Chapter C: Lamb (2)

“Alaister Mac Coll Cedach.” Alexander, the son of left-handed Coll, was a Mac Donald, who made a considerable figure in the great civil war: he brought two thousand men to the assistance of Montrose, and received from him a commission of lieutenancy in the royal service. He is mentioned by contemporary writers, under the corrupted name of Kolkitto; but time has now drawn such a veil over his history, that it is difficult to ascertain with any degree of certainty from what family of the Mac Donalds he came. By some it is asserted, that he was an islesman; but by the most minute and seemingly authentic tradition, he is positively declared to have been an Irishman, and the son of the earl of Antrim.

Of his father there is nothing preserved but his name, his fate, and his animosity to the Campbells, with whom, during his life, he maintained with deadly assiduity the feud of his clan. It was his piper who was hanged at Dunavàig in Ceantir, and in his last hour saved the life of his chieftain by composing and playing the inexpressibly pathetic pibroch, “Colda mo Roon.” But though he escaped at this juncture, Colda was afterwards taken by the Campbells, and hung in chains at Dunstaffnage. His death was the chief ground of that insatiate vengeance with which his son ever after pursued the followers of Argyle. Long after the death of his father, Alaister chanced to pass by Dunstaffnage in return from a descent which he had made in the Campbell’s country. As he sailed near the castle, he saw the bones of his father still hanging at the place where he had suffered, and swinging in the sea-breeze. He was so affected at the sight of the lamentable remains, that he solemnly vowed to revenge them by a fearful retribution, and hastening his return to Ireland gathered what force he was able, and sailing back to Scotland offered his services to Montrose. He was gladly accepted; and during the various adventures of the marquis in the Hielands, Alaister Mac Colda was one of the most valuable of his adherents; and his followers were accounted among the bravest and best experienced in the royal army. Some of their exploits are recorded in the “Leobhair Dearg,” or “Red Book of Clanranald,” and fully justify the fame which they received.

Alaister was present at the battle of Inbherlochie, and after the action he was sent with his followers to the country of Argyle. He entered the Campbell lands by Glen Eitive, and wherever he came put all who bore the name of that clan to fire and sword. As he marched down Glen Eitive, he crossed the bounds of the Mac Intires in Glen O, and in passing the house of their chieftain, a circumstance occurred, which gives a lively picture of the extent of the ancient respect paid by a clansman to the ties of his blood. The Mac Intires were originally descended from the Mac Donalds, and lived from time immemorial upon the border of the Campbells, between that race and the south-east march of the Clan Donald in Glen Coe. Upon the decline of the vast power of this sept after the fatal battle of Harlow, and upon the subsequent increase of power to the Campbells, the Mac Intires placed themselves under the latter clan, and lived with them as the most powerful of their followers. When Alaister Mac Colda passed through Glen O, he was not acquainted with the name of the place nor the race of its inhabitants; but knowing that he was within the bounds of the Campbells, he supposed that all whom he met were of that clan. Glen O was deserted at his approach, and it is probable that the men were even then in service with Argyle. Alaister, in his usual plan of vengeance, ordered fire to the house of the chieftain. A coal was instantly set in the roof, and the heather of which it was made was quickly in a blaze. Before, however, the flames had made much progress, Alaister was told that the house which he was burning was that of the chieftain of Mac Intire. The man of Mac Donald immediately commanded his people to do their endeavour to extinguish the fire; “for,” said he, “it is the house of our own blood.”[228] The flames were soon overcome, and Colda passed through the glen of the Mac Intires in peace into Glen Urcha, where he burnt and destroyed all within his reach. From hence, he marched entirely round Loch Awe, carrying devastation through the ancient and original patrimony of the Campbells. As he passed by the Loch of Ballemòr, the inhabitants (a small race named Mac Chorchadell, and dependant upon the former clan) retired from their huts into the little castle of their chieftain, which is situated in the midst of the Loch. Being in no way connected with his enemies by blood, Alaister did not conceive that with them he held any feud, and quietly marched past their deserted habitations, without laying a hand upon their property. But as his men were drawing from the lake, one of the Mac Chorchadells fired upon their rear, and wounded a Mac Donald. Alaister instantly turned: “Poor little Mac Chorchadell,” said he in Gaëlic, “I beg your pardon for my want of respect in passing you without stopping to pay my compliments; but since you will have it so, I will not leave you without notice.”--He returned, and burnt every house in Ballemòr.

The power of the Campbells had been so broken at Inbherlochie, that it was not until Mac Colda had arrived near the west coast of their country, that they were again in a condition to meet him in a pitched fight. At length they encountered him on the skirt of the moss of Crenan, at the foot of a hill not far from Auchandaroch. The battle was fought with all the fury of individual and deadly hatred, but at last the fortune of Alaister prevailed, and the Campbells were entirely routed, and pursued with great slaughter off the field of battle. Some time afterwards they again collected what numbers they could gather, and once more offered battle to Alaister, as he was returning to Loch Awe. The conflict was fought at the ford of Ederline, the eastern extremity of the lake; but here the success of the Mac Donalds forsook them. They were entirely beaten and scattered, so that not six men were left together; and those who escaped from the field were cut off by their enemies, as they endeavoured to lurk out of their country. Of Alaister’s fate each clan and each district has a different story. The Argyle Campbells say that he was killed at the ford, and a broadsword said to have been his, and to have been found on the field of battle, is at this day in the possession of Peter Mac Lellich (smith), at the croft of Dalmallie. The Louden Campbells, on the contrary, assert, that Alaister escaped from the overthrow, and wandering into Ayrshire, was slain by them while endeavouring to find a passage into Ireland. The Mac Donalds do not acknowledge either of these stories to be true, but relate that their chieftain not only escaped from the battle, but (though with much difficulty) effected his flight to Ireland, where a reward being set upon his head, he was at length, in an unguarded moment, when divested of his arms, slain by one of the republican troopers, by whom he was sought out.

The fate of Alaister Mac Colda is said to have been governed by that fatality, and predicted by that inspiration, which were once so firmly believed among the Highlanders. His foster-mother, says tradition, was gifted with the second sight; and, previous to his departure from Ireland, the chieftain consulted her upon the success of his expedition. “You will be victorious over all born of woman,” replied the seer, “till you arrive at Goch-dum Gho; but when you come to that spot, your fortune shall depart for ever.”--“Let it be so,” said Alaister, “I shall receive my glory.” He departed, and the spirit of his adventure and the hurry of enterprise, perhaps, banished from his mind the name of the fatal place. It was indeed one so insignificant and remote, that its knowledge was most probably confined to the circle of a few miles, and not likely to be restored to the notice of Mac Colda, by mention or inquiry. It was on the eve of his last battle, as his “bratach” was setting up at the ford of Ederline, that his attention was caught by a mill at a little distance; for some accidental reason he inquired its name:--“Mullian Goch-dum Gho,” replied one of his men. The prediction was at once remembered. The enemy were at hand, and Alaister knew that he should fall. Convinced of the fatality of the prophecy, he sought not to retreat from the evil spot: the bourne of his fortune was past, and he only thought of dying as became him in the last of his fields. He made no comment upon the name of the place; but, concealing from his followers the connection which it bore with his fate, gave directions for the proceedings of the approaching morning. In the battle he behaved as he was wont, and in the close of the day was seen fighting furiously with two of the Campbells, who appeared unable to overcome him. Nothing more was heard of him: his body was never discovered; but when the slain were buried by the conquerors, his claidh-mòr was found beneath a heap of dead.

* * * * *

Mac Phadian was an Irish captain, who, with a considerable body of his countrymen, assisted Edward I. of England in his war to subvert the independence of Scotland; but though he took a very active part in the turbulent period in which he lived, and possessed sufficient courage and talents to raise himself from obscurity to power, yet we have nothing left of his history but the account of his last enormities, and the overthrow and death which they finally brought. It is probable, that we are even indebted for this information to the celebrity of the man by whom he fell, and which in preserving the victory of the conqueror, has also perpetuated the memory of the vanquished.

The scene of the last actions of Mac Phadian lay in Lorn and Argyle; and the old people in the neighbourhood of Loch Awe still retain a tradition, which marks out the spot where he fell. Time, however, and the decay of recitation during the last century, have so injured all which remained of oral record, that the legend of Mac Phadian is now confined to a very few of the elder fox-hunters and shepherds of the country, and will soon pass into oblivion with those by whom it is retained----

Some time in the latter end of the year 1297, or the beginning of the year 1298, Edward made a grant to Mac Phadian of the lordships of Argyle and Lorn. The first belonged to sir Niel Campbell, knight, of Loch Awe, and chief of his clan; the second was the hereditary patrimony of John, chief of Mac Dougall. Sir Niel did his endeavour to resist the usurpation of his lands, and though fiercely beset by the traitor lords, Buchan, Athol, and Mentieth, he for some time maintained his independence against all their united attempts. But John of Lorn, who was himself in the interest and service of the English, and at that time in London, concurred with king Edward in the disponing of his territories, and received in remuneration a more considerable lordship. Mac Phadian did not, however, remain in quiet possession of his ill-acquired domains; he was strongly opposed by Duncan of Lorn, uncle to the lord; but joining with Buchan, Athol, and Mentieth, he at length drove out his enemy, and compelled him to seek shelter with sir Niel Campbell. Upon this success the above-mentioned allies, at the head of a mixed and disorderly force gathered from all parts, and from all descriptions, Irish and Scots, to the amount of fifteen thousand men, made a barbarous inroad into Argyle, and suddenly penetrating into the district of Nether Loch Awe, wasted the country wherever they came, and destroyed the inhabitants without regard to age or sex. In this exigency the Campbell displayed that constancy and experience which had rendered his name celebrated among his countrymen. Unable to resist the intoxicated multitude of his enemies, with Duncan of Lorn, and three hundred of his veteran clansmen, he retired by the head of Loch Awe and the difficult pass of Brandir to the inaccessible heights of Craiganuni, and breaking down the bridge over the Awe below, prevented the pursuit of the enemy to his position. Nothing could be more masterly than the plan of this retreat.

Mac Phadian, thus baffled and outmanœuvred, not only failed in his object of offence, but found himself drawn into an intricate and desolate labyrinth, where his multitude encumbered themselves: the want of subsistence prevented him from remaining to blockade sir Niel, and his ignorance of the clues of the place made it difficult to extricate himself by a retreat. In this exigence he was desirous of returning to Nether Loch Awe, where there was abundance of cattle and game for the support of his men. At length he discovered a passage between the rocks and the water; the way was only wide enough for four persons to pass abreast; yet, as they were not in danger of pursuit, they retired in safety, and effected their march to the south side of the lake.

The measures employed by Wallace to relieve the Campbell, and to reach the fastness wherein Mac Phadian had posted himself, were romantic and daring----

Mac Phadian’s followers were completely surprised and taken at disarray. They snatched their arms, and rushed to defend the pass with the boldest resolution. At the first onset the Scots bore back their enemies over five acres of ground; and Wallace, with his iron mace, made fearful havoc among the enemy. Encouraged, however, by Mac Phadian, the Irish came to the rescue; the battle thickened with more stubborn fury; and for two hours was maintained with such obstinate eagerness on both sides, that neither party had any apparent advantage. At length the cause and valour of Wallace prevailed. The Irish gave way and fled, and the Scots of their party threw down their arms, and kneeled for mercy. Wallace commanded them to be spared for their birth sake, but urged forward the pursuit upon the Irish. Pent in by the rocks and the water, the latter had but little hope in flight. Many were overtaken and slain as they endeavoured to climb the crags, and two thousand were driven into the lake and drowned. Mac Phadian, with fifteen men, fled to a cave, and hoped to have concealed himself till the pursuit was over; but Duncan of Lorn having discovered his retreat, pursued and slew him with his companions; and having cut off the head of the leader, brought it to Wallace, and set it upon a stone high in one of the crags as a trophy of the victory.

In one of the steeps of Cruächan, nearly opposite the rock of Brandir, there is a secret cave, now only known to a very few of the old fox-hunters and shepherds: it is still called “Uagh Phadian,” Mac Phadian’s cave; and is asserted by tradition to be the place in which Mac Phadian died. The remembrance of the battle is nearly worn away, and the knowledge of the real cave confined to so few, that the den in which Mac Phadian was killed is generally believed to be in the cliffs of Craiganuni: this is merely owing to the appearance of a black chasm in the face of that height, and to a confusion between the action of Mac Phadian with Wallace, and his pursuit of sir Niel Campbell. But the chasm in Craiganuni, though at a distance it appears like the mouth of a cave, is but a cleft in the rock; and the few who retain the memory of the genuine tradition of the battle of the Wallace, universally agree that the cave in the side of Cruächan was that in which Mac Phadian was killed.

* * * * *

The “Bridal of Caölchairn” is a legendary poem, founded upon a very slight tradition, concerning events which are related to have occurred during the absence of sir Colin Campbell on his expedition to Rome and Arragon. It is said by the tale, that the chieftain was gone ten years, and that his wife having received no intelligence of his existence in that time, she accepted the addresses of one of her husband’s vassals, Mac Nab of Barachastailan. The bridal was fixed; but on the day when it was to have been solemnized, the secret was imparted to sir Colin in Spain, by a spirit of the nether world. When the knight received the intelligence, he bitterly lamented the distance which prevented him from wreaking vengeance upon his presumptuous follower. The communicating spirit, either out of love for mischief, or from a private familiarity with sir Colin, promised to obviate this obstacle; and on the same day, before the bridal was celebrated, transported the chieftain in a blast of wind from Arragon to Glen Urcha. In what manner sir Colin proceeded, tradition does not say; it simply records, that the bridal was broken, but is silent upon the nature of the catastrophe. The legend is now almost entirely forgotten in the neighbourhood where its events are said to have taken place. “As far as I know,” says Mr. Allan, “it is confined to one old man, named Malcolm Mac Nab, who lives upon the hill of Barachastailan; he is between eighty and ninety years of age, and the last of the race of ancient smiths, who remains in the place of his ancestors. A few yards from his cottage there is the foundation of one of those ancient circular forts built by the Celts, and so frequently to be met in the Highlands: these structures are usually ascribed by the vulgar to Fion and his heroes. In a neighbouring field, called ‘Larich nam Fion,’ there were formerly two others of these buildings; their walls of uncemented stone were not many years since entire, to the height of eight or nine feet; but they have since been pulled down and carried away to repair the neighbouring cottages: it is from these buildings that the hill received its name of ‘Bar-a-chas-tailan,’ the ‘eminence of the castles.’”

The tide of centuries has rolled away
O’er Innishail’s solitary isle,
The wind of ages and the world’s decay
Has swept upon the Campbells’ fortress pile:
And far from what they were is changed the while
The monks’ grey cloister, and the baron’s keep.
I’ve seen the sun within the dungeon smile,
And in the bridal bower the ivy creep.
I’ve stood upon the fane’s foundation stone,
Heard the grass sigh upon the cloister’s heap,
And sat upon the holy cross o’erthrown,
And marked within the cell where warriors sleep,
Beneath the broad grey stone the timorous rabbit peep.

The legend of the dead is past away
As the dim eye amid the night doth fail.
The memorie of the fearful bridal day
Is parted from the people of the vale;
And none are left to tell the weary tale.
Save on yon lone green hill by Fion’s tower
Yet lives a man bowed down with age and ail:
Still tells he of the fearful legend’s hour--
It was his father fell within the bridal bower.

But though with man there is a weary waste.
It is not so beyond the mortal way;
With the unbodied spirits nought is spaced;
But when the aged world has worn away,
They look on earth where once their dwelling lay.
And to their never-closing eye doth show
All that has been--a fairie work of day;
And all which here their mortal life did show,
Yet lives in that which never may decay;
When thought, and life, and memorie below
Has sunk with all it bore of gladness or of woe.

At eventime on green Inchail’s isle
A dim grey form doth sit upon the hill:
No shadow casts it in the moonshine smile,
And in its folded mantle bowed and still
No feature e’er it showed the twilight chill,
But seems beneath its hood a void grey.
The owlet, when it comes, cries wild and shrill;
The moon grows dim when shows it in its ray,
None saw it e’er depart;--but it is not at day.

By Caölchairn at night when all is still,
And the black otter issues from his lair,
He hears a voice along the water chill,
It seems to speak amid the cloudy air;
But some have seen beyond the Donjon stair
Where now the floor from the wall is gone,
A form dim standing ’mid the ether fair,
No light upon its fixed eye there shone,
And yet the blood seems wet upon its bosom wan.

[226] Statistical Account, vol. viii. p. 347.

[227] Statistical Account of Scotland, vol. viii. p. 346; and
Pennant’s Tour in Scotland, 1774, p. 217.

[228] When the chieftain returned to his house, the coal which had so
near proved its destruction, was found in the roof; it was taken out
by order of Mac Intire, and preserved with great care by his
descendants, till the late Glen O was driven to America by the
misfortunes of the Highlands and the oppression of his superior.

* * * * *

MY ARM-CHAIR.

_For the Table Book._

In my humble opinion an arm-chair is far superior to a sofa; for although I bow to Cowper’s judgment, (who assigned the superiority to the sofa,) yet we must recollect that it was in compliance with the request of a fair lady that he chose that subject for praise: he might have eulogized in equal terms an arm-chair, had he consulted his own feelings and appreciation of comfort. I acknowledge the “soft recumbency of outstretched limbs,” so peculiar to the sofa--the opportunity afforded the fair sex of displaying grace and elegance of form, while reposing in easy negligence on a Grecian couch--but then think of the snug comfort of an easy-chair. Its very name conveys a multitude of soothing ideas: its commodious repose for your back; its generous and unwearied support of your head; its outstretched arms wooing you to its embraces:--think on these things, and ask yourself if it be possible to withstand its affectionate and disinterested advances.

On entering a room where there is an easy-chair, you are struck by the look of conscious self-importance which seems to distinguish it as the monarch of all the surrounding chairs; there is an appearance of regal superiority about it, blended, however, with such a charming condescension, that you immediately avail yourself of its gracious inclination to receive the _burden_ of your homage.

There is one kind of arm-chair for which I entertain a very resentful feeling, it _assumes_ the title of an _easy_-chair to induce you to believe it one of that amiable fraternity, whereas it only claims kindred on account of its shape, and is in reality the complete antipodes of ease--I mean the horse-hair arm-chair. Its arms, like those of its brethren, invite you to repose; but, if you attempt it, you are repulsed by an ambush of sharp shooting prickles. It is like a person who has a desire to please and obtain you for his friend, but who is of so incorrigibly bad a temper that attachment is impossible. If you try to compose yourself with one of these pretenders, by endeavouring to protect the back of your head with your pocket-handkerchief for a pillow, you either dream that you are under the hands of a surgeon who is cupping you on the cheek, or that you are transformed into your cousin Lucy, and struggling to avoid being kissed by old Mr. D----, who does not shave above once a week. When you awake, you discover that your face has slipped off the handkerchief, and come immediately in contact with the _chevaux de frise_ of bristles.

As an excellent specimen of an easy-chair, I select the one I at present occupy. Its ancient magnificence of red damask silk--embossed in wavy flowers and curved arabesques, surrounded by massive gilt carving--is now shrouded with an unostentatious covering of white dimity. This, however, does not compromise its dignity--it is rather a resignation of fatiguing splendour, and the assumption of the ease suitable to retirement in old age. Perhaps a happy father once sat in it surrounded by his smiling offspring: some climbing up the arms; others peeping over the lofty back, aiming to cling round his neck; his favourite little girl insinuating herself behind him, while he gazes with affectionate but anxious thoughts on the countenance of his eldest son, standing between his knees. Perhaps two lovers once sat in it _together_, although there were plenty of other chairs in the room. (For fear some of my fair readers should be incredulous, I beg leave to assure them that it is quite possible for two people to sit together in an arm-chair, if they choose to be accommodating; therefore I would not have them dislike an easy-chair on the plea of its being _unsocial_.) Perhaps it may have been the means of concealment--in a similar way with the arm-chair in “Le Nozze di Figaro.” Often have I when a child curled myself round in it, and listened to my old nurse’s wonderful stories, till I have fallen fast asleep. Often have I since enjoyed many a delightful book, while lolling indolently enclosed in its soft, warm, cushioned sides--

M. H.

* * * * *

~Garrick’s Plays.~

No. XXII.

[From “Querer Por Solo Querer:” concluded from last Number.]

_Address to Solitude._

Sweet Solitude! still Mirth! that fear’st no wrong,
Because thou dost none: Morning all day long!
Truth’s sanctuary! Innocency’s spring!
Inventions Limbeck! Contemplation’s wing!
Peace of my soul, which I too late pursued;
That know’st not the world’s vain inquietude:
Where friends, the thieves of time, let us alone
Whole days, and a man’s hours are all his own.

_Song in praise of the Same._

Solitude, of friends the best,
And the best companion;
Mother of truths, and brought at least
Every day to bed of one:
In this flowery mansion
I contemplate how the rose
Stands upon thorns, how quickly goes
The dismaying jessamine:
Only the soul, which is divine,
No decay of beauty knows.
The World is Beauty’s Mirror. Flowers,
In their first virgin purity,
Flatt’rers both of the nose and eye.--
To be cropt by paramours
Is their best of destiny:
And those nice darlings of the land,
Which seem’d heav’n’s painted bow to scorn.
And bloom’d the envy of the morn,
Are the gay trophy of a hand.

_Unwilling to love again._

--sadly I do live in fear,
For, though I would not fair appear,
And though in truth I am not fair,
Haunted I am like those that are
And here, among these rustling leaves,
With which the wanton wind must play,
Inspired by it, my sense perceives
This snowy Jasmin whispering say,
How much more frolic, white, and fair
In her green lattice she doth stand,
To enjoy the free and cooler air,
Than in the prison of a hand.[229]

_Loving without hope._

I look’d if underneath the cope
Were one that loved, and did not hope;
But from his nobler soul remove
That _modern heresy in love_
When, hearing a shrill voice, I turn,
And lo! a sweet-tongued Nightingale,
Tender adorer of the Morn,--
In him I found that One and All.
For that same faithful bird and true,
Sweet and kind and constant lover,
Wond’rous passion did discover,
From the terrace of an eugh.
And tho’ ungrateful she appear’d
Unmoved with all she saw and heard;
Every day, before ’twas day,
More and kinder things he’d say,
Courteous, and never to be lost,
Return’d not with complaints, but praise
Loving, and all at his own cost;
Suffering, and without hope of ease:
For with a sad and trembling throat
He breathes into her breast this note:
“I love thee not, to make thee mine;
But love thee, ’cause thy form’s divine.”

_The True Absence in Love._

Zelidaura, star divine,
That do’st in highest orb of beauty shine;
Pardon’d Murd’ress, by that heart
Itself, which thou dost kill, and coveted smart
Though my walk so distant lies
From the sunshine of thine eyes;
Into sullen shadows hurl’d,
To lie here buried from the world
’Tis the least reason of my moan,
That so much earth is ’twixt us thrown.
’Tis absence of another kind,
Grieves me; for where you are present too,
Love’s Geometry does find,
I have ten thousand miles to you.
’Tis not absence to be far,
But to abhor is to absent;
To those who in disfavour are,
Sight itself is banishment.[230]

_To a Warrioress._

Heav’n, that created thee thus warlike, stole
Into a woman’s body a man’s soul.
But nature’s law in vain dost thou gainsay;
The woman’s valour lies another way.
The dress, the tear, the blush, the witching eye.
More witching tongue, are beauty’s armoury:
To railly; to discourse in companies,
Who’s fine, who courtly, who a wit, who wise;
And with the awing sweetness of a Dame,
As conscious of a face can tigers tame,
By tasks and circumstances to discover,
Amongst the best of Princes, the best Lover;
(The fruit of all those flowers) who serves with most
Self diffidence, who with the greatest boast;
Who twists an eye of Hope in braids of Fear;
Who silent (made for nothing but to bear
Sweet scorn and injuries of love) envies
Unto his tongue the treasure of his eyes:
Who, without vaunting shape, hath only wit;
Nor knows to hope reward, tho’ merit it:
Then, out of all, to make a choice so rare,
So lucky-wise, as if thou wert not fair.[231]

_All mischiefs reparable but a lost Love._

1.

A second Argo, freighted
With fear and avarice,
Between the sea and skies
Hath penetrated
To the new world, unworn
With the red footsteps of the snowy morn.

2.

Thirsty of mines;
She comes rich back; and (the curl’d rampire past
Of watry mountains, cast
Up by the winds)
Ungrateful shelf near home
Gives her usurped gold a silver home.

3.

A devout Pilgrim, who
To foreign temple bare
Good pattern, fervent prayer,
Spurr’d by a pious vow;
Measuring so large a space,
That earth lack’d regions for his plants[232] to trace.

4.

Joyful returns, tho’ poor:
And, just by his abode,
Falling into a road
Which laws did ill secure,
Sees plunder’d by a thief
(O happier man than I! for ’tis) his life.

5.

Conspicuous grows a Tree,
Which wanton did appear,
First fondling of the year.
With smiling bravery,
And in his blooming pride
The Lower House of Flowers did deride:

6.

When his silk robes and fair
(His youth’s embroidery,
The crownet of a spring,
Narcissus of the air)
Rough Boreas doth confound,
And with his trophies strews the scorned ground.

7.

Trusted to tedious hope
So many months the Corn;
Which now begins to turn
Into a golden crop:
The lusty grapes, (which plump
Are the last farewell of the summer’s pomp)

8.

How spacious spreads the vine!--
Nursed up with how much care,
She lives, she thrives, grows fair;
’Bout her loved Elm doth twine:--
Comes a cold cloud; and lays,
In one, the fabric of so many days.

9.

A silver River small
In sweet accents
His music vents,
(The warbling virginal,
To which the merry birds do sing--
Timed with stops of gold[233] the silver string);

10.

He steals by a greenwood
With fugitive feet;
Gay, jolly, sweet:
Comes me a troubled flood;
And scarcely one sand stays,
To be a witness of his golden days.--

11.

The Ship’s upweigh’d;
The Pilgrim made a Saint;
Next spring re-crowns the Plant;
Winds raise the Corn, was laid;
The Vine is pruned;
The Rivulet new tuned:--
But in the Ill I have
I’m left alive only to dig my grave.

12.

Lost Beauty, I will die,
But I will thee recover;
And that I die not instantly,
Shews me more perfect Lover:
For (my Soul gone before)
I live not now to live, but to deplore.

C. L.

[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.

* * * * *

WELSH WEDDINGS.

_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 the ceremony 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 the _starald_, 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 a _turmant_, and is frequently preceded by music. The derivation of _starald_ and _turmant_ I never could learn, though I have frequently made the inquiry.

I am, sir, &c. &c.

A. B.

* * * * *

CUMBERLAND WEDDINGS.

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 Cumberland newspapers:--

INVITATION.

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

NOTICE is 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 all
At 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 day
Of 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.

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 of _gands 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.

* * * * *

A GOOD EXCUSE.

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.”

* * * * *

EARLY RISING.

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.”

* * * * *

PUNCTUALITY.

“A QUARTER BEFORE.”

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, at _six o’clock_. “And you go to the inn, Mr. A., and see them off.” “I shall, my lord; I shall be there punctually _at six_.” “A quarter _before_ six, Mr. A.,” returned lord Nelson; “be there a quarter _before_: to that _quarter of an hour_ I owe every thing in life.”

Vol. I.--26.

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 the poet--

But times are alter’d; trade’s unfeeling train
Usurp 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 scene
Liv’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.

*

* * * * *

~Garrick Plays.~

No. XXIII.

[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 hand
As 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 sound
Of instrumental music, we have found
The winged quiristers, with divers notes
Sent 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 Court
Possest 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 tower
Hath 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 canopy
Me 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 chance
Camest 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-drake
Upon 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 hands
Labour’d their best, though none for love of you:
For every tongue with bitter cursing bann’d
Your 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 cry
In execrations bann’d you bitterly.
“Plague follow plague,” they cried; “he hath undone
The good Lord Robert, Earl of Huntingdon.”

* * * * *

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

_True Love irremovable by Death._

_Serpilla. Phillis._