series of pictures, from early boyhood to the robe of dignity, or
truncheon of command, and so on by degrees until they were gathered up
in the common repository, the neighbouring church.
There is one group that particularly interested me. It consisted of
four sisters of nearly the same age, who flourished about a century
since, and, if I may judge from their portraits, were extremely
beautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gaiety and romance this old
mansion must have been, when they were in the heyday of their charms;
when they passed like beautiful visions through its halls, or stepped
daintily to music in the revels and dances of the cedar gallery; or
printed, with delicate feet, the velvet verdure of these lawns. How must
they have been looked up to with mingled love, and pride, and reverence,
by the old family servants; and followed by almost painful admiration by
the aching eyes of rival admirers! How must melody, and song, and tender
serenade, have breathed about these courts, and their echoes whispered
to the loitering tread of lovers! How must these very turrets have made
the hearts of the young galliards thrill as they first discerned them
from afar, rising from among the trees, and pictured to themselves the
beauties casketed like gems within these walls! Indeed I have discovered
about the place several faint records of this reign of love and romance,
when the Hall was a kind of Court of Beauty. Several of the old romances
in the library have marginal notes expressing sympathy and approbation,
where there are long speeches extolling ladies' charms, or protesting
eternal fidelity, or bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair one.
The interviews, and declarations, and parting scenes of tender lovers,
also bear the marks of having been frequently read, and are scored, and
marked with notes of admiration, and have initials written on the
margins; most of which annotations have the day of the month and year
annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, have scraps of poetry
engraved on them with diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs.
Phillips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these seem to have been
inscribed by lovers; and others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a
little inaccurate in the spelling, have evidently been written by the
young ladies themselves, or by female friends, who had been on visits to
the Hall. Mrs. Phillips seems to have been their favourite author, and
they have distributed the names of her heroes and heroines among their
circle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a male hand, the verse bewails the
cruelty of beauty and the sufferings of constant love; while in a female
hand it prudishly confines itself to lamenting the parting of female
friends. The bow-window of my bedroom, which has, doubtless, been
inhabited by one of these beauties, has several of these inscriptions. I
have one at this moment before my eyes, called "Camilla parting with
Leonora:"
"How perished is the joy that's past,
The present how unsteady!
What comfort can be great, and last,
When this is gone already!"
And close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some adventurous lover,
who had stolen into the lady's chamber during her absence:
"THEODOSIUS TO CAMILLA.
"I'd rather in your favour live,
Than in a lasting name;
And much a greater rate would give
For happiness than fame.
"THEODOSIUS. 1700."
When I look at these faint records of gallantry and tenderness; when I
contemplate the fading portraits of these beautiful girls, and think,
too, that they have long since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, and
passed away, and with them all their graces, their triumphs, their
rivalries, their admirers; the whole empire of love and pleasure in
which they ruled--"all dead, all buried, all forgotten," I find a cloud
of melancholy stealing over the present gaieties around me. I was
gazing, in a musing mood, this very morning, at the portrait of the lady
whose husband was killed abroad, when the fair Julia entered the
gallery, leaning on the arm of the captain. The sun shone through the
row of windows on her as she passed along, and she seemed to beam out
each time into brightness, and relapse into shade, until the door at the
bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt a sadness of heart at
the idea that this was an emblem of her lot: a few more years of
sunshine and shade, and all this life, and loveliness, and enjoyment,
will have ceased, and nothing be left to commemorate this beautiful
being but one more perishable portrait; to awaken, perhaps, the trite
speculations of some future loiterer, like myself, when I and my
scribblings shall have lived through our brief existence, and been
forgotten.
[Illustration: Julia and the Captain in the Gallery]
[Illustration: The Salutation]
AN OLD SOLDIER.
I've worn some leather out abroad; let out a heathen soul or
two; fed this good sword with the black blood of pagan
Christians; converted a few individuals with it.--But let that
pass.
THE ORDINARY.
The Hall was thrown into some little agitation, a few days since, by the
arrival of General Harbottle. He had been expected for several days, and
had been looked for rather impatiently by several of the family. Master
Simon assured me that I would like the general hugely, for he was a
blade of the old school, and an excellent table companion. Lady
Lillycraft, also, appeared to be somewhat fluttered, on the morning of
the general's arrival, for he had been one of her early admirers; and
she recollected him only as a dashing young ensign, just come upon the
town. She actually spent an hour longer at her toilet, and made her
appearance with her hair uncommonly frizzled and powdered, and an
additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little surprised and
shocked, therefore, at finding the little dashing ensign transformed
into a corpulent old general, with a double chin, though it was a
perfect picture to witness their salutations; the graciousness of her
profound curtsy, and the air of the old school with which the general
took off his hat, swayed it gently in his hand, and bowed his powdered
head.
All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study the general with
a little more attention than, perhaps, I should otherwise have done; and
the few days that he has already passed at the Hall have enabled me, I
think, to furnish a tolerable likeness of him to the reader.
He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old school, with
powdered head, side locks, and pigtail. His face is shaped like the
stern of a Dutch man-of-war, narrow at top, and wide at bottom, with
full rosy cheeks and a double chin; so, that, to use the cant of the
day, his organs of eating may be said to be powerfully developed.
The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active service,
except the taking of Seringapatam, which forms an era in his history. He
wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger, which
he got on that occasion, and whoever is unlucky enough to notice either,
is sure to involve himself in the whole history of the siege. To judge
from the general's conversation, the taking of Seringapatam is the most
important affair that has occurred for the last century.
On the approach of warlike times on the Continent, he was rapidly
promoted to get him out of the way of younger officers of merit; until,
having been hoisted to the rank of general, he was quietly laid on the
shelf. Since that time his campaigns have been principally confined to
watering-places; where he drinks the waters for a slight touch of the
liver which he got in India; and plays whist with old dowagers, with
whom he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed he talks of all the
fine women of the last half-century, and, according to hints which he
now and then drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of many of them.
He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of almost every
place famous for good quarters, and where the inhabitants give good
dinners. He is a diner-out of the first-rate currency, when in town;
being invited to one place because he has been seen at another. In the
same way he is invited about the country seats, and can describe half
the seats in the kingdom, from actual observation; nor is any one better
versed in court gossip, and the pedigrees and intermarriages of the
nobility.
As the general is an old bachelor and an old beau, and there are several
ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam flame Lady Jocelyne, he is
put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, therefore,
at his toilet, and takes the field at a late hour every morning, with
his hair dressed out and powdered, and a rose in his button-hole. After
he has breakfasted, he walks up and down the terrace in the sunshine,
humming an air, and hemming between every stave, carrying one hand
behind his back, and with the other touching his cane to the ground, and
then raising it up to his shoulder. Should he, in these morning
promenades, meet any of the elder ladies of the family, as he frequently
does Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, and it is
enough to remind one of those courtly groups of ladies and gentlemen,
in old prints of Windsor Terrace or Kensington Gardens.
[Illustration: General Harbottle]
He talks frequently about "the service," and is fond of humming the old
song,
"Why, soldiers, why,
Should we be melancholy, boys?
Why, soldiers, why,
Whose business 'tis to die!"
I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run any great risk
of dying, excepting from an apoplexy, or indigestion. He criticises all
the battles on the Continent, and discusses the merits of the
commanders, but never fails to bring the conversation ultimately to
Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told that the general was a perfect
champion at drawing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during the late
war, and was looked to with hope and confidence by many an old lady,
when labouring under the terror of Buonaparte's invasion.
He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on levees when in town.
He has treasured up many remarkable sayings of the late king,
particularly one which the king made to him on a field-day,
complimenting him on the excellence of his horse. He extols the whole
royal family, but especially the present king, whom he pronounces the
most perfect gentleman and best whist-player in Europe. The general
swears rather more than is the fashion of the present day; but it was
the mode of the old school. He is, however, very strict in religious
matters, and a staunch churchman. He repeats the responses very loudly
in church, and is emphatical in praying for the king and royal family.
At table his loyalty waxes very fervent with his second bottle, and the
song of "God save the King" puts him into a perfect ecstasy. He is
amazingly well contented with the present state of things, and apt to
get a little impatient at any talk about national ruin and agricultural
distress. He says he has travelled about the country as much as any man,
and has met with nothing but prosperity; and to confess the truth, a
great part of his time is spent in visiting from one country-seat to
another, and riding about the parks of his friends. "They talk of public
distress," said the general this day to me, at dinner, as he smacked a
glass of rich burgundy, and cast his eyes about the ample board; "they
talk of public distress, but where do we find it, sir? I see none. I see
no reason any one has to complain. Take my word for it, sir, this talk
about public distress is all humbug!"
[Illustration: "Public distress, sir, is all humbug!"]
[Illustration: Canine Pets]
THE WIDOW'S RETINUE.
Little dogs and all!--LEAR.
In giving an account of the arrival of Lady Lillycraft at the Hall, I
ought to have mentioned the entertainment which I derived from
witnessing the unpacking of her carriage, and the disposing of her
retinue. There is something extremely amusing to me in the number of
factitious wants, the loads of imaginary conveniences, but real
incumbrances, with which the luxurious are apt to burthen themselves. I
like to watch the whimsical stir and display about one of these petty
progresses. The number of robustious footmen and retainers of all kinds
bustling about, with looks of infinite gravity and importance, to do
almost nothing. The number of heavy trunks and parcels, and bandboxes,
belonging to my lady; and the solicitude exhibited about some humble,
odd-looking box by my lady's maid; the cushions piled in the carriage to
make a soft seat still softer, and to prevent the dreaded possibility of
a jolt; the smelling-bottles, the cordials, the baskets of biscuit and
fruit; the new publications; all provided to guard against hunger,
fatigue, or ennui; the led horses to vary the mode of travelling; and
all this preparation and parade to move, perhaps, some very
good-for-nothing personage about a little space of earth!
I do not mean to apply the latter part of these observations to Lady
Lillycraft, for whose simple kindheartedness I have a very great
respect, and who is really a most amiable and worthy being. I cannot
refrain, however, from mentioning some of the motley retinue she has
brought with her; and which, indeed, bespeak the overflowing kindness of
her nature, which requires her to be surrounded with objects on which to
lavish it.
In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered coachman, with a red
face, and cheeks that hang down like dewlaps. He evidently domineers
over her a little with respect to the fat horses; and only drives out
when he thinks proper, and when he thinks it will be "good for the
cattle."
[Illustration: The Old Coachman]
She has a favourite page to attend upon her person; a handsome boy of
about twelve years of age, but a mischievous varlet, very much spoiled,
and in a fair way to be good for nothing. He is dressed in green, with a
profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons about his clothes. She always
has one or two attendants of the kind, who are replaced by others as
soon as they grow to fourteen years of age. She has brought two dogs
with her also, out of a number of pets which she maintains at home. One
is a fat spaniel, called Zephyr--though heaven defend me from such a
zephyr! He is fed out of all shape and comfort; his eyes are nearly
strained out of his head; he wheezes with corpulency, and cannot walk
without great difficulty. The other is a little, old, grey-muzzled
curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, that kindles like a coal if you only
look at him; his nose turns up; his mouth is drawn into wrinkles, so as
to show his teeth; in short, he has altogether the look of a dog far
gone in misanthropy, and totally sick of the world. When he walks, he
has his tail curled up so tight that it seems to lift his feet from the
ground; and he seldom makes use of more than three legs at a time,
keeping the other drawn up as a reserve. This last wretch is called
Beauty.
These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown to vulgar dogs; and are
petted and nursed by Lady Lillycraft with the tenderest kindness. They
are pampered and fed with delicacies by their fellow-minion, the page;
but their stomachs are often weak and out of order, so that they cannot
eat; though I have now and then seen the page give them a mischievous
pinch, or thwack over the head, when his mistress was not by. They have
cushions for their express use, on which they lie before the fire, and
yet are apt to shiver and moan if there is the least draught of air.
When any one enters the room, they make a most tyrannical barking, that
is absolutely deafening. They are insolent to all the other dogs of the
establishment. There is a noble staghound, a great favourite of the
squire's, who is a privileged visitor to the parlour; but the moment he
makes his appearance, these intruders fly at him with furious rage; and
I have admired the sovereign indifference and contempt with which he
seems to look down upon his puny assailants. When her ladyship drives
out, these dogs are generally carried with her to take the air; when
they look out of each window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar
pedestrian dogs. These dogs are a continual source of misery to the
household: as they are always in the way, they every now and then get
their toes trod on, and then there is a yelping on their part, and a
loud lamentation on the part of their mistress, that fills the room with
clamour and confusion.
[Illustration: Dignity and Impudence]
Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, Mrs. Hannah, a
prim, pragmatical old maid; one of the most intolerable and intolerant
virgins that ever lived. She has kept her virtue by her until it has
turned sour, and now every word and look smacks of verjuice. She is the
very opposite to her mistress, for one hates, and the other loves, all
mankind. How they first came together I cannot imagine, but they have
lived together for many years; and the abigail's temper being tart and
encroaching, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has got
the complete upper hand, and tyrannises over the good lady in secret.
Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great confidence, to
her friends, but hushes up the subject immediately, if Mrs. Hannah makes
her appearance. Indeed, she has been so accustomed to be attended by
her, that she thinks she could not do without her; though one great
study of her life is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good humour, by little
presents and kindnesses.
Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled with awe, for this
ancient spinster. He told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a
cursed brimstone--in fact, he added another epithet, which I would not
repeat for the world. I have remarked, however, that he is always
extremely civil to her when they meet.
[Illustration: Confidential Whisper]
[Illustration: Ready-Money Jack Expounding]
READY-MONEY JACK.
My purse, it is my privy wyfe,
This song I dare both syng and say,
It keepeth men from grievous stryfe
When every man for hymself shall pay.
As I ryde in ryche array
For gold and sylver men wyll me floryshe;
By thys matter I dare well saye,
Ever gramercy myne owne purse.
BOOK OF HUNTING.
On the skirts of the neighbouring village there lives a kind of small
potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative of one of the most
ancient legitimate lines of the present day; for the empire over which
he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind. His territories
comprise a considerable number of good fat acres; and his seat of power
is an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, the stout oaken chair
of his ancestors. The personage to whom I allude is a sturdy old yeoman
of the name of John Tibbets, or rather Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as he
is called throughout the neighbourhood.
The first place where he attracted my attention was in the churchyard on
Sunday; where he sat on a tombstone after service, with his hat a little
on one side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors, and, as I
presumed, expounding the law and the prophets, until, on drawing a
little nearer, I found he was only expatiating on the merits of a brown
horse. He presented so faithful a picture of a substantial English
yeoman, such as he is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by
some little finery peculiar to himself, that I could not but take note
of his whole appearance.
He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong muscular frame, and at least
six feet high, with a physiognomy as grave as a lion's, and set off with
short, curling, iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar was turned down, and
displayed a neck covered with the same short, curling, gray hair; and he
wore a coloured silk neckcloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at the
bosom, with a green paste brooch on the knot. His coat was of dark-green
cloth, with silver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with
his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of
figured chintz, between which and his coat was another of scarlet cloth
unbuttoned. His breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not
from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet garters. His
stockings were blue, with white clocks; he wore large silver
shoe-buckles; a broad paste buckle in his hatband; his sleeve buttons
were gold seven-shilling pieces; and he had two or three guineas hanging
as ornaments to his watch-chain.
On making some inquiries about him, I gathered that he was descended
from a line of farmers that had always lived on the same spot, and owned
the same property; and that half of the churchyard was taken up with the
tombstones of his race. He has all his life been an important character
in the place. When a youngster, he was one of the most roaring blades of
the neighbourhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the
bar, cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pinner
of Wakefield, he was the village champion; carried off the prize at all
the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country round. Even to this day
the old people talk of his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all
heroes of the green that have succeeded him; nay, they say that if
Ready-Money Jack were to take the field even now, there is no one could
stand before him.
When Jack's father died, the neighbours shook their heads, and predicted
that young Hopeful would soon make way with the old homestead; but Jack
falsified all their predictions. The moment he succeeded to the paternal
farm he assumed a new character; took a wife; attended resolutely to his
affairs, and became an industrious, thrifty farmer. With the family
property he inherited a set of old family maxims, to which he steadily
adhered. He saw to everything himself; put his own hand to the plough;
worked hard; ate heartily; slept soundly; paid for everything in cash
down; and never danced except he could do it to the music of his own
money in both pockets. He has never been without a hundred or two
pounds in gold by him, and never allows a debt to stand unpaid. This has
gained him his current name, of which, by the by, he is a little proud;
and has caused him to be looked upon as a very wealthy man by all the
village.
Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never denied himself the
amusements of life, but has taken a share in every passing pleasure. It
is his maxim, that "he that works hard can afford to play." He is,
therefore, an attendant at all the country fairs and wakes, and has
signalised himself by feats of strength and prowess on every village
green in the shire. He often makes his appearance at horse-races, and
sports his half-guinea and even his guinea at a time; keeps a good horse
for his own riding, and to this day is fond of following the hounds, and
is generally in at the death. He keeps up the rustic revels, and
hospitalities too, for which his paternal farm-house has always been
noted; has plenty of good cheer and dancing at harvest-home, and above
all, keeps the "merry night,"[A] as it is termed, at Christmas.
[Footnote A: MERRY NIGHT; a rustic merry-making in a farm-house about
Christmas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abundance of
homely fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale; various feats of agility,
amusing games, romping, dancing, and kissing withal. They commonly break
up at midnight.]
[Illustration: In at the Death]