A villager known to the writer, whose recollections extend over
two decades beyond our allotted term of life, is .a fund of curious information touching manners and morals at the beginning of last century. He is a handsome old man crowned with the glory of age. The years that bleached his hair have dealt gently with his face, which shows few lines and wears an expression of singular sweetness. Except that his sight is "not what it used to be," and that he is " rayther .hard o' hearing," which causes him uncon- sciously to give utterance to his thoughts—sometimes, as during Divine Service, with startling effect—his faculties are unim- paired. He is in perfect health, his bodily organs are sound : his legs alone refuse to do their duty as of yore. " If it weren't for them," he says, "I should be as good a man as ever I was." Notwithstanding this reprehensible tendency on their part to strike work, old Denis manages to walk short distances, to fill the office of churchwarden, which he has held continuously for more than fifty years, and to cultivate his garden. He long kept the village shop, where he carried on a considerable trade ; but competitors sprang up, his customers drifted to the neighbouring towns, he was unable to recover debts amounting to a heavy total, and his business came to a standstill. He has latterly found a home with a relative whom he befriended in more prosperous days. He was born during that period of history which, by reason of the convulsions that accompanied its birth, and the swift rush of the fiery meteor that lit up the heavens from end to end until its light was quenched at Waterloo, is invested with a glamour that seems but to deepen as the past recedes. Those were the times of the "petticoat harvests," still remembered in the village, when the labourers exchanged their smocks for the King's uniform and their reaping-hooks for muskets, and the crops were garnered by women; when men were so scarce that children living in " lone houses " exclaimed " There's a man! " if a rare chance brought one their way. Denis's father was drawn for the Militia ; but being a farmer, he pro- cured exemption from the hated personal service at a cost of £50,—the price at that date of a substitute. Several of his friends paid a like sum. A labourer upon whom the.lot fell, and whose scanty wages precluded all hope of obtaining so expensive a luxury, hit upon a novel and ingenious method of hoodwinking the authorities. Before repairing to the town where he was to be sworn in presence of the Justices, he stuffed his pockets with wood-shavings, which he thrust into
kitchen. When the oath was put, he " spoke never a word, but chammed an' chammed his shavings, pullin"em out from between his teeth," until the worthy gentlemen on the bench believing that he was imbecile, released him from his military obligations and sent him home forthwith.
Denis's recollections deal less with political events than with the daily life of the village. When a little lad he used to accompany his father, who was one of the parish overseers, to the distribution of relief. This took place in the church after Sunday morning service, and, human nature being frail, it is probable that the congregations were considerably larger under this arrangement than they are at present. Indeed, the old man hinted as much. The oversee's table, on which were ranged piles of silver and copper coins, was set in the belfry, where the paupers presented themselves to receive help in the shape of money doles or orders upon the village shop for boots, clothing, and other necessaries. The local journals of the period contain in this last connection many advertise- ments which read strangely to modern ears, and of which the following will serve as an example :—" Poor to Lett. Any Persons willing to Contract with the Churchwardens and Overseers of the Poor of the Parish of M— in the County of B— for the Maintenance, Cloathing and Employment of the Poor of the said Parish for one year to commence from the 29th day of September next, are desired to send in their proposals sealed up, to a Vestry to be held in the Vestry- room on Thursday the 14th instant." Not only was relief dis- tributed after morning prayer: some farmers made a practice of paying their labourers at the same hour outside the church door that they might in this way ensure attendance at Divine worship. Old Denis may well remark as he hands round the offertory-bag nowadays : " I've seen more people here nor what there is this marnin'." Ninety years ago the men, wear. ing smock.frocks and hobnailed boots, sat in the chancel, which was crowded with forms and movable seats. The west end of the building was spanned by the musicians' gallery, where the orchestra, of which young Denis was a member, fiddled and fifed. Sternhold and Hopkins had been superseded by Tate Brady, and the top-booted clerk, who was second in importance to the parson only, gave out the first line of each verse.
Among the patriarchal customs then prevalent in the village was that whereby newly wedded couples of respectable degree attended church in state on the first Sunday morning after their marriage. The clerk met them at the door (the whole congregation rising at their entrance) and conducted them to the front pew, where they sat the cynosure of all eyes. The 128th Psalm was de rigueur on these occasions, and the emphasis with which the orchestra trilled and quavered when accompanying the third and fourth verses is said to have been a source of some embarrassment to bride and bridegroom :-
" His wife, like a fair, fertile vine, Her lovely fruit shall bring:
His children like young olive plants About his table spring."
At that time Denis's church possessed no vestry ; the parson robed in the chancel within view of his flock. It was the clerk's duty to fetch the surplice from the parsonage, where it had been aired, and to lay it ready for service across the rail of the reading-desk. One Sunday morning the clergyman was seen struggling with a white garment that behaved and pre- sented an appearance such as never surplice had before. The sleeves were short, the folds were scanty, and it absolutely refused to meet above the worthy divine's person. Examina- tion showed that the clerk had laid hands upon an under- garment belonging to the vicar's cook that happened to be p,iring in company with the surplice, which was found serenely reposing on the back of a chair before the fire in the parsonage The principal weekly event in the village was the departure of the road-waggon for London and its return. It was despatched—laden with passengers and country produce—by the sole tradesman of the place, who then carried on the business which afterwards became Denis's. The latter relates in the direct and vivid style of an eyewitness how the waggon, drawn by its four tall horses, started at 5 o'clock on a
Sunday evening and travelled through the night. " It used to sten' on the green outside the shop, and half the village 'ud be there to give 'un a send-off." On the stroke of the hour the master would come out " with a great roll o' one- pound notes under his arm," which he gave to the waggoner to pay for the stores, groceries, clothing, and stuffs that he was to bring back. The master himself used to ride to London on horseback, starting the following morning and arriving about the same time as the waggon. When returning on one occasion he was thrown from his horse just outside the village, and dragged almost to his own door. He recovered from the accident ; but in order to prevent a repetition he determined to ride henceforth without girths. This he did, and the high stone may still be seen outside the shop which be had placed there to enable him to mount without dis- turbing the adjustment of the girthless saddle. The highway along whi h the cumbrous road-waggon crept and the mail- coaches rattled, bringing news of victories that led to Waterloo, is connected with the village by a lane. Where this joins the turnpike, the toll-gate and toll-house formerly stood. Denis tells many tales of how he and his boy friends used to " tanify " the toll-keeper. He remembers with compunction a trick that almost ended in tragedy, when the lads outside turned the key in the lock of the only room—it was lighted by a fixed casement—the toll- house boasted, and inserting the stem of a long pipe in the keyhole, filled the bowl, and blew the smoke down until the air of the tiny dwelling was thick with it, and the old man implored them to open the door because he was suffocating. The funny little round toll-house and the gate have been swept away, the road-waggon and the stagecoach have given place to the motor and the train, but Denis still survives,—a link with that past which seems so near us to-day, barely a century distant, and yet is separated by so wide a gulf of scientific achievement and social progress.
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