Changes—Old customs—Country houses—A dispirited Conservative—
Wigs—The last Bishops to wear them—Some witty replies—
Nightcaps—Dr. Burney and Nelson—Posy rings—Mutton-fat candles
in 1835—Belvoir Castle—Old-world country life—Poachers—The
last of the smugglers—A terrible crime—Hanging in chains—
Pressing to death—Books bound in the skin of criminals—Sussex
roads—Old ironwork—Cowdray—The monk’s curse—Otway’s
birthplace—Trotton—Charles James Fox—Midhurst and its tokens
—Oratory in the country.
Within the last hundred years the changes wrought by steam and
electricity have completely transformed the world, whilst making it, no
doubt, a very much more comfortable planet to live in than it ever was
before. Nevertheless, much that was picturesque and curious has
disappeared; few old customs survive, though in certain places they are
still (perhaps somewhat artificially) preserved. The practice of beating
the bounds, for instance, is, I believe, still occasionally, in a very
modified form, carried out in certain towns; but the serious necessity
for it having passed away, it is more of a holiday pastime than anything
else.
As late as the ’fifties the old custom of wassailing the orchards was
still to some extent preserved in Sussex, where it was known as
“apple-howling.” A troop of boys used to go round to the different
orchards, and, surrounding the apple trees, repeat some quaint rhymes
and shout in chorus, the leader of the band meanwhile producing some
strange sounds from a cow’s horn. Part of the ceremony consisted in
rapping the apple trees with sticks. At the present day this apple-tree
superstition, to which Herrick makes allusion in his _Hesperides_,
appears to be extinct.
Wassailing at Christmas time was, of course, a totally different thing
altogether, of which possibly some vestige has survived to the present
day, though in a very modified form. In the days, not so very long ago,
when Sussex labourers could not read, they were absolutely dependent
upon tradition for their songs, which, in many cases, were exceedingly
quaint. Two favourite ones were the “Blind Beggar’s Daughter of Bethnal
Green” and the well-known “Bailiff’s Daughter of Islington.” Others were
“Lord Bateman was a Noble Lord” and “A Sweet Country Life.” These old
songs used to be sung by parties of carol singers who went from house to
house, well assured of receiving a warm and hearty welcome.
Formerly, of course, people who lived in the country were much more
dependent upon the shops in the local village than is now the case, when
everything can be got down from London with the greatest ease. Most
country houses of any size had a large brew-house attached to them,
where home-made beer was brewed for the labourers and servants; this was
at all events exceedingly wholesome, being quite free from all
adulteration. Country households were also more or less self-dependent
in other ways, and many articles of domestic use were made at home,
which in these days are purchased from the huge emporiums with which
London abounds. Those were the days of feather-beds, and the feathers of
chickens and of game-birds were not thrown away as to-day, but carefully
preserved and picked in order that they might be utilised as stuffing
for this somewhat hot and uncomfortable sort of couch.
At my old home in Norfolk two women were kept constantly employed at
this work. I can still see in my mind’s eye old Phœbe Barwick, as she
was called, picking away together with another aged character—they
never seemed to stop from morning to night, a room being specially set
aside for their use. Phœbe’s companion has ever lived in my recollection
by reason of the fact that when she heard the news of my brother’s
election, as member for East Norfolk, in 1835, she rushed downstairs,
seized a huge dinner-bell, and rang a pæan of exultant triumph on the
lawn in front of the house. My brother himself was imbued with but
little political fervour even at that time, and in his later years his
efforts on behalf of the Conservative party were limited to sending on
one occasion a cartload of hares into his market town as presents for
the Tory electors. The Liberals, however, having made the driver drunk,
proceeded to distribute the hares amongst their own supporters, a
proceeding which my brother ever afterwards declared had thoroughly
disgusted him with all political propaganda.
In my early childhood there were still men living who had not abandoned
the eighteenth-century fashion of wearing a wig. This custom, indeed,
did not entirely die out with the coming in of the nineteenth century,
some old-fashioned people continuing to wear these head-coverings as
late as the early ’thirties. The last man to wear a pigtail is said to
have been one of the Cambridge dons, who retained it as late as the year
1835. The higher clergy did not abandon their wigs till a somewhat later
date. As recently as 1848 Bishop Monk wore a wig whilst officiating at
an ordination at St. Margaret’s, Westminster. Archbishop Sumner,
however, is said to have been the very last ecclesiastic to discard this
head-covering, which Bishops Bagot and Blomfield had been the first to
lay aside. Bishop Blomfield was a divine who was noted for his wit, and
his sayings were sometimes very amusing. He was once engaged in a
controversy with a learned man as to the mental superiority of the East
over the West, and after much argument his opponent as a parting shot
said, “Well, at any rate the wise men came from the East—you can’t
dispute that.” “Surely,” retorted the Bishop, “that was the wisest thing
they could do.”
On another occasion, at a party where a lady in an extremely _decolleté_
gown excited a good deal of attention, some one remarked to him: “Her
appearance is really quite scandalous. Did you ever see anything like
it?” “Never,” replied the Bishop; “at least, not since I was weaned.”
When wigs were first abandoned the new fashion of wearing the hair was
not by any means universally popular, and in some country districts
old-fashioned parishioners were by no means enamoured of the change in
their pastor’s appearance. A certain clergyman, for instance, who at the
beginning of the last century determined to follow the new fashion, and
having discarded his wig, appeared in the village street with a cropped
head, was severely snubbed by a lady parishioner whom he had consulted
as to the effect of this change in his personal appearance. Her remark
was, “Once a man, twice a child.” For many years, indeed, people of the
old school considered this innovation a most undignified change.
Nightcaps, which were once universally worn, have now pretty well gone
the same way as wigs; in old days every one, not only men, but also
women, wore them, and they were considered as indispensable as any other
article of ordinary attire. There is a well-known story relating to the
celebrated Dr. Burney which illustrates this.
Dr. Burney, whilst staying with Nelson at Merton, discovered that he had
omitted to bring any nightcaps with him, and so borrowed one from the
great admiral. Sitting up to study before retiring to bed, the cap
somehow caught fire in a candle, the end portion of it being consumed,
upon which Dr. Burney wrote out the following lines, which he sent with
the remains of the cap to his host on the following morning:—
Take your nightcap again, my good Lord, I desire,
I would not detain it a minute;
What belongs to a Nelson, where’er there’s a fire,
Is sure to be instantly in it.
Amongst many relics of other days and ways I have several of those
old-fashioned wedding and betrothal rings which almost invariably
contained a motto inscribed upon their inner surface—posy rings as they
were called. The word “posy,” it may be added, is simply an abbreviated
form of “poesy,” which Richardson, in his _Dictionary of Derivatives_,
defines as “a brief poetical sentiment,” especially one inscribed on a
ring. The custom of inscribing a motto or posy upon brooches survived in
Scotland up to comparatively modern times. Those known as Luckenbooth
brooches were sold in the “Luckenbooths” round St. Giles’ church in
Edinburgh, and were used as love-tokens and betrothal gifts. On them
were inscriptions such as—
While lyfe is myne my heart is thyne,
Of earthly joys thou art my choise;
lines which also occur on many old English rings. Some ladies on the
death of their husbands used to convert their wedding or posy ring into
a mourning one. This was effected by engraving an elongated skeleton
outside the ring, its bones being brought into prominence by a
background of black enamel. Occasionally a death’s-head alone was
engraved outside.
Another kind of ring which is now obsolete was the Serjeant’s ring. It
was an old legal custom for a Serjeant-at-law, on his appointment, to
present a ring to the Crown, and also a ring of lesser weight than the
royal ring to each of his brother Serjeants. This custom was only
abolished in 1873, when the office of Serjeant-at-Law was done away
with. At Windsor Castle there are said to be candlesticks formed
entirely of Serjeants’ rings placed one above the other. Unlike the posy
rings, the inscription upon the Serjeants’ rings (a flat band of gold
with a moulding at top and bottom) is placed upon the exterior
surface—the motto being, as a rule, in Latin and very seldom in
English. _Vivat Rex et Lex_ and _Lex regis præsidium_ are two to be
found upon ancient rings of this kind.
Posy rings, though usually of gold, are sometimes found to be made of
silver, and even of brass. For the most part quite plain, some few have
decorative patterns on the outside. Besides betrothal and wedding rings,
there were also posy rings made to be given as presents on St.
Valentine’s Day; a certain number of these engraved with suitable
inscriptions were, in all probability, always kept in stock by the
goldsmiths of other days.