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THE
WASSAIL-BOWL.
BY
ALBERT SMITH.
Author. Who now can taste a treatise of deep sense
And ponderous volume ? 'Tis impertinence
To write what none will read ; therefore will I
To please the young and thoughtless people try.
Shelley's Scenes from Faust,
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. IL
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1843.
dck^AJl 8
THE
WASSAIL-BOWL,
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES.
iv-55633i
VOL. n.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The favourable manner in which these papers were
received during their weekly appearance in the columns
of Punchy has induced their publication in the present
form. They have been carefully revised ; and the
author has, moreover, been enabled to avail himself
of the assistance of an esteemed friend, to whose clever
illustrations he will not fail to attribute any renewed
favour that his *' Physiology'*'' may meet with.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING
PARTIES.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH THE AUTHOR INVOKES CERTAIN
ASSISTANCE.
^ ALTZES,
whist, wax-
candles and
waistcoats !
Chandeliers,
and champagne ! Croquets^
creams, cornets-a-piston, and
cracker bon-bons ! Flirts, floun-
ces, and flowers ! A inelte of
delicious and captivating images
crowds upon us at once, and in-
volves our ideas in a mass of
inextricable confusion for our
commencement.
Twinkling- footed Terpsichore ! — Gentle goddess
whose bright showers — oh, no ! that's another — gen-
tle goddess of pumps and pirouettes ! lady patroness of
^
b THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
coquettes and confectioners ! a bewildered author im-
plores thee to inspire him, by the transfer of a small
portion of liveliness from thy own heels to his head.
By the charming attributes of thy most favoured vota-
ries ; — by Marie Taglioni's gauze wings, and Fanny
Elssler's brass-heeled brodequins ; by Pauline Duver-
nay's ruby lips, Fanny Cerito*s alabaster shoulders,
and Carlotta Grisi's symmetrical figure ; by the Gitana,
Cracovienne, Cachoucha, and Lithuanienne, descend !
Descend, we beseech thee, and mesmerise our brain with
some of the active magnetic influence that pervades
thy thrilling and vibrating organization !
Coy creature ! dost thou require further invocation ?
Thou shalt have it. By Jullien, who fancies himself
good-looking ; and by Musard, whom nobody ever
accused of beauty ; by the glorious and inspiring
waltzes of Strauss, Lannar, and Labitsky — waltzes whose
names the author would be but too happy to chronicle
in these pages, did he not fear his steel-pen would
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 7
break down in the adventurous attempt ; by Weippert,
Collinet, Litolf, Adams, and the indefatigable little
Blagrove, he once more implores your assistance !
We have waited for five minutes in an agony of ex-
pectation, and we are not sensible of any unusual inspira-
tion. No dense clouds of aromatic vapour, rolling in
delicious and enervating volumes, have filled the room ;
neither has the carpet opened, the walls divided, or
the ceiling vanished, in allowing any lovely spirit,
whose silk fleshings move in pliant grace beneath the
transparent undulations of her book-muslin tunic, to
visit our mundane, or rather our aerial apartment.
We perceive that we are, as usual, left to our own re-
sources ; with the reflection on the chilling truth, that
virtuous woodcutters and youngest princes are the only
persons who, upon nursery authority, appear to have
ever received morning calls or mental assistance from
the feminine children of the air.
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE PROPER PERIOD FOR EVENING PARTIES.
In spite of the versifications of an old English poet
named Thomson, — an almost extinct author, who once
perpetrated a book about the four quarters, — the so-
ciety of London allows but one season in the course of
the solar year. This may be said to commence properly
with spring radishes and Grisi, and conclude at an indefi-
nite period, varying according to the extent of incomes,
the success of philanderings, the approach of grouse
shooting, and the continental or marine migration of
the connexions you most look up to ; everybody knows
a set of comparatively great people, whose habits they
are most studious to imitate. The choreographic in-
gress, to speak astronomically, begins with the dingy
foliage of the Parks, and terminates with the arrival
of oysters : after which the dance hastens to quit town ;
quadrilles depart to renovate their enfeebled figures
at the leading watering-places ; waltzes embark on
board the Batavier for Baden-Baden ; cornets-a-piston
incline to provincial concerts, for change of air and the
benefit of their lungs ; and harps evince extreme affec-
tion for Gravesend and Richmond steamboats.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. V
It cannot be altogether the philanthropic wish of
making their guests partake of small doses of the poe-
try of existence, from ten o'clock at night until three
in the morning, that induces people to invite them, or
they would choose some more congenial time. At
this period of the year the weather is in a glorious
state of uncertainty ; and young men, who do not like
trudging to parties along a muddy trottoir in thin-
soled patent boots — who revolt at the association of
white kids and an omnibus, are compelled to take cabs,
which collectively keep up a becoming and consequen-
B 5
10 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
tial clatter in the street all the evening (for a Hansom
makes as much noise as a private one, and perhaps
more, and in the dark produces quite as good an
effect). The drawing-room windows can also be opened
that the coachmen and lantern-bearers-in-waiting may
participate in the harmony of the band, or watch the
shadows of the waltzers as they twirl across the blinds,
should they be down, and the adjacent inhabitants be
impressed with a due idea of the party-givers' impor-
tance ; whilst the rapid approach of daybreak affords
the best hint of the flight of time, and drives the most
inveterate dancer to tender his adieus to the hostess,
who has been dying to go to bed for the last two hours,
in an agony of suspense lest the solar lamp in the
china-closet, which by a process of unparalleled me-
chanical extension has been converted into a card-
room, should go out and begin to smell.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 11
CHAPTER III.
OF ARRANGING THE LISTS OF GUESTS.
No sooner is the evening determined upon — no
sooner are the purchases completed of no-coloured
sealing-wax, and tinted embossed or satined (as the case
may be) note-paper and envelopes, than the first note
of preparation is sounded, which heralds in the ap-
proaching confusion, in forming the list of guests, and
arguing who can be genteelly left out, in case you are
overdone.
It is evening: Mama and her two daughters are
seated at the table arranging the names of the visitors
upon the back of an old letter, having turned out the
dusty records of the card-basket before them, in order
that no one of importance may be forgotten.
Ellen. I am sure I don't see why we should invite
the Harveys, mama. They have been here twice and
never asked us back again.
Fanny. And we shall see those dreadful silver pop-
lins again : they must be intimately acquainted with
the cane- work of all the rout-seats in London.
E. And William Harvey is so exceedingly disa-
greeable. He always looks at the cipher on the plate
to see if it is borrowed or not.
12
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
F. And last year lie declared the pineapple ice was
full of little square pieces of raw potato ; and, when
Mr. Edwards broke a tumbler at supper, he told him
" not to mind, for they were only tenpence a piece in
Tottenham Court Road." The low wretch thought he
had made a capital joke !
M. Well, my dears ; I think your papa will be an-
noyed, if they are left out : but never mind then — we
won't ask them. Now, here's Mr. Deucere.
E. Oh ! he must come : he'*s one of those men you
meet so many of in Regent Street, but never at evening
parties. I hope he has not yet shaved off his musta-
chios — they are so very effective in a room !
F. Dear man ! he is to be called to the bar next
month, and then he says they must go. I wish he
would not wear those odious white neck-cloths.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 13
E. I rather like them.
F. My dear Nelly ! — they look just like the young
men in the linendrapers"' shops with the large win-
dows ; and Tom says he always thinks the people have
invited the waiters of the places where he goes to sup
14 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
after the play, when he don't come home until three in
the morning, whenever he sees the white cravats in a
room. They are so very unbecoming !
M. Now, come, my dears — we are not getting on
with the list. Have you put down Mr. Deucere ?
E. Yes, mama.
M. Very well. Now, let us see — ^here's Mr. and
Mrs. Howard : of course they will come, with the four
girls.
E. All dressed alike, and standing up in every
quadrille. I declare I will get George Conway to put
an ice in Harriet''s chair, for her to sit down upon, in
revenge for her waltzing last year, when she brushed
down the Joan of Arc and knocked off its head.
F. It's quite awful to see the dead set the Howard
girls make at Mrs. John Robinson, and she never in-
vites them.
M. Here is Mr. Frank Maynard : put his name
down.
E. And, of course, Maria Pierson's next to it : he
never left her side all the evening last year. I wonder
if that will ever be a match — what a long time it has
been dawdling on! There — Pve written it: now,
who is next ?
M. Mrs. Lindsey : what a pity it is that some one
does not tell the poor woman to have a new set of
cards ! Did you ever see such a vulgar affair ?
F. Never mind — she gives capital parties. What
very good connexions queer odd-looking people often
scrape together ! and they have always got the money.
E, We must tell Tom not to overdo us so much
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 15
with his own friends. I declare, last year I did not
know half the young men in the room : it was so very
awkward when you had to introduce them.
M. Mr. Granby has called here very often. I think
we ought to ask him.
F. Does he waltz ?
E. No : he says his head won''t allow it.
F. Ah ! that means he can't ; we can do without
him. He is always shuffling about in the hall, cram-
ming his clogs into the pockets of his rough coat, or
stuffing his comforter into his hat, or something equally
fidgety.
F. Say, you understood he was down in the country,
mama, or you would have been delighted to have seen
him.
And in this style is the list arranged, the hostess
gradually becoming a prey to isinglass and acute mental
inquietude, which gradually increases as the day draws
nearer, until upon the morning of its arrival her very
brain is almost turned into blancmange from the inten-
sity of her anxiety.
16 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE PREPARATIONS.
With the first blush of dawn, the whole establish-
ment is assisting in the process familiarly known as
turning a house out of window ; and a perpetual parcels
delivery at the street-door keeps the bells and the ser-
vants on the vibration the whole morning. All the
superfluous articles of furniture belonging to the lower
part of the mansion boldly invade the bed-rooms, and
finally carry them by storm ; strange chandeliers attach
themselves to the hooks of the drawing-room ceiling ;
regiments of candlesticks in all the brilliancy of recent
plate -leathering, and new wax ornaments, appear in
review upon the sideboard, before a staif of Argand
table-lamps and pint decanters ; whilst an accom-
panying sham-fight appears continually going on be-
tween the fire-irons, druggets, broom-handles, and stair-
carpets all over the house, until the master of the
establishment rushes wildly out for the day, finding
in the course of this domestic pantomime, which to
him is anything but a comic one, that his own bed-
chamber has changed into a supper-room. The drawers
turned hindside before, and covered with oil-cloth,
look like decapitated chiffoniers; the four-poster and
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 17
wash-hand stand have evaporated altogether ; in fact,
not one trace is left by which the apartment can be
recognised, except the little red cord attached to the
bell-pull, which originally came through a slit in
the tester, and now obstinately asserts its right of oc-
cupation.
Barely has a little comparative order been establish-
ed, when the arrival of the rout-seats and French rolls
commences a fresh series of confusion, which rapidly
accumulates. The key of the china-closet was never
yet known to be found when wanted ; consequently, it
cannot be opened : and, on the other hand, the door
of the room, where the supper is already lying in
18
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
state, cannot be shut. This casualty much delights
the olive-branches of the family — if any there be —
who, left entirely alone, and quite overlooked in this
general melee^ divert themselves by poking their little
puddy fingers into the creams, and scooping out the
insides of divers patties with a doll's leg, until rather
inclining to their quarters they migrate thereto for the
day, with all their toys. This accounts for the oc-
casional apparition of a small soldier, or an inhabitant
of Noah's Ark, quivering on the top of a mould of
jelly wherein it has been stuck.
By the afternoon the bouleversement of the ill-fated
mansion has reached its highest point ; almost partici-
pating in the appearance which a furnished baby-house
would present after being rolled down stairs from the
nursery to the drawing-room. We do not exactly know
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 19
in what state the kitchen remains, for we have never
yet been bold enough to venture down to its Ache-
rontic precincts ; but, from certain vague glimpses oc-
casionally obtained through the medium of the area win-
dows, we imagine it must offer an aspect of wild confu-
sion. Of course, on a day like this, nobody thinks
about dinner ; or, if they dare to do so, nobody gets
any — unless it be the odd-shaped trimmings of sippet-
like sandwiches, any pastry that may be overbaked or
slightly scorched, the rebellious blancmange which re-
fuses to turn out properly, the legs of lobsters, or an
ingeniously contrived and extempore vol-au-vent of all
these things put together.
Towards evening, everything is pronounced to be
properly in, or rather out of, its place ; and the family
contrive, by dint of extreme perseverance, to get a cup
of tea in the still-room. But the vexations are not yet
concluded. Various little notes arrive, which do any-
thing but put the hostess in a good humour. First of
all, somebody, whom she particularly wished to be pre-
sent — in fact, for whom the party was almost given —
20 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
sends a melancholy statement of the very acute stage
of influenza under which they are labouring, " which
they extremely regret will prevent them from accept-
ing," &c. Then Miss M or N (as the case
may be), one of the intended belles of the evening, who
flirts, sings, and waltzes, is obliged to go suddenly into
the country on a visit to an old aunt ; but her two
brothers — tall, gangling, awkward young men, who
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 2l
wear pumps, and throw tteir legs about, when they are
dancing, everywhere but over their shoulders, and whom
you were compelled to invite with their sister, although
you would never have dreamt of them otherwise — are in-
variably most happy to come — quite delighted — and
you are overdone with men already. And lastly, when
it has become really a matter of serious consideration
where you can stow all your guests without making
your rooms resemble the hold of a slave-ship too closely,
four or five of the least intimate write off to inform you
that they intend taking the liberty of bringing some
young friends with them who are staying in their house,
t. e. for about ten minutes before they start off for yours.
And it is a most melancholy truth, which may be taken
as a general rule, that ordinary uninteresting persons
always jump at your invitation (when you yourself
are merely concerned about the attractive girls and
presentable young men, who will look effective in
your rooms) with the certainty and velocity of bleak
at a piece of greaves when you are fishing for roach
alone.
At length all the preparations are completed, and
a temporary quiet reigns through the house ; but it is
like the lull of the elements after a boisterous day in
March, before it begins to rain. The last ring has
brought the last parcel to the door, which of course
ought to have arrived first in the morning ; the small
children have been rapidly undressed and put to bed,
with the wild notion that they will stay there, and not
walk calmly down stairs some three or four hours after-
wards in their night-gowns, with their little naked white
22 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
tootsy-pootsies (the nursery patois for tiny feet) pat-
tering on the cold floor-cloth ; the governesses, in fami-
lies where they are not going to give a party, have
marched all their young ladies, hoops, and la grace
sticks out of the square, and are thinking about chang-
ing their collars for dinner ; the last views have dis-
solved — the last diver has gone down, and the last
Royal George blown up at the Polytechnic Institu-
tion ; the West-end idlers have disappeared no one
knows where, nor ever will ; and the last clang of
the milkpails has echoed down the areas ; in fact, to
the majority of the world the labours of the day have
concluded, excepting policemen, actors, waiters, medi-
cal men, and people who give parties. The last crawl
up stairs to dress, in whatever part of the house their
toilet appointments have been transported to, in an
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 23
extreme state of exhaustion ; and, perfectly ready to
go to bed, commence preparations for receiving two
hundred guests, and looking to their individual com-
forts, until a period of the ensuing morning when early
risers are thinking about getting up.
24-
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER V.
OF COMMENCING THE FESTIVITIES.
It is during this short interregnum that we may
expect the arrival of the greengrocer, who is to assist in
waiting. He keeps the shop at the corner of the next
street — exhibits five perpetual eggs in a worsted moss
basket to intimate that he sells new-laid ones — starts
covered vans to Hampton Court and Epsom Races —
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 25
provides " bands " for quadrille parties — wears wliite
cotton gloves with very long fingers ; and was never
known to announce a name correctly ; so that what
between the real servant boy — we beg his pardon, the
page — of the establishment, and himself, the astonished
visitor is ushered into the room under any other appel-
lation than his own. Next comes the young gentle-
man in lay-down collars and a jacket, who returned an
answer of acceptance to his invitation the very evening
on which he received it ; and taking the time stated
in the note as really meant, arrives about half an hour
before the candles are lightedy and amuses himself
in the dark for that period by enjoying the pleasures
of anticipation, and wishing he had a needle and
thread to mend one of his eighteenpenny gloves, which
has burst at the seam all round the ball of his thumb.
And this brings us, by concatenation, to another melan-
choly fact — that whenever you are going to a reunion
where you wish your hands to look particularly white
and delicate, they obstinately persist in assuming the
appearance of an uncooked steak. The young gentle-
man is followed by the useful friend of the family — an
universally-known sort of creation, half lady half per-
son, who knows instinctively where the keys are always
kept, and where every thing is placed, from the lump
sugar to the champagne ; and who has been requested
by the hostess to come early and see about the tea and
coffee. This attention distinguishes her from other
guests, who, when the mistress of the house " begs
they will not be late," conceive from this that they are
of importance, and evince the same by dropping in
VOL. II.
26
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
about a quarter to twelve. And finally, before the
grand attack upon tbe street door commences, the
music arrives — sometimes in the shape of a single
pianist of untiring fingers and unclosing eyes — some-
times as a harp, piano, and cornopean, who are imme-
diately installed in a corner of the room with two
chairs, a music-stoo), and a bottle of Marsala.
Nine o'clock strikes as the last arcana of the toilet
are completed, and mamma and the daughters descend
to the drawing-room to superintend the final arrange-
ments before the guests arrive. At this precise period
the eldest son of the family, who was requested to be
dressed and have his room all tidy by the appointed
time, throws the whole household into hysterics, by
giving a thundering knock at the door before any of
the candles are liofhted as he comes home in an ex-
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 27
tremity of haste, but withal exceedingly jolly, from
dining with some men in chambers, "with not the
least idea that it was so late."
Every bachelor knows that the operation which
women term " putting his room to rights '" implies
hiding all his things with the keenest ingenuity, so
that they can never be found by any means short of
a divining-rod. This is the case at present, and fresh
confusion is created by the young gentleman's unceas-
ing applications for clean towels, warm water, other
boots, his governor's razors, and somebody to rout out
the rings and buttons of his white waistcoat : together
with various assertions over the stairs, that he can
c 2
28 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
neither find his gloves, pocket-handkerchiefs, nor his
all-vanquishing satin stock with the gold sprigs ; and
to add to the general trouble, his voice is heard from
his room exclaiming, " Here 's the old story, Mary, —
no button to the collar of my shirt !" In the midst of
all this, one of the daughters, who has been peeping
through the blinds, announces that a carriage stops
at the door ; upon which news the brother is left
to shift for himself, and the servants fly down the
stairs as if they were fire-escapes or Russian moun-
tains.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat ! bang ! ! bang ! ! !
bang ! ! ! ! goes the knocker, with a force which makes
the hearts of the inmates jump into their throats, and
almost tempts them to believe that there is a concerted
design upon the street-door. Mamma takes her pl)st
of reception at the door : one daughter gives a light-
ning glance round the room to see that every thing is in
its place, and flings behind the sofa a very good imita-
tion of a duster, which one of the servants has left be-
hind ; and the other having burnt her fingers and
smoked her gloves in the futile attempt to kindle the
stubborn wick of an impossible lamp with German
china transparencies, throws the lighted allumette upon
the carpet, and rushes to her mother's side, with the
alacrity of a stage peasant not in his place when the
bell rings for the curtain to rise.
It is an awful minute of suspense whilst the first-
comers are taking coffee in the study, or back parlour,
or library, or whatever name the small room overlook-r
ing the leads is known by ; and the expression " I
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENISG PARTIES. ^9
"A/
wonder who it is !" escapes simultaneously from the
lips of the mother, the daughters, and the useful friend.
At length, the coffee being swallowed, as if it was a
necessary and high moral duty so to do, and the shawls
being entrusted to the housemaid, who appears, for
that night only, as a female pawnbroker of private life
issuing duplicates and receiving interest, the visitors
are announced. " Mr. and Miss Chamberlayne ! "
screams the page at the foot of the stairs, in a voice
that varies in the most extraordinary style from a deep
bass to a falsetto; "Mr. and Miss Chimlyn!'** ex-
claims the greengrocer on the first landing : " Mr. and
Mrs. Chilblain !" vociferates the footman at the draw-
ing-room door, and the couple enter the room. There
is a welcome and a salutation — an expression of poig-
nant sorrow at being informed that Mrs. Chamberlayne
30 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
has the influenza, and is compelled to remain at home ;
and then, as nobody else arrives for a quarter of an
hour, that period is passed in conversation of the
most brilliant and exciting kind. Miss Chamberlayne
admires some Chinese feather screens, which she has
seen fifty times before — hazarding, at the same time,
some faint meteorological remarks, and inquiring of the
young ladies of the house '* what new music they have
got," and " if they have been out to-day ;" whilst
Mr. Chamberlayne instinctively holds his hands to the
fireplace, which is filled, with silver paper water-lilies,
and real evergreens, as he thinks his gloves look very
well after being cleaned, only they feel very slippery,
and retain a queer smell, something between soft soap
and turpentine.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 31
Imperceptibly the guests arrive, and the conversation
rises to a slight buzz as the hostess Vandykes about
from one party to the other, putting questions to all,
without waiting for the answers ; or if she does, al-
lowing them to perform the anatomically-impossible
journey through her brain of "in at one ear and out
at the other." And w^ith all their intended civility,
these would-be attentive queries are sometimes exceed-
ingly awkward ; more particularly if you ask after
dead people, matches that are quite off, or relations
■who have not been heard of *' since they were engaged
in that unpleasant affair."
It has frequently struck us when the lady of the
house has been sailing about the room in all the pride
of her ball costume, what a very different appear-
ance she presented some six or eight hours previ-
ously, when she donned a pair of old kid gloves to
dust the alabaster gim cracks and China teacups on the
chiffonier, for fear the servant should break them. And
yet this is but life in its simplest and most natural
antithesis. The glove that has pressed the hand of
some lovely girl descends from the ball-room to
the boxes of the theatre, thence to the litter-
drawer of your dressing-table, amongst faded flowers,
old straps, empty Circassian cream-pots, broken brace-
ends, worn-out razors, and pieces of playbills ; and
finally, the housemaid wears it to black the stoves in :
the dress-coat gradually comes into the office, and then
to the cad who hangs about your chambers ; or, by
reversing the scale, the ball bouquet of flowers, which
some drunken old basket-woman has carried about upon
tJ^ THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
her head through half the gin-shops in London, whilst
waiting for " the market," rises to such value, that you
would not exchange a single flower, presented to you by
its lovely owner, for all the choicest plants in the Pan-
theon Conservatory or Covent Garden.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 33
CHAPTER VI.
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE FIRST QUADRILLE,
IN WHICH MR. LEDBURY IS INTRODUCED TO THE
READER.
No sooner are fifteen or sixteen presentable guests
assembled (exclusive of tlie very old ladies who will
be sent to the card-room for good the moment a com-
plete rubber has arrived, and the false hair and tur-
c 5
34 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
bans who, still clinging to tlie ball-room, take pos-
session of the best seats to " see the dancing," and
unflinchingly keep them all the evening), than the
mistress of the house experiences a slight temporary
relief to the uphill attempt at conversation of the last
twenty minutes, by thinking that a quadrille may be
formed. Whereupon, the orchestra commences to
tune. The piano flourishes in the chord of D minor
whilst the cornopean blows through all his joints, turns
his instrument topsy-turvy, and performs a pleasing
little composition all to himself, in which the A is
very predominant ; and the harp, introducing all the
notes in the above-named chord at once, appears car-
rying on a fierce contest between his own feet and some
refractory pedals, which he finally subdues.
The lady of the house throws a comprehensive coup
d^ceil over her assembled visitors, and at last pitches
upon a tall young man with short hair, spectacles, and
turned-up wristbands — as if he was about to wash his
hands with his coat on. His fate is sealed ; and she
advances towards him, blandly exclaiming, " Mr. Led-
bury, allow me to introduce you to a partner." Hereat
Mr. Ledbury blushes, and utters a subdued expres-
sion of the happiness he should feel at such a proceed-
ing, and consigning himself to the guardianship of the
hostess, is paraded across the room and presented to a
bouquet^ with a young lady attached to it by a chain and
ring of or-molu. " Miss Hamilton — Mr. Ledbury."
The introduction is accomplished, and the lady pounces
upon another couple with the rapidity of a kite in
petticoats.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 35
As the quadrille does not commence immediately
upon the introduction, and Mr. Ledbury has never
seen Miss Hamilton before, and has not the least idea
in what style of conversation he should address her —
whether she is slow or fast, dullish or clever, a flirt
or a prude, and likes music or politics, — he suddenly
evinces indefatigable perseverance in endeavouring to
button his glove, and then assumes an attitude of im-
movability near her chair that would do honour to
Madame Tussaud, until the quadrille is forming, when
he offers her his arm with a gravity well suited to the
important business he is about to enter upon — his
first actual speech being, " Is this place agreeable ?'' in
tones of mellifluous and insinuating mildness.
86
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Of Le Pantalon we have little to say, for it passes
off in extreme silence ; not a word being spoken, except
■when some young gentleman begs the pardon of some
young lady for treading on her blonde flounce in the
chaine Anglaise. As the opening bars of U Ete are
played, Mr. Ledbury, who has been concocting a sen-
tence for the last five minutes, makes a bold effort, and
begins the conversation with Miss Hamilton, who ap-
pears to be searching after some imaginary object
amongst the petals of her bouquet.
Mr. />.— Have you been to many parties this season ?
(N.B. a safe entamure.)
Miss H. — Not a great many.
[Pause. Mr. Ledburi/ readjusts the refractory
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 37
glove-button, and Miss Hamilton continues the
bouquet investigation. The gentleman invents
another sentence.
Mr. Z.— What do you think of Mrs. Alfred Shaw ?
Miss H. — I am sorry to say I have not heard her.
(Minim rest.) Have you ?
Mr. L. — Oh yes ! — several times.
[Mr. Ledbury waits to be asked something about
Semiramide, which inquiry not arriving, he
rubs up an idea upon another tack.^
Mr. L. — What do you think of our vis-a-vis ?
Miss H. — Which one "^
Mr. L. — The lady with that strange head-dress — do
you know her ?
Miss H. — It is Miss Brown — my cousin.
[Mr. Ledbury wishes a pantomime was being per-
formed, that he might have some chance of
falling through a trap, and disappearing into
the room below.]
During this interesting conversation, the top and
bottom couples have been performing VEte with all
due propriety ; but the first confusioa takes place as
they begin at the sides. We believe it has never yet
been definitely agreed upon, notwithstanding the inves-
tigation of the most celebrated Terpsichorcan profes-
sors, who should commence the side figure of VEt^.
At first the company remain perfectly motionless ;
next, they all rush forward at once, and then as speedily
return, each imagining that the other is about to com-
mence ; and, at last, some spirited young lady patrio-
tically sacrifices herself; and, like a female Marcus
38
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Curtius, in tulle illusion, plunges into the gulf: after
whicli the figure terminates correctly.
La Poole is gone through with tolerable satisfaction to
all parties, as its mazes are not very intricate. Mr.
Ledbury, during the preceding quadrille having dis-
covered that Miss Hamilton reads the periodicals, begins
to converse thereon ; but, owing to his literary re-
collections being somewhat indistinct, he gets very
much confused in trying to call to mind how Richard
Savage and Dolly Varden met Jack Hinton at Hector
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 39
o' Halloran's ; and being suddenly called upon to go on
with the dance, he describes various strange figures with
his legs upon the carpet, and finally attempts, in his men-
tal absence, to perform dos-a-dos, which everybody
knows is quite exploded in rational society, on account
of its inevitable and inelegant concussions, and only
practised at dancing academies of inferior note, and
select circles, who perpetrate quadrilles beneath the il-
luminated flags, balloons, and Vs and A's of the Crown-
and-Anchor perambulating ball-room.
40
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER VII.
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE FIRST QUADRILLE
{continued).
E cannot suffi-
ciently applaud
the philanthropic
spiri t in which
some humane
dancing-master of
other days invented La Trenise as
a substitute for the very nervous
Pastorale, There was only one
good end attained by performing
this latter figure ; it occasionally en-
abled circumspect young ladies to
form some small idea of the disposi-
tion of any young gentleman they
took an interest in, by watching his
conduct in this fearful quadrille. If he
was naturally of a courageous turn of mind, the pas seul
did not put him out in the least ; but he went through
it with all the coolness imaginable, as if he had been
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 41
(lancing to Lis own image in a large cheval glass ; if
he was conceited, he now and then attempted an atti-
tude, or twiddled his eye-glass about by its hair guard :
if he was timid or retiring, his deportment appeared to
express the intense desire he felt to put his legs and
arms into his waistcoat-pocket, or anywhere else out of
the way, as he usually attempted to turn both the
ladies : and if deceitful or fond of subterfuge, he pre-
tended to smile placidly at some visionary friend, as a
diversion to his awkward feelings during the solitary
exhibition which he was affording the company.
But the constituent dancers of the first quadrille of
the evening are seldom game enough to attempt La
Pastorale, whatever they may do after supper ; and
so, to Mr. Ledbury's immense relief, he finds La Tre-
7i{se unanimously, and as it were spontaneously com-
menced, which said figure is the most milk-and-water,
unmeaning, saluting-your-sister affair of the whole set.
The preceding quadrilles have infused an homoeopathic
dose of familiarity into himself and his partner; and
as soon as the side couples fairly begin he thinks he
may venture upon a little more conversation. He
therefore makes a pantomimical imitation of using his
pocket-handkerchief, and gives a timid cough, just to
collect an instant of composure, and then starts again
as follows : —
Mr. L. — I wonder whom we shall have at the
Opera when Rubini has left us for good. I am dying
to know.
\^Thismust be a point of extreme anxiety to Mr.
Ledbury, who goes to the three-shilling part
of the gallery about twice in the season.
42 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Miss H. — So am I. What a sad loss he will be
to us !
\^Miss Hamilton's friends are decidedli/ un-
theatrical, and the Opera is complete " terra
incognita^^ to her. She ingeniously/ turns the
conversation.^
Miss H. — Do you play any instrument ?
Mr. L. — I play the flute a little ; do you ad-
mire it ?
\^General axiom. — All thin, pale young men^
with turned-up wristbands, play the flute,
and look as if they tootled all their lungs
away through its finger- holes. '\
Miss H. — Oh, so very much !
[Of course the same reply would have been made
had the instrument in question been the ophi-
cleide or hurdy-gurdy. Slight pause.^
Miss H. {in continuation). — Do you know the
Wiltons of Eaton-square ?
Mr. L. — I think I know them by name. [He has
never heard of them.^ Are they related to the Wil-
tons of Camden Town ?
Miss H. — Oh no — at least, I should think not.
[Miss Hamilton can scarcely deem it possible
that people living in Eaton-square can have
any connexions in Camden Town. Mr.
Ledbury feels that he has committed him-
self and remains sile7it. To his relief La
Trenise concludes.^
" Ronde !" shouts the piano as he finishes the first
eight bars of La Finale : upon which word of command
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 43
the company enact a species of refined " Bull in the
Ring" — we believe that to be the proper name of a
juvenile game ranking amongst the ancient sports and
pastimes of the little boys of England, involving inquiries
concerning the imaginary key of a chimerical park, and
alternate references to a lord and lady. The double
VEit then begins. Our two friends perform the
advance movement with due precision ; but the oppo-
site couple are not so happy in their effort. The gen-
tleman is a small, withered man, like a date in a dress
coat ; and the lady one of those ungainly-looking crea-
tions in black velvet and artificial flowers of an age
that no living soul could fix within ten or twelve years,
who are presumed never to have had an offer, and who
44 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
appear to stand up in every quadrille for tlie express
purpose of " doing their steps." The lady is a deter-
mined advocate for the galoppe. The gentleman has
not paid particular attention to that style, and so he is
compelled to run backwards and forwards at her side,
like a boy at the shafts of a donkey-chaise. Anon
the change of partners takes place, whereupon, in ex-
treme confusion, he vacillates wildly about the qua-
drille until his lady returns, who drags him once more
into order. It is almost needless to state that he
smiles blandly on regaining his place, as he makes
some pleasant remarks about " the new-fashioned way,"
and that he wears ribbed silk stockings, and pumps
with round toes and very large ties.
At last the first set terminates : the gentlemen bow,
the ladies bend ; and the whole party then begin to
indulge in a promenade of great solemnity, by de-
scribing a large circle round the room, bearing as grave
a demeanour as if they were priests and druidesses
marching on for the commencement of Norma. The
mistress is slightly fidgety. It is almost too early for
her guests to go down for refreshment, because the
tea and coffee cups still occupy the spoons and table,
where the ice is to be at an advanced period of the
evening. Besides, ice is expensive ; and since, as we
have before stated, the, most unimportant and least
cared-for guests always arrive the earliest, it is not good
policy to introduce anything above negus and rout-
cakes before eleven. Whereupon she embarks across
the room on a private mission to the leader of the or-
chestra, and desires him to be good enough to play a
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 45
waltz. This is the most difficult part of the evening
party tactics. A waltz is never established at any time
without a prolonged desire on the part of everybody to
relinquish the honour of commencing it ; but in ike froi-
deur of the first attempt, there does not appear the least
chance of such a consummation ever taking place ;
46
THE WASSAIL-BOWL
and the musicians play the Nachtwandler and Aurora
all through before a single couple can muster up suffi-
cient valour to commence. At last the example is set
by one daring pair, timidly followed by another couple,
and then by another, who get out of step at the end of the
first round, after treading severely upon the advanced toes
of the old lady in a very flowery cap and plum-coloured
satin, who is sitting at the top of the room, and who
from that instant deprecates waltzing as a very strange
amusement for young ladies, and not at all consistent
with her own ideas of feminine decorum. Mr. Led-
bury does not waltz ; but, nevertheless, gets into a
temporary scrape, by mistaking a gentleman who comes
into the room in a white neckcloth for the waiter, and
requesting he will be good enough to bring him a glass
of lemonade.
47
CHAPTER VIII.
OF THE VOCAL EXHIBITION.
URING the last waltz and quadrille,
the knocker on the street door has
not known an instant of repose ; in-
deed, you would think it was at-
tacked with a violent fit of cold
shivers, did you not conceive that
^Qi the constant percussion must keep
^*^ it almost at a white heat. It is
. _■ now that the really nice persons
arrive — not the quart er-past-niners^
who have no other object in view than to dart about in
every quadrille like pith figures on an electrifying
machine — to look exceedingly warm after every waltz
— and to eat enormous quantities of cold fowl and col-
lared eel at supper; but an effective importation of
good-looking young men, and a corresponding train of
handsome demoiselles a marier, whose dresses keep up
a continuous rustling, as, shedding rays of beauty and
fragrance around them in every direction, they ascend
the staircase.
The rooms fill to a degree, which gives you a very
48 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
fair idea of the hold of a slave ship, or the dungeon at
Calcutta ; fresh introductions take place, and budding
flirtations are visible at certain intervals, which only
await the influence of a few genial showers of cham-
pagne to bring them to maturity. Suddenly a sub-
dued murmur floats about the room, indicative of a
wish to obtain silence — sh-sh-sh-sh-sh ! a young lady
is about to indulge the company with a song. This
announcement delights everybody — the guests are de-
lighted because it is proper and imperative to be so,
under such circumstances — the mistress of the house is
delighted because the performance carries on time for
ten or fifteen minutes — and the young lady herself is
delighted, because it is a piece of allowable exhibition,
and she anticipates several pretty compliments when
she has concluded.
The process of singing a song at an evening party
may be thus described : — The young lady, on being
led to the piano, first throws a timid glance round the
room — ostensibly to evince a gentle confusion — in
reality, to see who is looking at her. She then ob-
serves to the mistress of the house, " that she is not
in very good voice, having a slight cold," which she
confirms by a faint sound, something between a sigh, a
smile, and a single-knock cough. The hostess replies,
" Oh, but you always sing so delightfully." The young
lady answers, " that she is certain she cannot this
evening ;" to strengthen which opinion, she makes some
young gentleman exceedingly joyous by giving him her
bouquet to hold ; and, drawing off her gloves in the
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 49
most approved style, tucks them behind one of the
candlesticks, together with her filmy handkerchief, in
such a fashion, that its deep-laced border, or embroid-
ered name, may be seen to the best advantage.
The top of the piano, which had been opened for
the quadrilles, is then shut down by an active gentle-
man, who pinches his fingers in the attempt ; the mu-
sicians form a series of dissolving views, and disappear
no one knows where, nor ever will ; and the young
lady takes her place at the piano. As she plays the
VOL. II. D
50 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
chords of the key she is about to luxuriate in, everybody
is not perfectly silent, so she finds the music-stool is too
high, or too low, or something of the kind, and the
pedals appear exceedingly difficult to be found. At
length every thing being still, she plays the symphony
again, and then smiling at the hostess, and saying,
" that she is certain she shall break down," brings out
the opening note of a recitative, which makes the
drops of the chandelier vibrate again, and silences a
couple who are whispering all sorts of soft nothings on
a causeuse in the back drawing-room.
We are going to hazard a passing remark. We think
it bad policy for the young lady vocalists of the pre-
sent day always to choose Italian music for their dis-
plays. The performance is but pseudo- distingue after
all, for it is perhaps not going too far to state, that
two-thirds of the fair singers are more or less ignorant
of the language they are pouring from those cells of
pearl and coral, (which common-place people desig-
nate mouths,) except the knowledge derived from the
elaborate and highly classical two-shilling translations of
her Majesty's Theatre ; and, in addition, they generally
provoke comparison by selecting the most difficult mor-
ceaux of the great singers. We are not one of those
patriotic folks who snarl about " patronizing foreigners
and Italian music,"" with the rest of the hackneyed
subjects of discontent, for we acknowledge their mu-
sical superiority ; but a pretty English girl may depend
upon it she never looks so attractive as when singing
a pretty English ballad. Let her attempt " Casta
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 51
Diva"" -with all due style and execution, and, of course,
her hearers will admire her power of voice ; let her
warble one of our own sweet songs with the same care
and expression, and they will at once fall in love with
her. And however correctly she may get through the
first-mentioned air, the only candid impression left,
is, that we have heard it much better done upon the
stage.
When the young lady has concluded, and the
gentle applause of the kidded palms has died away,
the hostess expresses the intensity of her obligation
for such a delightful treat, and says, "I am sure.
Miss Mitchell, you must require some little refresh-
ment after your exertions ;" whereupon, useful Mr.
Ledbury, who chances to be near the piano, and has
danced once with the lady, offers his arm, and they
glide down stairs. Fearful of again falling into his
previous contretemps with respect to the white neck-
cloths, he reverses his error, and now mistakes the
waiter for one of the guests, blandly inquiring if he
heard Miss MitchelFs charming scng, which so con-
fuses the poor man, that upon being asked for a glass
of lemonade, or rather a custard-cup full, he pours
some negus into an ice-plate, and dips a wafer cake
into the jug of hot water, which is close at hand to
revive the teaspoons. When Mr. Ledbury and Miss
Mitchell go up stairs again, they find a new quadrille
has been formed in their absence, upon which they
take possession of a vacant cane seat, and having ob-
served that it is very warm, that the rooms are very
D 2
52 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
nice for dancing, and that the music is very good, re-
lapse into their own reflections.
By half-past eleven the proceedings of the evening
are in full play, and the various motives and attributes
which characterise an evening party pervade every por-
tion of its constituent features. It is not all mere
amusement ; indeed, there is often much discontent
prevailing. The old ladies have not received suffi-
cient attention ? the young ones have been eclipsed ;
the vocalists who brought all their music have not
been asked to sing ; the men have lost at cards, and
other like vexations. Allow a quadrille to pass by
without dancing ; sit quietly in a recess of the windows,
half enshrouded by the curtains ; make a fair use of
your eyes, and you will find much to entertain. You
will see the young men shuffling away when they
suspect the hostess wishes to introduce them to some
odd-looking partner ; and the young ladies saying they
think they shall not dance this time, until the favoured
one asks them, when they stand up immediately. You
will see the '' speculative mammas," all eyes and Irish
poplin, telling their daughters who are flirting with
younger sons on the landing that they will catch cold,
and desiring them to come into the room : and you
will not fail to observe the attention which the hostess
pays to the great people of her acquaintance, how anx-
ious she is for their comfort, although they are gene-
rally the queerest objects in the room, and what inge-
nuity she displays in getting partners for the unmean-
ing girls they have brought with them. And finally, you
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 53
will confess your inability to imagine what on earth the
gentleman with the long hair who is carefully ba-
lancing himself on one leg against the flowerpot-stand,
and the pretty girl with the bouquet, can find to talk
about so long, and so eaniestly.
54 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER IX.
OF THE YOUNG LADIES.
Presuming that everybody has at length arrived,
let us quietly note down the peculiarities of a few of
the guests. As evening parties composed of elderly
people alone would be remarkably shady affairs, the
younger portion of the assembly, who form its most
important part, shall have our first attention.
Place aux Dames! From the speech of the country
showman to the address of the London manager — from
the days of Brantome, and centuries before, to the days
of Byron, and we hope centuries after, the ladies claim
the first consideration. We discard our steel-pen and
rough draft outsides — we take scented post and quills
from the dove's wing ; and we write with sparkling Bur-
gundy, in which we can toast (and perhaps roast) our
fair subjects as we proceed.
And first, of The Uninteresting Young Lady.
Those who frequently indulge in evening parties must
have observed many hundred specimens of this class.
We never went to a soiree dansante ourselves but we
discovered several of them ; and, nevertheless, they are
difficult to describe, so slight an impression do they
leave upon the memory. The uninteresting young lady
is of the middling stature, with nothing very remarkable
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 55
in beauty or tournure; and if the face be an index of the
mind, her own proves of what a small table of contents
her intellect is formed. She is generally expensively
dressed, without producing the least effect, her clothes
looking as if they were dropped on over her head, and
then shaken down to their proper places ; and she is
addicted to loading her hair with camellias, wreaths,
chenille impossibles, and all kinds of floricultural em-
bellishments. She comes very early and stays very
late ; and should you dance with her, you would find
it a most pumping uphill task to establish a conversation.
She will either acquiesce with every remark you make,
or give a mere monosyllabic reply, and was never yet
known to start a subject. She has not been to any
of the theatres lately — she does not waltz — she knows
little about new books — and she is aware of nothing
to the contrary but that it is Persiani who dances the
56 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Cracovtenne, and Guy Stephan and Louise Fleury
who sing Deh con te in " Norma." Your attempt
at a bon mot is received with the most undeniable tran-
quillity ; and at the close of the quadrille you lead
her at once to the spot from whence you took her,
bowing gravely, and mentally thanking Providence for
all things. It is possible, when seated, that she will
put a little nipped-up old-maidish looking figured gauze
scarf over her angular shoulders ; and it is also proba-
ble, should you care to make any inquiry about her,
that you will hear she is " extremely well connected."
The Old Young Lady. — Every one who has
visited families where there is a sliding scale of children,
must be perfectly aware how unpleasant a period of
their lives that is, especially if they be what the
world terms " sharp little things," when they get too old
for the nursery, and too young for the parlour. It
is just as awkward with the old young lady. She is
getting un pen passee for the ball-room, and yet does
not deem herself quite advanced enough to be bot-
tled down all the evening with testy and turbaned
dowagers and shrivelled up old husbands of young
waltzing wives, to squabble over the last trick but one,
at the card-table ; and being, moreover, enormously
addicted to dancing, she is rather looked at with a
slight inward dread by the young men. When not
actually engaged, she joins the female wallflowers who
border the apartment, consisting generally of antique
mammas, the host''s maiden sisters, and the odd relations
of the family, who were obliged to be asked, but who
are only expected to sit still in a corner, look pleasant,
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 57
wear smart caps, and hold their tongues. Wlien the
time for supper arrives, if no cavalier arrives with it,
the Old Young Lady walks down by herself very
placidly, and when there, pretty plainly convinces you
that she does not live upon Rondeletia and rout-cakes,
whatever she might wish you to believe.
The Young Lady just out is a timid, delicate
creature, scarcely knowing what answer to make to
your polite speeches, and afraid to take any refresh-
ment. The meaning of the term " out" is not per-
fectly understood, although generally used, not only
by the aristocracy amongst whom it originated, but
by those in the middle ranks of life who ape their
D 5
5S THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
manners. It is usually supposed to mean, " open to
an offer," " beginning to stand in the way of the elder
sisters," or, taken in a different sense, '* making the
mamma more than seven or eight and thirty." On these
interests does being " out" depend ; and when a young
lady is " out," from increased wants and expenditure,
her mother generally knows it. Our young lady in
question does not waltz, except a few gentle turns with
her brother, or with another young lady of her own
age, after supper, whilst the gentlemen are waging ter-
rible war against the legs of fowls (all the wings and
breasts have flown) and the barley-sugar temples. As
soon as the quadrille has finished, the young lady just
out drops down by her mother's side as you pass in
the first round of the after promenade ; and mamma
usually bends for her with a patronising smile, in
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 59
return to your obeisance, as you thank her for the ho-
nour conferred.
The Loquacious Young Lady is a most extraor-
dinary person ; she not only keeps up a constant rattle
all the time you are dancing with her, but even during
the waltz ; when your right arm appears to have some
intention of leaving its socket, yet your gallantry will
not permit you to stop without she wishes it, and you
would give the world for another couple to knock you
out of the circle. We met a splendid specimen of
this class the other evening at a house in no mat-
ter where ; if we stated it, they would not ask us
again, which we should much regret, as their parties
are always very pleasant, and you are sure of something
besides negus and nobodies. From the time we were
introduced to this young lady to the period we quitted
her, she never ceased talking. When we first took up
our position in the quadrille, we were meditating some
remark about the company present, or the French plays,
or something of the same interesting class, when she
started off as follows, like an alarum, and never ceased
until the quadrille had run down.
" How exceedingly warm it is to-night, and the
rooms are so crowded. People should not give such
large parties unless there is accommodation for every-
body. Have you been very gay yet ? / have — con-
sidering how early it is in the season ; in fact, mamma
says I go out too much. I have been up every night
this week, and once to Covent Garden ; which of the
two theatres do you think will do best .'* And the
Gerfnans too — I wonder if they will come again ; what
60 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
a funny fat man that was — what did you think of them ?
Staudigl was the best, certainly, but I did not see much
in any of the others — did you ?"
" Why, to speak the truth—''
" Exactly ; you mean they were overrated. But
what was your opinion of ' Acis and Galatea' at Drury-
Lane ? Everybody talked about the sea in the first
scene, and Phillips's mask; but what a number of times
he said, ' Oh, ruddier than the cherry !' I thought we
were going to have nothing else — a regular pottle of
them. Do you not think it a pity, with such beauti-
ful scenery and dresses, that they did not have some
pretty ballet instead ?"
" Indeed, to speak the truth, I think—"
" So do I. I wonder who that young lady is op-
posite. I don't much like her dress, — tulle over ra-
ther-too-dirty-to-be-worn-again white satin : it looks
as if it had just made its appearance from the rough-
dried box. I 'm afraid you are a quiz by your laughing ;
I like a little quizzing now and then — ^good-temperedly,
you know. I think it is your turn to begin ' UEte.'' "
Here was a little pause ; but as the figure con-
cluded she commenced again, and continued to the last
with an uninterrupted series of remarks and unanswer-
ed questions about Baden-Baden, Exeter-Hall, the Spi-
talfields weavers, the Polytechnic Institution, Prince
Albert, Miss Rainforth, Kensington-gardens, and Bel-
lini.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 61
CHAPTER X.
THE SAME {continued).
00 M for beauty! The
belle of the evening
claims our next atten-
tion : the lovely dark-
eyed girl, so plainly
and yet so elegantly
dressed, who wears her
hair in simple bands
over her fair forehead,
unencumbered by flow-
er or ornament of any
kind, and moves in the
light of her own beauty,
as the presiding god-
dess of the room, im-
parting fragrance to the
enamoured air that
plays around her. How
many quadrilles deep she is engaged for ! — how earnest-
ly an introduction is requested ! — how fortunate it is
even to be her vis-d-vts ! and what a thrill of inex-
62 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
plicable happiness pervades our sense — what an ecstacy
of admiration — what a mesmeric throb of pleasure as
we take her hand in the chame des dames ! And for
the waltz ! those brilliant intoxicating moments, which
come so rarely to brighten our dim career, are cheaply
purchased by hours of unpleasantry and disappoint-
ment ! And who does not associate the fairest por-
tions of his life with the shadowy remembrance of some
exquisite creature, who endowed him, for the time,
with a species of a Daguerreotypic existence by the
light of her presence alone, her absence forming its
shadows !
We appear to be getting philosophically poetical : —
we are not often taken so, and must plead in excuse
the exciting cause of our present indisposition. The
beauty of the ball has sometimes one uncomfortable
characteristic, which her very position generates ; she
is an out-and-out flirt. At one party she will talk
softly to you for half an hour together in the conserva-
tory, wdth no other witnesses than some flower-pots,
paper camellias, and a Chinese lamp ; at another, she
will all but cut you for a new cavalier with an imperial,
which you do not wear. In the first situation, you will
think evening parties the poetry of society : in the last,
you will pronounce them to be very indifferent amuse-
ments, after all. She is, moreover, very capricious ;
and having refused all invitations to waltz, on the plea
of giddiness, will eventually stand up with another
handsome girl, and twirl away for a quarter of an hour.
Possibly this is for the express purpose of tantalizing
all the young gentlemen in the room, upon the same
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 63
principle that makes young ladies kiss babies so raptu-
rously before company.
The Professed Flirt is not always the beauty
of the room, but still sufficiently good-looking to
attract several pro-tempore lovers. And it is re-
markable what diplomatic ingenuity she puts forth in
carrying on a flirtation with three or four young gentle-
men at the same time. The mere shade, the very
idea of a gentle pressure of the hand as she meets you
in the chain of the last figure of the Lancers, induces
you to believe yourself the favoured one. But you
are mistaken : she has made three or four others
equally self-satisfied by the same proceeding ; and just
as she has half given, half allowed you to take a flower
from her bouquet — which you intend to place in water
when you get home to your chambers as a romantic
souvenir, and afterwards, when withered, to treasure
up in your dressing-case for an indefinite period,
amidst a similar collection of gages d'amour, such as
old rose-leaves, odd sandals, shrivelled violets, three-
cornered notes (scented with that odd perfume the
women are so fond of at present, which resembles a
cocoa-nut oil lamp that had gone out), locks of silky
and odoriferous hair that have made the paper which
envelopes them very transparent, and perhaps a vinai-
grette or torquoise ring — you find she has oflTered
to mark some other happy swain'*s handkerchief with
his initials and her own hair. Wherefore you set her
down as a heartless coquette, and the gentleman as
a thorough muff; but you do not throw away the lily
of the valley notwithstanding. And even when she
64
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
waltzes with him, and asks you to hold her delicate
scarf, which resembles point lace in a consumption,
you are still gratified by the honour. The flirt does
not admire being cooped up in the ball-room all the
evening. She is very fond of going down for refresh-
ment ; not that she stands in need of any, but it
removes her from the espionnage of her chaperon ; and
if there is one situation she prefers more than another,
it is sitting on the staircase outside the drawing-room
door, under pretence of enjoying the cool air.
The flirt has different opinions formed of her. Old
mammas, with unmarriageable daughters, pronounce
her " an exceedingly forward young woman." Young
ladies who are a little jealous, think her *' a very
strange girl in her manners ;"" and the young gentle-
men speak of her according to their temperaments and
ideas of perfection as " a splendid creature," *' a girl
with no humbug about her," or (unfeminine yet ex-
pressive appellation) " a thorough-going brick ; and
no mistake !"
66
CHAPTER XL
OF THE WALLFLOWER.
With this fair lady we lay down our dove-quill,
and resume our Gillott, for
The Wallflower. — The Wallflower of a
party usually makes his appearance at an early period
of the evening. You generally observe him as you
enter the house taking oflf a pair of clogs, which appear
difficult to unbuckle, in a corner of the hall. These
he stuffs into the pocket of his great coat, which he
artfully conceals under a chair, together with his hat ;
and having accomplished this undertaking to his satis-
faction, he enters the refreshment-room, and in exces-
sive trepidation asks for a cup of coffee, which he
swallows " hot without" — declining milk, cream, lump
sugar, or powdered candy, not on account of its being
his custom, but because he does not exactly know
which he ought to take. He next produces from his
pocket a pair of kid gloves, still enveloped in paper,
the left-hand one of which he puts on with much la-
bour, and then holds the other in it. This concluded,
he announces his name, and walks up stairs, as if he
was ascending the platform of the guillotine.
" Mr. John Parkins !" shouts a footman, and the
wall-flower enters. Mrs. — (what shall we call the
hostess ? Whatever name we give her, there will be
some one certain to say it is personal : we will take
our own — it is a tolerably safe one) — Mrs. Smith,
then — an imaginary personage as regards ourselves —
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 67
is engaged at the moment, and has left her station at
the door ; consequently, Mr. Parkins walks into the
centre of the room, looking very affable and mildly
^<^,
benevolent, with his glove still in his hand, and, not
finding anybody to receive him, blushes up to his ears,
blows his nose for the sake of doing something, and
then sinks back to the post of the folding-doors be-
tween the front and back drawing-room — the position
in which wall-flowers mostly abound.
They occasionally attempt a quadrille, but they
68 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
rarely waltz. Nevertlieless, we once knew one who
made the attempt, but then it was after supper, when
they at times " come out" in most extensive style, as
a very little wine has a very great effect upon their
brain. The wallflower in question had evidently mis-
calculated his abilities ; for, after treading on his part-
ner's toes, losing the step in the first round, getting
out of the circle, and knocking the man who was
playing the piano completely off the music-stool, he
desisted and reeled giddily to his seat — a melancholy
instance of misdirected vanity.
The wallflowers appear, like corks in a water-butt,
to have an instinctive manner of getting all together ;
for, after a time, they generally congregate in coteries,
making small jokes and retailing third-rate anecdotes,
or quips from the week before last's ' Punch,' which
they applaud and admire exceedingly, until they are
interrupted by an enthusiastic couple, flying round to
the brandhofen, and knocking them very unexpectedly,
all up in a heap together.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 69
CHAPTER XII.
OF THE SUPPER.
FTER some six
or eight qua-
drilles, and a
proportionate
number of walt-
zes, intermingled
with another
song or two, one
of which was
from a profes-
sional gentleman
who gives con-
certs at the
Hanover- square
Rooms, and at-
tends the party
in the anticipation of eventually disposing of several
half-guinea tickets, as well as the extraordinary per-
formance of some young lady on the piano, who plays
a piece thirty pages long, which gives you a very fair
idea of eternity, and sets you thinking what ojffence the
70 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
keys and wires have been guilty of to be treated in so
violent a manner, and hoping at the same time they are
not often taken so — after all this, we repeat, there is an
unusual movement in the room towards the door, com-
mencing with the turbans and velvet hats, from which
you infer that supper has been announced. The hostess
requests Mr. Ledbury to take down a lady with him,
whereupon he offers his arm to his former partner, Miss
Hamilton ; and they follow in the wake of the others,
until they arrive at the dining-room, where there is
rather an obstruction during the attempts made by those
who have already entered to arrange ninety guests upon
six rout-stools.
There is something peculiarly exhilarating in the
appearance of the long, glittering table, with its bright
wax-lights and brighter epergnes, and artificial bou-
quets, and temples, and wine-coolers. Of course, it
must be well furnished, and not depend entirely upon
the splendid starvation plan, where cut glass and plate
are crowded on the table as an excuse for cold fowls
and pates de Strasburg. Once we remember to have
seen a lobster salad made out of boiled cod ; but then
we think the people deserved extreme credit for their
ingenuity.
The company being at length arranged with tole-
rable accomomdation, the ladies sitting, and the gen-
tlemen standing behind them, like so many superior
butlers — the white neckcloths, in some instances,
strengthening the resemblance — Mr. Ledbury asks
Miss Hamilton what he may have the pleasure of pro-
curing for her.^ and Miss Hamilton thinks she will
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 71
take " a little chicken," meaning, of course, the por-
tion of one ; whereupon Mr. Ledbury harpoons the
last of the merrythoughts with desperate energy, and
procures a slice of glazed tongue with equal celerity ;
and Miss Hamilton, upon receiving it, plays with the
merrythought for a minute or two, cutting small pieces
from it about the size of an oat, two or three of which
she manages to swallow, and then lays down her knife
and fork in token of having finished. Hereat Mr.
Ledbury thinks what a very little Miss Hamilton eats,
and how remarkably comme-il-faut is a small appetite ;
whereas he might have altered his opinion had he seen
72 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Miss Hamilton that day at one o'clock, when she was
suddenly struck with admiration of some currant dump-
lings which she met on the stairs going up to the nursery
dinner.
Having taken " a little wine" with this young lady,
Mr. Ledbury next challenges Miss Mitchell, who is at
a little distance up the table. Miss Mitchell inclines
her head in token of acquiescence ; and, whilst her
gentleman-in-waiting is asking some one else to pass
down the white wine, perfectly forgets all about it ; so
that Mr. Ledbury stands in a most graceful pose, with
the glass raised half way to his lips waiting to bow,
until perceiving the engagement is quite forgotten, he
inclines his head to some collared eel, and drinks off
the half glass of Moselle in great confusion.
In the centre of the table is a lighthouse, made of
rout-cakes, standing in the midst of a tempestuous sea
of trifle. Nobody, up to the present moment, has
been bold enough to attack it ; but under the influence
of the first champagne, some daring young gentleman
thrusts a spoon into the middle of it, and transfers a
few of its billows to the plate of a young lady, toge-
ther with the distressed mariner, in coloured sugar,
who is clinging to a rock of meringues a la creme.
The edifice is speedily demolished, and the barley-
sugar birdcage follows ; although there are still a few
Goths, presumed to be people from the country, who
think it almost a pity that such pretty things should
be destroyed ; and scrape up one or two of the orna-
ments to take home with them.
Snap!! there goes the report of the first cracker
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 73
bonbon, followed by the faintest cry from Miss Mit-
chell you ever heard. A tiny piece of liliputian
music, such as a fairy would sing from, is wrapped
round the almond, which falls from the gilt envelope.
There is a charming little struggle to possess it, which
terminates in favour of Miss Mitchell. Then the
young gentleman requests her to read it, and Miss
Mitchell refuses, and the young gentleman insists, and
Miss Mitchell blushes and crumples it up, and the
young gentleman uses a little gentle force to seize it,
and reads it as follows : —
" Le nom de celle que j'aime
Je le cache dans mon coeur ;
Nul ne le sait que moi-meme,
C'est mon secret, mon bonheur !"
After which he thrusts it into the pocket of his white
waistcoat to keep as a souvenir, where it remains
throughout many washings, until quite obliterated.
Meanwhile, after many internal struggles for resolu-
tion, Mr. Ledbury seizes a cracker, and offers one of
its fringed ends to Miss Hamilton. The same snap
and the same start occur, and there is the same
anxiety to read the motto. One or two of them dis-
charged simultaneously give the following results — to
all of which Miss Hamilton exclaims, " Oh ! how
bs urd to be sure ! "
" How could my guiltless eyes your heart invade,
Had it not first been by your own betrayed.'.'
" A mon amour, si pur, que votre amour reponde
Et mon bonheur pourra faire le dot d'un monde."
VOL. II. E
74 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" I live but in the sunshine of your eyes.
And yet your cruel heart their light denies."
At the extreme end of the table are seated a young
lady and a young gentleman who have been dancing
a good deal together — they were the same we have
before noticed — ^and who have just pulled one of the
crackers. He is reading the motto to her in so low a
tone that she is obliged to bring her face close to
his — so close, indeed, that at the moment when he
whispers its impassioned words into the most beautiful
ear possible to conceive, encompassed by a perfumed
trellis of the darkest, silkiest hair in the world, his
lips all but touch it. This is the motto — :
" Viens ! viens ! ange du ciel, je t'aime, je t'aime !
Et te le dire ici, c'est le bonheur supreme ! "
In the course of another ten minutes the ladies
return up stairs, having made all sorts of engagements
for after-supper dances; and with the disappearance
of the last retreating flounce the male guests sit down,
and commence an attack upon the eatables. In the
midst of the clatter of changing plates and passing
down dishes and wineglasses, a gentleman with his hair
curled, and his wristbands turned up, rises from his
seat, and says he is sure that every one present must
feel how much they are indebted to the presence of the
softer sex for life's brightest moments {cheers) : that
they are passing a most delightful evening, and cannot
but feel most grateful to their amiable hostess for her
exertions to promote their enjoyment. He therefore
begs they will fill bumpers to the health of Mrs.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 75
Smith and the ladies. (More cheers, and great rushing
about of pint decanters.)
The toast being given and drunk with the usual
honours, in which everybody uses his own version,
Mr. Smith pours out a glass of Madeira, and rising
from his seat, speaks as follows, with the interpolations
made, sotto voce, from different guests : —
" Gentlemen (cheers), — It is with the greatest plea-
sure that I rise to return you my most sincere and
heartfelt thanks for the kind manner in which you
have received the last toast (Give me some tongue,
Ledbury) ; and I can safely declare I never feel so
truly happy (thicker, thicker) as when I am sur-
rounded by my friends (cut it fat), and I am sure
Mrs. Smith feels the same. (Much applause, and
curious rough music from the handles of dessert
knives against the plates and tumblers.) We shall
at all times be most happy to see you (/ jvish he ^d cut
it short ; I want to be upstairs again with the
ladies) ; and I hope, although this is the first time
(send down the brandy-cherries, will you?) I have
had the honour of meeting some of you, that it will
not be the last. (Fresh rough music — a medical
student at the end of the table breaks a wine-glass.)
We shall, I trust, have many such meetings ; and if
you have been pleased this evening by our humble en-
deavours to (try that pie, old fellow — it ''s rather ex-
tensive) entertain you, I only hope, by way of grati-
tude, you will come again. (Bravo ! bravo !) Gen-
tlemen, I beg again to thank you for the honour you
have conferred upon Mrs. Smith and myself, and can
b2
76 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
only hope, when you marry you will find as excell ent
a wife as I have got, although I say it myself. {Well
done ! Capital ! Bravo !) I beg to drink all your
very good healths in return."
The host sits down amidst a whirlwind of applause,
which continues nearly a minute, until the orange-
chips jump off the epergne, from the vibration of the
table ; and a young gentleman, appearing that evening
for the first time in a tail-coat and gills, and who is
engaged to a very nice little girl for the first waltz
after supper, slinks quietly out of the room.
7T
CHAPTER XIII.
AFTER SUPPER.
It is not to be denied that the most agreeable period
of an evening party generally commences just as the
guests begin to think of going away. Accordingly,
the young gentlemen who are aware of this do not sit
long at the supper table, but shirk up stairs in detach-
ments — their countenances radiant with mirth and en-
joyment, and all mauvaise honte quite submerged in
the last glass of wine. Mr. Ledbury is remarkably ani-
mated and facetious. He has placed a turnip-dahlia,
which was skewered on to the root of a tongue, in his
button-hole, and is now asking a young lady to dance,
to whom he has never been introduced. The musicians
have not yet come up from their own supper, and Miss
Mitchell is very kindly playing " The Lancers" to
eight young ladies, who are dancing the quadrille by
themselves before a throng of young gentlemen, who
keep observing that " it 's really too bad," and " quite
tantalising ;" whilst the French scarf and long hair
have secluded themselves into the window recess more
than ever, and are perfectly lost to everything else in
the rooms. A stout old gentleman in tights and spec-
78
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
tacles, with a shining bald head and merry twinkling
eye, who has not been visible before from remaining in
the card-room, and is presumed to be the favourite
apothecary of the family, who ushered all its olive
branches into existence, is apparently saying some very
funny things to a knot of laughing girls by the piano,
including Miss Mitchell, who occasionally throws in a
casual observation or reply, in that disjointed staccato
manner which young ladies usually adopt who try
to talk whilst they are playing. At length the set
is finished, and every one of the fair dancers approaches
the piano and thanks Miss Mitchell for her kindness,
who replies with becoming humility as she resumes
her gloves, and gives place to the real musicians.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 79
The first waltz after supper is the most exhilarating
part of the evening's programme. The cornopean is
aware of this, and blows a perfect hurricane of notes
through the tubes of his instrument, whilst the dance
is prolonged to a most extended period, the musicians
being conscious that the longer they play the more the
waltzers will be fatigued, and the sooner the party will
break up. But, nevertheless, they enter into the dif-
fused animation, and play all their most inspiring sets.
Now come the Polichinel and Irish quadrilles ; to-
gether with the Postilion de Ma am Ablou, with the
strap and diligence bells for the finale ; and Les Danois^
that frightens everybody to death with the explosion
(accomplished with a pistol at the promenade concerts,
and a bang with the fist on the piano at evening
parties) ; and a young gentleman, inclined to melody,
stations himself near the piano, and introduces an
obligato upon the wine-glasses, until he breaks one of
them from attempting a passage too forte.
About a quarter to three the mistress becomes rather
nervous, instituting a mental calculation as to how long
the decreasing wax candles will bum before they set
the green ornaments on fire ; and she also sees that one
of the burners of the chandelier, which has been turned
up three times by a tall gentleman, still looks fearfully
going'outish through its ground-glass shade. But her
politeness never forsakes her ; and when, to her inex-
pressible joy, she sees Mr. and Miss Chamberlayne
advancing to bid adieu, she says, " Oh ! but you must
not think of going yet — it is so very early !" and Miss
Chamberlayne simpers and replies, "Oh no — indeed
80 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
it ''s very late, and I am sure you must be exceedingly
fatigued with your exertions ;" and then a young gen-
tleman, who is engaged to Miss Chamberlayne for the
next quadrille, says she must stay, and Mr. Chamber-
layne does not see the necessity, with which idea the
hostess inwardly coincides, although she says, " There,
Mr. Chamberlayne, you see it is of no use to go yet,""
as his daughter walks off with her partner, and the old
gentleman remains at the door until the set is finished,
in a state of extreme fidget.
At length the evening draws towards its conclusion.
The man at the piano, who has been up every evening,
except Sundays, for the last six weeks until four and
five o'clock, has played the whole of the last quadrille
with his eyes shut ; and the cornet-a-piston would
long ere this have dropped fast asleep had he not kept
himself on the alert by the noise of his own instrument.
And yet so indefatigable are some of the guests, that
when their number is reduced to twenty, and half the
light's have disappeared, the very joyous gentleman
with his hair curled skips across the room, and entreats
Mr. Ledbury to form one for the Caledonians. But he
has quite exhausted all his powers of dancing ; and
having paid his departing respects to the lady of the
house, he walks down stairs, labouring under some
insane expectation of finding his own hat, or madly
deeming that the ticket pinned upon it corresponds
with the one in his waistcoat-pocket.
What a contrast the cold streets and damp pave-
ment — the waterman clumping about with his lantern,
and the sleepy coachmen dreaming on their boxes —
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 81
present to the scene he has just quitted ! It would
be remarkably dispiriting, but the champagne has not
yet quite lost all its magic glamour, and Mr. Ledbury
trudges homewards in a tolerably good humour, having
determined to walk and save the cab fare. Being
slightly exhilarated, he evinces considerable perse-
verance in endeavouring to tread exactly upon the
middle of the flag-stones of the pavement, and he
thinks himself extremely neglectful if he omits to place
his heel upon the roundabout iron of every coalcellar
that falls in his way. Young men of low ideas have
been known to ask policemen '* if it was too late to get
any beer in the neighbourhood ;" and some are reported
to have been so perfectly lost to good-breeding as to
have dived into Evans's or the Cyder Cellars at four
in the morning, and ordered devilled kidneys and
1 5
82 THE WASSAIL-EOWL.
stout ; but fortunately these instances of dissipation
are as rare as they are appalling.
But Mr. Ledbury is not one of these. He goes
straight home, and with the assistance of the latch-key
and a rushlight, arrives safely in his own bed-room.
His first deed is to take a long draught of cold water
from the carafe on the wash-hand-stand, which he
nearly empties ; and then he proceeds to undress,
flinging his clothes quite at random all about the floor.
Having jumped into bed, he does not immediately fall
asleep, but passes all the events of the evening in re-
view before his imagination, and on first closing his
eyes experiences a whizzing kind of sensation, as if
innumerable trains filled with ideas were passing on
countless railroads all about his brain. At last, as
the grey dawn enables him to distinguish the situation
of the window, he falls asleep ; and anon a vision of
singular intricacy haunts his slumbers. Indistinct
forms of people moving about in a vast quadrille —
myriads of chandeliers in all directions indulging in
the same diversion to wild sounds of the cornet and
harp, re-echoing the finale of some popular set ad
infinitum — and above all, multiplied resemblances of
Miss Hamilton's features beaming upon him from every
point, which dart away the instant he attempts to look
at them, like the small objects which sometimes float
before your eyes after you have been looking at the
sun, or dining with a large party at Blackwall.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 83
Fair readers — for we have chiefly endeavoured to
amuse the young ladies, whose devoted servant we are,
in our present Physiology — the lights are extinguished
or burnt out ; the host and hostess have heard that all
the spoons and forks are correct, and retired to bed ;
84 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
the last young man has departed, and gone yawning
down the steps as the early milkmaid is commencing
her daily round ; and the bright eyes that lent addi-
tional brilliancy to the assembly are veiled in sleep.
Our evening party is at an end. We could, by fol-
lowing the goldbeating style of literature, keep on for
several chapters ; but we do not intend to weary you
with the monotony of a long-continued subject ; we
would wish you to finish the last chapter with the same
smile of approbation, if we have deserved it, which you
bestowed upon the first.
We assure you, that in the foregoing light sketches,
we have scrupulously avoided the slightest approach to
personality. During their progress we have encoun-
tered some tempting subjects in society for our pur-
pose ; but we have at all times shrunk from identi-
fying private individuals with our pages. It would
have pained us keenly did we suppose that any one,
to whose hospitality we had been indebted for a plea-
sant evening, imagined we had drawn one character
from their parties or their friends. Doubtless, in this
vast metropolis, there are many Miss Mitchells and
Miss Hamiltons ; but we can firmly assert our own
two young ladies are perfectly imaginary beings whom
we have christened at hazard.
We hope, ere long, to be again at work for your
amusement — if, indeed, any passing whim in the little
trifle now before you has provoked one of your mu-
sical laughs.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF EVENING PARTIES. 85
We will conclude for the present in the words of
Miss Chamberlayne, when she bade good night to the
lady of the house : —
" We are extremely obliged to you for your attention."
BLANCHE HERIOT.
A LEGEND OF OLD CHERTSEY CHURCH.
Have me excused, if I speke amiss.
My wille is gode, and lo ! my tale is this.
Chaucer.
89
BLANCHE HERIOT.
A LEGEND OF OLD CHERTSEY CHURCH.
CHAPTER I.
Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seene
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and greene,
And sweet as Flora.
Herri CK.
HOW MAY-DAY WAS KEPT POUR CENTURIES AGO.
Chertsey may be said to have outlived its an-
tiquity. There are few records left of its former
importance ; and its once noble monastery has be-
queathed little more to shew us that it ever existed,
than the detached tessella, which the ploughshare
from time to time throws up. The only perfect me-
morial of its bygone power is the old bell which still
hangs in the steeple of the church — whose sound still
quivers and vibrates throughout the same tower, which
the good Abbot Rutherwick, amongst his other be-
neficent deeds, erected in the twelfth century.
No one knows how that ancient bell came to Chert-
sey, or whence was its origin. It is very very old,
90 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
and its motto and quaint Saxon letters prove its an-
tiquity. It probably swung, and clanged, and echoed
from the turrets of the monastery centuries before the
honest Abbot's time — it might have assisted to chime
for his birth, and it ushered him to the grave, in com-
pany with the other prelates who went before or suc-
ceeded him. The kingdom changed its rulers : usurp-
ers rose and fell: war followed inaction, and peace
transplanted war, yet still the old bell kept on its
unchanging song, and rang for the conqueror as brave-
ly and lustily as it had before welcomed the vanquish-
ed. Its morning sounds roused the hind from slumber
to his daily toil ; and at evening it pealed out the so-
lemn curfew, which carried its voice of rest far over the
broad expanse of wooded hill and rich pasture that
then surrounded the monastery.
It was May-day, and the May of England in the
olden time — such a fair season as awakened the num-
bers of our early poets, and produced those bland and
honest verses in honour of the '' sote monthe,"' with
which, in the joyousness of their hearts, they welcomed
the coming of spring's fairest handmaiden. Nor was
this homely feeling of rural glee confined to the poets
alone, for all the land partook of it. And when they
saw the blossoms and buds bursting from their winter
shelter, and breaking forth into life and vitality, their
own unaffected hearts inspired the feeling from the
wild flowers, and they felt the influence of May, and
rejoiced at her coming, with the same outpouring of
breathing gratitude and homage that the flowers evinced
by their sweet odours.
^-
BLANCHE HERIOT. 91
The first green blush of spring was beginning to
spread over the branches of the goodly trees, that
encompassed a large smooth pasture in the immediate
vicinity of the abbey, where we would lay the open-
ing scene of our legend. Here and there, the haw-
thorn, and a few early shrubs, had pushed forth their
full summer leaf; but the greater part of the green-
wood owed its slightly verdant tint to the half-ex-
panded buds, which awaited, as if timidly, the more
cherishing heat of summer to bring them to maturity.
Natheless, the indications of approaching foliage were
everywhere apparent, and the heavy blossoms of the
fruit trees added in no small degree to the promise
of a luxuriant and early season, which the rest of the
vegetable world held forth ; and showered down their
petals, studding the green turf with their delicate leaf-
lets, in company with the gentle daisies that peeped
out from the grass to kiss the sunbeams.
A merry company had assembled on this pasture to
join in the May-day gambols ; and the village (for
Chertsey was a village then) appeared to have turned
out its entire population to ''don observance" to the
festival. The shrill garrulity of age mingled with the
light intonations of youth, and the full voice of man-
hood with the joyous silvery laugh of woman. Some
were dancing in noisy glee around the tall shaft, which,
decorated with field flowers, formed the maypole ; and
others, more intent upon personal embellishments, were
trimming light wreaths of cowslips, to add to the at-
tractions of their own rustic toilets. Various groups
of happy laughing individuals were scattered about the
92 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
enclosure, watching the sports of their companions ;
amidst whom, the sober forms of a few monks from the
abbey, whose oriel commanded a view of the entire
scene, were gravely walking about, bestowing an oc-
casional ' benedicite ' in reply to a passing salute ;
or anon casting a glance, that still savoured of this
world, upon any rosy girl who chanced to cross their
path.
Nor were the chief performers in the celebration
absent. The alewife of '©e ^0!St ^o^ttlvit'' had placed
sundry benches in front of her dwelling, around which
was collected a goodly crew of masks and mummers,
who were indulging in countless potations of good ale
and hippocras, in the intervals of their performances
tound the may-shaft. The Jester presided over the
entertainment ; and, perched upon the back of a rude
chair, with his red and yellow shoes upon the seat,
was controlling, with his grotesquely-carved marotte,
such outbreaks of misrule as a flow of good spirits
tempted the others to give way to ; Master Snap,
the dragon, in his wicker envelope, was relating a
sly jest to the Hobby-horse ; Friar Tuck was flirting
with Maid Marian ; the Minstrel, with his pipe and
tabor, was, in a subdued manner, and with an occa-
sional glance of contempt at the village orchestra then
performing, endeavouring to accompany Little John in
his attempt to rehearse a species of ode which was
meant for the edification of their audience, when the
mumming- ring was again formed; and Robin Hood
was tipping with elder-wood whistles a sheaf of reed
arrows that lay on a rough settle at his side. All was
BLANCHE HERIOT. 93
innocent mirth and hilarity, for increased education
and refinement had not ruined the simplicity of the
May revellers, nor spoilt their taste for harmless mer-
rymaking.
But although this scene of rustic gaiety was passing
in an almost unheeded spot of the island, yet was it
a sad time for England generally, for the date of our
chronicle is the year 1471 — the period of the hottest
conflicts between the Roses of York and Lancaster.
The want of newspapers, or circulated official accounts
of the various changes as they occurred, compelled
those not actually engaged in the strife, to depend
upon the stories of the wandering chapman, or the
rumours of the occasional traveller for information, as
to what course the affairs of the kingdom were taking ;
and even in the present instance, the tidings of the
bloody contest at Bamet, although three weeks had
elapsed since the engagement, were imperfectly under-
stood by the majority of the people. It must not be
supposed, however, that the villagers were careless as
to the subsequent issue of the dispute, or that they
felt no interest in the fortunes of the two parties. On
the contrary, the least information was eagerly sought
after, and a small red or white rose predominating in
their rustic finery plainly betokened the cause which
the wearer espoused, and silently spoke the sentiments
of the individual, when open language would have been
dangerous.
" Hast heard any news from the other side of Lon-
don, reverend father ?"' asked a sober looking personage,
of a monk who was passing at the instant.
94 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" A worthy friar arrived at the monastery, from
Hampshire, but yestere'en, Master Woodley, and
brought us tidings of Queen Margaret," replied the
monk. " She has left the sanctuary at Beaulieu and
marched with some newly-collected troops, towards
Gloucestershire. It was reported that the Duke of
Somerset and Sir Thomas Fulford had formed the army
during her retirement, and that they expected hourly
additions to their force."
" May victory on the rightful side speedily end this
fearful struggle," said Master Woodley.
'' Amen," fervently rejoined the monk ; and then,
as if anxious to avoid further conversation on the sub-
ject, he added abruptly, " The villagers are slow to
recommence their pastime — do they wait for any-
thing ? "
" They have chosen our fair beauty, Blanche He-
riot, for their Queen of the May," replied a young
man who now joined the party, " and her majesty
not finding a consort to her mind, has not appeared
to-day. I would gage my new jerkin against the
FooFs hood, that her thoughts are more with Mar-
garet's army than our band of mummers. What
say'st thou, holy father ? "
" The thoughts of Mistress Heriot are known but
to herself or her confessor," returned the monk calmly.
And, murmuring a pax vobiscum, he bent his steps to-
wards the Abbey.
" You have done wrong, Herrick, to question that
good man so abruptly," said Master Woodley to his
young companion
BLANCHE HERIOT. 95
" I did but hint at what all the world knows," re-
joined the youth. " Neville Audeley is brought up
with his cousin Blanche, and of course they fall in love
with each other. Of course, also, Sir Mark Heriot
does not approve of the match; and in consequence,
the young squire goes off to the wars, to fill his purse
with the gold nobles of the dead Yorkists : pray
Heaven he may succeed, say I. Halloo there, Mis-
tress Rummyn ! a tankard of ale to pledge the Red
Roses, and may the enemies of Lancaster be choked
with the stalks ! "
At the table towards which Herrick advanced, upon
giving his orders to the hostess, were seated two men,
whose dress formed a sorry contrast to the holiday-clad
throng around them. They were apparently soldiers
of the King's army, but their surcoats were torn and
soiled, and their armour smeared with blood and dirt,
bearing proofs of a hurried and recent journey. They
took little notice of the bystanders, but conversed with
each other in an under tone, and seemed anxious to
avoid public gaze ; scarcely moving their eyes from
the ground, until the young man flung his hat care-
lessly upon the table, and repeated his wish in a louder
key, as he raised the cup of humming liquor to his
lips.
"Now, by my halidame, thou shalt rue thy
pledge ! " exclaimed one of the strangers, as he
started from his seat. " Who art thou, minion,
thus to blazon thy rebellious notions to the world?"
'* Oh, I am not ashamed to tell you ! " replied
the youth, placing the half-emptied tankard upon the
96 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
table. " My name is Herrick Evenden, and my fa-
ther is a skilful leech and a learned, dwelling in Chert-
sey. He looks forward to much practice amongst the
maimed Yorkists, when our noble Somerset shall have
beaten them from the field, like cravens as they are.
Nay, draw not your weapon, my master — we are
no swordsmen here ; but if you wish me to let out
some of the hot blood from your brain with this
beechen staff, take off your bascinet, and I will do
my best."
Several of the bystanders, attracted by the dispute,
had now gathered round the table, and some of the
more peacefully inclined, knowing Evenden's madcap
temperament, and fearing mischief, contrived to lead
him away from his adversary, by dint of mingled
threats and persuasions. The soldier, who had first
addressed him, angrily sheathed his sword as he re-
sumed his seat, and in a few minutes all went on
as gaily as before.
'' It is plain we are the first from the field,'' said
the man-at-arms, in the same subdued tone he had be-
fore used to his companion. " These rebellious grubs
have not heard of their defeat, or they would be more
courteous. Mass ! had they seen their vaunted So-
merset split poor Wenlock's skull for doing nothing,
they would not love him too much. The bird has
not yet returned to his nest."
" And therefore is his capture certain," rejoined the
other. " His only chance of safety is in escape to the
Low Countries, and if, as we are told, he is a suitor of
this bright-eyed girl, he will assuredly take Chertsey in
BLANCHE HERIOT. 97
the line of his flight to the coast. " "'Twill be no
child's play if we meet him sword to sword. An you
had seen him beat back the Duke of Gloucester when
he pushed for the entrenchments, you would think the
same."
" We need not fight him single-handed,'*'' replied
the first speaker, smiling grimly. " I left my troop in
small parties along the river'*s bank wherever it was
fordable, and if he is not hewn down at once, they will
be close upon the slot."
" The villagers will ere long be weary of their
pastime," observed his companion ; ''I would fain
have them cleared away before the chase begins, for
if they are affected towards our rebel, they may give
us some little trouble yet. Come, Evered — another
flagon to our success, and a long reign to King
Edward ! "
The pipe and drum sounded gaily, and the Dragon
and Hobby-horse whirled and caracolled around the
shaft, amidst the shouts of their delighted and admiring
audience. The fool winked, and threw out sly jests
and leers at all the pretty maidens, until the ears of
their rustic sweethearts tingled with jealousy ; and
anon, when they were tired with dancing, and drew
around the hostelry for refreshment, the Minstrel
chanted a homely ballad, in praise of their leader,
Robin Hood, or detailing some of his bold adven-
tures. But as the evening approached, the throng
gradually withdrew ; and when the stars began to
twinkle in the deep blue sky the two soldiers were
VOL. II. F
98 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
the only beings who remained near the inn ; although
a blaze of light gleaming upon their armour, and the
sound of glad voices issuing from the interior, proved
that some of the merrymakers had not yet concluded
their day's amusement.
BLANCHE HERIOT. 99
CHAPTER 11.
The fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse.
Which so long-sunder'd friends should dwell upon.
Shakspeare.
HOW NEVILLE AUDELEY RETURNED FROM THE WARS.
Redwynde Court, the abode of Sir Mark Heriot,
was, at the period we are writing of, a large cluster
of irregular buildings, situate on the south bank of
the Abbey river, within three hundred yards of the
Monastery, and adjoining the causeway marked in the
Exchequer ledger, from which it derived its name.
Surrounded by broad and goodly pastures, except
where the turrets of the Abbey, and the habitations
of the village interrupted the panorama, its upper sto-
ries commanded an extensive prospect over the ad-
joining country ; and in the early feudal times it had
ranked between a house and a castle, the entire edifice
being encircled by a deep narrow fosse, crossed by a
drawbridge. These defences had, however, been long
neglected ; and the ditch was dry and choked up with
weeds, whilst the bridge, devoid of chains and levers,
F 2
100 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
formed the permanent means of access to the mansion.
The aspect of the whole range was somewhat dilapi-
dated ; for the owner, possessing an inherent dread of
innovation, could ill afford, from severe and continued
losses in the civil wars, to keep up the necessary estab-
lishment commensurate with the size of the house ;
and now that he was continually absent, -taking his
share in the troubles of the epoch, the place was falling,
piecemeal, to decay — a sad emblem of the kingdom in
general.
But if the greater part of the court was thus old and
time-worn ; if the rafters of the great hall were black
and worm-eaten, and the tapestry discoloured by damp,
or falling from the bare walls which it was intended to
conceal, there were still some of the apartments that
retained their pristine beauty, and were even decorated
with the choicest articles of such rude luxury as the age
produced. In one of these smaller rooms, which was
fitted up as a private oratory, on the evening subse-
quent to the opening of our legend, a fair girl was
kneeling on a prie-dieu before a small shrine in a
recess of the chamber. The light of a solitary taper
fell upon her features, which were of rare beauty ; and
partly divested of her day attire, as her long chesnut
hair fell in heavy and unconfined curls over her white
neck and shoulders, she appeared the living copy of
one of those glorious impersonations of the Madonna,
which the old Italian masters delighted to produce.
Her prayer concluded, she arose, and seating herself at
one of the small open casements of the room, gazed
long and anxiously upon the country beneath her. It
BLANCHE HERIOT. lUl
was a calm evening, and the moon was throwing the
gothic spires of the Abbey into softened relief against
the sky ; whilst the only sound that broke the stillness,
was the occasional burst of revelry from a party of
late roysterers, or the solemn peal of the organ, as its
tones floated on the breeze from the Monastery.
" Alas ! he comes not yet !" she murmured in
accents of despair, as she strained her eyes over the
surrounding tract. " Neville — you have deceived me,
or perhaps — " and bending down, she covered her
fair face with her hands, as if ashamed that even the
stars should watch her weeping.
An hour passed by, and still she remained at the
window, in patient expectancy. At length, as the last
chimes of midnight from the Abbey clock died away,
the clatter of a horse's hoofs, apparently progressing at
a furious rate, sounded amidst the general quietude.
The noise approached, and now the rider and his steed
were discernible on the causeway before the house.
They thundered over the old timber of the bridge, and
entered the court-yard. Here the horseman sprung
from his saddle, as he checked the beast almost upon
his haunches ; and clamoured violently at the gate,
until the aged and drowsy porter timidly admitted him,
when, rushing upstairs, he flew along the old corridor
and entered the oratory.
*' My own dear Blanche !" was all he could utter,
as the next instant he clasped her to his heart.
"Oh, Neville!" cried the fair girl, throwing her
delicate arms around the mail neck-piece of her lover ;
** I feared that you would not come back. We have
102 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
heard sad rumours here of Margarets losses, and I
dreaded lest you should have fallen amongst her other
hapless followers. But you are returned again, and I
am happy. And the Queen — how fares it with her ?"
" Blanche !" exclaimed the young man wildly, in
breathless accents ; *' all is lost ! We have been
miserably defeated at Tewkesbury, and even now a
price is upon my head, and the hounds are upon
my track. Devonshire, Beaufort, Whittingham — all
are slain, and Somerset has been dragged from the
sanctuary of the Abbey church, and foully murdered.
I must leave you, or my life is forfeited.''
" Leave me ! " ejaculated his fair companion, start-
ing from his embrace, and gazing at him for an instant,
as if bewildered at the intelligence; "oh, no, no —
it may not be : you know not what you say, or you
are trifling with me. In our Lady's name, what mean
you, Neville ? "
" I have told you but too true," replied Audeley.
" My wretched comrades in arms have been hunted
down like dogs, and they are pursuing me also. I
came but to bid you farewell, dearest, before leaving
for the Continent. A vessel leaves to-morrow for
Ostend, and if I can reach her, I am safe."
'' You shall not go," cried Blanche, clinging to him
in the vain attempt to arrest his departure. " There
are secret places and cellars in this house, where you
can remain, and you shall be my prisoner. Neville —
I implore you — do not leave me ! "
*' Tempt me not, Blanche," returned Audeley, '' or
you will plunge us both into one common ruin. Hark ! "
BLANCHE HERIOT. 103
he continued, as he drew her towards the casement ;
" do you hear that noise ? It is the bay of the blood-
hounds, crossing Laleham pasture, and the ruffians
have discovered my route ! Nay, cling not so tightly
— you know not how precious each instant is to me.
Farewell, dearest — perhaps for ever ^^ and kissing her
pale cheek, as he disengaged himself from her embrace,
he rushed from the oratory. For one instant after his
departure, Blanche remained fixed, as if bereft of con-
sciousness, with quivering lip and vacant eye ; then,
uttering one shrill cry of agony, she fell senseless upon
the oaken floor of the chamber.
With the swiftness of lightning Audeley flew down
the staircase, and, well acquainted with the numerous
passages of the house, made his way to the court yard.
But some of the royalist troops, including the two sol-
diers whom we left at the hostelry, were already there.
A yell of triumph broke forth from the party, at the
sight of their prey ; and Neville had barely time to
retire within the porch, and close the massy door after
him, when they reached the house.
Aware that resistance was useless, with the paucity
of means of defence at his disposal, and that his only
chance of safety remained in flight, he hurriedly drew
one of the bolts to cause a trifling delay, and again
rapidly ascended the staircase. Turning to the left,
on the first landing, he pushed back a small panel and
entered the gallery that ran round the upper part of
the hall, just as his pursuers broke open the door.
A moment of keen suspense followed. He heard
their heavy and confused tramp, as they followed his
104 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
course up stairs, and was for an instant in hopes that
they would overlook his refuge, and give him time
to gain the court-yard whilst they were searching
the other rooms of the house ; nor was he less anxious
on Blanche's account, fearing that she might receive
some insult from the rough marauders. But as the
party ascended, the hound that preceded them, stop-
ped short at the panel by which Neville had entered
the gallery, and set up a deep continued howl. The
royalists were not long in sounding the wainscot with
their partizans, and discovering the sliding door, soon
demolished it.
" Keep back the dog, Evered," cried one of the
soldiers, "or he will tear him to pieces, and we would
rather—''
But before the speaker could conclude, Neville dis-
charged his petronel, and the soldier fell back dead
amongst his comrades. The dog, at the same moment,
flew towards Neville, and attempted to fasten on his
shoulder ; but the armour was proof against his teeth,
and with an effort of gigantic strength, he threw him
over the gallery into the hall beneath, with such force
that, after a few convulsive throbs, the beast lay dead
on the floor.
The soldiers, who had fallen back at the death of
their comrade, now pushed forwards again through the
panel, and Neville darted along the gallery to the
other end of the hall. To the middle of the ceiling
a long chain was attached, to suspend the lamp from ;
and this, for the convenience of lighting, was drawn
towards the side of the gallery, and there fastened.
BLANCHE HERIOT. 105
Desperate with the impending danger, he seized the
chain firmly, and cutting asunder the thong that tied
it, with his poignard, laid hold with both hands, and
swung boldly into the centre of the lofty hall, just as
the Yorkists filled the gallery. Gliding swiftly down
the chain, he dropped upon the table of the hall, in
the midst of a shower of .bullets from the arquebuses
above, which, however, flew harmlessly around him.
To gain the court-yard was the work of an instant, and
darting along the bridge, he fled in the direction of the
Monastery, guided by the lights in the windows, which
shewed that the monks were then celebrating the noc-
turnal mass.
On perceiving that Neville had eluded their grasp,
the soldiers immediately retraced their steps ; and,
on emerging from the house, caught sight of him as
he fled towards the Abbey. A shout of encourage-
ment was again raised, and the party was once more
engaged in a hot pursuit. The light chain mail which
Neville wore, gave him some small advantage over the
heavy-armed soldiery, and he had placed a good hun-
dred yards between him and his pursuers, when he
reached the holy edifice. But the entrance was still
separated from him by a high wall, which it was im-
possible for him to scale, and only one resource was
left. Climbing up the fretted gothic carving of the
buttress, he contrived to gain a footing in the recess
of one of the windows : and clinging to the heavy
mullion, he beat down, with his mailed arm and foot,
the leaden casement, which fell inwards upon the floor
of the chapel, shivered into a thousand pieces.
F 5
106 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" A sanctuary ! a sanctuary ! for the love of the
Virgin ! " cried the breathless fugitive to the monks,
who, petrified with astonishment at his unexpected ap-
parition, had clustered around the Abbot at the grand
altar. " You know me, Father Angewin," * he con-
tinued, as he leaped down into the transept, crushing
the glass beneath his feet; "you know me, and I
claim the protection of the Holy Church — it will not,
I trust, be refused to a soldier of the ill-fated house of
Lancaster.'^
" You are welcome," replied the Abbot calmly,
recovering from his surprise, as he led Neville within
the rails of the shrine. " Pray, my son — pray, that
the hearts of those who oppress you may be turned to
mercy."
The asylum gained, Audeley sank exhausted at the
foot of the altar. The swell of the organ again rose
through the lofty aisles of the chapel, and the monks
were about to recommence the service, which the in-
trusion had interrupted, when a fresh clamour was
heard without, and a man-at-arms appeared directly
afterwards in the window, by which Neville had en-
tered.
" Father Abbot," cried the soldier, '' you harbour a
rebel to our liege sovereign. I call upon you in the
name of King Edward, to deliver him into our
hands."
* Thomas Angewin was, according to Tanner's Notitia
Monastica, Abbot of Chertsey Monastery, a-d. 1458, and
was re-elected, a.d. 1465.
BLANCHE HERIOT. 107
" He has thrown himself upon the Church, and
claimed a sanctuary," replied the Abbot.
" I care not," rejoined the soldier, bluntly. " The
Abbey Church of Tewkesbury, afforded no protection
to the Grand Prior of St. John, nor shall the Monas-
tery of Chertsey harbour a rebel of inferior rank. Re-
store him, or we will drag him from the altar."
" Hold, infidel ! " cried Neville, as he advanced
into the body of the church. " It would be a grievous
thing were the sanctuary of Chertsey Abbey to be
violated, and its power mocked, upon my account, I
ask your assurance for my safety until the curfew rings
to-morrow night. If you have not then received a
royal message to the contrary, I will accompany you to
execution."
The soldier turned to confer with his comrades, who
were clustered outside the window where he stood.
After a minute's delay he rejoined,
" Let it be so, then : but remember — if by to-
morrow's curfew you have no warrant of the king's
mercy, your head rolls upon the Abbey mead. Fare-
well, holy fathers," he added, with careless levity, as
he turned to depart ; '' shrive your new inmate anon,
for his fate is well nigh sealed."
And in five minutes more the Yorkists had departed,
and the monks proceeded with the service which had
been thus strangely interrupted.
108 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER III.
Trembling, in the realms of sound.
It mounts ! it mounts I it shakes I
The first vibration wakes !
Schiller.
how blanche delayed the curfew.
Herrick Evenden, in spite of his quarrel with the
two soldiers of Edward's army, did not feel at all dis-
posed to enjoy himself the less on that account, and he
therefore waited carousing at the Rose Hostelrie, after
the evening had set in, until he found himself publicly
stating that he was the rightful successor to the throne
after all. Whereupon, inclining to the belief that his
brain was becoming slightly confused, from the quantity
of corned beef he had indulged in, he began to think of
going home. He consequently rose to depart, and
after wandering somewhat vaguely amongst the scatter-
ed houses that then formed the village, he reached his
abode, guided by the small lamp that twinkled in the
laboratory of his father ; who, besides being a learned
leech, or physician, was accounted cunning in the occult
sciences, and a skilful alchymist, having worked out a
notable powder of projection, by which gold could be
BLANCHE HERIOT. 109
converted into lead — a discovery which did not lead to
the profitable results which he had anticipated would
accrue from it.
The young reveller retired to bed upon arriving at
home, leaving his father poring over a small crucible in
his furnace ; and after a quarter of an hour's confused
musing, fell into a deep sleep. He was dreaming he
saw King Edward'^s head on the top of the may-pole,
and that the villagers were shooting at it with their
arbalists in turn, instead of a popinjay, when he was
awakened, after a short slumber, by a hurried knocking
at the porch door. As soon as he could collect his
ideas, he sprang out of bed, and throwing open his
casement, demanded the cause of the intrusion, when
he was somewhat surprised at his challenge being an-
swered in a soft tremulous voice, begging earnestly for
admission.
Herrick immediately hurried on a few articles of
dress, and descended to the laboratory for a light,
which he was just able to procure, as his father had
fallen asleep over his task, and the contents of the
crucible had bubbled over into a white efflorescence
upon the few live embers that remained. Thinking
that the old man's services might be required, he
aroused him, and then proceeded to open the door
and admit the patient, or whoever else it might be
that sought him at so unreasonable a time. His sur-
prise was not diminished when the pale, terror-stricken
features of Blanche Heriot met his gaze.
"Mistress Heriot!" cried both father and son, at
110 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
the same time. " For heaven's sake tell us what
brings you here at this hour of the night ?'■
" Oh, I shall go mad, Master Evenden," cried the
terrified girl, as she threw herself upon a settle, and
pressed her hand upon her forehead. " My brain
seems turning round, and still the horrid object is
before my eyes."
" Compose yourself, my dear young lady,"" said the
old leech, kindly, as he took her hand ; '' you are with
friends here. Has Sir Mark returned from a skirmish
wounded, or are any of your retainers stricken with ill-
ness ? ''
" There is a horrid corpse on the staircase," replied
Blanche, wildly, " by the panel leading to the hall
gallery. Its head is shattered in the helmet, and the
blood has dripped and clotted on the steps. I was
obliged to cross it as I came down, and it grinned at
me — I see it laughing now !" — and she buried her
face in her mantle, as if to shut out the dreadful
vision.
In a few minutes she became sufficiently collected to
relate to Master Evenden and his son the principal
occurrences of the night. It appeared that, after the
soldiers had quitted the house, she had gone over to
the Monastery for succour, and was astonished to find
Neville there, in sanctuary. He had explained to her
the fearful position in which he was placed, and like-
wise the hope he still cherished of ultimate escape.
At the commencement of the conflict at Tewkesbury,
when the Duke of Gloucester, who commanded the
first line of Edward's army, attempted to carry the
BLANCHE HERIOT. Ill
half-finished entrenchment which Margaret had thrown
up, the Yorkists had been repulsed with considerable
slaughter, through the intrepidity of the Duke of So-
merset. At this period a wounded nobleman of the
opposite party fell at Audeley*s side, and was about
to be speared by one of the Lancastrian soldiers, had
not Neville ordered him to desist, and dragged his
fallen foe from the melee, under cover of the bank.
The nobleman, struck by the generous act, had drawn
a ring from his finger, and given it to Neville, telling
him, he might upon emergency, claim a favour from
Edward, by presenting, or sending the ring to him.
" And now," continued Blanche, " upon the success
of this mission his life hangs. You have long been
attached to him, Herri ck Evenden, and to you alone
■would he commit the trust — will you save him ?'"'
" By the mass, lady," returned Herrick, " were I
to ride a hurdle to Tower Hill, with nothing but a
short shrift and a long halter for my reward when I
got there, I would do it to save Neville Audeley from
the clutches of these knaves, whose livers are as pale as
their own roses. Where is the ring ? "
" It is here," replied Blanche, drawing a costly
jewel from her forefinger, bearing the Beaufort crest ;
'' preserve it as you would your life ! And now Her-
rick, depart — there is a fleet horse at Redwynde,
which awaits your coming. Spare neither whip nor
steed, I implore you, but seek out King Edward if he
has returned to London, and claim this boon from
him. And remember — the Curfew is Neville^s death
peal!
112 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
''It shall not ring his knell to night, however," said
Herrick, as he received the ring. " Father, you will
accompany Mistress Blanche to the Monastery, and
await my return. Nay, care not for your chymicals,
we have a deeper stake to win ! Farewell !"
And the cold grey dawn of morning was breaking
over Chertsey and its Abbey as Herrick crossed the
Thames, in the ferry boat, and flying over the wide
Range, turned his horse's bridle towards London.
A day of keen anxiety to Blanche and her lover fol-
lowed the young villager's departure. As soon as he
had left Redwynde Court, she returned to the Monas-
tery, and endeavoured, as well as her state of mind
would allow, to cheer Neville, with the anticipation of
a certain pardon from Edward. But as afternoon ad-
vanced, and Herrick returned not, her spirits drooped.
Every time she heard the sound of footsteps approach-
ing the Abbey she rushed to the gate, in the hope of
greeting her messenger, and each time she came back
with a saddened heart to Neville's chamber. The
shadows of the old stained windows crept along the
chequered floor of the aisles in increasing length as
the sun went down, and yet there were no tidings of
Herrick ; and when the monks assembled for the ves-
pers, at six o'clock, the suspense of the young couple
became painfully acute. Neither spoke, for they had
exhausted their mutual consolation, and a few stifled
sobs from Blanche alone broke the silence, except
when the chimes from the bell tower announced the
progress of the day ; at which periods she clung closer
BLANCHE HERIOT. 113
to Neville, and uttered some subdued exclamations
of despair. Seven ! the hours flew like seconds ; it
was already dusk, and the monks were again entering
the chapel for the compline, or concluding service of
the day. Lights appeared one by one in the windows
of the village houses ; the candles at the altars threw
back the reflection of the armour, and scarfs of those
who slept below the pavement, in glimmering shadows
upon the walls; and the Yorkists began to assemble
in the Mead, waiting the surrender of their prisoner.
The bell tower of the Abbey commanded an exten-
sive view over the surrounding flat ; it was the same
prospect which we now see from the church, only there
were no enclosures, but a few rough bridle-roads run-
ning towards various points over the open country.
To the summit of this tower Blanche had frequently
ascended during the day, with the expectation of catch-
ing a distant sight of Herrick as he approached the
river, but even this consolation was now precluded by
the increasing darkness.
The three-quarters had sounded some minutes, when
footsteps were approaching the chapel. Neville
started up at the sound, and prepared to receive his
enemies, when the Abbot Angewin entered.
*' One of our brethren,*" said the good father, " has
descried a light moving in the direction of the ferry.
It is probably Master Evenden — pray heaven that he
may arrive quickly.''
" And the hour, father — the hour .?" cried Neville,
anxiously.
114 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" In five minutes the curfew will toll," replied the
Abbot, with solemn emphasis. " Should this be
Herrick, my son, your fate hangs on a few seconds.*"
"But can we not delay the bell?*' demanded
Blanche, as, trembling with horror, she rose from the
stone bench on which she was seated.?
" It is impossible," returned the Abbot ; *' the
church is surrounded by soldiers ; and who could hinder
their determination ?"
" I will !" cried Blanche, struck with a sudden in-
spiration. " Neville, if this is Herrick Evenden,
you will still be saved. Delay me not," she added,
as she darted across the chapel, '^ each moment is of
untold value. Holy Virgin ! succour and protect
me!"
Hurriedly bending to one of the altars as she
quitted the sanctuary, without a word of explanation
either to Neville or the Abbot, Blanche flew across
the piece of ground that separated the Monastery from
the church, and arrived at the foot of the tower. As
Father Angewin had stated, there were several soldiers
loitering about the spot, and a light in the belfry
reflected one or two of their forms, in gigantic sta-
ture, upon the ceiling. Entering a doorway in the
western wall of the tower, Blanche passed the steps
leading to the lower belfry, wherein the ropes of the
bells hung down, and came to a low stone arch that
led to the winding staircase, by which part of the
tower was ascended. She was now in total darkness,
but her energy increased with her progress. Old
Master Evenden had once taken her up when a child,
BLANCHE HERIOT. 115
to see the prospect, and she still retained a confused
recollection of the localities. She felt her way before
her, and gained the bottom stair, from which, keep-
ing the central pillar for her guide, she rapidly
wound up the flight. The steps were crumbling
with time and wear; noisome insects clung to the
walls, and the bats, disturbed by the intrusion, flap-
ped their sleepy wings against her as she passed.
But still Blanche kept on her breathless way, and
in a few seconds more had reached the first plat-
form of the tower. A faint light, through a loophole
in the wall, showed her the situation of the rude
ladder by which she climbed to the second floor, but
here it was again quite dark. She felt about for the
second ladder, and, after some little difficulty, suc-
ceeded in reaching the bell chamber, where some open
gothic windows once more permitted a dim light to
enter, and revealed the indistinct outline of the bells,
as they hung in sullen power from their frameworks.
Seizing the ladder by which she had ascended, with a
strength that appeared superhuman for her delicate
form, she contrived to turn it over, and throw it down
upon the floor beneath ; by which she knew a delay of
a few minutes would be gained, in the event of pur-
suit. As she achieved this effort, the bell nearest her
— it was the old Saxon one — began to move ! Its
woodwork creaked, and the large wheel to which the
rope was attached turned half round ; at the same in-
stant Blanche saw, through the window, a light
shining in the distance, and apparently moving at a
rapid pace, across the wild tract of ground between the
116 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
church and the river. Heedless of the large dark
mass of metal that was beginning to swing backwards
and forwards with fearful and threatening impetus,
she crouched down beneath it, and clung to its iron
tongue with the grasp of a drowning creature. The
motion of the bell increased, as its timbers groaned
and quivered with the strain ; and Blanche's arms,
torn and bleeding from the rough walls she had passed
in her ascent, were contused and beaten against the
sides. But she still kept her hold, and a deadened
sound, like a cathedral bell at an extreme distance, was
all that arose, as she was thrown violently from side to
side, with the rocking of the framework. It swung
higher and higher — ^it was evident that additional hands
were assisting the bell-ringer below ! Now she was
dragged from the floor, and again dashed violently
down, but to be once more caught up on the other
side ; yet still she flinched not, hanging to the clap-
per with unwearying power. Suddenly the motion of
the bell ceased ; it was plain that the people had
relinquished their task, and were about to ascend the
tower to see what was amiss ; the ladder might delay
them a minute or two, and then all would be lost !
But as the bell ceased to vibrate a sound arose from
the street, that threw fresh courage into Blanche's
almost failing heart; it was the cry of voices rejoicing.
She reached the window and looked down upon the
Abbey ; an hundred torches, borne by the monks, shed
their light around, and in the centre of them a figure,
on horseback, was waving his cap above his head, with
a gesture of triumph Neville was saved !
BLANCHE HERIOT. 117
Little now remains to be told. Delayed by various
unforeseen difficulties, Herrick had at length obtained
audience with Edward, and delivered the ring, which
proved to be the gift of Lord Beaufort, who had com-
manded one of the divisions of his army at Tewkes-
bury. That nobleman had implored the pardon from
the king, and the messenger would have arrived at the
Monastery in the afternoon had not his steed foun-
dered from sheer fatigue. But now all was fairly
accomplished, and as Neville clasped his fair Blanche
to his heart, they forgot all that had passed, in the
thrilling joy of the present. As for Herrick Evenden,
he rushed to the Rose Hostelrie, and distributed so
much sack to the villagers there assembled, including
the sexton of the church, that the curfew was not rung
that evening until nearly midnight, when the merry
party all marched off to the belfry together, and each
seizing a rope, performed a concert of their own, of so
extraordinary a nature, that even the worthy old alchy-
mist started from his furnace, and listened at his door,
in the firm belief that a troop of evil spirits were fight-
ing with the bells.
A short time afterwards, before the may-pole flowers
had well faded, a joyous peal sounded from Chertsey
Church, as Neville Audeley, having obtained her
father's consent, led his young bride from the altar.
And when, at last. Sir Mark Heriot died — when the
old mansion was put in order, and the times became
more peaceable, the happy pair gathered their friends
around them, in the old Hall at Christmas, and by the
blazing wood fire, that crackled and sparkled on the
118 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
large iron dogs of the ample hearth, Neville would
tell the story of his flight down the same chain that
still hung from the roof; and Blanche recounted her
struggle with the old bell, until its sounds warned
them that the night was far advanced, and reminded
them, 'ere they retired to rest, of the pious orison
that was graven around it — which the curious visitor
may still see in unimpaired freshness.
The response of the prayer ran thus : —
<©ra mtntt pm pro nobtsi, 'Firgo iiKaria.
119
SOME PASSAGES FROM THE LIFE OF
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE.
That the tributary events which magnify the im-
portance of the stream of our lives, proceed from many
unsuspected and trivial sources, is an axiom as old as
the days of Homer; when that respectable poet tod-
dled out of the Cafe des Aveugles (KaraXvfxa rdv
Tv<p\(oy) at Athens, half inebriated with Chian wine,
and followed his dog into the nearest stationer's shop,
to buy a quire of cheap outside papyrus, on which to
commence his Iliad. So, in more modern times, if
Mr. Skuffle had not been caught one day in the rain,
during a pedestrian tour which he undertook from Tot-
tenham Court Road to the Bank, he would not have
gone to live at the retired village of Chortunnut, and
met with the events which there befel him, and of
which we are the humble chronicler.
Mr. Pimony Skuffle was a bachelor young gentle-
man, of six-and-twenty ; thin, dyspeptic, and interest-
ing. On the death of his father, (which circumstance
occurred soon after he, the aforesaid Pimony, came of
age,) he found himself possessed of an income of fifty
pounds a-year ; and he, moreover, enjoyed a situation
in Aldermanbury, worth about seventy more ; so that,
\20 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
by adding the two together, he contrived to reside
in a boarding-house in the neighbourhood of Fitz-
roy-square ; to enjoy the society of certain old ladies
there vegetating, of the true boarding-house cut, with
light false fronts, cold grey eyes, faded head-dresses,
ranking half way between the cap and turban, and
countenances like the masks Mr. Yarnold so plea-
santly assumes when he plays Mother Holly, or Mo-
ther Bunch, in the opening scene of a Covent Garden
harlequinade ; and, finally, to treat himself, occasion-
ally, to the play, or the gallery of the Opera, when it
was a fine night, and an attractive representation.
One morning, at breakfast, as Mr. Skuffle was run-
ning his eye over the pages of the day before yester-
day's Times, his attention was suddenly arrested, by
seeing his name attached to an advertisement, at the
head of the second column, amongst the " E's/' who
were requested to return immediately, and the " H's,''*
who were assured everything would be arranged to
their satisfaction ; the said paragraphs being, moreover,
generally most appropriately placed on a level with the
notices of ships about to sail for Botany Bay. The
advertisement, which quickened Mr. Skuffle's circula-
tion, ran as follows : —
" Next of kin. — If the next of kin of Mr. Grimsby
Skuffle, who, in 1815, lived at Bumpton Muzzard, in
Somersetshire, will apply to Messrs. Flamflat and Bibi-
kins, solicitors, Gray's Inn Square, they will hear of
something to their advantage."
The egg — it was a shop one — that Pimony was
about to discuss, remained uncracked ; the coffee rested
MR. PIxMONY SKUFFLE. 121
where the maiden aunt of the mistress of the board-
ing-house, who got up early to make breakfast for the
first comers down, had placed it ; and, without utter-
ing a syllable to any one, in explanation of this un-
common circumstance, Mr. Skuffle bolted from the
table, at the same time that he bolted a bit of new
bread, which nearly choked him, and in seventeen
minutes from that period he had gained the sober pre-
cincts, the law-inspiring quadrangle, of Gray''s Inn
Square. It is not necessary to describe the lawyers,
their clerks, nor their chambers. A master-hand has
so inimitably portrayed them, that sooner than strive
to give any new features to the subject, we should at-
tempt to write an improved version of the Waverley
Novels ; besides, all chambers and all clerks are alike,
ex uno disce omnes. It is sufficient for us to inform
the reader, that an elder brother of Pimony^s father
had died intestate, at Bumpton Muzzard, after quarrel-
ing with all his family in succession ; that, in addi-
tion, he had no children ; and that, finally, the amount
of £12,000 fell to our hero, who as much expected it
as he did a shower of cloth boots when the barometer
fell to change.
For some time after the information Pimony was
completely bewildered ; he could form no idea of pos-
sessing so mucl\ money without working for it. His
father had entertained a great idea, that everybody
should labour unceasingly, in order to be a respect-
able character in the world ; and, accordingly, he
placed Pimony in a warehouse as soon as he left
school, where he sat on a very high stool all day
VOL. II. G
12^ THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
long, before a flaring gas-light, and behind an opaque
window, making figures between perpendicular red
lines, in great books, and listening to the tin whir-
ligig that twizzled all day long in the counting-
house door. Under these circumstances, it may be
conceived that his ideas were, for a short time, as
perfectly conglomerated as a potted bloater; he scarcely
believed it ; and, when, at last, he convinced himself
of the truth, he indulged in the most pleasing reflec-
tions, as he journeyed home. " And shall I," thought
he, " be able to have four suits a-year, without return-
ing the old ones ? And will it make no difference to
me whether I give six-and-threepence for my hats in
Bread-street, or six-and-twenty under the Quadrant ?
Shall I be able to sup at the Albion, without hesi-
tating to order two more poached eggs, or another
Welsh rabbit, because it adds an extra eightpence to
the reckoning ? All this 1 can do and more.^' And,
hereupon, he began to build such castles, that, quite
forgetful of himself, he turned up six wrong courts,
and knocked over two baked-potato cans, before he ar-
rived at home.
But 6^^12,000 does not tumble into your pockets as
you sit at home with your feet on the fender, even if it
be left you. Accordingly, many journeys did Mr.
Skuffle take before he could really call the mone;
his own, much to the detriment of his shoe-leather;
although this last circumstance was not of much con-
sequence to him now ; indeed, he had already begun
to think, with feelings of contempt, upon his accus-
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 123
tomed fourteen-shilling short Wellingtons, and in-
dulge in bright dreams of glazed boots, with green
upper-leathers, and channeled soles, fresh with bril-
liancy from the depots of Gradelle, M'Donnell, or
Lehocq ; and he even thought about discarding his
ready-made pea coat, and having a new Taglioni built,
of the colour of consumptive blotting-paper.
Mr. Skuffle, in common with most clerks, enter-
tained a great love of the country, and rural pleasures.
He looked upon it as the El Dorado of cockney de-
light ; and his wildest visions of future greatness had
been limited to living in a neat cottage, and listening
all day long to the hum of bees, the songs of birds,
the lowing of cows, the bells of sheep, the sharpening
of scythes, and a perpetual succession of fine weather
eternal summer, and never-dying trees and flowers ;
just, in fact, what every Londoner thinks the coun-
try is.
He was journeying, one morning, from Oxford-
street towards the Bank, upon some transfer business,
when he was suddenly overtaken by a violent shower,
in Holborn. Not a cab or coach was on the stand,
when he got up to it, for they had all been instan-
taneously engaged by the more proximate pedestrians ;
and the omnibus drivers and cads shook their heads
with provoking and hard-hearted coolness, in answer to
his hail, as their unwieldy vehicles, filled >VJth damp
inmates to the last point of suffocation, '* and no
more," swayed their ponderous bulk on the groaning
pavement. In this dilemma, he did what Grammont
G 2
1^4 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
did, in England, when he was driven from France — ^lie
took refuge in a court, but merely for a short period —
un court sejour, as the Frenchman would have said.
When people are waiting about for rain, or a stage-
coach, it is astonishing what foolish things in the shops
attract their attention, and, comparatively amuse them.
How many, similarly situated at the White Horse
Cellar, have loitered, with intense delight, before the
window of the whip and fishing-tackle shop at the cor-
ner ; nay, they have found the inspection of the dif-
ferent samples of tea in Decastro's window beguile
several weary minutes ; and the names of the different
places and times on the coach-bills, have been im-
mensely entertaining.
It was with this feeling that Mr. Skuffle ran his eye
over the contents of the window of a house-agent, at
the corner of the court where he was sheltered; and,
after reading various neatly stencilled announcements of
houses to let, with immediate possession, in eligible
parts of the town, his attention fell upon a small plan
of a cottage ornee, with garden, paddock, and fish-
pond ; green pales and hurdle fences, " situated in the
pleasant village of Chorturmut, within sight of the
Great Western Railway," (it could be discerned, with
a telescope, on the horizon, when the air was clear,)
^' to be let for a term of three, five, or seven years, fur-
nished pr unfurnished, with or without the land,'' &c.
These were certainly very accommodating conditions,
and he determined to inquire a little about it. Having
got all particulars from the agent, he placed the whole
arrangement in fhe hands of Messrs. Flamflat and
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 125
Bibikins, in order that everything might be properly
conducted. Of course, there was some little delay in
the b\isiness, for that is always necessary to the import-
ance which law proceedings are expected to assume ; but,
matters being finally settled, Mr. Skuffle bade adieu to
London and Cateaton-street, to take possession of his
new estate. He did not leave, however, without giv-
ing his fellow-clerks a farewell supper at the Peacock,
in Maiden-lane, where his health was proposed and
drunk with nine times nine, and " again, again, again,"
after it ; and one of the clerks' friends, who was not in-
vited, but brought, because he was *' an out-and-out
brick," sang such droll songs that everybody said it was
better than anything they had ever heard at the Eagle, or
anywhere else ; and afterwards, played a tune with a
tobacco-pipe on the table, and danced a hornpipe on his
head, with his heels in the air, on a stool placed for
the purpose in the middle of the room : but this was
not until after the sixth bowl of punch. They sepa-
rated, finally, at half-past four in the morning, each
with somebody else''s hat ; leaving the senior clerk
holding a warm argument with a policeman at the cor-
ner of Catherine-street, upon the comparative value of
Spanish Bonds and scalloped oysters ; and then offering
to treat him to coffee at the stall of the very early-rising
old lady, who opens her restaurant every morning, at
the corner of the inclined court that runs up all of a
slant by the side of the Adelphi Theatre. Mr. Skuffle
himself gave six distinct invitations to the same number
of his companions, to come and stay a fortnight each
with him, and also to bring with them everybody jolly
126 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
they knew ; and the rest of the company took it into
their heads to walk up to Hampstead, and see the sun
rise ; except two men, one of whom, being very tipsy,
was packed off home in a cab ; the other, who was not
much better, going with him to take care that he came
to no harm, and to help him pull his boots off.
In a few weeks, Mr. Skuffle was quietly settled in
the country, having found the place, for a wonder,
almost as good as the advertisement described it. He
now determined to give himself up, for a while, to the
charms of rural retirement ; and amuse his idle hours
by inventing and superintending various minor im-
provements about his residence, such as country gen-
tlemen so much delight in. But, if an independent
bachelor, with anything like a fixed income, thinks he
can do as he likes with himself, or his time, he is very
much mistaken indeed. No sooner had Mr. Skuffle
been to church — no sooner had the clergyman and the
doctor called on him — no sooner had it got abroad that
his house was in order, and that he was ready to receive
company, than a crowd of visitors, anxious to make his
acquaintance, beset his doors ; and every mamma in the
vicinity, with marriageable daughters, set the young
ladies at him, caps, habit- shirts, cambric cuffs, and all ;
so that, before he saw through their designs, he won-
dered at the similarity of ideas and pursuits that all
the fair creatures possessed. First of all, when his
two rhododendrons, before the parlour window, were
in bloom, every young lady in the neighbourhood
requested permission to come and see them, because
she was so fond of botany ; although there were much
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 127
finer plants at the nurseryman's on the top of the hill,
which she never went near. Next, after he sprained
his foot, one day, in clambering over the logs of wood
in the outhouse, to see if he could average how many
billets the neighbouring cottagers carried away for
their fires during the week, in a few days fourteen
pairs of worsted slippers arrived, worked in all sorts of
rainbow zigzags, and harlequin triangles, by as many
different manufacturers ; and as for purses, and patch-
work table-covers, the number was quite incredible.
Truth to tell, it was generally at the suggestion, or
rather order, of the mothers, that these presents came ;
for we must state, in justice to the young ladies of the
present day, that they are generally very much inclined
to have a will of their own, in all affairs of the heart ;
which will is always at the most eccentric variation
with that of their parents.
For a while, Mr. Skuffle heroically defied their
constant siege ; he was polite to all, and no more. Of
so many shots, however, all aimed at the same unfor-
tunate target, one was sure to hit, and so it proved in
the present case. At the nearest farm-house on the
common there resided a very worthy man, named
Sparrow ; and the assiduous attention of his wife and
three daughters was so unremitting, that Pimony was
obliged to capitulate. Mr. Sparrow had been, origin-
ally, a labourer ; but, by industry and economy, he had
made his own fortune. Wishing that his family should
keep the same station in society by their education,
which he had attained by his good name, he placed his
daughters in a ladies' school, at Hammersmith, where
128 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
they had the advantage of all sorts of masters ; were
allowed to contribute to the plate-basket of the prin-
cipal ; took six towels and a prayer-book ; and walked
two-and-two every fine afternoon across Turnham
Green. Here they picked up so many odd notions, that
poor old Sparrow was quite bewildered when they first
came home, but, at last, like the eels and their skins, gra-
dually got used to it. A curious assemblage of articles
their drawing-room presented. The principal part of
the furniture was in the regular old mahogany, farm-
house style ; with the wine-glasses, rummers, salt-
cellars, and punch-bowls, ranged in recesses on each
side of the fire-place, and backed by gigantic tea-
boards ; and, in the middle of the room there was a
round table covered with albums, annuals, little cats
made out of shells and putty, butterfly pen-wipers, and
all sorts of other fancy gim cracks, that the young
ladies brought home every '* half" to sell for their mis-
tress, and to say they had made them themselves.
Rarely did their father approach this table, and,
if by chance the good man left his pipe, or book of
farm-accounts, on it, he got such a scolding as, for a
long time, prevented a repetition of the oflPence. Anne
and Fanny, the two eldest girls, were most decidedly
plain, but " very amiable," (as, fortunately, plain girls
always are ;) and, upon the whole, not so well educated
as Emma, their younger sister, who was pretty and
coquettish. The careful views of Mrs. Sparrow, with
regard to establishing her daughters, were principally
confined to the last young lady; first, because she
thought the others would make very good wives for
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 129
some of the young farmers in the neighbourliood ;
secondly, because she imagined Mr. Skuffle would more
readily fall in love with Emma ; and, thirdly, because
she was anxious to stop some clandestine sort of an
engagement which, report said, was going on between
that young lady and a sort of second or third cousin,
who had been denied the house, because he was so very
wild and improvident — riding at steeple-chases, and
hurdle-races, keeping subscription hounds ; and making
a perpetual racket in the village.
After a few ceremonious calls, the parties got more
familiar, and Mr. Skuffle accepted an invitation from
Mrs. Sparrow, to drop in, occasionally, on an evening
for " a little music." Oh ! that '' little music"— how
many bachelors have fallen victims to its influence ! It
is dangerous to turn over the leaves of a music-book,
whilst a pretty girl plays a set of quadrilles, or a suite
of waltzes, especially if she has a beautiful arm and
hand ; it is worse to listen to her as she sings, if she
does not make faces, and has a melodious voice ; but,
once come to a duet with her — once attempt "La ci
darem,*" or " I 've wandered in dreams," with her, and,
if it is not all up with you, you are, indeed, hard-
hearted.
The snare was set, and Mr. Skuffle was caught — at
least she thought so. The mamma Sparrow had made
a bold stroke ; but, although she played for a winning
hazard, the ball never reached the pocket. It was a
love game between her and her daughter, and the fair
Emma won it.
♦ * * * .
q5
130 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
A country village ! What visions of delight do the
rurality-seeking inhabitants of London couple with the
idea of a residence in that almost terra incognita ! —
what a pleasing illusion is dispelled when they get to
live there! Its petty jealousies ; its twaddling round
of small visiting ; its deplorably uninteresting and in-
jurious gossip ; its prying curiosity and ill-natured
comparisons ; its crouching spirit of dependance, and
guarded caution of " neighbours' eyes ;'* and its rulers
and dominators, who prefer acting the storks amongst
the frogs — the monarchs of a set of clowns, to being the
unheeded nobodies of a London circle.
There is one blessing attendant upon a residence in
the country, which the inhabitants of the great metro-
polis cannot enjoy. Should you require advice, should
you be undecided how to act in any affair of import-
ance, closely touching yourself, you can apply to your
neighbours. Rest assured they are better, far better
informed of the state of your concerns than you are
yourself; and their careful minds have studied every
bearing of your case, long before you yourself thought
about it. So it chanced with Mr. Pimony Skuffle.
As soon as the stiffness of a new acquaintanceship
began to wear off, his constant visits to Mr. Sparrow's
furnished fresh themes for the good people of Chortur-
mut, to discuss at the little tea-and-turn-out coteries
that they so liked to indulge in. Miss Pinkey, the
old maid, who paid the widow lady fifty-five pounds a
year for her board, which sum the old lady was glad to
receive, " because agreeable society and a cheerful
home were required, more than remuneration," lived
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 131
nearly opposite to Mr. Sparrow's, and, consequently,
was enabled to keep a correct account of Pimony's
visits ; whilst the old lady's maid used to walk home
from meeting, on a Sunday night, with Mrs. Sparrow's
maid, and, having compared notes all the while, used to
retail all she had heard while she laid the cloth for sup-
per, and put the pickled cabbage out of the big brown jar
that was kept in the side closet, into little crockery leaves
adorned with the three tiny mandarins without legs,
going over a bridge, and another amusing himself, in
a species of floating dog-kennel, on the water, and two
double-tailed birds fighting at the top. Now, all this
taken into consideration, Pimony was reported to be in
love, engaged, and about to be married ; nay, he was
personally congratulated before such an idea had tho-
roughly entered his head, much to the annoyance of
the old woman who superintended his domestic con-
cerns ; entertaining, as she did, in common with all
her class, an intense horror of a new mistress being
brought home, to see how much Dorset butter and
moist sugar was consumed a-week in the kitchen, and
what became of all the cold roast beef that went out of
the parlour the day before.
There is, however, an old saying, as vulgar as old,
and as true as vulgar, which teaches us, that '* there is
never a splash of mud, but some sticks" ; and so, at
last, the reports of Mr. Skuffle's attachment to Miss
Sparrow, although vague and exaggerated, were built
on some slight foundation of truth ; the rest was all
the lath and plaster of imagination. He had certainly
commenced a series of frequent visits to the worthy
132 THE WASSATL-BOWL.
farmer's, and he had even invited them back tolerably
often, in return, to his house ; and, by some unac-
countable attraction, equally mysterious as the electro-
magnetism, or some other polytechnic mystery, he
always found himself next to Emma at table, or at her
side as they walked about the garden. The mamma
Sparrow, and the two " plain and amiable" daughters,
were miracles of management in this respect. They
never interfered with the tete-a-tetes, but always with-
drew, with the most praiseworthy intention, when Pi-
mony and the young lady were in conversation. Or if
there was a gipsying party formed to the Sheepleas, or
any other romantic spot at a small distance from Chor-
turmut, Mr. Skuffle was always requested to drive
Emma in the gig, " because she did' not like going in
the wagon much," which dislike afforded her mother an
opportunity of descanting on. her daughter's genteel
notions and refined ideas ; but this was to Pimony in
confidence.
What with perpetually hearing Emma's praises sung
by Mrs. Sparrow, and chorused by her daughters ;
what with turning over the leaves of her music-book
every time she sat down to her piano ; what with
everybody perpetually telling him how amiable and
good a wife she would make — what a perfect treasure
she would be to any young man, Mr. Skuffle, at last,
believed it himself. His attentions became more
marked as the attentions of the family redoubled ;
and in a few weeks he became, in reality, the accepted
lover of Miss Emma Sparrow.
But there was one thing very strange in the pro-
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 133
gress of his courtship. On his first acquaintance, the
lady had perfectly snubbed him ; in fact, she was
barely civil, to the terrible discomfiture of her ma-
noeuvring mamma; but, after a short time, and all of
a sudden, she became altogether as polite : this change
Mr. Skuffle attributed to her gradual perception of his
nascent good qualities bursting into existence, in which
idea her mother joined ; congratulating herself, at last,
how snugly and comfortably the whole affair had been
conducted, and what a blessing it was, that it would
now be all over between her daughter and Tom Bankes
— the rantipole, sporting, house-forbidden relative,
before alluded to. Now that all her anxieties on that
score were removed, and her daughter had actually
fixed the wedding-day, the good lady walked out with
the air of a mother who had done her duty ; noticing,
in the most patronizing ttyle, those ladies she chanced
to meet in the village, whose plans upon Mr. Skuffle
had failed, and whose daughters were still single.
As soon as the day of days was determined upon,
all was bustle and confusion at Mr. Sparrow''s. Every
young woman in the village, capable of holding a
needle, was engaged to work for the family during
three weeks, coming every morning and departing every
evening ; both the mantuamakers were overdone with
orders ; and such a rag-fair of shreds and patches as
the whole house presented was never seen. All sorts
of fashion-books were procured from the librarian's, at
the county town, distant some six miles, filled with
pictures of elegant ladies, four in a row, holding pa-
rasols, bouquets, fans, and leaning against harps, pos-
134 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
sessing such feet, waists, and little round under-lips as
are met with only in works of that kind : and over
them, on the same page, were scores of head-dresses
and bonnets, with patterns for habit-shirts, chemisettes,
pelerines, and all the rest of that tribe of articles, which
tortured collars, with tails and wings, are forced to
assume. Then, the linendraper was running in and
out of the house all day long, with a yard measure and
a paper parcel each time ; and taking back the ac-
counts of the bride's dress to the people who were
waiting for grocery at his other counter, which he
served in such a hurried manner as fully to account for
the small lumps of butter on the book-muslins, lard
on the lace, and tallow on the tulle, dabs of which
were constantly adhering. Old Mr. Sparrow, who took
the least interest of all the family in the proceedings,
was almost worried out of hi* life with proposals, and
queries, and suggestions ; so that, at last, he was com-
pelled to betake himself to the cart-shed, in order to
enjoy his pipe, first taking the precaution to turn a
bull loose in the straw-yard, to prevent people from
crossing it, and thus to secure himself from all intrusion.
*****
It was the night before the bridal, and the time was
about half-past eleven. The lights in the long one-
storied cluster of buildings that constituted Mr. Spar-
row's farm, were gradually disappearing, one by one, as
the inmates of the chambers, from whose windows
their rays proceeded, were successively retiring to rest.
All was hushed in the still deep silence of the country,
broken only by the distant bay of the sheep-dog, or
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 135
the occasional stamp of horses in the stable, as Tom
Bankes, armed with a piece of raw meat and a cudgel,
noiselessly opened the farm-gate, and crossed the yard
towards the house, keeping as closely as possible in the
shade of the buildings. But the old house-dog was
wide awake, if everybody else slumbered ; and, starting
from the old tub, which formed his house, began a
loud bark as he recognised Tom's figure approaching
in the indistinct light. " Lay down. Wolf,"" said Tom,
as he boldly advanced towards him. " There, there —
good dog : soh ! old boy, don''t you know me ? " and,
stooping down, he patted the dog''s sides, and gave him
the piece of meat, which quieted the animal in an
instant. It was well he did, for Mr. Sparrow heard the
alarm, and, opening the casement of his chamber, pro-
truded his head, enveloped in one of those dreadfully
unromantic conical cotton nightcaps, with the idea of
which we always associate a farce, or an execution.
" Who ""s there?" cried the farmer. No one, of
course, answered ; and Tom crouched down behind
the dog-kennel, which was, unluckily, in the full gleam
of the moonlight, until Mr. Sparrow, satisfied no
thieves were approaching, drew back his head.
As soon as all was again quiet he crept across the
lawn, and, gently dragging an iron roller over the
grass, which came quite close to the house, with the
exception of a narrow flower-bed, rested its handle
against the wall ; and then, standing on its body, was
enabled to tap lightly against the window, on a level
with his head, from whence a light in the interior was
plainly visible, although the blind was down, and a
136 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
curtain carefully drawn across. The summons was
heard, and the next moment Emma Sparrow's fair
hand opened the little diamond-paned casement.
Now, it is very likely the fairer portion of our
readers (if we are so honoured — and we trust we are)
would like very much to know what the conversation
was that ensued between Tom Bankes and the young
lady. If this be the case, we are sorry to disappoint
them ; but we are not going to reveal it. Firstly,
it would be a great breach of confidence and honour-
able secrecy on our part ; and, secondly, the con-
versation between a gentleman of five-and-twenty and
a pretty girl of eighteen, must be of that particularly
edifying nature, especially by moonlight and alone,
that we could not do fair justice to it upon paper.
Their dialogue, however, lasted a very long time —
quite long enough to have given them both very bad
colds in the head ; and, frequently, Emma pointed
to a light, visible through the trees, in the distance,
which proved that Mr. Shuffle still continued to watch
by the midnight oil — no, the midnight metallic wick,
that burnt before him ; and then they both laughed,
until Emma intimated to Tom the vicinity of her
father's bed-room, and so subdued the merriment.
Strange conduct this was for a young lady the night
before her marriage, and with another person, too ;
but this was not all. When Tom took his leave, he
shook hands a great many times ; and, at last, raising
himself up with both hands, like the little Mr. Pick-
wicks in the sand toys, before they tumble over the
pole, elevated his head above the sill of the window,,
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 137
and brought his face so close to Emma's that their
lips ; but what else on earth could Tom do
under such circumstances ? At this period, how-
ever, the roller, not being secured against the wall,
rolled away, and the iron handle rattled down the
flints that faced the front of the house. The next
moment the dog, freshly awaked, began to bark ; Tom
jumped over the palings ; Emma rapidly shut the
window, and extinguished her candle ; and Mr. Spar-
row once more projected his nightcap at his case-
ment ; all which performances were as simultaneous
as if the actors had been a set of puppets, put in
motion by the pulling of one string.
** What a stupid ass I have been ! " muttered Tom
to himself, as he gained the road ; " after having been
here every night for nearly a month, to finish with an
uproar at last ! "
« ' * * #
The eventful morning arrived; and great was the
excitement amongst the usually quiet inhabitants of
Chorturmut. To quote the words of our respected
contemporaries, the weekly provincial press, " the day
was ushered in by the bells ringing a merry peal,"
a process, in the present case, somewhat difficult of
execution, as the belfry of the church possessed but
two ; but, by the ingenuity of the ringer, an old
woman, who made leather sit-upons, and sold nuts
and hardbake in the High-street, a most hilarious
peal was produced ; the said old woman first pulling
one rope, then the other, and then both together,
by way of variety. At the Talbot Inn, which, not
138 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
being within ten miles of the railroad, boasted four
post horses, stood a new carriage, which the boots
informed the admiring bystanders " had come from
Lunnun a purpose of the bride ;" and the ostler and
potboy were rubbing down the said quartette of
quadrupeds at the door of the stables. The cham-
bermaid was standing at the window of the bar, pin-
ning white bows on the postboys' hats ; and a jolly
man, in a green coat, was sitting in a spring-cart at
the door, waiting for his morning glass of ale.
*' Here 's my love to you, Mary," said he, winking
his eye to the girl, as the waiter brought him his
order ; " and much good may it do you. Is them
bows for our wedding ?"
" I never see such a wedding," said Mary, co-
quettishly.
"- Then we arn't to be married this morning, my
dear," replied the jolly man. " You 're a monsus pretty
girl, you are, too."
"Ah, that 's as you say," said Mary ; turning the
hat round, to see if the bow was pinned even.
" Capitally done," continued the jolly man. " You
ought to have a husband, if it was only to pin bows on
his hat. Never mind, sweetheart ; you shall put a
cockade on a little cap some day ;'"* and then he paid
for his ale and drove on, telling Mary he would call
for her on his way to church the next morning.
Around the churchyard the usual country nuptial
crowd of women, old men, and children, had collected,
who were basking in the sun on the tombstones, or
playing amongst them ; occasionally asking the sexton,
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 139
with the most humble deference for his red plush
breeches, when he thought the wedding party would
arrive. Two or three of the charity children were
indulging in occasional cheers in front of Mr. Shuffle's
house, whenever they caught sight of him, as he
passed the staircase windows ; and Miss Pinkey, and
the old lady she boarded with, had been sitting up, in
great form and fine caps, all the morning, at the first-
floor window, to watch the proceedings. All Mr.
Sparrow'^s labourers were having breakfast in the bam,
off cold meat and ale — a diet which suited their com-
plaint admirably ; in fact, all was gossip and festivity.
When, at last, the one-horse fly of the village livery-
man drew up at Mr. Sparrow's door, a great rush took
place towards it, as if the occasion of its being hired
had endowed it with some new and imposing attrac-
tion ; but when the carriage', with four real horses (it
was a four-wheeled chaise, meant for two, or one, with
shafts,) drew up in front of the Talbot, and then went
up to the church, and then came back again, the ex-
citement of the mob knew no bounds ; and, in their
overflowing hilarity, they successively cheered the sex-
ton, the ostler, the pew-opener, the beadle, and all
Mr. Sparrow's servants, until there was no one left to
cheer but the workhouse idiot, who came with a large
white paper bow in his cap, surmounted by a cock's
feather, to join the throng.
The fly proceeded to Mr. Skuffle's ; and then the
four post-horses drew the phaeton up to Mr. Sparrow's
door; which was again minutely inspected by the mob,
who, amongst other things, wondered why the strange
140 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
postilion on the leader wore such large whiskers and
green spectacles — an anomaly unknown in postboys.
At half-past nine the door of Mr. Sparrow's house
opened, and the bride and her sisters appeared. The
boots of the Talbot, who officiated as footman, opened
the door of the hinder seat, and, amidst the admiration
of all, Emma ascended. The two postilions, who had
been looking back, with their hands on their horses'
haunches, at the same moment spurred the animals on-
ward ; and, with the steps still down, the door open,
and nobody but the fair bride under the head of the
back seat, the carriage moved from the door. The
horses broke into a gallop, and, in less time than we
can relate it, the whole concern whirled rapidly across
the common, amidst the utter astonishment of the
people, the screams of Mrs. Sparrow and the two plain
daughters, and the speechless and staggering wonder of
Mr. Skuffle, who was at that moment about to enter
the fly.
On, on went the equipage, over the common, across
the turnpike road, and along the green lanes and by-
ways, at increasing speed, until the level embankment
of the Great Western Railroad appeared before them,
and the white walls of one of its stations gleamed in
the morning sun. Far in the distance, to the left, an
up-train was seen approaching, leaving its long tail of
steam to mark its progress. Fresh whip and spur were
applied — two more miles were cleared — the station was
reached, and the postilion on the leader, pitching his
whiskers and spectacles into the carriage, pulled out
the lady, and his cutaway coat, which was stuffed under
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 141
the seat, at the same time. In two minutes more, the
bell had rung, and Tom Bankes and Emma were in a
first-class carriage, flying along the road to the West
Drayton station, where their banns had been published
the three Sundays previous. In another half-hour they
were married.
We would fain draw a veil over the scene of do-
mestic agony that occurred at Chorturmut. The only
person that appeared capable of consolation was Mr.
Sparrow himself, who, when he learned from the grin-
ning boots that Mr. Bankes had been at the bottom of
it all, almost smiled. The young scapegrace had
always been a lurking favourite of his ; it was the
mamma bird that had so decidedly objected to him.
Mrs. Sparrow went into screaming hysterics for four
hours ; and the two plain daughters would have done
the same, but, as they were obliged to attend to their
mother, they reluctantly gave up the idea. As for
Pimony, he was raving; at least we heard so, from
his old housekeeper. He three times ran down to the
well, in order to drown himself; and three times did
that good woman prevent him, by pulling him in-doors
again by the tails of the new blue coat with conserva-
tive buttons, which he had published for the wedding ;
and even then she was obliged to remove the water-jug
from his bed-room, because he kept insanely endea-
vouring, in the most frantic manner, to put his head
into it.
Three weeks after that, Mr. Skuffle'^s effects were
sold by public auction. The sale lasted four hours,
beginning with the fender and wash-hand stand in the
142 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
front attic, and ending with the one nine-gallon cask,
pitchfork, ash-sieve, bird-cage, and tinder-box, in the
outhouse. Five blank lots of sundries were also added,
consisting of all the lie-about rubbish that had collected
in the auctioneer*'s show-rooms for the last twelve
months. Miss Pinkey, and the old lady she boarded
with, attended all the time, marking every lot in the
catalogue very carefully, and thinking the blue-and-
white dinner service went very dear. There was the
usual complement of low jokes and lower bidders ; the
usual beggarly prying curiosity attendant upon sales ;
the usual gang of Jews and brokers ; and the usual
tattle of Mr. Skuffle's reasons for quitting Chor-
turmut.
He is still in single blessedness, and never intends
to marry ; after, as he says, " the deceit of her whom
he had so fondly loved and lost." His pride was hurt
at being so thoroughly sold by a young country farmer,
and it was long before he recovered. But, when he talked
the matter over calmly with his friends — when he re-
flected that he was not the first, nor the hundredth, nor
the hundred-thousandth man who had been jilted by one
of the fair sex, whose affection, the poets tell us, is so
burning, deep, unchanging, and eternal — when he saw
the truth of this he was somewhat consoled ; but, at
the same time, vowed never to be engaged again, unless
merely " for the next quadrille.",
Tom Bankes and his pretty wife are very happy.
They are reconciled to the old people ; and as one
sister's marriage often opens the best road for the
others to go off upon, where there are a lot of single
MR. PIMONY SKUFFLE. 143
girls all in the same family, they are, we believe, about
to change their names. Tom has given up all his wild
freaks, with the exception of his two pointers, and often
amuses his friends with the story of jockeying the
cockney, and so boldly carrying away and wedding the
intended bride of Mr. Pimonv Skuffle.
144 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CANOVA^S FIRST LOVE.
The old palace clock of the imperial residence of
Fontainbleau had just sounded its evening chimes,
when Napoleon, drawing his chair near the blazing
hearth of one of the antique apartments, gave him-
self freely up to one of those unrestrained and almost
trifling conversations with Marie Louise, that he so
loved to indulge in. His fine countenance had never
borne an expression of laisser-aller more simple or
more gladsome. He laughed, he joked, and rubbed
his hands with gaiety, as he smilingly provoked the
Empress to hazard a few French words, still difficult
for her to pronounce, and which she uttered with a
delightful imperfection.
" Sire," exclaimed Duroc, opening the door of the
chamber, " the Italian artist has arrived."
" Shew him in, then, immediately," returned the
Emperor, placing his foot against the marble of the
chimney-piece, and pushing his fauteuil backwards, so
as to leave a place for the new comer by his side.
The visitor entered, made a respectful salute to the
two illustrious persons before whom he was introduced,
and, upon a sign from Napoleon, took his seat with
courteous ease, upon a chair which the Emperor him-
self had placed for him, before the fire-place.
canova's first love. 145
" You are welcome to France, my dear Canova,''
said the master of Europe, with one of his most win-
ning inflexions of voice ; *' but how pale and thin you
have become since I last saw you ! Decidedly you
must quit Rome, and come to dwell with us in Paris
the air of our capital will restore your health and
embonpoint. Looli," he added, pinching the fresh and
rosy cheek of Marie Louise with his small white hand ;
" look, how healthy we are in France ! "
" Sire," returned the sculptor, " you must attribute
my bad health to study, not to the climate of my
country. Allow me, I beseech you, to return to Italy
as soon as I have finished the bust which you have
ordered me to execute."
" Diahle cC homme,'''' cried the Emperor, " to refuse
to live near me. See ! Louise ; he has no other am-
bition than to be the first sculptor in the world, and
he is all impatience to leave us, and return to chip
marble at Rome, and produce some new work equally
sublime as the Paris, the Terpsichore, the Danseuses^
the Venus, or the Magdalen."
The conversation now became general, and a variety
of topics were discussed : nothing appeared strange to
Napoleon ; he spoke of all with a profound knowledge
of them, and astonished Canova by the superiority of
his views.
" I have sixty millions of subjects," said Napoleon,
smiling ; " eight or nine hundred thousand soldiers,
and a hundred thousand horses — the Romans them-
selves ne'er reckoned so many. I have contested forty
battles ; at that of Wagram, I fired a hundred thou-
VOL. II. H
145 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
sand cannon balls away, and this lady, who was then
Archduchess of Austria, would fain have seen me fall
before one of them."
" // etre pien frai,^^ said Marie Louise, prettily
affecting her natural accent.
" I should think," added Canova softly, " that
things are now much altered."
" Oh! cela est bien vrai f'' exclaimed the Empress
warmly, speaking this time the best French in the
world, and raising the hand of Napoleon to her lips,
who put his arm round the waist of his young wife,
and forced her to sit on his knees. "Bah ! bah !"
said he, as his blushing partner slightly resisted ;
" Canova is our friend, et Von ne se gene pas devant
ses amis. Were he not so, I am sure his tender and
impassioned heart would rejoice to see a menage so
happy. Tiens I Louise," he added, " I will tell you
a story, of which you shall guess the hero, and then
you will see if there is any harm in my toying with
you before Canova ;" and, still keeping the Empress a
prisoner, he commenced :
" In the province of Treviso there is a little village
called Possagno. I shall open my tale there, for in this
place my hero passed his infancy. His father, an ar-
chitect, died at the age of twenty-seven, and his mother
remarried Sartori de Crespano. The child, then about
four years old, was named Antonio, and he dwelt with
his stepfather ; but he was harshly treated, and was at
last sent to pass an autumn at Pradazzi with one of his
friends, named Faliero. This acquaintance, remarking
the intelligence of his young visitor, and the instinct
canova's first love. 147
witli which he moulded a few clay images, placed him,
as a pupil, with a sculptor of moderate talents, named
Torretto/'
" Is it possible !" interrupted Canova, confounded,
" your majesty knows, then, the most minute details
of my private life ?"
"And of many others," returaed Napoleon, with a
smile, as he continued.
" Torretto was a severe master, although a good one,
and exercised a strict surveillance over his favourite
pupil : nevertheless, he could not prevent his occa-
sionally stealing from the atelier to dance at the fetes
in the vicinity. He was then sixteen years old. One
day, during the vintage, he fell in with a joyous troop
of peasant girls, clad in their best habits in honour
of a jour de vendange ; and things so fell out, that
one of them, named Bettina Biasi, finished by placing
her arm within that of Antonio, and all that evening
they danced together in the Tarantella."
A sigh escaped from Can ova's breast : the Emperor
pressed the hand of Marie Louise, to draw her atten-
tion, but without interrupting his recital.
*' Bettina," he continued, '* was but fourteen. Her
large black eyes sparkled like globes of fire ; my two
hands would have been too large to span her slender
waist ; and more beautiful hair was never seen than
hers. Well, all went on smoothly, and they met
often ; they formed projects of marriage, and the
union was nearly completed between them, when Tor-
retto and Faliero learned, for the first time, what was
passing. They foresaw that this marriage would de-
H 2
148 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
stroy the brilliant career of their protege. . . One night,
they both entered Antonio''s chamber, and ordered him
to follow them. In spite of his tears, his resistance,
and his grief, they carried him with them to Venice,
and there, during one entire year, they kept a strict
watch over him, and compelled him to seek, in his
noble art, that consolation which the * pure and deep
caverns of memory ' denied him.
" Time, however, flew on with his untiring wings,
and the bright reputation of the young sculptor gra-
dually developed itself. He became rich and cele-
brated, and Volpato played his cards so well, that
his pupil thought much less of Bettina Biasi, and oc-
cupied himself much more with Domenica, the hand-
some coquetting daughter of the engraver. A mar-
riage was spoken of, but as Domenica was only thir-
teen years of age, they betrothed the two lovers, and
the nuptials were postponed until the following year.
Alas ! for the affection of a flirt : one year afterwards,
Domenica married Raphael Morghani ! The forsaken
lover nearly sank beneath the cruel blow that his false
intended had brought upon him.""
Canova had fallen into a profound reverie, and ap-
peared no longer to hear a syllable of what was passing
around him. The Emperor continued :
" His physicians and friends advised him to try the
benefit of his native air. He departed then ; but, on
the way, the long-slumbering thoughts of his almost
forgotten Bettina arose again, and he pictured her once
more so young, so beautiful, so disinterested in her
love, and more gay and laughing than ever.
canova's first love 149
" No sooner had he caught the first glimpse of the
church tower of Possagno, than, too much excited to
loiter in the drawling veturino, he sprang to the
ground, and reached the gates of the little town by
a short footpath. But his arrival had been anticipated,
and a crowd of young people, awaiting his approach,
pressed forward to welcome him, making the country
resound with their joyous vivas. He could not ad-
dress them, for his heart was too full, and tears were
streaming from his eyes. The road was covered with
laurels and immortelles ; all the inhabitants of Pos-
sagno in their fete dresses, women, children, and vine-
dressers, with green branches in their hands, bordered
the road, and saluted their clever young compatriot as
he advanced. His old master, the venerable Torretto,
came to press him to his heart ; and behind him stood
a young female, who was gazing with quivering lip and
moistened cheek upon the young sculptor. * Bettina !
mia Bettina ! ' cried Canova, for it was the fair girl
herself.
" Ah ! sire ! sire !" interrupted Canova, " for pity''s
sake do not proceed further with a recital that awakens
in me so many cruel souvenirs^
But Napoleon felt gratified at the impression he was
producing ; the sculptor was deeply affected, and Marie
Louise was listening with intense interest.
" Hear the remainder, Louise," said he, addressing
himself entirely to the Empress. " We are approaching
the denouement, and it is worthy the rest of the story.
Five years had diminished nothing of Bettina'*s beauty.
She was pale, it is true, and resembled one of Canova's
150 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
own white marble statues, of which some whimsical
artist had coloured the hair and eyes. * Oh ! Bettina ! '
he exclaimed, leading her a little apart from the throng
that was pressing around him ; — ' you will pardon my
ingratitude, will you not ? you will render me that
happiness of which I am so little worthy ? I have but
seen you to find all our holy and fervent love of other
days revived ! "
" ' I suffered much,** said the beautiful girl, in a
voice of deep emotion ; ' I suffered much, Antonio
mio, when I learnt you were about to marry Dome-
nica ; and yet, my friend, I knew that the humble
peasant girl of Pradazzi, — that the betrothed of the
apprentice Antonio, would be ill received as the wife
of the celebrated sculptor, Canova. Nevertheless, I re-
fused all the offers that were addressed to me, for five
years, and during that time I lived only for your re-
membrance. But when I learnt that you were about
to return to Possagno ; when I recollected, however
circumstances might be changed between us, that you
would not see me again without some emotion, for we
loved each other dearly ; when I thought that, perhaps,
we might be both feeble enough to renew those projects
rendered almost futile by your actual position ; I
wished to avoid not only the possibility of yielding to
them, but still more the heart-rending agitation our
meeting would have caused. ... I am married.' — ' Mar-
ried, Bettina!' — 'It is now eight days since, to a
worthy young man, who has sought my hand for four
years.' "
" OA .' voild une noble et digne creature !^^ cried
THE WASSAIL-BOWL. 151
Marie Louise, with all her natural enthusiasm, as
Canova quitted his seat, on the Emperor finishing his
recital, and retired into the recess of the window to
conceal his emotion.
At this moment they heard a soft knock at the door,
and the Duke of Otranto, the Minister of Police, en-
tered.
" Truly, M. le Due," said Napoleon, " you could
not arrive more apropos. See the effect I have just
produced, thanks to the information you brought me
from Italy a week back. Adieu, Canova !" he added,
laying his hand on the shoulder of the sculptor. " Oc-
cupy yourself with the bust, and when you have finish-
ed it, return to Italy if you will. Ah ! the Emperor^s
trade is a rude one, and it is not often I can enjoy a
fire-side conversation with ray wife and friend, as I
have done this evening. Allons, M. le Due ;" and he
left the apartment.
This evening was that of the 80th October, 1810 ;
and the Emperor, Marie Louise, and Canova had pass-
ed it in the same room where, on the 11th of April,
1814, Napoleon signed his abdication.
152 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
AN ENGLISH MASQUERADE.
There are many dreary things in the world besides
death, debtors' prisons, and theatres by daylight. A
" genteel "" dinner-party of rural aristocracy is amaz-
ingly slow, and so is a wet Sunday at Worthing. The
same pantomime seen half a dozen times has a dispirit-
ing effect ; and certain dull debates in the Houses of
Parliament incite the belief that the members' "skulls
are as somniferous and hollow as dried poppy-heads.
The archives of Exeter Hall, doubtless, contain a very
shady chronicle of not over-lively events. Solitary
men, in new lodgings, feel exquisitely cheerless ; and
the Red House at Battersea, in the middle of January,
ceases to impart anything like hilarity to our feelings.
But the saddest concern of all, — the ghost of fun
decked in the worn-out trappings of happiness, — a gilt
skeleton adorned with wreaths of artificial flowers, — a
hearse hung round with illumination lamps, — is a
masquerade in England.
Whether it be that the open disposition of the na-
tional character unfits us for assuming the mask with
becoming spirit, or whether in reality our wit is too
ponderous to flash about these entertainments as it
ought to do, we leave others to determine ; but, certain
it is, that every successive attempt to establish a mas-
AN ENGLISH MASQUERADE, 153
querade as one of our regular amusements, proves more
and more liow utterly incapable we are of entering into
its humour, in respect to other European nations ; and
we affirm this advisedly, for we have had many oppor-
tunities of drawing the comparison. We have been
deluded into the Tarantella at Naples by a pair of
large black eyes, whose glances implied much more,
even through the peep-holes of a mask, than those of
a colder clime could express with the assistance of the
whole face ; and we have fallen quite as deeply in love
with a round, dimpled chin, short upper lip, and row
of dazzling pearly teeth, shrouded by the black fringe
of the vizor, as with the whole contour of some other
lovely countenance ; for your mask is a great auxiliary
to female attractions ; it heightens beauty by half con-
cealing it ; and, vice versa, it covers all defects. We
have, also,
" Some weeks before Shrove-Tuesday comes about,"
lounged as a modem Greek, in the full blaze of day,
at the cafes in the Piazza St. Marco at Venice ; or
haply toiled up the inclined planes of the Campanile
to shower chocolate bonbons from the summit upon
the crowd below ; and, though last, not least in our
memory, we have, in our capacity of a student of the
Quartier Latin, worn a debardeur^s dress for a whole
week together, and whirled and gallopaded to the mu-
sic of Musard and Magnus in the salle of the Rue
Vivienne, or the more boisterous assembly of the
Prado, until the busy chiffoniers had been about some
time before we wandered back to our abode on a six-
H 5
154 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
ieme in the Rue St. Jacques. Nay, even this conclu-
sion to a night's revelry has been sometimes denied ;
for, with the candour of Rousseau, we admit that we
have sometimes passed the night in the violon below
the staircase of the Opera Comique, and appeared be-
fore the police the next morning in our glazed hat,
blue shirt, and black velvet trowsers, to make what
excuse we best might for having, under the very sha-
dow of the garde municipale, with their tiger-skin
helmets, given ourselves up, " un p^tit peu tr op fort,''''
to the abandon of the dance, in defiance of the placard
which informed us that our style was " defendu par les
autorites^'' Should you wish the scene brought picto-
rially before your eyes, we unhesitatingly refer you to
the vivid sketches of our friend Gavarni.
Strange to say, we had never seen a masquerade in
England, — principally, we believe, on account of the
price of admission having been generally fixed at a sum
which, if expended, would swamp all hopes of dinner
for the next fortnight to a scribbler of the present day.
We "assisted," (as they say abroad,) it is true, at the hal
masque given by Jullien at Drury Lane ; but this was a
very dull affair, although hundreds had paid their guinea
for admission, — an expenditure which we confess to
have avoided, now it is all past, by going as a mere
spectator to the dress-circle, and jumping down into
the arena during a galoppe monstre, when the police-
man in attendance had been violently carried off by
sundry couples in the general whirl.
Curiosity to see how a masquerade would be con-
ducted in England, and the present of a ticket, were
AN ENGLISH MASQUERADE. 155
the exciting causes of the visit we paid a short time
since to Vauxhall. It was with much satisfaction we
read an announcement that the gardens were to open
once again. We had not quite forgotten the excite-
ment of the first time we went there ; we are afraid to
say how long back, but it was at the time when
" Mother Town" dispensed coffee and rolls to the
boys of Merchant-Tailors' School, the constant use of
which milk-diet did not prevent us on this event from
getting slightly elevated, and performing an impromptu
pas-de-deux with one of the red-coated waiters in front
of the supper-box. We still think that, not being
accustomed to them, it must have been the profusion
of lamps which upset our stomach, for anatomy has
since taught us the intimate connexion between that
organ and the eyes. Our friends hold a different opi-
nion, and incline to the belief that it was the " rack
punch," a beverage well named, indeed, if the state of
the head the next day be taken into consideration.
We were much grieved when we were informed last
year that Vauxhall was about to close for ever ! We
could not believe that any one would ever have the
hardihood to take down or remove those gaudy em-
blems that had whilom so much bewildered us, — the
balloon going up with flags and crowns, — the stars,
mottoes, and devices. The orchestra, too, was to be
razed to the ground, — that illuminated pepper-box from
which we had heard so many diverting songs, when
the musicians played in all the glory of their cocked
hats ; and the gentleman in white kids, whom nobody
knew, led forth the lady, whom everybody knew, to
156 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
sing, in a grand black velvet hat adorned with feathers
from a cock's tail turned downwards, and trimmed
apparently with bits of black tobacco-pipe, French-
polished. And they coolly talked of building houses
— common, uninteresting houses ! — on the very ground
that the rockets had gone up from, and, occasionally,
come down again through the sky-lights of the neigh-
bouring dwellings, bursting and shedding their coloured
stars upon the staircases in a most diverting manner,
and allowing the inhabitants a private exhibition to
themselves. The whole speculation was wild and im-
possible. We are convinced, had the houses been
built and taken on lease, that the immortal Simpson,
angered at the profanation, would have come back from
the shades, and called around him all the spirits who
shed lustre over Vauxhall in former times, to aid him
in perpetually ringing the bells, and making strange
noises, after the fashion of haunted houses, upon the
authorities of Glanville and Aubrey, until the dwellers
therein gave warning and fled away, leaving the ele-
vations to keep standing alone, or tumble down by
degrees, as they best might.
Mais revenons a nos moutons, which, being an en-
tirely novel phrase, never before made use of, we may
as well explain to signify that we got a ticket for the
masquerade, and intended to go. The choice of a
costume for a time somewhat perplexed us ; until, hav-
ing inquired the price of hire, and inspected every dress
in Nathan's wardrobes, from the habit of the field-officer
at fifteen shillings, to the Albanian pirate at three
guineas, we finally decided upon arraying ourselves as
AN ENGLISH MASQUERADE. 157
" a gent, of the nineteenth century ;" and therefore,
when the eventful evening arrived, we arrayed ourselves
in one of the fashionable five-and- twenty-shilling-union-
workhouse Taglionis now so popular, and a long bright
blue satin stock, worked with gold flies and forget-me-
nots, which was fastened by a massy pin, representing
a gilt lobworm twirling round a large white currant,
connected by a small jack-chain to another jewel, which
had the appearance of a bird"'s egg set in a miniature-
frame. We also turned up our wristbands over our
cuffs, and wore our hat on one side ; and, having re-
ceived the complimentary assurance of an esteemed
friend that we looked " a thorough snob," we set off
towards our destination about half-past eleven at
night.
As we passed through Westminster some cabs rat-
tled by, containing ladies and gentlemen, more or less
disguised ; but the first real evidence of the night's
entertainment was presented at Vauxhall Bridge, where
we saw a brigand in a magnificent dress of green baize,
trimmed with pewter watches, calmly waiting at the
toll-house for five-penny worth of coppers in change.
His companion — they were both walking — had as-
sumed the dress of an English peasant, in a smock-
frock, and navigator's hat ; and his appearance was
much heightened by a large artificial nose, to which
a pair of frizzly mustacliios was attached. Their noble
bearing did not appear to awe the toll-keeper in any
way: on the contrary, he betrayed little courtesy
towards them, and returned a sullen grunt only to a
joke from the robber, who requested " he would bring
158 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
out his scales, because he thought one of the halfpence
was under weight."
A large crowd had assembled at the doors of the
gardens, who received each fresh costume with enthu-
siastic cheers, and many humorous allusions to the
characters assumed. The quiet aspect of our own
dress saved us from any of these salutations ; and pass-
ing through the Cimmerian glimmer of the entrance,
we emerged from its gloom into the scene of festivity.
The majority of the company were viewing the fire-
works then exhibiting ; but as we had no great desire
to see what we had so often witnessed before, and
which always appeared the same, except that the
squibs were sometimes fixed in the middle of the
frames, and the wheels outside, instead of the inverse
arrangement, we remained in the promenade, perfectly
contented with hearing the distants sounds of admira-
tion at the exploding rockets, which diverting practice
has lived longer than any custom we can call to mind.
With the concluding bang of the last bouquet^ the
company returned to the illuminated portion of the
gardens, and a motley tribe they appeared. There
were certainly amongst them persons of rare and un-
doubted talent, who assumed the dress and manners of
the lower classes with such exquisite truth, that you
could hardly believe they had paid their half-guinea for
admittance. Two young ladies, dressed as mountain
sylphs, considerably enlivened the scene by the fay-
like manner in which they occasionally put their feet on
the shoulders of difl^erent individuals that passed ; and
AN ENGLISH MASQUERADE. 159
a gentleman in an apron, witli a long broom and a red
nose, created much mirth by sweeping dust over every-
body that came near him, especially annoying a knight
in scale armour, who maintained a most lachrymose
gravity of countenance all the evening, and fainting
under the weight of his harness, looked as if he would
have given the world for a pint of beer. A group of
young ladies, also, in pinafores and pink sashes, with
hoops and skipping-ropes, gave an air of innocence and
childlike revelry to the reunion. We gazed at them
with unfeigned interest, and moralising even in the
midst of masquerade, inwardly hoped that their hearts
might ever be as pure and guileless as they then
seemed, — a wish which towards the end of the even-
ing we certainly did not think appeared likely to be
realised, when their merriment became rather Ana-
creontic than infantile.
As far as eating and drinking went, it is but justice
to say, that every one performed admirably, but we
observed that, with the generality of the parties, jugs
of stout and dishes of cold beef had the preference in
point of popularity over champagne and cold fowls.
But the end was answered just the same, for it had the
effect of making the company exceedingly bacchanalian
after supper, when their wit broke into full play. We
perceived that the most favourite humour consisted in
running very fast along the walks, and yelling loudly,
— certainly a facetious performance ; and it was esteem-
ed an excellent conceit to bolt through the middle of
the quadrilles which were being perpetrated beneath
160 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
the orchestra, and jostle the dancers one over the
other.
It was evident that assumption of character was
never once thought about. The only instance we re-
marked occurred whilst we were discussing some cold
ham, when a young gentleman, habited as Jack Shep-
pard, walked into our box, and presenting a sixpenny
pistol, shot a pea in our face, and then walked out
again : and — a propos des hottes — there are many le-
gends told of the filmy slices of ham at Vauxhall,
which ought to be refuted. We never saw any that
were cut much under the thickness of ordinary slices,
so think, like many other popular errors, the tradition
lives upon its former credit.
It will scarcely be credited that in the midst of all
this gaiety we more than once caught ourselves yawn-
ing. Yet so it was ; and only the wish to see if the
mirth would take another turn, induced us to remain
after a certain period. At last, even the vivacity of a
recruiting-party, who beat drums uninterruptedly the
whole evening ; and the vocalisation of a ballad-singer,
whose lungs would have worked a blast-furnace, and
the elegant evolutions of several energetic gentlemen
who were waltzing together to the band under the front
walk, ceased to amuse us. The grey light of morning
was stealing over the gardens, putting to shame the
few glimmering lamps that flickered on the motto,
" Vive le Masque," now rapidly decaying ; the
chirp of two or three daring sparrows, accustomed to
early rising, had supplanted the imitations of Herr
AN ENGLISH MASQUERADE. 161
Von Joel; and the spire of the Hamburgh church
was once more vividly thrown out in the " natural
light "" when we left the gardens, most grateful with
ourselves for having been to a masquerade, on the
same principle that we thank a man, who, wearing
a bad coat, tells us the address of his tailor.
162 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
LOOSE LEAVES FROM THE TRAVEL-
LERS' ALBUM AT CHAMONIX.
We have not yet perfectly made up our minds as
to the correct pathology of that national morbid pro-
pensity for flying about from one place to another,
which is so deeply rooted in the breasts of the English,
as soon as the Opera and Parliament have come to
a stand-still. No nation in the world makes so much
fuss as our own about the comforts of home, and there
is none so notoriously anxious to run away from them.
No sooner do the attractions of the season begin to
wane — no sooner has the cornet- a-piston blown its
dying notes at the last reunion of consequence, or the
manoeuvres and flirtations of the last Horticultural
Society's fete become matters of retrospection, than we
are informed (for, led by the rest of the wanderers, we
never witnessed the attendant phenomena,) a marked and
melancholy change takes place in the domestic economy
of London. Shutters close, and blinds become enve-
loped in newspapers ; tables and chairs addict them-
selves to blouses of brown holland; portraits obscure
their lineaments by veils of coarse yellow gauze ; chan-
deliers tie themselves up in bags ; stair-carpets roll up
like dormice into undisturbed tranquillity for the next
THE ALBUM AT CHAMONIX. 163
four months, and fly-confounding coverings embrace
every other ameub lenient in the visitable apartment of
the mansion. Nor is it withindoors alone that this
household pantomime takes place. The trottoir of
Regent Street furnishes you with a very fair idea of
the Great Desert of Sahara ; and the various exhibi-
tions, from long habit and disinclination to retire from
business, perform to their own benches and attendants ;
Madame Tussaud sits down for company with Mali-
bran, Oliver Cromwell, Cobbett, and Marie Antoi-
nette ; whilst the stall-girls at the Pantheon and Soho
Bazaars pay one another complimentary visits, and
admire each other's wares, because they have nothing
else to do, except to wonder where on earth everybody
has gone, or to practise ducking under their counters,
like rabbits in a warren, against the world returns
again.
We will allow them to wonder, when we reflect
on the desolation which our erratic disposition pro-
duces at home. Even we ourselves, when abroad with
the rest, are completely paralysed with the sight of the
mobs of English that are running about every habi-
table comer of the Continent. We pass over Paris
and Baden-Baden, for they have become almost por-
tions of our own country, whatever opinion to the
contrary may be held by Louis Philippe and the
Grand Duke. But we will go further abroad : — again
the same crowd of our countrymen awaits us. They
climb the snowy mountains and traverse the clear blue
lakes of Switzerland ; they swelter in the noontide
sunshine of the smoothly-paved cities of Italy; they
164 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
plunge into the bowels of the great pyramids of Egypt,
or turn dizzy on the summits of the minarets of Con-
stantinople ; whilst their travelling wants transport
bottled porter to Athens and Windsor soap to Cala-
bria. Doubtless, before another year has passed, apj
English hotel and tea-gardens^ will be established in
the heart of Canton. Even our own language per-
petually rings in our ears ; nay, eight months have not
passed, since, gliding over the Lago Maggiore, we heard
a stalwart voice issuing from the cool grottoes of the
Isola Bella, chanting with the vigour of a twenty-lung-
power effort the bacchanalian canzone of " Jolly Nose "
— unpleasant and ridiculous antithesis !
It is exactly one hundred years ago this present
summer of one thousand eight hundred and forty-one,
that our illustrious countrymen, Messrs. Pocock and
Wyndham, first discovered the Valley of Chamonix
and its accompanying wonders. The good people of
Geneva, sober and steady-going citizens as they were,
had long imagined that slate-pencil-and-saliva-looking
Arve, that polluted the " arrowy Rhone " near their
town, arose from amidst the high mountains, whose
snow-covered summits glowed so richly in the sunset ;
but their knowledge extended not beyond this suppo-
sition. Imagining that they were the resort of a tribe
of rapscallions, who at that time overran Savoy and the
neighbouring countries, they felt little curiosity to
penetrate into their solitude; they contented them-
selves merely with thinking that the chief of the moun-
tains must be very high, and with christening the
chain, out of compliment to their supposed occupiers,
THE ALBUM AT CHAMONIX. 165
Les Montagues Maudites, But this drop of know-
ledge was not sufficient to quench the thirst of our
compatriots. They armed a strong body of retainers,
and, starting from Geneva, after no small degree of
labour, (for a very scrambling kind of a route the path
from Bonneville to Chamonix must have been at that
period,) bivouacked close to the village of the Priure,
as it was then called, and were somewhat amazed the
next' morning to receive a visit — not from the cut-
throat brigands whom they expected, but from the
good cure, who came to invite the strangers to pass
a few days in the village. His hospitable mission was
duly honoured ; and it was during their sojourn with
these simple people, who had then little idea of any
world beyond the rocky boundaries of their own valley,
that they visited and explored those remarkable ob-
jects, which, year after year, have drawn thousands to
inspect from every corner of the globe. One emblem
alone of their expedition now remains. As you de-
scend the narrow path which leads from the cabin at
Montauvert to the Mer de Glace, the guides point out
a large flat, reddish stone, which bears to this day the
name of Le Rocher des Anglais, and on this, tradition
reports, our travellers once dined during their rambles
of discovery. We can imagine what their feelings
were when that magnificent glacier first burst upon
them in all its awful and mighty solitude ! How
diflferent to the towzey-mowzey, as Fenimore Cooper
calls it, which is now felt, as a matter of course, by
the countless tribes who visit it.
Our first visit to Chamonix was unlucky, inasmuch
166 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
as from the time we entered the porch of the Hotel de
Londres to the hour we finally quitted it, we never
went ten yards from the house. Rain, rain, rain — un-
ceasing, overwhelming rain, entirely upset every plan
we had formed for our excursions, and made us keenly
regret having left the comforts and amusing resources
which Geneva affords to travellers for the miserable
ennui of our mountain sojourn. There were few other
visitors in the hotel, for the season was too premature
and unsettled : we ourselves had been compelled by
previous arrangements to select this time for our visit ;
and those who were with us were most despondingly
ill-tempered. Although we stopped three days in the
valley, we never once caught a glimpse of Mont Blanc,
the clouds entirely concealing his summit, and de-
scending two-thirds of the distance down his sides.
We had no books but the eternal Ebel, the no less
widely-circulated Murray, and a copy of the humorous
adventures of M. Vieuxbois, with his " obj'et aime^''^
which some previous traveller had left behind him.
We studied these over and over again ; we read every
hotel card that was stuck up in the passage, until we
could have passed as a walking advertisement of all
the inns in Switzerland ; and, finally, we copied into
our note-books the stencilled view of the column in the
Place Vendome, which graced the chimney-board in
the fire-place. We crept out, armed with a macintosh
and umbrella, to the " Cabinets d'Histoire NaturelW''
of the guides, and inspected their agate ear-drops.
Crystal wafer-stamps, and chamois-horn boot-hooks, with
intense curiosity ; we pored over their little relief
THE ALBUM AT CHAMONIX. 167
models of the valley and its surrounding mountains,
until we knew every peak and glacier as well as the
original makers ; and we were thankful for the little
relief they afforded to our inaction, which, accompa-
nied by the monotonous brawling of the Arveiron, and
the beating of the rain on the windward panes of glass,
was miserably depressing. On the fourth morning we
rushed into a return char^-banc, and buttoning all
the leather curtains closely around us, returned to Ge-
neva, as speedily as the driver and the swollen water-
courses would permit.
It was during this melancholy visit, which for the
time nearly cured us of the travelling mania, that we
made the following extracts from the Livre des Voya-
geurs, which we found on one of the tables in the salle
a manger. The majority of them, it will be seen, are
in English, as these kinds of effusions generally are ;
probably resulting from a vanity of the same impulse
which prompts us to write our names on Memnon's
nose, or cut our initials on the picture-frames at
Hampton Court. We will only add, that the addenda
and commentaries are by different hands ; and that if
any irritable traveller should feel insulted at our laying
the emanations of his mind before the public, he will
find our card left at the publisher's ; it is our wish to
give satisfaction not only to one, but generally.
" Aug. 25, 1840, Mr. and Mrs. John Robinson,
and Mr. John Robinson, jun., went to the Mer de
Glace to-day, and returned back again in safety from
the interesting, yet thrillingly perilous excursion.'"*
168 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
(Added in pencil.) '' You don't say so ! What a
proud day for England V
" M. Blake, de Peckam, et sa femme et sa famille
mangeaint leur diner ici le 16 A out, 1888, et ils
etaient tres content avec les pommes de terres et le
poisson qui etait tres bon. lis ont ete aujourdhui au
Mere de Glace."
'' Si M. Blake a trouve la Mere de Glace, peutetre
il connait aussi les enfans.'''
" Mr. Edward Haddon begs to caution travellers
against going to the Albergo della Posta at Duomo
D'Ossola. The charges are high, the people uncivil,
the rooms dirty, and the cookery detestable.'*''
" Not true. The Albergo della Posta is the best
inn in Piedmont. — J. W."
" Which it may be very easily, and yet only a re-
spectable pig-sty. Mr. James Hartley agrees with the
first writer. He dined at the inn in question about
three weeks since. The soup was apparently lamp-oil
and hot water shaken together ; and a fowl stuffed with
live gentles formed one of the dishes."
" I have just concluded a week's sojourn at Cha-
monix, and have been miserably disappointed with what
I have seen. There is nothing in Switzerland that will
bear comparison with parallel scenes in the United
States. The view from the Flegere is immeasurably
inferior to that from the Pine Orchard ; and the
vaunted Mer de Glace nothing but a huge mass of half-
thawed todgey snow and ice. — Henky Futton, U.S."
THE ALBUM AT CHAMONIX. 169
'* Oh ! yes ! tarnation odd, I calculate, that Jona-
than should come so far to behold so little. Has he
seen the great hill in New York State that is so high
as to be quite offensive in warm weather. I rayther
think not. Oh ! no ! "
" We are sorry an American'*s name must necessarily
give rise to pasquinades. Written in his absence, these
squibs are so many registers of the writer's mean cow-
ardice. We ourselves have just returned from the
Mer de Glace, and think that in awful grandeur it is
on a level with the Niagara falls. — C. J. & F. O.
Manhattanese/"'
" A pedestrian traveller, weather-bound at the Hotel
de Londres, September 7, 1888, composeth these verses
for amusement.
'' LINES ON GENEVA.
" Ruthless ruin in cascades pouring.
Lightning echoing, torrents roaring ;
Clouds obscuring every view,
Naught to see, and less to do.
Muse of muddled brains inspire me.
With a poet's rapture fire me,
Whilst 1 pen this careless lay,
Just to pass the hours away.
" Fair Geneva I favoured city.
Bastions frowning, buildings pretty,
Crested by the high Saleve,
Mirror'd in thy lake's blue wave ;
VOL. 11. I
170 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Ramparts, whence you rest your eyes on
Mont Blanc, crowning the horizon ;
And rich vineyards, growing poorer
As they cHmb ' the darken'd Jura/
" Then, thy bridge across the JRhone,
Built of wooden beams alone ;
And thy verdant Isle des Barques,
Like an insulated park.
. Steamers in thy harbour lying
To Lausanne and Villeneuve plying,
If a tour you choose to make
Round the margin of the lake .
" Shops for watches very thin.
Gold without, and brass within.
Snuff-boxes to tinkle sonnets ;
Women in large flapping bonnets ;
Milan voitures very crazy,
Kept by veturini lazy.
Who will take two days to creep
O'er the mighty Simplon's steep.
" Diligences coming in
With postilion's crack- whip din,
Pack'd with English all the way
From the Rue St. Honore.
Touters to the bureau rushing.
Cards presenting, luggage crushing.
From these rhymes you may conceive a
Perfect picture of Geneva."
THE ALBUM AT CHAMONIX. 171
" Signor Silvestri, di Milano, pensa che la Natiira
non e stata giusta, nel dare tanto gliiaccio alia Svizzera,
dove decisamente non ce n'era di bisogno. Egli sarebbe
di piu piaciuto se il glacier de Buissons fosse nel mezzo
di Milano, dove sarebbe piu utile di fornire ghiaccie per
Taudienza del Teatro alia Scala."
*** " Silvestri, Albergo della Croce Bianca, Corso
di Porta Vercelina. Cucina tanto a pasto clie a conto :
vini squisiti d"* ogni qualita anche esteri. Grands et
petits rooms with neat ness and to moderation of the
traveller well to behold."
"An Englishman begs to recommend the Hotel de
Leman, Rue de Rhone, at Geneva, as a pleasant inn.
It is not half the expense of the Bergues, and twice as
comfortable : added to which (not the least attraction,)
Madame Rousillon, the hostess, is a veri/ pretty
woman.''''
" Oh, fie ! sly old fox !'' {in pencil.)
" The gentleman is correct in saying the Hotel de
Leman is not half the expense of the Bergues. I wish
it was. The hostess is as ugly as sin, and not half so
pleasant.*"
" Ce monsieur a tort — ce n'est pas vrai. Madame
Rousillon est gentille — peut-etre — mais ce n'est rien de
rare. Ses cheveux sont un peu trop rouges, et sa taille
est trop grosse. Cependant elle a de Tesprit, et fait
une excellente dame de comptoir pour le cafe. — Un
Suisse qui comprend l'Anglais.'"
i2
172 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
THE ASCENTS OF MONT BLANC,
which may be sung to the popular air of " Claude du
Val,"" as connected with the name on the beam at the
Adelphi : —
When Jacques Balmat from his party was thrown,
He found out the summit untaught and alone.
And when he returned to his doctor with glee,
He said, " For your care you shall go up with me,*'
With your baton so sharp, tra la.
The next who tried was De Saussure, we're told.
Who climb'd in a full suit of scarlet and gold :
Whilst poor M. Bourrit, four times driven back.
In dudgeon retum'd to Geneva — good lack !
With his baton so sharp, tra la.
Woodley, Clissold, and Beaufoy, each thought it no lark.
And were followed by Jackson, and Sherwell, and Clarke.
Then Fellows and Hawes by a new passage went.
And avoided the dangers of Hamel's ascent.
With their batons so sharp, tra la.
Brave Auldjo next was pulled over a bridge
Of ice-poles laid on the glacier s ridge ;
You will see all his wonderful feats, if you look
At the views drawn by Harding, and placed in his book.
And his baton so sharp, tra la*
THE ALBUM AT CHAMONIX. 173
Full forty gentlemen, wealthy and bold.
Have climb'd up in spite of the labour and cold ;
But of all that number there lives not one
Who speaks of the journey as very good fun.
With their batons so sharp, tra la.
Jack Sheppard.
174 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
A LITTLE TALK ABOUT BARTHOLO-
MEW FAIR— PAST AND PRESENT.
By the time this sheet is in the hands of the reader
Bartholomew fair will be spoken of as a festival that
once was — an annual celebration, the account of which
must henceforward be added, in the shape of an appen-
dix, to the succeeding editions of Strutt's " Sports and
Pastimes.'" For a long period its health has been
visibly declining, from the effects of a shattered and
depraved constitution. The same year that beheld the
abolition of the climbing-boys — who whilome peopled
the locality whereon it was held, for their yearly ban-
quet, when the kind-hearted Charles Lamb felt it no
degradation to sup with them, — has also witnessed the
extinction of the fete^ to celebrate whose return the
*' clergy imps" assembled amongst the cattle-pens,
then and there to discuss the hissing sausages and
small ale, which benevolence had provided for them.
Certainly better times and places for reflection might
be found in London than Smithfield on a fair-day :
and yet, we confess to have fallen into a day-dream on
the fifth of the past month, when we paid what will
probably be our last visit to this departed festival.
We are indebted for our vision to no romance of
poetic situation. We were sitting on the handle of a
BARTHOLOxMEW FAIR. 175
gaudily-painted hand-cart containing penny ginger-
beer, by the side of a small perambulating theatre,
which set forth " the vicissitudes of a servant-maid ;"
and, in spite of the unceasing noise on every side, we
could not desist from indulging in a mental daguer-
reotype of events connected with the fair and its
localities.
We first called to mind the period when Smithfield
was *' a plain, or smoothe fielde," from which circum-
stance, according to old Fitzstephen, it derived its
name ; and when, instead of the London butchers and
country drovers, a gay train of gallant knights and
tramping men-at-arms, whose harness gleamed in the
sunlight of the glittering lists, together with a bevy
of smiling, fair-haired " damosels " on their ambling
palfreys, rode over its unpaved area to join the tourna-
ments there held. We pictured them coming by
" Gilt-spurre, or Knight-rider Street, — so called be-
cause of the knights, who in quality of their honour
wore gilt spurs, and who, with others, rode that way
to the joustings and other feats of arms used in Smith-
field." And then we thought what a fortune the
events of these times would have been to the boudoir
romancists of the present day, who write such pretty
stories with dove's quills and otto of roses, for the
annuals. Next we lost ourselves in a reverie about the
sly Rahere, — the founder of the monastery and fair,
and minstrel to Henry the First, — who was in former
days employed to tell stories to royalty (an office, it
would seem, not altogether obsolete), and who once
began one of so great a length that he himself fell asleep
176 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
in the middle, and never finished it. Rahere, when
he was sick, was frightened into this pious act by a
supposed visitation of St. Bartholomew, and became
the first head of the priory, within whose walls the
drapers and clothiers invited to the fair were allowed
to lock up their wares every night. Anon we allowed
ourselves to be carried in dreamy listlessness along the
stream of time, until we were again halting, as we
chuckled at the recollection of the humorous doings
in the fair in the days of " Rare Ben Jonson," — the
puppet motions of Hero and Leander, altered from
Sestos and Abydos to Puddledock and Bankside, — the
Bartholomew pig, " roasted with fire o' juniper and rose-
mary branches," — the court of pie-poudre^ the " well-
educated ape," and the " hare that beat the tabor," —
all hackneyed subjects to mouldy antiquaries, we allow ;
but, not being over-addicted to rummaging dusty re-
cords and worm-eaten volumes, still interesting to com-
mon-place every-day people like ourselves. And lastly,
we pictured the fair as we had known it in our own
days, of which poor Hone has left us so lively a spe-
cimen, and calling back some of the scenes we had
therein witnessed, we began to think that the abo-
lition was not altogether useless or disadvantageous.
Whether our reflections would now have taken a
retrograde turn, and wandered back again to the days
of the tournaments, we know not ; but, having arrived
close upon the present period, we were somewhat
startled, upon wishing to use it, to find that our
handkerchief had disappeared whilst we had been lost
in our reveries ; and, possibly, was already fluttering
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 177
before one of the neighbouring bandana-bazaars in
Field-lane. Hereupon we determined to give up
ruminating in Smithfield, leaving that process to those
animals in the cattle-market whose peculiar nature it
is so to do ; and having risen from out seat, and
thanked the ginger-beer man for the accommodation
his wagon afforded, we commenced making the tour
of the fair, or rather, the ground once allotted to it.
There were no shows — no huge yellow caravans, or
canvas pavilions, covered with wondrous representations
of the marvels to be seen within : a few small portable
theatres formed the leading exhibitions. One there
was, to be sure, of higher pretensions, into which, upon
payment of one penny, we were permitted to enter.
The proprietor of the spectacle, who had pitched his
theatre in the back-parlour of one of the houses near the
Hospital-gate, stood at the street-door, and informed
us that the entertainment set forth " The Bay of
Naples in its native grander with the percession of
the Ingian monarch and his elephint, — the sportsman
and the stag as walked like life — the wild duck and
the water-spanell, with the burning of Hamburg."
Here was enough to see, so we entered forthwith,
and wedged ourselves in the comer of a room, small,
and unpleasantly warm, where an audience of some
five-and-twenty had already assembled before a small
proscenium, about twelve feet high, having a painted
drop-scene, which represented, as nearly as we could
make out the localities, the Castle of Chillon moved
to Virginia Water, with Athens and Mont Blanc in
the background. After an Italian boy, who with his
i5
178 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
piano-organ formed the orchestra, had played " The
days when we went gipsying," the drop rose, and dis-
covered the Bay of Naples, with surrounding build-
ings, and something of a conical shape painted on the
back scene — the flat we think it is technically called — .
which we imagined to be a light-blue cotton night-
cap, with a long tassel, until informed that it depicted
" Vesuvius — the burnin' mounting, as it appears from
the sea-shore." When the excitement caused by the
rising of the curtain had somewhat subsided, a little
figure dressed like a Turk, shuffled rapidly across the
front of the stage, moving his legs backwards and for-
wards, both at once, and evidently by means of a crank
connected with the wheels he ran on, which were invi-
sible to the audience. Next the " percession" com-
menced, which was extremely imposing, and would
have been much more so if the manager had been less
hasty in taking the figures off, and putting them on
other stands to go across again, which gave them the
appearance of being most unsteadily intoxicated upon
their second entree. Then a little man came on in a
boat, and shot a duck, which the '' spanell " swam
after ; and, finally, the ignition of some red fire at the
foot of Vesuvius formed the burning of Hamburg,
which conflagration was exceedingly advantageous in
rapidly clearing the room of the audience, by reason of
its sulphureous vapour.
The principal traffic of the fair, beyond the business
transacted in gingerbread-husbands, and wax-dolls from
fourpence to three shillings each, was monopolised by
several men in tilted carts, who were haranguing little
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 179
mobs of people, and apparently disposing of their wares
as fast as they could put them up for sale.
There were such frequent bursts of laughter from
the buyers, that we were attracted towards one of these
perambulating bazaars, in the hope of participating in
their merriment. The proprietor of the cart was a tall
burly fellow, in a round hat and knee-breeches, some-
thing like an aristocratic railway navigator, and the
cart, in front of which he stood, was covered all over
with a most curious display of goods, guns, braces,
gimlets, waistcoats, saws, cruets, — in fact, specimens
of almost everything ever manufactured. The man
was selling the goods by his own auction, and had a
flow of ready low wit, — pure, unadulterated chaif —
which was most remarkable. We recollect a few of
his jokes, and these we chronicle to show the style of
his address, even at the risk of being again accused of
" exhibiting the coarsest peculiarities of the coarsest
classes, with such ultra accuracy." But it is in the
lower orders, according to our own notion, that the
natural character of a people is to be^ best discovered.
'* Now, then, my customers,""* he exclaimed, advancing
to the front of the cart, " I ''11 tell you more lies in five
minutes than you can prove true in a week. Now,
missus," he continued, addressing a female in the
crowd, " no winking at me to get things cheap. My
wife *s in the cart, and she''s as sharp as the thick end
of a penn'orth of cheese, as ugly as sin, and not half so
pleasant."
A roar of laughter followed this sally as he took
up a saw.
80 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" Now, look here ! — you never saw such a saw as
this here saw is to saw in all the days you ever saw.
This is. a saw as will cut ; — all you 've got to do is
to keep it back. If you was to lay this saw agin the
root of a tree over night, and go home to bed — "
" Well, what then ? " interrupted a fellow in the
crowd, who wished to throw the dealer off his guard.
" Why," replied the man, " the chances are that
when you came in the morning you wouldn't find it.
Sold again ! "
There was another laugh, and the would-be wag
slunk away very crest-fallen.
" Now, I"'m not going to take you in," he con-
tinued. " If you don't like these things, come again
to-morrow, and I shan't be here. I ll charge you a
pound for the saw, and if you don't like that, I '11
say fifteen shillings. Come, — you 've got faint hearts.
Say twelve, ten, eight, five, three, one ! — going for
one ! I '11 ask no more, and I '11 take no less. Sold
again, and got the money ! "
He now turned and picked out a cheap accordion,
upon which he played some common air, and then
proceeded.
" Now, look ! — here 's a young piece of music : the
appollonicon in St. Martin's Lane lays a dozen every
morning, and this is one of them. It 's got the ad-
vantage that, when you're tired of it, it will blow the
fire or mend your shoes. May I be rammed, jammed,
and slammed into the mouth of a cannon, until I
come out at the touchhole as thin as a dead rushlight,
if it ain't cheap at five pound ! But I '11 only take
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 181
five shillings, and if that vfoni do, I 'll say one !
Who 's got the lucky shilling ? '"*
Not fifteen feet from the cart of this man there was
another similarly laden, and a constant fire of saluta-
tions and mock abuse passed between the two venders.
The merchant, however, in this case was a mere boy —
he could not have been above fourteen, but carrying
an expression of the most precocious meaning we ever
beheld. He was no whit inferior to his adversary in
ready slang, as his following oration over a two-barreled
gun will testify : —
" There 's a little flaw in the lock, to be sure ;
but that don't hinder its going off. I sold the fellow
for two pound to a farmer in Leicestershire, and I '11
tell you what it did. The first day he took it out he
fired one barrel, and killed six crows as he didn't see ;
he fired the second, and shot nine partridges out of
five, and the kick of the gun knocked him backwards
into a ditch, and he fell upon a hare and killed that.
These guns will shoot round a corner, and over a
hay-rick ; and they Ve used to fatten the paupers that
are turned out of the Unions for not paying the
Income Tax. They load the guns with fat bacon,
and shoot it down their throats."
Of course this was a safe entamure for a laugh.
When he had done talking about the gun, which,
however, he did not sell, he took up a whip, and,
cracking it two or three times in front of his cart,
recommenced : —
" Here \ a whip, now, to make a lazy wife get
up of a morning, and make the kettle boil before the
18^ THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
fire's aliglit. It even makes ray horse go, and he ""s
got a weak constitution and a bad resolution ; he jibs
going up hill, kicks going down, and travels on his
knees on level ground. When he means to go, he
blows hisself out with the celebrated railroad com as
sticks sideways in his inside, and tickles him into a
trot. Who says a crown for this whip ? "
There did not appear much disposition to buy the
article, so the seller commenced a fresh panegyric.
" You M better buy it : you won't have another
chance. There never was but two made, and the man
died, and took the patent with him. He wouldn't
have made them so cheap, only he lived in a garret,
and never paid his landlord, but when he went home
always pulled the bottom, of the house upstairs after
him. If any man insults you, I '11 warrant this whip
to flog him from Newgate into the middle of next
year. Who says a crown ? "
There were two or three other carts of a similar
description in different parts of Smithfield, but these
fellows evidently enjoyed the supremacy. How many
profits had to be made upon the articles, or what was
their original cost, we know not, but we bought four
pocket-knives, each containing three blades, with very
fair springs, and horn handles, for sixpence ! We
had a little conversation afterwards with the first-
mentioned vendor, who was, out of his rostrum, a
quiet, intelligent person, and he assured us that at
Wolverhampton the ordinary curri/-combs of the shops
were being made by families for ninepence a dozen,
the rivets being clenched and the teeth cut by mere
infants.
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 183
Beyond these features there was little to notice ;
— the vitality of the fair was evidently at its last
gasp, and the civic authorities did not appear in-
clined to act as a humane society for its resuscitation.
A little trade was maintained by the sale of portable
cholera, in the shape of green-gages ; but the ma-
jority of the stalls were sadly in want of customers.
Even the Waterloo-crackers, unable to go off in a
commercial point of view, failed to do so in a py-
rotechnical one. Had we waited until midnight, when
all became still, we might possibly have beheld the
shades of Richardson, Saunders, Polito, and Miss
Biffin, with their more ancient brethren, Fawkes the
conjuror, and Lee, and Harper, waiting amongst the
pens, or gathering together their audiences of old
in shadowy bands to peopl-e the fair once more, as
Napoleon collects his phantom troops in the Champs
Elysees, where, since he has been buried in the In-
valides, he must find it far more convenient to at-
tend. But there was no inducement to stay until
that period, and we left the fair about twenty minutes
after we entered it, having seen everything that it
contained, and deeming ourselves fortunate in having
been only once violently compelled to buy a pound of
gingerbread-nuts, by the sheer force of a young lady
who presided at the stall, and who appeared in a state
of temporary insanity, caused by the lack of customers
and limited incomes of the majority of the visitors.
September 11, 1842.
184 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS.
Sir, we are undone I These are-4;he villains
That all the travellers do fear so much.
Two Gentlemen of Verona,
Ye who listen to the romantic stories of those who
have never left England, and pursue with eagerness the
routes of the Society of Useful Knowledge's maps and
Mrs. Starke's " Italy,'' — who expect that the reality
will make good the promises of guide-books, attend to
the following account of a meeting with the brigands.
Travelling English ! be not deceived by Prout,
Stanfield, and Roberts, and that arch-impostor, Fin-
den, whose magic burin throws such sunlight over his
scenes. Especially mistrust the pantomimic dioramas,
and do not think that you will meet beautiful girls at
every turn of the road in Switzerland, in short red pet-
ticoats and blue bows on their shoulders. Do not be-
lieve that peasants are perpetually dancing under the
vine-covered trellises in Italy, and that the brigands
are dressed in spangled green velvet tunics, with ri-
bands bound round their calves, and watches and me-
dals hung about them after the manner of Mr. Wal-
lack, — do not, I say, place credence in these things;
if you do you will be lamentably deceived.
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 185
We Lad dreamed away a week amongst the crumb-
ling magnificence of Venice, (that amphibious city of
human beavers,) and having climbed the Campanile of
San Marco, and descended to the dungeons of the Du-
cal Palace, as well as " stood upon the Bridge of
Sighs,'^ and been baked beneath the sable canopies
of the gondolas, a cross breed between a canoe and
a floating hot-house, we began to think of proceeding
on our journey. But travelling in the Lombardo- Ve-
netian kingdom is very different from driving in a cab
with your carpet-bag to Euston Square, or Nine Elms.
The Servizio Dei R. Velociferi Privilegiati (so call-
ed from their never accomplishing by any chance above
six miles an hour,) is still in its infancy ; and there
are only two public conveyances a-week from Venice to
Bologna, in which it is necessary to bespeak your
places some days beforehand. We consequently found
every list of passengers filled up for some time to come,
and it was not in the very best temper that I and my
friend H left the Uffizio on the Grand Canal,
and flung ourselves moodily amongst the cushions of
the gondola to return to our hotel, with the prospect
of being detained another week in Venice.
As chance would have it, — and a very ill chance it
proved, — there was a gentleman from Hamburgh at the
Albergo delP Europa, where we were stopping, who
was similarly situated to ourselves, and equally anxious
to reach Florence. Finding that we were bent upon
the same journey, he agreed ta pay the third of the
expense of a posting-carriage, and we decided upon
leaving Venice the next morning, intending to travel
186 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
night and day, by which means we should be enabled
to outstrip the diligence by twenty or thirty hours.
Every inquiry was made by us connected with our
route at the Direzione della Posta, and we were as-
sured that the roads were secure, the posting arrange-
ments admirable, and we finished the evening by pur-
chasing a few trifling souvenirs of the " Queen of the
Adriatic" for our friends in England, including some
little silver gondolas, for brooches, which alone reached
their destination.
At two o"* clock on Saturday, August 8, 1840, we
quitted Venice in a two-oared gondola, and having a
fair wind, which enabled us to mount a sail, arrived at
Fusina on the main land by half-past three. A delay
of an hour took place in inspecting passports and bag-?
gage, and wrangling with the postmaster, who for some
time refused to let us have a carriage and horses, be-
cause we had not got a formal permission from the Go-
vernment. After much altercation, he at length com-
plied, and we started in a voiture without doors or
lining, under the assurance of finding a better one at
the next post. By the promise of an additional buono
mano, the postilion moved his cattle at a pace some-
what faster than we could have walked ; and following
the course of the Brenta, with its palace-covered banks,
weedy straggling gardens, and whitewashed statues, we
got to Padua about seven. On quitting the city, one
of the most awful thunder-storms I ever witnessed
commenced, which lasted the whole way to Monselice,
when the weather cleared up as suddenly as it had be-
come gloomy, giving place to a brilliant moon.
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 187
Opposite the post-house at Monselice was a wretch-
ed cabaret, filled with peasants of the lowest order, who
clustered round us, and inspected every article of lug-
gage as it was removed from the carriage to another.
I paid no attention to this at the time, as we had got
pretty well inured to the curiosity of loiterers at the
inns ; but I have since been convinced that informa-
tion was sent along the road of our approach ; espe-
cially as the postilion contrived all sorts of delays
before our departure, and for the first two leagues
scarcely urged his horses beyond a walk. An ill-look-
ing hound he was too, with large round earrings peep-
ing out from amongst long black ringlets that shadowed
his sallow countenance ; his features bore the stamp of
cunning and villany.
The clock struck ten as we left Monselice, and my
companions composed themselves, soon informing me
by their deep inspirations that they were fast asleep.
The voiture was a small landau with a leathern front,
which buckled on to the head when it was up, and was
rendered a close carriage, the said front being fitted up
with small windows, that permitted a view of the coun-
try, and the vehicle was likewise furnished with cur-
tains on each side. We had jogged on for about half
an hour, and I was sitting opposite to my fellow-tra-
vellers, with my back to the horses, listening to the
monotonous '* Ai/" of the postilion, and the eternal
jangling of the bells on the bridles, when our carriage
suddenly stopped, and I heard a tumult of strange
voices in the road. On turning to discover the cause
of this interruption, I saw, through the front glasses, a
188 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
party of six or seven men ranged in a semicircle across
the road, pointing their guns at the carriage, and gra-
dually closing around us.
There could be no mistake as to our visitors, or their
intentions. I awoke my friends ; and recollecting that
I had eight English sovereigns loose in my waistcoat
pocket, contrived to thrust seven of them into my
mouth, the remaining one I slipped into my shoe. I
had barely concealed this last, when the curtains were
torn violently down, and the muzzles of six guns made
their appearance in most unpleasant propinquity to our
heads, followed by half a dozen of the most ill-favoured
visages I had ever seen. I have said there was a full
moon, and I was enabled to perceive that the guns
were upon full cock. The ruffians were likewise armed
with pistols in their girdles, and long poniard-knives
that dangled from their necks and gleamed romantically
in the moonbeams. Singular enough, neither myself
nor my friend were flurried at this uncomfortable mo-
ment. Odd ideas will cross people''s minds in the most
serious positions, and the sole thought that struck me
was, that our situation was precisely similar to a scene
I had witnessed in an adaptation of Paul Clifford at
Covent Garden, some three or four years back, when
the " Bath mail " was robbed on the stage.
My companions descended, in obedience to the
orders of the banditti ; but I was less fortunate. The
door on my side chanced to have been despoiled of its
hinges, and was closed with a thin plate of iron fixed
on by nails. It was impossible to open it, and I was
unable to get out. An immense ruffian of six feet
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 189
two, who appeared to be the chief of the party, finding
that it did not give way, after several strenuous pulls,
finally seized me by the collar, and dragging me over
the door, flung me with some violence upon the ground
close to the hind- wheels of the carriage. I was half
stunned by the fall ; but we had no time allowed for
qualmishness, as a general rifling immediately com-
menced. Two of the party entered the carriage, and
threw everything out. They tore down the linings,
and broke the seats open, to make sure that nothing
was concealed ; after which they cut the cords which
secured our luggage underneath the postilion''s seat, and
handed down our effects in no very gentle manner,
swearing, pulling, and hurrying us about all the time.
" Presto ! presto ! soldi ! sacramento ! " was all
they uttered ; but its meaning, accompanied by most
expressive pantomime, was very obvious. I had the
side-pocket of my blouse filled with zwanzigers for
paying the posts, being the banker of the party, and I
immediately emptied it into the cap of the one who
had the charge of me, hoping that this would satisfy
them. But I was mistaken. Each of us was rifled in
turn, and it was with no small regret that I saw them
possess themselves of my knife and pencil-case, which,
being keepsakes, 1 would fain have preserved. My
pocket-book also passed into their hands; but upon
my exclaiming ''■ Passaporta ! ^^ it was returned; — a
circumstance I hailed with much satisfaction, since in
one of its compartments was a letter of credit upon
Rothschild for one hundred pounds, which I have saved.
It may be imagined that I had not much leisure to
190 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
watch their proceedings with my comrades. I saw my
friend's valuable gold watch fly from his waistcoat pocket
as they broke the guard ; and I recollect observing
the Hamburgh gentleman crouching on his knees and
elbows, with his nose in the dust, under the car-
riage ; but whether from sheer fright, or by command,
I know not, nor did I like to inquire afterwards. We
all lost our bra,ces, with which they appeared extremely
delighted, as well as our handkerchiefs. I had a scarf
round my neck, fastened by two gold pins and a chain,
which I had fixed in with silk. Of course, such a
prize was not to be left ; and, after many violent
attempts to get the scarf away, during which I was
nearly strangled, my robber coolly cut it from my neck,
pins and all. My readers may be assured that the feel
of the cold steel against my neck was anything but
pleasant ; and I firmly believe that it would have been
a matter of perfect indiiFerence to the brigand whether
he thrust the point into my chest or not. When he
had concluded I was ordered to retake my seat in the
carriage, a command which I gladly obeyed, in the
hope that they had finished with me ; since the leathern
pursebelt that I wore had escaped their observation,
and in one of its pockets were two of Herries's circular
notes for twenty pounds each, besides a few napoleons.
But, unfortunately, another of the party took it into
his head to search me, and I once more got down at
his command, which was, as heretofore, accompanied
by a loaded gun at my ear. In vain I replied
" Niente" to all his sounding of my different pockets.
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 191
He still remained unsatisfied, and seizing the waist-
band of my trowsers, tore them down the side-seam
for some twelve inches, when the luckless cintura made
its appearance, and was in an instant transferred from
my waist to his own. A circumstance also occurred
that gave me much uneasiness for the moment. The
German had a valuable diamond ring on his finger,
which he could not readily remove, and he called to
us in a voice of extreme horror that they were going
to cut off his finger. He, however, implored a mo-
ment''s patience, and contrived, by wetting his finger,
to take off the jewel. It struck me that I had also a
ring which could not l)e got off, and although not of
much value, might still tempt them to mutilate my
hand. By good fortune I managed to slip the ring
round until the signet was turned towards the palm,
and thus escaped their notice.
We were not sorry when they thrust us finally into
the vehicle ; for we thought it something to have got off
with our lives. My friend and myself had been walk-
ing through Switzerland, and had only two knapsacks
for our luggage ; but the German'*s loss was consider-
able, including, besides his malles and carpet-bag, a
writing-desk, in which were some hundreds of francs,
and a letter of credit upon a banker at Naples for two
thousand more. The only things I saved were the
sovereigns I had put into my mouth, my pocket-
book, and the little gondolas which were in the same
pocket with my handkerchief. As we were starting again
they threw into the carriage my old straw boating-hat
192 THE WASSAIL-BOWL,
which I had -worn all the way from Chertsej ; but my
friend^s new Tuscan adorned the head of one of the
party as they marched off amongst the trees.
It was midnight before we arrived at Rovigo.
There is a pont volant across the Adige, about a
league from the town, which it took us half an hour
to cross, being — as they always are — on the other side
when we got up to the river. They also detained us
some time, because we had no money to pay the geld,
and I did not choose to exhibit our remaining scanty
stock after what had occurred. At last we were
allowed to proceed, under promise of payment on our
arrival at the inn. From this spot a tedious journey
of an hour brought us to the next town. The roads
were rough, and full of holes from the late rains, the
horses sluggish, and we impatient to arrive.
They had retired to rest at the posthouse, but we
soon aroused them ; and, having explained our circum-
stances, despatched a messenger to the Stazioni di
Carabineri, to summon the police, and awaited their
return in our bedchamber. It is but justice to state,
the proprietor of the inn (the Albergo della Posta at
Rovigo) was anxious to show us every attention, not-
withstanding we gave him to understand that we had
not the means of remuneration. He paid the money
for the post, as well as the trifle we owed for passing
the bridge, and begged that we would consider our-
selves at home as long as we chose to stay.
The police arrived in about ten minutes, and com-
menced taking our depositions, and giving directions,
for the departure of ten or twelve carbineers, who
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 193
immediately left Rovigo for the scene of our stoppage.
After them came several reporters to the provincial
newspapers, equally anxious to be made acquainted
with the particulars of the robbery ; in fact, we were
not able to get to sleep before three, and then I dreamt
that I had got all my money back again, and that we
saw the brigands chained by the legs, and sweeping the
streets, after the manner of the criminal scavengers at
Leghorn.
We were compelled to keep our beds the next morn-
ing until our garments were repaired. About nine the
Venetian dilligence, which we should have come by
had we been able to procure places, arrived at Rovigo.
A young Prussian nobleman, whom we had met at
Venice, the Baron de Hartmann, was amongst the pas-
sengei-s, and having heard what had occurred, it struck
him that it must be ourselves, as he was standing on
the steps of Albergo dell' Europa when our gondola
left. He hastened into our room, and in the most
gentlemanlike manner, begged we would take of him
as much money as was necessary for our wants, at the
same time throwing a rouleau of napoleons upon the
bed. We merely borrowed as much as would be suffi-
cient to arrive at Florence, where we calculated upon
obtaining assistance ; nor would this fine young fellow
take the slightest acknowledgment. He observed,
'* that the word of an Englishman was sufficient."
W^e left Rovigo about noon, surrounded by nearly
the whole population, who had turned out to stare at
us. There was something ludicrous in our appearance,
despoiled as we were of nearly all our wearing apparel ;
VOL. II. K
194 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
and it may be imagined we found little difficulty in clear-
ing the douanes on our entry into the Papal States.
At Bologna we purchased such few necessaries as were
immediately requisite for our toilet ; and these, tied
up in a cotton pocket-handkerchief, were all the effects
we carried into Florence. At this city, through
the liberality of Mr. Hall, the English banker, we
obtained fifty pounds upon the Paris letter of credit ;
and the German met with the same attention from that
gentleman. The second day after our arrival we met
M. Hartmann in the Palazzo Pitti, and it gave us great
pleasure to be enabled to pay our small debt, toge-
ther with a ring, which we begged him to accept as a
souvenir.
Our adventure made us the heroes of all the table
cThotes between Florence and Geneva, and we fre-
quently heard our own story recounted, with many
amusing exaggerations. We were likewise advised in
several instances as to how we ought to have acted,
and caused much astonishment at the statement that
we had travelled without pistols. Of one thing I am
certain — that if we had offered the least resistance, we
should have been killed, for they were seven to three,
and all armed to the teeth. Besides which, the fatal
adventure of Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, who were shot by
the brigands some years back, on the road to Psestum,
during their wedding tour, was fresh in my memory,
and we heard on all sides that, had that unfortunate
gentleman delivered up his property quietly there would
have been no bloodshed.
And now, reader, if you are anxious to have an in-
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 195
terview with brigands, I beseech you start for Italy
directly. Take money with you, travel by night, and
make display of your wealth whenever you have an
opportunity. This will hardly fail to bring them
about you, in spite of all Mrs. Starke says to the con-
trary ; and, although I cannot promise you the first-
rate excitement of having your wind-pipe cut through,
your skull beaten in, or your brains blown out, I can
give you my word that you will be pillaged to your
heart's content. We learn everything better from ex-
perience than precept ; and, should chance cause me to
travel in Italy again, I would endeavour to cheat the
bandits of their full dues by stocking my pocket book
with notes from the bank of Elegance, and filling my
purse with penny coronation medals of the best brass.
This would divert them for the time, since they do
not examine things very closely, and then all the satis-
faction and romance of the adventure might be had,
without paying very dearly for it.
POSTSCRIPT.
Seveeal months had passed since the foregoing
article was written, and the affair had nearly been for-
gotten, except when the adventure was now and then
recounted by my companion or myself, raising us to
the dignity of becoming the momentary lions of a
dinner-table, as real living travellers who had been
K 2
196 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
attacked by real living brigands, to the fearful horror
of all the old ladies, and intense excitement of the
young ones. Some there were, to be sure, amongst the
round of our acquaintance, whom we never could con-
vince otherwise than that the whole affair was a well-
digested hoax ; " for," added these stay-at-home un-
believers, " there are very few now who go to Italy and
have the good fortune to meet with brigands." By
others, the alleged conception was laid to the most
mercenary motives. According to them, we had outrun
the constable, and having entered considerably more
into the gaieties of Milan and Venice than the state of
our finances allowed, we had invented the account as
a plausible scheme to obtain fresh notes of credit from
England, without fresh accompanying notes of inter-
rogation as to how we had contrived to get rid of the
last remittance in so little time. We had no direct
means of contradicting these aspersions upon our cha-
racter. At last, however, we were enabled to convince
our friends that we had spoken of the facts as they
occurred.
To our great surprise, and no less gratification, we
received a letter from the Home Office, in the early
part of February, proving that although we had almost
allowed the affair to drop, the proper authorities had
not. Its contents were to the purpose, that the Aus-
trian Ambassador at our court having requested we
might be called upon to give evidence respecting " a
highway robbery committed on us in Lombardy in
August last," Lord Normanby had directed that we
should make a declaration respecting the affair in ques-
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 197
tion before a magistrate. We accordingly attended at
the Home Office, and being referred to Bow Street,
made an appointment there on Thursday, the 4th of
February. The result was a long interview with Mr.
Hall, the chief magistrate (to whose courtesy and at-
tention we are much beholden), in his private room ;
Signor kindly attending to give us his able as-
sistance in translating the various documents which had
been forwarded from Rovigo and Padua, and which
were somewhat verbose and technical.
From Prince Esterhazy's letter, which was the first
paper read, we learned how closely the police had fol-
lowed in our steps to bring us back to Rovigo, in order
to make a formal deposition before the proper authorities.
The only evidence we had given had been the hurried
declaration in our bed-room at Rovigo after the robbery,
and we had started at an early hour the following morn-
ing ; it being far from our wish to remain per force at
that uninteresting town, solely for the purpose of satis-
fying the judicial authorities. At the same time we
had not the slightest idea of ever recovering any of
our effects.
To prove the extreme vigilance of the police, and
the accurate information of the movements of travellers
which the passport system affords, it will suffice to
give the following example. The letter stated that we
left Rovigo for Bologna the following day, where we
arrived on the Monday afternoon ; that we started
thence on the Tuesday morning, and arrived at Florence
on Wednesday night ; and tracing us in a similar exact
manner through Leghorn and Genoa to Milan, they
198 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
finally (and fortunately) lost sight of us at the latter
city.
The papers furnished by the court at Padua, al-
though somewhat lengthy, treated more of the minute
description of the articles recovered than the capture of
the vagabonds who had taken them. I presume they
thought that part of the business their own affair. We,
however, learned that they had been detected by seve-
ral of our things being found in their possession, and
that the party consisted of eight, instead of seven, as I
had before stated. They had been suspected the day
before of stealing some melons at Monselice, and had
lain in wait the night of the robbery for some hours in
the pelting storm. This might or might not have
been the case ; and I still look with rather suspicious
retrospection on the small cabaret opposite the post-
house where we last stopped. On one thing, however,
they insisted, — that we were not the party for whom
they had watched. They affirmed that information had
been given them of a valuable prize, in the shape of
some other English travellers, who were expected on
the road that night from Venice. This reminded us
that we had seen a handsome carriage in the inn-yard
at Padua, whilst we changed horses, which had fol-
lowed us to that city ; but whose inmates were terrified
from proceeding to Ferrara that night in consequence
of the violence of the storm.* We likewise learned
* Should this meet the eye of any of the company w^hose
equipage was in the inn-yard at Padua with ours on the
aflemoon of Saturday, August 8, 1840, we hope they will
A RENCONTRE WITH THE BRIGANDS. 199
that the rascals had stationed scouts along the road we
were to pursue ; who, on any attempt to sound an
alarm by the postilion's horn or otherwise, would have
assassinated us. From the evidence of the postilion
himself, he appears to have come off with tolerable cre-
dit at the criminal court at Padua on the 14th of No-
vember last. From this we gleaned the foregoing-
circumstances.
Much amusement was created as the account and de-
scription of the different articles recovered was read to
us by Signor , and we in turn recognised our
respective property with eager interest. Nothing was
said about the watches, the money, or the notes ; but
even the humble remaining effects will (if we receive
them from Italy) assume a hundredfold value in our
eyes, from the circumstances connected with their ad-
ventures. As our penknives, knapsacks, journals,
drawing-books, &c. were successively described, we ap-
peared to be greeting friends who had long been
estranged from us; and our merriment was somewhat
increased when Signor continued the list with
" two ladies^ shoes, one kid and the other satin.^'' Mr.
Hall pleasantly observed, we had better not proceed, in
case of some awkward disclosure ; but my friend clear-
ed himself very satisfactorily, by stating that they were
taken out as patterns to procure some French ones by
show in a proper manner how deep their debt of gratitude is
to us for having been robbed in mistake, and having also
placed our own throats and brains in danger instead of
theirs.
SOO THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
when we arrived at Paris. A little paper-knife of Swiss
wood, which I had bought on the Rigi, whilst shivering
with the cold of four o'clock in the morning, and en-
deavouring to open my eyes wide enough to see the
sun rise, (which process, I believe, no one ever does
witness,) was also recovered ; with some silk purses,
empty of course, but being souvenirs, still valuable in
proportion to our respective gallantry. One thing
I was extremely annoyed at not hearing of, and that
was a pair of old shoes, in which I had crossed the Alps
on foot six times, and which I regarded with affec-
tionate veneration. I have no doubt but that the
authorities will yet discover some more of our effects.
Be this as it may, our best thanks are due to the police
for their extreme vigilance ; and it is likewise a source
of much pleasure to us to offer this public acknow-
ledgment of our gratitude to Mr. Hall, the banker at
Florence, for his polite and kind assistance when we
arrived at that city so utterly destitute.
We were pleased at receiving, a short time since, a
letter from our Prussian friend of two days. Baron de
Hartmann, of Brandenburgh, with a commission he
wished executed in London, which we were but too
happy to perform for him. We have likewise heard
from our fellow-sufferer, Mr. Decastro. He has re-
turned home once more safe and sound from his travels ;
but vows nothing shall ever induce him to set foot
in Italy again, although he has some thoughts of pay-
ing a visit to England next summer, where he under-
stands day and night travelling on the railroads is
equally secure, and that there are no brigands.
201
AN EXCURSION TO CHILLON.
Amongst all the interesting localities with which
the Lake of Geneva abounds, there is not one more
generally visited, especially by English tourists, than
the chateau of Chillon ; and the excursion thither by
■water, provided always that the weather be favourable,
is one of the most delightful that can be imagined.
Two steamers, the Leman and Guillaume Tell, leave
Geneva every other morning at nine o"'clock ; there is,
however, another fine boat in the harbour always at
anchor, called the Winkleiied, which never stirs out,
in consequence of the other companies buying up its
opposition at so much per diem ; and the proprietor,
we were told, realises a handsome income by his indolent
craft. The distance from Geneva to Villeneuve, which
is the nearest landing-place to Chillon, and which also
comprehends the entire length of the lake, is about
seventeen leagues ; and the boat stops at all the inter-
mediate towns. The fare is sixty batz (7». 6d.) for
the best part of the vessel, but you may go much
cheaper in the fore-cabin.
It is an extremely difficult task to recount from
memory all the interesting sites that are pointed out
to you during your little voyage. You will notice
K 5
^02 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Ferney, where Voltaire resided ; and the picturesque
Lausanne, where our countryman Gibbon wrote the
greater part of his Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire ; the well-known Campagne Diodati, at Co-
ligni, which Lord Byron inhabited during his stay in
Switzerland ; the village of Coppet, where Madame
de Stael once had an elegant chateau ; together with
the mighty Alps crowned by Mont Blanc on one side,
and the " darkened Jura " on the other, stretching
along the horizon on each side of the lake. But it is
with
^' The self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,"
that the principal features of the Lake of Geneva
are associated. At the base of the Saleve, on your
right, is the little village of Bossey, where he was
placed at school with the good M. Lambercier ; and
further on, you will pass the clean town of Nyon,
where his father followed the humble trade of watch-
making, after he left Geneva, and where Jean Jacques
divided the first affections of his heart between Mes-
demoiselles de Vulson and Goton, whose rival attrac-
tions he describes with such piquancy in his Confes-
sions, Then comes the chateau of Chailly, the abode
of his fair friend, Madame de Warens, and the birth-
place of her gardener, Claude Arnet ; and higher up
you discern " Clarens, sweet Clarens," on which mo-
dest village the Nouvelle Heloise has conferred an
everlasting celebrity :
AN EXCURSION TO CHILLON. 203
*' *Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot.
Peopling it with affections ; but he found
It was the scene which passion must allot
To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound,
And hallo w'd it with loveliness." *
On the opposite side are the rocks of Meillerie,
where the boat of St. Preux and Madame Wolmar
was driven for shelter during the storm ; but their
inequalities have been much levelled by the formation
of the Simplon route. It is also close to the castle of
Chill on that the denouement of the novel is fixed, or
rather the circumstances that lead to the death of Julie,
the heroine.
We landed at Villeneuve, after a tolerably rough
passage for an inland piece of water, and, accomplishing
a beautiful walk of twenty minutes along the edge of
the lake, arrived at Chillon. On knocking at the
postern, we were immediately allowed to enter, by an
old soldier, the peaceful sentinel of the fortress ; and
were by him committed to the guidance of the female
who exhibited the curiosities of the castle — an intelli-
gent Vaudoise, with all the pleasing expression of her
* " Je dirai volontiers h. ceux qui ont du gout, et qui sont
sensibles: Allez a Vevay — visitez le pays, exaniinez les
sites, promonez vous sur le lac, et dites si la Nature n'a pas
fait ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour une Claire, et pour
un St. Preux ; mais ne les y cherchez pas." — Les Con/es-
gions, livre iv.
204 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
canton depicted on her face. Following our conduc-
tress across a court-yard, and then down some dark
and time-worn steps, we passed through an aperture in
the wall rather than a door, and stood in the celebrated
dungeon. It is too gloomy at first to discern objects
clearly, but by degrees we became sensible of being in
a long, low, vaulted apartment, with a row of pillars
" of gothic mould" down the middle, and small loop-
holes on one side to admit light and air. All the views
we have yet seen of the prison make it too lofty : it is
in reality a cri/pt^ and we should think that the pillars
are barely eight feet high. Our guide persuaded us to
buy a little pamphlet descriptive of the castle, at the
expense of a franc, and we gained some information
from it about Bonnivard and his captivity.
The castle itself is an irregular mass of square build-
ings, and, before the invention of artillery, was deemed
impregnable, as it entirely shut the narrow passage be-
tween the lake and the mountain, whose escarpements
were formerly thought to be inaccessible ; it could now,
however, be easily commanded by cannon on the
heights. Our little book describes it as being built in
1238, by Amadee IV., Count of Savoy, upon a rock
which formed a small island in the lake, united to the
main-land by a light w^ooden bridge. The dungeons
served from time to time to incarcerate many import-
ant prisoners, and Francis Bonnivard, Prior of St.
Victor at Geneva, languished here six years in cap-
tivity. He has been commonly known as the " Pri-
soner of Chillon," but this is erroneous; since Lord
Byron was not aware of his existence when he wrote
AN EXCURSION TO CHILLON. 205
the poem ; and the celebrated sonnet on Chillon,
which is now usually placed at the commencement, was
written at a subsequent period. The poem itself was
composed in the little parlour of the neat inn that over-
looks the lake at Ouchy, a small village near Lausanne,
where its noble author was detained two days by bad
weather, in June 1816.
There are two or three common errors in circulation
respecting Chillon which we may safely correct. In
the first place, the floor of the dungeon is described as
being below the level of the watermark outside : —
'* A double dungeon wall and wave
Have made — and like a living grave,
Below the surface of the lake,
The dark vault lies wherein we lay."
This is a mistake, and may be easily disproved ; for,
in the very next dungeon, whose floor is on the same
level as Bonnivard's, they show you a trap-door,
through which the bodies of the murdered prisoners
were thrown into the lake ; — of course, had the floor
been lower than the water, the dungeon would have
been inundated on opening the trap.* Again, most
♦ Since the above was written, a paper on Chillon has
appeared in the Saturday Magazine, and from it we quote
the following remarks: "In 1817, M. Simond visited the
castle and the far-famed dungeon, which had so long been
reported to be below the level of the lake. On comparing
the height of the loophole gratings above the water's edge from
the outside, and above the rocky floor inside, he satisfied him-
206 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
of the authors and guide-books that have spoken of
Chillon, (and they all appear to copy from each other,)
describe Lord Byron's name as being cut upon the
column to which Bonnivard was confined. Here is an-
other error : the pillar containing the iron staple is the
fifth in order from the entrance, and the noble poet
engraved his name upon the third, in company with
Fenimore Cooper's, and several others of equal note.
Some two or three years back, a mischievous brute
took advantage of the momentary absence of the
guide, to cut a line through the name of Byron, and
succeeded too well in his wanton attempt. The wo-
man told us there were only two visitors in the dun-
geon at the time, an Englishman and an Italian ; but
we will hope, for the credit of our nation, it was not
the former. We took the impression of the name our-
selves. After visiting some other dungeons, to which
the original entrance was merely a species of chimney,
we were introduced to the chamber of the Duke, with
another old, decaying apartment or two ; but the
kitchen interested us most. It is a large room, with a
floor and ceiling of wood, the latter being supported by
self that the latter w^as more elevated than the former ; espe-
cially after having observed a hollow place full of water,
which must have come from the lake, and would have risen
above the floor of the dungeon if it had really been lower than
the level of the water outside." It is somewhat remarkable
that the name of- Byron, who has conferred such deathless
fame upon the Castle of Chillon, is never once mentioned
throughout the article.
AN EXCURSION TO CHILLON. 207
stone columns. We were told it was formerly much
larger, but had been divided into several apartments.
The top of the castle was the last part we visited.
There is a fine view from the turrets, of the Alps and
the rich Pays de Vaud, with the blue and sparkling
waters of the lake beneath ; and we were pleased to see
the *' small green isle" which has been celebrated in the
poem. There is a tree upon it with two or three
shrubs, but no habitation ; nor, indeed, is there room
for one.
HERNE THE HUNTER,
A TALE OF WINDSOR FOREST.
There is an old tale goes that Herne the Hunter,
Sometime a Keeper here in AVindsor Forest,
Doth all the winter time at still midnight
Walk round about an oak.
Shakspear^
211
HERNE THE HUNTER.
CHAPTER I.
THE RIVALS.
Sweet masters, be patient : for your fathers'
Remembrance, be at accord.
Shakspeare.
Among the many pleasant glades with which the
greenwoods of merrie England abound, there is not
perhaps one so truly beautiful as a glen which is
situated on the right of the public road leading from Bi-
shopsgate to the Long Walk through Windsor Forest.
After winding through a long avenue, shaded by trees
of the most picturesque and ancestral appearance, the
visitor arrives at this lovely spot, which, indebted
little to man for its beauty, has its different attributes
of leafy glade, wild brushwood, and extended plain,
most " harmoniously confused."" A long lawn of
smooth, mossy turf, enclosed on either side by magni-
ficent oaks, elms, and beech-trees, whose spreading
branches meet over head, slopes gradually down from
the foreground for about a quarter of a mile, until its
212 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
regularity is broken by intervening clumps of shrubs
and underwood. From this point the noble forest
stretches far and wide in every direction, while amidst
its fairest part the kingly castle rises far above the
surrounding scenery, and looks proudly down on the
country around it. Beyond it the trees of the green-
wood again appear, and, still further, the cultivated
landscape gently undulates until the view is finally ter-
minated by the blue hills mingling with the sky on the
horizon.
Although many centuries have passed since the
period to which our tale refers, yet the character of
the place has not much altered. It is true that the
hand of art has done something towards its improve-
ment, but so sparingly that it is hardly perceptible.
As the old pollards have decayed and fallen away,
young ones have supplied their places ; and although
here and there the acorn, which the squirrel planted
for his winter food, (and then forgot where he had
placed it,) has become a tall tree, and intruded on the
vista, it does but assist in completing the picturesque
of the scene.
One calm evening in the summer of the year 1399,
two men in the attire of hunters were reclining under
the shade of a large oak, at the summit of the glade of
which we speak. The elder of the two (for there was
a great difference between them) might have been
about threescore ; but that his quick, piercing eye, hale
countenance, and well-knit limbs would have caused a
cursory observer to deduct at least twenty years from
his real age. He was dressed in a green tunic, fitting
HERNE THE HUNTER. 213
closely to his shape, and edged all round '"the extremi-
ties with a black velvet band, ornamented with bright
brass studs. A hat, in which was stuck a few feathers
of some English bird, lay by his side, and a quiver,
curiously wrought with rude figures of stags, foxes, and
other animals of the chace, was slung over his shoulder,
filled with a sheaf of arrows tipped with peacock's fea-
thers, — this, with a bugle horn and short hunting-knife,
completed his accoutrements. His companion was a
handsome, well-grown young man, over whose cheerful
visage some twenty summers had passed lightly. He
was habited in a similar way, but an edge of fur was
substituted for the velvet, on his tunic, and his quiver
was but a common one. A handsome arbalist lay by
his side, the lock of which he was indolently clicking
with his finger, as he reclined at full length on the
ground, gazing in listless apathy around him.
It was a beautiful evening, and the sun was gently
declining beyond the horizon, covering the whole mass
of waving foliage with one glorious canopy of gold.
The flag on the keep of the castle hung motionless on
its staff, or sluggishly uncurled its heavy folds, and
then sweeping them slowly round the ramparts of the
tower, again resumed its former quietude, as if in
mockery of the light zephyrs which were playing
around it. Herds of deer were grouped about as far
as the eye could reach, some quietly at pasture, and
others lightly bounding over the smooth turf, while a
whole choir of birds was chaunting sweetly in the
green branches over head. It would seem that this
scene of calm loveliness was not without its effect upon
214 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
the two men, as they remained for some time quietly
gazing on the lovely scene before them. At length the
elder, who was Master Cyril Langleigh, head keeper
of the forest, broke silence to his nephew and companion
in the following words :
" By my fay, Walter, 'tis a goodly scene and a
grand ; one that would well help to calm a man's angry
spirit, even in its most turbulent moments. And I
doubt not but that the hunter is happier far beneath
the green and leafy trees, with the merle and mavis
warbling around him, than the noble on his rush-strewn
dais, with all sorts of outlandish instruments clanging
in his ears. What say'st thou, boy ?""
" I confess, uncle, that I cannot quite agree with
you," answered his companion. " The forest is well
enough to kill a buck in, or knock a popinjay from
his perch, but still I like to be in the world a little
more."
" And naturally, Walter. When I was your age I
had your feelings, but I was at length as glad to quit
its tinselled gaieties as you are to enter it." And the
old man's voice sank, and he compressed his lip as he
looked cautiously around and added, " Great changes
have taken place since I was a boy, and I fear for the
worse. The star of the Saxon line of kings has set in
blood. I have seen our unhappy Richard of Bour-
deaux cruelly triumphed over by Bolingbroke of Lan-
caster, and the walls of Pontefract Castle stained with
blood that was the noblest and best in England.
There are alterations in the Forest, too, Walter. En-
HERNE THE HUNTER 215
croacbments are gradually making on its extent, and, I
reckon, in time it will not be so mucli as twenty miles
across. I know every tree and every deer, and "'tis
hard to leave them ; but Edmund is of age to-day,
and the keepership devolves upon him."
" I have never rightly heard," rejoined the other,
" how my cousin Edmund has a right to the office.
You know why. Uncle, I believe ?"
^* Why, "'tis a long tale, boy, but I will do my best
to explain it. You know that the keepership de-
scends always from father to son, or to the nearest male
relation ? ""
" I have heard so much before,"'"' said Walter.
" Well, then, your grandfather, the old keeper —
Harry Heme we used to call him — (God rest his soul !
— he was a good bowman,) when he died, left two
sons and a daughter. The boys were twins, and as
they could never settle which was first born, and the
old man left no papers, they divided the property, but
there was a constant wrangling between them. At last
they both went abroad, and, I believe, died fighting in
the Low Countries."
" My father, I am aware, died in Flanders.''"'
" Well, they each left a son behind them ; that is,
you know, yourself and your cousin Edmund ; and, as
you were but little things, I thought it a pity the situa-
tion should pass into other hands, so, seeing your aunt
was a good woman, and comely withal, I e'en married
her, and took to the Keeper"'8 place, promising to give
it to the first of you that came of age. Now Edmund is
2)6 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
your senior by a few months, and he wears the bugle
horn to-day for the first time. I would it had been
otherwise."
" I do not so much dislike my cousin," rejoined
Walter, after a few minutes' pause ; " he is petulant
at times, I own ; but I think he has a good heart ; he
is generally civil towards me."
" Aye, Walter," answered the old man ; " but he
is a hypocrite. Did you never ascend the keep of yon-
der castle on a summer afternoon, and see the various
towns and hamlets which lie scattered around its base,
how peaceful and quiet they look, embosomed in the
thick foliage ; and then come down, and on entering
one of those towns, find them filled with men plotting
but how to destroy one another''s happiness ? The
water-fall does not much disturb the surface of the
basin a few feet from where it falls, but there is a vio-
lent current underneath. So it is with Edmund, I
fear. He apjjears civil — probe him, and you will find
it otherwise. But, adso ! I get old and talkative, and
here is May coming to tell us that the ale is quite flat,
and the manchet over-baked by waiting. Well, girl,
how fares it?"
There was something very beautiful and almost an-
gelic — at least as far as our mortal ideas of celestial
beings are permitted to extend — in the fair creature
who now came bounding up the glen to meet her father
and cousin. A sculptor would not have taken her as a
model for a Juno or a Minerva ; but she would have
made a sweet study for a Venus or a Daphne. Her
figure was rather petite than otherwise ; but withal
HERNE THE HUNTER. 217
roost regularly formed. She had one of those bright,
sunny-looking faces which always seemed happy and
contented ; and her fair hair hung clustering over her
forehead in long sleek tresses, until it fell upon her
ivory neck and shoulders. She was pretty to every
body — to Walter she was absolutely beautiful, and she
never looked better than at this time, as she came to-
wards them.
" Well, May,'" asked Master Langleigh, " has aught
happened in our absence ?"
" Nothing of consequence, father," was the answer.
" Old Hoade, the gate-keeper, brought a bundle of
shafts which he had feathered — there were two score,
and I paid threepence for the lot ; and Gervase has
been with two couple of hounds, which he has locked in
the stable, to be in readiness for the next hunt ; but — *"
and here her voice slightly faultered — " the little red
deer which Walter called Amy, after some fair friend
of his, I suppose," and she eyed her cousin archly :
" I mean the "
" Nay, May,'" exclaimed Walter, " I wanted to call
the deer after yourself; but you said that Edmund
would be angry, and that the hunters would laugh at
you, so I named it after the next prettiest girl to you
that I knew of; — but what of it?"
*' Why, Walter, the poor thing came home, bleed-
ing from a wound in its neck, with a bolt sticking in
it. I tried to pull it out, but could not, so I made it
up a bed of fern in the hall, but I fear it is dead,
Walter, quite dead ; and I think Edmund has had a
VOL. II. L
218 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
hand in it. I know he hated the poor thing, because
you gave it to me.""
A sh'ght cloud passed over the young hunter's coun-
tenance at the latter part of his cousin's speech ; but it
was only for a moment. By this time they had reached
the Keeper's house.
" What, in tears, May!" exclaimed her father;
" come, girl, cheer up ! We will go and see if it be
dead, and if such be the case, why, we will make Walter
bury it underneath the great oak there, and you shall
be his little clerk. Come, come, don't fret, girl.**'
And thus speaking, they entered the house, where the
first object that met their view was the cause of May's
sorrow, stretched out on some dry fern, in the same
attitude it had been first placed in, but now stiff and
dead. Walter leaned down over it to examine the
wound, and while he was so occupied his pretty cousin
wondered who could have been so cruel, if it was not
Edmund.
" Why, May," answered Walter, " I think I have
found out ;" and he spoke rather angrily ; " this bolt I
am sure, uncle, you gave to Edmund yesterday. Did
you not .?"
" Yes, yes, Walter, I did ; and I am sorry to see
he has made no better use of it ; but 'tis all of a piece.
However, I have to go to Englefield this evening. I
prithee keep May company till I come back, or the
dead deer will frighten her, I am afraid. And mind,
lass, that the manchets are ready in half an hour ; and
do not let our knaves and villains run so on the loose,
for they are all out now, the sorry varlets. I shall be
HERNE THE HUNTER. 219
back anon/' And the old man departed, leaving Wal-
ter with his cousin, who was still casting woful looks at
her defunct favourite.
Although the young couple each knew that they
were in love with one another, still neither had ever
declared it ; and, notwithstanding Walter had often
imagined fine sayings with which to declare his affec-
tion, he always found himself dumb when an opportu-
nity offered. But now they were quite alone, and, see-
ing this, the young hunter fidgeted a long time, until
at length, making a bold effort, he broke silence.
" You remember, dear May, when we were little
children, not that high, I always said when I was a
king's huntsman I would marry you. Now that I am
one, and, thanks to your father, one high in command,
I have consequently a handsome allowance, although I
am not keeper." And he uttered the last sentence
with a most significant bend of the head.
"Well, Walter, what then.?" said May; and
Walter thought she did not understand him at all, as,
instead of paying the greatest attention, as he expected,
she did not even look at him, but kept twirling her
long silken hair very fast round her fingers, averting
her face entirely with all the apathy imaginable.
'* Well, Walter, what then .? "
The suitor was puzzled; to be asked such a ques-
tion was terrible ; but he saw he had better speak out,
now that the ice was broken, so he said boldly, " What
then. May ? why I love you a great deal better than
your cousin Edmund does, and will keep the promise in
earnest which I made in jest when a child. Will you
L 2
220 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
be mine, May ? " And he put his arm round her
waist, and looked at her so fondly that the lady saw it
was useless pretending innocence any longer (indeed
she could not but have relented had she formed an-
other opinion) ; so she said nothing, but put her little
white hand in his, and they would have been for a time
the happiest couple in all England, had not the door
opened, and Edmund Heme come blundering in over
the sill, while he addressed them in his usual rough
manner.
" Hey day ! Sir Huntsman, what 's this ? It seems
it is lucky that I have arrived at this moment. Come,
come, learn not to intrude on another's hunt ; nay, do
not stand at bay thus. Leave go my cousin ; let her
alone, I say; are you deaf? Oh ! the deer found its
way home again, did it ? well, it wont come clattering
about the house in my ears again, I warrant ye." And
he gave the dead animal a spurn with his foot, as if to
show his utter disregard of the company he was in.
" We supposed it was some of the keeper's handi-
work," said Walter, as a slight sneer curled his upper
lip.
" You supposed right, then. Master Walter," an-
swered his cousin, with provoking coolness ; " you
supposed right, then, it was me ; but I do not see why
the bolt should be lost for all that ;" and he picked the
missile up and put it in his pouch, adding, as he ad-
vanced, *' My pretty cousin pouts and looks angry, and
has not welcomed me as she ought ; come, girl, give
me a kiss," and he grasped her arm to pull her towards
him, when Walter pushed him forcibly back, and
HERNE THE HUNTER. 221
placing himself in front of poor May, who seemed half
dead with flurry, said, in a quick manner,
" Edmund Heme, we have never yet had a deadly
quarrel, and I pray Our Ladye we never shall, but I
am left here by your uncle to protect his daughter.
Quit this roof instantly, or by Heaven ! you shall know
my strength. Our cousin wishes not for your company:
Begone sir I"
" She wishes not for yours. Master Walter, I am
certain, and when I tell her that you are at the head
of a noisy set of roysterers, who nightly disturb the
good town of Windsor with their drunken orgies, she
will wish for you still less. Ah ! you colour. Look
at him May, my May.''
Till now Walter had been comparatively calm, but
roused by the base lies which his rival was pouring
forth, he sprang to the wall of the room, caught up
an arquebuse which was lying there by chance, and
exclaimed, in a low, hurried tone,
" Now, Edmund, you began this quarrel and I will
end it I Leave this place directly, or, unwilling as
I am to raise a turmoil before this poor girl, I will
send—"
" Oh ! Walter, do not, do not," interrupted May,
rushing up to him and turning aside his arm, " I know
they are lies, vile lies, that he is uttering ; I do not
believe him, but do not stain this floor with blood —
of your cousin too. Edmund, pray go away now, or
there will be mischief — there will indeed ;" and she
quietly took the arquebuse from Walter, and placed it
in its accustomed nook.
222 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" It is well," said the enraged Edmund, " it is well
that you have a woman to help you through your bat-
tles, or I am certain your own courage would never do
it ;" and, becoming bolder as the danger diminished,
he again approached May, when Walter met him with
a blow which would have felled a weaker man to the
6arth. As it was, it sent him reeling across the room,
when, at the same instant, a sound of footsteps was
heard, and Master Langleigh stood on the threshold.
Writhing with pain and anger, Edmund cast a wither-
ing look at Walter, and suddenly left the house, push-
ing by his uncle, who stood motionless, as if astonished
at the affray, the conclusion of which he had just wit-
nessed. May and her cousin, however, soon helped
one another to explain it, and by the time they had
finished their meal and their story, night drew on, and
W^ alter, bidding " a pleasant sleep and fayre dreams "*'
to his relations, departed for the town, which was dis-
tant some three miles.
HERNE THE HUNTER. 22S
CHAPTER II.
THE DEER-STALKERS.
Come, shall we go and kill us venison ?
Shakspeare.
For a long time after Walter had left the cottage
he could not but brood upon the scene in which he
had lately taken so principal a character. It was the
first time he had openly quarrelled with his cousin ;
and, although only a quarrel, he began to think Master
Langleigh was right when he said there would be trou-
blesome work between them. When annoyed, we may
brood upon molehills until they become mountains,
and so it was with Walter. Love, anger, and not a
little jealousy, crowded rapidly in his mind ; now he
regretted what had happened, now tried to laugh it
away, and then again meditated on some plan of re-
venge, until the low knot of a tree striking his feather
awoke him from his reverie, and caused him to discover
that he had absently wandered into a path far different
from the one by which he was accustomed to proceed
home. The harvest moon, which had been shining in
all the glory and calmness of its summer light, was sud-
denly veiled by a passing cloud ; and thus being de-
224> THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
prived of light — moreover in a strange place — he
stopped to consider which way he had better turn to
regain the right track. While deliberating he heard,
or thought he heard, the sound of merriment and re-
velry ; he listened, and anon, another and a louder
peal of laughter fell on his ear, startling the fawn from
its covert, and then gradually dying away in the depths
of the forest. Thinking that perchance some band of
drunken wassailers was returning home, who might
give him some information as to his route, he pushed
through what slight bushes opposed him, and made his
way in the direction from which the sounds he heard
proceeded. He had not gone far before he perceived
a glimmering red light through the trees, which now
flashed brightly amid the foliage, and then suddenly
sank into an indistinct gleam, as if some object occa-
sionally intercepted its lustre by coming before it ;
while the laughter became more distinct and frequent
every moment. A new thought, as to what he beheld,
now struck him. A band of dare-devil rascallions,
who preferred helping themselves to the king's venison,
and to other people's money, to working for either, had
long infested the forest with their presence ; frequently
having serious affrays with the keepers, and as fre-
quently coming off victors in the contest. Now
Walter, knowing that, as a king's huntsman, he should
not be very well received if they were the party in
question, thought his best plan was to glide quietly up
to them and see if they were these same deer-stalkers
or not. Accordingly, creeping stealthily through the
brushwood towards them, he gained a little thicket be-
HERNE THE HUNTER. 225
tween liim and the strangers ; and there, crouching
down upon the grass, he could distinctly see and hear
what passed without the slightest chance of discovery.
A most picturesque scene awaited him. On a small
plot of grass, encompassed on every side by tall, thick
trees, a bright fire was lambently playing up the sides
of a huge cauldron, supported gipsy-fashion, by three
sticks, the tops of which were tied together. Around
the blaze some twenty or thirty men were lounging on
the grass, in a dress nearly allied to that of the royal
hunt, save the feathers and ornaments, and laughing
loudly as the wine-flagon or joke passed round. A
newly-slain deer lying by the side of the fire, showed
at once who they were ; and two men were eagerly de-
bating over it, one of whom Walter supposed, by his
superior dress, to be the captain. Both, however,
stood with their backs towards him, and with difficulty
he caught up the following words of the dialogue pass-
ing between them : —
" Come, now," exclaimed the superior, '* give me
the price I have fixed and take as many as you like
from the herd now lying in the castle chase, or, by the
mass I I will kindle such a fire in the forest as shall
scorch ye all out of your quarters. Think you I will
risk my situation for the poor pittance you mention ?
No, no, you are mistaken."
*' Well, then," growled the other, " here are ten-
pence more, and that is the price of a deer even in the
market. Are you content with this much. Heme .?"
**No!" thundered the other, whom Walter now
saw was his cousin.
L 5
^26 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" Then not a farthing more shall you have, an I
were to die for it. Do as you will. There are other
deer besides the ones you watch over — other shades
besides those of Windsor Forest ; so, for once and all,
will ye take it ?"
" No ! I have said it,'"* answered Edmund, " and I
will not waver, so you may all troop off at once, and
go where ye list. Stay here ye shall not.*"
A loud, provoking laugh followed this speech and
ran round the circle, while one, bolder than the rest,
came and stood by Edmund, sneeringly exclaiming —
" The new keeper of Windsor Forest would look
well when his first noble action was found out to be
treating with the deer-stalkers ! You are in our power.
Look to it, and be not so turbulent, and keep your
hopeful cousin under a little : God knows what will
happen when he comes to be keeper, though I respect
the youth as a good shot and a steady."
" While I can clench a sword or an arbalist," said
Edmund, " he never shall be one ;'*' but ere he had
well concluded these few words Walter had sprung into
the circle, and was standing at his side. Had a thun-
derbolt descended and laid the whole forest bare of its
timber, Edmund could not have quailed more than he
did before the piercing glance his cousin gave him. For
a second he stood totally paralysed, until the gathering
of the other part of the company around him, and their
clamour at this sudden appearance of a stranger, awak-
ened him. Then, resuming his former rage, and be-
fore Walter was aware of his intention, he sprang on
him, pinned him to the ground, and holding his short
HERNE THE HUNTER. 227
hunting-knife to his throat, would most probably have
finished his days at once had not the chief of the
poachers dragged him off, saying —
" Hold, Master Heme ! The harmless revelry of
the Greenjerkins of Windsor Forest shall never be
destroyed by brawls and bloodshed. If we meet the
keepers then we fight for our booty, but never besides
countenance battles. If you have ought to settle fight
it out elsewhere, for, though I would that this boy
were out of the land, by the mass ! which we never
attend, I do not wish his life. Unhand him, Heme !
Are you mad to keep on your tiger'*s hold ?"
Sullenly and hatefully did the keeper leave go his
hold, but he saw there was no alternative. Then, boil-
ing with rage, he said, " Walter, I have been inter-
mpted, or before this your soul and body would have
parted company. Nevertheless, at six to-morrow morn-
ing, I will meet you in the Home chase to settle this ac-
count. There," he added, as his voice became choaked
with emotion, '* there will be no meddlers."
" I will come, Edmund, but rather to conciliate
than attack you ; however, this is no place for conver-
sation," and tuming to the party of deer-stalkers,
Walter continued — " No one shall know what I have
heard and seen this night ; I owe my life to you, and
thank you ; but beware, my masters ! tempt not the
tame animal too much or he will bite. Give ye good
even." And the grey light of morning began to break
through the foliage, when Walter reached his home to
snatch a few hours' meditation. Sleep indeed he could
not.
^;^8 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER III.
THE INTERRUPTION.
Part, fools ; put up your swords ; you know not what
you do.
Shakspeare.
The first beams of the rising sun were beginning
to shine over the green forest, covering the wet grass
with a coat of brilliant diamonds, when he again
quitted his restless bed and hastened through the park
to meet his cousin. A perfect silence reigned around.
Here and there a straight column of smoke arose from
the early fire of some poor labourer preparing his
breakfast, but as yet no living thing was abroad, save
the timid hare roused from its brushwood bed, running
down the long avenue, or the perking squirrel, just
showing its small nose over the branches of its own
beech-tree. It was a lovely morning ; one that would
well prove " God made the country, but man made
the town ;" yet Walter heeded it not ; his whole mind
being turned on the unnatural contest he was about to
be engaged in. Insensibly and mechanically he arrived
at the trysting-place, and found his cousin had not yet
come ; nevertheless the place was not totally unoccu-
pied, for to his annoyance he observed a quaint-look-
ing man sitting on the trunk of a tree, talking with
HERNE THE HUNTER. 229
great rapidity, and anon writing down some few lines
on his tablets with a leaden plummet. On a nearer
and more earnest inspection, Walter found him to be
a man about the middle age, rather inclining to cor-
pulency, but of a good figure. His cheek and hand
were fair as a lady's, and his long sandy hair /ell from
beneath his black velvet cap over a sad coloured
raiment, which was fastened round his waist by a band
of the same tint. Although he could not but have seen
Walter approach, he took no notice, but continued
talking and writing, sometimes interrupting himself with
expressions of joy, as if something had pleased him.
The huntsman thought it strange, to see him labour-
ing thus to no seeming purpose ; and, drawing a little
nearer, although in no humour for conversation, he
asked the stranger what the hour might be, adding, he
supposed a love of nature brought him out thus early.
The other lifted up his head, and stared vacantly at
him for a few seconds, then broke off into the fol-
lowing lines : —
*' Why as for me, though I can but light
On bokis for to read, I me delite,
And to 'hem have faithful and full credence,
And in mine herte have *hem in reverence,
So herteily that there is game none.
That fro' my bokis maketh me to gone."
Which strange speech being finished, he proceeded to
write it down, taking no notice of the astonished Wal-
ter. " The poor gentleman is certainly mad," thought
280 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
he, " but I will try him again," and he repeated the
question in a somewhat higher note than before.
The writer looked up at him again, and in the same
measured strain began : —
" As I said erst when comin is the Maie,
That in my bedde there dawnith me no daie,
That I n' am up and walking in the mead,
To sene the floris against the sunne spreade,
Now that I have then this condition,
Farewel my bokis and my devotion."
'' Think ye not, sir, this will do, with some little
alteration ? By my troth my verse flows easilie this
morning : I prithee leave me, for I am over busie."
And Walter, certain that the speaker was demented,
turned away and perceived at the same moment his
cousin coming near him.
*' You have kept your appointment truly,'' said the
new keeper, " and I trust with as sharp a blade and
sure an arm as mine, for, on my halidame, the life-
blood of one of us shall stain this grass before the sun
rises a degree higher. Are you ready ? " and as he
spoke, he drew his rapier, and carelessly wiped it on
the sleeve of his coat, as if to give it a brighter ap-
pearance.
" Yes, Edmund," answered Walter, " ready to
conciliate but not to fight. I had thought," and he
spoke in a low, clear voice, " I had thought a night's
reflection would have tended to allay your passion ;
Our Ladye knows I grieve to find it otherwise."
HERNE THE HUNTER. 231
" Walter, this is the language of a priest, not of
a huntsman/'
" Nay, 'tis the language of peace. Now, Edmund,
reflect one instant, what will be gained by our fight-
ing? I have heard it mentioned as an awful thing,
when brothers fight ; then why not so with brothers'
children ? If you or I fall, the survivor must live
an exile, branded with the name of murderer, away
from friends and home. Seek another way of reveng-
ing, yourself upon me, but do not come to bloodshed.'*
" Walter Heme," angrily returned the other, " have
you not always been a baulk to me since we were boys,
and think you I would let you loose in the forest, after
the discovery you made last night of my treating with
the deer-steal ers, to be always throwing it in my teeth ?
Now I am in your power, but I will not be so long."
He placed himself in an attitude of defence with his
sword in readiness for fight ; but Walter did not
move : he stood regarding his cousin for a minute, and
then said —
" Last night I gave you my sacred word that all
should be a secret. Yes, taunt me as you will, I would
not tell it, for the sake of our early companionship.
Who first put a bow into your hands, and taught you
to distinguish game, to save you from the sneers of
your fellow foresters ? Did I not ? Have I not,
although your junior, taught you all you know in the
chase ? And now you return it by wishing for my life.
Edmund, Edmund, I have not deserved this," and
covering his face with his hands, Walter stood some
seconds motionless.
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
The keeper had not expected this. For a little
time he watched his cousin's emotion without speak-
ing ; but his natural ferocity prevailed at last, and he
shouted out, with a derisive laugh —
" Ho ! ho ! ^Twill be, in truth, a goodly story to
tell the hunt, that one of their first men can cry like
a girl. But enough of parleying. Defend yourself,
or you are as naught in this forest ;" and Walter,
seeing his danger, was in an instant engaged in com-
bat with his cousin, although on the defensive.
Placing his back against an oak, for a time he parried
every thrust, till the keeper, tired of being foiled,
made a desperate lounge at him with all his might.
Walter saw this, and stepped aside ; and his cousin
drove his rapier into the tree, so far, that he was en-
deavouring to pull it out with both hands, when a staff
suddenly descended on it and snapped it to pieces,
leaving only the hilt in his hold, and the point in the
tree. In an instant Walter discovered the strange
man he had been talking to ; and, before the asto-
nished keeper could recover his surprise, the gentle-
man broke out as follows : —
" When mannys first doth agen mannys fite,
If in the battle fielde, then all is richte ;
But when he seeks his angrie foe to spredde,
In colde blood upon the flowrie meade,
It shamelye is So with all reverence,
Praie ye make friendys, and that in my presence."
The violence of Edmund's anger, from the moment
he arrived at this spot, had prevented him from see-
ing the speaker, he was therefore as much and more
HERNE THE HUNTER. ^S3
surprised than his cousin had been before him. "Out,
sir meddler !" he exclaimed, *' prate not your non-
sense here !" and he was pushing him back, when the
stranger drew his sword and held it in a threatening
attitude, adding, with the greatest possible coolness,
" Now sirs, shake ye hands, or I will pin ye both
through —
' As boy doth locust small in fielde of haie,
When on the parchit grass he maken plaie.*
Ay/' he continued, " this idea will do," and he got
his tablets out. In a minute Walter's hand was ex-
tended, hoping his cousin would do the same. But
he was mistaken ; instead of accepting the proffered
offer of friendship, Edmund sneered and walked away,
as sullen as well could be.
" I am sorry," said the gentleman, " that your an-
tagonist is of so unforgiving a nature. However, I
am pleased with your compliance to my wishes, and,
if ever you want a friend at court, call at the castle
lodge, and there Geoffrey Chaucer will do what he can
for you."
And then, for the first time, Walter discovered he
had been speaking to '* The Father of English Poe-
try," whose fame was ringing over all Britain.
234 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
CHAPTER IV.
THE REVOLT.
Nay, do not fly ; I think we have watch'd you now.
Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn ?
Shakspeare.
From the traditional, we will now call the reader's
attention to the historical events of the year 1899, the
period to which our tale refers.
The usurpation of the Duke of Lancaster, then
Henry the Fourth, had been so palpable, after the
mysterious death, or rather, disappearance, of Richard
of Bourdeaux, and the right of the Earl of Marche
so clear and evident, that the most awkward disorders
attended the commencement of his reign. The Par-
liament, which had met in the autumn of that year,
had hardly finished the business of settling the king-
dom, before a conspiracy was formed to deprive Henry
of the crown, to which he really had no legal claim.
It was agreed between the conspirators to invite the
king to a tournament at Oxford, where, if he came,
it would be very easy to seize him ; but, in the event
of his refusing, the whole body was to march to Wind-
sor Castle, where they flattered themselves they could
HERNE THE HUNTER. 2S5
gain easy admittance, as the Earl of Rutland, and
several of the king's officers and huntsmen, had already-
joined their party. The invitation to Oxford was
therefore given and refused ; in consequence of which,
the king's birthday, when a grand fete was to be given
at the castle, was fixed upon for the final contest,
which was to depose the king, or place him in double
security on his throne.
The eventful evening arrived, and grand and beau-
tiful was the appearance which the ancient castle pre-
sented. Viewed from the outside, the stately appear-
ance of its ramparts and antique buttresses reposing
in the moonlight, with the light from the gay interior
breaking through the gothic windows and half illumi-
nating the carved corbels around them, was imposing ;
but the inside was equally beautiful. The followers
of the dance were gaily floating about in the great hall
to the sound of the trumpet and harp. Here, in a
dark corner, was some young noble, paying assiduous
court to his own fayre ladye, requesting the honour
of her glove to put in his helmet at the next tourna-
ment ; while there, a train of idle beaux might be seen
carelessly lounging round the room, addressing each
pretty daughter of nobility they met, with " Fair Per-
fection," " Divine Excellence," or some other such
quaint epithet. Others, again, were playing at tables,
merelles, or garrison ; while the remainder, consisting
of good old dowagers, and those wlio felt inclined for
nothing, were quietly seated on the dais, watching the
assemblage; or, weary of the glare and noise, were
strolling on the battlements, gazing on the clear moon-
2S6 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
lit sky and the half-obscured landscape around them;
while the noise of music and the burst of revelry ever
and anon fell on their ears and died away again in the
quiet night. The Royal Henry was amongst the latter
number, and, with the Lady Blanche Hamilton lean-
ing on his arm, was alternately whispering compliments
in her ear, which would have made his queen very
jealous, or descanting ably on the fine scenery beneath
the castle.
" And you admire the moonlight in preference to
that of the sun, Blanche?" asked the monarch.
" I think that the repose which covers all nature
communicates the same quieting influence to our spi-
rits, as the bright beams of a morning sun exhilarate
us. It has the power too, of improving certain scenery,
while it detracts from the beauty of another prospect.
Do you not think, my liege, the moon is shining
beautifully on the Thames there, making it appear as a
lake of diamonds ?"
" Lake of diamonds ! Blanche ; it is a clump of
spears, and they move in this direction, or my eyes
deceive me. Ho ! sir warder, come hither. See you
nothing in the Brockhurst Chace, near the river?
Straight where my finger points."
" I should say, your majesty," answered the warder,
" that it were an armed body, though I know not who
they may be ;" and, straining his eyes to the point in
question, he added, '' They are none of our troops,
sire, nor any regular ones, for they march disorderly.
See ! that, by his dress, should be my Lord of Rut-
land, coming so quickly along the terrace." At the
HERNE THE HUNTER. 237
same instant tlie nobleman, for it was he, rushing to
the king, fell on his knee, while he uttered, in a breath-
less voice, " Treason ! my gracious sovereign. Your
life is sought after, and the castle is beset on all sides
by a force as mighty as your own garrison. For hea-
ven's sake fly, — to London — ^anywhere. I have pro-
vided horses, and they now wait at the north postern.""
The king did not start nor turn pale at this intelli-
gence, but he fixed his dark, piercing eye on the earl,
and said,
" You have provided horses, my Lord of Rutland !
how comes it that you knew of this conspiracy ? Ha !
you are taken by surprise. Answer me."
The renegade turned pale ; and again, in the most
urgent terms, desired the king*'s immediate departure,
in which request all present (for several of the com-
pany, by this time, had assembled together) earnestly
joined.
'' Well, then, I will go," said Henry, '* if it be
only to baulk these villains ; but, first, there are orders
to give. Lord Edward Hamilton, here is your wife —
I resign her again to you ; at the same time minding
you to keep her safe. Sir Percy Howell, get the gar-
rison in readiness to give these rascals a warm reception,
and place the falconets so that they can command both
gates. . Ladies all ! retire to the keep. Scenes will
soon happen which it is not fit ye should be witnesses
of. And now God speed ye all. I trust to-morrow
we shall all meet here again in quietude." And, hur-
rying down to the gate with two noblemen, who offered
2S8 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
to accompany him as guides, he was soon fairly out of
the castle.
What induced Rutland to turn against his own
party was never rightly known ; but, as soon as the
king was clearly off, he rejoined the conspirators, and
informed them that Henry had received intimation of
their plot and escaped, so that he advised them to
return and wait a better opportunity. But they heeded
him not. Instead of retreating, they rushed madly
into the castle, where they each met with their fate
from the hands of the trained soldiery, except the few
miserable beings who escaped only to be hunted over
the country like wild beasts.
To return to the royal fugitive. As soon as the
king and his party had mounted, they struck spurs into
their horses, and the noble animals flew over the forest
turf with the rapidity of an arrow. As they gained
ground, the castle and its turrets faded quickly from
their view in the surrounding darkness, except an illu-
minated window or two which seemed suspended in
the air, late the scene of revelry, but now filled with
rapine and bloodshed ; while, every now and then, the
crack of the arquebuse of some alarmed sentinel broke
the stillness of the night, and rumbled in a prolonged
echo over the forest. Amidst all this murderous work,
the moon was as calmly shining as when she thr^w her
light on the king and Lady Blanche upon the ram-
parts ; and now by her light for the first time, on emerg-
ing from a thicket, Henry observed one more horseman
than his party consisted of, riding furiously by his side,
HERNE THE HUNTER. 239
as if endeavouring to pass them at the rapid rate they
were going at.
In the chase, or at any other time, this circumstance
would have passed unnoticed, but now the slightest
thing served only to arouse suspicion. The king, as
he observed this, reined in his steed, exclaiming, " Ho !
my lords, stop, I pray you, there is treason in the
forest as well as in the hall. Seize that stranger who
rides so fast alongside ;" but ere he could give his
directions the cause of his alarm dashed on, and was
in an instant in the depths of the forest. The king's
party had stopped at his order, and now clustered
around him for advice, most of them thinking it best to
tarry awhile and consider which road they had better take.
But to this the Earl of Surrey objected. " If," said he,
" there is danger before your majesty, there is tenfold
behind. I prithee, sire, push on, for we are well nigh
the old keeper's abode, and most likely they are up.
Let your majesty keep in the rear, and I will ride for-
ward with Lord Hamilton. So ! we are off, and the
worst part of the forest will soon be left behind, and
then in the open country "
But before he finished. his speech the nobleman's
horse stopped short with such violence, that it hurled
him on the ground to a great distance off. In an
instant the horse of Lord Hamilton, with his rider,
shared the same fate, and, before he could rein in, the
king found himself, as it were, shook from his saddle
to the ground, and firmly held there by a most power-
ful grasp.
" Those who undertake to guide your majesty," said
a taunting voice, " should know the forest better than
240 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
to run up places where there is no thoroughfare.
Were ye all blind, that ye could not see yon barrier ? "
and he pointed to a large rope, stretched across the
avenue from tree to tree, which the royal party perceived
had been the cause of their overthrow.
Enraged at being thus bearded in his own domain by
a hunter, for such the stranger's dress showed he was,
the indignant Bolingbroke called to his fellows, but
found they were each secured as well as himself. In
vain he attempted to throw his captor off ; he pinned
him down with a grasp of iron, and he was well nigh
getting fatigued when a familiar voice sounded in his
ears,
*^ Whereon they shouren down as thicke as haile
Blows without end, and thus begin to assaile,"
and a staff coming with a semi-circular whirl through
the air, drove the king's antagonist several feet away
from him. Henry rose directly, grasped his sword,
and with his own party set upon the others, amounting
to some five or six, having first rescued his two fol-
lowers. Chaucer, for it was he, soon laid his adversary
on the turf with a split skull. The king's enemy
shared the same fate, and they then observed a furious
contest going on between two hunters, one of whom
was he who had held the king. For a time they
fought equally, but it soon became evident there was
an advantage on one side; and the next minute a sword
flew through the air, and the taller of the two was dis-
armed.
'' Nay, kill him not," said the king, rushing on,
" we will have his carcass for the hangman. Who is
the villain ? Tear off his mask." The conqueror of
HERNE THE HUNTER. 241
the traitor tore it off, gazed, tlien staggered back as he
exclaimed, " Oh, Edmund ! bad as you were, I never
thought it would come to this," and the speaker, who
may have been recognised to be W^alter Heme, ran up
to the king, begging his life in the most earnest terms,
adding that he was keeper of the forest.
*' The keeper ! sir hunter ; nay, then he is doubly
guilty; but see ! he is off. Ho! stop him there I"
but they were too late. Edmund flew along the path,
and suddenly disappearing in a thicket, baffled all
farther pursuit.
" 'Tis of no use," said the king, *' the gallows is
robbed of one knave I trust but for a time. And now
to whom am I indebted for this rescue ? To you,
Geoffty ? "
" I am but secondary, your majesty, for that maiden
came and told me, as I ruminated in the forest (for I
tired of the noise at the castle), that you were set upon
by villains, so I e''en met my young friend, the hunter
here, and came on right speedily."
" And who is that maiden who told you ?" said the
king, for the first time seeing a girl standing aloof from
the affray.
" My cousin, sire," said Walter, " the daughter of
Master Cyril Langleigh. She was sitting at the gate
of his residence, and overheard what passed ; upon
which, as her father was out, she sought Master
Chaucer, whom she had seen in the neighbourhood,
and told him. They then met me."
*' And who are you, sir ? We are beholden to
you, as well as to our poet."
VOL. II. M
242 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
" Walter Heme, an' your majesty pleases," and he
dropped on one knee.
" Why then, Sir Walter, rise," and the king struck
him with his sword, " and, as your traitorous cousin
has absconded, take you the keepership. My lords
of Surrey and Hamilton, secure your prisoners ; or if
they need no care, why leave them for the crows. Let
the forest be searched for the late keeper ; and you,
maiden, as you seem to fancy your cousin, for you
keep over-near him, come to me for a portion when you
marry. GeofFry, you had better remain at Langleigh's
to-night ; I would not risk the forest. God bless you
all ; and now on to London." They reached the city
in safety, only to come back next day, on the assurance
of the rebellion being entirely quelled.
A day and a night did Edmund wander in the
forest, shunning the light, and keeping as well con-
cealed as he possibly could ; but when next the moon
rose, he for the first time ventured out, and stole
quietly along the path he had been accustomed to travel
on his way to the deer-stalkers. Timid and apprehen-
sive, he started at every slight noise around him, and
could hardly persuade himself to venture in the bright
moonbeams ; although he thought, could he once gain
the poacher's encampment, he should be safe. He had
not proceeded far before a low, rustling noise, and the
sound of a voice alarmed him. *' Pshaw ! " he mut-
tered, " I have roused the merle from her nest, and
she is fearful I mean to take her young ones." But
the noise was repeated nearer and louder, and, listening
with the greatest anxiety, he distinctly heard his cousin
HERNE THE HUNTER. 24S
Walter^s voice exclaim " He came down here but a
moment since ; I saw him." Edmund gave himself up
for lost, but he had his arbalist, which he had recovered
after the affray of the previous night ; and, fitting a
bolt in it, he waited in painful suspense, the result.
He next heard Walter's voice at a greater distance,
and was congratulating himself that he had departed,
when the brushwood cracked near him, and a figure
quietly glided through it, and stood on the open path.
Edmund saw the feathers and the brass studs, and he
now was certain that it was his cousin. Maddened
with rage at seeing his own situation thus filled, he
took aim, and shot — the figure sprang from the ground,
and then fell heavily. And now Edmund thought his
moment of triumph was come. He flew from his con-
cealment, and, with his hunting-knife, gashed his
victim in diflferent parts of the neck and body. To
make his death doubly sure, he hacked the throat com-
pletely through, then dragging the body amongst the
bushes, he hid it in an old fox's burrow, and cast what
loose stones and dirt he could find upon it. And then,
certain of his victim's death, Edmund hasted along the
forest, and came unexpectedly into the middle of the
deer-stalkers.
" Ho ! my friends," exclaimed one of them, starting
up as he entered, *' here is the late keeper come again.
Have you any deer now, Heme, to part with ?"
" Cease your raillery," he answered angrily, " I am
in no mood for it."
" Nay, but be not angry. Here fellow-companions,
hold him ! he is a traitor, and a reward is oflTered for
244 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
his head. I heard it in the town to-day." And Ed-
mund found himself secured in the grasp of twenty of
them.
'' Villains!'*'' he shouted, " you would not betray
me. Will you turn against an old companion ?''"'
" Why, look you, master Heme,'" exclaimed the
leader, " although we help ourselves to the king'^s veni-
son, we respect his majesty, and cannot but abhor the
foul conspiracy which his very hunters joined in.
Hence you depart not again — alive at least. Guard
him there, — or stop, I know a better plan. Have you
any rope ? "
Some rope was immediately brought.
" Now,'" he resumed, " you Burrell, tie his hands
tight, and then his feet. So ! it is well. Now, Heme,
we will lift you up this oak. Nay, hold your tongue ;
'tis of no use. Hastings, give me up that long rope. —
There, I have made one end fast to this branch, and
the other round his neck, so if he moves, he will fall
from the tree, and hang himself. Good night, sir
keeper. Quarrel not with your company.'" The cap-
tain then descended and joined his band, leaving the
wretched Edmund in the tree.
Knowing he was safe, th£ party began to dispose
themselves for sleep, unmindful of the curses and im-
precations their captive kept uttering. But when the
first of them awoke in the morning, he saw the body of
the late keeper, with blackened face, starting eyes, and
clenched hands, suspended from the tree in which he
had been placed. He had hung himself by intentionally
throwing himself off.
245
CHAPTER V.
THE DENOUEMENT.
Thou hadst prevailed ; I pardon them and thee.
Shakspeare.
" Our ladye shield us from his displeasure, Master
Langleigh. 'Tis not good policy of your nephew to he
out of the way when he ought to be in the chase. Is it
so?"
*' No, no, sir forester, it is not ; but see, his majesty
comes this way. Keep back, and I will answer if he is
angry, for by my fay, he bears a cross look on his
countenance. God give your majesty good den," and
Master Langleigh doffed his bonnet.
The king came in view as the old hunter spoke, and
truly it was a gratifying sight to see him approach as
he then did, after his hair-breadth escape, surrounded
by all the rank and beauty of the land. On either
side of him a long array of green-coated and russet-
booted men, each bearing a hunting-spear, arbalist, and
quiver, proclaimed the presence of the royal hunt ;
while, after him, stationed at certain periods amongst
the courtiers, were the plainer persons of the wardens,
simply clothed in buff jerkins and sad-coloured hose,
with good ashen spears in their hands, capped with iron,
and now and then bandying coarse jests from one to
the other whenever they got out of earshot. Far dif-
ferent, however, was the proud, yet mild and smiling
246 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
demeanour of the ladies of the court, who pranced
gaily onward on their fine palfreys, now stooping to
pat the favourite animals with their little white hands,
or smiling at the high-flown compliments of some ex-
quisite of the fourteenth century, perchance arrayed in
" clothe of highe value, ful tenpence an English elle^''
striving to outvie his fellow in the length and pointing
of the toes of his shoes, or the height of the cock's
feather in his hat.
" By our bolts and buskins !" exclaimed the king,
*' we should well nigh forget our dignity enough to
condescend to buffet the knave of a keeper, were he
but here. There is not a single animal to hunt, and
not half the huntsmen, although a few are swinging
on the ramparts. Ha ! Master Langleigh, where is
your nephew ? ""
" He left home yestere'en, sire, to attack the deer-
stalkers, who have been committing sad depredations
here of late, jand took some more horsemen with him.
Some of the animals returned to the lodge by them-
selves, so I fear they are detained. If, however, your
majesty likes, I will take my nephew"'s place, for I
know the forest well.*"
" Then, be it so," said the king ; ''we will await
you at yon thicket till you get your horse. Bestir
thyself, man ;" and the old keeper was soon out of
sight, and presently returned, with May on a pony by
his side.
The dogs were soon laid on, and, after yelping about
a short time, burst into full cry, and the whole party
were off like lightning into the leafy greenwood. On
HERNE THE HUNTER. 247
a sudden, however, the hounds stopped at a burrow
and would go no further ; upon which Master Lang-
leigh and the other huntsmen began unearthing ; but
they left their task with horror when a fresh and man-
gled body was discovered on turning up the earth.
All crowded round in astonishment. The earth was
cleared off, the hounds kept back, and the well-known
velvet band and black feather of the keeper met their
view. The face was so terribly mangled no trace of
a likeness could be discovered .; but the long chestnut
hair was known, and " ""Tis Walter Heme !''' soon ran
through the whole circle. While occupied in tracing
the body a wild shriek rose from among the tumult,
and, fainting with horror, May Langleigh fell from her
horse upon the ground, which, frightened by her fall,
set off by itself down the avenue. It had not been
gone long, however, before a huntsman was discovered
leading it back ; but seeing May insensible, and every
body so occupied, save her poor father, that they could
not attend to her, he let the pony go again, and rode
up to the spot immediately. The party looked round,
and Walter Heme held her in his arms !
'' Hey-day !" exclaimed the king, " how is this? —
for, in tmth, I am, as all here are, staggered to see so
strange a drama. Explain yourself, Sir Keeper, if you
are bodily. Look here !" and he pointed to the corpse.
Walter started back with a shudder at the body,
but could offer no explanation.
" Then here is one who can," said a voice, as a man
broke through the circle, — " here is one who can tell
everything. Your majesty sees before you the leader
248 THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
of the deer-stealers, and your most legal subject, not-
withstanding."
"Go on, go on, sir!" said the king impatiently ;
" -what have you to say ?"
" 'Tis briefly told, my noble sovereign. Thinking
to mislead the hunters last night, one of our men, who
bore some slight resemblance to the keeper, put on his
dress, — at least, one like it, — and, for a time, worried
them much. I see, however, he has met his reward,
— from whom I know not. I, too, am at your mercy;
but extend it to me, and I and my followers will quit
this forest for ever !"
" I will pardon you," answered the king, " if you
will deliver up the late keeper, who ruled but for a
week, into my hands, trusting you will keep your
promise."
" Then it is already gained, sire. He came last
evening to our late abode, thinking we should succour
him, but we knew he was a traitor, and accordingly
secured him by some rope to a tree. How it hap-
pened, I know not, but if you will accompany me a
short distance you will see what we saw on awaking in
the morning — his dead body hanging to a bough."
" Nay, then,"" answered Henry, ''bury him decently
— our animosity extends not beyond the grave. And
here, my lords and ladies, we will break up our hunt ;
it is not right to follow it to-day. What ! Sir Wal-
ter, I see you keep close to the maiden ! Nay, blush
not, girl, it is allowable," — and he turned away with
his train, leaving Master Langleigh, his nephew, and a
few others, to superintend the interment of Edmund.
HERNE THE HUNTER. 249
Ages passed since that time, and all the youth and
beauty that adorned it had long since been gathered to
their kindred earth, and even the memorials of their
names had decayed away ; but still that withered oak,
on which the guilty keeper ended his days, remained a
shrivelled and unsightly object in the verdant park.
No deer fed under its branches, — no leaves adorned its
boughs, — but it stood shunned by every living thing
around it. And oftentimes, in the winter evenings,
the astonished peasant saw the keeper, uttering his last
curse, slowly wending round the oak, and departed
appalled to the next hostelrie to tell the sight to those
who yet received
" This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth."
THE END.
I
:'7
/
