WELSH WEDDINGS.

[229]Claridiana, the Enchanted Queen, speaks this, and the following speech.[230]Claridoro, rival to Felisbravo, speaks this.[231]Addressed to Zelidaura.[232]Soles of his feet.[233]Allusion to the Tagus, and golden sands.

[229]Claridiana, the Enchanted Queen, speaks this, and the following speech.

[230]Claridoro, rival to Felisbravo, speaks this.

[231]Addressed to Zelidaura.

[232]Soles of his feet.

[233]Allusion to the Tagus, and golden sands.

From a Lady—To the Editor.

Sir,—If a brief account of the manner of celebrating marriage in some parts of Wales should afford entertainment to your readers, I shall feel gratified.

The early part of my life was spent at a village in the mountainous part of Glamorganshire, called Myrther Tidvel. Since then it has become a considerable place for the manufactory of iron, and I expect both the manners and inhabitants are much changed: the remembrance of its rural and lovely situation, and of the simplicity of its humble villagers, when I lived amongst them, often produces in my mind the most pleasing sensations.

Some weeks previous to a wedding taking place, a person, well-known in the parish, went round and invited all, without limitation or distinction, to attend. As the ceremonies were similar I shall select one, as an illustration, in which I took part as bride’s-maid to a much valued servant.

On the evening previous to the marriage, a considerable company assembled at the bride’s father’s, and in a short time the sound of music proclaimed the approach of the bridegroom. The bride and her company were then shut up in a room, and the house-doors locked; great and loud was the cry for admittance from without, till I was directed, as bride’s-maid, by an elderly matron, to open the window, and assist the bridegroom to enter, which being done the doors were set open, and his party admitted. A room was set apart for the young people to dance in, which continued for about an hour, and having partaken of a common kind of cake and warm ale, spiced and sweetened with sugar, the company dispersed.

At eight, next morning, I repaired to the house of the bridegroom, where there had assembled in the course of an hour about one hundred and fifty persons: he was a relation to the dissenting minister, a man highly esteemed; and he was much respected on that as well as his own account. The procession set out, preceded by a celebrated harper playing “Come, haste to the wedding;” the bridegroom and I came next, and were followed by the large company. At the door of the bride’s father we were met by the bride, led by her brother, who took their station behind the bridegroom and me; her company joining, and adding nearly as many again to the procession: we then proceeded to the church, the music playing as before. After theceremony the great door of the church was opened, and the bride and her maid having changed their partners were met at it by the harper, who struck up “Joy to the bridegroom,” and led the way to a part of the church-yard never used as a burial-ground; there placing himself under a large yew-tree the dancers immediately formed, the bride and bridegroom leading off the two first dances,—“The beginning of the world,” and “My wife shall have her way:” these are never danced but on like occasions, and then invariably.

By this time it was twelve o’clock, and the bride and bridegroom, followed by a certain number, went into the house, where a long table was tastefully set out with bread of two kinds, one plain and the other with currants and seeds in it; plates of ornamented butter; cold and toasted cheese; with ale, some warmed and sweetened. The bride and her maid were placed at the head of the table, and the bridegroom and her brother at the bottom. After the company had taken what they liked, a plate was set down, which went round, each person giving what they chose, from two to five shillings; this being done, the money was given to the bride, and the company resigned their places to others; and so on in succession till all had partaken and given what they pleased. Dancing was kept up till seven, and then all dispersed. At this wedding upwards of thirty pounds was collected.

In an adjoining parish it was the custom for the older people to go the evening before, and take presents of wheat, meal, cheese, tea, sugar, &c., and the young people attended next day, when the wedding was conducted much in the way I have described, but smaller sums of money were given.

This method of forwarding young people has always appeared to me a pleasing trait in the Welsh character; but it only prevails amongst the labouring classes.

When a farmer’s daughter, or some young woman, with a fortune of from one hundred to two hundred pounds, marries, it is generally very privately, and she returns to her father’s house for a few weeks, where her friends and neighbours go to see her, but none go empty-handed. When the appointed time arrives for the young man to take home his wife, the elderly women are invited to attend thestarald, that is, the furniture which the young woman provides; in general it is rather considerable. It is conveyed in great order, there being fixed rules as to the articles to be moved off first, and those which are to follow. I have thought this a pleasing sight, the company being all on horseback, and each matron in her appointed station, the nearest relations going first; all have their allotted basket or piece of small furniture, a horse and car following afterwards with the heavier articles. The next day the young couple are attended by the younger part of their friends, and this is called aturmant, and is frequently preceded by music. The derivation ofstaraldandturmantI never could learn, though I have frequently made the inquiry.

I am, sir, &c. &c.A. B.

In Cumberland, and some other parts of the north of England, they have a custom called a “bridewain,” or the public celebration of a wedding. A short time after a match is entered into, the parties give notice of it; in consequence of which the whole neighbourhood, for several miles round, assemble at the bridegroom’s house, and join in various pastimes of the county. This meeting resembles the wakes or revels celebrated in other places; and a plate or bowl is fixed in a convenient place, where each of the company contributes in proportion to his inclination and ability, and according to the degree of respect the parties are held in; by which laudable custom a worthy couple have frequently been benefited with a supply of money, from fifty to a hundred pounds. The following advertisements are from Cumberlandnewspapers:—

Invitation.

Suspend for one day your cares and your labours,And come to this wedding, kind friends and good neighbours.

Noticeis hereby given, that the marriage of Isaac Pearson with Frances Atkinson, will be solemnized in due form in the parish church of Lamplugh, in Cumberland, on Tuesday next, the 30th of May inst. (1786); immediately after which the bride and bridegroom, with their attendants, will proceed to Lonefoot, in the said parish, where the nuptials will be celebrated by a variety of rural entertainments.

Then come one and allAt Hymen’s soft call,From Whitehaven, Workington, Harington, Dean,Hail, Ponsonby, Blaing, and all places between;From Egremont, Cockermouth, Barton, St. Bee’s,Cint, Kinnyside, Calder, and parts such as these;And the country at large may flock in if they please.Such sports there will be as have seldom been seen,Such wrestling and fencing, and dancing between,And races for prizes, for frolic and fun,By horses and asses, and dogs, will be run,That you’ll go home happy—as sure as a gun.In a word, such a wedding can ne’er fail to please;For the sports of Olympus were trifles to these.Nota Bene—You’ll please to observe that the dayOf this grand bridal pomp is the thirtieth of May,When ’tis hop’d that the sun, to enliven the sight,Like the flambeau of Hymen, will deign to burn bright.

Nota Bene—You’ll please to observe that the dayOf this grand bridal pomp is the thirtieth of May,When ’tis hop’d that the sun, to enliven the sight,Like the flambeau of Hymen, will deign to burn bright.

Another Advertisement.

Bridewain.There let Hymen oft appear,In saffron robe and taper clear,And pomp and feast and revelry,With mask and antic pageantry;Such sights as youthful poets dream,On summer eves by haunted stream.

Bridewain.

There let Hymen oft appear,In saffron robe and taper clear,And pomp and feast and revelry,With mask and antic pageantry;Such sights as youthful poets dream,On summer eves by haunted stream.

George Hayto, who married Anne, the daughter of Joseph and Dinah Colin, of Crosby mill, purposes having a Bridewain at his house at Crosby, near Maryport, on Thursday, the 7th day of May next, (1789), where he will be happy to see his friends and well-wishers; for whose amusement there will be a variety of races, wrestling-matches, &c. &c. The prizes will be—a saddle, two bridles, a pair ofgands d’amour, gloves, which, whoever wins, is sure to be married within the twelvemonths; a girdle (ceinture de Venus) possessing qualities not to be described;and many other articles, sports, and pastimes, too numerous to mention, but which can never prove tedious in the exhibition.

From fashion’s laws and customs free,We welcome sweet variety;By turns we laugh, and dance, and sing;Time’s for ever on the wing;And nymphs and swains on Cumbria’s plain,Present the golden age again.

In the Court of Session in Scotland, the judges who do not attend, or give a proper excuse for their absence, are, by law, liable to a fine; but it is common, on the first day of the session, for the absentee to send an excuse to the lord president. Lord Stonefield having sent such an excuse, on the president mentioning it, the late lord justice clerk Braxfield said, in his broad dialect, “What excuse can a stout fallow like him hae?” “My lord,” said the president, “he has lost his wife.” The justice, who was fitted with a Xanthippe, replied, “Has he? that is a gude excuse indeed; I wish we had a’ the same.”

Buffon rose always with the sun, and he used often to tell by what means he had accustomed himself to get out of bed so early. “In my youth,” said he, “I was very fond of sleep; it robbed me of a great deal of my time; but my poor Joseph (his domestic) was of great service in enabling me to overcome it. I promised to give Joseph a crown every time that he could make me get up at six. The next morning he did not fail to awake and torment me, but he received only abuse. The day after he did the same, with no better success, and I was obliged at noon to confess that I had lost my time. I told him, that he did not know how to manage his business; that he ought to think of my promise, and not to mind my threats. The day following he employed force; I begged for indulgence, I bid him begone, I stormed, but Joseph persisted. I was therefore obliged to comply, and he was rewarded every day for the abuse which he suffered at the moment when I awoke, by thanks accompanied with a crown, which he received about an hour after. Yes, I am indebted to poor Joseph for ten or a dozen of the volumes of my work.”

Industry is of little avail, without a habit of very easy acquirement—punctuality: on this jewel the whole machinery of successful industry may be said to turn.

When lord Nelson was leaving London on his last, but glorious, expedition against the enemy, a quantity of cabin furniture was ordered to be sent on board his ship. He had a farewell dinner party at his house; and the upholsterer having waited upon his lordship, with an account of the completion of the goods, he was brought into the dining-room, in a corner of which his lordship spoke with him. The upholsterer stated to his noble employer, that every thing was finished, and packed, and would go in the waggon, from a certain inn, atsix o’clock. “And you go to the inn, Mr. A., and see them off.” “I shall, my lord; I shall be there punctuallyat six.” “A quarterbeforesix, Mr. A.,” returned lord Nelson; “be there a quarterbefore: to thatquarter of an hourI owe every thing in life.”

Reading the Newspaper.

The folio of four pages, happy work!Which not even critics criticize.—Cowper.

A venerable old man is, as the reader of a newspaper, still more venerable; for his employment implies that nature yet lives in him;—that he is anxious to learn how much better the world is on his leaving it, than it was when he came into it. When he reads of the meddlings of overlegislation, he thinks of “good old times,” and feels with thepoet—

But times are alter’d; trade’s unfeeling trainUsurp the land and dispossess the swain;Along the lawn where scatter’d hamlets rose,Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose;And ev’ry want to luxury ally’d,And ev’ry pang that folly pays to pride.Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,Those calm desires that ask’d but little room;Those healthful sports that grac’d the peaceful sceneLiv’d in each look, and brighten’d all the green;These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,And rural mirth and manners are no more.

He reads of proposals for extending the poor-laws to one part of the United Kingdom not yet cursed with that sure and certain means of increasing the growth of poverty—he reads of schemes of emigration for an alleged surplus of human beings from all parts of the empire—he reads of the abundance of public wealth, and of the increase of private distress—and he remembers, that

A time there was, ere England’s griefs began,When ev’ry rood of ground maintain’d its man:For him light labour spread her wholesome store.Just gave what life requir’d, but gave no more:His best companions, innocence and health;And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

The old man, who thus reads and recollects, has seen too much of factions to be a partisan. His only earthly interest is the good of his country. A change in the administration is to him of no import, if it bring not blessings to the present generation that entail a debt of gratitude upon posterity. Alterations in public affairs, if violently effected, he scarcely expects will be lasting, and loves human nature too well to desire them; yet he does not despair of private undertakings on account of their novelty or vastness; and therefore he was among the earliest promoters of vaccination, and of Winsor’s plan for lighting the streets with gas. He was a proprietor of the first vessel navigated by steam, and would rather fail with Brunel than succeed at court.

The old man’s days are few. He has discovered that the essential requisites of human existence are small in number; and that in strength itself there is weakness. He speculates upon ruling mankind by the law of kindness; and, as a specimen of the possibility, he kindles good-will with the materials of strife.

[From the “Downfall of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon,” an Historical Play, by T. Heywood, 1601.]

Chorus; Skelton, the Poet.

Skelton, (to the Audience). The Youth that leads yon virgin by the handAs doth the Sun the Morning richly clad,Is our Earl Robert—or your Robin Hood—That in those days was Earl of Huntingdon.

Robin recounts to Marian the pleasures of a forest life.

Robin.Marian, thou see’st, tho’ courtly pleasures want,Yet country sport in Sherwood is not scant:For the soul-ravishing delicious soundOf instrumental music, we have foundThe winged quiristers, with divers notesSent from their quaint recording pretty throats,On every branch that compasseth our bower,Without command contenting us each hour.For arras hangings and rich tapestry,We have sweet Nature’s best embroidery.For thy steel glass, wherein thou wont’st to look,Thy chrystal eyes gaze in a chrystal brook.At Court a flower or two did deck thy head;Now with whole garlands it is circled:For what we want in wealth, we have in flowers;And what we lose in halls, we find in bowers.Marian.Marian hath all, sweet Robert having thee;And guesses thee as rich in having me.

Scarlet recounts to Scathlock the pleasures of an Outlaw’s life.

Scarlet.It’s full seven years since we were outlaw’ first,And wealthy Sherwood was our heritage.For all those years we reigned uncontroll’d,From Barnsdale shrogs to Nottingham’s red cliffs.At Blithe and Tickhill were we welcome guests;Good George-a-green at Bradford was our friend,And wanton Wakefield’s Pinner loved us well.At Barnsley dwells a Potter tough and strong,That never brook’d we brethren should have wrong.The Nuns of Farnsfield, pretty Nuns they be,Gave napkins, shirts, and bands, to him and me.Bateman of Kendal gave us Kendal green,And Sharpe of Leeds sharp arrows for us made.At Rotherham dwelt our Bowyer, God him bliss;Jackson he hight his bows did never miss.

Fitzwater, banished, seeking his daughter Matilda (Robin’s Marian) in the forest of Sherwood, makes his complaint.

Fitz.Well did he write, and mickle did he know,That said “This world’s felicity was woe,Which greatest states can hardly undergo.”Whilem Fitzwater in fair England’s CourtPossest felicity and happy state,And in his hall blithe Fortune kept her sport;Which glee one hour of woe did ruinate.Fitzwater once had castles, towns, and towers;Fair gardens, orchards, and delightful bowers;But now nor garden, orchard, town, nor towerHath poor Fitzwater left within his power.Only wide walks are left me in the world,Which these stiff limbs will hardly let me tread:And when I sleep, heavn’s glorious canopyMe and my mossy couch doth overspread.

He discovers Robin Hood sleeping; Marian strewing flowers over him.

Fitz.—in good time see where my comfort stands,And by her lies dejected Huntingdon.Look how my Flower holds flowers in her hands,And flings those sweets upon my sleeping son.

Feigns himself blind, to try if she will know him.

Marian.What aged man art thou? or by what chanceCamest thou thus far into the wayless wood?Fitz.Widow, or wife, or maiden, if thou be;Lend me thy hand: thou see’st I cannot see.Blessing betide thee! little feel’st thou want;With me, good child, food is both hard and scant.These smooth even veins assure me, He is kind,Whate’er he be, my girl, that thee doth find.I poor and old am reft of all earth’s good;And desperately am crept into this wood,To seek the poor man’s patron, Robin Hood.Marian.And thou art welcome, welcome, aged man,Aye ten times welcome to Maid Marian.Here’s wine to cheer thy heart; drink, aged man.There’s venison, and a knife; here’s manchet fine.—My Robin stirs: I must sing him asleep.

A Judgment.A Wicked Prior. Servingman.Prior.What news with you, Sir?Serv.Ev’n heavy news, my Lord; for the light fire,Falling in manner of a fire-drakeUpon a barn of yours, hath burnt six barns,And not a strike of corn reserv’d from dust.No hand could save it; yet ten thousand handsLabour’d their best, though none for love of you:For every tongue with bitter cursing bann’dYour Lordship, as the viper of the land.Prior.What meant the villains?Serv.Thus and thus they cried:“Upon this churl, this hoarder up of corn,This spoiler of the Earl of Huntingdon,This lust-defiled, merciless, false Prior,Heav’n raineth judgment down in shape of fire.”Old wives that scarce could with their crutches creep,And little babes that newly learn’d to speak,Men masterless that thorough want did weep,All in one voice with a confused cryIn execrations bann’d you bitterly.“Plague follow plague,” they cried; “he hath undoneThe good Lord Robert, Earl of Huntingdon.”

A Judgment.

A Wicked Prior. Servingman.

Prior.What news with you, Sir?Serv.Ev’n heavy news, my Lord; for the light fire,Falling in manner of a fire-drakeUpon a barn of yours, hath burnt six barns,And not a strike of corn reserv’d from dust.No hand could save it; yet ten thousand handsLabour’d their best, though none for love of you:For every tongue with bitter cursing bann’dYour Lordship, as the viper of the land.Prior.What meant the villains?Serv.Thus and thus they cried:“Upon this churl, this hoarder up of corn,This spoiler of the Earl of Huntingdon,This lust-defiled, merciless, false Prior,Heav’n raineth judgment down in shape of fire.”Old wives that scarce could with their crutches creep,And little babes that newly learn’d to speak,Men masterless that thorough want did weep,All in one voice with a confused cryIn execrations bann’d you bitterly.“Plague follow plague,” they cried; “he hath undoneThe good Lord Robert, Earl of Huntingdon.”

[From “Phillis of Scyros,” a Dramatic Pastoral, Author Unknown, 1655.]

True Love irremovable by Death.Serpilla. Phillis.Serpilla.Thyrsis believes thee dead, and justly mayWithin his youthful breast then entertainNew flames of love, and yet therein be freeFrom the least show of doing injuryTo that rich beauty which he thinks extinct,And happily hath mourn’d for long ago:But when he shall perceive thee here alive,His old lost love will then with thee revive.Phillis.That love, Serpilla, which can be removedWith the light breath of an imagined death,Is but a faint weak love; nor care I muchWhether it live within, or still lie dead.Ev’n I myself believ’d him long agoDead, and enclosed within an earthen urn;And yet, abhorring any other love,I only loved that pale-faced beauty still;And those dry bones, dissolved into dust:And underneath their ashes kept aliveThe lively flames of my still-burning fire.

True Love irremovable by Death.

Serpilla. Phillis.

Serpilla.Thyrsis believes thee dead, and justly mayWithin his youthful breast then entertainNew flames of love, and yet therein be freeFrom the least show of doing injuryTo that rich beauty which he thinks extinct,And happily hath mourn’d for long ago:But when he shall perceive thee here alive,His old lost love will then with thee revive.Phillis.That love, Serpilla, which can be removedWith the light breath of an imagined death,Is but a faint weak love; nor care I muchWhether it live within, or still lie dead.Ev’n I myself believ’d him long agoDead, and enclosed within an earthen urn;And yet, abhorring any other love,I only loved that pale-faced beauty still;And those dry bones, dissolved into dust:And underneath their ashes kept aliveThe lively flames of my still-burning fire.

Celia, being put to sleep by an ineffectual poison, waking believes herself to be among the dead. The old Shepherd Narete finds her, and re-assures her of her still being alive.

Shepherd.Celia, thou talkest idly; call againThy wandering senses; thou art yet alive.And, if thou wilt not credit what I say,Look up, and see the heavens turning round;The sun descending down into the west,Which not long since thou saw’st rise in the east:Observe, that with the motion of the airThese fading leaves do fall:—In the infernal region of the deepThe sun doth never rise, nor ever set;Nor doth a falling leaf there e’er adornThose black eternal plants.Thou still art on the earth ’mongst mortal men,And still thou livest. I am Narete. TheseAre the sweet fields of Scyros. Know’st thou notThe meadow where the fountain springs? this wood?Enro’s great mountain, and Ormino’s hill;The hill where thou wert born?

Thyrsis, upbraided by Phillis for loving another, while he supposed her dead, replies—

Thirsis.O do not turn thy face another way.Perhaps thou thinkest, by denying thusThat lovely visage to these eyes of mine,To punish my misdeeds; but think not so.Look on me still, and mark me what I say,(For, if thou know’st it not, I’ll tell thee then),A more severe revenger of thy wrongsThou canst not have than those fair eyes of thine,Which by those shining beams that wound my heartPunish me more than all the world can do.What greater pain canst thou inflict on me,Than still to keep as fire before my faceThat lovely beauty, which I have betray’d;That beauty, I have lost?

Nightbreaks off herspeech.[234]

Night.—But stay! for there methinks I see the Sun,Eternal Painter, now begin to rise,And limn the heavens in vermilion dye;And having dipt his pencil, aptly framed,Already in the colour of the morn,With various temper he doth mix in oneDarkness and Light: and drawing curiouslyStrait golden lines quite thro’ the dusky sky,A rough draught of the day he seems to yield,With red and tawny in an azure field.—Already, by the clattering of their bits,Their gingling harness, and their neighing sounds.I hear Eous and fierce PirousCome panting on my back; and therefore IMust fly away. And yet I do not fly,But follow on my regulated course,And those eternal Orders I receivedFrom the First Mover of the Universe.

C. L.

[234]In the Prologue.

The following communication from “a-matter-of-fact” correspondent, controverts an old dramatist’s authority on an historical point. It should be recollected, however, that poets have large license, and that few playwrights strictly adhere to facts without injury to poetical character and feeling. The letter is curious, and might suggest an amusing parallel in the manner of Plutarch, between the straightforward character and the poetical one.

To the Editor.

Sir,—Having been in the country during the publication of the first parts of theTable Book, I have but now just bought them; and on perusing them, I find inpart 1, col. 112et infrâ, Mr. C. Lamb’s first specimen of the Garrick Plays, called “King John and Matilda;” wherein the said Matilda, the daughter of theoldbaronFitzwater[235]is supposed to be poisoned by King John’s order, in a nunnery. She is especially entitled therein as “immaculate”—“Virtue’s whitevirgin,”—and “maidand martyr.” Now, sir, I presume it to be well known, that in the best legends extant of the times of Richard I. and John, this identical Matilda, or Maud Fitzwater, is chronicled as thechère amieand companion of the outlawed Robert Fitzooth, earl of Huntingdon, whom, as “Robin Hood,” she followed as “MaidMarian;” and with whom, on his restoration to his honours by king Richard, (to his earldom and estates,) she intermarried, and became countess of Huntingdon, and was ineveryrespect a wife, though we have no records whether she ever became a mother; and that when by king John the earl was again outlawed, and driven to the wilds of Sherwood forest, his countess also again shared his misfortunes, and a second time took the name of “MaidMarian,” (then rather a misnomer,) as he did that of “Robin Hood.”

During thefirstoutlawry of Robin Hood, and while Marian, or more properly Matilda, was yet amaid, John (then prince John, Richard being in Palestine) made overtures to the old baron Fitzwalter for his daughter as a mistress, and being refused, and finding she was in the society of Robin Hood and his merry men, attacked them, and a bloody fray ensued; during which, John and Matilda (in themalecostume of forest green) met, and fought: John required her to yield, and she as resolutely desired him, in a reproachful taunt, towinher first; and so stoutly did she belabour him, as the rest of the foresters did his party also, that he was constrained to yield, and to withdraw from a contest in which nothing was to be got but blows.

We hear nothing more of any attempts of John’s to molest her or her party till after the death of Richard, and his own accession to the throne, when he spitefully ousted the earl and countess from their honours and possessions, and confiscated all to his own use; and thus this unfortunate pair, as I have above stated, were again constrained to quit the castle for the forest.

But it is certain, that long before John became king, Matilda, alias Maud, alias Marian, had ceased to be a maid; and we have no account of any attempts whatsoever made bykingJohn upon or against the quondam Matilda Fitzwalter, afterwards alternately Maid Marian and countess of Huntingdon. Indeed all the legends of Robin Hood’s life present “Maid Marian” as having lived with him unmolested by any such attempts during the whole of hissecond outlawry, and as having survived Robin’s tragical end; though ofhersubsequent fate they are all silent, expressing themselves indeed ignorant of what was her destiny. Certainly she may then have retired into a nunnery, but at all events not as Matilda Fitzwalter; for she had been legally married and formally acknowledged by Richard I. as countess of Huntingdon; and as she spent the last part of her fellowship with her husband in Sherwood forest under her romantic forest appellation, it is scarcely probable that she would resume her title on entering into a nunnery. I would presume, therefore, that however and wherever she ended her days, it must have been under the cognomen of “MaidMarian.” And as her husband lived for some years in the forest after the accession of John, I should think it scarcely likely that after such a great lapse of time, and after the change which had taken place in Matilda both as regards her worldly station and age, and I should presume person, (from such a continued exposure to the air and weather,) John should renew any attempt upon her. I should therefore feel exceedingly gratified if either yourself or Mr. C. Lamb could adduce any historical facts to reconcile all these discrepancies, and to show how the facts, as supposed in the play of “King John and Matilda,” could,in the natural course of events, and in the very teeth of the declarations made in the history of Robin Hood and his consort, have taken place.

Mark this also;—the historians of Robin Hood and Maid Marian (and their history was written, if not by contemporaries, yet in the next generation; nor is it likely that such a renowned personage should be unnoticed in chronicles for any space of time) all declare that they could not ascertain the fate of Marian after the death of Robin.Hisdeath and burial are well known, and the inscription to his memory is still extant; butshewas lost sight of from the time of his decease. How comes it then that Robert Davenport, in the 17th century, should be so well informed, as to know that Matilda ended her days in a nunnery by poison administered by order of king John, when there isno tradition extantof the time or manner ofherdecease? We have no other authority than this of Davenport’s tragedy on the subject; and I should therefore be inclined to think that he was misinformed, and that the event recorded by him never happened. As to its beinganotherMatilda Fitzwalter, it is highly preposterous to imagine. Is it likely that at the same time there should be two barons of that name and title, each having a daughter named Matilda or Maud? Davenport calls his baron theoldbaron Fitzwater; and the father of Maid Marian is described as theoldbaron: both must therefore have lived in the reign of Richard I., and also in that of John till their death. Indeed we have proof that the baron was alive in John’s reign, because Richard I. having restored him at the same time that he pardoned Fitzooth,John dispossessed them bothon his accession.

I think it therefore highly improbable that there should have been so remarkable a coincidence astwobarons Fitzwalter, andtwoMatildas at the same time, and both the latter subject to the unwelcome addresses of John: consequently I cannot give credence, withoutproofs, to the incident in Davenport’s play.

I am, Sir,respectfully yours,“The Veiled Spirit.”

May 17, 1827.

P.S.—Since writing the above, my friend F. C. N. suggests to me, that there was a baron Fitzwalter in John’s reign, proprietor of Castle Baynard, whose daughter Matilda John saw at a tourney, and being smitten with her charms, proposed to her father for her as his mistress, (precisely the events connected with Maid Marian;) and being refused, he attacked Castle Baynard, and ultimately destroyed it. However, for the reasons I have before stated, I am decidedly of opinion, that if such a baron was proprietor of Castle Baynard, it must have been the father of Maid Marian, as I cannot suppose that there weretwo. I cannot precisely remember, nor have I any thing at hand to refer to, but I believe it was at a tourney somewhere thatprinceJohn first sawMaud.

[235]This is an error of the poet’s. His real name was Fitz-Walter, i. e.the son of Walter.

For the Table Book.THE PHANTOM LIGHTWhat phantom light from yonder lonely tower,Glimmers yet paler than the pale moon beam;—Breaking the darkness of the midnight hour,—What bodes its dismal, melancholy gleam?’Tis not the brightness of that glorious light,That bursts in splendour from the hoary north;’Tis not the pharos of the dangerous night,Mid storms and winds benignly shining forth.Still are the waves that wash this desert shore,No breath is there to fill the fisher’s sail;Yet round yon isle is heard the distant roarOf billows writhing in a tempest’s gale.Doomed are the mariners that rashly seekTo land in safety on that dreadful shore;For once engulfed in the forbidden creek,Their fate is sealed—they’re never heard of more.For spirits there exert unholy sway—When favoured by the night’s portentous gloom—Seduce the sailor from his trackless way,And lure the wretch to an untimely doom.A demon tenant’s yonder lonely tower,A dreadful compound of hell, earth, and air;To-night he visits not his favourite bower,So pale the light that faintly glimmers there.In storms he seeks that solitary haunt,And, with their lord, a grim unearthly crew;Who, while they join in wild discordant chant,The mystic revels of their race pursue.But when the fiends have gained their horrid lair,The light then bursts forth with a blood-red glare;And phantom forms will flit along the waveWhose corses long had tenanted the grave.

For the Table Book.

What phantom light from yonder lonely tower,Glimmers yet paler than the pale moon beam;—Breaking the darkness of the midnight hour,—What bodes its dismal, melancholy gleam?’Tis not the brightness of that glorious light,That bursts in splendour from the hoary north;’Tis not the pharos of the dangerous night,Mid storms and winds benignly shining forth.Still are the waves that wash this desert shore,No breath is there to fill the fisher’s sail;Yet round yon isle is heard the distant roarOf billows writhing in a tempest’s gale.Doomed are the mariners that rashly seekTo land in safety on that dreadful shore;For once engulfed in the forbidden creek,Their fate is sealed—they’re never heard of more.For spirits there exert unholy sway—When favoured by the night’s portentous gloom—Seduce the sailor from his trackless way,And lure the wretch to an untimely doom.A demon tenant’s yonder lonely tower,A dreadful compound of hell, earth, and air;To-night he visits not his favourite bower,So pale the light that faintly glimmers there.In storms he seeks that solitary haunt,And, with their lord, a grim unearthly crew;Who, while they join in wild discordant chant,The mystic revels of their race pursue.But when the fiends have gained their horrid lair,The light then bursts forth with a blood-red glare;And phantom forms will flit along the waveWhose corses long had tenanted the grave.

What phantom light from yonder lonely tower,Glimmers yet paler than the pale moon beam;—Breaking the darkness of the midnight hour,—What bodes its dismal, melancholy gleam?

’Tis not the brightness of that glorious light,That bursts in splendour from the hoary north;’Tis not the pharos of the dangerous night,Mid storms and winds benignly shining forth.

Still are the waves that wash this desert shore,No breath is there to fill the fisher’s sail;Yet round yon isle is heard the distant roarOf billows writhing in a tempest’s gale.

Doomed are the mariners that rashly seekTo land in safety on that dreadful shore;For once engulfed in the forbidden creek,Their fate is sealed—they’re never heard of more.

For spirits there exert unholy sway—When favoured by the night’s portentous gloom—Seduce the sailor from his trackless way,And lure the wretch to an untimely doom.

A demon tenant’s yonder lonely tower,A dreadful compound of hell, earth, and air;To-night he visits not his favourite bower,So pale the light that faintly glimmers there.

In storms he seeks that solitary haunt,And, with their lord, a grim unearthly crew;Who, while they join in wild discordant chant,The mystic revels of their race pursue.

But when the fiends have gained their horrid lair,The light then bursts forth with a blood-red glare;And phantom forms will flit along the waveWhose corses long had tenanted the grave.

The prevailing character of a grove isbeauty; fine trees are lovely objects; a grove is an assemblage of them; in which every individual retains much of its own peculiar elegance; and whatever it loses is transferred to the superior beauty of the whole. To a grove, therefore, which admits of endless variety in the disposition of the trees, differences in their shapes and their greens are seldom very important, and sometimes they are detrimental. Strong contrasts scatter trees which are thinly planted, and which have not the connection of underwood; they no longer form one plantation; they are a number of single trees. A thick grove is not indeed exposed to this mischief, and certain situations may recommend different shapes and different greens for their effects upon thesurface; but in theoutlinethey are seldom much regarded. The eye attracted into the depth of the grove passes by little circumstances at the entrance; even varieties in the form of the line do not always engage the attention: they are not so apparent as in a continued thicket, and are scarcely seen, if they are not considerable.

But the surface and the outline are not the only circumstances to be attended to. Though a grove be beautiful as an object, it is besides delightful as a spot to walk or to sit in; and the choice and the disposition of the trees for effectswithinare therefore a principal consideration. Mere irregularity alone will not please: strict order is there more agreeable than absolute confusion; and some meaning better than none. A regular plantation has a degree of beauty; but it gives no satisfaction, because we know that the same number of trees might be more beautifully arranged. A disposition, however, in which the lines only are broken, without varying the distances, is less natural than any; for though we cannot find straight lines in a forest, we are habituated to them in the hedge-rows of fields; but neither in wild nor in cultivated nature do we ever see trees equidistant from each other: that regularity belongs to art alone. The distances therefore should be strikingly different; the trees should gather into groups, or stand in various irregular lines, and describe several figures: the intervals between them should be contrasted both in shape and in dimensions: a large space should in some places be quite open; in others the trees should be so close together, as hardly to leave a passage between them; and in others as far apart as the connection will allow. In the forms and the varieties of these groups, these lines, and these openings, principally consists the interior beauty of a grove.

The consequence of variety in the disposition, is variety in the light and shade of the grove; which may be improved by the choice of the trees. Some are impenetrable to the fiercest sunbeam; others let in here and there a ray between the large masses of their foliage; and others, thin both of boughs and of leaves, only checker the ground. Every degree of light and shade, from a glare to obscurity, may be managed, partly by the number, and partly by the texture of the trees. Differences only in the manner of their growths have also corresponding effects; there is a closeness under those whose branches descend low and spread wide, a space and liberty where the arch above is high, and frequent transitions from the one to the other are very pleasing. These still are not all the varieties of which the interior of a grove is capable; trees, indeed, whose branches nearly reach the ground, being each a sort of thicket, are inconsistent with an open plantation; but though some of the characteristic distinctions are thereby excluded, other varieties more minute succeed in their place; for the freedom of passage throughout brings every tree in its turn near to the eye, and subjects even differences in foliage to observation. These, slight as they may seem, are agreeable when they occur; it is true they are not regretted when wanting, but a defect of ornament is not necessarily a blemish.

For the Table Book.

The heathens considered it unlawful to build temples, because they thought no temple spacious enough for the sun. Hence the saying,Mundus universus est templum solis, “The whole world is a temple of the sun.” Thus their god Terminus, and others, were worshipped in temples open-roofed. Hills and mountains became the fittest places for their idolatry; and these consecrated hills are the “high places” so often forbidden in the sacred writings. As the number of their gods increased, so the number of their consecrated hills multiplied; and from them their gods and goddesses took names, as Mercurius Cyllenius, Venus Erycina, Jupiter Capitolinus. To beautify these holy hills, the places of their idolatrousworship, they beset them with trees; and thence arose the consecration of groves and woods, from whence also their idols were often named. At length certain choice and select trees began to be consecrated. The French magi, termed Dryadæ, worshipped the oak; the Etrurians worshipped an elm-tree; and amongst the Celtæ, a tall oak was the very idol of Jupiter.

Amongst the Israelites, idolatry began under the judges Othniel and Ehud, and became so common, that they had peculiar priests, whom they termed the prophets of the grove and idols of the grove.

Christians, in the consecration of their churches, make special choice of peculiar saints, by whose name they are called. The heathens consecrated their groves to peculiar idols; whence in profane authors we read of Diana Nemorensis, Diana Arduenna, Albunea Dea, &c., all receiving their names from the groves in which they were worshipped. The idol itself is sometimes called a grove—“Josiah brought outthe grovefrom the house of the Lord.” It is probable, that in this idol was portraited the form and similitude of a grove, and that from thence it was called a grove, as those similitudes of Diana’s temple, made by Demetrius, were termed temples of Diana.

These customs appear exemplified by inscriptions on coins, medals, in church-yards, and the various buildings commemorated by marble, flowers, and durable and perishing substances.J. R. P.

⁂ The groves round London within a few years have been nearly destroyed by the speculating builders.

J. R. P.’s note may be an excuse for observing, that the “grove” best known, perhaps, to the inhabitants of London is that at Camberwell—a spacious roadway and fine walks, above half a mile in length, between rows of stately trees, from the beginning of the village and ascending the hill to its summit, from whence there is, or rather was, the finest burst of scenery the eye can look upon within the same distance from London. The view is partially obstructed by new buildings, and the character of the “grove” itself has been gradually injured by the breaking up of the adjacent grounds and meadows into brick-fields, and the flanking of its sides with town-like houses. This grove has been the theme of frequent song. Dr. Lettsom first gave celebrity to it by his writings, and pleasant residence on its eastern extremity; and it was further famed by Mr. Maurice in an elegant poem, with delightful engravings on wood. After the death of the benevolent physician, and before the decease of the illustrator of “Indian Antiquities,” much of the earth, consecrated by their love and praise, “passed through the fire” in sacrifice to the Moloch of improvement. In a year or two “Grove Hill” may be properly named “Grove Street.”

Hampstead, however, is the “place of groves;”—how long it may remain so is a secret in the bosom of speculators and builders. Its first grove, townward, is the noble private avenue from the Hampstead-road to Belsize-house, in the valley between Primrose hill and the hill whereon the church stands, with Mr. Memory-Corner Thompson’s remarkable house and lodge at the corner of the pleasant highway to the little village of West-end. In the neighbourhood of Hampstead church, and between that edifice and the heath, there are several old groves. Winding southwardly from the heath, there is a charming little grove in Well Walk, with a bench at the end; whereon I last saw poor Keats, the poet of the “Pot of Basil,” sitting and sobbing his dying breath into a handkerchief,—gleaning parting looks towards the quiet landscape he had delighted in—musing, as in his Ode to a Nightingale.

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