Jane Hollybrand; or, Virtue Rewarded. (continued 2)

Obedient to the Hand which governs heav’n— The Power by which the spacious earth is driv’n, Round roll’d this mighty globe with awful speed; The virgin moon perform’d her holy deed— Reflecting God’s undeviating light, Which gives us day, while she attends the night. At length Jane Hollybrand, expectant, saw— Though to her sorrow, coming very slow’— The bumpkin postman, who appear’d intent On solving some rude myst’ry as he went; And then, as fate would have it, stopp’d to see If he could work it out ’rithmetic’lly,— Threw down his bag, regardless of its worth, And sat himself upon dear Mother Earth; There bask’d, as ’twere, full in old Horus’ eye, Whilst she, expecting him,[227] could almost cry— So sad was this suspense; but when he came, The joy she felt relieved the man from blame. Now her sweet features glowed with ruddy hue, And as she read the letter through and through She seem’d to pause at one particular place, And raised her handkerchief towards her face,— No doubt ’twas done t’obstruct the lucent tear, Urged on perceiving that the time drew near For her espousal, and that happy hour When love, unhamper’d, delegates its pow’r. ’Mong other things (momentous as a whole) He gave instructions that the central-hall Should be re-decorated, and elsewhere— Which needed it—to undergo repair. He lovingly express’d a great desire That Jane, at once, should choose her own attire,— “Have every necessary thing,” he wrote, “complete Mind not the cost, my love, but be discreet; Bid dear Aunt Toogood do the same, and lo! See that she gets her locks[228] curl’d up anew: Let Slash (the coachman) and old honest John[229] Get each a suit, and neatly fitted on;— In fact, the servants all, each in their sphere, Must on that day in wedding-garb appear: And now, dear Jane, the last and not the least— Invite your father to the marriage-feast,— Tell him, my darling, I’ll require his aid, And hope, some day, to see him well repaid; Ask him to name, when next he goes to ‘town,’[230] To my familiar friend, Sir Humphrey Brown, And his good Lady, that (if all goes well) I hope to pass again through Ruttendell About the middle of the month ensuing (The anniversary month of my first wooing): I find, at Dover, I’ll arrive too late To catch the coach, so will communicate From thence to you, dear Jane, will also write To dear Sir H——, and give him an ‘invite.’”

Now when Sir Humphrey heard this welcome news He said, for joy, “God bless my buckle-shoes,”[231] And to his wife—“I think, dear Lady B——, Betwixt your loyal ladyship and me, There is no time to lose—so I’ll go down And have an interview with Champernown:”[232] He went: and soon a numerous gathering Propounded measures for a welcoming; Which (came to pass with almost regal state) Greeted the noble Lord of Rollingate:— The streets were spann’d with flags of every shade, Bearing the mottoes of each goodly trade; From door to door were planted shrubs and flowers, Transforming houses into Sylvan bowers Six furlongs distant ’rose t’endear the eye,[233] Two triple arches, each one bore on high A crimson banner ring’d with bullion gold; Whose meet inscriptions adequately told (In silvery letters, more than tongue can tell) Th’ excessive joy which reign’d at Ruttendell.

When now (that morn) Aurora ope’d the course, And Sol strode forth, eight charmers bid discourse; Their firstling-notes, borne on the balmy breeze, Bestirr’d the rooks in the adjacent trees; “Ring, ting, ting, tong, this is our song,”—say they— To rouse ye sleepers for the holiday: A thousand flues erst wind their dingy smoke; Whilst children run, half nude, to have a look, And listen to the mimic guns as they Peal forth applausive of th’ auspicious day: The streets are now invaded by gay youths Prebent already on the comfit booths; And as the morning grows show signs of love Whilst sauntering through the artificial grove: The gentry-residents command the throng, And at the time appointed march along Towards the bound’ry, there (some frolicking) They ’wait th’ arrival of their local king.

He comes, he comes: hurrahs denote the deed; And then harmoniously the host proceed With pompous pride, concordant, through the town, In meet obedience to Sir Humphrey Brown, Who marshall’d them; and as they onward march— In civil order ’neath the banner’d arch— Loud shouts of triumph reach the distant ear, And loud hurrahs responsive fill the air. Full sixty horses, led the fairy way, Adorn’d with choice rosettes, in meet array; Each favour’d beast bore on its gladsome guest, In twenty rows arear, and three abreast: Then follow’d Tympanum,[234] the lord of sound, And his train’d band, which shook the very ground; They blew their instruments so mighty loud It drown’d the chorus of the motley crowd. Next, came Lord Mountjoy, in his chaise-and-four, Waving his hat obeisant to the poor, The maim’d, the aged, who belined the street; Who with huzzas the noble stranger greet: Among the townsfolk, marching in the line, A hornpipe-dancer, bacchus’d up with wine— Or some commodity—with healthful pride, Timed out his joy with his Brazilian hide. Some gentle ladies, at a branching street, Had (’midst some evergreens, arrang’d so neat As to attract Lord Arnold’s searching eye) Affix’d a sentence—which was, by-the-bye, Nought less than this: “God bless Jane Hollybrand.”(!) He saw it, ’rose, and, silencing the band, Gave forth the signal for three loud hurrahs For those young damsels, and their sweet mammas; Sir Humphrey saw, and held his ’kerchief out, And urged this beacon for another shout— ’Twas done: and then Lord Mountjoy spoke aloud: “I thank you, ladies, for I’m very proud Indeed to see, this day, my choice approved; I do assure you that my heart is moved: Some future time I hope ’twill be my fate, My joy, to welcome you at Rollingate.” Going by the church, the band clash’d with the bells; Which, with the cannons’ boom at intervals— And oft—produced the most discordant sounds, Resembling yells of hungry kennell’d hounds. At length the second archway strikes the eye: The glossy banner, stretch’d across the sky, Reveal’d those sacred words—“God give him health.” (Now, as ’twas certain Arnold lack’d not wealth, Nought else could typify, to that extent, Their love, as this spontaneous compliment.) Then forth three furlongs from the sylvan grove, He bade adieu, and hasten’d to his love. The host return’d, and banqueted the poor, And much rejoicing reign’d till a late hour.

Far in the west, the clouds were gathering fast About the space in the celestial vast, Where the great Trav’ler takes his eve’s repast,— That famed dispenser of eternal light, Who bathes his rosy form in depths of night, And bids the world behold him gently steep His swollen body in the radiant deep;— There, like a whale beneath the liquid main, Retires in confidence; and comes again Refresh’d, and strengthen’d, for returning day: But he, unlike the monsters of the sea, Whose days are number’d, shall for ever rise— For ever wander through th’ unbounded skies! Two hours, or nearly, Horus had to march, Ere he could reach the buttress of the arch Which spans the ocean of ethereal air: There, cloudlings waited for the golden fare— That unmatch’d crimson, to edge round the robes— The night apparel of the king of globes.

When Arnold gain’d the summit of the hill (Where stood the ruins of an ancient mill),[235] The last uprising on his homeward course, And where the village baker came for gorse,— Conveying it in paniers, on his horse (For in abundance on the hill it grew), The turrets of his mansion ’rose to view: Then did his noble heart within him leap; And when he first beheld the grazing sheep, In those prolific slopes, down in the vale (Where many a hunter’s blast had rode the gale— Whilst in pursuit of the despairing fox, And where Sir Humphrey and Sir Edward Knox Had often tried the mettle of their steeds, With Arnold’s father’s ——, ’cross those daisy-meads, And woodland-acres, and yon distant Down, Where nimble Reynards for their lives had flown); Then did Lord Arnold picture to his mind His lovely Jane, so beautiful and kind. But yet he had to traverse o’er a mile Before he could behold the beam, the smile, The tender tear of joy; and hear that voice Articulate the language of his choice:— “Ah! Slash,”[236] he said, “I see the pale-blue smoke, From the Lodge-chimney, ’scending through the oak.” Five minutes more, the horses gently swerve, And canter gracefully, around the curve, Through the Lodge-gateway; there stood Hollybrand, As meek as ever, with his hat in hand: Arnold saluted him with right good will,— “I’d hoped to ’ve seen you in at Ruttendell; How is it, George, you were not there to-day, Astride your pony, with my tenantry?” George modestly replied—“I thought, good Sir, My greatest comfort would be first to hear Thy welcome voice near to my sacred home!” “And are you happy?” “Yes,” he said. “Then come, Secure the gate, and make your dwelling right; And spend an hour with us at home to-night.”

Up on a hill, about three furlongs off, The stable-boy (not far from being a dwarf) Was sent by Jane, and caution’d how to raise And wave on high a strip of scarlet baize, So soon as he beheld his master’s chaise. (A beacon-signal to the anxious Jane, Whilst she sat peeping through the window pane; For on this hill a distant view arose Of the high-road, ’long which the traveller goes When journeying to and fro near Ruttendell.) Jane saw the streamer rais’d! then knew full well Her lover soon would be within her sight; She wept for joy, so great was her delight. The south-west breeze bore up the greenwood vale The chaise’s rattle,—thanks to the sweet gale: An instant more the whistling whip was heard: Jane look’d, and lo! across the grassy sward She saw the moving mass advancing swift;— No longer of her love is she bereft! (Dear Mistress Toogood fired her aged breast; And, venturing forth to meet the lordly guest Beneath the portico,—dress, “bishop-sleeved,”— Bestowed her saintly blessings; thus relieved Her dear old heart of two years’ sobs and sighs; Yet even then she scarce believed her eyes, For seventy years and five had made them dim; But when she heard his voice she knew ’twas him!)

On came the carriage: Arnold drops the reins; Descends, and instantly his love entwines— Dumb with emotion at his kind embrace. Whilst gentle drops stole down Jane’s blushing face, Lord Arnold’s own bright eyes, keen to behold, ’Came dimm’d with joy: yes! could he but have told One half the feelings wrought upon his heart, Not even then a tithe could he impart: He saw, at once, her tutors, when they wrote, Had partially concealed how they were smote;— Not, as he naturally might have inferr’d— That they’d contriv’d to please him, and conferr’d One with another: no, this wasn’t the case, For he beheld her now endowed with grace; Her comeliness and rare symmetral form Surpass’d his hope, and ’flam’d his bosom warm. Recovering from this reverie of bliss, Jane spoke in silvery tones; her tale was this— “I’ve learn’d to love thee, in thy absence, dear; Pray pardon me, if now I love thee here;” So placed her hand immediately in his, And seal’d his lips with her first earnest kiss. Arnold, in raptures with this stroke of love, Glimpsed her two joys; and envied not high Jove!

At eight o’clock, Jane’s father had arrived: With all his power he zealously contrived, But fail’d, to be excused from the repast; And therefore, being prevail’d upon at last, He dined, for the first time, with his good lord; Dear Jane assisting him with her kind word. (’Twas now too late for Toogood to be there, As habit had compell’d her to repair Unto her bedroom, for the night’s repose.) The cloth remov’d, Lord Arnold, quite jocose, Related one of his adventurous tales, In which the plunder of some foreign mails Form’d part the story: Jane felt much amused; But Hollybrand himself appear’d confused; As though assured, by its similitude, His own mishap was really understood: Then Arnold, in his wonted happy mood, Perceiving Hollybrand confounded, smil’d, And said to George: “It is your own dear child Who sent me tidings of that dread affair; I’ll lay a wager, George, you’ve taken care, When going to town upon a market-day, To guard against a similar affray!” “Yes, yes,” said George, with smiling countenance, “You may depend, dear sir, I’ve ever since Ta’en this precaution—never more to start To Ruttendell, alone, with horse and cart.” Then Arnold, after this tale, told in jest, Touch’d on the subject which his heart lov’d best,— Of making dearest Jane his loving wife; “On whom,” he said, “depends my love of life.”

A serious conversation then ensued— The retrospect and future well reviewed— Lord Arnold delicately sought to name The nuptial-day, and urg’d the blushing Jane To fix the date; but she, with subdued voice, Begg’d courteously to be excused,—“the choice,” She softly said, “dear Arnold, should be thine; And what your wish may be, that shall be mine.” He then, most fondly, kiss’d her modest cheek, And named it for the following Wednesday-week: “Shall it be so?” he said * * * “come, dear, express Thy pleasure, and enhance my happiness!” She press’d his hand, and breathed the mono-word[237] To which George Hollybrand at once concurred: And silently pour’d forth this orison,— “O righteous God, bless Thou this gen’rous man!”

Sleep’s slumbering influence now began to fall, And Arnold must have felt it most of all,— The day had been a double-day to him; His dark blue eye had lost its sparkling beam (And only those who pass through similar scenes,— Who are the objects of such welcomin’s,— Can comprehend one half th’ attendant pain, Extreme of pleasure forces on the brain). Night now had enter’d in th’ eleventh hour. The sun was on his antipodal tour; But heav’n was not forsaken by its queen, For she was silv’ring o’er th’ expansive green;[238] With all her wonted grace she shed her rays, And number’d this as one of her bright days, She lit the path, in which George had to roam, That he, in safety, might regain his home: Each other bade adieu, George homeward sped; And Arnold Mountjoy sought his lonely bed. (Twelve other nights, he[239] knew, must be bygone,— Twelve other suns must cross the temperate zone,— Ere her[240] virginity—which by the law Is reckon’d sacred—shall be broken through.) Jane had retir’d; her evening pray’rs were flown; A snow white pillow form’d her peaceful crown. The night was still; all Nature seem’d to lull; And God, alone, the guardian of the hall! Thus closed a day, one of unusual mirth,— One more fleet joy, on this revolving earth.

Again great Horus, the vanguard of day, Rolls up th’ horizon, and paints o’er the sky. Eight harvest labourers bask on yonder hill, Partaking of their early breakfast-meal; Refresh’d they rise and scythe the bearded corn, And nurse it till ’tis ready for the barn: From field to field the sickle rushes forth; The master[241] meditates upon its worth: He bushels it, and bags it in a cart, And takes it to a profitable mart; Receives the coin, and cheers his trusty heart. But while those peasants laid the hill-side bare, The mansion inmates had their daily care; And Rollingate was now all joy within, Preparing for the matrimonial scene. The different tradesfolk came from Ruttendell With their resources for the festival; And stores of every kind were now being brought. (The wedding-ring already had been wrought.) Upholsterers were busily at work From early morning till the day grew dark: Two suites of rooms were thus being re-arranged; And sundry goods appropriately changed. (Arnold, himself, took special interest— Observing everything done in its best.) Three decorators, from one Mr. Small’s— Were renovating ceilings, doors, and walls.

The country jew’ler[242] made an extra call, And urged his trinkets for the coming ball; Round to the back[243] he plied his hollow trash, And smil’d in secret as he told the cash. (The cunning fellow thought this was, of course, A splendid chance, some of his wares to force;— He guess’d aright—for housemaids, cooks, and scullion Bought his mosaic, contentedly, for bullion.) A genteel “Packman,”[244] who for years had made His regular calls, now, following up his trade With silks, and satins, cottons, every shade— Avowing cheapness, with a wondrous knack— Consid’rably reduced his holy pack: All gather’d ’round him with an earnest zeal: His India silks, if not, were looking real: So one and all, including old John Swift,[245] Bought something of the man before he left,— Determin’d were they to be prim and gay Upon their noble master’s wedding-day.

The fattest buck which trod the vast domain Was for the banquet seasonably slain; And choice provisions, of the daintiest sort (Full meet to grace the table for the court), Were being selected with the greatest care By one[246] who was himself a connoisseur. Day after day had flown with magic haste; The banquet-room was ’ranged with nicest taste; And everything throughout seem’d neat and clean (Fit for the habitation of a queen). All invitations had been duly sent; Lord Arnold look’d quite happy and content: Naught now remain’d but to pluck fresh the flowers, And plant the banners on the two high towers.

Hail, happy morn! Aurora ope’d the gate; And made a passage for heav’n’s potentate— The harbinger of joy, in grand estate; Who for awhile appear’d inclined to halt— To see if any, but found not a fault: His beams had beckon’d forth the spotless bride; Her virgin nightcap she had thrust aside. God only saw her as she doff’d her gown: No human eye beheld her kneeling down: None, but the Almighty, heard her fervent pray’rs: No earthly being could see her faithful tears. (Enough! enough!—come, check thy heaving breast: Sigh not, fond maiden,—lovers have no rest Ere they have some one to share half their fate; And thou art chosen for that happy state.) Courage commanded her—“rise, gentle maid!” Her heart felt lighter, and her tears were stay’d. * * * * * Virtue’s reward:—say, Jove, what is the prize?— What canst thou give? what can ye realise Sufficiently in value for this maid,— Whose tongue ne’er yet had even utterèd One vulgar sentence, one blasphemous word,— Who never lov’d before she lov’d her lord?

Half-after-eight,[247] clad in a rich pale green,[248] And looking like a lovely fairy-queen, (If such a creature e’er on earth was seen,) Jane came down stairs; there, waiting at the foot, Her lover greeted her with this salute— He sanctified her with a bridegroom’s kiss; The bride return’d it,—thus a twofold bliss. A hasty breakfast they in peace partook, And subsequently scann’d the godly-book; A sacred feeling fill’d each anxious breast: Then, for awhile, they parted to get drest.[249] Punctual, at ten—George Hollybrand came in. (Methinks how proud Jane’s father must have been On that bright morning, to behold his own * * * Oh! think not that many a tear had stol’n Down o’er his fiftied cheeks, ere he had ta’en His early meal, a-thinking of dear Jane?) Toogood, (dear creature, busy as a bee, For one so old,—yea, nimble as a flea,) Seem’d now as though her life was e’en at stake, Adjusting flowers around the bridal-cake; A massive silver stand supports it up; Beside it, stood an ancient golden cup,— Engrav’d with Bacchus, riding on a ram,— In which a thousand purple streams had swam. (O goblet, could’st thou tell but half the mirth Which thou alone hast witnessed on earth! Ah! could’st thou tell whose lips have kiss’d thy rim, When festive-wine had fill’d thee to the brim! No, no, thou canst not; but thou art here still, As ever ready for thy sumptuous fill: To-day, in thy proud bosom there will shine Repeated bumpers of the rarest wine; To-day, thy lordly owner will pass round The festive board, thy majesty profound; Thy sides shall quiver with harmonious sound.)

Time flies apace; the marriage-scene begins: Sir Humphrey, and his two grand-daughters, (twins,) Two fair-hair’d damsels, draped in richest blond,— Of whom, Sir Humphrey was extremely fond,— Had just arriv’d. (It should, just here, be said That Lady Brown was now an invalid; And, consequently, she could not be there; But sent her blessings to the happy pair.) Loud rang the old-hall bell, announcing plain— Some gentle-folk, an entrance sought to gain: At once Lord Mountjoy, (smiles upon his face,) Sped forth to greet them; with admiring grace, And noble bearing, Arnold usher’d in The wedding guests unto his own dear queen. Jane had been seated, but she now was ris’n, And look’d an angel just escaped from heav’n: Her dark brown tresses form’d her diadem; Her eyes surpass’d in radiancy, the gem Which shone upon her bosom. (O! ye gods, And queenly nymphs, who dwell in sylvan woods— If such there are—come hither, if so bold To hazard such a step, for here behold! Not Venus, nor one vassal of the sky, With all their graces, can in form outvie Jane Hollybrand. Nor can that mighty Jove, Who reigns by courtesy in realms above,— Whom all the suns, and moons, of heav’n adore,— Whose charms subdued the heathen hordes of war,— Can find a virgin equal to compare!)

Precisely as the clock dealt out eleven, And all the hosts assembled—who were bidden— Had ’fresh’d their bodies and each loving-soul, They wend their way into the entrance-hall; Thence to the front, where the first coach doth stand, Awaiting famed Sir Humphrey, Jane, and Hollybrand: When they were seated and prepared to start, The second coach draws up, which (quite as smart) Receives Lord Arnold Mountjoy, and beside Those pretty twins,[250]—attendants on the Bride: The third, and last, contain’d Sir Edward Knox, His wife, and daughter, in rare silken-frocks With whom, dear Mistress Toogood found a seat, And thus the bridal-party is complete. An instant more they’re on the happy road To seal the contract in the house of God, Where crowd the villagers,—some ’round the porch, And some within the flint-embedded[251] church, Where they, expectant, ’wait the hour to see The heroine of the day’s festivity.

The merry charmers, with their brazen tongues, Make efforts to chime forth their favourite songs,— Till the bold ringers are inform’d—that now They must await until the nuptial vow Is sanction’d by the law. Now every eye Is bent towards the road, where they espy Sir Humphrey’s carriage coming up the “green;” And hail the occupants, who are therein: Then, close behind, another coach appears; The villagers send forth unbounded cheers;— They doff their neckerchiefs, and aught beside Spontaneously to greet the beauteous Bride: Sir Edward follows, with two handsome “greys,” Outvieing in stature old Sir Humphrey’s “bays.”

The sacred pile is reach’d; its chancel trod; Around the altar, all in sight of God Are reverently kneeling * * * Then they rise, And one, there is, had need to wipe her eyes;— This is that gentle one, who’s made a wife;— Now Lady Mountjoy, for her mortal life! * * * * * The ceremony’s o’er; the bells peal out; The villagers, again, raise high a shout. Beneath a tree ’n the centre of the “green,” A fiddle, flute, and a bass-violin, Surrounded by a motley group, are playing That well-adapted tune—“Haste to the wedding.” Lord Arnold beckon’d to the “master man;”[252] Whose hurry overturn’d the liquor-can! His great misfortune soon is set aright, By something pleasing to the fiddler’s sight; For which he bowed: but, quickly turning ’round, He tripp’d, and, falling sideways on the ground, Smash’d in the “belly” of his instrument; The wondering crowd burst out in merriment: Himself, unhurt, beheld the mischief done, And swore, with vengeance, on the “evil-one.” (This self-conceited Jullien of the band, Remember’d long the name of Hollybrand.)

Now, undesirous to prolong the tale— By repetition what at Ruttendell Was being enacted to commemorate Th’ event, I’ll beg the reader back to Rollingate; There, ’neath the portico, sweet flowers were laid Promiscuously, to bear the lightsome tread Of that pure virgin’s unstain’d wax-like form, As yet a stranger to the inherent storm. Lord Arnold had decreed that, on this day, His labourers, servants, and his tenantry, Should be partakers of the marriage-feast; So ’round the stately doorway, there each guest, (Of course—not one, but wore their very best,) Full fifty, stood in regular marshall’d keep, Cheering, most lustily, her ladyship, As she alighted from the stately chaise, And, like a fairy, trod the crimson baize,— Which, on the doorsteps, had been placed with care In the hour’s absence of the nuptial pair.

The banquet-board is spread in bounteous style, And every face around it bears a smile; With fruit and flowers the hall is well perfumed; The bridal-cake’s dealt out; the goblet’s toomed, And all is harmony: joy’s dominant: Within, the very walls seem resonant— As with the echoings of gay scenes of yore, But none had ever equall’d this before. From noon, until the solemn midnight-hour, Heaven vouchsafed one unabated show’r Of mirthfulness, of prudent revelry, Of one enchanting scene of gaiety; Such as will be historical.

Then gracious Somnus, with his nightly spell, (Beneath whose mystic beams great monarchs bend,) Proclaim’d—the festival was at an end: The good old god, who ever-timely wise, Trod on the tender covering of their eyes; And bade them pay due homage unto night: But there was one, (the god dimm’d not his sight,) Whose breast was blazing with that nuptial flame, Which strives to ancestralize a family name; His sweet companion, buckling for the deed, Encourag’d him t’advance: her love obey’d: Fair Bapta,[253] charitably, drew her veil, And bade the loving warriors doff their mail,— ’Twas done!—they waver’d, for the shock was great, The conflict ceas’d. Concordia,[254] reign’d in state. * * * * * And when another summer-time had flown, (For God had bless’d the mould wherein ’twas sown,) The gladsome father, named his own, his own.... * * * * * “Virtue rewarded:”—be ye all discreet; For love, without discretion, courts defeat.