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