And now the married pair, followed by the whole company, set off to church, to be kirked, as the phrase is. A performer on the violin (not quite a Rossini) heads the procession, and plays a variety of appropriate airs, until he reaches the church-door. As soon as the party have entered and taken their seats, the parish-clerk, in a truly impressive and orthodox tone of voice, reads a certain portion of Scripture, wherein wives are enjoined to be obedient to their husbands. The service is concluded with a psalm, and the whole party march back, headed as before by the musician.
Upon returning from church, the company partake of a cold collation, called the hansel, which is distributed to each and all by the bride’s mother, who for the time obtains the elegant designation of hansel-wife. The refreshments consist of cheese, old and new, cut down in large slices, or rather junks, and placed upon oat and barley cakes,—some of the former being about an inch thick, and called snoddies.
These delicate viands are washed down with copious libations of new ale, which is handed about in a large wooden vessel, having three handles, and ycleped a three-lugged cog.[[18]] The etherial beverage is seasoned with pepper, ginger, and nutmeg, and thickened with eggs and pieces of toasted biscuit.
[18]. Also called the Bride’s cog.—Ed.
These preliminaries being concluded, the company return to the barn, where the music strikes up, and the dancing commences with what is called the Bride’s Reel; after which, two or three young men take possession of the floor, which they do not resign until they have danced with every woman present; they then give place to others, who pass through the same ordeal, and so on. The dance then becomes more varied and general. Old men and young ones, maids, matrons, and grandmothers, mingle in its mazes. And, oh! what movements are there,—what freaks of the “fantastic toe,”—what goodly figures and glorious gambols in a dance;—compared to which the waltz is but the shadow of joy, and the quadrille the feeble effort of Mirth upon her last legs.
Casting an eye, however, upon the various performers, I cannot but observe that the old people seem to have monopolised all the airs and graces; for, while the young maidens slide through the reel in the most quiet and unostentatious way, and then keep bobbing opposite to their partners in all the monotony of the back-step, their more gifted grandmothers figure away in quite another style. With a length of waist which our modern belles do not wish to possess, and an underfigure, which they cannot if they would, even with the aid of pads, but which is nevertheless the true court-shape, rendering the hoop unnecessary, and which is moreover increased by the swinging appendages of huge scarlet pockets, stuffed with bread and cheese, behold them sideling up to their partners in a kind of echellon movement, spreading out their petticoats like sails, and then, as if seized with a sudden fit of bashfulness, making a hasty retreat rearwards. Back they go at a round trot; and seldom do they stop until their career of retiring modesty ends in a somersault over the sitters along the sides of the room.
The old men, in like manner, possess similar advantages over the young ones; the latter being sadly inferior to their seniors in address and attitudes. Nor is this much to be wondered at, the young gentlemen having passed most of their summer vacations at Davis’ Straits, where their society consisted chiefly of bears; whereas the old ones are men of the world, having in early life entered the Company’s service (I do not mean that of the East Indies, but of Hudson’s Bay), where their manners must no doubt have been highly polished by their intercourse with the Squaws, and all the beauty and fashion of that interesting country.
Such of them as have sojourned there are called north-westers, and are distinguished by that modest assurance, and perfect ease and self-possession, only to be acquired by mixing frequently and freely with the best society. Indeed, one would suppose that their manners were formed upon the model of the old French school; and queues are in general use among them—not, however, those of the small pigtail kind, but ones which in shape and size strongly resemble the Boulogne sausage.
And now, amidst these ancients, I recognise my old and very worthy friend, Mr James Houston, kirk-officer and sexton of the parish, of whom a few words, perhaps, may not be unacceptable.
His degree of longitude may be about five feet from the earth, and in latitude he may extend at an average to about three. His countenance, which is swarthy, and fully as broad as it is long, although not altogether the model which an Italian painter would select for his Apollo, would yet be considered handsome among the Esquimaux; or, as James calls them, the Huskinese. His hair, which (notwithstanding an age at which Time generally saves us the expense of the powder-tax) is jet black, is of a length and strength that would not shrink from comparison with that of a horse’s tail, and hangs down over his broad shoulders in a fine and generous flow. The coat which he wears upon this, as upon all other occasions, is cut upon the model of the spencer; its colour, a “heavenly blue,” varied by numerous dark spots, like clouds in a summer sky; while his nether bulk is embraced by a pair of tight buckskin “unmentionables.”