Flummery and milk, named here as the food on which those lovers regaled, has been considered in Wales a very popular mess, common, but still a favourite among high and low, and might be seen on the board of the lord lieutenant of county, as well as on that of the humblest cottager. The lofty of the land whose pampered stomachs have turned with loathing from more dainty dishes in sultry seasons, have welcomed the simplicity of milk and flummery, as the advocate of native charms would greet the smilings of a rustic beauty, while the meretricious fair of fashion would be passed by, neglected.
The English reader will not be offended if I dilate a little praise of my favourite bowl or platter, (too much to call it a dish perhaps,) while I explain its nature; and if he be a bloated son of affluence, overflowing with bile and spleen, he will thank us, after adopting our recommendation of feeding on it often during his rustication among our mountains. Our candid sages of the pill and potion, also recommend it as very effective in promoting an increase of good clear healthy blood.
Flummery is made of the inner hulls of ground oats, when sifted from the meal, some of which still adheres to it, by soaking it in water till it acquires a slight taste of acidity, when it is strained through a hair sieve and boiled till it becomes a perfect jelly. When poured from that prince of culinary vessels, the large three-legged iron pot, into a vast earthen dish, it presents a smooth smiling aspect of the most winning equanimity, till destroyed by the numerous invading spoons of the company, who plunge a portion of it, scalding hot, into their bowls of cool milk. Thus much of the descriptive history is given, to illustrate the following ode to its immortal praise, with which we shall now close this long chapter.
MILK AND FLUMMERY.
Let luxury’s imbecile train,
Of appetites fastidious,
Each sauced provocative obtain,
The draught or viand perfidious;
But oh! give me that simple food,
Lov’d by the sons of Cymru.
With health, with nourishment imbued,
The sweet cool milk and flummery.Let pudding-headed English folk
With boast of roast-beef fag us;
Let Scottish Burns crack rural jokes,
And vaunt kail-brose and haggis;
But Cymrian sons, of mount and plain,
From Brecknock to Montgomery,
Let us the honest praise maintain,
Of sweet cold milk and flummery.On sultry days when appetites
Wane dull, and low, and queasy,
When loathing stomachs nought delights,
To gulph our flummery’s easy.
Dear oaten jelly, pride of Wales!
Thou smooth-faced child of Cymry.
On the ruddy swain regales,
And blesses milk and flummery.’Tis sweet to stroll on Cambrian heights
O’er-looking vales and rivers.
Where thin and purest air invites,
The soul from spleen delivers;
That foe of bile the light repast
To bloated gout may come wry.
But Nature’s child, thy mid-day fast
Break thou with milk and flummery.
CHAPTER V.
Another lecture in Welsh. “Courting in bed.” Our hero’s education progresses. The Curate’s school.
Whilst our lovers were regaling themselves upon milk and flummery, Twm Shon Catty was concocting and putting into execution his first practical joke, for while they sat side by side at the goodly oak table, he fastened them together by the coat and gown with a peeled thorn spike, which before the introduction of pins, was used by the fair sex to unite about them their various articles of attire.
This freak being performed, Twm stole off unperceived, and getting on the outside of the door, he was joined by Watt the mole catcher, and a party of children instructed for the purpose, in a loud and astounding cry of mad bull! a mad bull! at the same time forcing before them into the house a little trotting calf, whose buttocks were tortured by Twm’s ox-goad till he reared and capered up to the very table where the lover’s sat. Catty screamed, and both jumped up mutually terrified, as sudden fear had magnified the little animal to the proportions of an enormous brute of an enraged bull, whose uninvited visit and uncalled for appearance at their dinner table, portending nothing less than death. When Twm and Watt’s laughter at length undeceived them, the spoon merchant, who had been so liberally assisted with spoon and meat, found to his dismay, that with his heart Catty had carried away the skirt of his coat, by the sudden jerk of rising from their seats; and had the gods made Jack poetical, he might have exclaimed with the renowned Mr. Tag,—[31]
The lovely maid on whom I dote
Hath made a spencer of my coat.
The wicked urchin who caused this unsanctioned union continued with his mischievous party, their laughter long and loud, and Catty’s grumpy sister Juggy, for the first time in her life, astonished them with a grin on the occasion. Twm received a severe rebuke from his parent, and poor hapless Jack, with the view of propitiating an evil spirit that might prove troublesome to him hereafter, made him a present of a new spoon, which, because it was merely a common one he ungratefully threw into the blazing turf fire, that on this festal occasion glowed on the hearth in a higher pile and wider dimensions than usual, and demanded one of his best box-wood ware.