The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon
amusements; informed himself of the mechanical arts, and how they could
best be patronized and improved; and was thus an all-pervading spirit,
watching with a benevolent eye over the meanest of his subjects. Having
in this generous manner made himself strong in the hearts of the common
people, he turned himself to curb the power of the factious nobility;
to strip them of those dangerous immunities which they had usurped; to
punish such as had been guilty of flagrant offences; and to bring the
whole into proper obedience to the Crown. For some time they bore
this with outward submission, but with secret impatience and brooding
resentment. A conspiracy was at length formed against his life, at the
head of which was his own uncle, Robert Stewart, Earl of Athol, who,
being too old himself for the perpetration of the deed of blood,
instigated his grandson, Sir Robert Stewart, together with Sir Robert
Graham, and others of less note, to commit the deed. They broke into his
bedchamber at the Dominican convent near Perth, where he was residing,
and barbarously murdered him by oft-repeated wounds. His faithful queen,
rushing to throw her tender body between him and the sword, was twice
wounded in the ineffectual attempt to shield him from the assassin; and
it was not until she had been forcibly torn from his person, that the
murder was accomplished.
It was the recollection of this romantic tale of former times, and of
the golden little poem, which had its birthplace in this tower, that
made me visit the old pile with more than common interest. The suit
of armor hanging up in the hall, richly gilt and embellished, as if to
figure in the tourney, brought the image of the gallant and romantic
prince vividly before my imagination. I paced the deserted chambers
where he had composed his poem; I leaned upon the window, and endeavored
to persuade myself it was the very one where he had been visited by
his vision; I looked out upon the spot where he had first seen the Lady
Jane. It was the same genial and joyous month; the birds were again
vying with each other in strains of liquid melody; every thing was
bursting into vegetation, and budding forth the tender promise of the
year. Time, which delights to obliterate the sterner memorials of human
pride, seems to have passed lightly over this little scene of poetry and
love, and to have withheld his desolating hand. Several centuries have
gone by, yet the garden still flourishes at the foot of the tower. It
occupies what was once the moat of the keep; and, though some parts have
been separated by dividing walls, yet others have still their arbors
and shaded walks, as in the days of James, and the whole is sheltered,
blooming, and retired. There is a charm about the spot that has been
printed by the footsteps of departed beauty, and consecrated by the
inspirations of the poet, which is heightened, rather than impaired, by
the lapse of ages. It is, indeed, the gift of poetry, to hallow every
place in which it moves; to breathe around nature an odor more exquisite
than the perfume of the rose, and to shed over it a tint more magical
than the blush of morning.
Others may dwell on the illustrious deeds of James as a warrior and a
legislator; but I have delighted to view him merely as the companion
of his fellow-men, the benefactor of the human heart, stooping from his
high estate to sow the sweet flowers of poetry and song in the paths of
common life. He was the first to cultivate the vigorous and hardy plant
of Scottish genius, which has since become so prolific of the most
wholesome and highly flavored fruit. He carried with him into the
sterner regions of the north, all the fertilizing arts of southern
refinement. He did every thing in his power to win his countrymen to the
gay, the elegant, and gentle arts, which soften and refine the character
of a people, and wreathe a grace round the loftiness of a proud and
warlike spirit. He wrote many poems, which, unfortunately for the
fulness of his fame, are now lost to the world; one, which is still
preserved, called “Christ’s Kirk of the Green,” shows how diligently he
had made himself acquainted with the rustic sports and pastimes, which
constitute such a source of kind and social feeling among the Scottish
peasantry; and with what simple and happy humor he could enter into
their enjoyments. He contributed greatly to improve the national music;
and traces of his tender sentiment and elegant taste are said to exist
in those witching airs, still piped among the wild mountains and lonely
glens of Scotland. He has thus connected his image with whatever is most
gracious and endearing in the national character; he has embalmed his
memory in song, and floated his name to after-ages in the rich streams
of Scottish melody. The recollection of these things was kindling at my
heart, as I paced the silent scene of his imprisonment. I have visited
Vaucluse with as much enthusiasm as a pilgrim would visit the shrine
at Loretto; but I have never felt more poetical devotion than when
contemplating the old tower and the little garden at Windsor, and
musing over the romantic loves of the Lady Jane, and the Royal Poet of
Scotland.
THE COUNTRY CHURCH.
A gentleman!
What o’ the woolpack? or the sugar-chest?
Or lists of velvet? which is ‘t, pound, or yard,
You vend your gentry by?
BEGGAR’S BUSH.
THERE are few places more favorable to the study of character than an
English country church. I was once passing a few weeks at the seat of
a friend who resided in, the vicinity of one the appearance of which
particularly struck my fancy. It was one of those rich morsels of quaint
antiquity, which gives such a peculiar charm to English landscape.
It stood in the midst of a country filled with ancient families, and
contained within its cold and silent aisles the congregated dust of many
noble generations. The interior walls were encrusted with monuments
of every age and style. The light streamed through windows dimmed with
armorial bearings, richly emblazoned in stained glass. In various parts
of the church were tombs of knights, and highborn dames, of gorgeous
workmanship, with their effigies in colored marble. On every side, the
eye was struck with some instance of aspiring mortality, some haughty
memorial which human pride had erected over its kindred dust in this
temple of the most humble of all religions.
The congregation was composed of the neighboring people of rank, who sat
in pews sumptuously lined and cushioned, furnished with richly-gilded
prayer-books, and decorated with their arms upon the pew doors; of the
villagers and peasantry, who filled the back seats and a small gallery
beside the organ; and of the poor of the parish, who were ranged on
benches in the aisles.
The service was performed by a snuffling, well-fed vicar, who had a snug
dwelling near the church. He was a privileged guest at all the tables
of the neighborhood, and had been the keenest fox-hunter in the country,
until age and good living had disabled him from doing anything more than
ride to see the hounds throw off, and make one at the hunting dinner.
Under the ministry of such a pastor, I found it impossible to get into
the train of thought suitable to the time and place; so, having, like
many other feeble Christians, compromised with my conscience, by laying
the sin of my own delinquency at another person’s threshold, I occupied
myself by making observations on my neighbors.
I was as yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice the manners
of its fashionable classes. I found, as usual, that there was the least
pretension where there was the most acknowledged title to respect. I was
particularly struck, for instance, with the family of a nobleman of high
rank, consisting of several sons and daughters. Nothing could be more
simple and unassuming than their appearance. They generally came to
church in the plainest equipage, and often on foot. The young ladies
would stop and converse in the kindest manner with the peasantry, caress
the children, and listen to the stories of the humble cottagers. Their
countenances were open and beautifully fair, with an expression of
high refinement, but at the same time a frank cheerfulness and engaging
affability. Their brothers were tall, and elegantly formed. They were
dressed fashionably, but simply--with strict neatness and propriety, but
without any mannerism or foppishness. Their whole demeanor was easy
and natural, with that lofty grace and noble frankness which bespeak
free-born souls that have never been checked in their growth by feelings
of inferiority. There is a healthful hardiness about real dignity, that
never dreads contact and communion with others, however humble. It is
only spurious pride that is morbid and sensitive, and shrinks from every
touch. I was pleased to see the manner in which they would converse with
the peasantry about those rural concerns and field-sports in which the
gentlemen of the country so much delight. In these conversations there
was neither haughtiness on the one part, nor servility on the other, and
you were only reminded of the difference of rank by the habitual respect
of the peasant.
In contrast to these was the family of a wealthy citizen, who had
amassed a vast fortune, and, having purchased the estate and mansion of
a ruined nobleman in the neighborhood, was endeavoring to assume all the
style and dignity of an hereditary lord of the soil. The family always
came to church en prince. They were rolled majestically along in a
carriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glittered in silver radiance
from every part of the harness where a crest could possibly be placed.
A fat coachman, in a three-cornered hat richly laced and a flaxen wig,
curling close round his rosy face, was seated on the box, with a sleek
Danish dog beside him. Two footmen in gorgeous liveries, with huge
bouquets, and gold-headed canes, lolled behind. The carriage rose and
sunk on its long springs with a peculiar stateliness of motion. The very
horses champed their bits, arched their necks, and glanced their eyes
more proudly than common horses; either because they had caught a little
of the family feeling, or were reined up more tightly than ordinary.
I could not but admire the style with which this splendid pageant
was brought up to the gate of the churchyard. There was a vast effect
produced at the turning of an angle of the wall--a great smacking of the
whip, straining and scrambling of the horses, glistening of harness, and
flashing of wheels through gravel. This was the moment of triumph and
vainglory to the coachman. The horses were urged and checked, until they
were fretted into a foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing trot,
dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of villagers sauntering
quietly to church opened precipitately to the right and left, gaping in
vacant admiration. On reaching the gate, the horses were pulled up with
a suddenness that produced an immediate stop, and almost threw them on
their haunches.
There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to alight, pull down the
steps, and prepare everything for the descent on earth of this august
family. The old citizen first emerged his round red face from out the
door, looking about him with the pompous air of a man accustomed to rule
on ‘Change, and shake the Stock Market with a nod. His consort, a fine,
fleshy, comfortable dame, followed him. There seemed, I must confess,
but little pride in her composition. She was the picture of broad,
honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well with her; and she liked
the world. She had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine carriage, fine