housekeeper's niece. As she is a kind of privileged personage, and
rather idle, she has more time to occupy herself with these matters. She
has always had her head full of love and matrimony, she knows the
dreaming book by heart, and is quite an oracle among the little girls of
the family, who always come to her to interpret their dreams in the
mornings.
During the present gaiety of the house, however, the poor girl has worn
a face full of trouble; and, to use the housekeeper's words, "has fallen
into a sad hystericky way lately." It seems that she was born and
brought up in the village, where her father was parish-clerk, and she
was an early playmate and sweetheart of young Jack Tibbets. Since she
has come to live at the Hall, however, her head has been a little
turned. Being very pretty, and naturally genteel, she has been much
noticed and indulged: and being the housekeeper's niece, she has held an
equivocal station between a servant and a companion. She has learnt
something of fashions and notions among the young ladies, which have
effected quite a metamorphosis; insomuch that her finery at church on
Sundays has given mortal offence to her former intimates in the village.
This has occasioned the misrepresentations which have awakened the
implacable family pride of Dame Tibbets. But what is worse, Phoebe,
having a spice of coquetry in her disposition, showed it on one or two
occasions to her lover, which produced a downright quarrel; and Jack,
being very proud and fiery, has absolutely turned his back upon her for
several successive Sundays.
[Illustration: Jack Jilts Phoebe]
The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, and would fain make up
with her lover; but he feels his security, and stands aloof. In this he
is doubtless encouraged by his mother, who is continually reminding him
of what he owes to his family; for this same family pride seems doomed
to be the eternal bane of lovers.
As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, I have felt quite concerned
for the luckless Phoebe, ever since I heard her story. It is a sad thing
to be thwarted in love at any time, but particularly so at this tender
season of the year, when every living thing, even to the very butterfly,
is sporting with its mate; and the green fields and the budding groves,
and the singing of the birds, and the sweet smell of the flowers, are
enough to turn the head of a love-sick girl. I am told that the coolness
of Young Ready-Money lies heavy at poor Phoebe's heart. Instead of
singing about the house as formerly, she goes about, pale and sighing,
and is apt to break into tears when her companions are full of
merriment.
Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady Lillycraft, has had long
talks and walks with Phoebe, up and down the avenue, of an evening; and
has endeavoured to squeeze some of her own verjuice into the other's
milky nature. She speaks with contempt and abhorrence of the whole sex,
and advises Phoebe to despise all the men as heartily as she does. But
Phoebe's loving temper is not to be curdled; she has no such thing as
hatred or contempt for mankind in her whole composition. She has all the
simple fondness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman; and her only
thoughts at present are, how to conciliate and reclaim her wayward
swain.
The spells and love-charms, which are matters of sport to the other
domestics, are serious concerns with this love-stricken damsel. She is
continually trying her fortune in a variety of ways. I am told that she
has absolutely fasted for six Wednesdays and three Fridays successively,
having understood that it was a sovereign charm to ensure being married
to one's liking within the year. She carries about, also, a lock of her
sweetheart's hair, and a riband he once gave her, being a mode of
producing constancy in her lover. She even went so far as to try her
fortune by the moon, which has always had much to do with lovers'
dreams and fancies. For this purpose she went out in the night of the
full moon, knelt on a stone in the meadow, and repeated the old
traditional rhyme:
"All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee:
I pray thee, good moon, now show to me
The youth who my future husband shall be."
[Illustration: The Love-Spell]
When she came back to the house, she was faint and pale, and went
immediately to bed. The next morning she told the porter's wife that
she had seen some one close by the hedge in the meadow, which she was
sure was young Tibbets; at any rate, she had dreamt of him all night;
both of which, the old dame assured her, were most happy signs. It has
since turned out that the person in the meadow was old Christy, the
huntsman, who was walking his nightly rounds with the great staghound;
so that Phoebe's faith in the charm is completely shaken.
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS.
I'll have a private, pensive single life.
THE COLLIER OF CROYDON.
[Illustration: Master Simon at the Window]
I was sitting in my room a morning or two since, reading, when some one
tapped at the door, and Master Simon entered. He had an unusually fresh
appearance; he had put on a bright green riding-coat, with a bunch of
violets in the button-hole, and had the air of an old bachelor trying to
rejuvenate himself. He had not, however, his usual briskness and
vivacity, but loitered about the room with somewhat of absence of
manner, humming the old song,--"Go, lovely rose, tell her that wastes
her time and me;" and then, leaning against the window, and looking upon
the landscape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not been
accustomed to see Master Simon in a pensive mood, I thought there might
be some vexation preying on his mind, and I endeavoured to introduce a
cheerful strain of conversation; but he was not in the vein to follow it
up, and proposed that we should take a walk.
It was a beautiful morning, of that soft vernal temperature, that seems
to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and to set all nature in a
ferment. The very fishes felt its influence: the cautious trout ventured
out of his dark hole to seek his mate, the roach and the dace rose up to
the surface of the brook to bask in the sunshine, and the amorous frog
piped from among the rushes. If ever an oyster can really fall in love,
as has been said or sung, it must be on such a morning.
The weather certainly had its effect even upon Master Simon, for he
seemed obstinately bent upon the pensive mood. Instead of stepping
briskly along, smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties, or
telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and talked about the
approaching nuptials; from whence he made several digressions upon the
character of womankind, touched a little upon the tender passion, and
made sundry very excellent, though rather trite, observations upon
disappointments in love. It was evident that he had something on his
mind which he wished to impart, but felt awkward in approaching it. I
was curious to see to what this strain would lead; but I was determined
not to assist him. Indeed, I mischievously pretended to turn the
conversation, and talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and hunting;
but he was very brief in his replies, and invariably got back, by hook
or by crook, into the sentimental vein.
[Illustration: "Here Master Simon made a pause, pulled up a tuft of
flowers, and threw them one by one into the water."--PAGE 165.]
At length we came to a clump of trees that overhung a whispering brook,
with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees were grievously scored with
letters and devices, which had grown out of all shape and size by the
growth of the bark: and it appeared that this grove had served as a kind
of register of the family loves from time immemorial. Here Master Simon
made a pause, pulled up a tuft of flowers, threw them one by one into
the water, and at length, turning somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me if
ever I had been in love. I confess the question startled me a little, as
I am not over fond of making confessions of my amorous follies; and,
above all, should never dream of choosing my friend Master Simon for a
confidant. He did not wait, however, for a reply; the inquiry was merely
a prelude to a confession on his own part, and after several
circumlocutions and whimsical preambles, he fairly disburthened himself
of a very tolerable story of his having been crossed in love.
The reader will, very probably, suppose that it related to the gay widow
who jilted him not long since at Doncaster races;--no such thing. It was
about a sentimental passion that he once had for a most beautiful young
lady, who wrote poetry and played on the harp. He used to serenade her;
and indeed he described several tender and gallant scenes, in which he
was evidently picturing himself in his mind's eye as some elegant hero
of romance, though, unfortunately for the tale, I only saw him as he
stood before me, a dapper little old bachelor, with a face like an apple
that has dried with the bloom on it.
What were the particulars of this tender tale I have already forgotten;
indeed I listened to it with a heart like a very pebble stone, having
hard work to repress a smile while Master Simon was putting on the
amorous swain, uttering every now and then a sigh, and endeavouring to
look sentimental and melancholy.
All that I recollect is, that the lady, according to his account, was
certainly a little touched; for she used to accept all the music that he
copied for her harp, and all the patterns that he drew for her dresses;
and he began to flatter himself, after a long course of delicate
attentions, that he was gradually fanning up a gentle flame in her
heart, when she suddenly accepted the hand of a rich, boisterous,
fox-hunting baronet, without either music or sentiment, who carried her
by storm, after a fortnight's courtship.
Master Simon could not help concluding by some observation upon "modest
merit," and the power of gold over the sex. As a remembrance of his
passion, he pointed out a heart carved on the bark of one of the trees;
but which, in the process of time, had grown out into a large
excrescence; and he showed me a lock of her hair, which he wore in a
true lover's knot, in a large gold brooch.
I have seldom met with an old bachelor that had not, at some time or
other, his nonsensical moment, when he would become tender and
sentimental, talk about the concerns of the heart, and have some
confession of a delicate nature to make. Almost every man has some
little trait of romance in his life, which he looks back to with
fondness, and about which he is apt to grow garrulous occasionally. He
recollects himself as he was at the time, young and gamesome; and
forgets that his hearers have no other idea of the hero of the tale, but
such as he may appear at the time of telling it; peradventure, a
withered, whimsical, spindle-shanked old gentleman. With married men, it
is true, this is not so frequently the case; their amorous romance is
apt to decline after marriage; why, I cannot for the life of me imagine;
but with a bachelor, though it may slumber, it never dies. It is always
liable to break out again in transient flashes, and never so much as on
a spring morning in the country; or on a winter evening, when seated in
his solitary chamber, stirring up the fire and talking of matrimony.
The moment that Master Simon had gone through his confession, and, to
use the common phrase, "had made a clean breast of it," he became quite
himself again. He had settled the point which had been worrying his
mind, and doubtless considered himself established as a man of sentiment
in my opinion. Before we had finished our morning's stroll, he was
singing as blithe as a grasshopper, whistling to his dogs, and telling
droll stories; and I recollect that he was particularly facetious that
day at dinner on the subject of matrimony, and uttered several excellent
jokes not to be found in Joe Miller, that made the bride-elect blush and
look down, but set all the old gentlemen at the table in a roar, and
absolutely brought tears into the general's eyes.
[Illustration: Gentlemen's Jokes]
[Illustration: Starlight Tom on the Watch]
GIPSIES.
What's that to absolute freedom, such as the very beggars
have; to feast and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow;
next day where they please; and so on still, the whole country
or kingdom over? There's liberty! the birds of the air can
take no more.
JOVIAL CREW.
Since the meeting with the gipsies, which I have related in a former
paper, I have observed several of them haunting the purlieus of the
Hall, in spite of a positive interdiction of the squire. They are part
of a gang that has long kept about this neighbourhood, to the great
annoyance of the farmers, whose poultry-yards often suffer from their
nocturnal invasions. They are, however, in some measure, patronised by
the squire, who considers the race as belonging to the good old times;
which, to confess the private truth, seem to have abounded with
good-for-nothing characters.
This roving crew is called "Starlight Tom's Gang," from the name of its
chieftain, a notorious poacher. I have heard repeatedly of the misdeeds
of this "minion of the moon;" for every midnight depredation that takes
place in park, or fold, or farm-yard, is laid to his charge. Starlight
Tom, in fact, answers to his name; he seems to walk in darkness, and,
like a fox, to be traced in the morning by the mischief he has done. He
reminds me of that fearful personage in the nursery rhyme:
"Who goes round the house at night?
None but bloody Tom!
Who steals all the sheep at night?
None but one by one!"
In short, Starlight Tom is the scapegoat of the neighbourhood; but so
cunning and adroit, that there is no detecting him. Old Christy and the
gamekeeper have watched many a night in hopes of entrapping him; and
Christy often patrols the park with his dogs, for the purpose, but all
in vain. It is said that the squire winks hard at his misdeeds, having
an indulgent feeling towards the vagabond, because of his being very
expert at all kinds of games, a great shot with the cross-bow, and the
best morris dancer in the country.
The squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested about the skirts of
his estate, on condition that they do not come about the house. The
approaching wedding, however, has made a kind of Saturnalia at the Hall,
and has caused a suspension of all sober rule. It has produced a great
sensation throughout the female part of the household; not a housemaid
but dreams of wedding favours, and has a husband running in her head.
Such a time is a harvest for the gipsies: there is a public footpath
leading across one part of the park, by which they have free ingress,
and they are continually hovering about the grounds, telling the servant
girls' fortunes, or getting smuggled in to the young ladies.
I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much by furnishing them with
hints in private, and bewildering all the weak brains in the house with
their wonderful revelations. The general certainly was very much
astonished by the communications made to him the other evening by the
gipsy girl: he kept a wary silence towards us on the subject, and
affected to treat it lightly; but I have noticed that he has since
redoubled his attentions to Lady Lillycraft and her dogs.
I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's pretty and love-sick
niece, holding a long conference with one of these old sibyls behind a
large tree in the avenue, and often looking round to see that she was
not observed. I make no doubt that she was endeavouring to get some
favourable augury about the result of her love quarrel with young
Ready-Money, as oracles have always been more consulted on love affairs
than upon anything else. I fear, however, that in this instance the
response was not so favourable as usual, for I perceived poor Phoebe
returning pensively towards the house; her head hanging down, her hat in
her hand, and the riband trailing along the ground.
At another time, as I turned a corner of a terrace, at the bottom of the
garden, just by a clump of trees, and a large stone urn, I came upon a
bevy of the young girls of the family, attended by this same Phoebe
Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the meaning of their blushing and
giggling, and their apparent agitation, until I saw the red cloak of a
gipsy vanishing among the shrubbery. A few moments after, I caught sight
of Master Simon and the Oxonian stealing along one of the walks of the
garden, chuckling and laughing at their successful waggery; having
evidently put the gipsy up to the thing, and instructed her what to say.
[Illustration: A Gipsy Party]
After all, there is something strangely pleasing in these tamperings
with the future, even where we are convinced of the fallacy of the
prediction. It is singular how willingly the mind will half deceive
itself, and with what a degree of awe we will listen even to these
babblers about futurity. For my part, I cannot feel angry with these
poor vagabonds that seek to deceive us into bright hopes and
expectations. I have always been something of a castle-builder, and have
found my liveliest pleasures to arise from the illusions which fancy has
cast over commonplace realities. As I get on in life, I find it more
difficult to deceive myself in this delightful manner; and I should be
thankful to any prophet, however false, that would conjure the clouds
which hang over futurity into palaces, and all its doubtful regions into
fairyland.
The squire, who, as I have observed, has a private goodwill towards
gipsies, has suffered considerable annoyance on their account. Not that
they requite his indulgence with ingratitude, for they do not depredate
very flagrantly on his estate; but because their pilferings and misdeeds
occasion loud murmurs in the village. I can readily understand the old
gentleman's humour on this point; I have a great toleration for all
kinds of vagrant, sunshiny existence, and must confess I take a
pleasure in observing the ways of gipsies. The English, who are
accustomed to them from childhood, and often suffer from their petty
depredations, consider them as mere nuisances; but I have been very much
struck with their peculiarities. I like to behold their clear olive
complexions, their romantic black eyes, their raven locks, their lithe,
slender figures, and to hear them, in low, silver tones, dealing forth
magnificent promises, of honours and estates, of world's worth, and
ladies' love.
Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanciful and
picturesque. They are the free denizens of nature, and maintain a
primitive independence, in spite of law and gospel; of county gaols and
country magistrates. It is curious to see the obstinate adherence to the
wild, unsettled habits of savage life transmitted from generation to
generation, and preserved in the midst of one of the most cultivated,
populous, and systematic countries in the world. They are totally
distinct from the busy, thrifty people about them. They seem to be like
the Indians of America, either above or below the ordinary cares and
anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power, of honours, of wealth; and
indifferent to the fluctuations of the times, the rise or fall of grain,
or stock, or empires, they seem to laugh at the toiling, fretting world
around them, and to live according to the philosophy of the old song:
"Who would ambition shun,
And loves to lie i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather."
In this way they wander from county to county, keeping about the
purlieus of villages, or in plenteous neighbourhoods, where there are
fat farms and rich country seats. Their encampments are generally made
in some beautiful spot; either a green shady nook of a road; or on the
border of a common, under a sheltering hedge; or on the skirts of a fine
spreading wood. They are always to be found lurking about fairs and
races, and rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and throng,
and idleness. They are the oracles of milkmaids and simple serving
girls; and sometimes have even the honour of perusing the white hands
of gentlemen's daughters, when rambling about their father's grounds.
They are the bane of good housewives and thrifty farmers, and odious in
the eyes of country justices; but, like all other vagabond beings, they
have something to commend them to the fancy. They are among the last
traces, in these matter-of-fact days, of the motley population of former
times; and are whimsically associated in my mind with fairies and
witches, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantastical
personages of poetry.
[Illustration: Fortune-Telling]
[Illustration: Village Worthies]
VILLAGE WORTHIES.
Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not
the worst dog in the street would hurt my little finger.
COLLIER OF CROYDON.
As the neighbouring village is one of those out-of-the-way, but
gossiping little places, where a small matter makes a great stir, it is
not to be supposed that the approach of a festival like that of May-Day
can be regarded with indifference, especially since it is made a matter
of such moment by the great folks at the Hall. Master Simon, who is the
faithful factotum of the worthy squire, and jumps with his humour in
everything, is frequent just now in his visits to the village, to give
directions for the impending fête; and as I have taken the liberty
occasionally of accompanying him, I have been enabled to get some
insight into the characters and internal politics of this very sagacious
little community.
Master Simon is in fact the Caesar of the village. It is true the squire
is the protecting power, but his factotum is the active and busy agent.
He intermeddles in all its concerns, is acquainted with all the
inhabitants and their domestic history, gives counsel to the old folks
in their business matters, and the young folks in their love affairs,
and enjoys the proud satisfaction of being a great man in a little
world.
He is the dispenser, too, of the squire's charity, which is bounteous;
and, to do Master Simon justice, he performs this part of his functions
with great alacrity. Indeed I have been entertained with the mixture of
bustle, importance, and kindheartedness which he displays. He is of too
vivacious a temperament to comfort the afflicted by sitting down moping
and whining and blowing noses in concert; but goes whisking about like a
sparrow, chirping consolation into every hole and corner of the village.
I have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him for half an hour
together with some long phthisical tale of distress, which Master Simon
listened to with many a bob of the head, smack of his dog-whip, and
other symptoms of impatience, though he afterwards made a most faithful
and circumstantial report of the case to the squire. I have watched him,
too, during one of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannuated
villager, who is a pensioner of the squire, when he fidgeted about the
room without sitting down, made many excellent off-hand reflections with
the old invalid, who was propped up in his chair, about the shortness of
life, the certainty of death, and the necessity of preparing for "that
awful change;" quoted several texts of Scripture very incorrectly, but
much to the edification of the cottager's wife; and on coming out
pinched the daughter's rosy cheek, and wondered what was in the young
men, that such a pretty face did not get a husband.
[Illustration: "Master Simon pinched the daughter's cheek"]