Chapter III: Preface (2)

The following is an authentic account, from the “Antiquarian Repertory,” of the incumbents of a vicarage near Bridgenorth in Shropshire. Its annual revenue, till the death of the last incumbent here mentioned, was not more than about seventy pounds per annum, although it is a very large and populous parish, containing at least twenty hamlets or townships, and is scarcely any where less than four or five miles in diameter. By a peculiar idiom in that country, the inhabitants of this large district are said to live “in Worfield-home:” and the adjacent, or not far distant, parishes (each of them containing, in like manner, many townships, or hamlets) are called Claverly, or Clarely-home, Tatnall-home, Womburn-home, or, as the terminating word is every where pronounced in that neighbourhood, “whome.”

“A list of the vicars of Worfield in the diocese of Lichfield and Coventry, and in the county of Salop, from 1564 to 1763, viz.

“Demerick, vicar, last popish priest, conformed during the six first years of Elizabeth. He died 1564.

Barney, vicar 44 years; died 1608.
Barney, vicar 56 years; died 1664.
Hancocks, vicar 42 years; died 1707.
Adamson, vicar 56 years; died 1763.

Only 4 vicars in 199 years.”

* * * * *

SPELLING FOR A WAKE.

Proclamation was made a few years ago, at Tewkesbury, from a written paper, of which the following is a copy:--

“HOBNAIL’S WAKE--This his to give notis on Tusday next--a Hat to be
playd at bac sord fore. Two Belts to be tuseld fore. A plum cack to be
gump in bags fowr. A pond of backer to be bold for, and a showl to
danc lot by wimen.”

THE BEAUTIES OF SOMERSET.

A BALLAD.

I’m a Zummerzetzhire man,
Zhew me better if you can,
In the North, Zouth, East, or West;
I waz born in Taunton Dean,
Of all places ever seen
The richest and the best.

OLD BALLAD

Tune, _Alley Croker_.

That Britain’s like a precious gem
Set in the silver ocean,
Our Shakspeare sung, and none condemn
Whilst most approve the notion,--
But various parts, we now declare,
Shine forth in various splendour,
And those bright beams that shine most fair,
The western portions render;--
O the counties, the matchless western counties,
But far the best,
Of all the rest,
Is Somerset for ever.

For come with me, and we’ll survey
Our hills and vallies over,
Our vales, where clear brooks bubbling stray
Through meads of blooming clover;
Our hills, that rise in giant pride,
With hollow dells between them,
Whose sable forests, spreading wide,
Enrapture all who’ve seen them;
O the counties, &c.

How could I here forgetful be
Of all your scenes romantic,
Our rugged rocks, our swelling sea,
Where foams the wild Atlantic!
There’s not an Eden known to men
That claims such admiration,
As lovely Culbone’s peaceful glen,
The Tempe of the nation;
O the counties, &c.

To name each beauty in my rhyme
Would prove a vain endeavour,
I’ll therefore sing that cloudless clime
Where _Summer_ sets for ever;
Where ever dwells the Age of Gold
In fertile vales and sunny,
Which, like the promis’d land of old,
O’erflows with milk and honey;
O the counties, &c.

But O! to crown my county’s worth,
What all the rest surpasses,
There’s not a spot in all the earth
Can boast such lovely lasses;
There’s not a spot beneath the sun
Where hearts are open’d wider.
Then let us toast them every one,
In bowls of native cider;
O the counties, &c.

* * * * *

~Weather.~

A NEW HYGROMETER.

A new instrument to measure the degrees of moisture in the atmosphere, of which the following is a description, was invented by M. Baptist Lendi, of St. Gall:

In a white flint bottle is suspended a piece of metal, about the size of a hazle nut, which not only looks extremely beautiful, and contributes to the ornament of a room, but likewise predicts every possible change of weather twelve or fourteen hours before it occurs. As soon as the metal is suspended in the bottle with water, it begins to increase in bulk, and in ten or twelve days forms an admirable pyramid, which resembles polished brass; and it undergoes several changes, till it has attained its full dimensions. In rainy weather, this pyramid is constantly covered with pearly drops of water; in case of thunder or hail, it will change to the finest red, and throw out rays; in case of wind or fog, it will appear dull and spotted; and previously to snow, it will look quite muddy. If placed in a moderate temperature, it will require no other trouble than to pour out a common tumbler full of water, and to put in the same quantity of fresh. For the first few days it must not be shaken.

* * * * *

~Omniana.~

CALICO COMPANY.

A red kitten was sent to the house of a linen-draper in the city; and, on departing from the maternal basket, the following lines were written:--

THE RED KITTEN.

O the red red kitten is sent away,
No more on parlour hearth to play;
He must live in the draper’s house,
And chase the rat, and catch the mouse,
And all day long in silence go
Through bales of cotton and calico.

After the king of England fam’d,
The red red kitten was Rufus nam’d.
And as king Rufus sported through
Thicket and brake of the Forest New,
The red red kitten Rufus so
Shall jump about the calico.

But as king Rufus chas’d the deer,
And hunted the forest far and near,
Until as he watch’d the jumpy squirrel,
He was shot by Walter Tyrrel;
So, if Fate shall his death ordain,
Shall kitten Rufus by dogs be slain,
And end his thrice three lives of woe
Among the cotton and calico.

* * * * *

~Twelfth-Day~

SONNET

TO A PRETTY GIRL IN A PASTRY-COOK’S SHOP.

_Sweet_ Maid, for thou art _maid_ of many _sweets_,
Behind thy counter, lo! I see thee standing,
Gaz’d at by wanton wand’rers in the streets,
While _cakes_, to _cakes_, thy _pretty fist_ is handing.

Light as a _puff_ appears thy every motion,
Yet thy replies I’ve heard are sometimes _tart_;
I deem thee a _preserve_, yet I’ve a notion
That warm as _brandied cherries_ is thy heart.

Then be not to thy lover like an _ice_,
Nor sour as _raspberry vinegar_ to one
Who owns thee for a _sugar-plum_ so nice,
Nicer than _comfit_, _syllabub_, or _bun_.

I love thee more than all the girls so natty,
I do, indeed, my _sweet_, my _savoury_ PATTY.

* * * * *

“HOLLY NIGHT” AT BROUGH.

_For the Table Book._

The ancient custom of carrying the “holly tree” on Twelfth Night, at Brough in Westmoreland, is represented in the accompanying engraving.

Formerly the “Holly-tree” at Brough was really “holly,” but ash being abundant, the latter is now substituted. There are two head inns in the town; which provide for the ceremony alternately, though the good townspeople mostly lend their assistance in preparing the tree, to every branch of which they fasten a torch. About eight o’clock in the evening, it is taken to a convenient part of the town, where the torches are lighted, the town band accompanying and playing till all is completed, when it is removed to the lower end of the town; and, after divers salutes and huzzas from the spectators, is carried up and down the town, in stately procession, usually by a person of renowned strength, named Joseph Ling. The band march behind it, playing their instruments, and stopping every time they reach the town bridge, and the cross, where the “holly” is again greeted with shouts of applause. Many of the inhabitants carry lighted branches and flambeaus; and rockets, squibs, &c. are discharged on the joyful occasion. After the tree is thus carried, and the torches are sufficiently burnt, it is placed in the middle of the town, when it is again cheered by the surrounding populace, and is afterwards thrown among them. They eagerly watch for this opportunity; and, clinging to each end of the tree, endeavour to carry it away to the inn they are contending for, where they are allowed their usual quantum of ale and spirits, and pass a “_merry night_,” which seldom breaks up before two in the morning.

To every branch a torch they tie,
To every torch a light apply;
At each new light send forth huzzas
Till all the tree is in a blaze;
And then bear it flaming through the town,
With minstrelsy, and rockets thrown.

Although the origin of this usage is lost, and no tradition exists by which it can be traced, yet it may not be a strained surmise to derive it from the church ceremony of the day when branches of trees were carried in procession to decorate the altars, in commemoration of the offerings of the Magi, whose names are handed down to us as Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar, the patrons of travellers. In catholic countries, flambeaus and torches always abound in their ceremonies; and persons residing in the streets through which they pass, testify their zeal and piety by providing flambeaus at their own expense, and bringing them lighted to the doors of their houses.

W. H. H.

~Note.~

COMMUNICATIONS for the _Table Book_ addressed to _me_, in a parcel, or
under cover, to the care of the publishers, will be gladly received.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS will appear on the wrappers of the monthly
parts _only_.

THE TABLE BOOK, therefore, after the present sheet, will be printed
continuously, without matter of this kind, or the intervention of
temporary titles, unpleasant to the eye, when the work comes to be
bound in volumes.

LASTLY, because this is the last opportunity of the kind in my power,
I beg to add that some valuable papers which could not be included in
the _Every-Day Book_, will appear in the _Table Book_.

MOREOVER LASTLY, I earnestly solicit the immediate activity of my
friends, to oblige and serve me, by sending _any_ thing, and _every_
thing they can collect or recollect, which they may suppose at all
likely to render my _Table Book_ instructive, or diverting.

W. HONE.

Vol. I.--2.

The genial years increase the timid herd
Till wood and pasture yield a scant supply;
Then troop the deer, as at a signal word,
And in long lines o’er barren downs they hie,
In search what food far vallies may afford--
Less fearing man, their ancient enemy,
Than in their native chase to starve and die.

The deer of Cranbourn chase usually average about ten thousand in number. In the winter of 1826, they were presumed to amount to from twelve to fifteen thousand. This increase is ascribed to the unusual mildness of recent winters, and the consequent absence of injuries which the animals are subject to from severe weather.

In the month of November, a great number of deer from the woods and pastures of the Chase, between Gunvile and Ashmore, crossed the narrow downs on the western side, and descended into the adjacent parts of the vale of Blackmore in quest of subsistence. There was a large increase in the number about twelve years preceding, till the continued deficiency of food occasioned a mortality. Very soon afterwards, however, they again increased and emigrated for food to the vallies, as in the present instance. At the former period, the greater part were not allowed or were unable to return.

The tendency of deer to breed beyond the means of support, afforded by parks and other places wherein they are kept, has been usually regulated by converting them into venison. This is clearly more humane than suffering the herds so to enlarge, that there is scarcely for “every one a mouthfull, and no one a bellyfull.” It is also better to pay a good price for good venison in season, than to have poor and cheap venison from the surplus of starving animals “killed off” in mercy to the remainder, or in compliance with the wishes of landholders whose grounds they invade in their extremity.

The emigration of the deer from Cranbourn Chase suggests, that as such cases arise in winter, their venison may be bestowed with advantage on labourers, who abound more in children than in the means of providing for them; and thus the surplus of the forest-breed be applied to the support and comfort of impoverished human beings.

* * * * *

_Cranbourn._

Cranbourn is a market town and parish in the hundred of Cranbourn, Dorsetshire, about 12 miles south-west from Salisbury, and 93 from London. According to the last census, it contains 367 houses and 1823 inhabitants, of whom 104 are returned as being employed in trade. The parish includes a circuit of 40 miles, and the town is pleasantly situated in a fine champaign country at the north-east extremity of the county, near Cranbourn Chase, which extends almost to Salisbury. Its market is on a Thursday, it has a cattle market in the spring, and its fairs are on St. Bartholomew’s and St. Nicholas’ days. It is the capital of the hundred to which it gives its name, and is a vicarage valued in the king’s books at £6. 13_s._ 4_d._ It is a place of high antiquity, famous in the Saxon and Norman times for its monastery, its chase, and its lords. The monastery belonged to the Benedictines, of which the church at the west end of the town was the priory.[8]

* * * * *

_Affray in the Chase._

On the night of the 16th of December, 1780, a severe battle was fought between the keepers and deer-stealers on Chettle Common, in Bursey-stool Walk. The deer-stealers had assembled at Pimperne, and were headed by one Blandford, a sergeant of dragoons, a native of Pimperne, then quartered at Blandford. They came in the night in disguise, armed with deadly offensive weapons called swindgels, resembling flails to thresh corn. They attacked the keepers, who were nearly equal in number, but had no weapons but sticks and short hangers. The first blow was struck by the leader of the gang, it broke a knee-cap of the stoutest man in the chase, which disabled him from joining in the combat, and lamed him for ever. Another keeper, from a blow with a swindgel, which broke three ribs, died some time after. The remaining keepers closed in upon their opponents with their hangers, and one of the dragoon’s hands was severed from the arm, just above the wrist, and fell on the ground; the others were also dreadfully cut and wounded, and obliged to surrender. Blandford’s arm was tightly bound with a list garter to prevent its bleeding, and he was carried to the lodge. The Rev. William Chafin, the author of “Anecdotes respecting Cranbourn Chase,” says, “I saw him there the next day, and his hand in the window: as soon as he was well enough to be removed, he was committed, with his companions, to Dorchester gaol. The hand was buried in Pimperne church-yard, and, as reported, with the honours of war. Several of these offenders were labourers, daily employed by Mr. Beckford, and had, the preceding day, dined in his servants’ hall, and from thence went to join a confederacy to rob their master.” They were all tried, found guilty and condemned to be transported for seven years; but, in consideration of their great suffering from their wounds in prison, the humane judge, sir Richard Perryn, commuted the punishment to confinement for an indefinite term. The soldier was not dismissed from his majesty’s service, but suffered to retire upon half-pay, or pension; and set up a shop in London, which he denoted a game-factor’s. He dispersed hand-bills in the public places, in order to get customers, and put one into Mr. Chafin’s hand in the arch-way leading into Lincoln’s-inn-square. “I immediately recognised him,” says Mr. Chafin, “as he did me; and he said, that if I would deal with him, he would use me well, for he had, in times past, had many hares and pheasants of mine; and he had the assurance to ask me, if I did not think it a good breeding-season for game!”

* * * * *

_Buck-hunting._

_Buck_-hunting, in former times, was much more followed, and held in much greater repute, than now. From letters in Mr. Chafin’s possession, dated in June and July 1681, he infers, that the summers then were much hotter than in the greater part of the last century. The time of meeting at Cranbourn Chase in those days seems invariably to have been at four o’clock in the evening; it was the custom of the sportsmen to take a slight repast at two o’clock, and to dine at the most fashionable hours of the present day. Mr. Chafin deemed hunting in an evening well-judged, and advantageous every way. The deer were at that time upon their legs, and more easily found; they were empty, and more able to run, and to show sport; and as the evening advanced, and the dew fell, the scent gradually improved, and the cool air enabled the horses and the hounds to recover their wind, and go through their work without injury; whereas just the reverse of this would be the hunting late in a morning. What has been mentioned is peculiar to Buck-hunting only.

_Stag_-hunting is in some measure a summer amusement also; but that chase is generally much too long to be ventured on in an evening. It would carry the sportsman too far distant from their homes. It is absolutely necessary, therefore, in pursuing the stag, to have the whole day before them.

It was customary, in the last century, for sportsmen addicted to the sport of Buck-hunting, and who regularly followed it, to meet every season on the 29th day of May, king Charles’s restoration, with oak-boughs in their hats or caps, to show their loyalty, (velvet caps were chiefly worn in those days, even by the ladies,) and to hunt young male deer, in order to enter the young hounds, and to stoop them to their right game, and to get the older ones in wind and exercise, preparatory to the commencement of the buck-killing season.

This practice was termed “blooding the hounds;” and the young deer killed were called “blooding-deer,” and their venison was deemed fit for an epicure. It was reported, that an hind quarter of this sort of venison, which had been thoroughly hunted, was once placed on the table before the celebrated Mr. Quin, at Bath, who declared it to be the greatest luxury he ever met with, and ate very heartily of it. But this taste seems not to have been peculiar to Mr. Quin; for persons of high rank joined in the opinion: and even judges, when on their circuits, indulged in the same luxury.

The following is an extract from a steward’s old accompt-book, found in the noble old mansion of Orchard Portman, near Taunton, in Somersetshire

“10th August
1680.
Delivered Sr William, in the
higher Orial, going a hunting
with the Judges £2. 0_s._ 0_d._”

From hence, therefore, it appears, that in those days buck-hunting, for there could be no other kind of hunting meant, was in so much repute, and so much delighted in, that even the judges could not refrain from partaking in it when on their circuits; and it seems that they chose to hunt their own venison, which they annually received from Orchard park at the time of the assizes. “I cannot but deem them good judges,” says Mr. Chafin, “for preferring hunted venison to that which had been shot.”

* * * * *

_Other Sports of Cranbourn Chase._

Besides buck-hunting, which certainly was the principal one, the chase afforded other rural amusements to our ancestors in former days. “I am well aware,” Mr. Chafin says, in preparing some notices of them, “that there are many young persons who are very indifferent and care little about what was practised by their ancestors, or how they amused themselves; they are looking forward, and do not choose to look back: but there may be some not so indifferent, and to whom a relation of the sports of the field in the last century may not be displeasing.” These sports, in addition to hunting, were hawking, falconry, and cocking.

Packs of hounds were always kept in the neighbourhood of the chase, and hunted there in the proper seasons. There were three sorts of animals of chase besides deer, viz. foxes, hares, and mertincats: the race of the latter are nearly extinct; their skins were too valuable for them to be suffered to exist. At that time no hounds were kept and used for any particular sort of game except the buck-hounds, but they hunted casually the first that came in their way.

* * * * *

_First Pack of Fox-hounds._

The first real steady pack of fox-hounds established in the western part of England was by Thomas Fownes, Esq. of Stepleton, in Dorsetshire, about 1730. They were as handsome, and fully as complete in every respect, as any of the most celebrated packs of the present day. The owner was obliged to dispose of them, and they were sold to Mr. Bowes, in Yorkshire, the father of the late lady Strathmore, at an immense price. They were taken into Yorkshire by their own attendants, and, after having been viewed and much admired in their kennel, a day was fixed for making trial of them in the field, to meet at a famous hare-cover near. When the huntsman came with his hounds in the morning, he discovered a great number of sportsmen, who were riding in the cover, and whipping the furzes as for a hare; he therefore halted, and informed Mr. Bowes that he was unwilling to throw off his hounds until the gentlemen had retired, and ceased the slapping of whips, to which his hounds were not accustomed, and he would engage to find a fox in a few minutes if there was one there. The gentlemen sportsmen having obeyed the orders given by Mr. Bowes, the huntsman, taking the wind of the cover, threw off his hounds, which immediately began to feather, and soon got upon a drag into the cover, and up to the fox’s kennel, which went off close before them, and, after a severe burst over a fine country, was killed, to the great satisfaction of the whole party. They then returned to the same cover, not one half of it having been drawn, and very soon found a second fox, exactly in the same manner as before, which broke cover immediately over the same fine country: but the chase was much longer; and in the course of it the fox made its way to a nobleman’s park. It had been customary to stop hounds before they could enter it, but the best-mounted sportsmen attempted to stay the Dorsetshire hounds in vain. The dogs topped the highest fences, dashed through herds of deer and a number of hares, without taking the least notice of them; and ran in to their fox, and killed him some miles beyond the park. It was the unanimous opinion of the whole hunt, that it was the finest run ever known in that country. A collection of field-money was made for the huntsman much beyond his expectations; and he returned to Stepleton in better spirits than he left it.

Before this pack was raised in Dorsetshire, the hounds that hunted Cranbourn Chase, hunted all the animals promiscuously, except the deer, from which they were necessarily kept steady, otherwise they would not have been suffered to hunt in the chase at all.

* * * * *

_Origin of Cranbourn Chase._

This royal chase, always called “The King’s Chase,” in the lapse of ages came into possession of an earl of Salisbury. It is certain that after one of its eight distinct walks, called Fernditch Walk, was sold to the earl of Pembroke, the entire remainder of the chase was alienated to lord Ashley, afterwards earl of Shaftesbury. Alderholt Walk was the largest and most extensive in the whole Chase; it lies in the three counties of Hants, Wilts, and Dorset; but the lodge and its appurtenances is in the parish of Cranbourn, and all the Chase courts are held at the manor-house there, where was also a prison for offenders against the Chase laws. Lord Shaftesbury deputed rangers in the different walks in the year 1670, and afterwards dismembering it, (though according to old records, it appears to have been dismembered long before,) by destroying Alderholt Walk; he sold the remainder to Mr. Freke, of Shroton, in Dorsetshire, from whom it lineally descended to the present possessor, lord Rivers.

* * * * *

Accounts of Cranbourn Chase can be traced to the æra when king John, or some other royal personage, had a hunting-seat at Tollard Royal, in the county of Wilts. Hence the name of “royal” to that parish was certainly derived. There are vestiges in and about the old palace, which clearly evince that it was once a royal habitation: and it still bears the name of “King John’s House.” There are large cypress trees growing before the house, the relics of grand terraces may be easily traced, and the remains of a park to which some of them lead. A gate at the end of the park at the entrance of the Royal Chase, now called “Alarm Gate,” was the place probably where the horn was blown to call the keepers to their duty in attending their lord in his sports. There is also a venerable old wych-elm tree, on the Chase side of the “Alarm Gate,” under which lord Arundel, the possessor of Tollard Royal, holds a court annually, on the first Monday in the month of September. A view of the mansion in its present state, is given in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for September 1811.

[8] Hutchins’s Dorset. Capper.

* * * * *

~Barley-break.~

Mr. Strutt, the indefatigable historian of the “Sports and Pastimes of the People of England,” says of _Barley-break_: “The excellency of this sport seems to have consisted in running well, but I know not its properties.” Beyond this Mr. Strutt merely cites Dr. Johnson’s quotation of two lines from sir Philip Sidney, as an authority for the word. Johnson, limited to a mere dictionary explanation, calls it “a kind of rural play; a trial of swiftness.”

Sidney, in his description of the rural courtship of Urania by Strephon, conveys a sufficient idea of “Barley-break.” The shepherd seeks the society of his mistress wherever he thinks it likely to find her.

Nay ev’n unto her home he oft would go,
Where bold and hurtless many play he tries;
Her parents liking well it should be so,
For simple goodness shined in his eyes:
Then did he make her laugh in spite of woe
So as good thoughts of him in all arise;
While into none doubt of his love did sink,
For not himself to be in love did think.

This “sad shepherd” held himself towards Urania according to the usual custom and manner of lovers in such cases.

For glad desire, his late embosom’d guest,
Yet but a babe, with milk of sight he nurst:
Desire the more he suckt, more sought the breast
Like dropsy-folk, still drink to be athirst;
Till one fair ev’n an hour ere sun did rest,
Who then in Lion’s cave did enter first,
By neighbors pray’d, she went abroad thereby
At _Barley-break_ her sweet swift foot to try.

Never the earth on his round shoulders bare
A maid train’d up from high or low degree,
That in her doings better could compare
Mirth with respect, few words with courtesie,
A careless comeliness with comely care,
Self-guard with mildness, sport with majesty
Which made her yield to deck this shepherd’s band:
And still, believe me, Strephon was at hand.

Then couples three be straight allotted there,
They of both ends the middle two do fly;
The two that in mid-place, Hell,[9] called were,
Must strive with waiting foot, and watching eye,
To catch of them, and them to Hell to bear,
That they, as well as they, Hell may supply
Like some which seek to salve their blotted name
With other’s blot, till all do taste of shame.

There you may see, soon as the middle two
Do coupled towards either couple make,
They false and fearful do their hands undo,
Brother his brother, friend doth his friend forsake,
Heeding himself, cares not how fellow do,
But of a stranger mutual help doth take:
As perjured cowards in adversity,
With sight of fear, from friends to fremb’d[10] doth fly,

The game being played out with divers adventurers

All to second _Barley-break_ again are bent.

During the second game, Strephon was chased by Urania.

Strephon so chased did seem in milk to swim;
He ran, but ran with eye o’er shoulder cast,
More marking her, than how himself did go,
Like Numid’s lions by the hunters chased,
Though they do fly, yet backwardly do glow
With proud aspect, disdaining greater haste:
What rage in them, that love in him did show;
But God gives them instinct the man to shun,
And he by law of _Barley-break_ must run.

Urania caught Strephon, and he was sent by the rules of the sport to the condemned place, with a shepherdess, named Nous, who affirmed

---------it was no right, for his default,
Who would be caught, that she should go--
But so she must. And now the third assault
Of _Barley-break_.------

Strephon, in this third game, pursues Urania; Klaius, his rival suitor, suddenly interposed.

For with pretence from Strephon her to guard,
He met her full, but full of warefulness,
With in-bow’d bosom well for her prepared,
When Strephon cursing his own backwardness
Came to her back, and so, with double ward,
Imprison’d her, who both them did possess
As heart-bound slaves.------

Her race did not her beauty’s beams augment,
For they were ever in the best degree,
But yet a setting forth it some way lent,
As rubies lustre when they rubbed be;
The dainty dew on face and body went,
As on sweet flowers, when morning’s drops we see:
Her breath then short, seem’d loth from home to pass,
Which more it moved, the more it sweeter was.

Happy, O happy! if they so might bide
To see their eyes, with how true humbleness,
They looked down to triumph over pride;
With how sweet blame she chid their sauciness--
Till she brake from their arms------
And farewelling the flock, did homeward wend,
And so, that even, the _Barley-break_ did end.

This game is mentioned by Burton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” as one of our rural sports, and by several of the poets, with more or less of description, though by none so fully as Sidney, in the first eclogue of the “Arcadia,” from whence the preceding passages are taken.

The late Mr. Gifford, in a note on Massinger, chiefly from the “Arcadia,” describes Barley-break thus: “It was played by six people, (three of each sex,) who were coupled by lot. A piece of ground was then chosen, and divided into three compartments, of which the middle one was called _hell_. It was the object of the couple condemned to this division to catch the others, who advanced from the two extremities; in which case a change of situation took place, and hell was filled by the couple who were excluded by preoccupation from the other places: in this _catching_, however, there was some difficulty, as, by the regulations of the game, the middle couple were not to separate before they had succeeded, while the others might break hands whenever they found themselves hard pressed. When all had been taken in turn, the last couple were said to be in _hell_, and the game ended.”

Within memory, a game called Barley-break has been played among stacks of corn, in Yorkshire, with some variation from the Scottish game mentioned presently. In Yorkshire, also, there was another form of it, more resembling that in the “Arcadia,” which was played in open ground. The childish game of “Tag” seems derived from it. There was a “tig,” or “tag,” whose touch made a prisoner, in the Yorkshire game.

* * * * *

BARLA-BREIKIS.

In Scotland there is a game nearly the same in denomination as “Barley-break,” though differently played. It is termed “Barla-breikis,” or “Barley-bracks.” Dr. Jamieson says it is generally played by young people, in a corn-yard about the stacks; and hence called _Barla-bracks_, “One stack is fixed as the _dule_ or goal, and one person is appointed to catch the rest of the company, who run out from the _dule_. He does not leave it till they are all out of his sight. Then he sets out to catch them. Any one who is taken, cannot run out again with his former associates, being accounted a prisoner, but is obliged to assist his captor in pursuing the rest. When all are taken, the game is finished; and he who is first taken, is bound to act as catcher in the next game. This innocent sport seems to be almost entirely forgotten in the south of Scotland. It is also falling into desuetude in the north.”[11]

[9] It may be doubted whether in the rude simplicity of ancient times,
this word in the game of Barley-break was applied in the same manner
that it would be in ours.

[10] _Fremeb_, (obsolete,) strange, foreign. _Ash._ Corrupted from
_fremd_, which, in Saxon and Gothic, signified a stranger, or an
enemy. _Nares._

[11] Mr. Archdeacon Nares’s Glossary.

* * * * *

~Scraps.~

PLATE TAX.

An order was made in the house of lords in May, 1776, “that the commissioners of his majesty’s excise do write circular letters to all such persons whom they have reason to suspect to have _plate_, as also to those who have not paid regularly the duty on the same.” In consequence of this order, the accountant-general for household plate sent to the celebrated John Wesley a copy of the order. John’s answer was laconic:--

“Sir,

“I have _two_ silver tea-spoons in London, and _two_ at Bristol. This is all the plate which I have at present; and I shall not buy any more while so many round me want bread. I am, Sir,

“Your most humble servant,

“JOHN WESLEY.”

* * * * *

THE DIAL.

This shadow on the dial’s face,
That steals, from day to day,
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,
Moments, and months, and years away
This shadow, which in every clime,
Since light and motion first began,
Hath held its course sublime;
What is it?--Mortal man!
It is the scythe of Time.
--A shadow only to the eye.
It levels all beneath the sky.

A chairman late’s a chairman dead,
And to his grave, by chairman sped,
They wake him, as they march him through
The streets of Bath, to public view.

_To the Editor._

_Bath._

Sir,--I beg leave to transmit for your use the following attempt at description of an old and singular custom, performed by the chairman of this my native city, which perhaps you are not altogether a stranger to, and which is still kept up among them as often as an opportunity permits for its performance. Its origin I have not been able to trace, but its authenticity you may rely on, as it is too often seen to be forgotten by your Bath readers. I have also accompanied it with the above imperfect sketch, as a further illustration of their manner of burying the “dead,” alias, exposing a drunkard of their fraternity. The following is the manner in which the “obsequies” to the intoxicated are performed.

If a chairman, known to have been “dead” drunk over night, does not appear on his station before ten o’clock on the succeeding morning, the “undertaker,” _Anglice_, his partner, proceeds, with such a number of attendants as will suffice for the ceremony, to the house of the _late_ unfortunate. If he is found in bed, as is usually the case, from the effects of his sacrifice to the “jolly God,” they pull him out of his nest, hardly permitting him to dress, and place him on the “bier,”--a chairman’s horse,--and, throwing a coat over him, which they designate a “pall,” they perambulate the circuit of his station in the following order:--

1. _The sexton_--a man tolling a small hand-bell.

2. _Two mutes_--each with a black stocking on a stick.

3. _The torch bearer_--a man carrying a lighted lantern.

4. _The “corpse”_ borne on the “hearse,” carried by two chairmen, covered with the aforesaid pall.

The procession is closed by the “mourners” following after, two and two; as many joining as choose, from the station to which the drunkard belongs.

After exposing him in this manner to the gaze of the admiring crowd that throng about, they proceed to the public-house he has been in the habit of using, where his “wake” is celebrated in joviality and mirth, with a gallon of ale at his expense. It often happens that each will contribute a trifle towards a further prolongation of the carousal, to entrap others into the same deadly snare; and the day is spent in baiting for the chances of the next morning, as none are exempt who are not at their post before the prescribed hour.

I am, &c.

W. G.

* * * * *

~William Gifford, Esq.~

On Sunday morning, the 31st of December, 1826, at twenty minutes before one o’clock, died, “at his house in James-street, Buckingham-gate, in the seventy-first year of his age, William Gifford, Esq., author of the ‘Baviad and Mæviad,’ translator of ‘Juvenal and Persius,’ and editor of the ‘Quarterly Review,’ from its commencement down to the beginning of the year just past. To the translation of ‘Juvenal’ is prefixed a memoir of himself, which is perhaps as modest and pleasant a piece of autobiography as ever was written.”--_The Times_, January 1, 1827.

* * * * *

INTERESTING

~Memoir of Mr. Gifford.~

BY HIMSELF--VERBATIM.

I am about to enter on a very uninteresting subject: but all my friends tell me that it is necessary to account for the long delay of the following work; and I can only do it by adverting to the circumstances of my life. Will this be accepted as an apology?

I know but little of my family and that little is not very precise: My great-grandfather (the most remote of it, that I ever recollect to have heard mentioned) possessed considerable property at Halsbury, a parish in the neighbourhood of Ashburton; but whether acquired or inherited, I never thought of asking, and do not know.

He was probably a native of Devonshire, for there he spent the last years of his life; spent them, too, in some sort of consideration, for Mr. T. (a very respectable surgeon of Ashburton) loved to repeat to me, when I first grew into notice, that he had frequently hunted with his hounds.[12]

My grandfather was on ill terms with him: I believe, not without sufficient reason, for he was extravagant and dissipated. My father never mentioned his name, but my mother would sometimes tell me that he had ruined the family. That he spent much, I know; but I am inclined to think, that his undutiful conduct occasioned my great-grandfather to bequeath a considerable part of his property from him.

My father, I fear, revenged in some measure the cause of my great-grandfather. He was, as I have heard my mother say, “a very wild young man, who could be kept to nothing.” He was sent to the grammar-school at Exeter; from which he made his escape, and entered on board a man of war. He was reclaimed from this situation by my grandfather, and left his school a second time, to wander in some vagabond society.[13] He was now probably given up; for he was, on his return from this notable adventure, reduced to article himself to a plumber and glazier, with whom he luckily staid long enough to learn the business. I suppose his father was now dead, for he became possessed of two small estates, married my mother,[14] (the daughter of a carpenter at Ashburton,) and thought himself rich enough to set up for himself; which he did, with some credit, at South Molton. Why he chose to fix there, I never inquired; but I learned from my mother, that after a residence of four or five years, he thoughtlessly engaged in a dangerous frolic, which drove him once more to sea: this was an attempt to excite a riot in a Methodist chapel; for which his companions were prosecuted, and he fled.

My father was a good seaman, and was soon made second in command in the Lyon, a large armed transport in the service of government: while my mother (then with child of me) returned to her native place, Ashburton, where I was born, in April, 1756.

The resources of my mother were very scanty. They arose from the rent of three or four small fields, which yet remained unsold. With these, however, she did what she could for me; and as soon as I was old enough to be trusted out of her sight, sent me to a schoolmistress of the name of Parret, from whom I learned in due time to read. I cannot boast much of my acquisitions at this school; they consisted merely of the contents of the “Child’s Spelling Book:” but from my mother, who had stored up the literature of a country town, which, about half a century ago, amounted to little more than what was disseminated by itinerant ballad-singers, or rather, readers, I had acquired much curious knowledge of Catskin, and the Golden Bull, and the Bloody Gardener, and many other histories equally instructive and amusing.

My father returned from sea in 1764. He had been at the siege of the Havannah; and though he received more than a hundred pounds for prize money, and his wages were considerable; yet, as he had not acquired any strict habits of economy, he brought home but a trifling sum. The little property yet left was therefore turned into money; a trifle more was got by agreeing to renounce all future pretensions to an estate at Totness;[15] and with this my father set up a second time as a glazier and house painter. I was now about eight years old, and was put to the freeschool, (kept by Hugh Smerdon,) to learn to read, and write and cipher. Here I continued about three years, making a most wretched progress, when my father fell sick and died. He had not acquired wisdom from his misfortunes, but continued wasting his time in unprofitable pursuits, to the great detriment of his business. He loved drink for the sake of society, and to this he fell a martyr; dying of a decayed and ruined constitution before he was forty. The town’s-people thought him a shrewd and sensible man, and regretted his death. As for me, I never greatly loved him; I had not grown up with him; and he was too prone to repulse my little advances to familiarity, with coldness, or anger. He had certainly some reason to be displeased with me, for I learned little at school, and nothing at home, although he would now and then attempt to give me some insight into his business. As impressions of any kind are not very strong at the age of eleven or twelve, I did not long feel his loss; nor was it a subject of much sorrow to me, that my mother was doubtful of her ability to continue me at school, though I had by this time acquired a love for reading.

I never knew in what circumstances my mother was left: most probably they were inadequate to her support, without some kind of exertion, especially as she was now burthened with a second child about six or eight months old. Unfortunately she determined to prosecute my father’s business; for which purpose she engaged a couple of journeymen, who, finding her ignorant of every part of it, wasted her property, and embezzled her money. What the consequence of this double fraud would have been, there was no opportunity of knowing, as, in somewhat less than a twelvemonth, my poor mother followed my father to the grave. She was an excellent woman, bore my father’s infirmities with patience and good humour, loved her children dearly, and died at last, exhausted with anxiety and grief more on their account than her own.

I was not quite thirteen when this happened, my little brother was hardly two; and we had not a relation nor a friend in the world. Every thing that was left, was seized by a person of the name of Carlile, for money advanced to my mother. It may be supposed that I could not dispute the justice of his claims; and as no one else interfered, he was suffered to do as he liked. My little brother was sent to the alms-house, whither his nurse followed him out of pure affection: and I was taken to the house of the person I have just mentioned, who was also my godfather. Respect for the opinion of the town (which, whether correct or not, was, that he had amply repaid himself by the sale of my mother’s effects) induced him to send me again to school, where I was more diligent than before, and more successful. I grew fond of arithmetic, and my master began to distinguish me; but these golden days were over in less than three months. Carlile sickened at the expense; and, as the people were now indifferent to my fate, he looked round for an opportunity of ridding himself of a useless charge. He had previously attempted to engage me in the drudgery of husbandry. I drove the plough for one day to gratify him; but I left it with a firm resolution to do so no more, and in despite of his threats and promises, adhered to my determination. In this, I was guided no less by necessity than will. During my father’s life, in attempting to clamber up a table, I had fallen backward, and drawn it after me: its edge fell upon my breast, and I never recovered the effects of the blow; of which I was made extremely sensible on any extraordinary exertion. Ploughing, therefore, was out of the question, and, as I have already said, I utterly refused to follow it.

As I could write and cipher, (as the phrase is,) Carlile next thought of sending me to Newfoundland, to assist in a storehouse. For this purpose he negotiated with a Mr. Holdsworthy of Dartmouth, who agreed to fit me out. I left Ashburton with little expectation of seeing it again, and indeed with little care, and rode with my godfather to the dwelling of Mr. Holdsworthy. On seeing me, this great man observed with a look of pity and contempt, that I was “too small,” and sent me away sufficiently mortified. I expected to be very ill received by my godfather, but he said nothing. He did not however choose to take me back himself, but sent me in the passage-boat to Totness, from whence I was to walk home. On the passage, the boat was driven by a midnight storm on the rocks, and I escaped almost by miracle.

My godfather had now humbler views for me, and I had little heart to resist any thing. He proposed to send me on board one of the Torbay fishing-boats; I ventured, however, to remonstrate against this, and the matter was compromised by my consenting to go on board a coaster. A coaster was speedily found for me at Brixham, and thither I went when little more than thirteen.

My master, whose name was Full, though a gross and ignorant, was not an ill-natured, man; at least, not to me: and my mistress used me with unvarying kindness; moved perhaps by my weakness and tender years. In return, I did what I could to requite her, and my good will was not overlooked.

Our vessel was not very large, nor our crew very numerous. On ordinary occasions, such as short trips to Dartmouth, Plymouth, &c. it consisted only of my master, an apprentice nearly out of his time, and myself: when we had to go further, to Portsmouth for example, an additional hand was hired for the voyage.

In this vessel (the Two Brothers) I continued nearly a twelvemonth; and here I got acquainted with nautical terms, and contracted a love for the sea, which a lapse of thirty years has but little diminished.

It will be easily conceived that my life was a life of hardship. I was not only a “shipboy on the high and giddy mast,” but also in the cabin, where every menial office fell to my lot: yet if I was restless and discontented, I can safely say, it was not so much on account of this, as of my being precluded from all possibility of reading; as my master did not possess, nor do I recollect seeing during the whole time of my abode with him, a single book of any description, except the Coasting Pilot.

As my lot seemed to be cast, however, I was not negligent in seeking such information as promised to be useful; and I therefore frequented, at my leisure hours, such vessels as dropt into Torbay. On attempting to get on board one of these, which I did at midnight, I missed my footing, and fell into the sea. The floating away of the boat alarmed the man on deck, who came to the ship’s side just in time to see me sink. He immediately threw out several ropes, one of which providentially (for I was unconscious of it) intangled itself about me, and I was drawn up to the surface, till a boat could be got round. The usual methods were taken to recover me, and I awoke in bed the next morning, remembering nothing but the horror I felt, when I first found myself unable to cry out for assistance.

This was not my only escape, but I forbear to speak of them. An escape of another kind was now preparing for me, which deserves all my notice, as it was decisive of my future fate.

On Christmas day (1770) I was surprised by a message from my godfather, saying that he had sent a man and horse to bring me to Ashburton; and desiring me to set out without delay. My master, as well as myself, supposed it was to spend the holydays there; and he therefore made no objection to my going. We were, however, both mistaken.

Since I had lived at Brixham, I had broken off all connection with Ashburton. I had no relation there but my poor brother,[16] who was yet too young for any kind of correspondence; and the conduct of my godfather towards me, did not entitle him to any portion of my gratitude, or kind remembrance. I lived therefore in a sort of sullen independence on all I had formerly known, and thought without regret of being abandoned by every one to my fate. But I had not been overlooked. The women of Brixham, who travelled to Ashburton twice a week with fish, and who had known my parents, did not see me without kind concern, running about the beach in a ragged jacket and trousers. They mentioned this to the people of Ashburton, and never without commiserating my change of condition. This tale, often repeated, awakened at length the pity of their auditors, and, as the next step, their resentment against the man who had reduced me to such a state of wretchedness. In a large town, this would have had little effect; but in a place like Ashburton, where every report speedily becomes the common property of all the inhabitants, it raised a murmur which my godfather found himself either unable or unwilling to encounter: he therefore determined to recall me; which he could easily do, as I wanted some months of fourteen, and was not yet bound.

All this, I learned on my arrival; and my heart, which had been cruelly shut up, now opened to kinder sentiments, and fairer views.

After the holydays I returned to my darling pursuit, arithmetic: my progress was now so rapid, that in a few months I was at the head of the school, and qualified to assist my master (Mr. E. Furlong) on any extraordinary emergency. As he usually gave me a trifle on those occasions, it raised a thought in me, that by engaging with him as a regular assistant, and undertaking the instruction of a few evening scholars, I might, with a little additional aid, be enabled to support myself. God knows, my ideas of support at this time were of no very extravagant nature. I had, besides, another object in view. Mr. Hugh Smerdon (my first master) was now grown old and infirm; it seemed unlikely that he should hold out above three or four years; and I fondly flattered myself that, notwithstanding my youth, I might possibly be appointed to succeed him. I was in my fifteenth year, when I built these castles: a storm, however, was collecting, which unexpectedly burst upon me, and swept them all away.