The Every-day Book and Table Book, v. 1 (of 3) or Everlasting Calendar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac (part 4 of 7)

The Every-day Book and Table Book, v. 1 (of 3) or Everlasting Calendar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac (part 4 of 7)

Hence arose his nickname of ‘Tiddy-doll.’ In Hogarth’s print of the execution of the ‘Idle ’Prentice,’ at Tyburn, Tiddy-doll is seen holding up a gingerbread cake with his left hand, his right being within his coat, and addressing the mob in his usual way:--‘Mary, Mary,’ &c. His costume agrees with the aforesaid description. For many years, (and perhaps at present,) allusions were made to his name, as thus:--‘You are so fine, (to a person dressed out of character,) you look like Tiddy-doll. You are as tawdry as Tiddy-doll. You are quite Tiddy-doll,’ &c.--Soon after the late lord Coventry occupied the house, corner of Engine-street, Piccadilly, (built by sir Henry Hunlocke, Bart., on the site of a large ancient inn, called the Greyhound;) he being annoyed with the unceasing uproar, night and day, during the fair, (the whole month of May,) procured, I know not by what means, the entire abolition of this festival of ‘misrule’ and disorder.”

The engraving here given is from an old print of Tiddy-doll; it is presumed, that the readers of the Every-Day Book will look at it with interest.

EVIL MAY-DAY.

In the reign of king Henry VIII., a great jealousy arose in the citizens of London towards foreign artificers, who were then called “strangers.” By the interference of Dr. Standish, in a Spital sermon, at Easter, this was fomented into so great rancour, that it violently broke forth in the manner hereafter related by Stow, and occasioned the name of “Evil May-day” to the first of May, whereon the tumult happened. It appears then from him that:--

“The 28th day of April, 1517, divers yong-men of the citie picked quarels with certaine strangers, as they passed along the streets: some they smote and buffetted, and some they threw in the channell: for which, the lord maior sent some of the Englishmen to prison, as Stephen Studley, Skinner, Stevenson, Bets, and other.

“Then suddenly rose a secret rumour, and no man could tell how it began, that on May-day next following, the citie would slay all the aliens: insomuch that divers strangers fled out of the citie.

“This rumour came to the knowledge of the kings councell: whereupon the lord cardinall sent for the maior, and other of the councell of the citie, giving them to understand what hee had heard.

“The lord maior (as one ignorant of the matter) told the cardinall, that he doubted not so to governe the citie, but as peace should be observed.

“The cardinall willed him so to doe, and to take good heed, that if any riotous attempt were intended, he should by good policy prevent it.

“The maior comming from the cardinals house, about foure of the clocke in the afternoone on May eve, sent for his brethren to the Guild-hall, yet was it almost seven of the clocke before the assembly was set. Vpon conference had of the matter, some thought it necessary, that a substantial watch should be set of honest citizens, which might withstand the evill doers, if they went about any misrule. Other were of contrary opinion, as rather thinking it best, that every man should be commanded to shut in his doores, and to keepe his servants within. Before 8 of the clock, master recorder was sent to the cardinall, with these opinions: who hearing the same, allowed the latter. And then the recorder, and sir Thomas More, late under-sheriffe of London, and now of the kings councell, came backe againe to the Guild-hall, halfe an houre before nine of the clock, and there shewed the pleasure of the kings councell: whereupon every alderman sent to his ward, that no man (after nine of the clocke) should stir out of his house, but keepe his doores shut, and his servants within, untill nine of the clocke in the morning.

“After this commandement was given, in the evening, as sir Iohn Mundy, alderman, came from his ward, hee found two young-men in Cheape, playing at the bucklers, and a great many of young-men looking on them, for the command seemed to bee scarcely published; he commanded them to leave off; and because one of them asked him why, hee would have him sent to the counter. But the prentices resisted the alderman, taking the young-man from him, and cryed prentices, prentices, clubs, clubs; then out at every doore came clubs and other weapons, so that the alderman was forced to flight. Then more people arose out of every quarter, and forth came servingmen, watermen, courtiers, and other, so that by eleven of the clocke, there were in Cheape, 6 or 7 hundred, and out of Pauls church-yard came about 300. From all places they gathered together, and brake up the Counter, took out the prisoners, which had been committed thither by the lord maior, for hurting the strangers: also they went to Newgate, and tooke out Studley and Bets, committed thither for the like cause. The maior and sheriffes were present, and made proclamation in the kings name, but nothing was obeyed.

“Being thus gathered into severall heaps, they ran thorow saint Nicholas shambles, and at saint Martins gate, there met with them sir Thomas More, and other, desiring them to goe to their lodgings.

“As they were thus intreating, and had almost perswaded the people to depart, they within saint Martins threw out stones and bats, so that they hurt divers honest persons, which were with sir Thomas More, perswading the rebellious rout to cease. Insomuch as at length, one Nicholas Dennis, a serjeant at arms, being there sore hurt, cryed in a fury, Downe with them: and then all the unruly persons ran to the doores and windowes of the houses within St. Martins, and spoiled all that they found. After that they ran into Cornehill, and so on to a house east of Leadenhal, called the Green-gate, where dwelt one Mewtas a Piccard or Frenchman, within whose house dwelled divers French men, whom they likewise spoyled: and if they had found Mewtas, they would have stricken off his head.

“Some ran to Blanchapleton, and there brake up the strangers houses, and spoiled them. Thus they continued till 3 a clocke in the morning, at which time, they began to withdraw: but by the way they were taken by the maior and other, and sent to the Tower, Newgate and Counters, to the number of 300. The cardinall was advertised by sir Thomas Parre, whom in all haste he sent to Richmond, to informe the king: who immediately sent to understand the state of the city, and was truely informed. Sir Roger Cholmeley Lievtenant of the Tower, during the time of this business, shot off certaine peeces of ordnance against the city, but did no great hurt. About five of the clock in the morning, the earles of Shrewsbury and Surrey, Thomas Dockery, lord prior of saint Iohns, George Nevill, lord Aburgaveny, and other, came to London with such powers as they could make, so did the innes of court; but before they came, the business was done, as ye have heard.

“Then were the prisoners examined, and the sermon of doctor Bell called to remembrance, and hee sent to the Tower. A commission of oyer and determiner was directed to the duke of Norfolke, and other lords, for punishment of this insurrection. The second of May, the commissioners, with the lord maior, aldermen, and iustices, went to the Guildhall, where many of the offenders were indicted, whereupon they were arraigned, and pleaded not guilty, having day given them till the 4. of May.

“On which day, the lord maior, the duke of Norfolke, the earle of Surrey and other, came to sit in the Guildhall. The duke of Norfolke entred the city with one thousand three hundred men, and the prisoners were brought through the streets tyed in ropes, some men, some lads but of thirteen or foureteene yeeres old, to the number of 278 persons. That day Iohn Lincolne and divers other were indicted, and the next day thirteen were adjudged to be drawne, hanged, and quartered: for execution whereof, ten payre of gallowes were set up in divers places of the city, as at Aldgate, Blanchapleton, Grasse-street, Leaden-hall, before either of the counters, at Newgate, saint Martins, at Aldersgate and Bishopgate. And these gallowes were set upon wheels, to bee removed from street to street, and from doore to doore, whereas the prisoners were to be executed.

“On the seventh of May, Iohn Lincoln, one Shirwin, and two brethren, named Betts, with divers other were adjudged to dye. They were on the hurdles drawne to the standard in Cheape, and first was Lincolne executed: and as the other had the ropes about their neckes, there came a commandement from the king, to respit the execution, and then were the prisoners sent againe to prison, and the armed men sent away out of the citie.

“On the thirteenth of May, the king came to Westminster-hall, and with him the lord cardinall, the dukes of Norfolke, and Suffolke, the earles of Shrewsbury, Essex, Wiltshire, and Surrey, with many lords and other of the kings councell; the lord maior of London, aldermen and other chiefe citizens, were there in their best liveries, by nine of the clocke in the morning. Then came in the prisoners, bound in ropes in a ranke one after another, in their shirts, and every one had a halter about his necke, being in number 400 men, and 11 women.

“When they were thus come before the kings presence, the cardinall laid sore to the maior and aldermen their negligence, and to the prisoners he declared how justly they had deserved to dye. Then all the prisoners together cryed to the king for mercy, and there with the lords besought his grace of pardon: at whose request, the king pardoned them all. The generall pardon being pronounced, all the prisoners shouted at once, and cast their halters towards the roofe of the hall. The prisoners being dismissed, the gallowes were taken downe, and the citizens tooke more heed to their servants: keeping (for ever after) as on that night, a strong watch in Armour, in remembrance of Evill May-day.

“These great Mayings and Maygames made by the governours and masters of this city, with the triumphant setting up of a great shaft (a principall May-pole in Cornehill, before the parish of saint Andrew) therefore called Vndershaft, by meane of that insurrection of youths, against aliens on May-day, 1517. the 6. of Henry the eighth, have not been so freely used as before.”

DRURY-LANE MAY-POLE

There was formerly a May-pole put up by a “smith” at the north end of little Drury-lane, to commemorate his daughter’s good fortune, who being married to general Monk, while a private gentleman, became duchess of Albemarle, by his being raised to the dukedom after the Restoration. The May-pole is only mentioned here on account of its origin. It appears, from a trial at bar on action of trespass, that the name of this “smith” was John Clarges, that he was a farrier in the Savoy, and farrier to colonel Monk, and that the farrier’s daughter, Anne, was first married in the church of St. Laurence Pountney to Thomas Ratford, son of Thomas Ratford, late a farrier, servant to prince Charles, and resident in the Mews. She had a daughter, who was born in 1634, and died in 1638. Her husband and she “lived at the Three Spanish Gipsies in the New Exchange, and sold wash-balls, powder, gloves, and such things, and she taught girls plain work. About 1647, she, being a sempstress to colonel Monk, used to carry him linen.” In 1648, her father and mother died. In 1649, she and her husband “fell out, and parted.” But no certificate from any parish register appears reciting his burial. In 1652, she was married in the church of St. George, Southwark, to “general George Monk;” and, in the following year, was delivered of a son, Christopher (afterward the second and last duke of Albemarle abovementioned), who “was suckled by Honour Mills, who sold apples, herbs, oysters,” &c. One of the plaintiff’s witnesses swore, that “a little before the sickness, Thomas Ratford demanded and received of him the sum of twenty shillings; that his wife saw Ratford again after the sickness, and a second time after the duke and duchess of Albemarle were dead.” A woman swore, that she saw him on “the day his wife (then called duchess of Albemarle) was put into her coffin, which was after the death of the duke,” her second husband, who died Jan. 3, 1669-70. And a third witness swore, that he saw Ratford about July 1660. In opposition to this evidence it was alleged, that “all along, during the lives of duke George and duke Christopher, this matter was never questioned”--that the latter was universally received as only son of the former--and that “this matter had been thrice before tried at the bar of the King’s Bench, and the defendant had had three verdicts.” The verdict on the trial was in favour of sir Walter Clarges, a grandson of the farrier, who was knighted when his daughter, from the selling of wash-balls, became duchess of Albemarle. This sir Walter Clarges was created a baronet October 30, 1674, and was ancestor to the baronets of this name.[128]

Here they are! The “sweeps” are come! Here is the garland and the lord and lady! Poor fellows! this is their great festival. Their garland is a large cone of holly and ivy framed upon hoops, which gradually diminishes in size to an apex, whereon is sometimes a floral crown, knots of ribbons, or bunches of flowers; its sides are decorated in like manner; and within it is a man who walks wholly unseen, and hence the garland has the semblance of a moving hillock of evergreens. The chimney-sweepers’ jackets and hats are bedizened with gilt embossed paper; sometimes they wear coronals of flowers in their heads; their black faces and legs are grotesquely coloured with Dutch-pink; their shovels are scored with this crimson pigment, interlaced with white chalk. Their lord and lady are magnificent indeed; the lord is always the tallest of the party, and selected from some other profession to play this distinguished character: he wears a huge cocked hat, fringed with yellow or red feathers, or laced with gold paper: his coat is between that of the full court dress, and the laced coat of the footman of quality; in the breast he carries an immense bunch of flowers; his waistcoat is embroidered; his frill is enormous; his “shorts” are satin, with paste knee-buckles; his stockings silk with figured clocks; his shoes are dancing pumps, with large tawdry buckles; his hair is powdered, with a bag and rosette; he carries in his right hand a high cane with a shining metal knob, and in his left a handkerchief held by one corner, and of a colour once white. His lady is sometimes a strapping girl, though usually a boy in female attire, indescribably flaunty and gaudy; her head in full dress; in her right hand a brass ladle, in her left a handkerchief like to my lord’s. When the garland stops, my lord and lady exhibit their graces in a minuet de la cour, or some other grave movement; in a minute or two they quicken into a dance, which enables my lord to picture his conceptions of elegance; the curvilinear elevation of his arm, with his cane between his finger and thumb, is a courtly grace, corresponding with the stiff thrown-back position of his head, and the strait fall of the handkerchief in the other hand. My lady answers these inviting positions by equal dignity; they twirl and whirl in sight of each other, though on opposite sides of the dancing garland, to the continued clatter of the shovel and brush held by each capering member of the sooty tribe. The dance concluded, my lord and my lady interchange a bow and a curtsy; my lord flings up his cane-arm, displaces his magnificent hat with the other hand, and courteously bends, with imploring looks, to spectators at the adjacent windows or in the street; the little sootikins hold up their shovels, my lady with outstretched arm presents the bowl of her ladle, and “the smallest donations are thankfully received” by all the sable fraternity. This is the chimney-sweepers’ London pageant on May-day 1825; but for the first time, there was this year added a clown, a-la-Grimaldi, to one or two of the sweeping processions; he grimaces with all his might, walks before Jack-in-the-green on his hands or his feet, as may be most convenient, and practises every antic and trick that his ingenuity can devise, to promote the interest of his party.

It is understood, however, that the offerings on the festival are not exclusively appropriated to the receivers; masters share a certain portion of their apprentices’ profits from the holiday; others take the whole of the first two days’ receipts, and leave to the worn-out, helpless objects, by whom they profit all the year round, no more than the scanty gleanings of the third day’s performance.

ELIA, AND JEM WHITE’S FEAST TO THE SWEEPS.

ELIA, the noble heart of ELIA, responds to these humble claimants upon humanity; they cry and have none to help them; he is happy that a personal misfortune to himself can make one of them laugh; he imagines “all the blood of all the Howards” in another; he conceives no degradation by supping with them in public at “Bartlemy Fair.” Kind feelings and honesty make poets and philosophers. Listen to what Elia says:--

“I have a kindly yearning toward these dim specks--poor blots--innocent blacknesses--

“I reverence these young Africans of our own growth--these almost clergy imps, who sport their cloth without assumption; and from their little pulpits (the tops of chimnies), in the nipping air of a December morning, preach a lesson of patience to mankind.

“When a child, what a mysterious pleasure it was to witness their operation! to see a chit no bigger than one’s-self enter, one knew not by what process, into what seemed the fauces Averni--to pursue him in imagination, as he went sounding on through so many dark, stifling caverns, horrid shades!--to shudder with the idea that ‘now, surely, he must be lost for ever’--to revive at hearing his feeble shout of discovered day-light--and then (O, fulness of delight) running out of doors, to come just in time to see the sable phenomenon emerge in safety, the brandished weapon of his art victorious like some flag waved over a conquered citadel! I seem to remember having been told, that a bad sweep was once left in a stack with his brush, to indicate which way the wind blew. It was an awful spectacle certainly; not much unlike the old stage direction in Macbeth, where the ‘Apparition of a child crowned with a tree in his hand rises.’

“Reader, if thou meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to give him a penny. It is better to give him two-pence. If it be starving weather, and to the proper troubles of his hard occupation, a pair of kibed heels (no unusual accompaniment) be superadded, the demand on thy humanity will surely rise to a tester.

“I am by nature extremely susceptible of street affronts; the jeers and taunts of the populace; the low-bred triumph they display over the casual trip, or splashed stocking, of a gentleman. Yet can I endure the jocularity of a young sweep with something more than forgiveness.--In the last winter but one, pacing along Cheapside with my accustomed precipitation when I walk westward, a treacherous slide brought me upon my back in an instant. I scrambled up with pain and shame enough--yet outwardly trying to face it down, as if nothing had happened--when the roguish grin of one of these young wits encountered me. There he stood, pointing me out with his dusky finger to the mob, and to a poor woman (I suppose his mother) in particular, till the tears for the exquisiteness of the fun (so he thought it) worked themselves out at the corners of his poor red eyes, red from many a previous weeping, and soot-inflamed, yet twinkling through all with such a joy, snatched out of desolation, that Hogarth--but Hogarth has got him already (how could he miss him?) in the March to Finchley, grinning at the pie-man--there he stood, as he stands in the picture, irremovable, as if the jest was to last for ever--with such a maximum of glee, and minimum of mischief, in his mirth--for the grin of a genuine sweep hath absolutely no malice in it--that I could have been content, if the honour of a gentleman might endure it, to have remained his butt and his mockery till midnight.

“I am by theory obdurate to the seductiveness of what are called a fine set of teeth. Every pair of rosy lips (the ladies must pardon me) is a casket, presumably holding such jewels; but, methinks, they should take leave to ‘air’ them as frugally as possible. The fine lady, or fine gentleman, who show me their teeth, show me bones. Yet must I confess, that from the mouth of a true sweep a display (even to ostentation) of those white and shining ossifications, strikes me as an agreeable anomaly in manners, and an allowable piece of foppery. It is, as when

“A sable cloud Turns forth her silver lining on the night.

It is like some remnant of gentry not quite extinct; a badge of better days; a hint of nobility:--and, doubtless, under the obscuring darkness and double night of their forlorn disguisement, oftentimes lurketh good blood, and gentle conditions, derived from lost ancestry, and a lapsed pedigree. The premature apprenticements of these tender victims give but too much encouragement, I fear, to clandestine, and almost infantile abductions; the seeds of civility and true courtesy, so often discernible in these young grafts (not otherwise to be accounted for) plainly hint at some forced adoptions; many noble Rachels mourning for their children, even in our days, countenance the fact; the tales of fairy-spiriting may shadow a lamentable verity, and the recovery of the young Montague be but a solitary instance of good fortune, out of many irreparable and hopeless defiliations.

“In one of the state-beds at Arundel Castle, a few years since--under a ducal canopy--(that seat of the Howards is an object of curiosity to visitors, chiefly for its beds, in which the late duke was especially a connoisseur)--encircled with curtains of delicatest crimson, with starry coronets inwoven--folded between a pair of sheets whiter and softer than the lap where Venus lulled Ascanius--was discovered by chance, after all methods of search had failed, at noon-day, fast asleep, a lost chimney-sweeper. The little creature, having somehow confounded his passage among the intricacies of those lordly chimnies, by some unknown aperture had alighted upon this magnificent chamber; and, tired with his tedious explorations, was unable to resist the delicious invitement to repose, which he there saw exhibited; so, creeping between the sheets very quietly, laid his black head upon the pillow, and slept like a young Howard.

“Such is the account given to the visitors at the Castle. But I cannot help seeming to perceive a confirmation of what I have just hinted at in this story. A high instinct was at work in the case, or I am mistaken. Is it probable that a poor child of that description, with whatever weariness he might be visited, would have ventured, under such a penalty as he would be taught to expect, to uncover the sheets of a duke’s bed, and deliberately to lay himself down between them, when the rug or the carpet presented an obvious couch, still far above his pretensions--is this probable, I would ask, if the great power of nature, which I contend for, had not been manifested within him, prompting to the adventure? Doubtless this young nobleman (for such my mind misgives me that he must be) was allured by some memory, not amounting to full consciousness, of his condition in infancy, when he was used to be lapt by his mother, or his nurse, in just such sheets as he there found, into which he was now but creeping back as into his proper incunabula and resting-place. By no other theory, than by this sentiment of a pre-existent state (as I may call it), can I explain a deed so venturous, and, indeed, upon any other system so indecorous, in this tender, but unseasonable, sleeper.

“My pleasant friend JEM WHITE was so impressed with a belief of metamorphoses like this frequently taking place, that in some sort to reverse the wrongs of fortune in these poor changelings, he instituted an annual feast of chimney-sweepers, at which it was his pleasure to officiate as host and waiter. It was a solemn supper held in Smithfield, upon the yearly return of the fair of St. Bartholomew. Cards were issued a week before to the master-sweeps in and about the metropolis, confining the invitation to their younger fry. Now and then an elderly stripling would get in among us, and be good-naturedly winked at; but our main body were infantry. One unfortunate wight, indeed, who, relying upon his dusky suit, had intruded himself into our party, but by tokens was providentially discovered in time to be no chimney-sweeper (all is not soot which looks so), was quoited out of the presence with universal indignation, as not having on the wedding garment; but in general the greatest harmony prevailed. The place chosen was a convenient spot among the pens, at the north side of the fair, not so far distant as to be impervious to the agreeable hubbub of that vanity; but remote enough not to be obvious to the interruption of every gaping spectator in it. The guests assembled about seven. In those little temporary parlours three tables were spread with napery, not so fine as substantial, and at every board a comely hostess presided with her pan of hissing sausages. The nostrils of the young rogues dilated at the savour. JAMES WHITE, as head waiter, had charge of the first table; and myself, with our trusty companion BIGOD, ordinarily ministered to the other two. There was clambering and jostling, you may be sure, who should get at the first table--for Rochester in his maddest days could not have done the humours of the scene with more spirit than my friend. After some general expression of thanks for the honour the company had done him, his inaugural ceremony was to clasp the greasy waist of old dame Ursula (the fattest of the three), that stood frying and fretting, half-blessing, half-cursing ‘the gentleman,’ and imprint upon her chaste lips a tender salute, whereat the universal host would set up a shout that tore the concave, while hundreds of grinning teeth startled the night with their brightness. O, it was a pleasure to see the sable younkers lick in the unctuous meat, with his more unctuous sayings--how he would fit the tit-bits to the puny mouths, reserving the lengthier links for the seniors--how he would intercept a morsel even in the jaws of some young desperado, declaring it ‘must to the pan again to be browned, for it was not fit for a gentleman’s eating’--how he would recommend this slice of white bread, or that piece of kissing-crust, to a tender juvenile, advising them all to have a care of cracking their teeth, which were their best patrimony,--how genteelly he would deal about the small ale, as if it were wine, naming the brewer, and protesting, if it were not good, he should lose their custom; with a special recommendation to wipe the lip before drinking. Then we had our toasts--‘The King,’--the ‘Cloth,’--which, whether they understood or not, was equally diverting and flattering;--and for a crowning sentiment, which never failed, ‘May the Brush supersede the Laurel.’ All these, and fifty other fancies, which were rather felt than comprehended by his guests, would he utter, standing upon tables, and prefacing every sentiment with a ‘Gentlemen, give me leave to propose so and so,’ which was a prodigious comfort to those young orphans; every now and then stuffing into his mouth (for it did not do to be squeamish on these occasions,) indiscriminate pieces of those reeking sausages, which pleased them mightily, and was the savouriest part, you may believe, of the entertainment:--

“Golden lads and lasses must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust--

“JAMES WHITE is extinct, and with him these suppers have long ceased. He carried away with him half the fun of the world when he died--of my world at least. His old clients look for him among the pens; and, missing him, reproach the altered feast of St. Bartholomew, and the glory of Smithfield departed for ever.”

A philanthropist, who rejoices over every attempt to cheer helplessness, will not quarrel with the late annual treat of “Jem White.” Our kindnesses wear different fashions, and Elia’s report of the festival is a feast for a feeling and merry heart. Mrs. Montague’s entertainment to the London chimney-sweepers was held every May-day, at her house, in Portman-square; she gave them roast-beef and plumb-pudding, and a shilling each, and they danced after their dinner. But Mrs. Montague and Jem White are dead; and now the poor fellows, though the legislature has interfered for their protection, want “a next friend” to cheer them once a year, and acquaint the sufferers that they have sympathizers. An extract from a letter to the editor of the Every-Day Book, dated April 16, 1825, from Sheffield, in Yorkshire, is a reproach to us of the metropolis:--“In the ‘Chimney-sweepers’ Friend, and Climbing-boys’ Album,’ by Mr. James Montgomery, the poet, and editor of the ‘Sheffield Iris,’ is a literal representation of an annual dinner which that gentleman, and a few of us, give to the lads employed as climbing-boys in Sheffield. This we have done for about eighteen years in succession. From twenty-four to twenty-six attend; and their appearance, behaviour, and acquirements, (I may say,) do credit to their masters. They are a much better generation to look upon than they were when we first took them by the hand. On last Easter Monday, out of the twenty-four present, there were only two who did not attend Sunday-schools; which, in whatever estimation these institutions may be held, shows that once, at least, every week, these poor children looked like other people’s children, and associated with them; being clean washed, decently dressed, and employed in reading, or in learning to read: many of them could write. Something of the kind is projected at Leeds. A benevolent lady, at Derby, has this year raised friends, and a fund, for an annual dinner to the climbing-boys there on Easter Monday.” Mr. Montgomery’s “Chimney-sweepers’ Friend” is a series of representations calculated to assist “the immediate relief of the sufferers, and the gradual abolition of this home slave-trade in little children.” His applications to distinguished characters for literary contributions to his work were successful. “May I,” he said, “entreat your aid to this humble cause? Were you to see all the climbing-boys in the kingdom (and climbing-girls, too, for we have known parents who have employed their own daughters in this hideous way,) assembled in one place, you would meet a spectacle of deformed, degraded, and depraved humanity, in its very age of innocence, (pardon the phrase,) which would so affect your heart that we should be sure of your hand.” Not one being of humanity can read the statements in Mr. Montgomery’s volume with a dry eye--not one but before he has half perused it will resolve never to let a climbing-boy enter his chimney again. Fathers and mothers of England, read the book! The “Examiner,” some time ago, related an anecdote much to the purpose, from a pamphlet by Mr. J. W. Orderson, late of Barbadoes; it is a fine specimen of pure feeling. “About fourteen years ago,” says Mr. Orderson, “a Mrs. P. arrived at Bristol, from the West Indies, and brought with her a female Negro servant, mother of two or three children left in that country. A few days after their arrival, and they had gone into private lodgings, a sweep-boy was sent for by the landlady to sweep the kitchen chimney. This woman being seated in the kitchen when little Soot entered, was struck with amazement at the spectacle he presented; and with great vehemence, clapping her hands together, exclaimed, ‘Wha dis me see! La, la, dat buckara piccaninny! So help me, nyung Misse,’ (addressing herself to the housemaid then present,) ‘sooner dan see one o’mine piccaninnies tan so, I drown he in de sea.’ The progress of the poor child in sweeping the chimney closely engrossed her attention, and when she saw him return from his sooty incarceration, she addressed him with a feeling that did honour to her maternal tenderness, saying, ‘Child! come yaw, child,’ (and without waiting any reply, and putting a sixpence into his hand;) ‘Who you mammy? You hab daddy, too? Wha dem be, da la you go no chimney for?’ and moistening her finger at her lips, began to rub the poor child’s cheek, to ascertain, what yet appeared doubtful to her, whether he was really a buccara, (white.) I saw this woman some time after in the West Indies; and it was a congratulation to her ever after, that her ‘children were not born to be sweeps.’”

MAY-DAY IN IRELAND.

It appears from a volume of “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,”[129] that there are romantic remains of antiquity connected with the celebration of May-day in that country of imagination. “Mummers in Ireland,” says the author, “are clearly a family of the same race with those festive bands, termed Morrice-dancers, in England. They appear at all seasons in Ireland, but May-day is their favourite and proper festival. They consist of a number, varying according to circumstances, of the girls and young men of the village or neighbourhood, usually selected for their good looks, or their proficiency,--the females in the dance, the youths in hurling and other athletic exercises. They march in procession, two abreast, and in three divisions; the young men in the van and the rear, dressed in white or other gay-coloured jackets or vests, and decorated with ribbons on their hats and sleeves; the young women are dressed also in light-coloured garments, and two of them bear each a holly bush, in which are hung several new hurling balls, the May-day present of the girls to the youths of the village. The bush is decorated with a profusion of long ribbons or paper cut in imitation, which adds greatly to the gay and joyous, yet strictly rural, appearance of the whole. The procession is always preceded by music; sometimes of the bagpipe, but more commonly of a military fife, with the addition of a drum or tamboureen. A clown is, of course, in attendance: he wears a frightful mask, and bears a long pole, with shreds of cloth nailed to the end of it, like a mop, which ever and anon he dips in a pool of water, or puddle, and besprinkles such of the crowd as press upon his companions, much to the delight of the younger spectators, who greet his exploits with loud and repeated shouts and laughter. The Mummers, during the day, parade the neighbouring villages, or go from one gentleman’s seat to another, dancing before the mansion-house, and receiving money. The evening, of course, terminates with drinking. May-eve is considered a time of peculiar danger. The ‘good people,’ are supposed then to possess the power and the inclination to do all sorts of mischief without the slightest restraint. The ‘evil eye’ is then also deemed to have more than its usual vigilance and malignity; and the nurse who would walk in the open air with a child in her arms, would be reprobated as a monster. Youth and loveliness are thought to be especially exposed to peril. It is therefore a natural consequence, that not one woman in a thousand appears abroad: but it must not be understood that the want of beauty affords any protection. The grizzled locks of age do not always save the cheek from a blast; neither is the brawny hand of the roughest ploughman exempt from a similar visitation. The blast is a large round tumour, which is thought to rise suddenly upon the part affected, from the baneful breath cast on it by one of the ‘good people’ in a moment of vindictive or capricious malice. May-day is called la na Beal tina, and May-eve neen na Beal tina,--that is, day and eve of Beal’s fire, from its having been in heathen times, consecrated to the god Beal, or Belus; whence also the month of May is termed in Irish ‘Mi na Beal-tine.’ The ceremony practised on May-eve, of making the cows leap over lighted straw, or faggots, has been generally traced to the worship of that deity. It is now vulgarly used in order to save the milk from being pilfered by ‘the good people.’--Another custom prevalent on May-eve is the painful and mischievous one of stinging with nettles. In the south of Ireland it is the common practice for school-boys, on that day, to consider themselves privileged to run wildly about with a bunch of nettles, striking at the face and hands of their companions, or of such other persons as they think they may venture to assault with impunity.”

* * * * *

A popular superstition related in the last quoted work, is, that at early dawn on May-morning, “the princely O’Donoghue gallops his white charger over the waters of Killarney.” The foundation of this is,

The Legend of O’Donoghue.

In an age so distant that the precise period is unknown, a chieftain named O’Donoghue ruled over the country which surrounds the romantic Lough Lean, now called the lake of Killarney. Wisdom, beneficence, and justice distinguished his reign, and the prosperity and happiness of his subjects were their natural results. He is said to have been as renowned for his warlike exploits as for his pacific virtues; and as a proof that his domestic administration was not the less rigorous because it was mild, a rocky island is pointed out to strangers, called ‘O’Donoghue’s Prison’ in which this prince once confined his own son for some act of disorder and disobedience.

“His end--for it cannot correctly be called his death--was singular and mysterious. At one of those splendid feasts for which his court was celebrated, surrounded by the most distinguished of his subjects, he was engaged in a prophetic relation of the events which were to happen in ages yet to come. His auditors listened, now wrapt in wonder, now fired with indignation, burning with shame, or melted into sorrow, as he faithfully detailed the heroism, the injuries, the crimes, and the miseries of their descendants. In the midst of his predictions, he rose slowly from his seat, advanced with a solemn, measured, and majestic tread to the shore of the lake, and walked forward composedly upon its unyielding surface. When he had nearly reached the centre, he paused for a moment, then turning slowly round, looked towards his friends, and waving his arms to them with the cheerful air of one taking a short farewell, disappeared from their view.

“The memory of the good O’Donoghue has been cherished by successive generations, with affectionate reverence; and it is believed, that at sunrise, on every May-day morning, the anniversary of his departure, he revisits his ancient domains: a favoured few only are, in general, permitted to see him, and this distinction is always an omen of good fortune to the beholders: when it is granted to many, it is a sure token of an abundant harvest,--a blessing, the want of which, during this prince’s reign, was never felt by his people.

“Some years have elapsed since the last appearance of O’Donoghue. The April of that year had been remarkably wild and stormy; but on May-morning the fury of the elements had altogether subsided. The air was hushed and still; and the sky, which was reflected in the serene lake, resembled a beautiful but deceitful countenance, whose smiles, after the most tempestuous emotions, tempt the stranger to believe that it belongs to a soul which no passion has ever ruffled.

“The first beams of the rising sun were just gilding the lofty summit of Glenaa, when the waters near the eastern shore of the lake became suddenly and violently agitated, though all the rest of its surface lay smooth and still as a tomb of polished marble. The next moment a foaming wave darted forward, and like a proud high-crested war-horse, exulting in his strength, rushed across the lake towards Toomies mountain. Behind this wave appeared a stately warrior, fully armed, mounted upon a milk-white steed: his snowy plume waved gracefully from a helmet of polished steel, and at his back fluttered a light-blue scarf. The horse, apparently exulting in his noble burthen, sprung after the wave along the water, which bore him up like firm earth, while showers of spray, that glittered brightly in the morning sun were dashed up at every bound.

“The warrior was O’Donoghue: he was followed by numberless youths and maidens, who moved light and unconstrained over the watery plain, as the moonlight fairies glide through the fields of air; they were linked together by garlands of delicious spring flowers, and they timed their movements to strains of enchanting melody. When O’Donoghue had nearly reached the western side of the lake, he suddenly turned his steed, and directed his course along the wood-fringed shore of Glenaa, preceded by the huge wave that curled and foamed up as high as the horse’s neck, whose fiery nostrils snorted above it. The long train of attendants followed, with playful deviations, the track of their leader, and moved on with unabated fleetness to their celestial music, till gradually, as they entered the narrow strait between Glenaa and Dinis, they became involved in the mists which still partially floated over the lakes, and faded from the view of the wondering beholders: but the sound of their music still fell upon the ear, and echo catching up the harmonious strains, fondly repeated and prolonged them in soft and softer tones, till the last faint repetition died away, and the hearers awoke as from a dream of bliss.”

Such is the story of O’Donoghue, in the words of the author of “Irish Legends,” an elegant work of amusing and recondite lore regarding the land of his fathers.

MAY-DAY IN ITALY.

Misson, who travelled in Italy in the beginning of the last century, speaks of May there in these terms. “The present season of the year inspires all the world with joy and good humour; and this month is every where particularly remarkable for sports and festivals: but I never saw a more diverting object than troops of young girls, who regaled us with dances and songs on all this road; though perhaps the rarity of the sex might, in some measure, contribute to heighten the pleasure we took in seeing these merry creatures. Five or six of the prettiest and best attired girls of the village meet together, and go from house to house singing, and wishing every where a ‘merry May.’ All their songs consist of a great number of wishes, which are commonly very pleasant; for they wish you may at once enjoy all the pleasures of youth, and of the blooming season: that you may be still possessed with an equal love, morning and evening: that you may live a hundred and two years: that every thing you may eat may be turned to sugar and oil: that your clothes and lace may never wear old: that nature may smile eternally, and that the goodness of its fruits may surpass the beauty of its flowers, &c. And then come their spiritual wishes: that the lady of Loretto may pour down her favours upon you: that the soul of St. Anthony of Padua may be your guardian angel: that St. Katharine of Sienna may intercede for you. And, for the burthen of the song, after every stanza, ‘Allegro Magio, Allegro Magio:’ ‘a merry, merry, merry May.’” To this picture of gladness might be added scenes from other countries, which testify the general rejoicing under the genial influence of the month.

* * * * *

All gentle hearts confess the quick’ning spring, For May invig’rates every living thing. Hark how the merry minstrels of the grove Devote the day to melody and love; Their little breasts with emulation swell, And sweetly strive in singing to excel. In the thick forests feed the cooing dove; The starling whistles various notes of love; Up spring the airy larks, shrill voic’d and loud, And breathe their matins from a morning cloud, To greet glad nature, and the god of day, And flow’ry Venus, blooming queen of May Thus sing the sweet musicians on the spray: Welcome thou lord of light, and lamp of day; Welcome to tender herbs and myrtle bowers, Welcome to plants and odour-breathing flowers, Welcome to every root upon the plain, Welcome to gardens, and the golden grain: Welcome to birds that build upon the breere, Welcome great lord and ruler of the year: Welcome thou source of universal good, Of buds to boughs, and beauty to the wood: Welcome bright Phœbus, whose prolific power In every meadow spreads out every flower; Where’er thy beams in wild effulgence play, Kind nature smiles and all the world is gay.

Gawin Douglas, by Fawkes.

* * * * *

REMARKABLE CORRESPONDENT.

Although public notice has been given that anonymous correspondents will only be answered on the wrappers to the parts of this work, and that those who attach their real names will be noticed privately, yet it is necessary to remark on one who is without a local habitation, and is out of the reach of the two-penny and general post. This is the communication alluded to:--

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

I am the youngest of Three hundred and sixty-six brethren--there are no fewer of us--who have the honour, in the words of the good old Song, to call the Sun our Dad. You have done the rest of our family the favour of bestowing an especial compliment upon each member of it individually--I mean, as far as you have gone; for it will take you some time before you can make your bow all round--and I have no reason to think that it is your intention to neglect any of us but poor Me. Some you have hung round with flowers; others you have made fine with martyrs’ palms and saintly garlands. The most insignificant of us you have sent away pleased with some fitting apologue, or pertinent story. What have I done, that you dismiss me without mark or attribute? What though I make my public appearance seldomer than the rest of my brethren? I thought that angels’ visits had been accounted the more precious for their very rarity. Reserve was always looked upon as dignified. I am seen but once, for four times that my brethren obtrude themselves; making their presence cheap and contemptible, in comparison with the state which I keep.

Am I not a Day (when I do come) to all purposes as much as any of them? Decompose me, anatomise me; you will find that I am constituted like the rest. Divide me into twenty-four, and you shall find that I cut up into as many goodly hours (or main limbs) as the rest. I too have my arteries and pulses, which are the minutes and the seconds.

It is hard to be dis-familied thus, like Cinderella in her rags and ashes, while her sisters flaunted it about in cherry-coloured ribbons and favors. My brethren forsooth are to be dubbed; one, Saint Day; another, Pope Day; a third, Bishop Day; the least of them is Squire Day, or Mr. Day, while I am--plain Day. Our house, Sir, is a very ancient one, and the least of us is too proud to put up with an indignity. What though I am but a younger brother in some sense--for the youngest of my brethren is by some thousand years my senior--yet I bid fair to inherit as long as any of them, while I have the Calendar to show; which, you must understand, is our Title Deeds.

Not content with slurring me over with a bare and naked acknowledgement of my occasional visitation in prose, you have done your best to deprive me of my verse-honours. In column 310 of your Book, you quote an antique scroll, leaving out the last couplet, as if on purpose to affront me. “Thirty days hath September”--so you transcribe very faithfully for four lines, and most invidiously suppress the exceptive clause:--

Except in Leap Year, that’s the time When February’s days hath twenty and--

I need not set down the rhyme which should follow; I dare say you know it very well, though you were pleased to leave it out. These indignities demand reparation. While you have time, it will be well for you to make the amende honorable. Ransack your stores, learned Sir, I pray of you, for some attribute, biographical, anecdotical, or floral, to invest me with. Did nobody die, or nobody flourish--was nobody born--upon any of my periodical visits to this globe? does the world stand still as often as I vouchsafe to appear? Am I a blank in the Almanac? alms for oblivion? If you do not find a flower at least to grace me with (a Forget Me Not would cheer me in my present obscurity), I shall prove the worst Day to you you ever saw in your life; and your Work, instead of the Title it now vaunts, must be content (every fourth year at least) to go by the lame appellation of

The Every-Day--but--one--Book.

Yours, as you treat me,

TWENTY NINTH OF FEBRUARY.

To this correspondent it may be demurred and given in proof, that neither in February, nor at any other time in the year 1825, had he, or could he, have had existence; and that whenever he is seen, he is only an impertinence and an interpolation upon his betters. To his “floral Honours” he is welcome; in the year 992, he slew St. Oswald, archbishop of York in the midst of his monks, to whom the greater perriwinkle, Vinca Major, is dedicated. For this honour our correspondent should have waited till his turn arrived for distinction. His ignorant impatience of notoriety is a mark of weakness, and indeed it is only in compassion to his infirmity that he has been condescended to; his brothers have seen more of the world, and he should have been satisfied by having been allowed to be in their company at stated times, and like all little ones, he ought to have kept respectful silence. Besides, he forgets his origin; he is illegitimate; and as a burthen to “the family,” and an upstart, it has been long in contemplation to disown him, and then what will become of him? If he has done any good in the world he may have some claim upon it, but whenever he appears, he seems to throw things into confusion. His desire to alter the title of this work excites a smile--however, when he calls upon the editor he shall have justice, and be compelled to own that it is calumny to call this the Every-day--but--one--Book.

[119] Mr. Audley, from Lardner.

[120] Examiner, 1818.

[121] Bourne.

[122] Stubbes.

[123] Strott’s Queenhoo Hall.

[124] Stow.

[125] Pasquil’s Palinodia, 1634, 4to.

[126] Cities Loyalty Displayed, 1661, 4to.

[127] He was a constant attendant in the crowd on Lord Mayor’s day.

[128] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[129] Published in 1825, fc. 8vo.

~May 2.~

St. Athanasius, Patriarch of Alexandria, A. D. 373.

St. Athanasius.

This learned doctor of the church, was patriarch of Alexandria; he is celebrated for his opposition to the Arians, and from his name having been affixed to the creed which contains his doctrines. He died in 373. Alban Butler says, the creed was compiled in Latin in the fifth century.

CHRONOLOGY.

1519. Leonardo da Vinci, the painter, died.

In the beginning of May, a steam-boat for conveying passengers ascends the Thames in the morning from Queenhithe to Richmond, and returns the same day; and so she proceeds to and fro until the autumn. Before she unmoors she takes in little more than half her living freight, the remainder is obtained during the passage. Her band on deck plays a lively tune, and “off she goes” towards Blackfriars’-bridge. From thence, leisurely walkers, and holiday-wishing people, on their way to business, look from between the balustrades on the enviable steamer; they see her lower her chimney to pass beneath the arch, and ten to one, if they cross the road to watch her coming forth on the other side, they receive a puff from the re-elevating mast; this fuliginous rebuke is inspiring.

A Legal Lament.

Ye Richmond Navigators bold all on the liquid plain, When from the bridge we envied you, with pleasure mix’d with pain, Why could you be so cruel as to ridicule our woes, By in our anxious faces turning up your steamer’s nose?

’Twas strange, ’twas passing strange, ’twas pitiful, ’twas wonderous Pitiful, as Shakspeare says, by you then being under us, To be insulted as we were, when you your chimney rose And thought yourselves at liberty to cloud our hopes and clothes.

The same sweet poet says, you know, “each dog will have his day,” And hence for Richmond we, in turn, may yet get under weigh. So thus we are consoled in mind, and as to being slighted, For that same wrong, we’ll right ourselves, and get you all indicted.

*

The steam-boat is a good half hour in clearing the port of London, and arriving at Westminster; this delay in expedition is occasioned by “laying to” for “put offs” of single persons and parties, in Thames wherries. If the day be fine, the passage is very pleasant. The citizen sees various places wherein he has enjoyed himself,--he can point out the opening to Fountain-court, wherein is the “coal-hole,” the resort of his brother “wolves,” a club of modern origin, renowned for its support of Mr. Kean; on the left bank, he shows the site of “Cuper’s-gardens,” to which he was taken when a boy by his father’s foreman, and where the halfpenny-hatch stood; or he has a story to tell of the “Fox-under-the-hill,” near the Strand, where Dutch Sam mustered the fighting Jews, and Perry’s firemen, who nightly assisted John Kemble’s “What d’ye want,” during the “O. P. row,” at Covent-garden theatre. Then he directs his attention to the Mitre, at Stangate, kept by “independent Bent,” a house celebrated for authors who “flourish” there, for “actors of all work,” and artists of less prudence than powers. He will tell you of the capital porter-shops that were in Palace-yard before the old coffee-houses were pulled down, and he directs you to the high chimney of Hodges’s distillery, in Church-street, Lambeth. He stands erect, and looks at Cumberland-gardens as though they were his freehold--for there has he been in all his glory; and at the Red-house, at Battersea, he would absolutely go ashore, if his wife and daughters had not gone so far in geography as to know that Richmond is above Battersea-bridge. Here he repeats after Mathews, that Battersea-steeple, being of copper, was coveted by the emperor of Russia for an extinguisher; that the horizontal windmill was a case for it; and that his imperial majesty intended to take them to Russia, but left them behind from forgetfulness. Others see other things. The grounds from which the walls of Brandenburgh-house were rased to the foundation, after the decease of fallen majesty--the house wherein Sharp, the engraver, lived after his removal from Acton, and died--the tomb of Hogarth, in Chiswick church-yard--“Brentford town of mud,” so immortalized by one of our poets, from whence runs Boston-lane, wherein dwelt the good and amiable Granger, who biographized every Englishman of whom there was a portrait--and numerous spots remarkable for their connection with some congenial sentiment or person.

The Aits, or Osier Islands, are picturesque interspersions on the Thames. Its banks are studded with neat cottages, or elegant villas crown the gentle heights; the lawns come sweeping down like carpets of green velvet, to the edge of its soft-flowing waters, and the grace of the scenery improves till we are borne into the full bosom of its beauty--the village of Richmond, or as it was anciently called, Sheen. On coming within sight of this, the most delightful scene in our sea-girt isle, the band on board the steam-boat plays “the lass of Richmond-hill,” while the vessel glides on the translucent water, till she curves to the bridge-foot, and the passengers disembark. Ascending the stone stairs to the street, a short walk through the village brings us to the top of the far-famed hill, from whence there is a sudden sight of one of the loveliest views in the world. Here, unless an overflowing purse can command the preference of the “Star and Garter,” we enter the pleasant and comfortable “Roebuck” inn, which has nothing to recommend it but civil treatment and domestic conveniences. The westward room on the second floor is quiet, and one of the pleasantest in the house. The walls of this peaceful apartment have no ornament, unless so can be called a mezzotinto engraving by Watson, after Reynolds, of Jeffery, lord Amherst, in armour, with a countenance remarkably similar to the rev. Rowland Hill’s in his younger days. The advantage of this room is the delightful view from its windows. Hither come ye whose hearts are saddened, or whose nerves are shattered by the strife of life, or the disturbances of the world; inhale the pure air, and gaze awhile on a prospect more redolent of beauty than Claude or Poussin ever painted or saw. Whatever there be of soothing charm in scenery, is here exuberant. Description must not be attempted, for poets have made it their theme and failed.

To the over-wearied inhabitants of the metropolis, the trip to Richmond is covetable. The lively French, the philosophic German, the elegant Italian, the lofty Spaniard, and the Cossack of the Don, pronounce the prospect from the hill the most enchanting in Europe. There was no itinerary of Richmond until Dr. John Evans, during a visit in 1824, hastily threw some memoranda into a neat little volume, illustrated by a few etchings, under the title of “Richmond and its Vicinity,” which he purposes to improve.

* * * * *

In honour of the female character, and in illustration of the first of May, should be added, that upon the coin of Dort, or Dordrecht, in Holland, is a cow, under which is sitting a milk-maid. The same representation is in relievo on the pyramid of an elegant fountain in that beautiful town. Its origin is from the following historical fact:--When the United Provinces were struggling for their liberty two beautiful daughters of a rich farmer, on their way to the town, with milk, observed, not far from their path, several Spanish soldiers concealed behind some hedges. The patriotic maidens pretending not to have seen any thing, pursued their journey, and as soon as they arrived in the city, insisted upon an admission to the burgo-master, who had not yet left his bed; they were admitted, and related what they had discovered. He assembled the council, measures were immediately taken, the sluices were opened, and a number of the enemy lost their lives in the water. The magistrates in a body honoured the farmer with a visit, where they thanked his daughters for the act of patriotism, which saved the town; they afterwards indemnified him fully for the loss he sustained from the inundation; and the most distinguished young citizens, vied with each other, who should be honoured with the hands of those virtuous milk-maids.

It should also be noticed, in connection with Mr. Montgomery’s volume in behalf of the chimney-sweepers, that a Mr. J. C. Hudson has addressed “A Letter to the Mistresses of Families, on the Cruelty of employing Children in the odious, dangerous, and often fatal Task of sweeping Chimnies.” To Mr. Hudson’s pamphlet, which is published at sixpence, there are two cuts, from designs by Mr. George Cruikshank.

* * * * *

It is observed by Dr. Forster, in the “Perennial Calendar,” that “the melody of birds is perhaps at no time of the year greater and more constant than it is at this present period. The nightingale, the minstrel of the eve; and the lark, the herald of the morn; together with the numerous birds whose music fills the groves all day, contribute, in no small degree, to the pleasure derived from the country in this month. Nor is the lowing of distant cattle in the evening, the hooting of the owl, and many other rustic sounds, deficient in power to please by association of ideas. Shakspeare has a beautiful comparison of the lark and nightingale in ‘Romeo and Juliet:’--

SCENE. Juliet’s Chamber.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the Nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torchbearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.

Rom. Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I’ll say, yon grey is not the morning’s eye; ’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow: Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads. I have more care to stay than will to go.”

TULIPS.

Dr. Forster notices, that “beds of tulips begin now to flower, and about London, Haerlem, Amsterdam, and other cities of England and Holland, are seen in perfection in the gardens of florists, who have a variety of very whimsical names for the different varieties. The early, or Van Thol tulip, is now out of blow, as is the variety called the Clarimond, beds of which appear very beautiful in April. The sort now flowering is the tulipa Gesneriana, of which the names Bizarre, Golden Eagle, &c. are only expressive of varieties. For the amusement of the reader, we quote from the ‘Tatler’ the following account of an accident that once befell a gentleman in a tulip-garden:--‘I chanced to rise very early one particular morning this summer, and took a walk into the country, to divert myself among the fields and meadows, while the green was new, and the flowers in their bloom. As at this season of the year every lane is a beautiful walk, and every hedge full of nosegays, I lost myself with a great deal of pleasure among several thickets and bushes that were filled with a great variety of birds, and an agreeable confusion of notes, which formed the pleasantest scene in the world to one who had passed a whole winter in noise and smoke. The freshness of the dews that lay upon every thing about me, with the cool breath of the morning, which inspired the birds with so many delightful instincts, created in me the same kind of animal pleasure, and made my heart overflow with such secret emotions of joy and satisfaction as are not to be described or accounted for. On this occasion, I could not but reflect upon a beautiful simile in Milton:--

As one who long in populous city pent, Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, Forth issuing on a summer’s morn, to breathe Among the pleasant villages, and farms Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight: The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound.

“‘Those who are conversant in the writings of polite authors, receive an additional entertainment from the country, as it revives in their memories those charming descriptions, with which such authors do frequently abound. I was thinking of the foregoing beautiful simile in Milton, and, applying it to myself, when I observed to the windward of me a black cloud falling to the earth in long trails of rain, which made me betake myself for shelter to a house which I saw at a little distance from the place where I was walking. As I sat in the porch, I heard the voices of two or three persons, who seemed very earnest in discourse. My curiosity was raised when I heard the names of Alexander the Great and Artaxerxes; and as their talk seemed to run on ancient heroes, I concluded there could not be any secret in it; for which reason I thought I might very fairly listen to what they said. After several parallels between great men, which appeared to me altogether groundless and chimerical, I was surprised to hear one say, that he valued the Black Prince more than the duke of Vendosme. How the duke of Vendosme should become a rival of the Black Prince, I could not conceive: and was more startled when I heard a second affirm with great vehemence, that if the emperor of Germany was not going off, he should like him better than either of them. He added, that though the season was so changeable, the duke of Marlborough was in blooming beauty. I was wondering to myself from whence they had received this odd intelligence; especially when I heard them mention the names of several other great generals, as the prince of Hesse, and the king of Sweden, who, they said, were both running away. To which they added, what I entirely agreed with them in, that the crown of France was very weak, but that the marshal Villars still kept his colours. At last one of them told the company, if they would go along with him he would show them a Chimney-sweeper and a Painted Lady in the same bed, which he was sure would very much please them. The shower which had driven them as well as myself into the house, was now over; and as they were passing by me into the garden, I asked them to let me be one of their company. The gentleman of the house told me, if I delighted in flowers, it would be worth my while; for that he believed he could show me such a bowl of tulips as was not to be matched in the whole country. I accepted the offer, and immediately found that they had been talking in terms of gardening, and that the kings and generals they had mentioned were only so many tulips, to which the gardeners, according to their usual custom, had given such high titles and appellations of honour. I was very much pleased and astonished at the glorious show of these gay vegetables, that arose in great profusion on all the banks about us. Sometimes I considered them with the eye of an ordinary spectator, as so many beautiful objects varnished over with a natural gloss, and stained with such a variety of colours as are not to be equalled in any artificial dyes or tinctures. Sometimes I considered every leaf as an elaborate piece of tissue, in which the threads and fibres were woven together into different configurations, which gave a different colouring to the light as it glanced on the several parts of the surface. Sometimes I considered the whole bed of tulips, according to the notion of the greatest mathematician and philosopher that ever lived, (sir Isaac Newton,) as a multitude of optic instruments, designed for the separating light into all those various colours of which it is composed. I was awakened out of these my philosophical speculations, by observing the company often seemed to laugh at me. I accidentally praised a tulip as one of the finest I ever saw, upon which they told me it was a common Fool’s Coat. Upon that I praised a second, which it seems was but another kind of Fool’s Coat. I had the same fate with two or three more; for which reason I desired the owner of the garden to let me know which were the finest of the flowers, for that I was so unskilful in the art, that I thought the most beautiful were the most valuable, and that those which had the gayest colours were the most beautiful. The gentleman smiled at my ignorance: he seemed a very plain honest man, and a person of good sense, had not his head been touched with that distemper which Hippocrates calls the Τυλιππομανια, Tulippomania, insomuch, that he would talk very rationally on any subject in the world but a tulip. He told me, that he valued the bed of flowers, which lay before us, and was not above twenty yards in length and two in breadth, more than he would the best hundred acres of land in England; and added, that it would have been worth twice the money it is, if a foolish cookmaid of his had not almost ruined him the last winter, by mistaking a handful of tulip roots for a heap of onions, and by that means, says he, made me a dish of porridge, that cost me above a thousand pounds sterling. He then showed me what he thought the finest of his tulips, which I found received all their value from their rarity and oddness, and put me in mind of your great fortunes, which are not always the greatest beauties. I have often looked upon it as a piece of happiness, that I have never fallen into any of these fantastical tastes, nor esteemed any thing the more for its being uncommon and hard to be met with. For this reason, I look upon the whole country in spring time as a spacious garden, and make as many visits to a spot of daisies, or a bank of violets, as a florist does to his borders or parterres. There is not a bush in blossom within a mile of me which I am not acquainted with, nor scarce a daffodil or cowslip that withers away in my neighbourhood without my missing it. I walked home in this temper of mind through several fields and meadows with an unspeakable pleasure, not without reflecting on the bounty of Providence, which has made the most pleasing and the most beautiful objects the most ordinary and most common.’”

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Charlock. Rhaphanus Rhafaristrum. Dedicated to St. Athanasius.

~May 3.~

The Invention, or Discovery of the Holy Cross, A. D. 326. St. Alexander, Pope, A. D. 119.

INVENTION OF THE CROSS.

This festival of the Romish church is also in the church of England calendar; Mr. Audley says, “the word invention sometimes signifies the finding a thing that was hidden;” thence the name of this festival, which celebrates the alleged finding of the cross of Christ by St. Helena, who is said to have found three crosses on Mount Calvary, but the true one could not be distinguished, till a sick woman being placed on each, was healed by one, which was therefore pronounced the veritable cross. Mr. Audley quotes, that “the custody of the cross was committed to the bishop of Jerusalem. Every Easter Sunday it was exposed to view, and pilgrims from all countries were indulged with little pieces of it enchased in gold or gems. What was most astonishing, the sacred wood was never lessened, although it was perpetually diminished, for it possessed a secret power of vegetation.” It appears from Ribadeneira, that St. Paulinus says, “the cross being a piece of wood without sense or feeling, yet seemeth to have in it a living and everlasting virtue; and from that time to this it permitteth itself to be parted and divided to comply with innumerable persons, and yet suffereth no loss or detriment, but remains as entire as if it had never been cut, so that it can be severed, parted, and divided, for those among whom it is to be distributed, and still remains whole and entire for all that come to reverence and adore it.” There is no other way left to the Romish church to account for the superabundance of the wood of the cross.

* * * * *

Robert Parker wrote a remarkably learned book, in folio, entitled--“A Scholasticall Discourse against symbolizing with Antichrist in ceremonies: especially in the signe of the Crosse, 1607.” This erudite work subjected Parker to a persecution under James I., from which he fled to Doesburg, where he died in 1630.

CROSS OF THE SOUTH.

This constellation is in about 185 degrees of longitude; its south-polar distance being only about 39 degrees, it cannot be seen in the northern parts of Europe.[130] Humboldt who observed the cross of the south, thus eloquently describes it:--“The lower regions of the air were loaded with vapours for some days. We saw distinctly, for the first time, the cross of the south, only in the night of the 4th and 5th of July, in the sixteenth degree of latitude. It was strongly inclined, and appeared, from time to time, between the clouds, the centre of which, furrowed by uncondensed lightnings, reflected a silver light. The pleasure felt on discovering the southern cross was warmly shared by such of the crew as had lived in the colonies. In the solitude of the seas, we hail a star as a friend from whom we have been long separated. Among the Portuguese and the Spaniards, peculiar motives seem to increase this feeling; a religious sentiment attaches them to a constellation, the form of which recalls the sign of the faith planted by their ancestors in the deserts of the new world. The two great stars which mark the summit and the foot of the cross, having nearly the same right ascension, it follows, that the constellation is almost vertical at the moment when it passes the meridian. This circumstance is known to every nation that lives beyond the tropics, or in the southern hemisphere. It is known at what hour of the night, in different seasons, the southern cross is erect, or inclined. It is a timepiece that advances very regularly nearly four minutes a day; and no other group of stars exhibits, to the naked eye, an observation of time so easily made. How often have we heard our guides exclaim, in the savannas of Venezuela, or in the desert extending from Lima to Truxillo, ‘Midnight is past, the cross begins to bend!’ How often these words reminded us of that affecting scene, where Paul and Virginia, seated near the source of the river of Lataniers, conversed together for the last time; and when the old man, at the sight of the southern cross, warns them that it is time to separate!”

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Poetic Narcissus. Narcissus poeticus. Invention of the Cross.

[130] Dr. Forster Peren. Cal.

~May 4.~

St. Monica. St. Godard, Bp. A. D. 1038.

ST. MONICA, A. D. 387.

She was mother of St. Augustine, whom she sent to study at Carthage, where, in 373, he became a Manichee, and remained so, to his mother’s affliction, until 386; she was a woman of piety, and he revered her memory. Her supposed remains were translated with the customary ceremonies of the church of Rome, but their identity has been doubted.[131]

CHRONOLOGY.

1471. Battle of Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire, gained by Edward IV. over the Lancasterians.

1677. Dr. Isaac Barrow died, aged 47. He was an eminent mathematician, a learned divine, and a high cavalier. Educated at the Charter-house, he was disinclined to study; his recreation was in sports that led to fighting among the boys, yet he afterwards subdued his inclination to quarrels, and distinguished himself as a scholar. He became professor of mathematics at Cambridge, master of Trinity-college, served the office of vice-chancellor, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Charles II. used to say of him, that he exhausted every subject whereon he treated; yet he did nothing for him. After the Restoration, Barrow wrote a Latin distich, thus translated:--

O, how my breast did ever burn, To see my lawful king return! Yet, whilst his happy fate I bless, No one has felt his influence less.

Barrow was a great smoker to help his thinking. He was a great wit: he met Rochester at court, who said to him, “doctor, I am yours to my shoe-tie;” Barrow bowed obsequiously with, “my lord, I am yours to the ground;” Rochester returned this by, “doctor, I am yours to the centre;” Barrow rejoined, “my lord, I am yours to the antipodes;” Rochester, not to be foiled by “a musty old piece of divinity,” as he was accustomed to call him, exclaimed, “doctor, I am yours to the lowest pit of hell;” whereupon Barrow turned from him with, “there, my lord, I leave you.”

1736. Eustace Budgell drowned himself, at the age of 52, from vexation, that a bequest to him of 2,000_l._ in the will of Dr. Tindal, was set aside. He wrote in the “Spectator,” “Tatler,” and “Guardian;” was a member of the Irish parliament, and lost his property in the South-sea bubble.

1758. George Bickham, the eminent writing-engraver, died, aged 74; and was buried at St. Luke’s, Old-street.

1795. John James Barthelemy, the celebrated author of “The Travels of Anacharsis the younger in Greece,” died, aged 79. He was a man of deep learning and simplicity of character; unhappily he became involved in the troubles of the French revolution, and endured great hardships from the turbulence of men opposed to his views of social happiness.

BIRDS.

A distinguished naturalist obligingly communicates the subjoined table and prefatory remark.

For the Every-Day Book.

A notion prevails that birds do great injury in gardens and fields, and hence rewards are frequently offered to induce boys and others to kill them in spring. The notion and the practice are erroneous. A gentleman of long experience in horticulture, has ascertained that birds, in general, do more good by destroying vermin than they do harm by the little fruit and grain they consume; an entire district in Germany was once nearly deprived of its corn harvest, by an order to kill all the rooks having been generally obeyed.

SPRING BIRDS.

Table of the average terms of their arrival, deduced from a Journal of Natural History, kept during nearly sixty years.

The Least Willow Wren arrives about March 31 Stone Curlew March 27 Chimney Swallow April 15 Redstart April 16 Blackcap April 17 Nightingale April 14 Martlet April 20 Sand Martin April 25 Yellow Willow Wren April 15 Lesser Reed Sparrow April 23 Cuckoo April 21 Great Green Willow Wren April 21 Grasshopper Lark April 16 Spotted Flycatcher April 20 Pied Flycatcher April 15 Black Martin May 9 Fern Owl May 20 Swift May 14

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Stock Gilly Flower. Mathiola incana. Dedicated to St. Monica.

[131] Butler.

~May 5.~

St. Pius V., Pope, A. D. 1572. St. Hilary, Abp. of Arles, A. D. 449. St. Angelus, A. D. 1225. St. Mauront, Abbot, A. D. 706. _St. Avertin_, A. D. 1189.

CHRONOLOGY.

1760. The right honourable Laurence, earl Ferrers, viscount Tamworth, was hanged at Tyburn, for the murder of John Johnson, his steward.

1785. Thomas Davies, died. He is well recollected from frequent creditable mention made of him in Boswell’s “Life of Johnson;” Davies was an actor, afterwards a bookseller, turned strolling player, returned to the bookselling business in Russel-street, Covent-garden, became bankrupt, was relieved in his misfortunes by Dr. Johnson, wrote the “Life of Garrick,” “Dramatic Miscellanies,” and other pieces; and acquired before his death the honourable appellation of “honest Tom Davies.” He was intrusted by the rev. James Granger with the publication of his “Biographical History of England.”

1789. Joseph Baretti, author of the “Italian Dictionary,” &c. died, aged 73.

1821. Napoleon died at St. Helena, in the sixth year of his confinement. What he was all men pretend to know, and historians will tell.

THE SEASON.

“Here they are! blowing, growing, all alive!” This was an old London cry by little flower gardeners, who brought the products of their grounds to the metropolis, and wheeled them through the streets in a barrow, “blowing, growing, all alive!” to tempt purchasers in the humble streets and alleys of working neighbourhoods. Acts of Parliament have put down the flower-pots, which were accustomed to “topple on the walkers’ heads,” from the windows of houses, wherein flower-fanciers dwelt.

Flower Garden.

Fairhanded Spring unbosoms every grace, Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first, The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue. And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes; The yellow wallflower, stained with iron brown, The lavish stock that scents the garden round. From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed Anemonies, auriculas, enriched With shining meal o’er all their velvet leaves, And full ranunculus of glowing red. Then comes the tulip race, where beauty plays Her idle freaks, from family diffused To family, as flies the father dust, The varied colours run; and while they break On the charmed eye, the exulting florist marks, With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. No gradual bloom is wanting, from the bud, First born of Spring, to Summer’s musky tribes-- Nor hyacinths of purest virgin white, Low bent and blushing inwards--nor jonquils Of potent fragrance--nor Narcissus fair, As o’er the fabled mountain hanging still-- Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks, Nor showered from every bush the damask rose.

Thomson.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Apple Tree. Pyrus Malus. Dedicated to St. Angelus and St. Pius.

~May 6.~

St. John before the Latin Gate. St. John Damascen, A. D. 780. St. Eadbert, Bp. of Lindisfarne, A. D. 687.

ST. JOHN PORT LATIN.

This was St. John the Evangelist, though his name stands with Ante Port. Lat. annexed to it in the church of England calendar. The description is founded on a Roman Catholic legend that St. John the Evangelist in his old age was accused of atheism to Domitian, who sent him to Rome, and there, before the gate called Porta Latina, caused him to be put into a cauldron of boiling oil, from whence he suffered no pain, and came forth without harm. This miracle is fabled to have occurred before the exile of St. John to the desert isle of Patmos, in the Archipelago, where he is supposed to have written the Apocalypse, or book of “Revelations.”

There is no evidence that St. John suffered martyrdom; on the contrary, he is said to have returned to Ephesus in the reign of Nerva, who succeeded Domitian in the imperial dignity. Painters usually represent him in Patmos with an eagle by his side; though, as St. John Port Latin, there are many engravings of him in the legendary oil cauldron. Other representations of him put a chalice in his hand, with a serpent issuing from it, founded on another legend, that being constrained to drink poison, he swallowed it without sustaining injury.

There is a further legend, that while St. Edward the Confessor was dedicating a church to St. John, a pilgrim demanded alms of him in the saint’s name, whereupon the king gave him the ring from his finger. This pilgrim was St. John, who discovered himself to two English pilgrims in the Holy Land, bidding them bear the ring to the king in his name, and require him to make ready to depart this world; after this they went to sleep. On awakening they found themselves among flocks of sheep and shepherds in a strange place, which turned out to be Barham Downs in Kent, wherefore they thanked God and St. John for their good speed, and coming to St. Edward on Christmas-day, delivered to him the ring with the warning; these the king received in a suitable manner, “And on the vigyll of the Epyphanye, next after, he dyed and departed holyly out of this worlde, and is buryed in the Abbey of Westmester by London, where as is yet unto this daye that same rynge.” Again it is said, that Isidore affirms of St. John, that he transformed branches of trees into fine gold, and sea-gravel into precious stones, with other like incredibilities.[132]

CHRONOLOGY.

1677. Samuel Bochart, a learned French Protestant divine and orientalist, died at Caen, aged 68 years.

1802. Died at Guernsey, aged 40, of water in his chest, serjeant Samuel M‘Donald, of the 93d regiment, commonly known by the name of Big Sam. He served during the American war with his countrymen, the Sutherland Fencibles, and afterwards as fugelman in the Royals, till 1791, when he was taken into the household of his royal highness the prince of Wales, as lodge-porter at Carlton-house, and remained in that capacity till 1793; he was then appointed a serjeant in the late Sutherland Fencibles, and continued to act in that corps, and the 93d regiment, formed from it, till his death.--He was six feet ten inches in height, four feet round the chest, and well proportioned. He continued active till his 35th year, when he began to decline. His strength was prodigious, but he was never known to exert it improperly. Several considerable offers were made to engage him as a public exhibition, all of which he refused, and always disliked being stared at.

SPRING BLIGHT.

The greatest misfortune that the cultivator of a garden apprehends at this season, is blight, of which, according to Dr. Forster, there are three kinds. “The first occurs in the early spring, about the time of the blossoming of the peach, and is nothing more than a dry frosty wind, usually from the north or north-east, and principally affects the blossoms, causing them to fall off prematurely. The two other kinds of blight occur in this month, affecting principally the apple and pear trees, and sometimes the corn. One of these consists in the appearance of an immense multitude of aphides, a kind of small insect of a brown, or black, or green colour, attacking the leaves of plants, and entirely incrusting the young stems. These pests are always found to make their appearance after a north-east wind, and it has been supposed by many that they are actually conveyed hither by the wind. Thomson, too, positively ascribes them to the north wind:--

For oft engendered by the hazy north, Myriads on myriads, insect armies warp Keen in the poisoned breeze; and wasteful eat, Through buds and bark, into the blackened core Their eager way.

“In our opinion, an east wind more often brings blights. Many circumstances, indeed, favour the opinion that blights are animalculæ; as the suddenness with which they appear, being generally in the course of a single night, and those trees that are sheltered from the wind being uninfected: indeed, it frequently happens that a single branch that chances to be screened, will escape unhurt, while the rest of the tree is quite covered with these minute destroyers. A third reason may be derived from the inactivity of these insects: they generally remain almost immovable on the branch or leaf where they are first seen, and are for the most part, unprovided with wings; yet the places where they are commonly found are those parts of a tree which are farthest from the ground, and the most exposed to the wind. The last kind of blight is generally preceded by a south or south-west wind, unaccompanied by insects; the effects of which are visible in the burnt appearance of all leaves and shoots which are exposed to that quarter. Oaks and other large trees suffer from this blight.”[133]

To Blossoms.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last!

What, were ye born to be An hour or half’s delight? And so to bid good night? ’Tis pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite!

But your lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne’er so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile they glide Into the grave!

Herrick.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lucken Gowans. Trollius Europæus. Dedicated to St. John Damascen.

[132] Golden Legend.

[133] Peren. Calendar.

~May 7.~

St. Stanislas, Bp. of Cracow, A. D. 1079. St. Benedict II., Pope, A. D. 686. St. John of Beverley.

ST. JOHN OF BEVERLEY, A. D. 721,

Was born at Harpham, a village in the north of England. In the reign of king Alfred, he was made bishop of Hexham; he gave venerable Bede the orders of deacon and priest; and built the monastery of Beverley, then a forest, now a market-town, twenty-seven miles from York, where he died, in 721.[134] Bede assigns several miracles to him in his lifetime. William of Malmesbury relates, that the inhabitants of Beverley acknowledge the sanctity of their patron, because the fiercest bulls being dragged with the strongest ropes, by the lustiest men, into his church-yard, lose their fury, become gentle as lambs, and being left to their freedom, innocently sport themselves, instead of goring and trampling with their horns and feet all that come near them.[135] It is related by another author that in 1312, on the feast of St. Bernard, wonderful oil miraculously issued from his sepulchre, which was a sovereign remedy against many diseases. Also, that king Ethelstan laid his knife on the saint’s altar, in pledge, that if by his interference he obtained a victory over the Scots, he would enrich his church; by the merits of the saint he conquered, and desiring to have a sign as a perpetual testimony of prerogative over the Scots, he struck his sword into a rock near Dunbar-castle, which for many ages retained a mark of a yard in length from the blow, and this was referred to by king Edward I. before pope Boniface, in proof of his right over Scotland. Ethelstan, in consequence of his victory, granted right of sanctuary to the church of Beverley, with other privileges.[136]

SEASONABLE STORY.

If the north-east wind blow on this day, or on any other day in May, or in any other summer month, the nervous reader will experience the uneasiness which is sure to afflict him from that baleful quarter. The sun may shine, and the birds may sing, and flowers may give forth their odours, yet pernicious influences prevail against the natural harmony and spirit of the season. To one, therefore, so afflicted, the story of Daniel O’Rourke, from the “Fairy Legends,” may be diverting.

DANIEL O’ROURKE.

People may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O’Rourke, but how few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and below, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls of the Phooka’s tower. I knew the man well: he lived at the bottom of Hungry Hill, just at the right hand side of the road as you go towards Bantry. An old man was he at the time that he told me the story, with gray hair, and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, 1813, that I heard it from his own lips, as he sat smoking his pipe under the old poplar tree, on as fine an evening as ever shone from the sky. I was going to visit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the morning at Glengariff.

“I am often axed to tell it, sir,” said he, “so that this is not the first time. The master’s son, you see, had come from beyond foreign parts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go, before Buonaparte or any such was heard of; and sure enough there was a dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high and low, rich and poor. The ould gentlemen were the gentlemen, after all, saving your honour’s presence. They’d swear at a body a little, to be sure, and, may be, give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were no losers by it in the end;--and they were so easy and civil, and kept such rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes;--and there was no grinding for rent, and few agents; and there was hardly a tenant on the estate that did not taste of his landlord’s bounty often and often in the year;--but now it’s another thing: no matter for that, sir, for I’d better be telling you my story.

“Well, we had every thing of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and we drank, and we danced, and the young master by the same token danced with Peggy Barry, from the Bohereen--a lovely young couple they were, though they are both low enough now. To make a long story short, I got, as a body may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can’t remember ever at all, no ways, how it was that I left the place: only I did leave it, that’s certain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself. I’d just step to Molly Cronahan’s, the fairy woman, to speak a word about the bracket heifer what was bewitched; and so as I was crossing the stepping-stones of the ford of Ballyashenogh, and was looking up at the stars and blessing myself--for why? it was Lady-day--I missed my foot, and souse I fell into the water. ‘Death alive!’ thought I, ‘I’ll be drowned now?’ However, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for the dear life, till at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of me can tell how, upon a dissolute island.

“I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered, until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as day, or your fair lady’s eyes, sir, (with your pardon for mentioning her,) and I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way, and nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog;--I could never find out how I got into it; and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I was that it would be my berrin place. So I sat down upon a stone which, as good luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch my head, and sing the Ullagone--when all of a sudden the moon grew black, and I looked up, and saw something for all the world as if it was moving down between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came with a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an eagle? as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry. So he looked at me in the face, and says he to me, ‘Daniel O’Rourke,’ says he, ‘how do you do?’ ‘Very well, I thank you, sir,’ says I: ‘I hope you’re well;’ wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to speak like a Christian. ‘What brings you here, Dan?’ says he. ‘Nothing at all, sir,’ says I; ‘only I wish I was safe home again.’ ‘Is it out of the island you want to go, Dan?’ says he. ‘’Tis, sir,’ says I: so I up and told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water; how I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog, and did not know my way out of it. ‘Dan,’ says he, after a minute’s thought, ‘though it was very improper for you to get drunk on Lady-day, yet as you are a decent, sober man, who ’tends mass well, and never flings stones at me or mine, nor cries out after us in the fields--my life for yours,’ says he; ‘so get up on my back, and grip me well for fear you’d fall off, and I’ll fly you out of the bog.’ ‘I am afraid,’ says I, ‘your honour’s making game of me; for who ever heard of riding a horseback on an eagle before?’ ‘’Pon the honour of a gentleman,’ says he, putting his right foot on his breast, ‘I am quite in earnest; and so now either take my offer or starve in the bog--besides, I see that your weight is sinking the stone.’

“It was true enough as he said, for I found the stone every minute going from under me. I had no choice; so thinks I to myself, faint heart never won fair lady, and this is fair persuadance:--‘I thank your honour,’ says I, ‘for the loan of your civility; and I’ll take your kind offer.’ I therefore mounted upon the back of the eagle, and held him tight enough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. Little I knew the trick he was going to serve me. Up--up--up--God knows how far up he flew. ‘Why, then,’ said I to him--thinking he did not know the right road home--very civilly, because why?--I was in his power entirely;--‘sir,’ says I, ‘please your honour’s glory, and with humble submission to your better judgment, if you’d fly down a bit, you’re now just over my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to your worship.’

“‘Arrah, Dan,’ said he, ‘do you think me a fool? Look down in the next field, and don’t you see two men and a gun? By my word it would be no joke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked up off of a could stone in a bog.’ ‘Bother you,’ said I to myself, but I did not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept, flying, flying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use. ‘Where in the world are you going, sir?’ says I to him. ‘Hold your tongue, Dan,’ says he: ‘mind your own business, and don’t be interfering with the business of other people.’ ‘Faith, this is my business, I think,’ says I. ‘Be quiet, Dan,’ says he: so I said no more.

“At last where should we come to, but to the moon itself. Now you can’t see it from this, but there is, or there was in my time a reaping-hook sticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure on the ground with the end of his stick.)

“‘Dan,’ said the eagle, ‘I’m tired with this long fly; I had no notion ’twas so far.’ ‘And my lord, sir,’ said I, ‘who in the world axed you to fly so far--was it I? did not I beg, and pray, and beseech you to stop half an hour ago?’ ‘There’s no use talking, Dan,’ said he; ‘I’m tired bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I rest myself.’ ‘Is it sit down on the moon?’ said I; ‘is it upon that little round thing, then? why, then, sure I’d fall off in a minute, and be kilt and spilt, and smashed all to bits: you are a vile deceiver--so you are.’ ‘Not at all, Dan,’ said he: ‘you can catch fast hold of the reaping-hook that’s sticking out of the side of the moon, and t’will keep you up.’ ‘I won’t, then,’ said I. ‘May be not,’ said he, quite quiet. ‘If you don’t, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf in the morning.’ ‘Why, then, I’m in a fine way,’ said I to myself, ‘ever to have come along with the likes of you;’ and so giving him a hearty curse in Irish, for fear he’d know what I said, I got off of his back with a heavy heart, took a hold of the reaping-hook, and sat down upon the moon, and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.

“When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about to me, and said, ‘Good morning to you, Daniel O’Rourke,’ said he: ‘I think I’ve nicked you fairly now. You robbed my nest last year,’ (’twas true enough for him, but how he found it out is hard to say,) ‘and in return you are freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a cockthrow.’

“‘Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you?’ says I. ‘You ugly unnatural baste, and is this the way you serve me at last? Bad luck to yourself, with your hook’d nose, and to all your breed, you blackguard.’ ’Twas all to no manner of use: he spread out his great big wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled after him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever, without his minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to this--sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a door opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as if it had not been opened for a month before. I suppose they never thought of greasing ’em, and out there walks--who do you think but the man in the moon? I knew him by his bush.

“‘Good morrow to you, Daniel O’Rourke,’ said he: ‘How do you do?’ ‘Very well, thank your honour,’ said I. ‘I hope your honour’s well.’ ‘What brought you here, Dan?’ said he. So I told him how I was a little overtaken in liquor at the master’s, and how I was cast on a dissolute island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the thief of an eagle promised to fly me out of it, and how instead of that he had fled me up to the moon.

“‘Dan,’ said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff when I was done, ‘you must not stay here.’ ‘Indeed, sir,’ says I, ‘’tis much against my will I’m here at all; but how am I to go back?’ ‘That’s your business,’ said he, ‘Dan: mine is to tell you that here you must not stay, so be off in less than no time.’ ‘I’m doing no harm,’ says I, ‘only holding on hard by the reaping-hook, lest I fall off.’ ‘That’s what you must not do, Dan,’ says he. ‘Pray, sir,’ says I, ‘may I ask how many you are in family, that you would not give a poor traveller lodging: I’m sure ’tis not so often you’re troubled with strangers coming to see you, for ’tis a long way.’ ‘I’m by myself, Dan,’ says he; ‘but you’d better let go the reaping-hook.’ ‘Faith, and with your leave,’ says I, ‘I’ll not let go the grip.’ ‘You had better, Dan,’ says he again. ‘Why, then, my little fellow,’ says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from head to foot, ‘there are two words to that bargain; and I’ll not budge, but you may if you like.’ ‘We’ll see how that is to be,’ says he; and back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him (for it was plain he was huffed), that I thought the moon and all would fall down with it.

“Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back again he comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a word, he gave two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was keeping me up, and whap! it came in two. ‘Good morning to you, Dan,’ says the spiteful little old blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling down with a bit of the handle in my hand; ‘I thank you for your visit, and fair weather after you, Daniel.’ I had not time to make any answer to him, for I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling at the rate of a fox-hunt. ‘God help me,’ says I, ‘but this is a pretty pickle for a decent man to be seen in at this time of night: I am now sold fairly.’ The word was not out of my mouth, when whiz! what should fly by close to my ear but a flock of wild geese; and the ould gander, who was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me, ‘Is that you Dan?’ I was not a bit daunted now at what he said, for I was by this time used to all kinds of bedevilment, and, besides, I knew him of ould. ‘Good morrow, to you,’ says he, ‘Daniel O’Rourke: how are you in health this morning?’ ‘Very well, sir,’ says I, ‘I thank you kindly,’ drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of some. ‘I hope your honour’s the same.’ ‘I think ’tis falling you are, Daniel,’ says he. ‘You may say that, sir,’ says I. ‘And where are you going all the way so fast?’ said the gander. So I told him how I had taken the drop, and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how the man in the moon turned me out. ‘Dan,’ said he, ‘I’ll save you: put out your hand and catch me by the leg, and I’ll fly you home.’ ‘Sweet is your hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,’ says I, though all the time I thought in myself that I don’t much trust you; but there was no help, so I caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese flew after him as fast as hops.

“We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking up out of the water. ‘Ah! my lord,’ said I to the goose, for I thought it best to keep a civil tongue in my head any way, ‘fly to land if you please.’ ‘It is impossible, you see, Dan,’ said he, ‘for a while, because you see we are going to Arabia.’ ‘To Arabia,’ said I; ‘that’s surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose: why then, to be sure, I’m a man to be pitied among you.’ ‘Whist, whist, you fool,’ said he, ‘hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia is a very decent sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like another, only there is a little more sand there.’

“Just as we were talking, a ship hove in sight, scudding so beautiful before the wind: ‘Ah! then, sir,’ said I, ‘will you drop me on the ship, if you please?’ ‘We are not fair over it,’ said he. ‘We are,’ said I. ‘We are not,’ said he: ‘If I dropped you now, you would go splash into the sea.’ ‘I would not,’ says I; ‘I know better than that, for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at once.’

“‘If you must, you must,’ said he. ‘There, take your own way;’ and he opened his claw, and faith he was right--sure enough I came down plump into the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I went, and I gave myself up then for ever, when a whale walked up to me, scratching himself after his night’s sleep, and looked me full in the face, and never the word did he say, but lifting up his tail, he splashed me all over again with the cold salt water, till there wasn’t a dry stitch upon my whole carcass; and I heard somebody saying--’twas a voice I knew, too--‘Get up, you drunken brute, off of that:’ and with that I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she was splashing me all over;--for, rest her soul! though she was a good wife, she never could bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of her own.

“‘Get up,’ said she again: ‘and of all places in the parish, would no place sarve your turn to lie down upon but under the ould walls of Carrigaphooka? an uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.’ And sure enough I had; for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles, and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through bogs, and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the great ocean. If I was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I’d lie down in the same spot again, I know that.”

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Asiatic Globeflower. Trollius Asiaticus. Dedicated to St. John of Beverley.

[134] Butler.

[135] Cressy.

[136] Porter’s Flowers.

~May 8.~

The Apparition of St. Michael the Archangel. St. Peter, Abp. of Tarentaise, or Monstiers, A. D. 1174. St. Victor, A. D. 303. St. Wiro, Bp. 7th Cent. St. Odrian, Bp. of Waterford. St. Gybrian, or Gobrian, 8th Cent.

ST. MICHAEL, THE ARCHANGEL.

It is not clear what particular apparition of St. Michael is celebrated in the Roman Catholic church on this day; their books mention several of his apparitions. They rank him as field-marshal and commander-in-chief of the armies of heaven, as prince of the angels opposed to Lucifer, and, especially, as principal guardian of human souls against the infernal powers.[137] In heraldry, as head of the order of archangels, his ensign is a banner hanging on a cross, and he is armed as Victory, with a dart in one hand, and a cross on his forehead, or the top of the head; archangels are distinguished from angels by that sign. Usually, however, he is painted in coat-armour, in a glory, with a dart, throwing Lucifer headlong into a flame of fire issuing out of a base proper; this is also termed the battle between Michael and the devil, with his casting out of heaven into the lake of fire and brimstone. “There remained,” says a distinguishing herald, “still in heaven, after the fall of Lucifer, the bright star, and his company, more angels than there ever was, is, and shall be men born in the earth, which God ranked into nine orders or chorus, called the nine quoires of holy angels.”[138]

St. Michael is further represented in catholic books as engaged with weighing souls in a pair of scales. A very curious spiritualizing romance, originally in French, printed in English by Caxton, in the reign of Edward V., exemplifies the office of St. Michael in this capacity; the work is entitled--“The Pilgremage of the Sowle.” The author expresses himself under “the similitude of a dream,” which, he says, befell him on a St. Laurence’ night sleeping in his bed. He thought himself travelling towards the city of Jerusalem, when death struck his body and soul asunder; whereupon Satan in a foul and horrible form came towards the soul, which being in great terror, its warden, or guardian angel, desired Satan to flee away and not meddle with it. Satan refuses, alleging that God had permitted that no soul which had done wrong should, on its passage, escape from being “snarlyd in his trappe;” and he said, that the guardian angel well knew that he, the said guardian, could never withdraw the soul from evil, or induce it to follow his good counsel; and that even if he had, the soul would not have thanked him for it; Satan, therefore, knew not why the angel should interfere, and begged he would let him alone to do with the soul what he had a right to do, and could not be prevented from doing. The parley continued, until they agreed to carry the soul before Michael, the provost of heaven, and abide his award on Satan’s claim.

The soul was then lifted between them both into the transparent air, wherein the spirits of the newly dead were passing thickly on every side, to and fro, as motes flitting in the sun-beam. They tarried not until they arrived at a marvellous place of bright fire, shining with a brilliant light, surrounded by a great multitude of souls attending there for a like purpose. The guardian angel entered, leaving Satan without, and also the soul, who could hear the voice of his warden speaking in his behalf, and acquainting Michael that he had brought from earth a pilgrim, who was without, and with him Satan his accuser, abiding judgment.

Then Satan began to cry out and said, “Of right he is mine, and that I shall prove; wherefore deliver him to me by judgment, for I abide naught else.” This caused proclamation to be made by sound of trumpet in these words:--“All ye that are without, awaiting your judgment, present yourselves before the provost to receive your doom; but first ye that have longest waited, and especially those that have no great matter and are not much troubled; for the plain and light causes shall first be determined, and then other matters that need greater tarrying.”

This proclamation greatly disturbed the souls without. Satan and his evil spirits were most especially angry, and holding a consultation, he spoke as follows: “It appears we are of little consequence, and hence our wicked neighbours do us injustice. These wardens hinder us from our purposes, and we are without favour. There is no caitiff pilgrim but hath had a warden assigned him from his birth, to attend him and defend him at all times from our hands, and especially from the time that he washed in the ‘salt lye,’ ordained by grace de Dieu, who hath ever been our enemy; and then they are taken, as soon as these wardens come, before the provost, and have audience at their own pleasure; while we are kept here without, as mere ribalds. Let us cry out a rowe [haro], and out upon them all! they have done us wrong; and we will speak so loud that in spite of them they shall hear us.” Then Satan and his spirits cried out all at once, “Michael! provost, lieutenant, and commissary of the high judge! do us right, without exception or favour of any party. You know very well that in every upright court the prosecutor is admitted to make his accusation and propose his petition; but you first admit the defendant to make his excusation. This manner of judging is suspicious; for were these pilgrims innocent yet, if reason were to be heard, and right were to prevail, the accusers would have the first hearing to say what they would, and then the defendants after them, to excuse themselves if they could: we, then, being the prosecutors, hear us first, and then the defendants.”

After Satan’s complaint, the soul heard within the curtain, “a longe parlament;” and, at the last, there was another proclamation ordered by sound of trumpet, as follows:--“All ye that are accustomed to come to our judgments, to hear and to see, as assessors, that right be performed, come forth immediately and take your seats; ye well knowing your own assigned places. Ye also that are without, waiting the sitting of the court, present yourselves forthwith to the judgment thereof, in order as ye shall be called; so that no one hinder another, or interrupt another’s discourse. Ye pilgrims, approach the entrance of this curtain, awaiting without; and your wardens, because they are our equals, belonging to our company, are to appear, as of right they ought, within our presence.”

After this proclamation was observed, the guardian angel said,--“Provost Michael! I here present to you this pilgrim, committed to my care in the world below: he has kept his faith to the last, and ought to be received into the heavenly Jerusalem, whereto his body hath long been travelling.”--Satan answered--“Michael! attend to my word and I shall tell you another tale.” The soul being befriended throughout by St. Michael, finally escapes the dreadful doom of eternal punishment.

On St. Michael’s contention with the devil about the body of Moses, more may be seen in the volume on “Ancient Mysteries,” from which the present notice is extracted, or in “Bishop Marsh’s translation of Michaeli’s Introduction to the New Testament.”

The managers of an institution for the encouragement of British talent, less versed in biblical criticism than in art, lately offered a prize to the painter who should best represent this strange subject.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lily of the Valley. Convallaria majalis. Dedicated to St. Selena.

People methinks are better, but the scenes Wherein my youth delighted are no more. I wander out in search of them, and find A sad deformity in all I see. Strong recollections of my former pleasures, And knowledge that they never can return, Are causes of my sombre mindedness: I pray you then bear with my discontent.

*

A walk out of London is, to me, an event; I have an every-day desire to bring it about, but weeks elapse before the time arrives whereon I can sally forth. In my boyhood, I had only to obtain parental permission, and stroll in fields now no more,--to scenes now deformed, or that I have been wholly robbed of, by “the spirit of improvement.” Five and thirty years have altered every thing--myself with the rest. I am obliged to “ask leave to go out,” of time and circumstance; or to wait till the only enemy I cannot openly face has ceased from before me--the north-east wind--or to brave that foe and get the worst of it. I did so yesterday. “This is the time,” I said, to an artist, “when we Londoners begin to get our walks; we will go to a place or two that I knew many years ago, and see how they look now; and first to Canonbury-house.”

Having crossed the back Islington-road, we found ourselves in the rear of the Pied Bull. Ah! I know this spot well: this stagnant pool was a “famous” carp pond among boys. How dreary the place seems! the yard and pens were formerly filled with sheep and cattle for Smithfield market; graziers and drovers were busied about them; a high barred gate was constantly closed; now all is thrown open and neglected, and not a living thing to be seen. We went round to the front, the house was shut up, and nobody answered to the knocking. It had been the residence of the gallant sir Walter Raleigh, who threw down his court mantle for queen Elizabeth to walk on, that she might not damp her feet; he, whose achievements in Virginia secured immense revenue to his country; whose individual enterprise in South America carried terror to the recreant heart of Spain; who lost years of his life within the walls of the Tower, where he wrote the “History of the World,” and better than all, its inimitable preface; and who finally lost his life on a scaffold for his courage and services. By a door in the rear we got into “the best parlour;” this was on the ground-floor; it had been Raleigh’s dining-room. Here the arms of sir John Miller are painted on glass in the end window; and we found Mr. John Cleghorn sketching them. This gentleman, who lives in the neighbourhood, and whose talents as a draftsman and engraver are well known, was obligingly communicative; and we condoled on the decaying memorials of past greatness. On the ceiling of this room are stuccoed the five senses; Feeling in an oval centre, and the other four in the scroll-work around. The chimney-piece of carved oak, painted white, represents Charity, supported by Faith on her right, and Hope on her left. Taking leave of Mr. Cleghorn, we hastily passed through the other apartments, and gave a last farewell look at sir Walter’s house; yet we bade not adieu to it till my accompanying friend expressed a wish, that as sir Walter, according to tradition, had there smoked the first pipe of tobacco drawn in Islington, so he might have been able to smoke the last whiff within the walls that would in a few weeks be levelled to the ground.

We got to Canonbury. Geoffrey Crayon’s “Poor Devil Author” sojourned here:--

“Chance threw me,” he says, “in the way of Canonbury Castle. It is an ancient brick tower, hard by ‘merry Islington;’ the remains of a hunting-seat of queen Elizabeth, where she took the pleasure of the country when the neighbourhood was all woodland. What gave it particular interest in my eyes was the circumstance that it had been the residence of a poet. It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his ‘Deserted Village.’ I was shown the very apartment. It was a relic of the original style of the castle, with pannelled wainscots and Gothic windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, and with its having been the residence of poor Goldy. ‘Goldsmith was a pretty poet,’ said I to myself, ‘a very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion now-a-days; but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would no doubt have written quite differently.’ In a few days I was quietly established in my new quarters; my books all arranged; my writing-desk placed by a window looking out into the fields, and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe when he had finished his bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of change and the charms which grace new lodgings before one has found out their defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I explored merry Islington; ate my solitary dinner at the Black Bull, which, according to tradition, was a country seat of sir Walter Raleigh, and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old times, in a quaint old room where many a council had been held. All this did very well for a few days; I was stimulated by novelty; inspired by the associations awakened in my mind by these curious haunts; and began to think I felt the spirit of composition stirring with me. But Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarming about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window but I was stunned with shouts and noises from the cricket ground; the late quiet road beneath my window was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues; and, to complete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was absolutely a ‘show house,’ the tower and its contents being shown to strangers at sixpence a head. There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens and their families to look about the country from the top of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the telescope, to try if they could discern their own chimneys. And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas put to flight, by my intolerable landlady’s tapping at the door, and asking me if I would ‘just please to let a lady and gentleman come in, to take a look at Mr. Goldsmith’s room.’ If you know any thing what an author’s study is, and what an author is himself, you must know that there was no standing this. I put a positive interdict on my room’s being exhibited; but then it was shown when I was absent, and my papers put in confusion; and on returning home one day I absolutely found a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over my manuscripts, and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. I tried to make out a little longer, by taking the key in my pocket; but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day telling some of her customers on the stairs that the room was occupied by an author, who was always in a tantrum if interrupted; and I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me through the key-hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was quite too much! With all my eagerness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a head, and that through a key-hole. So I bade adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Islington, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without having advanced a single line in my labours.”

Now for this and some other descriptions, I have a quarrel with the aforesaid Geoffrey Crayon, gent. What right has a transatlantic settler to feelings in England? He located in America, but it seems he did not locate his feelings there; if not, why not? What right has he of New York to sit “solitary” in Raleigh’s house at Islington, and “muse” on our “old times;” himself clearly a pied animal, mistaking the pied bull for a “black” bull. There is “black” blood between us. By what authority has he a claim to a domicile at Canonbury? Under what international law laid down by Vattel or Martens, or other jurist, ancient or modern, can his pretension to feel and muse at sir Walter’s or queen Elizabeth’s tower, be admitted? He comes here and describes as if he were a real Englishman; and claims copyright in our courts for his feelings and descriptions, while he himself is a copyist; a downwright copyist of my feelings, who am an Englishman, and a forestaller of my descriptions--bating the “black” bull. He has left me nothing to do.

My friend, the artist, obligingly passed the door of Canonbury tower to take a sketch of its north-east side; not that the tower has not been taken before, but it has not been given exactly in that position. We love every look of an old friend, and this look we get after crossing the bridge of the New River, coming from the “Thatched house” to “Canonbury tavern.” A year or so ago, the short walk from the lower Islington-road to this bridge was the prettiest “bit” on the river nearest to London. Here the curve of the stream formed the “horse-shoe.” In by-gone days only three or four hundred, from the back of Church-street southerly, and from the back of the upper street westerly, to Canonbury, were open green pastures with uninterrupted views easterly, bounded only by the horizon. Then the gardens to the houses in Canonbury-place, terminated by the edge of the river, were covetable retirements; and ladies, lovely as the marble bust of Mrs. Thomas Gent, by Behnes, in the Royal Academy Exhibition, walked in these gardens, “not unseen,” yet not obtruded on. Now, how changed!

My ringing at the tower-gate was answered by Mr. Symes, who for thirty-nine years past has been resident in the mansion, and is bailiff of the manor of Islington, under lord Northampton. Once more, to “many a time and oft” aforetime, I ranged the old rooms, and took perhaps a last look from its roof. The eye shrunk from the wide havoc below. Where new buildings had not covered the sward, it was embowelling for bricks, and kilns emitted flickering fire and sulphurous stench. Surely the dominion of the brick-and-mortar king will have no end; and cages for commercial spirits will be instead of every green herb. In this high tower some of our literary men frequently shut themselves up, “far from the busy haunts of men.” Mr. Symes says that his mother-in-law, Mrs. Evans, who had lived there three and thirty years, and was wife to the former bailiff, often told him that her aunt, Mrs. Tapps, a seventy years’ inhabitant of the tower, was accustomed to talk much about Goldsmith and his apartment. It was the old oak room on the first floor. Mrs. Tapps affirmed that he there wrote his “Deserted Village,” and slept in a large press bedstead, placed in the eastern corner. From this room two small ones for sleeping in have since been separated, by the removal of the pannelled oak wainscotting from the north-east wall, and the cutting of two doors through it, with a partition between them; and since Goldsmith was here, the window on the south side has been broken through. Hither have I come almost every year, and frequently in many years, and seen the changing occupancy of these apartments. Goldsmith’s room I almost suspect to have been tenanted by Geoffrey Crayon; about seven years ago I saw books on one of the tables, with writing materials, and denotements of more than a “Poor Devil Author.” This apartment, and other apartments in the tower, are often to be let comfortably furnished, “with other conveniences.” It is worth while to take a room or two, were it only to hear Mr. Symes’s pleasant conversation about residences and residentiaries, manorial rights and boundaries, and “things as they used to be” in his father’s time, who was bailiff before him, and “in Mrs. Evans’s time,” or “Mrs. Tapps’s time.” The grand tenantry of the tower has been in and through him and them during a hundred and forty-two years.

Canonbury tower is sixty feet high, and seventy feet square. It is part of an old mansion which appears to have been erected, or, if erected before, much altered about the reign of Elizabeth. The more ancient edifice was erected by the priors of the canons of St. Bartholomew, Smithfield, and hence was called Canonbury, to whom it appertained until it was surrendered with the priory to Henry VIII.; and when the religious houses were dissolved, Henry gave the manor to Thomas lord Cromwell; it afterwards passed through other hands till it was possessed by sir John Spencer, an alderman and lord mayor of London, known by the name of “rich Spencer.” While he resided at Canonbury, a Dunkirk pirate came over in a shallop to Barking creek, and hid himself with some armed men in Islington fields, near to the path sir John usually took from his house in Crosby-place to this mansion, with the hope of making him prisoner; but as he remained in town that night, they were glad to make off, for fear of detection, and returned to France disappointed of their prey, and of the large ransom they calculated on for the release of his person. His sole daughter and heiress, Elizabeth, was carried off in a baker’s basket from Canonbury-house by William, the second lord Compton, lord president of Wales. He inherited Canonbury, with the rest of sir John Spencer’s wealth at his death, and was afterwards created earl of Northampton; in this family the manor still remains. The present earl’s rent-roll will be enormously increased, by the extinction of comfort to the inhabitants of Islington and its vicinity, through the covering up of the open fields and verdant spots on his estates.

As a custom it is noticeable, that many metropolitans visit this antique edifice in summer, for the sake of the panoramic view from the roof. To those who inquire concerning the origin or peculiarities of its erection or history, Mr. Symes obligingly tenders the loan of “Nelson’s History of Islington,” wherein is ample information on these points. In my visit, yesterday, I gathered one or two particulars from this gentleman not befitting me to conceal, inasmuch as I hold and maintain that the world would not be the worse for being acquainted with what every one knows; and that it is every one’s duty to contribute as much as he can to the amusement and instruction of others. Be it known then, that Mr. Symes says he possesses the ancient key of the gate belonging to the prior’s park. “It formerly hung there,” said he, pointing with his finger as we stood in the kitchen, “withinside that clock-case, but by some accident it has fallen to the bottom, and I cannot get at it.” The clock-case is let into the solid wall flush with the surface, and the door to the weights opening only a small way down from the dial plate, they descend full two-thirds the length of their lines within a “fixed abode.” Adown this space Mr. Symes has looked, and let down inches of candle without being able to see, and raked with long sticks without being able to feel, the key; and yet he thinks it there, in spite of the negative proof, and of a suggestion I uncharitably urged, that some antiquary, with confused notions as to the “rights of things,” might have removed the key from the nail in the twinkling of Mr. Symes’s eye, and finally deposited it among his own “collections.” A very large old arm chair, with handsome carved claws, and modern verdant baize on the seat and back, which also stands in the kitchen, attracted my attention. “It was here,” said Mr. Symes, “before Mrs. Tapps’s time; the old tapestry bottom was quite worn out, and the tapestry back so ragged, that I cut them away, and had them replaced as you see; but I have kept the back, because it represents Queen Elizabeth hunting in the woods that were hereabout in her time--I’ll fetch it.” On my hanging this tapestry against the clock-case, it was easy to make out a lady gallantly seated on horseback, with a sort of turbaned headdress, and about to throw a spear from her right hand; a huntsman on foot, with a pole in one hand, and leading a brace of dogs with the other, runs at the side of the horse’s head; and another man on foot, with a gun on his shoulder, follows the horse; the costume, however, is not so early as the time of Elizabeth; certainly not before the reign of Charles I.

This edifice is well worth seeing, and Mr. Symes’s plain civility is good entertainment. Readers have only to ring at the bell above the brass plate with the word “Tower” on it, and ask, “Is Mr. Tower at home?” as I do, and they will be immediately introduced; at the conclusion of the visit the tender of sixpence each, by way of “quit-rent,” will be accepted. Those who have been before and not lately, will view “improvement” rapidly devastating the forms of nature around this once delightful spot; others who have not visited it at all may be amazed at the extensive prospects; and none who see the “goings on” and “ponder well,” will be able to foretell whether Mr. Symes or the tower will enjoy benefit of survivorship.

To Canonbury Tower.

As some old, stout, and lonely holyhock, Within a desolate neglected garden, Doth long survive beneath the gradual choke Of weeds, that come and work the general spoil; So, Canonbury, thou dost stand awhile: Yet fall at last thou must; for thy rich warden Is fast “improving;” all thy pleasant fields Have fled, and brick-kilns, bricks, and houses rise At his command; the air no longer yields A fragrance--scarcely health; the very skies Grow dim and townlike; a cold, creeping gloom Steals into thee, and saddens every room: And so realities come unto me, Clouding the chambers of my mind, and making me--like thee.

May 18, 1825.

*

[137] Butler.

[138] Holme.

~Rogation Sunday.~

This is the fifth Sunday after Easter. “Rogation” is supplication, from the Latin rogare, to beseech.

Rogation Sunday obtained its name from the succeeding Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, which are called Rogation-days, and were ordained by Mammertus, archbishop of Vienne, in Dauphiné; about the year 469 he caused the litanies, or supplications, to be said upon them, for deliverance from earthquakes, fires, wild beasts, and other public calamities, which are alleged to have happened in his city; hence the whole week is called Rogation-week, to denote the continual praying.[139]

Shepherd, in his “Elucidation of the Book of Common Prayer,” mistaking Vienne for Vienna the capital of Germany, says: “The example of Mammertus was followed by many churches in the West, and the institution of the Rogation-days, soon passed from the diocese of Vienna into France, and from France into England.”

Rogation-week is also called grass-week, from the appetite being restricted to salads and greens; cross-week, from the cross being more than ordinarily used; procession-week, from the public processions during the period; and gang-week, from the ganging, or going about in these processions.[140]

The rogations and processions, or singing of litanies along the streets during this week, were practised in England till the Reformation. In 1554, the priests of queen Mary’s chapel made public processions. “All the three days there went her chapel about the fields: the first day to St. Giles’s, and there sung mass: the next day, being Tuesday, to St. Martin’s in the Fields; and there a sermon was preached, and mass sung; and the company drank there: the third day to Westminster; where a sermon was made, and then mass and good cheer made; and after, about the park, and so to St. James’s court. The same Rogation-week went out of the Tower, on procession, priests and clerks, and the lieutenant with all his waiters; and the axe of the Tower borne in procession: the waits attended. There joined in this procession the inhabitants of St. Katharine’s, Radcliff, Limehouse, Poplar, Stratford, Bow, Shoreditch, and all those that belonged to the Tower, with their halberts. They went about the fields of St. Katharine’s, and the liberties.”[141] On the following Thursday, “Being Holy Thursday, at the court of St. James’s, the queen went in procession within St. James’s, with heralds and serjeants of arms, and four bishops mitred; and bishop Bonner, beside his mitre, wore a pair of slippers of silver and gilt, and a pair of rich gloves with ouches of silver upon them, very rich.”[142]

The effect of processions in the churches, must have been very striking. A person sometimes inquires the use of a large portion of unappropriated room in some of our old ecclesiastical edifices; he is especially astonished at the enormous unoccupied space in a cathedral, and asks, “what is it for?”--the answer is, at this time, nothing. But if the Stuarts had succeeded in reestablishing the catholic religion, then this large and now wholly useless portion of the structure, would have been devoted to the old practices. In that event, we should have had cross-carrying, canopy-carrying, censing, chanting, flower-strewing, and all the other accessories and essentials of the grand pageantry, which distinguishes catholic from protestant worship. The utmost stretch of episcopal ceremonial in England, can scarcely extend to the use of an eighth part of any of our old cathedrals, each of which, in every essential particular as a building, is papal.

[139] Butler.

[140] Brand.

[141] Strype.

[142] Ibid.

~May 9.~

St. Gregory Nazianzen, A. D. 389, or 391. St. Hermas, 1st Cent. St. Nicholas Bp. A. D. 1391.

May Morning.

The sun is up, and ’tis a morn of May Round old Ravenna’s clear-shown towers and bay, A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green; For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night, Have left a sparkling welcome for the light, And there’s a crystal clearness all about; The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze; The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees; And when you listen, you may hear a coil Of bubbling springs about the grassy soil; And all the scene, in short--sky, earth, and sea Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.

Leigh Hunt.

A benevolent lover of nature,[143]--and who that loves nature is not benevolent--observes, in a notice of this day, that “the Swift, which arrives in England about this time, in the morning and in the evening comes out in quest of food, and utters, while rapidly flying, its peculiar scream, whence it is called Squeaker. In a warm summer morning these birds may be seen flying round in small companies, and all squeaking together: in the evening they come forth again; but there are times in the middle of the day when few or none of these birds are seen. We have already observed,” continues Dr. Forster, “that the scenery of a May morning is particularly beautiful; a serene sky, a refreshing fragrance arising from the face of the earth, and the melody of the birds, all combine to render it inexpressibly delightful, to exhilarate the spirits, and call forth a song of grateful adoration.

How fresh the breeze that wafts the rich perfume, And swells the melody of waking birds! The hum of bees beneath the verdant grove, And woodman’s song, and low of distant herds!

And yet there are some to whom these scenes give no delight, and who hurry away from all the varieties of rural beauty, to lose their hours and divert their thoughts by a tavern dinner, or the prattle or the politics of the day. Such was, by his own confession, Mr. Boswell, the biographer of Johnson; and, according to this ‘honest chronicler’s’ report, the doctor himself was alike insensible to the charms of nature. “We walked in the evening,” says Boswell, “in Greenwich-park. Johnson asked me, I suppose by way of trying my disposition, ‘Is not this very fine?’ Having no exquisite relish of the beauties of nature, and being more delighted with the ‘busy hum of men,’ I answered, ‘Yes, sir; but not equal to Fleet-street.’ Johnson said, ‘You are right, sir.’ I am aware that many of my readers may censure my want of taste. Let me, however, shelter myself under the authority of a very fashionable baronet in the brilliant world, who, on his attention being called to the fragrance of a May evening in the country, ‘This may be very well; but, for my part, I prefer the smell of a flambeau at the playhouse!’”

Green fields, and shady groves, and crystal springs And larks, and nightingales, are odious things. But smoke and dust, and noise and crowds, delight; And to be pressed to death, transports her quite: Where silvery rivulets play through flowery meads, And woodbines give their sweets, and limes their shades Black kennels’ absent odours she regrets, And stops her nose at beds of violets; Nor likes to leave her bed at early dawn, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Solomon’s Seal. Convallaria multiflora. Dedicated to St. Gregory of Nazianzen.

[143] Dr. Forster.

~May 10.~

St. Antoninus, or Little Antony, Abp. A. D. 1459. Sts. Gordian, A. D. 362, and Epimachus, A. D. 250. St. Isidore, Patron of Madrid, A. D. 1170. St. Comgall, Irish abbot, A. D. 601. St. Cataldus, Bp. of Tarentum.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Slender-leaved Piony. Pæonia Tenuifolia. Dedicated to St. Comgall.

THE DOTTEREL.

(For the Every-Day Book.)

In May and June this bird is to be found on Gogmagog-hills and the moors adjacent. It is caught with nets, by people using a whistle made to imitate its note; the bird is so simple and fond of imitation, it suffers itself to be approached, and the net dropped over it. There is a tradition current here, that king James I. was very fond of seeing dotterels taken; and when he came to Newmarket, used to accompany the birdcatchers to the Gogmagog-hills and moors, for that purpose. It is said, a needy clergyman residing in the parish of Sawston, who was very expert in dotterel-catching, attended the king; his majesty was pleased with his skill, and promised him a living: the clergyman waited some years, till, concluding that the king “had remembered to forget his promise,” he went to London and appeared at court, where too he was unnoticed and forgotten; at length, approaching the king, and making the same signs as he was wont to do when catching dotterels with the king near Cambridge, his majesty exclaimed, “Why, here is my reverend dotterel-catcher,” and instantly gave him the long-delayed living:--

The boggy moor a fruitful field appears, Since the inclosure of those latter years; Though oft a victim to the fowler’s snare, The dotterel keeps her wonted vigils there! Ah! simple bird to imitate false man, Who does by stratagem thy life trepan! So by the world is man oft led astray, Nor strives to shun the siren’s ’witching lay; But knows, alas! like thee, when ’tis too late, The want of caution, and repents his fate. In sad reality--too often seen, Does folly end in sorrow’s tragic scene.

Cambridge, May 18, 1825.

T. N.

~May 11.~

St. Mammertus, Abp. of Vienne, A. D. 477. St. Maieul, or Majolus, Abbot A. D. 994.

BEES AND BIRDS.

A Warwickshire correspondent says, that in that county “the first swarm of bees is simply called a swarm, the second from the same hive is called a cast, and the third from the same hive a spindle. It is a saying in this county, that

“A swarm of bees in May Is worth a load of hay; A swarm of bees in June Is worth a silver spune (spoon;) A swarm of bees in July Is not worth a fly.

“In Warwickshire, also, there is a different version of verses about the swallow, &c.

“The robin and the wren Are God Almighty’s cock and hen; The martin and the swallow Are God Almighty’s bow and arrow.”

CHRONOLOGY.

King James I. and his queen arrived in Scotland on Old May-day, 1590, it being then according to the old style the first day of May, in order to be at the queen’s coronation. The entry and coronation were conducted with great ceremony; the pageant on the latter occasion is an example of splendid dramatic effect, which in this country no longer prevails on such occasions. According to the account printed at London, in black letter, A. D. 1590, these are the particulars:--

“The King arrived at Lyeth the first day of May, anno 1590, with the Queene his wife and his traine in thirteene shippes, accompanied with Peter Munck, Admirall of Denmarke, one of the Regentes of the King, Steven Brave, a Danish Lorde, and sundry other the Lordes of the same countrey, where at theyr arrivall they were welcommed by the Duke of Lenox, the Earle Bothwell, and sundry other the Scottish Nobility. At their landing, one M. James Elpheston, a Senator of the Colledge of Justice, with a Latine oration welcommed them into the countrey, which done, the King went on to the church of Lyeth, where they had a sermon preached by Maister Patrick Gallowey, in English, importing a thanksgiving for their safe arrivall, and so they departed to their lodging, where they expected the comming in of the rest of the nobility, together with such preparation as was to bee provided in Edinborough and the Abbey of the Holy Rood House.

“This performed, and the nobility joyning to the township of Edinborough, they receaved the King and Queene from the town of Lyeth, the King riding before, and the Queene behind him in her chariot, with her maides of honor on ech side of her Majesties one. Her chariot was drawne with eight horses, capparisoned in velvet, imbrodred with silver and gold, very rich, her highnesse maister of her householde, and other Danish ladies on the one side, and the Lorde Hamilton on the other, together with the rest of the nobility, and after her chariot followed the Lorde Chancelours wife, the Lady Bothwell, and other the ladies, with the burgesses of the towne and others round about her, as of Edinborough, of Lyeth, of Fishrow, of Middleborow, of Preston, of Dalkith, &c. all the inhabitants being in armour, and giving a volle of shotte to the King and Queene in their passage, in joy of their safe arrivall. In this manner they passed to the Abbey of Holy Roode House, where they remained until the seaventeenth of May, upon which day the Queene was crowned in the said Abbey Church, after the sermon was ended by Maister Robert Bruce and M. David Linsey, with great triumphes. The coronation ended, she was conveide to her chamber, being led by the Lord Chancelour, on the one side and the Embassador of Englande on the other, sixe ladies bearing uppe her traine, having going before her twelve heraultes in their coates of armes, and sundrye trumpets still sounding. The Earle of Angus bare the sworde of honor, the L. Hamilton the scepter, and the Duke of Lenox the crowne. Thus was that day spent in joy and mirth. Uppon Tuesday the nineteenth of May, her Majesty made her entry into Edinborough in her chariot, with the Lordes and Nobility giving their attendance, among the which ther were sixe and thirty Danes on horsebacke with foote clothes, every of them being accompanied with some Scottish Lorde or Knight, and all the ladies following the chariot. At her comming to the South side of the yardes of the Canogit, along the parke wall, being in sight of the Castle, they gave her thence a great volle of shotte, with their banners and auncientes displaied upon the walles. Thence shee came to the West port, under the which her highnesse staied, and had an oration to welcome her to the towne, uttered in Latine by one maister John Russell, who was thereto appointed by the towneshippe, whose sonne also being placed uppon the toppe of the portehead, and was let downe by a devise made in a globe, which being come somewhat over her Majesties heade, opened at the toppe into foure quarters, where the childe appearing in the resemblance of an angell delivered her the keyes of the towne in silver, which done, the quarters closed, and the globe was taken uppe agayne, so as the childe was no more seene there. Shee had also a canapie of purple velvet, embrodered with gold, carried over her by sixe ancient townes-men. There were also three score young men of the towne lyke Moores, and clothed in cloth of silver, with chaines about their neckes, and bracelets about their armes, set with diamonds and other precious stones, verie gorgeous to the eie, who went before the chariot betwixt the horsemen and it, everie one with a white staffe in his hande to keepe off the throng of people, where also rid the Provost and Baileefes of the towne with foote clothes to keepe the people in good order, with most of the inhabitants in their best araie to doe the like. In this order her Grace passed on the Bow street, where was erected a table, whereupon stood a globe of the whole worlde, with a boy sitting therby, who represented the person of a King, and made her an oration, which done, she went up the Bowe, wher were cast forth a number of banketing dishes as they came by, and comming to the butter trone, there were placed nine maidens bravely arraied in cloth of silver and gold, representing the nine Muses, who sung verie sweete musicke, where a brave youth played upon the organs, which accorded excellentlie with the singing of their psalmes, whereat her Majestie staied awhile, and thence passed downe through the high gate of Edinborough, which was all decked with tapistry from the top to the bottom: at her Graces comming to the Tolboth, there stood on high the four vertues, as first, Justice with the ballance in one hand, and the sword of justice in the other; then Temperance, having in the one hand a cup of wine, and in the other hand a cup of water; Prudence, holding in her hand a serpent and a dove, declaring that men ought to bee as wise as the serpent to prevent mischief, but as simple as a dove eyther in wrath or malice. The last is Fortitude, who held a broken piller in her hand, representing the strength of a kingdome.

“Thus shee passed on to the crosse, uppon the toppe whereof shee had a psalm sung in verie good musicke before her comming to the churche, whiche done, her Majestie came forth of her chariot, and was conveied unto S. Giles Church, where she heard a sermon preached by M. Robert Bruce. That ended, with praiers for her highnesse, shee was conveied againe to her chariot. Against her comming forth, there stood upon the top of the crosse a table covered, whereupon stood cups of gold and silver full of wine, with the goddess of Corne and Wine sitting thereat, and the corne on heapes by her, who in Latine cried that there should be plentie thereof in her time, and on the side of the crosse sate the God Bacchus upon a punchion of wine, drinking and casting it by cups full upon the people, besides other of the townsmen that cast apples and nuts among them, and the crosse itself ranne claret wine upon the caulsway for the royaltie of that daie. Thence her Grace rode downe the gate to the sault trone, whereupon sate all the Kings heretofore of Scotland, one of them lying along at their feete, as if he had bene sick, whom certain souldiers seemed to awake at her Majesties comming; whereupon he arose and made her an oration in Latine. Which ended, she passed down to the neather bow, which was beautified with the marage of a King and his Queene, with all their nobilitie about them, among whom at her highness presence there arose a youth who applied the same to the marriage of the King and herselfe, and so blessed that marriage. Which done, there was let downe unto her from the top of the porte in a silke string a box covered with purple velvet, whereupon was embrodered an A. for Anna (her Majesties name) set with diamonds and precious stones, esteemed at twentie thousand crownes, which the townshippe gave for a present to her highness; and then, after singing of some psalmes with very good musicke, her Grace departed to the Abbey for that night.”

* * * * *

1778. William Pitt, the great earl of Chatham, died in the House of Lords, aged 70 years.

1782. Richard Wilson, the eminent English landscape painter, died, neglected, at the age of 68 years; for in his lifetime his labours were unappreciated. He was accustomed to say, that posterity would do him justice; and now his pictures produce astonishing sums.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lancashire Asphodel. Asphodelus Luteus. Dedicated to St. Mammertus.

~May 12.~

Holy Thursday, holiday at the Public Offices, except Excise, Stamp, and Custom.

Sts. Nereus and Achilleus. St. Flavia Domitilla. St. Pancras, A. D. 304. St. Epiphanius, Abp. A. D. 403. St. Germanus, Patriarch of Constantinople, A. D. 733. St. Rictrudes, Abbess, A. D. 688.

~Holy Thursday,~

Or Ascension Day.

The anniversary of Christ’s Ascension as kept by the Romish church, is set forth in the “Popish Kingdome,” thus:

Then comes the day when Christ ascended to his father’s seate Which day they also celebrate, with store of drinke and meate, Then every man some birde must eate, I know not to what ende, And after dinner all to church they come, and their attende The blocke that on the aultar still, till then was seene to stande, Is drawne vp hie aboue the roofe, by ropes, and force of hande: The Priestes about it rounde do stand, and chaunt it to the skie, For all these mens religion great, in singing most doth lie. Then out of hande the dreadfull shape of Sathan downe they throw, Oft times, with fire burning bright, and dasht a sunder tho,[144] The boyes with greedie eyes do watch, and on him straight they fall, And beate him sore with rods, and breake him into peeces small. This done, they wafers downe doe cast, and singing Cakes the while, With papers round amongst them put, the children to beguile. With laughter great are all things done: and from the beames they let Great streames of water downe to fall, on whom they meane to wet. And thus this solemne holiday, and hye renowned feast, And all their whole deuotion here, is ended with a ieast.[145]

It is sufficient for the present to observe of Holy Thursday, that with us on this day it is a common custom of established usage, for the minister of each parish, with the parochial officers and other inhabitants of the parish, followed by the boys of the parish school, headed by their master, to go in procession to the different parish boundaries; which boundaries the boys strike with peeled willow wands that they bear in their hands, and this is called “beating the bounds.” More, concerning this and other practices connected with the day, is purposely deferred till the subject be properly set forth hereafter.

Rule of Health for May.

The month of May is called a “trying” month, to persons long ailing with critical complaints. It is common to say, “Ah, he’ll never get up May-hill!” or, “If he can climb over May-hill he’ll do.” “As a rule of health for May,” says Dr. Forster, “we may advise early rising in particular, as being essentially conducive to that blessing. Every thing now invites the sluggard to leave his bed and go abroad. Milton has given such a lively description of morning scenes as must rouse every lover of the country from his couch:--

Lines from l’Allegro

To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing, startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good morrow, Through the sweet-brier, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine: While the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin; And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before. Oft listening now the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill: Some time walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate Where the great sun begins his state, Robed in flames, and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o’er the furrow’d land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his sithe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, Whilst the landscape round it measures; Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Mountains, on whose barren breast, The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pide, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide: Towers and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

MANNERS IN IRELAND.

Not as a picture of general manners, but as sketches of particular characters in certain parts of Ireland, the following anecdotes are extracted from one of the “Letters from the Irish Highlands,” dated in May, 1823.

“In the same spirit, the pleasures of the table are but too often shared by the gentlemen of the country with those who are very much their inferiors, both in birth and fortune. The lowest and most degrading debauchery must be the natural consequence, and here I must not forget an anecdote which will at once illustrate this, and also make you acquainted with a childish superstition, with which it is a frequent practice of all ranks to combat this pernicious vice, encouraged by their indolent manner of life, and by the former facility of procuring smuggled liquors. A gentleman, whose rental at one time amounted to 10,000_l._ per annum, and who was in the constant habits of intoxication, took an oath to drink nothing after the cloth was removed; but, unable to comply with the spirit, he soon contented himself with adhering to the letter of this rash vow, and, keeping the cloth on table after dinner was over, could drink all night without fear of infringing it. He then swore not to drink in his dining-parlour, but again as easily evaded his engagement, by adjourning to the next apartment; in the next apartment, however, on some fresh qualms of conscience, the vow was renewed; and so, in each room successively, until he fairly swore himself out of the house. He then took refuge in the summer-house of his garden, and there used to dine and drink daily; till, rashly renewing his vow here also, he was reduced to find a new subterfuge by taking lodgings in a neighbouring town.

“This story reminds me of a circumstance which has taken place within these few days, and in which the chief actor was one of the remaining branches of a numerous family, among the second-rate gentry, who are here distinguished by the title of buckeens. Originally supported in a state of comparative ease and indulgence, partly by their share in the contraband trade, partly by their close connection and alliance with the principal families in the country, their incomes have gradually sunk with the change of circumstances, which has, in a great measure, dissolved this ancient bond of fellowship, as well as destroyed their more illegitimate sources of revenue. Many of these, without seeking employment for themselves, or education for their children, still cling to customs which have now passed away; and, when reduced almost to a state of mendicity, continue their former boast of being ‘gentlemen.’

“A puncheon of spirits lately came ashore, and fell to the share of the individual above mentioned. It was too large to be got in at the door of his house; he therefore pulled part of the wall down; still, however, it stuck half way. His small stock of patience could last no longer; he tapped the end that was within, and he and his wife, with their servant, soon became completely intoxicated. His neighbours, aware of this, tapped the cask at the other end, and the next day, when this worthy personage would have taken his morning, he found the cask completely emptied!”

Conduct, or rather misconduct, such as this, is very natural in a country wherein social feelings are cultivated; wherein capital is not employed; and wherein the knowledge of principles among the influential classes of the community, is not sufficiently extended to unite in cooperation by way of example and instruction. Industry is essential to happiness, and the unemployed will be either playful or vicious. We say of children, “Give them something to do, or they will be in mischief;” this is equally true of men.

This gentleman died on the 12th of May, 1791; he was son of Francis Grose, esq. jeweller at Richmond, who fitted up the coronation crown of George II. He was a captain in the Surrey militia, an eminent antiquary, and a right worthy man. His “Antiquities of England and Wales, Scotland and Ireland,” are more generally known perhaps than other topographical works of more profound inquiry. They were commenced in numbers, and published by “Master Samuel Hooper,” so he called his bookseller, to whom he was a steady and affectionate friend, though he says, in one of his letters, “he never did any one thing I desired him.” His “Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue,” Mr. Nichols says, “it would have been for his credit to have suppressed.” The truth of this observation is palpable to every one who is not sophisticated by the wretchedly mischievous line, that

“Vice, to be hated, needs but to be seen.”

A more mischievous sentiment was never promulgated. Capt. Grose’s “Olio” is a pleasant medley of whimsicalities. He was an excellent companion, a humorist, and caricaturist; he wrote “Rules for drawing Caricatures,” and drew and etched many, wherein he took considerable liberties with his friends. Yet he seems to have disliked a personal representation of himself sleeping in a chair, which Mr. Nichols pronounces “an excellent” likeness; a copy of which we have given in the preceding page. Adjoining it is another of him, a whole length, standing, from an engraving by Bartolozzi, after a drawing by Dance. The sleeping portrait is attributed to the rev. James Douglas, one of his brother antiquaries, who dedicated the print to their “devoted brethren” of the society. Beneath it were inscribed the following lines:

“Now Grose, like bright Phœbus, has sunk into rest, Society droops for the loss of his jest; Antiquarian debates, unseason’d with mirth, To Genius and Learning will never give birth. Then wake, Brother Member, our friend from his sleep, Lest Apollo should frown, and Bacchus should weep.”

He was remarkably corpulent, as the engravings show. In a letter to the rev. James Granger, he says, “I am, and ever have been, the idlest fellow living, even before I had acquired the load of adventitious matter which at present stuffs my doublet.” On the margin of this letter Mr. Granger wrote, “As for the matter that stuffs your doublet, I hope it is all good stuff; if you should double it, I shall call it morbid matter and tremble for you. But I consider it as the effect of good digestion, pure blood, and laughing spirits, coagulated into a wholesome mass by as much sedentariness (I hate this long word) as is consistent with the activity of your disposition.” In truth, Grose was far from an idle man; he had great mental activity, and his antiquarian knowledge and labours were great. He was fond however of what are termed the pleasures of the table; and is represented in a fine mezzotinto, drawn and engraved by his friend Nathaniel Hone, with Theodosius Forrest, the barrister, and Hone himself, dressed in the character of monks, over a bowl, which Grose is actively preparing for their carousal. He died of apoplexy in Mr. Hone’s house in Dublin, at the age of fifty-two. In reference to his principal works, the following epitaph, quoted by Mr. Nichols in his “Anecdotes,” was proposed for him in the “St. James’s Chronicle:”--

Here lies Francis Grose. On Thursday, May 12, 1791, Death put an end to His views and prospects.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

German Fleur de lis. Iris Germanica. Dedicated to St. Germanus.

[144] Shepherd.

[145] Naogeorgus, by Googe.

~May 13.~

St. John the Silent, Bp. A. D. 558. St. Peter Regalati, A. D. 1456. St. Servatus, Bp. of Tongres, A. D. 384.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Common Comfrey. Symphetum officinale. Dedicated to St. John the Silent.

~May 14.~

St. Boniface, A. D. 307. St. Pachomius, Abbot, A. D. 348. _St. Pontius_, A. D. 258. St. Carthagh, or Mochudu, Bp. of Lismore, A. D. 637 or 638.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Common Piony. Pæonia officinalis. Coralline Piony. Pæonia corallina. Dedicated to St. Pontius.

~May 15.~

St. Peter, Andrew, and Companions, Martyrs, A. D. 250. St. Dympna, 7th Cent. St. Genebrard or Genebern.

For the Every-Day Book.

A “SEASONABLE STORY.”

’Tis hard, you’ll tell me, but ’tis true-- Thanks to that heathen dog, Mahomet-- In Turkey if you want to woo-- But, by the bye, you’d best keep from it-- The object of your love must hide Her face from every idle gazer-- A wholesome check on female pride I think; and what’s your notion, pray sir?

“Where beechen boughs their shade diffuse” ’Twas once my lot to hear a ditty, Fill’d with such stuff as lovers use To melt the maiden heart with pity, Recited by a Turk: ’twas queer I thought that one like him, who never Had seen his mistress, should appear In “puff” and “eulogy” so clever.

“Two swains were smoking,” tales, you know, Of love begin and end in vapour-- “Beside a purling stream, when lo! By came a maiden, slim and taper. Her eyes were like two stars at night”-- No matter how I came to know it-- The one beholds her with delight. And all at once becomes a poet.

“Why sits thy soul within those eyes?” The other asks, “resume your smoking,” The lover hears him with surprise And answers, “Set aside all joking, The pipe has now no charms for me; My heart is, as a fig, transported To the thick foliage of some tree, And there a bright-eyed bird has caught it.”

Now hear a moral! Love’s a sly And roguish fellow: look about ye Watch all he does with careful eye, Or else ’tis ten to one he’ll flout ye. Give him an inch he’ll take an ell; And, if he once make conquest o’er ye, Then sense, wit, reason, will, farewell!-- Thus ends this seasonable story.

Δ

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Welsh Poppy. Papaver Cambricum. Dedicated to St. Dympna.

~May 16.~

St. John Nepomucen, A. D. 1383. St. Simon Stock, A. D. 1265. St. Ubaldus, A. D. 1160. St. Honoratus, Bp. A. D. 660. St. Abdjesus, or Hebedjesus, Bp. St. Abdas, Bp. St. Brendan the Elder, Abbot of Clonfert, A. D. 578.

Last day of Easter Term, 1825; it commenced 20th of April.

A PASTORAL RECESS.

From the “Diana” of George of Montemayor, 1598, there is an extract in the Literary Pocket Book sweetly descriptive of a placid scene in nature. It begins with--“When the joyous companie arrived thus far, they saw how a little brooke, covered almost all over with sweet and smelling herbs, ran gently thorow a greene meadow amongst a ranke of divers trees that were nourished and maintained by the cleere water; under the shadowes of which, as they were now determined to rest themselves, Syrenus said, ‘Let us see from whence this little spring doth issue forth. It may be the place is more fresh and cool thereabouts: if not, or if we cannot finde out the fountaine from whence it flowes, we will return here.’ It liked his company well, and so they desired him to lead the way. Everie place and part of all the brooke upwards invited them to pleasant rest; but, when, at length, after much perplexitie, resulting from the very abundance and luxurie of their choice, they were about to lay themselves downe, they sawe that with greater quantitie of waters and fresher shades of green trees the brooke ran up higher, forsaking its right course towards the left hande, where our companie discovered a great thicket and spring of divers trees, in which they saw a very narrow entrance, and somewhat long, whose sides were not of walls fabricated by artificiall hand but made of trees by nature, the mistresse of all things. For there were seene the deadly Cypresse, the triumphant laurell, the hard oke, the low sallow, the invincible palme, the blacke and ruggie elme, the olive, the prickie chestenut, and the high pine-apple, one amongst another, whose bodies were bound about with greene ivie and the fruitfull vine, and beset with sweet jesmines and many other redolent flowers, that grew very thicke together in that place. Amongst the which many little birds (inhabitants of that wood) went leaping from bough to bough, making the place more pleasant with their sweet and silver notes. The trees were in such order set together that they denied not the golden sunbeames to have an entrance, to paint the greene ground with divers colours (which reverberated from the flowers) that were never steadie in one place, by reason that the moveable leaves did disquiet them. This narrow way did leade to a little greene, covered all over with fine grasse, and not touched with the hungrie mouthes of devouring flockes. At the side of it was the fountaine of the brooke, having a care that the place should not drie up, sending forth on every side her flowing waters.”

The season is coming on wherein the heart will court retreat to such a scene of natural beauty.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Great Star of Bethlehem. Ornithogalum Umbrellatum. Dedicated to St. John Nepomucen.

~May 17.~

St. Paschal Babylon, A. D. 1592. St. Possidius, Bp. of Calama, in Numidia, A. D. 430. St. Maden, or Madern. St. Maw. St. Cathan, 6th or 7th Cent. St. Silave, or Silan, Bp. A. D. 1100.

CHRONOLOGY.

1817. Died at Heckington, aged sixty-five, Mr. Samuel Jessup, an opulent grazier, of pill-taking memory. He lived in a very eccentric way, as a bachelor, without known relatives; and at his decease possessed of a good fortune, notwithstanding a most inordinate craving for physic, by which he was distinguished for the last thirty years of his life, as appeared on a trial for the amount of an apothecary’s bill, at the assizes at Lincoln, a short time before Mr. Jessup’s death, wherein he was defendant. The evidence on the trial affords the following materials for the epitaph of the deceased, which will not be transcended by the memorabilia of the life of any man:--In twenty-one years (from 1791 to 1816) the deceased took 226,934 pills, supplied by a respectable apothecary at Bottesford; which is at the rate of 10,806 pills a year, or twenty-nine pills each day; but as the patient began with a more moderate appetite, and increased it as he proceeded, in the last five years preceding 1816, he took the pills at the rate of seventy-eight a day, and in the year 1814 he swallowed not less than 51,590. Notwithstanding this, and the addition of 40,000 bottles of mixture, and juleps and electuaries, extending altogether to fifty-five closely written columns of an apothecary’s bill, the deceased lived to attain the advanced age of sixty-five years.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Early Red Poppy. Papaver Argemone. Dedicated to St. Paschal Babylon.

~May 18.~

St. Eric, King of Sweden, A. D. 1151. St. Theodotus, Vintner, and Seven Virgins, Martyrs, A. D. 303. St. Venantius, A. D. 250. St. Potamon, Bp. of Heraclea, in Egypt, A. D. 341.

CHRONOLOGY.

1808. Sir John Carter, knt. died at Portsmouth, his native town, aged sixty-seven. He was an alderman, and nine times mayor of the borough; and a magistrate of the county, for which he also served the office of sheriff in 1784. His name is here introduced to commemorate an essential service that he rendered to his country, by his mild and judicious conduct during the mutiny at Spithead, in the spring of 1797. The sailors having lost three of their body in consequence of the resistance made to their going on board the London, then bearing the flag of admiral Colpoys, wished to bury them in Kingston churchyard, and to carry them in procession through the town of Portsmouth. This request was most positively refused them by the governor. They then applied to sir John Carter to grant their request, who endeavoured to convince the governor of the propriety and necessity of complying with it, declaring that he would be answerable for the peace of the town, and the orderly conduct of the sailors. The governor would not be prevailed on, and prepared for resistance; and resistance on both sides would most probably have been resorted to, had not the calmness, perseverance, and forbearance of sir John Carter at length compromised the affair, by obtaining permission for the sailors to pass through the garrison of Portsmouth in procession, and the bodies to be landed at the Common Hard in Portsea, where the procession was to join them.

So great was sir John Carter’s influence over the sailors, that they most scrupulously adhered to the terms he prescribed to them in their procession to the grave. Two of their comrades having become “a little groggy” after they came on shore, they were carefully locked up in a room by themselves, lest they should become quarrelsome, or be unable to conduct themselves with propriety. It was a most interesting spectacle. Sir John accompanied them himself through the garrison, to prevent any insult being offered to them. At the Common Hard he was joined by Mr. Godwin, the friend and associate of his youth, and also a most worthy magistrate of this borough. They attended the procession till it had passed the fortifications at Portsea: every thing was conducted with the greatest decorum. When the sailors returned, and were sent off to their respective ships, two or three of the managing delegates came to sir John, to inform him that the men were all gone on board, and to thank him for his great goodness to them. Sir John seized the opportunity of inquiring after their admiral, as these delegates belonged to the London. “Do you know him, your honour?” “Yes; I have a great respect for him, and I hope you will not do him any harm.” “No, by G--d, your honour, he shall not be hurt.” It was at that time imagined admiral Colpoys would be hung at the yard-arm, and he had prepared for this event by arranging his affairs and making his will. In this will he had left to the widows of the three men who were so unfortunately killed an annuity of 20_l._ each. The next morning, however, the admiral was privately, unexpectedly, and safely brought on shore, though pursued by a boat from the Mars, as soon as they suspected what was transacting. The delegates brought him to sir John Carter, and delivered him to his care: they then desired to have a receipt for him, as a proof to their comrades that they had safely delivered him into the hands of the civil power; and this receipt he gave. The admiral himself, in his first appearance at court afterwards, acknowledged to the king that he owed his life to sir John Carter, and assured his majesty that his principles were misinterpreted and his conduct misrepresented, and that he had not a more faithful and worthy subject in his dominions. Notwithstanding this, the duke of Portland, then secretary of state for the home department, received a very strong letter against him, which letter his grace sent to sir John, assuring him at the same time that the government placed the utmost confidence in his honour, integrity, and patriotism, and concluded by proposing to offer a large reward for the discovery of the writer: this, with a dignified consciousness of the purity of his conduct, sir John declined; though, from some well-founded conjectures, the discovery might possibly have been easily made. This inestimable consciousness enabled him to meet with the greatest composure every effort of party rage to sully his reputation and destroy his influence. So pure were his principles, that when in the year 1806 he was offered a baronetage by Mr. Fox, he declined it on the ground that he believed the offer to have been made for his undeviating attachment to Mr. Fox’s politics; and that, to accept it, would be a manifest departure from his principles. In every public and domestic relationship he was uniformly mild, impartial, and upright; nor was he ever deterred by persona, difficulties or inconveniences from a faithful, and even minute attendance on his widely extended duties. The poor in him ever found a friend, and the unfortunate a protector. The peace, comfort, and happiness of others, and not his own interest, were the unwearied objects of his pursuit. Never was there a character in which there was less of self than in his.

MANURES.

Rambling in cultivated spots renders one almost forgetful of cultivating friends. On the subject of “manure,” the editor of the Every-Day Book has no competent knowledge; he has not settled in his own mind whether he should decide for “long straw or short straw,” and as regards himself would willingly dispose of the important question by “drawing cuts;” all he can at present do for his country readers, is to tell them what lord Bacon affirms; his lordship says that “muck should be spread.” This would make a capital text or vignette for a dissertation; but there is no space here to dissertate, and if Messrs. Taylor and Hessey’s London Magazine, for May, had not suggested the subject, it would scarcely have occurred. There the reviewer of “Gaieties and Gravities” has extracted some points from that work, which are almost equal to the quantity of useful information derivable from more solid books--here they are:--

Gaieties.

“Residing upon the eastern coast, and farming a considerable extent of country, I have made repeated and careful experiments with this manure; and as the mode of burial in many parts of the Continent divides the different classes into appropriated portions of the churchyard, I have been enabled, by a little bribery to sextons and charnel-house men, to obtain specimens of every rank and character, and to ascertain with precision their separate qualities and results for the purposes of the farmer, botanist, or common nurseryman. These it is my purpose to communicate to the reader, who may depend upon the caution with which the different tests were applied, as well as upon the fidelity with which they are reported.

“A few cartloads of citizens’ bones gave me a luxuriant growth of London pride, plums, Sibthorpia or base money-wort, mud-wort, bladder-wort, and mushrooms; but for laburnum or golden chain, I was obliged to select a lord mayor. Hospital bones supplied me with cyclamen in any quantity, which I intermixed with a few seeds from the Cyclades Islands, and the scurvy-grass came up spontaneously; while manure from different fields of battle proved extremely favourable to the hæmanthus or blood-flower, the trumpet-flower and laurel, as well as to widow-wail and cypress. A few sample skulls from the poet’s corner of a German abbey furnished poet’s cassia, grass of Parnassus, and bays, in about equal quantities, with wormwood, crab, thistle, stinging-nettle, prickly holly, teasel, and loose-strife. Courtiers and ministers, when converted into manure, secured an ample return of jack-in-a-box, service-apples, climbers, supple-jacks, parasite plants, and that species of sun-flower which invariably turns to the rising luminary. Nabobs form a capital compost for hepatica, liver-wort, spleen-wort, hips, and pine; and from those who had three or four stars at the India-house, I raised some particularly fine China asters. A good show of adonis, narcissus, jessamine, cockscomb, dandelion, money-flower, and buckthorn, may be obtained from dandies, although they are apt to encumber the ground with tickweed; while a good drilling with dandisettes is essential to those beds in which you wish to raise Venus’s looking-glass, Venus’s catchfly, columbines, and love-apples. A single dressing of jockies will ensure you a quick return of horse-mint, veronica or speedwell, and colt’s-foot; and a very slight layer of critics suffices for a good thick spread of scorpion senna, viper’s bugloss, serpent’s tongue, poison-nut, nightshade, and hellebore. If you are fond of raising stocks, manure your bed with jobbers; wine-merchants form the most congenial stimulant for sloes, fortune-hunters for the marygold and goldenrod, and drunkards for Canary wines, mad-wort and horehound. Failing in repeated attempts to raise the chaste tree from the bones of nuns, which gave me nothing but liquorice-root, I applied those of a dairy-maid, and not only succeeded perfectly in my object, but obtained a good crop of butter-wort, milk-wort, and heart’s-ease. I was equally unsuccessful in raising any sage, honesty, or everlasting from monks; but they yielded a plentiful bed of monk’s hood, or jesuit’s bark, medlars, and cardinal flowers. My importation of shoemakers was unfortunately too scanty to try their effect upon a large scale, but I contrived to procure from them two or three ladies’ slippers. As school-boys are raised by birch, it may be hardly necessary to mention, that when reduced to manure, they return the compliment; but it may be useful to make known as widely as possible, that dancing-masters supply the best hops and capers, besides quickening the growth of the citharexylum or fiddle-wood. For your mimosas or sensitive plants there is nothing better than a layer of novel-readers, and you may use up the first bad author that you can disinter for all the poppies you may require. Coffee-house waiters will keep you supplied in cummin; chronologists furnish the best dates, post-office men serve well for rearing scarlet-runners, poulterers for hen-bane, tailors for cabbage, and physicians for truffles, or any thing that requires to be quickly buried. I could have raised a few bachelors’ buttons from the bones of that class; but as nobody cares a button for bachelors, I did not think it worth while. As a general remark it may be noticed, that young people produce the passion-flower in abundance, while those of a more advanced age may be beneficially used for the elder-tree, the sloe, and snapdragon; and with respect to different nations, my experiments are only sufficiently advanced to enable me to state that Frenchmen are favourable to garlic, and that Poles are very good for hops. Of mint I have never been able to raise much; but as to thyme, I have so large a supply, as the reader will easily perceive, that I am enabled to throw it away; and as he may not possibly be in a similar predicament, I shall refer him for the rest of my experiments to the records of the Horticultural Society.”

* * * * *

It is noticed by Dr. Forster, that about this time the purple goatsbeard tragopogon porrifolius and the yellow goatsbeard tragopogon pratensis begin to blow; and that of all the indices in the HOROLOGIUM FLORÆ the above plants are the most regular: they open their flowers at sunrise, and shut them so regularly at mid-day, that they have been called by the whimsical name of go to bed at noon. They are as regular as a clock, and are mentioned as such in the following verses:--

RETIRED LEISURE’S DELIGHT.

To sit and smoke between two rows of Limes, Along the wall of some neat old Dutch town, In noontide heat, and hear the jingling chimes From Stadhouse Steeple; then to lay one down Upon a Primrose bank, where Violet flowers Smell sweetly, and the meads in bloomy prime, ’Till Flora’s clock, the Goat’s Beard, mark the hours, And closing says, Arise, ’tis dinner time; Then dine on Pyes and Cauliflower heads, And roam away the afternoon in Tulip Beds.

To give an idea of the general face of nature at this period, Dr. Forster composed the subjoined

Catalogue of Plants which compose the VERNAL FLORA in the Garden.

COMMON PEONY Paeonia officinalis in full blow.

SLENDERLEAVED PEONY P. tenuifolia going off.

CRIMSON PEONY P. peregrina.

DWARF PEONY P. humilis.

TULIP Tulipa Gesneriana in infinite varieties.

MONKEY POPPY Papaver Orientale.

WELCH POPPY P. Cambricum.

PALE POPPY P. nudicaule.

EUROPEAN GLOBEFLOWER Trollius Europaeus.

ASIATIC GLOBEFLOWER Trollius Asiaticus.

BACHELOR’S BUTTONS Ranunculus aeris plenus.

BIFLOWERED NARCISSUS N. biflorus.

POETIC NARCISSUS N. poeticus.

GERMAN FLEUR DE LIS Iris Germanica, two varieties.

LURID IRIS Iris lurida.

WALLFLOWER Chieranthus cheiri, numerously, both single and double sorts.

STOCK GILLIFLOWER Chiranthus fruticulosus beginning. Of this plant there are red, white, and purple varieties; also double Stocks.

YELLOW ASPHODEL Asphodelus luteus.

COLUMBINE Aquilegia vulgaris begins to flower, and has several varieties in gardens.

GREAT STAR OF BETHLEHEM Ornithogalum umbellatum.

PERUVIAN SQUILL Scilla Peruviana.

YELLOW AZALEA Azalea Pontica.

SCARLET AZALEA Azalea nudiflora.

PURPLE GOATSBEARD Tragopogon porrifolius.

YELLOW GOATSBEARD Tragopogon pratensis.

MOTHERWORT Hesperis matronalis begins to blow.

GREAT LEOPARD’S BANE Doronicum pardalianches.

LESSER LEOPARD’S BANE Doronicum plantagineum.

RAMSHORNS or MALE ORCHIS O. mascula still blows.

FEMALE ORCHIS Orchis morio still flowers.

In the Fields.

THE HAREBELL Scylla nutans makes the ground blue in some places.

BULBOUS CROWFOOT Ranunculus bulbosus.

CREEPING CROWFOOT R. repens now common.

UPRIGHT MEADOW CROWFOOT R. acris the latest of all.

ROUGH CROWFOOT R. hirsutus not so common as the above. The fields are quite yellow with the above genus.

MEADOW LYCHNIS Lychnis Flos Cuculi.

CAMPION LYCHNIS Lychnis dioica under hedges in our chalky soils.

GERMANDER SPEEDWELL Veronica chamaedris on banks, covering them with its lively blue, comparable only to the Borage, or the Cynoglossum Omphalodes, still blowing and luxuriant in gardens.

MOUSEAR SCORPION GRASS Myosotus Scorpioides.

OUR LADY’S SMOCK Cardamine pratensis.

BITTER LADY’S SMOCK Cardamine amara.

HEDGE GERANIUM Geranium Robertianum; also several other wild Geraniums.

KIDLOCK Sinapis arvensis.

CHARLOCK Raphanus Raphanistrum.

STICHWORT Stellaria Holostea.

YELLOW WATER LILY Nuphar luteum in ponds and rivers.

WHITE WATER LILY Nymphea alba in the same.

We might add numerous others, which will be found noticed on the days when they usually first flower. Besides these, many of the plants of the Primaveral Flora still remain in blow, as violets, hearteases, hepaticas, narcissi, some hyacinths, marsh marigolds, wood anemonies, garden anemonies, &c. &c. The cuckoo pint, or lord and lady Arum, is now in prime.

The nations among whom a taste for flowers was first discovered to prevail in modern times, were China, Persia, and Turkey. The vegetable treasures of the eastern world were assembled at Constantinople, whence they passed into Italy, Germany, and Holland, and from the latter into England; and since botany has assumed the character of a science, we have laid the whole world under contribution for trees, and shrubs, and flowers, which we have not only made our own, but generally improved in vigour and beauty. The passion for flowers preceded that of ornamental gardening. The Dutch system of straight walks, enclosed by high clipped hedges of yew or holly, at length prevailed; and tulips and hyacinths bloomed under the sheltered windings of the “Walls of Troy,” most ingeniously traced in box and yew. A taste for gardening, which, however formal, is found at length to be preferable to the absurd winding paths, and the close imitation of wild nature by art, which modern garden-makers have pretended to of late years. The learned baron Maseres used to say, “Such a garden was to be had every where wild in summer, and in a garden formality was preferable.”

Proverbs relating to May.

A cold May and a windy Makes a fat barn and a findy.

A hot May makes a fat churchyard.

Proverbs relating to the Weather and Seasons generally.

Collected by Dr. Forster.

Drought never bred dearth in England.

Whoso hath but a mouth, shall ne’er in England suffer drought.

When the sand doth feed the clay, England woe and welladay; But when the clay doth feed the sand, Then it is well with Angle land.

After a famine in the stall, Comes a famine in the hall.

When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn, Sell your cow, and buy your corn; But when she comes to the full bit, Sell your corn, and buy your sheep.

If the cock moult before the hen, We shall have weather thick and thin; But if the hen moult before the cock, We shall have weather hard as a block.

As the days lengthen, so the cold strengthen.

If there be a rainbow in the eve, it will rain and leave, But if there be a rainbow in the morrow, it will neither lend nor borrow.

A rainbow in the morning Is the shepherd’s warning; But a rainbow at night Is the shepherd’s delight.

No tempest, good July, Lest corn come off blue by.

When the wind’s in the east, It’s neither good for man nor beast. When the wind’s in the south, It’s in the rain’s mouth.

When the wind’s in the south, It blows the bait into the fishes’ mouth.

No weather is ill, If the wind be still.

When the sloe-tree is as white as a sheet, Sow your barley, whether it be dry or wet.

A green winter makes a fat churchyard.

Hail brings frost in the tail.

A snow year, a rich year.

Winter’s thunder’s summer’s wonder.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Mouse Ear. Hieracium Pilosella. Dedicated to St. Eric.

~May 19.~

St. Peter Celestine, Pope, A. D. 1296. St. Pudentiana. St. Dunstan; Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 988.

St. Dunstan.

He was born at Glastonbury, of which monastery he became abbot, and died archbishop of Canterbury in 988.[146]

The legend of St. Dunstan relates many miracles of him, the most popular of which is to this effect; that St. Dunstan, as the fact really was, became expert in goldsmith’s work; it then gives as a story, that while he was busied in making a chalice, the devil annoyed him by his personal appearance, and tempted him; whereupon St. Dunstan suddenly seized the fiend by the nose with a pair of iron tongs, burning hot, and so held him while he roared and cried till the night was far spent.

There is an engraved portrait of St. Dunstan thus detaining the devil in bondage, with these lines, or lines to that effect beneath; they are quoted from memory:--

St. Dunstan, as the story goes, Once pull’d the devil by the nose With red-hot tongs, which made him roar, That he was heard three miles or more.

On lord mayor’s day, in 1687, the pageants of sir John Shorter, knt. as lord mayor, were very splendid. He was of the company of goldsmiths, who, at their own expense, provided one of the pageants representing this miracle of St. Dunstan. It must have been of amazing size, for it was a “Hieroglyphic of the Company,” consisting of a spacious laboratory or workhouse, containing several conveniences and distinct apartments, for the different operators and artificers, with forges, anvils, hammers, and all instruments proper for the mystery of the goldsmiths. In the middle of the frontispiece, on a rich golden chair of state, sat ST. DUNSTAN, the ancient patron and tutelar guardian of the company. He was attired, to express his prelatical dignity and canonization, in a robe of fine lawn, with a cope over it of shining cloth of gold reaching to the ground. He wore a golden mitre beset with precious stones, and bore in his left hand a golden crosier, and in his right a pair of goldsmith’s tongs. Behind him were Orpheus and Amphion playing on melodious instruments; standing more forward were the cham of Tartary, and the grand sultan, who, being “conquered by the christian harmony, seemed to sue for reconcilement.” At the steps of the prelatical throne were a goldsmith’s forge and furnace, with fire, crucibles, and gold, and a workman blowing the bellows. On each side was a large press of gold and silver plate. Towards the front were shops of artificers and jewellers all at work, with anvils, hammers, and instruments for enamelling, beating out gold and silver plate; on a step below St. Dunstan, sat an assay-master, with his trial-balance and implements. There were two apartments for the processes of disgrossing, flatting, and drawing gold and silver wire, and the fining, melting, smelting, refining, and separating of gold and silver, both by fire and water. Another apartment contained a forge, with miners in canvass breeches, red waistcoats and red caps, bearing spades, pickaxes, twibbles, and crows for sinking shafts and making adits. The lord mayor, having approached and viewed the curiosity of the pageant, was addressed in

A SPEECH BY ST. DUNSTAN.

Waked with this musick from my silent urn, Your patron DUNSTAN comes t’ attend your turn. AMPHION and old ORPHEUS playing by, To keep our forge in tuneful harmony. These pontifical ornaments I wear, Are types of rule and order all the year. In these white robes none can a fault descry, Since all have liberty as well as I: Nor need you fear the shipwreck of your cause, Your loss of charter or the penal laws, Indulgence granted by your bounteous prince, Makes for that loss too great a recompence. This charm the Lernæan Hydra will reclaim; Your patron shall the tameless rabble tame. Of the proud CHAM I scorn to be afear’d; I’ll take the angry SULTAN by the beard. Nay, should the DEVIL intrude amongst your foes [Enter Devil

Devil. What then?

St. Dunstan.---------- Snap, thus, I have him by the nose!

The most prominent feature in the devil’s face being held by St. Dunstan’s tongs, after the prelate had duly spurned the submission of the cham of Tartary and the grand sultan, a silversmith with three other workmen proceeding to the great anvil, commenced working a plate of massy metal, singing and keeping time upon the anvil.[147]

CHRONOLOGY.

1536. Anne Boleyn, queen of Henry VIII., fell a victim to his brutal passions by the hands of the executioner.

1692. The great sea battle off la Hogue.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Monk’s hood. Aconitum Napellus. Dedicated to St. Dunstan.

[146] Butler.

[147] Hone, on Ancient Mysteries.

~May 20.~

St. Bernardin of Sienna, A. D. 1444. St. Ethelbert, King of the East Angles, A. D. 793. St. Yvo, Bp. of Chartres, A. D. 1115.

ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONE PLEASANT MORNING IN SPRING.

The morning sun’s enchanting rays Now call forth every songster’s praise; Now the lark, with upward flight, Gaily ushers in the light; While wildly warbling from each tree, The birds sing songs to Liberty.

But for me no songster sings, For me no joyous lark up-springs; For I, confined in gloomy school, Must own the pedant’s iron rule, And, far from sylvan shades and bowers, In durance vile, must pass the hours; There con the scholiast’s dreary lines, Where no bright ray of genius shines, And close to rugged learning cling, While laughs around the jocund spring.

How gladly would my soul forego All that arithmeticians know, Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach, Or all that industry can reach, To taste each morn of all the joys That with the laughing sun arise; And unconstrain’d to rove along The bushy brakes and glens among; And woo the muse’s gentle power, In unfrequented rural bower! But, ah! such heaven-approaching joys Will never greet my longing eyes; Still will they cheat in vision fine, Yet never but in fancy shine.

Oh, that I were the little wren That shrilly chirps from yonder glen Oh, far away I then would rove, To some secluded bushy grove; There hop and sing with careless glee, Hop and sing at liberty; And till death should stop my lays, Far from men would spend my days.

In the “Perennial Calendar,” Dr. Forster with great taste introduces a beautiful series of quotations adapted to the season from different poets:--

Lucretius on Spring and the Seasons, translated by Good.

Spring comes, and Venus with fell foot advanced; Then light-winged Zephyr, harbinger beloved; Maternal Flora, strewing ere she treads, For every footstep flowers of choicest hue, And the glad æther loading with perfumes Then Heat succeeds, the parched Etesian breeze, And dust-discoloured Ceres; Autumn then Follows, and tipsy Bacchus, arm in arm, And storms and tempests; Eurus roars amain, And the red south brews thunders; till, at length, Cold shuts the scene, and Winter’s train prevails, Snows, hoary Sleet, and Frost, with chattering teeth.

Milton makes the most heavenly clime to consist of an eternal spring:

The birds that quire apply; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the graces, and the hours in dance, Led on the eternal spring.

From Atherstone’s Last Days of Herculaneum.

Soft tints of sweet May morn, when day’s bright god Looks smiling from behind delicious mists; Throwing his slant rays on the glistening grass, Where ’gainst the rich deep green the Cowslip hangs His elegant bells of purest gold:--the pale Sweet perfumed primrose lifts its face to heaven, Like the full, artless gaze of infancy:-- The little ray-crowned daisy peeps beneath, When the tall neighbour grass, heavy with dew, Bows down its head beneath the freshening breeze; Where oft in long dark lines the waving trees Throw their soft shadows on the sunny fields; Where, in the music-breathing hedge, the thorn And pearly white May blossom, full of sweets, Hang out the virgin flag of spring, entwined With dripping honey-suckles, whose sweet breath Sinks to the heart--recalling, with a sigh, Dim recollected feelings of the days Of youth and early love.

From Spring, by Kleist

Who thus, O tulip! thy gay-painted breast In all the colours of the sun has drest? Well could I call thee, in thy gaudy pride, The queen of flowers; but blooming by thy side Her thousand leaves that beams of love adorn, Her throne surrounded by protecting thorn, And smell eternal, form a juster claim, Which gives the heaven-born rose the lofty name, Who having slept throughout the wintry storm, Now through the opening buds displays her smiling form. Between the leaves the silver whitethorn shows Its dewy blossoms, pure as mountain snows. Here the blue hyacinth’s nectareous cell To my charmed senses gives its cooling smell. In lowly beds the purple violets bloom, And liberal shower around their rich perfume. See, how the peacock stalks yon beds beside, Where rayed in sparkling dust and velvet pride, Like brilliant stars, arranged in splendid row, The proud auriculas their lustre show: The jealous bird now shows his swelling breast, His many-coloured neck, and lofty crest; Then all at once his dazzling tail displays, On whose broad circle thousand rainbows blaze. The wanton butterflies, with fickle wing, Flutter round every flower that decks the spring Then on their painted pinions eager haste, The luscious cherry’s blood to taste.

Prognostics of Weather and Horologe of Flora.

FOR SPRING AND SUMMER.

From the “Perennial Calendar.”

Chickweed.--When the flower expands boldly and fully, no rain will happen for four hours or upwards: if it continues in that open state, no rain will disturb the summer’s day: when it half conceals its miniature flower, the day is generally showery; but if it entirely shuts up, or veils the white flower with its green mantle, let the traveller put on his great coat, and the ploughman, with his beasts of drought, expect rest from their labour.

Siberian sowthistle.--If the flowers of this plant keep open all night, rain will certainly fall the next day.

Trefoil.--The different species of trefoil always contract their leaves at the approach of a storm: hence these plants have been termed the husbandman’s barometer.

African marygold.--If this plant opens not its flowers in the morning about seven o’clock, you may be sure it will rain that day, unless it thunders.

The convolvulus also, and the pimpernel anagalis arvensis, fold up their leaves on the approach of rain: the last in particular is termed the poor man’s weather-glass.

White thorns and dog-rose bushes.--Wet summers are generally attended with an uncommon quantity of seed on these shrubs; whence their unusual fruitfulness is a sign of a severe winter.

Besides the above, there are several plants, especially those with compound yellow flowers, which nod, and during the whole day turn their flowers towards the sun: viz. to the east in the morning, to the south at noon, and to the west towards evening; this is very observable in the sowthistle sonchus arvensis: and it is a well-known fact, that a great part of the plants in a serene sky expand their flowers, and as it were with cheerful looks behold the light of the sun; but before rain they shut them up, as the tulip.

The flowers of the alpine whitlow grass draba alpina, the bastard feverfew parthenium, and the wintergreen trientalis, hang down in the night as if the plants were asleep, lest rain or the moist air should injure the fertilizing dust.

One species of woodsorrel shuts up or doubles its leaves before storms and tempests, but in a serene sky expands or unfolds them, so that the husbandman can pretty clearly foretell tempests from it. It is also well known that the mountain ebony bauhinia, sensitive plants, and cassia, observe the same rule.

Besides affording prognostics, many plants also fold themselves up at particular hours, with such regularity, as to have acquired particular names from this property. The following are among the more remarkable plants of this description:--

Goatsbeard.--The flowers of both species of tragopogon open in the morning at the approach of the sun, and without regard to the state of the weather regularly shut about noon. Hence it is generally known in the country by the name of go to bed at noon.

The princesses’ leaf, or four o’clock flower, in the Malay Islands, is an elegant shrub so called by the natives, because their ladies are fond of the grateful odour of its white leaves. It takes its generic name from its quality of opening its flowers at four in the evening, and not closing them in the morning till the same hour returns, when they again expand in the evening at the same hour. Many people transplant them from the woods into their gardens, and use them as a dial or a clock, especially in cloudy weather.

The evening primrose is well known from its remarkable properties of regularly shutting with a loud popping noise, about sunset in the evening, and opening at sunrise in the morning. After six o’clock, these flowers regularly report the approach of night.

The tamarind tree parkinsonia, the nipplewort lapsana communis, the water lily nymphaea, the marygolds calendulae, the bastard sensitive plant aeschynomene, and several others of the diadelphia class, in serene weather, expand their leaves in the daytime, and contract them during the night. According to some botanists, the tamarind-tree enfolds within its leaves the flowers or fruit every night, in order to guard them from cold or rain.

The flower of the garden lettuce, which is in a vertical plane, opens at seven o’clock, and shuts at ten.

A species of serpentine aloe, without prickles, whose large and beautiful flowers exhale a strong odour of the vanilla during the time of its expansion, which is very short, is cultivated in the imperial garden at Paris. It does not blow till towards the month of July, and about five o’clock in the evening, at which time it gradually opens its petals, expands them, droops, and dies. By ten o’clock the same night, it is totally withered, to the great astonishment of the spectators, who flock in crowds to see it.

The cerea, a native of Jamaica and Vera Cruz, expands an exquisitely beautiful coral flower, and emits a highly fragrant odour, for a few hours in the night, and then closes to open no more. The flower is nearly a foot in diameter; the inside of the calyx, of a splendid yellow; and the numerous petals are of a pure white. It begins to open about seven or eight o’clock in the evening, and closes before sunrise in the morning.

The flower of the dandelion possesses very peculiar means of sheltering itself from the heat of the sun, as it closes entirely whenever the heat becomes excessive. It has been observed to open, in summer, at half an hour after five in the morning, and to collect its petals towards the centre about nine o’clock.

Linnæus has enumerated forty-six flowers, which possess this kind of sensibility: he divides them into three classes.--1. Meteoric flowers, which less accurately observe the hour of folding, but are expanded sooner or later according to the cloudiness, moisture, or pressure of the atmosphere. 2. Tropical flowers, that open in the morning and close before evening every day, but the hour of their expanding becomes earlier or later as the length of the day increases or decreases. 3. Equinoctial flowers, which open at a certain and exact hour of the day, and for the most part close at another determinate hour.

On Flora’s Horologe, by Charlotte Smith.

In every copse and sheltered dell, Unveiled to the observant eye, Are faithful monitors, who tell How pass the hours and seasons by.

The green-robed children of the Spring Will mark the periods as they pass, Mingle with leaves Time’s feathered wing, And bind with flowers his silent glass.

Mark where transparent waters glide, Soft flowing o’er their tranquil bed; There, cradled on the dimpling tide, Nymphæa rests her lovely head.

But conscious of the earliest beam, She rises from her humid nest, And sees reflected in the stream The virgin whiteness of her breast.

Till the bright Daystar to the west Declines, in Ocean’s surge to lave: Then, folded in her modest vest, She slumbers on the rocking wave.

See Hieracium’s various tribe, Of plumy seed and radiate flowers, The course of Time their blooms describe, And wake or sleep appointed hours.

Broad o’er its imbricated cup The Goatsbeard spreads its golden rays But shuts its cautious petals up, Retreating from the noontide blaze.

Pale as a pensive cloistered nun, The Bethlem Star her face unveils, When o’er the mountain peers the Sun, But shades it from the vesper gales.

Among the loose and arid sands The humble Arenaria creeps; Slowly the Purple Star expands, But soon within its calyx sleeps.

And those small bells so lightly rayed With young Aurora’s rosy hue, Are to the noontide Sun displayed, But shut their plaits against the dew.

On upland slopes the shepherds mark The hour, when, as the dial true, Cichorium to the towering Lark Lifts her soft eyes serenely blue.

And thou, “Wee crimson tipped flower,” Gatherest thy fringed mantle round Thy bosom, at the closing hour, When nightdrops bathe the turfy ground,

Unlike Silene, who declines The garish noontide’s blazing light; But when the evening crescent shines, Gives all her sweetness to the night.

Thus in each flower and simple bell, That in our path betrodden lie, Are sweet remembrancers who tell How fast their winged moments fly.

Dr. Forster remarks that towards the close of this month, the cat’s ear hypochœris radicata is in flower every where; its first appearance is about the 18th day. This plant, as well as the rough dandelion, continues to flower till after Midsummer. The lilac, the barberry tree, the maple, and other trees and shrubs, are also in flower. The meadow grasses are full grown and flowering. The flowers of the garden rose, in early and warm years, begin to open.

On a Young Rosebud in May, from the German of Goëthe.

A Rose, that bloomed the roadside by, Caught a young vagrant’s wanton eye: The child was gay, the morn was clear, The child would see the rosebud near: She saw the blooming flow’r. My little Rose, my Rosebud dear! My Rose that blooms the roadside near!

The child exclaimed, “My hands shall dare, Thee, Rose, from off thy stem to tear:” The Rose replied, “If I have need, My thorns shall make thy fingers bleed-- Thy rash design give o’er.” My little Rose, my Rosebud dear! My Rose that blooms the roadside near!

Regardless of its thorny spray, The child would tear the Rose away; The Rose bewailed with sob and sigh, But all in vain, no help was nigh To quell the urchin’s pow’r. My little Rose, my Rosebud dear! My Rose that bloomed the roadside near!

New Monthly Magazine.

From Dr. Aikin’s “Natural History of the Year,” the ensuing passages regarding the season will be found agreeable and useful.

On hedge-banks the wild germander of a fine azure blue is conspicuous, and the whole surface of meadows is often covered by the yellow crowfoot. These flowers, also called buttercups, are erroneously supposed to communicate to the butter at this season its rich yellow tinge, as the cows will not touch it on account of its acrid biting quality; this is strikingly visible in pastures, where, though all the grass is cropped to the very roots, the numerous tufts of this weed spring up, flower, and shed their seeds in perfect security, and the most absolute freedom from molestation by the cattle; they are indeed cut down and made into hay together with the rest of the rubbish that usually occupies a large proportion of every meadow; and in this state are eaten by cattle, partly because they are incapable of separating them, and partly because, by dying, their acrimony is considerably subdued; but there can be no doubt of their place being much better supplied by any sort of real grass. In the present age of agricultural improvement the subject of grass lands among others has been a good deal attended to, but much yet remains to be done, and the tracts of the ingenious Stillingfleet, and of Mr. Curtis, on this important division of rural economy, are well deserving the notice of every liberal farmer. The excellence of a meadow consists in its producing as much herbage as possible, and that this herbage should be agreeable and nutritious to the animals which are fed with its crop. Every plant of crowfoot therefore ought, if practicable, to be extirpated, for, so far from being grateful and nourishing to any kind of cattle, it is notorious, that in its fresh state nothing will touch it. The same may be said of the hemlock, kex, and other umbelliferous plants which are common in most fields, and which have entirely overrun others; for these when fresh are not only noxious to the animals that are fed upon hay, but from their rank and straggling manner of growth occupy a very large proportion of the ground. Many other plants that are commonly found in meadows may upon the same principles be objected to; and though the present generation of farmers has done much, yet still more remains for their successors to perform.

The gardens now yield an agreeable though immature product in the young gooseberries and currants, which are highly acceptable to our tables, now almost exhausted of their store of preserved fruits.

Early in the month the latest species of the summer birds of passage arrive, generally in the following order: fern-owl or goat-sucker, fly-catcher, and sedge-bird.

This is also the principal time in which birds hatch and rear their young. The assiduity and patience of the female during the task of sitting are admirable, as well as the conjugal affection of the male, who sings to his mate, and often supplies her place; and nothing can exceed the parental tenderness of both when the young are brought to light.

Several species of insects are this month added to those which have already been enumerated; the chief of which are the great white cabbage butterfly, capilio brassicæ; the may-chaffer, the favourite food of the fern-owl; the horse-fly, or forest-fly, so great a plague to horses and cattle; and several kinds of moths and butterflies.

Towards the end of May the bee-hives send forth their earlier swarms. These colonies consist of the young progeny, and some old ones, now grown too numerous to remain in their present habitation, and sufficiently strong and vigorous to provide for themselves. One queen bee is necessary to form each colony, and wherever she flies they follow. Nature directs them to march in a body in quest of a new settlement, which, if left to their choice, would generally be some hollow trunk of a tree. But man, who converts the labours and instincts of so many animals to his own use, provides them with a dwelling, and repays himself with their honey. The early swarms are generally the most valuable, as they have time enough to lay in a plentiful store of honey for their subsistence through the winter.

About the same time the glow-worm shines. Of this species of insect the females are without wings and luminous, the males are furnished with wings, but are not luminous; it is probable, therefore, that this light may serve to direct the male to the haunts of the female, as Hero of Sestos is said to have displayed a torch from the top of a high tower to guide her venturous lover Leander in his dangerous passage across the Hellespont:--

You (i.e. the Sylphs) Warm on her mossy couch the radiant worm, Guard from cold dews her love-illumined form, From leaf to leaf conduct the virgin light, Star of the earth, and diamond of the night.

Darwin.

These little animals are found to extinguish their lamps between eleven and twelve at night.

Old May-day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures, though frequently then very bare of grass. The milk soon becomes more copious, and of finer quality, from the juices of the young grass; and it is in this month that the making of cheese is usually begun in the dairies. Cheshire, Wiltshire, and the low parts of Gloucestershire, are the tracts in England most celebrated for the best cheese.

Many trees and shrubs flower in May, such as the oak, beech, maple, sycamore, barberry, laburnum, horse-chestnut, lilac, mountain ash, and Guelder rose; of the more humble plants the most remarkable are the lily of the valley, and woodroof in woods, the male orchis in meadows, and the lychnis, or cuckoo flower, on hedge-banks.

This month is not a very busy season for the farmer. Some sowing remains to be done in late years; and in forward ones, the weeds, which spring up abundantly in fields and gardens, require to be kept under. The husbandman now looks forward with anxious hope to the reward of his industry:--

Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man Has done his part. Ye fost’ring breezes, blow! Ye soft’ning dews, ye tender show’rs descend; And temper all, thou world-receiving sun, Into the perfect year!

Thomson.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

The Horse-chestnut. Æschylus Hippocastanum. Dedicated to St. Barnardine of Sienna.

~May 21.~

Holiday at the Public Offices.

St. Felix of Cantalicio, A. D. 1587. St. Godrick, Hermit, A. D. 1170. St. Hospitius, A. D. 681.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Ragged Robin. Lychnis flos cuculi. Dedicated to St. Felix.

~May 22.~

St. Yvo, A. D. 1303. St. Basiliscus, Bp. A. D. 312. Sts. Castus and Æmilius, A. D. 250. St. Bobo, A. D. 985. St. Conall, Abbot.

When first the soul of Love is sent abroad, Warm through the vital air, and on the heart Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin, In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing, And try again the long-forgotten strain, At first faint warbled. But no sooner grows The soft infusion prevalent and wide, Than all alive at once their joy o’erflows In music unconfined. Up springs the Lark, Shrill voiced and loud, the messenger of morn; Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunt Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse Deep tangled, tree irregular, and bush Bending with dewy moisture o’er the heads Of the coy quoristers that lodge within, Are prodigal of harmony. The Thrush And Woodlark, o’er the kind contending throng Superior heard, run through the sweetest length Of notes, when listening Philomela deigns To let them joy, and purposes, in thought Elate, to make her night excel their day. The Blackbird whistles from the thorny brake, The mellow Bullfinch answers from the grove. Nor are the Linnets, o’er the flowering furze Pour’d out profusely, silent. Joined to these Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade Of newsprung leaves, their modulations mix, Mellifluous. The Jay, the Rook, the Daw, And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, Aid the full concert, while the Stockdove breathes A melancholy murmur through the whole. Around our heads the whitewinged Plover wheels Her sounding flight, and then directly on, In long excursion, skims the level lawns, To tempt him from her nest. The Wild Duck hence: O’er the rough moss and o’er the trackless waste The Heath Hen flutters, pious fraud, to lead The hot pursuing Spaniel far astray!

Thomson.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Yellow Star of Bethlehem. Tragopogon pratensis. Dedicated to St. Yvo.

~May 23.~

St. Julia, 5th Cent. St. Desiderius, Bp. of Langres, 7th Cent. St. Desiderius, Bp. of Vienne, A. D. 612.

~Whitsuntide.~

Mr. Fosbroke remarks that this feast was celebrated in Spain with representations of the gift of the Holy Ghost, and of thunder from engines, which did much damage. Wafers, or cakes, preceded by water, oak-leaves, or burning torches, were thrown down from the church roof; small birds, with cakes tied to their legs, and pigeons were let loose; sometimes there were tame white ones tied with strings, or one of wood suspended. A long censer was also swung up and down. In an old Computus, anno 1509, of St. Patrick’s, Dublin, we have iv^{s}. vii^{d}. paid to those playing with the great and little angel and the dragon; iii^{s}. paid for little cords employed about the Holy Ghost; iv^{s}. vi^{d}. for making the angel (thurificantis) censing, and ii^{s}. ii^{d}. for cords of it--all on the feast of Pentecost. On the day before Whitsuntide, in some places, men and boys rolled themselves, after drinking, &c. in the mud in the streets. The Irish kept the feast with milk food, as among the Hebrews; and a breakfast composed of cake, bread, and a liquor made by hot water poured on wheaten bran. The Whitson Ales were derived from the Agapai, or love-feasts of the early Christians, and were so denominated from the churchwardens buying, and laying in from presents also, a large quantity of malt, which they brewed into beer, and sold out in the church or elsewhere. The profits, as well as those from sundry games, there being no poor rates, were given to the poor, for whom this was one mode of provision, according to the christian rule that all festivities should be rendered innocent by alms. Aubrey thus describes a Whitson Ale. “In every parish was a church-house, to which belonged spits, crocks, and other utensils for dressing provisions. Here the housekeepers met. The young people were there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. the ancients sitting gravely by, and looking on.” It seems too that a tree was erected by the church door, where a banner was placed, and maidens stood gathering contributions. An arbour, called Robin Hood’s Bower, was also put up in the church-yard. The modern Whitson Ale consists of a lord and lady of the ale, a steward, sword-bearer, purse-bearer, mace-bearer, train-bearer, or page, fool, and pipe and tabor man, with a company of young men and women, who dance in a barn.

ODE, WRITTEN ON WHIT-MONDAY

Hark! how the merry bells ring jocund round, And now they die upon the veering breeze; Anon they thunder loud Full on the musing ear.

Wafted in varying cadence, by the shore Of the still twinkling river, they bespeak A day of jubilee, An ancient holiday.

And, lo! the rural revels are begun, And gaily echoing to the laughing sky, On the smooth-shaven green Resounds the voice of Mirth--

Alas! regardless of the tongue of Fate, That tells them ’tis but as an hour since they, Who now are in their graves, Kept up the Whitsun dance;

And that another hour, and they must fall Like those who went before, and sleep as still Beneath the silent sod, A cold and cheerless sleep.

Yet why should thoughts like these intrude to scare The vagrant Happiness, when she will deign To smile upon us here, A transient visitor?

Mortals! be gladsome while ye have the power, And laugh and seize the glittering lapse of joy; In time the bell will toll That warns ye to your graves.

I to the woodland solitude will bend My lonesome way--where Mirth’s obstreperous shout Shall not intrude to break The meditative hour;

There will I ponder on the state of man, Joyless and sad of heart, and consecrate This day of jubilee To sad Reflection’s shrine;

And I will cast my fond eye far beyond This world of care, to where the steeple loud Shall rock above the sod, Where I shall sleep in peace.

H. K. White.

Whitsuntide at Greenwich.

I have had another holiday--a Whitsuntide holiday at Greenwich: it is true that I did not take a run down the hill, but I saw many do it who appeared to me happier and healthier for the exercise, and the fragrant breezes from the fine May trees of the park.

I began Whit-Monday by breakfasting on Blackheath hill. It was my good fortune to gain a sight of the beautiful grounds belonging to the noblest mansion on the heath, the residence of the princess Sophia of Gloucester. It is not a “show house,” nor is her royal highness a woman of show. “She is a noble lady,” said a worthy inhabitant of the neighbourhood, “she is always doing as much good as she can, and more, perhaps, than she ought; her heart is larger than her purse.” I found myself in this retreat I scarcely know how, and imagined that a place like this might make good dispositions better, and intelligent minds wiser. Some of its scenes seemed, to my imagination, lovely as were the spots in “the blissful seats of Eden.” Delightful green swards with majestic trees lead on to private walks; and gladdening shrubberies terminate in broad borders of fine flowers, or in sloping paths, whereon fairies might dance in silence by the sleeping moonlight, or to the chant of nightingales that come hither, to an amphitheatre of copses surrounding a “rose mount,” as to their proper choir, and pour their melody, unheard by earthly beings,

------------- save by the ear Of her alone who wanders here, or sits Intrelissed and enchanted as the Fair Fabled by him of yore in Comus’ song, Or rather like a saint in a fair shrine Carved by Cellini’s hand.

It may not be good taste, in declaring the truth, to state “the whole truth,” but it is a fact, that I descended from the heights of royalty to “Sot’s hole.” There, for “corporal refection,” and from desire to see a place which derives its name from the great lord Chesterfield, I took a biscuit and a glass of ginger-beer. His lordship resided in the mansion I had just left, and his servants were accustomed to “use” this alehouse too frequently. On one occasion he said to his butler, “Fetch the fellows from that sot’s hole:” from that time, though the house has another name and sign, it is better known by the name or sign of “Sot’s hole.” Ascending the rise to the nearest park-gate, I soon got to the observatory in the park. It was barely noon. The holiday folks had not yet arrived; the old pensioners, who ply there to ferry the eye up and down and across the river with their telescopes, were ready with their craft. Yielding to the importunity of one, to be freed from the invitations of the rest, I took my stand, and in less than ten minutes was conveyed to Barking church, Epping Forest, the men in chains, the London Docks, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and Westminster Abbey. From the seat around the tree I watched the early comers; as each party arrived the pensioners hailed them with good success. In every instance, save one, the sight first demanded was the “men in chains:” these are the bodies of pirates, suspended on gibbets by the river side, to warn sailors against crimes on the high seas. An able-bodied sailor, with a new hat on his Saracen-looking head, carrying a handkerchief full of apples in his left hand, with a bottle neck sticking out of the neck of his jacket for a nosegay, dragged his female companion up the hill with all the might of his right arm and shoulder; and the moment he was at the top, assented to the proposal of a telescope-keeper for his “good lady” to have a view of the “men in chains.” She wanted to “see something else first.” “Don’t be a fool,” said Jack, “see them first; it’s the best sight.” No; not she: all Jack’s arguments were unavailing. “Well! what is it you’d like better, you fool you?” “Why I wants to see our house in the court, with the flower-pots, and if I don’t see that, I won’t see nothing--what’s the men in chains to that? Give us an apple.” She took one out of the bundle, and beginning to eat it, gave instructions for the direction of the instrument towards Limehouse church, while Jack drew forth the bottle and refreshed himself. Long she looked, and squabbled, and almost gave up the hope of finding “our house;” but on a sudden she screamed out, “Here Jack! here it is, pots and all! and there’s our bed-post; I left the window up o’ purpose as I might see it!” Jack himself took an observation. “D’ye see it, Jack?” “Yes.” “D’ye see the pots?” “Yes.” “And the bed-post?” “Ay; and here Sal, here, here’s the cat looking out o’ the window.” “Come away, let’s look again;” and then she looked, and squalled “Lord! what a sweet place it is!” and then she assented to seeing the “men in chains,” giving Jack the first look, and they looked “all down the river,” and saw “Tom’s ship,” and wished Tom was with them. The breakings forth of nature and kind-heartedness, and especially the love of “home, sweet home,” in Jack’s “good lady,” drew forth Jack’s delight, and he kissed her till the apples rolled out of the bundle, and then he pulled her down the hill. From the moment they came up they looked at nobody, nor saw any thing but themselves, and what they paid for looking at through the telescope. They were themselves a sight: and though the woman was far from

whatever fair High fancy forms or lavish hearts could wish,

yet she was all that to Jack; and all that she seemed to love or care for, were “our house,” and the “flower-pots,” and the “bed-post,” and “Jack.”

At the entrances in all the streets of Greenwich, notices from the magistrates were posted, that they were determined to put down the fair; and accordingly not a show was to be seen in the place wherein the fair had of late been held. Booths were fitting up for dancing and refreshment at night, but neither Richardson’s, nor any other itinerant company of performers, was there. There were gingerbread stalls, but no learned pig, no dwarf, no giant, no fire-eater, no exhibition of any kind. There was a large round-about of wooden horses for boys, and a few swings, none of them half filled. The landlord of “the Struggler” could not struggle his stand into notice. In vain he chalked up “Hagger’s entire, two-pence a bottle:” this was ginger-beer; if it was not brisker than the demand for it, it was made “poor indeed;” he had little aid, but unsold “Lemmun aid, one penny a glass.” Yet the public-houses in Greenwich were filling fast, and the fiddles squeaked from several first-floor windows. It was now nearly two o’clock, and the stage-coaches from London, thoroughly filled inside and out, drove rapidly in: these, and the flocking down of foot passengers, gave sign of great visitation. One object I cannot pass by, for it forcibly contrasted in me mind with the joyous disposition of the day. It was a poor blackbird in a cage, from the first-floor window of a house in Melville-place. The cage was high and square; its bars were of a dark brown bamboo; the top and bottom were of the same dolorous colour; between the bars were strong iron wires; the bird himself sat dull and mute; I passed the house several times; not a single note did he give forth. A few hours before I had heard his fellows in the thickets whistling in full throat; and here was he, in endless thrall, without a bit of green to cheer him, or even the decent jailery of a light wicker cage. I looked at him, and thought of the Lollards at Lambeth, of Thomas Delaune in Newgate, of Prynne in the Gatehouse, and Laud in the Tower:--all these were offenders; yet wherein had this poor bird offended that he should be like them, and be forced to keep Whitsuntide in prison? I wished him a holiday, and would have given him one to the end of his life, had I known how.

After dining and taking tea at the “Yorkshire Grey,” I returned to the park, through the Greenwich gate, near the hospital. The scene here was very lively. Great numbers were seated on the grass, some refreshing themselves, others were lookers at the large company of walkers. Surrounded by a goodly number was a man who stood to exhibit the wonders of a single-folded sheet of writing paper to the sight of all except himself; he was blind. By a motion of his hand he changed it into various forms. “Here,” said he, “is a garden-chair for your seat--this is a flight of stairs to your chamber--here is a flower-stand for your mantle-piece;” and so he went on; presenting, in rapid succession, the well-shaped representation of more than thirty forms of different utensils or conveniences: at the conclusion, he was well rewarded for his ingenuity. Further on was a larger group; from the centre whereof came forth sounds unlike those heard by him who wrote--

“Orpheus play’d so well, he moved old Nick, But thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddlestick.”

This player so “imitated Orpheus,” that he moved the very bowels, uneasiness seemed to seize on all who heard his discords. He was seated on the grass, in the garb of a sailor. At his right hand lay a square board, whereon was painted “a tale of woe,” in letters that disdained the printer’s art; at the top, a little box, with a glass cover, discovered that it was “plus” of what himself was “minus;” its inscription described its contents--“These bones was taken out of my leg.” I could not withstand his claim to support. He was effecting the destruction of “Sweet Poll of Plymouth,” for which I gave him a trifle more than his “fair” audience usually bestowed, perhaps. He instantly begged I would name my “favourite;” I desired to be acquainted with his; he said he could not “deny nothing to so noble a benefactor,” and he immediately began to murder “Black-eyed Susan.” If the man at the wall of the Fishmongers’ almshouses were dead, he would be the worst player in England.

There were several parties playing at “Kiss in the ring,” an innocent merriment in the country; here it was certainly not merriment. On the hill the runners were abundant, and the far greater number were, in appearance and manners, devoid of that vulgarity and grossness from whence it might be inferred that the sport was any way improper; nor did I observe, during a stay of several hours, the least indication of its being otherwise than a cheerful amusement. One of the prettiest sights was a game at “Thread my needle,” played by about a dozen lasses, with a grace and glee that reminded me of Angelica’s nymphs. I indulged a hope that the hilarity of rural pastimes might yet be preserved. There was no drinking in the park. It lost its visitants fast while the sun was going down. Many were arrested in their progress to the gate by the sight of the boys belonging to the college, who were at their evening play within their own grounds, and who, before they retired for the night, sung “God save the King,” and “Rule Britannia,” in full chorus, with fine effect.

The fair, or at least such part of it as was suffered to be continued, was held in the open space on the right hand of the street leading from Greenwich to the Creek bridge. “The Crown and Anchor” booth was the great attraction, as indeed well it might. It was a tent, three hundred and twenty-three feet long, and sixty feet wide. Seventy feet of this, at the entrance, was occupied by seats for persons who chose to take refreshment, and by a large space from whence the viands were delivered. The remaining two hundred and fifty feet formed the “Assembly room,” wherein were boarded floors for four rows of dancers throughout this extensive length; on each side were seats and tables. The price of admission to the assembly was one shilling. The check ticket was a card, whereon was printed,

VAUXHALL. CROWN AND ANCHOR, WHIT MONDAY.

This room was thoroughly lighted up by depending branches from the roofs handsomely formed; and by stars and festoons, and the letters G. R. and other devices, bearing illumination lamps. It was more completely filled with dancers and spectators, than were convenient to either. Neither the company nor the scene can be well described. The orchestra, elevated across the middle of the tent, consisting of two harps, three violins, a bass viol, two clarionets, and a flute, played airs from “Der Freischütz,” and other popular tunes. Save the crowd, there was no confusion; save in the quality of the dancers and dancing, there was no observable difference between this and other large assemblies; except, indeed, that there was no master of the ceremonies, nor any difficulty in obtaining or declining partners. It was neither a dancing school, nor a school of morals; but the moralist might draw conclusions which would here, and at this time, be out of place. There were at least 2,000 persons in this booth at one time. In the fair were about twenty other dancing booths; yet none of them comparable in extent to the “Crown and Anchor.” In one only was a price demanded for admission; the tickets to the “Albion Assembly” were sixpence. Most of these booths had names; for instance, “The Royal Standard;” “The Lads of the Village,” “The Black Boy and Cat Tavern,” “The Moon-rakers,” &c. At eleven o’clock, stages from Greenwich to London were in full request. One of them obtained 4_s._ each for inside, and 2_s._ 6_d._ for outside passengers; the average price was 3_s._ inside, and 2_s._ outside; and though the footpaths were crowded with passengers, yet all the inns in Greenwich and on the road were thoroughly filled. Certainly, the greater part of the visitors were mere spectators of the scene.

*

NIGHT

The late Henry Kirke White, in a fragment of a poem on “Time,” beautifully imagines the slumbers of the sorrowful. Reader, bear with its melancholy tone. A summer’s day is not less lovely for a passing cloud.

Behold the world Rests, and her tired inhabitants have paused From trouble and turmoil. The widow now Has ceased to weep, and her twin-orphans lie Lock’d in each arm, partakers of her rest. The man of sorrow has forgot his woes; The outcast that his head is shelterless, His griefs unshared. The mother tends no more Her daughter’s dying slumbers, but surprised With heaviness, and sunk upon her couch, Dreams of her bridals. Even the hectic lull’d On Death’s lean arm to rest, in visions wrapt, Crowning with Hope’s bland wreath his shuddering nurse, Poor victim! smiles.--Silence and deep repose Reign o’er the nations; and the warning voice Of Nature utters audibly within The general moral;--tells us that repose, Deathlike as this, but of far longer span, Is coming on us--that the weary crowds, Who now enjoy a temporary calm, Shall soon taste lasting quiet, wrapt around With grave-clothes; and their aching restless heads Mouldering in holes and corners unobserved Till the last trump shall break their sullen sleep.

Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch Leviathans that swim within the stream Of this fam’d River, now no longer New, Yet still so call’d, come hither to the Sluice-house. Here, largest gudgeons live, and fattest roach Resort, and even barbel have been found. Here too doth sometimes prey the rav’ning shark Of streams like this, that is to say, a jack. If fortune aid ye, ye perchance shall find Upon an average within one day, At least a fish, or two; if ye do not, This will I promise ye, that ye shall have Most glorious nibbles: come then, haste ye here, And with ye bring large stock of baits and patience.

From Canonbury tower onward by the New River, is a pleasant summer afternoon’s walk. Highbury barn, or, as it is now called, Highbury tavern, is the first place of note beyond Canonbury. It was anciently a barn belonging to the ecclesiastics of Clerkenwell; though it is at present only known to the inhabitants of that suburb, by its capacity for filling them with good things in return for the money they spend there. The “barn” itself is the assembly-room, whereon the old roof still remains. This house has stood in the way of all passengers to the Sluice-house, and turned many from their firm-set purpose of fishing in the waters near it. Every man who carries a rod and line is not an Isaac Walton, whom neither blandishment nor obstacle could swerve from his mighty end, when he went forth to kill fish.

He was the great progenitor of all That war upon the tenants of the stream, He neither stumbled, stopt, nor had a fall When he essay’d to war on dace, bleak, bream, Stone-loach or pike, or other fish, I deem.

The Sluice-house is a small wooden building, distant about half a mile beyond Highbury, just before the river angles off towards Newington. With London anglers it has always been a house of celebrity, because it is the nearest spot wherein they have hope of tolerable sport. Within it is now placed a machine for forcing water into the pipes that supply the inhabitants of Holloway, and other parts adjacent. Just beyond is the Eel-pie house, which many who angle thereabouts mistake for the Sluice-house. To instruct the uninformed, and to gratify the eye of some who remember the spot they frequented in their youth, the preceding view, taken in May 1825, has been engraved. If the artist had been also a portrait painter, it would have been well to have secured a sketch of the present keeper of the Sluice-house; his manly mien, and mild expressive face, are worthy of the pencil: if there be truth in physiognomy, he is an honest, good-hearted man. His dame, who tenders Barcelona nuts and oranges at the Sluice-house door for sale, with fishing-lines from two-pence to six-pence, and rods at a penny each, is somewhat stricken in years, and wholly innocent of the metropolis and its manners. She seems of the times--

“When our fathers pluck’d the blackberry And sipp’d the silver tide.”

* * * * *

An etching of the eccentric individual, from whence the present engraving is taken, was transmitted by a respectable “Cantab,” for insertion in the Every-Day Book, with the few particulars ensuing:--

James Gordon was once a respectable solicitor in Cambridge, till “love and liquor”

“Robb’d him of that which once enriched him, And made him poor indeed!”

He is well known to many resident and non-resident sons of alma mater, as a déclamateur, and for ready wit and repartee, which few can equal. One or two instances may somewhat depict

Gordon meeting a gentleman in the streets of Cambridge who had recently received the honour of knighthood, Jemmy approached him, and looking him full in the face, exclaimed,

“The king, by merely laying sword on, Could make a knight of Jemmy Gordon.”

At a late assize at Cambridge, a man named Pilgrim was convicted of horse-stealing, and sentenced to transportation. Gordon seeing the prosecutor in the street, loudly vociferated to him, “You, sir, have done what the pope of Rome cannot do; you have put a stop to Pilgrim’s Progress!”

Gordon was met one day by a person of rather indifferent character, who pitied Jemmy’s forlorn condition, (he being without shoes and stockings,) and said, “Gordon, if you will call at my house, I will give you a pair of shoes.” Jemmy, assuming a contemptuous air, replied, “No, sir! excuse me, I would not stand in your shoes for all the world!”

Some months ago, Jemmy had the misfortune to fall from a hay-loft, wherein he had retired for the night, and broke his thigh; since then he has reposed in a workhouse. No man’s life is more calculated

“To adorn a moral, and to point a tale.”

N.

These brief memoranda suffice to memorialize a peculiar individual. James Gordon at one time possessed “fame, wealth, and honours:” now--his “fame” is a hapless notoriety; all the “wealth” that remains to him is a form that might have been less careworn had he been less careless; his honour is “air--thin air,” “his gibes, his jests, his flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar,” no longer enliven the plenteous banquet:--

“Deserted in his utmost need By men his former bounty fed,”

the bitter morsel for his life’s support is parish dole. “The gayest of the gay” is forgotten in his age--in the darkness of life; when reflection on what was, cannot better what is. Brilliant circles of acquaintance sparkle with frivolity, but friendship has no place within them. The prudence of sensuality is selfishness.

* * * * *

The Cambridge communication concerning James Gordon is accompanied by an amusing list of names derived from “men and things.”

Personages and their Callings at Cambridge in 1825.

A King is a brewer A Bishop a tailor A Baron a horse-dealer A Knight a turf-dealer A Proctor a tailor A Marshall a cheesemonger An Earl a laundress A Butler a picture-frame maker A Page a bookbinder

A Pope an old woman An Abbott a bonnet-maker A Monk a waterman A Nun a horse-dealer A Moor a poulterer A Savage a carpenter A Scott an Englishman A Rose a fishmonger A Lilly a brewer

A Crab a butcher A Salmon a linendraper A Leech a fruiterer A Pike a milkman A Sole a shoemaker

A Wood a grocer A Field a confectioner A Tunnell a baker A Marsh a carrier A Brook a turf-dealer A Greenwood a baker

A Lee an innkeeper A Bush a carpenter A Grove a shoemaker A Lane a carpenter A Green a builder A Hill a butcher A Haycock a publican A Barne a grocer A Shed a butler A Hutt a shoeblack A Hovel a draper

A Hatt a bookseller A Capp a gardener A Spencer a butcher

A Bullock a baker A Fox a brazier A Lamb a sadler A Lion a grocer A Mole a town-crier A Roe an engraver A Buck a college gyp. A Hogg a gentleman

A Bond a grocer A Binder a fruiterer

A Cock a shoemaker A Hawk a paperhanger A Drake a dissenting minister A Swan a shoemaker A Bird an innkeeper A Peacock a lawyer A Rook a tailor A Wren a bricklayer’s labourer A Falcon a gentleman A Crow a builder

A Pearl a cook A Stone a glazier A Cross a boatwright

A Barefoot an innkeeper A Leg a mantua-maker

White a shoemaker Green a carpenter Brown a fishmonger Grey a painter Pink a publican

Tall a printer Short a tailor Long a shopkeeper Christmas an ironmonger Summer a carpenter Sad a barber Grief a glazier Peace a carpenter Bacon a tobacconist.

A Hard-man A Wise-man A Good-man A Black-man A Chap-man A Free-man A New-man A Bow-man A Spear-man A Hill-man A Wood-man A Pack-man A Pit-man A Red-man A True-man.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lilac. Syringa vulgaris. Dedicated to St. Julia.

~May 24.~

St. Vincent of Lerins, A. D. 450. Sts. Donatian and Rogatian, A. D. 287. St. John de Prado.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Monkey Poppy. Papaver Orientale. Dedicated to St. Vincent.

~May 25.~

St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi, A. D. 1607. St. Urban, Pope, A. D. 223. St. Adhelm, or Aldhelm. St. Gregory VII., Pope, A. D. 1085. Sts. Maximus, or Mauxe, and Venerand, Martyrs in Normandy, 6th Cent. St. Dumhade, Abbot, A. D. 717.

St. Aldhelm.

He founded the abbey of Malmesbury, and was the first Englishman who cultivated Latin and English or Saxon poesy. Among his other mortifications, he was accustomed to recite the psalter at night, plunged up to the shoulders in a pond of water. He was the first bishop of Sherborne, a see which was afterwards removed to Salisbury, and died in 709.[148]

He turned a sunbeam into a clothes-peg; at least, so say his biographers: this was at Rome. Saying mass there in the church of St. John de Lateran, he put off his vestment; the servant neglecting to take it, he hung it on a sunbeam, whereon it remained, “to the wonderful admiration of the beholders.”[149]

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Common Avens. Geum Urbanum. Dedicated to St. Urban.

[148] Butler.

[149] Porter, Golden Legend.

~May 26.~

St. Philip Neri, A. D. 1595. St. Augustine, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 604. St. Eleutherius, Pope, A. D. 192. St. Quadratus, Bp. A. D. 125. St. Oduvald, Abbot, A. D. 698.

St. Philip Neri.

He was born at Florence in 1515, became recluse when a child, dedicated himself to poverty, and became miraculously fervent. “The divine love,” says Alban Butler, “so much dilated the breast of our saint, that the gristle which joined the fourth and fifth ribs on the left side was broken, which accident allowed the heart and the larger vessels more play; in which condition he lived fifty years.” According to the same authority, his body was sometimes raised from the ground during his devotions some yards high. Butler relates the same of St. Dunstan, St. Edmund, and many other saints, and says that “Calmet, an author still living, assures us that he knows a religious man who, in devout prayer, is sometimes involuntarily raised in the air, and remains hanging in it without any support; also that he is personally acquainted with a devout nun to whom the same had often happened.” Butler thinks it probable that they themselves would not determine whether they were raised by angels, or by what other supernatural operation. He says, that Neri could detect hidden sins by the smell of the sinners. He died in 1595: the body of such a saint of course worked miracles.

St. Philip Neri founded the congregation or religious order of the Oratory, in 1551. The rules of this religious order savour of no small severity. By the “Institutions of the Oratory,” (printed at Oxford, 1687, 8vo. pp. 49.) they are required to mix corporal punishments with their religious harmony:--“From the first of November to the feast of the resurrection, their contemplation of celestial things shall be heightened by a concert of music; and it is also enjoined, that at certain seasons of frequent occurrence, they all whip themselves in the Oratory. After half an hour’s mental prayer, the officers distribute whips made of small cords full of knots, put forth the children, if there be any, and carefully shutting the doors and windows, extinguish the other lights, except only a small candle so placed in a dark lanthorn upon the altar, that the crucifix may appear clear and visible, but not reflecting any light, thus making all the room dark: then the priest, in a loud and doleful voice, pronounceth the verse Jube Domine benedicere, and going through an appointed service, comes Apprehendite disciplinam, &c.; at which words, taking their whips, they scourge their naked bodies during the recital of the 50th Psalm, Miserere, and the 129th, De profundis, with several prayers; at the conclusion of which, upon a sign given, they end their whipping, and put on their clothes in the dark and in silence.”

Oratorios.

The Oratorio commenced with the fathers of the Oratory. In order to draw youth to church, they had hymns, psalms, and spiritual songs, or cantatas, sung either in chorus or by a single favourite voice. These pieces were divided into two parts, the one performed before the sermon, and the other after it. Sacred stories, or events from scripture, written in verse, and by way of dialogue, were set to music, and the first part being performed, the sermon succeeded, which the people were induced to stay and hear, that they might be present at the performance of the second part. The subjects in early times were the good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son, Tobit with the angel, his father, and his wife, and similar histories, which by the excellence of the composition, the band of instruments, and the performance, brought the Oratory into great repute; hence this species of musical drama obtained the general appellation of Oratorio.

St. Augustine.

This was the monk sent to England by St. Gregory the Great, to convert the English; by favour of Ethelbert, he became archbishop of Canterbury. Christianity, however, had long preceded Augustine’s arrival, for the queen of Ethelbert, previous to his coming, was accustomed to pay her devotions in the church of St. Martin just without Canterbury. This most ancient edifice still exists. Not noticing more at present concerning his historical character, it is to be observed that, according to his biographers, he worked many miracles, whereof may be observed this:--

St. Augustine came to a certain town, inhabited by wicked people, who “refused hys doctryne and prechyng uterly, and drof hym out of the towne, castyng on hym the tayles of thornback, or lyke fysshes; wherefore he besought Almyghty God to shewe hys jugement on them; and God sent to them a shamefull token; for the chyldren that were born after in the place, had tayles, as it is sayd, tyll they had repented them. It is said comynly that this fyll at Strode in Kente; but blyssed be Gode, at thys daye is no such deformyte.”[150] It is said, however, that they were the natives of a village in Dorsetshire who were thus tail-pieced.[151]

Another notable miracle is thus related. When St. Augustine came to Compton, in Oxfordshire, the curate complained, that though he had often warned the lord of the place to pay his tythes, yet they were withheld, “and therefore I,” said the curate, “have cursed hym, and I fynde him the more obstynate.” Then St. Augustine demanded why he did not pay his tythes to God and the church; whereto the knight answered, that as he tilled the ground, he ought to have the tenth sheaf as well as the ninth. Augustine, finding that he could not bend this lord to his purpose, then departed and went to mass; but before he began, he charged all those that were accursed to go out of the church. Then a dead body arose, and went out of the church into the churchyard with a white cloth on his head, and stood there till mass was done; whereupon St. Augustine went to him, and demanded what he was; and the dead body said, “I was formerly lord of this town, and because I would not pay my tithes to my curate, he cursed me, and then I died and went to hell.” Then Augustine bade the dead lord bring him to where the curate was buried, which accordingly he did, and Augustine commanded the dead curate to arise, who thereupon accordingly arose and stood before all the people. Then Augustine demanded of the dead curate if he knew the dead lord, who answered, “Would to God I had never known him, for he was a withholder of his tythes, and, more over, an evil-doer.” Then Augustine delivered to the said curate a rod, and then the dead lord kneeling, received penance thereby; which done, Augustine commanded the dead lord to go again to his grave, there to abide until the day of judgment; and forthwith the said lord entered his grave, and fell to ashes. Then Augustine asked the curate, how long he had been dead; and he said, a hundred and fifty years. And Augustine offered to pray for him, that he might remain on earth to confirm men in their belief; but the curate refused, because he was in the place of rest. Then said Augustine, “Go in peace, and pray for me and for holy church;” and immediately the curate returned to his grave. At this sight, the lord who had not paid the curate his tythes was sore afraid, and came quaking to St. Augustine, and to his curate, and prayed forgiveness of his trespass, and promised ever after to pay his tythes.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 26th of May, 1555, was a gay May-game at St. Martin’s-in-the-fields, with giants and hobby-horses, drums and guns, morrice-dances, and other minstrels.[152]

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Rhododendron. Rhododendrum Ponticum. Dedicated to St. Augustine. Yellow Azalea. Azalea pontica. Dedicated to St. Philip Neri.

[150] Golden Legend.

[151] Porter’s Flowers.

[152] Strype’s Memorials.

~May 27.~

St. John, Pope, A. D. 526. St. Bede, A. D. 735. St. Julius, about A. D. 302.

St. John, Pope.

This pontiff was imprisoned by Theodoric, king of the Goths, in Italy, and died in confinement. This sovereign had previously put to death the philosopher Boëtius, who, according to Ribadeneira, after he was beheaded, was scoffingly asked by one of the executioners, “who hath put thee to death?” whereupon Boëtius answered, “wicked men,” and immediately taking up his head in his own hands, walked away with it to the adjoining church.

St. Bede.

The life of “Venerable Bede” in Butler, is one of the best memoirs in his biography of the saints. He was an Englishman, in priest’s orders. It is said of him that he was a prodigy of learning in an unlearned age; that he surpassed Gregory the Great in eloquence and copiousness of style, and that Europe scarcely produced a greater scholar. He was a teacher of youth, and, at one time had six hundred pupils, yet he exercised his clerical functions with punctuality, and wrote an incredible number of works in theology, science, and the polite arts. It is true he fell into the prevailing credulity of the early age wherein he flourished, but he enlightened it by his erudition, and improved it by his unfeigned piety and unwearied zeal.

Not to ridicule so great a man, but as an instance of the desire to attribute wonderful miracles to distinguished characters, the following silly anecdote concerning Bede is extracted from the “Golden Legend.” He was blind, and desiring to be led forth to preach, his servant carried him to a heap of stones, to which, the good father, believing himself preaching to a sensible congregation, delivered a noble discourse, whereunto, when he had finished his sermon, the stones answered and said “Amen!”

Methinks that to some vacant hermitage My feet would rather turn--to some dry nook Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook Hurled down a mountain cove from stage to stage, Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage In the soft heaven of a translucent pool; Thence creeping under forest arches cool, Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage Perchance would throng my dreams. A beechen bowl, A Maple dish, my furniture should be; Crisp yellow leaves my bed; the hooting Owl My nightwatch: nor should e’er the crested fowl From thorp or vill his matins sound for me, Tired of the world and all its industry. But what if one, through grove or flowery mead, Indulging thus at will the creeping feet Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet The hovering shade of venerable Bede, The saint, the scholar, from a circle freed Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat Of learning, where he heard the billows beat On a wild coast--rough monitors to feed Perpetual industry--sublime recluse! The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt Imposed on human kind, must first forget Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use Of a long life, and, in the hour of death, The last dear service of thy passing breath!

Wordsworth.

THE SEASON.

Every thing of good or evil, incident to any period of the year, is to be regarded seasonable; the present time of the year, therefore, must not be quarrelled with, if it be not always agreeable to us. Many days of this month, in 1825, have been most oppressive to the spirits, and injurious to the mental faculties, of persons who are unhappily susceptible of changes in the weather, and especially the winds. These have been borne with some philosophy, by the individual now holding the pen; but, alas! the effects are too apparent, he apprehends, to many who have read what he has been scarcely able to throw together. He hopes that these defaults will be placed to their proper account, and that cloudless skies and genial breezes will enable him to do better.

MAY, 1825.

All hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning! How joyous thy steeds from the ocean have sprung! The clouds and the waves smile to see thee returning, And young zephyrs laugh as they gambol along.

No more with the tempest the river is swelling, No angry clouds frown, and no sky darkly lowers; The bee winds his horn, and the gay news is telling, That spring is arrived with her sunshine and flowers.

From her home in the grass see the white primrose peeping, While diamond dew-drops around her are spread, She smiles through her tears, like an infant, whose weeping To laughter is changed when its sorrows are fled.

In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining, And nature with blossoms is wreathing the trees, The white and the green, in rich clusters entwining, Are sprinkling their sweets on the wings of each breeze.

Then hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning! Triumphant ride on in thy chariot of light; The earth, with thy bounties her forehead adorning, Comes forth, like a bride, from the chamber of night.

E. C.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Buttercups. Ranunculus acris. Dedicated to St. John, Pope. Yellow Bachelor’s Buttons. Ranunculus acris plenus. Dedicated to St. Bede.

~May 28.~

St. Germanus, Bp. of Paris, A. D. 576. St. Caraunus, also Caranus and Caro, (in French, Cheron.)

CHRONOLOGY.

1546. Cardinal Beaton was on this day assassinated in Scotland. He was primate of that kingdom, over which he exercised almost sovereign sway. Just before his death he got into his power George Wishart, a gentleman by birth, who preached against Romish superstitions, and caused him to be condemned to the stake for heresy. The cardinal refused the sacrament to his victim, on the ground that it was not reasonable to allow a spiritual benefit to an obstinate heretic, condemned by the church. Wishart was tied to a tree in the castle-yard of St. Andrew’s, with bags of gunpowder fastened about his body. The cardinal and prelates were seated on rich cushions with tapestry hangings before them, from whence they viewed the execution of their sentence. The gunpowder having exploded without ending Wishart’s bodily sufferings, the inflexible reformer exclaimed from the fire, “This flame hath scorched my body, yet hath it not daunted my spirit: but he who from yonder high place beholdeth me with such pride, shall within a few days lie in the same as ignominiously as now he is seen proudly to rest himself.” After these words, the cord that went about his neck was drawn by one of the executioners to stop his breath, the fire was increased, his body was consumed to ashes, and the cardinal caused proclamation to be made that none should pray for the heretic under pain of the heaviest ecclesiastical censures. If the church, said the priests, had found such a protector in former times, she had maintained her authority; but the cardinal’s cruelty struck the people with horror, and John Lesly, brother to the earl of Rothes, with Normand Lesly, the earl of Rothes’ son, (who was disgusted on account of some private quarrel,) and other persons of birth and quality, openly vowed to avenge Wishart’s death. Early in the morning they entered the cardinal’s palace at St. Andrews, which he had strongly fortified; though they were not above sixteen persons, they thrust out a hundred tradesmen and fifty servants, whom they seized separately, before any suspicion arose of their intentions; and having shut the gates, they proceeded very deliberately to execute their purpose on the cardinal. Beaton alarmed with the noise which he heard in the castle, barricadoed the door of his chamber: but finding that they had brought fire in order to force their way, and having obtained, as is believed, a promise of life, he opened the door; and reminding them that he was a priest, he conjured them to spare him. Two of them rushed upon him with drawn swords, but a third, James Melvil, stopped their career, and bade them reflect that this work was the work and judgment of God, and ought to be executed with becoming deliberation and gravity. Then turning the point of his sword towards Beaton, he called to him, “Repent thee, thou wicked cardinal, of all thy sins and iniquities, especially of the murder of Wishart, that instrument of God for the conversion of these lands: it is his death which now cries vengeance upon thee: we are sent by God to inflict the deserved punishment. For here, before the Almighty, I protest, that it is neither hatred of thy person, nor love of thy riches, nor fear of thy power, which moves me to seek thy death: but only because thou hast been, and still remainest, an obstinate enemy to Christ Jesus, and his holy gospel.” Having spoken these words, without giving Beaton time to finish that repentance to which he exhorted him, he thrust him through the body, and the cardinal fell dead at his feet. Upon a rumour that the castle was taken, a great tumult arose in the city; and several partisans of the cardinal armed themselves with intent to scale the walls. When they were told of his death, they desisted, and the people insisting upon a sight of the cardinal’s body, his corpse was exposed to their view from the very same place wherein he sat to behold the execution of George Wishart.

The sanguinary spirit of these times has disappeared, and we look upon what remains to us of the individuals who suffered, or acted under its influence, as memorials of such crimes and criminals as we in a milder age dare not imagine our country can be again afflicted with. The sight of cardinal Beaton’s house in the Cowgate, at Edinburgh, may have induced useful reflections on past intolerance, and increased charitable dispositions in some whose persuasions widely differ. If this be so, a representation of it in this sheet may not be less agreeable to the moralist than to the lover of antiquities. The drawing from whence the engraving on the next page is taken, was made on the spot in 1824.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lurid Fleur-de-lis. Iris Lurida. Dedicated to St. Germain.

~May 29.~

St. Maximinus, Bp. of Friers, A. D. 349. St. Cyril. St. Conon and his son, of Iconia in Asia, about A. D. 275. Sts. Sisinnius, Martyrius, and Alexander, A. D. 397.

Restoration Day.

This day is so called from its being the anniversary of the day whereon king Charles II. entered London, in 1660, and re-established royalty, which had been suspended from the death of his father. It is usual with the vulgar people to wear oak-leaves in their hats on this day, and dress their horses’ heads with them. This is in commemoration of the shelter afforded to Charles by an oak while making his escape from England, after his defeat at Worcester, by Cromwell. The battle was fought on the 3d of September, 1651; Cromwell having utterly routed his army, Charles left Worcester at six o’clock in the afternoon, and without halting, travelled about twenty-six miles, in company with fifty or sixty of his friends, from whom he separated, without communicating his intentions to any of them, and went to Boscobel, a lone house in the borders of Staffordshire, inhabited by one Penderell, a farmer, to whom he intrusted himself. This man, assisted by his four brothers, clothed the king in a garb like their own, led him into the neighbouring wood, put a bill into his hand, and pretended to employ themselves in cutting faggots. Some nights he lay upon straw in the house, and fed on such homely fare as it afforded. For better concealment, he mounted upon an oak, where he sheltered himself among the leaves and branches for twenty-four hours. He saw several soldiers pass by. All of them were intent in search of the king; and some expressed, in his hearing, their earnest wishes of seizing him. This tree was afterwards denominated the Royal Oak; and for many years was regarded by the neighbourhood with great veneration. Charles could neither stay, nor stir, without imminent danger. At length he and lord Wilmot, who was concealed in the neighbourhood, put themselves into the hands of colonel Lane, a zealous royalist, who lived at Bentley, not many miles distant. The king’s feet were so hurt by walking in heavy boots or countrymen’s shoes, which did not fit him, that he was obliged to mount on horseback; and he travelled in this situation to Bentley, attended by the Penderells. Lane formed a scheme for his journey to Bristol, where, it was hoped, he would find a ship, in which he might transport himself. He had a near kinswoman, Mrs. Norton, who lived within three miles of that city, and he obtained a pass (for, during those times of confusion, this precaution was requisite) for his sister Jane Lane and a servant to travel towards Bristol, under pretence of visiting and attending her relation. The king rode before the lady, and personated the servant. When they arrived at Norton’s, Mrs. Lane pretended that she had brought along as her servant a poor lad, a neighbouring farmer’s son, who was ill of an ague; and she begged a private room for him where he might be quiet. Though Charles kept himself retired in this chamber, the butler, one Pope, soon knew him: Charles was alarmed, but made the butler promise that he would keep the secret from every mortal, even from his master; and he was faithful to his engagement. No ship, it was found, would, for a month, set sail from Bristol, either for France or Spain; and the king was obliged to go to colonel Windham of Dorsetshire, a partisan of the royal family. During his journey he often passed through the hands of catholics; the Priest’s Hole, as they called it, the place where they were obliged to conceal their persecuted priests, was sometimes employed to shelter him. He continued several days in Windham’s house; and all his friends in Britain, and in every part of Europe, remained in the most anxious suspense with regard to his fortunes: no one could conjecture whether he were dead or alive; and the report of his death being generally believed, relaxed the vigilant search of his enemies. Trials were made to procure a vessel for his escape; but he still met with disappointments. Having left Windham’s house, he was obliged again to return to it. He passed through many other adventures; assumed different disguises; in every step was exposed to imminent perils; and received daily proofs of uncorrupted fidelity and attachment. The sagacity of a smith, who remarked that his horse’s shoes had been made in the north, and not in the west, as he pretended, once detected him; and he narrowly escaped. At Shoreham, in Sussex, a vessel was at last found, in which he embarked. He had been known to so many, that if he had not set sail in that critical moment it had been impossible for him to escape. After one and forty days’ concealment, he arrived safely at Fescamp in Normandy. No less than forty men and women had at different times been privy to his concealment and escape.[153]

Charles II. himself wrote a narrative of his remarkable “Escape.” From this it appears that while journeying with the Penderells, “he wore a very greasy old grey steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up, without lining or hatband: a green cloth coat, threadbare, even to the threads being worn white, and breeches of the same, with long knees down to the garter; with an old leathern doublet, a pair of white flannel stockings next to his legs, which the king said were his boot stockings, their tops being cut off to prevent their being discovered, and upon them a pair of old green yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the knees, with their feet cut off; his shoes were old, all slashed for the ease of his feet, and full of gravel; he had an old coarse shirt, patched both at the neck and hands; he had no gloves, but a long thorn stick, not very strong, but crooked three or four several ways, in his hand; his hair cut short up to his ears, and hands coloured; his majesty refusing to have any gloves, when father Hodlestone offered him some, as also to change his stick.”

Charles’s narrative is very minute in many particulars; especially as regards his getting on shipboard, and his passage across the channel.

“We went,” he says, “towards Shoreham, four miles off a place called Brightelmstone, taking the master of the ship with us, on horseback, behind one of our company, and came to the vessel’s side, which was not above sixty tons. But it being low water, and the vessel lying dry, I and my lord Wilmot got up with a ladder into her, and went and lay down in the little cabin, till the tide came to fetch us off.

“But I was no sooner got into the ship, and lain down upon the bed, but the master came in to me, fell down upon his knees, and kissed my hand; telling me, that he knew me very well, and would venture life, and all that he had in the world, to set me down safe in France.

“So, about seven o’clock in the morning, it being high-water, we went out of the port; but the master being bound for Pool, loaden with sea-coal, because he would not have it seen from Shoreham that he did not go his intended voyage, but stood all the day, with a very easy sail, towards the Isle of Wight (only my lord Wilmot and myself, of my company, on board.) And as we were sailing, the master came to me, and desired me that I would persuade his men to use their endeavours with me to get him to set us on shore in France, the better to cover him from any suspicion thereof. Upon which, I went to the men, which were four and a boy, and told them, truly, that we were two merchants that had some misfortunes, and were a little in debt; that we had some money owing us at Rouen, in France, and were afraid of being arrested in England; that if they would persuade the master (the wind being very fair) to give us a trip over to Dieppe, or one of those ports near Rouen, they would oblige us very much, and with that I gave them twenty shillings to drink. Upon which, they undertook to second me, if I would propose it to the master. So I went to the master, and told him our condition, and that if he would give us a trip over to France, we would give him some consideration for it. Upon which he counterfeited difficulties, saying, that it would hinder his voyage. But his men, as they had promised me, joining their persuasions to ours, and, at last, he yielded to set us over.

“So, about five o’clock in the afternoon, as we were in sight of the Isle of Wight, we stood directly over to the coast of France, the wind being then full north; and the next morning, a little before day, we saw the coast. But the tide failing us, and the wind coming about to the south-west, we were forced to come to an anchor within two miles of the shore, till the tide of flood was done.

“We found ourselves just before an harbour in France, called Fescamp; and just as the tide of ebb was made, espied a vessel to leeward of us, which, by her nimble working, I suspected to be an Ostend privateer. Upon which, I went to my lord Wilmot, and telling him my opinion of that ship, proposed to him our going ashore in the little cock-boat, for fear they should prove so, as not knowing, but finding us going into a port of France, (there being then a war betwixt France and Spain,) they might plunder us, and possibly carry us away and set us ashore in England; the master also himself had the same opinion of her being an Ostender, and came to me to tell me so, which thought I made it my business to dissuade him from, for fear it should tempt him to set sail again with us for the coast of England: yet so sensible I was of it, that I and my lord Wilmot went both on shore in the cock-boat; and going up into the town of Fescamp, staid there all day to provide horses for Rouen. But the vessel which had so affrighted us, proved afterwards only a French hoy.

“The next day we got to Rouen, to an inn, one of the best in the town, in the fish-market, where they made difficulty to receive us, taking us, by our clothes, to be some thieves, or persons that had been doing some very ill thing, until Mr. Sandburne, a merchant, for whom I sent, came and answered for us.

“One particular more there is observable in relation to this our passage into France; that the vessel that brought us over had no sooner landed me, and I given her master a pass, for fear of meeting with any of our Jersey frigates, but the wind turned so happily for her, as to carry her directly for Pool, without its being known that she had ever been upon the coast of France.

“We staid at Rouen one day, to provide ourselves better clothes, and give notice to the queen, my mother, (who was then at Paris,) of my being safely landed. After which, setting out in a hired coach, I was met by my mother, with coaches, short of Paris; and by her conducted thither, where I safely arrived.”

An antiquary, a century ago, mentions the “Royal Oak” as standing in his time. “A bow-shoot from Boscobel-house, just by a horse-track passing through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the hen-roost ladder, when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family reaching them victuals with the nut-hook. The tree is now inclosed in with a brick wall, the inside whereof is covered with laurel, of which we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustan palace, ‘mediamque tubere quercum.’ Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one of its acorns. Over the door of the inclosure, I took this inscription in marble:--‘Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis Caroli II. Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in perpetuam rei tantæ memoriam, quam specimen fermæ in reges fidei, muro cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.

“‘Quercus amica Jovi.’”[154]

* * * * *

A letter from an obliging correspondent, whose initials are affixed, claims a place here, in order to correct a literal inaccuracy, and for the facts subsequently mentioned.

To the Editor of the Every-day Book.

Sir,

As the “Royal Oak day” will form a prominent subject in your interesting work, I beg to call your attention to the fact, that colonel William Carlos was the companion of his majesty, in his concealment in the tree in Boscobel wood, and to hope that you will point out the right mode of spelling his name; Lord Clarendon, and others who copy from him, always call him colonel Careless, which is a vile misnomer. When a man does an action worthy of record, it is highly grievous to have his name spelt wrong:

“Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt In the despatch. I knew a man whose loss Was printed Grove, altho’ his name was Grose.”

Lord Byron.

A coat of arms and a grant of ballastage dues were made to the colonel; but the latter interfering with the rights of the Trinity-house, was given up. A son of the colonel is buried at Fulham church. The book of “Boscobel,” first printed in 1660, contains accurate particulars of the event I refer to: this little work you have no doubt seen. I have seen a print of W. Pendrill, in an oval, encircled within the foliage of an oak tree, (as we may still see king Charles’s head on some alehouse signs,) with a copy of verses, in which the name of the colonel is correctly spelt.

I am, Sir, &c.

April 16, 1825.

E. J. C.

The “Royal Oak” at Boscobel perished many years ago, but another tree has been raised in its stead to mark the spot.

* * * * *

Another correspondent, “Amicus,” who writes to the editor under his real name, favours the readers of this work with an account of a usage still preserved, on “Royal Oak day,” in the west of England.

To the Editor of the Every-day Book.

Sir,

At Tiverton Devon, on the 29th of May, it is customary for a number of young men, dressed in the style of the 17th century, and armed with swords, to parade the streets, and gather contributions from the inhabitants. At the head of the procession walks a man called “Oliver,” dressed in black, with his face and hands smeared over with soot and grease, and his body bound by a strong cord, the end of which is held by one of the men to prevent his running too far. After these come another troop, dressed in the same style, each man bearing a large branch of oak: four others, carrying a kind of throne made of oaken boughs on which a child is seated, bring up the rear. A great deal of merriment is excited among the boys, at the pranks of master “Oliver,” who capers about in a most ludicrous manner. Some of them amuse themselves by casting dirt, whilst others, more mischievously inclined, throw stones at him; but woe betide the young urchin who is caught; his face assumes a most awful appearance from the soot and grease with which “Oliver” begrimes it, whilst his companions, who have been lucky enough to escape his clutches, testify their pleasure by loud shouts and acclamations. In the evening the whole party have a feast, the expenses of which are defrayed by the collection made in the morning.

I am, sir, yours, most obediently,

AMICUS.

* * * * *

It has been customary on this day to dress the statue of Charles II. in the centre of the Royal Exchange with oaken boughs. As the removal of this statue has been contemplated, it may interest merchants and persons connected with the corporation, to be informed of the means adopted for placing it there. A correspondent, H. C. G., has enabled the editor to do this, by favouring him with the original precept issued by the court of aldermen on the occasion.

SMITH, MAYOR.

“Martis Vndecimo Die Novembr’, 1684, Annoque Regni Regis CAROLI Secundi, Angl’, &c. Tricessimo Sexto.

“Whereas the statue of King CHARLES the First (of Blessed Memory) is already Set up on the Royal Exchange, And the Company of Grocers have undertaken to Set up the Statue of His present MAJESTY, And the Company of Clothworkers that of King JAMES, And the Companies of Mercers and Fishmongers the Statues of Queen MARY and Queen ELIZABETH, And the Company of Drapers that of EDWARD the Sixth, This Court doth Recommend it to the several Companies of this City hereafter named, (viz. The Companies of Goldsmiths, Skinners, Merchant-Taylors, Haberdashers, Salters, Ironmongers, Vintners, Dyers, Brewers, Leathersellers, Pewterers, Barber-Chirurgeons, Cutlers, Bakers, Waxchandlers, Tallowchandlers, Armourers, Girdlers, Butchers, Sadlers,) to raise Money by Contributions, or otherwise, for Setting up the Statues of the rest of the KINGS of England (each Company One) beginning at the CONQUEROR, as the Same were There Set up before the Great Fire. And for the better Order in Their proceeding herein, the Master and Wardens, or some Members of the said respective Companies, are desired within some Convenient time to Appear before This Court, and receive the further Directions of This Court therein.

“And in regard of the Inability of the Chamber of London to Advance Moneys for the Carrying on and Finishing the Conduit, begun to be Set up with His MAJESTIES Approbation, at the Upper End of Cheapside, It is earnestly Recommended from This Court to all the Rest of the Companies of This City (other than those before Named) to raise Moneys likewise by Contributions, or otherwise, for the Carrying on and Finishing the said Work, so Necessary to the Ornament of this City; And to Pay the Same into the Chamber, to be Laid out and Imployed for the said Purpose.

“Wagstaffe.”

* * * * *

It is affirmed of Charles II. that he was mightily delighted with these beautiful stanzas,

The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate. Death lays his icy hands on kings: Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield, They tame but one another still. Early or late, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they pale captives creep to Death.

The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds: Upon Death’s purple altar now See where the victor victim bleeds: All heads must come To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

If it be really true that this king admired these sentiments, he is entitled to the praise of having libelled himself by his admiration of virtue. Waller in a letter to St. Evremond, relates a dialogue between Charles and the earl of Rochester, which shows the tenour of their manners. Waller says, “Grammont once told Rochester that if he could by any means divest himself of one half of his wit, the other half would make him the most agreeable man in the world. This observation of the Count’s did not strike me much when I heard it, but I remarked the propriety of it since. Last night I supped at lord Rochester’s with a select party; on such occasions he is not ambitious of shining; he is rather pleasant than arch; he is, comparatively, reserved; but you find something in that restraint that is more agreeable than the utmost exertion of talents in others. The reserve of Rochester gives you the idea of a copious river that fills its channel, and seems as if it would easily overflow its extensive banks, but is unwilling to spoil the beauty and verdure of the plains. The most perfect good humour was supported through the whole evening; nor was it in the least disturbed when, unexpectedly, towards the end of it, the king came in (no unusual thing with Charles II.) ‘Something has vexed him,’ said Rochester; ‘he never does me this honour but when he is in an ill humour.’ The following dialogue, or something very like it, then ensued:--

‘The King.--How the devil have I got here? The knaves have sold every cloak in the wardrobe.

‘Rochester.--Those knaves are fools. That is a part of dress, which, for their own sakes, your majesty ought never to be without.

‘The King.--Pshaw! I’m vexed!

‘Rochester.--I hate still life--I’m glad of it. Your majesty is never so entertaining as when--

‘The King.--Ridiculous! I believe the English are the most intractable people upon earth.

‘Rochester.--I must humbly beg your majesty’s pardon, if I presume in that respect.

‘The King.--You would find them so, were you in my place, and obliged to govern.

‘Rochester.--Were I in your majesty’s place, I would not govern at all.

‘The King.--How then?

‘Rochester.--I would send for my good lord Rochester, and command him to govern.

‘The King.--But the singular modesty of that nobleman.

‘Rochester.--He would certainly conform himself to your majesty’s bright example. How gloriously would the two grand social virtues flourish under his auspices!

‘The King.--O, prisca fides! What can these be?

‘Rochester.--The love of wine and women!

‘The King.--God bless your majesty!

‘Rochester.--These attachments keep the world in good humour, and therefore I say they are social virtues. Let the bishop of Salisbury deny it if he can.

‘The King.--He died last night. Have you a mind to succeed him?

‘Rochester.--On condition that I shall neither be called upon to preach on the 30th of January nor the 29th of May.

‘The King.--Those conditions are curious. You object to the first, I suppose, because it would be a melancholy subject; but the other--

‘Rochester.--Would be a melancholy subject too.

‘The King.--That is too much--

‘Rochester.--Nay, I only mean that the business would be a little too grave for the day. Nothing but the indulgence of the two grand social virtues could be a proper testimony for my joy upon that occasion.

‘The King.--Thou art the happiest fellow in my dominions. Let me perish if I do not envy thee thy impudence!’

“It is in such strain of conversation, generally, that this prince passes off his chagrin; and he never suffers his dignity to stand in the way of his humour.”

This showing is in favour of Charles, on whose character, as a king of England, posterity has long since pronounced judgment. A slave to his passions, and a pensioner to France, he was unworthy of the people’s “precious diadem.” He broke his public faith, and disregarded his private word. To the vessel of the state he was a “sunk rock,” whereon it had nearly foundered.

Trinity Sunday.

In the Romish church this was a splendid festival, with processions and services peculiar to its celebration; devotions were daily addressed to every person of the Trinity: as the other festivals commemorated the Unity in Trinity, so this commemorated the Trinity in Unity.[155]

In the Lambeth accounts are church-wardens’ charges for garlands and drink for the children, for garnishing-ribbons, and for singing men in the procession on Trinity-Sunday-even.[156]

It is still a custom of ancient usage for the judges and great law-officers of the crown, together with the lord mayor, aldermen, and common council, to attend divine service at St. Paul’s cathedral, and hear a sermon which is always preached there on Trinity Sunday by the lord mayor’s chaplain. At the first ensuing meeting of the common council, it is usual for that court to pass a vote of thanks to the chaplain for such sermon, and order the same to be printed at the expense of the corporation, unless, as sometimes has occurred, it contained sentiments obnoxious to their views.

* * * * *

In Curll’s “Miscellanies, 1714,” 8vo. is an account of Newnton, in North Wiltshire; where, to perpetuate the memory of the donation of a common to that place by king Athelstan and of a house for the hayward, i. e. the person who looked after the beasts that fed upon this common, the following ceremonies were appointed: “Upon every Trinity Sunday, the parishioners being come to the door of the hayward’s house, the door was struck thrice, in honour of the Holy Trinity; they then entered. The bell was rung; after which, silence being ordered, they read their prayers aforesaid. Then was a ghirland of flowers (about the year 1660, one was killed striving to take away the ghirland) made upon an hoop, brought forth by a maid of the town upon her neck, and a young man (a bachelor) of another parish, first saluted her three times, in honour of the Trinity, in respect of God the Father. Then she puts the ghirland upon his neck, and kisses him three times, in honour of the Trinity, particularly God the Son. Then he puts the ghirland on her neck again, and kisses her three times, in respect of the Holy Trinity, and particularly the Holy Ghost. Then he takes the ghirland from her neck, and, by the custom, must give her a penny at least, which, as fancy leads, is now exceeded, as 2_s._ 6_d._ or &c. The method of giving this ghirland is from house to house annually, till it comes round. In the evening every commoner sends his supper up to this house, which is called the Ealehouse: and having before laid in there equally a stock of malt, which was brewed in the house, they sup together, and what was left was given to the poor.”

* * * * *

An old homily for Trinity Sunday declares that the form of the Trinity was found in man: that Adam, our forefather of the earth, was the first person; that Eve, of Adam, was the second person; and that of them both was the third person: further, that at the death of a man three bells were to be rung as his knell in worship of the Trinity, and two bells for a woman, as the second person of the Trinity.[157]

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Blue Bottle. Centauria montana. Dedicated to St. Cyril.

[153] Hume.

[154] Stukeley, Itiner. Curios. 1724.

[155] Shepherd.

[156] Lysons in Brand.

[157] Hone on Ancient Mysteries.

~May 30.~

St. Felix I., Pope, A. D. 274. St. Walstan, Confessor, A. D. 1016. St. Ferdinand III., Confessor, King of Castile and Leon, A. D. 1252. St. Maguil, in Latin, Madelgisilus, Recluse in Picardy, about A. D. 685.

~Trinity Monday.~

Deptford Fair.

Of late years a fair has been held at Deptford on this day. It originated in trifling pastimes for persons who assembled to see the master and brethren of the Trinity-house, on their annual visit to the Trinity-house, at Deptford. First there were jingling matches; then came a booth or two; afterwards a few shows; and, in 1825, it was a very considerable fair. There were Richardson’s, and other dramatic exhibitions; the Crown and Anchor booth, with a variety of dancing and drinking booths, as at Greenwich fair this year, before described, besides shows in abundance.

Brethren of the Trinity-house.

This maritime corporation, according to their charter, meet annually on Trinity Monday, in their hospital for decayed sea-commanders and their widows at Deptford, to choose and swear in a master, wardens, and other officers, for the year ensuing. The importance of this institution to the naval interests of the country, and the active duties required of its members, are of great magnitude, and hence the master has usually been a nobleman of distinguished rank and statesman-like qualities, and his associates are always experienced naval officers: of late years lord Liverpool has been master. The ceremony in 1825 was thus conducted. The outer gates of the hospital were closed against strangers, and kept by a party of the hospital inhabitants; no person being allowed entrance without express permission. By this means the large and pleasant court-yard formed by the quadrangle, afforded ample accommodation to ladies and other respectable persons. In the mean time, the hall on the east side was under preparation within, and the door strictly guarded by constables stationed without; an assemblage of well-dressed females and their friends, agreeably diversified the lawn. From eleven until twelve o’clock, parties of two or three were so fortunate as to find favour in the eyes of Mr. Snaggs, the gentleman who conducted the arrangements, and gained entrance. The hall is a spacious handsome room, wherein divine service is performed twice a-week, and public business, as on this occasion, transacted within a space somewhat elevated, and railed off by balustrades. On getting within the doors, the eye was struck by the unexpected appearance of the boarded floor; it was strewed with green rushes, the use of which by our ancestors, who lived before floors were in existence, is well known. The reason for continuing the practice here, was not so apparent as the look itself was pleasant, by bringing the simple manners of other times to recollection. At about one o’clock, the sound of music having announced that lord Liverpool and his associate brethren had arrived within the outer gate, the hall doors were thrown open, and the procession entered. His lordship wore the star of the garter on a plain blue coat, with scarlet collar and cuffs, which dress, being the Windsor uniform, was also worn by the other gentlemen. They were preceded by the rev. Dr. Spry, late of Birmingham, now of Langham church, Portland-place, in full canonicals. After taking their seats at the great table within the balustrades, it was proclaimed, that this being Trinity Monday, and therefore, according to the charter, the day for electing the master, deputy-master, and elder brethren of the holy and undivided Trinity, the brethren were required to proceed to the election. Lord Liverpool, being thereupon nominated master, was elected by a show of hands, as were his coadjutors in like manner. The election concluded, large silver and silver-gilt cups, richly embossed and chased, filled with cool drink, were handed round; and the doors being thrown open, and the anxious expectants outside allowed to enter, the hall was presently filled, and a merry scene ensued. Large baskets filled with biscuits were laid on the table before the brethren; Lord Liverpool then rose, and throwing a biscuit into the middle of the hall, his example was followed by the rest of the brethren. Shouts of laughter arose, and a general scramble took place. This scene continued about ten minutes, successive baskets being brought in and thrown among the assembly, until such as chose to join in the scramble were supplied; the banner-bearers of the Trinity-house, in their rich scarlet dresses and badges, who had accompanied the procession into the hall, increased the merriment by their superior activity. A procession was afterwards formed, as before, to Deptford old church, where divine service was performed, and Dr. Spry being appointed to preach before the brethren, he delivered a sermon from Psalm cxlv. 9. “The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his works.” The discourse being ended, the master and brethren returned in procession to their state barges, which lay at the stairs of Messrs. Gordon & Co., anchor-smiths. They were then rowed back to the Tower, where they had embarked, in order to return to the Trinity-house from whence they had set out. Most of the vessels in the river hoisted their colours in honour of the corporation, and salutes were fired from different parts on shore. The Trinity-yacht, which lay off St. George’s, near Deptford, was completely hung with the colours of all nations, and presented a beautiful appearance. Indeed the whole scene was very delightful, and created high feelings in those who recollected that to the brethren of the Trinity are confided some of the highest functions that are exercised for the protection of life and property on our coasts and seas.

* * * * *

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Dear Sir,

Though I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance, I know enough to persuade me that you are no every-day body. The love of nature seems to form so prominent a trait in your character, that I, who am also one of her votaries, can rest no longer without communicating with you on the subject. I like, too, the sober and solitary feeling with which you ruminate over by-gone pleasures, and scenes wherein your youth delighted: for, though I am but young myself, I have witnessed by far too many changes, and have had cause to indulge too frequently in such cogitations.

I am a “Surrey-man,” as the worthy author of the “Athenæ Oxon.” would say: and though born with a desire to ramble, and a mind set on change, I have never till lately had an opportunity of strolling so far northward as “ould Iselton,” or “merry Islington:”--you may take which reading you please, but I prefer the first. But from the circumstance of your “walk out of London” having been directed that way, and having led you into so pleasant a mood, I am induced to look for similar enjoyment in my rambling excursions through its “town-like” and dim atmosphere. I am not ashamed to declare, that my taste in these matters differs widely from that of the “great and good” Johnson; who, though entitled, as a constellation of no ordinary “brilliance,” to the high sounding name of “the Great Bear,” (which I am not the first to appropriate to him,) seems to have set his whole soul on “bookes olde,” and “modern authors” of every other description, while the book of nature, which was schooling the negro-wanderer of the desert, proffered nothing to arrest his attention! Day unto day was uttering speech, and night unto night showing knowledge; the sun was going forth in glory, and the placid moon “walking in brightness;” and could he close his ears, and revert his gaze?--“De gustibus nil disputandum” I cannot say, for I do most heartily protest against his taste in such matters.

“The time of the singing of birds is come,” but, what is the worst of it, all these “songsters” are not “feathered.” There is a noted “Dickey” bird, who took it into his head, so long ago as the 25th of December last, to “sing through the heavens,”[158]--but I will have nothing to do with the “Christemasse Caroles” of modern day. Give me the “musical pyping” and “pleasaunte songes” of olden tyme, and I care not whether any more “ditees” of the kind are concocted till doomsday.

But I must not leave the singing of birds where I found it: I love to hear the nightingales emulating each other, and forming, by their “sweet jug jug,” a means of communication from one skirt of the wood to the other, while every tree seems joying in the sun’s first rays. There is such a wildness and variety in the note, that I could listen to it, unwearied, for hours. The dew still lies on the ground, and there is a breezy freshness about us: as our walk is continued, a “birde of songe, and mynstrell of the woode,” holds the tenor of its way across the path:--but it is no “noiseless tenor.” “Sweet jug, jug, jug,” says the olde balade:--

“Sweet jug, jug, jug, The nightingale doth sing, From morning until evening, As they are hay-making.”

Was this “songe” put into their throats “aforen y^{t} this balade ywritten was?” I doubt it, but in later day Wordsworth and Conder have made use of it; but they are both poets of nature, and might have fancied it in the song itself.

I look to my schoolboy days as the happiest I ever spent: but I was never a genius, and laboured under habitual laziness, and love of ease: “the which,” as Andrew Borde says, “doth much comber young persones.” I often rose for a “lark,” but seldom with it, though I have more than once “cribbed out” betimes, and always found enough to reward me for it. But these days are gone by, and you will find below all I have to say of the matter “collected into English metre:”--

Years of my boyhood! have you passed away? Days of my youth and have you fled for ever? Can I but joy when o’er my fancy stray Scenes of young hope, which time has failed to sever From this fond heart:--for, tho’ all else decay, The memory of those times will perish never.-- Time cannot blight it, nor the tooth of care Those wayward dreams of joyousness impair.

Still, with the bright May-dew, the grass is wet; No human step the slumbering earth has prest: Cheering as hope, the sun looks forth; and yet There is a weight of sorrow on my breast: Lite, light, and joy, his smiling beams beget, But yield they aught, to soothe a mind distrest; Can the heart, cross’d with cares, and born to sorrow, From Nature’s smiles one ray of comfort borrow!

But I must sympathize with you in your reflections, amid those haunts which are endeared by many a tie, on the decay wrought by time and events. An old house is an old friend; a dingy “tenement” is a poor relation, who has seen better days; “it looks, as it would look its last,” on the surrounding innovations, and wakes feelings in my bosom which have no vent in words. Its “imbowed windows,” projecting each story beyond the other, go to disprove Bacon’s notion, that “houses are made to live in, and not to look on:” they give it a brow-beating air, though its days of “pomp and circumstance” are gone by, and have left us cheerlessly to muse and mourn over its ruins:--

Oh! I can gaze, and think it quite a treat, So they be ~old~, on buildings grim and shabby; I love within the church’s walls to greet Some “olde man” kneeling, bearded like a rabbi, Who never prayed himself, but has a whim That you’ll “~orate~,” that is--“~praye~” for him.

But this has introduced me to another and an equally pleasing employ; that of traversing the aisles of our country churches, and “meditating among the tombs.” I dare not go farther, for I am such an enthusiast, that I shall soon write down your patience.

You expressed a wish for my name and address, on the cover of your third part; I enclose them: but I desire to be known to the public by no other designation than my old one.

I am, dear sir,

Yours, &c.

Camberwell.

LECTOR.

CHRONOLOGY.

1431. Joan of Arc, the maid of Orleans was burnt. This cruel death was inflicted on her, in consequence of the remarkable events hereafter narrated. Her memory is revered by Frenchmen, and rendered more popular, through a poem by Voltaire, eminent for its wit and licentiousness. One of our own poets, Dr. Southey, has an epic to her honour.

In the petty town of Neufchateau, on the borders of Lorraine, there lived a country girl of twenty-seven years of age, called Joan d’Arc. She was servant in a small inn, and in that station had been accustomed to ride the horses of the guests, without a saddle, to the watering-place, and to perform other offices, which, in well-frequented inns, commonly fall to the share of the men-servants. This girl was of an irreproachable life, and had not hitherto been remarked for any singularity. The peculiar character of Charles, so strongly inclined to friendship, and the tender passions, naturally rendered him the hero of that sex whose generous minds know no bounds in their affections. The siege of Orleans, the progress of the English before that place, the great distress of the garrison and inhabitants, the importance of saving this city, and its brave defenders, had turned thither the public eye; and Joan, inflamed by the general sentiment, was seized with a wild desire of bringing relief to her sovereign in his present distresses. Her unexperienced mind, working day and night on this favourite object, mistook the impulses of passion for heavenly inspirations; and she fancied that she saw visions, and heard voices, exhorting her to reestablish the throne of France, and to expel the foreign invaders. An uncommon intrepidity of temper, made her overlook all the dangers which might attend her in such a path; and, thinking herself destined by heaven to this office, she threw aside all that bashfulness and timidity so natural to her sex, her years, and her low station. She went to Vaucouleurs; procured admission to Baudricourt, the governor; informed him of her inspirations and intentions; and conjured him not to neglect the voice of God, who spoke through her, but to second those heavenly revelations which impelled her to this glorious enterprise. Baudricourt treated her, at first, with some neglect; but, on her frequent returns to him, he gave her some attendants, who conducted her to the French court, which at that time resided at Chinon.

It is pretended, that Joan, immediately on her admission, knew the king, though she had never seen his face before, and though he purposely kept himself in the crowd of courtiers, and had laid aside every thing in his dress and apparel which might distinguish him: that she offered him, in the name of the supreme Creator, to raise the siege of Orleans, and conduct him to Rheims, to be there crowned and anointed; and, on his expressing doubts of her mission, revealed to him, before some sworn confidants, a secret, which was unknown to all the world beside himself, and which nothing but a heavenly inspiration could have discovered to her: and that she demanded, as the instrument of her future victories, a particular sword, which was kept in the church of St. Catherine of Fierbois, and which, though she had never seen it, she described by all its marks, and by the place in which it had long lain neglected. This is certain, that all these miraculous stories were spread abroad, in order to captivate the vulgar. The more the king and his ministers were determined to give in to the illusion, the more scruples they pretended. An assembly of grave doctors and theologians cautiously examined Joan’s mission, and pronounced it undoubted and supernatural. She was sent to the parliament, then at Poictiers, who became convinced of her inspiration. A ray of hope began to break through that despair in which the minds of all men were before enveloped. She was armed cap-a-pee, mounted on horseback, and shown in that martial habiliment before the whole people.

Joan was sent to Blois, where a large convoy was prepared for the supply of Orleans, and an army of ten thousand men, under the command of St. Severe, assembled to escort it; she ordered all the soldiers to confess themselves before they set out on the enterprise; and she displayed in her hands a consecrated banner, whereon the Supreme Being was represented, grasping the globe of earth, and surrounded with flower-de-luces.

The English affected to speak with derision of the maid, and of her heavenly commission; and said, that the French king was now indeed reduced to a sorry pass, when he had recourse to such ridiculous expedients. As the convoy approached the river, a sally was made by the garrison on the side of Beausse, to prevent the English general from sending any detachment to the other side: the provisions were peaceably embarked in boats, which the inhabitants of Orleans had sent to receive them: the maid covered with her troops the embarkation: Suffolk did not venture to attack her; and Joan entered the city of Orleans arrayed in her military garb, and displaying her consecrated standard. She was received as a celestial deliverer by all the inhabitants, who now believed themselves invincible under her influence. Victory followed upon victory, and the spirit resulting from a long course of uninterrupted success was on a sudden transferred from the conquerors to the conquered. The maid called aloud, that the garrison should remain no longer on the defensive. The generals seconded her ardour: an attack was made on the English intrenchments, and all were put to the sword, or taken prisoners. Nothing, after this success, seemed impossible to the maid and her enthusiastic votaries; yet, in one attack, the French were repulsed; the maid was left almost alone; she was obliged to retreat; but displaying her sacred standard, she led them back to the charge, and overpowered the English in their intrenchments. In the attack of another fort, she was wounded in the neck with an arrow; she retreated a moment behind the assailants; pulled out the arrow with her own hands; had the wound quickly dressed; hastened back to head the troops; planted her victorious banner on the ramparts of the enemy; returned triumphant over the bridge, and was again received as the guardian angel of the city. After performing such miracles, it was in vain even for the English generals to oppose with their soldiers the prevailing opinion of supernatural influence: the utmost they dared to advance was, that Joan was not an instrument of God, but only the implement of the devil. In the end the siege of Orleans was raised, and the English thought of nothing but of making their retreat, as soon as possible, into a place of safety; while the French esteemed the overtaking them equivalent to a victory. So much had the events which passed before this city altered every thing between the two nations! The raising of the siege of Orleans was one part of the maid’s promise to Charles: the crowning of him at Rheims was the other: and she now vehemently insisted that he should forthwith set out on that enterprise. A few weeks before, such a proposal would have appeared the most extravagant in the world. Rheims lay in a distant quarter of the kingdom; was then in the hands of a victorious enemy; the whole road which led to it was occupied by their garrisons; and no man could be so sanguine as to imagine that such an attempt could so soon come within the bounds of possibility. The enthusiasm and influence of Joan prevailed over all obstacles. Charles set out for Rheims at the head of twelve thousand men: he passed Troye, which opened its gates to him: Chalons imitated the example: Rheims sent him a deputation with its keys, before his approach to it; and the ceremony of his coronation was there performed, with the maid of Orleans by his side in complete armour, displaying her sacred banner, which had so often dissipated and confounded his fiercest enemies. The people shouted with unfeigned joy on viewing such a complication of wonders, and after the completion of the ceremony, the maid threw herself at the king’s feet, embraced his knees, and with a flood of tears, which pleasure and tenderness extorted from her, she congratulated him on this singular and marvellous event.

The duke of Bedford, who was regent during the minority of Henry VI., endeavoured to revive the declining state of his affairs by bringing over the young king of England, and having him crowned and anointed at Paris. The maid of Orleans, after the coronation of Charles, declared to the count of Dunois, that her wishes were now fully gratified, and that she had no farther desire than to return to her former condition and to the occupation and course of life which became her sex: but that nobleman, sensible of the great advantages which might still be reaped from her presence in the army, exhorted her to persevere, till, by the final expulsion of the English, she had brought all her prophecies to their full completion. In pursuance of this advice, she threw herself into the town of Compiegne, which was at that time besieged by the duke of Burgundy, assisted by the earls of Arundel and Suffolk; and the garrison, on her appearance, believed themselves thenceforth invincible. But their joy was of short duration. The maid, next day after her arrival (25th of May,) headed a sally upon the quarters of John of Luxembourg; she twice drove the enemy from their intrenchments; finding their numbers to increase every moment, she ordered a retreat; when hard pressed by the pursuers, she turned upon them, and made them again recoil; but being here deserted by her friends, and surrounded by the enemy, she was at last, after exerting the utmost valour, taken prisoner by the Burgundians. The common opinion was, that the French officers, finding the merit of every victory ascribed to her, had, in envy to her renown, by which they themselves were so much eclipsed, willingly exposed her to this fatal accident.

A complete victory would not have given more joy to the English and their partisans. The service of Te Deum, which has so often been profaned by princes, was publicly celebrated on this fortunate event at Paris. The duke of Bedford fancied, that, by the captivity of that extraordinary woman, who had blasted all his successes, he should again recover his former ascendant over France; and, to push farther the present advantage, he purchased the captive from John of Luxembourg, and formed a prosecution against her, which, whether it proceeded from vengeance or policy, was equally barbarous and dishonourable. It was contrived, that the bishop of Beauvais, a man wholly devoted to the English interest, should present a petition against Joan, on pretence that she was taken within the bounds of his diocese; and he desired to have her tried by an ecclesiastical court, for sorcery, impiety, idolatry, and magic. The university of Paris was so mean as to join in the same request: several prelates, among whom the cardinal of Winchester was the only Englishman, were appointed her judges: they held their court at Rouen, where the young king of England then resided: and the maid, clothed in her former military apparel, but loaded with irons, was produced before this tribunal. Surrounded by inveterate enemies, and brow-beaten and overawed by men of superior rank, and men invested with the ensigns of a sacred character, which she had been accustomed to revere, felt her spirit at last subdued; Joan gave way to the terrors of that punishment to which she was sentenced. She declared herself willing to recant; acknowledged the illusion of those revelations which the church had rejected; and promised never more to maintain them. Her sentence was mitigated: she was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and to be fed during life on bread and water. But the barbarous vengeance of Joan’s enemies was not satisfied with this victory. Suspecting that the female dress, which she had now consented to wear, was disagreeable to her, they purposely placed in her apartment a suit of men’s apparel, and watched for the effects of that temptation upon her. On the sight of a dress in which she had acquired so much renown, and which, she once believed, she wore by the particular appointment of heaven, all her former ideas and passions revived; and she ventured in her solitude to clothe herself again in the forbidden garment. Her insidious enemies caught her in that situation: her fault was interpreted to be no less than a relapse into heresy: no recantation would now suffice, and no pardon could be granted her. She was condemned to be burned in the market-place of Rouen, and the infamous sentence was accordingly executed. This admirable heroine, to whom the more generous superstition of the ancients would have erected altars, was, on pretence of heresy and magic, delivered over alive to the flames, and expiated, by that dreadful punishment, the signal services which she had rendered to her native country. To the eternal infamy of Charles and his adherents, whom she had served and saved, they made not a single effort, either by force or negociation, to save this heroic girl from the cruel death to which she had been condemned. Hume says she was burnt on the 14th of June. According to Lingard she perished on the 30th of May.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Lesser Spearwort. Ranunculus flammula. Dedicated to St. Ferdinand.

[158] Vide a Christmas Carol, by Richard Ryan, in Time’s Telescope for the present year.

~May 31.~

St. Petronilla, 1st Cent. St. Cantius and Cantianus, brothers, and Cantianilla, their sister, A. D. 304.

St. Petronilla.

“Her name,” says Butler, “is the feminine, and diminutive of Peter, and she is said to have been a daughter of the apostle St. Peter, which tradition is confirmed by certain writings, quoted by the Manichees, in the time of St. Austin, which affirm, that St. Peter had a daughter whom he cured of the palsy; but it seems not certain whether she was more than the spiritual daughter of that apostle.” Ribadeneira refers to these Manichæan writings, by which, according to Butler, the “tradition is confirmed,” and unluckily for Butler, he says, that St. Augustine calls these writings apocryphal. Ribadeneira carefully adds though, that Augustine “doth not therefore reprove it as false.” Yet it is curious to find this jesuit telling of Augustine, that he teacheth, “that without prejudice of charity we may chastise the body of our enemy, the heretic, for the salvation of his soul.” This saying of Augustine’s is wholly uncalled for by any thing that Ribadeneira says regarding Petronilla; it is a hot puff of a fiery spirit.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Yellow Turkscap Lily. Lilium Pomponicum flavum. Dedicated to St. Petronilla.

And after her came jolly June, array’d All in green leaves, as he a player were; Yet in his time he wrought as well as play’d, That by his plough-irons mote right well appeare. Upon a crab he rode, that him did bare With crooked crawling steps an uncouth pase, And backward-yode, as bargemen wont to fare Bending their force contrary to their face; Like that ungracious crew which faines demurest grace.

Spenser.

This is the sixth month of the year. According to an old author “unto June the Saxons gave the name of Weyd-monat, because their beasts did then weyd in the meddowes, that is to say, goe to feed there, and hereof a medow is also in the Tutonicke called a weyd, and of weyd we yet retaine our word wade, which we understand of going through watrie places, such as medowes are wont to be.”[159] Another author likewise says, that “weyd is probably derived from weyden (German), to go about as if to pasture;” he further says, they called it Woedmonath, and that woed means “weed”; and that they called it also by the following names: Medemonath, Midsumormonath, and Braeckmonath; thought to be so named from the breaking up of the soil from bræcan (Saxon), to break: they also named it Lida erra; the word Lida, or litha, signifying in Icelandic, “to move, or pass over,” may imply the sun’s passing its greatest height, and Lida erra consequently mean the first month of the sun’s descent. Lida, it is added, has been deemed to signify smooth-air.[160]

Mr. Leigh Hunt observes, in his “Months,” that “the name of June, and indeed that of May, gave rise to various etymologies; but the most probable one derives it from Juno, in honour of whom a festival was celebrated at the beginning of the month.” He says, “it is now complete summer:--

‘Summer is ycomen in, Loud sing cuckoo; Groweth seed, And bloweth mead, And springeth the weed new.’

“Thus sings the oldest English song extant, in a measure which is its own music.--The temperature of the air, however, is still mild, and in our climate sometimes too chilly; but when the season is fine, this is, perhaps, the most delightful month of the year. The hopes of spring are realized, yet the enjoyment is but commenced: we have all summer before us; the cuckoo’s two notes are now at what may be called their ripest,--deep and loud; so is the hum of the bee; little clouds lie in lumps of silver about the sky, and sometimes fall to complete the growth of the herbage; yet we may now lie down on the grass, or the flowering banks, to read or write; the grasshoppers click about us in the warming verdure; and the fields and hedges are in full blossom with the clover, the still more exquisite bean, the pea, the blue and yellow nightshade, the fox-glove, the mallow, white briony, wild honeysuckle, and the flower of the hip or wild rose, which blushes through all the gradations of delicate red and white. The leaves of the hip, especially the young ones, are as beautiful as those of any garden rose. Towards evening, the bat and the owl venture forth, flitting through the glimmering quiet; and at night, the moon looks silveriest, the sky at once darkest and clearest; and when the nightingale, as well as the other birds have done singing, you may hear the undried brooks of the spring running and panting through their leafy channels. ‘It ceased,’ says the poet, speaking of a sound of heavenly voices about a ship,--

It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook, In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.

Coleridge.

“There is a greater accession of flowers in this month than in any other. In addition to those of the last, the garden sparkles with marygolds, golden-road, larkspur, sun-flowers, amarynths, (which Milton intermingles with sun-beams for his angel’s hair,) lupins, carnations, Chinese pinks, holyhocks, ladies’ slipper, annual stocks, campanulas, or little bells, martagons, periwinkles, wall-flower, snap-dragon, orchis, nasturtium, apocynum, chrysanthemum, cornflower, gladiolus, and convolvulus. The reader who is fond of poetry, and of the Greek fables, and does not happen to be acquainted with professor Martyn’s notes upon Virgil, should here be informed, that the species of red lily, called the martagon or Turk’s-cap, has been proved by that writer, at least to our satisfaction, to be the real ancient hyacinth, into which the youth of that name was turned by Apollo. The hyacinth, commonly so called, has nothing to show for its being the ancient one, which should be of a blood colour, and was said to be inscribed with the Greek exclamation of sorrow AI, AI. Now, we were struck with the sort of literal black marks with which the Turk’s-cap is speckled, and on reading the professor’s notes, and turning to the flower again, we could plainly see, that with some allowance, quite pardonable in a superstition, the marks might now and then fall together, so as to indicate those characters. It is a most beautiful, glowing flower; and shoots gracefully forth in a vase or glass from among white lilies, and the double narcissus:--

Νυν υακινθε, λαλει τα σα γσαμματα, και πλεον Αι Αι Λαμβανε σοις πεταλοισι.

Moschus.

‘Now tell your story, Hyacinth; and show Ai Ai the more amidst your sanguine woe.’

“The rural business of this month is made up of two employments, as beautiful to look at as they are useful,--sheep-shearing and hay-making. Something like a holiday is still made of the former, and in the south-west of England, the custom, we believe, is still kept up, of throwing flowers into the streams, an evident relic of paganism; but, altogether, the holiday is but a gleam of the same merry period in the cheap and rural time of our ancestors.”

[159] Verstegan.

[160] Dr. F. Sayers.

~June 1.~

St Justin, Martyr, A. D. 167. St. Pamphilus, A. D. 309. _St. Caprais_, Abbot, A. D. 430. St. Peter, of Pisa, A. D. 1435. _St. Wistan_, Prince of Mercia, A. D. 849.

St. Nicomede.

This saint is in the English almanacs of this day; for what reason is unknown. He was an ancient martyr in no way distinguished from others who perished during the persecution under Domitian.

CHRONOLOGY.

1794. Lord Howe’s memorable victory by sea over the French fleet.

1814. A newspaper of this day notices that the Tuesday preceding was observed at Burton, in Dorsetshire, as a great festival, in consequence of the arrival at that place of a vat of Hambro’ yarn, from London, being the first that had come into the town for many years. The inhabitants met the waggon, took out the horse, decorated the vat with ribands, and various emblems of peace, plenty, trade and commerce, and drew the same through the village, preceded by a flag and band of music, amidst the acclamations of thousands, many of whom were regaled with bread, cheese, and strong beer: one loaf (among others) baked for the occasion, claimed the admiration of every one present; its length being six feet three inches, breadth twenty-one inches, depth fourteen inches, and its weight considerably above 100 lbs. To explain the occasion of this rejoicing, it is necessary to state that Burton, as a manufacturing place, had suffered under the privation which was felt more or less throughout the British dominions, by Buonaparte declaring them to be in a state of blockade. By this decree, from the continent of Europe being within his power, he was enabled to injure and derange the industry and commerce of our artisans and merchants to an extent that was not contemplated. They have happily been liberated by an unlooked-for, and wonderful, combination of circumstances; nor so long as good faith and wise dispositions prevail, can they be prevented from arriving to a height of prosperity unparalleled in our annals.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Yellow Rose. Rosa lutea. Dedicated to St. Justin.

~June 2.~

Sts. Pothinus, Bp. Sanctus, Attalus, Blandina, &c., of Lyons, A. D. 177. Sts. Marcellinus and Peter, A. D. 304. St. Erasmus, or Ermo, or Elmo, A. D. 303.

~Corpus Christi Day~, and the performance of Mysteries.

This grand festival of the Romish church is held on the Thursday next after Trinity Sunday, in which order it also stands in the church of England calendar, and in the English almanacs. It celebrates the doctrine of transubstantiation. In all Roman catholic countries it is observed with music, lights, flowers strewed in the street, rich tapestries hung upon the walls, and with other demonstrations of rejoicing:[161] this is the usage still. Anciently in this country, as well as abroad, it was the custom to perform plays on this day, representing scripture subjects. From an author before cited, the following verses relating to these manners are extracted:--

“Then doth ensue the solemne feast of Corpus Christi Day, Who then can shewe their wicked use, and fond and foolish play? The hallowed bread, with worship great, in silver pix they beare About the church, or in the citie passing here and theare. His armes that beares the same two of the welthiest men do holde, And over him a canopey of silke and cloth of golde. Christe’s passion here derided is, with sundrie maskes and playes, Faire Ursley, with hir maydens all, doth passe amid the wayes: And, valiant George, with speare thou killest the dreadfull dragon here, The Devil’s house is drawne about, wherein there doth appere A wondrous sort of damned sprites, with foule and fearefull looke, Great Christopher doth wade and passe with Christ amid the brooke: Sebastian full of feathred shaftes, the dint of dart doth feele, There walketh Kathren, with hir sworde in hand, and cruel wheele: The Challis and the singing Cake with Barbara is led, And sundrie other pageants playde, in worship of this bred.

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* * * * *

The common ways with bowes are strawde, and every streete beside, And to the walles and windowes all are boughes and braunches tide. The monkes in every place do roame, the nonnes abrode are sent, The priestes and schoolmen lowd do rore, some use the instrument. The straunger passing through the streete, upon his knees doe fall: And earnestly upon this bread, as on his God, doth call. For why, they counte it for their Lorde, and that he doth not take The form of flesh, but nature now of breade that we do bake. A number great of armed men here all this while do stande, To looke that no disorder be, nor any filching hande: For all the church-goodes out are brought, which certainly would bee A bootie good, if every man might have his libertie.”[162]

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The Religious Plays performed on Corpus Christi Day, in the times of superstition, were such as were represented at other periods, though with less ceremony. From a volume on the subject, by the editor of the Every-Day-book, he relates so much as may set forth their origin and the nature of the performances.

Origin of Religious Plays.

A Jewish play, of which fragments are still preserved in Greek iambics, is the first drama known to have been written on a scripture subject. It is taken from Exodus: a performer, in the character of Moses, delivers the prologue in a speech of sixty lines, and his rod is turned into a serpent on the stage. The play is supposed to have been written at the close of the second century, by one Ezekiel, a Jew, as a political spectacle to animate his dispersed brethren with the hopes of a future deliverance from their captivity.

The emperor Julian made a law that no Christian should be taught in the heathen schools, or make use of that learning; but there were two men living at that time, who exerted their talents to supply the deficiency of instruction and entertainment that the Christians experienced from Julian’s edict: these were Apollinarius, bishop of Laodicea, and his father, a priest of the same city; they were both scholars, well skilled in oratory and the rules of composition, and of high literary renown. Apollinarius, the elder, a profound philologer, translated the five books of Moses into heroic verse, and in the same manner composed the history of the Israelites to the time of Saul, into a poem of twenty-four books, in imitation of Homer. He also wrote religious odes, and turned particular histories and portions of the Old and New Testament into comedies and tragedies, after the manner of Menander, Euripides, and Pindar. His son the bishop, an eloquent rhetorician, and already an antagonist of Julian’s, anxious that the Christians might not be ignorant of any species of Greek composition, formed the writings of the evangelists, and the works of the apostles, into dialogues, in the manner of Plato.

About the same time, Gregory Nazianzen, patriarch and archbishop of Constantinople, one of the fathers of the church, and master to the celebrated Jerome, composed plays from the Old and New Testament, which he substituted for the plays of Sophocles and Euripides at Constantinople, where the old Greek stage had flourished until that time. The ancient Greek tragedy was a religious spectacle; and the sacred dramas of Gregory Nazianzen were formed on the same model; he transformed the choruses into Christian hymns. One only of the archbishop’s plays is extant: it is a tragedy called “Christ’s Passion;” the prologue calls it an imitation of Euripides; the play is preserved in Gregory Nazianzen’s works. The remainder of his dramas have not survived those inimitable compositions over which they triumphed for a time.

It is not known whether the religious dramas of the Apollinarii perished so early as some of their other writings, that were ordered to be destroyed for, a crime common in all ages, heresy; but this is certain, that the learning they endeavoured to supply gradually disappeared before the progress of Constantine’s establishment. Suddenly acquiring power, and finally assuming infallibility, observing pagan feasts as religious festivals, consecrating heathen rites into christian solemnities, and transforming the non-observances of primitive simplicity into precedents for gorgeous ceremony, the church blazed with a scorching splendour that withered up the heart of man. Every accession to the dominion of its ecclesiastics over his property and intellect induced self-relaxation and sloth; to the boldness that seized a liberal supply for spiritual support, succeeded the craft that extended it to a boundless revenue for effeminate indulgence. The miraculous powers of the church wonderfully multiplied; but implicit belief in miracles was equivocal, unless the act of faith was accompanied by liberal contributions at the altar. The purchase of pardons for sin, and the worship of the relics exhibited in sumptuous shrines, were effectual ways of warring with the powers of darkness, and the coffers overflowed with contributions. These active hostilities against Satan occasioned him to ascend upon earth, and, to terrify the devout, he often appeared to them in the natural ugliness of his own proper person. When put to flight, by masses and holy water, he took lodgings incog. in the bodies of careless people, nor would he leave a tenement he occupied, till he was forcibly turned out of possession by a priest acquainted with the forms of ejectment. Dislike to clean linen was a peculiar mark of piety, and dirty hermits emitted the odour of sanctity. Though their holinesses were so violently hated by the devil, that he took the trouble to assault and tempt them in the holes of the earth and trunks of old trees where they inhabited, yet it was rewarded with visits to their chosen abodes from all the orders of heaven; and by long familiarity with the powers of the other world, these “tender-nosed saints could detect the presence of invisible angels.” They who turn their backs upon the concerns of life were especial favourites above. A nun reported that Christ opened her side with his corporal hands, took out her heart, and then carefully placing his own in the chasm, left it there and closed the wound, at the same time doing her the honour to wear her shift. Nor did the faithful, who believed the former relation, doubt for an instant that the Virgin descended from heaven to visit the cells of monasteries, and milk her breasts into the mouths of monks. Doubts were effectually removed by burning doubters. All who were privileged to shave the top of the head in a circle, as a token of emancipation from worldly superfluities, were partners in the profitable trade of granting licenses for unmolested existence at the price of unconditional admission. Ecclesiastical policy accomplished its purpose: the human mind was in a delirium; the hierarchy at the summit of its ascendancy.

From the complete establishment of the church until within a short time before the reformation, darkness overspread the world, and the great mass of the clergy themselves were in a state of deplorable ignorance. During this period, in order to wean the people from the ancient spectacles, particularly the Bacchanalian and calendary solemnities, religious shows were instituted partaking of the same spirit of licentiousness.

To these shows the clergy added the acting of mysteries, or representing the miraculous acts of saints circumstances from apocryphal story, and subjects from the Old and New Testament. There are different opinions as to the religious class by whom they were introduced into Europe, though it seems reasonable to suppose that they were adopted by the Italians in the depth of the dark ages from the spiritual dramas of the Apollinarii, father and son, and Gregory Nazianzen; but, however that may be, there is no room for surprise that all writers concur in attributing the performance of mysteries, or religious plays, to the clergy of the catholic church.

As mysteries arose with Gregory Nazianzen, it is not likely that his example as a father of the church should be lost sight of as soon as he had succeeded in destroying the performance of the ancient Greek plays; yet English writers do not appear to have traced sacred representations in a dramatic form until many centuries after Gregory Nazianzen’s death.

The first dramatic representation in Italy was a spiritual comedy, performed at Padua in 1243; and there was a company instituted at Rome in 1264, whose chief employment was to represent the sufferings of Christ in Passion week. The rev. Mr. Croft, and the hon. Topham Beauclerc, collected a great number of these Italian plays or mysteries; and at the sale of their libraries, Dr. Burney purchased many of the most ancient, which he speaks of as being evidently much earlier than the discovery of printing, from the gross manner in which the subjects are treated, the coarseness of the dialogue, and the ridiculous situation into which most sacred persons and things are thrown.

In 1313, Philip the Fair gave the most sumptuous entertainment at Paris ever remembered in that city. Edward II. and his queen Isabella, crossed over from England with a large retinue of nobility, and partook of the magnificent festivities. The pomp and profusion of the banquettings, the variety of the amusements, and the splendour of the costume were unsurpassed. On each of the eight days the princes and nobles changed their dresses three times; while the people were sometimes entertained with representations of the Glory of the blessed, at other times with the Torments of the damned, and various other spectacles. In 1402, by an edict of Charles VI. dated Dec. 4, the mystery of the conception, passion, and resurrection of Christ, was performed at St. Maur, about five miles from Paris. At the council at Constance, in the year 1417, the English fathers played the mystery of the massacre of the Holy Innocents. The mystery of the passion was performed on the entrance of the kings of France and England at Paris, on December 1. 1420, in the street Kalende, before the palace, upon a raised scaffolding of one hundred paces in length.

In the Royal Library of Paris, No. 4350, is Le Mystere de la passion Jesus Christ; Paris, printed by Antoine Verard, 1490, folio. This is a fine copy on vellum with every page richly illuminated, and containing a MS. note in French, purporting to be an extract from an old chronicle, entitled, “Histoire de Metz veritable,” whence it appears that its performance was attended by many foreign lords and ladies whose names are specified, and that there were lanthorns placed in the windows during the whole time of the plays: but the most curious part of the MS. note is, that, “in the year 1437, on the 3rd of July was represented the game or play, de la Passion, N. S. in the plain of Vexmiel, when the park was arranged in a very noble manner, for there were nine ranges of seats in height rising by degrees; all around and behind were great and long seats for the lords and ladies. On the stage was represented the mouth of hell, it is described as having been very well done, for that it opened and shut when the devils required to enter and come out, and had two large eyes of steel.”

On the 27th of May, 1509, was performed at Romans, in Dauphiny, before the Cordelier’s church, the Mystery of the Three Dons. In this religious play, which lasted three days, there are emissaries who undertake very long journeys, and must come back before the play can be ended. The scene, besmeared with the blood of the three martyrs, the Dons, is sometimes at Rome, sometimes at Vienna, soon after at Lyons, and at other times in the Alps. The stage constantly represents hell and paradise; and Europe, Asia, and Africa, are cantoned in three towers. Some metaphysical beings are most curiously personified. Dame Silence, for instance, speaks the prologue; Human Succour, Divine Grace, and Divine Comfort, are the supporters of the heroes and heroines of the piece, while hell exhibits monsters and devils, to frighten the audience. They are constantly abusing Proserpine, who is introduced with all the trappings of Tartarean pomp into this performance, where there are no less than ninety-two dramatis personæ, among whom are the Virgin and God the Father.

The story of Le Mystere du Chevalier qui donne sa Femme au Diable, played by ten persons in 1505, is of a dissipated knight reduced by his profligacy to distress and wickedness. In his misfortunes the devil appears, and proposes to make him richer than ever, if he will assign his wife, that the devil may have her in seven years. After some discussion the knight consents, his promise is written out, and he signs it with his blood. The seducer then stipulates that his victim shall deny his God; the knight stoutly resists for a time, but in the end the devil gains his point, and emboldened by success ventures to propose that the knight shall deny the Virgin Mary. This, however, being a still greater sin, he refuses to commit it with the utmost indignity and vehemence, and the devil walks off baffled. At the end of seven years, the promise being due, the devil presents it to the knight, who, considering it a debt of honour, prepares to discharge it immediately. He orders his wife to follow him to a certain spot, but on their way she perceives a church, which after obtaining her husband’s permission she enters, for the purpose of offering her devotion; while thus engaged, the Virgin Mary recollecting the knight’s unsullied allegiance to her, assumes the semblance of his wife, and in that character joins him. The moment that they both appear before the devil, he perceives who he has to deal with, and upbraids the unconscious knight for attempting to deceive him. The knight protests his ignorance and astonishment, which the Virgin corroborates, by telling the devil that it was her own plan, for the rescue of two souls from his power, and she orders him to give up the knight’s promise. He of course obeys so high an authority, and runs off in great terror. The Virgin exhorts the knight to better conduct in future, restores his wife to him, and the piece concludes.

In the reign of Francis I., 1541, the performance of a grand mystery of the Acts of the Apostles, was proclaimed with great solemnity, and acted at Paris for many successive days, before the nobility, clergy, and a large assemblage in the Hotel de Flandres. These plays written in French rhyme, by the brothers Greban, were printed in 2 vols, folio, black letter, under letters patent of the king to William Alabat, a merchant of Bourges. The dramatis personæ, were a multitude of celestial, terrestial, and infernal personages, amounting altogether to four hundred and eighty-five characters. Though the scenes of these plays were chiefly scriptural, yet many were from apocryphal story, and the whole exhibition was a strange mixture of sacred and profane history.

Bayle calls the work entitled the Mystere des Actes Apostres, “a very rare and uncommon work.” He obtained the loan of a copy from sir Hans Sloane in England, and largely describes the volume. It is, however, more curious than rare. From the public instruments prefixed to the work, and the circumstances related by Bayle, it is evident that there was much importance attached to these plays; but it cannot so well be conceived from perusing them, as from the remarkable ceremonial of the public proclamation for their performance, concerning which he says nothing, probably from the extreme rarity of the tract, he had not seen it. It ordained, that the proclamation of this play should be made by sound of trumpets, with the city officers and serjeants attending, and directed that the performance should take place “in the hall of the Passion, the accustomed place for rehearsals and repetitions of the Mysteries played in the said city of Paris; which place, being well hung with rich tapestry chairs and forms, is for the reception of all persons of honest and virtuous report, and of all qualities therein assisting, as well as a great number of citizens and merchants, and other persons, as well as clergy and laity, in the presence of the commissaries and officers of justice appointed and deputed to hear the speeches of each personage; and these are to make report, according to the merit of their well doing, as in such case required, concerning which have a gracious reception; and from day to day, every day, so to continue to do, until the perfection of the said Mystery.” It is not necessary to trace these plays abroad; they continue to be represented there to the present hour. At Berlin, 1804 and 5, the grand sacred comedy of “David,” in five acts, with battles and choruses, was performed by the comedians in the National Theatre. Throughout March, April, and May, 1810, the same play was represented at Vienna; and while the Congress was held there in 1815, it was again performed with the utmost possible splendour. The back of the stage, extending into the open air, gradually ascended to a distance sufficient to admit carriages and horses, and to allow the evolutions of at least five hundred Austrian soldiers, infantry and cavalry, who, habited in the characters of Jews and Philistines, carried muskets and carbines, defiled and deployed, charged with the bayonet, let off their fire-arms, and played artillery, to represent the battles described in the Book of Kings. The emperor Alexander of Russia, the king of Prussia, and other monarchs, with their ministers, and the representatives of different courts, at the Congress, attended these plays, which were exhibited at the great theatre (An der Wien) to crowded audiences, at the usual prices of admission.

The first trace of theatrical representation in this country is recorded by Matthew Paris, who wrote about 1240, and relates, that Geoffrey, a learned Norman, master of the school of the abbey of Dunstable, composed the play of St. Catharine, which was acted by his scholars. Geoffrey’s performance took place in the year 1110, and he borrowed copes from the sacrist of the neighbouring abbey of St. Albans, to dress his characters. Fitzstephen writing in 1174, says that, “London, for its theatrical exhibitions, has religious plays, either the representations of miracles wrought by holy confessors, or the sufferings of martyrs.” Besides those of Coventry, there are MSS. of the Chester mysteries, ascribed to Ranulph Higden, compiler of the Polychronicon, and a Benedictine monk of that city, where they were performed at the expense of the incorporated trades, with a thousand days of pardon from the pope, and forty days of pardon from the bishop of Chester to all who attended the representation, which is supposed to have been first had in the year 1328.

It is related in the Museum MS., of these Chester plays, that the author, “was thrice at Rome before he could obtain leave of the pope to have them in the English tongue.” The subjects of these plays being “from the Old and New Testament,” seem to supply the reasons for the difficulty in obtaining the pope’s consent. Scripture in English had been scrupulously withheld from the people, and the pope probably anticipated, that if they were made acquainted with a portion of it, the remainder would be demanded; while the author of the plays, better acquainted than the pope with the more immediate difficulty of altogether repressing the curiosity that had been excited towards it, conceived, perhaps, that the growing desire might be delayed, by distorted and confusing representations of certain portions. Perhaps such corruptions and absurdities, as are in these plays, seconded by the eloquence of their author, abated the papal fears concerning the appearance of these scriptural interludes in English, and finally obtained the sanction for their performance.

It may be supposed, that the Chester plays, written in an early and dark age, would contain a great mass of apocryphal interpolation, and that the Coventry plays, written much later, would contain less; yet the contrary is the fact. Among the Chester mysteries, the “Descent into Hell” is the only one not founded on scripture, and that even has a colourable authority by implication; while among the Coventry mysteries, which were produced ninety years afterwards, there are, besides the “Descent,” no less than eight founded on apocryphal Testament story. This remarkable difference of feature, may probably be accounted for. From the fourth century, when Gregory Nazianzen, and the Apollonarii, turned portions of the bible into tragedies and comedies, the clergy of the continent must have done much in the same way, and with much of apocryphal engraftment; and though “religious plays” prevailed in England, yet scriptural subjects were new to the people, and the Chester mystery-maker of 1328, found these so numerous, as to render recourse to the New Testament Apocrypha unnecessary. But the Coventry mastery-maker of 1416, was under circumstances that would suggest powerful motives to the cunning of a monkish mind for apocryphal adoption. He was likely to conceive that a false glare might obscure the dawnings of the human mind. The rising day of the Reformation had been foretold by the appearance of its “morning star,” in the person of the intrepid Wycliffe, who exercised the right of private judgment in England, a century and a half before Luther taught it as a principle in Germany. It was a period of fearful foreboding to the church. In 1404, Henry IV. held a parliament at Coventry, which, from its desire to compel the clergy to contribute largely to the exigencies of the state, was called the Laymen’s Parliament. The country was in imminent danger; an abundant supply of money was immediately necessary; the church property and income were enormous; the parliament knew that this profusion of ecclesiastical wealth could only have been acquired from the industry of the laity; and they represented that the clergy had been of little service to the king, while the laity had served in his wars with their persons, and by contributions for the same purpose had impoverished their estates. The archbishop of Canterbury said, that if the clergy did not fight in person their tenants fought for them, that their contributions had been in proportion to their property, and that the church had offered prayers and masses day and night for God’s blessing on the king and the army. The speaker, sir John Cheyne, answered, that the prayers of the church were a very slender supply. To this the archbishop replied, that it might easily be seen what would become of the kingdom when such devout addresses were so slighted. The persistence of the archbishop saved the church at that time from the impending storm; but the priests saw that their exactions and their worship were only tolerated. Wycliffe had then been dead about twenty years. After a life wonderfully preserved from the unsparing cruelty of ecclesiastical power, by the protection of Edward III., his memory was affectionately revered, and, as printing had not been discovered, his writings were scarce, and earnestly sought. The good seed of dissent had germinated, and the appearance of dissenters at intervals, was a specimen of the harvest that had not yet come. Nothing more fearfully alarmed the establishment than Wycliffe’s translation of the New Testament into English. All arts were used to suppress it, and to enliven the slumbering attachment of the people to the “good old customs” of the church. There is abundant evidence of studious endeavours to both these ends in the Coventry mysteries. The priests industriously reported, that Wycliffe’s Testament was a false one; that he had distorted the language, and concealed facts. There was no printing press to multiply copies of his book; biblical criticism was scarcely known but by being denounced; the ecclesiastics anathematized scriptural inquiry as damnable heresy from their confessionals and pulpits; and as “the churches served as theatres for holy farces,” the Franciscan friars of Coventry, shortly after the meeting of the Laymen’s Parliament in that city, craftily engrafting stories from the pseudo-gospels upon narratives in the New Testament, composed and performed the plays called the Coventry mysteries. These fraudful productions were calculated to postpone the period of illumination, and to stigmatize, by implication, the labours of Wycliffe. Yet, if the simulation succeeded for a while with the vulgar, it reinvigorated the honest and the persevering; and as the sun breaks forth after a season of cold and darkness, so truth, finally emerging from the gulph of the papal hierarchy, animated the torpid intellect, and cheered the “long abused sight.”

But to return. In 1538, Ralph Radcliffe, a scholar and a lover of graceful erudition, wrote plays in Latin and English, which were exhibited by his pupils. Among his comedies, were “Dives and Lazarus,” the “Delivering of Susannah,” “Job’s sufferings,” the “Burning of John Huss,” &c. The scholars of St. Paul’s school in London, were, till a comparatively late period, in great celebrity for their theatrical talent, which it appears was in full exercise upon the mysteries so early as the reign of Richard II.; for in that year, 1378, they presented a petition to his majesty, praying him “to prohibit some unexpert people from presenting the history of the Old and New Testament, to the great prejudice of the said clergy, who have been at great expense in order to represent it publicly at Christmas.”

But the more eminent performers of mysteries in London, were the society of parish clerks. On the 18th, 19th, and 20th of July, 1390, they played interludes at the Skinner’s-well, as the usual place of their performance, before king Richard II., his queen, and their court; and at the same place, in 1490, they played the “Creation of the World,” and subjects of the like kind, for eight successive days, to splendid audiences of the nobility and gentry from all parts of England. The parish-clerks’ ancient performances are memorialized in raised letters of iron, upon a pump on the east side of Rag-street, now called Ray-street, beyond the Sessions-house, Clerkenwell.

The pump of the Skinner’s-well is let into a low dead wall. On its north side is an earthenware shop; and on the south a humble tenement occupied by a bird-seller, whose cages with their chirping tenants, hang over and around the inscription. The passing admirer of linnets and redpoles, now and then stops awhile to listen to the melody, and refresh his eye with a few green clover turfs, that stand on a low table for sale by the side of the door; while the monument, denoting the histrionic fame of the place, and alluding to the miraculous powers of the water for healing incurable diseases, which formerly attracted multitudes to the spot, remains unobserved beneath its living attractions. The present simplicity of the scene powerfully contrasts with the recollection of its former splendour. The choral chant of the Benedictine nuns accompanying the peal of the deep-toned organ through their cloisters, and the frankincense curling its perfume from priestly censers at the altar, are succeeded by the stunning sounds of numerous quickly-plied hammers, and the smith’s bellows flashing the fires of Mr. Bond’s iron-foundry, erected upon the unrecognised site of the convent. This religious house stood about half-way down the declivity of the hill, which commencing near the church on Clerkenwell-green, terminates at the river Fleet. The prospect then, was uninterrupted by houses, and the people upon the rising grounds could have had an uninterrupted view of the performances at the well. About pistol-shot from thence, on the N. N. E. part of the hill, there was a Bear garden; and scarcely so far from the well, at the bottom of the hill westward, and a little to the north, in the hollow of Air-street, lies Hockley-in the-Hole, where different rude sports, which probably arose with the discontinuance of the parish clerks’ acting, were carried on, within the recollection of persons still living, to the great annoyance of this suburb.

The religious guild, or fraternity of Corpus Christi at York, was obliged annually to perform a Corpus Christi play. Drake says, that this ceremony must have been in its time one of the most extraordinary entertainments the city could exhibit. It was acted in that city till the twenty-sixth year of queen Elizabeth, 1584.

Corpus Christi day, at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, was celebrated with similar exhibitions by the incorporated trades. The earliest mention of the performance of mysteries there, is in the ordinary of the coopers for 1426. In 1437, the barbers played the “Baptizing of Christ.” In 1568, the “Offering of Abraham and Isaac” was exhibited by the slaters. About 1578, the Corpus Christi plays were on the decline, and never acted but by a special command of the magistrates of Newcastle. They are spoken of as the general plays of the town of Newcastle, and when thought necessary by the mayor to be set forth and played, the millers were to perform the “Deliverance of Israel;” the house-carpenters, the “Burial of Christ;” the masons, the “Burial of our lady Saint Mary the Virgin.” Between the first and last mentioned periods, there are many minutes in the trades’ books of the acting in different years.

In the reign of Henry VII., 1487, that king, in his castle of Winchester, was entertained on a Sunday, while at dinner, with the performance of Christ’s “Descent into Hell,” by the choir boys of Hyde abbey and St. Swithin’s priory, two large monasteries there; and in the same reign, 1489, there were shows and ceremonies, and (religious) plays, exhibited in the palace at Westminster.

On the feast of St. Margaret, in 1511, the miracle play of the “Holy Martyr St. George,” was acted on a stage in an open field at Bassingborne, in Cambridgeshire, at which were a minstrel and three waits hired from Cambridge, with a property-man and a painter.

It appears from the Earl of Northumberland’s Household-book, (1512,) that the children of his chapel performed mysteries during the twelve days of Christmas, and at Easter, under the direction of his master of the revels. Bishop Percy cites several particulars of the regulated sums payable to “parsones” and others for these performances. The exhibiting scripture dramas on the great festivals entered into the regular establishment, and formed part of the domestic regulations of our ancient nobility; and what is more remarkable, it was as much the business of the chaplain in those days to compose plays for the family, as it is now for him to make sermons.

At London, in the year 1556, the “Passion of Christ” was performed at the Grey Friars, before the lord mayor, the privy-council, and many great estates of the realm. In 1577, the same play was performed at the same place, on the day that war was proclaimed in London against France; and in that year, the holiday of St. Olave, the patron of the church in Silver-street, dedicated to that saint, being celebrated with great solemnity, at eight o’clock at night, a play of the “miraculous Life of St. Olave,” was performed for four hours, and concluded with many religious plays. The acting of religious plays experienced interruption during the reign of Elizabeth, and occasionally at other periods. Malone thinks that the last mystery represented in England, was that of “Christ’s Passion,” in the reign of king James I. Prynne relates that it was performed at Ely-house, in Holborn, when Gondomar, the Spanish ambassador, lay there, on Good Friday, at night, and that thousands were present.

Concerning the Coventry mysteries, Dugdale relates, in his “History of Warwickshire,” published in 1656, that, “Before the suppression of the monasteries, this city was very famous for the pageants that were played therein, upon Corpus Christi day (one of their ancient faires,) which occasioning very great confluence of people thither from far and near, was of no small benefit thereto: which pageants being acted with mighty state and reverence by the Grey Friars, had theatres for the several scenes, very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all the eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of spectators, and contained the story of the Old and New Testament, composed in the Old Englishe rithme, as appeareth by an ancient MS. (in Bibl. Cotton. Vesp. D. VIII.) intituled, Ludus Corporis Christi, or Ludus Coventriæ. ‘I have been told,’ says Dugdale, ‘by some old people, who in their younger years were eye-witnesses of these pageants so acted, that the yearly confluence of people to see that shew was extraordinary great, and yielded no small advantage to this city.’ The celebrity of the performances may be inferred from the rank of the audiences; for, at the festival of Corpus Christi, in 1483, Richard III. visited Coventry to see the plays, and at the same season in 1492, they were attended by Henry VII. and his queen, by whom they were highly commended.”

The mysteries were acted at Chester, by the trading companies of the city. “Every company had his pagiante, or parte, which pagiantes were a highe scafolde with two rowmes, a higher and a lower upon four wheeles. In the lower they apparelled themselves, in the higher rowme they played, being all open on the tope, that all behoulders might hear and see them. The places where they played them was in every streete. They begane first at the Abay gates, and when the pagiante was played, it was wheeled to the High-cross before the mayor, and so to every streete; and so every streete had a pagiante playing before them, till all the pagiantes for the daye appointed were played, and when one pagiante was neer ended, worde was broughte from streete to streete, that soe the mighte come in place thereof, excedinge orderlye, and all the streetes had their pagiante afore them, all at one time, playing together, to se which playes was great resorte, and also scafoldes, and stages made in the streetes, in those places where they determined to playe their pagiantes.”

In Cornwall they had interludes in the Cornish language from scripture history. These were called the Gnary Miracle plays, and were sometimes performed in the open fields, at the bottom of earthen amphitheatres, the people standing around on the inclined plane, which was usually forty or fifty feet diameter. Two MSS. in the Bodleian Library contains the Cornish plays of the “Deluge,” the “Passion,” and the “Resurrection.”

According to Strutt, when mysteries were the only plays, the stage consisted of three platforms, one above another. On the uppermost sat God the Father, surrounded by his angels; on the second, the glorified saints, and on the last and lowest, men who had not yet passed from this life. On one side of the lowest platform was the resemblance of a dark pitchy cavern, from whence issued the appearance of fire and flames; and when it was necessary, the audience was treated with hideous yellings and noises in imitation of the howlings and cries of wretched souls tormented by relentless demons. From this yawning cave the devils themselves constantly ascended to delight, and to instruct the spectators.[163]

Cat Worship on Corpus Christi Day.

In the middle ages, animals formed as prominent a part in the worship of the time as they had done in the old religion of Egypt. The cat was a very important personage in religious festivals. At Aix, in Provence, on the festival of Corpus Christi, the finest Tom cat of the country, wrapt in swaddling clothes like a child, was exhibited in a magnificent shrine to public admiration. Every knee was bent, every hand strewed flowers or poured incense, and Grimalkin was treated in all respects as the god of the day. But on the festival of St. John, poor Tom’s fate was reversed. A number of the tabby tribe were put into a wicker basket and thrown alive into the midst of an immense fire, kindled in the public square by the bishop and his clergy. Hymns and anthems were sung, and processions were made by the priests and people in honour of the sacrifice.[164]

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Pimpernal. Anagallis arvensis. Dedicated to St. Erasmus.

[161] Brand.

[162] Naogeorgus, by Googe.

[163] Hone on Mysteries.

[164] Mill’s Hist. Crusades.

~June 3.~

St. Cecilius, A. D. 211. St. Clotildis, or Clotilda, Queen of France, A. D. 545. St. Coemgen, or Keivin, A. D. 618. St. Lifard, Abbot, about the middle of the 6th Cent. St. Genesis, in French, Genes, Bp. about A. D. 662.

CHRONOLOGY.

1817, June 3, Paris.--Yesterday the ladies of the market of St. Germain, having invited the rector of St. Sulpice to bless their new market-place, that pastor accompanied by the clergy of the parish, repaired there at five o’clock, and sung the hymn, Veni Creator. A procession took place inside the edifice, and the market was formally blessed. The whole concluded with Domine, Salvum fac Regem. The market was to open the next morning.--Moniteur.

A house of entertainment--in a place So rural, that it almost doth deface The lovely scene: for like a beauty-spot, Upon a charming cheek that needs it not, So Hornsey Tavern seems to me. And yet, Tho’ nature be forgotten, to forget The artificial wants of the forgetters, Is setting up oneself to be their betters. This is unwise; for they are passing wise, Who have no eyes for scenery, and despise Persons like me, who sometimes have sensations Through too much sight, and fall in contemplations, Which, as cold waters cramp and drown a swimmer, Chill and o’erwhelm me. Pleasant is that glimmer, Whereby trees seem but wood:--The men who know No qualities but forms and uses, go Through life for happy people:--they are so.

*

Hornsey-wood house is beyond the Sluice-house, from whence anglers and other visitors pass to it through an upland meadow, along a straight gravel-path, angle-wise. It is a good, “plain, brown brick,” respectable, modern, London looking building. Within the entrance to the left, is a light and spacious room of ample accommodation, and of which more care has been taken, than of its fine leather-folding screen in ruins--an unseemly sight for him, who respects old requisites for their former beauty and convenience. This once partook of both, but disuse hath abused and “time hath written strange defeatures” on its face, which in its early days was handsome. It still bears some remains of a spirited painting, spread all over its leaves, to represent the amusements and humours of a fair in the low countries. At the top of a pole, which may have been the village May-pole, is a monkey with a cat on his back; then there is a sturdy bear-ward, in scarlet, with a wooden leg, exhibiting his bruin; an old woman telling fortunes to the rustics; a showman’s drummer on a stage before a booth, beating up for spectators to the performance within, which the show-cloth represents to be a dancer on the tight-rope; a well set-out stall of toys, with a woman displaying their attractions; besides other really interesting “bits” of a crowded scene, depicted by no mean hand, especially a group coming from a church in the distance, apparently a wedding procession, the females well-looking and well dressed, bearing ribbons or scarfs below their waists in festoons. The destruction of this really interesting screen by worse than careless keeping, is to be lamented. This ruin of art is within a ruin of nature. Hornsey-tavern and its grounds have displaced a romantic portion of the wood, the remains of which, however, skirt a large and pleasant piece of water, formed at a considerable expense.

To this water, which is well stored with fish, anglers resort with better prospect of success than to the New River; the walk around it, and the prospect, are very agreeable.

The old Hornsey-wood house well became its situation; it was embowered, and seemed a part of the wood. Two sisters, Mrs. Lloyd and Mrs. Collier, kept the house; they were ancient women; large in size, and usually sat before their door, on a seat fixed between two venerable oaks, wherein swarms of bees hived themselves. Here the venerable and cheerful dames tasted many a refreshing cup, with their good-natured customers, and told tales of by-gone days, till, in very old age, one of them passed to her grave, and the other followed in a few months. Each died regretted by the frequenters of the rural dwelling, which was soon afterwards pulled down, and the old oaks felled, to make room for the present roomy and more fashionable building. To those who were acquainted with it in its former rusticity, when it was an unassuming “calm retreat,” it is indeed an altered spot. To produce the alteration, a sum of ten thousand pounds was expended by the present proprietor, and Hornsey-wood tavern is now a well-frequented house. The pleasantness of its situation is a great attraction in fine weather.

CHRONOLOGY.

1802. On the 3d of June, madame Mara, the celebrated singer, took leave of the English public. The Dictionary of Musicians, in recording the performance, observes, that never certainly was such a transcendent exercise of ability as a duet composed to display the mutual accomplishments of madame Mara and Mrs. Billington, which they sung with mutual excitement to the highest pitch of scientific expression.

Madame Mara was born at Cassel, in Germany, in 1750. Her paternal name was Schmelling. Her early years were devoted to the study of the violin, which, as a child, she played in England, but quitted that instrument, and became a singer, by the advice of the English ladies, who disliked a “female fiddler.” To this, perhaps, we owe the delight experienced from the various excellencies of the most sublime singer the world ever saw. Her first efforts were in songs of agility, yet her intonation was fixed by the incessant practice of plain notes. To confirm the true foundation of all good singing, by the purest enunciation, and the most precise intonation of the scale, was the study of her life, and the part of her voicing upon which she most valued herself. The late Dr. Arnold saw Mara dance, by way of experiment, and assume the most violent gesticulations, while going up and down the scale; yet such was her power of chest, that the tone was as undisturbed and free as if she had stood in the customary quiet position of the orchestra. The Italians say, that “of the hundred requisites to make a singer, he who has a fine voice has ninety-nine.” Mara had certainly the ninety-nine in one. Her voice was in compass from G to E in altissimo, and all its notes were alike even and strong; but she had the hundredth also in a supereminent degree, in the grandest and most sublime conception. At the early age of twenty-four, when she was at Berlin, in the immaturity of her judgment and her voice, the best critics admitted her to have exceeded Cuzzoni, Faustina, and indeed all those who preceded her. Our age has since seen Billington and Catalani, yet in majesty and truth of expression (a term comprehending the most exalted gifts and requisites of vocal science,) Mara retains her superiority. From her we deduce all that has been learned concerning the great style of singing. The memory of her performance of Handel’s sublime work, ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth,’ is immortalized, together with the air itself. Often as we have since heard it, we have never witnessed even an approach to the simple majesty of Mara: it is to this air alone that she owes her highest preeminence; and they who, not having heard her, would picture to themselves a just portraiture of her performance, must image a singer who is fully equal to the truest expression of the inspired words, and the scarcely less inspired music of the loftiest of all possible compositions. She was the child of sensibility: every thing she did was directed to the heart; her tone, in itself pure, sweet, rich, and powerful, took all its various colourings from the passion of the words; and she was not less true to nature and feeling in ‘The Soldier tir’d,’ and in the more exquisite, ‘Hope told a flattering tale,’ than in ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth.’ Her tone, perhaps, was neither so sweet nor so clear as Billington’s, nor so rich and powerful as Catalani’s, but it was the most touching language of the soul. It was on the mastery of the feelings of her audience that Mara set her claims to fame. She left surprise to others, and was wisely content with an apparently, but not really humbler, style; and she thus chose the part of genuine greatness.” Her elocution must be taken rather as universal than as national; for although she passed some time in England when a child, and retained some knowledge of the language, her pronunciation was continually marred by a foreign accent, and those mutilations of our words which are inseparable from the constant use of foreign languages, during a long residence abroad. Notwithstanding this drawback, the impression she made, even upon uneducated persons, always extremely alive to the ridiculous effects of mispronunciation, and upon the unskilled in music, was irresistible. The fire, dignity, and tenderness of her vocal appeal could never be misunderstood; it spoke the language of all nations, for it spoke to the feelings of the human heart. Mrs. Billington, with a modesty becoming her great acquirements, voluntarily declared, that she considered Mara’s execution to be superior to her own in genuine effect, though not in extent, compass, rapidity, and complication. Mara’s divisions always seemed to convey a meaning; they were vocal, not instrumental; they had light and shade, and variety of tone; they relaxed from or increased upon the time, according to the sentiment of which they always appeared to partake: these attributes were always remarkable in her open, true, and liquid shake, which was certainly full of expression. Neither in ornaments, learned and graceful as they were, nor in her cadences, did she ever lose sight of the appropriate characteristics of the sense of melody. She was, by turns, majestic, tender, pathetic, and elegant, but in the one or the other not a note was breathed in vain. She justly held every species of ornamental execution, to be subordinate to the grand end of uniting the effects of sound sense, in their operations upon the feelings of her hearers. True to this spirit, if any one commended the agility of a singer, Mara would ask, “Can she sing six plain notes?” In majesty and simplicity, in grace, tenderness, and pathos, in the loftiest attributes of art, in the elements of the great style, she far transcended all her competitors in the list of fame. She gave to Handel’s compositions their natural grandeur and effect, which is, in our minds, the very highest degree of praise that we can bestow. Handel is heavy, say the musical fashion-mongers of the day. Milton would be heavy beyond endurance, from the mouth of a reader of talents even above mediocrity. The fact is, that to wield such arms, demands the strength of giants. Mara possessed this heaven-gifted strength. It was in the performance of Handel that her finer mind fixed its expression, and called to its aid all the powers of her voice, and all the acquisitions of her science. From the time of her retirement from England, Mara chiefly resided in Russia; yet as the conflagration of Moscow destroyed great part of her property, towards the close of the year 1819, or the beginning of 1820, she returned to London, and determined on presenting herself once more to the judgment of the English public, who had reverenced her name so highly and so long. She, consequently, had a concert at the Opera-house, but her powers were so diminished that it proved unsuccessful.

Justice to the channel which supplies these particulars concerning madame Mara requires it to be observed, that they are almost verbatim from a book of great merit and extensive usefulness, The Dictionary of Musicians. Its information obviously results from extensive research concerning the deceased, and personal acquaintance with many of the living individuals whose memoirs it contains. The work has experienced the fate of originality and excellence--it has been pillaged without acknowledgment; and the discovery of an error or two, which the pillagers themselves were too ignorant to detect, have enabled them to abuse it. Although written by scientific hands, it is exempt from the meanness of envy, and honestly renders honour to whom honour is due. It is a book full of facts, with interspersions of anecdote so eloquently related, that it is one of the pleasantest works a lover of literature can take up, and is therefore not only a valuable accession to our biographical collections, but to our stores of amusement.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Rosa de meaux. Rosa provincialis. Dedicated to St. Cecilius.

~June 4.~

St. Quirinus, Bp. A. D. 304. St. Optatus, Bp. 4th Cent. St. Walter, Abbot, 13th Cent. St. Petroc, or Perreuse, Abbot, 6th Cent. St. Breaca, or Breague. St. Burian. St. Nenooc, or Nennoca, A. D. 467.

CHRONOLOGY.

1738. King George III. born: he began his reign, October 25, 1760, and died, January 29, 1820.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Indian Pink. Dianthus Chinensis. Dedicated to St. Quirinus.

~June 5.~

St. Boniface, 8th Cent. St. Dorotheus, of Tyre St. Dorotheus, Abbot, 4th Cent. St. Illidius, Bp. 4th Cent.

St. Boniface.

This saint is in the church of England calendar. His name was Winfred. He was born at Crediton in Devonshire, educated in a Benedictine monastery at Exeter, sent to Friesland as a missionary, became archbishop of Mentz and primate of Germany and Belgium, and obtained the appellation of apostle of the Germans. His conversions were extensive, but many of them were effected by pious frauds; he was murdered in East Friesland by the peasantry, while holding a confirmation, in 755.

CHRONOLOGY.

1814. From a newspaper of June the 5th in that year it appears, that on the preceding Sunday morning, while the sexton of All Saints’ church, at Stamford, was engaged in ringing the bells, two youths, named King and Richards, through mere emulation, ascended the steeple by means of the crotchets, or projecting stones on the outside of that beautiful and lofty spire. The projecting stones on which they stepped in the ascent are twenty-six in number, three feet asunder, and the summit of the spire 152 feet from the ground. In ten or twelve minutes the feat was performed, and the adventurers had safely descended; one of them (Richards) having hung his waistcoat on the weathercock as a memento.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Three-leaved Rose. Rosa Sinica. Dedicated to St. Boniface.

~June 6.~

St. Norbert, A. D. 1134. St. Philip the Deacon, A. D. 58. St. Gudwall, Bp. 6th Cent. St. Claude, Abp. A. D. 696 or 703.

CHRONOLOGY.

1762. George lord Anson, the circumnavigator of the world, died, at Moor-park, near Rickmansworth, Herts; he was born at Shuckborough, in Staffordshire, in 1700.

Abduction.

This offence was by no means uncommon in England some years ago. In the London Chronicle for 1762, there is an extract from a letter, dated “Sunday, Highgate, June 6,” from whence it appears, that on that morning, between twelve and one, a postchaise, in which was a lady, was driven through that place very furiously by two postillions, and attended by three persons who had the appearance of gentlemen, from which she cried out, “Murder! save me! Oh, save me!” Her voice subsided from weakness into faint efforts of the same cries of distress; but as there was at that time no possibility of relief, they hastily drove towards Finchley Common. “From another quarter,” says the London Chronicle, “we have undoubted intelligence of the same carriage being seen, and the same outcries heard, as it passed through Islington, with the additional circumstance of the two postillions being in their shirts. Is this outrage to be suffered in England?”

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Common Pink. Dianthus deltoides. Dedicated to St. Norbert.

~June 7.~

St. Paul, Bp. of Constantinople, A. D. 350, or 351. St. Robert, Abbot, A. D. 1159. St. Colman, Bp. of Dromore, A. D. 610. _St. Godeschalc_, Prince of the Western Vandals, and his companions. _St. Meriadec_, Bp. A. D. 1302.

CHRONOLOGY.

1779. William Warburton, bishop of Gloucester, died. He was born at Newark-upon-Trent, in 1698, followed the profession of an attorney, relinquished it for the church, and became an eminently able and learned prelate. His writings are distinguished by genius, but deformed by a haughty and vindictive spirit.

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FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Red Centaury. Chironia centaureum. Dedicated to St. Paul.

~June 8.~

St. Medard, Bp. 6th Cent. St. Gildard, or Godard, Bp. A. D. 511. St. Maximinus, 1st Cent. St. William, Abp. of York, A. D. 1154. St. Clou, or Clodulphus, Bp. A. D. 696. St. Syra, 7th Cent.

Thimble and Pea.

On the 8th of June, 1825, a publican in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel was charged at the Public Office, Bow-street, by Mr. John Francis Panchaud, a foreigner, with having, in conjunction with several other persons, defrauded him of a 10_l._ note, at Ascot Heath race-course, on the Thursday preceding. The alleged fraud, or robbery, was effected by means of an unfair game known among the frequenters of races and fairs by the name of “the thimble rig,” of which J. Smith, the officer, this day gave the following description to Mr. Minshull, in order that the worthy magistrate might perfectly understand the case:--A gang of seven or eight, or more, set up a table, but they all appear strangers to each other, and unconnected with the game, except one who conducts it, and who appears to be the sole proprietor. This master of the ceremonies has three thimbles, and is provided with a number of peas, or pepper-corns. He puts one under each thimble, or perhaps only under one or two, as the case may be. He then offers a bet as to which thimble a pepper-corn is or is not under, and offers at first such a wager as is eagerly taken by those round the table, and he loses. He pays the losings freely, and the other members of this joint-stock company affect to laugh at him, as what they call a “good flat.” Having thus drawn the attention, and probably excited the cupidity of a stranger, who appears to have money, they suffer him to win a stake or two, and get him to increase his bets. When he seems thoroughly in the humour, the master of the table lifts a thimble, under which is a pepper-corn, and turning his head aside to speak to some one, he suffers the corn to roll off; and, seeming to be unconscious of this, he replaces the thimble, and offers bets to any amount that there is a corn underneath that particular thimble. The stranger having seen the corn roll off “with his own eyes,” as the phrase is, chuckles to himself, and eagerly takes the bet; the thimble is removed, and behold!--there is a pepper-corn under it still, the fellow having dexterously slipped another under it when the first rolled off the table. “So that the plain fact is, sir,” continued Smith, “that the stranger, fancying he is taking in the master of the table, cheerfully stakes his money with a dead certainty, as he supposes, of winning, and he finds that he has been taken in himself.” Smith said, he had known instances of gentlemen getting from their carriages, and in a few moments ridding themselves of 20_l._ or 30_l._, or perhaps more, and going off wondering at their folly, and looking uncommon silly.

It appeared that Mr. Panchaud went up to one of these tables, at which the defendant and many others were playing, and after winning two or three times, the trick above described was commenced. The conductor of the game offered a bet of 5_l._, and Mr. Panchaud having seen the pepper-corn roll off, took the wager, and put down a 10_l._ note. In a moment after there was a general hustling, the table was upset, and the whole party speedily disappeared, together with the 10_l._ note. When the bet was offered, the defendant, who stood next to him, jogged his elbow, and said eagerly, “Bet him, bet him; you must win, the ball is under our feet.” Mr. Panchaud had no doubt, from his whole manner, that the defendant was concerned with the others in the trick. The case stood over for further investigation. It is only mentioned here for the purpose of showing a species of slight of hand continued in our own times to defraud the unwary.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Moneywort. Lysimachia nummularia. Dedicated to St. Medard.

This flower, says the elegant author of the Flora Domestica, derives its name from an idea, that all the instruments of Christ’s passion are represented in it.

The above engraving from an ancient print, shows the curious distortion of the flower in those parts whereon the imagination has indulged. The original print bears an inscription to this effect; that nature itself grieves at the crucifixion, as is denoted by the flower representing the five wounds, and the column or pillar of scourging, besides the three nails, the crown of thorns, &c.

Most of the passion-flowers are natives of the hottest parts of America. The rose coloured passion-flower is a native of Virginia, and is the species which was first known in Europe. It has since been, in a great measure, superseded by the blue passion-flower, which is hardy enough to flower in the open air, and makes an elegant tapestry for an unsightly wall. The leaves of this, in the autumn, are of the most brilliant crimson; and, when the sun is shining upon them, seem to transport one to the gardens of Pluto.[165]

[165] Flora Domestica.

~June 9.~

Sts. Primus and Felicianus, A. D. 286. St. Columba, or Columkille, A. D. 597. St. Pelagia, A. D. 311. St. Vincent, 3d Cent. St. Richard, Bp. of Andria, 5th Cent.

CHRONOLOGY.

1760. Nicholas Lewes, count Zinzendorf, a native of Saxony, and founder of the religious society called Moravians, died at Chelsea.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Barberry. Barberis vulgaris. Dedicated to St. Columba.

~June 10.~

St. Margaret, Queen of Scotland, A. D. 1093. St. Getulius and companions, 2d Cent. St. Landry, or Landericus, Bp. A. D. 650. B. Henry of Treviso, A. D. 1315.

CHRONOLOGY.

1735. Thomas Hearne, the learned antiquary, died at Oxford: he was born at White Waltham, in Berkshire, in 1680.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Yellow Fleur-de-lis. Iris Pseudacorus. Dedicated to St. Margaret.

~June 11.~

St. Barnabas, Apostle, 1st Cent. St. Tochumra, of Tochumrach in Ireland. Another St. Tochumra, diocese of Kilmore.

St. Barnabas the Apostle.

He was of the tribe of Levi, and coadjutor with the apostle Paul for several years. Though denominated an apostle, it seems agreed that he was not entitled to that character; if he were, his extant epistle would have equal claim with the writings of the other apostles to a place among the books in the New Testament. He is said to have been martyred, but of this there is not sufficient evidence.

St. Barnabas’ Day.

This was a high festival in England formerly.

Besides the holy thorn, there grew in the abbey churchyard of Glastonbury, on the north side of St. Joseph’s chapel, a miraculous walnut-tree, which never budded forth before the feast of St. Barnabas, viz. the eleventh of June, and on that very day shot forth leaves, and flourished like its usual species. This tree is gone, and in the place thereof stands a very fine walnut-tree of the common sort. It is strange to say how much this tree was sought after by the credulous; and, though not an uncommon walnut, queen Anne, king James, and many of the nobility of the realm, even when the times of monkish superstition had ceased, gave large sums of money for small cuttings from the original.[166]

Midsummer, or nightless days, now begin and continue until the 2d of July.[167] There is still this saying among country people,--

“Barnaby Bright, Barnaby Bright, The longest day and the shortest night.”

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Midsummer Daisy. Chrysanthemum Leucanthemum. Dedicated to St. Barnabas.

[166] Collinson’s Somersetshire.

[167] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.

~June 12.~

St. John, Hermit, A. D. 1479. St. Basilides, Quirinus, or Cyrinus, Nabor, and Nazarius. St. Eskill, Bp. St. Onuphrius, Hermit. St. Ternan, Bp. of the Picts.

CHRONOLOGY.

1734. The duke of Berwick, illegitimate son of James II., by Arabella Churchill, sister to the great duke of Marlborough, was killed by a cannon ball, at the siege of Phillipsburgh, in Germany, in the 64th year of his age. He was only excelled in the art of war by the duke of Marlborough himself.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

White Dog Rose. Rosa arvensis. Dedicated to St. John.

~June 13.~

St. Antony of Padua, A. D. 1231. St. Damhanade.

CHRONOLOGY.

1625. Henrietta Maria, youngest daughter to Henry IV. of France, landed at Dover, and was married to Charles I., at Canterbury, on the same day; her portraits represent her to have been beautiful. She was certainly a woman of ability, but faithless to her unfortunate consort, after whose death on the scaffold she lived in France, and privately married her favourite, the lord Jermyn, a descendant of whom, with that name, is (in 1825,) a grocer in Chiswell-street, and a member of the society of friends. Henrietta Maria, though a Bourbon, was so little regarded in the court of the Bourbons, and reduced to so great extremity, that she was without fuel for her fire-place during the depth of winter, in the palace assigned to her by the French monarch.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Garden Ranunculus. Ranunculus Asiaticus. Dedicated to St. Antony.

~June 14.~

St. Basil, Abp. A. D. 379. Sts. Rufinus and Valerius, 3d Age. St. Methodius, Patriarch of Constantinople, A. D. 846. _St. Docmael_, 6th Cent. St. Nennus, or Nehemias, Abbot, A. D. 654. St. Psalmodius, A. D. 630.

CHRONOLOGY.

1645. The battle of Naseby, between the royalists under Charles I., and the parliament troops under Fairfax, was decided this day by the entire rout of the king’s army, and the seizure of all his artillery and ammunition. Among the spoil was the king’s cabinet with his letters, which the parliament afterwards published. Hume says, “they give an advantageous idea both of the king’s genius and morals.” Yet it is a fact, which every person who reads the correspondence must inevitably arrive at, that the king purposed deception, when he professed good faith, and that, as true genius never exists with fraud, these letters do not entitle him to reputation for common honesty, or real ability.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Sweet Basil. Oscimum Basilicum. Dedicated to St. Basil.

~June 15.~

Sts. Vitus, or Guy, Crescentia, and Modestus, 4th Cent. St. Landelin, Abbot, A. D. 686. B. Bernard, of Menthon, A. D. 1008. St. Vauge, Hermit, A. D. 585. B. Gregory Lewis Barbadigo, Cardinal Bp. A. D. 1697.

St. Vitus.

This saint was a Sicilian martyr, under Dioclesian. Why the disease called St. Vitus’s dance was so denominated, is not known. Dr. Forster describes it as an affection of the limbs, resulting from nervous irritation, closely connected with a disordered state of the stomach and bowels, and other organs of the abdomen. In papal times, fowls were offered on the festival of this saint, to avert the disease. It is a vulgar belief, that rain on St. Vitus’s day, as on St. Swithin’s day, indicates rain for a certain number of days following.

It is related, that after St. Vitus and his companions were martyred, their heads were enclosed in a church wall, and forgotten, so that no one knew where they were, until the church was repaired, when the heads were found, and the church bells began to sound of themselves, which causing inquiry, a writing was found, authenticating the heads; they consequently received due honour, and worked miracles in due form.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Sensitive Plant. Mimosa sensit. Dedicated to St. Vitus.

CEREMONY OF LAYING THE ~First Stone of the New London-bridge,~ ON WEDNESDAY, THE 15th OF JUNE, 1825.

London, like famous old Briareus, With fifty heads and twice told fifty arms, Laid one strong arm across yon noble flood, For free communication with each shore; Hence, though the thews and sinews sink and shrink, And we so manifold and strong have grown, That a renewal of the limb for purposes Of national and private weal be requisite, It is to be regarded as a friend That oft hath served us in our utmost need, With all its strength. Be ye then merciful, Good citizens, to this our ancient “sib,” Operate on it tenderly, and keep Some fragments of it, as memorials Of its former worth: for our posterity Will to their ancestors do reverence, As we, ourselves, do reverence to ours.--

*

The present engraving is from the design at the head of the admission tickets, and is exactly of the same form and dimensions; the tickets themselves were large cards of about the size that the present leaf will present when bound in the volume, and cut round the edges.

COPY OF THE TICKET.

Admit the Bearer

to witness THE CEREMONY of laying

THE FIRST STONE

of the

~New London-bridge,~

on Wednesday, the 15th day of June, 1825.

(Signed) HEN^{Y} WOODTHORPE, Jun.

Clerk of the Committee.

Seal of the City Arms.

N.B. The access is from the present bridge, and the time of admission will be between the hours of twelve and two.

N^{o} 281.

* * * * *

It has been truly observed of the design for the new bridge, that it is striking for its contrast with the present gothic edifice, whose place it is so soon to supply. It consists but of five elliptical arches, which embrace the whole span of the river, with the exception of a double pier on either side, and between each arch a single pier of corresponding design: the whole is more remarkable for its simplicity than its magnificence; so much, indeed, does the former quality appear to have been consulted, that it has not a single balustrade from beginning to end.

New London-bridge is the symbol of an honourable British merchant: it unites plainness with strength and capacity, and will be found to be more expansive and ornamental, the more its uses and purposes are considered.

* * * * *

The following are to be the dimensions of the new bridge:--

Centre arch--span, 150 feet; rise, 32 feet; piers, 24 feet.

Arches next the centre arch--span, 140 feet; rise, 30 feet; piers 22 feet.

Abutment arches--span, 130 feet; rise, 25 feet; abutment, 74 feet.

Total width, from water-side to water-side, 690 feet.

Length of the bridge, including the abutments, 950 feet; without the abutments, 782 feet.

Width of the bridge, from outside to outside of the parapets, 55 feet; carriage-way, 33 feet 4 inches.

* * * * *

“Go and set London-bridge on fire,” said Jack Cade, at least so Shakspeare makes him say, to “the rest” of the insurgents, who, in the reign of Henry VI., came out of Kent, took the city itself, and there raised a standard of revolt against the royal authority. “Sooner said than done, master Cade,” may have been the answer; and now, when we are about to erect a new one, let us “remember the bridge that has carried safe over.” Though its feet were manifold as a centipede’s, and though, in gliding between its legs, as it

“doth bestride the Thames,”

some have, ever and anon, passed to the bottom, and craft of men, and craft with goods, so perished, yet the health and wealth of ourselves, and those from whom we sprung, have been increased by safe and uninterrupted intercourse above.

* * * * *

By admission to the entire ceremony of laying the first stone of the new London-bridge, the editor of the Every-Day Book is enabled to give an authentic account of the proceedings from his own close observation; and therefore, collating the narratives in every public journal of the following day, by his own notes, he relates the ceremonial he witnessed, from a chosen situation within the coffer-dam.

* * * * *

At an early hour of the morning the vicinity of the new and old bridges presented an appearance of activity, bustle, and preparation; and every spot that could command even a bird’s-eye view of the scene, was eagerly and early occupied by persons desirous of becoming spectators of the intended spectacle, which, it was confidently expected, would be extremely magnificent and striking; these anticipations were in no way disappointed.

So early as twelve o’clock, the avenues leading to the old bridge were filled with individuals, anxious to behold the approaching ceremony, and shortly afterwards the various houses, which form the streets through which the procession was to pass, had their windows graced with numerous parties of well-dressed people. St. Magnus’ on the bridge, St. Saviour’s church in the Borough, Fishmongers’-hall, and the different warehouses in the vicinity, had their roofs covered with spectators; platforms were erected in every nook from whence a sight could be obtained, and several individuals took their seats on the Monument, to catch a bird’s-eye view of the whole proceedings. The buildings, public or private, that at all overlooked the scene, were literally roofed and walled with human figures, clinging to them in all sorts of possible and improbable attitudes. Happy were they who could purchase seats, at from half a crown to fifteen shillings each, for so the charge varied, according to the degree of accommodation afforded. As the day advanced, the multitude increased in the street; the windows of the shops were closed, or otherwise secured, and those of the upper floors became occupied with such of the youth and beauty of the city as has not already repaired to the river: and delightfully occupied they were: and were the sun down, as it was not, it had scarcely been missed--for there--

“From every casement came the light, Of women’s eyes, so soft and bright, Peeping between the trelliced bars, A nearer, dearer heaven of stars!”

The wharfs on the banks of the river, between London-bridge and Southwark-bridge, were occupied by an immense multitude. Southwark-bridge itself was clustered over like a bee-hive; and the river from thence to London-bridge presented the appearance of an immense dock covered with vessels of various descriptions; or, perhaps, it more closely resembled a vast country fair, so completely was the water concealed by multitudes of boats and barges, and the latter again hidden by thousands of spectators, and canvass awnings, which, with the gay holiday company within, made them not unlike booths and tents, and contributed to strengthen the fanciful similitude. The tops of the houses had many of them also their flags and awnings; and, from the appearance of them and the river, one might almost suppose the dry and level ground altogether deserted, for this aquatic fete, worthy of Venice at her best of times. All the vessels in the pool hoisted their flags top-mast-high, in honour of the occasion, and many of them sent out their boats manned, to increase the bustle and interest of the scene.

At eleven o’clock London-bridge was wholly closed, and at the same hour Southwark-bridge was thrown open, free of toll. At each end of London-bridge barriers were formed, and no persons were allowed to pass, unless provided with tickets, and these only were used for the purpose of arriving at the coffer-dam. There was a feeling of awful solemnity at the appearance of this, the greatest thoroughfare of the metropolis, now completely vacated of all its foot-passengers and noisy vehicles.

* * * * *

At one o’clock the lord mayor and sheriffs arrived at Guildhall, the persons engaged in the procession having met at a much earlier hour.

The lady mayoress and a select party went to the coffer-dam in the lord mayor’s private state carriage, and arrived at the bridge about half-past two o’clock.

The Royal Artillery Company arrived in the court-yard of the Guildhall at two o’clock.

The carriages of the members of parliament and other gentlemen, forming part of the procession, mustered in Queen-street and the Old Jewry.

* * * * *

At twelve o’clock, the barrier at the foot of the bridge on the city side of the river was thrown open, and the company, who were provided with tickets for the coffer-dam, were admitted within it, and kept arriving till two o’clock in quick succession. At that time the barriers were again closed, and no person was admitted till the arrival of the chief procession. By one o’clock, however, most of the seats within the coffer-dam were occupied, with the exception of those reserved for the persons connected with the procession.

The tickets of admission issued by the committee, consisting of members of the court of common council, were in great request. By their number being judiciously limited, and by other arrangements, there was ample accommodation for all the company. At the bottom of each ticket, there was a notice to signify that the hours of admission were between twelve and two, and not a few of the fortunate holders were extremely punctual in attending at the first mentioned hour, for the purpose of securing the best places. They were admitted at either end of the bridge, and passed on till they came to an opening that had been made in the balustrade, leading to the platform that surrounded the area of the proposed ceremony. This was the coffer-dam formed in the bed of the river, for the building of the first pier, at the Southwark side. The greatest care had been taken to render the dam water-tight, and during the whole of the day, from twelve till six, it was scarcely found necessary to work the steam-engine a single stroke. On passing the aperture in the balustrade, already mentioned, the company immediately arrived on a most extensive platform, from which two staircases divided--the one for the pink tickets, which introduced the possessor to the lowest stage of the works, and the other for the white ones, of less privilege, and which were therefore more numerous. The interior of the works was highly creditable to the committee. Not only were the timbers, whether horizontal or upright, of immense thickness, but they were so securely and judiciously bolted and pinned together, that the liability of any danger or accident was entirely done away with. The very awning which covered the whole coffer-dam, to ensure protection from the sun or rain, had there been any, was raised on a little forest of scaffolding poles, which, any where but by the side of the huge blocks of timber introduced immediately beneath, would have appeared of an unusual stability. In fact, the whole was arranged as securely and as comfortably as though it had been intended to serve the time of all the lord mayors for the next century to come, while on the outside, in the river, every necessary precaution was taken to keep off boats, by stationing officers there for that purpose. With the exception of the lower floor, which, as already mentioned, was only attainable by the possession of pink tickets, and a small portion of the floor next above it, the whole was thrown open without reservation, and the visitors took possession of the unoccupied places they liked best.

The entire coffer-dam was ornamented with as much taste and beauty as the purposes for which it was intended would possibly admit. The entrance to the platform from the bridge, was fitted up with crimson drapery, tastefully festooned. The coffer-dam itself was divided into four tiers of galleries, along which several rows of benches, covered with scarlet cloth, were arranged for the benefit of the spectators. It was covered with canvass to keep out the rays of the sun, and from the transverse beams erected to support it, which were decked with rosettes of different colours, were suspended flags and ensigns of various descriptions brought from Woolwich yard; which by the constant motion in which they were kept, created a current of air, which was very refreshing. The floor of the dam, which is 45 feet below the high water mark, was covered, like the galleries, with scarlet cloth, except in that part of it where the first stone was to be laid. The floor is 95 feet in length, and 36 in breadth; is formed of beech planks, four inches in thickness, and rests upon a mass of piles, which are shod at the top with iron, and are crossed by immense beams of solid timber. By two o’clock all the galleries were completely filled with well-dressed company, and an eager impatience for the arrival of the procession was visible in every countenance. The bands of the Horse Guards, red and blue, and also that of the Artillery Company, played different tunes, to render the interval of expectation as little tedious as possible; but, in spite of all their endeavours, a feeling of listlessness appeared to pervade the spectators.--In the mean time the arrangements at Guildhall being completed, the procession moved from the court-yard, in the following order:--

A body of the Artillery Company. Band of Music. Marshalmen. Mr. Cope, the City Marshal, mounted, and in the full uniform of his Office. The private carriage of -- Saunders, Esq., the Water Bailiff, containing the Water-Bailiff, and Nelson, his Assistant. Carriage containing the Barge-masters. City Watermen bearing Colours. A party of City Watermen without Colours. Carriage containing Messrs. Lewis and Gillman, the Bridge-masters, and the Clerk of the Bridge-house Estate. Another party of the City Watermen. Carriage containing Messrs. Jolliffe and Sir E. Banks, the Contractors for the Building of the New Bridge. Model of the New Bridge. Carriages containing Members of the Royal Society. Carriage containing John Holmes, Esq., the Bailiff of Southwark. Carriage containing the Under-Sheriffs. Carriages containing Thomas Shelton, Esq., Clerk of the Peace for the City of London; W. L. Newman, Esq., the City Solicitor; Timothy Tyrrell, Esq., the Remembrancer; Samuel Collingridge, Esq., and P. W. Crowther, Esq., the Secondaries; J. Boudon, Esq., Clerk of the Chamber; W. Bolland, Esq., and George Bernard, Esq., the Common Pleaders; Henry Woodthorpe, Esq., the Town Clerk; Thomas Denman, Esq., the Common Sergeant; R. Clarke, Esq., the Chamberlain. These Carriages were followed by those of several Members of Parliament. Carriages of Members of the Privy Council. Band of Music and Colours, supported by City Watermen. Members of the Goldsmiths’ (the Lord Mayor’s) Company. Marshalmen. Lord Mayor’s Servants in their State Liveries. Mr. Brown, the City Marshal, mounted on horseback, and in the full uniform of his Office. The Lord Mayor’s State Carriage, drawn by six bay horses, beautifully caparisoned, in which were his Lordship and the Duke of York. The Sheriffs, in their State Carriages. Carriages of several Aldermen who have passed the Chair. Another body of the Royal Artillery Company.

The procession moved up Cornhill and down Gracechurch-street, to London-bridge. While awaiting the arrival of the procession, wishes were wafted from many a fair lip, that the lord of the day, as well as of the city, would make his appearance. Small-talk had been exhausted, and the merits of each particular timber canvassed for the hundredth time, when, at about a quarter to three, the lady mayoress made her appearance, and renovated the hopes of the company. They argued that his lordship as a family man, would not be long absent from his lady. The clock tolled three, and no lord mayor had made his appearance. At this critical juncture a small gun made its report; but, except the noise and smoke, it produced nothing. More than an hour elapsed before the eventful moment arrived; a flourish of trumpets in the distance gave hope to many hearts, and finally two six-pounders of the Artillery Company, discharged from the wharf at Old Swan Stairs, at about a quarter-past four o’clock, announced the arrival of the cavalcade. Every one stood up, and in a very few minutes the city watermen, bearing their colours flying, made their appearance at the head of the coffer-dam, and would, if they could, have done the same thing at the bottom of it; but owing to the unaccommodating narrowness of the staircase, they found it inconvenient to convey their flags by the same route that they intended to convey themselves. Necessity, however, has long been celebrated as the mother of invention, and a plan was hit upon to wind the flags over this timber and under that, till after a very serpentine proceeding, they arrived in safety at the bottom. After this had been accomplished, there was a sort of pause, and every body seemed to be thinking of what would come next, when some one in authority hinted, that as the descent of the flags had been performed so dexterously, or for some other reason that did not express itself, they might as easily be conveyed back, so that the company, whose patience, by the bye, was exemplary, were gratified by the ceremony of those poles returning, till the arrival of the expected personages, satisfied every desire. A sweeping train of aldermen were seen winding in their scarlet robes through the mazes of the pink-ticketted staircase, and in a very few minutes a great portion of these dignified elders of the city made their appearance on the floor below, the band above having previously struck up the “Hunter’s Chorus” from Der Freischütz. Next in order entered a strong body of the common-councilmen, who had gone to meet the procession on its arrival at the barriers. Independently of those that made their appearance on the lower platform, glimpses of their purple robes with fur-trimmings, were to be caught on every stage of the scaffolding, where many of them had been stationed throughout the day. After these entered the recorder, the common sergeant, the city solicitor, the city clerk, the city chamberlain, and a thousand other city officers, “all gracious in the city’s eyes.” These were followed by the duke of York and the lord mayor, advancing together, the duke being on his lordship’s right hand. His royal highness was dressed in a plain blue coat with star, and wore at his knee the garter. They were received with great cheering, and proceeded immediately up the floor of the platform, till they arrived opposite the place where the first stone was suspended by a tackle, ready to be swung into the place that it is destined to occupy for centuries. Opposite the stone, an elbowed seat had been introduced into the line of bench, so as to afford a marked place for the chief magistrate, without breaking in upon the direct course of the seats. His lordship, who was in his full robes, offered the chair to his royal highness, which was positively declined on his part. The lord mayor therefore seated himself, and was supported on the right by his royal highness, and on the left by Mr. Alderman Wood. The lady mayoress, with her daughters in elegant dresses, sat near his lordship, accompanied by two fine-looking intelligent boys, her sons; near them were the two lovely daughters of lord Suffolk, and many other fashionable and elegantly dressed ladies. In the train which arrived with the lord mayor and his royal highness were the earl of Darnley, lord J. Stewart, the right hon. C. W. Wynn, M. P., sir G. Warrender, M. P., sir I. Coffin, M. P., sir G. Cockburn, M.P., sir R. Wilson, M.P., Mr. T. Wilson, M.P., Mr. W. Williams, M.P., Mr. Davies Gilbert, M.P., Mr. W. Smith, M.P., Mr. Holme Sumner, M.P., with several other persons of distinction, and the common sergeant, the city pleaders, and other city officers.

The lord mayor took his station by the side of the stone, attended by four gentlemen of the committee, bearing, one, the glasscut bottle to contain the coins of the present reign, another, an English inscription incrusted in glass, another, the mallet, and another, the level.

The sub-chairman of the committee, bearing the golden trowel, took his station on the side of the stone opposite the lord mayor.

The engineer, John Rennie, esq., took his place on another side of the stone, and exhibited to the lord mayor the plans and drawings of the bridge.

The members of the committee of management, presented to the lord mayor the cut glass bottle which was intended to contain the several coins.

The ceremony commenced by the children belonging to the wards’ schools, Candlewick, Bridge, and Dowgate, singing “God save the King.” They were stationed in the highest eastern gallery for that purpose; the effect produced by their voices, stealing through the windings caused by the intervening timbers to the depth below, was very striking and peculiar.

The chamberlain delivered to his lordship the several pieces of coin: his lordship put them into the bottle, and deposited the bottle in the place whereon the foundation stone was to be laid.

The members of the committee, bearing the English inscription incrusted on glasses, presented it to the lord mayor. His lordship deposited it in the subjacent stone.

Mr. Jones, sub-chairman of the Bridge Committee, who attended in purple gowns and with staves, presented the lord mayor, on behalf of the committee, with an elegant silver-gilt trowel, embossed with the combined arms of the “Bridge House Estate and the City of London,” and bearing on the reverse an inscription of the date, and design of its presentation to the right hon. the lord mayor, who was born in the ward, and is a member of the guild wherein the new bridge is situated. This trowel was designed by Mr. John Green, of Ludgate-hill, and executed by Messrs. Green, Ward, and Green, in which firm he is partner. Mr. Jones, on presenting it to the lord mayor, thus addressed his lordship: “My lord, I have the honour to inform you, that the committee of management has appointed your lordship, in your character of lord mayor of London, to lay the first stone of the new London-bridge, and that they have directed me to present to your lordship this trowel as a means of assistance to your lordship in accomplishing that object.”

The lord mayor having signified his consent to perform the ceremony, Henry Woodthorpe, esq., the town clerk, who has lately obtained the degree of L. L. D., held the copper plate about to be placed beneath the stone with the following inscription upon it, composed by Dr. Coplestone, master of Oriel-college, Oxford:--

Pontis vetvsti qvvm propter crebras nimis interiectas moles impedito cvrsv flvminis navicvlae et rates non levi saepe iactvra et vitae pericvlo per angvstas favces praecipiti aqvarvm impetv ferri solerent Civitas Londinensis his incommodis remidivm adhibere volens et celeberrimi simvl in terris emporii vtilitatibvs consvlens regni insvper senatvs avctoritate ac mvnificentia adivta pontem sitv prorsvs novo amplioribvs spatiis constrvendvm decrev ea scilicet forma ac magnitvdine qvae regiae vrbis maiestati tandem responderet. Neqve alio magis tempore tantum opvs inchoandvm dvxit qvam cvm pacato ferme toto terrarvm orbe Imperivm Britannicvm fama opibus mvltitvdine civivm et concordia pollens principe item gavderet artivm favtore ac patrono cvivs svb avspiciis novva indies aedificiorvm splendor vrbi accederet.

* * * * *

Primum operis lapidem posvit Ioannes Garratt armiger praetor xv. die Ivnii anno regis Georgii Quarti sexto a. s. m.d.ccc.xxv.

* * * * *

Ioanne Rennie F. R. S. architecto.

~Translation.~

The free course of the river being obstructed by the numerous piers of the ancient bridge, and the passage of boats and vessels through its narrow channels being often attended with danger and loss of life by reason of the force and rapidity of the current, the City of London, desirous of providing a remedy for this evil, and at the same time consulting the convenience of commerce in this vast emporium of all nations, under the sanction and with the liberal aid of parliament, resolved to erect a bridge upon a foundation altogether new, with arches of wider span, and of a character corresponding to the dignity and importance of this royal city: nor does any other time seem to be more suitable for such an undertaking than when in a period of universal peace the British empire, flourishing in glory, wealth, population, and domestic union, is governed by a prince, the patron and encourager of the arts, under whose auspices the metropolis has been daily advancing in elegance and splendour.

* * * * *

The first stone of this work was laid by John Garratt, esquire, lord mayor, on the 15th day of June, in the sixth year of king George the Fourth, and in the year of our Lord m.d.ccc.xxv.

* * * * *

John Rennie, F. R. S. architect.

* * * * *

Dr. Woodthorpe read the Latin inscription aloud, and the lord mayor, turning to the duke of York, addressed his royal highness and the rest of the company.

Lord Mayor’s Speech.

“It is unnecessary for me to say much upon the purpose for which we are assembled this day, for its importance to this great commercial city must be evident; but I cannot refrain from offering a few observations, feeling as I do more than ordinary interest in the accomplishment of the undertaking, of which this day’s ceremony is the primary step. I should not consider the present a favourable moment to enter into the chronology or detailed history of the present venerable structure, which is now, from the increased commerce of the country, and the rapid strides made by the sciences in this kingdom, found inadequate to its purposes, but would rather advert to the great advantages which will necessarily result from the execution of this national work. Whether there be taken into consideration, the rapid and consequently dangerous currents arising from the obstructions occasioned by the defects of this ancient edifice, which have proved destructive to human life and to property, or its difficult and incommodious approaches and acclivity, it must be a matter of sincere congratulation that we are living in times when the resources of this highly favoured country are competent to a work of such great public utility. If ever there was a period more suitable than another for embarking in national improvements, it must be the present, governed as we are by a sovereign, patron of the arts, under whose mild and paternal sway (by the blessing of divine providence) we now enjoy profound peace; living under a government by whose enlightened and liberal policy our trade and manufactures are in a flourishing state; represented by a parliament whose acts of munificence shed a lustre upon their proceedings: thus happily situated, it is impossible not to hail such advantages with other feelings than those of gratitude and delight. I cannot conclude these remarks without acknowledging how highly complimentary I feel it to the honourable office I now fill, to view such an auditory as surrounds me, among whom are his majesty’s ministers, several distinguished nobles of the land, the magistrates and commonalty of this ancient and loyal city, and above all, (that which must ever enlighten and give splendour to any scene,) a brilliant assembly of the other sex, all of whom, I feel assured, will concur with me in expressing an earnest wish that the new London-bridge, when completed, may reflect credit upon the architects, prove an ornament to the metropolis, and redound to the honour of its corporation. I offer up a sincere and fervent prayer, that in executing this great work, there may occur no calamity; that in performing that which is most particularly intended as a prevention of future danger, no mischief may occur with the general admiration of the undertaking.”

The lord mayor’s address was received with cheers. His lordship then spread the mortar, and the stone was gradually lowered by two men at a windlass. When finally adjusted, the lord mayor struck it on the surface several times with a long-handled mallet, and proceeded to ascertain the accuracy of its position, by placing a level on the top of the east end, and then to the north, west, and south; his lordship passing to each side of the stone for that purpose, and in that order. The city sword and mace were then placed on it crossways; the foundation of the new London-bridge was declared to be laid; the music struck up “God save the King;” and three times three excessive cheers, broke forth from the company; the guns of the honourable Artillery Company, on the Old Swan Wharf, fired a salute by signal, and every face wore smiles of gratulation. Three cheers were afterwards given for the duke of York; three for Old England; and three for the architect, Mr. Rennie.

It was observed in the coffer-dam, as a remarkable circumstance, that as the day advanced, a splendid sunbeam, which had penetrated through an accidental space in the awning above, gradually approached towards the stone as the hour for laying it advanced, and during the ceremony, shone upon it with dazzling lustre.

* * * * *

At the conclusion of the proceedings, the lord mayor, with the duke of York, and the other visitors admitted to the floor of the coffer-dam, retired; after which, many of the company in the galleries came down to view the stone, and several of the younger ones were allowed to ascend and walk over it. Some ladies were handed up, and all who were so indulged, departed with the satisfaction of being enabled to relate an achievement honourable to their feelings.

* * * * *

Among the candidates for a place upon the stone, was a gentleman who had witnessed the scene with great interest, and seemed to wait with considerable anxiety for an opportunity of joining in the pleasure of its transient occupants. This gentleman was P. T. W., by which initials he is known to the readers of the Morning Herald, and other journals. The lightness and agility of his person, favoured the enthusiasm of his purpose; he leapt on the stone, and there

------toeing it and heeling it, With ball-room grace, and merry face, Kept livelily quadrilling it,

till three cheers from the spectators announced their participation in his merriment; he then tripped off with a graceful bow, amidst the clapping of hands and other testimonials of satisfaction at a performance wholly singular, because unprecedented, unimitated, and inimitable.

* * * * *

The lord mayor gave a grand dinner in the Egyptian-hall, at the Mansion-house, to 376 guests; the duke of York, being engaged to dine with the king, could not attend. The present lord mayor has won his way to the hearts of good livers, by his entertainments, and the court of common council commenced its proceedings on the following day by honourable mention of him for this entertainment especially, and complacently received a notice to do him further honour for the general festivity of his mayoralty.

* * * * *

His lordship’s name is Garratt; he is a tea-dealer. Stow mentions that one of similar name, and a grocer, was commemorated by an epitaph in our lady’s chapel, in the church of St. Saviour’s, Southwark; which church the first pier of the proposed bridge adjoins. He says,

Upon a faire stone under the Grocers’ arms, is this inscription:--

Garret some cal’d him, but that was too hye, His name is Garrard, who now here doth lye; Weepe not for him since he is gone before To heaven, where Grocers there are many more.[168]

* * * * *

It is supposed that the first bridge of London was built between the years 993 and 1016; it was of wood. There is a vulgar tradition, that the foundation of the old stone bridge was laid upon wool-packs: this report is imagined to have arisen from a tax laid upon wool towards its construction. The first stone-bridge began in 1176, and finished in 1209, was much injured by a fire in the Borough, in 1212, and three thousand people perished. On St. George’s day, 1395, there was a great justing upon it, between David, earl of Crawford, of Scotland, and lord Wells of England. It had a drawbridge for the passage of ships with provisions to Queenhithe, with houses upon it, mostly tenanted by pin and needle-makers: there was a chapel on the bridge, and a tower, whereon the heads of unfortunate partisans were placed: an old map of the city, in 1597, represents a terrible cluster; in 1598, Hentzner the German traveller, counted above thirty poles with heads. Upon this bridge was placed the head of the great chancellor, sir Thomas More, which was blown off the pole into the Thames and found by a waterman, who gave it to his daughter; she kept it during life as a relic, and directed at her death it should be placed in her arms and buried with her.

Howel, the author of “Londinopolis,” in a paraphrase of some lines by Sannazarius, has this--

Encomium on London-bridge.

When Neptune from his billows London spy’d, Brought proudly thither by a high spring-tide, As thro’ a floating wood he steer’d along. And dancing castles cluster’d in a throng; When he beheld a mighty bridge give law Unto his surges, and their fury awe; When such a shelf of cataracts did roar, As if the Thames with Nile had chang’d her shore; When he such massy walls, such towers did eye, Such posts, such irons, upon his back to lye; When such vast arches he observ’d, that might Nineteen Rialtos make for depth and height; When the Cerulean god these things survey’d, He shook his trident, and, astonish’d, said, “Let the whole earth now all the wonders count, This bridge of wonders is the paramount.”

Thus has commenced, under the most favourable auspices, a structure which is calculated to secure from danger the domestic commerce of the port of London. That such a work has not long since been executed, is attributable more to the financial difficulties under which the corporation of London has been labouring for the last quarter of a century, than to any doubts of its being either expedient or necessary. A similar design to that which is now in course of execution, was in contemplation more than thirty years ago; and we believe that many of the first architects of the day sent in plans for the removal of the old bridge, and the construction of a new bridge in its place. A want of funds to complete such an undertaking compelled the projectors of it, to abandon it for a time; but the improved condition of the finances of the corporation, the increasing commerce of the city of London with the internal parts of the country, the growing prosperity of the nation at large, and we may also add, a more general conviction derived from longer experience, that the present bridge was a nuisance which deserved to be abated, induced them to resume it, and to resume it with a zeal proportionate to the magnitude of the object which they had in view. Application was made to parliament for the grant of a sum of money to a purpose which, when considered with regard either to local or to national interests, was of great importance. That application was met with a spirit of liberality which conferred as much honour upon the party who received, as upon the party who gave, the bounty. The first results of it were beheld in the operations of to-day; the further results are in the bosom of time; but from the spirit with which the work has been commenced, we have no doubt but they will tend no less to the benefit, than the glory, of the citizens of London.[169]

There is something peculiarly imposing and impressive in ceremonies of this description, as they are usually conducted, and we certainly do not recollect any previous spectacle of a similar nature, which can be said to have surpassed in general interest, grandeur of purpose, or splendid effect, than that just recorded.

It is at all times agreeable to a philosophical mind, and an understanding which busies itself, not only with the surface and present state of things, but also with their substance and remote tendencies, to contemplate the exercise of human power, and the triumphs of human ingenuity, whether developed in physical or mental efforts, in the pursuit of objects which comprehend a mixture of both. And perhaps, it is in a good degree attributable to this secret impulse of our nature, which operates in some degree upon all, however silent and imperceptible in its operation, that the mass of mankind are accustomed to take such an eager interest in ceremonials like the present. It is true, that show, and preparation, and bustle, and the excitement consequent upon these, are the immediate and apparent motives; but it does not therefore follow that the other reasons are inefficient, or that because they are less prominent and apparent, they are therefore inoperative. The erection of a bridge, without reference to the immediate object or the extent of its design, is per se a triumph of art over nature--a conquering of one of these obstacles, which the latter, even in her most bountiful and propitious designs, delights to present to man, as if for the purpose of calling his powers into exercise, and affording him the quantity of excitement necessary to the happiness of a sentient being. But if we do not entertain these sentiments, and give them utterance in so many words, we nevertheless feel and act upon them. We delight to attend spectacles like the present, where the first germ of a stupendous work is to be prepared. We look round on the complicated apparatus, and the seemingly discordant and unorganized beams and blocks of wood and granite, and then we think of the simple structure, the harmonious and complete whole to which these confused elements will give birth. Such a structure is pregnant with a multitude of almost indefinable thoughts and anticipations. We bethink ourselves of the stream of human life, which, some five years hence, will flow over the new London-bridge as thickly, and almost with as little cessation, as the waters of the Thames below: and then we reflect upon the tide of hopes and fears which that human stream will carry in its bosom! One of our first reflections will necessarily be of its adaptation to trade and commerce, of which it will then constitute a new and immense conduit. Trade, and science, and learning, and war, (Providence long avert it!) will at various periods pass across it. Next we consider what will be the immediate and individual destiny of the structure:--is it to moulder away after the lapse of many ages, under the slow but effectual influence of time, or to suffer dilapidation suddenly from the operation of some natural convulsion? Will it fall before the wrath or wilfulness of man, or is it to be displaced by new improvements and discoveries, in like manner as its old and many-arched neighbour makes way for it--and as that once superseded its narrower and shop-covered predecessor? These are questions which the imaginative man may ask himself; but who is to answer? However, even the man of business may be well excused in indulging some speculations such as these, upon the occasion of the erection of a structure, which is to constitute a new artery to and fro in the mighty heart of London--a fresh vein through which that commerce, which is the life-blood of our national prosperity and greatness will have to flow.[170]

* * * * *

This is one of those public occurrences which may be considered as an event in a man’s life, and an epoch in the city’s history--a sort of station in one’s worldly journey, from which we measure our distances and dates. To witness the manner and the moment, in which is laid the first single resting stone of a grand national structure--the very origin of the existence of a massive and magnificent pile, which will require years to complete, and ages to destroy, has an elevating and sublime effect on the mind.

Great public works are the truest signs of a nation’s prosperity and power; originally its grandest ornaments, and ultimately the strongest proofs of its existence. Its religion, language, arts, sciences, government, and history, may be swept into nothingness; but yet its national buildings will remain entire through the lapse of successive ages--after their very founders are forgotten--after their local history has become a mere matter of conjecture. The columns of Palmyra stand over the ashes of their framers, in a desert as well of history as of sand. The palaces of imperial Rome are still existing, though her religion, her very language, is dead; and the history of the man-wrought miracles of Egypt, had been looked at but as the very dreamings of philosophy long before Napoleon said to his Egyptian army--“From the summits of these pyramids, forty centuries are looking down upon you.”

Of all public edifices, a bridge is the most necessary, the most generally and frequently useful--open at all hours and to all persons. It was probably the very first public building. Some conjecture, that the first hint of it was taken from an uprooted tree lying across a narrow current. What a difference between that first natural bridge, and the perfection of pontifical architecture--the vast, solid, and splendid Waterloo--the monumentum si quæras of John Rennie. We feel pleasure in learning, that the new London-bridge has been designed by the same distinguished architect. It falls to the lot of the son to consummate the plans of the father--we hope with equal success, and with similar benefits, as well to the conductor as to the public.

Old London-bridge, for which the new one is intended as a more commodious substitute, was the first that connected the Surrey and Middlesex banks. It was built originally of wood, about 800 years ago, and rebuilt of stone in the reign of king John, 1209, just two years after the chief civic officer assumed the name of mayor. Until the middle of the last century, it was crowded with houses, which made it very inconvenient to the passengers. The narrowness and inequality of its arches, have caused it to be compared to “a thick wall, pierced with small uneven holes, through which the water, dammed up by this clumsy fabric, rushes, or rather leaps, with a velocity extremely dangerous to boats and barges.” Of its nineteen arches, none except the centre, which was formed by throwing two into one, is more than twenty feet wide. This is but the width of each of the piers of Waterloo-bridge. It is the most crowded thoroughfare in London, and, in this point, exceeds Charing-cross, which, according to Dr. Johnson, was overflowed by the full tide of human existence. It has been calculated, that there daily pass over London-bridge 90,000 foot passengers; 800 waggons; 300 carts and drays; 1,300 coaches; 500 gigs and tax carts; and 800 saddle horses. The importance of this great point of communication, and the necessity of rendering it adequate to the purposes of its construction, are proved, by the numbers to whom it affords a daily passage at present, and, still more, by the probable increase of the numbers hereafter. The present bridge having been for some years considered destitute of the proper facilities of transition for passengers as well as for vessels, an Act of Parliament, passed in 1823, for building a new one, on a scale and plan equal to the other modern improvements of the metropolis. The first pile of the works was driven on the west side of the present bridge, in March, 1824, and the first coffer-dam having been lately finished, the ceremony of laying the first stone of the new bridge, has been happily and auspiciously completed.[171]

MRS. BARBAULD.

The decease of this literary and excellent lady in the spring of 1825, occasioned a friend to the Every-Day Book to transmit the following fugitive poem for insertion. It is not collected in any of the works published by Mrs. Barbauld during her lifetime; this, and the rectitude of spirit in the production itself, may justify its being recorded within these pages.

To her honoured Friends

of the families of

MARTINEAU AND TAYLOR

These lines are inscribed

By their affectionate

A. L. BARBAULD

~On the Death~

OF

MRS. MARTINEAU.

Ye who around this venerated bier In pious anguish pour the tender tear, Mourn not!--Tis Virtue’s triumph, Nature’s doom, When honoured Age, slow bending to the tomb, Earth’s vain enjoyments past, her transient woes, Tastes the long sabbath of well-earned repose. No blossom here, in vernal beauty shed, No lover lies, warm from the nuptial bed; Here rests the full of days,--each task fulfilled, Each wish accomplished, and each passion stilled. You raised her languid head, caught her last breath, And cheered with looks of love the couch of death.

Yet mourn!--for sweet the filial sorrows flow, When fond affection prompts the gush of woe; No bitter drop, ’midst Nature’s kind relief, Sheds gall into the fountain of your grief; No tears you shed for patient love abused, And counsel scorned, and kind restraints refused. Not yours the pang the conscious bosom wrings, When late remorse inflicts her fruitless stings. Living you honoured her, you mourn for, dead; Her God you worship, and her path you tread.

Your sighs shall aid reflection’s serious hour, And cherished virtues bless the kindly shower: On the loved theme your lips unblamed shall dwell; Your lives, more eloquent, her worth shall tell. --Long may that worth, fair Virtue’s heritage, From race to race descend, from age to age! Still purer with transmitted lustre shine The treasured birthright of the spreading line!

For me, as o’er the frequent grave I bend, And pensive down the vale of years descend; Companions, Parents, Kindred called to mourn, Dropt from my side, or from my bosom torn; A boding voice, methinks, in Fancy’s ear Speaks from the tomb, and cries “Thy friends are here!”

* * * * *

Summer Evening’s Adventure in Wales.

Mr. Proger of Werndee, riding in the evening from Monmouth, with a friend who was on a visit to him, heavy rain came on, and they turned their horses a little out of the road towards Perthyer. “My cousin Powell,” said Mr. Proger, “will, I am sure, be ready to give us a night’s lodging.” At Perthyer all was still; the family were abed. Mr. Proger shouted aloud under his cousin Powell’s chamber-window. Mr. Powell soon heard him; and putting his head out, inquired, “In the name of wonder what means all this noise? Who is there?” “It is only your cousin Proger of Werndee, who is come to your hospitable door for shelter from the inclemency of the weather; and hopes you will be so kind as to give him, and a friend of his, a night’s lodging.” “What is it you, cousin Proger? You, and your friend shall be instantly admitted; but upon one condition, namely, that you will admit now, and never hereafter dispute, that I am the head of your family.” “What was that you said?” replied Mr. Proger. “Why, I say, that if you expect to pass the night in my house, you must admit that I am the head of your family.” “No, sir, I never will admit that--were it to rain swords and daggers, I would ride through them this night to Werndee, sooner than let down the consequence of my family by submitting to such an ignominious condition. Come up, Bald! come up!” “Stop a moment, cousin Proger; have you not often admitted, that the first earl of Pembroke (of the name of Herbert) was a younger son of Perthyer; and will you set yourself up above the earls of Pembroke?” “True it is I must give place to the earl of Pembroke, because he is a peer of the realm; but still, though a peer, he is of the youngest branch of my family, being descended from the fourth son of Werndee, who was your ancestor, and settled at Perthyer, whereas I am descended from the eldest son. Indeed, my cousin Jones of Lanarth is of a branch of the family elder than you are; and yet he never disputes my being the head of the family.” “Well, cousin Proger, I have nothing more to say: good night to you.”--“Stop a moment, Mr. Powell,” cried the stranger, “you see how it pours; do let me in at least; I will not dispute with you about our families.” “Pray, sir, what is your name, and where do you come from?” “My name is so and so; and I come from such a county.” “A Saxon of course; it would indeed be very curious, sir, were I to dispute with a Saxon about family. No, sir, you must suffer for the obstinacy of your friend, so good night to you both.”[172]

[168] Stow’s Survey, 1633, page 886.

[169] The Times.

[170] British Press.

[171] New Times.

[172] Williams’s Monmouth. App. 168.

~June 16.~

Sts. Quirius, or Cyr and Julitta, Martyrs, A. D. 304. St. John Francis Regis, A. D. 1640. Sts. Ferreolus, or Fargeau, and Ferrutius, A. D. 211 or 212. St. Aurelian, Abp. A. D. 552.

CHRONOLOGY.

1722. John Churchill, the great duke of Marlborough, died at Windsor-lodge, in a state of idiocy. He was son of sir Winston Churchill, an English historian, and born at Ashe, in Devonshire, 1650. At twelve years of age he became page to the duke of York, afterwards James II.; at sixteen he entered the guards, and distinguished himself under Turenne. He was called the handsome Englishman, married Miss Jennings, (the celebrated duchess of Marlborough,) obtained distinguished rank and offices, suppressed the duke of Monmouth’s rebellion, and served king James with apparent fidelity in the wane of his fortune, while he faithlessly made court to the prince of Orange. His great military achievements, under king William and queen Anne, were rewarded by munificent public grants, and a public funeral in Westminster-abbey.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Moss Privince Rose. Rosa muscosa. Dedicated to St. Julitta.

CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Dear Sir,

A great deal has been lately attempted, by men of feeling minds, to prevent wanton cruelty towards animals; which (unhappily even in this enlightened age,) is but too prevalent.

The lower class of persons, to whom the care of the horse is intrusted, frequently possess less sense than those noble animals, which groan under their tyranny; we constantly find ignorant farriers, who think that a cure can only be effected, by most violent and painful remedies. It is to these brutal men, that the lameness of so many horses may be attributed; for, not understanding the beautiful and singular construction of the interior of a horse’s foot, by cutting away the hoof they contract the foot, and gradually prevent the elasticity so necessary: thus by repeated shoeing, the foot is cramped, as much so, as a man’s who would attempt to walk in a shoe considerably too tight for him. Lameness ensues, and these farriers pronounce the seat of lameness any where but where it actually exists; then comes firing and blistering, and every possible torture, and the poor animal lamed for life, long before his time, is consigned to the lowest drudgery, and subsequently to the dogs.

The inhuman rate at which horses are driven in stage coaches, conduces greatly to mortality; this consumption of animal life is, in some instances, one in three annually.

Soame Jenyns, whose works are well known, and who was himself a man of the finest feelings, in a paper On Cruelty to Animals, adverts to the disciples of Pythagoras, who held that the souls of men, and all other animals, existed in a state of perpetual transmigration, and that when by death they were dislodged from one corporeal habitation, they were immediately reinstated in another, happier or more miserable, according to their behaviour in the former. Soame Jenyns favours this doctrine of transmigration, “first, from its justice; secondly, from its utility; and lastly, from the difficulty we lie under to account for the sufferings of many innocent creatures without it.” He says, “If we look around us, we cannot but observe a great and wretched variety of this kind; numberless animals subjected by their own natures to many miseries, and by our cruelties to many more, incapable of crimes, and consequently incapable of deserving them, called into being, as far as we can discover, only to be miserable for the service or diversion of others less meritorious than themselves, without any possibility of preventing, deserving, or receiving recompense for their unhappy lot, if their whole existence is comprehended in the narrow and wretched circle of their present life.” He then proceeds to observe, that “the theory here inculcated, removes all these difficulties, and reconciles all these seemingly unjust dispensations, with the strictest justice. It informs us, that their sufferings may by no means be understood, but as the just punishments of their former behaviour, in a state, where by means of their vices, they may have escaped them. It teaches us, that the pursued and persecuted fox, was once probably some crafty and rapacious minister, who had purchased by his ill acquired wealth, that safety, which he cannot now procure by his flight; that the bull, baited with all the cruelties that human ingenuity, or human malevolence can invent, was once some relentless tyrant, who had inflicted all the tortures which he endures; that the poor bird, blinded, imprisoned, and at last starved to death in a cage, may have been some unforgiving creditor; and the widowed turtle, pining away life for the loss of her mate, some fashionable wife, rejoicing at the death of her husband, which her own ill-usage had occasioned. Never can the delicious repast of roasted lobsters excite my appetite, whilst the ideas of the tortures in which those innocent creatures have expired present themselves to my imagination. But when I consider that they must have once probably been Spaniards at Mexico, or Dutchmen at Amboyna, I fall to, with a good stomach and a good conscience. Never can I repose myself with satisfaction in a post chaise, whilst I look upon the starved, foundered, accelerated, and excoriated animals which draw it, as mere horses, condemned to such unmerited torments for my convenience, but I reflect, they must have undoubtedly existed in the fathers of the holy inquisition. I very well know that these sentiments will be treated as ludicrous by many of my readers, but they are in themselves just and serious, and carry with them the strongest probability of their truth. So strong is it, that I cannot but hope it will have some good effect on the conduct of those polite people, who are too sagacious, learned, and courageous to be kept in awe by the threats of hell and damnation; and I exhort every fine lady to consider, how wretched will be her condition, if after twenty or thirty years spent at cards, in elegant rooms, kept warm by good fires and soft carpets, she should at last be obliged to change places with one of her coach horses; and every fine gentleman to reflect, how much more wretched would be his, if after wasting his estate, his health, and his life in extravagance, indolence, and luxury, he should again revive in the situation of one of his creditors.”

Besides Jenyns’s suppositions, allow me to notice the crimping of fish, the skinning of eels alive, the whipping of pigs to death, to make them tender, the boiling of live crabs, having first put them in cold water to make them lively; together with the preference given to hunted hares, on account of their delicacy of muscles, softened by worry and exertion. These are but too common instances of a barbarous taste.

At this season of enjoyment and leisure, when we derive pleasure from contemplating the beautiful forms and appearances of nature, and are grateful for annual abundance, let us reflect on the criminal heedlessness wherewith we allow our appetites and pleasures to be indulged, by needless sufferings in the animals we subdue to our wants and whims. While we endeavour to inculcate kindness in our children towards one another, let us teach them kindness to the meanest of created beings. I know that the Every-Day Book widely circulates in families; the humane sentiments that pervade it, must therefore have considerable influence, and for this reason I select it as a channel for conveying a humane suggestion.

I am, dear Sir,

Yours sincerely,

J. B.

THE SEASON.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

The perusal of your remarks on the season and the winds, in the Every-Day Book, page 707, reminded me of some lines I wrote at Ramsgate. If you know Wellington-crescent, where they were composed, you know a very pretty place, for either summer or winter residence.

I am, Sir, &c.

June 6, 1825.

J. S.

THE EAST WIND.

A summer sun in brightness glows, But, ah! the blighting east wind blows, And weighs the spirit down! All smiling is th’ enlivening ray, That tips with silvery tinge the spray, O’er ocean’s bosom thrown!

Yet, all inviting though it seems, And tempts one forth to court its beams I tremblingly retire: For I am one who hate and dread That eastern blast, and oft have fled Its pestilences dire!

But the young shoots that round me rise And make me old,--(though still unwise) Feel no such fear as I Brimful of joy they venture forth Wind blowing west, south, east, or north, If cloudless be the sky!

They tripping lightly o’er the path, To them yet free from grief or scath, Press on--and onward still, With brow unwrinkled yet by care, With spirit buoyant as the air-- They breathe at freedom’s will.

Where shipwreck’d seamen oft deplore The loss of all their scanty store, They rove at ebb of tide In quest of shells, or various weed, That, from the bed of ocean freed, Their anxious search abide.

Proud and elated with their prize, (All eagerness with sparkling eyes,) The treasures home are brought To me, who plunged in gloom the while. At home have watch’d the sea bird’s guile:-- Or, in a sea of thought,

Have sent my spirit forth to find Fit food for an immortal mind, Else of itself the prey! And in th’ abstraction of that mood. Full oft I’ve realized the good, We boast not every day.

Sometimes tho’, with a courage bold, As ever faced the arctic’s cold, I pace the Colonnade;[173] And then am soon compelled to beat, And seek a cowardly retreat, Within the parlour’s shade!

Sometimes the place,[174] warm shelter’d close, Where Sharwood’s decorated house, From roof to step all flowers, Shines forth as Flora’s temple, where Dominion falls to sea and air;-- Napoleonic powers!

There, snugly shelter’d from the blast, My eyes right pensively I cast Where famed sir Williams’s bark Lies moor’d, awaiting the time when That Noah of citizens again Shall venture on such ark!

But, ah! still round the corner creeps, That treach’rous wind! and still it sweeps Too clean the path I tread: Arm’d as with numerous needle points, Its painful searchings pierce my joints, And then capsize my head!

So home again full trot I speed, As, after wound, the warrior’s steed; And sit me down, and sigh O’er the hard-hearted fate of those Who feel like me these east-wind woes That brain and marrow try!

Again upon the sea I look, Of nature that exhaustless book With endless wonder fraught:-- How oft upon that sea I’ve gazed, Whose world of waters has amazed Man--social or untaught.

And, spite of all that some may say, It is the place from day to day, Whereon the soul can dwell! My soul enkindles at the sight Of such accumulated might; And loves such grandeur well!

J. S.

[173] Wellington-crescent.

[174] Albion-place.

~June 17.~

Sts. Nicandeo and Marcian, about A. D. 303. St. Botulph, Abbot, A. D. 655. St. Avitus, or Avy, A. D. 530. St. Molingus, or Dairchilla, Bp. A. D. 697. St. Prior, Hermit, 4th Cent.

St. Alban.

This saint, the proto-martyr of Britain, is in the church of England calendar and almanacs on this day, but he stands in the Romish calendar, on the 22d of the month.

St. Alban was born at Verulam, in Hertfordshire, in the third century, and went to Rome, where he served seven years as a soldier under Dioclesian. He afterwards returned to England, became a Christian, and suffered martyrdom in 303, during the dreadful persecution raised by Dioclesian. Several miracles are said by Bede to have been wrought at his martyrdom.[175]

The fame of Alban, recorded as it was by Bede, made a deep impression on the minds of the superstitious. “The Ecclesiastical History” of that author, was published in 731; and in the year 795, Offa, king of the Mercians, built a monastery to the honour of Alban, on the place where he had suffered, then called by the Anglo-Saxons, Holmhurst, but since, in honour of the martyr, named St. Alban’s. The town built near the abbey still retains the latter appellation; and the abbey-church is even yet in existence, having, at the suppression of the monasteries by Henry the Eighth, been purchased by a rich clothier of the name of Stump, for 400_l._, and converted by him into a parochial church, for the use of the inhabitants. In the year 1257, some workmen repairing this ancient church, found the remains of some sheets of lead, containing relics, with a thick plate of lead over them, upon which was cut the following inscription:--

“In hoc Mausoleo inventum est Venerabile corpus SANCTI ALBANI, Proto Martyris Anglorum.”[176]

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Monkey Flower. Mimulus luteus. Dedicated to St. Nicandeo.

[175] Audley.

[176] Brady’s Clavis.

~June 18.~

Sts. Marcus and Marcellianus, A. D. 286. St. Marina, 8th. Cent. St. Elizabeth of Sconage, Abbess, A. D. 1165. St. Amand, Bp. of Bourdeaux.

CHRONOLOGY.

1815. The battle of Waterloo, which terminated the personal power of Napoleon, was fought on this day.

BATTLE OF WATERLOO

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?--No; ’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying fleet-- But, hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, nearer, deadlier than before. Arm! arm! it is!--it is--the cannon’s opening roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne’er might be repeated: who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused by the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips--“The foe! they come! they come!”

And wild, and high, the “Cameron’s gathering rose!” The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears.

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,--alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay; The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,--the day Battle’s magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,--friend,--foe,--in one red burial blent!

Byron.

On the 18th of June, 1817, the Strand-bridge, a noble structure, erected at the expense of private individuals, was opened for the public accommodation, under the denomination of Waterloo-bridge, with military and other ceremonies.

These poor “Buy-a-Broom” girls exactly dress now, As Hollar etch’d such girls two cent’ries ago; All formal and stiff, with legs, only, at ease-- Yet, pray, judge for yourself; and don’t, if you please, Like Matthews’s “Chyle,” in his Monolo-Play, Cry “The Ev’ry-Day Book is quite right, I dare say;” But ask for the print, at old print shops, (they’ll show it,) And look at it, “with your own eyes,” and you’ll “know it.”

*

These girls are Flemings. They come to England from the Netherlands in the spring, and take their departure with the summer. They have only one low, shrill, twittering note, “Buy a broom?” sometimes varying into the singular plural, “Buy a broom_s_?” It is a domestic cry; two or three go together, and utter it in company with each other; not in concert, nor to a neighbourhood, and scarcely louder than will attract the notice of an inmate seen at a parlour window, or an open street-door, or a lady or two passing in the street. Their hair is tightened up in front, and at the sides, and behind, and the ends brought together, and so secured, or skewered, at the top of the head, as if it were constricted by a tourniquet: the little close cap, not larger than an infant’s, seems to be put on and tied down by strings fastened beneath the chin, merely as a concealment of the machinery. Without a single inflexion of the body, and for any thing that appears to the contrary, it may be incased in tin. From the waist, the form abruptly and boldly bows out like a large beehive, or an arch of carpentry, built downward from above the hips, for the purpose of opening and distending the enormous petticoat into numerous plaits and folds, and thereby allowing the legs to walk without incumbrance. Their figures are exactly miniatured in an unpainted penny doll of turnery ware, made all round, before and behind, and sold in the toyshops for the amusement of infancy.

These Flemish girls are of low stature, with features as formal and old fashioned as their dress. Their gait and manner answer to both. They carry their brooms, not under the left arm, but upon it, as they would children, upright between the arm and the side, with the heads in front of the shoulder. One, and one only, of the brooms is invariably held in the right hand, and this is elevated with the sharp cry “Buy a broom?” or “Buy a brooms?” to any one likely to become a purchaser, till it is either bought or wholly declined. The sale of their brooms is the sole purpose for which they cross the seas to us; and they suffer nothing to divert them from their avocation. A broom girl’s countenance, so wearisomely indicates unwearied attention to the “main chance,” and is so inflexibly solemn, that you doubt whether she ever did or can smile; yet when she does, you are astonished that she does not always: her face does not relax by degrees, but breaks suddenly into an arch laugh. This appearance may be extorted by a joke, while driving a bargain, but not afterwards: she assumes it, perhaps, as a sort of “turn” to hasten the “business transaction;” for when that is concluded, the intercourse ends immediately. Neither lingering nor loitering, they keep constantly walking on, and looking out for customers. They seldom speak to each other; nor when their brooms are disposed of, do they stop and rejoice upon it as an end to their labours; but go homewards reflectively, with the hand every now and then dipping into the pocket of the huge petticoat, and remaining there for a while, as if counting the receipts of the day while they walk, and reckoning what the before accumulated riches will total to, with the new addition. They seem influenced by this admonition, “get all you can, and keep all you get.”

Rather late in an autumn afternoon, in Battersea-fields, I saw one of these girls by herself; she was seated, with her brooms on her lap, in a bit of scenery, which, from Weirotter’s etchings and other prints, I have always fancied resembled a view in the Low Countries: it is an old windmill, near the “Red-house,” with some low buildings among willows, on the bank of the Thames, thrown up to keep the river from overflowing a marshy flat. To my imagination, she was fixed to that spot in a reverie on her “vader-land.[177]” She gazed on the strait line of stunted trees, as if it were the line of beauty; and from the motion of her lips, and the enthusiasm of her look, I deemed she was reciting a passage from a poet of her native country. Elevation of feeling, in one of these poor girls, was hardly to be looked for; and yet I know not why I should have excluded it, as not appertaining to their character, except from their seeming intentness on thrift alone. They are cleanly, frugal, and no wasters of time; and that they are capable of sentiment, I state on the authority of my imagining concerning this poor girl; whereon, too, I pledge myself not to have been mistaken, for the language of the heart is universal--and hers discoursed to mine; though from the situation wherein I stood, she saw me not. I was not, nor could I be, in love with her--I was in love with human nature.

The “brooms” are one entire piece of wood; the sweeping part being slivered from the handle, and the shavings neatly turned over and bound round into the form of a besom. They are bought to dust curtains and hangings with; but good housewives have another use for them; one of them dipt in fair water, sprinkles the dried clothes in the laundry, for the process of ironing, infinitely better than the hand; it distributes the water more equally and more quickly.

“Buy a Broom?!!”

There is a print with this inscription. It is a caricature representation of Mr. Brougham, with his barrister’s wig, in the dress of a broom girl, and for its likeness of that gentleman, and the play on his name, it is amazingly popular; especially since he contended for a man’s right to his own personal appearance, in the case of Abernethy v. The Lancet, before the chancellor. Mr. Brougham’s good-humoured allusion to his own countenance, was taken by the auditors in court, to relate particularly to his portrait in this print, called “Buy a Broom?” It is certainly as good as “The Great Bell of Lincoln’s-inn,” and two or three other prints of gentlemen eminent at the chancery-bar, sketched and etched, apparently, by the same happy hand at a thorough likeness.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Horned Poppy. Chelidonium glaucum. Dedicated to St. Marina.

[177] Vader-land, a word signifying country, but infinitely more expressive; it was first adopted by Lord Byron into our language; he englishes it “Fatherland.”

~June 19.~

Sts. Gervasius and Protasius. St. Boniface, Abp., Apostle of Russia, A. D. 1009. St. Juliana Falconieri, A. D. 1340. St. Die, or Deodatus, Bp. A. D. 679 or 680.

CHRONOLOGY.

1215. Magna Charta was signed, on compulsion, by king John, at Runnymead, near Windsor.

1820. Sir Joseph Banks, president of the royal society, died, aged 77.

The Summer Midnight.

The breeze of night has sunk to rest, Upon the river’s tranquil breast, And every bird has sought her nest, Where silent is her minstrelsy; The queen of heaven is sailing high, A pale bark on the azure sky, Where not a breath is heard to sigh-- So deep the soft tranquillity.

Forgotten now the heat of day That on the burning waters lay, The noon of night her mantle gray, Spreads, from the sun’s high blazonry; But glittering in that gentle night There gleams a line of silvery light, As tremulous on the shores of white It hovers sweet and playfully.

At peace the distant shallop rides; Not as when dashing o’er her sides The roaring bay’s unruly tides Were beating round her gloriously; But every sail is furl’d and still, Silent the seaman’s whistle shrill, While dreamy slumbers seem to thrill With parted hours of ecstacy.

Stars of the many spangled heaven! Faintly this night your beams are given, Tho’ proudly where your hosts are driven Ye rear your dazzling galaxy; Since far and wide a softer hue Is spread across the plains of blue, Where in bright chorus ever true For ever swells your harmony.

O! for some sadly dying note Upon this silent hour to float, Where from the bustling world remote, The lyre might wake its melody; One feeble strain is all can swell From mine almost deserted shell, In mournful accents yet to tell That slumbers not its minstrelsy.

There is an hour of deep repose That yet upon my heart shall close, When all that nature dreads and knows Shall burst upon me wond’rously; O may, I then awake for ever My harp to rapture’s high endeavour, And as from earth’s vain scene I sever, Be lost in Immortality!

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

La Julienne de Nuit. Hesperis tristis. Dedicated to St. Juliana.

~June 20.~

St. Silverius, Pope, A. D. 538. St. Gobian, Priest and Martyr, about 656. St. Idaburga, or Edburge. St. Bain, Bp. of Terouanne (now St. Omer,) and Abbot, about A. D. 711.

Translation of Edward.

This day is so distinguished in the church of England calendar. Edward was the king of the West Saxons, murdered by order of Elfrida. He had not only an anniversary on the 18th of March, in commemoration of his sufferings, or rather of the silly and absurd miracles alleged to have been wrought at his tomb; but he was even honoured by our weak forefathers with another festival on the 20th of June, in each year, in remembrance of the removal, or translation, as it is termed, of his relics at Wareham, where they were inhumed, to the minster at Salisbury, three years after his decease.

It is observed by Mr. Brady, on the translation of St. Edward, as follows:--

“At the period this solemn act of absurd pomp took place, all Europe was plunged in a state of profound ignorance and mental darkness; no marvel, therefore, that great importance should have been attached to such superstitious usage; but for what reason our reformers chose to keep up a recollection of that folly, cannot readily be ascertained.

“Of the origin of translations of this kind, much has been written; and if we are to credit the assertions of those monkish writers, whose works are yet found in catholic countries, though they have themselves long passed to the silent tomb, we must believe not only that they had their source from a principle of devotion, but that peculiar advantages accrued to those who encouraged their increase. In the year 359, the emperor Constantius, out of a presumed and, perhaps, not inconsistent respect, caused the remains of St. Andrew and St. Luke to be removed from their ancient place of interment to the temple of the twelve apostles, at Constantinople; and from that example, the practice of searching for the bodies of saints and martyrs increased so rapidly, that in the year 386, we find almost the whole of the devotees engaged in that pursuit. Relics, of course, speedily became of considerable value; and as they were all alleged to possess peculiar virtues, no expense or labour were spared to provide such treasures for every public religious foundation. Hence translations innumerable took place of the decayed members of persons reputed saints; and where the entire bodies could not be collected, the pious contented themselves with possessing such parts alone as ‘Providence chose to bless them with.’ Without these sacred relics, no establishments could expect to thrive; and so provident had the persons been who laboured in their collection, that not a single religious house but could produce one or more of those invaluable remains; though, unless we are to believe that most relics, like the holy cross itself, possessed the power of self-augmentation, we must either admit, that some of our circumspect forefathers were imposed upon, or that St. John the Baptist had more heads than that of which he was so cruelly deprived, as well as several of their favourite saints having each kindly afforded them two or three skeletons of their precious bodies; circumstances that frequently occurred, ‘because,’ says Father John Ferand, of Anecy, ‘God was pleased so to multiply and re-produce them, for the devotion of the faithful!’

“Of the number of these relics that have been preserved, it is useless to attempt a description, nor, indeed, could they be detailed in many volumes; yet it may gratify curiosity to afford some brief account of such as, in addition to the heads of St. John the Baptist, were held in the greatest repute, were it for no other reason than to show how the ignorance and credulity of the commonalty have, in former ages, been imposed upon, viz.:--

“A finger of St. Andrew;

“A finger of St. John the Baptist;

“The thumb of St. Thomas;

“A tooth of our Lord;

“A rib of our Lord, or, as it is profanely styled, of the Verbum caro factum, the word made flesh;

“The hem of our Lord’s garment, which cured the diseased woman;

“The seamless coat of our Lord;

“A tear which our Lord shed over Lazarus; it was preserved by an angel, who gave it in a phial to Mary Magdalene;

“Two handkerchiefs, on which are impressions of our Saviour’s face; the one sent by our Lord himself as a present to Agbarus, prince of Edessa; the other given at the time of his crucifixion to a holy woman, named Veronica;

“The rod of Moses, with which he performed his miracles;

“A lock of hair of Mary Magdalene’s;

“A hem of Joseph’s garment;

“A feather of the Holy Ghost;

“A finger of the Holy Ghost;

“A feather of the angel Gabriel;

“A finger of a cherubim;

“The water-pots used at the marriage in Galilee;

“The slippers of the antediluvian Enoch;

“The face of a seraphim, with only part of the nose;

“The ‘snout’ of a seraphim, thought to have belonged to the preceding;

“The coal that broiled St. Lawrence;

“The square buckler, lined with ‘red velvet,’ and the short sword of St. Michael;

“A phial of the ‘sweat of St. Michael,’ when he contended with Satan;

“Some of the rays of the star that appeared to the Magi; with innumerable others, not quite consistent with decency to be here described.

“The miracles wrought by these and other such precious remains, have been enlarged upon by writers, whose testimony, aided by the protecting care of the inquisition, no one durst openly dispute who was not of the ‘holy brotherhood;’ although it would appear, by the confessions of some of those respectable persons, that ‘instances have occurred of their failure,’ but that they always ‘recovered their virtue, when,’ as Galbert, a monk of Marchiennes, informs us, ‘they were flogged with rods, &c.!’”[178]

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Doubtful Poppy. Papaver dubium. Dedicated to St. Silverius.

[178] Brady’s Clavis.

~June 21.~

St. Aloysius, or Lewis Gonzaga, A. D. 1591. St. Ralph, Abp. of Bourges, A. D. 866. St. Meen, in Latin, Mevennus, also Melanus, Abbot in Britanny, about A. D. 617. St. Aaron, Abbot in Britanny, 6th Cent. St. Eusebius, Bp. of Samosata, A. D. 379 or 380. _St. Leufredus_, in French, Leufroi, Abbot, A. D. 738.

Summer Morning and Evening.

The glowing morning, crown’d with youthful roses, Bursts on the world in virgin sweetness smiling, And as she treads, the waking flowers expand, Shaking their dewy tresses. Nature’s choir Of untaught minstrels blend their various powers In one grand anthem, emulous to salute Th’ approaching king of day, and vernal Hope Jocund trips forth to meet the healthful breeze, To mark th’ expanding bud, the kindling sky, And join the general pæan. While, like a matron, who has long since done With the gay scenes of life, whose children all Have sunk before her on the lap of earth-- Upon whose mild expressive face the sun Has left a smile that tells of former joys-- Grey Eve glides on in pensive silence musing. As the mind triumphs o’er the sinking frame, So as her form decays, her starry beams Shed brightening lustre, till on night’s still bosom Serene she sinks, and breathes her peaceful last, While on the rising breeze sad melodies, Sweet as the notes that soothe the dying pillow, When angel-music calls the saint to heaven, Come gently floating: ’tis the requiem Chaunted by Philomel for day departed.

Ado.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Viper’s Buglos. Echium vulgare. Dedicated to St. Aloysius.

Now cometh welcome Summer with great strength, Joyously smiling in high lustihood, Conferring on us days of longest length, For rest or labour, in town, field, or wood; Offering, to our gathering, richest stores Of varied herbage, corn, cool fruits, and flowers, As forth they rise from Nature’s open pores, To fill our homesteads, and to deck our bowers; Inviting us to renovate our health By recreation; or, by ready hand, And calculating thought, t’ improve our wealth: And so, invigorating all the land, And all the tenantry of earth or flood, Cometh the plenteous Summer--full of good.

*

“How beautiful is summer,” says the elegant author of Sylvan Sketches, a volume that may be regarded as a sequel to the Flora Domestica, from the hand of the same lady.--“How beautiful is summer! the trees are heavy with fruit and foliage; the sun is bright and cheering in the morning; the shade of broad and leafy boughs is refreshing at noon; and the calm breezes of the evening whisper gently through the leaves, which reflect the liquid light of the moon when she is seen--

---------“lifting her silver rim Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim Coming into the blue with all her light.”

On page 337 of the present work, there is the spring dress of our ancestors in the fourteenth century, from an illumination in a manuscript copied by Strutt. From the same illumination, their summer dress in that age is here represented.

LONGEST DAY.

No day is disadvantageous to an agreeable thought or two upon “Time;” and the present, being the longest day, is selected for submitting to perusal a very pleasant little apologue from a miscellany addressed to the young. The object of the writer was evidently to do good, and it is hoped that its insertion here, in furtherance of the purpose, may not be less pleasing to the editor who first introduced it to the public eye, than it will be found by the readers of the Every-Day Book. This is the tale.

THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM.

An old clock, that had stood for fifty years in a farmer’s kitchen, without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer’s morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped.

Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable,) changed countenance with alarm; the hands made a vain effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation, when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice protested their innocence. But now a faint tick was heard below from the pendulum, who thus spoke:--

“I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking.” Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged, that it was on the very point of striking.

“Lazy wire!” exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands.--“Very good,” replied the pendulum: “it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as every body knows, set yourself up above me,--it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! You, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and forwards, year after year, and do.”--“As to that,” said the dial, “Is there not a window in your house, on purpose for you to look through?”

“For all that,” resumed the pendulum, “it is very dark here: and, although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an instant, to look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and, if you wish, I’ll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I happened this morning to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course only of the next twenty-four hours: perhaps some of you above there can give me the exact sum.”

The minute hand, being quick at figures, presently replied, “Eighty_-_six thousand four hundred times.”

“Exactly so,” replied the pendulum; “well, I appeal to you all, if the very thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so, after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself, I’ll stop.”

The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but, resuming its gravity, thus replied:--

“Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself should have been overcome by this sudden notion. It is true you have done a great deal of work in your time; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to do. Would you now do me the favour to give about half a dozen strokes, to illustrate my argument?”

The pendulum complied, and ticked six times at its usual pace.--“Now,” resumed the dial, “may I be allowed to inquire, if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?”

“Not in the least,” replied the pendulum; “it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions.”

“Very good,” replied the dial; “but recollect, that though you may think of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in.”

“That consideration staggers me, I confess,” said the pendulum. “Then I hope,” resumed the dial-plate, “we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the maids will lie in bed till noon, if we stand idling thus.”

Upon this the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hand began to move, the pendulum began to swing, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising sun, that streamed through a hole in the kitchen shutter, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up as if nothing had been the matter.

When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the clock, he declared that his watch had gained half-an-hour in the night.

* * * * *

A celebrated modern writer says, “take care of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves.” This is an admirable remark, and might be very seasonably recollected when we begin to be “weary in well-doing,” from the thought of having much to do. The present moment is all we have to do with in any sense; the past is irrecoverable; the future is uncertain; nor is it fair to burthen one moment with the weight of the next. Sufficient unto the moment is the trouble thereof. If we had to walk a hundred miles, we should still have to set but one step at a time, and this process continued would infallibly bring us to our journey’s end. Fatigue generally begins, and is always increased, by calculating in a minute the exertion of hours.

Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us recollect that we have not to sustain all its toil, to endure all its sufferings, or encounter all its crosses at once. One moment comes laden with its own little burthens, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the last; if one could be borne, so can another, and another.

Even in looking forward to a single day, the spirit may sometimes faint from an anticipation of the duties, the labours, the trials to temper and patience that may be expected. Now, this is unjustly laying the burthen of many thousand moments upon one. Let any one resolve always to do right now, leaving then to do as it can; and if he were to live to the age of Methusalem, he would never do wrong. But the common error is to resolve to act right after breakfast, or after dinner, or to-morrow morning, or next time; but now, just now, this once, we must go on the same as ever.

It is easy, for instance, for the most ill-tempered person to resolve, that the next time he is provoked he will not let his temper overcome him; but the victory would be to subdue temper on the present provocation. If, without taking up the burthen of the future, we would always make the single effort at the present moment, while there would, at any time, be very little to do, yet, by this simple process continued, every thing would at last be done.

It seems easier to do right to-morrow than to-day, merely because we forget, that when to-morrow comes, then will be now. Thus life passes with many, in resolutions for the future, which the present never fulfils.

It is not thus with those, who, “by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honour, and immortality:” day by day, minute by minute, they execute the appointed task to which the requisite measure of time and strength is proportioned: and thus, having worked while it was called day, they at length rest from their labours, and their “works follow them.”

Let us then, “whatever our hands find to do, do it with all our might, recollecting that now is the proper and accepted time.”[179]

[179] From the Youth’s Magazine, for November, 1819.

~June 22.~

St. Paulinus, Bp. of Nola, A. D. 431. St. Alban, Proto-Martyr of Britain, A. D. 303.

American Newspapers.

The following singular advertisement, appeared in the “Connecticut Courant,” of June 2, 1784.

TAKE NOTICE, DEBTORS

For Newspapers to the Subscriber.

This is the last time of asking in this way; all those who settle their accounts by the 18th of June, instant, will have the thanks of their humble servant; and those that neglect, will find their accounts in the hands of some person, who will collect them in a more fashionable way, but more expensive.

JAMES JOHNSON.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Canterbury Bells. Campanula Medium. Dedicated to St. Paulinus.

~June 23.~

St. Etheldreda, or Audry, A. D. 679. St. Mary of Oignies, A. D. 1213.

This engraving represents a rejoicing formerly common to this season; it is from a French print, inscribed “Le Feu de St. Jean Mariette ex.”

The summer solstice has been celebrated throughout all ages by the lighting up of fires, and hence on “St. John’s eve,” or the vigil of the festival of St. John the Baptist, there have been popular ceremonials of this kind from the earliest times of the Romish church to the present. Before, however, particularizing any of these celebrations, it may be worth while to notice the following practice, which is still maintained.

Midsummer Eve, in Ireland.

At Stoole, near Downpatrick, in the north of Ireland, there is a ceremony commencing at twelve o’clock at night on every Midsummer-eve.--Its sacred mount is consecrated to St. Patrick: the plain contains three wells, to which the most extraordinary virtues are attributed. Here and there are heaps of stones, around some of which appear great numbers of people running with as much speed as possible; around others, crowds of worshippers kneel with bare legs and feet as an indispensable part of the penance. The men, without coats, with handkerchiefs on their heads instead of hats, having gone seven times round each heap, kiss the ground, cross themselves, and proceed to the hill; here they ascend on their bare knees, by a path so steep and rugged that it would be difficult to walk up: many hold their hands clasped at the back of their necks, and several carry large stones on their heads. Having repeated this ceremony seven times, they go to what is called St. Patrick’s chair, which are two great flat stones fixed upright in the hill; here they cross and bless themselves as they step in between these stones, and while repeating prayers, an old man, seated for the purpose, turns them round on their feet three times, for which he is paid; the devotee then goes to conclude his penance at a pile of stones named the altar. While this busy scene of superstition is continued by the multitude, the wells, and streams issuing from them, are thronged by crowds of halt, maimed, and blind, pressing to wash away their infirmities with water consecrated by their patron saint; and so powerful is the impression of its efficacy on their minds, that many of those who go to be healed, and who are not totally blind, or altogether crippled, really believe for a time that they are by means of its miraculous virtues perfectly restored. These effects of a heated imagination are received as unquestionable miracles, and are propagated with abundant exaggeration.[180]

The annual resort of the ignorant portion of our Roman Catholic countrymen, was never so numerously attended as it has been during the late anniversary of this festival, in 1825. The extent of the number of strangers from very remote parts of the country was unprecedented. The usual ablutions, penances, and miraculous results, were performed, and attested by the devotees, who experienced some disappointment in not having the accustomed arch-officiater to consummate the observances by thrice revolving the votary in the chair of St. Patrick. This deprivation, it is said, marks the sense of a dignitary of the church respecting this annual ceremony.[181]

Ancient Custom of SETTING THE WATCH IN LONDON on St. John’s Eve.

The curfew-bell, commanded by William Conquerour to be nightly rung at eight of the clock, as a warning, or command, that all people should then put out their fires and lights, was continued throughout the realm till the time of Henry the First, when Stow says, that it followed, “by reason of warres within the realme, that many men gave themselves to robbery and murders in the night.” Stow then recites from an ancient chronicler, Roger Hoveden, that in the yeare 1175, during the time of a council held at Nottingham, a brother of the earle Ferrers, was “in the night privily slaine at London, and thrown out of his inne into the durty street; when the king understood thereof he sware that he would be revenged on the citizens. It was then a common practice in this city, that a hundred or more in a company, young and old, would make nightly invasions upon houses of the wealthy, to the intent to rob them; and if they found any man stirring in the city within the night, that were not of their crue, they would presently murder him: insomuch, that when night was come, no man durst adventure to walk in the streets. When this had continued long, it fortuned, that a crue of young and wealthy citizens assembling together in the night, assaulted a stone house of a certaine rich man, and breaking through the wall, the good man of that house having prepared himself with other in a corner, when hee perceived one of the theeves, named Andrew Bucquint, to lead the way, with a burning brand in the one hand, and a pot of coles in the other, which hee assaied to kindle with the brand, he flew upon him, and smote off his right hand, and then with a loud voyce cryed ‘theeves.’ At the hearing whereof, the theeves took their flight, all saving he that had lost his hand, whom the good man (in the next morning) delivered to Richard de Lucie, the king’s justice. This theefe, upon warrant of his life, appeached his confederates, of whom many were taken, and many were fled. Among the rest that were apprehended, a certaine citizen of great countenance, credit, and wealth, named John Senex, who for as much he could not acquit himselfe by the water-doome (as that law was then tearmed) hee offered to the king five hundred pounds of silver for his life. But forasmuch as he was condemned by judgement of the water, the king would not take the offer, but commanded him to be hanged on the gallowes, which was done, and then the city became more quiet for a long time after.”

It appears that the city of London was subject to these disorders till 1253, when Henry III. commanded watches to be kept in the cities, and borough towns, for the preservation of the peace; and this king further ordained “that if any man chanced to be robbed, or by any means damnified, by any theefe or robber, he to whom the charge of keeping that county, city, or borough, chiefly appertained, where the robbery was done, should competently restore the losse.”

This origin of the present nightly watch in London was preceded by other popular customs, or they rather, it may be said, assisted in its formation. “In the months of June and July, on the vigils of festivall dayes, and on the same festivall dayes in the evenings, after the sun-setting, there were usually made bone-fires in the streets, every man bestowing wood or labour towards them. The wealthier sort also before their doores, neere to the said bone-fires, would set out tables on the vigils, furnished with sweete bread, and good drinke, and on the festivall dayes with meats and drinkes plentifully, whereunto they would invite their neighbours and passengers also to sit, and be merry with them in great familiarity, praysing God for his benefits bestowed on them. These were called bone-fires, as well of amity amongst neighbours, that being before at controversie, were there by the labour of others reconciled, and made of bitter enemies, loving friends; as also for the vertue that a great fire hath, to purge the infection of the ayre.

“On the vigil of St. John Baptist, and on Sts. Peter and Paul the apostles, every man’s doore being shaddowed with greene birch, long fennel, St. John’s wort, orpin, white lilies, and such like, garnished upon with garlands of beautifull flowers, had also lamps of glasse, with oyle burning in them all the night; some hung out branches of iron curiously wrought, containing hundreds of lamps lighted at once, which made a goodly shew, namely in new Fish-street, Thames-street, &c.

“Then had ye, besides the standing watches, all in bright harnesse, in every ward and street of this city and suburbs, a marching watch, that passed through the principall streets thereof, to wit, from the little conduit by Paul’s gate, through West Cheape, by the Stocks, through Cornehill, by Leadenhall to Aldgate, then backe down Fen-church-street, by Grasse-church, about Grasse-church conduit, and up Grasse-church-street into Cornhill, and through it into West Cheape again, and so broke up.

“The whole way ordered for this marching watch, extended to three thousand two hundred taylors’ yards of assize; for the furniture whereof with lights, there were appointed seven hundred cressets, five hundred of them being found by the companies, the other two hundred by the chamber of London. Besides the which lights, every constable in London, in number more than two hundred and forty, had his cresset: the charge of every cresset was in light two shillings foure pence, and every cresset had two men, one to beare or hold it, another to beare a bag with light, and to serve it: so that the poore men pertaining to the cressets, taking wages, (besides that every one had a strawen hat, with a badge painted, and his breakfast in the morning,) amounted in number to almost two thousand.

“The marching watch contained in number two thousand men, part of them being old souldiers, of skill to bee captaines, lieutenants, serjeants, corporals, &c. wifflers, drummers, and fifes, standard and ensigne-bearers, sword-players, trumpeters on horsebacke, demilaunces on great horses, gunners with hand-guns, or halfe hakes, archers in cotes of white fustian, signed on the breste and backe with the armes of the city, their bowes bent in their hands, with sheafes of arrowes by their sides, pike-men in bright corslets, burganets, &c., holbards, the like billmen in almaine rivets, and aperns of mayle in great number.

“There were also divers pageants, and morris dancers attendant on the setting of this marching watch. The constables, were divided into two parties; one halfe consisting of one hundred and twenty, were appointed on St. John’s eve, the other halfe on St. Peter’s eve.” They were “in bright harnesse, some over-gilt, and every one a jornet of scarlet thereupon and a chaine of gold, his hench-man following him, his minstrels before him, and his cresset light passing by him.” In the procession were “the waytes of the city, the maiors officers, for his guard before him, all in a livery of wosted, or say jackets, party coloured; the maior himselfe well mounted on horseback, the sword-bearer before him in faire armour, well mounted also, the maiors foot-men, and the like torch-bearers about him; hench-men twaine, upon great stirring horses following him. The sheriffes watches came one after the other in like order, but not so large in number as the maiors: for whereas the maior had, besides his giant, three pageants, each of the sheriffes had, besides their giants, but two pageants; each their morris-dance, and one hench-man, their officers in jackets of wosted, or say, party-coloured, differing from the maiors, and each from other, but having harnessed men a great many, &c. This Midsummer watch was thus accustomed yeerely, time out of minde, untill the yeere 1539, the thirty-first of Henry the Eighth, in which yeere, on the eighth of May, a great muster was made by the citizens at the Miles end, all in bright harnesse, with coats of white silke or cloth, and chaines of gold, in three great battels, to the number of fifteen thousand, which passed thorow London to Westminster, and so through the sanctuary, and round about the parke of St. James, and returned home thorow Oldborne.”

In that year, 1539, king Henry VIII. forbid this muster of armed men, and prohibited the marching watch altogether, and it was disused “til the yeere 1548.” When sir John Gresham, then lord mayor, revived the marching watch, both on the eve of St. John the baptist, and of St. Peter the apostle, and set it forth, in order as before had been accustomed; “which watch was also beautified by the number of more than three hundred demilances and light-horsemen, prepared by the citizens to be sent into Scotland, for the rescue of the town of Haddington.” After that time the marching watch again fell into disuse; yet, in the year 1585, “a booke was drawne by a grave citizen, (John Mountgomery,) and by him dedicated to sir Tho. Pullison, then l. maior, and his brethren the aldermen, containing the manner and order of a marching watch in the citie, upon the evens accustomed; in commendation whereof, namely, in times of peace to be used, he hath words to this effect: ‘The artificers of sundry sorts were thereby well set aworke, none but rich men charged, poor men helped, old souldiers, trumpeters, drummers, fifes, and engine-bearers, with such like men meet for the prince’s service, kept in use, wherein the safety and defence of every common-weale consisteth. Armour and weapons being yeerely occupied in this wise, the citizens had of their owne readily prepared for any neede, whereas, by intermission hereof, armorers are out of worke, souldiers out of use, weapons overgrowne with foulnesse, few or none good being provided,’” &c. Notwithstanding these plausible grounds, the practice was discontinued.

There can be little doubt that so great an array of armed citizens, was not only viewed with distrust by the government, but had become of so great charge to the corporation, that it was found mutually convenient to substitute a less expensive and less warlike body to watch and ward the city’s safety. The splendour wherein it was annually set forth was, however, a goodly sight, and attracted the curiosity of royalty itself, for we find that on St. John’s eve, in 1510, king Henry VIII. came to the King’s-head, in Cheap, in the livery of a yeoman of the guard, with a halbert on his shoulder, and there, in that disguise, beheld the watch till it had passed, and was so gratified with the show, that “on St. Peter’s night next following, he and the queen came royally riding to the sayd place, and there, with their nobles, beheld the watch of the city, and returned in the morning.”[182] In 1519, Christern, king of Denmark, and his queen, being then in England, were conducted to the King’s-head, in Cheap, there to see the watch.

On taking leave of the old London watch, on St. John’s eve, a remark or two may be made respecting their lights.

The Cresset.

Concerning the cressets or lights of the watch, this may be observed by way of explanation.

The cresset light was formed of a wreathed rope smeared with pitch, and placed in a cage of iron, like a trivet suspended on pivots, in a kind of fork; or it was a light from combustibles, in a hollow pan. It was rendered portable by being placed on a pole, and so carried from place to place. Mr. Douce, in his “Illustrations of Shakspeare,” gives the following four representations from old prints and drawings of

Mr. Douce imagines the word cresset to have been derived from the French word croiset, a cruet or earthen pot.

When the cresset light was stationary it served as a beacon, or answered the purpose of a fixed lamp, and in this way our ancestors illuminated or lighted up their streets. There is a volume of sermons, by Samuel Ward, printed 1617-24, with a wood-cut frontispiece, representing two of these fixed cressets or street-lamps, with verses between them, in relation to his name and character, as a faithful watchman. In the first lines old Ward is addressed thus:--

“Watch WARD, and keepe thy Garments tight, For I come thiefe-like at Midnight.”

Whereto WARD answers the injunction, to watch, in the lines following:--

“All-seeing, never-slumbering LORD; Be thou my Watch, Ile be thy WARD.”

Ward’s “lamp, or beacon,” is transferred from his frontispiece to the next column, in order to show wherein our ancient standing lamps differed from the present.

It will be seen from this engraving that the person, whose business it was to “watch” and trim the lamp, did not ascend for that purpose by a ladder, as the gas-lighters do our gas-lamps, or as the lamp-lighter did the oil-lamps which they superseded, but by climbing the pole, hand and foot, by means of the projections on each side.

St. John’s Eve Watch at Nottingham.

The practice of setting the watch, at Nottingham, on St. John’s eve, was maintained until the reign of Charles I., the manner whereof is thus described:--

“In Nottingham, by an ancient custom, they keep yearly a general watch every Midsummer eve at night, to which every inhabitant of any ability sets forth a man, as well voluntaries as those who are charged with arms, with such munition as they have; some pikes, some muskets, calivers, or other guns, some partisans, holberts, and such as have armour send their servants in their armour. The number of these are yearly almost two hundred, who, at sun-setting, meet on the Row, the most open part of the town, where the mayor’s serjeant at mace gives them an oath, the tenor whereof followeth, in these words: “They shall well and truly keep this town till to-morrow at the sun-rising; you shall come into no house without license, or cause reasonable. Of all manner of casualties, of fire, of crying of children, you shall due warning make to the parties, as the case shall require you. You shall due search make of all manner of affrays, bloud-sheds, outcrys, and of all other things that be suspected,” &c. Which done, they all march in orderly array through the principal parts of the town, and then they are sorted into several companies, and designed to several parts of the town, where they are to keep the watch until the sun dismiss them in the morning. In this business the fashion is for every watchman to wear a garland, made in the fashion of a crown imperial, bedeck’d with flowers of various kinds, some natural, some artificial, bought and kept for that purpose; as also ribbans, jewels, and, for the better garnishing whereof, the townsmen use the day before to ransack the gardens of all the gentlemen within six or seven miles about Nottingham, besides what the town itself affords them, their greatest ambition being to outdo one another in the bravery of their garlands.”[183] So pleasant a sight must have been reluctantly parted with; and accordingly in another place we find that this Midsummer show was held at a much later period than at Nottingham, and with more pageantry in the procession.

St. John’s Eve Watch at Chester.

The annual setting of the watch on St. John’s eve, in the city of Chester, was an affair of great moment. By an ordinance of the mayor, aldermen, and common councilmen of that corporation, dated in the year 1564, and preserved among the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum, a pageant which is expressly said to be “according to ancient custom,” is ordained to consist of four giants, one unicorn, one dromedary, one camel, one luce, one dragon, and six hobby-horses with other figures. By another MS. in the same library it is said, that Henry Hardware, Esq., the mayor, in 1599, caused the giants in the Midsummer show to be broken, “and not to goe the devil in his feathers;” and it appears that he caused a man in complete armour to go in their stead: but in the year 1601, John Ratclyffe, beer-brewer, being mayor, set out the giants and Midsummer show as of old it was wont to be kept. In the time of the commonwealth the show was discontinued, and the giants with the beasts were destroyed.

At the restoration of Charles II., the citizens of Chester replaced their pageant, and caused all things to be made new, because the old models were broken. According to the computation, the four great giants were to cost five pounds a-piece, at the least, and the four men to carry them were to have two shillings and six-pence each; the materials for constructing them were to be hoops of various sizes, deal boards, nails, pasteboard, scaleboard, paper of various sorts, buckram, size-cloth, and old sheets for their body-sleeves and shirts, which were to be coloured; also tinsel, tinfoil, gold and silver leaf, and colours of various kinds, with glue and paste in abundance. The provision of a pair of old sheets to cover the “father and mother giants,” and three yards of buckram for the mother’s and daughter’s hoods, seems to prove that three of these monstrous pasteboard figures represented females. A desire to preserve them may be inferred from an entry in the bill of charges:--“For arsnick to put into the paste, to save the giants from being eaten by the rats, one shilling and four-pence.” There was an item in the estimate--“For the new making the city mount, called the maior’s mount, as auntiently it was, and for hireing of bays for the same, and a man to carry it, three pounds six shillings and eight-pence.” Twenty-pence was paid to a joiner for cutting pasteboard into several images for the “merchant’s mount,” which being made, “as it aunciently was with a ship to turn round,” cost four pounds, including the hiring of the “bays,” and five men to carry it. The charge for the ship, and new dressing it, was five shillings. Strutt, who sets forth these particulars, conjectures, that the ship was probably made with pasteboard, that material seeming, to him, to have been a principle article in the manufacturing of both these movable mountains. The ship was turned, he says, by means of a swivel, attached to an iron handle underneath the frame; the “bays” was to hang round the bottom of the frames to the ground, and so conceal the bearers. Then there was a new “elephant and castell, and a cupid,” with his bows and arrows, “suitable to it;” the castle was covered with tin foil, and the cupid with skins, so as to appear to be naked, and the charge for these, with two men to carry them, was one pound sixteen shillings and eight-pence. The “four beastes called the unicorne, the antelop, the flower-de-luce (?) and the camell,” cost one pound sixteen shillings and four-pence each, and eight men were paid sixteen shillings to carry them. Four boys for carrying the four hobby-horses, had four shillings, and the hobby-horses cost six shillings and eight-pence each. The charge for the new dragon, with six naked boys to beat at it, was one pound sixteen shillings. Six morris-dancers, with a pipe and tabret, had twenty shillings; and “hance-staves, garlands, and balls, for the attendants upon the mayor and sheriffs cost one pound nineteen shillings.”[184]

These preparations it will be remembered were for the setting forth of the Midsummer-watch at Chester, so late as the reign of Charles II. After relating these particulars, Mr. Strutt aptly observes, that exhibitions of this kind for the diversions of the populace, are well described in a few lines from a dramatic piece, entitled “A pleasant and stately Morall of the Three Lordes of London:”--

-----“Let nothing that’s magnifical, Or that may tend to London’s graceful state, Be unperformed, as showes and solemne feastes, Watches in armour, triumphes, cresset lights, Bonefires, belles, and peales of ordinaunce And pleasure. See that plaies be published, Mai-games and maskes, with mirthe and minstrelsie, Pageants and school-feastes, beares and puppet-plaies.”

Somersetshire Custom.

In the parishes of Congresbury and Puxton, are two large pieces of common land, called East and West Dolemoors, (from the Saxon dal, which signifies a share or portion,) which are divided into single acres, each bearing a peculiar and different mark cut in the turf; such as a horn, four oxen and a mare, two oxen and a mare, a pole-axe, cross, dung-fork, oven, duck’s-nest, hand-reel, and hare’s-tail. On the Saturday before Old-Midsummer, several proprietors of estates in the parishes of Congresbury, Puxton, and Week St. Lawrence, or their tenants, assemble on the commons. A number of apples are previously prepared, marked in the same manner with the before-mentioned acres, which are distributed by a young lad to each of the commoners from a bag or hat. At the close of the distribution each person repairs to his allotment, as his apple directs him, and takes possession for the ensuing year. An adjournment then takes place to the house of the overseer of Dolemoors, (an officer annually elected from the tenants,) where four acres, reserved for the purpose of paying expenses, are let by inch of candle, and the remainder of the day is spent in that sociability and hearty mirth so congenial to the soul of a Somersetshire yeoman.[185]

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Our Lady’s Slipper. Cypripedium Calceolus. Dedicated to St. Etheldreda.

[180] Hibernian Magazine, July, 1817.

[181] Belfast Chronicle.

[182] Stow.

[183] Deering’s Nottingham

[184] Strutt’s Sports.

[185] Collinson’s Somersetshire.

~June 24.~

Nativity of St. John the Baptist. The Martyrs of Rome under Nero, A. D. 64. St. Bartholomew.

~Midsummer-day.~

Nativity of St. John the Baptist.

At Oxford on this day there was lately a remarkable custom, mentioned by the Rev. W. Jones of Nayland, in his “Life of Bishop Horne,” affixed to the bishop’s works. He says, “a letter of July the 25th, 1755, informed me that Mr. Horne according to an established custom at Magdalen-college in Oxford, had begun to preach before the university on the day of St. John the baptist. For the preaching of this annual sermon, a permanent pulpit of stone is inserted into a corner of the first quadrangle; and, so long as the stone pulpit was in use, (of which I have been a witness,) the quadrangle was furnished round the sides with a large fence of green boughs, that the preaching might more nearly resemble that of John the baptist in the wilderness; and a pleasant sight it was: but for many years the custom has been discontinued, and the assembly have thought it safer to take shelter under the roof of the chapel.”

Pulpits.

Without descanting at this time on the manifold construction of the pulpit, it may be allowable, perhaps, to observe, that the ambo, or first pulpit, was an elevation consisting of two flights of stairs; on the higher was read the gospel, on the lower the epistle. The pulpit of the present day is that fixture in the church, or place of worship, occupied by the minister while he delivers his sermon. Thus much is observed for the present, in consequence of the mention of the Oxford pulpit; and for the purpose of introducing the representation of a remarkably beautiful structure of this kind, from a fine engraving by Fessard in 1710.

This pulpit is larger than the pulpit of the church of England, and the other Protestant pulpits in our own country. It is a pulpit of the Romish church with a bishop preaching to a congregation of high rank. It is customary for a Roman Catholic prelate to have the ensigns of his prelacy displayed in the pulpit, and hence they are so exhibited in Fessard’s print. This, however, is by no means so large as other pulpits in Romish churches, which are of increased magnitude for the purpose of congregating the clergy, when their occupations at the altar have ceased, before the eye of the congregation; and hence it is common for many of them to sit robed, by the side of the preacher, during the sermon.

An English lady visiting France, who had been mightily impressed by the rites of the Roman Catholic religion, revived there since the restoration of the Bourbons, was induced to attend the Protestant worship, at the chapel of the British ambassador. She says “the splendour of the Romish service, the superb dresses, the chanting, accompanied by beautiful music, the lights, and the other ceremonies, completely overpowered my mind; at last on the Sunday before I left Paris I went to our ambassador’s chapel, just to say that I had been. There was none of the pomp I had been so lately delighted with; the prevailing character of the worship was simplicity; the minister who delivered the sermon was only sufficiently elevated to be seen by the auditors; he preached to a silent and attentive congregation, whose senses had not been previously affected; his discourse was earnest, persuasive, and convincing. I began to perceive the difference between appeals to the feelings and to the understanding, and I came home a better Protestant and I hope a better Christian than when I left England.”

~Quarter-day.~

For the Every-Day Book.

This is quarter-day!--what a variety of thought and feeling it calls up in the minds of thousands in this great metropolis. How many changes of abode, voluntary and involuntary, for the better and for the worse, are now destined to take place! There is the charm of novelty at least; and when the mind is disposed to be pleased, as it is when the will leads, it inclines to extract gratification from the anticipation of advantages, rather than to be disturbed by any latent doubts which time may or may not realize.

Perhaps the removal is to a house of decidedly superior class to the present; and if this step is the consequence of augmented resources, it is the first indication to the world of the happy circumstance. Here, then, is an additional ground of pleasure, not very heroic indeed, but perfectly natural. Experience may have shown us that mere progression in life is not always connected with progression in happiness; and therefore, though we may smile at the simplicity which connects them in idea, yet our recollection of times past, when we ourselves indulged the delusion, precludes us from expressing feelings that we have acquired by experience. The pleasure, if from a shallow source, is at least a present benefit, and a sort of counterpoise to vexations from imaginary causes. It does not seem agreeable to contemplate retrogression; to behold a family descending from their wonted sphere, and becoming the inmates of a humbler dwelling; yet, they who have had the resolution, I may almost say the magnanimity, voluntarily to descend, may reasonably be expected again to rise. They have given proof of the possession of one quality indispensable in such an attempt--that mental decision, by which they have achieved a task, difficult, painful, and to many, impracticable. They have shown, too, their ability to form a correct estimate of the value of the world’s opinion, so far as it is influenced by external appearances, and boldly disregarding its terrors, have wisely resolved to let go that which could not be much longer held. By this determination, besides rescuing themselves from a variety of perpetually recurring embarrassments and annoyances, they have suppressed half the sneers which the malicious had in store for them, had their decline reached its expected crisis, while they have secured the approbation and kind wishes of all the good and considerate. The consciousness of this consoles them for what is past, contents them with the present, and animates their hopes for the future.

Now, let us shift the scene a little, and look at quarter-day under another aspect. On this day some may quit, some may remain; all must pay--that can! Alas, that there should be some unable! I pass over the rich, whether landlord or tenant; the effects of quarter-day to them are sufficiently obvious: they feel little or no sensation on its approach or arrival, and when it is over, they feel no alteration in their accustomed necessaries and luxuries. Not so with the poor man; I mean the man who, in whatever station, feels his growing inability to meet the demands periodically and continually making on him. What a day quarter-day is to him! He sees its approach from a distance, tries to be prepared, counts his expected means of being so, finds them short of even his not very sanguine expectations, counts again, but can make no more of them; and while day after day elapses, sees his little stock diminishing. What shall he do? He perhaps knows his landlord to be inexorable; how then shall he satisfy him? Shall he borrow? Alas, of whom? Where dwell the practicers of this precept--“From him that would borrow of thee turn thou not away?” Most of the professors of the religion which enjoins this precept, construe it differently. What shall he do? something must be soon decided on. He sits down to consider. He looks about his neatly-furnished house or apartments, to see what out of his humble possessions, he can convert into money. The faithful wife of his bosom becomes of his council. There is nothing they have, which they did not purchase for some particular, and as they then thought, necessary purpose; how, then, can they spare any thing? they ruminate; they repeat the names of the various articles, they fix on nothing--there is nothing they can part with. They are about so to decide; but their recollection that external resources are now all dried up, obliges them to resume their task, and resolutely determine to do without something, however painful may be the sacrifice. Could we hear the reasons which persons thus situated assign, why this or that article should by no means be parted with, we should be enabled, in some degree, to appreciate their conflicts, and the heart-aches which precede and accompany them. In such inventories much jewellery, diamond rings, or valuable trinkets, are not to be expected. The few that there may be, are probably tokens of affection, either from some deceased relative or dear friend; or not less likely from the husband to the wife, given at their union--“when life and hope were new”--when their minds were so full of felicity, that no room was left for doubts as to its permanence; when every future scene appeared to their glowing imaginations dressed in beauty; when every scheme projected, appeared already crowned with success; when the possibility of contingencies frustrating judicious endeavours, either did not present itself to the mind, or presenting itself, was dismissed as an unwelcome guest, “not having on the wedding garment.” At such a time were those tokens presented, and they are now produced. They serve to recall moments of bliss unalloyed by cares, since become familiar. They were once valued as pledges of affection, and now, when that affection endures in full force and tenderness, they wish that those pledges had no other value than affection confers on them, that so there might be no temptation to sacrifice them to a cruel necessity. Let us, however, suppose some of them selected for disposal, and the money raised to meet the portentous day. Our troubled fellow-creatures breathe again, all dread is for the present banished; joy, temporary, but oh! how sweet after such bitterness, is diffused through their hearts, and gratitude to Providence for tranquillity, even by such means restored, is a pervading feeling. It is, perhaps, prudent at this juncture to leave them, rather than follow on to the end of the next quarter. It may be that, by superior prudence or some unexpected supply, a repetition of the same evil, or the occurrence of a greater is avoided; yet, we all know that evils of the kind in question, are too frequently followed by worse. If a family, owing to the operation of some common cause, such as a rise in the price of provisions, or a partial diminution of income from the depression of business, become embarrassed and with difficulty enabled to pay their rent; the addition of a fit of sickness, the unexpected failure of a debtor, or any other contingency of the sort, (assistance from without not being afforded,) prevents them altogether. The case is then desperate. The power which the law thus permits a landlord to exercise, is one of fearful magnitude, and is certainly admirably calculated to discover the stuff he is made of. Yet, strange as it seems, this power is often enforced in all its rigour, and the merciless enforcers lose not, apparently, a jot of reputation, nor forfeit the esteem of their intimates: so much does familiarity with an oppressive action deaden the perception of its real nature, and so apt are we to forget that owing to the imperfection of human institutions, an action may be legal and cruel at the same time! The common phrase, “So and so have had their goods seized for rent,” often uttered with indifference and heard without emotion, is a phrase pregnant with meaning of the direst import. It means that they--wife, children, and all--who last night sat in a decent room, surrounded by their own furniture, have now not a chair of their own to sit on; that they, who last night could retire to a comfortable bed, after the fatigues and anxieties of the day, have tonight not a bed to lie on--or none but what the doubtful ability or humanity of strangers or relations may supply: it means that sighs and tears are produced, where once smiles and tranquillity existed; or, perhaps, that long cherished hopes of surmounting difficulties, have by one blow been utterly destroyed,--that the stock of expedients long becoming threadbare, is at last quite worn out, and all past efforts rendered of no avail, though some for a time seemed likely to be available. It means that the hollowness of professed friends has been made manifest; that the busy tongue of detraction has found employment; that malice is rejoicing; envy is at a feast; and that the viands are the afflictions of the desolate. Landlord! ponder on these consequences ere you distrain for rent, and let your heart, rather than the law, be the guide of your conduct. The additional money you may receive by distraining may, indeed, add something to the luxuries of your table, but it can hardly fail to diminish your relish. You may, perhaps, by adopting the harsh proceeding, add down to your pillow, but trust not that your sleep will be tranquil or your dreams pleasant. Above all remember the benediction--“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy;” and inspired with the sentiment, and reflecting on the fluctuations which are every day occurring, the poor and humble raised, and the wealthy and apparently secure brought down, you will need no other incitement to fulfil the golden rule of your religion--“Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you.”

SIGMA.

* * * * *

Concerning the Feast of St. John the Baptist, an author, to whom we are obliged for recollections of preceding customs, gives us information that should be carefully perused in the old versified version:--

Then doth the joyfull feast of John the Baptist take his turne, When bonfiers great, with loftie flame, in every towne doe burne; And yong men round about with maides, doe daunce in every streete, With garlands wrought of Motherwort, or else with Vervain sweete, And many other flowres faire, with Violets in their handes, Whereas they all do fondly thinke, that whosoever standes, _And thorow the flowres beholds the flame, his eyes shall feel no paine._ When thus till night they daunced have, _they through the fire amaine_, With striving mindes doe runne, and all their _hearbes they cast therein_, And then with wordes devout and prayers they solemnely begin, Desiring God that all their ills may there consumed bee; Whereby they thinke through all that yeare from agues to be free. Some others get a rotten Wheele, all worne and cast aside, Which covered round about with strawe and tow, they closely hide: And caryed to some mountaines top, being all with fire light, They hurle it downe with violence, when darke appears the night: Resembling much the sunne, that from the Heavens down should fal, A strange and monstrous sight it seemes, and fearefull to them all: But they suppose their mischiefes all are likewise throwne to hell, And that from harmes and daungers now, in safetie here they dwell.[186]

A very ancient “Homily” relates other particulars and superstitions relating to the bonfires on this day:--

“In worshyp of Saint Johan the people waked at home, and made three maner of fyres: one was clene bones, and noo woode, and that is called a bone fyre; another is clene woode, and no bones, and that is called a wood fyre, for people to sit and wake thereby; the thirde is made of wode and bones, and it is callyd Saynt Johannys fyre. The first fyre, as a great clerke, Johan Belleth, telleth, he was in a certayne countrey, so in the countrey there was so soo greate hete, the which causid that dragons to go togyther in tokenynge, that Johan dyed in brennynge love and charyte to God and man, and they that dye in charyte shall have part of all good prayers, and they that do not, shall never be saved. Then as these dragons flewe in th’ ayre they shed down to that water froth of ther kynde, and so envenymed the waters, and caused moche people for to take theyr deth thereby, and many dyverse sykenesse. Wyse clerkes knoweth well that dragons hate nothyng more than the stenche of brennynge bones, and therefore they gaderyd as many as they mighte fynde, and brent them; and so with the stenche thereof they drove away the dragons, and so they were brought out of greete dysease. The seconde fyre was made of woode, for that wyll brenne lyght, and wyll be seen farre. For it is the chefe of fyre to be seen farre, and betokennynge that Saynt Johan was a lanterne of lyght to the people. Also the people made blases of fyre for that they shulde be seene farre, and specyally in the nyght, in token of St. Johan’s having been seen from far in the spirit by Jeremiah. The third fyre of bones betokenneth Johan’s martyrdome, for hys bones were brente.”--Brand calls this “a pleasant absurdity;” the justice of the denomination can hardly be disputed.

Gebelin observes of these fires, that “they were kindled about midnight on the very moment of the summer solstice, by the greatest part as well of the ancient as of modern nations; and that this fire-lighting was a religious ceremony of the most remote antiquity, which was observed for the prosperity of states and people, and to dispel every kind of evil.” He then proceeds to remark, that “the origin of this fire, which is still retained by so many nations, though enveloped in the mist of antiquity, is very simple: it was a feu de joie, kindled the very moment the year began; for the first of all years, and the most ancient that we know of, began at this month of June. Thence the very name of this month, junior, the youngest, which is renewed; while that of the preceding one is May, major, the ancient. Thus the one was the month of young people, while the other belonged to old men. These feux de joie were accompanied at the same time with vows and sacrifices for the prosperity of the people and the fruits of the earth. They danced also round this fire; for what feast is there without a dance? and the most active leaped over it. Each on departing took away a fire-brand, great or small, and the remains were scattered to the wind, which, at the same time that it dispersed the ashes, was thought to expel every evil. When, after a long train of years, the year ceased to commence at this solstice, still the custom of making these fires at this time was continued by force of habit, and of those superstitious ideas that are annexed to it.” So far remarks Gebelin concerning the universality of the practice.

Bourne, a chronicler of old customs, says, “that men and women were accustomed to gather together in the evening by the sea side, or in some certain houses, and there adorn a girl, who was her parent’s first begotten child, after the manner of a bride. Then they feasted, and leaped after the manner of bacchanals, and danced and shouted as they were wont to do on their holidays; after this they poured into a narrow-necked vessel some of the sea water, and put also into it certain things belonging to each of them; then, as if the devil gifted the girl with the faculty of telling future things, they would inquire with a loud voice about the good or evil fortune that should attend them: upon this the girl would take out of the vessel the first thing that came to hand, and show it, and give it to the owner, who, upon receiving it, was so foolish as to imagine himself wiser as to the good or evil fortune that should attend him.” “In Cornwall, particularly,” says Borlase, “the people went with lighted torches, tarred and pitched at the end, and made their perambulations round their fires.” They went “from village to village, carrying their torches before them, and this is certainly the remains of the Druid superstition.”

And so in Ireland, according to sir Henry Piers, in Vallancey, “on the eves of St. John the baptist and St. Peter, they always have in every town a bonfire late in the evenings, and carry about bundles of reeds fast tied and fired; these being dry, will last long, and flame better than a torch, and be a pleasing divertive prospect to the distant beholder; a stranger would go near to imagine the whole country was on fire.” Brand cites further, from “The Survey of the South of Ireland,” that--“It is not strange that many Druid remains should still exist; but it is a little extraordinary that some of their customs should still be practised. They annually renew the sacrifices that used to be offered to Apollo, without knowing it. On Midsummer’s eve, every eminence, near which is a habitation, blazes with bonfires; and round these they carry numerous torches, shouting and dancing, which affords a beautiful sight. Though historians had not given us the mythology of the pagan Irish, and though they had not told us expressly that they worshipped Beal, or Bealin, and that this Beal was the sun, and their chief god, it might, nevertheless, be investigated from this custom, which the lapse of so many centuries has not been able to wear away.” Brand goes on to quote from the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for February 1795, “The Irish have ever been worshippers of fire and of Baal, and are so to this day. This is owing to the Roman Catholics, who have artfully yielded to the superstitions of the natives, in order to gain and keep up an establishment, grafting christianity upon pagan rites. The chief festival in honour of the sun and fire is upon the 21st of June, when the sun arrives at the summer solstice, or rather begins its retrograde motion. I was so fortunate in the summer of 1782, as to have my curiosity gratified by a sight of this ceremony to a very great extent of country. At the house where I was entertained, it was told me that we should see at midnight the most singular sight in Ireland, which was the lighting of fires in honour of the sun. Accordingly, exactly at midnight, the fires began to appear: and taking the advantage of going up to the leads of the house, which had a widely extended view, I saw on a radius of thirty miles, all around, the fires burning on every eminence which the country afforded. I had a farther satisfaction in learning, from undoubted authority, that the people danced round the fires, and at the close went through these fires, and made their sons and daughters, together with their cattle, pass the fire; and the whole was conducted with religious solemnity.”

* * * * *

Mr. Brand notices, that Mr. Douce has a curious French print, entitled “L’este le Feu de la St. Jean;” Mariette ex. In the centre is the fire made of wood piled up very regularly, and having a tree stuck in the midst of it. Young men and women are represented dancing round it hand in hand. Herbs are stuck in their hats and caps, and garlands of the same surround their waists, or are slung across their shoulders. A boy is represented carrying a large bough of a tree. Several spectators are looking on. The following lines are at the bottom:--

“Que de Feux brulans dans les airs! Qu’ils font une douce harmonie! Redoublons cette mélodie Par nos dances, par nos concerts!”

This “curious French print,” furnished the engraving at page 823, or to speak more correctly, it was executed from one in the possession of the editor of the Every-Day Book.

* * * * *

To enliven the subject a little, we may recur to recent or existing usages at this period of the year. It may be stated then on the authority of Mr. Brand’s collections, that the Eton scholars formerly had bonfires on St. John’s day; that bonfires are still made on Midsummer eve in several villages of Gloucester, and also in the northern parts of England and in Wales; to which Mr. Brand adds, that there was one formerly at Whiteborough, a tumulus on St. Stephen’s down near Launceston, in Cornwall. A large summer pole was fixed in the centre, round which the fuel was heaped up. It had a large bush on the top of it. Round this were parties of wrestlers contending for small prizes. An honest countryman, who had often been present at these merriments, informed Mr. Brand, that at one of them an evil spirit had appeared in the shape of a black dog, since which none could wrestle, even in jest, without receiving hurt: in consequence of which the wrestling was, in a great measure, laid aside. The rustics there believe that giants are buried in these tumuli, and nothing would tempt them to be so sacrilegious as to disturb their bones.

In Northumberland, it is customary on this day to dress out stools with a cushion of flowers. A layer of clay is placed on the stool, and therein is stuck, with great regularity, an arrangement of all kinds of flowers, so close as to form a beautiful cushion. These are exhibited at the doors of houses in the villages, and at the ends of streets and cross-lanes of larger towns, where the attendants beg money from passengers, to enable them to have an evening feast and dancing.[187]

One of the “Cheap Repository Tracts,” entitled, “Tawney Rachel, or the Fortune-Teller,” said to have been written by Miss Hannah More, relates, among other superstitious practices of Sally Evans, that “she would never go to bed on Midsummer eve, without sticking up in her room the well-known plant called Midsummer Men, as the bending of the leaves to the right, or to the left, would never fail to tell her whether her lover was true or false.” The Midsummer Men were the orpyne plants, which Mr. Brand says is thus elegantly alluded to in the “Cottage Girl,” a poem “written on Midsummer eve, 1786:”--

“The rustic maid invokes her swain; And hails, to pensive damsels dear, This eve, though direst of the year.

* * * * *

“Oft on the shrub she casts her eye, That spoke her true-love’s secret sigh; Or else, alas! too plainly told Her true-love’s faithless heart was cold.”

In the “Connoisseur,” there is mention of divinations on Midsummer eve. “I and my two sisters tried the dumb-cake together: you must know, two must make it, two bake it, two break it, and the third put it under each of their pillows, (but you must not speak a word all the time), and then you will dream of the man you are to have. This we did: and to be sure I did nothing all night but dream of Mr. Blossom. The same night, exactly at twelve o’clock, I sowed hemp-seed in our back-yard, and said to myself,--‘Hemp-seed I sow, hemp-seed I hoe, and he that is my true-love come after me and mow.’ Will you believe me? I looked back, and saw him behind me, as plain as eyes could see him. After that, I took a clean shift and wetted it, and turned it wrong-side out, and hung it to the fire upon the back of a chair; and very likely my sweetheart would have come and turned it right again, (for I heard his step) but I was frightened, and could not help speaking, which broke the charm. I likewise stuck up two Midsummer Men, one for myself and one for him. Now if his had died away, we should never have come together, but I assure you his blowed and turned to mine. Our maid Betty tells me, that if I go backwards, without speaking a word, into the garden upon Midsummer eve, and gather a rose, and keep it in a clean sheet of paper, without looking at it till Christmas-day, it will be as fresh as in June; and if I then stick it in my bosom, he that is to be my husband will come and take it out. My own sister Hetty, who died just before Christmas, stood in the church porch last Midsummer eve, to see all that were to die that year in our parish; and she saw her own apparition.”

Gay, in one of his pastorals, says--

At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought, But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought: I scattered round the seed on every side, And three times, in a trembling accent cried:-- “This hemp-seed with my virgin hand I sow, Who shall my true love be, the crop shall mow.” I straight looked back, and, if my eyes speak truth, With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.

It is also a popular superstition that any unmarried woman fasting on Midsummer eve, and at midnight laying a clean cloth, with bread, cheese, and ale, and sitting down as if going to eat, the street-door being left open, the person whom she is afterwards to marry will come into the room and drink to her by bowing; and after filling the glass will leave it on the table, and, making another bow, retire.[188]

So also the ignorant believe that any person fasting on Midsummer eve, and sitting in the church porch, will, at midnight, see the spirits of the persons of that parish who will die that year, come and knock at the church door, in the order and succession in which they will die.

In the “Cottage Girl,” before referred to, the gathering the rose on Midsummer eve and wearing it, is noticed as one of the modes by which a lass seeks to divine the sincerity of her suitor’s vows:--

The moss-rose that, at fall of dew, (Ere Eve its duskier curtain drew,) Was freshly gather’d from its stem, She values as the ruby gem; And, guarded from the piercing air, With all an anxious lover’s care, She bids it, for her shepherd’s sake, Await the new-year’s frolic wake-- When, faded, in its alter’d hue She reads--the rustic is untrue! But, if it leaves the crimson paint, Her sick’ning hopes no longer faint. The rose upon her bosom worn, She meets him at the peep of morn; And lo! her lips with kisses prest, He plucks it from her panting breast.

* * * * *

In “Time’s Telescope,” there is cited the following literal version of a beautiful ballad which has been sung for many centuries by the maidens, on the banks of the Guadalquivir in Spain, when they go forth to gather flowers on the morning of the festival of St John the baptist:--

Spanish Ballad.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John, It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon; And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new, To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew. Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the hedgerows all are green, And the little birds are singing the opening leaves between; And let us all go forth together, to gather trefoil by the stream, Ere the face of Guadalquivir glows beneath the strengthening beam. Come, forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not away The blessed, blessed morning of John the Baptist’s day; There’s trefoil on the meadow, and lilies on the lee, And hawthorn blossoms on the bush, which you must pluck with me. Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and cool, And the violet blue far down ye’ll view, reflected in the pool; The violets and the roses, and the jasmines all together, We’ll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether. Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we’ll gather myrtle boughs, And we all shall learn, from the dews of the fern, if our lads will keep their vows If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the dew hangs sweet on the flowers, Then we’ll kiss off the dew, for our lovers are true, and the Baptist’s blessing is ours. Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John, It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon; And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new, To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew. Come forth, come forth, &c.

There are too many obvious traces of the fact to doubt its truth, that the making of bonfires, and the leaping through them, are vestiges of the ancient worship of the heathen god Bal; and therefore, it is, with propriety, that the editor of “Times’s Telescope,” adduces a recent occurrence from Hitchin’s “History of Cornwall,” as a probable remnant of pagan superstition in that county. He presumes that the vulgar notion which gave rise to it, was derived from the druidical sacrifices of beasts. “An ignorant old farmer in Cornwall, having met with some severe losses in his cattle, about the year 1800, was much afflicted with his misfortunes. To stop the growing evil, he applied to the farriers in his neighbourhood, but unfortunately he applied in vain. The malady still continuing, and all remedies failing, he thought it necessary to have recourse to some extraordinary measure. Accordingly, on consulting with some of his neighbours, equally ignorant with himself, and evidently not less barbarous, they recalled to their recollections a tale, which tradition had handed down from remote antiquity, that the calamity would not cease until he had actually burned alive the finest calf which he had upon his farm; but that, when this sacrifice was made, the murrain would afflict his cattle no more. The old farmer, influenced by this counsel, resolved immediately on reducing it to practice; that, by making the detestable experiment, he might secure an advantage, which the whisperers of tradition, and the advice of his neighbours, had conspired to assure him would follow. He accordingly called several of his friends together, on an appointed day, and having lighted a large fire, brought forth his best calf; and, without ceremony or remorse, pushed it into the flames. The innocent victim, on feeling the intolerable heat, endeavoured to escape; but this was in vain. The barbarians that surrounded the fire were armed with pitchforks, or pikes, as in Cornwall they are generally called; and, as the burning victim endeavoured to escape from death, with these instruments of cruelty the wretches pushed back the tortured animal into the flames. In this state, amidst the wounds of pitchforks, the shouts of unfeeling ignorance and cruelty, and the corrosion of flames, the dying victim poured out its expiring groan, and was consumed to ashes. It is scarcely possible to reflect on this instance of superstitious barbarity, without tracing a kind of resemblance between it, and the ancient sacrifices of the Druids. This calf was sacrificed to fortune, or good luck, to avert impending calamity, and to ensure future prosperity, and was selected by the farmer as the finest among his herd.” Every intelligent native of Cornwall will perceive, that this extract from the history of his county, is here made for the purpose of shaming the brutally ignorant, if it be possible, into humanity.

To conclude the present notices rather pleasantly, a little poem is subjoined, which shows that the superstition respecting the St. John’s wort is not confined to England; it is a version of some lines transcribed from a German almanac:--

The St. John’s Wort.

The young maid stole through the cottage door, And blushed as she sought the plant of pow’r;-- “Thou silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light, I must gather the mystic St. John’s-wort to-night. The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide If the coming year shall make me a bride.” And the glow-worm came With its silvery flame, And sparkled and shone Thro’ the night of St. John, And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied.

With noiseless tread To her chamber she sped, Where the spectral moon her white beams shed:-- “Bloom here--bloom here, thou plant of pow’r, To deck the young bride in her bridal hour!” But it drooped its head that plant of power, And died the mute death of the voiceless flower And a withered wreath on the ground it lay, More meet for a burial than bridal day.

And when a year was past away, All pale on her bier the young maid lay And the glow-worm came With its silvery flame, And sparkled and shone Thro’ the night of St. John, And they closed the cold grave o’er the maid’s cold clay.

It would be easy, and perhaps more agreeable to the editor than to his readers, to accumulate many other notices concerning the usages on this day; let it suffice, however, that we know enough to be assured, that knowledge is engendering good sense, and that the superstitions of our ancestors will in no long time have passed away for ever. Be it the business of their posterity to hasten their decay.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

St. John’s Wort. Hypericum Pulchrum. Nativity of St. John.

[186] Naogeorgus by Googe.

[187] Hutchinson’s Northumberland.

[188] Grose.

~June 25.~

St. Prosper, A. D. 463. St. Maximus, Bp. A. D. 465. St. William of Monte-Vergine, A. D. 1142. St. Adelbert, A. D. 740. St. Moloc, Bp. 7th Cent. Sts. Agoard and Aglibert, A. D. 400.

CHRONOLOGY.

1314. The battle of Bannockburn which secured the independence of Scotland, and fixed Robert Bruce on the throne of that kingdom, was fought on this day between the Scots under that chieftain, and the English under Edward II.

Franking of Newspapers.

By a recent regulation it is not necessary to put the name of a member of either house of parliament on the cover; the address of the party to whom it is sent, with the ends of the paper left open as usual, will be sufficient to ensure its delivery. This is a praiseworthy accommodation to common sense. The old fiction was almost universally known to be one, and yet it is only a few years ago, that a member of parliament received a humble letter of apology, coupled with a request from one of his constituents, that he might be allowed to use the name of his representative in directing a newspaper. To the ingenuous, pretences seem realities.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Sweet Williams. Dianthus barbatus. Dedicated to St. William.

~June 26.~

St. John and Paul, Martyrs about A. D. 362. St. Maxentius, Abbot, A. D. 515. St. Vigilius, Bp. A. D. 400, or 405. _St. Babolen._ St. Anthelm, Bp. of Bellay, A. D. 1178. Raingarda, Widow, A. D. 1135.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 26th of June, 1541, Francis Pizarro, the conqueror of Peru, was assassinated. He was born at Truxillo, in Spain; his birth was illegitimate, and in his youth he was a keeper of hogs. Becoming a soldier, he went to America, and settled at Punama, where he projected the prosecution of discoveries to the eastward of that settlement. By means of an expedition, which he solicited, and was intrusted to command from the court of Spain, he entered Peru when the empire was divided by a civil war between Huascar the legitimate monarch, and Atahualpa his half brother. Pretending succour to Atahualpa, he was permitted to penetrate twelve days’ journey into the country, and received as an ally by Atahualpa, whose confidence he rewarded by suddenly attacking him, and making him prisoner. The exaction of an immense ransom for this king’s release; the shameful breach of faith, by which he was held in captivity after his ransom was paid; his brutal murder under the infamous mockery of a trial; the horrible frauds by which he was inveigled to die in the profession of the christian faith, without being able to comprehend its tenets; and the superaddition of other acts of perfidy and cruelty, will render the name of Pizarro infamous so long as it exists.

His assassination was effected by the friends of Almagro, his original associate, with whom he had quarelled, and whom he caused to be executed when he got him into his power.

In olden times, so high a rise Was, perhaps, a Tor or beacon ground And lit, or ’larm’d, the country round, For pleasure, or against surprise

There is a cobler’s stall in London that I go out of my way to look at whenever I pass its vicinity, because it was the seat of an honest old man who patched my shoes and my mind, when I was a boy. I involuntarily reverence the spot; and if I find myself in Red Lion-square, I, with a like affection, look between the iron railings of its enclosure, because, at the same age, from my mother’s window, I watched the taking down of the obelisk, stone by stone, that stood in the centre, and impatiently awaited the discovery of the body of Oliver Cromwell, which, according to local legend, was certainly buried there in secrecy by night. It is true that Oliver’s bones were not found; but then “every body” believed that “the workmen did not dig deep enough.” Among these believers was my friend, the cobbler, who, though no metaphysician, was given to ruminate on “causation.” He imputed the nonpersistence of the diggers to “private reasons of state,” which his awfully mysterious look imported he had fathomed, but dared not reveal. From ignorance of wisdom, I venerated the wisdom of ignorance; and though I now know better, I respect the old man’s memory. He allowed me, though a child, to sit on the frame of his little pushed-back window; and I obtained so much of his good-will and confidence, that he lent me a folio of fragments from Caxton’s “Polychronicon,” and Pynson’s “Shepherd’s Kalendar,” which he kept in the drawer of his seat, with “St. Hugh’s bones,” the instruments of his “gentle craft.” This black-letter lore, with its wood-cuts, created in me a desire to be acquainted with our old authors, and a love for engravings, which I have indulged without satiety. It is impossible that I should be without fond recollections of the spots wherein I received these early impressions.

From still earlier impressions, I have like recollection of the meadows on the Highgate side of Copenhagen-house. I often rambled in them in summer-time, when I was a boy, to frolic in the new-mown hay, or explore the wonders of the hedges, and listen to the songs of the birds. Certain indistinct apprehensions of danger arose in me from the rude noises of the visitors at Copenhagen-house itself, and I scarcely ventured near enough to observe more than that it had drinking-benches outside, and boisterous company within. I first entered the place in the present month of June, 1825, and the few particulars I could collect concerning it, as an old place of public entertainment, may be acceptable to many who recollect its former notoriety. Speculators are building up to it, and if they continue with their present speed, it will in a few years be hidden by their operations.

* * * * *

Copenhagen-house stands alone in the fields north of the metropolis, between Maiden-lane, the old road to Highgate on the west, and the very ancient north road, or bridle-way, called Hagbush-lane, on the east; on this latter side it is nearly in a line with Cornwall-place, Holloway. Its name is said to have been derived from a Danish prince, or a Danish ambassador, having resided in it during a great plague in London; another representation is, that in the beginning of the seventeenth century, it was opened under its present name by a Dane, as a place of resort for his countrymen. “Coopen-Hagen” is the name given to it in the map in Camden’s “Britannia,” published in 1695.[189] It is situated in the parish of Islington, in the manor of St. John of Jerusalem, in the rental of which manor, dated the 25th of February, 1624, its name does not occur;[190] it is therefore probable from thence, and from the appearance of the oldest part of the present edifice, that it was not then built.

* * * * *

It is certain that Copenhagen-house has been licensed for the sale of beer, and wine, and spirits, upwards of a century; and for such refreshments, and as a tea-house, with a garden and grounds for skittles and Dutch pins, it has been greatly resorted to by Londoners. No house of the kind commands so extensive and uninterrupted a view of the metropolis and the immense western suburb, with the heights of Hampstead and Highgate, and the rich intervening meadows. Those nearest to London are now rapidly destroying for their brick-earth, and being covered with houses; though from Copenhagen-street, which is built on the green lane from White Conduit-house, there is a way to the footpath leading to Copenhagen-house, from the row of handsome cottages called Barnesbury-park.

The latter buildings are in the manor of Berners, or Bernersbury, otherwise Barnesbury; the name being derived from the Berners’ family,[191] of whom the most distinguished individual was John Bourchier, the last lord Berners, and “the fifth writer in order of time among the nobility.” He was author of “a comedy usually acted in the great church of Calais after vespers,” of which town he held the command by appointment of king Henry VIII.;[192] he also translated several works, and particularly “Froissart’s Cronycles, oute of Frenche into our maternale Englysshe tongue.”

West of Barnesbury-park, and close to the footpath from thence to Copenhagen-house, are the supposed remains of a Roman encampment. It is a square of about one hundred and twenty feet, surrounded by a ditch, with a high embankment or breast work to the west. This is presumed to have been a position occupied by Suetonius, the Roman general, when he destroyed eighty thousand of the Britons under Boadicea, in a memorable engagement presumed to have been fought from this place in the fields of Pentonville, and terminating in the plain at Battle-bridge, from whence that place is said to have been so named.

* * * * *

From Battle-bridge up Maiden-lane, and from Barnesbury-park, there are still footways to Copenhagen-house, which, from standing alone on an eminence, is visible from every open spot for many miles round. To the original edifice is attached a building at the west end, with a large parlour below for drinking and smoking, and beyond it is a billiard-room; above is a large tea-room. The engraving represents its present appearance, from a drawing made for that purpose.

About the year 1770, this house was kept by a person named Harrington; at his decease the business was continued by his widow, wherein she was assisted for several years by a young woman who came from Shropshire. This female assistant afterwards married a person named Tomes, and kept the Adam and Eve at Islington; she is now a widow; and from her information the editor of the Every-Day Book gathers, that at the time of the London riots in the year 1780, a body of the rioters passed Copenhagen-house on their way to attack the seat of lord Mansfield, at Caen-wood: happily, they did not sack Copenhagen; but Mrs. Harrington and her maid were so alarmed, that they despatched a man to justice Hyde, who sent a party of soldiers to garrison this important place, where they remained till the riots were quelled. From this spot the view of the nightly conflagrations in the metropolis must have been terrific. Mrs. Tomes says, she saw nine large fires at one time. On new-year’s day previous to this, the house was broken into after the family had retired to rest. The burglars forced the kitchen window, and mistaking the salt-box in the chimney corner for a man’s head, fired a ball through it. They then ran up stairs with a dark-lantern, tied the man and the woman servant, burst the lower pannel of Mrs. Harrington’s room-door, while she secreted fifty pounds between her bed and the mattress, and three of them rushed to her bedside, armed with a cutlass, crowbar, and pistol, while a fourth remained on the watch outside. They demanded her money; and as she denied that she had any, they wrenched her drawers open with the crowbar, refusing to use the keys she offered to them. In these they found about ten pounds belonging to her daughter, a little child, whom they threatened to murder unless she ceased crying, while they packed up all the plate, linen, and clothes, which they carried off. They then went to the cellar, set all the ale-barrels running, broke the necks off the wine-bottles, spilt the other liquors, and slashed a round of beef with their cutlasses. From this wanton spoil they reserved sufficient to carouse with in the kitchen, where they ate, drank, and sung, till they resolved to “pinch the old woman, and make her find more money.” On this, they all ran up stairs again, where she still lay in bed, and by their threats and violence soon obtained from her a disclosure of the hidden fifty pounds. This rather appeared to enrage than pacify them, and they seriously proposed cutting her throat for the deception; but that crime was not perpetrated, and they departed with their plunder. Rewards were offered, by government and the parish of Islington, for the apprehension of the felons: in May following, one of them, named Clarkson, was discovered, and hopes of mercy tendered to him if he would discover his accomplices. This man was a watch-maker in Clerkenwell, the other three were tradesmen; his information led to their discovery; they were tried and executed, and Clarkson was pardoned; though, some time afterwards, he, also, suffered death, for obtaining a box of plate from the White-horse, in Fetter-lane, upon pretence that it had been sent thither by mistake.

The robbery at Copenhagen-house, was so far fortunate to Mrs. Harrington, that she obtained a subscription considerably more in amount than the value of the money and property she had lost. Mr. Leader, the coachmaker, in Long-acre, who was her landlord, remitted to her a year’s rent of the premises, which at that time was 30_l._ The notoriety of the robbery increased the visitors to the house, and Mr. Leader built the additional rooms to the old house, instead of a wooden room, to accommodate the new influx of custom; and soon afterwards the house was celebrated for fives-playing. This last addition was almost accidental. “I made the first fives-ball,” says Mrs. Tomes, “that was ever thrown up against Copenhagen-house. One Hickman, a butcher at Highgate, a countryman of mine, ‘used’ the house, and seeing me ‘country,’ we talked about our country sports, and amongst the rest fives; I told him we’d have a game some day: I laid down the stone in the ground myself, and, against he came again, made a ball. I struck the ball the first blow and he gave it the second, and so we played; and as there was company they liked the sport, and it got talked of. This was the beginning of the fives-play, which has since become so famous at Copenhagen-house.”

* * * * *

A word or two on ball-play.

Fives was our old hand-tennis, and is a very ancient game.

In the fourteenth century there was a game at ball, where a line, called the cord, was traced upon the wall, below which the stroke was faulty. Some of the players were on foot; others had the two hands tied together, or played in a hollow cask.[193]

Hand-ball was before the days of Homer. He introduces the princess Corcyra, daughter of Alcinous, king of Phœacia, amusing herself, with her maidens, at hand-ball:--

“O’er the green mead the sporting virgins play; Their shining veils unbound, along the skies, Tost and re-tost, the ball incessant flies.”[194]

It is related of St. Cuthbert, who lived in the seventh century, that “whan he was viii yere old, as he played at the ball with other chyldren, sodeynly there stode amonge them a fayre yonge chylde,” who admonished Cuthbert against “vayne playes,” and seeing Cuthbert take no heed, he fell down, wept sore and wrung his hands; “and than Cuthbert and the other chyldren lefte their playe and comforted hym; and than sodeynly he vanyshed away; and than he knewe veryly that it was an angel; and, fro than forth on, he lefte all such vayne playes, and never used them more.”[195]

Ball-play was formerly played at Easter in churches, and statutes passed to regulate the size of the ball. The ceremony was as follows: the ball being received, the dean, or his representative, began an antiphone, or chant, suited to Easter-day; then taking the ball in his left hand, he commenced a dance to the tune, others of the clergy dancing round, hand in hand. At intervals the ball was handed or tossed by the dean to each of the choristers, the organ playing according to the dance and sport: at the conclusion of the anthem and dance, they went and took refreshment. It was the privilege of the lord, or his locum tenens, to throw the ball, and even the archbishop did it.[196]

The French palm-play consisted in receiving the ball and driving it back again with the palm of the hand. Anciently they played with the naked hand, then with a glove, which, in some instances, was lined; afterwards they bound cords and tendons round their hands, to make the ball rebound more forcibly; and hence, says St. Foix, the racket derived its origin.

In the reign of Charles V., palm-play, which, Strutt says, may properly enough be denominated hand-tennis, or fives, was exceedingly fashionable in France, being played by the nobility for large sums of money; and when they had lost all that they had about them, they would sometimes pledge a part of their wearing apparel rather than give up the game. The duke of Bourbon having lost sixty francs at palm-play with M. William de Lyon, and M. Guy de la Trimouille, and not having money enough to pay them, gave his girdle as a pledge for the remainder.

A damsel, named Margot, who resided at Paris in 1424, played at hand-tennis with the palm, and also with the back of her hand, better than any man; and what is most surprising, says St. Foix, at that time the game was played with the naked hand, or at least with a double glove.

Hand-tennis still continues to be played, though under a different name, and probably a different modification of the game: it is now called fives, which denomination, perhaps, it might receive from having five competitors in it, as the succeeding passage shews: When queen Elizabeth was entertained at Elvetham, in Hampshire, by the earl of Hertford, “after dinner about three o’clock, ten of his lordship’s servants, all Somersetshire men, in a square greene court before her majesties windowe, did hang up lines, squaring out the forme of a tennis court, and making a cross line in the middle; in this square they, being stripped out of their dublets, played five to five with hand-ball at bord and cord as they tearme it, to the great liking of her highness.”[197]

* * * * *

Fives-playing at Copenhagen-house, is recorded in a memoir of Cavanagh, the famous fives-player, by Mr. Hazlitt. It first appeared in the Examiner of February 17, 1819, and is subjoined, with the omission of a passage or two, not essentially connected with the subject.

DEATH OF JOHN CAVANAGH.

----“And is old Double dead? See, see, he drew a good bow; and dead! he shot a fine shoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! he would have clapt in the clout at twelve score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man’s heart good to see.”

Died at his house in Burbage-street, St. Giles’s, John Cavanagh, the famous hand fives-player. When a person dies, who does any one thing better than any one else in the world, which so many others are trying to do well, it leaves a gap in society. It is not likely that any one will now see the game of fives played in its perfection for many years to come--for Cavanagh is dead, and has not left his peer behind him.

It may be said that there are things of more importance than striking a ball against a wall--there are things indeed that make more noise and do as little good, such as making war and peace, making speeches and answering them, making verses and blotting them, making money and throwing it away. But the game of fives is what no one despises who has ever played at it. It is the finest exercise for the body, and the best relaxation for the mind.

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