1826.] IVic Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. 579 



like writing, by whicli Simon Hackland, Esq. assigned over to Daniel 

 Holdfast, gent., the manor and demesnes, woods and fisheries, park, 

 lands, and pigsties of Flyaway, in consideration and so forth] " Tom," 

 pursued Mrs. Martin, " gave Seppy the mortgage, for which I sent him 

 a fat goose last Michaelmas, and little Bill, the drummer, helped to 

 fasten it on — no very easy job, the parchvnent being creased and folded, 

 and a little mouldy here and there. However all came right at last," 

 continued the fond mother, " and you shall hear how Seppy plays." 



Accordingly Seppy struck up a march, which he thumped in very 

 decent time, and with divers most original flourishes, his attitudes, in 

 particular, being unconscious caricatures of those usually exhibited. 

 He then performed the air of-' Nid, nid, nodding,' on the flageolet, with- 

 out any remarkable mistake, and I, having done my part as auditress, 

 by bestowing as much praise as I conscientiously could, perhaps rather 

 more, we adjourned into the house to judge of his progress in the sister 

 art of painting. 



Mrs. Martin led me through a large lightsome bricked apartment, the 

 common room of the family, where the ample hearth, the great chairs 

 in the chimney corner, defended from draughts by gi-een stuff curtains, 

 the massive oak tables, the tall japan clock, and the huge dresser, laden 

 with pewter dishes as bright as silver, gave token of rustic comfort and 

 opulence. Ornaments were not wanting : the dresser was adorned with 

 the remains of a long hoarded -set of tea china, of a light rambling 

 pattern, consisting of five cups and seven saucers, a tea-pot, neatly 

 mended, a pitcher-like cream-jug, cracked down the middle, and a 

 sugar-basin wanting a handle. There were also sundry odd plates of 

 delf and Wedgewood, blue and white, brown-edged and green-edged, 

 scalloped and plain. Lastly, there was a choice collection of mugs — 

 always the favourite object of housewifery vanity in every rank of rural 

 life, from Mrs. Martin, of Lovet Farm, down to her servant-maid 

 Debby. 



The collection in question was of a particularly ambitious nature. It 

 filled a row and a half of the long dresser, graduated, according to size, 

 like books in a library, the gallons ranking as folios, the half pints 

 ranging as duodecimos. It was quite clear that they were kept for shew 

 and not for use, and never profaned by any liquid of any sort whatsoever. 

 Half a dozen cups, of a plain white ware, rather out of condition, were 

 evidently the drudges, the ivorking mugs of the family. The ornamen- 

 tal species, the drone 7migs, hung on nails by their handles, and were 

 of every variety of shape, colour, and pattern. Four of the larger ones 

 were adorned with portraits in medallions — Mr. Wilberforce, Lord 

 Nelson, the Duke of Wellington, and Charles Fox. Some were gay 

 with flowers, not very like nature — Some had landscapes in red, and 

 one a group of figures in j^ellow. Others, again, and these were chiefly 

 the blues, had patterns of all sorts of intricacy and involution, without 

 any visible meaning. Some had borders of many colours ; and some, 

 which looked far too classical for their company, had white cameos 

 relieved on a brown ground. These drinking vessels were full of an 

 antique elegance and grace. I stood admiring them whilst Mrs. Martin 

 held loud colloquy with a deaf charwoman, a parley which had given me 

 the opportunity of taking this survej' ; but which she at length inter- 

 rupted witli a profusion of apologies, and led me Into the parlour to 

 examine Scppy's performances. 



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