uted
yearly on the 25th of March. A large oil-painting, now hanging in the
dining-room of Tichborne House, and representing the distribution of
the "dole," was painted in 1670, and is considered as one of the most
valuable family relics. The costumes of the period are faithfully
represented, most of the prominent figures are portraits, and the
scene is laid within the courtyard of the old manor, with its
sculptured gables and picturesque mullioned windows. The present
house, roomy and comfortable as it is, is a plain, unpretending
building, with no architectural features to recommend it, but the park
and grounds are very beautiful, the old trees disposed in deep glades
and avenues, and the situation altogether very picturesque. Since the
famous trial has made everything bearing the name of Tichborne a
target for curiosity, the occupants have been sadly annoyed, and
access to the house was at last, in self-defence, denied to strangers
who came simply as gaping sight-seers. The "dole" distribution, as we
have said, takes place every year. Last spring it was attended with
less show than usual, owing to the illness of the little boy who now
represents the old name (the nephew of the lost Roger Tichborne), in
consequence of which none of the ladies of the family were present.
But despite the absence of the festal arrangements by which it is
usually accompanied, the main business was the same as it has always
been since Dame Mabel's time. About nine o'clock the fine old park
became thronged with men, women and children, all carrying bags and
baskets in which to stow away the "bounty." The distribution was made
at the back of the house. The people gathered in groups, dressed in
all sorts of plain, dilapidated country garments--old men in worn-out
smock-frocks (a sight seldom seen even in conservative England),
gaiters such as they wear at work in the fields, and slouched,
unrecognizable hats that had evidently seen better times; others stood
in their "Sunday clothes," stiff and uncomfortable as a laborer looks
in that unusual and unartistic guise; some were old and toothless, yet
upright and almost martial-looking; while some, again, had that
pathetic look--sunken eyes, bent limbs and general air of having given
in to the attacks of time and sorrow--which invariably speaks the same
language and stirs the same sympathy all over the world. The women
were in the majority, most of them hale and hearty, the wives and
daughters of l