The dinner was a most elaborate affair; indeed, in England, it is always the crowning portion of any entertainment, and the test of a genuine social success. The table looked beautiful with the massive silver plate: the épergne representing a herd of stags (the white stag is Lord G——’s crest) feeding under a spreading oak; the vases of classical shape, formerly wine-coolers, but now, more congenially to modern refinement, filled with ferns or plants of colored foliage, contrasting with the frosted silver; flowers and fruit in utopian abundance, and every vase or dish raised on a stand of crimson velvet, in artistic relief against the delicate white damask of the table-cloth—and this, of course, every day the same. Among the guests we may pause a moment to mention a lady of whom a stranger to her gave this characteristic description: saying that she was nicely but quietly dressed, had large, soft eyes, an intelligent expression, and a thoughtful look. She was certainly the most interesting and the cleverest person of the company, if the inward history of a mind is to count more than its outward covering. Suffice it to say that a few of those present knew how to appreciate her, especially a clergyman of the neighborhood noted for his historical researches and antiquarian learning—the Rev. G. H. Hill. Among those whom social reticence does not forbid us to distinguish by name was also an architect of rare merit, under whose supervision part of the building had been erected—a man whose mind is thoroughly artistic, and whose name, already the property of the public, we need therefore not hesitate to give—Mr. C. Buckler. His testimony, characteristic as it must be, will not be inappropriate in this sketch; of the whole festival he could say with truth, as he did in a charming letter to his patron and host, that it was thoroughly mediæval in spirit. This is high praise in the mouth of an Englishman and an artist; for our national pride is inseparably woven with feudal and ancestral feelings, an admiration for the open-handed generosity and lavish display of baronial times—for everything, in a word, that made England a fit nurse for Shakespeare, and an ideal for Washington Irving.
If our readers are not weary of pen-portraits, here is one—that of the daughter of the lady we have just spoken of, which our dear old friend, the “often-quoted,” thus incisively draws: “She is a pretty little thing, with a very white skin, delicate wild-rose color, and very bright and large eyes, and as much as possible keeping close to her mother’s side, but evidently fond of dancing, and enjoying everything with perfect freshness.” We are pleased to notice here that this type of the English girl is not so defunct as some pessimists would have us believe, and that, despite paint and fastness, and the clumsy imitation of Parisian vice, there is yet in store for the future a generation of homeloving wives and mothers. Of another of the near relations of the host, our friend says: “It suffices to mention Lady L——’s name to express all that is bright, and kind, and good; her presence was a charm, but she was obliged to go away after two days, and it was a blank not to see her.”
This woman, whose social charm is so irresistible, is none the less a generous and devoted attendant on a husband whose mind had given way, and whose health was more than precarious; it was his comfort, indeed, which was the cause of her short stay in the house of rejoicing.
The great charm of this thoroughly pleasant gathering was that there were no “grand people,” no “fashionable people,” no “fast people”; that all were natural and real, and everybody seemed pleased and happy. But our “prosaic” friend actually was not satisfied, and complained gently of the disappointment, among so many young people, of not being able to idealize any incipient romance; for, she queried, “would it not have thrown a charm of poetry over the whole thing?”
No, truly, although the thought is touching and pretty; for, after all, the fairest ideal of love could not live in a crowd, and the love we read of in Elizabethan records was more courtly than deep, more gallant than true. Love is an angel, not a Cupid.
One evening, there was a ball for the county families, many of whose houses were filled with their own circle of friends, all of whom were included in the invitations. The rooms looked gay and brilliant; toilets were resplendent, and the family pictures, with which the walls were literally covered, gazed down on an assemblage almost as bright as their own. In the hall was a white stuffed stag, with hoofs and antlers gilt, representing in life-size the family crest. The next morning, breakfast began at the usual hour (ten), but few appeared; but, by two o’clock, they gradually stole down, when tea and coffee had given place to luncheon. Wednesday evening, there was the servants’ ball. Every one went into the large tent, which made a splendid ball-room. The dancing was rather amusing to watch, for it was not the forte of the assemblage; but they all looked very happy, and the dignity of their manners to each other was quite edifying! Still, we thought it a great shame to criticise. Thursday, there was the feast for other and nearer villages, Exton, Barrow, and Cottesmore, with games before the people sat down. And it was a goodly sight when all the tables were peopled; all the men at dinner, and all the women and children at tea. Lord G——’s health was drunk first. It was the first occasion on which he had to speak, and it utterly overcame him; for he alluded to the former time when they had all been thus assembled to welcome him to E—— on his accession to the title. But the warmth and heartiness with which his few words were received must surely have pleased him. Then they drank his son’s health, to which toast the young man responded modestly and well. Later on in the evening, there were beautiful fireworks, which lit up the whole place most gorgeously.
Fireworks are not a specialty with Englishmen, but on this occasion they really went off to the credit of all concerned. The host has had long experience in such things in Italy, where the merest village can shame London itself on this head. The clusters of Chinese lanterns among the trees bordering the drives, the Bengal lights shooting up in fitful illuminations across the broken front of the church tower and the old Hall, the steadier lamps along the lines of the house itself, and the reflection of all in the many little lakes within the grounds, made the display peculiarly attractive. Every one enjoyed it to the uttermost.
Friday, the 20th of October, the heir’s birthday, was the day, par excellence. And here we are reminded that we are among those who have returned to the faith of old England, and have brought back to the original giver of the great free institutions of the country—the Catholic Church—all the gifts of intellect, education, culture, and learning drawn from her alienated universities and the polished influence of her errant sons. A solemn High Mass, with appropriate ecclesiastical music, was the first interest that gathered the guests together. Many not of our faith were there, joining reverently, and as far as they could, in the beautiful service; the domestic chapel, almost in size a church, looked very fair in the pale morning light that streamed through its pointed windows; the shadows of the beech-leaves, turning to brown and gold, were thrown fitfully across the Lady Chapel, against whose outside walls the great tree almost leans; bars of dusky golden light lay on the stone floor of the memorial chapel, where the foundress sleeps; and, as the white-robed choristers and acolytes moved softly to and fro in the deep choir, the beautiful contrast seemed to force itself upon one’s imagination between them and the worshippers in the nave, clad in dark, quiet draperies, and massed together in shadowy corners—typifying so delicately the restful life of the future, and the toiling watch still to be kept in the present. From this, the most congenial and appropriate scene we had yet witnessed, we turned regretfully to the new pleasures of the day. The first event was very momentous, and was marked by great state, being no less than the presentation of a silver inkstand to the young hero of the fête, Lord C——, from the servants. All the household was drawn up at one end of the entrance-tent. Poor good Mrs. H——, the housekeeper, whom nearly twenty years’ service had made a mother to the host’s children, was quite unable to restrain her tears, while behind the large round table, with the inkstand on it, stood J——, the butler, pale with the responsibility of his coming speech. Lord C—— stood opposite, with the family and guests behind him. This was the most touching scene of all, but none the less the most formidable ceremony. The presentation was very creditably made, and as gracefully acknowledged, to the equal satisfaction of all parties; and, among the birthday gifts, none was so valued by the recipient. He had grown up among these old friends; the few who had not known him as a boy had heard the tales of his childhood, and experienced the kindness of his manner. All felt as if he belonged to them, and as though his interests were theirs. This feeling, too, is one of the relics of the past fast disappearing from the heartless fabric of modern society; and it is pleasant to see traces of it yet left here and there in the ancient baronial households of England.
The concluding festivity was on a gigantic scale, and proved the most characteristic of any. This was the grand ball and supper to the tenants, which furnished the local newspapers with materials for rapturous descriptions and complimentary “leaders” for at least a week afterwards. The entrance tent was lined with the officers of the yeomanry in full uniform (scarlet), to the number of eighteen or twenty; the band of their regiment was also in attendance, and the land-steward, to whose management much had been entrusted, introduced each party of the tenants as they arrived. Nearly five hundred of these characteristic guests were soon assembled, Lord G——, his daughters, and two sons dancing in turn with all the most prominent of them. The ball opened with a country-dance; not the formal quadrille, but the hearty, old-fashioned performance, in which the elderly and heavy are as comfortably at home as the young and the supple. The ball, however, brilliant as it was, was but secondary to the supper, which was the crowning-point of the week’s doings—the occasion, long looked forward to, of pleasant and witty speeches, of hearty good-will, and of manifestations of real and substantial friendship. To borrow the words of a weekly of the neighborhood, the Lincolnshire Chronicle: “At one o’clock, supper was served in the marquee, which, tastefully decorated, brilliantly lighted, and filled with the gaily attired company, presented a scene which will not soon be forgotten by those who had the pleasure of witnessing it. The yeomanry band played ‘The Roast Beef of Old England’ as the party glided into the tent, and, when all had taken their places, grace was said. With the exception of a buck roasted whole and sent to table with gilt antlers, the whole of the viands were cold, the pièce de résistance being a splendid baron of beef. The birthday cake occupied a prominent position at a centre table, and among other novelties was a fine peacock in full plumage. Just before the toast of the evening was given, the beautiful present of plate purchased by the tenantry was carried in and placed in front of the young Lord C——, on the principal table.” “When all were seated,” says another local paper, “the coup d’œil, from the entrance of the tent, was very striking; the gay uniforms of the yeomanry, and the dresses of the ladies, combined with the colored lining of the tent, the numerous flags and banners, and the innumerable chandeliers filled with wax candles, presenting a very brilliant effect. The Earl of G—— and his distinguished visitors were seated at a long raised table facing the guests of the evening, and immediately in front of him were two other raised tables, upon one of which was a baron of beef weighing between 30 and 40 stone, and a whole roasted buck. There were also 21 joints of roast beef, 15 of pressed beef, 17 galantines of veal, 24 game pies, 14 large hams, 28 tongues, 15 turkeys, 8 boars’ heads, 15 rounds of beef, 10 legs and 14 shoulders of mutton, 72 roast fowls, 54 pheasants, 62 partridges, 20 plum-puddings, etc. etc., making a total of 1,000 dishes.”
The speeches being the great characteristic incident of the feast, we will quote some parts of them, showing in their simple energy how close the ties of friendship still are between the owner and the tiller of the soil. Some of the speakers were farmers, most of them prosperous and pushing men. We take our quotations from the Lincolnshire Chronicle: “Mr. Berridge proposed the health of the Earl of G—— as a nobleman, a neighbor, and a friend.... The noble earl had inherited from his ancestors that military blood which always ran through the veins of the N——ls [the family name of Lord G——]. If they looked round these halls, they would see the portrait of many an old warrior.... He understood Lord C—— now belonged to the army, and he would express a wish that that young nobleman might one day be commander-in-chief of England (cheers). Speaking of the family, he was reminded of an anecdote. A friend of his was taking a drive through the lanes in the neighborhood of this house, when he came in view of the mansion, and said to an old laborer he met on the road: ‘Who lives here, my man?’ ‘Lord G——,’ was the reply. ‘Is it an old family?’ was the next inquiry. ‘They came here, sir, before the Flood,’ was the response (laughter and cheers).”