502 



NOTES AND QUERIES. 



[No. 269. 



Hill, and there are yet the steps and part of the 

 shaft of the cross, which no doubt stood there long 

 before the church was thought of, and formed the 

 nucleus of the village. On the left of the cross is 

 the well, the " town well," so called to distinguish 

 it from the "holy well," which is nearer the church, 

 and probably supplied the piscina and font. Op- 

 posite the stocks there, with the portentous effigy 

 of an owl m extremis, is the Red Eagle, much 

 noted for superlative October ; and farther on, at 

 the corner, is the less aristocratic Chequers, where 

 they brew beer very small indeed, which, as I 

 once heard a habitue plaintively asseverate, " wets 

 where it goes" and no farther. Three roads 

 branch out of the Cross Hill, one to the church, 

 and two to outlying homesteads. And now the 

 reader knows as much of Newton Prodgers as I 

 do. 



When I first knew Newton Prodgers, old John 

 Gibbs was the great man for burning Guys and 

 keeping up the old Christmas customs. He was 

 the Oldbuck of Newton — the Oldbuck without 

 the Pratorium — the fogie without the ghastly 

 tie. On working days Jack was not to be dis- 

 tinguished from his labourers; but on Sundays, 

 when he donned his black velvet smalls and leather 

 leggings all tied in true-lovers' knots, he looked a 

 " warm " man every inch of him. It was a treat 

 to see him lead his dame up the aisle of the church, 

 and to watch his demeanour during the sermon, 

 trying to look as though he understood it. John 

 was by no means partial to literature, and his 

 reading was wholly confined to the Family Bible, 

 and the enlivening feats of the " Seven Cham- 

 pions," of which honest John swallowed every 

 morsel — the dragon included. Upon scientific 

 subjects generally. Master Gibbs was very con- 

 siderably behind the age. His notions of cosmo- 

 gony and planetary affairs were opposed to those 

 of Humboldt and Herschel, presenting indeed 

 many points of remarkable similarity to the Pto- 

 lemeian doctrines of my friend Moravanjee, who 

 lately filled with so much credit the astronomical 

 chair at Benares, modified however, to some extent, 

 by the theories of the late Dr. Francis Moore 

 as yearly perpetuated by the Worshipful Company 

 of Stationers. In politics Jack was a thorough- 

 going Church and King man, and stoutly swore 

 to the last day of his life that tea and pantaloons 

 had ruined England, and worked between them 

 the fall of the corn laws. A more honest, 

 thick-headed, open-hearted, and prejudiced old 

 booby never drew breath. He was the last man 

 for miles round our place who kept open house to 

 all comers ; and, I regret to add, he was the iden- 

 tical old rascal who set the bells ringing when the 

 lamented news of the death of the late Sir, Robert 

 Peel reached Newton Prodgers. If you took a 

 peep into his stone-floored house-room on Christ- 

 mas Eve, you would see Misrule redivivus. Hodge 



senior smokes long pipes, plays at cards, and looks 

 on. Adolescent Agriculture dances quaint old 

 country dances not found in the Ball-room 

 Monitor, and sings rough old songs in rough old 

 measure that would scandalise Sims Reeves; while 

 the younger fry are wild and dripping at duck- 

 apple, snap-apple, and half a score of other equally 

 intellectual amusements. But the mumming is the 

 great fun of the night. With us this consists of a 

 kind of rude drama, which formerly represented the 

 adventures of St. George and the Dragon ; but of 

 late years St. George has given place to George III., 

 and the Dragon been supplanted by Napoleon. In 

 the last scene the emperor indulges in such strong 

 vituperation against Mr. Pitt, and insinuates such 

 unpleasant things about Mr. Pitt's mamma, as to 

 induce that placid gentleman to give him a blow 

 on the nose ; wherepon a fight ensues, in which 

 the pilot gets decidedly the worst of it, and is 

 about to receive the coup-de-grdce, when up comes^ 

 George III. with a cocked-hat and broadsword, 

 and the royal asseveration — 



" As sure as I am England's king, I'll break your neck." 



— a threat which, after a severe encounter, he 

 manages to accomplish, and the Corsican tyrant is 

 finally carried off by Beelzebub, who I should say 

 is a leading member of the company. He was a 

 bold genius, whoever he was, who conceived the 

 idea of making George III. a hero. The fool, 

 whose principal duty is to blow flour into the 

 emperor's eyes, is a relic of the older drama, and 

 carries a stick with a bladder tied to it by way 

 of bauble. He still performs the old legerdemain 

 tricks described by Ben Jonson. When the fun 

 was at its height, the Christmas block used to be 

 brought in and put on the fire, to be taken off 

 again when only half burnt, and preserved in the 

 cellar or some other safe place till next year. 

 This precious piece of charred wood old Jack used 

 to look upon as a sovereign amulet against fire 

 during the ensuing year, and as safe as a fire 

 policy. And this is still the usual custom in our 

 neighbourhood. 



It is a grand old superstition that, which repre- 

 sents the powers of darkness as more than usually 

 active on the anniversary of the last day of Pagan- 

 dom — dim echo through the ages of that first 

 Nativity which silenced the oracles and drove the 

 nymphs from their ancient haunts. Old Smudgers 

 the rat-catcher was quite Miltonic, although he 

 didn't know it, when he told me " No good Chris- 

 tian would even turn a dog out" on Christmas 

 Eve. All our ghosts have holiday on that night, 

 and we have lots of ghosts of all grades at Newton 

 Prodgers; from that old-established aristocratic 

 old ghost, Sir Miles Prodgers, who drives about 

 the lanes in the same old coach that took him to 

 St. Paul's after Ramillies, down to Mary Potts, 

 who drowned herself in Sludgepond, and is a 



