"Cloth must we wear,
Eat beef, and drink beer,
Though the dead go to bier."
_Old Ballad._
There is something refreshing, and not a little inspiriting, in the
scanty relics of those hearty customs and pastimes which imparted such a
manly tone to the character of our ancestors; but now, like the ruined
castle, or the old ivied abbey, they have become objects of admiration
rather than sources of delight. Fifty years ago, the inhabitants of
North Wales, a rude and blunt race even now, were far less sophisticated
by modern refinement than they are at present; and it was then a common
matter for the _Penteulu_, or head of the family, to dine in the large
stone hall of the mansion--he and his own particular friends at a table,
raised on a _Dais_--and his numerous tenants and dependants at another
table running the whole length of the said hall. Then came the
wassailing--worthy of the days of Arthur--wine for the upper table;
ale, medd, (_mead_,) and spirits for the other; and after all came the
friendly contest at some manly game--wrestling, racing, pitching the
bar, or the like. At a period somewhat later, these boisterous pastimes
began to degenerate; and the Welsh squire became more polished, but not,
perhaps, more happy. Still the custom of inordinate potation fondly
clung to him. Immediately contiguous to every mansion of any magnitude
was erected a summerhouse, usually situated in a spot, selected for the
beauty of the scene which it commanded; and to this _sanctum_ did the
gentlemen retire after dinner, to enjoy, unrestrained by the presence of
the ladies, a full indulgence in that boisterous carousal, which their
bluff hearts so dearly loved. But these good and glorious customs have
died the death, and gone the way, of all perishable things; _they_ are
gone, as are those jovial souls who gave them life and buoyancy; but the
eternal hills, which echoed to their merriment and glee--they remain
unaltered by time, and unshaken by the storms which have passed over
them.
Yet is there still much jovial heartiness in the festive revelry of the
mountaineers. One scene, in which I was a participator, I will endeavour
to portray--it is impressed on my memory by more than one token of
grateful reminiscence. It was in the summer of 1825 that I left London
for a few weeks, and sought among my native hills a reparation of the
wear and tear of half-a-dozen years of hard and unceasing toil. Two days
after my arrival In Merionethshire was celebrated the birthday of Robert
Williams Vaughan, Esq., of Nannau, the only son of Sir Robert Williams
Vaughan, Bart., and member for the county; a gentleman of whom it may be
truly said, that his heart is replete with every noble and benevolent
attribute, and that his mind is dignified by practical wisdom, sound
sense, and energy to direct, for the benefit of his dependents, the fine
and Christian virtues which he possesses. "Come up to Nannau," is his
encouraging address to the labourer, when the hardships of winter are
pressing upon the poor: "Come up to Nannau, show me that you are willing
to work, and I will give you your wages." It is for benevolence like
this, well and usefully exercised, that Sir Robert Vaughan is especially
remarkable, as well also for all those qualities which adorn and dignify
the British country gentleman. Always careful of the welfare, habits,
and comforts of the poor around him; patronizing the industry,
ingenuity, and good conduct of his more humble countrymen, and
ministering to the wants of the sick and the poor; hospitable in the
extreme; kind, affable, and friendly to all, he fulfils in every respect
the happy duties of the wealthy British landholder; and by his generous
courtesy he has ensured to himself the perfect esteem of every person
who knows him. Living in the midst of a cheerful and contented tenantry,
the chieftain as it were of a devoted clan, the proprietor of Nannau may
be truly termed a happy man. The empty blandishments of the world have
no charms for him, nor have its ephemeral pleasures any allurement; for,
like the gallant knight of Peugwern, when invited by Henry the Seventh
to share the honors of his court, for services rendered at Bosworth
Field, he would meekly but promptly reply, "Sire! I love to dwell among
mine own people." Such is Sir Robert Vaughan of Nannau, whose memory
will be long and fondly cherished by those who have enjoyed his
friendship, and witnessed his calm, manly, and useful virtues.
We sat down to dinner, about forty in number, occupying two tables
placed parallel to each other, in the spacious dining-room of the
mansion. Choice fish of every kind; venison from Nannau Park, celebrated
for the delicious flavour of its fat bucks; mountain-mutton, from the
fertile pastures of Llanfachreth; the noble sirloin, and, in fact, every
substantial delicacy that wealth could procure, pressed even to groaning
the broad tables of our host; while the harper in the hall twanged his
instrument with a force and a fury, that plainly showed his previous
intimacy with the good cheer of the place. But noble and magnificent
as our entertainment was in the eating department, it was infinitely
surpassed by that which was devoted to the orgies of Bacchus. No sooner
was the brief and scarcely audible grace pronounced by the chaplain,
than in marched old Pearson, the gray-headed butler, bearing in each
hand a goblet, in form like an acorn, and fashioned of the dark polished
oak of the far-famed Spirits-Blasted Tree,[7] richly ornamented with
appropriate silver emblems. One of these was placed reversed by the side
of the president and _croupier_ of each table, and presently afterwards
flanked by a huge silver tankard of foaming ale, strong enough almost to
blow into the air a first-rate man-of-war. Filling this goblet, which
held very nearly a pint, the president made his speech to the health and
happiness of the young 'squire, and draining it dry, passed it on to his
left-hand neighbour. The _croupier_ did the same, and like the great
bear of Bradwardine, did the acorn of Nannau begin to make its rounds,
in a manner quite as fearful to me as was the terrific approach of the
bear aforesaid to the heir of Waverley Honor. Unfortunately for me, I
sat between two determined and well-seasoned topers, who took especial
care that I should not only fill to each toast, but drain the cup to
the very bottom; so that, novice as I was in this sort of hilarity, I
found myself, in a very short time, lying down under a laburnum tree
in the lawn, and composing myself very comfortably--no, not _very_
comfortably--to sleep. I had my sleep, however; and when I awoke and
re-entered the house, a merry group of guests had surrounded the harper
in the hall, and were singing Penillion at full stretch, to the now
unsteady and somewhat discordant accompaniment of the minstrel; the
laugh was of course against me, but good-nature, rather than contempt,
characterised the bantering, and I bore it all in good part. The party
broke up about eleven, and before midnight I was at home, after a
magnificent walk of three miles, over the mountains, in the moonlight.
_The Inspector._
[7] This was an old blasted oak, standing a few years ago in Nannau
Park, to the infinite horrification of the honest mountaineers.
Tradition had imbued it with a terrible and awful influence--for,
some four or five hundred years ago, the gigantic skeleton of a
warrior was found incased in its trunk, and grasping with its
bony fingers a long and ponderous sword. It was blown down one
stormy night, and the wood has been manufactured into a variety
of articles.
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