BACHELOR’S HALL.
Its quaint Interior—An Old Friend’s Memory—Crabbe’s Peter at Ilford
Hall—Singular Time-pieces—A Meet at Hangster’s Gate—Jolly Doings—Dibdin
at Dinner—Broseley Pipes—Parson Stephens in his Shirt—The Parson’s Song.
WE have already described the exterior of the Hall and its approaches.
In the interior of the building the same air of antiquity reigned. Its
capacious chimney-pieces, and rooms wainscoted with oak to the ceiling,
are familiar from the descriptions of an old friend, whose memory was
still fresh and green as regards events and scenes of the time when the
Hall stood entire, and who when a boy was not an unfrequent visitor.
Like Crabbe’s Peter among the rooms and galleries of Ilford Hall,
“His vast delight was mixed with equal awe,
There was such magic in the things he saw;
Portraits he passed, admiring, but with pain
Turned from some objects, nor would look again.”
Against the walls were grim old portraits of the Squire’s predecessors of
the Weld and Forester lines, with stiff-starched frills, large vests, and
small round hats of Henry VII.’s time; others of the fashions of earlier
periods by distinguished painters, together with later productions of the
pencil by less famous artists, representing dogs, cattle, and favourite
horses. In the great hall were horns and antlers, and other trophies of
the chase, ancient guns which had done good execution in their time, a
bustard, and rare species of birds of a like kind. Here and there were
ancient time-pieces, singular in construction and quaint in contrivance,
one of which, on striking the hours of noon and midnight, set in motion
figures with trumpets and various other instruments, which gave forth
their appropriate sounds. A great lamp—hoisted to its place by a thick
rope—lighted up that portion of the hall into which opened the doors of
the dining and other rooms, and from which a staircase led to the
gallery.
A meet in the neighbourhood of Willey was usually well attended: first,
because of the certainty of good sport; secondly, because such sport was
often preceded, or often followed by receptions at the Hall, so famous
for its cheer. Jolly were the doings on these occasions; songs were
sung, racy tales were told, old October ale flowed freely, and the jovial
merits and household virtues of Willey were fully up to the mark of the
good old times. The Squire usually dined about four o’clock, and his
guests occasionally came booted and spurred, ready for the hunt the
following day, and rarely left the festive board ’neath the hospitable
roof of the Squire until they mounted their coursers in the court-yard.
Dibdin, from materials gathered on the spot, has, in his own happy
manner, drawn representations of these gatherings. His portraits of
horses and dogs, and his description of the social habits of the Squire
and his friends are faithfully set forth in his song of “Bachelor’s
Hall:”—
“To Bachelor’s Hall we good fellows invite
To partake of the chase which makes up our delight,
We’ve spirits like fire, and of health such a stock,
That our pulse strikes the seconds as true as a clock.
Did you see us you’d swear that we mount with a grace,
That Diana had dubb’d some new gods of the chase.
Hark away! hark away! all nature looks gay,
And Aurora with smiles ushers in the bright day.
“Dick Thickset came mounted upon a fine black,
A finer fleet gelding ne’er hunter did back;
Tom Trig rode a bay full of mettle and bone,
And gaily Bob Buckson rode on a roan;
But the horse of all horses that rivalled the day
Was the Squire’s Neck-or-Nothing, and that was a grey.
Hark away! &c.
“Then for hounds there was Nimble who well would climb rocks,
And Cocknose a good one at finding a fox;
Little Plunge, like a mole, who would ferret and search,
And beetle-brow’d Hawk’s Eye so dead at a lurch:
Young Sly-looks that scents the strong breeze from the south,
And Musical Echo with his deep mouth.
Hark away! &c.
“Our horses, thus all of the very best blood,
’Tis not likely you’d easily find such a stud;
Then for foxhounds, our opinion for thousands we’ll back,
That all England throughout can’t produce such a pack.
Thus having described you our dogs, horses, and crew,
Away we set off, for our fox is in view.
Hark away! &c.
“Sly Reynard’s brought home, while the horn sounds the call,
And now you’re all welcome to Bachelor’s Hall;
The savoury sirloin gracefully smokes on the board,
And Bacchus pours wine from his sacred hoard.
Come on, then, do honour to this jovial place,
And enjoy the sweet pleasures that have sprung from the chase.
Hark away! hark away! while our spirits are gay,
Let us drink to the joys of next meeting day.”
On the occasion of Dibdin’s visit there were at the Hall more than the
usual local notables, and Parson Stephens was amongst them. As a treat
intended specially for Dibdin, the second course at dinner consisted of
Severn fish, such as we no longer have in the river. There were eels
cooked in various ways, flounders, perch, trout, carp, grayling, pike,
and at the head of the table that king of Severn fish, a salmon.
_Dibdin_: “This is a treat, Squire, and I can readily understand now why
the Severn should be called the ‘Queen of Rivers;’ it certainly deserves
the distinction for its fish, if for nothing else.”
_Mr. Forester_: “Do you know, Dibdin, that fellow Jessop, the engineer,
set on by those Gloucester fellows, wants to put thirteen or fourteen
bars or weirs in the river between here and Gloucester; why, it would
shut out every fish worth eating.”
“What could be his object?” asked Dibdin.
“Oh, he believes, like Brindley, that rivers were made to feed canals
with, and his backers—the Gloucester gentlemen, and the Stafford and
Worcester Canal Company—say, to make the river navigable at all seasons
up to Coalbrookdale; but my belief is that it is intended to crush what
bit of trade there yet remains on the river here, and to give them a
monopoly in the carrying trade, for our bargemen would be taxed, whilst
their carriers would be free, or nearly so.”
“We beat them, though,” said Mr. Pritchard.
“So we did,” added the Squire, “but we had a hard job: begad, I thought
our watermen had pretty well primed me when I went up to see Pitt on the
subject; but I had not been with him five minutes before I found he knew
far more about the river than I did:
“‘I am no orator, as Brutus is,
But, as you know me all, a plain and honest man.’”
_Several voices_: “Bravo, Squire.”
_To Stephens_: “Will you take a flounder?—‘flat as a flounder,’ they say.
I know you have a sympathy with flats, if not a liking for them.”
“The Broseley colliers made a flat of him when they dragged his own pond
for the fish he was so grateful for,” said Hinton.
The laugh went against the parson, who somehow missed his share of a
venison pasty, which was a favourite of his. He had been helped to a
slice from a haunch which stood in the centre of the table, and had had a
cut out of a saddle of mutton at one end, but he missed his favourite
dish.
“Is it true,” inquired Dibdin, looking round at roast, and boiled, and
pasties, “what we hear in London, that there is very considerable
_scarcity_ and _distress_ in the country?”—(general laughter). This
brought up questions of political economy, excess of population,
stock-jobbing, usury, gentlemen taking their money out of the country and
aping Frenchified, stick-frog fashions on their return. The latter was a
favourite subject with the Squire, who could not see, he said, what
amusement a gentleman could find out of the country equal to foxhunting,
and gave him an opportunity of introducing his favourite theory of taxing
heavily those who did so. The discussion had lasted over the fifth
course, when more potent liquors were put upon the table, together with
Broseley pipes. The production of the latter was a temptation Stephens
could not resist of telling the story of the Squire purchasing a box, for
which he paid a high price, in London, and finding, on showing them to
one of his tenants, as models, that they were made upon his own estate.
The laugh went against the Squire, who gave indication, by a merry
twinkle in his eye, that he would take an opportunity of being quits.
Discussions ensued upon the virtues and evils of tobacco, and the refusal
of Parliament to allow a census to be taken; one of the guests expressing
a belief, founded upon a statement put forth by a Dr. Price, that the
population of England and Wales was under five millions, or less, in
fact, than it was in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. “Which,” added the
Squire, “is not correct, according to poor-law and other statistics
produced before Parliament, which show that there are from three to four
births to one death.”
_Mr. Whitmore_: “I can readily believe that this is true in your parishes
of Willey and Barrow, Forester, where a certain person’s amours, like
Jupiter’s, are too numerous to mention.” (Laughter, in which the Squire
joined.)
_Mr. Forester_: “A truce to statistics and politics, let us have Larry
Palmer, our local Incledon, in to sing us some of Dibdin’s songs.”
(General approbation.)
And Larry, who was blind, and who was purposely kept in ignorance of
Dibdin being present, then gave in succession several of what Incledon
called his “sheet-anchors,” including “The Quaker,” “My Trim-built
Wherry,” “Tom Bowling,” &c., with an effect and force which made the
author exclaim that he never heard greater justice done to his
compositions, and led to an exhibition of feeling which made the old hall
ring again.
Dibdin’s health was next given, with high eulogiums as to the effect of
his animating effusions on the loyalty, valour, and patriotism which at
that time blazed so intensely in the bosom of the British tar.
Dibdin, in acknowledging the toast, related incidents he had himself
several times witnessed at sea; and how deeply indebted he felt to men
like Incledon and others, adding that the inspiration which moved him was
strongly in his mind from his earliest remembrance. It lay, he said, a
quiet hidden spark which, for a time, found nothing hard enough to vivify
it; but which, coming in contact with proper materials, expanded.
“Tell Dibdin of Old Tinker,” cried Childe, of Kinlet.
The tale of Old Tinker was given, the last bit of court scandal
discussed, and some tales told of the King, with whom Mr. Forester was on
terms of friendship, and the festivities of the evening had extended into
the small hours of the morning, when, during a brief pause in the general
mirth, a tremendous crash was heard, and the Squire rushing out to see
what was the matter, met one of the servants, who said the sound came
from the larder, whither Mr. Forester repaired. Looking in, he saw
Stephens _in his shirt_, and, with presence of mind, he turned the key,
and went back to his company to consider how he should turn the incident
to account.
It appears that Stephens had been several hours in bed, when, waking up
from his first sleep, he fancied he should like a dip into the venison
pie, and forthwith had gone down into the larder, where, in searching for
the pie, he knocked down the dish, with one or two more. The Squire was
not long in making up his mind how he should turn the matter to account;
he declared that it was time to retire, but before doing so, he said,
they must have a country dance, and insisted upon the whole household
being roused to take part in it. There was no resisting the wishes of
the host; the whole of the house assembled, and formed sides for a dance
in the hall, through which Stephens must necessarily pass in going to his
room. Whilst this was taking place Mr. Forester slipped the key into the
door, and going behind Stephens, unkennelled his fox, making the parson
run the gauntlet, in his shirt, amid an indescribable scene of merriment
and confusion!
The very Rev. Dr. Stephens had paid for his nocturnal escapade, one would
have thought, sufficiently to satisfy the most exacting. But the Squire
and his guests, just ripe for fun, insisted that he should dress and come
down into the dining-room to finish the night. The further penalty, too,
was inflicted of making him join in the chorus of the old song, sung with
boundless approbation by one of the company, beginning—
“A parson once had a remarkable foible
Of loving good liquor far more than his Bible;
His neighbours all said he was much less perplext
In handling a tankard than in handling a text.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.”
The gist of which lies in the parson’s reply to his wife, who, when the
pigs set his ale running, and he stormed and swore, reminded him of his
laudation of the patience of Job, whereupon he denies the application,
with the remark—
“Job never had such a cask in his life.”
“The hunting in the Cheviot,”
now called “Chevy Chase,” succeeded, and the night closed with Dibdin
singing his last new song, to music of his own composing, with a jolly,
rollicking chorus by the whole company.