The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk girl [By Richard Cobbold.] Author's complete edition, etc

Front matter

THE HISTORY OF MARGARET CATCHPOLE GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LONDON, GLASGOW, ft NEW YO CONTEMPLATION IS THE ONL\ LASTING PLEASURE. IE DJLWiT oie1- ANOTHBR IDJLY. Out os eternity this new day it born. lino eternity at r.ifh: doth return, t aii. retime no eyes ever did. >-o pood it for ever from all eyes If. hid, Here hath been uftwuiiieanother blue da Think, wiit thou let It Blip nselc-t>s aw *y i Tax* II TO THE WISE.— "Ncr k thy life, nor r-ate; but T^hat ti livest, live well." — Mixroir. TO THE FOOLISH .-A mt without wisdom L-ves in a fool paradise. A DVICJ3 TO WOULD-BI ■** SCTICJDES-PQLITICS Ac.— Many hold their lives so cheap a to commit the terrible crime of suicide instead, however, of recklessly attain ing that end by poiaon, the rope, pistol e, Ac, we recommend the soils** ing modes— as beiny more natural am. quite as effectual.

Wear thin she damp r every npart ment round cf unnatural sxcitement, : tics (to enaole you to produce r fever), (rushy novels, and gambhn speculations, <itber on cards, >-■ or stock. G-o to operas, minet* oerta, theatres, in all sorts of v. eathe? and, when stcammg hot w tinn, rash into tha cold air with yot coat or shawl hanging over your an. In balls dance till exhausted, and then go home in your pumps through the damp streets and air. Sleep on feather beds in the smallest and closest ro the house. Eat immoderately and stimulating diet. Npvpt drink anyban strong tea, nor anything stronger than neat whisky or brandy. Teach yen. children cari-.- _* coffee, chew or smoke tobacco. Marry in a hurry, and growl and repent for tbe rest of your aeticate your food, but bolt it like a serpent. Follow any exciting or unhealthy business, if made at it, so that your friends may consolo themselves for your early death.

Never go to bed : and then with a full stomach. Eat little niceties, such ac pastries, unripe fruit, lunch, wine, 4c, Be always id a passion, either of anger or love. .in a pay no attention to the regulation of your diet, exercise, or occupation. Always avoid i r SALT. Attempt no conformity to the laws of Use, but gormandisa to your trtmoet bent, and prised to learn of the body what " A frail an ! fickle tenement it is, Which, like the iirittle glass that measures time, is often broke ere barf its sands are run." higher aim can man attain than conquest over uuman pain P N'T BE WITHOUT A BOTTLE OF ENO'S FRUIT SALT. 1EN BLOOD, HsiiTitT Bil». — When the liver ie not making healthy bile, or insnfficic the blood becomes impure-r-tho /■sroundwork of disease, and produces constipation, dyspepsi .(laches, Ao.

Chapter I

— Early Scents. The heroine of this romantic but perfectly true narrative was bom in the year 1773. There was a large tract of extra-parochial land toward tire north of the bounds of the parish of Nacton, Suffolk, reaching from Rirshmere Heath, down to the banks of the iful river Orwell. This tract was known by the name of Wolfkettel, and commenced at the Seven Hills, and terminated on the south side of Ahreshbourne Priory. Jonathan Catchpole had a team of these horses to look after, and was the head ploughman on the estate. His boys were engaged in various parts of the farm. The youngest daughter was made a sort of pet of by the rest of the family ; and, as the eldest girl was always of a sickly constitu tion, it fell to the lot of Margaret to carry her father's and brothers' meals to them in the field.

The spot called the Seven Hills, though originally there were sixteen, was, in all pro babrlity, the site of the famous battle of Arwell, sought between the Earl of Ulsketel and the Danes, in AD. 1010. It was a wild waste, and a great part of it, to this remains much in the same state, fit only for sheepwalks, or a warren, or as a preserve for game. The tract lying nearest to the Orwell was very early brought into cultivation, and, at the time this narrative commences, was famous for the production of the best barley in the county. In a cottage on these lands lived Juna'.han Catchpole, an industrious labourer, and father of six children, of 1 Margaret was the second daughter oungest child but one. Who has not seen the healthy face of childhood in those ever interesting years, when activity commences?

And what phil anthropist, delighting in scenes of genuine simplicity and nature, could fail to admire the ruddy glow of youth and the elastic step of confidence with which the young female peasant bounds to meet a parent or a brother at the welcome hour of noon, bearing ihe frugal dinner of bread and cheese, or it may sometimes chance to be bread and pork? The child becomes of some consequence, entrusted with the basket of provision ; and, as she stands against the back of the hedge row, watching the progressive march of the horses, as they come toward her, drawing the plough, and turning over the soil, guided as they are by the steady hand of her father, she presents a picture worthy of observation. The farm upon which the father and his sons worked was then held by Mr. Denton, was well known for his famous Suffolk ■jrses — strong bone, short joints, clean legs, stout chests, high crests, light chestnut, with silvery manes, and tails that ought to have swept the ground, but for a barb custom of docking them, at that period, one of the most insane fashions of the day.

On these occasions, Margaiet was as punctual to her hour as the sun. On reaching the field, she would set her basket down, and jump into her father's arms, and kiss his warm forehead, and receive, in return, a reward which, even in infancy, gave her the utmost delight ; viz., a seat upon one of the horses' backs ; and there she would remain till she was taken off by the same hands which placed her there, and gave her the empty basket to carry home. lovers of the scenery around Ipswich, and many are the sketches in the possession of their Suffolk friends, which speak their ad miration of the beautiful landscapes which surround the river Orwell. "May I come in the evening, father?" she used to say, as she looked wistfully round the horizon, to see if any appearance of rain forebode an unfavourable answer; for this request " to come in the evening " con tained an imaginative delight, exceeding, in its kind, the prospectof the fox-hunter for a coming run : as Margaret, when she did "come in the evening," used to have the privilege of riding home one of the plough-horses.

Had these artists seen Margaret in her equestrian character, they would have im mortalized her, for nothing could have been more appropriate to the spirit of their works. Margaret was fearless as a Newmarket jockey, and never was known to have had a single fall. She kept her seat as well as any of the tutored children of the celebrated but unfortunate Ducrow ; indeed, it may be fairly questioned if any one of his troop could have managed to sit a Suffolk cart-horse with the same composure. This was a singular penchant for a female child to imbibe, but with it were mingled the pleasure of a father's and brother's smiles ; and this, after a day of toil, seemed to give elasticity to their spirits, and formed an agreeable change to the unvarying monotony of ploughing straight lines, the clinking of chains; and their rural "wooah come ather, woree, wooo, jeh!" sounds as unintelligible to some readers as the language of the savages of the Caribbee islands, when first discovered.

The fame of our young heroine's exploits reached but little farther than the sequestered farm-house, to which her parents belonged, excepting now and then, at the Ipswich races, when some of the lads saw an awkward rider, they would exclaim to each other, "Margaret would beat him holiow." Time flew swiftly on, producing no farther change in the family of the Catchpoles, than what may be usually seen in the habitations of the labouring class. Those are gene rally the most stationary race of all people in a parish, who have constant employment on a large farm : the owners of land change their places of abode — sell their estates — and leave the country ; the tenants frequently change their occupations ; but the labourer remains to cultivate the soil, and is always found a resident among those " poor who shall never perish out of the land."

They have their frrends and fellow-labourers, and feel as much interest in each other's welfare as the members of richer or wider-spread fraternities. Sometimes the crack of the whip would make the horses start, and the young men, her brothers, who would try to frighten their sister, found, instead of so doing, that it only increased the pleasure ofherride. At length she began to trot the leading horse home. Alter a time, this privilege was extended to riding the farm-horses down to water; and this appears to have been the very summit of Margaret's delight. She used to take her brother's whip in her tiny hand, drive the whole team before her into the water, keep them in order while there, and then drive them out again, up the sandy lane, into the stable-yard. It is well known that at such times it is no easy task to sit a cart-horse, for they will kick, and plunge, and exhibit that rough kind of amusement known by the name of "horse play," which has as much of shrieking and biting as it has of gambolling in it.

The Catchpoles and the Cracknells were two families that principally worked upon the lands of Mr. Denton. Their houses were, indeed, widely separated, but, as their labours were in the same field, their occasions of meeting were frequent ; their intimacy be came strict, and they were of mutual assist ance to each other. One lived near the street at Nacton, and the other upon the farm ; so that, whenever there was any sion to go to Nacton, the Catchpoles always hail a friend's house to call at, and the Cracknells were as constantly using the In going out to and coming home from water, horses accustomed to the heaviest labour, if at all well fed, will exhibit no mean share of this species of spirit ; and woe be to the lad without a whip in his hand, or who has not a very steady seat I Gainsborough and Constable were both EARLY SCENES. 9 Catchpoles' cottage at the entrance of the lane leading down to the farm-house. respected by their master and mistress, their friends, and acquaintances.

They were a well-conducted, orderly family, and were united in love, as dearly as those who had the greater zest of education and cultivation to heighten their domestic affections. This intimacy was productive of especial accommodation on the Sabbath-day ; for the Catchpoles, being at a great distance from church, they made use of the Cracknells' cot) age, near the Street, and used to carry their meals there, with the view of attending the church service twice on that day. Margaret grew up to her thirteenth year, a fine, active, intelligent girl. She had a brother, youirger than herself by five or six years, of whom she was very fond, from having nursed him during the occasional absence of her mother. Her elder sister was always,, as we have stated, of a sickly constitution, and very delicate : she had very little bodily strength, but she had learned to knit and to sew, and in these things she excelled, and was the sempstress of the whole family.

She was of a sweet temper, so gentle, so affectionate, and so quiet, that, though a complete contrast to her sister, she nevertheless maintained a just ascendancy over the high spirit of Margaret, which was always curbed by any quiet reproof from the calm wisdom of the invalid. At that time, education was not so widely spread as it is now ; and the particular spot in which this labourer's cottage stood being extra-parochial, they had to seek what little instruction they could obtain from the neigh bouring parish of Nacton. The Reverend Mr. Hewett was as attentive to his people as he could be, and was much assisted in his duties by the family of Admiral Vernon, who, at that time, lived at Orwell Park, and by Philip Broke, Esq., the great landlord of that district, and the father of our deeply-lamented and gallant Suffolk hero, Sir Philip Broke.

But education was not considered then so great a desideratum as it is now, though the pious wish of England's patriarchal sovereign, George III., "that every cottager might have a bible, and be able to read it," was nobly resporrded to through every densely peopled district in his kingdom. Margaret loved and respected her, almost as much as she did her mother, and was always ready to do anything to oblige her. Though a child of only thirteen years of age, she could be trusted to go to the town of Ipswich, four miles distant, to fetch her sister's medicine from the house of the doctor. If he ever gave her money, which he occasionally did, she always brought home something which she thought would be acceptable to poor Susan. The religions notions of the Catchpoles were confined to what they heard, and what they practised, for not one of the family could read a word.

They all knew the Lord's Prayer and the Ten Commandments, and understood, from the public lessons of the Sabbath, the history of creation and re demption. They could feel much pleasure in their Sabbath evenings' conversation about the Word they had heard read and preached, and would have highly valued any education which might have been offered to them for their enlightenment. We have seen something of Margaret's infant spirit ; we must now record a simple fact of her childhood, which exhibits a singular instance of intrepidity and presence of mind in a child, not yet fourteen years old. It chanced that her mother one day sent her down to the farm-house, to ask for a little broth, which had been promised by Mrs. Denton, her mistress, for poor Susan. Her father and her brothers were all at work, on a distant part of the farm ; and being harvest time, master and man were every one engaged.

When Margaret arrived at the gate, she heard a shriek from a female in the house, and in another minute she was in the kitchen, where the mistress of the house had suddenly fallen down in a fit. In one moment the girl of fourteen exhibited a character which showed the powerful impetus of a strong mind. The The after-history of our heroine will show that one, at least, of that family had every requisite, as far as regards talents, for making great progress, had she possessed the means and opportunity. The Catchpoles were not an irreligious family, though they could none of them read or write. They were not ignorant, though they were uneducated. The father always repeated aloud the Lord's Prayer, every night, before his family retired to rest, and the first thing before they went to their work in the morning.

They were generally I'. the better. She even met Admiral Veruon's carriage just as she turned on to the Ipswich Race Course, at the part now called Nacton Corner. The Admiral's attention was called to the extraordinary sight of a female child astride a pony at full speed, with nothing but a halter over his head, and that held as loosely as if the rider wished to go at full speed. The servants called to the child, even the Admiral was sufficiently excited to do the same ; but he might as well have attempted to stop a vessel in full sail with a strong and favourable wind. two girls in the house were shrieking with fright over their fallen mistress, and were incapable of rendering the least assistance. They stood wringing their hands, and stamp ing their feet, and exclaiming, "Oh! my mistress is dead ! — Oh ! my mistress is dead !

" "She is not dead!" said Margaret, "she is not dead. Don't stand blubbering there, but get some cold water ; lift up her head, untie her cap, loose her gown ; and raise her into the chair." Not waiting to see how her words were taken, she did the work her self, and caused the others to help her. She used the water freely, and gave the chest full play, dragged the chair toward the door, sent one of the girls for some vinegar, and made the other rub her hands and feet ; and did not slacken her attention until she saw some symptoms as returning animation. When the breathing became more composed, and the extremities more sensitive, she sent off one of the girls to the harvest-field for help ; and telling the servant girl that she was going for Doctor Stebbing, she went to the stable, unslipped the knot by which the pony was tied to the rack, and with only the halter in her hand, without saddle or bridle, she sprang upon the fiery little Suffolk Punch, snapped her fingers instead of a whip, and was up the sandy lane and onto the highroad to Ipswich, before the other girl was fairly across the first field towards her master.

She did not st^p even to tell her mother wdiere she was going, but dashed past the cottage. Away she dashed, regardless of any im pediment. She passed one young farmer from Stratton Hall, who rode what might be termed a high-bred horse. It was a noble turf and an open course ; and the young man, as much astonished as if it were an apparition before him, though convinced that it was flesh and blood, stuck his spurs into his charger's side, and gave him his rein with the full determination to overtake her. But this was not so easy a task as he anticipated. The little nag, hearing the clank of heels behind him, turned his head, first on one side, then on the other, and, lifting up his nose like a stag, darted onward with re doubled speed. Not Mazeppa with more sudden bound could have sprung forward with more spirit, than this wild little home bred nag did down the wide turf of the race-course.

Tire youth called aloud to know wdiat was the matter. But Margaret heeded him not ; and, long b rched the stewards' stand, she had fairly disi.1 the young Squire of Stratton Hall. At i she reached the end of the race-course, came on to the Common of Bishop's Hill. It is a very steep descent down that h the town of Ipswich, which, from its summit, seems to lie at the very bottom of an t pit But it is a noble expanse that lies before the spectator upon that eminence. The beautiful river, flowing to the left and forming an e> 'circle bordering the town, and the distant country rising with amphi theatric grandeur above the towers of twelve churcl e even a hasty traveller to pause and look upon th iret did not pause. Down shi nge of the hill into M" the back cores of pig-carts, and earners' vans, On she went, and well had she her own wishes answered by the fiery little animal she bestrode.

Her heart was up, and so was the pony's, who, feeling a light weight upon his back, and a tight seat over his ribs, gave full play to his lungs and legs, and answered to her heart's content the snap of the finger for expedition. Those who beheld the animal would be : >iid ask where all the i could be. But speed there was in his strong and well knit limbs. So cluse was he put together, thai !kc a ball bounding down the side of Malvern h Nothing seemed to check the speed of M a ret or hei si on to Ipswich market, without taking any notice of the drivers, though she knew i of them well. H s and the I >< i In i mind's the sooner she could bring them together EARLY SCENES. T I aud waggons stood on one side of the road, taking up nearly half the street. But on through them all at full speed dashed the ingirl.

From every house people rushed to see the sight — a girl, with her t hanging down behind her, and going 'ing through the crowded thoroughfare, was an extraordinary sight. girls, that, but for little Margaret's presence of mind and activity, the apoplectic fit might have terminated fatally. Having given the needful instructions as to the treatment of the invalid, the doctor once more took Margaret in his gig, and drove to the cottage, — where, having visited :bed for poor Susan, he took leave he grateful family by telling Margaret that, if ever she stood in need of a friend to help her, she had only to "post off again. for the doctor." People gave way as she rode fearlessly on, and followed her up St. Clement's Eore ; , over the stone pavement ; across the Wash into Orwell Place, where lived the humane, though eccentric surgeon, Mr. George Stebbing.

But not until she reached his very door ilid Margaret give the first cheek to the pony. Numerous were the inquiries concerning Margaret and her expedition, and she found herself, much to her surprise and chagrin, extolled for her horsewomanship. She began, therefore, to be shy of riding the horses at the farm ; and modesty told her, now that her fame began to spread, there was some thing bold and conspicuous in her former pleasures of this kind. So sensitive was she upon this point, that she avoided as much as le all allusion to her past habits, and for the future carefully avoided the horse-yard and the horses. Her father and brothers observed this, and would sometimes say, " PegS)'- vou v,'l' soon forget how to ride." A passing spectator, who was at the moment opposite the surgeon's door, with an instinctive thought of her errand, gave a violent ring at the surgery-bell, and received such a joyous, "Thank you, sir," from the child, that he stopped to see the result.

By this time the street was fill of spec tators, all anxious to know what was the matter ; but Margaret's eye was fixed upon the very moment it was ed, and the doctor himself app-ared, she exclaimed, "Oh, come to my mistress, ■ nie to my " The sooner the better," she would reply, " if I am to have people staring at me as they now do." gentleman who had rung the bell was Mr. Nathaniel Southga'e, of Great Bealings, a rich and excellent agriculturist, and an acquaintance of the doctor'?. Having followed him into the surgery, and there learnt the feat the child had performed, he at once ed to take her into his own service ; and ive her a crown as a present, telling her, if she was a good girl, she should come and live with him. With the former communication, Margaret, as might be supposed, was not >ut upon the latter she put a very grave face.

Susan perceived with satisfaction tha' garet, instead of being vain, and puffed up with the notice of the world, was quite the reverse. Numbers might have risen in their own opinion, and have been giddy from the continual praises of one and another. But in this case it became a subject of annoyance rather than of congratulation ; and her sister ...r, from finding her so much more occupied in the house, and especially for herhat Margaret's health would suffer. It was with some degree of satisfaction that an opportunity was soon afforded for a change of place and action for her sister. Her Uncle Catchpole came expressly from mel Southgate, of Great Bealings, to treat with her parents a tret's vice; and matters were arranged, agreeably to all parties, that she was The doctor's gig being by this time at the door, he placed Margaret beside him, and started for the farm, chatting by the her poor sister Susan, whom she asked the (i he returned from the farm. she seem to reflect in an unfavourable manner upon the act she had aid to the doctor, "I hope, sir, uld be angry at my taking ny, you will beg of him to forgive me." found bouse was much from the se to accompany her uncle on his return home.

All seemed to think it a good thing for the girl. Even she herself, though quite new to the work of a dairymaid, thought that she ie the unpleasant ob-er , she had been subject to. This accounted for once been a prevailing pleasure, and in which, tiil the world spoke loudly of her merit, she felt no degree of shame. How singular that such a being should ever become so conspicu ous, as she afterwards did, in that very line which she now so sedulously avoided ! Well may we all say, "We know not what manner of spirit we are of." the readiness with which she complied with j her uncle's advice. When, however, the hour of departure came, never perhaps did a cottage-girl leave home with a heavier heart. Tears, unre strained tears, ran in an honest current over her young face. Oh ! how Margaret loved her poor sick sister ! how deeply she felt the .grief of leaving her !

Nor would she consent to leave her, except under the faithful pro mise that her father or one of her brother's would frequently come and see her, and bring her word of Susan's health. In the situation which Margaret first occu pied, her mistress found her all that she re quired. She was very apt at learning to do her work ; very diligent in the performance of it ; and always gave satisfaction. She had plenty of employment, and was stirring with the lark ; soon understood the accustomed duties of a dairywornan ; and was always praised for cleanliness and good conduct. "Dear sister," she said to Susan, "dear sister, if you should be worse, oh, do let me come and nurse you ! I love to wait upon you, I feel so happy to see you smile." " God bless you, dear little Peggy ! " was the reply, " God bless you ! — Mind and be a good girl, and take pains to do your duty well.

Charles or John, and sometimes little Ned, will walk over to Bealings. I will send for you if I am worse, for I too love to have you near me. But it is best for us both that we should be parted for a time ; and especially for you, as you can learn nothing more at home." A year passed away rapidly. Margaret, at fifteen years of age, was as tall as she was afterwards at twenty ; she was strong, too, though slim. One year makes a great diffei ence in a female at that age. Some are almost women at sixteen, when boys are, generally speaking, awkward clowns. She went to service before she had completed her fourteenth year. Margaret remained a year and a half at Bealings, remarkable for the strict propriety of her behaviour, and for the cheerfulness of her disposition. She had stipulated with her mistress that, in case of her sister's death, or of her requiring her aid, at the near approach thereto, she should have full permission to leave.

It was on this account that, in the Whitsuntide following, she left her situatiou, anel went to attend her poor sister. The kiss of filial and parental and brotherly and sisterly love was given through many and the little Margaret departed for her first place. Sue went with a high character from home, and to a place where that good character had preceded her, in the estimation of the gentle man who so promptly rang the bell for her at the doctor's door. She stayed a day or two with her uncle in the cottage in which she was born, and then entered into the service of Mr. Nathaniel Southgate. At her very first interview with her new master, she ed of him never to talk about her riding the pony, and as much as possible to prespeoking of it. This very much raised her in the good opinion of her master they had some fears lest she might be too fond of riding, to mind her work.

They found her, however, completely opensity, nor could she be a new and strange place, ever to i pony. Susan, who was then in her twentieth year, had lingered on, gradually getting weaker and weaker, until she was quite unable to rise from her bed. Her heart always yearned towards her sister ; and, as she had proi to let her be with her during her few last days, and she herself thought those days were almost numbered, she now sought her ance. Margaret's affection answered the s call, and she was ready to place all linings and all hi ,t that sick sister's service. She hesitated not ; but, taking a respectful and grateful leave of the family at Bealings, she was at Whitsuntide again an inmale of her father's hon im does public praise make morre true modesty prevails, 'mid to be the case. It speaks highly foi this young girl, who, from an innate dis- In everything that could give her friends pride and pleasure, Margaret was found to have maele - anee.