmas, which brings us good cheer, Minced pies and plum-porridge, good ale and strong beer ; With pig, goose, and capon, the best that may be, So well doth the weather and our stomachs agree. Observe how the chimneys do smoak all about : The cooks are providing the dinner, no doubt ; But those on whose tables no victuals appear, O may they keep Lent all the rest of the year ! With holly and i\7 so green and so gay, We deck up our houses as fresh as the day ; With bays and rosemary and lawrel compleat, 1^4 Christmas- Tide. And every one now is a king in conceit. But as for curmudgeons, who will not be free, I wish they may die on the three-legged tree. Quaint carols, too, were fung at Chriftmas by fhepherds ; perhaps the moft curious which has been preferved is the following, from one of the famous Coventry plays. It is a fheet of carols, headed thus : " Chriftus natus eft : " (Chrift is born ;) with a woodcut ten inches high by eight and a half inches wide, repre- fenting the ftable at Bethlehem ; Chrift in the crib, watched by the Virgin and Jofeph ; fhepherds kneeling ; angels attending ; a man playing on the bagpipes ; a woman with a bafket of fruit on her head ; a fheep bleating, and an ox lowing on the ground ; a raven croaking, and a crow cawing on the hay -rack; a cock crowing above them ; and angels finging in the fky. The animals have labels from their mouths, bearing Latin infcrip- tions. Down the fide of the woodcut is the following account and explanation : — " A religious man, inventing the conceits of both birds and beafts, drawn in the pi6lure of our Saviour's birth, doth thus exprefs them : the cock croweth, ^ Chriftus natus eft ' (Chrift is born). The raven afked, ' Qjiando ? ' (When ?) The crow replied, ^ Hac no£le ' (This night). The ox cryeth out, ^Ubi? UbiV (Where ? Where ?) The fheep bleated out, * Bethlehem, Beth- lehem.' A voice from heaven founded, * Gloria in excelfis ; ' (Glory be on high !) London : printed and fold by J. Bradford, in Little Britain, the corner houfe, over againft the pump, 1701." Christmas-Tide. ^SS Sir Walter Scott has in the happieft manner defcribed the Chriftmas of our anceftors, in the '' mcrrie days " of England : — And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll'd, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his 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 in all the year Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen ; The hall was dress'd with holly green ; Forth to the wood did merry-men go To gather in the mistletoe. Then open'd wide the baron's hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And Ceremony dofTd 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 haird with uncontroird 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, Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace. Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire or lord. 156 Christmas-Tide. Then was brought in the lusty brawn By old blue-coated serving-man ; Then the grim boar's-head frown'd on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell How, when, and where the monster fell ; What dogs before his death he tore. And all the baiting of the boar. The wassel round, in good brown bowls, Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry maskers in, And carols roar'd with blithesome din ; If unmelodious was the song. It was a hearty note and strong. Who lists may in their murmuring see Traces of ancient mystery ; White shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made. But, oh ! what maskers, richly dight. Can boast of bosoms half so light ! England was merry England when Old Christmas brought his sports again : 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale, 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year. It was at Chrlftmas time that the " Lord of Mifrule " held un- dlfputed fway in the houfehold of the king ; and Stowe tells that, — *' In the feaft of Chriftmas there was in the king's houfe, wherefoever he was lodged, a lord of mifrule, or mafter of merry Christmas- 'Tide, ^57 difports ; and the like had they in the houfe of every nobleman of honour or good worfhip, were he fplritual or temporal. Amongft the which the mayor of London, and either of the fheriffs, had their feveral lords of mifrule, ever contending, without quarrel or offence, who fhould make the rareft paftimes to delight the be- holders. Thefe lords beginning their rule on Allhallows eve, continued the fame till the morrow after the Feaft of the Puri- fication, commonly called Candlemas day. In all which fpace there were fine and fubtle difguifings, mafks, and mummeries, with playing at cards for counters, nails, and points, in every houfe, more for paftime than for gain. Againft the feafl of Chriflmas every man's houfe, as alfo the parifh churches, were decked with holm, ivy, bays, and whatfoever the feafon of the year afforded to be green." All the changes of time have not yet effaced from the Englifh mind the traditions of the merry Christmas of our anceftors. Still, amid the flruggles for exiflence — the fierce competition of all clafTes of fociety — the approach of Chriftmas meets an univerfal welcome. It is the Sabbath of the year — a day of rejoicing and of happinefs. Even the prifoner's darkened cell, and the pauper's dreary abode, lofe upon this day fomething of their wonted gloominefs ; and the rays of light that penetrate thefe wretched abodes bring with them hope and comfort to the criminal and the defpairing ones. With Wafhington Irving we would afk — " Amidft the general call to happinefs, the bullle of the fpirits, and the flir of the afFedions which prevail at this period, what 158 Christmas- Tide . bofom can remain infenfible ? It is indeed the feafon of regenerated feeling; — the feafon for kindling not merely the fire of hofpitality in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the heart. The fcene of early love again rifes green to memory beyond the fterile wafte of years ; and the idea of home, fraught with the fragrance of home-dwelling joys, reanimates the drooping fpirit, as the Arabian breeze will fometimes waft the frefhnefs of the diftant fields to the weary pilgrim of the defert." That genial creation of Addifon's, Sir Roger de Coverley, loved the feafon of Chriflmas right well :— " I have often thought," he fays, " it happens very well that Chriflmas fhould fall out in the middle of winter. It is the mofi dead, uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor people would fuffer much from their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and Chriflmas gambols to fupport them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this feafon, and to fee the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my fmall beer, and fet it a running for twelve days to every one that calls for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a mince-pie on the table, and am wonderfully pleafed to fee my tenants pafs away a whole evening in playing their innocent tricks and fmutting one another." Happy landlords ! happy tenantry ! ye were then no fidlion. Few were the manor-houfes in England, a century or two ago, that did not prefent fuch fccnes at Chriftmas time. Southey loved to recall them to his memory : — Christmas-Tide. 159 How many hearts are happy at this hour In England ! brightly o'er the cheerful hall Flares the heaped hearth, and friends and kindred meet, And the glad mother round lier festive board Beholds her children, separated long Amid the wide world's ways, assembled now, A sight at which affection lightens up With smiles the eye that age has long bedimm'd. I do remember when I was a child, How my young heart, a stranger then to care, With transport leap'd upon this holy day, As o'er our house, all gay with evergreens. From friend to friend with joyful speed I ran, Bidding a merry Christmas to them all." And merry may our feafts of Chriftmas long continue, and ofttimes may Englifh maidens fing — When winter nights grow long. And winds without blow cold. We sit in a ring round the warm wood-fire, And listen to stories old ! And we try to look grave (as maids should be) When the men bring in boughs of the laurel-tree. O, the laurel, the evergreen tree ! The poets have laurels — and why not we 1 How pleasant when night falls down. And hides the wintry sun, To see them come in to the blazing fire. And know that their work is done ; Whilst many bring in, with laugh or rhyme, Green branches of holly for Christmas time ! O, the holly, the bright green holly ! It tells (like a tongue) that the times are jolly. i6o Christmas-Tide, Sometimes — (in our grave house, Observe, this happeneth not) — But, at times, the evergreen laurel-boughs And the holly are all forgot ! And then ! what then 1 why the men laugh low. And hang up a branch of the mistletoe ! Oh brave is the laurel ! and brave is the holly ! But the mistletoe banisheth melancholy ! Ah, nobody knows, nor ever shall know, What is done under the mistletoe ! Not fo, the maiden is not quite corred, for there are thoufands who know that — Many a maiden's cheek is red By lips and laughter thither led ; And fluttering bosoms come and go Under the Druid mistletoe. Oh ! happy tricksome time of mirth, Giv'n to the stars of sky and earth ! May all the best of feeling know The custom of the mistletoe. Married and single, proud and free, Yield to the season trim with glee : Time will not stay, — he cheats us, so — A kiss? — 'tis gone! — the mistletoe. R. Clay, Printer, Bread Street Hill. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001369 487 n M33 3 1210 00547 9140