necessary, in order to settle terms with the publishers and other
literary business. The _Rape of the Lock_ was immediately successful,
three thousand copies being sold in four days, and it was at once
reprinted. Pope's fame was therefore now established firmly, but
hitherto the sums which he had received for his poems would seem to
have been very inconsiderable. He appears to have received thirty
pounds for _Windsor Forest_, and only half that sum each for the _Essay
on Criticism_ and the _Rape of the Lock_.
He now bethought him, therefore, of Sir William Trumbull's former
suggestion that he should translate Homer, and in October, 1713, he
issued his Proposals to the Public. His friends in London interested
themselves in the subscription. Dean Swift, in particular, said he
should not rest until he had secured for him a thousand pounds. And
so flattering was the response, that in 1715 the family was enabled
to live more at ease. It was now evident that their present abode
was too far from London, for one who had constant negotiations with
the book-sellers and the Popes determined to leave Binfield, and
accordingly their house there was sold towards the end of 1715. It was
bought by a Mr. Tanner, whose gravestone is one of those described
in the beginning of this chapter as lying in front of the altar. He
was probably a Papist, certainly a Non-Juror, for Hearne, who records
the fact, terms him "an honest man," which is Hearne's well-known
periphrasis for denoting those who were Jacobites in politics.
The last two years of his life at Binfield, Pope spent in translating
the Iliad, or rather, for he was too poor a Greek scholar to read it in
the original, in versifying other people's translations of it. Good old
Sir William Trumbull no doubt helped him whenever a passage of extra
difficulty perplexed the poet. And Mr. Thomas Dancastle, the Squire of
Binfield, was so delighted with his young friend's enterprise that at
infinite pains and labour he made a fair copy of the whole translation
for the press. It also appears from Pope's MSS. that he occasionally
indulged his affectionate and amiable mother in allowing her to
transcribe a portion. But alas! poor Mrs. Pope had had but a slender
education. In the single letter of hers, which has been published,
the spelling is surprisingly phonetic. Alluding to a portion of the
Iliad she writes to her son: "He will not faile to cole here on Friday
morning, and take ceare to cearrie itt to Mr. Thomas Doncaster. He
shall dine wone day with Mrs. Dune, in Ducke (_i.e._, Duke) Street; but
the day will be unsirton, soe I thincke you had better send itt to me.
He will not faile to cole here, that is Mr. Mannock." And the numerous
corrections made in his own hand, sufficiently show that her mode of
spelling gave Pope more trouble than all the subsequent inaccuracies of
the printers.
Our period draws to its close. In June, 1715, the first volume of
Pope's Homer, containing the first four books of the Iliad came out. It
has been calculated that for the six volumes in which the translation
was comprised Pope received from Lintot more than £5,000. And as the
greater portion of this sum was paid in advance his circumstances at
once became not only easy but affluent. The end of the year was spent
in preparing to migrate to Chiswick. It must be remembered that the new
year then began in March, and on March 20, 1715/16, Pope wrote to his
friend Caryll as follows:--
"I write this from Windsor Forest, which I am come to take my last look
and leave of. We have bid our Papist neighbours adieu, much as those
who go to be hanged do their fellow-prisoners who are condemned to
follow them a few weeks after. I was at Whiteknights, where I found the
young ladies I just now mentioned [Theresa and Martha Blount] spoken
of a little more coldly than I could at this time especially[7] have
wished. I parted from honest Mr. Dancastle with tenderness, and from
Sir William Trumbull as from a venerable prophet, foretelling with
lifted hands the miseries to come upon posterity which he was just
going to be removed from."
Sir William died in the December following in his 78th year, leaving an
only son, also William Trumbull, barely eight years old. The subsequent
history of Binfield and Easthampstead does not fall within the limits
of this chapter. It must suffice to say that Pope occasionally visited
the Dancastles, and possibly stayed with Lady Judith Trumbull. At all
events he recommended his friend, Elijah Fenton, the poet, to be her
son's tutor, and frequently corresponded with him at Easthampstead.
Fenton continued to reside there even after young Trumbull grew to
man's estate, and when Fenton died in 1730, Pope wrote the epitaph
which is still to be seen inscribed upon the tablet erected by William
Trumbull to his memory, on the north wall of Easthampstead Church.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: This was the case until quite recently; but towards the
end of 1893, the late Mr. Hutchinson Browne, of Moor Close, Binfield,
caused the words, "_Here Pope Sung_," to be once more cut in the bark
of a tree growing on the site as Pope's wood. And underneath them he
affixed a brass plate inscribed with the following elegant copy of
verses in Latin and English, which I was fortunate in obtaining for him
from the pen of the Rev. Charles Stanwell, Vicar of Ipsden, Oxon:--
"Angliacis resonare modis qui suasit Homerum
Hic cecinit laudes, Vindelisora, tuas;
Hinc Silvae nomen vates dedit; arboris olim
Inciso testis cortice truncus evat.
Silva diu periit, sed nomen et umbra supersunt.
Umbra viri circum, nomen ubique volat."
"He to our Lyre who wooed great Homer's strain,
Here sang the praise of Windsor's sylvan reign;
Hence gained the wood a poet's name; of old
The attesting trunk, inscribed, the story told.
The wood hath perished, but surviving still
His shade these haunts, his name the world doth fill."--C.W. P.]
[Footnote 7: Mrs. Blount and her two daughters were on the point of
quitting Mapledurham in consequence of the marriage of her son, Michael
Blount, in 1715.]
Berkshire Words and Phrases.
BY REV. M.J. BACON.
It is not easy to determine in a subject of this kind what are
the strict lines of demarcation which separate words and phrases
used within a specific area from those used elsewhere, or again,
in many instances, to decide what is dialect, and what mere local
pronunciation. Where the area is confined to the limit of a county,
the difficulties are increased, as the dwellers near the borders would
naturally be influenced by the characteristics of the neighbouring
county. Thus Berkshire folk on the Wiltshire side of the county would
differ in many respects from those on the Hampshire side; and while
the verb to _kite_, for instance, would be unknown to the one, the
adjective _deedy_ would be equally strange to the other.
Probably, next to verbs and adjectives, the names given to birds and
animals, implements, or any common object, would determine a man's
county. Phrases are less numerous, but adjectives rank first among
local peculiarities.
Many of these convey the same idea, but are applied to different
objects, and in different ways. Thus in Berkshire _chuff_, _pruff_,
_fess_, _peart_, and _sprack_, all imply something sharp, smart, or
perky; but _pruff_ is applied solely to vegetable life, such as young
and healthy shoots, buds, or growing plants; while a sharp, quick
mannered man may be either _chuff_ or _fess_. "Speak up, _chuff_, now,"
is the adjuration of the parent to the bashful child who has just been
addressed by the _quality_. _Fess_ will be recognised at once as the
_fierce_ of the Eastern counties, implying a certain amount of vigour,
indeed, but conveying no idea of savagery or temper. _Peart_ and
_sprack_ speak for themselves.
Next come _bristle_ and _briffut_, used both as nouns and verbs, though
the former is more often the substantive, expressing a sharp, active
fellow, or perhaps a terrier, who would _briffut about_ in search of
rats. The adjective _deedy_, on the other hand, is careful, wary,
cautious, almost the Yankee _'cute_, and is usually intensified by
_main_, very. "What sort of a girl is your daughter?" asked the late
Baron Huddleston of the mother of a young girl who had just given
evidence in an important case in the Reading Assize Court. "She be a
main deedy little girl, my Lord," was the reply. "Greedy, did you say?"
"No, my Lord, deedy--main deedy." But Reading is not central enough
in the county for anyone in court to have replied to his Lordship's
puzzled look of enquiry.
Besides _main_, _feart_, or _feartish_, is used to emphasise an
expression. "He be a _main sight_, or a _feartish deal_ better," or
perhaps "only _tar'blish_" a contraction of tolerablish. In like
manner, the patient would _change_ for the better, but _alter_ for
the worse, while _a bit altery_ would apply to the weather _tokening_
for rain. _Smart_ is used to qualify another word, as _a smart few_,
meaning a good many, or it would _rain smartish_. Other words,
sometimes corruptions, are common, as _unked_, awkward, in the sense of
obstinate, troublesome; _stomachy_, proud, self-willed; _quisiting_,
inquisitive; _querky_, querulous; _wangery_, languid; _shackelty_,
shaky; _hechatty_, onomatopoean, applied to a cough; _peaked_,
pronounced _pikkid_, pointed, as the end of a stick; _worriting_ for
worrying, though _terrifying_ is more often used, to _terrify_ and
to _worrit_ being synomymous. _Casualty_ is risky, hollies being
considered _casualty things_ to plant, while it is often _casualty
weather_ in hay-making time. To be _in a ferrick_ is to be in a fidget,
and _all of a caddle_ in a muddle. _Heft_ is weight, and _hefty_,
weighty. To poise anything in the hand to test its weight would be to
_heft_ it. _Overright_ is opposite, a word unknown to the aborigines;
but what a "Leicestershire mon" would call _over yon_, is expressed
by his Berkshire compeer as _athurt thur_, evidently a corruption of
athwart there. _Overright_ would, of course, be originally rightover,
and this tendency to put the cart before the horse is common. _Droo
wet_ is always used for wet through. The same peculiarity appears
elsewhere, as in _breakstuff_ for breakfast, and even in monosyllables,
as _hapse_ for hasp, _clapse_ for clasp, and _aks_ for ask. This last,
however, is by no means confined to Berkshire.
Some of the verbs are original, while others bear signs of being simply
mispronunciations. To _quilt_ is to swallow; to _plim_ to swell, like
rice in the boiling; to _huck_ to dig up, or empty. A man _hucks out_ a
gutter or ditch, or simply _hucks_ his potatoes. To _tuck_ is probably
originally to pluck, and is applied to dressing the sides of a newly
made rick with the hand to make it trim and neat. To _kite_, or _kite
up_, is to look up sharp or peeringly; while bees are indifferently
said to _bite_ or _tang_. "They do tang I," would seem to preclude any
derivation from sting, as it undoubtedly is. To _argue_ is used in its
proper sense, and is very common; but it is always turned into the
monosyllable _arg_.
It is not surprising to find peculiarities in the common objects and
customs of everyday life. Thus the eleven o'clock _snack_ under the
hedge, known elsewhere as _elevenses_, is _nuncheon_; and so it comes
to pass that a horse deficient in barrel is spoken of disparagingly
as having "no nuncheon bag." A bradawl is a _nalpasser_, no doubt
"nail-passer"; but a gimlet retains its name, and is not called a
_twinnet_, as in some places. A _duckut_ is a small bill hook for
cutting faggots; while a _fag-hook_, or _fagging-hook_, is a crooked
stick used instead of the left hand in clearing a bank of nettles,
etc., with an iron "hook." The new mown hay is termed _eddish_, while
_tedding out_ hay is spreading it out in the sun after it has been
mown. The hay-loft over the stable, often the sleeping place of the
_fogger_ (_forager_), the man who tends the cattle, is called the
_tallut_; the smallest pig in the litter, elsewhere either the "cad"
or "darling," is invariably the _runt_; a dog's fangs are _tushes_,
and a bird's claws _nippens_. In the poultry-yard and pigeon-cote
the cock-bird is the _tom_; and some of the wild birds have their
peculiar names assigned them. Thus the _wry_neck, or cuckoo's mate,
is the _pe-pe_ bird, from its note; a _wish_ wagtail is a _dasher_; a
woodpecker a _yaffingal_; and the golden plover a _whistling dovyer_.
The little white moth that flits about in the twilight at sundown in
the summer months is a _margiowlet_, and the steady, plodding mole, is
either a _want_ or a _mouldiwarp_.
Berkshire stands confessedly at the head of all pig-breeding counties,
but that is no reason why the usual call of "choog, choog, choogy,"
at feeding time, should be changed to "teg, teg, teggy." The cattle
call of _coop, coop_, is of course a corruption of "come, come"; and
_coobid, coobiddy_, the poultry call of "come hither." The carter,
walking on the near side of his horses, calls them towards him by
_coomither_, or _coomither-awo-oy_, or more frequently _holt_, or
_holt tóward_, with the accent on the first syllable of "toward," and
sends them to the off side with the monosyllable _wug_. It is not
often that the Berkshire man stoops to abuse, for he is naturally
easy-going, stolid, and impassive; but a driven cow taking a wrong turn
would inevitably be denounced as an _old faggot_, and a troublesome
boy be branded as a _young radical_, though without any political
signification attached. A simile would not be looked for amongst
essentially an unimaginative folk, but _as 'pright as a dish_ is
common, and singularly inappropriate.
Of superstition there is comparatively little, and ghosts and
witches meet with but little respect, the men believing that a good
"vowld-stake" (i.e. fold-stake) is a sufficient weapon in all cases of
emergency, and the women being fully as undaunted as the men. There
is, however, a curious old Berkshire saying, that "a spayed bitch will
catch a witch," and that there is some faith in the truth of the saying
is shown by the fact that sheep dogs, if of the feminine gender, used
frequently to be so treated.
Every race has its physical peculiarity, and where the negro is
tenderest, the Berkshire man is toughest,--in his shins. As a backstop
he prefers to stop the fastest balls with his shins, rather than with
his hands, and will keep on all day without apparent inconvenience.
At "backswording" Berkshire men were always renowned; but it was
necessarily the privilege of the few, the ordinary farm labourer having
no opportunity for practising it. Some other test of endurance must
therefore be accepted; and forty years ago it was the regular custom,
when two carters stopped at a way-side public-house, for the men to
shake hands first, in token of friendship, and then to indulge in the
pastime of either _cutlegs_ or _kickshins_, the former consisting of
the men standing apart, and lashing each others legs with their long
cart whips till one cried "Hold," while in _kickshins_ each man took
firm grip of his opponent by twisting both hands in the overlapping
collar of his smock frock, and then kicking with his hob-nailed boots
at the other's shins, the vanquished one of course paying for both pots
of ale before they started once more on their respective journeys.
There was living in the Lambourn valley, less than forty years ago, a
man who was considered the champion of the county side, and his shins
were knotted and bent and twisted in the most remarkable manner, as the
result of his numerous encounters.
Heavy of gait, stolid of mien, and of indomitable courage, the true
Berkshire man is a staunch friend, and a very poor enemy, for he
harbours no resentment. Imperturbable to the last degree, he is rarely
surprised into an exclamation of surprise, excitement, or satisfaction.
When he is, _Dal-lee_, with a strong accent on the last syllable, is
his sole resource. "Dal-_lee_! that's got 'un," says the carpenter with
a grunt of satisfaction, as he gives the finishing blow that drives
home a big nail at which he has been pounding. Its derivation may not
be hard to find, but it makes the Berkshire man no worse than his
neighbours after all.
But all these things are relics of a past age now. Shins are tenderer,
mouths less wide, or at least the dialect is less broad; and the
certificated schoolmaster and the railways have done their deadly work.
_Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis._
Bull-Baiting in Berkshire.
BY REV. CANON STURGES.
The character of a people is reflected in their amusements. The
gradual decline of the popularity of rough and cruel sports is a
sure indication that there has been corresponding improvement in the
people themselves. The History of Sports will show how slowly and yet
how continuously this improvement has gone on under the influence of
Christian civilization.
It was not until christian teaching had been leavening society for 400
years that public opinion was educated up to the point of abolishing
the gladiatorial contests, and the wholesale massacres of the Roman
amphitheatre. For nearly a thousand years more the lists, within which
men-at-arms met in mortal combat to shew their skill or settle their
quarrels, were the very chiefest places of amusement in our own land.
There king and nobles would sit on seats raised above the crowd, and
fairest ladies gave the signal to begin, and presented the reward to
the victor when the games were over. The common people crowded round
the enclosure, while all watched the armed men tilting at one another
on horseback, or dealing mighty blows with sword and buckler, and when
a spear's head penetrated a knight's corslet, and he fell from his
horse, and his life's blood oozed out on the ground, or when a downward
sweep of a great two-handed sword fell on a footman's helmet, cleaving
it and the head beneath it in two, as sometimes happened, the men in
the crowd did not turn sick, nor the women scream and faint, as would
be the case now if such sights were seen, but the men clapped their
hands and cheered, and the women waved their handkerchiefs, and put on
their sweetest smiles for him who dealt the fatal blow. In time that
class of exhibitions passed out of use, and another took its place,
and survived to within the memory of living persons. No longer was
the stake played for human life, but for the humbler one of the life
of a brute. Sometimes, indeed, the highest in the land would mingle
with the lowest, for the pleasure of seeing a couple of strong men
battering one another's faces into shapeless mass with fists, until
one of the two could no longer stand. But the commoner and more
generally approved sport was that which transferred the duty of being
done to death for the amusement of mankind, from man himself to the
dumb helpless creatures that have been committed to man's care, and set
apart for his lawful use. Bull-baiting, bear-baiting, cock-fighting,
rat-killing, dog-fighting, and such like, were for several centuries
his favourite amusements.[8] Queen Elizabeth was an enthusiastic
patroness of baiting. The master of the bears, bulls, and dogs, was one
of the officers of the Royal household during her reign, and in several
subsequent reigns. She was wont to entertain ambassadors to her court,
with bull and bear-baiting after a state dinner. In 1591 an order of
the Privy council was issued forbidding plays to be acted on Thursdays,
because "bear-baiting and such like pastimes had usually been practised
on that day." Thus Shakespeare was silenced every Thursday, lest the
bull-ring should be neglected.
It was not until the beginning of the present century that the
conscience of the nation began to revolt against the continuance
of this barbarous sport. In 1802 an attempt was made in the House
of Commons to pass a bill to suppress it. The question was argued
with much warmth, and the bill was lost. In 1835 public opinion had
so far advanced that a bill was passed without much difficulty, by
which it became illegal henceforth to bait or worry any bear, bull,
dog, or other animal. And thus after seven centuries of popularity,
bull-baiting ceased to be a public amusement.
We should like now to take our readers, as far as we can by a
descriptive narrative, to one of the bull-baitings of Berkshire as they
were conducted sixty years ago. There are plenty of places we might
select for our visit. Every town in the county and every considerable
village had its common or ground where the greensward was reddened at
least once a year with the blood of bulls and dogs. Strangely enough
the favourite day for the great bait of the year was Good Friday.
The best place we can select for our visit will be Wokingham. It is a
comfort to know that there at least the baiting will not be on Good
Friday. St. Thomas's Day, Dec. 21st, has been the day there set apart
for many generations for the sacrifice of bulls by dog-torture. And
there the sport enjoys an endowment and so flourishes wonderfully,
outdoing in the fame of its bull-baiting all other towns and parishes
in the county of Berks. The endowment arose in this way. One, George
Staverton, a lover of the sport, having himself, it is said, been
gored by a bull, charged his estate with £6 a year to provide a bull
for baiting. Whether he meant it as a revenge on the whole bull race
for his injuries, or, as the expression of a good-natured wish, that
others should enjoy the sport from which he had himself received so
much pleasure, we are left to guess. But this we know, that the bequest
increased in value, and soon was sufficient to buy two bulls at least
every year; and in 1815, which is the year to which we are going to
take our readers back to witness the Wokingham bull-baiting, anyone
strolling through the streets of the town, any day of the year, would
have had abundant evidence that the sport was held in great estimation
by the inhabitants. At many a cottage door was to be seen a specimen of
the true British bull-dog. Sometimes the animal had a silver collar,
betokening past victories won over the bull. All were sleek, and
evidently objects of much care and interest, often of much more than
were bestowed on the children of the house.
The 21st of December, 1815, was a cold, damp, dull day. Two hours
before noon, a young fellow drove out of Reading with a companion
to see the Wokingham bull-baiting. As they drew near the town, the
road became crowded with carriages and pedestrians hurrying in the
same direction.[9] Arrived at the Market Place, the younger man found
a place in a window overlooking the scene, while the elder, a tall
fellow, evidently a _habituè_ of the bull-ring, joined the crowd
outside. The spectators filled every window, and in some cases had
seated themselves on the roofs of the houses. Carriages, filled with
occupants, were drawn up in front of the shops, and all available
standing room on the footpaths and roadway was filled by visitors,
towns-people, and parishioners. A cry arises "room for the Alderman
and Burgesses." The Corporation of Wokingham dates from Saxon times,
and the chief-magistrate was still called "the Alderman," the town
having refused steadily for eight centuries to adopt the new-fangled
Norman title of "Mayor." The remaining members of the Corporation were
"burgesses." Here they come, first pushing a way through the crowd,
two "ale-tasters" with wands of office surmounted by the acorn, the
Corporation crest; then two sergeants of the mace, the mace-bearer, the
alderman, burgesses, town clerk, and others. The alderman takes his
seat with his friends in the large window of the old "Red Lion Inn,"
and gives the signal that the sport is to begin. Shouts are heard and a
commotion is evident in a corner of the crowd. Here he comes, the first
bull, led by a dozen strong men, a rope round his horns and a chain
fifteen feet long, into the middle of the market place, where the end
of the chain is fastened to a strong staple in a post level with the
ground. Away go his keepers. In a moment the bull has cleared a ring
for the coming contest. With head down and tail erect, he sweeps round
at the full extent of his chain, and is all alone in the centre of a
circle thirty feet in diameter.