CHAPTER VIII

A picturesque ruin--Round about Stamford--Browne’s “Callis”--A chat with an antiquary--A quaint interior--“Bull-running”--A relic of a destroyed college--An old Carmelite gateway--A freak of Nature--Where Charles I. last slept as a free man--A storied ceiling--A gleaner’s bell--St. Leonard’s Priory--Tennyson’s county--In time of vexation--A flood--Hiding-holes--Lost!--Memorials of the past.

Early in the morning we started out to explore the town; first, however, we found our way to Wothorpe a short mile off, from whence there is a fine view of Stamford. At Wothorpe are the picturesque ruins of a small mansion built by the first Earl of Exeter: “to retire out of the dust,” as he playfully remarked, “whilst his great house at Burleigh was a-sweeping.” The deserted and time-rent mansion is finely built of carefully squared stones and has four towers one at each corner, square at the base, but octagonal at the top; these towers, judging from an old print we saw in a shop window at Stamford, were formerly capped by shaped stone roofs, which in turn were surmounted by great weathercocks: the towers when complete must have been quite a feature in the structure, and have given it a special character--a touch of quaintness that is always so charming and attractive in a building. The ruins are weather-toned and ivy-grown and make a very pretty picture, though only the outer crumbling walls remain. Wothorpe has arrived at such a pathetic state of decay as to be almost picturesquely perfect, and pleads to be admired! Man has ruined it, but nature left to work her own sweet will has beautified it, for she has draped it with greenery, has tinted its stones, and broken up its rigid symmetry. It is a sad thought that a building should be more beautiful in ruin than in its perfect state, but, as Byron says,

there is a power And magic in the ruin’d battlement, For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower.

From this spot we retraced our steps to Stamford, and wandering desultorily about the town eventually came upon Browne’s Hospital, Bede House, or Callis; a most interesting old building, the exterior of which suggested to us a quaint interior, so we determined to obtain a glimpse of the latter, if possible. As we were ascending the steps to inquire if the place were shown we encountered a gentleman coming down, whom instinctively we took to be an antiquary; though why we should have jumped at such a conclusion it would be hard to say; and oddly enough it turned out that we were correct in our conjectures, so we ventured to ask him whether he thought we should be able to obtain admittance to the building. There is nothing lost in this world by seizing opportunities and asking polite questions, for oftentimes the traveller gains

[Sidenote: _“A BROTHER LUNATIC!”_]

much thereby. In this case we were well rewarded for making so simple an inquiry, for the stranger, noting the interest we took in the fine old building, appeared forthwith to take an interest in us, and thereupon offered to show us over it himself--a civil word how profitable it sometimes is!--he even appeared to enjoy his self-imposed task of doing duty as a guide. Possibly it pleased him to have a talk with a sympathetic soul as it did another antiquary we met later on, who on parting with us jokingly remarked: “It has been a treat to exchange views with a brother lunatic!” so bearing this in mind we chatted with our new friend about things old, of bygone times, and of antiquarian-lore galore--for he was a man whose life seemed in the past, his conversation gave one the impression that he was born at least a century too late for his own pleasure. The result of our discourse was that on leaving the hospital we had so gained his good-will that he further offered to show us something of the town, “As strangers might readily miss so much, and I should like to point out to you a few of the chief objects of interest”; then he added, “It will not be any trouble to me; I’ve nothing particular to do this morning.” We were only too glad to accept his kind aid, and greatly did we enjoy our exploration of Stamford under his helpful guidance.

But to “hark back” a little. Upon entering the old hospital our attention was called to the carved stone figure of the founder over the doorway, where he is shown holding a plan of the building in his hands. Then we were led into a large, long hall having a heavy oak-beamed ceiling. Here originally (I am now quoting from the notes I made on the spot of what we were told) the poor inmates slept in cubicles, access to which was gained by a gangway down the centre of the hall. Now that the old folk have sleeping accommodation in another portion of the hospital, the floor has been tiled, and the tiles are so laid as to show the shape, size, and plan of the cubicles. A very excellent idea--if changes must be made. Some ancient stained glass in a window here has “the founder’s chief crest” painted thereon, “for the founder’s family had the right to use two crests; only two other families in England having this right.” The “chief crest” is a phœnix, it is placed over a coat-of-arms on which three teasels are shown (these teasels puzzled us until our friend explained what they were). The motto given is “_X me sped_,” “Christ me speed,” we Anglicised it. An old “gridiron” table of the time of Charles I. stood, when we were there, in the centre of the hall; the ends of this draw out to extend it--an idea that the modern furniture manufacturer might well consider as a possible improvement upon the usual troublesome leaves and screw, nor prize it the less because so long invented. I have a table made in a similar fashion and find it most useful; two rings forming handles to pull out the ends.

Then we came to the chapel, divided from the hall by a carved oak screen; all the inmates are compelled to attend service here twice a day. The large chapel window, with a high transom, is filled

[Sidenote: _RELICS OF THE PAST_]

with fine old stained glass, on a bit of which we discerned the date 1515. The bench-ends are good. As well as these we had pointed out to us in its original position the pre-Reformation altar-stone, distinguished by the usual five crosses upon it. At one side of the altar was an ancient “cope-chair, in this the priest sat down, his cope covering the chair, and from it he blessed the congregation. There were formerly two of these chairs, but one was stolen”! Then we were shown a rare old wooden alms-box of the fifteenth century; this was bound round with iron.

In the quaint old audit room over the hall, where we went next, painted on a wooden panel set in the centre end of the wall we found the following ancient inscription, commencing in Latin and ending in English:--

Haec Domus Eleemosynaria fundata Fuit a Guilielmo Browne Anno Do[=n]i 1495. Anno Regio Henrici VII Decimo

This structure new contains twelve habitations Which shall remain for future generations For old and poore, for weake and men unhealthy. This blessed house was founded not for wealthy. Hee that endowed for aye and this house builded. By this good act hath to sinne pardon yielded. The honour of the country and this towne Alas now dead his name was William Browne. Be it an house of prayer and to diuine Duties devoted else not called mine.

Ten old men and two old women are boarded and cared for here, we learnt; the women having to act as nurses if required. Outside the building away from the road is a very picturesque and quiet courtyard with cloisters; these seem verily to enclose an old-world atmosphere, a calm that is of another century. The wall-girt stillness, the profound peace of the place made so great an impression on us that for the moment the throbbing and excited nineteenth century seemed ages removed, as though the present were a fevered dream and only existed in our imagination. So do certain spots enthral one with the sentiment of the far-away both in time and space! From here there is a view to be had of a gable end of the founder’s house; the greater part of the building having been pulled down, and only this small portion remaining.

The broad street outside Browne’s “Callis” was, we were told, the opening scene of the bull-running. Most towns in past days, as is well known, indulged in the “gentle sport” of bull-baiting, but from time immemorial in Stamford bull-running took its place as an institution peculiar to the town. The bull-running, we were told, was carried on, more or less, in the following fashion. Early in the morning of the day devoted to the “gentle sport” a bell-man went round to warn all people to shut their shops, doors, gates, etc., then afterwards at a certain hour a wild bull, the wilder the better, was let loose into the streets and then the sport began. The populace, men, women, and boys, ran after the bull, armed with cudgels, with which they struck it and goaded it to fury; all the dogs of the town, needless to say, joining in the

[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT SPORT_]

sport and adding to the medley. By evening if the bull were not killed, or driven into the river and perchance drowned, he was despatched by an axe. Men occasionally of course got tossed, or gored, during these disgusting and lively proceedings, and others were injured in various ways: indeed it seems to have been very much like a Spanish bull-fight vulgarised. This sport continued till about the year 1838. I presume that there was no “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” then; or is it that cruelty does not count when sport comes in? for as a supporter of the Society once laid down the law to me dogmatically thus: “It’s cruelty to thrash a horse, even if he be vicious, but it’s not cruelty to hunt a fox or a hare, as that is sport; so we never interfere with hunting: neither is bull-fighting cruel, for that is a sport.” Well, my favourite sport is fly-fishing, and I am glad to learn that it is not a cruel one, as “fish have no feelings.” But how about the boy who impales a worm on a hook: has the worm conveniently “no feelings” too? Shall we ever have a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Reptiles?

The origin of the Stamford bull-running appears to be lost in the mists of antiquity; of course where history fails legend must step in, and according to legend the sport began thus:--Some time in the thirteenth century (delightfully vague date! why not openly “once upon a time”?) a wild bull got out of the meadows where it was grazing near the town and rushed into the streets; it was chased by the populace, and chased by dogs, and eventually driven into the river and drowned, after affording much entertainment to the townsfolk; thereupon the bull-running was established as a sport. The legend does not sound so improbable as some legends do, but whether based on fact or not I cannot say. It is only for me to repeat stories as they come to my ear.

In the same street outside Browne’s “Callis,” we further learnt, the old market cross stood which was taken down about the year 1790. According to ancient engravings it appears to have been a structure with a tall stone shaft in the centre, surmounted by a cross which was duly knocked off by the Puritans; from this central shaft a roof extended to a number of columns around, thus forming a shelter for the market folk. This market cross is not to be confounded with a Queen Eleanor’s Cross that stood beyond the Scot-Gate about half a mile from Stamford on the old York and Edinburgh road. A glorious example, this latter must have been, of one of these picturesque crosses erected in pious memory of a loved consort, judging at least from a description of it we observed quoted in a local guide-book we found in our hotel, which runs thus:--“A vision of beauty, glorious with its aggregate of buttresses and niches and diaper, and above all with the statues of Eleanor and Edward; the most beautiful of that or any age. Shame to those savages in the Great Rebellion who swept away the very foundations of it! But the cry of superstition hunts down such things as these a great deal faster than age can despatch them.”

[Sidenote: _TRADITIONS_]

Next our guide took us to the site of Brasenose College--mostly pulled down in the seventeenth century by the corporation--but the outer wall and an arched stone gateway still remain. On the gate here was a quaint and ancient knocker, judged by antiquaries to be of the fourteenth century; this was formed of a lion’s head in beaten brass holding a ring in his mouth; we understood that it had left the town, a fact to be regretted. It is singular that there should have been a college here of the curious name of Brasenose, as well as the one at Oxford. There is indeed a tradition that the veritable nose that surmounts the gateway at Oxford came from the Stamford college, and was brought by the students when compelled to return to their former university town. Another tradition professes to give the origin of the peculiar name, stating it to be derived from _brasen-hus_, or _hws_, a brew-house, it being said that one was attached to the college--but the derivation, though just possible, is more ingenious than convincing.

Next we were taken to see the crumbling gateway of the ancient Carmelite Friary; this had three niches for statues above, but is more interesting to antiquaries than to the lovers of the picturesque; it now forms the approach to the Infirmary. Then we visited the three chief churches, noting in St. Martin’s the magnificent altar-tomb--gorgeous with colour and gilt, but rather dusty when we were there--of Queen Elizabeth’s Lord Treasurer, whereon he is represented in recumbent effigy clad in elaborately adorned armour. Men dressed their parts in those days! Space will not permit a detailed description of these historic fanes; indeed, to do Stamford justice would take at least several chapters, and I have not even one to spare!

Next our wanderings led us into an old graveyard to see the last resting-place of a famous Stamford native, whose size was his fame! His tombstone inscription tells its own story without any further comment of mine, and thus it runs:--

In Remembrance of That Prodigy in Nature DANIEL LAMBERT who was possessed of An exalted and convivial mind And in personal greatness Had no Competitor He measured three feet one inch round the leg Nine feet four inches round the body And Weighed Fifty-two stone Eleven pounds! He departed this life On the 21st of June 1803 Aged 39 years.

“An exalted and convivial mind” is good, it is a phrase worth noting. Our good-natured guide informed us that after the death of this worthy citizen his stockings were kept for many years hung up in a room of one of the inns as a curiosity, and that he distinctly remembered being taken there by his father when a boy, and being placed inside one of the stockings.

After this in a different part of the town we had

[Sidenote: _A HUNTED KING!_]

pointed out to us “Barn Hill House,” an old gray stone building more interesting historically than architecturally, for it was within its walls that Charles I. slept his last night “as a free man.” He arrived there disguised as a servant, and entered by the back-door--a hunted king! Such are the chances and changes of fate: the ruler of a kingdom coming stealthily in by a back-door, and seeking shelter and safety in the house of a humble subject, clad in the lowly garb of a serving-man! But I am moralising, a thing I dislike when others do it! possibly through having an overdose thereof when I was a boy, for almost every