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BRACEBRIDGE HALL
by
WASHINGTON IRVING
Illustrated by R. Caldecott.
London.
MacMillan & Co.
Printed by R. & R. CLARK, Edinburgh
1877
[Illustration: "The chivalry of the Hall prepared to take the
field."--_Frontispiece._]
[Illustration: Title-Page]
[Illustration: Heading to Preface]
PREFACE
The success of "OLD CHRISTMAS" has suggested the re-publication of its
sequel "BRACEBRIDGE HALL," illustrated by the same able pencil, but
condensed so as to bring it within reasonable size and price.
[Illustration: Tailpiece to Preface]
[Illustration: Contents]
CONTENTS
THE HALL
THE BUSY MAN
FAMILY SERVANTS
THE WIDOW
THE LOVERS
FAMILY RELIQUES
AN OLD SOLDIER
THE WIDOW'S RETINUE
READY-MONEY JACK
BACHELORS
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
THE FARM-HOUSE
HORSEMANSHIP
LOVE SYMPTOMS
FALCONRY
HAWKING
FORTUNE-TELLING
LOVE-CHARMS
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS
GIPSIES
VILLAGE WORTHIES
THE SCHOOLMASTER
THE SCHOOL
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
THE ROOKERY
MAY-DAY
THE CULPRIT
LOVERS' TROUBLES
THE WEDDING
[Illustration: Tailpiece to Contents]
[Illustration: List of Illustrations]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Designed by Randolph Caldecott,
and
Arranged and Engraved by J. D. Cooper
THE HAWKING PARTY.
TITLE-PAGE.
HEADING TO PREFACE
TAILPIECE TO PREFACE
HEADING TO CONTENTS
TAILPIECE TO CONTENTS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
TAILPIECE TO ILLUSTRATIONS
THE HALL
THE TERRACE GARDEN
STOPPING TO GATHER A FLOWER
BREAKING A POINTER
THE CHILDREN DANCE IN THE HALL
"SEVERAL UNHAPPY BIRDS IN DURANCE"
OLD CHRISTY
"TWO PAMPERED CURS THAT BARKED OUT OF EACH WINDOW"
ARRIVAL OF THE WIDOW
HEADING TO "FAMILY SERVANTS"
THE OLD HOUSEKEEPER
PHOEBE WILKINS
"SHE DRINKS THE HEALTH OF THE COMPANY"
CONTEMPLATION
THE WIDOW
KENSINGTON GARDENS
A SAGE ADVISER
MASTER SIMON OVER THE ACCOUNTS
HEADING TO "THE LOVERS"
THE LOVERS
THE TRIO
HEADING TO "FAMILY RELIQUES"
EFFIGY IN MARBLE
JULIA AND THE CAPTAIN IN THE GALLERY
THE SALUTATION
GENERAL HARBOTTLE
"PUBLIC DISTRESS, SIR, IS ALL HUMBUG!"
CANINE PETS
THE OLD COACHMAN
DIGNITY AND IMPUDENCE
CONFIDENTIAL WHISPER
READY-MONEY JACK EXPOUNDING
IN AT THE DEATH
QUELLING THE BRAWL
QUARTER-STAFF
MULLIGATAWNEY CLUB
CHAFFING THE MILKMAID
CONJUGAL EXTINGUISHER
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
A BOOKWORM
"COME, TELL ME, SAYS ROSA, AS KISSING AND KISSED"
HEADING TO "THE FARM-HOUSE"
"HE SHONE LIKE A BOTTLE"
A TAILPIECE
CHRISTY ON PEPPER
A HUNTER
THE TUTOR'S DISMISSAL
THE OFFERING
MRS. HANNAH
ASLEEP WHEN HE READS
FALCONRY IN OLDEN TIMES
PHYSICKING THE HAWKS
"WELL, WELL, HAVE IT YOUR OWN WAY, CHRISTY!"
HAWKING
THE CONSULTATION IN THE FIELD
THE QUARRY IN SIGHT
JULIA'S MISHAP
PLUMING HER WINGS
THE GIPSY ENCAMPMENT
A GIPSY GIRL
THE GENERAL IN THE TOILS
"GOD SAVE THE KING!"
TOSSING THE PANCAKE
JACK JILTS PHOEBE
THE LOVE-SPELL
MASTER SIMON AT THE WINDOW
MASTER SIMON IN LOVE
GENTLEMEN'S JOKES
STARLIGHT TOM ON THE WATCH
A GIPSY PARTY
FORTUNE-TELLING
HEADING TO "VILLAGE WORTHIES"
"MASTER SIMON PINCHED THE DAUGHTER'S CHEEK"
THE APOTHECARY
HEADING TO "THE SCHOOLMASTER"
SLINGSBY AND READY-MONEY JACK
"ON THE ROAD"
THE SCHOOL
THE PRODIGAL
THE TRUANTS
LAYING DOWN THE LAW
THE VILLAGE POLITICIAN
THE LANDLADY
THE ANTAGONISTS
THE ROOKERY
AFTER THE STRAWS
ROOKS ON THE SHEEP
THE HERMIT OWL
BACHELOR'S HALL
MAY-DAY
MAY-DAY QUEEN
THE GENERAL NONPLUSSED
MAY QUEEN AND BRIDE-ELECT
MAY-DAY MELÉE
RUMPLED FEATHERS
THE CAPTURE
CONSCIENCE MAKES COWARDS OF THE DOGS
THE TRIBUNAL
THE GUARD
TAILPIECE
A SOLEMN CONSULTATION
LOVE DOCUMENTS
SLINGSBY AND PHOEBE
BUTLER WITH BRIDE CUP
THE WEDDING
RURAL ARTILLERY
MASTER SIMON OPENS THE BALL
RECONCILIATION
A MAIDEN CONFESSION
MASTER SIMON'S FINALE
[Illustration: Tailpiece to Illustrations]
[Illustration: The Hall]
THE HALL.
The ancientest house, and the best for housekeeping in this
county or the next, and though the master of it write but
squire, I know no lord like him.
MERRY BEGGARS.
The reader, if he has perused the volumes of the Sketch Book, will
probably recollect something of the Bracebridge family, with which I
once passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit at the Hall, having
been invited to a wedding which is shortly to take place. The squire's
second son, Guy, a fine, spirited young captain in the army, is about to
be married to his father's ward, the fair Julia Templeton. A gathering
of relations and friends has already commenced, to celebrate the joyful
occasion; for the old gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private weddings.
"There is nothing," he says, "like launching a young couple gaily, and
cheering them from the shore; a good outset is half the voyage."
Before proceeding any farther, I would beg that the squire might not be
confounded with that class of hard-riding, fox-hunting gentlemen so
often described, and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. I use this
rural title, partly because it is his universal appellation throughout
the neighbourhood, and partly because it saves me the frequent
repetition of his name, which is one of those rough old English names at
which Frenchmen exclaim in despair.
The squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the old English country
gentleman; rusticated a little by living almost entirely on his estate,
and something of a humourist, as Englishmen are apt to become when they
have an opportunity of living in their own way. I like his hobby passing
well, however, which is, a bigoted devotion to old English manners and
customs; it jumps a little with my own humour, having as yet a lively
and unsated curiosity about the ancient and genuine characteristics of
my "fatherland."
There are some traits about the squire's family also, which appear to me
to be national. It is one of those old aristocratical families, which, I
believe, are peculiar to England, and scarcely understood in other
countries; that is to say, families of the ancient gentry, who, though
destitute of titled rank, maintain a high ancestral pride; who look down
upon all nobility of recent creation, and would consider it a sacrifice
of dignity to merge the venerable name of their house in a modern title.
This feeling is very much fostered by the importance which they enjoy on
their hereditary domains. The family mansion is an old manor-house,
standing in a retired and beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its inhabitants
have been always regarded through the surrounding country as "the great
ones of the earth;" and the little village near the hall looks up to the
squire with almost feudal homage. An old manor-house, and an old family
of this kind, are rarely to be met with at the present day; and it is
probably the peculiar humour of the squire that has retained this
secluded specimen of English housekeeping in something like the genuine
old style.
I am again quartered in the panelled chamber, in the antique wing of the
house. The prospect from my window, however, has quite a different
aspect from that which it wore on my winter visit. Though early in the
month of April, yet a few warm, sunshiny days have drawn forth the
beauties of the spring, which, I think, are always most captivating on
their first opening. The parterres of the old-fashioned garden are gay
with flowers; and the gardener has brought out his exotics, and placed
them along the stone balustrades. The trees are clothed with green buds
and tender leaves; when I throw open my jingling casement I smell the
odour of mignonette, and hear the hum of the bees from the flowers
against the sunny wall, with the varied song of the throstle, and the
cheerful notes of the tuneful little wren.
[Illustration: The Terrace Garden]
While sojourning in this stronghold of old fashions, it is my intention
to make occasional sketches of the scenes and characters before me. I
would have it understood, however, that I am not writing a novel, and
have nothing of intricate plot, or marvellous adventure, to promise the
reader. The Hall of which I treat has, for aught I know, neither
trap-door, nor sliding-panel, nor donjon-keep: and indeed appears to
have no mystery about it. The family is a worthy, well-meaning family,
that, in all probability, will eat and drink, and go to bed, and get up
regularly, from one end of my work to the other; and the squire is so
kind-hearted an old gentleman, that I see no likelihood of his throwing
any kind of distress in the way of the approaching nuptials. In a word,
I cannot foresee a single extraordinary event that is likely to occur in
the whole term of my sojourn at the Hall.
[Illustration: Stopping to Gather a Flower]
I tell this honestly to the reader, lest when he find me dallying along,
through every-day English scenes, he may hurry ahead, in hopes of
meeting with some marvellous adventure farther on. I invite him, on the
contrary, to ramble gently on with me, as he would saunter out into the
fields, stopping occasionally to gather a flower, or listen to a bird,
or admire a prospect, without any anxiety to arrive at the end of his
career. Should I, however, in the course of my loiterings about this old
mansion, see or hear anything curious, that might serve to vary the
monotony of this every-day life, I shall not fail to report it for the
reader's entertainment.
For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie
Of any book, how grave so e'er it be,
Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie,
Well sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee.[A]
[Footnote A: Mirror for Magistrates.]
[Illustration: Breaking a Pointer]
THE BUSY MAN.
A decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and my
master's means, and much good do him with it. He does hold my
master up with his stones, and songs, and catches, and such
tricks, and jigs you would admire--he is with him now.
JOVIAL CREW.
By no one has my return to the Hall been more heartily greeted than by
Mr. Simon Bracebridge, or Master Simon, as the squire most commonly
calls him. I encountered him just as I entered the park, where he was
breaking a pointer, and he received me with all the hospitable
cordiality with which a man welcomes a friend to another one's house. I
have already introduced him to the reader as a brisk old
bachelor-looking little man; the wit and superannuated beau of a large
family connection, and the squire's factotum. I found him, as usual,
full of bustle; with a thousand petty things to do, and persons to
attend to, and in chirping good-humour; for there are few happier beings
than a busy idler; that is to say, a man who is eternally busy about
nothing.
I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his chamber, which is in
a remote corner of the mansion, as he says he likes to be to himself,
and out of the way. He has fitted it up in his own taste, so that it is
a perfect epitome of an old bachelor's notions of convenience and
arrangement. The furniture is made up of odd pieces from all parts of
the house, chosen on account of their suiting his notions, or fitting
some corner of his apartment; and he is very eloquent in praise of an
ancient elbow-chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into a
censure on modern chairs, as having degenerated from the dignity and
comfort of high-backed antiquity.
Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he calls his study. Here
are some hanging shelves, of his own construction, on which are several
old works on hawking, hunting, and farriery, and a collection or two of
poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeth, which he studies out of
compliment to the squire; together with the Novelists' Magazine, the
Sporting Magazine, the Racing Calendar, a volume or two of the Newgate
Calendar, a book of peerage, and another of heraldry.
His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet; and about the walls
of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and
a favourite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he
inherits from his grandfather. He has also a couple of old single-keyed
flutes, and a fiddle, which he has repeatedly patched and mended
himself, affirming it to be a veritable Cremona: though I have never
heard him extract a single note from it that was not enough to make
one's blood run cold.
From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the stillness
of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune; for he prides
himself on having a choice collection of good old English music, and
will scarcely have anything to do with modern composers. The time,
however, at which his musical powers are of most use is now and then of
an evening, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall, and he
passes among them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus.
[Illustration: The Children Dance in the Hall]
His chamber also bears evidence of his various avocations; there are
half copied sheets of music; designs for needlework; sketches of
landscapes, very indifferently executed; a camera lucida; a magic
lantern, for which he is endeavouring to paint glasses; in a word, it is
the cabinet of a man of many accomplishments, who knows a little of
everything, and does nothing well.
After I had spent some time in his apartment admiring the ingenuity of
his small inventions, he took me about the establishment, to visit the
stables, dog-kennel, and other dependencies, in which he appeared like a
general visiting the different quarters of his camp; as the squire
leaves the control of all these matters to him, when he is at the Hall.
He inquired into the state of the horses; examined their feet;
prescribed a drench for one, and bleeding for another; and then took me
to look at his own horse, on the merits of which he dwelt with great
prolixity, and which, I noticed, had the best stall in the stable.
After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the squire's, which he
termed the falconry, where there were several unhappy birds in durance,
completing their education. Among the number was a fine falcon, which
Master Simon had in especial training, and he told me that he would show
me, in a few days, some rare sport of the good old-fashioned kind. In
the course of our round, I noticed that the grooms, gamekeeper,
whippers-in, and other retainers, seemed all to be on somewhat of a
familiar footing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke with him,
though it was evident they had great deference for his opinion in
matters relating to their functions.
[Illustration: "Several unhappy birds in durance"]
There was one exception, however, in a testy old huntsman, as hot as a
pepper-corn; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a threadbare velvet
jockey-cap, and a pair of leather breeches, that, from much wear, shone
as though they had been japanned. He was very contradictory and
pragmatical, and apt, as I thought, to differ from Master Simon now and
then out of mere captiousness. This was particularly the case with
respect to the treatment of the hawk, which the old man seemed to have
under his peculiar care, and, according to Master Simon, was in a fair
way to ruin; the latter had a vast deal to say about _casting_, and
_imping_, and _gleaming_, and _enseaming_, and giving the hawk the
_rangle_, which I saw was all heathen Greek to old Christy; but he
maintained his point notwithstanding, and seemed to hold all his
technical lore in utter disrespect.
[Illustration: Old Christy]
I was surprised at the good humour with which Master Simon bore his
contradictions, till he explained the matter to me afterwards. Old
Christy is the most ancient servant in the place, having lived among
dogs and horses the greater part of a century, and been in the service
of Mr. Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree of every horse on the
place, and has bestrid the great-great-grandsires of most of them. He
can give a circumstantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or
seventy years, and has a history of every stag's head about the house,
and every hunting trophy nailed to the door of the dog-kennel.
All the present race have grown up under his eye, and humour him in his
old age. He once attended the squire to Oxford when he was a student
there, and enlightened the whole university with his hunting lore. All
this is enough to make the old man opinionated, since he finds, on all
these matters of first-rate importance, he knows more than the rest of
the world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges
that he derived his first knowledge in hunting from the instructions of
Christy; and I much question whether the old man does not still look
upon him as rather a greenhorn.
On our return homewards, as we were crossing the lawn in front of the
house, we heard the porter's bell ring at the lodge, and shortly
afterwards, a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the avenue. At sight
of it my companion paused, considered for a moment, and then, making a
sudden exclamation, hurried away to meet it. As it approached I
discovered a fair, fresh-looking elderly lady, dressed in an
old-fashioned riding-habit, with a broad-brimmed white beaver hat, such
as may be seen in Sir Joshua Reynolds' paintings. She rode a sleek white
pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on an
over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the rear came an ancient
cumbrous chariot, drawn by two very corpulent horses, driven by as
corpulent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fanciful green
livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched prim personage, with a look
somewhat between a lady's companion and a lady's maid; and two pampered
curs that showed their ugly faces and barked out of each window.
[Illustration: "Two pampered curs that barked out of each window"]
There was a general turning out of the garrison to receive this new
comer. The squire assisted her to alight, and saluted her
affectionately; the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they embraced
with the romantic fervour of boarding-school friends. She was escorted
into the house by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed distinguished
favour; and a line of the old servants, who had collected in the hall,
bowed most profoundly as she passed.
I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous and devout in his
attentions upon this old lady. He walked by the side of her pony up the
avenue; and while she was receiving the salutations of the rest of the
family, he took occasion to notice the fat coachman, to pat the sleek
carriage-horses, and, above all, to say a civil word to my lady's
gentlewoman, the prim, sour-looking vestal in the chariot.
[Illustration: Arrival of the Widow]
I had no more of his company for the rest of the morning. He was swept
off in the vortex that followed in the wake of this lady. Once indeed
he paused for a moment, as he was hurrying on some errand of the good
lady's, to let me know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the
squire's, of large fortune, which the captain would inherit, and that
her estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in all England.
[Illustration: Family Servants]
FAMILY SERVANTS.
Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping.
They are like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese,
bespeaking the antiquity and fatness of their abode.
In my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often be tempted to dwell on
circumstances of a trite and ordinary nature, from their appearing to me
illustrative of genuine national character. It seems to be the study of
the squire to adhere, as much as possible, to what he considers the old
landmarks of English manners. His servants all understand his ways, and,
for the most part, have been accustomed to them from infancy; so that,
upon the whole, his household presents one of the few tolerable
specimens that can now be met with, of the establishment of an English
country gentleman of the old school. By the by, the servants are not
the least characteristic part of the household; the housekeeper, for
instance, has been born and brought up at the Hall, and has never been
twenty miles from it; yet she has a stately air that would not disgrace
a lady that had figured at the court of Queen Elizabeth.
I am half-inclined to think that she has caught it from living so much
among the old family pictures. It may, however, be owing to a
consciousness of her importance in the sphere in which she has always
moved; for she is greatly respected in the neighbouring village, and
among the farmers' wives, and has high authority in the household,
ruling over the servants with quiet but undisputed sway.
She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes, and pointed nose and chin. Her
dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small, well-starched
ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festooned and open
in front, which, on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the legacy
of some former dame of the family, or an inheritance from her mother,
who was housekeeper before her. I have a reverence for these old
garments, as I make no doubt they have figured about these apartments in
days long past, when they have set off the charms of some peerless
family beauty; and I have sometimes looked from the old housekeeper to
the neighbouring portraits, to see whether I could not recognise her
antiquated brocade in the dress of some one of those long-waisted dames
that smile on me from the walls.
[Illustration: The Old Housekeeper]
Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, and she wears
over it a small cap, nicely plaited, and brought down under the chin.
Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a proper
dignity of station.
The Hall is her world, and the history of the family the only history
she knows, excepting that which she has read in the Bible. She can give
a biography of every portrait in the picture gallery, and is a complete
family chronicle.
She is treated with great consideration by the squire. Indeed, Master
Simon tells me that there is a traditional anecdote current among the
servants, of the squire's having been seen kissing her in the picture
gallery, when they were both young. As, however, nothing further was
ever noticed between them, the circumstance caused no great scandal;
only she was observed to take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and
refused the hand of the village innkeeper, whom she had previously
smiled on.
The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a rejected admirer of
hers, used to tell the anecdote now and then, at those little cabals
that will occasionally take place among the most orderly servants,
arising from the common propensity of the governed to talk against
administration; but he has left it off, of late years, since he has
risen into place, and shakes his head rebukingly when it is mentioned.
It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell on the looks of
the squire when he was a young man at college; and she maintains that
none of his sons can compare with their father when he was of their age,
and was dressed out in his full suit of scarlet, with his hair craped
and powdered, and his three-cornered hat.
She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted baggage, named Phoebe
Wilkins, who has been transplanted to the Hall within a year or two, and
been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is a kind of
attendant and companion of the fair Julia's; and from loitering about
the young lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, and inheriting
second-hand finery, has become something between a waiting-maid and a
slip-shod fine lady.
[Illustration: Phoebe Wilkins]
She is considered a kind of heiress among the servants, as she will
inherit all her aunt's property; which, if report be true, must be a
round sum of good golden guineas, the accumulated wealth of two
housekeepers' savings; not to mention the hereditary wardrobe, and the
many little valuables and knick-knacks treasured up in the housekeeper's
room. Indeed the old housekeeper has the reputation among the servants
and the villagers of being passing rich; and there is a japanned chest
of drawers and a large iron-bound coffer in her room, which are supposed
by the housemaids to hold treasures of wealth.
The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, indeed, pays a
little court to her, as to a person high in authority: and they have
many discussions on points of family history, in which, notwithstanding
his extensive information, and pride of knowledge, he commonly admits
her superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the Hall, after one of his
visits to the other branches of the family, without bringing Mrs.
Wilkins some remembrance from the ladies of the house where he has been
staying.
Indeed all the children in the house look up to the old lady with
habitual respect and attachment, and she seems almost to consider them
as her own, from their having grown up under her eye. The Oxonian,
however, is her favourite, probably from being the youngest, though he
is the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks upon her from
boyhood.
I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony which, I believe, is
peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is removed at dinner, the old
housekeeper sails into the room and stands behind the squire's chair,
when he fills her a glass of wine with his own hands, in which she
drinks the health of the company in a truly respectful yet dignified
manner, and then retires. The squire received the custom from his
father, and has always continued it.
[Illustration: "She drinks the health of the company"]
There is a peculiar character about the servants of old English families
that reside principally in the country. They have a quiet, orderly,
respectful mode of doing their duties. They are always neat in their
persons, and appropriately, and, if I may use the phrase, technically
dressed; they move about the house without hurry or noise; there is
nothing of the bustle of employment, or the voice of command; nothing of
that obtrusive housewifery that amounts to a torment. You are not
persecuted by the process of making you comfortable; yet everything is
done, and is done well. The work of the house is performed as if by
magic, but it is the magic of system. Nothing is done by fits and
starts, nor at awkward seasons; the whole goes on like well-oiled
clockwork, where there is no noise nor jarring in its operations.
English servants, in general, are not treated with great indulgence, nor
rewarded by many commendations; for the English are laconic and reserved
towards their domestics; but an approving nod and kind word from master
or mistress, goes as far here, as an excess of praise or indulgence
elsewhere. Neither do servants exhibit any animated marks of affection
to their employers; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their
attachments; and the reciprocal regard of masters or servants, though
not ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in old English families.
The title of "an old family servant" carries with it a thousand kind
associations in all parts of the world; and there is no claim upon the
home-bred charities of the heart more irresistible than that of having
been "born in the house." It is common to see grey-headed domestics of
this kind attached to an English family of the "old school," who
continue in it to the day of their death in the enjoyment of steady
unaffected kindness, and the performance of faithful unofficious duty. I
think such instances of attachment speak well for master and servant,
and the frequency of them speaks well for national character.
These observations, however, hold good only with families of the
description I have mentioned, and with such as are somewhat retired, and
pass the greater part of their time in the country. As to the powdered
menials that throng the walls of fashionable town residences, they
equally reflect the character of the establishments to which they
belong; and I know no more complete epitomes of dissolute heartlessness
and pampered inutility.
But the good "old family servant!"--The one who has always been linked,
in idea, with the home of our heart; who has led us to school in the
days of prattling childhood; who has been the confidant of our boyish
cares, and schemes, and enterprises; who has hailed us as we came home
at vacations, and been the promoter of all our holiday sports; who, when
we, in wandering manhood, have left the paternal roof, and only return
thither at intervals, will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that
of our parents; who, now grown grey and infirm with age, still totters
about the house of our fathers in fond and faithful servitude; who
claims us, in a manner, as his own; and hastens with querulous eagerness
to anticipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon us at table; and who,
when we retire at night to the chamber that still goes by our name, will
linger about the room to have one more kind look, and one more pleasant
word about times that are past--who does not experience towards such a
being a feeling of almost filial affection?
I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the gravestones of such
valuable domestics, recorded with the simple truth of natural feeling. I
have two before me at this moment; one copied from a tombstone of a
churchyard in Warwickshire:
"Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential servant to George
Birch, Esq. of Hampstead Hall. His grateful friend and master caused
this inscription to be written in memory of his discretion, fidelity,
diligence, and continence. He died (a bachelor) aged 84, having lived
44 years in the same family."
The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham churchyard:
"Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who departed this life on the
8th of September 1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of 60 years in
one family; by each individual of which he lived respected, and died
lamented by the sole survivor."
Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me the glow about the
heart that I felt while copying this honest epitaph in the churchyard of
Eltham. I sympathised with this "sole survivor" of a family, mourning
over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, no
doubt, a living memento of times and friends that had passed away; and
in considering this record of long and devoted services, I called to
mind the touching speech of Old Adam in "As You Like It," when tottering
after the youthful son of his ancient master:
"Master, go on, and I will follow thee
To the last gasp, with love and loyalty!"
NOTE.--I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen
somewhere in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late
King to the memory of a family servant who had been a
faithful attendant of his lamented daughter, the Princess
Amelia. George III. possessed much of the strong domestic
feeling of the old English country gentleman; and it is an
incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the
human heart,--a monarch erecting a monument in honour of the
humble virtues of a menial.
[Illustration: Contemplation]
[Illustration: The Widow]
THE WIDOW.
She was so charitable and pitious
She would weep if that she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled;
Of small hounds had she, that she fed
With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread;
But sore wept she if any of them were dead,
Or if man smote them with a yard smart.
CHAUCER.
Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made by Lady Lillycraft on her
arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that I had imagined; but
on the contrary she has a degree of nature, and simple-heartedness, if I
may use the phrase, that mingles well with her old-fashioned manners and
harmless ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long waist; she
rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzled
out, and put up with pins. Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but
the delicacy of her features shows that she may once have been
beautiful; and she has a very fair and well-shaped hand and arm, of
which, if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain.
I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars concerning her. She
was a great belle in town between thirty and forty years since, and
reigned for two seasons with all the insolence of beauty, refusing
several excellent offers; when, unfortunately, she was robbed of her
charms and her lovers by an attack of the small-pox. She retired
immediately into the country, where she some time after inherited an
estate, and married a baronet, a former admirer, whose passion had
suddenly revived; "having," as he said, "always loved her mind rather
than her person."
The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune above six months, and
had scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke his neck in a
fox-chase and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remained on
her estate in the country ever since, and has never shown any desire to
return to town, and revisit the scene of her early triumphs and fatal
malady. All her favourite recollections, however, revert to that short
period of her youthful beauty. She has no idea of town but as it was at
that time; and continually forgets that the place and people must have
changed materially in the course of nearly half a century. She will
often speak of the toasts of those days as if still reigning; and, until
very recently, used to talk with delight of the royal family, and the
beauty of the young princes and princesses. She cannot be brought to
think of the present king otherwise than as an elegant young man, rather
wild, but who danced a minuet divinely; and before he came to the crown,
would often mention him as the "sweet young prince."
She talks also of the walks in Kensington Gardens, where the gentlemen
appeared in gold-laced coats and cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops,
and swept so proudly along the grassy avenues; and she thinks the ladies
let themselves sadly down in their dignity, when they gave up cushioned
head-dresses and high-heeled shoes. She has much to say too of the
officers who were in the train of her admirers; and speaks familiarly of
many wild young blades that are now, perhaps, hobbling about
watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes.
[Illustration: Kensington Gardens]
Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discouraged her or not,
I cannot say; but, though her merits and her riches have attracted many
suitors, she has never been tempted to venture again into the happy
state. This is singular too, for she seems of a most soft and
susceptible heart: is always talking of love and connubial felicity; and
is a great stickler for old-fashioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and
eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She lives, however,
after her own taste. Her house, I am told, must have been built and
furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison: everything about it
is somewhat formal and stately; but has been softened down into a degree
of voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady very tender-hearted and
romantic, and that loves her ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs,
and wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down on them. Flowers of
the most rare and delicate kind are placed about the rooms and on little
japanned stands; and sweet bags lie about the tables and mantelpieces.
The house is full of pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing birds, who are
as carefully waited upon as she is herself.
She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure, living on
white meats, and little lady-like dishes, though her servants have
substantial old English fare, as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they
are so indulged, that they are all spoiled, and when they lose their
present place they will be fit for no other. Her ladyship is one of
those easy-tempered beings that are always doomed to be much liked, but
ill served, by their domestics, and cheated by all the world.
Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of which she has a most
extensive library, and has a constant supply from the publishers in
town. Her erudition in this line of literature is immense: she has kept
pace with the press for half a century. Her mind is stuffed with
love-tales of all kinds, from the stately amours of the old books of
Chivalry, down to the last blue-covered romance, reeking from the press:
though she evidently gives the preference to those that came out in the
days of her youth, and when she was first in love. She maintains that
there are no novels written now-a-days equal to Pamela and Sir Charles
Grandison; and she places the Castle of Otranto at the head of all
romances.
[Illustration: A Sage Adviser]
She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, and is imposed upon
by every beggar in the county. She is the benefactress of a village
adjoining to her estate, and takes a special interest in all its love
affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on; every love-lorn
damsel is sure to find a patient listener and sage adviser in her
ladyship. She takes great pains to reconcile all love quarrels, and
should any faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, he is sure to
draw on himself the good lady's violent indignation.
[Illustration: Master Simon over the Accounts]
I have learned these particulars partly from Frank Bracebridge, and
partly from Master Simon. I am now able to account for the assiduous
attention of the latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of his
favourite resorts, where he is a very important personage. He makes her
a visit of business once a year, when he looks into all her affairs;
which, as she is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He examines
the books of the overseer, and shoots about the estate, which, he says,
is well stocked with game, notwithstanding that it is poached by all
the vagabonds in the neighbourhood.
It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain will inherit the
greater part of her property, having always been her chief favourite;
for, in fact, she is partial to a red coat. She has now come to the Hall
to be present at his nuptials, having a great disposition to interest
herself in all matters of love and matrimony.
[Illustration: The Lovers]
THE LOVERS.
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away; for lo the
winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear
on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and
the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.
SONG OF SOLOMON.
To a man who is a little of a philosopher, and a bachelor to boot; and
who, by dint of some experience in the follies of life, begins to look
with a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of woman; to such a
man, I say, there is something very entertaining in noticing the conduct
of a pair of young lovers. It may not be as grave and scientific a study
as the loves of the plants, but it is certainly as interesting.
I have therefore derived much pleasure, since my arrival at the Hall,
from observing the fair Julia and her lover. She has all the
delightful blushing consciousness of an artless girl, inexperienced in
coquetry, who has made her first conquest; while the captain regards her
with that mixture of fondness and exultation, with which a youthful
lover is apt to contemplate so beauteous a prize.
I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing along one of the
retired walks. The sun was shining with delicious warmth, making great
masses of bright verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, that
"harbinger of spring," was faintly heard from a distance; the thrush
piped from the hawthorn, and the yellow butterflies sported, and toyed,
and coquetted in the air.
[Illustration: "The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening
to his conversation."--PAGE 43.]
The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening to his
conversation, with her eyes cast down, a soft blush on her cheek, and a
quiet smile on her lips, while in the hand that hung negligently by her
side was a bunch of flowers. In this way they were sauntering slowly
along, and when I considered them, and the scene in which they were
moving, I could not but think it a thousand pities that the season
should ever change, or that young people should ever grow older, or that
blossoms should give way to fruit, or that lovers should ever get
married.
From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I understand that the fair
Julia is the daughter of a favourite college friend of the squire; who,
after leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and served for many years in
India, where he was mortally wounded in a skirmish with the natives. In
his last moments he had, with a faltering pen, recommended his wife and
daughter to the kindness of his early friend.
The widow and her child returned to England helpless, and almost
hopeless. When Mr. Bracebridge received accounts of their situation, he
hastened to their relief. He reached them just in time to soothe the
last moments of the mother, who was dying of a consumption, and to make
her happy in the assurance that her child should never want a protector.
The good squire returned with his prattling charge to his stronghold,
where he has brought her up with a tenderness truly paternal. As he has
taken some pains to superintend her education, and form her taste, she
has grown up with many of his notions, and considers him the wisest as
well as the best of men. Much of her time, too, has been passed with
Lady Lillycraft, who has instructed her in the manners of the old
school, and enriched her mind with all kinds of novels and romances.
Indeed, her ladyship has had a great hand in promoting the match between
Julia and the captain, having had them together at her country seat the
moment she found there was an attachment growing up between them: the
good lady being never so happy as when she has a pair of turtles cooing
about her.
I have been pleased to see the fondness with which the fair Julia is
regarded by the old servants of the Hall. She has been a pet with them
from childhood, and every one seems to lay some claim to her education;
so that it is no wonder that she should be extremely accomplished. The
gardener taught her to rear flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old
Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she approaches; and as
she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of
having taught her to ride; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon
her as a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an insight into the
mysteries of the toilet, having been dressing-maid in her young days to
the late Mrs. Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this last claim, as I
have noticed that the dress of the young lady had an air of the old
school, though managed with native taste, and that her hair was put up
very much in the style of Sir Peter Lely's portraits in the
picture-gallery.
Her very musical attainments partake of this old-fashioned character,
and most of her songs are such as are not at the present day to be found
on the piano of a modern performer. I have, however, seen so much of
modern fashions, modern accomplishments, and modern fine ladies, that I
relish this tinge of antiquated style in so young and lovely a girl; and
I have had as much pleasure in hearing her warble one of the old songs
of Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some simple old melody, as
I have had from listening to a lady amateur skylark it up and down
through the finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart.
We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally, between her and
the captain, assisted sometimes by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubiously,
on his violin; being very apt to get out, and to halt a note or two in
the rear. Sometimes he even thrums a little on the piano, and takes a
part in a trio, in which his voice can generally be distinguished by a
certain quavering tone, and an occasional false note.
[Illustration: The Trio]
I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him after one of her
songs, when I found he took to himself the whole credit of having formed
her musical taste, assuring me that she was very apt; and, indeed,
summing up her whole character in his knowing way, by adding, that "she
was a very nice girl, and had no nonsense about her."
[Illustration: Family Reliques]
FAMILY RELIQUES.
My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye,
The dimple on her cheek; and such sweet skill
Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown,
These lips look fresh and lovely as her own.
False colours last after the true be dead.
Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks,
Of all the graces dancing in her eyes,
Of all the music set upon her tongue,
Of all that was past woman's excellence
In her white bosom; look, a painted board,
Circumscribes all!
DEKKER.
An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. It
abounds with illustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes,
and humours, and manners of successive generations. The alterations and
additions, in different styles of architecture; the furniture, plate,
pictures, hangings; the warlike and sporting implements of different
ages and fancies; all furnish food for curious and amusing speculation.
As the squire is very careful in collecting and preserving all family
reliques, the Hall is full of remembrances of this kind. In looking
about the establishment, I can picture to myself the characters and
habits that have prevailed at different eras of the family history. I
have mentioned on a former occasion the armour of the crusader which
hangs up in the Hall. There are also several jack-boots, with enormously
thick soles and high heels, that belonged to a set of cavaliers, who
filled the Hall with the din and stir of arms during the time of the
Covenanters. A number of enormous drinking vessels of antique fashion,
with huge Venice glasses, and green hock glasses, with the apostles in
relief on them, remain as monuments of a generation or two of
hard-livers, that led a life of roaring revelry, and first introduced
the gout into the family.
I shall pass over several more such indications of temporary tastes of
the squire's predecessors; but I cannot forbear to notice a pair of
antlers in the great hall, which is one of the trophies of a hard-riding
squire of former times, who was the Nimrod of these parts. There are
many traditions of his wonderful feats in hunting still existing, which
are related by old Christy, the huntsman, who gets exceedingly nettled
if they are in the least doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a
few miles from the Hall, which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap,
from his having cleared it in the ardour of the chase; there can be no
doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows the very dints of the horse's
hoofs on the rocks on each side of the chasm.
Master Simon holds the memory of this squire in great veneration, and
has a number of extraordinary stories to tell concerning him, which he
repeats at all hunting dinners; and I am told that they wax more and
more marvellous the older they grow. He has also a pair of Ripon spurs
which belonged to this mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on
particular occasions.
The place, however, which abounds most with mementoes of past times, is
the picture-gallery; and there is something strangely pleasing, though
melancholy, in considering the long rows of portraits which compose the
greater part of the collection. They furnish a kind of narrative of the
lives of the family worthies, which I am enabled to read with the
assistance of the venerable housekeeper, who is the family chronicler,
prompted occasionally by Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine
lady, for instance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her
as a little girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a kitten in her
arms, and ogling the spectator out of the corners of her eyes, as if she
could not turn her head. In another we find her in the freshness of
youthful beauty, when she was a celebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as
to cause several unfortunate gentlemen to run desperate and write bad
poetry. In another she is depicted as a stately dame, in the maturity of
her charms; next to the portrait of her husband, a gallant colonel in
full-bottomed wig and gold-laced hat, who was killed abroad; and,
finally, her monument is in the church, the spire of which may be seen
from the window, where her effigy is carved in marble, and represents
her as a venerable dame of seventy-six.
[Illustration: Effigy in Marble]