Preparations for the approaching fÊte.--The procession of the bridal party to Osterley Park.--The Major and his visitors superintend the arrangements in the meadow.--The curious discussions which took place on that occasion.--The origin of the Swing.--Merry Andrews.--Trajetours, &c.--The dinner at the Hall.--The learned controversy which was maintained with respect to the game of Chess.

A month had nearly elapsed since the bridal pair had quitted Overton; and during this period, the greatest activity had been displayed by the itinerant corps of Momus, under the superintendence of their manager, Ned Hopkins. The various show-booths had been erected by their respective owners with an expedition that might have put many a prouder architect to shame; the marquees and the temporary rooms had been completed under the management of Tom Plank; and for those, whose appetite might hold precedence of the senses of sight and hearing, ample funds of gratification had been provided by the accomplished hostess of the “Bag of Nails,” whose grim troop of kettles and stew-pans had, during the whole of the week, been chirping and chuckling over the kitchen range, the very cheeks of which had cracked from yawning. The major now anxiously awaited the arrival of every post, in expectation of a letter that might announce the day upon which Henry Beacham and his bride would return to Osterley Park. At length the long anticipated intelligence was received, that they might be expected at Overton by four o’clock on the day after the morrow. The vicar was immediately summoned to a council, and on his arrival, retired with the major for the purpose of consulting the chronicles of Holinshed and Froissart, touching certain points of ceremonial that might guide them in their arrangements for receiving the bride. The vicar pleaded in favour of the forms that were observed on the occasion of the public entrance of Queen Isabella into the city of Paris, but the major objected to the plan, on account of the pageant representing the siege of Troy; a point upon which the vicar, as may be readily imagined, most pertinaciously insisted; so that the gentlemen separated without having arrived at any satisfactory conclusion upon the subject, and the question was transferred to another jurisdiction. No sooner had it become known that Mr. and Mrs. Beacham were shortly to arrive, than the more respectable yeomen of the parish assembled at the village inn, to concert a plan for receiving them with all due honour, when it was finally arranged, that the village should be decorated with garlands, and the May-pole erected on the spot, where its gaudy streamers had for so many ages annually floated on the breeze of spring. It was farther resolved, that every person who could furnish himself with a horse, should attend at a certain spot by the hour of three, in order to advance in procession, and escort the happy couple through Overton to Osterley Park. The major, upon receiving these resolutions, issued such orders as might be necessary for carrying them into effect; he also signified his desire, that those musicians who had lately arrived for the impending festivities should be in attendance at the place and hour that had been fixed upon. The friends of Major Snapwell had already arrived at the Park; and Overton Lodge was overflowing with visitors. Tom had also joined his family circle.

At three o’clock on the appointed day, twenty signal guns were discharged from the Park--the village bells struck up a festive peal--the flag was hoisted on the spire of the church; and upwards of forty respectable yeomen, farmers, and tenants, mounted on their horses and decorated with ribands and flowers, had assembled as an escort.

The church clock chimed the quarter past three, as the carriages of Major Snapwell and Mr. Seymour, and those of their guests, drawn by highly decorated horses, entered the village; the peasants immediately drew back, so as to form an avenue through which the party might pass, while shouts of gladness rent the air. Each horseman had provided a large bough of oak or elm, so that the cavalcade in motion appeared like a moving grove, and reminded Mrs. Seymour of the advance of “Birnam Wood to Dunsinane.” The carriages, preceded by a band of music, occupied the van of the procession; then came about fifty village maidens, each carrying in her hand a basket of flowers; next followed the horsemen; and the procession was closed by a dense group of peasants, who had come from all the country round. The vicar appeared on horseback, bustling in all directions, now conversing with the major, now with Mr. Seymour; at one time moderating the pace of the horsemen, and at another, keeping back the pedestrians, whose eagerness to push forward created an inconvenient crowd in the foremost ranks. Mr. Twaddleton held in his right hand a wand decorated with ivy leaves, and which resembled in appearance the thyrsus of Bacchus, except that the cone on its summit had been replaced by a bunch of roses. This was a classical conceit; and he fully explained to the major the reason of his having adopted such a device for his wand of office.

“The rose,” said he, “was dedicated by Cupid to Harpocrates, the god of silence, to engage him to conceal the secrets of Venus; hence has this flower ever since been considered as the symbol of silence; for which reason it was customary to hang a rose over the banqueting-table, to signify that what was there spoken should be kept private, or ‘under the rose;’ whence, also, to present, or hold up, this flower to any person in discourse served, instead of an admonition, to intimate that it was time for such person to hold his peace. In like manner,” continued the antiquary, “you will observe that, by virtue of my wand, I shall impress the obligation of silence upon the crowd, and easily calm any undue clamour that may arise.”

The cavalcade had advanced little more than half a mile, when the major suggested the propriety of halting, until his nephew and niece should arrive; to this proposition the vicar readily acceded, and accordingly issued the necessary orders.

They had not, however, remained stationary above five minutes, when a carriage and four were seen at the brow of the hill, advancing in full speed. A general and simultaneous shout burst from the crowd; upon which the vicar raised his wand, and all was hushed. How far such an effect might be attributed to the influence of his wand, we shall leave the sagacious reader to determine; but the party smiled at so striking an instance of classical credulity; and Mr. Twaddleton, highly gratified by his triumph, rode forward to the chariot, which was not more than two hundred yards distant. It contained Mr. and Mrs. Beacham, whom the vicar no sooner perceived, than he again raised his wand, and again witnessed the influence of its spell. The chariot instantly stopped, and, in the next moment, Mr. Twaddleton was seen in earnest conversation with the travellers. He informed them that the group they saw was a cavalcade of villagers, who had been awaiting their arrival on the road, in order to escort them in rural triumph to Osterley Park. He then presented Mr. Beacham with a bag of nuts, “that the bridegroom,” as he said, “might be enabled to comply with the ancient Roman custom^[70] of throwing nuts amongst the boys to be scrambled for;--sparge, marite, nuces, as Virgil has it;--da nuces pueris, as Catullus sings.” Mr. Beacham held the vicar in too much respect to laugh at his eccentricities, and he therefore accepted the bag, with a determination to gratify his wishes in so harmless a whim.

Jerry Styles was now directed to forward the two messengers to Osterley Park; and he accordingly opened a basket, from which flew two carrier pigeons, who immediately soared into the air, and having attained their greatest altitude, and remained apparently stationary for a few seconds, darted off in the direction of Osterley Park; every eye was steadfastly fixed upon the bird [sic]; and a murmur of satisfaction and wonder ran through the ranks, as the sagacious animals lessened in the distance.(52)

The musicians struck up a grand march;--the whole cavalcade was in motion. Mr. Beacham’s chariot having been drawn on one side of the road, the carriages and horsemen proceeded to take their stations in the rear; the company in the former kissing their hands, and waving their handkerchiefs, while the latter lowered their branches, and cheered, as they passed.

The damsels, in advance of Mr. Beacham’s carriage, opened their baskets, and strewed the road with flowers as they moved forward.

“Hark!” exclaimed the major: “the pigeons have arrived at the park, and my orders have been faithfully obeyed: they are firing a salute.”

“And it has been heard at the village,” said the vicar; “for the bells have just commenced their peal of welcome.” But we are exhausting the patience of our readers with the details of a ceremony, in which it is very probable they may feel but little interest; although we freely confess that, to ourselves, few pageants have such attractive charms as those innocent and simple manifestations of genuine feeling which are to be met with in rural life, where the heart has not yet been chilled by that benumbing influence of what has been termed “the progress of civilisation;” and which has exchanged the free and warm impulses of our nature for cold and studied forms, or for an artful display of factitious sentiment.

During the progress of the procession through the village, Mr. Beacham had not been unmindful of the vicar’s request; he poured a shower of nuts amongst the boys, which occasioned much frolic, and good-humoured contention; while the peasants caught and cracked them, without any suspicion of the Roman custom they were assisting to perpetuate.

Having arrived at Osterley Park, the horsemen formed a double line, through which the several carriages passed. The gates were then closed; and the vicar, stepping forward, thus addressed the assembled multitude:--

“Well-beloved friends and parishioners, I am desired by Major Snapwell to inform you that refreshments have been prepared in the village, of which you may all partake on your return. Your admission into the park this evening would interfere with those arrangements which are in progress for to-morrow’s jubilee: let me, therefore, request that you will all retire peaceably.”

In compliance with this intimation, the whole assembly,

after having given three hearty cheers, retired to the village, where several barrels of beer had been disposed in readiness for the libation.

The vicar, having completed his harangue, rejoined the party at the park, where its hospitable owner had prepared a sumptuous dinner. It was, however, proposed that the vicar, with the major, and such of his guests as wished to inspect the preparations, should previously walk round the grounds. Tom and his sisters begged that they might be included in the party; a request which their father readily granted, as he said that some opportunity might occur for explaining the nature of those exhibitions which they were to witness on the following day. The same feeling induced Mr. and Mrs. Beacham and several other visitors to join the party, hoping that they also might profit from the discourse which Mr. Seymour intended to hold for the instruction of his children. The reader will probably be induced, for similar reasons, to accompany them. If he has attentively read the preceding pages of this work, we hope he has become convinced that the lessons of youth may occasionally convey instruction as well as amusement to those of riper years.

Ned Hopkins having been summoned to attend the party, and receive the final orders of the vicar, they proceeded to the elm-meadow, where the grand fair was to be held, and in which were disposed a long line of booths for the motley exhibitions to which they were dedicated.

“What have we here?” exclaimed the major, as he entered the meadow; “a row of poles!”

“Ned Hopkins,” cried the vicar, “how has it happened that the ropes have not been affixed to these poles? Have I not said that every arrangement must be completed this evening? Those poles,” continued the vicar, addressing himself to Major Snapwell, “are intended for swings, from which the younger peasants will, doubtless, derive much amusement, while their sires are engaged, in the adjoining field, by the more manly exercises of quoits, foot-racing, wrestling, hurling, &c. You are, of course, aware, gentlemen, that in admitting the swing amongst the pastimes of the day, I have the support of classical authority: its origin may be traced to the Icarian games, the celebration of which consisted in persons balancing themselves on cords attached to two trees; or in other words, in swinging. They were instituted in commemoration of the death of Erigone, who no sooner discovered the murder of her father Icarus, than she piously hung herself at his tomb.”

“It is certainly very curious,” said the major, “to observe how frequently a popular ceremony or custom has survived the tradition of its origin; it is thus, for instance, that the fond mother still suspends the coral toy around the neck of her infant, without being in the least aware of the superstitious belief from which the custom sprang (53); and I have little doubt but that we shall to-morrow hear the chorus of ‘Derry-down’ re-echoed by those who probably never heard of the Druids, and much less of the choral hymns with which their groves resounded, at the time of gathering the misletoe.”

“You need not go so far back as the Druids,” said Mr. Seymour; “does not the housewife place the poker across the grate to draw up the fire, without ever suspecting that the custom originated from the superstitious belief that, by thus forming a cross with the bars, the fire was protected from the malignant influence of witches?--But let us proceed; for what has yonder stage been erected?”

“That is the hoistings, sir,” exclaimed Ned Hopkins, “from which Giles Gingerly, the celebrated American merry-andrew, will exhibit his buffoonery, and vend his nostrums.”

“Hoistings! why, Ned, you pronounce the word as though your mouth were filled with hot pudding,” said the major.

“I ask your pardon, sir,” replied Ned; “but my father would never suffer me to pronounce it in any other manner; for he always maintained that hustings was a corruption for hoistings, it being a stage upon which the actor is hoisted or elevated above the surrounding crowd.”

“I believe he is right,” muttered the vicar.

“Papa,” said Tom, “pray tell me what is a merry-andrew.”

“Ask the vicar,” replied his father.

“The mountebank, who united the professions of joculator and physician, was of ancient date, and during the two last centuries has figured away with considerable success. He usually appears on a temporary stage, and prefaces the vending of his nostrums with a pompous harangue; and, the better to attract the notice of the gaping spectators, he displays some of the performances practised by the jugglers, while his inseparable companion, the bourdour, exhibits numerous tricks, and puts the populace in good humour by wit and raillery. The medical fraternity, known in England by the name of Merry-andrews, and who are the companions of the mountebank, derived their foundation from Dr. Andrew Boorde, who lived in the reigns of Henry VIII. Edward VI. and Queen Mary, and was constantly in the habit of frequenting fairs and markets, at which he harangued the populace: his speeches were extremely humorous, and occasioned considerable mirth; but, notwithstanding the infallibility of his nostrums, like Paracelsus, he died with a bottle of his elixir in his pocket. His successors in the same line naturally endeavoured to emulate the humour of their master, and hence this whole class of vagabond tinkers of flesh and bone acquired the generic appellation of ‘Merry-andrews’.”

“And pray what are nostrums?” asked Louisa.

“‘Nostrum,’ my dear, signifies our own, and is applied to any medicine which is prepared by a secret process, and sold for the private advantage of an individual; but, since secrecy is never used on such occasions except as a cloak for imposture, the word very generally conveys an expression of ridicule or contempt.”

The company proceeded in their inspection.

“What have we there, Ned Hopkins?” said Mr. Seymour, as he pointed to a booth of larger dimensions than those which surrounded it.

“In that booth, ‘the Emperor of all the Conjurors’ will perform his wonderful art of ‘sleight-of-hand,’” replied Ned.--“Look at his card of invitation,” continued the wag--“? Walk in--walk in--ladies and gentlemen. Here are miracles in any quantity to be seen for two-pence, and believed in for nothing!!!”

“A lineal descendant of the Tragetour of the fourteenth century,” observed the vicar; “a class of artists who, with the assistance of dexterity of execution, and various kinds of machinery, deceived the eyes of the spectators, and produced such illusions as were usually supposed to be the effect of enchantment; on which account they were frequently ranked with magicians, sorcerers, and witches. They were greatly encouraged in the middle ages, and travelled in large companies, carrying with them such machinery as was necessary for the performance of their deceptions.”

“And what may be the etymology of tragetour?” asked Mr. Seymour.

“A late ingenious writer supposes it to be derived from trebuchet, or trap-door, of which he made frequent use during his performance.”

The company passed to the next booth.

“There,” said Ned, “will be exhibited vaulting, tumbling, jumping through hoops, balancing, grotesque dances by the clown, and dancing upon the tight-rope.”

“The tragetour rarely executed this part of the performance himself,” said the vicar, “but left it to some of his confederates.”

“And yet I should have thought it the most profitable department of the art,” observed the major; “for it was so patronised as to secure the reception of its professors into the houses of the nobility. In the reign of Edward II. a tumbler rode before the King, and so delighted his Majesty, that he rewarded him with a gratuity of twenty shillings, a very considerable sum in those days.”

The whole party, having expressed their satisfaction at the genius which Ned Hopkins had displayed in selecting and arranging the various kinds of amusement, were conducted by the vicar to a small enclosure at a short distance from the fair, which he had appropriated to the youths of the village, who had been trained to perform the “Ludus TrojÆ,” according to the description left us by Virgil in the fifth Æneid.

“I shall be curious to witness the sport,” said the major, “for Lazius asserts, in his commentaries upon the Roman Republic, that the jousts and tournaments, so much in fashion about two or three hundred years ago, were indebted for their origin to this game; and that ‘Tournamenta’ is but a corruption of ‘Trojamenta.’”

“Undoubtedly,” replied the vicar; “and the learned and noble Du Fresne entertains the same opinion: by some the word has been derived from the French tourner, to turn round with agility; yet the exercises have so much resemblance, as to prove the one an imitation of the other.”

“Come, come, my good friend,” exclaimed the honest major, “all these preparations are highly laudable, and will, no doubt, afford satisfaction to the spectators, for whose amusement they have been designed; but there are other senses, besides the eye and ear, to be gratified upon this occasion. I have not yet observed any arrangements for the dinner.”

“Fear not, major; the awning which has been erected for that purpose is within sight: observe you not the banners which are floating yonder?” said the vicar.

“Ay, ay, to be sure I do; and let me tell you, that you have taken up a very snug position.”

Tables had been arranged, under an awning of canvass, in the form of a cross, and were capable of accommodating about two hundred persons. On a platform, somewhat elevated, was another table appropriated to the major and his guests, on which covers were laid for forty.

“You perceive, major,” said Mr. Twaddleton, as they approached the scene of future action, “that the fare which has been provided is simple but substantial, and I trust will be considered as no less according with English hospitality, than with classical propriety.”

“The beef certainly predominates,” said the major; “and I observe that most of the joints are roasted.”

“Quite correct, sir; the ox is the animal most frequently spoken of, as furnishing food for ancient heroes; and you will remember that Homer rarely mentions any other than roasted meat.”

“I perceive that you have been more miscellaneous in your arrangement of the upper table.”

“I have placed before you a chine of beef, because Menelaus set that dish before Telemachus at the marriage-feast of his son.”

“And I rejoice to see a salad for its neighbour,” said the major.

“Ay, truly an Attic salad, with garlic, leeks, and cheese: you no doubt remember that the poetical salad served up in the comedy of the Peace of Aristophanes was of this composition,” added the vicar.

“I wish to know what seats are to be appropriated to my young friends the little Seymours?” said the major.

“I regret extremely to say, that they cannot with propriety join our party,” replied the vicar, gravely.

“Not join the party! zounds, sir, but I insist upon it;--not join the party!”--

“Be calm, major; and believe me that I shall feel the privation as keenly as yourself; but would you countenance a measure, which is decidedly in opposition to every classical authority? Never, as Suetonius has expressly declared, did the young CÆsars, Caius and Lucius, eat at the table of Augustus, until they had assumed the toga virilis.”

“A fig for Suetonius; he is not to be trusted: has it not been said, that, while he exposed the deformities of the CÆsars, he wrote with all the licentiousness and extravagance with which they lived? Besides, can we trust the opinion of a man, on a subject of etiquette, who was banished from the court for want of attention and respect to the Empress Sabina? You must produce some better authority, my dear Mr. Twaddleton: search the Grecian writers; depend upon it that some direct or implied sanction to the plan is to be discovered; the oracles of old may generally be so interpreted as to meet the wishes of the translator.”

“Gently, Major Snapwell; speak not so irreverently of the luminaries of antiquity; nor expect me to distort passages from their original and intended significations. An idea, however, has just struck me, which may, possibly, be turned to your advantage; and yet there are many difficulties; for it cannot be that this feast has been conducted with the utmost frugality; and, therefore, must not be compared with the Lacedemonian ‘Syssitia,’ or public entertainments, whither the youths were obliged, by the lawgiver, to repair as to schools of temperance and sobriety, and where, by the example and discourse of the elder men, they were trained to good manners and useful knowledge.”

“A case exactly in point,” exclaimed the major. “Must not the classical character of our entertainment convey instruction? I vow it runs parallel in every particular with the Syssitia of Lacedemon; and I therefore affirm, that it would be illegal, according to the law of Lycurgus, to prevent the presence of the young Seymours.”

“Your argument has colour, major; I must admit that Mr. Seymour’s lessons are too valuable to be lost: well, I consent; it shall be a Lacedemonian entertainment, and my young friends shall be accordingly accommodated with seats.”

On their return from the banqueting-tables, the party inspected the preparations for the fire-works, and the ships constructed for the naumachia; we shall, however, at present decline offering any description, as we prefer explaining them in operation.

The reader will now be pleased to imagine that the party having returned to the mansion, had partaken of the hospitable repast which the major had provided for them; he may farther suppose that tea had been served up, and the amusements of the evening commenced; for it is at this moment that the course of our narrative is resumed. Mrs. Beacham was delighting the assembly by a splendid display of her musical talents; the major and Mr. Seymour were engaged in a game of chess.

“There you sit, gentlemen,” exclaimed the vicar, “so absorbed in your game, as to have remained quite insensible to the sweet sounds with which Mrs. Beacham has been charming us; but you stand excused, for Seneca admits the fascinating power of the ‘ludus latrunculorum,’ or game of chess. You no doubt remember the story that he tells us of one Canius Julius, who, having been sentenced to death by Caligula, was found by the centurion, when he came to conduct him to execution, so interested in a game of the ‘latrunculi,’ as at first to be insensible to the summons, and that he did not prepare to depart until he had counted his men, and desired the centurion to bear witness to his having one more piece on the board than his adversary, so that the latter might not boast of a victory after his death.”

“Indeed!” said the major; “but unfortunately for your story, the ancients were not acquainted with the game of chess.”

“What absurd proposition am I next to expect?” cried Mr. Twaddleton. “You surely cannot have read the poem to Piso, which some will have to be Ovid’s, others Lucian’s: but no matter; it is an ancient poem, and accurately describes the game of ‘latrunculi.’ I myself believe, from a particular line in Sophocles, that chess was invented by Palamedes, at the siege of Troy; although Seneca attributes it to Chilon, one of the seven Grecian sages. My friend Mr. Seymour, who is, upon all occasions, desirous of imparting wisdom through the medium of games, and of ‘turning sport into science,’ will no doubt agree with those who fancy that it was contrived by Pyrrhus, King of Epirus, as a method of instructing his soldiers in the military art; and I must admit that the game expresses the chance and order of war so very happily, that no place can lay so just a claim to its invention as the camp: ‘ludimus effigiem belli,’^[71] as Vida says.”

“Check to your king!” cried the major; “while you are considering of the best way to get his majesty out of the scrape, I will endeavour to extricate the vicar out of the quagmire in which he is floundering. My dear Mr. Twaddleton,” continued the major, “you speak as if it were an admitted fact that the ‘ludus latrunculorum’ was synonymous with our chess. I admit that it was a game played with TesserÆ or squares, and Calculi or pieces; but it does not follow that it must have been chess; indeed, the learned Dr. Hyde, whose researches into Oriental games are as much distinguished for accurate discrimination as for profound scholarship, considers it to have resembled our draughts.”^[72]

“You are to move, major,” said Mr. Seymour.

“Then I shall take your castle, and open a fresh battery upon the vicar,” replied Major Snapwell.

“So you may,” cried Mr. Twaddleton, “but you will not easily drive me from my position; supported as I am by Vossius and Salmasius, and an army of valiant combatants.”

“The learned Hyde has endeavoured to prove that chess was first invented in India, and passed from thence to Persia and Arabia.(54) Fabricius considered it a Persian game, and I must say that I am inclined to coincide with him. The terms in present use may evidently be traced to an Oriental source. Schach, in the Persian language, signifies king, and schachmat, whence our check-mate, the king is dead, the original words having been transformed by progressive changes; thus we have schach, echecs, chess; and by a whimsical concurrence of circumstances, have arisen the English words check, and exchequer.”

“I take your queen,” cried Mr. Seymour.

“Ay; and I take a bishop in return,” said the major.

“Well,” observed the vicar, “if an Oriental nation really gave origin to the game, it could not, at all events, have been China; since the policy of that people is to exclude females from every kind and degree of influence and power, whereas the queen at chess is a powerful and important piece.”

“You must not lay too much stress upon the names of the several pieces,” observed the major, “since they have varied in different ages and countries. The castle is sometimes called the rook, from the Italian word rocca, which signifies a fortress placed on a rock: the piece which we call the Bishop has been termed by English writers alphan, aufin, &c. from an Arabic word, signifying an elephant; sometimes it was named an archer; by the Germans, the hound or runner; by Russians and Swedes, the elephant; by Poles, the priest; and by the French, at a very early period, the fou or fool; the reason of this last appellation seems to be, that as this piece stands on the sides of the king and queen, some wag of the times styled it the fool, because anciently royal personages were commonly thus attended, from want of other means of amusing themselves.”

“You cannot thus account for our term bishop,” observed Mr. Seymour, “as our kings and queens have never had such attendants.”

“Nor is it very easy to ascertain the period at which it was introduced,” replied the major; “in Caxton’s time it was styled the elphyn. I should think it probable that the change of name took place after the Reformation.”

“It is probable that the pieces not only underwent changes in name, but changes in value or power,” observed Mr. Seymour, “as the game descended through different ages and countries.”

Mrs. Beacham, who had been for some time listening with much interest to the curious discourse we have just related, here ventured to ask a question.

“As you appear to have taken some trouble to ascertain the origin of this game, you can perhaps inform me at what period it was introduced into England.”

The major replied, that the learned Hyde supposed it to have been first known in our country about the time of the Conquest; but that Mr. Barrington believed it to have been introduced during the thirteenth century, upon the return of Edward I. from the Holy Land, where he continued so long, and was attended by so many English.

“It is certain that our ancestors played much at chess before the general introduction of cards,” observed the vicar, “as no fewer than twenty-six English families have emblazoned chess-boards and chess-rooks in their arms, and it must therefore have been considered a valuable accomplishment.”

“Cards,” observed the major, “must have been known in England previous to the time of Edward IV.; since a statute was passed in that reign against their importation; but they did not become general for many years, and the progress of the custom appears to have been extremely slow.”

“Check,--and mate!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour.

“Upon my word, I have lost the game. Mr. Twaddleton, I lay this to your account,” said the major; “you ought not, sir, to have intruded your antiquarian discussions at such a time.”

“You have lost the game, major, because, like Charles XII. of Sweden,^[73] you are too fond of advancing your king; but it is quite natural that you should feel mortified by your defeat: a person never likes to be beat at chess, because it is a trial of skill and address; chance has no place, and no one, therefore, loses except in consequence of the superiority of adversary. You may remember that William the Conqueror, upon being check-mated by the Prince of France, knocked the chess-board about his pate, an event which became the source of much future enmity. I must say,” continued the vicar, “that this, in my view of the matter, is an imperfection in the game; for, if it be the type or representative of a military campaign, fortune should have some share in deciding the fate of the day; and, if I remember correctly, Sir William Jones has stated that the use of dice, to regulate the moves, was formerly introduced in the East.”

“I will give the major his revenge whenever he pleases,” said Mr. Seymour; “but as I well know how dearly the vicar loves an antiquarian anecdote, if he will listen I will furnish him with one that will be probably new to him. Do you observe the form of the chess-board, resembling, as you perceive, two folio volumes?” said Mr. Seymour. “The origin of it was this: Endes, bishop of Sully, forbade his clergy to play at chess. As they were resolved, however, not to obey the command, and yet did not dare to have a chess-board seen in their houses or cloisters, they had them bound and lettered as books, and called them their wooden gospels. These same monks had also drinking vessels bound to resemble the breviary, and were found drinking when it was supposed they were at prayers.”