lips whether that man yonder-pointing to Maguire-has ever ventured to abuse your ear by protestations of affection? Speak the truth, and fear not.' Mary hung her head and blushed. 'Mr Maguire has courted me,' faltered she; 'but 'Ah! you concealed the matter that the wretch might keep his life,' interrupted Kavanagh. 'Well, sir,' continued the puzzled girl, I thought him too old and too ugly.' Most faithful of women!' ejaculated Kavanagh admiringly, 'you have said enough.-Tim, remove our consort. What ho! without there; get the rope ready! Maguire shall swing. Executioner, do your duty.' Maguire turned deadly pale, and thrust his hand into his breast; but the weapon that he looked for was not there. He had come unarmed to a council where affairs, as he thought, could never have taken a turn so perilous to himself. Murphy was advancing towards him with a rope to pinion his wrists, when Robert suddenly interposed. He certainly owed this man no favour, but the idea of his being put to death at his instigation was abhorrent to him. 'I humbly beg, sir, that you will spare Maguire's life,' cried he. 'Why so?' asked Kavanagh testily. He is your own enemy.' 'I know it, sir; and for that very reason would not have his blood upon my hands.' 'Blood upon my hands!' repeated Kavanagh fiercely, and looking at his own fingers. What is that to you? Have you not just heard that he has committed high treason? You call yourself my royal subject, and yet you would have me pardon him. You ask his life—well, take it, then. The man is free; and now I have not a friend, not one, not one- -but you, Dick.' Murphy had run to his master, and was now helping him to descend from his chair of state with affectionate solicitude. 'Blood on my hands, Dick! Did you hear him? I will never forgive him that. Send them away, send them away!' As Maguire and Robert went down the stairs together from the hall of audience, the former grasped the latter's arm. 'You turned the tables on me well,' he whispered in harsh and grating tones. 'Where you erred was in not pushing your advantage.' And he pointed to the noose that still swung menacingly above their heads. The next moment he was lost in the throng that crowded about Chesney noisily congratulating him on his acquittal, and overwhelming him with questions; but his words rang long in Robert's ears. It had been indeed imprudent in him to offend Kavanagh, as he had manifestly done, by pleading for this man's life, who, without provocation, would have taken his own; and now, as impervious to gratitude as to mercy, it was plain he would never rest till he had destroyed him. With Murphy, Maguire had still great influence, so long as it was not used against his master; and there was nothing, Robert felt, but Kavanagh's waning favour to preserve him from the fate that he had for the nonce escaped but by a hairbreadth. These forebodings were in some measure corroborated by finding himself on the succeeding day denied to Kavanagh-with whom he had wished to confer respecting the house-building at New Town, which was proceeding with more despatch than care and also by the establishment of a sentry on the hill-top, who had orders to prevent any person ascending the same. This latter arrangement, as Robert only too well understood, being to give Kavanagh early and exclusive news of a ship's approach. On the other hand, Chesney was not personally interfered with; his authority, both at New Town and elsewhere, seemed to be acknowledged as usual, and indeed he was thought to be in especially high favour with the Governor, since he was allowed to use the little boat. In this he paddled about for hours daily, not for pleasure, but in order to make it an accustomed sight, so that, should the opportunity arise of going out to meet the sloop, his doing so should not excite comment. No opposition was even offered when he tried the experiment of beaching the gig at New Town, instead of leaving it in the harbour, though he had reason to suspect that a messenger had been despatched from the latter place to learn whether he had returned to the island. To Maguire, and probably to Murphy, the news that he had not done so would have been welcome, for it was not likely, if once carried out to sea in such a tiny craft, he would ever have seen land again. There was much to do in the way of superintendence of affairs, for little as he knew about agricultural matters, he knew more than his brother-colonists; while in the matter of architecture, since it was almost wholly confined to carpentering, his advice and help were always in request. It was fortunate that it was so, for if he had had less to occupy him, he would have been consumed with anxieties and apprehensions upon Lizzy's account, the time for whose arrival, as he calculated, was now drawing very near. He had no doubt that the Alstons would at once embrace the opportunity that had been offered them, and leave England by the next mail; and bitterly indeed he now regretted the haste he had urged them to use. His hope was that they had found themselves unable to immediately obey his summons, and that before another two months had passed help might arrive from some unlooked-for quarter. If not, and especially if anything should happen to Kavanagh, who was understood to be in very ill health-or at least that was the reason given for the denial he always met with at Government House-he might expect the worst indeed. In the meantime he seemed to be growing more and more out of favour with the Governor, who had sent him orders, through Murphy, that he was to confine himself to his own district of New Town, and not presume to come over to the harbour without permission; an edict which, as he guessed, had a similar intention with that of the appointment of the hill-sentry: other persons had made the same calculations as himself respecting the probable arrival of the sloop. One morning early, there came a timid knock at his door, and rising in haste, though nearly dressed -for he held himself, day and night, in readiness to take to the boat at a moment's notice-he found Mary Beamish. This girl was very grateful to him for having delivered her from the persecutions of Maguire, who, since the day that had so nearly proved fatal to him, had not ventured to molest her, and was well aware of his anxiety on Lizzy's account, with which (in spite of a little tenderness she felt for Robert herself) she warmly sympathised. 'What is it, Mary?' inquired he eagerly. 'Come to our cottage, sir, and I'll tell you,' said she cautiously. I cannot tell you in the street.' 'But is the sloop come? For Heaven's sake, tell me that.' 'Yes, it arrived not an hour ago; and has sailed away again. I could not get to tell you sooner.' But Lizzy? Is she at the harbour?' 'No, indeed, sir; you must not go to the harbour. Mr Maguire, bad cess to him! would only be too glad to see you disobeying orders.-Well, stop one moment;' and as Robert was about to start madly off at the top of his speed, she lifted the latch of the cottage door, and added with a sly smile: 'She's here, sir.' The next instant, he was clasped in Lizzy's arms. A YEOMAN OF KENT. 'INVICTA KENT,' as her proud motto is, her sign the White Horse of Hengist-both motto and emblem to be seen on the round, tight, roly-poly pockets of hops that make the borough of Southwark both rich and fragrant-Invicta Kent has always assumed to herself an independent status, and high and peculiar privileges. And surely no other county in England is so richly endowed by nature, or can boast of such a history. She has seen the great thoroughfare that has ever carried the traffic between the inland country and the Gallic shores crowded, now by the warriors and warchariots of the Britons, now by the legions of Rome. Along Watling Street, and all its feeders in every snug valley where there is a sunny aspect and a run of water, there you will find, if your search is careful enough, some trace or relic of the ancient wealth and prosperity of Kent. Luxurious villas, whose only remains are a few potsherds, broken tesseræ, or the shattered tiles of a hypocaust, thrown up by the plough; towns that are covered by the greensward; ports where the sheep now graze-such are the remnants of the power and majesty of Rome in fair Kent. It is Saxon Kent that concerns us most. From the year of our Lord 449, when Hengist and Horsa sought Britain, down to this present year of grace 1873, Kent has formed for itself a chapter in the history of England. Four-and-twenty years did the Saxons fight for this pleasant land of Kent, namely, till the year 473, when, as the Saxon Chronicle tells us, 'Hengist and Aesc fought against the Welsh, and took countless booty; and the Welsh fled from the Angles as fire.' And from that time we English enjoyed the land, making in Kent a kingdom that in time became the nucleus of Christianity, and a centre of civilisation for the whole country. 6 Trouble came in due course; especially in the year 893, when we read, in the Saxon Chronicle, that the great Scandinavian army came again from the east kingdom westward to Boulogne [Bunan], and was there shipped, so that they in one voyage made the transit, with horses and all; and they came up to the mouth of the Limen' [now the Rother] 'with two hundred and fifty ships. The mouth is in the east of Kent, at the east end of the great wood which we call Andred. The wood is in length, from east to west, one hundred and twenty miles long, or longer, and thirty miles broad. The river of which we before spoke flows out from the weald' [that is, the wood]. On the river they towed up their ships as far as the weald, four miles from the outward mouth, and there stormed a work within the fastness; a few country men were stationed there, and it was only half constructed. Then soon after that came Hoesten with eighty ships into the Thames mouth, and wrought him a work at Middleton, and the other army one at Appledore.' After the Danes came the Normans, with whom, however, our Kentish men seem to have not done amiss. The encroachments of power on the franchises of the commonalty led to the insurrections of Wat Tyler, 1381, and of Jack Cade, 1450. 'Jack Cade the Clothier,' he is called by Shakspeare, who is very accurate in these matters; witness his description (Henry VI. Part II.) of the death of Cade at the hands of Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, who is rewarded by King Henry VI. with a thousand marks; and you will find, in Rymer's Fadera, 'an order to pay 1000 marks out of the rebels' forfeited estates to Alexander Iden, who brought the body of Jack Cade to London; dated 15 July, 1450, at Westminster.' This was the last serious insurrection in Kent, for the risings in the time of Henry VIII. and Queen Mary were local and special. Indeed, Kent seems to have ridden out the feudalising tendencies of the age, and to have brought down to our own times the ancient customs of English life. The custom of gavelkind, the good old English rule by which all the sons of a man deceased shared in his lands, is still the custom in Kent, universal, save for lands which have been specially disgavelled by act of parliament. Nor has the land accumulated in large estates, but very much of it is still held by small proprietors, the descendants or representatives of the ancient yeomen; although this is a state of things that holds chiefly in the Weald, and is now rapidly passing away. So rapidly, indeed, is the old state of things dissolving, so fast is the garden of England being bought up by Lombard Street and Mincing Lane, that it will be useful to put on record some memorials of former days. There has come into the possession of the writer of this essay a box of deeds and papers, chiefly of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which throws not a little light upon the then condition of the Kentish yeoman. Many of these papers were collected by one James Skeats, of Tenterden, in the county of Kent, clothier, who lived from the days of Charles I. to those of Queen Anne. It must not be forgotten that in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the cloth manufacture was a flourishing staple in Kent. It never, perhaps, assumed any very large proportions, but gave employment to a considerable population, and laid the foundations of many a modest fortune. Skeats, a business-like and substantial tradesman, was just the sort of man to be looked upon by his friends and neighbours as their natural trustee and executor. He was a careful man, too, and preserved all his accounts with great regularity. And so all these dry, musty bills, vouchers, and inventories, and bonds, and receipts have come into the hands of this present writer, who has tried to strike some light into the mass, and therefore presents himself as the literary executor of this said Skeats, a clothier, who has been nearly two centuries dead. Kent, or the western section of it, at all events, A YEOMAN OF KENT. is not highly progressive, and the farmer of the present day is not very far removed from his predecessor the yeoman, except, I am afraid, in the matter of prosperity. Nor have the towns and villages of the more secluded sort changed much in appearance during the last two centuries, as they are still plentifully sprinkled with houses of at least that age. In the pleasant, cheerful town of Tenterden dwelt a cheerful, kindly people, who looked sharply after their affairs, but contrived to enjoy life thoroughly nevertheless. Some were graziers, and some were farmers, and some were clothiers, and there were shopkeepers also who were doing well, and who would be genteel, too, by-and-by. For it was a sort of mart, this town, not only for the heavy clay dens, where they grew wheat and fattened bullocks, among the oaks that were growing for the navy of the future, but to the great pastures of Romney Marsh. You must picture it as a gay, bright, broad little town, where the chimes were going all day long. Thus it was in the days of Skeats, the clothier, and long after. But the yeoman for the most part resided on his farm, say in one of those timber-framed houses, which is now trying to tumbledown so picturesquely, the house with the diamond-paned windows so patched and mended with paper and old hats, where now the labouring folk live-half-a-dozen families in the old rookery. You can trace its plan still. It is much the same as, although on a smaller scale than, the manor-house of other districts. That recessed portion is the hall, where the board was spread daily for the yeoman and his On either side is a servants, male and female. gabled wing, the one containing the parlour and best bedroom, the other the kitchen and servants' rooms. Probably the outer door opened directly into the hall, which was a cold and draughty place. Clustered about the central building were onestoried out-buildings-the brew-house, the buttery, The farm buildings would and a milk-house. make up a quadrangle, with the great straw-yard in the centre, where you sank knee-deep in a quaking bog of litter and slush. We will imagine this house to have been the residence of one John Finch, to whom Skeats was executor, and who died in the year 1685; and with the inventory of his effects in our hands, we will take stock of the dead yeoman's plenishing. the The hall, which we first enter, is furnished scantily enough. There are two pair of andirons, which stand on a hearth in the middle of the hall, where a fire of wood is lighted, the blue smoke from which curls up to the roof, and finds its way into open air through the louvre at the top. It is an old-fashioned style this, for fire-places and chinneys have long been in vogue; but our John There are has been a stickler for old ways. besides 'a table and forme, two old leather stools, cupboard, and old cloth and settle.' Scanty furniture, but sufficient; the farmer and his wife would sit on the leather stools, and the hinds upon the 'forme' and settle. The pewter dishes would be displayed upon the cupboard; and all would fall to with a will. Being a cold, draughty place, and our yeoman being a man with an asthma, he wouldn't sit here after dinner, but would adjourn to the parlour for a pipe and a jug of the best ale. The parlour would want fumigation, I fancy, for there old Finch kept his cheeses-twenty-five one of them valued at L.2, 1s. 8d. or at one shilling But when we come to the brew-house, we ascertain the real opulence of the establishment. Here we find 'one furnace, two brewing tubbs, one bucking tubb, one renning tubb, soaping keelar'-a keelar is a shallow tub, such as is used for washing clothes, and the term is still used in Kent-other tubbs, keelars, and pailes,' and 'stalders,' which are the stands whereon the 'tubbs and keelars' are set; and amongst other things, six old cheese bailes'-all which things are valued at the handsome figure of L.4, 6s. 6d. There are other similar articles in the buttery, best beer buttery, and milk-house, amongst which is one milk trugg,' the trugg being a wooden tray formed of thin slivers of wood, with a handle, and wooden studs at the bottom to rest upon. There are also two bunting hutches, of the use of which I must confess myself ignorant, unless they be rabbit hutches. But the kitchen is the best furnished room in the house. It contains, besides andirons and fire implements, a pair of pott hangers, two small gridirons, a small tripott, a small iron forke, a Jack and chains, three spitts'-there are generally plenty of spits in these houses, as the meat was formerly served upon the spit-four tinn panns, a smoothing iron, two heates'-the box iron is characteristic of southern economy, as the flat iron is of the more ferruginous north-a tosting iron, a tinn candle box, five old chairs, a four hour glass' (we shall come to the meaning of this by-and-by), 'three tables, three joyn'd stools, two cages, a small case of drawers, a clock and weights, three iron potts, three brass skillets, a brass chaffing dish, an iron mortar and pestle, one tinn pasty pann, two tinn plates, nine pieces of earthenware, a brass scummer, one iron grape hooke.' The whole of this kitchen furniture is valued at L.4, 5s. 8d. The grape hook may be a survival from the times when there were vineyards in Kent, but was as probably used to bring down the bunches of grapes hanging out of reach on the vines, trained upon those of the roofs that had a sunny southern aspect. Besides these articles, the kitchen possessed a 'musquett, sword, bandoleers and fowling piece, 16s.' Upstairs there were a 'high bedsteddle,' the huge four-poster with its matt, cord curtaines, vallance, feather-bed, two blanketts, and covering.' The stock of linen is, nine pair of coarse sheets, five pair of fine sheets, one odd sheet, two burying towells, seaven table cloths, tenn fine napkins, fifteen coarse napkins, seaven towells, five coarse table cloths, nine towells, three napkins about The furniture and house;' and lastly, 'three pair of pillow coates,' which we now call cases.' linen in the best chamber are valued at L.10, 14s. 1d. One may remark the small quantity of blankets in comparison with the abundant supply of bed-linen. Comparing other inventories, I find that a pair of blankets is the usual allowance for a bed. There were no books in the establishment. I am afraid the old gentleman hadn't even a Bible, for I find them mentioned in other inventories, and valued pretty highly. There is only one lookingglass. There seems to be a sad want of washing apparatus for personal cleanliness, but no doubt all that was done by the aid of the draw-well and bucket. There are no candlesticks, no carpets, hangings, sofas. But there is plenty of rude comfort and provision for eating, drinking, and sleeping; besides the household stuff, which is valued in all at L.35, 8s. 7d. The farm stock, including live animals, is valued at L.277, which, considering the value of money, may be considered to be a large and respectable sum. Besides all this stock, Finch had ready money and debts owing him, which raised his total personal estate to about L.345, a sum which we may fairly multiply by three to ascertain its purchasing power at the present time. It is to be observed that Finch did his ploughing by oxen, having no horses except one brood mare. It is only within the last halfcentury that horses have superseded oxen in the southern counties. I remember well the teams of oxen that drew the old-fashioned wagons, their gay trappings, the bells on their yokes, the long pole that the wagoner carried, his loud cries, the sounding whacks of the goad on the polls of the slow lurching beasts. You will notice, too, the tenant right,' the payment for fallows and ploughings, which still subsists in great force in Kent, Sussex, and Surrey. Probably it was not so hard to live in those days as now, and all classes were better off in the way of solid comforts. A farm-servant living in the house had L.5, 10s. a year. Two shillings a day was then, as now, the average wage of an odd man; but what a different power these sums now represent! Strong ale was 6d. a gallon in those days; mutton was 3d. a pound; beef about 21d.; a pair of good shoes cost 2s. 6d. Among the charges for Finch's funeral, is seen the sum of 3s. 4d. for 'ringing ye knell.' This charge for ringing the knell reminds us of the custom, once universal, but now falling into disuse, of ringing the church bell immediately after the death of a parishioner. The writer of this paper, who spent his boyhood in this same Tenterden, well remembers the quick heavy strokes of the knell, or 'passing-bell,' as it was called by the towns-folk, as it clanged out from the grand old church tower, and how the gossips would come out of the backdoors, and loudly speculate as to the death which had just happened. Of course all the sicknesses in the parish were well known to the gossips, and eager surmises would be exchanged as to whether it were 'old Master Bourner or Miss Wicken' who had then gone to join the majority; to be set at rest probably as the big bell ceased, and the little bell tanged out one, two, or three strokes, according as the death were of child, woman, or man. The heavy charge for ringing the knell, 3s. 4d., com be disturbed at any hour to ring the passingbell. Now the whole cost of the funeral of John Finch, a well-to-do yeoman, was the sum of one pound six shillings; and yet, no doubt, everything was done decently and in order, and a goodly muster of kinsfolk and friends followed him to the grave; for the expenses include eight shillings for sixty-five quarts of beer for ye funeral of John Finch.' In the summary of expenses incurred during sickness, there is an extra charge for candles, which may remind us of the primitive hours kept by these Kentish yeomen. To burn candles in an ordinary way, would have been deemed a wicked waste. Lewis, writing of the Kentish farmers in 1723-of the eastern division certainly, but the same customs prevailed through the whole county-says: "They commonly make what they call two yokes a day; i.e. their servants and horses go to plough at six o'clock in the morning, when they can see to do so, and return home at ten; they go out again at two in the afternoon, and leave off at six. At both these times of coming out of the field it is usual for the servants to eat a bit of bread and cheese '—that is, as a snack, or anticipation of the regular dinner and supper-and drink a draught of beer, which they call a drinking, and from which has risen the observation of Kentish men eating five meals a day.' Now, I think that the four-hour glass' which formed part of John Finch's kitchen furniture had something to do with this arrangement of the working hours. It would be turned when the goodman and his hinds went out to their work. As its sands ran out, the goodwife would see at a glance when to set out the board for the mid-day meal; and turned once more, its wasting grains would give the signal of departure to the renewed labour of the day. It would announce the supper-time too, but would hardly be turned a fourth time, unless, perhaps, when they made merry, sitting long at supper, and drinking hard of good ale, by the light of the flickering fire. At Christmas-time, householders of the nineteenth century may look with incredulous amazement at a butcher's bill of the seventeenth century. In the bill for the Christmas joints of John Payne, yeoman, about 1668, we find that a hundred and forty pounds of beef used on the occasion, cost L.1, 7s. 8d. Let us hope that in these hard times we may all dine as well next Christmas as did the old-fashioned yeoman of Kent. pared with fourpence paid for toulling' at the Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Pater funeral, is no doubt in consideration of the urgency of the call for the services of the clerk, who might noster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGII. Also sold by all Booksellers. 1 CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL No. 480. OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. SATURDAY, MARCH 8, 1873. PRICE 1d. there even are in which persons cannot fairly call THE ART OF QUARRELLING. the single style of quarrelling they have their own. SAVAGES and barbarians may quarrel without The article is an imitation; it really belongs to much skill in the art of doing so. They need not somebody else. Sometimes you know who the disagree very often nor at all elaborately. But real proprietor is. In a good many regimental for anything like polished life, where quarrelling messes, very frequently on board ship, indeed in has to go on nearly perpetually, more ability is most public establishments where there happens needed. A few cases there are of persons so gifted to be a man pretty high up on the staff, with by nature that they can quarrel, as it were, by enough of temper to impress the rest, one quarrel--instinct. The very smallest provocation will that individual's does duty for all. When he is serve their purpose. They can prolong an occa- not wanting it-for at those times the rest are sion to the uttermost; and end the affair tri-quiet-the others use it, drawing upon his gestures, umphantly. But ordinary people cannot trust to their unaided capacities in that way; they need helps, rules, ascertained modes. It is shameful that after all these ages of practice, and in spite of a new special department-that of theological controversy-we can scarcely be said to have a smattering even of the right principles of such an art. The only thing persons in general do as badly as quarrelling is being amiable. There are those who in displaying affection are more awkward, excessive, and ludicrous, than in managing their differences. But for that there is some excuse. We have not so much practice in being friendly; and, taken altogether, it is of much less importance than quarrelling. The primary defect of quarrelling is a certain absence of all versatility. There is no exercise of the intellect in it. People who would be ashamed of never being seen but in one coat or one bonnet, have only one quarrel for all occasions. It is not often that any attempt is made to disguise it; but it would be all in vain if they did try. The glances, the tones, the stupid movements with which they disagree to-day with a cabman over his fare, are just the same as those with which they raged last week against their son or daughter for marrying secretly; they are the same which they will have to use again to-morrow when the cook spoils the dinner. Their intimate acquaintances can generally foretell the very order of the vituperative epithets. Having done with the quarrel, they somehow stow it away ready for future use, just as they do their pocket-handkerchiefs. Cases his looks, his intonations, his phrases. The weaker persons among them will even take this borrowed quarrel home, and boastfully bring it into play among their relatives and friends, at times surprising them at first very greatly as to where it has been picked up. They know it is too impressive for the individual himself. A great drawback arising in this way to quarrelling is, that it nearly always runs into ludicrous excess of violence. People have no power of adjusting the degree of anger. If others do not agree with them, they have only the one monotonous resource of wishing them annihilated. So far as looks and words will effect it, they accomplish this at once. If we had but for a single day the power of giving effect to our bad wills, it would be clearly seen at what a low stage quarrelling is among us. Everything would be wrecked by night. See two men differing as to the right of sitting in the best corner of a railway carriage. If only each could have his way, whiff! the other that is to say, both-would be instantly blotted out of being, never needing even the worst seat any more. The trains would all come into the terminus stations before their time, having been lightened on the road by half of the passengers disappearing. Or take a couple of ladies passing in the street. One treads on the other's skirt. Swish! she is gone into nonentity. All for a tear of an inch of silk! Or there are three parsons on a platform, discussing the doctrines of Christian love, and happening to differ as to the right term-pah! all three, in turn, disappear, annihilated, leaving |