including Napoleon Bonaparte and theDuke of Wellington. Some were tall, and some were short, and some fat,and others thin, and I had, even then, strong doubts whether they boreany similarity to the heroes they represented as to figure, while,certainly, they were not in any way particular as to correctness ofcostume. One little chap, who was evidently looked upon as a star, cameforward and announced that he was Julius Caesar, and a short timeafterwards he informed us that he was Marshal Blucher. Having marchedround the hall in a very amicable way, they ranged themselves in twoparties opposite each other. One hero on one side defying another onthe other, they rushed forward and commenced, in the ancient Greek andTrojan fashion, a furious verbal combat, always in verse, the last linesin one case being:
"I tell thee that thou art but a traitrous cheat, So fight away, or I will make thee into mince-meat."
They were not in the least particular as to who should fight one withthe other. Julius Caesar and the Black Prince had a desperate combat,and so had Mark Antony and King Arthur, the two British heroes comingoff victorious, and leaving their opponents dead on the field. The mostterrific combat was that between the Duke of Wellington and NapoleonBonaparte. For folly five minutes they walked about abusing each otherin the most unmeasured versification, I was going to say language,flourishing their swords, and stamping their feet. They put me much inmind of two turkey-cocks preparing for a fight. It might be remarkedalso that in this, as in the previous instances, the modesty of theheroes did not stand in their way, when singing their own praises:
"I am that hero, great and good, Whom France and Frenchmen long withstood. I beat them all well out of Spain And I will beat them all again. And Bony, as you know 'tis true, I thrashed thee well at Waterloo So if you have not had enough, All will allow you're very tough; Come on, I say, I do not mind thee, For as I was, you still will find me."
Thus spoke the great Duke of Wellington. Bony answered in a similar,only in a somewhat more abusive strain, when, throwing the sheaths oftheir swords on the floor, they commenced a furious and deadly combat.At length Napoleon was slain; but, somewhat outraging our school notionsof history, Julius Caesar rushed forward to avenge his death. He,however, got more than he expected, and was soon laid alongside Bony.One hero after another rushed forward, but all were finally slain, andthe Iron Duke remained master of the field. He, however, overcome byfatigue and numberless wounds, sunk down at last, and died also. Now anew character appeared at the door, in the person of a doctor, with along nose and a stick, which he held constantly to it. Having explainedwho he was and what he would do, or rather what very few things hecouldn't do, he produced a huge snuff-box from his pocket, and firstapproached the slain hero of Waterloo, saying,--
"Take some of my sniff-snuff, Up thy riff-ruff, And rise up, brave Duke of Wellington."
Up jumped the Duke with wonderful agility, and began dancing about rightmerrily. The same words produced a similar effect on all the latecombatants, and, the doctor helping them up, they were all soon dancingand jumping about as merrily as the Duke. This amusement was of shortduration, and a moral was taught us as to the brevity of all worldlyhappiness, for suddenly, the door bursting open, in rushed a huge figurelike a moving holly-bush, but it had a head and arms and legs. It wasof an allegorical character, intended to represent Time; but, instead ofa scythe, the arms held a broom, by lustily plying which, he speedilyswept all the heroes and the great doctor off the stage. These mummers,as they are called in that part of the country, always used to excite mywarmest admiration. We used to call them jiggery-mummers at Foxholme,because they danced or jigged in the peculiar fashion I have described.They are a remnant of the morris-dancers of olden days. They weregenerally called on to repeat this play in the servants' hall, and oftenin my younger days did I steal down to witness the exhibition. Thisclosed the public amusements of the evening. The evening of that holyday at Foxholme was always spent in a quiet, though in a cheerful way.Sir Hugh would have preferred having the mummers perform on another day,but the custom was so ancient, and the people were so opposed to thenotion of a change, that he permitted it to exist till he could inducethem to choose of their own accord another day. We spent a verypleasant, happy evening, and we knew that for the next day Master Peterhad prepared all sorts of games for our amusement. Little Hugh had beenwith his mother watching the mummers, and highly amused, giving way toshouts of hearty laughter. Then he ran off to Julia, while Lady Worsleywas attending to some of her guests; next he attached himself for a timeto Master Peter, and from him made his escape into the servants' hall towitness the mummers' second representation. I remember that Jack and I,with several other boys, went out before returning into the drawing-roomto smell the air, and to discover if there was a frost. How pure andfresh and keen it was. The gravel on the walk felt crisp as we trod onit. The stars in countless numbers shone with an extraordinarybrilliancy from the dark cloudless sky. There was no doubt about afrost, and a pretty sharp one too, and our hopes rose of gettingsliding, skating, and snowballing to our hearts' content. While we werestanding with our faces turned towards the park, I remember that Jack,who had a sharp pair of eyes, said that he saw a deer running across it.We declared that it must have been fancy, as it was difficult to makeout an object through the darkness, except it was against the sky, at adistance even of twenty yards. As we had run out without our hats, wevery quickly returned into the warm house.
STORY ONE, CHAPTER THREE.
We were sitting round Master Peter, listening to an account he wasgiving us of a trip he once made, when a midshipman, through Palestine,when the drawing-room door opened, and Mrs Moss, little Hugh's nurse,appeared, to beg that he might be sent up to bed. There was nothingunusual for Nurse Moss coming for Master Hugh, who always objected to besent off to bed, but I saw Lady Worsley turn suddenly pale.
"Why, nurse, I thought that he had gone to you nearly half an hour ago,"she exclaimed. "He has not come into the drawing-room since the mummerswere here. Oh! where can he be?"
"Probably coiled up in an arm-chair in the other drawing-room, or in thestudy," said Sir Hugh, calmly, seeing our aunt's agitation; but Ithought that even his eye looked anxious. The next moment everybody washunting about in every possible direction. The child was not in thenorth drawing-room, nor in the ante-room, nor in the study. That wassoon made clear. Where was he, though? Some of the party wentdown-stairs, to help the servants look in that part of the house; otherssearched through the bedrooms. Every cupboard, every chest and box, wasopened. We looked under every arm-chair, and bed, and sofa in thehouse. We boys were, I must say, the most active in our movements, andit was a mercy that we did not set the house on fire. We looked intoevery attic--those inhabited and those full of lumber. In the latter Ishould not have been quite happy alone. They were full of so manystrange articles of furniture and ornaments, or what were onceconsidered such, and pictures in corners, with eyes, as the light of ourcandles fell on them, staring out so curiously, that I could not helpfancying that some person had got in there to frighten us. Frequentlythe cry was echoed through the house--"Is he found? is he found?" with areply in the negative. Sir Hugh headed one party, Lady Worsley another,Cousin Peter a third, and Julia a fourth. After a most systematicsearch not a trace of the lost child could be discovered. Matters hadnow become very painful. Our aunt was almost overpowered with herfeelings of anxiety, and Julia was nearly as much agitated. Sir Hughnext summoned the servants, as well as all the family, into the hall,and questioned every one to discover by whom his son had last been seen.Several of the servants acknowledged to have observed him enter theservants' hall, but no one could say positively that he had gone outagain. No further information could be elicited from any one. Thematter had become truly alarming and mysterious. While the female partof the household continued the search within the house, we, with all thelanterns which could be mustered, and extemporised torches, began asearch outside. The ringers and the singers and the mummers had takentheir
departure. Messengers were, therefore, sent after them to thevillage, to call them back, that they might be questioned. The childwould scarcely have left the house of his own accord, and yet, if not,who would have ventured to carry him away? What temptation, indeed,would there have been for any one to do so? That was the question. Ihad never seen Cousin Peter in such a state of agitation as he now was,though he tried to be calm and composed. Round and round the house wewent, and looked under every tree and bush, and into every dark corner.At last the mummers, and the singers, and ringers, began to come up fromthe village, accompanied by the greater part of the population of theplace, all anxious to know what had happened. A variety of rumours wereafloat. Everybody sympathised with our uncle. As soon as they wereassembled he addressed them, and then begged those who had anything tosay to step forward that he might
Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales Page 3
