If _ { Stone - i The heart of merrie England. R&9&L &/ * *-> MA N < 7 iQ2i i^wfcj * ff' ^ 4 i 192, ^. ^/ M ^ (i Southern Branch of the University of California Los Angeles Form L 1 DA 87 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 192; - 192$ MAY 1 8 1926. *&"* 9414 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND BY JAMES S. STONE, D.D. Author of " Readings in Church History. ILLUSTRATED PHILADELPHIA HENRY T. COATES & CO. 1898 COPYKIGHT, 1887, BY PORTER & COATES. S SI LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE WESTMINSTER ABBEY, Frontispiece AN ENGLISH VILLAGE, 26 "FIELD AND COPSE ARE CLOTHED IN A VESTURE OF LIVING GREEN," 56 THE VILLAGE CHURCH, .78 "HER EYES SPARKLE WITH DELIGHT," 100 OXFORD, 120 "THERE is A DELIGHTFUL LOOK OF OLD TIMES IN THE NARROW WINDING STREETS," 154 AN OLD-TIME ENGLISH INN, 174 MERCERY LANE, CANTERBURY, . 224 CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL, 238 ANN HATH AW AY'S COTTAGE, 256 THE AVON AND STRATFORD CHURCH, 274 "A GENTLEMAN'S HOUSE SET WITH SHRUBBERY," . . . 306 "ALL is STILL AND RESTFUL," 324 "VILLAGE CHILDREN SINGING CAROLS," 358 HAMPTON COURT PALACE, . . . . - 382 WHOSE COMPANIONSHIP OF SYMPATHY AND AFFECTION HAS MADE LIFE MORE THAN HAPPY. PREFACE. IN the following pages are brought together sketches and reminiscences of the old land which can scarcely fail to interest those who love its history, its antiquities and its rural life. The book is intended rather as a suggestion of than as a guide to England. The writer has sought to foster tender memories and to strengthen loving ties. He has wandered from places well known to neighborhoods re- mote and secluded from the cathedral of Canterbury to the cromlechs of Chipping Norton. The villages de- scribed are not richer in interest than other villages : they only illustrate how much pleasure the stranger from afar may find in the country districts of England. The book will serve, if for no other purpose, to while away an idle hour. Nevertheless, it has a value beyond that of amusement. Every line is written in truth not merely intentional, but actual, truth. The places spoken of are familiar to the author. The greatest care has been taken to attain accuracy, and every temptation to exag- gerate in any sense has been studiously avoided. It is 4 PREFACE. well to state this, as the ground gone over in this vol- ume is almost entirely new. With the exception of London, Oxford, Stratford and Canterbury, no other writer has dealt with the subject-matter of the book most certainly, not in the way the reader will find it dealt with here. A few historical items in the second and third chap- ters were gathered from a parish magazine published some years since at Shipston. The fourth chapter, it is hoped, will be acceptable from the world-wide interest in the subject, and the fourteenth illustrates the customs and the superstitions which are not yet extinct in the re- gions touched upon in the volume. They who are fa- miliar with English folk-lore and country-life will detect in almost every sentence of the " Merry Legend " some allusion to old-time manners and ideas. The outline of the story is true, the life suggested by it such as still ex- ists ; and if the workmanship of the writer please not, let its purpose be considered its endeavor to weave into the ground-work sayings and practices, homely pic- tures and rude scenes, which shall illustrate the days of yore and the country far away. In no part of the book is a character given that is not sketched from life sometimes so faintly disguised that not a few into whose hands this volume may come will easily recognize the author's model and purpose. A residence of fourteen years on the western side of PREFACE 5 the Atlantic and a readiness to appreciate and enter into the American life have in a measure, no doubt, unfitted the writer to speak of England from a purely English standpoint. He has done his best to show that love for his native land which none know better how to honor than the American people. They know full well that he who readily casts off old ties will as readily sever him- self from the new. But without becoming more and more imbued with its spirit no one can live in a land which one has learned to love. It must give its influence to his thought. He is as the man who in the home of his bride looks back to the home of his mother : perfect loyalty to both is consonant with perfect love for both. But he is not, and cannot be, the same in the one as in the other. He has left the mother for ever, not with regret far from that but to fulfil the destiny and the duty ordained for him by God. They, therefore, in the old land who may chance to read these pages must not expect too much. The son going home is not as the son who has never left home. Perhaps than at this time the two nations were never closer knit together. Old feelings have died out, and both peoples are content to let bygones be bygones. May they learn to love each other more and more as the ages roll on ! PHILADELPHIA, June 21, 1887. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. FAGB INTRODUCTORY 9 CHAPTER II. THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR 25 CHAPTER III. THE REGION ROUNDABOUT 52 CHAPTER IV. LOVE IN YE OLDEN TIME 82 CHAPTER V. AT OXFORD 113 CHAPTER VI. AN EVENING WALK 1 27 CHAPTER VII. A TOWN IN THE CHILTERNS 154 CHAPTER VIII. THAME 178 r 8 CONTENTS. CHAPTER IX. PAGE THE PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY 216 CHAPTER X. IN THE CATHEDRAL 237 CHAPTER XI. AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON 255 CHAPTER XII. To EDGEHILL 281 CHAPTER XIII. OVER THE COUNTRY 301 CHAPTER XIV. A MERRY LEGEND 329 CHAPTER XV. LAST GLIMPSES 382 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. CHAPTER I. " This little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea!" THERE are two countries which we as Christians and men of Anglo-Saxon race must ever think of with affec- tion viz., Palestine, the birthplace of our Christianity, and England, the cradle of our civilization and our Church. Both of these lands have, apart from these considerations, had an important share in the world's history ; both lie on the western border of their respec- tive continents, and both are small in extent and irregu- lar in physical formation ; furthermore, both were peo- pled by a race foreign to the soil : the Israelites came from beyond the Euphrates, and the English from be- yond the German Ocean. These races, though belong- ing to distinct families, had in common a religious spirit, a love of freedom, commercial rather than warlike in- stincts, an undying affection for home and an exalted ideal of womanhood. We admire alike the heroes of both peoples men such as Barak and Gideon, who 9 IO THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. fought and won on the plain of Esdraelon ; men such as Harold Godwin, who fought and lost on the field of Senlac. Both have had their kings and prophets and poets of great excellence, and with equal pleasure the mind recalls the names of David the shepherd-king and Alfred the fugitive prince; Moses the lawgiver and Anselm the saint; the rapturous Isaiah and the holy Herbert. Nor do we remember save with the same delight the snow-crowned Lebanon, and the steep, rug- ged Cumbrians ; the blue waters of Tiberias, and the quiet beauty of Windermere; the Jordan rushing through a ravine deserted, and the Thames meander- ing through vales and plains of rich fertility ; the city crowned with the cross of a grand cathedral, and the city crowned with the pinnacles of a glorious temple ; the shore washed with the murmuring waves of a sunny Mediterranean, and the coast where wildly break the bil- lows of an untamed Atlantic. Some associations would urge us to compare England and Greece, and others, again, England and Italy ; but the most precious inherit- ance of religion, which made both Canaan and Britain holy, God-fearing lands, suggests the linking together of the land of roses and the land which floweth with milk and honey. England in the olden time say about the age in which Augustine and his monks sang the Alleluia of the gospel and uplifted the cross of Christ before the gates of a heathen Canterbury was a very different country from the England of the nineteenth century. Thirteen hundred years have wrought changes vast and almost inconceivable. Then the British Isles lay on, if not outside, the confines of civilization. Beyond them INTR OD UCTORY. II was nothing but the unexplored Atlantic the ocean which skirted the empty and illimitable space. A bold voyager was he who had seen the western coast of Ire- land a still bolder one who had tempted the gods by venturing into the waters beyond the horizon and had ridden in his frail craft upon the green-crested billows of the blue-black sea. No keel then ploughed the Mer- sey; rarely indeed did a vessel enter the Tyne, the H umber or the Thames. The country still lay in its primitive wildness. Dark and impenetrable forests spread over vast tracts of land ; deep fens and sluggish marshes covered miles of plain. The climate was wet, dreary and inhospitable. The sparse population, whether British or English, was fierce and cruel. Communication was difficult and mostly by water, while the few towns and villages which existed were rude and rough. To compare England then and now is something like com- paring a storm-wrought sky in March with the star- strewn heavens of July. The wilderness has been con- verted into a garden ; cities have arisen where once the wild boar had his lair and the bittern her nest ; the best roads in the world overspread the island ; mansions nes- tle in picturesque beauty where once mud cottages shel- tered rugged chieftains from the inclement weather; woods have been cleared and fens drained ; the end of the earth has become the heart of the world ; and on every sea and in every breeze, from castle-tower, fortress, mast and spire, there waves the bright red cross of good Saint George. The change is vast in every way. Not only is the physical aspect of the country different, but the political, social, numerical and religious conditions of the people are also different. Instead of a score or 12 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. it may have been a hundred petty tribes warring one against another, we see a strong united kingdom, the centre of an empire and the mother of nations. Instead of wending our way slowly and tediously up forest- shaded rivers or cutting a path through a trackless wild, we can walk along pleasant highways or travel in swift haste over the iron road. The reeking torch or the flickering candle which served to guide our forefathers to their bed of straw or of rushes has given place to brilliant illuminations. Even the lightning, which in its furious might split the gnarled oak, rent the black clouds and struck brave Viking hearts with fear, has been taught to turn our night into day and bear our tidings round the world. The whole earth has changed, but no part more than England ; and, while Palestine has become a deso- lation and Jerusalem a heap of stones, that other holy land has become a paradise and her cities habitations of beauty. The land, small in territory, is confessedly great in deeds. Her race seems to retain the vitality and vigor of perennial youth. It was young when Greek ships sailed the midland waters and Roman hands built the Colosseum and made captives lay the roads which should lead from the ends of the earth to the Imperial City ; it was young a thousand years ago, when Charlemagne reunited the divided empire and Egbert made the Saxon principalities one kingdom ; it was young when the Nor- man duke fought on the seaside battlefield and was crowned with the crown of the island-realm in the min- ster in the marsh; it was young when in its sturdy strength and growing ambition it wrested from John the Magna Carta of freedom and strove with kings till its INTR OD UCTOR Y. 13 voice was allowed and its rights were secured ; it was still young three hundred years ago, when the Reformation gave it the liberty of the gospel of Christ and it began its work of subduing the untrodden wilds of lands be- yond the seas ; and so through the struggles of the Commonwealth, the wars in which a Marlborough, a Nelson and a Wellington won renown for themselves and glory for their land, and the political changes of the present century, its youth seems to be like that of the sun, renewed every morning, or like that of the giant oaks, slow in growth and continually reproducing them- selves in the seeds planted in the soil fertilized by their cast-off leaves. A thousand and half a thousand years ago the ships of that race went forth to conquer and to colonize from the rivers and harbors of the wild North- ern sea ; a thousand and half a thousand years later the ships of that race spread their sails before every breeze that stirs earth's waters and bear from land to land and from shore to shore the riches of earth's treasures. When the morning sun begins to cast its roseate beams on sky and sea, the banner of England is unfurled in the glory- stream and its blood-red tints fall on gentle wavelet and long-sweeping billow ; and when it sinks to rest within the Occidental clouds, it leaves peace with the many mul- titudes who speak the tongue of Alfred and of Spenser and name the name of Him whom Canaan rejected, but whom Britain loves. And to-day, while the ocean owns her as its mistress and one-seventh of the solid earth calls her queen, her men of high degree and her men of low degree, her lords who sit in purple and ermine in royal halls and her laborers who till the soil and wear rough clothing, they who abide within the old land itself and 14 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. they who dwell in distant parts, all with one heart be- lieve and with one voice proclaim that the glory of the past shall shine through the ages of the future, and that the cross of three ancient kingdoms shall be for ever the symbol and the proof of freedom, of righteousness and of law. Where is the Heart of this Merrie England ? Some have said " London ;" perhaps the people of England themselves say " London," and not without reason. We think, however, that the rural districts have more right to that title, and especially that part of the island which is geographically the centre. There are twenty border counties and twenty inland counties, and in none of them is old Merry England better seen than in the fair counties of Warwick, Worcester and Oxford. Hither shall we lead our readers, only once going beyond them into distant Kent that we may look upon the glories of England's mother-church. Untrodden ground we shall go over, with that one, and possibly a second, exception ; and when we shall finish our story, we trust we shall have vindicated our title at least to the extent of sug- gesting how much there is to be seen and known in the region of which we write. Alas ! we can give only the fragments, only the outlines : the reader must himself allow imagination to piece together, color and picture the beautiful whole. Nevertheless, before we begin that work, let us look somewhat at the great city itself. Everybody goes to London : a book on England without some mention of London would be like the play of Hamlet with the prince left out. As to the provincial people of the land, their ambition is to visit the metropolis once in their life, at INTR OD UCTOR Y. 15 least. That immediately raises a man to a pinnacle of fame far higher than he would reach by a voyage across the Atlantic, or even to the ends of the earth. He is an authority upon extraordinary matters for ever after, seeing that London is a tangible thing, and America, Australia and China are, after all, as mysterious and questionable as the mountains of the moon or the rings of Saturn. And a wonderful place the capital is, with its five mil- lions of people, its thronging streets, its fine buildings, its restless life, its noble river and its long, thrilling history. It would take fifteen or sixteen of the largest towns in England to equal that vast population. There human life swarms ; there all that is noble and all that is base in man are developed and manifested. One singular thing about London is that the stranger feels at home within the first hour of his entering its streets. This arises partly from the widespread informa- tion concerning the place and everything belonging to it, partly from its admirable accommodations both for trav- elling about and for lodging and eating, and partly from the fact that here one is left absolutely alone. Nobody looks at you ; nobody gives you a thought. Each fol- lows out the thread of his own life and cares nothing for any one else's. No man, however ambitious or ostenta- tious he may be, can make an impression in London ; he may live like a prince or dress like a beggar and nobody will take the least notice of him. He is a drop in the ocean of humanity that, and nothing more. The Abbey is the first place to be seen. Enter as the bells are chiming for morning prayer and listen to the rendering of the service in a perfect way. The voices are correct; the customs are simple. The General Con- 2 1 6 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. fession is said after, and not with, the minister; the Psalms are not announced ; the reader, when he leaves his stall for the lectern, is preceded by a verger carrying a long wand. During the lesson this official holds the clergyman's cap and at the close accompanies him back again. Owing to draughts some of the clergy wear skull-caps. Before the prayers are ended the devout worshipper will wonder if heaven itself is more impress- ive and beautiful than this marvellous building, with its lofty height and hallowed associations. When this duty is over, the guides are ready to take visitors around the building. Guides are useful if they know anything. Generally speaking, they have deep sepulchral voices and depress- ingly melancholy manners. They go over the same story so often that their interest in it is very small. Fortunately, the means of description are not confined to them, and the intelligent visitor can, if he will, know beforehand more than they can tell him. He will look with reverence upon the tomb of Edward the Confessor and walk with awe near the grave of the good Queen Maud. This is the most sacred part of the building, and the dark arched recesses in the shrine remind one of the days when men knelt therein, pressed their fore- heads against the cold stone and prayed for healing or for pardon. The dust of kings and of queens is beneath almost every part of this hallowed chapel. There lie the remains of Henry III., Edward I. and the beloved Queen Eleanor, Edward III. and Henry V., and close by is the ancient coronation-chair with the veritable stone upon which Jacob slept at Bethel and on which the kings of Scotland and of England have been crowned for many 1NTR OD UCTOR Y. If centuries. The chapel of Henry VII. is one of the most lovely Gothic buildings in the world. There is the tomb of that king, and over the grave of Edward VI. a mod- ern communion-table of rich materials has been placed. Objects of interest await one at every turn in the main structure and in the chapels. Earth's great ones lie on every side poets, statesmen and warriors, as well as they who have borne the sceptre and worn the crown. The extent and massiveness of the building, as well as its rare beauty and splendor, are marvellous and grow upon one. Nor should the Chapter-House or the Dean's Yard be overlooked. A day within the sacred precincts is better than a thousand elsewhere. The' effect of St. Paul's upon the mind is different. Its vastness overpowers, but the pagan architecture can- not impress one in the same way as the Gothic. Nor has the place the history of the Abbey. The monu- ments are severe in tone ; the pulpit is of costly material. In the dome is the Whispering Gallery, and from the Stone Gallery outside a splendid view of the city may be had on a fine day. From the ground to this point are five hundred and sixty steps. Lord Nelson and the duke of Wellington lie in the crypt the former in the sar- cophagus which Wolsey intended for himself; but he fell from favor, and it was kept unused. Few places are more interesting than is the Tower. We were more impressed with the buildings themselves than with the crown jewels, resplendent and of untold wealth though they are. The past came back again, only the Beefeaters, with their nice clean collars and well-blacked boots, seemed somewhat out of place. The " Traitors' Gate " tells its own story. In the armories are the an- 18 THE HEART OF M ERR IE ENGLAND. cient equipments of war battle-axes, swords, lances, etc. How the soldiers moved in such heavy encase- ments or wielded such long pikes is a question. Instru- ments of torture are also to be seen the thumbscrews, a model of the rack and the block and axe with which some great ones were executed. Between the White Tower and the Beauchamp Tower is the spot where the prisoners condemned to die were beheaded, and in the Beauchamp Tower itself is the room where the state offenders of high rank were kept. They seem to have spent some of their time in cutting out their names or devices in the wall. There is the name of "Jane" the poor lady remembered by all as one of the sweetest and most unfortunate of women. In St. Peter's Chapel, close by, are the monuments of many of those who suf- fered in the Tower. Two of Henry VIII.'s wives lie side by side near the altar ; Lady Jane Grey is also there, with many another. The Beefeater told us of the honor of being put to death within the Tower : outside, a rude and thoughtless mob annoyed and maltreated the con- demned prisoner, but here he died in peace. This is grim glory, and one is thankful that times have changed. The Tower brings history home quicker than any other place in London. Its stories of woe, its legends and traditions, weird, sad, mysterious, are written in liv- ing lines. Its very ground was once trodden by mighty ones ; we see the same great walls they saw, thread our way through the same dark, narrow passages and sit in the rooms where many of them spent their last hours. It is a past full of shadows the young princes smother- ing in the dead of the night, Anne Boleyn suffering the cruelty of a selfish king, and many another character INTR OD UCTORY. ig famous in history passing through trial for charges, sometimes, of suspicion or jealousy only. Will that gloomy fortress ever reveal the secrets in its keeping? Up the Thames, near to the Abbey, are the Parliament Buildings, stately and large. The Victoria Tower is a work of art ; under it we enter, and pass through the Queen's Robing-Room, the Royal Galleries and the Princes' Chamber into the House of Lords. The paint- ings, statuary, decorations and architecture are elaborate; the throne and woolsack, of interest. On the way to the House of Commons are some remarkable pictures, but in the chamber where the faithful representatives of the boroughs and shires meet splendor has given place to severe simplicity. From St. Stephen's Hall is reached the famous Westminster Hall ; here the carved and wide roof attracts attention. The - remembrance of the his- torical scenes which have taken place there subdues the mind. Within these walls were tried Charles I. and the seven bishops ; within these walls the unfortunate Rich- ard II. was deposed and Oliver Cromwell was installed as Lord Protector. It is a place for thinking mighty thoughts. x Of the Guildhall, with its picture-gallery, museum, library and great chamber, the Royal Exchange, the Bank of England, Paternoster Row and the Monument it is unnecessary to say anything. The British Museum contains some of the greatest wonders in the world. The buildings are so large and have so many curiosities that one can get only a vague bird's-eye view of the whole. There are old manuscripts and illuminated books beau- tifully and wonderfully executed by the men of bygone days. Printing can scarcely equal some of the monkish 2O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. work : the colors are bright and fresh as ever, the pen- manship oftentimes exceedingly small is accurate and the binding is strong and lasting. Next to Bibles, mis- sals, psalters and Hours of Ike Virgin, the most popular manuscript books were the Romaunt de la Rose and Froissart. Some of these volumes or, at least, the like were handled by men and women whose ashes lie in the Abbey or at the Tower. In the Museum, however, one is taken back to ages which were ancient when Eng- land was young. In one of the Egyptian rooms are mummies two or three thousand years old. Some of the coffins are very elaborately painted in bright colors, with figures of gods and many devices. The face of the deceased is delineated on the coffin, and such designs differ enough from one another to make one pretty sure that they are correct, and not conventional representa- tions. The wood of the coffin is very thick in some instances, eight inches and some bodies have two cof- fins. The hands of the deceased are frequently repre- sented as crossed on the breast. There is a coffin con- taining the mummy of a Graeco- Egyptian child prob- ably a girl, and about six years old dating, according to the printed label from Thebes, about A. D. loo. On the painted cover she is represented as having a wreath upon her head and a flower in her left hand somebody's darling sent into the dark realm from amid the sorrow- ings of loved ones left behind. There are also the mum- mies of many of the great Egyptian princes and states- men; also of cats, snakes, ibis, geese and gazelles. "Tabby" is there, unmistakably. Figures of the deity are common ; so are Egyptian hairpins with the image of Aphrodite on the top, and lamps curiously ornamented I INTR OD UCTOR Y. 2 1 with devices of Dionysos and Ariadne, Venus, and other favorite personages. There is one lamp with a cast of a locust on an ear of corn. That children have always been children the ancient toys testify. In the Assyrian and other departments the objects of interest are as great. The wealth of collection is enor- mous. One is bewildered perhaps provoked with the consciousness of brief time ; there is the material for years of study. The place is worthy of England; to see the Reading-Room is itself deserving of a trip to London. It is the correct thing to visit and admire the wax- works of Madame Tussaud in Marylebone. We did the one ; the other was not so easy. At the best the charac- ters presented are only imitations ; there is nothing real. The " Chamber of Horrors " contains a ghastly array of celebrated murderers ; morbid taste which makes it the favorite corner of the building ! In the grand salon are wax figures of old men and women sitting or standing here and there, turning their heads and looking so like life that many visitors find themselves for the moment deceived. They who love pictures will visit the Royal Academy and the National Gallery. Kew Gardens will satisfy the disciples of botany with its lovely grounds, noble vistas and extensive collection of flowers, trees and plants. The Cleopatra obelisk looks unspeakably lonely on the Thames Embankment. A day at the Zoological Gar- dens will not exhaust its treasures. But we may not thus travel over London. Volumes would be needed to tell the story of its wonderful places. The people themselves are curious. 22 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND, Is there a busier thoroughfare in the world than Fleet street and the Strand ? A river of humanity flowing hither and thither ceaselessly ! Strange in an instant to turn aside into the calm of the Temple ! That is the peculiarity of London its quiet nooks and corners close to its noisy centres. And there are streets of rare splendor where wealth displays itself in unequalled mag- nificence, and there are streets of rare poverty such as the world knows nothing of elsewhere. It is not very far from Rotten Row to the slums of vice and infamy, but the contrast is beyond measuring. The want and misery, the brazen-faced sin, of these back streets and lanes, are terrible. The Church is striving to grapple with the evil, but the work is appalling. Where and how do the millions live ? Yet there is no confusion, no bustle ; everything is orderly : the great city has too much to do to be in a hurry. London has some great preachers. Their names are on every one's lips Liddon, Spurgeon and Parker. They are not to be compared together; each is a master in his own way. When they preach, thou- sands of people go to hear them. They are the world's favorites, and each of them addresses an audi- ence gathered from all parts of the earth. After them come others at a respectful distance some about as far as the west is from the east. There is no doubt that the English and American ideals of preaching differ, but the standard is higher on the western side of the Atlan- tic, the preacher is better able to attract his hearers and the people are quicker in appreciation. England, how- ever, more than holds its own in singing. The masses have voices and the choirs a perfection of which we can INTR OD UCTOR K 23 only dream. On one church door I saw a notice that on the following Sunday would be held the annual bap- tismal service. Whether this meant that baptism was administered only once a year I do not know, but un- derneath the notice was, " Baptism is a sign that God loves us all, even little children." English is spoken in London, but among the ordinary people the aspirate suffers. One day the conductor on an omnibus cried out, " 'Yde Park !" and a gentleman said to him, " You have dropped something." " What ?" he asked, in alarm, looking around. " An H," the gen- tleman replied. " That's nothing," was the answer from the much-relieved official ; " I shall pick it up in Hisl- ington." The well-paved and orderly streets attract as much at- tention as* does the dim, smoky atmosphere. The effect of the latter on one's linen is soon discerned ; the former are as clean as a new pin. A yellow fog is the most distressing calamity, but in the summer such rarely or never occurs. Nowhere do the people seem more happy. The bootblack and the apple-woman have the sunshine of felicity upon them. " Misery " appears to be a rela- tive term. The poor are not so miserable as their bet- ters suppose them to be ; indeed, they manage to squeeze as much pleasure out of life as they who live in palaces of cedar. Nor have the poor complained : their griev- ances have been made known by those in higher cir- cumstances. Some of them love their poverty. Alas that it should be so ! for poverty means degradation and dependence in many instances, vice unnamable. We hurry out of the smoke and bustle and seek the railway-station. Here we read of the " Daily Service 24 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. of Trains ;" the meaning is obvious, though the use is startling. The railway-coaches appear tiny and quaint to one accustomed to the huge, pew-like cars of America. Some do not like the compartments, though a little use shows that they have advantages, and are, at any rate, snug and comfortable. If you wish for amuse- ment, see how the open, honest-looking, apple-round faces of the railway servants expand under the genial influence of a tip. The chances for trying this experi- ment on others besides railway servants are of frequent occurrence in England, and, though the effect may be otherwise with the giver, there is no doubt of its pleas- ing efficacy with the receiver. Away rushes the train into the heart of merry and lovely England. The hay- makers are busy in the fields ; the trees and hedgerows display their sweet, fresh green ; peace and beauty rest and play in the sunshine, on the soft and velvety lawns and in the shaded lanes. Cottages and mansions spring into view, and flower-gardens rich with a profusion of roses such as can grow only in this rich land. The vil- lages through which we pass seem to sleep in the indo- lence of rural glory and the quietude of honored age. One has the sign on its solitary tavern of " The Old House at Home " a happy suggestion. When our journey ends, it is in one of the districts of England as delightful in its quiet beauty as it is precious to us for its associations of bygone days. CHAPTER II. Uillage nn tije gtout. " And the voice of man is a voice of change, Mirthful and passionate, loving and strange ; But, be the day cloudy or brief or long, The river will sing you the same old song." IN a secluded and detached part of Worcestershire, ten miles to the south of Stratford-on-Avon, and sur- rounded by the counties of Warwick, Oxford and Glou- cester, is the forgotten town of Shipston-on-Stour. The town is pre-Norman in origin and was once famous for its sheep-markets. It fell asleep some two centuries since, and so far the tumult and turmoil of the present age have failed to awaken it. A single telegraph-wire, a mail-cart passing through early in the morning and late at night and two carriers' vans connect it with the out- side world, and weekly papers from Banbury, Evesham and Stratford keep the inhabitants informed on the changes of the moon and the alternations of govern- ment. The people lament their isolation. Thirty years ago they decided that a railway was necessary for their welfare and progress ; they have affirmed that decision several times since, but the railway has not come. Two or three times they have started a newspaper of their own, but the enterprise speedily came to grief. Its 26 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. drapers and milliners furnish the latest styles in gowns and bonnets, cloths and collars that is to say, the latest styles of which they know anything, though in London they are spoken of as " late " in another sense. The streets are old ; the houses are old ; the men and women, the boys and girls, are old; everything is musty with age and quaint with peculiarity. There are fences and barns, tumble-down, patched-up, worn-out, as they were twenty or thirty years since. Some of the thatch has not been touched for half a century. The wooden pump in the middle of New street was old when the paint on the rectory fence was new apparently in the days of William IV. Inns and their signs, cottages and their windows, the lamp-posts and the trees, look as if they had never known anything but age and rest. It is hard to realize that the streets have been mended since the day when troopers rattled over them on their way to Edgehill. In 1780, Nash, the historian of Worcester- shire, wrote : " Here was a considerable manufacture of shaggs, carried on by one Mr. Hart, but, that declining, the town was left in great poverty. Many of the houses are still thatched, but, as the unemployed manufacturers die, migrate to other places or take to other businesses, the town is not so burthened with poor, and subsequently improves much in appearance." Seventy years later an- other visitor wrote : The place " leads one's thoughts irresistibly to the past, and to the conclusion that this is by no means a 'go-ahead' town." In 1851 the popula- tion numbered 1757 persons; in 1881, 1600. And in this lies its charm : its very dulness attracts and pleases. It is something to go back to times when the world was different from the present. Here one can 9 S5 W THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 2/ without effort picture village life as it was centuries ago, and see for one's self how and where past generations lived. The restfulness is refreshing and delightful. De- cay may be in all one sees ; change is not. To describe the topography of Shipston is somewhat difficult. The town is on the highway from Birming- ham to Oxford about halfway between those places, and between Stratford and Chapel House. The " Half- way House," a secluded cottage, is by the side of the road, between Tredington and the Honington tollgate. The highway enters the place at its northern end, and, bending a little to the left, goes for some distance past the church, when it divides, one branch turning to the east for Banbury, and the other, the main road, after a twist to the right and then to the left, passing through New street to Chipping Norton. This highway may be called the base of the town ; it is irregularly built up, and, as the river runs along the gardens of the houses on the eastern side, there are no streets in that direction. Its principal feature is the church, of which more pres- ently. On the western side there are other thorough- fares coming in. The first, Horn lane, is a narrow way running the full breadth of the place ; a little farther is a short street called the Shambles, branching off like the arms of the letter Y, one of which branches runs parallel with Horn lane into a continuation known as Sheep street, and the other into the centre of the town. This centre is a sort of crooked square, a queer-looking triangle with a narrow base and the apex cut off an approach to a parallelogram. Euclid has no diagram that comes near that "centre;" and if he had tried to describe it mathematically, he would never have made A B equal 28 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. to C D, nor A C equal to B D, nor any other combina- tions or comparisons coequal. This " centre," with Sheep street at one end, and the twist of the London highway at the other, contains the principal shops, banks and one of the leading hotels of the place. At its south- ern end another lane joins the London road, forming the third and last street across the town. In this lane was till lately an old tavern known as the " Swan," hence its name. Between the " Swan " and the High street that is the name of the indescribable centre is the Back road, which runs in the same direction as New street, and finally joins it. The Swan lane changes into the road to Moreton-in-the-Marsh, and at right angles with its western end is the road passing by Sheep street and Horn lane to Darlingscote. There are few really old houses in Shipston, but one at the top of Sheep street dates from 1678, another in the same street from 1714, and the Crown Inn, in the Shambles, also from this later year. In Sheep street is the building formerly used by the national school. It is a small old cottage with one room, in which the poor boys and girls of the town received their " education." It is now empty and deserted, the one window broken, the roof falling in and the little tin kettle of a bell rusty and bent. Possibly the house was built in the early part of the last century. A relic of departed grandeur, but nearly all the old folks in the place who can read their Bible and write their name ob- tained the rudiments there. If they did not learn deci- mal fractions, they were drilled in the Catechism ; and, as all men know, it is better to understand how to live than how to get a living. Now the youth are sent to THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 29 the new and commodious buildings in the Stratford road. The board school has possession of the town, and the board school is struggling to brighten the juvenile in- telligence. It has its hands full. The boys, girls and infants are separated ; teachers and monitors are set in each department ; excellent text-books are used, and everything is done to give a fair secular education. Re- ligion is not taught : the English people are religious by instinct, and do not need to learn anything of that kind. In days gone by, when the State appreciated the educa- tion and health of the spiritual faculties, it insisted upon every one attending church, and fined and punished those who stayed away; a great outcry was made in later years, and even now some are not tired of flinging abuse of every kind at our forefathers because of this, as its opponents called it, tyranny and bigotry ; but in this age the State, in its desire to educate and enliven the mental faculties, insists upon every boy and every girl going to school, and, if the child does not, fines and punishes the parents. Nay, the people are obliged to pay in taxes for the maintenance of a school system in which many of them do not believe. Still, we must remember that arith- metic is of more consequence than are Scripture les- sons, and that it is vastly more important that a boy's mind should be filled with the scraps of erudition which are chipped off the school-board curriculum than that his soul should be possessed with a sense of his duty toward God and his neighbor. Times have changed. The State, which neither endowed nor established the Church, but, on the other hand, robbed her of half her wealth at the Reformation, and is now contemplating taking away the other half, has given largely to the 30 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. school and supports it with all the force of its authority. There is in England no such thing as an established Church, but there is an established school. Valiantly is the school board fighting its way. But the material ! Is there anything in the lands beyond the setting sun approaching the pure blockheadedness of the English peasant-boy ? He is dull, heavy, stupid, and, compared with the youth on the western shores of the Atlantic, is as the blunt edge of a rusty knife beside the fine keen edge of a good razor. The transformation of a thick- limbed dray-horse into a light, fleet racer or a nimble cir- cus-performer presents no greater difficulty than does the uplifting and bettering of the sons and daughters of poor Hodge. In the palace of the Caesars at Rome there is a rude sketch on the wall, done many centuries ago, of a schoolmaster wearing an ass's head and turning the handle of a conical stone mill, into which he is putting boys to grind. The point of the satire is that the boys are coming out at the bottom exactly as they went in. I do not imply that this is the case with the material of the school board ; I only tell a pleasant story. But, as caste is very strongly marked, as soon as the middle class is reached a higher grade of intellectual power is mani- fest. For the boys of the better-to-do people in Shipston there is a large and good school under private auspices and dignified with the name of " the Academy." It is not so styled after the Academic Franchise, but it can give a lad a start toward the higher life. Some of its scholars have gone creditably through the university, and it is said that its earnest and accomplished master once succeeded in carrying a heavy son of a heavy far- mer as far as the eleventh page of Hopkins's ortho- THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 3! graphical exercises and up to the verb " To have " in Lindley Murray. Of this latter feat I cannot speak with certainty, but at seven o'clock every summer morning the whole school was marshalled in the courtyard for an hour's drill. There was an opinion that this was neces- sary in order to vindicate the right of the institution to be called an " academy." The present parish church was built on the site of an older one about the year 1853. The old church had reached a state when removal was absolutely necessary. It was remarkable not only for its slovenly and mongrel appearance, but also for the egotism and petty vanity displayed on its walls. About 1826 the building was whitewashed, and the churchwardens under whose di- rections this important work was done had their names inscribed in large letters at the western end. " So, liko- wise," said one who knew the old edifice well, " on the table of charities, whoever had presented a pulpit-cloth or furniture for the communion-table, or repaired the front of the gallery, or some other little matter, was posted up for the admiring eyes of after-generations." One of these benefactors repaired the pavement in the churchyard, it has been said, by abstracting the grave- stones of his neighbors. The only thing which saved the place from the lowest kind of obituary desecration was that it had no tablet like unto one which is to be found in the porch of another Worcestershire church. It is to the memory of a man who died in 1772, and the inscription is as follows : " A man for polite knowledge and true taste in useful literature justly esteemed ; nor in the social virtues as a sincere friend, a good neighbour, and an honest man, less regarded. At his own 3 32 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. particular desire he was buried beneath this stone, that his friends the poor, as they pass over his grave, might lay their hands upon their hearts, and say, ' It was his modesty, not his pride, that directed this request.' " The following epitaphs were preserved at Shipston ; the first is still at the west end of the church, but the others were in the yard, and are now undecipherable : TO GULIELMUS HYCKES (1652). " Here lies entomb'd more men than Greece admired, More than Pythagoras transient soule inspir'd, Many in one, a man accumulate, Gentleman, Artist, Scholar, Church, World, State : Soe wise, soe just, that spot him noe man could. Pitty that I, with my weake prayses should. Goe then, greate spirit, obey thy suddaine call Wild fruits hang long the purer tymely fall." " Beneath this stone three tender buds are laid, No sooner blossom'd but alas they fade ; In silence lie, in hopes again to bloom After the final day of mortal doom. Oh then these buds which did so early blast, Shall flourish whilst eternal ages last." " Death lopt me of, and laide me here to sleepe ; My viol's tun'd to th' sound of them that weep. Yett God, I trust, will grant my soul's desire, To sing a part in His most heavenly quire." Of the old church, only the tower remains. The new building has a nave and two aisles and is singularly void of ornamentation. A few texts over the arches and a colored eastern window are the only attempts at aesthetic display. The architectural proportions are good, but the pews are narrow and not made for kneel- ing-purposes, and the pulpit is of a shape and character THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 33 to suggest its having once been a chimney-pot on an old-time mansion. A dreary building, drearier still in its reproachful emptiness. Formerly the edifice was crowded at both Sunday services ; now a bare handful of worshippers in the morning and a scarcely larger company in the evening indicate either inefficiency of ministration or the dying out of church-interest. Matins and evensong are said every day ; the rector is there, the pillars and pews are there, but even the bell-ringer runs off to attend to her household duties as soon as the service begins. The parish priest is conscientious in his performance of this daily office ; the people are as conscientious in staying away. Were half a dozen worshippers present, the surprise and excitement would endanger the health of the rector for some time. In view of the apparent change in his parishioners and the approaching end of the world, he would apply himself with renewed vigor to the house-to-house visitation of the people. The nonconformist places of worship, how- ever, are filled to overflowing and street-preachers are common. The glory has departed ! This, which should be the centre of Church power and influence throughout the district, neither recognizes the dignity and extent of its capabilities nor puts forth a sign of interest or vitality. Perhaps the most painful thought connected with this decay of a once-prosperous parish is its suggestion of the powerlessness of the ecclesiastical organization. The diocesan authorities may see the church go to ruin, but they cannot interfere. The parishioners may watch the wasting away of their spiritual heritage, but they can do nothing. Even the bishop has no coercive jurisdiction. We manage these things better in America. There the 34 THE HEART OF MERE IE ENGLAND. whole force and authority of the Church would be brought to bear upon such a state of affairs as that which here exists, and either the parish would have to live and work or it would be put away to rest for ever. The rectorial income, derived from endowment, is up- ward of eight hundred pounds a year ; the church in- come, derived from the pew-rents and offertory, is not sufficient to pay the small expenses of the building. The best pews contain five sittings and rent for twenty- nine shillings a year ; in America the same pews would rent for upward of fifteen pounds, and in large Church centres for even twenty-five pounds. The well-to-do folk of Shipston can make two guineas cover their indi- vidual church expenses ; the same class of people in the United States would not find the limit under fifty times that amount. A parish of sixteen hundred souls, with- out debt to satisfy, endowment to secure or clergyman to support, which is obliged to send its churchwardens around the town to collect a deficit of seventeen pounds which personal canvass resulted an Easter or so since in gathering but ten pounds can neither live with credit nor die with dignity. The hopelessness of its condition appears in the lack of hospitality : the stranger will find no welcome either by a visit from the rector or an offer of a seat in the church from the parishioners. The edifice is dedicated to St. Edmund of Canterbury. He was born at Abingdon about the year 1 190, and was remarkable for his scholarship, his ascetic and pure life and his bold efforts to better the times in which he lived. He inherited his mother's severe religious convictions : " She fasted much and slept little, wore a hair chemise and iron stays, and made her household so uncomfortable by THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 35 her arrangements that her husband, with her consent, retired to a monastery at Eynesham, as likely to be a more enjoyable home." At Oxford, while a mere gram- mar student, he determined never to wed an earthly bride : " Standing alone one day in church, he plighted his troth to the Blessed Virgin, and in token thereof placed a gold ring on the finger of her image. He placed another ring, similarly inscribed with the words of the angelic salutation, on his own finger, where he wore it constantly until the day of his death." After a career of honor and usefulness he was made archbishop of Canterbury in 1234, and it has well been said that " in the long succession of primates it is not easy to find one who surpasses him in the perfections of the Chris- tian character or in the attributes of a Christian bishop." His patriotism, resistance to Rome and efforts to reform the Church give him a lasting place in the pages of English history. There was much evil in the age, but he was as a clear and shining light in the darkness. When, owing to repeated defeat, he resigned the see of Canter- bury, he retired to the Continent, and in 1240, at the priory of Soissy, he died. His remains were interred at Pontigny, and soon his fame rivalled that of his prede- cessor, St. Thomas. He was canonized, and miracles were performed at his shrine. The parish was down to the year 1720 subject to and part of the jurisdiction of Tredington. An almost com- plete list of the rectors of the parish from the year 1282 is extant. From 1427 to 1873 there were twenty-two rectors, of whom Peter Vannes, archdeacon of Wor- cester, was remarkable both for his incumbency being the longest of any fifty years and also for his guid- 36 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. Ing the parish through the trying Reformation era, from 1541 to 1591. The continuity of the Church of Eng- land is thus exemplified. Other long rectorships were those of Walter Fitzwarin (1282-1310), Felix de Mas- saveria (1503-1541) and William Evans (1827-1873). The first of these was probably of Norman descent ; the second was an Italian, and the third a Welshman. In Henry Sampson, who died in 1482 and has a brass to his memory in the mother-church at Tredington, we are reminded of one of Carlyle's characters ; but whether he were like unto the hero of Past and Present we know not A complete list of the curates of Shipston from 1596 is also in existence. In the old registers are items of interest to the curi- ously inclined. It was in the twenty-ninth year of the reign of Henry VIII. (1538) the injunction was issued directing that registers on vellum should be kept in every parish in the realm. The oldest registers of this neighborhood are those of Tredington, which begin in 1541 ; after them come those of Halford, beginning in 1545, and Shipston, in 1572. They are written partly in Latin and partly in English, some in a good hand and some frightful to behold. During the troublous times of the Commonwealth the registers as well as the churches were in great danger of desecration. The rector of Barcheston, a village half a mile from Shipston, in 1647 wrote in his register, dating from 1559, " Digne hoc antiquum perdet quicunq registrum, filius appellatus perditionis sit " (" Whosoever destroys this ancient register will rightly be called the son of per- dition"). Mixed up with the ordinary entries occur notices of parochial events of more or less importance. THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 37 At Shipston, under date of October 12, 1612, we find the record, " Peter Churchporch, fond in ye church- porch at Todnam, was baptized at Shipston, and had the name then given him, Peter Todnam, alias Church- porch." The following entry is also suggestive : " Eliza- beth Thornet, widow, was buried in 1695, at ye upper end of the highway leading from ye Custard Lane, through ye piece of ground commonly called ye Horse Fair, for hanging herself ye day before ; she was blind and 86 years of age." The old law directed the suicide to be buried in a cross-road with a stake driven through his body, and a finger-post to be erected to mark his grave for public scorn ; this poor blind wretch, weary of life, perhaps abused and maltreated, insane, and very likely regarded as a witch, suffered the legal penalty of her crime. In 1678 the statute was passed enforcing the burial of the dead in woollen shrouds for the encourage- ment of the manufacturers, and, though affidavits had to be made that the law had been complied with, the regis- ters show that it was easy enough to evade it by paying a fine. Even now the people always lay out their dead in a white shroud pure as the robe they shall wear in the kingdom of their Lord, with the face upward, in token of hope, and the feet to the east, symbolical of the resurrection ; and though they bury them in a cof- fin, while in olden time they weie commonly put simply in the grave, they have not yet learned the horrible and ghastly word " casket." Mention is frequently made of the " briefs," the circular letters spoken of in the rubric after the Nicene Creed. These briefs were issued by the bishop or government, generally in alleviation of losses by fire or flood or disease of cattle, for building 38 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. of churches, the redemption of slaves, and other chari- table purposes. The sympathy for the Protestants of Switzerland and France in the Reformation times, and for the latter after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, was great in this neighborhood. An entry of April 6, 1688, states that in the town of Shipston there was gathered toward the relief of the French Protestants the sum of eighteen shillings and tenpence. Tidming- ton, united with Shipston under the one rector, though a separate parish a mile and a half distant, in 1692 gath- ered for the same purpose one pound seven shillings, and in 1699, " for the poor Protestant Vaudois, ;b. 33. od.," and for the redemption of captives three pounds ten shillings and nine pence. In 1723 the same register records the giving of sixpence to " three slaves which was abused by the Turks." For their souls' health certain evil people were " cited " to appear before the vicar-general and do penance; offenders at Shipston had to go to the rector of Tredington. The relief of beg- gars fell largely upon the churchwardens. We read of alms given " to a poor sailor," " to a lame seaman," " to a man that was drownded out," " to a man who was burnt out," " to a poor man that was robbed," " to two men and their wives and six children that were robbed agoing to New England," and " to sum seamen that ye ship was destroyed by a tempest at sea last December, of thunder and lightning." The registers also speak of the visitations and record the expenses connected there- with; thus, in 1708, at Tredington, " our dinners " cost two shillings and " extraordinaries " two shillings and fourpence. What these "extraordinaries" were can easily be surrrjised. In the register at Solihull are THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 39 these curious items, under date of 1658: "Paid for making a clicking stoole, and for beere at the draw- ing it up to the Crosse, los. 4d. ;" " A penniworth of paper for ye parishners ;" " To W. Stretch to stop his mouth, 2s. ;" " To Widow Bird pitifully complayning, is.;" "To a woman which sat in the churchyard a great while, is.;" and "To agoing before justice St. Nicholas with the young people which would not go to service, is. 2d." In the Shipston books there is an inventory, made in 1638, of the church goods and furniture. The books enumerated are one great Bible, two Common Prayers, Jewell's Works, Erasmus's Paraphrase, The Book of Homilies, The Constitutions, Mustullus's Works, the register books, two paper books to write account of officers, and Edward Pittway's gift-books. The Pittways were an ancient and honorable family in the town ; the first burial recorded is that of " Edward Pitway," and in 1706 John Pittway, ironmonger, bequeathed lands and tenements out of which four pounds a year was to be paid to the minister to teach six poor boys to " write a legible hand and say the Church Catechism, with the exposition thereof, without book, and to learn two or three rules in arithmetic." Besides the books, the church owned a surplice, a poor-box, a linen tablecloth, a ladder and two pewter flagons. There are entries of expenses for making the tablecloth and washing the surplice ; also, in 1592, for repairing one of the bells. It would appear that the clapper of this bell had broken ; the clapper had therefore to be sent to Wotton and the bell to be taken down. Items are given " for drink when the bell was taken down " and " for drink at the hanging up of the 4O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. bell." " Old Herst " was paid " for going to Brayles for Tooley," and Tooley was paid " for the hanging up of the bell." Then " grease for the bells " was bought, and in the course of the work or the ensuing festivities "a jug of the goodwife Wooley was lost," which had to be paid for. In October, 1695, we read, " Memorandum, that the 5 old bells were new cast by Mr. Koon, of Woodstock. The waight was 34 cwt. 3 qrs. 10 Ibs., and to have \% for casting them, some of this money col- lected by subscription, and other by levy." The old bells were made up into six, and the six still ring in the same ancient tower. A curious custom has held its own both here and at Barcheston viz., the tolling of a bell at the end of the Sunday-morning service. No satisfac- tory reason has been given for either the origin or the continuance of the custom. There is also a bell rung at Shipston every morning at *five o'clock and every even- ing at eight, and at the end of the toll the day of the month is numbered. The common opinion is that many years ago a gentleman who had chanced to lose his way in the neighborhood left money for the ringing of the bell. In 1739 the item is given, " Rump of beef for ringers at Christmas, 45. ;" the great Yuletide is still rung in as in the days of yore. In 1731 " it was agreed upon that the churchwardens, overseers of the poor and the constable shall hold a vestry the first Sunday in every month after evening prayer and bring their ac- counts to be examined." The first year after death is still called the " dead year," and in the parish records it is termed " the dead's year, according to the custom of the manor." Thus a bequest is made to a person for his THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 4! natural life and for the dead's year that is, to his estate for a year after his death. The holding of a vestry on Sunday seems to indicate that Puritan ideas concerning the Sabbath did not pre- vail at Shipston. The tendency has rather been to a more liberal observance of the day. The Puritans imi- tated the Jews in this respect, as in others. The rabbis were excessive in their reverence for the day. If a house were burning, one could save one's clothes only by wear- ing them : they could not be carried out except by suc- cessively putting them on. If a hen laid an egg on the Sabbath-day, it might not be eaten, because she had no right to break the commandment. Women were forbid- den to look into the glass on the Sabbath, because they might discover a white hair and attempt to pull it out, which would be a grievous sin. One was not allowed to wear false teeth on the Sabbath, because they might fall out and their owner be tempted to pick them up and put them back or carry them. So the Puritan, partaking of the same spirit, held that to do any work on that day was as great a sin as murder or adultery. He was not allowed to smile or to kiss his wife on the Sabbath. To shave or to cut finger-nails was extreme profligacy and a sure sign of reprobation. The water which was drawn from the well on Saturday night had to last till Monday morning. Such fine distinctions are sometimes awkward, as an old story tells us. In 1260 a Jew of Tewkesbury fell into a sink on the Sabbath-day, and because of his reverence for that day he would not suffer himself to be drawn out ; on Sunday the earl's reverence would not allow him to be delivered ; and so between the two he died. There is no evidence that Shipston ever favored 42 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. such extreme views, or that the people objected to the Book of Sports. They were dull, but they were not narrow. The first mention of Shipston occurs more than a thousand years ago. It was probably so called on ac- count of its famous and extensive sheep-markets, noted as ancient by Camden and still among the largest in the kingdom. At the present day the local pronunciation of the singular of the word " sheep " is " ship," and " ton " is the common Saxon termination for the home- stead of the yeoman, simply defended by a quickset hedge, or " tun." We may picture the settlement on the Stour amid the great wilds as consisting of a few huts in which the shepherds lived guarded from the wolves of the forest and the inroads of hostile men the Wealas, or even other tribes of their own race by thick mounds of trees and high hedges of thorn. They fed their sheep in the rich grass-yielding " opens," sheared and washed them at the river, sent the wool and the mutton away perhaps to Chipping Camden or Chipping Norton, or other near marts where people resorted to " ceapian," till the place grew large enough to attract traders to itself and lived a life of primitive simplicity. Then the night-silence was broken by the howling of wild beasts in the neighboring woods and of dogs within the " tun," and from the distant marshes came the booming of the bittern and the screeching of the white owl. Day fol- lowed day with its monotonous variations incident to such pursuits as sheep-farming and to a life in such sur- roundings. Rudely clad, roughly housed and having little intercourse with the outside world, the shepherds were scarcely less wild than was the country around them. THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 43 In their cabins the one room served for all the purposes of the family. Around the fire in the middle of the earthen floor father, mother and children slept at night, the ground their couch and sheepskins their covering. They neither washed nor undressed, and nearly their only approach to intellectual life was in the time between the dying of the sunlight in the west and the dying of the embers on the hearth, when they sang rude melodies, sipped home-made mead and propounded such riddles as " What does a goose do when standing on one leg ?" When the answer came, " Holds the other up," they no doubt laughed that full, hearty laugh which seems ever to have been characteristic of the English. They ate four meals a day and with their heads covered. Time was measured, the day by the sun and the month by the moon. Their scavengers were kites. In the Wolf-month, when the thick fogs and the chill rain-winds swept over the land and the frost hardened the ground and the river, they kept much at home ; but in the bright Weyd-month the children plucked the flowers, the women repaired the house and the men were off to their summer toil. They were heathen then ; later they were taught to carve the cross out of the oak from which they had shaped the spear. When Offa, " Rex Anglorum sive Merciorum potentissimus," reigned (ante 802), the manor of Shipston was granted by Ulhredus, duke of the Wiccians, to the priors of Worcester. The connection has never been broken ; at the Reformation the rights of the priors were taken up by the dean and chapter. The prior held his manorial court at a village some two miles off, called Blackwell, from a well whose water is darkened by some mineral admixture. It was once a 44 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. considerable place, having, besides other buildings, a chapel dedicated to St. Nicholas ; but at one period, his- tory informs us, its entire population consisted of six men and one maid. From the few facts recorded we gather that the rule of the priors was very arbitrary and, owing to the many fines exacted from the unfortunate townsmen, not much enjoyed. The latter were obliged to have their corn ground at a high rate at the prior's mill, to pay a fine to every new prior, and a penny called " hedsilver " for every inhabitant above the age of twelve years, every year when the prior held his court at Blackwell. About the year 1268, Henry III. granted the town a charter for the holding of markets and fairs for the sale of cattle, and about 1405 the townsmen, exasperated beyond all endurance by the fines imposed on them by the priors, broke out into open revolt and rioting. They more particularly ob- jected to the payment of heriots, a fine taken out of a dead man's estate, corresponding somewhat with our modern legacy-duty. Several of the leading inhabitants went to Worcester to intercede with the prior, and after much delay it was decided that on the death of a tenant his best animal should go to the prior and his second best to the rector of the parish. The tenants were also required to spend twenty days in each year in ploughing and sowing the prior's land ; also to mow four days, to winnow four days and to carry the corn from the manor to Wethington. For every beast they sold they paid a penny a sum equal to half a crown of present money. Beyond the fact that in the reign of King John some dispute arose between the townspeople and the rector of Tredington which was settled only by an appeal to THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 45 Innocent III., nothing of much interest is recorded, save the perennial quarrels with the prior of Worcester, till after the Reformation. During the eighteenth century the town was several times and severely visited with small-pox. In 1731 it affected 523 persons, of whom 45 died; and in 1744, 406 persons, of whom 48 died. Under date of 1767 an eminent physician in London writes concerning Ships- ton: "A poor vagabond was seen in the streets with the small-pox upon him ; the people, frightened, took care to have him carried to a little house situated upon a hill at some distance from the town, providing him with necessaries. In a few days the man died ; they ordered him to be buried deep in the ground, and the house with his clothes to be burnt. The wind, being pretty high, blew the smoke upon the houses on one side of the town, and a few days after eight persons were slain with the small-pox." In 1772 a subscription was col- lected to pay for the inoculation of every poor parish- ioner, and for one hundred and fifty-seven persons the apothecary was paid six shillings a head. When the dread of this dire disease passed away under the benign influence of Dr. Jenner, a new fear took its place : the French became a greater terror than the variola. Eng- land looked on aghast at the great Revolution and the victories of Bonaparte, but, though the alarm was great, the country remained loyal and hopeful. The patriotic spirit reached Shipston, and, in spite of the heavy and burdensome taxation, in 1798, when Nelson destroyed the French fleet at the Nile, the townsmen made a vol- untary collection of over sixty-one pounds to assist the government. Some gave five guineas, and some gave 46 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. twopence. Then they formed a volunteer corps, but what became of it or what it did no one knows. In 1803 another company was formed, consisting of four officers and about one hundred and forty men. They agreed to pay certain fines for misconduct e. g. t six- pence for inattention, a shilling for drunkenness and half a crown for fighting ; from which we infer that the Shipston men of that day were above all anxious to suppress their weakness for pugilistic enterprises. Their colors are still preserved, and are occasionally hoisted on the church-tower. What duty this corps did history- has not recorded, but the memory of the noble men who volunteered for service in the hour of their coun- try's need is still fragrant in the minds of some. One of the events in the year is the October fair. The picture of the old life is worthy of study. Early in the morning the streets are thronged with people from the neighboring villages, with farm and domestic ser- vants and itinerant showmen. Everything assumes a holiday appearance: shopkeepers have their windows arrayed with the most tempting attractions ; fruit-stands and toy-stalls are set about the streets; the inns are busier than usually; hawkers cry their wares; bands play, and everybody is awake to the importance of the occasion. Down in the Shambles, in front of a black- smith's shop and the Crown Inn, a huge fireplace is built, before which an ox is roasted whole. Possibly this was originally a gift from the lords of the manor, the priors of Worcester, but it is now subscribed for by the people. Everybody tastes the ox, the slices of which are sold at a shilling apiece. In the High street that undefinable place already mentioned are the THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 47 shows, the ubiquitous and ever-genuine Tom Thumb, the original fat woman and the real red man from the wilds of America. Here are the shooting-galleries, where the possibility of a shilling prize is offered at the low price of one penny ; also the travelling portrait-taker, who will perpetuate any physiognomy for a mere trifle ; also the Cheap John, ever stout and sturdy, whose dis- interestedness for the good of the purchasing public is proverbial ; also the dog-fancier, with his best specimens of thoroughbreds. For twopence you can get your fortune told by the old woman sitting on yonder door- step, and, considering the outlay, you will be satisfied. This broad-faced, round-shouldered youth will live with you as ploughman, shepherd, groom, or anything else you wish, at fair wages and plenty to eat and drink. You can take your choice ; the street is full of such, all wearing whipcord in their hats and all well recom- mended. This hiring feature of the fair gives it the name of the " mop " or, as it was called a century and a half since, the " mapp " and till the middle of the afternoon farmers and laborers, mistresses and maids, are making, sometimes driving, bargains. The mop was a great attraction in bygone days ; an old advertisement of 1743 invites the public to come to the hiring of ser- vants, " where all gentlemen, dealers and chapmen may depend upon good entertainment and encouragement." By sunset everybody is merry, and not a few are drunk. The taverns do a good business all day, and there are dinners at the " George," the " Bell," the " White Horse " and the smaller hostelries. Here are lads and lasses arm in arm, light and gay; here, boys on the lookout for mischief; there, men trying to walk steadily and to sing 48 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. or whistle, but the goodly potions have disabled them from doing either. Yonder is the police-sergeant wheel- ing home one of his constables in a barrow, and followed by an admiring throng of rag-tag and bob-tail. Across the way are two young men indulging in the supreme pleasure of a prize-fight and surrounded by a cheering crowd. And the showmen shout, and the drums and gongs rattle, and the blazing paraffin-lights hiss and splutter, and children blow their penny trumpets, tin whistles and horns, and the people laugh and talk, till one forgets that this is sleepy and old-fashioned Ships- ton. In old times rougher sports prevailed. The fol- lowing advertisement referring to this October " roast " explains itself: SHIPSTON-ON-STOWER. "On Tuesday the ryth of October, 1783, will be played for at Back- swords, a purse of Five Guineas, by seven or nine of a side. If no sides appear by nine o'clock in the Forenoon, Eight Shillings will be given to each man who breaks a head ; Two Shillings and Sixpence to each man that has his head broken; to begin playing exactly at nine o'clock." On this occasion the Shipston men suffered severely at the hands of combatants from Wiltshire, whom they nicknamed " Sawnees." Down to within the memory of some now living bull-baiting and pigeon-shooting took place at these fairs, and cock-fighting was com- mon at all times. Other festivals were kept besides this one. The Fifth of November was not forgot. Christmas was ushered in with the merry pealing of bells, the waits and carol- singers ; everybody had plum-pudding, if nothing else. Some there were who thought that the cattle went down THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 49 on their knees and the ghosts remained in their tombs at the midnight of the Nativity. Strange life! The narrow, irregular streets do not belong to the common, every-day world. That house in Church street with the little bow-windows was once the post-office. Up this alley is a small dissenting chapel where the remnant of Israel comfort themselves with invectives against their neighbors. This dull, odd-looking building is the Quakers' meeting-house; only a few Friends re- main, but they wear drab and broad brims and are still very good folks. That spruce youth with the white hat strutting down toward the mill is a visitor perhaps from Birmingham. He is well dressed and walks swinging his cane with an air of superiority and contempt. He looks down upon place, people and everything. The cobble sidewalks, of which the natives are justly proud so proud, indeed, that for fear of wear- ing them out they walk in the middle of the street he regards as unworthy of scorn. He is and he knows it a stranger to this strange world, and in days when sawmills abound laughs heartily at the sight of the old- fashioned sawyer standing on a log over a pit. But let him go, and look at the people themselves. Here is your wagoner in his smock-frock, and here your artisan in his corduroy breeches and rough-spun jacket, and here a gentleman dressed some years behind the times. The parson with his white necktie and black frock-coat is an incongruity in a place where everything suggests the cassocked priest or the cowled monk. The carpen- ter, across the way, with the flag basket of tools on his back, moving along as though life had no end, was once the parish clerk and the parson's right-hand man. 5O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. The blacksmith, standing by that old broken-down wagon, is the great man in the Baptist chapel, and he will tell you with some pride that his chapel is " gen- eral " and not " particular " a distinction of great con- sequence. The most important people of the place are the shopkeepers a highly-respectable and intelligent class whose dignity appears to best advantage in a gig, and whose obsequiousness exceeds that of the ordinary shopkeeper elsewhere as the humility of a grasshopper exceeds in loveliness the pride of a gnat. Society is rather select and commendably exclusive, but good manners and courtesy are not so general as one might judge from the pretensions. Two things most people do on Sunday : they go to church or chapel, and they take their dinner to the bakehouse. You may see a man on a Sabbath morning, just before the bells begin to ring for service, carrying a shallow tin pan with a bit of meat in the middle surrounded with batter-pudding or peeled potatoes. This he leaves at the baker's, and then, taking a turn around and looking as innocent and unconscious as if he had done a thing no one else did or saw him do, he starts off for church, and, though he makes little and gets still less out of the sermon, he sings his hymns and says his prayers with a devotion to duty highly com- mendable. . Coming out, he slips off for his dinner, and carries it home smoking hbt. And then the only time in the week one of his boys says grace, and all set to with a relish. Probably half the people in the place go through this programme every Sunday. I believe it is not considered the right thing to ask a blessing except at this meal ; the others are such that it is not worth while to say anything about them. Ruddy cheeks, stai- THE VILLAGE ON THE STOUR. 5 1 wart limbs and stout forms abound, and testify to the healthfulness of the place. The death-rate is low about fourteen per thousand. For a picture of rugged beauty see these four girls, evidently sisters. They appear as fresh as the field-daisies in the early morning and as gay as the crickets that chirp in the kitchen. Doubt- less they can both thump the piano and churn butter, play croquet and knit stockings ; and, though they may at night stick a pin through the wick of the candle to judge by its remaining in or falling out if their lover will keep true, they look like sensible and quick-witted maidens. CHAPTER III. ftlje Region CANTERBURY. 22/ grand for the nonce as he could wish whose mind was full of weighty truths and whose soul burned with celestial fire. Upon a mound of earth or on a rough- hewn stone he placed the symbol of salvation, and as he pointed men to that and told them of Him who had died thereon hard hearts were softened and proud knees bent in penitence upon the green sward or on the dusty ground. Many a soul-stirring sermon was preached and many an impressive service held in Nature's own grand sanctuary long before cathedral was seen in the land. Even in our own day an open-air service is not without its charm and power, while in cottage-rooms, on board ships, in factories and plain little chapels, Christianity still retains its converting, ennobling and beautifying strength. You will find the begrimed miner come from the gathering of two or three wor- shippers in a corner of the dark mine a better and a happier man; you will feel the divine afflatus in the little company who by the riverside in the summer evening have sought to speak one to another of the mysteries and the love of God. But, for all that, a building in which the graces and the symbolic truths of architecture are displayed can- not fail to produce a beneficial effect upon the soul and to impart a fuller and a sublimer conception of Chris- tianity. It was in the nature of things that with pros- perity and influence changes should come. Art could not leave untouched the most beautiful conception ever given to man. So soon as Christianity drew to itself the culture and the wealth of Greece and of Rome, so soon the bridal-dress was placed upon the Bride of Christ. Intellect, imagination and genius went to the 228 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. enrichment of the religion of Jesus ; art, with the skill of a heavenly enchantress, helped to bring out its beau- ty and to express its thought. One cannot worship within a minster where the devout and loving imagina- tion has wrought its mystic poem and not be moved. There is a something which steals upon the soul and fills it with reverence. The very walls seem to speak ; the many r colored windows and the lines of stately shafts suggest thoughts of hallowed meaning. Fancy fills the mighty solitude with spirits from heaven's bright land, and their songs break upon the silence. The magnificence and the beauty bring one into un- earthly scenes and pour into the heart 'sweetness and satisfaction akin to that which angels have. Such a building is an expression of God : his glory rests upon it ; his presence dwells within it. These religious edifices the very embodiment of symbolism are not only marvels in themselves, but also wonders of the age in which they were built. How they were conceived and constructed is a mys- tery. Our forefathers were rough, uncouth and coarse ; they were ignorant and superstitious. Their towns and their villages were the haunts of misery and of distress. In the narrow undrained streets pestilence lurked ; in the wretched cottages discomfort reigned. Yet in that past of poverty and rudeness and in those scenes of filthiness and want arose these beautiful structures, grander than Egyptian, Grecian or Roman temple, more artistic than aught we of the nineteenth century can devise. Noth- ing was left undone, no cost or labor was spared, that was calculated to move the spirit of devotion or to show honor to God. Earth had nothing too valuable for the THE PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY. 229 purpose. Princes and barons gave of the abundance of their wealth ; yeomen and serfs contributed according to their substance. Nor was it the mere love of display that led to this magnificence ; on the contrary, in a rich symbolism they sought to perpetuate and to man- ifest their ideal of religion. Everything had a meaning and a purpose ; everything was sacred and eternal. If on the outside walls of the church hideous figures were carved to denote the evil spirits fleeing from the abode of God's presence, inside the sweetest grace in pillar, arch and tracery suggested the beauty and the majesty of God's love and mercy to man. The ground-plan of the building was that of a cross, reminding man of the mystery of redemption, and oftentimes with a deflec- tion in the lines of the walls at the east end, to denote the drooping head of the Saviour in his last moments. The spire pointing ever to the sky told of the unity of the faith and of the appealing prayer and constancy of the worshippers, while the bird of warning upon its top recalled the Master's solemn charge to his people. The nave by name and by form spoke of the " ark of Christ's Church ;" the aisles, of the wings or the sails of the same. None but men possessed of a high conception of Christianity could have devised such lessons or pro- duced such buildings. They must have realized some- thing of the beauty of holiness, of the majesty of God, of the awfulness of eternity and of the sweetness of par- adise when they sought to express those truths in the rough stone and the plastic clay. And the effect of such sanctuaries upon them must have been great. When they knelt within the nave or walked along the aisles, they must have risen to heights 230 THE HEART OF MRRRIE ENGLAND. of devotion they could not have reached in their own miserable homes. They must have felt that God was very near them ; that here the angels brought comfort- ing messages from the far-off land to the weary and the heavy laden ; that within these consecrated walls the Lord Jesus was present for evermore. The light which streamed through the pictured windows came to them from no earthly sun, but from the throne whereon sat the Everlasting Glory, its tinted hues contrasting the beauty of grace with the coldness of nature. The faces which looked down from lofty clerestory were no figures cut in stones, but the spirits of the holy ones who from the highest heaven look back to the beloved friends of earth ; those upon the windows, of angel- minstrels, of the King's messengers. The imagination, subdued and taught .by the earthly temple, read therein the evangelical lessons of Christ. There was cast from the chancel-screen upon the nave the shadow of the cross beneath which all must pass who would enter the holy place. There were the seats around the altar, recalling the vision of the exile of Patmos. The orient rays rest- ing upon the sacred place where in hallowed sacrament lay the body of the Lord spoke of the rainbow-circled throne where he sits crowned above all the kings of the earth. And, while the thoughtful soul was thus exalted to the higher world, there came the recollection that be- neath this magnificence and glory was the silent crypt into which the flesh must enter, but from which the God of power shall bring back his own. These things, wrought so wonderfully by art, could not fail to touch even the man whose brain had devised and whose hand had executed. They educated and made nobler and THE PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY. 23! better the mind, and taught the world that " the King's daughter is all-glorious within; her clothing is of wrought gold." The devout Christian of the present day will not think that buildings of this sublime character are the webs which superstition weaves around the soul and which time hardens into fetters of iron, but he will see in them signs of mystic meaning, the fosterers of devo- tion, the interpreters of doctrine, the foreshadowings of heaven. They have served to mould his and his fathers' religion. They have aided his imagination and strength- ened his affection. They have taught him that essential virtue of all religion, reverence. They have given him suggestions which have helped him heavenward and led him farther into the mysteries of God. The triumphs of Christian architecture, the grace ancl the charm which adorn the outer temple, must at least speak to him of that integrity of purpose and that symmetry of charac- ter which should beautify the heart wherein the Holy Ghost is pleased to dwell. The same magnificence and symbolism that adorned the buildings extended themselves to the services. Doubtless the people loved ornate display, but there was a far deeper feeling than that. They may have gazed with wonder and with fear upon the mystic sanc- tuary where, amid the clouds of incense, white-robed choir and blaze of candles, the priest, arrayed in gor- geous vestments, consecrated the sacred Host, but they were in hearty sympathy and doubted nothing. They bowed with deepest reverence as the procession of priests and monks and singers, bearing cross and banner, holy relic or mysterious sacrament, passed by, reminding 232 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. them of man's pilgrimage through this world. The organ sent its music echoing through the aisles, now in subdued strains of hushed supplication, now in thunder- ing peals of glad praise, and with hallowed chant and well-sung anthem moved and softened the roughest nature and made the weary heart long to sing its song and mingle its voice with the great multitude above. Nor were these services rare things : they came daily, and many times a day. The churches were ever open, the lamp before the altar was ever burning. At no time, day or night, was silent the voice of prayer for the Church's safety, the nation's welfare, the pres- ervation of travellers, the conversion of the heathen or the everlasting rest of the departed. In the monas- teries the twenty-four hours were one round of devotion. Lauds, prime, tierce, sext, nones and compline were sung in every religious house in the land. At daybreak ma- tins, at sunset evensong, brought rough hind and belted knight, rustic maiden and high-born lady, to their beads and their meditation. Ever and anon there broke upon the air the sweet melody of the murmuring chimes, tell- ing of joy and gladness, or perchance the heavy, sad tone of the passing-bell, speaking of mortality and of the duty to pray for the dying. And even now, in these days of hurry and faithlessness, a sweet restfulness and a gentle awe steal upon us when, with the door closed upon the outer world, we stand within the ancient sanctuary. A holy peace falls upon the soul, the Divine Presence is felt, the knee bends and the heart in joyous emotion pours itself out to Him whom we may have sought in the world in fields and in gardens, but have found only in his temple. THE PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY. 233 Perhaps the highest inspiration which an edifice full of beauty and luxuriant in symbolic art can give is to be had in the calm, moonlit eventide. As the pale beams fall upon its walls, shading the outline of tower, pinna- cle, nave and chancel and dimly realizing the tracery of the windows, the carved gargoyles and the arched door- way, the imagination sits upon Fancy's throne and be- gins its happy revellings. There are suggestions that the soul loves to encourage, thoughts that come to one like dreamy music in the gloaming. The silence of the place reminds one of the mysterious stillness into which all things living must enter. Not now, as in earlier hours, does the sound of chanting voices fall upon the ear like the roll of wave-floods on the beach ; no brightness flows in streams of liquid beauty through the antique windows ; no sign is there of the great world, so noisy in its bustle, so troubled in its life. There comes no melody of murmuring chimes, telling of joy and glad- ness, and no sad tone of passing-bell, speaking of mor- tality and of the duty to pray for the dying. The scene is impressively unearthly. In the deep shadows min- gling with the soft light you see the mysteries which are ever and anon thrown across the gospel-page mysteries which we cannot fathom, and would not if we could. As you turn away you realize the grace and the power of the system which demands such a tribute of beauty, you gain an insight into the spirit of symbolism, and more than ever the fact of religion and the ideal of Christianity impress themselves upon you. Nor are the associations of Christian buildings less calculated to deepen and to strengthen the religious spirit. The comparative changelessness of the building 234 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. helps to this end. While things around are passing away, while generation follows generation and the sea- sons run their courses, these sacred walls remind us of the permanence and the stability of religion. Sunday after Sunday, year after year, the eye rests upon the same hallowed surroundings and the beating heart is hushed in the same solemn stillness. Here worshipped others of our race men and women who have long since passed into the Eternal Presence. Here hymn was sung and prayer offered long, long ago, as to-day. Here, now as then, the echoes of the gospel die amid the sweeping arches and within the dark bosom of the groined roof. It is the same as ever. And in olden time, when the dead were laid to rest, sometimes within the consecrated building, sometimes in the yard around it, and sculptured monuments and jewelled shrines com- memorated departed worth and grandeur, there was that which brought home very closely the fact of mortality and the doctrine of the communion of saints. They who lay in the fast-closed vaults or in the green-clad graves were the links which bound not only the present to the past, but also earth to heaven. The rudest spirit was hushed when in a place hallowed by associations such as these; the most irreverent could not but bow the head when walking along aisles which once had been trodden by those whose ashes were mouldering beneath the lettered pavement. Nor could the thoughtful man think of the time when he would be borne within the temple, or look upon the spot where he would be laid to rest, without tender emotion emotion which could be stilled only when the eye fell upon some object which taught that Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life. THE PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY. 235 It is impossible to wander in such an Eden of pleas- ant delights as I have sought to suggest here in the very shadow of Canterbury without thinking of the times in which lived the men who wrought these structures. It was not the building only, but everything else, that marked the reality of those ages of faith and devotion. Maxims such as these were enjoined upon all Christian men : " Arise early, serve God devoutly and the world busily ; do thy work wisely, give thine alms secretly, and go by the way sadly." Letters of those days are interesting for the deep reverential spirit of their greet- ing perhaps too often formal, but still a quaint, sweet form. The knight was charged by the dignity of his order to uphold the rights of maidens and of widows, truly to hold his promise to his friend and his foe, to honor his father and his mother, to do no harm to the poor, but to be merciful and to hold with the sacrifice of the great God of heaven. Nor were the clergy ig- norant either of necessary doctrinal truth or of their duty to the people. They taught the people at least the stories and general truths of Scripture, and undoubtedly sought, according to the light they had, the good of the Church and the nation. In a period strongly marked by caste they moved between the court and the cabin, from the mansion of the peer to the mud hut of the peasant, and endeavored to soften the pride of the one and to better the hard lot of the other, and to bind all together in a true Christian brotherhood. The monks, too, were far from deserving that wholesale condemna- tion which later times passed upon them. Early mem- bers of their orders had gone out into the wilderness and the barren places, far away from the haunts of men, 236 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. where they might worship God in peace and live in solitude. The richest and the most beautiful of modern abbey-lands had originally been desolate, uninhabited and worthless. In some deep sequestered glen, the home of the wild boar, the bittern and the crane, or be- side the waters of some almost unknown stream, or by the shore of the great, lonely ocean itself, they built their house and their sanctuary, and lived roughly and rudely by the labors of their hands. Here they gradually gath- ered around them a village of artisans and laborers, who depended upon them for support and protection. The most liberal hospitality was given to all who needed it. The Fathers cared for the poor and the sick, administered justice and kept good order on their estates, and sup- plied the neighboring villages with the ministrations of religion. :,;{ ' CHAPTER X. $n tfje " I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze With forms of saints and holy men who died, Here martyred and hereafter glorified." WE enter the sacred edifice by the south-western door a porch built by Thomas Chillenden, prior at the be- ginning of the fifteenth century, and covered with niches in which are placed famous characters connected with the history of Canterbury. A scene of splendor bursts upon the vision a prelude, as it were, to other scenes of greater glory and of more soul-stirring emotion. The view up the nave toward the east is enhanced by the cleanness of pillars, roof and walls. The white stone has not been darkened by smoke or by age, though four centuries have passed since Archbishop Chicheley fin- ished the work. The lofty pillars, massive and exact, appear in their long avenue as giant trees of the forest, supporting arches of noble sweep, the triforium and clerestory of delicate detail and the roof which bewilders with its distance. Some have thought that the steps leading up into the choir detract from the effect ; it is only for a moment. The design of the building as a whole dawns upon the mind, the magnitude of the nave and aisles becomes every moment more impressive ; and if disappointment there were, it speedily passes away in 237 238 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. wondering surprise at the daring splendor of the art and the completeness of the work. If from the choir beyond the great stone screen the melody of pealing organ or chanting boys steals echoing down the church, emotions are awakened . which subdue the soul and suggest ex- alted things. Up the steps we pass, under the central tower a beautiful structure open to the top and worthy of much attention. In front is the entrance to the choir, to the left the transept in which St. Thomas of Can- terbury was murdered, and to the right the south-west transept, leading out of which is St. Michael's or the Warriors' Chapel. In this chapel, among other tombs, is one, half in and half out of the church, said to con- tain the body of Archbishop Langton. As a proof of the high esteem with which the people regarded the hero of the Magna Carta, when this part of the building was erected and the line of the wall fell exactly upon his grave in the cemetery the architect built over it an arch rather than disturb remains so revered. It is doubt- ful, however, whether the archbishop was buried here at all. A story runs that when young he and a village maiden were lovers, but for some cause or other they were separated ; he became a churchman, she a nun. In time he reached the rank of archbishop, and she that of abbess. Then they met again, and continued in intimate friendship till they died, when they were buried side by side in a country churchyard a few miles away. Whether this be legend or no, certain it is that her tomb has been identified and beside her lies a man. Somehow or other, this story of love draws us closer to the great cardinal than even that which he did at Runnymede. In this same chapel is a monument of marble and alabaster, IN THE CATHEDRAL. 239 very fine to look upon, to the memory of Lady Marga- ret Holland and her two husbands. She lies in full- length effigy between her two lords one, the earl of Somerset, who died 1410; the other, the duke of Clar- ence, who died 1420. She died in 1440. At their feet, as usual, animals are sculptured. These generally in- dicate the characteristic of the deceased ; e. g., an eagle, courage ; a hound, fleetness ; and a dog, fidelity. The choir is contained between the pillars dividing it from its aisles on either side ; here, as in the holy place, service is daily held. Another flight of steps leads up into the presbytery ; another, to the altar rails ; and still another, to the jasper pavement on which stands the high altar. Several tombs of archbishops are on both sides of the presbytery ; that to Archbishop Chicheley, on the north side, is too remarkable to be passed by. Beneath a rich canopy of carved stone-work, supported by exquisitely sculptured pillars, in the niches of which are small elegant statues of white marble, rests the body of the prelate who built the nave. The monument was erected in his lifetime, and he left a large endowment to All Souls' College at Oxford to keep it in repair. On an upper, altar-shaped slab he lies in effigy, clothed in his splendid pontifical robes, so well done as to seem almost living. Angels support his head, and at his feet are two monks holding open books. Underneath, on an- other slab, lies the effigy of a skeleton partly shrouded, and also so well done as to appear like actual death. The contrast is startling the archbishop in his glory, and the archbishop in his shame. We pass back again to the steps under the tower and turn to the north-west transept the place of the martyr- is 240 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. dom. It has been changed since that dark December evening, seven hundred years ago, when was shed the blood which made it sacred for ever. Against the north walls are the tombs of Archbishops Warham and Peck- ham; the latter, of bog-oak, is in good preservation, though six hundred years old. To the east is the Dean's Chapel, formerly called the Lady Chapel, in which are several monuments to the deans and some books on which the titles have been placed, not on the backs, but on the edges of the opening leaves. These, however, are as nothing beside the interest of the mar- tyrdom itself. The story is too well known to need repeating. Suffice it is to say that the memory of the man who dared to die for rights which he deemed sa- cred was precious in the hearts of Englishmen from the day his blood was poured out on the cold stones till the day when a king coveted the treasures which the ages had heaped upon his shrine. Nor has the spirit of ad- miration and of justice so passed away that none are left to think of him with honor, and even with love. He fell pierced with many wounds. In the darkening twilight the murderers escaped; and when the news spread through the city, the townspeople ran to the cathedral. The glimmering torches showed them the body of the archbishop lying in his gore before the altar. They began to weep, and, while some kissed his hands and his feet, others dipped linen in the blood with which the pavement was covered. Ere long the trem- bling monks buried the body in the crypt. The royal proclamation to the contrary was useless : Becket was a martyr and a saint from that very night. If Henry feared him when living, he had much more cause to IN THE CATHEDRAL. 24! fear him when dead. The thunderstorm which burst upon the city as the murderers fled was at once the sign of Heaven's anger and the awakening of an en- thusiasm which lived for centuries. Miracles were wrought at the tomb; pilgrimages became popular. An altar was erected upon the spot of the martyrdom, and here the greatest of the Plantagenet kings married Queen Margaret. Edward IV. gave the great window of the transept, wondrous in workmanship, wherein were seven glorious appearances of the Blessed Vir- gin and St. Thomas himself fully robed and mitred. This was mostly destroyed by a Puritan iconoclast. From the martyrdom we proceed along the north aisle of the choir, past the north-east transept and the chapel of St. Andrew, beyond which is the treasury, up the steps by which the pilgrims went, into the chapel of the Holy Trinity. This is immediately beyond the high altar, and here, in the highest and most beautiful part of the cathedral, was the shrine of St. Thomas. The tile pavement against the west screen was given by the Cru- saders ; it remains, but every vestige of the shrine is re- moved. An evidence of the multitudes who visited it is in the worn stones : the bare knees of pilgrims hol- lowed out a semicircle before the saint. Close by is the tomb of the Black Prince, and hanging aloft are the helmet, the coat and the gauntlets which he wore at the battle of Crecy, half a millennium ago, his popularity attested in his being buried near the most sacred spot in England. Henry IV. with his queen, Joan of Navarre, is also buried there. Beyond this chapel is the corona, the most eastern part of the cathedral. Here is the plain tomb of Cardinal Pole, the last English archbishop who 242 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. recognized the papal supremacy. In the ancient black marble chair have been enthroned the rulers of Eng- land's primatial see, the patriarchs of English Christen- dom. Thoughts press fast upon one another in such a place, but even as the sunlight outshines the stars the sur- rounding vision blots them out. Look down the mighty and magnificent edifice raised to the glory of almighty God and through long centuries a centre of the nation's life. No description can convey the impression of that vista; no picture or poem can impart the fact of its splendor. The vastness of the structure and the beauty of the conception overawe the mind. Through the windows, marvellous in tracery and rich in colored glass, falls the soft and tinted light, its warmth and love- liness of hue suggesting the contrast between the outer and the inner radiance, between the realm of grace and the region of nature. The long lines of sculptured shafts rise with noble dignity and impressive stateliness to sup- port the lofty and majestic arches. The eye passes down through the Trinity Chapel, where once thousands and tens of thousands knelt before the hallowed shrine of the martyr; on beyond the high altar and the presby- tery into the choir, where holy service is chanted at the rising and the setting of every sun ; and farther on, be- yond the richly-finished screen, into the great and glorious nave a very forest of noblest architectural splendor, where like tall and mighty trees set in a royal avenue of wide-arching beauty pillar after pillar rises and sends aloft its moulded branches into the groined and distant roof, glory upon glory, strength upon strength, as though the builders, filled with divinest power, sought to outdo the work of Nature, and to IN THE CATHEDRAL. 243 show to the Lord of all that human hearts and human hands could do that which the rocks and the forests, the sun and the frost, the shifting winds and the flowing waters, could not do. In the mellowed radiance fading in the misty distance, and in the holy awfulness of the voice of God speaking through man in the lines of the poem wrought in stone, the mysterious sweetness of the Divine Presence makes itself felt. Heaven may have that which is grander, more suggestive, richer in form and color and more truly an expression of all that the mind conceives to be beautiful and sublime, but earth has not. The King's daughter is all-glorious within, and the great Anglican communion wants no grander centre, no nobler mother-church. The rich, delicate carving, the simplicity and dignity, the costliness and rareness of material, the most thought- ful, consummate poetic and religious art, show that the best of all has been given to the Lord of glory. But much of what was once here has been taken away. The wealth of gold and of precious stones that once adorned the sanctuary and the shrine was stolen to re- plenish the exchequer of Henry VIII. Even the jewels about the head of the Black Prince were dug out and appropriated. Never were the desires for the purity of the faith and the wealth of the Church more curiously blended than in that age, and no one seems able to say which was greater the hatred of the men of those times for the clergy or their love for the lands of the Church. Beautiful as Canterbury Cathedral is, there comes upon one the feeling that it has been stripped of its richest glories and is not what it was in the first days of the sixteenth century. 244 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. There is little difficulty, standing here in Becket's Crown, in repeopling the place with the men of earlier days. The picture of pilgrims walking barefoot or crawling on naked knee up the stone steps in the north aisle to the shrine of St. Thomas soon becomes vivid. They brought their offerings and uttered their prayers to him who they hoped would intercede for them before the throne of God. Sometimes a nobler penitent came a prince with a rich retinue and with costly gifts. Kings and emperors worshipped there, people from all parts of England, and even from the lands beyond the seas. As an illustration of the popularity of this pilgrimage, we may note that in the fifteen days' jubilee of 1420 no less than a hundred thousand persons knelt before the glori- ous shrine of St. Thomas, and the offerings in money made that year amounted to nearly six hundred pounds a sum probably equal to about eighteen thousand pounds at this present day. Miracles were wrought there, and revelations made. Some of the windows, dating from the thirteenth century, remain, and are un- rivalled both for delicacy and harmony of color and for accurate execution of design. The central thought of Canterbury is undoubtedly the martyr, and yet the building is full of the associa- tions of other men who helped to make England what she is and whose names are enrolled in the annals of her fame. They looked upon these very walls and trod these very stones. Many of the archbishops are buried here, but only one king, and he has a chantry on the north side of the Trinity Chapel. We wander down the south steps and look into the chapel of St. Anselm, in the entrance of which is the IN THE CATHEDRAL. 245 tomb of Archbishop Mepham, and from which a pleasing glimpse of the choir presents itself. Hence we find our way across the building to the entrance to the crypt, and on descending we first visit the Lady Chapel St. Mary's of the Undercroft. This is a singularly attractive spot. It is directly under the high altar in the cathedral, and is divided off by stone screens of fine workmanship. It was once rich in jewels and in gold ; gold, Erasmus said, was the meanest thing about the place. Traces of the exquisite decorations remain. Figures, symbols and stars cover the vaulted roof. When lighted with lamps and tapers, the effect must have been great. Here ser- vice never ceased, day nor night. A curious shrine, down in the deep body of the church, symbolical of the affection with which men regarded her whom all gen- erations call blessed. Beyond this chapel is the place where Becket's body lay for the first fifty years after his martyrdom. Here is the spot where Henry did penance and submitted his back to the scourge of the monks. Not far off is the tomb of Archbishop Morton, who re- stored the chapel of Our Lady. In the work about this tomb is an illustration of the rebus-play of the old sculp- tors. There are figures of a hawk and of a tun, the former lighting upon the latter. The arch is also adorned with roses, each surmounted with a crown. Of these the last one is cramped and imperfect, the artist evidently having tired of his work. In St. Gabriel's Chapel are some curious figures of animal-minstrels wrought around the capital of the central column goats, etc., playing horns and flutes. The mural paintings are not obliterated ; fig- ures of angels and of saints are plainly visible. In the middle, over where the altar formerly stood, is a repre- 246 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. sentation of Christ, singular in the right hand pointing downward. The blue-and-gold illuminations in the vaulting are also visible. This chapel was the work of a genius, and is not excelled by other work of the time, either in the cathedral or elsewhere. Another interest- ing feature of the crypt is the little French church, the home of refugees nestling under the protection of the great cathedral. Queen Elizabeth extended this hospi- tality, and from then to now the organization has held its own. It is not a part of the Anglican Church, but its pastor receives Anglican orders. Days could be spent in this wonderful cathedral with- out exhausting its treasures of art and of association. Happy are they whose duty lies within its sacred walls and whose life is spent in its calm, heavenly atmosphere. They who visit have for ever recollections to sweeten and brighten the after-days. As we pass out of the church into the cloisters the white-robed procession winds from the chapel of St. Andrew through the dark aisle into the choir, and ere we look for the last time upon the vision of beauty, the storied windows, the shafts crowned with the circlets of vine and acanthus leafage, the silent tombs, the vast spaces of nave and aisle, there come the voices of singing choristers, and in the mur- muring melody of evensong, sweeping in gentle waves of undulating sweetness, hope rises upon the wings of hallowed imagination and suggests the glories of the worship of the land which is very far off. The cloisters are full of architectural and heraldic in- terest. In the groined roof are the armorial bearings of benefactors of the church, and, though sadly muti- lated, some Romanesque arches, trefoil-headed arcades IN THE CATHEDRAL. 247 and ribbed vaulting indicate the former splendor of the monks' walk. Here the brethren spent some of their time in meditation, amusement and exercise, the bright green earth being restful to the eye and healthful for both body and soul. On the eastern side is the chap- ter- or sermon-house, a noble structure of several styles, from Early English to Perpendicular. Some traces of the former glory remain the coloring and the enam- elled work in the canopies of the raised stalls at the east end. Around the hall are the stone seats on which the brethren sat during chapter, the abbot's or prior's throne being conspicuous for its higher elevation and its greater finish. Here the community met to consult about the affairs of the church and the monastery, for Canterbury was a Benedictine foundation. The young- est brother first gave his voice and vote, and so on, ac- cording to age, till the most ancient spoke, and then the prior uttered sentences and censures and penances and scourgings were imposed, the delinquent standing out in the open space to receive punishment, perhaps to turn his back to the whip of the penitentiary. Sermons and lectures were given from the pulpit in the centre ; no one then thought of using the church, so utterly unadapted for the purpose, for preaching. A light burned perpetually in this place, and the chapter met every morning. Sometimes a novice received the cowl or an officer was appointed ; perchance a brother that night deceased was carried in on his blue bed with a chalice on his breast, and then with solemn dirge and requiem taken away to his long home. At the close of the meeting a wooden tablet was struck, and in the dull sounds the brethren were reminded of man's painful life, 248 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. his sad pilgrimage and his sure death. No longer, how- ever, are these things done. Times have changed ; the monks are gone. One of the most interesting events of the year is the " speech-day " of King's School. Then the beautiful building is filled with scholars and their friends, addresses are made and prizes presented, ladies, gowned masters and scarlet-robed doctors look with interest and admiration upon the happy faces be- fore them, and one wonders what the old monks would think were they in slow and silent procession to enter upon the scene. . Near to the chapter-door is the way, through walls fourteen feet thick, into the slype. Here, when a broth- er lay dying, the hollow sound of the clapper called his fellows to his bedside in the infirmary. They watched beside him, prayed with him and for him ; the children of the almonry sweet-voiced choristers sang to him from the psalms of David ; and when he passed away, he was gently and lovingly carried to join the silent brotherhood in the green churchyard. We pass out of the dark entry, and find ourselves among buildings and remains of buildings which show the extent of this place in olden times. In the green court, on one side of which is the deanery, we linger to look upon some of the exquisite views of the cathedral. The quiet charm can only be suggested; neither pen nor pencil can do . more. A few steps farther, and we are outside the sacred precincts. We wander around the wall for the cathedral was enclosed and fortified- till we get back again to Mercery Lane ; then through High street we proceed eastward to other historical spots. IN THE CATHEDRAL. 249 Canterbury is full of interesting churches and other buildings ; two, however, are pre-eminent St. Martin's church and St. Augustine's College. The former of these is in the extreme eastern part of the city ; the lat- ter, halfway between it and the cathedral. On the way out the highly-respectable and the highly-dull character of Canterbury becomes more than ever apparent. One of the oldest churches is St. Paul's, founded in the thir- teenth century, lately restored, and containing some in- teresting tablets. In the belfry is one to the memory of Sir Edward Master, once lord mayor of London, and in the inscription emphasis is laid upon the fact that he was the husband of one wife and by her the father of twenty children. Farther on is a long row of low-built houses called a hospital and founded by a John Smith in 1657. Farther still, leaving the great monastery on the left, is the little building which may in truth be called the cradle of all English Christianity. . A simple, unostentatious structure is this St. Martin's, rich in age and in associations, but void of architectural beauty. There are genuine bits of Roman work in the walls, showing that the more modern Norman work was done only in the way of repairs and restoration. On the whole, it is the very building in which St. Augustine celebrated the services of God thirteen hundred years ago, and it was esteemed old then. There Christians worshipped in the days of the Roman occupancy of Britain, and, though the English pagans fiercely swept out of the land the older civilization and religion, there divine worship was destined to be offered again without interruption, even as at this time. The story of St. Augustine is as well known as it is 250 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. ever fresh. When he and his monks passed up the way from Ebbsfleet to win the kingdom of Kent for their Lord, not only were they kindly received by Ethelbert, but in his queen, Bertha, they found a protector and in St. Martin's church a home. This was for a time the headquarters of the mission; ere long both king and people were converted to the faith, and the land was given upon which was afterward built the abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul. In a once Christian church there the king of Kent worshipped the gods of the heathen ; this he changed into a church again, and St. Augustine consecrated and dedicated it to St. Pancras. When we go back to the city, we will look at the ruins of this first abiding-place of the founders of the Church of England. St. Martin's consists of a nave, a chancel and a tower. The entire length of the building is less than eighty feet, and the chancel is nearly a yard longer than the nave. The walls are about twenty-two inches thick, and are of stone, rubble and Roman bricks. The tower was built in the fourteenth century and is covered with ivy. In the choir floor appears an altar-slab about eight feet long and having the usual stigmata and crosses one of the few stone altars which escaped utter destruction in the Reformation. It was, however, used as a monument, and is inlaid with memorial brasses. A Norman piscina in the south wall, possibly of Saxon date, wrought by itinerant masons from the Continent, is said to be the old- est in England, and there is an aumbry in the chancel of the fifteenth century. In the chancel is also shown a tomb said to contain the remains of Queen Bertha, but she was buried somewhere in or near the monastery. The font is one of the greatest objects of interest. Its age is un- IN THE . CA THEDRAL. 2 5 I known; ancient tradition affirms that in it St. Augustine baptized King Ethelbert on Whitsunday, 597. In the western wall, north of the tower, is a squint through which penitents could see the high altar ; there are also near the altar traces of the priest's door and of the lepers' window. The contrast between this plain, tiny edifice and the grand and glorious cathedral is very great, even as the brown shrivelled seed to the full-blown splendor of the flower. This is really the mother-church of our race. Through the changes and the chances of thirteen cen- turies we look back to the day when within these walls was gathered the handful of men who were to lay the foundations of a religious community that should spread through all the world and become second to none of the churches of Christendom. Stand in the western porch, in the gateway of the ivy-clad tower, on the ground where once stood St. Augustine, Queen Bertha, and many another Christian of the distant ages, and look upon the exquisite and inspiriting landscape. That view is a type of the spiritual garden of the Lord, as re- freshing as it is picturesque and as full of glory as it is rich in living green and pleasant memories. Under the yew tree close by lie the remains of Dean Alford, a man of varied gifts, at once a theologian and a poet, a musician, a carver and a painter, a preacher and a writer more than all else, a gentle and holy servant of God. The lich-gate is a fine piece of work. Near to it is a cross on the front of which is carved the name " Hew Whyte ;" on the back, " And Alys his wife." One passes away over sacred ground thankful for the mercy which has suffered one to see so holy a place. 252 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. The abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul was famous as much for the extent and the magnificence of its buildings as for the constant quarrellings of its members with the community at the cathedral. Among other causes of contention was that over the remains of the deceased archbishop. The monks of Christ church wanted him living and dead; the canons of St. Peter claimed his body for their own. Therefore, whenever a prelate died, the dispute arose, till at last the former prevailed. How- ever, within the porch of the great church which in time was erected lies the dust of St. Augustine and his six immediate successors ; but whereabouts the porch was no one living knows. Some parts of the building re- main the wall of the north aisle and some bases of columns, fragments of fallen arches and mounds. The old builders wrought well : a strong outer casing of good stone, then the interior filled with rubble, and finally molten cement, possibly near boiling, poured in. The result was a solid mass of unwearing masonry. To the east is the only remaining arch of St. Pancras church. Many parts of the monastery buildings are still standing the tall towers, the beautiful gateway and some por- tions of the dining-hall and the chapel. The wealth and the position of the brotherhood were once great ; they entertained kings and prelates and feasted six thousand guests at a time. Changes came, and in the end of the fifteenth century they had scarcely bread to eat. Perhaps this was prophetical of the degradation to which the place itself was destined to fall. Henry VIII. appropriated it, converting the grounds into a deer-park and the buildings into a palace ; Queen Elizabeth kept court here in 1573; Charles I. was married here, and IN THE CATHEDRAL. 253 Charles II. was here entertained on his passage at the Restoration. The abbey and its precincts of sixteen acres enclosed by a wall passed to various lay pos- sessors ; it was finally neglected, suffered to go to ruin, and the people of the neighborhood freely appropriated its materials for building-purposes. Less than half a century since, this place, sacred for its memories and famous for its work, was woefully desecrated by having within its courts a brewery, a skittle-alley and a public- house. Gamesters, pleasure-seekers, idlers and riff-raff, drunken and irreverent, wandered at will over ground and within walls rich in the memorials of saints and kings and for ages consecrated to religious purposes. In 1844 the premises were bought by an earnest and devout churchman, Sir Beresford Hope, and converted into a college for the training of a missionary clergy ; of the good which the noble institution has accom- plished the hundreds of missionaries scattered through- out the world testify. The men of St. Augustine are to be found in Canada, Australia, Africa, India, and else- where ; wherever found, they display a piety, an earnest- ness and a power unexcelled by any and worthy of their Alma Mater. Parts of the ancient buildings are utilized in the modern college; the same water-springs which supplied the old monks supply their successors. In the modern cloisters are painted on the wall the names of the graduates of the college and the dioceses to which they were sent ; to the names of those who have passed away are added the letters R. I. P. There is a chapel in which these latter names are also reverently inscribed, and an altar where probably commemorative services are held. In the college chapel everything denotes good 254 THE HEART OP MERRIE ENGLAND. churchmanship ; the altar is suitably furnished and ap- propriate vestments are used. In the hall under the library is the museum, in which is a fair collection of curiosities sent by the missionaries from their several fields of labor. Thus the beauty of holiness and the life of usefulness have come back again to the old mon- astery. There were difficulties in the way. It is said that when St. Augustine converted the heathen temple into the church of St. Pancras the devil was so annoyed at the change that he sought with all his might to overturn the building. He only succeeded in leaving the print of his talons in the walls of the south porch. It may have been the work of the ivy, but that is immaterial ; let the legend stand : the cross won. So in this later regeneration right prevailed over wrong and light over darkness. Our visit to Canterbury is at an end. Full of pleas- ant recollections, we take the train for London. In the same railway compartment with us are three or four boys of King's School on their way home for the holidays. What happy, jolly little fellows they are ! How politely they offer us the newspapers they have with them, and with what free, undisguised delight one of them shows us his prize book ! Their bright laugh rings in our ears, and somehow or other we forget the dark sculptured faces in the cathedral and see only the clear faces of these merry schoolboys. CHAPTER XI. " Here his first infant lays sweet Shakespeare sung; Here his last accents faltered on his tongue." IT was on a bright, warm August morning that I started in the carrier's stage for Stratford-on-Avon. The road is one of the best and pleasantest in England, pass- ing, as it does, through several villages and a country fertile, well wooded and highly cultivated. By this way it is next to certain Shakespeare himself travelled, as people have done for centuries, to London. As in his day, so now, the noble spire of Tredington church is a landmark for many a long mile, and the Stour wanders between the willows and through the fields by the road- side. There was a pleasant look of old-time life in the cottages and inns, at the latter of which the coach stop- ped to receive messages and passengers, and where the trimly-dressed hostess, full of sunshiny smiles and well- satisfied authority, or the wide-awake hostler or boy-of- all-work, gave the " Good-morning !" and sought for cus- tomers. To some of the travellers it was evidently a thirsty day, and, as the temperance movement has not to any great extent affected this part of the world, huge potions of bright, foaming ale were consumed at every stopping-place. The driver was happy and obliging, 17 255 2$6 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. ready at all times to have a chat or to give information ; three or four of the passengers were merry, and enliv- ened the journey with odd rhymes, humorous stories and witty repartees. One old fellow, full of fun and beer, puzzled a boy who went riding awkwardly by on a horse by asking him " if he would not be safer riding inside." The lad stopped to scratch his head and to think. In the meadows the haymakers were busily at work; here and there the forge-fire gleamed out of the dark shop, and the anvil ceased to ring as the leathern- aproned smith, holding the hot horseshoe in his pincers, stopped to look at us ; the birds darted out of the hedges at the crack of the whip or the bark of the dog ; car- riages, horsemen and pedestrians passed us looking cheery and bright as the day itself; and, now out in the open road, now under the cool green shade of overhang- ing trees, we rolled over our ten miles, feeling that, after all, there were some pleasures connected with stage-trav- elling which railways cannot give. The sun was high toward noon when we. entered the remarkably clean and pretty town on the Avon. What a delightful out-of-the-world place it is ! And what strangely-sweet emotions fill one's soul as one remem- bers that this quiet, contented burgh, with its beautiful surroundings, prosperous-looking people and antique spirit brooding over all, was once the home of him whose glory is the glory of humanity and whose thought per- meates the world ! Here he was born ; here he loved and lived ; here he died. Stratford is all Shakespeare, and the town appears calmly conscious of the fact. It may have an older history, running back, as it does, be- yond the days of the so-called Saxon Heptarchy, full of AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 2$? interest, and possibly of romance, but all else is forgot- ten in the one mighty thought of Shakespeare. Even as the sun at its rising dims the stars whose brilliancy made the night-sky splendid, so this man, full of most marvellous power, outshines all who lived before him. Doubtless the place always had attractions, but " Fairer seems the ancient borough, And its sunshine seems more fair, That he once has trod its pavement, That he once has breathed its air." Beyond the town and across the meadows, some twenty minutes' walk, is Shottery, the village-home of Ann Hathaway. There is no difficulty in recognizing the cottage, the pictures of it being very like. It is at the far side of the little village, its end to the lane-like road and its front largely hidden with honeysuckles and roses. It is of the dark timber framing filled up with bricks and plaster commonly looked upon as Eliza- bethan or I might almost say Shakesperean with deep gables and roof thatched with straw and dotted with moss and lichen. A gate opens into the garden, and a narrow pathway partly paved with irregular pieces of stone and brick and running up two or three uneven steps leads therefrom to the strange-looking old door. The clumsy wooden latches, lifted with a string, the end of which is put through a hole and hangs outside, are still there. Nor are the oak pegs with which the frame- work of the simple structure was fastened together cut off. The appearance of the place, unchanged as it is for the most part, gives a fair idea of the houses of the well-to-do villagers three centuries since. Odd and un- 2$8 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. pretentious, it has, nevertheless, an air of homely com- fort about it a simplicity and a restfulness in which suggestions of happy, uneventful country life come to the mind as tenderly and sweetly as the matin-chimes murmur in the still summer air. The old lady who lives there, a descendant of the Hathaways, was very genial and communicative in showing me around. The house inside is pretty much the same as of old the ample and comfortable kitchen- room, with its chimney-place, in which are the old bacon cupboards, as it was when Willie Shakespeare courted sweet Mistress Ann. Here, possibly in this old chair or on that rude settle, he sat and told her the story of his love. These very walls, this antique panelled wain- scoting, these low darkened beams of the ceiling and these stones of the floor, could they but speak, would repeat the assurances and the vows of the ardent youth. With some such lines as these he wooed : ' Would ye be taught, ye feathered throng, With love's sweet notes to grace your song, To pierce the heart with thrilling lay, Listen to mine Ann Hathaway. She hath a way to sing so clear Phoebus might wond'ring stop to hear j To melt the sad, make blithe the gay, And Nature charm, Ann hath a way, She hath a will, She hath a way, To breathe delight, Ann Hathaway. " When Envy's breath and ranc'rous tooth Do soil and bite fair worth and truth, And merit to distress betray, To soothe the heart, Ann hath a way ; A T STRA TFORD- ON- A VON. 259 She hath a way to chase despair, To heal all grief, to cure all care, Turn foulest night to fairest day, Thou know'st, fond heart, Ann hath a way. She hath a will, She hath a way, To make grief bliss, Ann Hathaway." Some have held that the married life of these two was not happy, but the most reliable evidence goes the other way. Undoubtedly, Shakespeare found in Ann Hathaway a good and loving wife, and she found in him a true and noble-hearted husband. If in his will he left her only his second-best bed, it was probably be- cause ample provision had been otherwise made for her. At any rate, the tradition runs that she earnestly desired to be laid in the same grave with him. It does not fol- low, however, because he was the poet of the world, that his sweethearting was more romantic, soul-absorb- ing, beautiful, than that of other men. It may have been utterly prosaic and commonplace: such, indeed, is the reaction frequently found in the realities of the life of one of rare imaginative powers; but, somehow or other, as you walk about this old cottage, you feel that it was not that. The full, deep eyes of the man indicate a warmth and depth of soul, a force which would gather the very sweetness of roses into a sweep- ing wind of irresistible passion. And Ann? What was she ? Great geniuses make sad mistakes, but one does not like to think of the master-reader of human character doing so in this respect. Doubtless she was a comely village-maiden not a sylph such as Miranda or a glowing beauty such as Juliet, but a true, home- 26O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. like Warwickshire damsel, even such a one as sweet Mistress Page. Well, here in the venerable cottage she was wooed and won by Stratford Will. There is no reason to doubt the tradition that this is the very house, though, when one has carefully examined all the evidence in its sup- port, it is not so absolutely convincing as one would like it to be. The feeling, however, is not confined to Ann Hathaway's cottage : it comes up again in no less a place than the room in which the poet is said to have been born. Such scepticism is wicked, perhaps unreasonable, but it underlies most of the traditional testimony, never- theless. In a room up stairs the best bedroom of the Hath- aways is an old carved bedstead probably of Eliza- bethan age ; there are also several chests and a stool of the same period. The pleasant old lady already men- tioned showed me a sheet woven and made three hun- dred years ago, when by such work the maids of the family earned their title of " spinster." It is neatly spun and has a line of inserted embroidery up the middle. The flooring, the walls and the beams of the house are unaltered ; the queer little staircase, the diamond-paned dormers, the small low- ceiled rooms, the rude latches to the heavy, worm-eaten doors, the veritable old furniture and the wide fireplace with its cosey corners have an in- terest delightful and absorbing. Judging from the house, the Hathaways were plain and fairly well-to-do people. In front of the cottage is the old well, which tradition says is as it was in Shakespeare's days when, perhaps, Master Will drew a bucket to save Mistress Ann the labor. From the little garden my agreeable guide gath AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 26 1 ered me a small posy of flowers not, I presume, the lineal descendants of the flowers Ann Hathaway tended, if she tended any, but surely such as she and her Will saw and plucked as they rambled arm in arm through the lanes and the gardens of this sweet village. There are still the flowers and the herbs which were popular in the olden time rue, thyme, lavender, marigold, rose- mary and celandine and in the orchard, full of knolls and hollows, are apples, pears, cherries and plums. From the seat near the cottage door much the same scene now presents itself as the lovers beheld long, long ago the hills of Ilmington to the south in their wood- land glory, the spire of Stratford church peeping up over the elm trees, and here and there ancient cottages with their sun-browned thatched roofs ; a gentle land where life peacefully flows through time undisturbed by the ambitions of mighty cities like, indeed, unto the silvery Avon as it restfully meanders amid the bright green meadows. The walk across the fields to Stratford is very pleasant. I could get no certain information as to the age of this footpath, but for long after the poet's time the Shottery people continued to attend Stratford church, and there was naturally constant communication between the village and the town. On re-entering the town I passed along the chestnut walk and soon found myself at the old grammar-school. This was founded in 1482 and is a plain building of two stories, the lower of which was the guild-hall, where the citizens met in council and where plays were sometimes performed, and the upper the schoolroom. It is easy to picture Shakespeare wending his way to this fount of learning, plodding over his lessons as with slow steps he 262 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. approached and ascended its stairs, and then listening, as boys everywhere listen, with more or less attention to the instruction given by the prodigiously-learned school- master ; but such a picture depends solely upon imag- ination. It may not be autobiographically for Shake- speare may have been a ready and an industrious scholar but the melancholy Jacques speaks of " The whining schoolboy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school ;" and it may have been the recollection of his pedagogue, his Sir Hugh Evans, that led the poet to say of Malvo- lio, " He does smile his face into more lines than are in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies." I have no doubt the wool-stapler's son went here to school ; I have also no doubt the Stratford people have been gen- erous in their discovery of traditions, and have made leaps at conclusions possible only to intellectual acrobats. These old, overhanging, black-beamed houses, however, have an interest apart from Shakespeare : they speak of that grand old world in which lived he and many of the noblest and the mightiest of England's sons. Joining the grammar-school is the chapel of the guild of the Holy Cross, " a right goodly Chapell," as Leland describes it, dating from the time of Henry VII., but looking very worn and much older. The iconoclasts of the Reformation and of the Puritan ages did not leave it untouched ; some of its images were destroyed and its mural paintings were whitewashed over. Among the latter was a remarkably fine picture of the martyrdom of St Thomas of Canterbury and a series upon the his- AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 263 tory, and especially the invention and the exaltation, of the holy cross. The antique porch with its quaint gar- goyles attracts attention. On the left-hand outside cor- ner of this doorway is the singularly grotesque head of a man with his fingers in the corners of his mouth, stretching it open as schoolboys sometimes do, so that the water may spout through. A few years, and age and weather will have entirely obliterated this bit of odd humor. The building is in the Decorated style, and in its fine old tower is said to be one of the sweetest bells ever made by man. This bell uttered its " sweete and perfect sownde " not only for divine service, but also to gather the members of the guild. As everybody knows, the guilds were the friendly societies of the Middle Ages, and their usefulness as bonds of social and com- mercial unity and their care for the poor and the needy made them popular among the people. In this place not only the grammar-school, but also a row of ancient alms- houses, testifies to the benefit and -the charity of the local guild. However, Henry VIII. confiscated their property throughout the kingdom and appropriated their wealth to distribute among his friends and to his own purposes. A crueler or a more ungodly act of vandalism was never perpetrated in the name of religion. Across the street is the " New Place " where Shake- speare lived in his latter days, and where he died. Here we may picture the poet, beloved and laurel-crowned, resting in his quiet home-life amidst congenial surround- ings and visited by cherished friends and acquaintances. The eventide of his life, so uncertain are its details, seems filled with the calm, misty glory which dims and yet makes radiant the objects upon which it falls. The 264 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. house was in Shakespeare's time one of the most import- ant and largest in the town. It had an orchard and a garden stretching down to the Avon. Now a few pieces of the foundation alone remain; the rest was pulled down in the last century by an amiable clergyman, but the true reason therefor is wrapped in mystery. The garden is beautifully kept the garden in which the poet walked and entertained his friends, and through the trees of which he saw the walls and the tower of the guild chapel. Sit down within the tree-shade on one of these rustic benches or, better still, on the green-sodded bank itself and think of him who once trod this very ground and whose flowers once grew in this very soil. Here rare Ben Jonson may have walked arm in arm with him, perchance across such another velvety lawn as that one, and here were told stories and came to life creations which shall for ever hold man spellbound. In the dark- ening twilight, when the sweet chanting of the evensong from the neighboring chapel lingers in the summer air as in days of yore, and the sky is bright with sprinkled splendor, this is the spot to realize the force of Lorenzo's lines : " How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica ; look how the floor of heaven Is thick-inlaid with patines of bright gold : There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins ; Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it." AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 26$ A great many tourists were here at the same time as myself, looking with great reverence upon these remains of the man all men adore. I only hope that they, and others such as they, will think kindly of the pilgrims who in mediaeval times frequented sacred shrines. This modern age regards the visit to the town of Shakespeare as the right thing, and the reverent pilgrimage to his grave and the gazing upon his relics as highly com- mendable ; it looks back upon the journey to the tomb of Edward the Confessor or to that of Thomas a Becket as rank superstition. It is twenty years since I made my first visit to the poet's birthplace, in Henley street, but my interest in that sacred spot has grown with time and is as fresh as ever. What a centre of the world's homage! What multitudes have entered this old cottage ! The eye no longer rests upon the ancient Tudor tenements of the neighborhood with their dark timbers, gables, jutting windows and signboards, nor upon the undrained and badly-paved streets where pigs wallowed in the mire and fowl scratched among the garbage ; but this house re- mains to link us with the past and with this same Shake- speare. I suppose he sat on that seat in the great roomy fireplace, looked out of this oddly-glazed window and played on this floor. Any way, this was the scene of his childhood a dark old place, but no doubt very comfortable in bygone days. Up stairs is the room in which the poet was born. Does any one doubt its being the very room ? The world believes it implicitly, yet the minor facts of Christianity rest upon a foundation which is as eternal rock compared with the evidence for this tradition. It is, however, highly probable that the 266 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. tradition is correct : who could reasonably question, if it occurred in. this house, that the birth would be ar- ranged for in the best bedroom? The walls and the ceiling are covered with autographs an evidence of the intense interest the world has in this small chamber. There are also some names scratched on the window- panes. This way of immortalizing one's self is now de- nied the public: visitors are required to write their names and their residences in a book prepared for that purpose. There are a few odd pieces of furniture in the room, but there is no proof that they have any connec- tion with Shakespeare. When the bare unsightly walls were covered with arras, the place presented a more comfortable appearance than it now does. Other rooms, heavy beamed, low roofed and dimly lighted, suggest pleasant visions of the simple Stratford family. An old desk, massive and cumbersome, is shown ; it is said to be the one Shakespeare used in the grammar-school. It is interesting for that tradition, and he may have sat at it in common with other scholars ; but it is even more interesting as affording an illustration of the universality of schoolboy nature through all the ages. It is whittled and carved in true style, covered with initials and de- vices even such as would become our youth of to-day. The portrait in the iron safe up stairs is said to be gen- uine. Many others are shown in the museum, each different in some respects from the others, and yet all noticeably agreeing in the high, wide forehead and the full, clear eye. In this same museum an adjoining cot- tage opening into the kitchen-room of Shakespeare's house are preserved the early editions of the poet's works, books illustrating them and his life, documents A T STRA TFORD- ON- A VON. 267 in some way connected with him, and many other relics, some of them very full of interest. The tradition of the Bidford drinking-bout and the crab-tree slumber is carefully preserved by pictures, etc. The very chair from the " Falcon Inn," in that village, in which Shakespeare tat at his revels, is shown. It is old enough to have served for that purpose, but, unfortunately, there is little certainty of the truth of the legend. This Bidford was famous in those days for its company of ale-soaked to- pers, and, as drinking-matches were then common, one Whitmonday so runs the story some Stratford men, Will Shakespeare among the number, went to that place to test its nut-brown ale and to challenge its boast of the championship of England. The " topers " were away on a match at Evesham at the time, and only the " sippers " remained to defend the renown of their village. The Stratford men soon found that they were no match for their opponents, and, being anxious to get home while they had some strength and skill left, beat a hasty re- treat. When half a mile on the way, they were quite overcome, and were obliged to lie down under a crab tree by the roadside, where they slept till next morning. Some would then have returned to the attack, but the youthful Will had had enough of " drunken Bidford." There may be some allusion to such drinking-matches in the resolve of Slender: "I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick ; if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves." The story, though long believed by Stratfordians and not al- together improbable, is, most likely, a fabrication alas ! in spite of the fact that the crab tree kept its place till 268 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. the winter of 1824. As one wanders about the house so fragrant with associations of deepest interest one feels that the strangest thing of all is that of a man so great as was this man we really know so little. From Henley street to the parish church, dedicated to the Holy Trinity and retaining its ancient collegiate priv- ileges, is a walk of ten minutes. A noble lime-tree avenue leads up from the gateway to the principal porch. Some portions of the sacred edifice are Early English and Deco- rated, but the best parts are Perpendicular. The clerestory of the nave is remarkably well lighted with Decorated windows unusually large and close together. In the north aisle was once a chapel dedicated to the Blessed Virgin ; in the south, one to St. Thomas of Canterbury. Now in the former are several altar-tombs, mostly of the Clop- ton family and having upon them some well-executed recumbent effigies. The chancel was built in the latter part of the fifteenth century by Dr. Thomas Balsall, dean of Stratford, and is a perfect and beautiful specimen of Perpendicular work. There, inside the altar-rails, is the grave of the poet. Not long since it was outside, but the constant press of visitors began to wear away the stone, and so the rails were moved forward to a lower step. What can I say of this sacred spot that others have not said ? Here is something tangible of Shake- speare something that brings home to you the fact of his existence. In his marvellous work you overlook the fact of his personality : the creator is forgotten for the nonce in the loveliness and the might of the creation ; but as you look upon this plain slab with its oft-re- peated inscription you realize the very truth of him who is primus inter pares the prince through all the ages, AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 269 outshining even the pure glory of Homer and Dante. Sweet Will ! grand as thou art in thine unapproachable splendor, thy majesty greater than that of the kings whom thou hast made to live in thy wondrous lines, how dear thou art to the hearts of all men ! No ; none shall touch thy sacred dust : thou shalt sleep in peace till " The dreadful trumpet sound the general doom." Is not the fact that Shakespeare is here buried a suffi- cient refutation of the story invented by some one that he died a papist ? Over his open grave was read the office of the Church of England an act which would not have been done or been allowed by either Anglicans or Latins had he been a member of the Roman obedi- ence. In that age of bitter Protestantism neither his po- sition nor his talents would have overcome the scruples of his townsmen intensely Puritanical as they were and led them to honor him as they did. In one of the graveyards of Fredericksburg, Va., there is a relic to which we may here direct attention. It is a slab of red sandstone, on which may be deciphered these words : Here lies the body of EDWARD HELDON, Practitioner in Physics and Chi- rurgery. Born in Bedfordshire, England, in the year of our Lord 1542. Was contemporary with, and one of the pall bearers of William Shakespeare of the Avon. After a brief illness his spirit ascended in the year of our Lord 1618 aged 76. 2/0 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. On the one side of the poet's grave lies his wife, once sweet mistress Ann, and on the other side his favorite daughter, Susanna, wife of John Hall. His daughter Judith is also buried there. Other graves and tombs are close by beside the altar a monument to Shake- speare's friend, John Combe, and on the south side of the sanctuary one, much defaced, to the builder of this part of the church. On the wall over the west end of the latter monument is the famous bust of Shakespeare. This was erected perhaps earlier, but certainly within seven years of his death, and, as it is generally admitted to have been worked from a cast of his features, it is the only known trustworthy representation of him. Here may be seen his fine, full, round face, towering brow, light-hazel, large-orbed eyes, auburn hair and beard, ex- pressive lips and well-set chin. The signs of genius are there, if they have ever been expressed in the counte- nance of man. The scarlet doublet and the black sleeve- less gown in which he is clad bring him before us as he was when on high-days and holidays he walked along the streets of London and of Stratford. The timber roof of the chancel is fine ; at the ends of the beams are well-carved figures holding armorial shields on their breasts. At the corbels on which these beams rest are also sculptured figures in stone which join the smaller figures at the end of the mouldings over the window arches. The three figures in a row, recurring several times, have a singular effect. The great Perpen- dicular window in the east, resplendent with the glory of stained glass, and the American window, in like manner glorious, are very good ; and the doorway on the north side, near the altar-rails, once leading, I believe, to a AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. great charnel-house long since pulled down, has at the terminations of its arch-moulding or, rather, had, for they are nearly obliterated carvings of St. Christopher and the Annunciation. The niches and the miserere seats are deserving of notice ; also the old carved pews. In the south transept is the font in which Shakespeare was baptized, also an altar-tomb dating about 1593, with an inscription in Hebrew, Greek, Latin and English. It is needless to record the several inscriptions relating to the poet, but the following is a copy of that belonging to this tomb: " Heare borne, heare lived, heare died, and buried heare, Lieth Richarde Hil, thrise bailif of this borrow ; Too matrones of good fame he married in Codes feare, And now releast in joi, he reasts from worldie sorrow. " Heare lieth entomb'd the corps of Richarde Hil, A woollen draper beeing in his time ; Whose virtues live, whose fame dooth flourish stil, Though hee desolved be to dust and slime. A mirror he, and paterne mai be made For such as shall suckcead him in that trade ; He did not used to sweare, to glose, eather faigne, His brother to defraude in barganinge ; Hee woold not strive to get excessive gaine In any cloath or other kind of thinge ; His servant, S. I. this trueth can testifie, A witness that beheld it with mi eie." Dugdale preserved the following copy of verses in- scribed on the tombstone of Susanna Hall, but after- ward obliterated to make room for the record of a certain Richard Watts: 18 272 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. " Heere lyeth y* body of Svsanna wife to lohn Hall gent : y e daughter of William Shakespeare, gent: Shee deceased y e ijth of iuly A. 1649, aged 66. Witty above her sexe, but that's not all, Wise to salvation was good Mistris Hall. Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse. Then, Passenger, hast ne're a teare, To weepe with her that wept with all ? That wept, yet set her selfe to chere Them up with comforts cordiall. Her love shall live, her mercy spread, When thou ha'st ner'e a teare to shed." The external appearance of the church in grace and dignity well becomes the mausoleum of Shakespeare. It is cruciform, the battlemented tower, surmounted by a modern spire, rising from the intersection of the nave and choir and the two transepts. Outside the chancel, at the heads of the buttresses and along the panelled and embattled parapet, are many grotesque figures toads, dragonflies, fish, etc. Such representations of natural objects on the outside are not uncommon in churches of this and of earlier periods. Sometimes they are grotesque, sometimes fairly accurate repre- sentations birds, beasts, reptiles and fishes. Possibly the intention of the old artists in putting these figures outside was to indicate that the animal creation was ex- ternal to the realm and object of grace. They are rare- ly never in a grotesque form or otherwise than as sym- bols of some virtue or personage placed inside the building, and yet, on the other hand, designs of flow- ers seem to have no restrictions : if anything, they pre- dominate in the interior. Flowers, however, in them- AT STRATFORD- ON- A VON. selves so beautiful, are the fittest and the sweetest sym- bols of that which is heavenly and divine. They are fragments of glory cast-off bits of celestial material which ere they fell to earth were touched by the sweep- ing robes of angels, and thus received a beauty and a hue, alas ! such as can only be evanescent in a world such as ours. The sweet Avon flows gently by this noble house of God, and the meadows beyond look lovely in their sum- mer dress. In the churchyard are many old tombstones. The orthography of one on the south side of the church struck me as peculiar. The inscription is to the memory of two women who died in the spring of 1699, aged, re- spectively, eighty-seven and thirty-seven years. Where- abouts they are buried I do not know, for the stone has been removed from its original position to serve as a sort of curbstone where it now is. This desecration, so sug- gestive of an unsympathetic spirit and deserving of every condemnation, is not uncommon in the old English churchyards, though it is possibly confined to the util- itarians of some few generations since. My transcrip- tion is carefully exact: with the exception of the k in " Stroks," which is a capital, it is precisely as it is en- graved on the stone. " Death creeps Abought on hard And Steals Abroad on Seen Hur darts are Suding and hur arous Keen Hur Stroks are deadly com* they soon or late When being Strock Repentance is to Late Death is A minute ful of Suden Sorrow Then Live to day as thou mayest dy to morow." Curious ways of giving dates also attract attention. Of 274 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. a woman it is said she died " in the 40 Second year of her age." Sometimes the old gravestone-cutters chipped out the tens first and then the units ; thus, for 34 we find 304. There is a right of way through the churchyard, and the walk by the Avon is exceedingly pleasant. On a stone near that walk is the name " Davidona," unique in my experience and not mentioned by Miss Charlotte Yonge. There is an old stone seat I fancy it was once a tomb where visitors may sit in the shade of the trees and look upon the river and the fields beyond. How softly the warm beams fall through the leafy branches and play like bright-robed seraphs amongst the graves and on the cool, tiny wavelets ! . There are a few trees farther down to suggest the willow-shaded stream of Ophelia; the fish leap to the fly in the sunshine and merry ripples play around the boats with young men and women rowing hither and thither. Such a restful sum- mer scene as this Shakespeare must have looked upon ; nay, he undoubtedly wandered up and down that gentle river, peering into its banks for the holes of otter and of rat, seeking to catch pike or perch or trout, perhaps going over love's sweet story to his dear Ann of Shottery, and perhaps dreaming out some of those creations which must be the wonder of the world till the end of time. It is all Shakespeare. The green grass, the willow and the lime trees, the sunshine, the glittering water, the noble church, the fields so fresh and living, the birds that flit from bough to pinnacle and from wall to tree, every- thing speaks of him. If elsewhere nature is the ex- pression, the robe, of Deity, here nature is filled with the spirit of the man to whom God gave a supreme, H Q M D w o A T STRA TFORD- ON- A VON. magnificent and unique gift. Who visiting this conse- crated place does not for ever after read Shakespeare with the greatest interest and the fullest appreciation ? Apart from the places associated with the poet there is nothing of much interest in the town. A few old houses remain very few, considering and one looks with pleasure upon their gabled roofs and the black timbers. The streets are very clean and well kept ; the shops, small and tidy. There is an appearance of pros- perity: Shakespeare is evidently to Stratford what Becket was to Canterbury, or, to put it differently, the one made and the other is making the trade and the life of their respective towns. The constant presence of vis- itors from many lands gives to the people something of a cosmopolitan polish and politeness ; their speech is fairly free from provincialisms, and they have as full and as just an appreciation of the distinction which their town has received by having greatness thrust upon it as they have a bright and attentive disposition toward both busi- ness and pleasure. I made several purchases, and in one shop bought a pair of " Shakespearean " gloves. The pretty twelve-year-old girl who sold them amused me by blushingly and naively saying, " Of course, sir, if they don't fit, we will change them." She did not understand that in a relic the matter of size is of little consequence. Four miles from Stratford is Charlecote, once the home of that Sir Thomas Lucy to whom Shakespeare gave an immortality of ridicule as Justice Shallow. The story runs that the poet, having fallen into ill company, made a practice of stealing the knight's deer, for which offence Sir Thomas naturally sought redress in prose- cution. Shakespeare was followed closely and severely, 2/6 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. . and in the spring of 1585 he resolved to leave his busi- ness and family in Stratford and to seek shelter in Lon- don. But before he left Warwickshire he wrote a bitter ballad upon Sir Thomas Lucy and nailed it on one of the posts of the park gate. Only one stanza of this ballad has been preserved, and, to say the least, there is little or none of the Shakespearean ring about it : " A parliament member, a justice of peace, At home a poor scarecrow, at London an asse ; If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it. He thinks himself great, Yet an asse in his state, We allowe of his ears but with asses to mate ; If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it, Then sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it."' N Passages in the Merry Wives of Windsor are said to con- tain allusions to the tradition, and to- the unfortunate knight so severely lampooned. Possibly there may be some truth in the legend, though it should be remem- bered that the earliest mention of it is about 1707, that none of Shakespeare's rivals, who were ready enough to pick flaws in him, ever twitted him with it, that the pun- ishment for deer-stealing was not, as the legend affirms, whipping, but imprisonment and fine, and, lastly, that Sir Thomas Lucy had no deer-park and no deer. Nev- ertheless Charlecote or Ceorlcote, the home of the hus- bandman, according to the Saxon is indissolubly con- nected with the poet, and they who visit Stratford should also go farther and see the ancient village. Well will they be repaid for so doing. Read these sympathetic lines from the pen of Charles Knight : " There stands, AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. with slight alterations and those in good taste the old mansion as it was reared in the days of Elizabeth. A broad avenue leads to its great gateway, which opens into the court and the principal entrance. We would desire to people that hall with kindly inmates, to imag- ine the fine old knight perhaps a little too puritanical, indeed, in his latter days living there in peace and hap- piness with his family ; merry as he ought to have been with his first wife, Jocosa (whose English name, Joyce, soundeth not quite so pleasant), whose epitaph, by her husband, is honorable alike to the deceased and to the survivor. We can picture him planting the second avenue, which leads obliquely across the park from the great gateway to the porch of the parish church. It is an avenue too narrow for carriages, if carriages had then been common ; and the knight and his lady walked in stately guise along that grassy pathway, as the Sunday bells summon them to meet their humble neighbors in a place where all are equal. Charlecote is full of rich woodland scenery. The lime-tree avenue may, perhaps, be of a later date than the age of Elizabeth, and one elm has evidently succeeded another, century after century. . But there are old gnarled oaks and beeches dotted about the park. Its little knolls and valleys are the same as they were two centuries ago. The same Avon flows be- neath the gentle elevation on which the house stands, sparkling in the sunshine as brightly as when that house was first built. There may we still lie ' Under an oak, where antique roots peep out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood,' and doubt not that there was the place to which 2/8 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. 1 a poor sequester' d stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish.' " There we may still see ' a careless herd, Full of the pasture,' leaping gayly along or crossing the river at their own will in search of fresh fields and low branches whereon to browse. The village of Charlecote is now one of the prettiest of objects. Whatever is new about it and most of the cottages are new looks like a restoration of what was old. The same character prevails in the neighboring village of Hampton Lucy, and it may not be too much to assume that the memory of him who walked in these pleasant places in his younger days, long before the sounds of his greatness had gone forth to the ends of the earth, has led to the desire to preserve here something of the architectural character of the age in which he lived." In Charlecote church is the tomb of Sir Thomas and Lady Lucy. The former died in 1600 a man high in position and worthily esteemed by his neighbors. On the front of the altar-shaped tomb are the figures of Sir Thomas and the Lady Joyce kneeling in prayer. Upon the top they lie in full-length effigy, dressed in the cos- tume of the period, with folded hands, and in the features of the old knight well executed and probably accurate we may discern a nobility of character far greater than a Justice Shallow could possibly have had. The wife's virtues are recorded on a black slab at the back of the tomb in the following touching and beautiful inscription: AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 2/9 "Here entombed lyeth the Lady Joyce Lucy, wife of Sir Thomas Lucy, of Cherlecote, in the county of Warwick, Knight, Daughter and Heir of Sir Thomas Acton, of Sutton, in the county of Worcester, Esquier, who departed out of this wretched world to her heavenly kingdome the tenth day of February, in the year of our Lord God 1595, of her age LX and three. All the time of her life a true and faithfull servant of her good God, never de- tected of any crime or vice ; in religion most sound ; in love to her husband most faithful and true ; in friendship most constant ; to what was in trust committed to her most secret ; in wisdome excelling ; in governing of her house, and bringing up of youth in the feare of God that did converse with her, most rare and singu- lar. A great maintainer of hospitality; greatly esteemed of her betters; misliked of none unless of the envious. When all is spoken that can be said, a woman so furnished and garnished with virtue, as not to be bettered, and hardly to be equalled by any. As she lived most virtuously, so she dyed most godly. Set down by him that best did know what hath been written to be true. THOMAS LUCY." A husband who could say so much of his wife could not have been deserving of such obloquy as that heaped upon him by an idle story of a youthful poacher. And now my day at Stratford began to darken for its close. In the still, warm twilight I set out on my return journey. The drive was full of pleasant thoughts and delightful reminiscences. The stone bridge of fourteen pointed arches over the Avon was built by a Clopton in the reign of Henry VII., and is still good and sound. Just on the other side is an inn named " The Shoulder of Mut- ton ;" the old sign, battered and broken, retains on it a figure with some resemblance to that joint of meat. The tavern was long since of more importance than it now is. As we pass through the villages on the way we notice the great number of children ; at one small place no less 280 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. than eighteen, all dirty from head to foot, gathered in the road to look at us. As the night-gloom thickens the stars peep out one by one, faint streams of light are cast across the road from cottage candles, bats and owls sweep leisurely by, and the eye grows weary of peering into the darkness. Nature has robed herself for rest. I ride silently along, half thinking, half dreaming, and, among other things, the old bridge over which we passed reminds me of the story of poor Charlotte Clopton. She was a sweet-looking girl so the authentic legend runs with pale-gold hair combed back from her forehead and falling in wavy ringlets on her neck, and with eyes that " looked like violets filled with dew." They who have seen her picture, which is still preserved, say she was full of grace and beauty. When Shakespeare was an infant, a plague broke out in the town and the neigh- borhood of Stratford, and from it this comely and noble- born maiden sickened, and to all appearance died. With fearful haste they laid her in the vaults of the Clopton chapel in the parish church. In a few days another of the family died ; but when they carried him down the gloomy stairs into the vault, by the torchlight they saw Charlotte Clopton, in her grave-clothes, leaning against the wall. They drew nearer ; she was indeed dead, but she had passed away in the agonies of despair and hun- ger. This fearful event, if it did not suggest, possibly helped the poet to realize, the well-known catastrophe of Romeo and Juliet. CHAPTER XII. " While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale." IT was on an October day in the year 1642 that the royalists and the Parliamentarians met on the battlefield of Edgehill. This fact has given an historic interest to one of the most lovely districts in the English Mid- lands, and attracts to the neighborhood many who are interested in the great struggle of the seventeenth cen- tury. There are also villages and hamlets scattered about this quiet region, both pretty and ancient, their names indicating early Saxon origin, and their peaceful life and their gentle beauty, as they nestle half playfully, half shyly, amidst the bright green trees, suggesting the simplicity and the happiness of Eden. Here one may still see England much as it was in the days of yore, and behold in their perfection the power and the charm of a rural life on which Nature has right royally bestowed some of her best gifts, and where the people are for the most part untouched by the realities of modern progress. Next to living in such an Arcadia, the best way to ap- preciate and understand it, to find out its secrets and to 281 282 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. enjoy its delights, is to pass leisurely and contentedly through it on foot. It is no use to hurry through, riding or driving as if time were of consequence; neither meadow nor village, neither woodland nor hill- side, will unfold its sweet mysteries to one who impa- tiently or thoughtlessly rushes along. Life is slow and quiet here, and they who cannot for the nonce enter into the same calm, steady spirit had better not visit the valley of the Red Horse nor climb the heights of Edgehill. At Shipston the shadows were long and the streets were still when in the bright summer morning I set out on my ramble through this part of the country. It was not for the first time in my life : every step and every scene of the way was familiar and awakened pleasant recollections and associations. I passed over the mill- bridge, beneath which the boys still wade and fish for minnows and sticklebacks, as they have done for gen- erations. The sunbeams flow through the willows on the bank and make the dewdrops sparkle and the tiny ripples on the clear water shimmer. A solitary frog plunges into the stream, the birds are twittering and looking eagerly for the early worm, and the cows in the meadow are busy at the mist-wet herbage. I cross the fields and soon reach Fell Mill lane, so called from a mill once used for felling cloth an ideal lane, tree- arched, hedge-hemmed and grass-bordered. Here you may hear the full, rich song of the blackbird and the thrush ; and if you will remain motionless for a while, you may see partridges feeding in the wheatfields close by, rabbits skipping in the green sward, and linnets, blackcaps and wrens nest-building or bathing in the TO EDGEHILL. 283 road dust. The woodpecker taps away at the withered branch in the elm and the rat comes sniffling up out of the ditch, undisturbed by the bleating of the sheep in the meadow or the barking of the dog at the distant farmyard or the cackling of the geese on their way to pasture or to water. Earlier in the year the cry of " Cuckoo !" falls upon your ear, and in the late twilight the melody of the nightingale flows from the wayside orchard. The moment you stir all is changed : the rats and the rabbits run, the partridges whir away, the birds fly off. As I walk on through the lane I meet two or three haymakers stolid-looking, stiff-moving, carrying their scythes and rakes, and also their earthen jug of small- beer. I wish them " Good-morning " and turn into the road running across the fields, in which sheep and cattle and horses are grazing, past the farm known as St. Den- nis, to Tysoe. In the still, bright morning the country appeared picturesque and pleasing. One could not tire of looking at the fresh green hedgerows, the tall tree- clumps, the fertile hills and the waving fields of corn. In the ponds which here and there occurred by the road- side ducks and geese were waddling or swimming and cows were cooling themselves and thoughtfully chewing the cud. Only once did I meet any one in the five miles between Fell Mill lane and Tysoe. Nor, indeed, did I wish to have the sweet solitude broken. Alone one can think aloud, hum over snatches of old melodies, recall passages of the poets, drop leisurely into desultory arguments with one's self, build castles as high and as glorious as the towers and the palaces of cloudland, take in the scenery around, and stop at one's own sweet 384 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. will to behold this attraction or to examine that cu- riosity. It was still early when I reached the little straggling village of Tysoe. The place is old ; the church is said to have been built two hundred years before the Nor- man Conquest, and some parts of it may indeed be as ancient. Between the nave and the chancel is a small bell- cot or turret apparently as old as the rest of the building, and possibly in days gone by containing the bell which was rung at the consecration and elevation of the Host. In the yard, full of graves, is part of an old stone cross. These crosses are of frequent occur- rence in ancient and mediaeval churchyards. After ser- vice did the people of bygone times adjourn from the church to the space immediately around such crosses as this to hear sermons ? The village is well supplied with arched fountains in the walls by the roadside. One of these fountains is surmounted by a cross and has run- ning along the line of the arch the appropriate words, " Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again, but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst." Doubtless many a weary- hearted villager who has come here to draw has realized the strength of these words, to the comfort of his soul. From Tysoe I passed along the road skirting the foot of Edgehill till I reached the Stratford and Banbury highway, leading directly up to the summit by the " Sun- Rising." This was formerly, in the days of stage-coach travelling and as far back as 1642, an inn of some celeb- rity, but it is now used as a farmhouse. Some who are now living remember when it was busy and prosperous, when " mine host " welcomed travellers to his friendly TO EDGEHILL. 285 portals and hostlers, drivers, farmers and wayfarers made the old kitchen or tap-room a scene of riotous joy. Now the only signs of life visible were an elderly lady in a morn ing- wrapper and curl-papers writing at a table near an open window, and a pretty and comely damsel stand- ing at another window thoughtfully looking down the hill for some chance being to come and break the matin monotony. Evidently she did not see a stranger every day ; for when I asked her if the bridle-path on the op- posite side of the road led to the " Tower," the rosy hue passed richly and softly over her cream-white cheeks and she answered me with a kindly tremulous voice. I won- der if such graceful maidens gladdened the eyes and the hearts of the Cavaliers in the days when they frequented this neighborhood ? The bridle-path runs along the top of the ridge, now across a pleasant clearing and now through the shady greenwood, while the view of the wide plain beneath is very fine such, so an old writer says, as Lot beheld in the valley of the Jordan before Sodom fell. I should have enjoyed it much more had it not been for the swarms of flies. If Pharaoh was plagued worse, I pity him. At times I was obliged to keep my handkerchief in constant motion, or I should have been eaten alive. The path is much used, for many initials and names are cut in the trunks of the beech trees on either side. Frequently I heard the prat- tle and the laughter of picnickers and down the hillside caught glimpses of groups of young men and women. Delightful is the charm of a day's oilting in the country, and especially in such a place as this, where mossy banks and crystal springs and deep shades and glorious vistas together help to satisfy the mind and to please the senses. 286 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. I throw my blackthorn on the ground, take off my strapped wallet containing luncheon and guide-books, and sit down on a grassy bank within the shadow of the beeches to take in the magnificent panorama and to think upon the past suggested by it. On fine days the view extends so it is said into fourteen counties. On one side are the Malverns and on the other is Charnwood Forest. Coventry, Warwick and Stratford, with their spires and towers, are visible, and on the distant horizon rest the gray-black clouds of Birmingham. A well- wooded plain, set with picturesque villages and farms, threaded by the Avon, enriched with fertile fields and noble orchards, traversed by ancient roads and bordered by the glowing haze of a brilliant summer sky ! The eye rarely beholds a more lovely or extensive landscape or one in which Nature has been more prodigal of her rich- est gifts not, indeed, the romance and the splendor of the mountain and the forest, but the quieter graces of a low, level country in which prosperity contentedly smiles in the sunshine and beauty seems to move under the vision like tinted waves of some wide emerald sea. As I look upon the picture I remember the word of old : " And God saw everything that he had made, and, be- hold, it was very good." Yes, very good ; and yet the ancient rabbis used to say that " God had taken of the dust under the throne of his glory and cast it upon the waters, which thus became earth." What, then, must be the land beyond the clouds ? If this glorious scene is but the shadow of the heavenly splendor, what must be the substance? And yet down in yonder fields, now lying so calm and peaceful, the angry and sinful pas- sions of man have arisen, brother has fought against TO EDGEHILL. . 287 brother and father against son, and the land has been defiled with blood. In the pages of Clarendon may be found the best de- scription of the famous battle. Near where I am now sitting the king viewed the progress of the struggle. In the plain below, the Parliamentarians, under the command of the earl of Essex, were encamped, twelve thousand strong. On the heights, of about equal strength, were the royal troops, one wing near the Sun-Rising, the main body where the Tower now stands, and the other wing commanding the road to Kineton. The key of the po- sition was thus in the hands of the king ; and, had his men remained on the hill and waited for Essex to attack, a decisive victory would in all probability have ended the conflict and changed the course of English history. The Puritans were stirred to vigor and zeal by the ex- hortations of their ministers. The red horse cut in the side of the hill opposite Tysoe became to them " the red horse of the wrath of the Lord," which he caused " to ride furiously to the ruin of the enemy." In the neighborhood the people, largely persuaded by the rebels that the Cavaliers were cruel and wicked and that they robbed and evilly treated the inhabitants wherever they went, hid their goods and sought to protect themselves against the coming of the king. " The very smiths hid themselves, that they might not be compelled to shoe horses." Through the day the two armies watched each other. An October Sunday, possibly the sound of the chiming bells in yonder towers came softly across the plain and some few pious souls on either side prayed that God would defend the right. At three o'clock in the afternoon the battle began, and the sun went down 19 288 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. and a thousand and half a thousand men lay dead upon the field. They were buried where they fell ; five hun- dred were thrown into a pit near to an elm-clump, Neither side had the victory, and neither side was de- sirous of renewing the combat. In the cold, frosty night the king's soldiers, shelterless and hungry, straggled into the villages to beg for food, but, as Clarendon puts it, many " were knocked in the head by the common peo- ple." Ere long the armies marched away, the ancient quiet returned, and the red coats of the king's men and the orange scarfs of his enemies were seen no more. It is now an old study, that seventeenth century, and most people have long since ceased to hold exclusively with either side, but it is well to remember that the Puri- tans had no more a monopoly of the virtues of the age than had the Cavaliers of the vices. There were good men and bad men in both parties. The bad we may well pass by, but among the good none can forget such men as George Herbert and John Milton, the two poets of the period, nor Jeremy Taylor or Richard Baxter, two of its most eminent divines. It is true that Milton was a Puritan ; it is also true that Milton describes the saintly Bishop Andrewes entering paradise vested in the robes of his order. Yet to the churchman and the royalist the bare thought of lifting up the hand against the Lord's anointed was abhorrent. Charles was the king ; the crown had been set upon his brow and the consecrated oil had been poured upon his head, remov- ing him from among men, making him on earth the vicegerent of God and rendering his person sacred and his will law. The divine right of kings may be set aside now, but it was held then, and held, too, by many of the TO EDGEHILL, 289 purest souls and the most thoughtful minds in England ; they, at least, could not understand how men dared to resist the prince. Others besides them could not un- derstand men who would abolish the ancient Church of the land, with its bishops, ritual and customs, and turn the sanctuaries of God, where beauty dwelt with holi- ness and splendor cast its vestment upon righteousness, from temples of worship into places of meeting. Ser- mons were good, but services were better ; and when the Puritan had the power when he had poured out the blood of the king and the primate of all England on the scaffold, and thrust the bishops out of their sees and the parsons out of their parishes, and made it crim- inal for any to use the Book of Common Prayer then were many hearts grieved and many souls oppressed. None can ever tell the full story of the cruelty and the wrong which the Puritan wrought in those days. He did in the seventeenth century what the papist had done in the sixteenth persecuted the Church, condemned the Liturgy, exiled the clergy. Rome and Geneva have clasped hands against Anglicanism. No ; Walker's Sufferings of the Clergy is quite as dependable as Neal's History of the Puritans, and John Evelyn is worth more than Samuel Pepys. If in the reign of Elizabeth, and again in the reign of Charles II., the Church sought to drive her adversaries from the land, she but did that which she was forced to do for her own preservation. Doubtless there was wrong on both sides, but as of seed cast in the ground the bad perishes and the good re- mains, so that which was of evil among them has passed away and that which was of God abides even in our midst. 290 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. The country-people here do not know much beyond the facts that there was once a battle and that Oliver Cromwell did wonderful things toward settling the grievances of the poor. Some of them have heard of Julius Caesar, for one asked me the other day which came first in English history, the Roman or the Puri- tan. The man seemed hurt, as though I had detracted from the fame of Oliver, when I told him that the great Commonwealth man lived in the century before the last ; he had heard of him all his life, and therefore thought he was a hero of far-distant times. But exactly what Cromwell did beyond upsetting affairs generally and satisfactorily, or what was actually done at Edgehill, the men who plough yonder fields or tend the sheep in these pastures close by have no idea. They know some ghostly legends, though, and in the dull October even- ings, when the mists hang along the hillside and the gray shadows overspread the plain, they will hurry along these roads and paths, fearing and trembling lest they should see some of the dead ones who haunt the place. " Apparitions and prodigious noyses of war and battels," as an old writer affirms, have been seen and heard here ; and though in a clear, warm August noon- tide it is not so easy to people the plain with " incorpo- real substances " as it might be in the dim wintry twi- light, yet there comes to my mind an old story told me long ago by one whose years began before the last cen- tury ended, and who knew from his boyhood every nook and corner, every legend and tradition, of these parts. Among those who fought and fell in this battle so runs the story was a knight of noble birth and of brave and loyal soul. When living, he had made the welkin TO EDGEHILL. ring with his manly voice, and around his hearth clus- tered many a true and kindred spirit. No stint of hos- pitality was there in his day ; no lack of free souls to hail the baron of beef and the tankard of mead. He is said to have been the last gentleman in the neighbor- hood who took his greyhounds and his hawk to church. Such a good man, beloved as he was by all who knew him and having died in the noblest cause for which one can die that of king and country ought to have rested contentedly in his grave ; but no : for many years on the anniversary-night of the battle he was seen riding along the heights of Edgehill on a steed of fiery hue. Noiselessly the horse rushed hither and thither, and the rider at times gesticulating fiercely with his sword, as though urging his troops to the front, and at times spurring his beast and bending forward his body, so as to pass swiftly on, but never uttering or causing sound, though clad in the armor of an earthly warrior had a careworn, shrivelled visage which all who saw it said belonged to the nether realm. For weeks, till the winter's rains washed them away, the imprints of the hoofs in the soil glowed brightly in the darkness. Some had seen them ; some, more venturous than others, had tried to touch them, but there was nothing, only they shone clearly and imparted to the fingers a strange trembling light. Nor was it only in this place that the knight of Edgehill appeared : people of reliable reputa- tion declared that they had seen him in the market, both at Stratford and at Shipston, and that he had examined their samples of grain and asked the price. Others said that he had been seen kneeling before the altar in the church in which he was buried, and others, again, that THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. he frequented the avenue which wound through his park to his ancestral home. Of course everybody was alarmed. Old people shook their heads and said little, and young folks cared not to wander abroad after dark. Even the rude and unbelieving Commonwealth man ceased his swaggering and said his prayers when he passed by any of the haunts of the warrior-soul. So long as the Puritans ruled nothing could be done the spirits are not amenable to such as they but years af- ter, when a prelate sat once more in the chair of St. Oswald at Worcester, a well-remembered and successful attempt was made to " lay the ghost." One midnight so says the legend the bishop and the neighboring clergy, accompanied by a large con- course of people, proceeded to the church, near the altar of which was the grave of the old knight, covered with an inscribed stone. It was a wild night. The rain fell fast, the daws and owls screeched in the belfry, the light- ning flashed and the thunder rolled as though the day of doom had come, and the wind roared angrily as it shook the building and swayed the tall elms. The people began to imagine that the powers of darkness divined their purpose and were causing the elements to war against them, and a number of them waved yew- branches and rang the bells to drive away the evil ones. But the storm raged as fiercely as ever. When the bishop, standing on the altar-steps, solemnly adjured the knight to appear, there was intense and silent excitement as the echoes died away amid the distant arches, and every one trembled with fear lest the mandate should be obeyed. They who held the flaming torches stood as though ready to run, and even the clergy looked on TO EDGE HILL. 293 with pallid faces. The charge was uttered again, and then again, three times, according to the form prescribed. Then came a blinding flash, then a very avalanche of thunder-billows, rattling like quickly-fired artillery, roar- ing like huge, breaking waves upon an ocean-shore ; the wild wind swept through the nave, and, lo ! in an instant all was still, and there in the midst of the terrified throng stood the old knight, his armor red with glowing fire, his head bowed toward the ground. No one moved; no one had strength or courage to run. The very men who over their ale had sworn that they had seen him time and time again were startled and stunned at the ap- parition. They looked with awe akin to horror; and some devoutly hoped that as a result of England's sin the power of controlling demons and spirits was not taken away from the ministers of grace. At last the old knight spoke : " What would ye with me ? Why have ye disturbed my rest ?" " Because," said one standing close by, " thou canst not sleep in peace." " Hath England peace ?" asked the knight " It hath," the man replied. " The king's son sits on royal Charles's throne; the Church hath her own again, and loyal men till the land as in the old time." "Tis well," responded the knight. "Then why trouble ye me?" " We fear to see thee in the dismal shadows," another said ; " we dread to have one with us who belongs to another world." " Thou thinkest I am worse than ye ?" said the old knight, with a scornful laugh which seemed to drive life 294 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. itself out of some hearts. "I go to church as often as any here." " That dost thou, sir," the bishop exclaimed, jubilantly, " but thou leavest thy heart at home." This rejoinder was unanswerable, for everybody knows that a ghost does not take his heart about with him. The knight was therefore in the power of the bishop, and by the law which obtains in such matters was bound to re- main wherever he was laid. As a rule, spirits thus sub- dued were consigned to the depths of the Red Sea, where Pharaoh and his host abide in everlasting bond- age ; but sometimes the wishes of the ghost were con- sidered, and he was allowed to choose a place for him- self. Frequently the ghost would select his resting-spot among the roots of an apple tree or under a gate-post or a front doorstep, or near a spring of water, or in some other strange and unexpected position ; from which we gather that ghosts were facetious as well as troublesome. The old knight saw his mistake, and bowed in token of submission. "Where wilt thou that we lay thee?" asked the bishop. " Give me thy blessing, reverend lord, and I will go in peace," the knight replied. The blessing was given; the people looked to the spirit, and as they looked it vanished from their sight. From that hour one soul at least re/nained at rest. Nobody ever saw or heard the knight of Edge- hill again, and doubtless he has long since passed into regions far from this of ours. I remember how anxiously the ancient gentleman who told me this story sought to impress me with its truth. TO EDGEHILL. 2g$ Whether it were in the summer afternoon as we sat to- gether on the wooden bench under the box tree in his garden, or in the winter evening around his fire before the candles were lighted, he would always add, by way of finally disposing of any possible doubt, " There is Edgehill, and there was a battle ; and what more can any reasonable man need ?" But time passes, and I have yet miles to go before my day's jaunt is over. From the spot where I have rested for the last half hour to the Tower is only a few min- utes' walk. This building, erected about the middle of the last century, marks the place where the royal stand- ard stood on the day of battle. It is a sham ruin, and as a sham ought to have no place in either heaven or earth. The view from its walls is splendid, and, as it is a public-house, refreshments as well as relics can be ob- tained there. As I got over the stile from the bridle- path into the road I asked a man who stood leaning against a gate if the place had any other name than that of the " Tower." He looked at me with grave stupidity; I repeated my question. A woman looked out of a cot- tage door close by, and said " Old Israel's deaf, sir." But even she was not able to give me any information. I wandered on along the hot and dusty highway, the very road on which the king's army marched in the dusk of that October morning. On the way to Warmington, close by, are the remains of a veritable British camp. Here one may stop and picture the scenes, not of two hundred years since, but of two thousand. In those re- mote ages the land was a wilderness and its inhabitants were fierce, savage and heathen. With bow and sharp stone-headed arrows, and javelin, axe and club, they 296 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. hunted the beasts of the forest or lay in wait for and struggled with their human foes. I fancy I can see them moving stealthily along through the tall grass and watch- ing me with wild, restless eye from yonder bushy hedge, ready to spring upon me as I stand here. This was their village-home a place of huts or wigwams made of poles and wattled work and thatched with rushes or covered with sods. A hole in the side of the simple structure served both as a chimney for the smoke and as a door for the inmates. Around were rough palisades and high earth-banks. The valle and the fosse of this camp still remain. In this open space the thick-limbed and skin-clad warriors, fearless of death and cruel as the wolves in the jungle-like woodland, listened to the de- cisions of their chief and prepared for battle. Their women, more degraded, worse clothed and dirtier than themselves, stood by to urge them on to deeds of blood. Doubtless the unkempt, brown-skinned boys searched the hillside hereabouts for nests in the spring and nuts in the autumn, and learned, as savages learn, by expo- sure and trial, the skill and the habits of their fathers. The soil, badly tilled, supplied the family with a few roots ; cows and goats, half tamed and thriving poorly in captivity, gave them milk, and the forest furnished them with fuel. The only thing natural to us about the hut or the camp would be the cat. Puss was there, as happy and contented as she was among the Egyptians two thousand years earlier, and as she is amongst us to- day. This ancient camp was admirably chosen for mil- itary purposes, and, situated, as it is, at the extreme point of Edgehill, commands a wide stretch of coun- try. Now, even as the bell -tones gently wafted from TO EDGEHILL. 297 some village church near by proclaim that the cross has triumphed over the old heathendom, so the soft green robe which Nature has cast over the place declares that the hidden past has been forgiven and that peace reigns. The road down the hill to Kineton is steep, and by a notice on a board at the top bicyclers are informed that it is dangerous. In the way I meet a heavily-laden wagon slowly coming up the hill. What ponderous wheels ! and what mighty horses ! The driver is clad in corduroys and smock-frock, with thick hob-nailed boots on his feet and a great wide-awake on his head. His hair is lank and long and his stubbled beard has not been cut for some time. He walks beside the team, his bending shoulders suggesting hard work rather than age, and the loud smack of his whip, with his " Coom hup, nu !" and his whistle, indicating both vigor and in- terest in his work. The broiling sun pours fiercely down upon him, but no sun could make him browner than he is or cause the perspiration to drop more freely from his face. When I pass him, he stops his wagon, getting a huge stone from the roadside to put under one of the hind wheels, and asks the time of day. It is past one. How far to Kineton? Three miles and a half from the Tower the best part of three miles from here. " Dear me !" I say, " and along that dry, unshaded road ! It's enough to roast one, such a day as this." " Us must expect 'ot waythur this tiime o' yaare," he replies, philosophically, and leisurely wiping his face with his large white- spotted red handkerchief. " It's a hard pull for your horses up this hill," I remark. 298 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. " Them dunna miind it ; uld Beetty aar ah goood un to goo, and Buuttarcoop ahn't ah bad un. And gooin' hup ahnt as bad as gooin' doon. Gooin' doon 'ill aar allus bad. Ah mon mah breeak 'is neeck gooin' doon 'ill, an' theen 'ee's dun fur." I move on. Then I hear the " Gee hup, uld gaal," " Pool awah theer, maw luve," and the harness cracks and the wagon creaks, and on the heavy load goes round the turn in the highway and up the hill. It is not only in the moral sense that going down hill is bad which sense the driver's words naturally suggested but it is also bad physically. Try it in the blazing sunshine after a walk of ten miles, for the most part across soft mead- ows and through shaded woods. The hands become swollen, the legs get stiff and the feet feel as if they were going through the toes of the shoes. This was the most uncomfortable bit in my day's journey, but then pleasures must be expected to have their correlative pains, and what is a wearisome tramp of a mile or two, even down hill and along a sunburnt road, to compare with the delights of a stroll through the country-side ? Besides, Providence is generally kind under such cir- cumstances: some vehicle drives up with the horse's head in the right direction, and the cheery welcome to a lift makes one forget the heat and the toil. Here is my chance coming a chaise with an elderly gentleman, fat, and therefore good-natured. Is he going far my way ? I have not time to ask, for he stops his pony and in- quires if I am going to Kineton. The very place, and off we drive together. He is from Banbury. Do I know Banbury? Rather: I ate Banbury cakes at the time I began to ride to Banbury Cross. It is a prosper- TO EDGEHILL. 299 ous town, but in old days it was awfully Puritan. The story goes that a man there of that persuasion once hanged his cat on Monday for killing a mouse on Sun- day. The church has no steeple, but the cheese has a reputation centuries old; Camden implies that it was good, but Shakespeare makes Bardolph speak of it as though it were thin and soft. No ; I shall not be able to visit the place this time. I know something of its history : the elderly gentleman is disposed to antiquity as well as to adiposity. There was once a battle fought there in early Saxon times that of the Wessex men against the Britons about A. D. 550? Yes. So some have said, but it was in Wiltshire, and not here at By- ran-byrig, and not at Banes-byrig. I know nothing about that, but I am right in charging the Parliamentarians with pulling down the ancient castle after the royalists had held it under siege for three months, and before they surrendered were reduced to such straits that they ate up all their horses but two. People drive in for miles to the fair, where, among other things, they get some of the best beef and the strongest ale in the country and see the biggest woman in the world and the only original Tom Thumb. The latter individual seems to be ubiquitous and sempiternal. I have seen the " only original " in my day on both sides of the At- lantic ; old folks have told me that they saw him three- quarters of a century earlier than I did ; a ballad of the reign of Charles I. speaks of him as a hero of King Ar- thur's time, when he was swallowed by a cow, tumbled into a pudding, and was finally eaten by a giant ; a village in Rutlandshire claims to be his birthplace and declares that he was served up in a royal pie ; and lastly the folk- 3 THE HEART OF M ERR IE ENGLAND. lorists come in and say that the whole story is a myth of Northern origin. Any way, they had the little fellow at Banbury Fair had him for years and the farmers and the gamekeepers, dressed up in their Sunday vel- veteen, and the laborers and the laborers' wives, and young men and young women, also dressed up in their best, used to look upon him with the greatest interest and believe all that the showman said concerning him. So, chatting merrily about one thing and another, we jogged along the road to Kineton. CHAPTER XIII. bet tije (ftotmtrg. " And the summer day ended, for late or long Every day weareth to evensong." WE found the little old-fashioned place all astir. It was the day of the annual flower-show, and the streets were gay with flags and noisy with the rattling of traps and wagonettes over the pebbles and the chattering of vis- itors from the neighboring towns and villages. There is not, as a rule, much excitement in such secluded dis- tricts, but the people somehow or other manage to make the most of life ' and to enjoy themselves. The "Swan" was filled with guests; the stables were crowded with horses and the tap-room was crammed with holi- day-making and beer-drinking swains. Boniface good- tempered, sleek, shrewd Boniface was bustling about and making strenuous efforts to supply, and no doubt to suggest, the wants of his customers. On one side of the gateway was a little window or wicket through which the crowd who could not get indoors or who preferred the fresh air obtained a continual stream of brown mugs filled with foaming ale. Sounds of loud merriment, the scraping of a violin and fragments of a rude song came through the open casement with the red curtains and the brass bars. Here is a boy with a pint- 301 302 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. pot in one hand and in the other a black clay pipe filled with the vilest-smelling tobacco trying to emulate the older ones around him, but the older ones say he ought to be thrashed and sent home to bed ; so that he gets but poor encouragement. There, a half-drunken fellow kicks a poor cur out of his way, and the wretched beast yelps and the jackdaw in the cage screams. All is bus- tle and confusion, and the signs are that both the devil and Boniface will make a successful day of it; which juxtaposition of the Prince of Darkness and a man duly licensed by law to make his living in this way by no means implies that there i^ a league between them or that the one is as bad as the other. As I see the people of the inn driving their business I think of that scene in Piers the Ploughman where Glutton, on the way to church, is stopped by the brewster, who upsets his good inten- tions with the allurements of good ale, "hote spices" and the company of such choice spirits as Watte the war- rener, Tymme the tinker and Hikke the hakeneyman. I am shown into the parlor, my stout kindly friend having left me to my own devices. The house is old, with the yard, stables and wagonsheds usually belonging to hostelries of the kind. Inside there are narrow pas- sages, winding stairs, dark recesses and rooms with low ceilings and mysterious-looking cupboards and closets. Care is needed lest one stumble over unexpected steps or old lumber partly hid in the prevailing gloom. In the room in which I find myself are a long table, a piano and some pictures on the wall of racehorses and stiff- looking houses. I ask for dinner, and the hostess, stout and mirthful she seemed to be made of a smile from head to foot, a huge ripple skilfully navigates me OVER THE COUNTRY. 303 through dark and devious ways to a long room up stairs. Here she explains to me that the day is a bad one for a warm dinner, but she adds, pointing to the table spread down the middle of the room, that I can make a meal out of the cricket-club supper. Possibly. At one end of the table is a massive piece of boiled beef, at the other a gigantic ham, and at respectable in- tervals between poultry, pies, cheese, bread, etc. My dinner will not be missed. Having seated me in a chair, she puts into my hands implements in dimensions some- thing akin to a scythe and a pitchfork and bids me help myself to the beef or the ham. Then I am left alone in that long room with that mighty dinner. Neither cat nor dog shares my solitude; I can eat and drink in peace. There is a horseshoe over the door ; evidently, the people believe in witches. I proceed with my col- lation and at the same time picture the scene which the room will present in the course of a few hours, when the hungry cricketers come in for their beef and beer. The twofold process refreshes me both in body and in mind. I throw myself back in the great arm-chair and half fancy I should like to be with the merry company. What speeches and what songs ! The din of applause, of thumping the table, clapping hands and stamping the floor, will be deafening. There will be jokes and stories which will bring out the side-splitting laugh and the vigorous " Hear ! hear !" And the fun will go on away into the night, till one and another will have slipped under the table or fallen over asleep or been led or wheeled off home. Then, about midnight the rnagis- :rates allowing an additional hour after the closing-time asual on ordinary occasions Boniface will turn into the 20 304 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. street those who are left, extinguish the lights and lock the doors. I spring up from the chair and the dream, for I have no desire to pass through a metamorphosis of that kind, and after satisfying the host's very moderate charges I start out to see the town. There is some dispute as to the etymology of its name. Some say it was so called from its extensive market of kine ; others hold that it should be " King," and not " Kine," from the fact that here was formerly a royal palace or castle, and others, again, affirm that it was named after St. Keyne, the pat- ron-saint of wells in general, and of one near the site of this palace in particular. These conjectures suggest curious questions of the origin and the history of the town into which one may not safely enter ; only, as I walk slowly through the unpaved street, I fancy I see here an illustration of a " road-town." Many more such come to mind as I think of this one. The hamlets of Britain and of early England, as of all primitive coun- tries, were mostly independent and isolated settlements in the wilderness, perhaps on the banks of a brook, per- haps in the midst of a dense forest. A clearing was made and habitations simple in structure and few in number were built. As time went on and the village grew in size and importance communication with other places beyond what a mere footpath would afford became imperative, and highways were accordingly cut through the intervening region. The town thus preceded the road, but, the road being made, other towns would spring up at desirable points along its course, a string of cottages stretching for some distance on both sides. As these, in turn, increased in numbers and in conse- OVER THE COUNTRY. 305 quence, other ways from neighboring hamlets would be made through the forest directly to them, and then the village would naturally extend itself along the new way. In these instances the road would precede the town. The church, yellow and ancient and of mingled Early English and Perpendicular work, with its " acre " of lichen-covered tombstones and grass-grown graves, stands in the midst of the place, and has a low square tower, a fine doorway and the effigy of a priest. There are a few stone houses, some of them of considerable age and with their moulded windows, clustered chim- neys and heavy walls suggesting stories of days and people of whom one would fain know something. Far- ther on the way to Warwick, at the west end of the town, is the grammar-school, a modern and small insti- tution, at the front gate of which, his arms akimbo, was whistling lazily a small boy with red-brown face and trencher-cap. He hoped to go to the flower-show by and by perhaps as soon as he got over the Pons Asinorum or the Passive Voice of TVXTO). I love boys that is to say, boys that are boys and not your pre- cocious boy-men and this little fellow appears to be after my own heart. Play cricket, pull an oar and ram- ble through the woods and by the brookside, my lad, as well as pore over Euclid and ^Esop, and you will make your way in the world. Boys are to be found every- where good boys and bad boys but there is no more beautiful sight under God's sun than the face of a pure, upright, soulful lad the blush of whose cheek sin has not touched and whose eye is bright with innocence and with unconscious courage. The boy bobs his head re- spectfully as I pass by, and I turn back to the side street 306 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. leading to the Tysoe road, and soon come to the place of the day's festivities. Three thousand miles away and in the depth of a Western winter, the freezing wind sweeping wildly over the fields of stainless snow and through the bare trees, making the dreary, bitterly-cold night more than ever Arctic-like, that scene, among others, presents itself to my mind clearly and pleasantly. In a large field by the side of the road and under great widespreading trees were erected several tents and booths. Beyond, a gentle- man's house, with the rich velvety lawns set with shrub- bery and flower-plots so common in England, appeared in extremely pretty form. The place was gay with flags and with brightly-dressed swains and lasses. Boys and girls were playing here and there ; swings and merry- go-rounds were going; hucksters and toy-men were crying their wares ; from the steps of his wagon-house Cheap John was holding forth upon the merits of a twenty-four-bladed knife of the best Sheffield make, all for a shilling warranted pure steel, or possibly he may have said pure of steel; old folks were leaning against the gates or the fences gossiping, and a very good brass band discoursed pleasant music in short and suit- able fragments. The village was too small to attract a wild-beast show or even a miniature circus, and so were absent two of the greatest pleasures an English country crowd can have viz., that of seeing the lions feed, and that of listening to the stale witticisms of the clown. Even the " Punch-and-Judy " man the most popular dramatic performer in the British Isles was not there. The people, however, were themselves an interesting study. Here was Long Tim, the sturdy wagoner, with a S 3 w p x A 00 g QD 1 H W o OVER THE COUNTRY. 307 his Sunday shoes, brown trousers, red vest and black coat the coat much too short in the sleeves and too tight in the back and with him were his good wife and seven of his boys and girls, the other three being left at home with " Granny." Never-sweat Dave strutted about with a bunch of ribbons tied in his beehive-shaped hat, and with an imitation silver chain with an imitation bunch of seals and keys adorning his once-white vest. He had a cane and kept his eye on Mollie, who in a group of giggling servant-girls was the most remark- able for the length of her nose and for the gay scarf across her shoulders. Several strangers with the grime of " Smoky Brum " inlaid in the lines of hands and face and under their finger-nails were entertaining Hodge and his friends with stories of the town and with jokes without any point. There was a delightful air of rustic simplicity about the whole thing, and one could well say with Thomson, " thus they rejoice, nor think That with to-morrow's sun their annual toil Begins again the never-ceasing round." The local gentry and the clergy intermingled with con- siderable freedom among the villagers, for, though the miserable democratic spirit of the age has crept like the sin-tempting serpent of old even into such Edens as this, men have not altogether forgotten that it is equal- ly an honor for man to respect his betters and to treat kindly his inferiors. Ruskin says somewhere I think it is in his Stones of Venice that the secret of the pres- ent social discontent lies in the workman having been reduced to a sort of machine set to reproduce a given 308 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. copy exactly and without variation possibly, for in- stance, to do nothing but make heads of pins or to do nothing but sharpen their points and thus, all invention and consequent manliness having been destroyed, he takes no pleasure in his task, but labors mechanically and frets his soul against all who are not in the like state of slavery. Hence the centres of rebellion against society are to be found in manufacturing towns, in such as Birmingham, where both masters and men work like convicts in the galleys and drag through a monotony of existence fatal to all nobility of soul or health of mind. In the rural districts there is more variety of employ- ment, more personal interest demanded, and therefore more pleasure in the daily toil. That red-faced, thick- set fellow leaning over the mound as they call a fence in this neighborhood and listening to a dingy Black- Country man, will take a pride and a delight in shearing the sheep, ploughing the land and clipping the hedges. Possibly agitators have persuaded him that he is an ill- used animal, oppressed and wronged by those who are over him, but there is more change in his life, more op- portunity of ingenuity and invention, more enjoyment of rugged health and Nature's gifts, than fall to the lot of most men in a higher sphere of life. If I wanted to find real happiness, I should not go to the palaces of cedar or the homes of the city-people, but to the stall of the apple-woman or the cottage of the farm-laborer. Here I should not expect to find high intelligence or extensive learning, but I should find a fuller appre- ciation of the joys and the pleasures of this world, few though they might be, and an inspiriting looking forward to those of the world to come. The people walking OVER THE COUNTRY. 309 about these grounds have in their faces that which in- dicates the possession of a happy soul. And doubtless, when the parson comes among them, he will add to their delight by his encouraging nod, his kindly word or his cheerful smile to one and another. In the tents are flowers worthy of this land of roses and dahlias, and vegetables vast in size and suggestive of epicurean joys. It is pleasing to see the interest every one in England takes in such things. Flowers grow there in such abundance and reach such perfection as to excite the surprise of the stranger. In the houses even of the lower classes some attempt is made at their culti- vation and display, and many a woman points with pride to a scented geranium or a pot of common musk. The country-side is rilled with wild flowers ; the banks, with primroses and violets ; the hedges, with May-bloom and dog-roses ; and the meadows, with cowslips, buttercups and daisies. The peasantry are encouraged in their love for flowers by these local shows ; and, though some may think more of the possible prize than of either Nature or the beautiful, or aught else, yet the greater number have a genuine affection for and a justifiable pride in their gardens and the fruits thereof. See how carefully they watch the pet flower, the table of cut roses and dahlias, the box of mignonette and the vase of carna- tions, lest any profane hand should touch them and mar their loveliness or rob them of their fragrance ! How they watch the countenance of the visitor for some sign of approval, some lighting up of the face which will show his surprise at the perfect object before him ! Its color, form, size, nature, habits and history will be spoken of and told so soon as you venture to express an interest 3IO THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. in it. The good man will tell you from where he got the seed or the slip, what kind of soil he put it in, how many times he nearly lost the fruit of his efforts through the frost, the excessive rain or the ubiquitous and mis- chievous boy, and his confidence that except in London itself nothing finer could be had in the land. Why Lon- don is excepted I do not know, unless it be for its vague- ness and mystery to country-people. His hope is now to get the first prize, and by and by to find a place in the squire's garden for his eldest son, who loves flowers with all his heart and can do a good day's work along- side of any lad of his own age in the village, and with as good a heart too. Few here have heard the legends of Narcissus and Hyacinthus as told by Ovid, or know that once the white rose tried to outrival the pure paleness of Sappho and blushed for every failure, hence the red; but their round faces broaden under the inspiration of the hour, and their affectionate interest creates a rude but genuine eloquence. The people are evidently here for more than seeing flowers and vegetables. They move about over the sward and under the trees in a sort of rhythmical meas- ure to the music of the band, or loll upon the grass in companies of twos and threes. Children toot with horns and play with whistles, and everybody is on pleasure bent. Fairs and wakes similar to this gathering have been held here for centuries, and ages back they who now sleep in the old churchyard up in the town took their part in them as gayly and as merrily as do the free-souled folk of to-day. Some of the young fellows will in the course of the afternoon handle a quoit or a bat, and later on the largest of the tents will be cleared for OVER THE COUNTRY. 31 1 a dance. Possibly one reason why there is not so much heartiness in the pastimes of this generation as there was in the sports of past ages lies in the rapid increase of population. A crowd up to a certain point is neces- sary ; beyond that it hinders genuine fun. A great mul- titude uncontrollable and made up largely of strangers, as great multitudes are, can be amused only as the spec- tator is amused : it cannot amuse itself in any true and thorough way. In a small place such as this the old- time conditions to some extent prevail, and, as the num- ber of people is not too great to prevent them from knowing one another or to dampen their feelings, each is necessary to the common games and sports, and each enters into them. For some time to come the effects of to-day will be felt in pleasant recollections, and probably, also, in unpleasant stiffnesses, bruises and headaches. But my time is short, and I am able only to take a walk and a look around, to speak to one or two and then hasten on my way. I continued my journey along the road toward Oxhill, a tiny village four miles from Kineton. For a good part of the way the road runs across open fields, here and there passing old farmhouses. These houses are built solidly of stone, the gable-end and blind-wall mostly to the road, and with bits of garden in the unused front yard and the court at the back. In the windows are flowers, and over the doorway jasmine and honeysuckle. It was pleasant to hear the cackling of poultry and the cooing of pigeons, nor did the watchdog lying grimly near the well scarcely prick up his ears at the sound of footsteps, though doubtless the first tread off the public path would have brought forth the warning bark. Nailed to one of 312 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. the barns were dead weasels, stoats, rats and owls. At one gate a women with a sun-bonnet in her hand stood watching a boy holding a guinea-pig by a string tied to one of its legs. The little animal was not very lively, and nibbled at a cabbage-leaf as though it were tired of the warm sunshine, its master and everything else. The woman courtesied as I went by possibly as much for want of knowing what else to do as for respect ; the boy and the guinea-pig, not having either curiosity or rever- ence for the clergy, kept on with their several occupa- tions. Each of these solitary houses has its own history possibly only the quiet, uneventful history common to such, yet one would give much to read the past of any habitation where man has dwelt, and to learn the pas- sions, the hopes and the achievements of those who have occupied or been associated with them. Every life is in- teresting, every building instructive. The strong walls, the heavy doors and the narrow mullioned windows tell of more than defence against the weather : in days not so long since a lonely farmhouse needed protection against the tramp and the robber, just as in remoter times it had to be guarded against thieves, who more by force than by subtility took possession of that which they desired. Some of these were built when the recol- lections were still rife of people not only spoiled of their goods, but also turned out of their houses, and fre- quently maltreated and brutally murdered. Now the queen's peace is kept from one end of the land to the other, and men can lie down in confidence and sleep in safety. There are no gallows by the wayside with felons hanging thereon to intimidate the evilly disposed and to OVER THE COUNTRY. 313 frighten the superstitious; nevertheless, the law has a strong arm-r-stronger than the oak gate or the spiked palisade, and more to be dreaded for its moral than for its physical effects. The bushes and the flowers in the garden, and the pigs and the poultry, the calves and the ducks, in the yard, indicate restfulness and somehow or other suggest happiness. I stand and wonder if the people who live there unannoyed and unperplexed by much that worries even as a savage dog worries the sheep the souls of people in busier spheres are really content and joyful. At any rate, they have a better chance of being so; only, such virtues depend more upon the self than upon the surroundings. I walk slowly along and think it over, at the same time re- gretting that the " Elegy " has been quoted ad nauseam and that the season of blackberries is not yet. Many young people pass me on their way to the flower-show at Kineton, some walking and some driving. All are dressed in their best and their gayest, the taste for sober colors not having reached this neighborhood. It is a relief to see a man in something else than an un- dertaker's costume, even though he approach more nearly to Nature's tints and hues. The girls, with scarcely an exception, are fresh, rosy, plump and rugged, the pictures of sturdy health, but they are not, as a rule, more than good-looking. The refined, delicate sylph is rare in England ; the women are mostly of the tradi- tional apple-dumpling order. Dark hair seems to be more common nowadays than formerly, but some of these have the blue eyes and the flaxen hair said to indi- cate Saxon lineage, and some have locks worthy of the Virgin Queen herself. 314 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. A mile and a half beyond Oxhill is Whatcote, a drowsy little place with a quaint old church. It is called " Qua- tercote " in Doomsday, and for some time owned as its lord the abbot of Westminster. In the church is a me- morial to a John Davenport who died in 1668, in the one hundred and first year of his age, after having been rec- tor of the parish for seventy years and six months. The shaft of the ancient cross in the churchyard is now sur- mounted with a sundial, which of itself in a twofold sense indicates a change of time. The bells in the tower are said to be ancient and worthy of notice. Most of the villages around are of Saxon or, to speak more cor- rectly, of Early English origin. The centuries have not disturbed them ; they slumber even in this age of rush and excitement. Once in a while a cottage is newly thatched and somebody buys a bedstead or a table, but little else occurs from one year's end to the other to disturb the minds of the people. In a very long time a funeral or a wedding happens possibly an elec- tion or an auction ; and these are epochs from which events are dated " Six years after Luke Lemons died " or " Four years after the fire," the fire having been the burning of two wheatricks and the roof of a barn. A stranger furnishes material for several hours' wondering gossip who he is, whence he comes and whither he goes ; if he has high heels to his boots or a string to his hat; what he is doing in these parts, and if he is likely to be anybody's relation. As he passes along the road the women run to the door or to the garden gate and look wistfully after him ; the old man shelling beans on the porch steps stops, rubs his eyes, lifts his hat and wipes his brow; and the children jump up from their OVER THE COUNTRY. 315 play in the dust, and, while some stand nibbling the cor- ner of an apron or a pinafore, others run away and fetch mother to see the phenomenon. If you speak to any one, .there is no sign in his face of the slightest interest in you ; walking on, you may see scarcely man or woman, but look back suddenly, and you catch sight of a dozen heads of all ages eagerly peeping round hedge-corners or out of doors and windows to watch you and, if possible, to solve your mystery. The children are rather shy than rude, and as likely as not are off like a shot the moment you stop to speak to them. Rosy, rough-haired, chubby youngsters, dirty, every one of them, with clean dirt, two of them with the whooping-cough and holding on to each other as they pass through one of its recurrent onsets, some making mud-pies and others with a piece of clothes- line harnessing three or four together as horses, there they are ; well, the same as you may see anywhere any day. A lad of ten or twelve summers holding a handful of flowers and under his arm a huge cabbage stares at me with his mouth and eyes wide open. I am not sure whether he thinks I am a Dutchman or a goblin, but he looks as I have always understood cheese and beer are supposed to look at the former and wicked people at the latter. I ask him to give me of his roses ; he turns pale either with fright or with pleasure, but he picks out one of the finest and offers it me. I give him a penny ; what have I done ? He blushes, smiles, regards me with fa- vor and my gift with joy. Off run half a dozen boys and girls for flowers, and almost before I have gone as many yards one and another beg me to take them on the same terms, of course. They do not know the tones and the ways of the London and Liverpool urchins 316 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. " Please, sir," " No, no, thank you !" and I can tell by their faces that, whatever they may have thought of me before, they are now well satisfied that I am barbarous and stingy. That will not do ; a few coppers scattered amongst them, and I get three cheers. I went into the village inn and enjoyed a glass of gin- ger ale and a chat with the landlady. The house is called the " Royal Oak " why, I do not know, unless, possibly, after the famous adventure of Charles II., for the great tree in front of the door is certainly an elm. Long, long ago an oak may have grown there, and pos- sibly a hostel has occupied the site for centuries ; at any rate, the building has the appearance of considerable age. The low black ceiling, the deep recesses in the windows and the fireplace, the wooden settles and the clean stone floor, create feelings almost of veneration. In old Eng- lish times, as there were occasionally female sheriffs and female churchwardens, so inns were frequently perhaps mostly kept by women, and even now in many such as this a wife or a widow holds the license and acts as host- ess. My hostess has little to say and does not know anything about the sign ; and when I tell her that inn- keepers used to put out of their door a bush to indicate that they had good wine though " good wine needs no bush " she looked at me very unbelievingly. Signs are, however, curious things, and I remember one of the " Gate " at Brailes it may be still there, for aught I know and on it were the lines, " This gate hangs high, And hinders none ; Refresh and pay, And travel on." Five o'clock ! I finish my ale and proceed. OVER THE COUNTRY. 317 Outside of Whatcote I came up to a man driving a heavy cart laden with barrels and parcels. On my ask- ing him the way to Honington he invited me to ride with him on his wagon. I was glad to accept and to lodge my now wearied bo.dy on the head of a beer-cask. He was very talkative and opened up a long, unceasing harangue upon the troubles of the country, which seemed to consist solely of the unwise economy of some rich people who did not buy or rent the unused land of the neighborhood. Certainly there were many fields lying fallow by the way we drove. I suggested the competition of American grain. " Not a bit of it, sir ! There's money enough to overcome that, and there's no land in all America to beat this for growing wheat." There are snake-tracks across the road; here and there is a cast-off shred of skin. We pass a man car- rying wild rabbits strung on a pole across his shoul- der ; and when I tell my garrulous friend of the last- century custom in Edinburgh of a man carrying a leg- of-mutton shank through the street and crying, " Twa dips and a wallop for a bawbee !" at which the gude- wives would bring their pails of boiling water and thus make broth, he laughed and said it was a better plan than that of people taking their dinner to the bake- house. The man would have given his head to have known who was the stranger by his side ; but, instead of that information, when we reached Honington I gave him fourpence. Honington is a pretty village near the Stour and a convenient distance from the Stratford and Shipston highway, hiding amongst the noblest of trees and pos- sessing an ancient lineage and a great antiquity. It has 318 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. a church about two hundred years old and a plain brick mansion of the last-century style. It can scarcely be said to have a street, though the cottages are built in rows scattered around a space undefinable, partaking, as it does, of the nature of a square or a triangle and a lane. There are pleasant bits of lawn under the oaks or the elms which grow anywhere about the place and spread their mossy boughs over road, side-path, tiled or thatched house and barn, making a refreshing and snug woodland retreat. I saw no inn or tavern in the place ; perhaps a population of not more than two hundred souls, if as many, does not need any, though a char- ter of the reign of Henry III. allowed it the privilege on payment of an annual fee to the lord of the manor. This same charter, according to an abstract I find in one of the local papers, compelled the tenants not only to pay rent, but also to perform sundry other duties. Thus on every alternate day between Midsummer and Michaelmas they were obliged to assist the lord on his estate, receiving as their reward one sheep, eight loaves of bread, a cheese and fourpence in money. During the harvest-time they had to bring into the manor-fields all the members of their family except their wives, and, as the place belonged to the monks of Coventry, they had to trudge at stated periods to that city, each tenant tak- ing with him four hens, one cock and five eggs as an offering to the Fathers. There is now no mill in the parish, but in the reign of the Conqueror there were four such conveniences. Dissenters are unknown, nor has the board school invaded the land. Farm-laborers are supposed to have risen in influence and in comfort during the past few years. They have OVER THE COUNTRY. 319 the franchise and some of them read the weekly news- paper of the district as well as their Bibles ; indeed, many of them can discuss Mr. Gladstone as intelligently as they can discuss Nebuchadnezzar ; which is not saying much, only they have a lively appreciation of the fact that, as the Babylonish king once placed a good man in the den of lions, so the great Liberal chieftain has a weakness for doing the same thing metaphorically, of course with his political opponents. Large numbers of the younger men have gone to the cities and the colo- nies, and throughout the agricultural Midlands there has been on the whole a decrease in the population. But, notwithstanding all that has been said and done, Hodge is badly enough off. He still thinks himself lucky if he gets a piece of bacon once or twice a week, and beef or "butcher's meat," as he calls it as many times a month. However, though poor, he is not miserable. Turning into Fell Mill lane at Honington the same way by which I started for my day's jaunt I walked for some distance with one of his kind who was slowly wending his way home after his toil. A pious, God- fearing man I found him to be after a few minutes' con- versation, a little inclined to grumble, but not more so than the average Englishman. He was turning the meridian of life a life which had been spent within a radius of a few miles, five at the outside, from where he lived. Once he had been to Stratford, nine miles off, but that was many years ago, when he was a young man and unmarried. He had heard of France, Russia and America : they were somewhere in this world, but where he did not know, for, as he put it, his " schooling " was neglected when he was a boy. As he passed from under 21 32O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. the care of the ancient dame who taught the children of the village their letters and figures when he was about nine years old, it was little wonder. At that tender age he was promoted to the duty of minding the geese or the sheep in the meadow-lane, and was occasionally al- lowed to lead the first horse at the plough, so that books were beyond him and the longest thing he had ever learned was the General Confession, which he could re- peat as he did repeat it twice every Sunday of his life without mistake, provided the parson had a clear voice. " As to my duty toward my neighbor," he said, a sad smile moving awkwardly over his tanned and thick-skinned face, " I never could manage that. My daughter Pollie can, though ; she's a fine girl and knows more than her father." Nevertheless, he had brought up a family of seven to fear God and honor the queen, and to brighten his declining years he had the satisfac- tion of a prospect of getting his son into the police-force and of receiving for his own ten hours' work the sum of one shilling and eightpence. To help his meagre in- come he was able once in a while to snare a rabbit per- haps some nobler game, of which he said nothing, being a prudent as well as a good man and to find some mushrooms in the meadows. His wife made wine out of elderberries and sloes, and in the winter his boys went hedging for sparrows, and frequently got enough to make a decent-sized pie or pudding. On the whole, to quote his own words, he had much to be thankful for and many a man was worse off than he. The farmers, for instance, had a hard time of it, for it was cheaper to import wheat than to grow it. I gave him double his day's wages, and, grasping his hard, rough hand, bade OVER THE COUNTRY. $21 him godspeed and "Good-eve." My path lay across the fields, but before I passed through the gate I watched him plodding along the road toward Barcheston. A true child of God, with more peace in his heart than even kings possess ! Country-people are not all like this man in this re- spect; possibly there are none who snarl and quarrel with one another as much as they. The women particu- larly give a liberty to their tongues and use language not unworthy of the traditional Billingsgate. One does not wonder that the ducking-stool was freely used. Some seem to have no control over their violent tem- pers, and a termagant running on day after day becomes irritating sooner or later. Poor wretches ! who can tell the miseries of their past ? Now religion and law have bettered them, but the ages bequeathed to them a bur- den almost beyond the possibility of removing. Village life six hundred years ago has been described by mas- ters of social history, and it was a widely-different thing from village life of to-day. Then murders, suicides, rob- beries and crimes of all sorts were rife, and the people who slept at night in the clothes worn in the day and lived in dirt were morally wretched and depraved. There was law : criminals were hanged and torn to pieces by horses. " It is impossible for us," says a writer describ- ing a Norfolk village in 1285, "to realize the hideous ferocity of such a state of society as this. The women were as bad as the men furious beldames, dangerous as wild beasts, without pity, without shame, without re- morse, and finding life so cheerless, so hopeless, so very, very dark and miserable, that when there was nothing to be gained by killing any one else they killed themselves." 322 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. Thank God all this has changed ! but these same people of whom I speak, who let their passions run away with them, are their descendants, for there has been little mi- gration in the remote country districts. Rough times and rough punishments ! The stocks are still near the church gate at Tredington. Yonder son of the soil, now nearly out of my sight, with many defects and many weaknesses, is a new creation nature brings lilies out of swamps and dunghills, and grace makes saints out of men and in the transformation of which he is a type we may see the power of a pure Christianity. The old mediaevalism could not help such as he; only a religion which brought Christ directly to him and gave to his perishing soul the sustaining knowledge of God's love could make him happy and hopeful. There is no cross by the wayside at which he may kneel and repeat an " Ave," but as he turns his face toward the setting sun he will rejoice in the thought of the many mansions where he shall find a home when the tribulation of this life is overpast. The rights of footpaths are very jealously guarded. Some of these meadow-ways such as the one I am now treading are older than the neighboring roads; probably they are the tracks by which centuries ago the people found their way through the wilderness from settlement to settlement and from farm to farm. For any man, though he were lord of the manor, or even king of the realm, to attempt to close them from the public would be, as the old Greeks would have said, to catch the wind with a net or to write upon the surface of the sea. I have been told of a squire who tried it, and, instead of turning the people out of the paths in OVER THE COUNTRY. 323 which their fathers had walked, by some mysterious operation or other his head was turned halfway round. When he was able to look straight behind him, he saw the evil of which he had been guilty, and, either from increased knowledge or from increased awkwardness, he repented, and the legend says he was immediately as though nothing had happened. The lesson is apparent, but possibly everybody does not know that caring for roads and paths was once regarded as a religious duty. The author of The Sick Man's Salve, a thoroughgoing English reformer, and chaplain to Archbishop Cranmer, enumerates, among the many virtues which justified him in thinking his " sick man " had made a Christian and godly end, that he had given freely to the repairing of highways. In one age people, when ill, vowed if they recovered to give their weight in wax to be consumed in tapers before the shrine of their patron-saint ; in an- other, they promised to give so much stone to the roads and so much wood to the foot-bridges of the parish. Too often in such cases, it is to be feared, the old adage was verified : " The devil was sick : The devil a monk would be ; The devil was well : The devil a monk was he." Anti-climaxes and oddities are frequent and help to brighten the daily round. The other day I saw a really comical situation. A woman was standing in a cottage doorway with a boy sitting on the ground a little dis- tance off; he was playing and she was singing the hymn, " Hark ! hark, my soul ! angelic songs are swelling." 324 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. The boy did something just as she got to the line " An- gels sing on." She did not stop to finish it, but, break- ing off abruptly, she caught him by the hair and gave him a rapid succession of severe cuffs. He cried and screamed at the top of his voice ; she went back to her post and on with her song as though nothing had hap- pened: "Sing us sweet fragments." The boy did indeed sing lustily and with a good courage. There is Shipston over the brow of the hill, the set- ting sun just gilding the old church-tower with the rose- ate glory. All is still and restful a lovely evening. No wonder men in all ages have been moved by Nature's charms, and especially by the splendor of the sunset. The crimson on the clouds and the purple of the shad- ows are inimitable, more wonderful than aught that the painter's brush can produce more wonderful, because deeper and richer in hue, and, which no artist can ac- complish, moving, fading, brightening, changing and pre- senting shades full of living glory. How the old Greeks delighted in this calm, sweet hour in fact, in everything of nature ! There was Athena, the queen of the air. She brought to man the sweet, pure winds of heaven and ruled over the gods of the flying clouds and the de- mons of the storm. She was beautiful and lovely, her robe the deep blue of the sky, sometimes set with the brilliant star-gems, sometimes fringed with the saffron of the sunrise, and in a moment such as this she seems to sit enthroned in her palace of magnificence, her crown a wreath of sunbeams, her face bright with the sweetness and the purity of the calm eventide light, and her hand uplifted to still the playful noise of nature, to cheer the tired world and to bless the expectant heart of man. OVER THE COUNTRY. 325 What marvel if out of such scenes and times have emerged myths and legends myths that have been dear through countless ages, sung in the nursery and unfolded in the college, and legends which seem so true and so real 1 We, rude Northern people, as they of the warm meridiana regard us, have our sunset story not, perhaps, so exquisite and delicate as those of Greek imaginings, for God made only one such people, but, after all, not unworthy of the common Aryan an- cestry. Let me sit in the fading sunlight on this stile and re- call the tradition of the noble Guy of Warwick. He, as all men know and have known from childhood, was a brave and renowned warrior, the hero of numberless battles and the darling knight of Christendom. With a fair maiden, Felice by name, the daughter of a great earl, he fell in love. She was, so runs the story, both beautiful and haughty beautiful like some stately mar- ble shaft of perfect mould, haughty as the great gerfal- con which spurns the earth and towers up into the noon to look the burning sun in the face. When he told his heart's secret, she bade him go to the war-fields and prove there by deeds of prowess his right to be the peer of a high born-lady. So he went far away and won for himself golden fame, and at last returned to claim as his own the lovely Felice. But ere the wedding-feast had ended, Guy's conscience was smitten with the thought that all his great achievements had been wrought to win a woman's love and not one deed had been done for God. Then he bade farewell to his weeping bride and sped away again to fight and to work for his Lord, and while he was doing doughty deeds in far-off lands she wore 326 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. her widow's robe and wept for her brave knight. Years after he came back again to his own country, but he went not to his wife : he was content to see her as on deeds of mercy she daily passed the hermitage in the cliff where he took up his abode ; only, once, all travel- worn and with his pilgrim's staff in his hand, he went to her house for alms, and she took him in and washed his feet and ministered to him, and asked him if in his dis- tant journeyings he had seen her loving lord. Then many weeks went by, and he, feeling his end was near and he was about to go away for ever, sent his ring to Felice and bade her come to him. She knew the token and hastened to her long-mourned husband, but Guy could not speak ; so they wept in each other's arms, and she kissed him, and he died. And fifteen weary days she lingered sore in grief, and then God's angel came and gently closed her own tired eyes ; and both she and the lover of her youth were laid in the same grave severed in life, but united in death. Perhaps the story has lost its popularity, but others have believed it besides the people of fair Warwickshire, and many still visit the cave in the rocks near the coun- try town where the hero died. Formerly a chantry was there, and in the chapel, where priests said daily solemn masses, was placed a statue of Sir Guy. In Chaucer's time the legend was sung, and some have thought it had its origin in that battle of Byran-byrig mentioned toward the end of my last chapter ; but, for all that, though it may be mingled with facts, associated and colored with historical events and personages, it is a nature-myth. The brave knight Guy is none other than the sun, which rejoiceth as a giant to run its course, which in the early OVER THE COUNTRY. 327 morn leaves his young and lovely bride amid the rose- clouds of the Orient, the beauty and hopefulness of youth and new-found happiness, and, rising in the sky, wanders through trackless wilds, doing mighty things, till at last, weary and worn, he draws toward home again and lays him down to rest and die. Then sweet Felice comes the clouds, rosy, creamy, maiden-blush and she clasps him in a last embrace ere he passes away, and still hovers over his grave until her beauty also fades into the night. Thus the weary sun dying in the bosom of the tender clouds is a figure of the parting of true husband and wife. The twilight is coming on now, and soon the mists will creep up the meadows from the brook and the fairies begin their night revels. Cinderella belongs to hours nearer the morrow: the prince is the sun, the fairy the light, and she the dawn. The dress of ashen- gray is changed by the fairy into a robe of beautiful hues. The prince runs after her, but the beautiful maid- en leaves only one trace behind, the glass slipper the crystal dewdrops. Even the other nursery legend, be- ginning with " Sing a song o'sixpence," admits of sim- ilar explanation. The four-and-twenty blackbirds are the four-and-twenty hours, and the pie that holds them is the underlying earth covered with the overarching sky. When the pie is opened that is, when day breaks the birds begin to sing. The king is the sun, and his counting out his money is the pouring out the golden sunshine ; while the queen is the moon and her trans- parent honey the moonlight. The maid hanging out the clothes is the rosy-fingered dawn, who, rising before the sun, hangs out the clouds across the sky. 328 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. But I hasten into the quiet town, there to rest after my long journeying, and to thank God that he has given me a day of rare delight one to be remembered grate- fully and fondly for years to come. CHAPTER XIV. ILegenfc. " He picked the earliest Strawberries in Woods, The cluster 1 d Filberds, and the purple Grapes : He taught a prating Stare to speak my Name ; And when he found a Nest of Nightingales, Or callow Linnets, he would show 'em me, And let me take 'em out." SUFFER a merry and homely legend illustrating some phases of life in these secluded country regions. Shadrack Abednego Pruce was an orphan that is to say, his father and his mother were both dead. They died before Shadrack Abednego became an orphan, and when they were buried, Shadrack Abednego planted a yew tree and a rose-bush on their grave, and said, " I am an orphan." He sat down on the grave and cried for nearly three minutes, and said, " I am an orphan." He walked up and down the churchyard, reading the inscriptions on the tombstones, peeping into the church, watching the rooks in the elm trees and muttering over and over again, " I am an orphan." He thought that meant something, and the words seemed to comfort his bereaved heart. Then he sat swinging on the gate that led into the meadow at the back of the church, and then he wept and thought, and " I am an orphan " came to his lips, and the rusty hinges creaked back, " Orphan ! orphan!" Then he went home to dinner. 329 330 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. This was just a week after the funeral of Shadrack's mother, and ten days after that of his father. In the house the pictures and the looking-glasses were still toward the wall, for old Susannah she was Shadrack's aunt on his mother's side, and now his sole protector was somewhat superstitious and did not wish to see in the mirror the face of her lately-deceased sister. " Not that I believe in such things," she said to the neighbors, " but there's no telling what might happen." " That's true, Aunt Susie," was the reply from every- body ; " it's always best to be on the safe side." So every picture, portrait and looking-glass in the house had its safe side turned to the public, and even the silver tea-pot on the cupboard had a cloth thrown over it, so that the dead should not be tempted to come again. The effect of this was that poor Shadrack Abednego had not been able to comb his hair properly for more than a week, and, as he had very long and very red hair, he did not look quite so neat as he should have done. Once he went out to the well and sought to see himself in its clear waters, but his aunt followed him and ex- pressed her horror at his audacity so vigorously that Shadrack thought it best not to hurt her feelings again. She even cried for nearly an hour at the bare thought that as likely as not before many days dear Shadrack would be lying beside his father and his mother. Then she looked at the sturdy, rugged urchin, and she dried her eyes with the corner of her gingham apron and of- fered to comb Shadrack's hair herself. But Shadrack was now sixteen years old and five feet seven inches high, and he boldly declared no woman or man, either, A MERRY LEGEND. 331 for that matter should comb his hair ; upon which de- fiant rejection of her kind offer, Aunt Susannah dropped off into hysterics, and for twenty minutes her next- door neighbor, who ran to her assistance when she heard her scream, thought it was doubtful if she would escape with her life. Hysterics, however, do not kill, and after copious doses of brandy and repeated applications of burning feathers to her nose and of cold water to the back of her neck she gradually recovered. Then the kind-hearted neighbor suggested that Shadrack should be severely punished, but Aunt Susannah said, " Poor boy ! he is an orphan ;" and she went back to her task of peeling potatoes for dinner. So on the day that Shadrack Abednego planted the bushes on his parents' grave his hair was, as the saying is, all sixes and sevens, his face had tear-tracks down his cheeks, his necktie was upside down, and he looked ex- actly what he called himself and everybody else called him an orphan. Thus he sat down with Aunt Susan- nah at the table. He was both sad and hungry, and he ate away at the roast goose and boiled potatoes, and af- terward at the apple-dumplings, with all the delight and zest imaginable. As the half-grown girl who did the rough work about the house said, " Live folks must eat, and as long as Master Shadrack wanted a good dinner he should have it." She had ideas of her own about Master Shadrack, but, having once had her ears pinched for observing to Aunt Susannah that he was becoming a fine young man, she kept them to herself. Aunt Su- sannah wanted no nonsense over Shadrack Abednego. Least of all did she want anybody to fall in love with him. That had been the trouble with his mother a 332 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. girl that was worth' her weight in gold till she got mar- ried, and then trouble began. No ; Shadrack shoyld grow up like the great oak on the village green grand in himself, noble in his solitude. But, for all that, the half-grown girl had her eye on Shadrack, and she longed for nothing so much as to comb out his radi- ant locks and wash his grief- and dirt-stained face and kiss his bright red lips. Shadrack ate his dinner ; then he drank half a mug of ale ; then he sat back and looked fondly and con- tentedly into Aunt Susannah's admiring face. " A nice goose, Aunt Susie," said he. " The best in the yard," she replied ; " the very one your dear father thought so much of." Poor Shadrack began to cry, and found it not so easy as it had been before dinner. " Don't cry, my orphan nevy don't cry," said Aunt Susannah, sympathetically; " people must die, and so must geese, but don't ee cry." "No, I won't," muttered Shadrack; "but just to think how fond father was of this goose, how it would run after him and eat out of his hand, and now we have ate the goose!" " There's enough left for another dinner, Shaddy dear. So don't ee cry, but go out and see if the men are all right in the yard, and if the bay mare's colt is in the meadow. These are all your things now." " Yes, aunty, I am an orphan ;" and Shadrack Abed- nego went out to see if old Solomon, the unofficial but very officious overseer, was getting on well with the men and the things of the farm. Old Solomon was a childless widower. His better A MERRY LEGEND. 333 half had been dead nearly sixteen years, and never but once in all that time had his heart been moved by emo- tions of love. Unfortunately, it had been so effectually moved that it quivered yet. He had worked on the farm from boyhood. When a stunted lad of thirteen, he had driven the horses at plough and helped hold the sheep at the shearing. He had grown up an able and a trusted laborer, had served as wagoner and as shep- herd, and now at the age of sixty he had without formal appointment dropped into the general management of the whole farm. Good wages and a free cottage, to say nothing of the possession of authority, made him a man of some importance so much so that, next to the par- son and Shadrack's father, he was regarded as the great man of the parish. And from his exalted position old Solomon looked down upon one of his womanly ac- quaintances one whom he had known from her cradle, one whom he had admired from her girlhood, and one whom he had loved from the day he laid his wife be- neath the sod. This acquaintance was none other than Miss Susannah, Shadrack's aunt, and now his mistress. Not that he had ever told his love ; it was his heart's delight and his heart's secret. " Does she take it very hard ?" asked old Sol when, on the afternoon of which we are speaking, Shadrack stood beside him watching the cows coming up for milking. "Who?" asked Shadrack. " Miss Susannah," replied old Sol. " Rather," was the laconic reply. " Poor soul !" said old Sol ; " poor soul ! And hasn't she turned the looking-glass round yet ?" 334 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. " No." " Nor given the cat skim-milk instead of cream ?" " No ; she says the cat's heart needs comforting as much as anybody's." " Kind-hearted creature ! Isn't she a beauty ?" The first part of this observation applied to Miss Susannah ; the latter, to a remarkably fat cow passing at that mo- ment. Shadrack thought both remarks applied to his aunt. " I say, Sol," he put in, " none of that 1" " What?" in a tone of surprise. " Oh, you know well enough. I say none of that ; we have trouble enough." ^ " I know it," said old Solomon ; " but she would fetch a high price any time. I know a man who would give anything for such a beast." " Gently," said Shadrack ; " gently, old man. I tell thee I will hear none of that." " No, no !" continued Solomon, still thinking of the cow ; " no, no ! She's too rare a breed to part with. There's not such another brute in this parish, nor the next. So Mr. Philips said t'other day." " If you were not an old man, I'd pitch thee into yonder water ;" and Shadrack went off in great anger. " Impatient as his father," said the old man to himself as he turned down toward the barn. Into the house went Shadrack Abednego, and as soon as he found Aunt Susannah he began : " Aunt Susie, old Solomon has called you a beast !" "Ugh, the wretch!" and the words hissed through her teeth. " Yes, and he says you are a brute." A MERRY LEGEND. 335 " The scoundrel ! he shall go ! He shall leave the premises this very night! To think that your own mother's sister should be called a brute and a beast !" Aunt Susannah was too angry to cry. " But that isn't all of it," continued Shadrack : " he declares you are too rare a breed to part with, and that skinny Philips said so." " The villain ! the tramp ! the outcast ! the disgrace of his sex ! I'll prosecute him ! I'll have him sent to the assizes ! I'll " and poor Aunt Susannah's rage stopped her words as well as her tears. Her face was white; her hands trembled ; her teeth were tightly set. There was silence ; then she said, " Tell me all about it, Shad- dy dear." " That's all," replied Shadrack " though, to be sure, he did say you were a beauty." " Oh !" The tide began to turn, for her gray eyes, red hair, sharp nose and chin, high cheek-bones and angular figure made Aunt Susannah anything but a beauty. "And he also called you a kind-hearted creature." " Now, are you sure of that ?" very much mollified. " Yes, certain." " He's not such a bad fellow, after all," said she, musingly, as though speaking to herself. " What ! not when he called you a brute and a beast ?" "Well, Shaddy, you know that's the way of some men, especially of such as have to do much with cattle. In your dear father's eye a cow was the pink of perfec- tion. He used to call your mother ' Cowey,' and when- ever he saw anything that pleased him he would say, ' As fine as old Bess ;' that was the name of one of the 22 336 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. Durhams. Oh no, there's nothing at all in the words 1 brute ' and ' beast,' when you- consider where they come from." "Well," exclaimed Shadrack, with the slightest pos- sible contempt in his voice " well, aunty, you are, as he said himself, a poor soul !" " Humph ! he's quite tender-hearted," in the softest of tones. " Now go, Shaddy dear, and take a look around. See if you can find some bait for fishing, for you must try for a trout to-morrow." Shadrack stood thinking for a moment. He said nothing and went out. But he thought, " What's come over aunty now ? She's getting a better woman every day. To see how quickly she forgave the old scoundrel ! That comes of learning the parson's texts every Sunday. It takes all the spirit out of her, but it makes her good, fit to go to heaven, that's certain." He took his spade and went down to the willow trees by the pond to dig for grubs and worms. This was the burden of Aunt Susannah's soliloquy : " He says I am a kind-hearted creature ! Well, well ! That's what I call thoughtful and manly. Oh, I remem- ber when he was a spry young man and used to swing me under the apple tree. That's thirty-five years ago, now, I'll be bound. We have both changed since then. I would like to peep into the looking-glass, but that will never do. Only he's a good strong man yet stronger than many a younger one. And folks said he was kind to his first wife and cried when he buried her. A faithful servant he's been. I always thought a deal of him. To think of the dear fellow calling me a brute and a beast ! That's just like a boy calling his sweetheart ' ducky ' and A MERRY LEGEND. 337 ' goosey,' only from a man ' brute ' and ' beast ' mean more. Well, well !" and Aunt Susannah began to won- der if the legend so ran that the mirrors should have their faces turned to the wall after the corpse left the house. " I thought it was fourteen days after the fu- neral," she said to herself, "but I may be mistaken." The more she thought of it, the more certain she was of her mistake. Then she remembered that when Re- becca Short died they put everything to rights the same day that she was buried. But when two died within a few days of each other? That was a problem, and Aunt Susannah began to get bewildered. " He said I was tender-hearted ; no, kind-hearted : that was his word. I don't think two deaths would make any dif- ference, and Shaddy's hair does want combing. I think I'll venture it. I do wish I had somebody to advise me what to do." She looked at the pictures and the mir- rors, so dismally displaced. She thought out every thought she had. She sighed till she suddenly remem- bered that sighs were dangerous and cut so many hours off one's life, and then she stopped. Up and down the room she walked, out of the window she looked ; then she deliberately took the cover off the silver tea-pot. She seemed startled at her daring, but nothing hap- pened, so she turned first the picture of the old duke around, then that of his late Majesty, then that of a famous prize greyhound, and so on till all the pictures were in their proper position. She dusted each of them off, thinking rather more of old Solomon than of the risk she was running. Once the half-grown girl peeped in and exclaimed, " Laws, missis ! be'st thee not afraid ?" 338 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. " Go and scrub out the pantry, you impertinent thing!" and Betsey departed. Nothing happened. Twenty minutes passed ; still no vision on any of the glittering surfaces. Then, with an air of desperate firmness, she turned around one of the mirrors. The first thing she saw in it was her own face, and she nearly fainted. She looked again. Her heart began to cease its fluttering. " He said I was pretty a beauty. The glass shows I am passable. Humph! passable ! So Ezekiel said ; every man has passed me by. Still, many a high-born lady has red hair, so that's nothing ; and gray eyes : they are nothing. After all, it's handsome is that handsome does. To think that old Solomon called me beautiful ! What would Mary that's dead and buried say if she heard it ? I'll knit him a pair of blue worsted stockings for winter, the good man !" and she continued admiring her charms, smooth- ing her hair and eyebrows, adjusting her dress and meditating upon the thoughtful and discerning kindness of old Solomon. Into the room walked Shadrack Abednego. His aunt was in too great an ecstasy to hear the sound of his footsteps. He watched her for an instant, then he exclaimed, " Aunt Susie, what have you done ? What have you done ? Don't you know I am an orphan ?" " Oh, Shadrack, how you frightened me !" cried Aunt Susannah, pale with fear and trembling with excitement. " You shouldn't come in so quiet as that. It's terrible to be startled so." "But why have you turned things around?" asked Shadrack. A MERRY LEGEND. 339 " I was thinking of you, Shaddy dear. You do need washing up and combing so badly." " Dear, kind aunty !" said Shadrack, with undis- guised admiration. " You are always thinking of me. Just to think of your turning the glass for my sake ! Loving mother-aunt, let me kiss you." Aunt Susannah blushed not at the kiss, but at the abuse of praise. She held her peace. Thus in the evening of the day our story begins this was the emotional state of the hearts belonging to the four individuals we have introduced : Shadrack loved his aunt for her devotion ; old Solomon felt tender toward Aunt Susannah because of her recent grief and his own inspiration; Aunt Susannah admired herself more than ever, thought Shadrack was a good boy, and looked more kindly on old Solomon because he had dis- covered her charms ; Betsey, the half-grown girl, was simply and completely in love with Shadrack. When the shades of night overspread the land and crickets on the hearth and owls in the field kept watch, Shadrack and Solomon slept in peace. Aunt Susannah dreamed of the seven fat kine of Egypt and thought she was drowning in the Nile or the Red Sea, she was not sure which, when old Solomon perhaps it was the Sphinx ; she could not say : therefore it was most likely Solomon jumped in and saved her; whereupon the king of some place married her and she became a par- agon of loveliness. Poor Betsey tossed about in her trundle-bed for hours. She was happy and troubled. When first she got into the garret, she snuffed out the candle : that was a clear sign of matrimony. Then she lighted it again and stuck a pin through the wick, re- 34O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. peating some mystic lines about piercing Shadrack's heart and his coming to her in spirit. She watched the candle burn below the pin ; it did not drop out, there- fore he would be sure to appear. To be doubly sure, she set her shoes under the bed in the form of a T, and, placing one stocking under the pillow and hanging the other over the foot of the bed, she knelt down to say her prayers. These were short and simple "just the heads, you know," Betsey used to say ; for, poor girl ! by bedtime she was tired out. However, hours passed this night before she could get to sleep. She lay there thinking and building castles in the air, hoping it might be her lot to be a Cinderella and marry the prince Shad- rack Abednego. When she felt her foot, though, she was pretty sure, if it were a very, very small slipper, she would never get it on ; so she let Cinderella go and thought of herself as a female Dick Whittington, only Shadrack was her London and she had no cat. Any way, she got Shadrack that is to say, in her fancy and she was married in fine style and had a half-grown girl to wash the dishes and mind the baby. Then she dropped asleep, but no Shadrack came; not even a dream of Shadrack crossed her mind. She slept till the gray dawn appeared, and then she got up disappointed and less hopeful, but comforting herself with the thought, " Poor fellow ! he's an orphan he's an orphan. And an orphan is an exception to all rules." Now, it came to pass some few days after this that the village parson called upon Aunt Susannah and Shadrack Abednego to condole with them upon their bereave- ment. He had been expected, so Shadrack's hair had been cut; and when the parson arrived, the orphan A MERRY LEGEND. 341 looked a bright and presentable youth. His new mourn- ing-suit fitted him neatly and greatly enhanced his ap- pearance. His aunt was also looking her very best The clergyman was good and kind, as all clergymen are. He brought them his warmest sympathy, which they had looked for ; he brought them something else, which they had not looked for. This something else was a young girl of sixteen sum- mers his own daughter, Myrtle Muriel, a blithe, win- some maiden with long dark hair, brown eyes, rosy cheeks and pearly teeth. She was a fairy such as Shadrack had never seen before. He thought her wonderful, and blushed bright scarlet every time she spoke to him, and glowed with excitement every time she looked at him. His aunt listened attentively to the kind parson, and at the same time watched her nephew and thought of the noble oak on the village green. Myrtle was at one moment running over a list of French adjectives, the next composing a letter in her mind to her dear friend and schoolmate Valentine Louise Teeson, then watching the poultry in the yard, and thus running through things congruous and things incongruous, and thinking no more of Shadrack than she did of the mummy in the Shortstown museum. She asked Shadrack if he thought the brook had as many fish in it as in days gone by, and it was as much as he could do to gulp down his heart in order to tell her that possibly there were less. Her sweet voice seemed to fascinate him. He never felt so happy be- fore in his life. He even thought it was a good thing to be an orphan, so as to bring the parson and his daughter to the house. 342 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. When they left, Shadrack was another being. He watched her pretty figure down the lane till she was out of sight. That night he asked Betsey to tell him the words of a certain incantation to be uttered over a cup of cowslip wine, which she, taking this to be a sign that her love-charms were working upon him and that ere long he would be hers, did with pleasure. The ob- ject, of course, was to enable him by a dream to foresee the joy that awaited him. Carefully did he go through the prescribed formula and drink the enchanted wine ; then he lay down to sleep, and in his sleep the vision of glory came. He thought that he was standing be- fore the altar at the hour of daybreak. The surpliced priest was there ; the red sunlight fell upon the com- pany and made the church strangely beautiful and strangely weird. The great edifice was still and empty ; only here in the chancel were the friends and neighbors of the bridal-pair. By his side was the lovely Myrtle, crowned with the orange-wreath and robed in satin- cream. Her face was more than beautiful, it was more than earthly. He looked into her eyes, and there he saw himself and love. He touched her hand, and af- fection like an electric current ran from heart to heart. The vows were made, the solemn words were spoken, and then he and his bride turned away, and the radiance of the early morn followed them down the nave out into the great world of sunshine. Oh how dazzling ! oh how bewildering ! Shadrack watched himself and Myrtle till it seemed that they had vanished in the later meridian splendor. " Oh, it was beautiful," said Shadrack to Betsey in the morning as he met her at the dairy door. A MERRY LEGEND. 343 Betsey colored and said, " Did 'ee see her ?" " Yes ; she was lovely, a bonny bride something like Queen Esther, you know, and ten thousand times sweeter than any other maiden I have seen." " What did she wear ?" asked Betsey. " I am not sure I saw only her eyes but I think she wore a garland of daisies and a pink-colored dress." " What eyes had she ?" inquired Betsey. " That, again, I don't remember. They were beauti- ful full of love ; not dreamy, but bright ; a sort of But there! I can't say. But she was splendid, that's certain. To see her in the sunlight you'd have thought her a what-d'ye-call-it come down from heaven. Oh, Betsey, if I could have gone with her ! I thought, when I saw her fade into the sunbeams, that she disap- peared as a lark vanishes in the bright sky. I don't know, but " Just at that moment Aunt Susannah, who kept a strict watch over the half-grown girl and ever associated Shad- rack and the lone, lorn oak together, appeared on the scene. "Bet, you good-for-nothing girl," she cried, "back to your work ! and you, Shad, be off! Wasting time like this first thing in the morning ! I'll give the both of you a trouncing !" and into the dairy Betsey went, say- ing to herself " I'm the bride, that's certain ; I'm the bride." And Shadrack went down to the orchard and exclaimed, " What a bride she was ! Oh what a bride !" Time passed by and the autumn came, and one day, 344 THE HEART OF MERRJE ENGLAND. when the leaves were falling fast, old Solomon made up his mind that he would tell his love to Aunt Susannah. He fancied that for some months past she had treated him in an unusually civil manner. She had inquired about his health and had given him some roasted Jerusa- lem artichokes a mark of special favor, for Jerusalem artichokes were her delight. Therefore it was that one afternoon when going his rounds through the neighbor- ing wood he became sentimental. The trees stripped of their foliage, the wind whistling through the bare branches, the soddened ground and swollen streamlets and the dying sunlight, brought into his tender heart that sweet melancholia which inspires and encourages love. He had been in full possession of that sublime emotion for years ; but when he saw the naked boughs, and especially the white trunks, of the birch trees, he felt the emotion was getting too great for him. His heart was too small for it. Something must be done, or the emotion in his breast would burst forth in volcanic earthquakes and eruptions. " Oh, Susannah," he exclaimed as he sat down on the stile " oh, Susannah, I must have thee ! Lord, thy will be done, but oh, give me Susannah ! She is the best hand I know of to make onion-gruel ; and onion-gruel of a cold winter night is not so bad. I used to take it when I was a boy, thickened with oatmeal and seasoned with sage and thyme chopped up small. The old woman used to say it was good for chills and cramps, and in bad weather I had one or other 'most every night, the gruel was so good. Howsoever, Susannah is tiptop at that. She knows how to work and make a man comfortable, and that's everything. She's got money, too, and that's A MERRY LEGEND. 345 more than everything. She's not proud, so that marry- ing a poor man would be no come-down to her. Not that -I am so poor, after all. I have three hundred pounds in the three per cents., sixty pounds in the bank, two suits of Sunday clothes and a good houseful of furniture. I'll ax her yes, this very night I'll ax her. She can say only one thing or t'other ; and if I don't ax her she'll say neither. So I'll go home and dress up in my Sun- day best and face Susannah this blessed night. God knows I am a pretty good sort of fellow, and all I want now is Susannah ;" and old Solomon got off the stile and hurried home as fast as he could, so that he might see the object of his affections as soon as possible. Into his Sunday habiliments he carefully deposited himself that is to say, he dressed himself for the occasion. Then he ate a good supper, for, as experience teaches, sweet- hearting upon an empty stomach is not what it might be. He also drank a quart of real home-brewed a virtuous proceeding characteristic of our fathers and strongly helpful to sentimentalism. Into his buttonhole he stuck a scarlet geranium-flower, and in his coat-pocket he car- ried a bunch of lavender. The moon was coming up when he started for the farm, about half a mile away. A clear sky seemed a propitious omen, and the recollection that Aunt Susannah had smiled at him a fortnight since was further cause for encouragement. Neither Shadrack nor Betsey thought anything of Solomon's asking to see Aunt Susannah alone, for he often consulted her upon matters connected with the farm. Even his Sunday-like appearance did not surprise them, seeing that a fair was then going on in a neighbor- ing town and he might have been there for the afternoon. 346 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. So they went out of the room, leaving Solomon and Su- sannah together. " Miss Susannah," he began, " I believe I am an old fool." " Lawk a daisy, Solomon ! you are not the only one." " Well, I am the biggest one, any way." " I don't know that," replied Susannah, after a thought- ful pause ; " I don't know that. There's no man around here knows a horse better than you do, and, as to a manager, you couldn't be better." " Perhaps not. But do you know, Susannah I mean Miss Susannah I think a sight of you ?" " And I'm sure you are not a fool for that," said she, slightly blushing. " But I think you are a seraph or a sylph, and that's going a long way." " But there's nothing foolish about it," she replied, softly and coyly. " Only, what is a sylph ?" " It's a sort of cypher, I believe ; I saw it in the news- paper the other day. You go on adding up and adding up a person's good qualities, and that is called sylpher- ing or cyphering." " Oh yes, I see, but I didn't know that my good quali- ties would make up a sum." " There's not an angel in heaven to compare with you, and, for that matter, nor in the earth beneath, nor in the water under the earth." " You don't mean that ?" and Aunt Susannah thought her heart beat faster than ever before. " Don't I ?" exclaimed the enraptured Solomon. " Don't I ? I tell thee I am a man, and I know what A MERRY LEGEND. 347 a woman is. There's not another such. Why, you know old Matilda Cumstock ?" Susannah nodded assent and turned up her nose slightly. "Well, she thinks she is the skim-milk of perfection." " The upstart !" muttered Susannah. " She can spin." " So can I." " She can milk a cow." "So can I." "She can knit." "So can I." " She can read the Bible from beginning to end." "So can I." " There's nothing she can't do." " She can't beat me," said Susannah, firmly and de- fiantly. "No, and therefore I say you are ahead of her. Lord ! you are ahead of all the Cumstocks in the world. Your Jerusalem artichokes are not to be equalled any- where. If ever woman was born to make a man happy, you are the one." " You are the first one that ever told me so," said the delighted Susannah ; and she applied her pocket-hand- kerchief to her eyes and her bottle of smelling-salts to her nose, not being quite sure whether it would be more becoming and grateful to cry or to faint. " Ah ! there are few men outside of heaven," contin- ued Solomon, "who know the fine points of female cha- racter and beauty as well as I do. I have not lived for sixty years with my eyes in my head and not learned something." 348 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. "I know it," replied Susannah; and tear. number one hung like a dewdrop upon her left eyelashes and glit- tered in the candlelight. Solomon thought he had never seen anything so lovely. There was silence. Shadrack and Betsey were in the kitchen together devising charms and telling ghost- stories. The room was chilly ; Solomon laid a fresh log on the dying embers. Then he returned to his chair and accidentally pushed it a yard nearer to Susannah. Tear number one trickled down her cheek, and tear num- ber two started from her right eye. She had resolved not to faint. There was silence for five minutes. Solomon and Su- sannah were both thinking. The candle needed snuffing. Solomon snuffed it, and somehow or other, before he had again taken his seat, his chair got within a foot of that of Susannah. " I tell thee, Miss Susannah," he said, with a profound sigh " I tell thee it is nice in old age to have somebody to lean upon, somebody to comfort you. I am not an old man, nor are you an old woman " " Only forty-nine," put in Susannah. " Forty-nine's nothing. You look as fresh as a wench of twenty. Still, it is nice to have one near to you to make you happy and protect your rights. As my old woman used to say to me, ' Solomon, you are the boy to make a wife contented ;' and so I was, and am yet. I never swore at a woman in my life, and couldn't ; nobody else would that called himself a man. As the parson says, ' Swearing lips are a ' something I forget the word ' to the Lord.' But don't you think, Miss Susannah, it is pretty to see the ivy twined around the oak, the A MERRY LEGEND. 349 vine climbing on the wall and the sweet peas and kid- ney-beans growing up the poles ?" " It's a beautiful symbol of affection, Solomon. It's as beautiful as a rainbow resting on a cloud." " That's what I say. Miss Susannah " his chair was close to her now " you have learning ; you know what's what. Now, let my shoulder be the cloud and your little head the rainbow ;" and he slipped his arm along the back of Susannah's chair, and in another moment the red tresses were lying in blissful repose against his stalwart side. There was silence. The log on the fire hissed and blazed. Solomon looked into the fire ; Susannah looked down the years. " Do you know," said Solomon at last, " that I love you love you with all my heart?" " You don't mean it," replied Susannah ; " you men say such things without thinking about it." " Did ever any man say that to you before ?" " No at least, not that I remember." " You would have remembered if one had ; so you ought not to say I don't tell the truth." This with a slightly-injured accent. " I didn't mean it, Solomon." This very penitently. " I only said it to try you. I know you love me ; I knew you loved me from the day you called me a brute and a beast." " I never called you that." " Shadrack said you did." " I'll make him prove it." " Never mind ; it was all right. I gave you credit for being a kind-hearted man." 350 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. " Well, I never said it ; I'll swear to that I couldn't do such a thing." " Only figuratively, as the parson says ; and I took it figuratively, and thought more of you ever since." " Do you think enough of me to take me for better or for worse ?" " Oh, Solomon !" this softly and happily. " I have loved you, Susannah, for sixteen years. Will you have me ?" " I must think about it." " No, no ! don't think about it. Take me without thinking. Oh, Susannah, if you don't marry me, I shall die !" "You'll do that, any way; you're sixty now, and you'll not live another twenty years." She spoke sym- pathetically and dolefully. " I shall not live twenty days if you say ' No.' Be kind, Susannah, and don't let me go before my time." " I don't want you to die." " You are the only one that can save my life." " Then I suppose I must save it. It would only be a charity to keep a good man in the. world." Solomon kissed Susannah, and Susannah kissed Solo- mon. There was silence, there was sweetness, there was sublimity. " Solomon dear, you had better go home." " Yes, Susannah. Good-night. Shall Christmas be the wedding-day?" " If you are good. Now go, but please don't tell any- body." " No, no ! Bye-bye !" And as Solomon's footsteps died away in the distance A MERRY LEGEND. 351 Aunt Susannah said to herself, " He said I was a beauty, and now I am to be his wife. Dear me ! how my head aches ! I have never been through such a time in my life. He's a good, a dear good, man. Now, I wonder what Shadrack and Betsey are at ? I had forgot all about them. But he's a dear good man ;" and away she went to the kitchen. This was what Shadrack and Betsey were doing : first of all, both were trying to discover what time had in store for them ; secondly, both were seeking for fuel to feed the fire burning in each of their hearts ; and thirdly, each was striving to comfort the other. In the first of these objects Betsey had the advantage, for she knew all the omens and charms then and thereabouts believed in ; in the second Shadrack was the better equipped, for he was poetically inclined and had the ideal of the beautiful Myrtle in his mind ; in the third each had equal powers, for each knew the joys of love and the griefs of unre- quited affection. For one thing, they had never been left alone so long before, and therefore they had a fair chance to procure the best of their desires. Betsey gave Shadrack the remains of a huge apple-pudding, and while he was eating it she told him a story of a haunted house that made his blood run cold and his skin get " goose-fleshed." He ate the pudding and listened. It seemed some beautiful girl broke her heart over a faithless swain and then took to walking in the night-time. Betsey said she was sure she would do the same if any chap were false to her. How any " chap " could be we know not, for, though Betsey was but a half-grown girl and a kitchen-maid to boot, she had all the making of a good-looking and, indeed, a handsome 23 352 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. woman about her. Shadrack thought that next to Myrtle she was perfection, but he further thought that between the two girls was a difference as great as that between the rose and the dandelion. If any man de- serted her, he said he would drown him; to which Betsey replied rather pointedly that the one she had selected would never break his word. Shadrack nodded assent, and said he was glad to hear it. Then he told her over again, as he had done many a time before, that he loved a sweet girl, but he never gave the name ; so Betsey was sure it was she. " I don't know whether she loves me," he said. " I am sure she does," exclaimed Betsey. "Why?" " Because she can't help herself." Shadrack was tickled at the delicate flattery. Then they got the leaves out of the tea-pot and put them in a saucer of water ; and when Betsey saw the forms they assumed, she was more confident than ever in her own and Shadrack's good fortune. "The one you want," she said, "you will have, and the one I want I shall have." " Are you sure of it ?" asked Shadrack. " Certain ; everything says so." " Well," said Shadrack, thoughtfully, " Providence is always kind to orphans. You're an orphan, Betsey ?" " Yes," she replied, with some pride. " So am I, and therefore we agree on that point." To think that they agreed even so far was joy inex- pressible to poor Betsey. She only wished that Shad- rack would see how much farther they could be one, but he, unconscious youth, held his peace. So they sat by A MERRY LEGEND, 353 the fire talking and dreaming, seeing visions in the fan- tastic embers and getting happier as the future seemed to dawn with glory. They were very still when Aunt Susannah came in. Shadrack was leaning over as though in deep study, and Betsey was sitting beside him smoothing his red locks and wondering why he did not speak the mystic words. His thoughts were far away far away from the simple maiden at his side with the Myrtle Muriel whom he had seen but once and thought he should now love for ever. " That's what you're doing !" said his aunt, recalling him from his reverie and frightening Betsey almost into a fit. " Be off to bed, you bad, good-for-nothing Betty, and you too, Shadrack, and let me never see you do that again." " What ?" asked Shadrack. " Never mind. Be off; that's all." " I wonder if that is all ?" said Betsey to herself as she went up the garret stairs. " I only wish it were. But never mind, old Susannah ; I shall have Shadrack one of these days." " I shall have Myrtle," said Shadrack as he got into bed ; " darling Myrtle will be mine." " The little wretch !" said Aunt Susannah to herself as she went to her room ; " she's after my orphan-boy. I'll pay her up in the morning. I'll keep her on bread and water for a week : that'll cure her. And I am to have Solomon dear, good soul ! and he said I was a beauty a beauty!" The Christmas-tide had always been celebrated in true English and ancient form in the old farmhouse when 354 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. Shadrack's father was alive, and now that he was dead Aunt Susannah decided the custom should be kept up the same as ever. Moreover, Christmas morning was to witness the completion of her own and Solomon's hopes. The day before more than the usual prepara- tions were made. The house was adorned with ever- greens the holly and the ivy, laurel, bay, box and rose- mary, and a huge bunch of mistletoe in the middle of the kitchen. The mighty Yule-log was drawn in tri- umphantly and left ready to roll on the festive fire; geese, ducks and turkeys were plucked ; plum-puddings and mince-pies were made ; a great haunch of venison and a still greater sirloin of beef were prepared ; a more than necessary quantity of bread was baked, but bread baked on Christmas Eve never gets mouldy ; and Bet- sey saw that there was plenty of spice and crab-apples to put in the ale, and other condiments to make up the wassail-bowl. All the servants on the farm, the rela- tions and friends, and even strangers, were invited, as in the days of yore. The wedding-cake had been made for more than a fortnight and carefully locked up in the parlor cupboard, where every day, and sometimes twice in the day, Aunt Susannah went to see if it were all right neither stolen by the fairies nor eaten by the mice and to think for a few minutes of the precious Solomon. Shadrack did all he could to further the al- most endless arrangements. He made up his mind that old Solomon would die before long, so the wedding made but little difference. After all, it was better for Aunt Susannah to marry a man on in years, because, if matrimony disagreed with her, the end would not be so far off Betsey said it was the very best thing that could A MERRY LEGEND. 355 happen, and she had foreseen its coming from the very day the cuckoo was first heard last spring and she found in Aunt Susannah's shoe a hair the actual color and shade of old Solomon's. Christmas Eve set in cold and clear. The ground was covered with snow and glistened as the star-beams fell upon it from out the frosty sky. From the old church-tower, nearly a mile away, came the sound of the merry peals, now louder, now fainter, as the wind blew. A goodly company were assembled in the large kitchen, and on the hearth blazed brightly the great log. A cheery crowd they were, too; not a heavy-hearted one among them. They laughed and sang, now a carol, then a ballad, then a ringing chorus ; some told strange stories of hobgoblins and ghosts, but they felt safe, for on this night no spirits walk the earth ; then they danced ; then came blind-man's-buff and puss-in- the-corner and hide-and-seek ; and then dancing again. Gayly played the old fiddler, and far more gayly did Solomon and Susannah lead the jig. And every time a pause came in each drank of the foaming ale or of the reeking wassail. Many a kiss was given under the mis- tletoe ; even Betsey got one from Shadrack, and, as she said afterward, it was better than anything else that night. Other girls were made happy in like manner, but she discovered the prognostic of her bliss in the fact that that morning she had put on her left stocking wrong side out. Nor had she changed that stocking when she dressed for the evening, so that the good luck might not go from her, and therefore she wore both a blue stocking and a white one, which somewhat extraordi- nary fact had been noticed and commented upon by THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. nearly every one in the room. Betsey got the kiss, and she didn't care for anybody. Three hours passed away, and a little before midnight and soon after a hearty supper the company began to disperse, some to sleep off the effects of the carousal, some to get ready for the morrow, and Solomon and Susannah to dream and dress for the bridal. As the clock struck twelve Shadrack and two or three of the other young men went out to the sheds to see the cat- tle go down on their knees, as they do at that time, fol- lowing the example of those in the stable at Bethlehem, who thus did homage to the infant Redeemer. They also went to the hives to hear the bees sing their " Gloria in Excelsis." Betsey went alone into the garden. She looked up at the bright stars and listened to the pealing bells as they so joyously heralded in the day of days. Then she went to the sage-bush and carefully plucked twelve leaves, but the shadowy form of the one who should make her a bride appeared not. She made a cross in the snow and laid thereon a sprig of holly full of red berries, but he came not. " He's an orphan," she said, in her disappointment, " and, I suppose, is beyond the reach even of Christmas-Eve charms." So she turned back, and ere long sought her little attic-bed. Poor Betsey ! and she loved Shadrack better, far better, she said over and over again, than Susannah loved Solo- mon. But before she laid down she went to the tiny latticed window and looked out into the calm night. The bells still rang on, ringing down the changes rapidly and sweetly. She saw the garden quiet and deserted, the woods with their leafless and snow-laden A MERRY LEGEND. 357 branches, the cottages in the distance with their now- whitened thatch, the church on the hill far away and the light gleaming from the belfry, and now and then an owl sweeping silently across the fields and a brilliant meteor rushing amid the star-streams. And as she stood peering through the diamond panes she fell into musing this half-grown girl with an uncultured mind, but a loving heart. Would Shadrack Abednego ever be hers ? Would she, poor Cinderella II., ever be a bride ? Ah I maidens poor as she had been highly blessed, even as was Mary, the virgin mother. The Christmas story came to her the stable at the inn, the manger-cradle, the kindly Joseph, the Divine Child, the adoring shepherds. She saw it all, and almost thought she saw the heavenly host wheeling in clouds of light overhead : " ' Glory to God in the highest !' That was what the parson said the angels sang this blessed night, and he said the Babe was the good God that loveth even me;" and she thought it passing strange that He who made the shining stars should look upon a poor kitchen-maid. Could he love a girl that scrubbed the floor and did odds and ends about the house ? No wonder the angels sang ! She could sing too. And the tears began to flow, but they were not sorrowful tears. Again Betsey looked down into the garden. There was the cross in the snow close by the old cedar tree. How dark it looked on the white ground ! There were the scattered sage-leaves, and there were foot-tracks. That was all. No ! Betsey's blood began to creep ; she shivered with fear. Out in the shadow of the cedar she saw a misty figure, a white cloud in human shape. The 358 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. enchantment was working at last ! Who could it be ? It must, of course, be Shadrack; who else could be Betsey's groom ? The indistinct form moved out of the dark cedar shade, and against the clear snow became more vague than ever. It stopped at the cross and picked up the holly-sprig and one of the sage- leaves. Then it moved slowly away, till at last it vanished and Betsey saw it no more. She was both frightened and satisfied. She had hoped her charm would succeed, and yet she did not altogether believe it would. Now, beyond a doubt, Shadrack would be the one. The more she pondered the matter over, the more certain it be- came. Had not the figure Shadrack's tall and youth- like form ? Was not the hair Shadrack's hair ? Nobody else could come, for he was the one she loved. So, happy and hopeful, she lay down to sleep if possible, to dream of the good fortune which awaited her in the bright by and by. Before the sun arose that Christmas morn came the waits with their hand-bells, and a little later village children singing carols. As their " God rest you, merry gentlemen !" filled the clear air Shadrack hastened to the kitchen that he might help give each rustic min- strel and songster the customary dole. After breakfast the usual Christmas boxes were given and accepted. Among the many which Shadrack received was a flute from old Solomon, made by himself out of the wood of an elder tree which grew far beyond the sound of cock- crowing a great help to the melody of a musical in- strument, for everybody knows that the song of the chanticleer dulls and injures the elder-wood. Shadrack looked upon the flute as a token of great affection, and VILLAGE CHILDREN SINGING CAROLS." A MERRY LEGEND. 359 he trusted that Solomon would live for some years yet to hear him play it an accomplishment he resolved forthwith to acquire. Nine o'clock was the time ap- pointed for the wedding, and Shadrack, in spite of his improved feelings toward the bridegroom, was rather sorry he could not join his boy-friends in the time- honored Christmas sport of hunting owls and squirrels. Solomon came over dressed in a new suit very fine corduroy knee-breeches, a richly-decorated silk vest, a plush velvet coat, a great beaver hat and red cardinal hose. He was straight in figure and smiling in counte- nance. Everybody remarked upon his youthful appear- ance : Mr. Solomon never looked so well before Aunt Susannah had sent off to the churchyard before she be- gan to dress, to make sure that no grave was open a point of vast importance. Then she arrayed herself in her gay attire, and in good time the whole party set out for the church. Brightly shone the sun ; the sacred edifice was gay with festal dress and filled with interested spectators. The ceremony went on and was concluded, as nearly all such ceremonies are, without let or hindrance. Solomon and Susannah were pronounced man and wife; they were happy and Shadrack had an uncle. He even kissed his new relative, who in his delight at getting Susannah kissed first every woman in the company, then every man, and finished with the parson. Then the books were signed and the bells began to ring, and Solomon led his bride to the family pew. Soon the morning service began, and after a short sermon every- body started for home very well satisfied that the sing- ers had never sung better, nor the parson preached 360 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. more eloquently, nor the church appeared to greater advantage, nor a bridal pair looked more interesting. Some good-natured neighbors threw several pairs of old shoes after the newly-married couple as they passed by, and on reaching the house broken cake was sprink- led over them. Betsey managed to be the first one to steal a pin from the bride and to rub her shoulder against her, which feats were regarded by all as highly fortunate and promising. All the other pins used by Susannah were as speedily as possible thrown away. Then the happy soul sat down and tried to cry. Woe betide the bride who on her wedding-day does not shed a tear ! But she could do nothing but laugh, she was so pleased and contented. They pinched her and tickled her ; one fat woman stepped upon her corn, but in vain. They brought a piece of beef highly seasoned with mustard, but she ate it and not a mist of moisture ap- peared in her eye. Some one urged Solomon to swear at her, but he declined. The more they tried, the more she laughed. She could not even go into hysterics, though they set seven bottles of smelling-salts in a row on the table before her. At last Betsey brought in a pan of onions and began to peel them under her nose, and in a few minutes the tears came. All was well. Solomon kissed her and the company were satisfied. Doubtless, Susannah would get along all right in her new sphere of life. The day drew joyously to its close. Before the sun went down old and young were merry as merry could be. They feasted and drank gayly and heartily. The house rang with the happy revelry. Nobody thought of cares and toil to come. This was a happy Christmas, A MERRY LEGEND. 361 and a wedding-day besides, and who had evil heart enough to be sad? " I say, Shaddy," whispered Betsey to her wished-for lord as they sat for a few minutes in a distant corner of the room to rest after a violent game " I say, Shaddy, it seems to me love is a sweet thing." " Yes, Betsey ; that boy in the gray smock over there says it's like bread and butter with sugar on the top." " He doesn't know. It's more like sugar with the bread and butter thrown in. But just to see old Sol- omon and your aunt Susie in the chimney-corner beats all I ever heard of. First he kisses her, then she kisses him. Look at them now ! One moment she asks him if he likes roast turkey better than boiled goose ; the next he asks her if she likes her ale warm with a roasted crab bobbing in it. And he smooths her dress, and see ! that's the fifth time this very night she's tied up his gar- ter. I believe he unties it on purpose. They seem to forget that there's anybody here but themselves." " Oh Betsey, love, you know, is always forgetful," ob- served Shadrack, thoughtfully. " Do you think so ? I don't." " I couldn't say for certain, but that's the saying." " Well, the saying is wrong. Do you think, Shad- rack, you would ever forget the girl you loved?" " Never ! never !" he replied, with unusual decision and vigor. " Have you ever really loved ?" she asked, after a moment's pause. " Oh, Betsey, I am in love now. I love a beautiful girl the one, you know, I saw in my dream. I am dy- ing with love." 362 THE HEART OF M ERR IE ENGLAND. " You won't die ; nobody dies with love. They may die with eating too much, but no man ever died with love." "Why not?" " They don't love enough ; and if they do love enough, they always succeed before love kills them." " I love Oh, Betsey, I love as no one else ever loved. I do believe " "That you are the first man who knew what love is?" interrupted Betsey. "But I noticed you ate as much roast beef and as many mince-pies as the rest; and if you were so deeply in love, you couldn't eat like that. The larger the heart gets, the less room there is for the stomach." " I have to eat, you know. Uncle Solomon, there, has done little else but eat and drink all day. I believe we shall have to carry him to bed yet." "He's an old fool," said Betsey, decidedly. "But have you ever told your girl you loved her?" "No; I have had no chance, and I don't believe I could. I don't know what to say." " That's another proof you're not in love, Think of a fellow being in love and not knowing what to say! Why, love has a tongue of its own, and a tongue that can speak too, I tell you. All you have to do at least, all that you, Shaddy, would have to do is to go straight to your heart's love and say to her, ' Sweetheart, may I love you ?' and she would say, ' Love me ? Ay, till death !' " " I never could say that," replied Shadrack ; " I should drop before the words were out of my mouth." " Well, don't say anything, then ; actions speak louder A MERRY LEGEND. 363 than words sometimes. Sit down beside her and look into her face. You could do that ? All right. Then take her by the hand, then put your arm around her neck, then kiss her, and she will understand the rest." " But suppose she shouldn't ?" said the doubtful Shad- rack. " But she will oh, I know she will ! Every girl knows what that means. Just try it and see." " I will, Betsey. I'll take the first chance, though I've never had one yet." " I suppose you keep putting it off and saying, ' Next time! next time!' There's no time like the present." " That's true. But see ! Tom Hodges is looking for me. I must run." " Tom Hodges is always in the way," said Betsey to herself after Shadrack had left her; "another minute, and Shaddy would have been mine. Oh dear ! a heart- ful of love is a heavy burden. But the figure was Shad- dy's ; that's as clear as cream. And hasn't my right eye itched all day a sure sign that I should see my love ? And who could my love be but Shadrack ? If old Sol- omon got the aunt, why shouldn't I get the nephew more so, seeing he's an orphan ? It's all right ; only I do wish Tom Hodges hadn't come at all. Shadrack nearly got it out nearly told me I was the one he loved with all his heart. This is a merry Christmas for me ! But now for the dishes ; I suppose I must go and help wash them. Oh, Shaddy, for your sake ! for your sake !" and she left the room. Over this day we drop the curtain drop it amid the flourish of trumpets and the scraping of violins ; and again we move on to a bright day a year and a half far- 364 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. ther down time's stream, when June birds were singing and June flowers were blooming. Beyond the fact of everybody and everything being so many months older, there was little change in the home where Solomon and Susannah now held united sway, and Shadrack awaited the time when he would become lord and master. There was peace. Solomon and Susannah were happy ; no disturbance had come near them. Their love flowed on in the same even course. Betsey had not yet heard the words that should rejoice her heart. She wondered, but still believed. In the mean time, she had developed into a comely damsel, and had received many compliments from the young men of the neighborhood, but she kept faithful to Shad- rack. Every charm she tried, whether successful or not, convinced her that he was destined for her. Why he held his peace she could not understand. She had again and again tried to help him, but he did not seem to grasp the idea. So, looking upon his silence as an infirmity of orphanage, she quietly and assuredly waited the time. As to Shadrack, never but once had he seen the idol of his heart, Myrtle Muriel. That young lady had been away, and had only just returned to the parish. Ru- mors of her growing beauty had reached Shadrack and helped to strengthen his unswerving loyalty. He sought to see her, but for some time in vain, till one day he met her unexpectedly, and once and for all. In an afternoon in June when the sun was shining brightly and the wind scarcely moved the fresh green leaves Shadrack was wandering alone in the woods. As A MERRY LEGEND. 365 he walked along the little path, now listening to the blackbird's song, now admiring the white May-bloom, now peering into the thicket or the bush where busy songsters were building their nests, and now watching the tiny streamlet as it dashed down the hill, he thought and dreamed. Quite a philosopher had he become since the day when Cupid's arrow rather than Betsey's pin pierced his heart. Imagination had perforce to take the place of reality; and when imagination is thus obliged to work, it responds heartily and happily. So now Shadrack walked on picturing to himself the glories of Myrtle Muriel. One moment he arrayed her in sylph-like drapery white as the peach-blossom; the next she was as though dipped in Jiquid gold a sort of theatrical and bronze-tint appearance ; then she was ra- diant in rainbow hues, and then pure and white again. He rather liked to think of her with her hair hanging in long wavy tresses, her eyes bright and brimful of mischief and her sweet voice prattling merry nonsense. And to-day the old picture came up again, and the old dream went on the same as before, from the day she consented to be his bride till the early morn when the sun-glory fell upon them both. When he reached this stage in his castle-building, he began to whistle and move along more briskly. He felt already a joyous vic- tory and fancied the laurel-wreath rested on his brow. As he continued to walk he suddenly came to a little knoll from the summit of which was to be had a fine view of both plain and woodland. He knew the spot well, but this time his heart began to leap ; for there, seated on this knoll, was none other than the dream of his life, the beautiful Myrtle. She was alone, sketching. 366 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND, Shadrack stood still, at first scarcely knowing what to do. Yet so much had he thought of her, so often had he gone over imaginary interviews with her, that he felt brave enough for anything that might happen. He paused for a few seconds, and then advanced. She looked up, but evidently recognized him, or, at least, in- stinctively discerned him to be one from whom she had nothing to fear. She even went so far as to return his not ungraceful bow ; and when he said, " Good-after- noon, miss," she replied, " Good-afternoon, sir." What a wonderful voice ! How sweetly its accents lingered in the summer air ! " This is a beautiful country, miss," observed Shad- rack, both proud of his native parish and by this time able to appreciate such things. " Yes," she replied, with almost equal enthusiasm ; " I think that road yonder running under the avenue of elms by the old barn is lovely. I am trying to sketch it." " May I look at your picture ?" asked Shadrack, with respectful deference. " Certainly," said she, " but it is not what it might be. No artist could reproduce that green lane; it is better than anything I saw in Italy, and simply beyond copy- ing. But I have done my best." " And your best," said he, with unfeigned admiration, "is pure perfection. The sketch is prettier than the thing itself. That hedge is well done, and nothing could be better than the cow looking over the gate. I remember one evening when it was almost dark my aunt Susannah You must know her, Miss Myrtle, for I am Shadrack Abednego Pruce, her nephew." A MERRY LEGEND. 367 Myrtle nodded assent. "Well, she was walking along that very lane when suddenly she saw what she thought was a ghost sitting on that gate. Away she ran as fast as her feet could carry her ; but when I got up to the place I was be- hind, you know I saw it was nothing but a cow, just as you have it in your picture. How I laughed at her when I got home ! She would say, ' Any way, it had a long face,' and I would say, ' So has the cow, auntie ;' and she said no more. Now, when she says that a cer- tain unmentionable individual has horns or hoofs or a tail, I always reply ' So has the cow ;' and I do believe she prays every night that I may not be punished for my profanity by having to spend some time with that nameless gentleman. ' Should you,' she observes, ' you would never forget it ;' and I don't suppose I ever should. But you have hit it splendidly. I never saw anything so good." " I remember your aunt Susannah," said Myrtle, pleased at Shadrack's praise. " You lost your father and mother, did you not?" " Yes ; I am an orphan." " I know of course you must be if your parents are dead and pretty lonely you must be." " Oh no," replied Shadrack ; " I am a lone orphan, as Betsey says, but I am not lonely. You see, I have plenty to do and my health is good. I am always well and can always eat, day or night, and never get tired." " Ah ! you are a big, strong young man." Shadrack felt that he had grown another ten inches at once. " I am nearly six feet high and shall soon be eighteen 24 368 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. years old," said he, " and there's not a man a surer shot than I am. I have killed a snipe on the wing a thing few sportsmen can boast of. Oh, but it was fun ! May I sit down on the grass and tell you about it ? Thank you. There isn't much to tell, when I think of it. It was down in the low meadow there ; you can see the very spot from where you are sitting. I and Uncle Solomon were about with our guns looking for any- thing that might turn up. I had learned so much as to shoot a rabbit running, but I had never shot a snipe fly- ing. ' Very few men ever have,' said Uncle Solomon. ' What if I should ?' asked I. ' I'll give you my best gun,' he replied. The words were scarcely out of his mouth when up sprang a snipe. In an instant I fired, and the bird fell. He rubbed his eyes and cried, ' My best gun ! my best gun ! But, Shaddy, old fellow, lend it me the rest of my days, and you shall have it when I am gone.' How I teased him! No, I must have it there and then. I saw the tears in his eyes, so I prom- ised to lend him the gun if he would stuff the bird for me. He did so, and it's now in a glass case in our par- lor. I have heard it said that I shall never shoot another snipe like that ; the chance comes only once in a life- time." " How's that ?" asked Myrtle, very much interested in the boyish story. " The bird flies so zigzag. Some say it's like a girl : you see her here, and the next moment she's there." "That's true," said Myrtle, smiling. " No, it isn't true," replied Shadrack, positively ; " I don't believe it. I don't believe half the things they say about girls. Solomon says there's only one first- A MERRY LEGEND. 369 rate girl in the country, and that's Aunt Susie, but I know there's at least another." "That May-bloom over there is beautiful, isn't it?" said Myrtle, pointing to a hedge white with blos- soms. " Yes ; but there, again ! the greatest beauty in the world is to be found in a girl's eyes." " Don't believe it, Mr. Shadrack. Girls' eyes are de- ceitful, sometimes, at least. They are pretty and changeable as April skies. The man who trusts them makes a mistake." " No, no !" interposed Shadrack; "the eye is the win- dow of the heart, and there is nothing in a good girl's heart but what is of heaven." " You are a young admirer of the sex. But then all girls are not good." " Perhaps not. I never saw one, though, that wasn't good. My mother was good, so is Aunt Susannah, so is Betsey, so are you, and " " But you don't know me," said Myrtle. " Not know you !" said the enthusiastic youth. " Do you think I don't know every tree in this wood ? Well, I know you better than I know them. I have dreamed and thought of you for two full years, and, though I have seen you but once, I have lived as though I saw you all the time." Myrtle blushed rather with delight than with dis- pleasure. She got up and said with a half smile, "You read romances, fair sir; young gentlemen all do. But I must go; so good-day. Many thanks for your company. No, thank you ; I'll carry the book myself. There, now! Good-bye." 3/O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. " But, Miss Myrtle," ' said Shadrack, desperately " Miss Myrtle, this is the only chance I may have of seeing you, and " " Were you looking for a silly girl when you found me?" she asked, laughingly. " No ; only I have been wanting to see you for so long, and this is the first time. May I not tell you all ? I am only a country youth, but by and by I shall be next man to your father in the parish. I have red hair I know it and am too big and gawky, but I have a good heart, and you know " " There, now ! not another word, my noble youth. You are a valiant knight to woo the first maiden you meet in the merry greenwood ! Prithee walk a little farther off So runs the language of the books, but you know them better than I. Nay, hold thy peace. Thou wilt swear by the waving poplar trees that thou dost love me. I see it in thine eye ; I feel it in thy voice. Oh how the little darts fall upon my heart like the sharp hailstones in an August day ! Say not a word, my baron so bluff and bold, but walk on faster, lest the even shades fall upon us ere we reach the open road. Let me laugh, O my good Shadrack, let me laugh ! for, though thy hair be red, yet doubtless it ariseth from the scorching of the furnace. Thy namesake, you remember, went through fire ; you, I suppose, would go through fire and water for your ladylove ?" " You have said for me, Miss Myrtle, much that I could not have said," replied the slightly-crestfallen Shadrack. " I never could have told you that I loved you, but 'tis true all the same. I am only a plain yeo- man, or that's all I shall be, but I speak truth when I A MERRY LEGEND. 371 say you tell the truth. It was bold of me to look up to a parson's daughter to one who is the queenliest of all maidens ; but I have not sinned." " There's no harm done, friend Shadrack," she replied, more seriously " no harm done ; and if I thought the same of you, no doubt we should agree. However, you are kind to think of me as you do too kind, I fear. Only don't speak of such things again. Now, this is my way," pointing down the road which they had now reached, " and that is yours ; here we part, and there's no harm done." " Let me walk with you a little way," said Shad- rack. . " No, not a step. You have said enough already." " I haven't said anything at least, not all." " I know all the rest ; so good-bye ;" and she tripped lightly away. Shadrack stood watching her as she went up the road, so pretty, so light-hearted. He sighed and shook his head. " It's strange," said he to himself, " but still I love her. I'll have her yet. She's young and giddy, but never mind. There! she's gone. There's no one else like her;" and he turned round and went home. A few nights later was Midsummer Eve, when the country-people light bonfires and maidens watch in the church porch for their lovers. How the latter managed when, say, half a dozen sought the sombre portal for the same purpose, we are not told ; but there is no doubt the believing damsel was oftentimes rewarded, for did not the young men know the custom, and did not they too watch and wait ? It would have been unnatural for Betsey to have 372 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. missed so good an opportunity of confirming her hopes and dreams. The fact that Shadrack was an orphan seemed to run counter to all her charms. Nothing worked exactly as it should, and she began to doubt whether it was he whom she saw on Christmas Eve long ago. However, her love was strong as ever, and she still clung to the belief that destiny had decreed in her favor. If he would only speak! That was the trouble. He was in love, as any novice might see. Everything he did his absent manner, his dreamy words, his evident desire for sympathy showed that he was deeply wounded. One might almost fancy one saw the blood trickling from his broken heart, each drop suf- ficient to satisfy the most ardent maidenly longing. But why did he not tell his love ? Why should he seek to hide it ? Shadrack was an orphan : that was all. So an hour before midnight Betsey started off for the old church. The people of the farm were feasting in the kitchen or around the huge bonfire, and therefore she got away unnoticed. Up the hill she hasted, almost breathless with excitement, anxious to read fate and afraid lest fate should speak. The moon was just rising as she entered the churchyard. There was no sign of living creature, not even an owl or a night-hawk. The graves lay, as graves generally do, silent and suggestive so suggestive that Betsey's nerves began to give way when she looked at them. But it was near twelve o'clock, and now was the golden opportunity. Into the deep porch she went. It felt chilly and dismal. She shivered with fear, and did not help herself much when she thought that instead of a lover she might catch her death. Still, she was a brave girl, and withal a good A MERRY LEGEND. 373 girl; so she repeated the Creed and said the Lord's Prayer, and then she knew no evil could possibly be- fall her. " Strange, though," said she to herself, " that nearly every time I have failed. Last year I took a clean gar- ment and wetted it and turned it wrong side out and set it on the back of a chair to dry, but no sweetheart came to turn it right again. I lay on my back and stopped my ears with laurel-leaves, but he did not appear. I put beneath my pillow a coal which I found under a plantain- root, but that night I dreamt nothing. I have gathered a rose, walking backward to the bush, and I have kept it in clean paper till Christmas without looking at it, and then I stuck it in my bosom, but no lover came to pluck it out. I don't know what I haven't tried. Are all or- phans like Shadrack ?" and then the great bell in the tower struck the first note of midnight Betsey trembled and muttered the words of incanta- tion. The last note died away, and she saw nothing. Then she heard a footstep on the gravel- walk, and if she could she would have screamed. The footsteps came nearer the porch, but she stood motionless, unable to move hand or foot, unable even to think. Another in- stant, and Shadrack stood before heTv " Oh, Betsey, Betsey !" cried he. " Quick 1 come with me." She neither moved nor spoke. " I saw you come in. Don't be frightened ; it is I myself, in my own flesh and blood. Come, come !" Her face was ashy pale ; the moonlight was beginning to fall upon her. Shad- rack took her by the arm : " Oh, Betsey, do wake up ! A dreadful thing has happened. Myrtle is dead lying out here in the churchyard dead and stiff. I came up 374 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. just now, and I saw the white form on the ground. Oh, come and see what can be done." He half dragged her out of the porch. " Shaddy," Betsey gasped, " I am bewildered." " But she is dead," said Shadrack, still pulling Betsey along. " Who ?" asked she. " Myrtle. See ! here she lies." He pointed to a figure lying on the green sward. " It is Myrtle," said he, with hushed breath. " I have lifted her hand that lies across her face ; she is dead. What can we do ?" " Stay by her, Shaddy, while I run to the vicarage for help." Betsey was all right now; the evident anguish of Shadrack brought back her senses. She was off at once. " Poor Myrtle !" said Shadrack. " My Myrtle, now thou canst never be mine. Gone for ever !" He stood there in the moonlight looking down upon the lifeless body. This was the end of the dreaming, and the glory was not the early bridal and the meridian splendor, but midnight sorrow and a grave. In a few minutes Betsey returned with a number of people among them, the clergyman. He stooped down and lifted his daughter's hand, and cried, " My Myrtle! My love !" but she was dead. They took her up and carried her to the house. " It was her heart," one whispered to another ; " her heart troubled her." Shad- rack told them how he had found her. What took her to the churchyard at that time of night ? It could not be that she might keep the village custom ? No one could tell ; no one ever would know. Only when Shad- A MERRY LEGEND, 375 rack and Betsey were about to leave for home the cler- gyman took him by the hand and said, " She told me all about it, and she laughed, but she wasn't angry. She didn't know you ; but when I told her about you, she said she was sorry. That was all. Good-night;" and he went back to weep by Myrtle's bed. Betsey was not so smitten with grief as to forget that Shadrack had appeared to her at the midnight hour. She was sorry that a catastrophe had happened, but she was satisfied that the youth by her side was now her own. Not that she suspected for one moment Shad- rack's feeling toward Myrtle. He had spoken of love in the abstract, and never in the concrete. It was there- fore with honest regret that she said as they were walk- ing home, " It's a sad thing, Shaddy." " Yes, it's dreadful," replied he, mournfully. " Everybody who loved her will be broken up," she observed, gravely. " Broken up completely, Betsey." " Such a beautiful girl ! Did you see how her long hair lay upon the grass?" "Yes." The two walked on for some time without speaking. " I am very sorry, Shaddy," said she, at length. " You are a kind-hearted body." They were home now. Ere long Myrtle was laid in the ground, and Shad- rack more than ever realized that his dream was gone. Every Sunday morning while the summer lasted he lay a garland of flowers upon her grave. Betsey helped to 376 THE HEART OF M ERR IE ENGLAND. gather and arrange this weekly offering. But time works both changes and cures. Shadrack did not for- get Myrtle, but he was young and could not grieve for ever. People wondered he was sad so long. Some said the sudden fright had unsettled his mind. Old Sol- omon said he would be all right when the partridge- shooting came in, and Aunt Susannah believed that when the blenheims ripened he would be the same cheery soul as of yore. Betsey had almost lost heart. She had no confidante, and she was obliged to hide her thoughts, but more than ever did she wish something would come true. The day came at last. " Betsey," said Shadrack one October evening as they were looking for nuts " Betsey, do you remember the dream I had long ago of the wedding of my wedding, you know?" " I remember it very well." " It can never be now, Betsey." "No? Why not?" " I haven't any one to love." "No one to love!" exclaimed Betsey, astonished. " No one to love ! Where am I?" " Well, I might love you, but I never thought of you. Forgive me, Betsey, but I never thought of you." " I don't wish you to think of me," said she, in a pen- itent tone. " No, Betsey, I won't at least, not unless you wish me to." " I don't wish you to, Shaddy : I am not good enough for you." She stood in the golden autumn sunset, her blue eyes deep with shaded emotion, her cheeks brightly A MERRY LEGEND. 377 red. " I am a nobody only an orphan ; not one for you to love." " I can't help loving you a little," he replied. " You are so kind to me, and you do look beautiful in the sun- light almost like the maiden in my dream." Betsey smiled. " You must not look at me, Shadrack," she said, " but seek to find the dream come true in a better girl than I. So think not of me." " I won't ; only, the more I look at you, Betsey, the more I see you as the bride of my dream. Your eyes, your figure and your hair are hers. And now the light falls on you Nay, stand still and let me see you in the glory. Yes, Betsey, you are the very one ; only, it is in the evening and not in the morning light that I be- hold you." " You are fancying this ;" and she stooped to pluck a blue flower. " Please don't try to love me. If there's nobody else in the world, don't think of me. I am only Betsey." " But you are a queen," said he, enthusiastically. '* No ; I am an orphan." " So am I. And I say you are a queen. Who can be more beautiful than you at this moment ? Who can stand beside you now ?" " Let us go," said Betsey. " Aunt Susannah will won- der that we are not in before this." But Shadrack was being driven along in a current that grew swifter every moment. " No, Betsey," he said ; " you say I must not think of you, but now I know I cannot help it. You say I must not love you, but for me not to love you is impossible. 3/8 THE HEART OF MSRRIE ENGLAND. I must love you, I will love you. Do not turn aside. I am Shadrack ; don't you think you could love me ?" " I might try, but who would love a youth so tall as you ?" " Never mind ; I only want you to love me." " I do, Shaddy. I have loved you for long." And Shadrack kissed her. Betsey's triumph-day had come. The sun went down ; and when she stood before Aunt Susannah in the kitch- en, demure and silent, that worthy asked, " What kept you so long in the orchard ? Dreaming, I suppose." " Yes, Aunt Susie, dreaming," she replied. That night Betsey slept in peace. In the visions of the darkness Shadrack saw Myrtle standing beside him, and he heard her say, " Betsey is the bride ;" then, smiling, she vanished from his sight. " I knew it," said Aunt Susannah to her loving spouse when the news came out ; " I knew it. That minx was after Shadrack Abednego from the first." " She's a likely wench," observed Solomon. " I have nothing against her, only that she's going to have Shadrack," said Susannah. " Somebody must have had him, and why not Bet- sey?" "That's so," she replied, thoughtfully. " That's so," he returned. And it was so. From the triumph-day to the wedding-day was not long ; and when the bells rang out the bridal peal, the whole parish said Shadrack had the best of girls and Betsey had the best of men. Everybody, for a wonder, A MERRY LEGEND. 379 was pleased, if not satisfied. The envy common at such times was softened down, and no word or look reached the happy couple but of congratulation and good wishes. This was as it should be. At the same time, it may be doubted if a groom or a bride is not all the happier for knowing that he or she is looked upon with some little envy. Who wants a husband no other woman would have ? Who wants a wife no other man would seek ? There was not a maiden present who did not wish she was Betsey ; there was not a man who did not wish he was Shadrack. However, it was a good-na- tured feeling, and soon passed away a sort of soft April mist that disappeared in the sunshine. One scene more, and we must leave our wedded or- phans. In the dull November, when the leaves had all fallen, and bleak winds and chilly rains swept across the fields and made home more attractive than ever, a happy company were assembled in the old farmhouse. Solo- mon and Susannah, Shadrack and Betsey, and a few of the neighbors were sitting around the great open fire- place in the light of the blazing logs. They were laughing and joking as is the manner of free-hearted country-folk. Village gossip formed the staple of con- versation. When it lagged, some one called out to Bet- sey for a ghost-story. Strange how people love such stories, and stranger still that civilization cannot destroy the fascination ! " No," said Betsey ; " I cannot tell one to-day. Mine are all old. Perhaps Shaddy will." " Now, Shad !" cried the company ; and after a min- ute's thought he began. " My story is true ; mine own eyes saw that which I 380 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. shall tell. You remember the parson's daughter, Miss Myrtle Muriel, the one I found in the churchyard on Midsummer Eve? Well, early in the morning of my wedding-day, when I was running over in my mind the days gone by and the days to come, suddenly I saw be- fore me none other than the same Myrtle. She was robed in white and her hair was in long tresses. I was not frightened scarcely startled for I was thinking of her at that moment. She spoke to me and said, ' The bridal-day, good sir ! I bless you and your bride.' I could not speak ; I simply bowed. ' Love shall crown your life,' she went on 'love shall crown your life.' Still I looked, and I saw her fade away, and, though it was a spirit, yet was I glad. We stood before the altar Betsey and I and as the parson read the words that made us one for ever I saw beyond him on the higher step the figure of poor Myrtle. The sunbeams fell upon her and bathed her in more than earthly glory. She looked upon me with her soft, sweet eyes and seemed to breathe a benediction upon us. Oh, I saw her so plainly ! I fancied once she spoke, but what she said I could not tell. Then, when all was done, I saw a thin white mist before the altar ; the sun shone brighter, and it had gone. That was all, and it is true." " What did it mean ?" asked Aunt Susannah. "Yes, Shaddy dear," put in Betsey; "what did it mean ?" " Nothing more than this that you can understand a blessing from the dead, a prophecy that love shall in- deed crown our life." " And so it shall, dear Shadrack," cried the devoted Betsey. A MERRY LEGEND. 381 Shadrack kissed his bride, and the company pledged their health in sparkling ale. " No longer an orphan, Shaddy," whispered Betsey. " No ; a good wife is a second mother," replied Shad- rack. The rain fell fast, the wind blew fierce, the fire blazed brighter than ever; and then, with loved ones beside them, Shadrack and Betsey sat hand in hand looking into the leaping flames and beyond them down the years the years that should be to them as a vineyard of ripened grapes, as a garden of sweet roses. CHAPTER XV. Hast <*ultmpj3c0. " Than orange and myrtle more fragrant to me Is the sweet-brier rose and the hawthorn tree In the land of my nativity." THEY who would see Nature in her prettiest and gen- tlest moods must go to England. There, in a climate in which extremes of heat and cold are practically un- known, she displays her charms and unfolds her graces in a rich and unique manner. Association also increases the beauty of the picture, and history becomes attractive and delightful. You look with pleasure upon wooded hills, red-brown wheat-fields, green meadows, sparkling streamlets, lawns soft and velvety as an Oriental carpet, fruit-laden orchards and innumerable flower-gardens ; you also look with no less pleasure upon churches, cathedrals and abbeys gray and sacred with age, upon castles and towers set in the cloudland of romance and chivalry, and upon old manor-houses with their twisted chimneys and timbered gables and legends of men and women who had their day long, long ago and now dwell amidst the mists and the shadows. What more delightful place is there than Hampton Court Palace, the noble foundation of Cardinal Wolsey and the home for many generations of the sovereigns of England ? Not only are the grounds exquisitely and 382 LAST GLIMPSES. 383 beautifully laid out and furnished and the house grand with long galleries and spacious chambers on the walls of which art displays its highest and perhaps its lowest powers, but everything reminds one of the days of yore. In the garden, amid the same yew and holly trees which now grow there, Henry VIII. strolled with Anne Boleyn and other of his lady-loves. Queen Elizabeth traversed the same walks, played upon the same green lawn and listened to the songs of gay singers under the same elms of royal splendor. In the long bower Mary of England held converse with her ladies or with her own sad spirit. It requires no effort, indeed, to see again the men whose memories haunt the place, and dull must he be who cannot catch a glimpse of Wolsey's red robe and of Henry's stout figure as they move along the garden-paths or through the ancient gate- ways. Inside, the same wondrous past lives again. There is the chamber of William III. with its paintings in which masses of nudity are set forth in delicate figuring and soft coloring. There are also the beautiful and frail women of the court of Charles II., but not one of them is as attractive as Miss Pitt among the " Hampton Court Beauties." She looks pure, sweet and lovely, reminding one of the old lines : " Her cheeks like ripened lilies steeped in wine, Or fair pomegranate-kernels washed in milk, Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk, Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline." The old state bedsteads, the clocks, weather-glasses and mirrors, the carvings and the pictures are replete with interest, but beyond them think of the regal life, the 25 384 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. court intrigues and plans, the galaxy of learning, wit and beauty, with which these walls were once familiar of great banquets in the noble tapestried hall, and of princes, statesmen and bishops who walked hither and thither in the corridors and the rooms. Two centuries of England's history are there, but, alas ! vanity of van- ities, Death casts the trail of his black robe over all. A day at Hampton Court will unfold more than any- thing else the delightful and mysterious attractiveness of England ; the beauty of nature and the charm of history unite in a picture the memory of which will cling for life. Among the legends is that of the Haunt- ed Gallery. This is now used by the repairers of the arras, but it was not long since said to be frequented by Catherine Howard. That unfortunate queen early one morning escaped from the chamber in which she was confined before being sent to the Tower, and ran along this gallery to seek the king, who had just entered the chapel leading out of it. At the door of the chapel she was seized by the guards and carried back, her ruthless husband, notwithstanding her piercing screams, which were heard almost all over the palace, continuing his de- jections unmoved. The poor woman perished at the Tower, but many times since then, it is said, a female figure draped in white has been seen in this gallery com- ing toward the door of the royal pew, and as she reaches it has been observed to hurry back with dis- ordered garments and a ghastly look of despair, uttering at the same time the most unearthly shrieks till she passes through the door at the end of the gallery. The character of Henry VIII. does not improve upon acquaintance. He may have been a great statesman and LAST GLIMPSES. 385 an ardent lover, but he made a bad husband. Possibly it would have been for his good had he gone through the processes practised in his day to correct unfaithful and cruel spouses. One of these customs still survives in some parts of the country in Denbighshire, for in- stance. Once a year the villagers meet and bring before them any who have made themselves notorious as drunkards, slanderers or wife-beaters. If the offender is found guilty, his right arm is fastened up to the bough of a tree, and gallons of cold water are poured down his sleeves amidst the jeers and the merriment of the crowd. That, however, would have been too gentle for the heartless lord of Anne Boleyn and Catherine How- ard. Their memory also clings with his to Hampton Court Palace. A like unscrupulous monster was Dudley, earl of Leicester. I mention him because the visitor to the Heart of Merrie England will undoubtedly go to Ken- ilworth. The story of poor Amy Robsart is known to all, nor is there any doubt that she fell a victim to am- bition. The tempting bait of Elizabeth's hand was too much for the unprincipled Leicester ; he did not hesitate to consign the gentle wife to the cruelties of foul men. In a secluded house near Oxford, Lady Dudley was se- cretly imprisoned ; there she was ill-treated, neglected and subjected to attempts at poisoning. Gentler means failing, rougher were employed. One night the deed was done: " And ere the dawn of day appeared In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard, And many a cry of mortal fear." 386 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. The wicked earl did not become the consort of the queen, but in 1575 he gave to her at Kenilworth an entertainment of rare magnificence and luxury. For seventeen days the feast was kept up; the cost was enormous. Besides the queen and the ladies of her court, there were thirty-one barons and four hundred servants. Ten oxen were slaughtered every morning, and the consumption of wine is said to have been six- teen hogsheads, and of beer forty hogsheads, daily. "The clock-bell rang not a note all the while Her Highness was there ; the clock stood also still withal ; the hands of both the tables stood firm and fast, always pointing at two o'clock " the hour of banquet ! There were gorgeous spectacles, masks, farces, feats of skill, allegories, mythologies, and all that could amuse or while away the time. The queen was received by a sibyl "comely clad in a pall of white silk," who ad- dressed her in becoming terms. Amid the shouts of the attendants, the royal company having reached the tilt-yard, was heard the rough speech of the porter de- manding the cause of the din and uproar, " but upon seeing the queen, as if he had been instantly stricken, he falls down upon his knees, humbly begs pardon for his ignorance, yields up his club and keys, and proclaims open gates and free passage to all." Elizabeth loved that sort of thing, though she doubtless saw through it and inwardly laughed at the extravagant flattery. One day a savage dressed in moss and ivy discoursed before her with Echo in her praise. Another day, as she was returning from the chase, Triton, rising from the lake, prays her, in the name of Neptune, to deliver the en- chanted lady pursued by ruthless Sir Bruce. " Presently LAST GLIMPSES. 387 the lady appears, surrounded by nymphs, followed close by Proteus, who is borne by an enormous dolphin. Concealed in the dolphin, a band of musicians, with a chorus of ocean-deities, sing the praise of the powerful, beautiful, chaste queen of England." There were rougher sports. Thirteen bears were set fighting with dogs a pastime much enjoyed by the queen and de- scribed by an eye-witness as " a matter of goodly re- lief." Wrestlers from Coventry, Italian tumblers and rope-dancers and rural clowns played their part. There was a mock-wedding full of gross humor, in which the homely joys of the simple country-folk were made ri- diculous ; yet the same eye-witness just quoted says, " By my troth, 'twas a lively pastime ! I believe it would have moved a man to a right merry mood though it had been told him that his wife lay dying." Did Lei- cester in the midst of that revelry, when his hopes were so near fruition, give a thought to the gentle wife of his youth ? Kenilworth never but then saw such magnificence. As one wanders about the splendid ruins, halls and yards seem to live again, lords and ladies gayly dressed in scarlet satin, sable cloaks, rich laces, costly jewels, rare embroidery, rustling silk and sparkling gold move hither and thither with that free, boundless life of the old times. The heavy tramp of the retainer echoes along the stone corridors ; the soft songs of courtiers float on the summer air and suggest the romance and the voluptuous sweetness of an age of poetry and im- agination. It is but for a moment, and as a dream the picture of life and of chivalry, of lordly splendor and of vast ambitions, vanishes away, and the eye rests upon 388 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. ivy-clad walls, grass-covered courts, crumbling towers, vacant chambers and broken windows the sad desola- tion of departed grandeur and the painful reminder of the transitoriness of human life. The irony is sharpened when the merry tattle of picnickers breaks in upon the silence ; the incongruity of sandwiches arid ginger ale is apparent. Better to see the great pile in the still night when the clear moonbeams fall upon the thick ivy and the dark walls, stealing here and there through loophole or window, and the owls sweep noiselessly around the turrets or over the swampy bed of the old lake. Then the weird mystery of bygone days steals into the heart, legends and traditions come to mind, and throughout life memory retains not only a wondrous and romantic scene, but also the thoughts and the visions created thereby. The ruins of Kenilworth are on a high, rocky site commanding a wide view of the country around. From the top of the Strong Tower may be seen one of those extensive landscapes, quiet and lovely, full of picturesque beauty and rural charm, for which England is remark- able. Stand there in an early summer morning when the purple haze lies low on the horizon and the warm light brings out the freshness of woods and fields, the silvery sheen of brook and river, and the spires and towers of village churches, and Nature will give the soul a satisfaction that shall be as full as it is sweet and as real as it is undying. Wandering through the country districts with which this book has had to do, one speedily discovers the dar- ling love ,of the English people viz., the garden. Everywhere flowers abound in the windows, around LAST GLIMPSES. 389 the door, among the orchard trees and in the strips and plots of ground at the back of the house, by the side of the walk leading from the road or the street and along the edges of the vegetable-patch. Here and there are old-fashioned gardens with their winding walks, quaintly-shaped flower-beds and curiously-cut hedges and box trees. There are sure to be roses roses white and red, roses ruby and cream in the cottager's garden tended by the housewife, and in the squire's by the la- dies of the family. In the early morn, when the dew- wet buds are scarcely unfolded, delicate hands prune and tend them, pluck off dead leaves, cut some of the choicest flowers to adorn the breakfast-table and tie up straying branches. No wonder the frozen Norwegians on the first sight of roses dared not touch what they conceived were trees budding with fire; the brilliant splendor of the bush obtains the highest admiration and surprise. The poets of all ages have sung its royal glories, the gem of earth and the diadem of flowers, and have loved to crown it with praise and to liken beautiful maidens to it ; the lines of Herrick are peculiarly true of English girls who live much in the open air, breathing the fragrance of the morning and delighting in such pastimes as archery, tennis, hunting and gardening: " One asked me where the roses grow ; I bade him not go seek, But forthwith bade my Julia show A bud in either cheek." The heavy work naturally falls to the gardener, who is, as a rule, a man of independent and pronounced cha- racter. We may picture him as a sunburnt, bright- 39O THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. eyed elderly individual, brimful of opinions on all sorts of subjects, experienced in the management of trees, shrubs, flowers and vegetables, and knowing well the idiosyncrasies of every member of the family. He has grown up on the place since boyhood, and loves every nook and corner, every laurel, bay or holly bush, as though all were his own. Honesty and integrity go to show that his full beard is not the indication of subtilty and guile, as some used to think. The schoolmen said that Adam was created a handsome young man without a beard ; his face was afterward degraded with hair like the beasts' for his disobedience ; Eve, being less guilty, was permitted to retain her smooth face. This was highly complimentary to woman, and shows that at times the monks could say something in her favor ; but our gardener is by no means like an individual under- going punishment. He is talkative, as are most people in the country. What is known as English reserve be- longs more to the upper than to the lower classes. The latter are obstrusively garrulous, and press their opinions and their counsel upon the stranger with temerity, and even with rudeness. Only ask a question, and you open the sluice of a millpond. The gardener will tell you all about his work, and as he speaks his eyes will sparkle with pride and delight. He knows nothing about the busy, stifling city. God first placed man in a garden ; England is the garden of Europe, and the finest garden of all is that over which he has charge. His love for nature is common to all around him. If one sought to sum up the leading characteristics of the English country-people, one might find it in the legendary lore of Robin Hood. That mighty hero o( LAST GLIMPSES. 39! the merry greenwood has for centuries been their ideal and their favorite. He has been made the expression of their o^n aspirations and prejudices. The higher classes have made King Arthur, the prince of honor, chivalry and gentleness, their pattern and illustration ; the lower cling to the son of the yeoman. Robin, we are told, robbed only the rich ; the poor he befriended and helped. He was the Socialist of his day, adjusting dif- ferences, equalizing wealth and carrying out that dream of the centuries, that vision of perennial freshness and strength, in which every man is the peer of his brother and all have enough for their needs. The English are not revolutionists, but Robin expressed their thought. Ever and anon they have broken out into sturdy rebel- lion and sought to free themselves from social bondage. Servitude is irksome ; never was it more so than it is to-day. Like true men, they are ready to do their duty in that state of life in which it has pleased God to place them, but also like true men they seek to enter into higher states of life which God has as truly placed before them. They do not understand contentment to mean inaction, subjection or retrogression. Right or wrong, they wait for the arrow-shaft that shall speed through the Sherwood Forest of modern civilization and force the rich to help the poor and make the way easy for every man to rise who will. Even as Robin loved the freedom of the woodlands, so do they love to cast aside the restraints of an artificial life and to revel in the liberty which God has ordained for man. Another characteristic comes out in Robin Hood. He is displayed in the ballads as a religious man : he heard three masses every day and was remarkable for 3Q2 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. his devotion to the Blessed Virgin ; but, notwithstanding this manifest piety, he fought vigorously against the cler- gy. He would beat and bind every bishop or abbot that came within his reach. He would allure a church digni- tary into the distant parts of his forest-home, and after robbing him tie him to a tree and make him sing Mass for the good of Robin's own soul. Some friars were made to kneel down and pray for the robbers, and were then bound on their horses, with their heads to the tail, and sent away. This curious intermingling of reverence for religion and of irreverence for the ministers of re- ligion still largely prevails. The people who are most devout in the discharge of their spiritual duties are oftentimes as determined in their opposition to the clergy. There are exceptions, but they arise from the clergyman having qualities which bring him closer to the people than is ordinarily the case a gentle, sympa- thizing spirit, an earnest zeal or great preaching-gifts. In a word, the English people dread a priesthood. Their race is the only one which has a religion without one, nor is there any hope that the effort of the nineteenth century to provide them with one will succeed. The masses are touched by the hand of a John Wycliffe and a John Wesley, by the preaching of Lollard, Reformer and Puritan. When such as they speak, then the loud response follows, and in the village-folk we see again the bold archer who loved religion and hated those 'who called themselves its priests. In Robin Hood's devotion to woman is expressed an- other English ideal. The days have long since gone by when preachers used to recommend husbands to punish, and even to chastise, their wives that they might be LAST GLIMPSES. 393 healed of their sins and made obedient. Even the custom of selling a wife at auction has passed away. She was led by a halter to the market-place and set up for the highest bidder. Such sales were considered legal, and were common as late as 1/97; indeed, in- stances much later have been cited. Once in a while the newspapers tell of brutes who err against their wives and for whom the whipping-post is not too severe, but the masses realize that Robin was right and that woman was made to be loved and honored. They do not yet understand women receiving honors at the university and managing large enterprises with ability and suc- cess, nor do they like to think of female physicians or of female lawyers ; but when they become accustomed to these things, they will take them as matters of course. Any way, they are struggling on to show in deeds the thought of their heart. The people love athletic sports and feats of skill, and in these their popular hero is made to excel. He was a mighty wrestler and an unequalled bowman. The ruder sports of earlier days are not common, but every town of any size has its cricket club and its bowling-green. Every one is interested in them, and the best player at quoits, the fleetest runner and the ablest rider receive an honor like unto that which former ages yielded to the winner in the tournament and to the victor in the fight. The universities encourage boat-racing as well as scholarship, and the Houses of Parliament adjourn over the Derby races. One would have to search very closely to find any- thing approaching the spirit which Addison describes as existing between Sir Roger de Coverley and his de- 394 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. pendants. Landlords and tenants are still friendly with each other, but the commercial rather than the moral element binds them together. So with masters and servants, mistresses and maids. The old pictures of social felicity in which the lord of the house had an intimate interest in every member of his family from the heir himself to the boy who waited on the cook or kept the birds from the strawberry- plot or cherry tree and received in return a loyalty and an obedience both personal and lifelong, have long since passed away. There are, indeed, some who still believe that man was made to plough and till the land, and that they who can- not do that are appointed by Providence to make wag- ons, ploughs, spades, mattocks, chairs and tables, to dig graves and grow vegetables, to look after foxes, ferrets and pheasants, to rear chickens, canary-birds and chil- dren, and to tend sheep and oxen, pigs and hounds; but this opinion of the whole duty of man is not gen- eral. The growth of a plebeian plutocracy and the spread of nineteenth-century Socialism, assisted by the press, the railway and the telegraph, have effected great and lasting changes. In the outlying districts there is still a warm loyalty on the part of the villagers to the squire whose family has held the manor from time im- memorial, but his sense of responsibility and of duty toward them is much stronger and more unselfish than is their attachment to him. He will lower his tenants' rents, give liberally to improvements, put himself out of the way to further their interests, without increasing their affection or their devotion. They will scarcely think of the ties that bound their forefathers to his of the days when his ancestors struggled for theirs on LAST GLIMPSES. 395 the field of battle or in the social or political arena, and theirs served his by following to the war or tilling the land. Hodge is as good as his master, or is fast be- coming so. He reads more than the Bible and hears speak more men than the parson. Even the maid in the kitchen resents the old maternal interest which her mistress may show in her. She does so much work for so much wages, and beyond the bare contract she asks for and desires no more. The difference between her and her lady is not so much of blood, nor even of beau- ty or scholarship, but of money. For better wages or an easier place she will leave at a month's notice. The gentry and the clergy rebel against this spirit ; but when the humblest child of the soil can without fear or favor leave the village and go to the ends of the earth, there by industry and perseverance to make a new home,- per- haps to win a larger estate and a greater fortune than those of rural magnates in the old land, remonstrance goes for naught. Whether the new state of affairs will be better than the old, whether people will be happier when the present age has done its work, or whether in the old semi-feudalism there were not important ele- ments of social economy which we are unwisely los- ing sight of, are questions into which we may not enter. The freedom of speech is one of the illustrations of the irresistible progress of the times. Theoretically, speech has been free in England for ages. If a man could find anybody to listen to him, the law allowed him to say what he chose, so long as he abstained from gross blasphemy or from treason. But in the country districts practice differed from the theory; magistrates 396 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. gave a wide interpretation to the terms defining for- bidden subjects. If a man spoke in favor of striking the Athanasian Creed out of the Prayer-Book, it was blas- phemy ; if of repealing an obnoxious law or of revising the constitution, it was treason. In 1866, at the village on the Stour spoken of in these pages, there was in the employ of a butcher a young man who, thinking he had a mission to his townspeople and being filled with Bir- mingham politics, rolled into the High street a barrel and from its upper end sought to express his views to the small company who cared to hear them. What he lacked in continuity of thought he made up in vigor of utterance. Among other things, he was troubled about lay rectors, clerical magistrates, German princes, long hours of work, expensive funerals and the limited fran- chise. These were strange and startling topics in a quiet, sleepy place like Shipston and among a people who religiously applied to everything in Church and State the latter part of the Gloria Patri. They did not know what to make of them, but they listened respect- fully. A week later, when the rural radical again posed upon his barrel-head, he was taken therefrom by the order of the rector, who not only threatened him with severe penalties should he persist in making " seditious " speeches, but also insisted upon his employer forthwith discharging him. The poor fellow soon found every face set against him, his character gone, his future dark- ened, and he was obliged to seek refuge in the great town from whence he obtained his ideas of men and manners. Everywhere he was spoken against. The good folks who measured cloth and sold sugar, the tradespeople and the gentry, avowed him to be an idle, LAST GLIMPSES. 397 dangerous wretch, and even the old men who weeded garden-walks and swept the streets, and the old women who went out washing and took snuff, shook their heads and said he would bring ruin upon himself. This was twenty years since. In the mean time, the great agri- cultural strike has taken place; Joseph Arch went through this same district and taught the farm-laborer that it was no sin for him to wish his week's wages in- creased from ten shillings to twenty, and to look forward to the day when his class should have a vote and be represented in Parliament. Agitation became the order of the day. Addresses of extreme violence are made and no one thinks them out of order, and what is stranger still is that things are said not only of the government, but also of the queen, which suggest rankest disloyalty and not so long since would have cost a man his head. Speech is now free, and neither clergyman nor magistrate seeks to suppress it I would not imply that dissatisfaction has increased. The people are firmly attached to the Crown, and not only are the probabilities of the kingdom changing into a republic becoming less, but the world looks upon the anomaly of a nation both democratical and monarchical and in- tensely loyal to both ideals. The greatest of all questions in England is that of population. This is more apparent in the towns than in the country. Take Liverpool, for instance. An hour's walk through the streets of that great shipping-port, so massive in its buildings and so cosmopolitan in its appear- ance, will bring to sight more pauperism and vice than will be revealed by years of residence in an American city. The number of barefooted children and of ragged 398 THE HEART OF M ERR IE ENGLAND. men and women is appalling. How they keep body and soul together is a mystery. Boys sell fairly-printed copies of standard works, such as Pickwick Papers, for a penny each ; girls hawk matches at a farthing a box. Everywhere the eye beholds objects of woe, hungry wretches, dissolute rogues and abandoned beggars. Such poor souls, the refuse and residuum of high civil- ization, are not desirable as emigrants they take vice with them wherever they go nor does emigration de- crease population. Nature is a curious dame and coun- teracts with renewed energy the efforts to reduce the numbers. It is a sad thought that these worthless classes grow far more rapidly than do they who make up the brain and the muscle of a nation. What can be done with them ? Whatever vice may be elsewhere, here it is gross, heavy and bold. Drunkenness abounds, depravity is rampant. To disguise the fact is impossible. The only hope seems to be in bringing the power of the gospel to bear upon the masses. That may at least make the people fit to bear the burden of life and to do their duty in distant lands where there is room for them to live and to work. Much is being done in this di- rection; more remains to be done. The last paragraph is as a cloud upon the fair, sunny picture of England which we have sought to present, but from Hampton Court Palace to the slums of Lon- don and from Kenilworth to the smoke of Birmingham the distance is not great. That the cloud will pass away none can doubt. It does not even now retain the attention so long as do the brilliant features of English life. There are glories far greater than the shadows. I have already spoken of the perennial youth of Eng- LAST GLIMPSES. 399 land. Some things grow slowly and live long; they are young when their neighbors are old. The primrose and the oak both have their day; generations of the former pass away before the acorn has developed into a sapling. Age is a relative thing, and the fly whose life lasts ten minutes becomes old in the time which it takes the eagle 'to wing its way from one mountain-top to another or the tortoise to drag itself a few yards along the shore-sand. There are as yet no signs of declining power or of decaying vitality in England. Institutions are created, reformed, abolished, as the times demand. Her old men bear the weight of empire with a vigor and a strength unequalled ; her young men are as hope- ful as though millenniums were yet in store for their country. Nobody thinks of decay in England ; nobody there thinks of the fading of splendor or the weakening of force. The people set to work to deal with legisla- tive questions with all the enthusiasm of a nation just beginning to shape its constitution. They are not try- ing to patch up a weatherbeaten, worn-out thing, stick- ing a bit of straw on the roof to keep the rain out till the old house falls down ; they do not think about houses the work and shelter of a generation : they deal with rocks moss-grown and heavy, the formation of ages, and they quarry, shape and build, mould the mas- sive stone into that which neither wind can overthrow nor rain wash away, set it against ocean's wave and war's artillery, and thus work, not for an age, but for all time. The religion of England is another glory. I need not speak of its nature ; all men know the vitality and the purity of the Christianity which has long reigned 26 4OO THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. there. It is Protestant, and Protestant it will remain till the end of time. In the great moral and spiritual re- forms of the age the Church is doing her part, wrestling with the ignorance, irreligion and shame of the masses in the great cities, striving to stay the deadly flood of intemperance which at one time threatened to destroy all things and is still mighty for evil, and seeking in every way to better the lot of the people and to guide them to an inheritance beyond the flood of time and of change. Moreover, the best of England's sons are going forth to bear the tidings of a redeeming Lord to the ends of the earth. Nations that have long sat in darkness are be- ginning to see the great light ; the cross is uplifted in the cities of China and in the forest-wilds of Africa; martyr-blood has watered the seed of truth sown ; the same hymns and the same prayers which are offered up to the Almighty amid the ancient glories of a Westmin- ster are sung and said in tens of thousands of humbler temples scattered on distant shores. And though other nations are doing good work for Christ, yet it seems given to men of Anglo-Saxon race to lead the way and to be the first in the army of spiritual conquest and oc- cupation. It was through the people of Canaan that all the nations of the earth were blessed ; it is through us to-day that those blessings are increased. The glory and the life of England's future will be long and great even as she is faithful to her trust and true to her God. Nor must the colonies be forgotten. England has fringed the sea with her settlements and developed na- tions in distant parts of the earth. Take the map of the world and see how the red lines of her realm rest in every quarter of the globe, on every continent and in LAST GLIMPSES. 40 1 every sea. Venice built a city on the flood ; England has created an empire on the mighty main. Think of vast Australia, and the beautiful islands of New Zealand ; of golden India, and the rich Africa of the South ; of myriad isles which dot the tide-stirred waters ; and of wide, ocean-bounded and vigorous Canada. These communities have all the same language, institutions, beliefs and books. They are peopled by the descendants of the men who ages back ploughed the plains and sub- dued the mountains of Great Britain. The manners and the customs which prevail in England prevail in these other lands. As children of the one mother they are bound by the indissoluble ties of race. What may be their future political connection I cannot say ; only this I know that there are stronger bonds of union than mere legislative acts. Each may be independent so far as parliaments are concerned, and yet be one in re- ligion, sentiment, literature, tongue, habits, history and aim. These were found to hold the Greek colonies of three thousand years ago loyal to their mother-land; they will be found to be the strength of a nobler em- pire than scholars can devise or statesmen create. A whiff of opinion can sever mere political ties ; no rev- olution, be it ever so violent or wide-reaching, can pos- sibly change the language taught by the fathers. It was once a prevailing idea that the Christian Church could not be held together unless every member of it believed the same doctrines and obeyed the same supreme juris- diction ; we have lived to see that Christianity suffers nothing from having burst asunder the bands of cast- iron organization. This very century, which is by some so severely condemned for its denominationalism, has 402 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. been equalled by no age in its devotion to Christ and to the propagation of the faith. Possibly the like truth may be reached in the social life. At any rate, even in the streets of London or in the meadows of Warwick- shire the thoughts go out to the greater Englands be- yond the seas. There is the vision of this vast continent its happy homes, its wide farmlands, its vast cities, busy towns and flourishing villages, its comparative free- dom from the pauperism of the Old World, its schools and colleges, its advantages of success to all who are sober, industrious and plodding, a picture of peace and plenty, of joy and hope. England is as a sacred shrine around which men of her race are building the walls of a noble minster. Nations that shall love her shall be her strength and her glory. Nations that shall speak her tongue shall sing the praises of her past, delight themselves in her history and show in their own life the beauty and the power of inherited virtues and trans- mitted graces. Shakespeare shall live beside the St. Lawrence, the Hudson and the Murray, as well as on the Avon and the Thames ; the same Scriptures shall be read in the valleys of the great mountains of the West as in the glens and on the plains of God-fearing Britain. Transplanting does not injure the Anglo-Saxon. The dahlia is a native of tropical America ; there it rears its yellow disk and its dull scarlet rays to the sun : in our Northern gardens it has developed into a flower of brighter hue and deeper color. Change of clime has done much for it, and even here its cuttings are found to flourish best in a soil different from that in which grows the parent-plant. So the Anglo-Saxon has not suffered by passing from his European home to America or to LAST GLIMPSES. 403 Australia. He has taken with him the spirit, the cour- age and the devotion of his race ; he has developed them till he has given to the land of his adoption a greater lustre and a stronger life than belong to the land of his birth ; he has made ancient virtues grow as lovely and as true as ever, whether in homes beneath the burning suns of the South or on the borders of the eternal ice- bound North. I lay down my pen and turn my thoughts away from the social problems, the physical beauties, the delightful associations and the pleasant memories of the old coun- try. The work is done, the story is told ; if the reader is not satisfied, be sure the fault lies in the author, and not in the subject. One picture only remains not that of the reader casting aside as a thing of little value a book written both to please and to instruct which he may do or not at his pleasure but that of a summer eventide beside the flowing Stour. The willows deepen the shadows on the water; the nightingale sings the song of love in the apple trees close by ; from far away comes the murmuring melody of pealing bells, and the setting sun sends the streams of golden light through the elms, over the fields and past the hoary church- tower. There are rowers on the river, and the soft winds bear hither and thither the aroma of gardens and orchards and the chorus of young men and young maidens. Quiet, gentle, joyful peace ! The great world is far away, and as the twilight comes on and the glow of the west fades into night-shadows the strange sweet- ness of rural life makes itself felt, and the soul passes into the mystical borderland between earth and heaven, 404 THE HEART OF MERRIE ENGLAND. far away from turmoil and from tumult into the restful- ness of the garden of delights. The days gone by and the days to come mingle with the day that now is: time seems to have died and misery and sin to have gone for ever ; and in the glory of the dying eventide I pluck a folded daisy from the grass and I lay it beside a pure red rose, emblem of homely virtues and lovely graces twined together in eternal oneness, even as Na- ture and History have made one beautiful realm, and a gentle spirit by my side whispers, " Truth and love, restfulness and peace the Heart of Merrie England 1" THE END. < * JISIREGIONAI. UBflARY FACILITY " " " ' '" Hill HIM Illll !| HI || 000 954 732 4 SOUTHERN. BRANCH, UNIVERSITY OF GALlFOR LIBRARY./ ANGELES, CALIF.