Chapter D

THE SKETCH-BOOK

GARDEN OF BREMHILL PARSONAGE.

_The Residence of the Rev. W. L. Bowles._

The garden contains upwards of two acres, with a gravel-walk under the windows. A Gothic porch has been added, the bow-windows being surmounted with the same kind of parapet as the house, somewhat more ornamental. It lies to the morning sun; the road to the house, on the north, enters through a large arch. The garden is on a slope, commanding views of the surrounding country, with the tower of Calne in front, the woods of Bowood on the right, and the mansion and woods of Walter Heneage, Esq. Towards the south. The view to the south-east is terminated by the last chalky cliffs of the Marlborough downs, extending to within a few miles of Swindon. In the garden, a winding path from the gravel-walk, in front of the house, leads to a small piece of water, originally a square pond.

This walk, as it approaches the water, leads into a darker shade, and descending some steps, placed to give a picturesque appearance to the bank, you enter a kind of cave, with a dripping rill, which falls into the water below, whose bank is broken by thorns, and hazels, and poplars, among darker shrubs. Here an urn appears with the following inscription:--"M.S. Henrici Bowles, qui ad Calpen, febre ibi exitiali grassante, publicè missus, ipse miserrimè periit--1804. Fratri posuit."--Passing round the water, you come to an arched walk of hazels, which leads to the green in front of the house, where, dipping a small slope, the path passes near an old and ivied elm. As this seat looks on the magnificent line of Bowood park and plantations, the obvious thought could not be well avoided:

"When in thy sight another's vast domain
Spreads its dark sweep of woods, dost thou complain?
Nay! rather thank the God who placed thy state
Above the lowly, but beneath the great;
And still his name with gratitude revere,
Who bless'd the sabbath of thy leisure here."

The walk leads round a plantation of shrubs, to the bottom of the lawn, from whence is seen a fountain, between a laurel arch; and through a dark passage a gray sun-dial appears among beds of flowers, opposite the fountain.

The sun-dial, a small, antique, twisted column, gray with age, was probably the dial of the abbot of Malmesbury, and counted his hours when at the adjoining lodge; for it was taken from the garden of the farm-house, which had originally been the summer retirement of this mitred lord. It has the appearance of being _monastic_, but a more ornate capital has been added, the plate on which bears the date of 1688. I must again venture to give the appropriate inscription:--

"To count the brief and unreturning hours,
This Sun-Dial was placed among the flowers,
Which came forth in their beauty--smiled and died,
Blooming and withering round its ancient side.
Mortal, thy day is passing--see that flower,
And think upon the Shadow and the Hour!"

The whole of the small green slope is here dotted with beds of flowers; a step, into some rock-work, leads to a kind of hermit's oratory, with crucifix and stained glass, built to receive the shattered fragments, as their last asylum, of the pillars of Stanly Abbey.

The dripping water passes through the rock-work into a large shell, the gift of a valued friend, the author of "The Pleasures of Memory;" and I add, with less hesitation, the inscription, because it was furnished by the author of "The Pains of Memory," a poem, in its kind, of the most exquisite harmony and fancy, though the author has long left the bowers of the muses, and the harp of music, for the severe professional duties of the bar. I have some pride in mentioning the name of Peregrine Bingham, being a near relation, as well as rising in character and fame at the bar. The verses will speak for themselves, and are not unworthy his muse whose poem suggested the comparisons. The inscription is placed over the large Indian shell:--

"Snatch'd from an Indian ocean's roar,
I drink the whelming tide no more;
But in this rock, remote and still,
Now serve to pour the murmuring rill.
Listen! Do thoughts awake, which long have slept--
Oh! like his song, who placed me here,
The sweetest song to Memory dear,
When life's tumultuous storms are past,
May we, to such sweet music, close at last
The eyelids that have wept!"

Leaving the small oratory, a terrace of flowers leads to a Gothic stone-seat at the end, and, returning to the flower-garden, we wind up a narrow path from the more verdant scene, to a small dark path, with fantastic roots shooting from the bank, where a grave-stone appears, on which an hour-glass is carved.

A root-house fronts us, with dark boughs branching over it. Sit down in that old carved chair. If I cannot welcome some illustrious visitors in such consummate verse as Pope, I may, I hope, not without blameless pride, tell you, reader, in this chair have sat some public characters, distinguished by far more noble qualities than "the nobly pensive St. John!" I might add, that this seat has received, among other visiters, Sir Samuel Romilly, Sir George Beaumont, Sir Humphry Davy--poets as well as philosophers, Madame de Stael, Dugald Stewart, and Christopher North, Esq.

Two lines on a small board on this root-house point the application:--

"Dost thou lament the dead, and mourn the loss
Of many friends, oh! think upon the cross!"

Over an old tomb-stone, through an arch, at a distance in light beyond, there is a vista to a stone cross, which, in the seventeenth century, would have been idolatrous!

To detail more of the garden would appear ostentatious, and I fear I may be thought egotistical in detailing so much. I shall, however, take the reader, before we part, through an arch, to an old yew, which has seen the persecution of the loyal English clergy; has witnessed their return, and many changes of ecclesiastical and national fortune. Under the branches of that solitary but mute historian of the pensive plain, let us now rest; it stands at the very extreme northern edge of that garden which we have just perambulated. It fronts the tower, the churchyard, and looks on to an old sun-dial, once a _cross_. The _cross_ was found broken at its foot, probably by the country iconoclasts of the day. I have brought the interesting fragment again into light, and placed it conspicuously opposite to an old Scotch fir in the churchyard, which I think it not unlikely was planted by Townson on his _restoration_. The accumulation of the soil of centuries had covered an ascent of four steps at the bottom of this record of silent hours. These steps have been worn in places, from the act of frequent prostration or kneeling, by the forefathers of the hamlet, perhaps before the church existed. From a seat near this old yew tree, you see the churchyard, and battlements of the church, on one side; and on the other you look over a great extent of country. On a still summer's evening, the distant sound of the hurrying coaches, on the great London road, are heard as they pass to and from the metropolis. On this spot this last admonitory inscription fronts you:--

"There lie the village dead, and there too I,
When yonder dial points the hour, shall lie.
Look round, the distant prospect is display'd,
Like life's fair landscape, mark'd with light and shade.
Stranger, in peace pursue thy onward road,
But ne'er forget thy lone and last abode!"

_History of Bremhill, by Mr. Bowles._

* * * * *

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

PAPER MARKS.

Paper, for the purpose of writing or printing, was first manufactured in this country, according to Anderson, about the year 1598, in the reign of Elizabeth. There is reason, however, to believe, that its manufacture existed here previous to that time. John Tate is recorded to have had a paper-mill at Hertford, in the reign of Henry VII. and the first book printed on English paper, came out in 1495 or 6. It was entitled "Bartholomeus de proprietatibus rerum," and was printed on paper made by John Tate, jun.

The different paper marks are objects of some curiosity. Probably they gave the names to the different sorts, many of which names are retained, though the original marks of distinction have been relinquished. _Post_ paper originally bore the wire mark of a postman's horn, as appears on specimens of paper of the date 1679. The fleur de lis was the peculiar mark of demy, most likely originating in France. The open _hand_ is a very ancient mark, giving name to a sort, which though still in use, is considerably altered in size and texture.

_Fool's-Cap_--the name is still continued though the original design of a fool's cap is relinquished.

_Pot Paper._--There were various designs of pots or drinking vessels; this paper retains its proportions and size according to early specimens, but the mark is exchanged for that of the arms of England.

The original manufacturer in this country, John Tate, marked his paper with a star of eight points, within a double circle. The device of John Tate, jun. was a wheel; his paper is remarkably fine and good.

Various other paper marks were in use, adopted most likely at the will or caprice of the manufacturer. Thus we have the unicorn and other non-descript quadrupeds, the bunch of grapes, serpent, and ox'head surmounted by a star, a great favourite; the cross, crown, globe, initials of manufacturers' names; and, at the conclusion of the 17th century and commencement of the last, arms appear in escutcheons with supporters.

* * * * *

SINGULAR REGULATIONS OF THE HOUSEHOLD OF HENRY VIII.

The only alteration in the following is the difference of the orthography which I have made for the benefit of your readers. They are extracts from a curious manuscript, containing directions for the household of Henry VIII.

"His highness' baker shall not put alum in the bread, or mix rye, oaten, or bean flour with the same, and if detected, he shall be put into the stocks.

"His highness' attendants are not to steal any locks or keys, tables, forms, cupboards, or other furniture of noblemen's or gentlemen's houses, where he goes to visit.

"Master cooks shall not employ such scullions as go about naked, or lie all night on the ground before the kitchen fire.

"No dogs to be kept in the court, but only a few spaniels for the ladies.

"Dinners to be at ten, and suppers at four.

"The officers of his privy chamber shall be loving together, no grudging or grumbling, or talking of the king's pastime.

"The king's barber is enjoined to be cleanly, not to frequent the company of misguided women, for fear of danger to the king's royal person.

"There shall be no romping with the maids on the staircase, by which dishes and other things are often broken!

"The pages shall not interrupt the kitchen maids.

"The grooms shall not steal his highness's straw for bed, sufficient being allowed to them.

"Coal only to be allowed to the king's, queen's, and lady Mary's chambers.[2]

"The brewers not to put any brimstone in the ale.

"Twenty-four loaves a-day for his highness' greyhounds.

"Ordered--that all noblemen and gentlemen at the end of the session of parliament, depart to their several counties, on pain of the royal displeasure."

The following items contain nothing very remarkable, and if they did, perhaps I have copied enough already for a specimen of this ludicrous manuscript.

W. H. H.

[2] Hence it was found necessary for the pages and servants
to run about to warm themselves with different diversions
before going to bed.

* * * * *

FOUR THIEVES' VINEGAR.

In an old tract printed in the year 1749, it is stated that one Richard _Forthave_, who lived in Bishopsgate-street Without, sold and invented "_a vinegar_," which had a great run, and he soon became noted; and from this it may be concluded that the length of time has caused the above corruption. The article in the pamphlet is headed "Forthave's Vinegar."

W. H. H.

* * * * *

FISH.

Philip II. of Spain, the consort of our Queen Mary, gave a whimsical reason for not eating fish. "They are," said he, "nothing but element congealed, or a jelly of water."

It is related of Queen Aterbates, that she forbade her subjects ever to touch fish, "lest," said she, with calculating forecast, "there should not be enough left to regale their sovereign."

* * * * *

A GENTLEMAN'S FASHION.

In the reign of Henry VII. Sir Philip Calthorpe, a Norfolk knight, sent as much cloth of fine French tawney, as would make him a gown, to a tailor in Norwich. It happened, one John Drakes, a shoemaker, coming into the shop, liked it so well, that he went and bought of the same, as much for himself, enjoining the tailor to make it of the same fashion. The knight was informed of this, and therefore commanded the tailor to cut his gown as full of holes as his shears could make. John Drakes's was made "of the same fashion," but he vowed he would never be of the _gentleman's_ fashion again.