Opening…

Preface

Before remarking on the work terminating with this volume, some notice should be taken of its Frontispiece.

I. The “Clog” or “Perpetual Almanack” having been in common use with our ancient ancestors, a representation and explanation of it seemed requisite among the various accounts of manners and customs related in the order of the calendar.

Of the word “clog,” there is no satisfactory etymology in the sense here used, which signifies an almanack made upon a square stick. Dr. Robert Plot, who published the “History of Staffordshire,” in 1686, instances a variety of these old almanacks then in use in that county. Some he calls “public,” because they were of a large size, and commonly hung at one end of the mantle-tree of the chimney; others he calls “private,” because they were smaller, and carried in the pocket. For the better understanding of the figures on these clogs, he caused a family clog “to be represented in plano, each angle of the square stick, with the moiety of each of the flat sides belonging to it, being expressed apart.” From this clog, so represented in Dr. Plot’s history, the engraving is taken which forms the frontispiece now, on his authority, about to be described.

There are 3 months contained upon each of the four edges; the number of the days in them are represented by the notches; that which begins each month has a short spreading stroke turned up from it; every seventh notch is of a larger size, and stands for Sunday, (or rather, perhaps, for the first day of each successive natural week in the year.)

Against many of the notches there are placed on the left hand several marks or symbols denoting the golden number or cycle of the Moon, which number if under 5, is represented by so many points, or dots; but if 5, a line is drawn from the notch, or day, it belongs to, with a hook returned back against the course of the line, which, if cut off at due distance, may be taken for a V, the numeral signifying 5. If the golden number be above 5, and under 10, it is then marked out by the hooked line, which is 5; and with one point, which makes 6; or two, which makes 7; or three, for 8; or four, for 9; the said line being crossed with a broad stroke spreading at each end, which represents an X, when the golden number for the day, over against which it is put, is 10; points being added (as above over the hook for 5,) till the number arises to 15, when a hook is placed again at the end of the line above the X, to show us that number.

The figures issuing from the notches, towards the right hand, are symbols or hieroglyphics, of either, 1st, the offices, or endowments of the saints, before whose festivals they are placed; or 2dly, the manner of their martyrdoms; or 3dly, their actions, or the work or sport, in fashion about the time when their feasts are kept.

For instance: 1. from the notch which represents January 13th, on the feast of St. Hilary, issues a cross or badge of a bishop, as St. Hilary was; from March 1st, a harp, showing the feast of St. David, by that instrument; from June 29th, the keys for St. Peter, reputed the Janitor of heaven; from October 25th, a pair of shoes for St. Crispin, the patron of shoe-makers. Of class 2, are the axe against January 25th, the feast of St. Paul, who was beheaded with an axe; the sword against June 24th, the feast of St. John Baptist, who was beheaded; the gridiron against August 10th, the feast of St. Lawrence, who suffered martyrdom on one; a wheel on the 25th of November, for St. Catherine, and a decussated cross on the last of that month, for St. Andrew, who are said also to have suffered death by such instruments. Of the 3d kind, are the star on the 6th of January, to denote the Epiphany; a true lover’s knot against the 14th of February, for Valentine’s-day; a bough against the 2d of March, for St. Ceadda, who lived a Hermit’s life in the woods near Litchfield; a bough on the 1st of May, for the May-bush, then usually set up with great solemnity; and a rake on the 11th of June, St. Barnabas’-day, importing that then it is hay-harvest. So, a pot is set against the 23d of November, for the feast of St. Clement, from the ancient custom of going about that night to beg drink to make merry with: for the purification, annunciation, and all other feasts of our lady, there is always the figure of a heart: and lastly, for December 25th, or Christmas-day, a horn, the ancient vessel in which the Danes use to wassail, or drink healths; signifying to us, that this is the time we ought to rejoice and make merry.

II. Respecting this second volume of the Every-Day Book, it is scarcely necessary to say more than that it has been conducted with the same desire and design as the preceding volume; and that it contains a much greater variety of original information concerning manners and customs. I had so devoted myself to this main object, as to find no lack of materials for carrying it further; nor were my correspondents, who had largely increased, less communicative: but there were some readers who thought the work ought to have been finished in one volume, and others, who were not inclined to follow beyond a second; and their apprehensions that it could not, or their wishes that it should not be carried further, constrained me to close it. As an “Everlasting Calendar” of amusements, sports, and pastimes, incident to the year, the Every-Day Book is complete; and I venture, without fear of disproof, to affirm, that there is not such a copious collection of pleasant facts and illustrations, “for daily use and diversion,” in the language; nor are any other volumes so abundantly stored with original designs, or with curious and interesting subjects so meritoriously engraven.

III. Every thing that I wished to bring into the Every-Day Book, but was compelled to omit from its pages, in order to conclude it within what the public would deem a reasonable size, I purpose to introduce in my Table Book. In that publication, I have the satisfaction to find myself aided by many of my “Every-Day” correspondents, to whom I tender respectful acknowledgments and hearty thanks. This is the more due to them here, because I frankly confess that to most I owe letters; I trust that those who have not been noticed as they expected, will impute the neglect to any thing rather than insensibility of my obligations to them, for their valuable favours.

Although I confess myself to have been highly satisfied by the general reception of the Every-Day Book, and am proud of the honour it has derived from individuals of high literary reputation, yet there is one class whose approbation I value most especially. The “mothers of England” have been pleased to entertain it as an every-day assistant in their families; and instructors of youth, of both sexes, have placed it in school-libraries:--this ample testimonial, that, while engaged in exemplifying “manners,” I have religiously adhered to “morals,” is the most gratifying reward I could hope to receive.

February, 1827.

W. HONE

THE EVERY-DAY BOOK.

Then came old January, wrapped well In many weeds to keep the cold away; Yet did he quake and quiver like to quell, And blow his nayles to warm them if he may; For they were numb’d with holding all the day An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood, And from the trees did lop the needlesse spray; Upon a huge great earth-pot steane he stood, From whose wide mouth there flowed forth the Romane flood.

Spenser

~Laus Deo!~--was the first entry by merchants and tradesmen of our forefathers’ days, in beginning their new account-books with the new year. LAUS DEO! then, be the opening of this volume of the Every-Day Book, wherein we take further “note of time,” and make entries to the days, and months, and seasons, in “every varied posture, place, and hour.”

* * * * *

JANUARY, besides the names already mentioned,[1] was called by the Anglo-Saxons Giuli aftera, signifying the second Giul, or Yule, or, as we should say, the second Christmas.[2] Of Yule itself much will be observed, when it can be better said.

* * * * *

To this month there is an ode with a verse beautifully descriptive of the Roman symbol of the year:[3]

’Tis he! the two-fac’d Janus comes in view; Wild hyacinths his robe adorn, And snow-drops, rivals of the morn He spurns the goat aside, But smiles upon the new Emerging year with pride: And now unlocks, with agate key, The ruby gates of orient day.

CLIMATE.

Mr. Luke Howard is the author of a highly useful work, entitled “The Climate of London, deduced from Meteorological Observations, made at different places in the neighbourhood of the Metropolis: London, 1818.” 2 vols. 8vo. Out of this magazine of fact it is proposed to extract, from time to time, certain results which may acquaint general readers with useful knowledge concerning the weather of our latitude, and induce the inquisitive to resort to Mr. Howard’s book, as a careful guide of high authority in conducting their researches. That gentleman, it is hoped, will not deem this an improper use of his labours: it is meant to be, as far as regards himself, a humble tribute to his talents and diligence. With these views, under each month will be given a state of the weather, in Mr. Howard’s own words: and thus we begin.

JANUARY WEATHER

The Sun in the middle of this month continues about 8 h. 20 m. above the horizon. The Temperature rises in the day, on an average of twenty years, to 40·28° and falls in the night, in the open country to 31·36°--the difference, 8·92°, representing the mean effect of the sun’s rays for the month, may be termed the solar variation of the temperature.

The Mean Temperature of the month, if the observations in this city be included, is 36·34°. But this mean has a range, in ten years, of about 10·25°, which may be termed the lunar variation of the temperature. It holds equally in the decade, beginning with 1797, observed in London, and in that beginning with 1807, in the country. In the former decade, the month was coldest in 1802, and warmest in 1812, and coldest in 1814. I have likewise shown, that there was a tendency in the daily variation of temperature through this month, to proceed, in these respective periods of years, in opposite directions. The prevalence of different classes of winds, in the different periods, is the most obvious cause of these periodical variations of the mean temperature.

The Barometer in this month rises, on an average of ten years, to 30·40 in., and falls to 28·97 in.: the mean range is therefore 1·43 in.; but the extreme range in ten years is 2·38 in. The mean height for the month is about 29·79 inches.

The prevailing Winds are the class from west to north. The northerly predominate, by a fourth of their amount, over the southerly winds.

The average Evaporation (on a total of 30·50 inches for the year) is 0·832 in., and the mean of De Luc’s hydrometer 80.

The mean Rain, at the surface of the earth, is 1·959 in.; and the number of days on which snow or rain falls, in this month, averages 14,4.

A majority of the Nights in this month have constantly the temperature at or below the foregoing point.[4]

Long ere the lingering dawn of that blythe morn Which ushers in the year, the roosting cock, Flapping his wings, repeats his larum shrill; But on that morn no busy flail obeys His rousing call; no sounds but sounds of joy Salute the ear--the first-foot’s[5] entering step, That sudden on the floor is welcome heard, Ere blushing maids have braided up their hair; The laugh, the hearty kiss, the good new year Pronounced with honest warmth. In village, grange, And burrow town, the steaming flaggon, borne From house to house, elates the poor man’s heart, And makes him feel that life has still its joys. The aged and the young, man, woman, child, Unite in social glee; even stranger dogs, Meeting with bristling back, soon lay aside Their snarling aspect, and in sportive chace, Excursive scour, or wallow in the snow. With sober cheerfulness, the grandam eyes Her offspring round her, all in health and peace; And, thankful that she’s spared to see this day Return once more, breathes low a secret prayer, That God would shed a blessing on their heads.

Grahame

[1] In vol. i. p. 2.

[2] Sayers.

[3] See vol. i. p. 1.

[4] Howard on Climate.

[5] The first visitant who enters a house on New-year’s day is called the first-foot.

~January 1.~

The Saints of the Roman calendars and martyrologies.

So far as the rev. Alban Butler, in his every-day biography of Roman catholic saints, has written their memoirs, their names have been given, together with notices of some, and especially of those retained in the calendar of the church of England from the Romish calendar. Similar notices of others will be offered in continuation; but, on this high festival in the calendar of nature, particular or further remark on the saints’ festivals would interrupt due attention to the season, and therefore we break from them to observe that day which all enjoy in common,

~New Year’s Day.~

Referring for the “New-year’s gifts,” the “Candlemas-bull,” and various observances of our ancestors and ourselves, to the first volume of this work, wherein they are set forth “in lively pourtraieture,” we stop a moment to peep into the “Mirror of the Months,” and inquire “Who can see a new year open upon him, without being better for the prospect--without making sundry wise reflections (for any reflections on this subject must be comparatively wise ones) on the step he is about to take towards the goal of his being? Every first of January that we arrive at, is an imaginary mile-stone on the turnpike track of human life; at once a resting place for thought and meditation, and a starting point for fresh exertion in the performance of our journey. The man who does not at least propose to himself to be better this year than he was last, must be either very good, or very bad indeed! And only to propose to be better, is something; if nothing else, it is an acknowledgment of our need to be so, which is the first step towards amendment. But, in fact, to propose to oneself to do well, is in some sort to do well, positively; for there is no such thing as a stationary point in human endeavours; he who is not worse to-day than he was yesterday, is better; and he who is not better, is worse.”

It is written, “Improve your time,” in the text-hand set of copies put before us when we were better taught to write than to understand what we wrote. How often these three words recurred at that period without their meaning being discovered! How often and how serviceably they have recurred since to some who have obeyed the injunction! How painful has reflection been to others, who recollecting it, preferred to suffer rather than to do!

* * * * *

The author of the paragraph quoted above, expresses forcible remembrance of his youthful pleasures on the coming in of the new year.--“Hail! to thee, JANUARY!--all hail! cold and wintry as thou art, if it be but in virtue of thy first day. THE DAY, as the French call it, par excellence, ‘Le jour de l’an.’ Come about me, all ye little schoolboys that have escaped from the unnatural thraldom of your taskwork--come crowding about me, with your untamed hearts shouting in your unmodulated voices, and your happy spirits dancing an untaught measure in your eyes! Come, and help me to speak the praises of new-year’s day!--your day--one of the three which have, of late, become yours almost exclusively, and which have bettered you, and have been bettered themselves, by the change. Christmay-day, which was; New-year’s-day, which is; and Twelfth-day, which is to be; let us compel them all three into our presence--with a whisk of our imaginative wand convert them into one, as the conjurer does his three glittering balls--and then enjoy them all together,--with their dressings, and coachings, and visitings, and greetings, and gifts, and “many happy returns”--with their plum-puddings, and mince-pies, and twelfth-cakes, and neguses--with their forfeits, and fortune-tellings, and blindman’s-buffs, and sittings up to supper--with their pantomimes, and panoramas, and new penknives, and pastrycooks’ shops--in short, with their endless round of ever new nothings, the absence of a relish for which is but ill supplied, in after life, by that feverish lingering and thirsting after excitement, which usurp without filling its place. Oh! that I might enjoy those nothings once again in fact, as I can in fancy! But I fear the wish is worse than an idle one; for it not only may not be, but it ought not to be. “We cannot have our cake and eat it too,” as the vulgar somewhat vulgarly, but not less shrewdly, express it. And this is as it should be; for if we could, it would neither be worth the eating nor the having.”[6]

WASSAIL!

The Wassail Bowl.

Health, my lord king, the sweet Rowena said, Health, cry’d the chieftain, to the Saxon maid; Then gayly rose, and ’midst the concourse wide, Kiss’d her hale lips, and plac’d her by his side: At the soft scene such gentle thoughts abound, That health and kisses ’mongst the guests went round; From this the social custom took its rise, We still retain, and must for ever prize.

Now, on New-year’s-day as on the previous eve, the wassail bowl is carried from door to door, with singing and merriment. In Devonshire,

A massy bowl, to deck the jovial day, Flash’d from its ample round a sunlike ray. Full many a cent’ry it shone forth to grace The festive spirit of th’ Andarton race, As, to the sons of sacred union dear, It welcomed with lambs’ wool the rising year.

Polwhele.

Mr. Brand says, “It appears from Thomas de la Moore,[7] and old Havillan,[8] that was-haile and drinc-heil were the usual ancient phrases of quaffing among the English, and synonymous with the ‘Come, here’s to you,’ and ‘I’ll pledge you,’ of the present day.”

* * * * *

In the “Antiquarian Repertory,” a large assemblage of curious communications, published by Mr. Jeffery, of Pall-mall, in 4 vols. 4to. there is the following paper relating to an ancient carving represented in that work, from whence the above engraving is taken. The verses beneath it are a version of the old lines in Robert of Gloucester’s chronicle, by Mr. Jeffery’s correspondent.

For the Antiquarian Repertory.

In the parish of Berlen, near Snodland, in the county of Kent, are the vestiges of a very old mansion, known by the name of Groves. Being on the spot before the workmen began to pull down the front, I had the curiosity to examine its interior remains, when, amongst other things well worth observation, appeared in the large oak beam that supported the chimney-piece, a curious piece of carved work, of which the preceding is an exact copy. Its singularity induced me to set about an investigation, which, to my satisfaction, was not long without success. The large bowl in the middle is the figure of the old wassell-bowl, so much the delight of our hardy ancestors, who, on the vigil of the new year, never failed (says my author) to assemble round the glowing hearth with their cheerful neighbours, and then in the spicy wassell-bowl (which testifies the goodness of their hearts) drowned every former animosity--an example worthy modern imitation. Wassell, was the word; Wassell, every guest returned as he took the circling goblet from his friend, whilst song and civil mirth brought in the infant year. This annual custom, says Geoffrey of Monmouth, had its rise from Rouix, or Rowen, or as some will have it, Rowena, daughter of the Saxon Hengist; she, at the command of her father, who had invited the British king Voltigern to a banquet, came in the presence with a bowl of wine, and welcomed him in these words, Louerd king wass-heil; he in return, by the help of an interpreter, answered, Drinc heile; and, if we may credit Robert of Gloster,

~Ruste hire and sitte hire adoune and glad dronke hire heil And that was tho in this land the verst was-hail As in language of Saroyne that we might evere iwite And so well he paith the fole about, that he is yut vorgute.~

Thomas De Le Moor, in his “Life of Edward the Second,” says partly the same as Robert of Gloster, and only adds, that Wass-haile and Drinc-hail were the usual phrases of quaffing amongst the earliest civilized inhabitants of this island.

The two birds upon the bowl did for some time put me to a stand, till meeting with a communicative person at Hobarrow, he assured me they were two hawks, as I soon plainly perceived by their bills and beaks, and were a rebus of the builder’s name. There was a string from the neck of one bird to the other, which, it is reasonable to conjecture, was to note that they must be joined together to show their signification; admitting this, they were to be red hawks. Upon inquiry, I found a Mr. Henry Hawks, the owner of a farm adjoining to Groves; he assured me, his father kept Grove farm about forty years since, and that it was built by one of their name, and had been in his family upwards of four hundred years, as appeared by an old lease in his possession.

The apple branches on each side of the bowl, I think, means no more than that they drank good cider at their Wassells. Saxon words at the extremities of the beam are already explained; and the mask carved brackets beneath correspond with such sort of work before the fourteenth century.

T. N.

* * * * *

The following pleasant old song, inserted by Mr. Brand, from Ritson’s collection of “Antient Songs,” was met with by the Editor of the Every-day Book, in 1819, at the printing-office of Mr. Rann, at Dudley, printed by him for the Wassailers of Staffordshire and Warwickshire. It went formerly to the tune of “Gallants come away.”

A CARROLL FOR A WASSELL-BOWL.

A jolly Wassel-Bowl, A Wassel of good ale, Well fare the butler’s soul, That setteth this to sale; Our jolly Wassel.

Good Dame, here at your door Our Wassel we begin, We are all maidens poor, We pray now let us in, With our Wassel.

Our Wassel we do fill With apples and with spice, Then grant us your good will To taste here once or twice Of our good Wassel.

If any maidens be Here dwelling in this house, They kindly will agree To take a full carouse Of our Wassel.

But here they let us stand All freezing in the cold; Good master, give command, To enter and be bold, With our Wassel.

Much joy into this hall With us is entered in, Our master first of all, We hope will now begin, Of our Wassel.

And after his good wife Our spiced bowl will try, The Lord prolong your life, Good fortune we espy, For our Wassel.

Some bounty from your hands, Our Wassel to maintain. We’ll buy no house nor lands With that which we do gain, With our Wassel.

This is our merry night Of choosing King and Queen, Then be it your delight That something may be seen In our Wassel.

It is a noble part To bear a liberal mind, God bless our master’s heart, For here we comfort find, With our Wassel.

And now we must be gone, To seek out more good cheer; Where bounty will be shown, As we have found it here, With our Wassel.

Much joy betide them all, Our prayers shall be still, We hope and ever shall, For this your great good will, To our Wassel.

From the “Wassail” we derive, perhaps, a feature by which we are distinguished. An Englishman eats no more than a Frenchman; but he makes yule-tide of all the year. In virtue of his forefathers, he is given to “strong drink.” He is a beer-drinker, an enjoyer of “fat ale;” a lover of the best London porter and double XX, and discontented unless he can get “stout.” He is a sitter withal. Put an Englishman “behind a pipe” and a full pot, and he will sit till he cannot stand. At first he is silent; but as his liquor gets towards the bottom, he inclines towards conversation; as he replenishes, his coldness thaws, and he is conversational; the oftener he calls to “fill again,” the more talkative he becomes; and when thoroughly liquefied, his loquacity is deluging. He is thus in public-house parlours: he is in parties somewhat higher, much the same. The business of dinner draws on the greater business of drinking, and the potations are strong and fiery; full-bodied port, hot sherry, and ardent spirits. This occupation consumes five or six hours, and sometimes more, after dining. There is no rising from it, but to toss off the glass, and huzza after the “hip! hip! hip!” of the toast giver. A calculation of the number who customarily “dine out” in this manner half the week, would be very amusing, if it were illustrated by portraits of some of the indulgers. It might be further, and more usefully, though not so agreeably illustrated, by the reports of physicians, wives, and nurses, and the bills of apothecaries. Habitual sitting to drink is the “besetting sin” of Englishmen--the creator of their gout and palsy, the embitterer of their enjoyments, the impoverisher of their property, the widow-maker of their wives.

By continuing the “wassail” of our ancestors, we attempt to cultivate the body as they did; but we are other beings, cultivated in other ways, with faculties and powers of mind that would have astonished their generations, more than their robust frames, if they could appear, would astonish ours. Their employment was in hunting their forests for food, or battling in armour with risk of life and limb. They had no counting-houses, no ledgers, no commerce, no Christmas bills, no letter-writing, no printing, no engraving, no bending over the desk, no “wasting of the midnight oil” and the brain together, no financing, not a hundredth part of the relationships in society, nor of the cares that we have, who “wassail” as they did, and wonder we are not so strong as they were. There were no Popes nor Addisons in the days of Nimrod.

The most perfect fragment of the “wassail” exists in the usage of certain corporation festivals. The person presiding stands up at the close of dinner, and drinks from a flaggon usually of silver having a handle on each side, by which he holds it with each hand, and the toast-master announces him as drinking “the health of his brethren out of the ‘loving cup.’” The loving cup, which is the ancient wassail-bowl, is then passed to the guest on his left hand, and by him to his left-hand neighbour, and as it finds its way round the room to each guest in his turn, so each stands up and drinks to the president “out of the loving cup.”

The subsequent song is sung in Gloucestershire on New-year’s eve:--

Wassail! Wassail! over the town, Our toast it is white, our ale it is brown: Our bowl it is made of a maplin tree, We be good fellows all; I drink to thee.

Here’s to * * * *[9], and to his right ear, God send our maister a happy New Year; A happy New Year as e’er he did see-- With my Wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

Here’s to * * * *[10], and to his right eye, God send our mistress a good Christmas pie: A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see-- With my Wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

Here’s to Filpail,[11] and her long tail, God send our measter us never may fail Of a cup of good beer; I pray you draw near, And then you shall hear our jolly wassail.

Be here any maids, I suppose here be some; Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone; Sing hey O maids, come trole back the pin, And the fairest maid in the house, let us all in.

Come, butler, come bring us a bowl of the best: I hope your soul in Heaven may rest: But if you do bring us a bowl of the small, Then down fall butler, bowl, and all.

~Hogmany.~

Of this usage in Scotland, commencing on New-year’s eve, there was not room in the last sheet of the former volume, to include the following interesting communication. It is, here, not out of place, because, in fact, the usage runs into the morning of the New Year.

DAFT DAYS--HOGMANY.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

The annexed account contains, I believe, the first notice of the acting in our Daft Days. I have put it hurriedly together, but, if of use, it is at your service.

I am, Sir, &c.

JOHN WOOD REDDOCK.

Falkirk, December, 1825.

During the early ages of christianity, when its promulgation among the barbarous Celts and Gauls had to contend with the many obstacles which their ignorance and superstition presented, it is very probable that the clergy, when they were unable entirely to abolish pagan rites, would endeavour, as far as possible, to twist them into something of a christian cast; and of the turn which many heathen ceremonies thus received, abundant instances are afforded in the Romish church.

The performance of religious MYSTERIES, which continued for a long period, seems to have been accompanied with much licentiousness, and undoubtedly was grafted upon the stock of pagan observances.--It was discovered, however, that the purity of the christian religion could not tolerate them, and they were succeeded by the MORALITIES, the subjects of which were either historical, or some existing abuse, that it was wished to aim a blow at. Of this we have an interesting instance in an account given by sir William Eure, the envoy of Henry the Eighth to James the Fifth, in a letter to the lord privy seal of England, dated 26th of January 1540, on the performance of a play, or morality, written by the celebrated sir David Lindsay. It was entitled The Satire of the Three Estates, and was performed at Linlithgow, “before the king, queene, and the whole counsaill, spirituall and temporall,” on the feast of Epiphany. It gives a singular proof of the liberty then allowed, by king James and his court witnessing the exhibition of a piece, in which the corruptions of the existing government and religion were treated with the most satirical severity.

The principal dramatis personæ were a king, a bushop, a burges man, “armed in harness, with a swerde drawn in his hande,” a poor man, and Experience, “clede like ane doctor.” The poor man (who seems to have represented the people) “looked at the king, and said he was not king in Scotland, for there was another king in Scotland that hanged Johne Armstrong with his fellows, Sym the laird, and mony other mae.” He then makes “a long narracione of the oppression of the poor by the taking of the corse-presaunte beits, and of the herrying of poor men by the consistorye lawe, and of mony other abusions of the spiritualitie and church. Then the bushop raised and rebuked him, and defended himself. Then the man of arms alleged the contrarie, and commanded the poor man to go on. The poor man proceeds with a long list of the bushop’s evil practices, the vices of cloisters, &c. This is proved by EXPERIENCE, who, from a New Testament, showes the office of a bishop. The man of arms and burges approve of all that was said against the clergy, and allege the expediency of a reform, with the consent of parliament. The bushop dissents. The man of arms and burges said they were two and he but one, wherefore their voice should have the most effect. Thereafter the king in the play ratified, approved, and confirmed all that was rehearsed.”

None of the ancient religious observances, which have escaped, through the riot of time and barbarism, to our day, have occasioned more difficulty than that which forms the subject of these remarks. It is remarkable, that in all disputed etymological investigations, a number of words got as explanatory, are so provokingly improbable, that decision is rendered extremely difficult. With no term is this more the case, than HOGMENAY. So wide is the field of conjecture, as to the signification of this word, that we shall not occupy much space in attempting to settle which of the various etymologies is the most correct.

Many complaints were made to the Gallic synods of the great excesses committed on the last night of the year and first of January, by companies of both sexes dressed in fantastic habits, who ran about with their Christmas boxes, calling tire lire, and begging for the lady in the straw both money and wassels. The chief of these strollers was called Rollet Follet. They came into the churches during the vigils, and disturbed the devotions. A stop was put to this in 1598, at the representation of the bishop of Angres; but debarred from coming to the churches, they only became more licentious, and went about the country frightening the people in their houses, so that the legislature having interfered, an end was put to the practice in 1668.

The period during the continuance of these festivities corresponded exactly with the present daft days, which, indeed, is nearly a translation of their French name fêtes de fous. The cry used by the bachelettes during the sixteenth century has also a striking resemblance to the still common cry “hogmenay trololay--gi’ us your white bread and nane o’ your grey,” it being “au gui menez, Rollet Follet, au gui menez, tiré liré, mainte du blanc et point du bis.”

The word Rollet is, perhaps, a corruption of the ancient Norman invocation of their hero, Rollo. Gui, however, seems to refer to the druidical custom of cutting branches from the mistletoe at the close of the year, which were deposited in the temples and houses with great ceremony.

A supposition has been founded upon the reference of this cry to the birth of our Saviour, and the arrival of the wise men from the east; of whom the general belief in the church of Rome is, that they were three in number. Thus the language, as borrowed from the French may be “homme est né, trois rois allois!” A man is born, three kings are come!

Others, fond of referring to the dark period of the Goths, imagine that this name had its origin there. Thus, minne was one of the cups drunk at the feast of Yule, as celebrated in the times of heathenism, and oel is the general term for festival. The night before Yule was called hoggin-nott, or hogenat, signifying the slaughter night, and may have originated from the number of cattle slaughtered on that night, either as sacrifices, or in preparation for the feast on the following day. They worshipped the sun under the name Thor. Hence, the call for the celebration of their sacrifices would be “Hogg-minne! Thor! oel! oel!” Remember your sacrifices, the feast of Thor! the feast!

That the truth lies among these various explanations, there appears no doubt; we however turn to hogmenay among ourselves, and although the mutilated legend which we have to notice remains but as a few scraps, it gives an idea of the existence of a custom which has many points of resemblance to that of France during the fêtes du fous. It has hitherto escaped the attention of Scottish antiquaries.

Every person knows the tenacious adherence of the Scottish peasantry to the tales and observances of auld lang syne. Towards the close of the year many superstitions are to this day strictly kept up among the country people, chiefly as connected with their cattle and crops. Their social feelings now get scope, and while one may rejoice that he has escaped difficulties and dangers during the past year, another looks forward with bright anticipation for better fortune in the year to come. The bannock of the oaten cake gave place a little to the currant loaf and bun, and the amories of every cottager have goodly store of dainties, invariably including a due proportion of Scotch drink. The countenances of all seem to say

“Let mirth abound; let social cheer Invest the dawnin’ o’ the year, Let blithsome Innocence appear To crown our joy, Nor envy wi’ sarcastic sneer, Our bliss destroy.

When merry Yuleday comes, I trow You’ll scantlings find a hungry mou; Sma’ are our cares, our stomacks fu’ O’ gusty gear An’ kickshaws, strangers to our view Sin’ fairnyear.

Then tho’ at odds wi’ a’ the warl, Among oursels we’ll never quarrel Though discard gie a canker’d snarl To spoil our glee, As lang’s there pith into the barrel We’ll drink and gree!”

Ferguson’s Daft Days.

It is deemed lucky to see the new moon with some money (silver) in the pocket. A similar idea is perhaps connected with the desire to enter the new year rife o’ roughness. The grand affair among the boys in the town is to provide themselves with fausse faces, or masks; and those with crooked horns and beards are in greatest demand. A high paper cap, with one of their great grandfather’s antique coats, then equips them as a guisard--they thus go about the shops seeking their hogmenay. In the carses and moor lands, however, parties of guisards have long kept up the practice in great style. Fantastically dressed, and each having his character allotted him, they go through the farm houses, and unless denied entrance by being told that the OLD STYLE is kept, perform what must once have been a connected dramatic piece. We have heard various editions of this, but the substance of it is something like the following:--

One enters first to speak the prologue in the style of the Chester mysteries, called the Whitsun plays, and which appear to have been performed during the mayoralty of John Arneway, who filled that office in Chester from 1268 to 1276. It is usually in these words at present--

Rise up gudewife and shake your feathers! Dinna think that we’re beggars, We are bairns com’d to play And for to seek our hogmenay; Redd up stocks, redd up stools, Here comes in a pack o’ fools.[12] Muckle head and little wit stand behint the door, But sic a set as we are, ne’er were here before.

One with a sword, who corresponds with the Rollet, now enters and says:

Here comes in the great king of Macedon, Who has conquer’d all the world but Scotland alone. When I came to Scotland my heart grew so cold To see a little nation so stout and so bold, So stout and so bold, so frank and so free! Call upon Galgacus to fight wi’ me

If national partiality does not deceive us, we think this speech points out the origin of the story to be the Roman invasion under Agricola, and the name of Galgacus (although Galacheus and Saint Lawrence are sometimes substituted, but most probably as corruptions) makes the famous struggle for freedom by the Scots under that leader, in the battle fought at the foot of the Grampians, the subject of this historical drama.

Enter Galgacus.

Here comes in Galgacus--wha doesna fear my name? Sword and buckler by my side, I hope to win the game!

They close in a sword fight, and in the “hash smash” the chief is victorious. He says:

Down Jack! down to the ground you must go-- Oh O! what’s this I’ve done? I’ve killed my brother Jack, my father’s only son! Call upon the doctor.

Enter Doctor (saying)

Here comes in the best doctor that ever Scotland bred.

Chief. What can you cure?

The doctor then relates his skill in surgery.

Chief. What will ye tak to cure this man?

Doctor. Ten pound and a bottle of wine.

Chief. Will six not do?

Doctor. No, you must go higher.

Chief. Seven?

Doctor. That will not put on the pot, &c.

A bargain however is struck, and the Doctor says to Jack, start to your feet and stand!

Jack. Oh hon, my back, I’m sairly wounded.

Doctor. What ails your back?

Jack. There’s a hole in’t you may turn your tongue ten times round it!

Doctor. How did you get it?

Jack. Fighting for our land.

Doctor. How mony did you kill?

Jack. I killed a’ the loons save ane, but he ran, he wad na stand.

Here, most unfortunately, there is a “hole i’ the ballad,” a hiatus which irreparably closes the door upon our keenest prying. During the late war with France Jack was made to say he had been “fighting the French,” and that the loon who took leg bail was no less a personage than NAP. le grand! Whether we are to regard this as a dark prophetic anticipation of what did actually take place, seems really problematical. The strange eventful history however is wound up by the entrance of Judas with the bag. He says:

Here comes in Judas--Judas is my name, If ye pit nought sillar i’ my bag, for gude-sake mind our wame! When I gaed to the castle yett and tirl’t at the pin, They keepit the keys o’ the castle wa’, and wad na let me in. I’ve been i’ the east carse, I’ve been i’ the west carse, I’ve been i’ the carse o’ Gowrie, Where the clouds rain a’ day wi’ peas and wi’ beans! And the farmers theek houses wi’ needles and prins! I’ve seen geese ga’in’ on pattens! And swine fleeing i’ the air like peelings o’ onions! Our hearts are made o’ steel, but our body’s sma’ as ware, If you’ve onything to gi’ us, stap it in there!

This character in the piece seems to mark its ecclesiastical origin, being of course taken from the office of the betrayer in the New Testament; whom, by the way, he resembles in another point; as extreme jealousy exists among the party, this personage appropriates to himself the contents of the bag. The money and wassel, which usually consists of farles of short bread, or cakes and pieces of cheese, are therefore frequently counted out before the whole.

One of the guisards who has the best voice, generally concludes the exhibition by singing an “auld Scottish sang.” The most ancient melodies only are considered appropriate for this occasion, and many very fine ones are often sung that have not found their way into collections: or the group join in a reel, lightly tripping it, although encumbered with buskins of straw wisps, to the merry sound of the fiddle, which used to form a part of the establishment of these itinerants. They anciently however appear to have been accompanied with a musician, who played the kythels, or stock-and-horn, a musical instrument made of the thigh bone of a sheep and the horn of a bullock.

The above practice, like many customs of the olden time, is now quickly falling into disuse, and the revolution of a few years may witness the total extinction of this seasonable doing. That there does still exist in other places of Scotland the remnants of plays performed upon similar occasions, and which may contain many interesting allusions, is very likely. That noticed above, however, is the first which we remember of seeing noticed in a particular manner.

The kirk of Scotland appears formerly to have viewed these festivities exactly as the Roman church in France did in the sixteenth century; and, as a proof of this, and of the style in which the sport was anciently conducted in the parish of Falkirk, we have a remarkable instance so late as the year 1702. A great number of farmers’ sons and farm servants from the “East Carse” were publicly rebuked before the session, or ecclesiastical court, for going about in disguise upon the last night of December that year, “acting things unseemly;” and having professed their sorrow for the sinfulness of the deed, were certified if they should be found guilty of the like in time coming, they would be proceeded against after another manner. Indeed the scandalized kirk might have been compelled to put the cutty stool in requisition, as a consequence of such promiscuous midnight meetings.

The observance of the old custom of “first fits” upon New-year’s day is kept up at Falkirk with as much spirit as any where else. Both Old and New Style have their “keepers,” although many of the lower classes keep them in rather a “disorderly style.” Soon as the steeple clock strikes the ominous twelve, all is running, and bustle, and noise; hot-pints in clear scoured copper kettles are seen in all directions, and a good noggin to the well-known toast, “A gude new year, and a merry han’sel Monday,” is exchanged among the people in the streets, as well as friends in the houses. On han’sel Monday O. S. the numerous colliers in the neighbourhood of the town have a grand main of cocks; but there is nothing in these customs peculiar to the season.

Falkirk, 1825.

J. W. R.

ANNUAL JOCULAR TENURE.

The following are recorded particulars of a whimsical custom in Yorkshire, by which a right of sheep-walk is held by the tenants of a manor:--

Hutton Conyers, Com. York.

Near this town, which lies a few miles from Ripon, there is a large common, called Hutton Conyers Moor, whereof William Aislabie, esq. of Studley Royal, (lord of the manor of Hutton Conyers,) is lord of the soil, and on which there is a large coney-warren belonging to the lord. The occupiers of messuages and cottages within the several towns of Hutton Conyers, Baldersby, Rainton, Dishforth, and Hewick, have right of estray for their sheep to certain limited boundaries on the common, and each township has a shepherd.

The lord’s shepherd has a preeminence of tending his sheep on every part of the common; and wherever he herds the lord’s sheep, the several other shepherds are to give way to him, and give up their hoofing-place, so long as he pleases to depasture the lord’s sheep thereon. The lord holds his court the first day in the year, to entitle those several townships to such right of estray; the shepherd of each township attends the court, and does fealty, by bringing to the court a large apple-pie, and a twopenny sweetcake, (except the shepherd of Hewick, who compounds by paying sixteen pence for ale, which is drank as after mentioned,) and a wooden spoon; each pie is cut in two, and divided by the bailiff, one half between the steward, bailiff, and the tenant of the coney-warren before mentioned, and the other half into six parts, and divided amongst the six shepherds of the above mentioned six townships. In the pie brought by the shepherd of Rainton an inner one is made, filled with prunes. The cakes are divided in the same manner. The bailiff of the manor provides furmety and mustard, and delivers to each shepherd a slice of cheese and a penny roll. The furmety, well mixed with mustard, is put into an earthen pot, and placed in a hole in the ground, in a garth belonging to the bailiff’s house; to which place the steward of the court, with the bailiff, tenant of the warren, and six shepherds, adjourn with their respective wooden spoons. The bailiff provides spoons for the stewards, the tenant of the warren, and himself. The steward first pays respect to the furmety, by taking a large spoonful, the bailiff has the next honour, the tenant of the warren next, then the shepherd of Hutton Conyers, and afterwards the other shepherds by regular turns; then each person is served with a glass of ale, (paid for by the sixteen pence brought by the Hewick shepherd,) and the health of the lord of the manor is drank; then they adjourn back to the bailiff’s house, and the further business of the court is proceeded in.

Each pie contains about a peck of flour, is about sixteen or eighteen inches diameter, and as large as will go into the mouth of an ordinary oven. The bailiff of the manor measures them with a rule, and takes the diameter; and if they are not of a sufficient capacity, he threatens to return them, and fine the town. If they are large enough, he divides them with a rule and compasses into four equal parts; of which the steward claims one, the warrener another, and the remainder is divided amongst the shepherds. In respect to the furmety, the top of the dish in which it is put is placed level with the surface of the ground; all persons present are invited to eat of it, and those who do not, are not deemed loyal to the lord. Every shepherd is obliged to eat of it, and for that purpose is to take a spoon in his pocket to the court; for if any of them neglect to carry a spoon with him, he is to lay him down upon his belly, and sup the furmety with his face to the pot or dish, at which time it is usual, by way of sport, for some of the bystanders to dip his face into the furmety; and sometimes a shepherd, for the sake of diversion, will purposely leave his spoon at home.[13]

NEW-YEAR’S DAY IN SUSSEX.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

A practice which well deserves to be known and imitated is established at Maresfield-park, Sussex, the seat of sir John Shelley, bart. M. P. Rewards are annually given on New-year’s day to such of the industrious poor in the neighbourhood as have not received parish relief, and have most distinguished themselves by their good behaviour and industry, the neatness of their cottages and gardens, and their constant attendance at church, &c. The distribution is made by lady Shelley, assisted by other ladies; and it is gratifying to observe the happy effects upon the character and disposition of the poor people with which this benevolent practice has been attended during the few years it has been established. Though the highest reward does not exceed two guineas, yet it has excited a wonderful spirit of emulation, and many a strenuous effort to avoid receiving money from the parish. Immediately as the rewards are given, all the children belonging to the Sunday-school and national-school lately established in the parish, are set down to a plentiful dinner in the servants’ hall; and after dinner they also receive prizes for their good conduct as teachers, and their diligence as scholars.

I am, &c.

J.S.

* * * * *

ODE TO THE NEW YEAR.

BY

A Gentleman of Literary Habits and Means.

For the Every-day Book.

All hail to the birth of the year, See golden haired Phœbus afar; Prepares to renew his career, And is mounting his dew spangled car.

Stern Winter congeals every brook, That murmured so lately with glee; And places a snowy peruke, On the head of each bald pated tree.

Now wild duck and widgeon abound, Snipes sit by the half frozen rills Where woodcocks are frequently found, That sport such amazing long bills.

The winds blow out shrilly and hoarse, And the rivers are choking with ice; And it comes as a matter of course, That Wallsends are rising in price.

Alas! for the poor! as unwilling I gaze on each famishing group; I never miss giving a shilling, To the parish subscription for soup.

The wood pigeon, sacred to love, Is wheeling in circles on high; How charming he looks in the grove! How charming he looks in the pie!

Now gone is St. Thomas’s day, The shortest, alas! in the year. And Christmas is hasting away, With its holly and berries and beer,

And the old year for ever is gone, With the tabor, the pipe, and the dance; And gone is our collar of brawn, And gone is the mermaid to France.

The scythe and the hour glass of time, Those fatal mementos of woe, Seem to utter in accents sublime, “We are all of us going to go!”

* * * * *

We are truly and agreeably informed by the “Mirror of the Months,” that “Now periodical works put on their best attire; the old ones expressing their determination to become new, and the new ones to become old; and each makes a point of putting forth the first of some pleasant series (such as this, for example!), which cannot fail to fix the most fugitive of readers, and make him her own for another twelve months at least.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Under this head it is proposed to place the “Mean temperature of every day in the Year for London and its environs, on an average of Twenty Years,” as deduced by Mr. Howard, from observations commencing with the year 1797, and ending with 1816.

For the first three years, Mr. Howard’s observations were conducted at Plaistow, a village about three miles and a half N. N. E. of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, four miles E. of the edge of London, with the Thames a mile and a half to the S., and an open level country, for the most part well-drained land, around it. The thermometer was attached to a post set in the ground, under a Portugal laurel, and from the lowness of this tree, the whole instrument was within three feet of the turf; it had the house and offices, buildings of ordinary height, to the S. and S. E. distant about twenty yards, but was in other respects freely exposed.

For the next three years, the observations were made partly at Plaistow and partly at Mr. Howard’s laboratory at Stratford, a mile and a half to the N. W., on ground nearly of the same elevation. The thermometer had an open N. W. exposure, at six feet from the ground, close to the river Lea.

The latter observations were made at Tottenham-green, four miles N. of London, which situation, as the country to the N. W. especially is somewhat hilly and more wooded, Mr. Howard considers more sheltered than the former site; the elevation of the ground is a trifle greater, and the thermometer was about ten feet from the general level of the garden before it, with a very good exposure N., but not quite enough detached from the house, having been affixed to the outer door-case, in a frame which gave it a little projection, and admitted the air behind it.

On this day, then, the average of these twenty years’ observations gives

Mean Temperature 36·57.

* * * * *

It is, further, proposed to notice certain astronomical and meteorological phenomena; the migration and singing of birds; the appearance of insects; the leafing and flowering of plants; and other particulars peculiar to animal, vegetable, and celestial existences. These observations will only be given from sources thoroughly authentic, and the authorities will be subjoined. Communications for this department will be gladly received.

[6] Mirror of the Months.

[7] Vita Edw. II.

[8] In Architren. lib. 2.

[9] The name of some horse.

[10] The name of another horse.

[11] The name of a cow.

[12] The author of Waverly, in a note to the Abbot, mentions three Moralities played during the time of the reformation--The Abbot of Unreason, The Boy Bishop, and the Pepe o’ Fools--may not pack o’ fools be a corruption of this last?

[13] Blount’s Plug. Antiq. by Beckwith.

~January 2.~

St. Concord.

Is said, by his English biographer Butler, to have been a sub-deacon in a desert, martyred at Spoletto, about the year 178; whereto the same biographer adds, “In the Roman Martyrology his name occurs on the first, in some others on the second of January.” The infallible Roman church, to end the discord, rejects the authority of the “Roman Martyrology” and keeps the festival of Concord on the second of January.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·92.

~January 3.~

THE RIDDLE OF THE YEAR,

By Cleobulus.

There is a father with twice six sons; these sons have thirty daughters a-piece, party-coloured, having one cheek white and the other black, who never see each other’s face, nor live above twenty-four hours.

* * * * *

Cleobulus, to whom this riddle is attributed, was one of the seven wise men of Greece, who lived about 570 years before the birth of Christ.

Riddles are of the highest antiquity; the oldest on record is in the book of Judges xiv. 14-18. We are told by Plutarch, that the girls of his times worked at netting or sewing, and the most ingenious “made riddles.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·60.

~January 4.~

Prepare for Twelfth-day.

The “Mirror of the Months,” a reflector of “The Months” by Mr. Leigh Hunt, enlarged to include other objects, adopts, “Above all other proverbs, that which says, ‘There’s nothing like the time present,’--partly because ‘the time present’ is but a periphrasis for Now!” The series of delightful things which Mr. Hunt links together by the word Now in his “Indicator,” is well remembered, and his pleasant disciple tells us, “Now, then, the cloudy canopy of sea-coal smoke that hangs over London, and crowns her queen of capitals, floats thick and threefold; for fires and feastings are rife, and every body is either ‘out’ or ‘at home’ every night. Now, if a frosty day or two does happen to pay us a flying visit, on its way to the North Pole, how the little boys make slides on the pathways, for lack of ponds, and, it may be, trip up an occasional housekeeper just as he steps out of his own door; who forthwith vows vengeance, in the shape of ashes, on all the slides in his neighbourhood, not, doubtless, out of vexation at his own mishap, and revenge against the petty perpetrators of it, but purely to avert the like from others!--Now the bloom-buds of the fruit-trees, which the late leaves of autumn had concealed from the view, stand confessed, upon the otherwise bare branches, and, dressed in their patent wind-and-waterproof coats, brave the utmost severity of the season,--their hard, unpromising outsides, compared with the forms of beauty which they contain, reminding us of their friends the butterflies, when in the chrysalis state.--Now the labour of the husbandman is, for once in the year, at a stand; and he haunts the alehouse fire, or lolls listlessly over the half-door of the village smithy, and watches the progress of the labour which he unconsciously envies; tasting for once in his life (without knowing it) the bitterness of that ennui which he begrudges to his betters.--Now, melancholy-looking men wander ‘by twos and threes’ through market-towns, with their faces as blue as the aprons that are twisted round their waists; their ineffectual rakes resting on their shoulders, and a withered cabbage hoisted upon a pole; and sing out their doleful petition of ‘Pray remember the poor gardeners, who can get no work!’”

Now, however, not to conclude mournfully, let us remember that the officers and some of the principal inhabitants of most parishes in London, preceded by their beadle in the full majesty of a full great coat and gold laced hat, with his walking staff of state higher than himself, and headed by a goodly polished silver globe, go forth from the vestry room, and call on every chief parishioner for a voluntary contribution towards a provision for cheering the abode of the needy at this cheerful season:--and now the unfeeling and mercenary urge “false pretences” upon “public grounds,” with the vain hope of concealing their private reasons for refusing “public charity:”--and now, the upright and kind-hearted welcome the annual call, and dispense bountifully. Their prosperity is a blessing. Each scattereth and yet increaseth; their pillows are pillows of peace; and at the appointed time, they lie down with their fathers, and sleep the sleep of just men made perfect, in everlasting rest.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·42.

~January 5.~

TWELFTH-DAY EVE.

Agricultural Custom.

In the parish of Pauntley, a village on the borders of the county of Gloucester, next Worcestershire, and in the neighbourhood, “a custom, intended to prevent the smut in wheat, in some respect resembling the Scotch Beltein, prevails.” “On the eve of Twelfth-day all the servants of every farmer assemble together in one of the fields that has been sown with wheat. At the end of twelve lands, they make twelve fires in a row with straw; around one of which, made larger than the rest, they drink a cheerful glass of cyder to their master’s health, and success to the future harvest; then, returning home, they feast on cakes made of caraways, &c. soaked in cyder, which they claim as a reward for their past labours in sowing the grain.”[14]

Credulity and Incredulity.

In the beginning of the year 1825, the flimsiest bubbles of the most bungling projectors obtained the public confidence; at the close of the year that confidence was refused to firms and establishments of unquestionable security. Just before Christmas, from sudden demands greatly beyond the amounts which were ready for ordinary supply, bankers in London of known respectability stopped payment; the panic became general throughout the kingdom, and numerous country banks failed, the funds fell, Exchequer bills were at a heavy discount, and public securities of every description suffered material depression. This exigency rendered prudence still more circumspect, and materially retarded the operations of legitimate business, to the injury of all persons engaged in trade. In several manufacturing districts, transactions of every kind were suspended, and manufactories wholly ceased from work.

EXCHEQUER BILLS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

As just at this time it may be interesting to many of your readers, to know the origin of Exchequer bills, I send you the following account.

In the years 1696 and 1697, the silver currency of the kingdom being, by clipping, washing, grinding, filing, &c. reduced to about half its nominal value, acts of parliament were passed for its being called in, and re-coined; but whilst the re-coinage was going on exchequer bills were first issued, to supply the demands of trade. The quantity of silver re-coined, according to D’Avenant, from the old hammered money, amounted to 5,725,933_l._ It is worthy of remark, that through the difficulties experienced by the Bank of England (which had been established only three years,) during the re-coinage, they having taken the clipped silver at its nominal value, and guineas at an advanced price, bank notes were in 1697 at a discount of from 15 to 20 per cent. “During the re-coinage,” says D’Avenant, “all great dealings were transacted by tallies, bank-bills, and goldsmiths’ notes. Paper credit did not only supply the place of running cash, but greatly multiplied the kingdom’s stock; for tallies and bank-bills did to many uses serve as well, and to some better than gold and silver; and this artificial wealth which necessity had introduced, did make us less feel the want of that real treasure, which the war and our losses at sea had drawn out of the nation.”

I am, &c.

J. G.

THE CHRISTMAS DAYS.

A Family Sketch.

Bring me a garland of holly, Rosemary, ivy, and bays; Gravity’s nothing but folly, Till after the Christmas day

Fill out a glass of Bucellas; Here!--boys put the crown on my head: Now, boys!--shake hands--be good fellows, And all be--good men--when I’m dead.

Come, girls, come! now for your kisses. Hearty ones--louder--loud--louder! How I’m surrounded with blisses! Proud men may here see a prouder.

Now, you rogues, go kiss your mother:-- Ah! ah!--she won’t let you?--pho! pho! Gently--there, there now!--don’t smother:-- Old lady! come, now I’ll kiss you.

Here take the garland, and wear it; ‘Nay, nay!’ but you must, and you shall; For, here’s such a kiss!--come, don’t fear it; If you do--turn round to the wall.

A kiss too for Number Eleven, The Newcome--the young Christmas berry-- My Alice!--who makes my girls seven, And makes merry Christmas more merry.

Another good glass of Bucellas, While I’ve the crown on my head; Laugh on my good girls, and good fellows, Till it’s off--then off to bed.

Hey!--now, for the Christmas holly, Rosemary, ivy, and bays; Gravity’s nothing but folly, Till after the Christmas days.

December 30, 1825.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·47.

* * * * *

The bean found out, and monarch crown’d, He dubs a fool, and sends him round, To raise the frolic when it’s low-- Himself commands the wine to flow. Each watches for the king to quaff, When, all at once, up springs the laugh; They cry “The king drinks!” and away They shout a long and loud huzza! And when it’s ended comes the dance, And--thus is Twelfth-night spent in France.

*

[14] Rudge’s Gloucester.

~January 6.~

Epiphany.--Old Christmas-day.

Holiday at the Public-offices.

TWELFTH-DAY.

It is only in certain rural parts of France that the merriments represented above still prevail. The engraving is from an old print, “I. Marriette ex.” inscribed as in the next column.

“L’HIVER. Les Divertissements du Roi-boit.

Loin dicy mille soins facheux, Que porte avec soy la coronne; Celle quá table Bacchus donne Ne fit jamais de malheureux.”

This print may be regarded a faithful picture of the almost obsolete usage.

During the holidays, and especially on Twelfth-night, school-boys dismiss “the cares and the fears” of academic rule; or they are regarded but as a passing cloud, intercepting only for an instant the sunshine of joy wherewith their sports are brightened. Gerund-grinding and parsing are usually prepared for at the last moment, until when “the master’s chair” is only “remembered to be forgotten.” There is entire suspension of the authority of that class, by whom the name of “Busby” is venerated, till “Black Monday” arrives, and chaises and stages convey the young Christmas-keepers to the “seat of government.”

Him! sui generis, alone, Busby! the great substantive noun! Whose look was lightning, and whose word Was thunder to the boys who heard, Is, as regards his long vocation, Pictured by this his great location. Look on it well, boys, and digest The symbols!--learn--and shun the rest!

The name of Busby!--not the musical doctor, but a late magisterial doctor of Westminster school--celebrated for severe discipline, is a “word of fear” to all living who know his fame! It is perpetuated by an engraved representation of his chair, said to have been designed by sir Peter Lily, and presented by that artist to king Charles II. The arms, and each arm, are appalling; and the import of the other devices are, or ought to be, known by every tyro. Every prudent person lays in stores before they are wanted, and Dr. Busby’s chair may as well be “in the house” on Twelfth-day as on any other; not as a mirth-spoiler, but as a subject which we know to-day that we have “by us,” whereon to inquire and discuss at a more convenient season. Dr. Busby was a severe, but not an ill-natured man. It is related of him and one of his scholars, that during the doctor’s absence from his study, the boy found some plums in it, and being moved by lickerishness, began to eat some; first, however, he waggishly cried out, “I publish the banns of matrimony between my mouth and these plums; if any here present know just cause or impediment why they should not be united, you are to declare it, or hereafter hold your peace;” and then he ate. But the doctor had overheard the proclamation, and said nothing till the next morning, when causing the boy to be “brought up,” and disposed for punishment, he grasped the well-known instrument, and said, “I publish the banns of matrimony between this rod and this boy: if any of you know just cause or impediment why they should not be united, you are to declare it.”--The boy himself called out, “I forbid the banns!” “For what cause?” inquired the doctor. “Because,” said the boy, “the parties are not agreed!” The doctor enjoyed the validity of the objection urged by the boy’s wit, and the ceremony was not performed. This is an instance of Dr. Busby’s admiration of talent: and let us hope, in behalf of its seasonableness here, that it was at Christmas time.

The King drinks.

We recur once more to this subject, for the sake of remarking that there is an account of a certain curate, “who having taken his preparations over evening, when all men cry (as the manner is) The king drinketh, chanting his masse the next morning, fell asleep in his memento; and when he awoke, added, with a loud voice, The king drinketh.” This mal-apropos exclamation must have proceeded from a foreign ecclesiastic: we have no account of the ceremony to which it refers having prevailed in merry England.

* * * * *

An excellent pen-and-ink picture of “Merry England”[15] represents honest old Froissart, the French chronicler, as saying of some English in his time, that “they amused themselves sadly after the fashion of their country;” whereon the portrayer of Merry England observes, “They have indeed a way of their own. Their mirth is a relaxation from gravity, a challenge to ‘Dull Care’ to ‘be gone;’ and one is not always clear at first, whether the appeal is successful. The cloud may still hang on the brow; the ice may not thaw at once. To help them out in their new character is an act of charity. Any thing short of hanging or drowning is something to begin with. They do not enter into their amusements the less doggedly because they may plague others. They like a thing the better for hitting them a rap on the knuckles, for making their blood tingle. They do not dance or sing, but they make good cheer--‘eat, drink, and are merry.’ No people are fonder of field-sports, Christmas gambols, or practical jests. Blindman’s-buff, hunt-the-slipper, hot-cockles, and snap-dragon, are all approved English games, full of laughable surprises and ‘hair-breadth ’scapes,’ and serve to amuse the winter fireside after the roast beef and plum-pudding, the spiced ale and roasted crab, thrown (hissing-hot) into the foaming tankard. Punch (not the liquor, but the puppet) is not, I fear, of English origin; but there is no place, I take it, where he finds himself more at home or meets a more joyous welcome, where he collects greater crowds at the corners of streets, where he opens the eyes or distends the cheeks wider, or where the bangs and blows, the uncouth gestures, ridiculous anger and screaming voice of the chief performer excite more boundless merriment or louder bursts of laughter among all ranks and sorts of people. An English theatre is the very throne of pantomime; nor do I believe that the gallery and boxes of Drury-lane or Covent-garden filled on the proper occasions with holiday folks (big or little) yield the palm for undisguised, tumultuous, inextinguishable laughter to any spot in Europe. I do not speak of the refinement of the mirth (this is no fastidious speculation) but of its cordiality, on the return of these long-looked-for and licensed periods; and I may add here, by way of illustration, that the English common people are a sort of grown children, spoiled and sulky, perhaps, but full of glee and merriment, when their attention is drawn off by some sudden and striking object.

“The comfort, on which the English lay so much stress, arises from the same source as their mirth. Both exist by contrast and a sort of contradiction. The English are certainly the most uncomfortable of all people in themselves, and therefore it is that they stand in need of every kind of comfort and accommodation. The least thing puts them out of their way, and therefore every thing must be in its place. They are mightily offended at disagreeable tastes and smells, and therefore they exact the utmost neatness and nicety. They are sensible of heat and cold, and therefore they cannot exist, unless every thing is snug and warm, or else open and airy, where they are. They must have ‘all appliances and means to boot.’ They are afraid of interruption and intrusion, and therefore they shut themselves up in in-door enjoyments and by their own firesides. It is not that they require luxuries (for that implies a high degree of epicurean indulgence and gratification,) but they cannot do without their comforts; that is, whatever tends to supply their physical wants, and ward off physical pain and annoyance. As they have not a fund of animal spirits and enjoyments in themselves, they cling to external objects for support, and derive solid satisfaction from the ideas of order, cleanliness, plenty, property, and domestic quiet, as they seek for diversion from odd accidents and grotesque surprises, and have the highest possible relish not of voluptuous softness, but of hard knocks and dry blows, as one means of ascertaining their personal identity.”

* * * * *

Twelfth-day, in the times of chivalry, was observed at the court of England by grand entertainments and tournaments. The justings were continued till a period little favourable to such sports.

In the reign of James I., when his son prince Henry was in the 16th year of his age, and therefore arrived to the period for claiming the principality of Wales and the duchy of Cornwall, it was granted to him by the king and the high court of parliament, and the 4th of June following appointed for his investiture: “the Christmas before which,” sir Charles Cornwallis says, “his highnesse, not onely for his owne recreation, but also that the world might know what a brave prince they were likely to enjoy, under the name of Meliades, lord of the isles, (an ancient title due to the first-borne of Scotland,) did, in his name, by some appointed for the same purpose, strangely attired, accompanied with drummes and trumpets, in the presence, before the king and queene, and in the presence of the whole court, deliver a challenge to all knights of Great Britaine.” The challenge was to this effect, “That Meliades, their noble master, burning with an earnest desire to trie the valour of his young yeares in foraigne countryes, and to know where vertue triumphed most, had sent them abroad to espy the same, who, after their long travailes in all countreyes, and returne,” had nowhere discovered it, “save in the fortunate isle of Great Britaine: which ministring matter of exceeding joy to their young Meliades, who (as they said) could lineally derive his pedegree from the famous knights of this isle, was the cause that he had now sent to present the first fruits of his chivalrie at his majesties’ feete; then after returning with a short speech to her majestie, next to the earles, lords, and knights, excusing their lord in this their so sudden and short warning, and lastly, to the ladies; they, after humble delivery of their chartle concerning time, place, conditions, number of weapons and assailants, tooke their leave, departing solemnly as they entered.”

Then preparations began to be made for this great fight, and each was happy who found himself admitted for a defendant, much more an assailant. “At last to encounter his highness, six assailants, and fifty-eight defendants, consisting of earles, barons, knights, and esquires, were appointed and chosen; eight defendants to one assailant, every assailant being to fight by turnes eight severall times fighting, two every time with push and pike of sword, twelve strokes at a time; after which, the barre for separation was to be let downe until a fresh onset.” The summons ran in these words:

“To our verie loving good ffreind sir Gilbert Houghton, knight, geave theis with speed:

“After our hartie commendacions unto you. The prince, his highnes, hath comanded us to signifie to you that whereas he doth intend to make a challenge in his owne person at the Barriers, with sixe other assistants, to bee performed some tyme this Christmas; and that he hath made choice of you for one of the defendants (whereof wee have comandement to give you knowledge), that theruppon you may so repaire hither to prepare yourselfe, as you may bee fitt to attend him. Hereunto expecting your speedie answer wee rest, from Whitehall this 25th of December, 1609. Your very loving freindes,

Notingham. | T. Suffolke. | E. Worcester.”

On New-year’s Day, 1610, or the day after, the prince’s challenge was proclaimed at court, and “his highnesse, in his own lodging, in the Christmas, did feast the earles, barons, and knights, assailants and defendants, untill the great Twelfth appointed night, on which this great fight was to be performed.”

On the 6th of January, in the evening, “the barriers” were held at the palace of Whitehall, in the presence of the king and queen, the ambassadors of Spain and Venice, and the peers and ladies of the land, with a multitude of others assembled in the banqueting-house: at the upper end whereof was the king’s chair of state, and on the right hand a sumptuous pavilion for the prince and his associates, from whence, “with great bravery and ingenious devices, they descended into the middell of the roome, and there the prince performed his first feats of armes, that is to say, at Barriers, against all commers, being assisted onlie with six others, viz. the duke of Lenox, the earle of Arundell, the earle of Southampton, the lord Hay, sir Thomas Somerset, and sir Richard Preston, who was shortly after created lord Dingwell.”

To answer these challengers came fifty-six earles, barons, knights, and esquiers. They were at the lower end of the roome, where was erected “a very delicat and pleasant place, where in privat manner they and their traine remained, which was so very great that no man imagined that the place could have concealed halfe so many.” From thence they issued, in comely order, to the middell of the roome, where sate the king and the queene, and the court, “to behold the barriers, with the several showes and devices of each combatant.” Every challenger fought with eight several defendants two several combats at two several weapons, viz. at push of pike, and with single sword. “The prince performed this challenge with wonderous skill and courage, to the great joy and admiration of the beholders,” he “not being full sixteene yeeres of age untill the 19th of February.” These feats, and other “triumphant shewes,” began before ten o’clock at night, and continued until three o’clock the next morning, “being Sonday.” The speeches at “the barriers” were written by Ben Jonson. The next day (Sunday) the prince rode in great pomp to convoy the king to St James’, whither he had invited him and all the court to supper, whereof the queen alone was absent; and then the prince bestowed prizes to the three combatants best deserving; namely, the earl of Montgomery, sir Thomas Darey (son to lord Darey), and sir Robert Gourdon.[16] In this way the court spent Twelfth-night in 1610.

* * * * *

On Twelfth-night, 1753, George II. played at hazard for the benefit of the groom porter. All the royal family who played were winners, particularly the duke of York, who won 3000_l._ The most considerable losers were the duke of Grafton, the marquis of Hartington, the earl of Holderness, earl of Ashburnham, and the earl of Hertford. The prince of Wales (father of George III.) with prince Edward and a select company, danced in the little drawing room till eleven o’clock, and then withdrew.[17]

Old Christmas-day.

According to the alteration of the style, OLD Christmas-day falls on Twelfth-day, and in distant parts is even kept in our time as the festival of the nativity. In 1753, Old Christmas-day was observed in the neighbourhood of Worcester by the Anti-Gregorians, full as sociably, if not so religiously, as formerly. In several villages, the parishioners so strongly insisted upon having an Old-style nativity sermon, as they term it, that their ministers could not well avoid preaching to them: and, at some towns, where the markets are held on Friday, not a butter basket, nor even a Goose, was to be seen in the market-place the whole day.[18]

To heighten the festivities of Christmas, 1825, the good folks of “London and its environs” were invited to Sadler’s Wells, by the following whimsical notice, printed and distributed as a handbill:

“SOVEREIGNS WILL BE TAKEN, during the Christmas holidays, and as long as any body will bring them to SADLER’S WELLS; nay so little fastidious are the Proprietors of that delectable fascinating snuggery, that, however incredible it may appear, they, in some cases, have actually had the liberality to prefer Gold to Paper. Without attempting to investigate their motives for such extraordinary conduct, we shall do them the justice to say, they certainly give an amazing quantum of amusement, All in One Night, at the HOUSE ON THE HEATH, where, besides the THREE CRUMPIES, AND THE BARON AND HIS BROTHERS, an immense number of fashionables are expected on MERLIN’S MOUNT, and some of the first Cambrian families will countenance HARLEQUIN CYMRAEG, in hopes to partake of the Living Leek, which being served up the last thing before supper, will constitute a most excellent Christmas carminative, preventing the effects of night air on the crowds who will adorn this darling little edifice. In addition to a most effective LIGHT COMPANY engaged here, a very respectably sized Moon will be in attendance to light home a greater number of Patrons than ever this popular petted Palace of Pantomime is likely to produce. We say nothing of warmth and comfort, acquired by recent improvements, because these matters will soon be subjects of common conversation, and omit noticing the happiness of Half-price, and the cheering qualities of the Wine-room, fearful of wounding in the bosom of the Manager that innate modesty which is ever the concomitant of merit; we shall therefore conclude, by way of invitation to the dubious, in the language of an elegant writer, by asserting that the Proof of the Pudding is in--VERBUM SAT.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·12.

[15] In the New Monthly Magazine, Dec. 1825

[16] Mr. Nichols’s Progresses of James I.

[17] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[18] Ibid.

~January 7.~

1826. Distaff’s Day.[19]

* * * * *

STANZAS ON THE NEW YEAR.

I stood between the meeting years, The coming and the past, And I ask’d of the future one, Wilt thou be like the last?

The same in many a sleepless night, In many an anxious day? Thank Heaven! I have no prophet’s eye To look upon thy way!

For Sorrow like a phantom sits Upon the last Year’s close. How much of grief, how much of ill, In its dark breast repose!

Shadows of faded Hopes flit by, And ghosts of Pleasures fled: How have they chang’d from what they were! Cold, colourless, and dead.

I think on many a wasted hour, And sicken o’er the void; And many darker are behind, On worse than nought employ’d.

Oh Vanity! alas, my heart! How widely hast thou stray’d And misused every golden gift For better purpose made!

I think on many a once-loved friend As nothing to me now; And what can mark the lapse of time As does an alter’d brow?

Perhaps ’twas but a careless word That sever’d Friendship’s chain; And angry Pride stands by each gap, Lest they unite again.

Less sad, albeit more terrible, To think upon the dead, Who quiet in the lonely grave Lay down their weary head.

For faith and hope, and peace, and trust, Are with their happier lot: Though broken is their bond of love, At least we broke it not.--

Thus thinking of the meeting years, The coming and the past, I needs must ask the future one, Wilt thou be like the last?

There came a sound, but not of speech, That to my thought replied, “Misery is the marriage-gift That waits a mortal bride:

“But lift thine hopes from this base earth, This waste of worldly care, And wed thy faith to yon bright sky, For Happiness dwells there!”

L. E. L.[20]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·85.

[19] See vol. i. p. 61.

[20] New Monthly Magazine, January, 1826.

~January 8.~

1826. First Sunday after Epiphany.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 8th of January, 1753, died sir Thomas Burnet, one of the judges of the court of Common Pleas, of the gout in his stomach, at his house in Lincoln’s-inn fields. He was the eldest son of the celebrated Dr. Gilbert Burnet, bishop of Salisbury; was several years consul at Lisbon; and in November, 1741, made one of the judges of the Common Pleas, in room of judge Fortescue, who was appointed master of the rolls. On November 23, 1745, when the lord chancellor, judges, and association of the gentlemen of the law, waited on his majesty with their address, on occasion of the rebellion, he was knighted. He was an able and upright judge, and a great benefactor to the poor.[21]

THE NEW YEAR NEW MOON

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

Encouraged by your various expressions of willingness to receive notices of customs not already “imprinted” in your first volume, I take the liberty of presenting the first of several which I have not yet seen in print.

I am, sir,

Your constant reader,

J. O. W.

Chelsea.

MONEY AND THE MOON.

Gentle reader,

If thou art not over-much prejudiced by the advances of modernization, (I like a long new-coined word,) so that, even in these “latter days,” thou dost not hesitate to place explicit reliance on ancient, yet infallible “sayings and doings,” (ancient enough, since they have been handed down to us by our grandmothers--and who would doubt the weight and authority of so many years?--and infallible enough, since they themselves absolutely believed in their “quite-correctness,”) I will tell thee a secret well worth knowing, if that can be called a secret which arises out of a well-known and almost universal custom, at least, in “days of yore.” It is neither more nor less than the possession throughout “the rolling year” of a pocket never without money. Is not this indeed a secret well worth knowing? Yet the means of its accomplishment are exceedingly simple (as all difficult things are when once known.) On the first day of the first new moon of the new year, or so soon afterwards as you observe it, all that you have to do is this:--on the first glance you take at “pale Luna’s silvery crest” in the western sky, put your hand in your pocket, shut your eyes, and turn the smallest piece of silver coin you possess upside down in your said pocket. This will ensure you (if you will but trust its infallibility!) throughout the whole year that “summum bonum” of earthly wishes, a pocket never empty. If, however, you neglect, on the first appearance of the moon, your case is hopeless; nevertheless and notwithstanding, at a future new moon you may pursue the same course, and it will be sure to hold good during the then current month, but not a “whit” longer.

This mention of the new moon and its crest brings to mind a few verses I wrote some time ago, and having searched my scrap-book, (undoubtedly not such a one as Geoffery Crayon’s,) I copied them from thence, and they are here under. Although written in the “merry merry month of May,” they may be read in the “dreary dark December,” for every new moon presents the same beautiful phenomenon.

A Simile.

Hast thou ne’er marked, when first the crescent moon Shines faintly in the western horizon, O’er her whole orb a slight soft blush o’erspread, As though she were abashed to be thus seen From the sun’s couch with silver steps retreating? Hast thou ne’er marked, that when by slow degrees, Night after night, her crescent shape is lost, And steadily she gains her stores of light, Till half her form resplendently proclaims An envious rival to the stars around-- Then mark’st thou not, that nought of her sweet blush Remains to please the gazer’s wistful sight, And that she shines increasingly in strength, Till she is full-orb’d, mistress of the sky?-- So is it with the mind, when silently Into the young heart’s void steals timorous love. Then enter with it fancy’s fairy dreams, Visions of glory, reveries of bliss; And then they come and go, till comes, alas! Knowledge, forced on us, of the “world without!” How soon these scenes of beauty disappear! How soon fond thought sinks into nothingness! How soon the mind discovers that true bliss Reposes not on sublunary things, But is alone when passion’s blaze is o’er In that high happy sphere, where love’s supreme.

Here it may not be out of place to endeavour to describe, as familiarly as possible, the cause of the lunar appearance. Hold a piece of looking-glass in a ray of sunshine, and then move a small ball through the reflected ray: it is easy to conceive that both sides will be illumined; that side towards the sun by the direct sunbeam, and the side towards the mirror, though less powerfully, by the reflected sunbeam. In a somewhat similar manner, the earth supplies the place of the mirror, and as at every new moon, and for several days after the moon is in that part of her orbit between the earth and the sun, the rays of the sun are reflected from the earth to the dark side of the moon, and consequently to the inhabitants of that part of the moon, (if any such there be, and query why should there not be such?) the earth must present the curious appearance of a full moon of many times the diameter which ours presents.

J. O. W.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·05.

[21] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~January 9.~

1826. Plough Monday.

The first Monday after Twelfth day.[22]

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 9th of January, 1752, William Stroud was tried before the bench of justices at Westminster-hall, for personating various characters and names, and defrauding numbers of people, in order to support his extravagance. It appeared by the evidence, that he had cheated a tailor of a suit of velvet clothes, trimmed with gold; a jeweller of upwards of 100_l._ in rings and watches, which he pawned; a coachmaker of a chaise; a carver and cabinet-maker of household goods; a hosier, hatter, and shoemaker, and, in short, some of almost every other business, to the amount of a large sum. He sometimes appeared like a gentleman attended with livery servants; sometimes as a nobleman’s steward; and, in the summer time, he travelled the west of England, in the character of Doctor Rock; and, at the same time, wrote to London for goods, in the names of the Rev. Laroche, and the Rev. Thomas Strickland. The evidence was full against him; notwithstanding which, he made a long speech in his own defence. He was sentenced to six months’ hard labour in Bridewell, and, within that time, to be six times publicly whipped.

Such offences are familiar to tradesmen of the present times, through many perpetrators of the like stamp; but all of them are not of the same audacity as Stroud, who, in the month following his conviction, wrote and published his life, wherein he gives a very extraordinary account of his adventures, but passes slightly over, or palliates his blackest crimes. He was bred a haberdasher of small wares in Fleet-street, married his mistress’s sister before his apprenticeship determined, set up in the Poultry, became a bankrupt, in three months got his certificate signed, and again set up in Holborn, where he lived but a little while before he was thrown into the King’s Bench for debt, and there got acquainted with one Playstowe, who gradually led him into scenes of fraud, which he afterwards imitated. Playstowe being a handsome man, usually passed for a gentleman, and Stroud for his steward; at last the former, after many adventures, married a girl with 4000_l._, flew to France, and left Stroud in the lurch, who then retired to Yorkshire, and lived some time with his aunt, pretending his wife was dead, and he was just on the brink of marrying advantageously, when his real character was traced. He then went to Ireland, passed for a man of fashion, hired an equipage, made the most of that country, and escaped to London. His next grand expedition was to the west of England, where he still personated the man of fortune, got acquainted with a young lady, and pursued her to London, where justice overtook him; and, instead of wedlock, bound him in the fetters of Bridewell.

On the 24th of June, 1752, Stroud received “his last and severest whipping, from the White Bear to St. James’s church Piccadilly.”[23]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·12.

[22] See vol. i. p. 71.

[23] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~January 10.~

Winter in London.

On the 10th of January, 1812, it is observed, that London was this day involved, for several hours, in palpable darkness. The shops, offices, &c., were necessarily lighted up; but, the streets not being lighted as at night, it required no small care in the passenger to find his way, and avoid accidents. The sky where any light pervaded it, showed the aspect of bronze. Such is, occasionally, the effect of the accumulation of smoke between two opposite gentle currents, or by means of a misty calm. The fuliginous cloud was visible, in this instance, from a distance of forty miles. Were it not for the extreme mobility of our atmosphere, this volcano of a hundred thousand mouths would, in winter, be scarcely habitable![24]

Winter in the Country.

All out door work Now stands; the waggoner, with wisp-wound feet, And wheelspokes almost filled, his destined stage Scarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood, Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veils In white array, disguising to the view Objects well known, now faintly recognised. One colour clothes the mountain and the plain, Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fall Upon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake, Or where some beetling rock o’erjutting hangs Above the vaulty precipice’s cove. Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertops The level dreary waste; and coppice woods, Diminished of their height, like bushes seem. With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocks Onward still urged by man and dog, escape The smothering drift; while, skulking at a side, Is seen the fox, with close downfolded tail, Watching his time to seize a straggling prey; Or from some lofty crag he ominous howls, And makes approaching night more dismal fall.

Grahame.

LETTER

from

=PAUL PRY=.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

I hope I don’t intrude--I have called at Ludgate-hill a great many times to see you, and made many kind inquiries, but I am always informed you are “not at home;” and what’s worse, I never can learn when you’ll be “at home;” I’m constantly told, “it’s very uncertain.” This looks very odd; I don’t think it correct. Then again, on asking your people what the Every-Day Book is all about? they say it’s about every thing; but that you know is no answer--is it? I want something more than that. When I tell ’em so, and that I’m so much engaged I haven’t time to read, they say the book is as useful to people engaged in business as to people out of business--as if I was in business! I wish to acquaint every body, that I am not in business, and never was in business, though I’ve a deal of business to do; but then it’s for my own amusement, and that’s nobody’s business, you know--as I also told ’em. They say it’s impossible to describe the contents of the book, but that all the particulars are in the Index; that’s just what I wanted; but behold! it is “not out”--that is, it is not in--I mean not in the book--you take. Excuse my humorsomeness: I only wish to know when I can get it? They say in a few days, but, bless you, I don’t believe ’em; for though I let ’em know I’ve a world of things to communicate to you, when you’ve time to see me, and let me ask you a few questions, they won’t credit me, and why should I credit them--I was not born yesterday, I assure you. I’m of a very ancient stock, and I’ve some notion you and I are kinsmen--don’t you think we are? I dare say there’s a likeness, for I’m sure we are of the same disposition; if you aren’t, how can you find out so much “about every thing.” If I can make out that you are one of the Pry family, it will be mutually agreeable--won’t it? How people will stare--won’t they?

I suppose you’ve heard how I’ve been used by Mr. Liston--my private character exposed on the public stage, and the whole town roaring at the whole of the Pry family. But we are neither to be cried down nor laughed down, and so I’d have let the play-goers know, if the managers had allowed me to sing a song on New-year’s night, in imitation of Mr. Liston when he’s a playing me. Will you believe it--they burst out a laughing, and would not let me go on the boards--they said the audience would suppose me to be the actor himself; what harm would that have done the theatre?--can you tell? They said, it would hurt Mr. Liston’s feelings--never considering my feelings! If ever I try to serve them or their theatre again, I’ll be--Liston! They shall be matched, however, if you’ll help me. I’ve copied out my song, and if you’ll print it in the Every-Day Book, it will drive ’em mad. I wish, of all things, that Mr. Cruikshank could see me in the character of Liston--he could hit me I know--don’t you think he could?--just as I am--“quite correct”--like he did “Guy Faux” last 5th of November. I never laughed so much in all my life as when I saw that. Bless you, I can mimic Liston all to nothing. Do get your friend George to your house some day--any day he likes--it’s all one to me, for I call every day; and as I’m an “every-day” man, you know, why you might pop me at the head of the song in your Every-Day Book--that’s a joke you know--I can’t help laughing--so droll! I’ve enclosed the song, you see.

[The wish of this correspondent is complied with, and the manner wherein, it is presumed, he would have sung the song, is hinted at parenthetically.]

=MR. PAUL PRY’S SONG,=

Intended to have been sung by him at the Theatre,

=In the Character of MR. LISTON,=

ON NEW YEAR’S EVE.

TUNE----Mr. Liston’s.

(Pryingly.) I hope I don’t intrude!-- (Fearfully.) I thought I heard a cough-- (Apologetically.) I hope I am not rude-- (Confidentially.) I say--the Year’s going off!

(Inquisitively.) Where can he be going to? (Ruminatively.) It’s very odd!--it’s serious!-- (Self-satisfactively.) I’m rather knowing too!-- (Insinuatively.) But isn’t it mysterious?

(Comfortably.) ’Twas better than the other-- (Informingly.) The one that went before;-- (Consolingly.) But then there’ll be another-- (Delightedly.) And that’s one comfort more!

(Alarmedly.) I’m half afraid he’s gone! (Kindlily.) Must part with the old fellow! (Hastily.) Excuse me--I must run--(Exit.) (Returns.) Forgot my umbrella.

(Determinedly.) I’ll watch the new one though, (Circumspectly.) And see what he’ll be at--(Exit.) (Returns.) Beg pardon--didn’t bow--(Bows and exit.) (Returns.) Bid pardon--left my hat.

(Lingeringly.) It’s always the wish of Paul, (Seriously.) To be quite correct and right-- (Respectfully.) Ladies and gentlemen--all-- (Retreatingly.) I wish you very good night!

(Recollectively.) And--ladies and gentlemen--all! (Interjectively.) You laugh so much, I declare-- (Vexedly.) I’m not Mr. Liston!--I’m Paul!-- (Lastly.) I wish you a happy New Year!--(Exit finally.)

If you print this in the Every-Day Book it will send Liston into fits--it will kill him--won’t it? But you know that’s all right--if he takes me off I’ve a right to take him off--haven’t I? I say, that’s another joke--isn’t it? Bless you, I co’d do as good as that for ever. But I want to see you, and ask you how you go on? and I’ve lots of intelligence for you--such things as never were known in this world--all true, and on the very best authority, you may take my word for it. Several of my relations have sent you budgets. Though they know you won’t publish their names unless they like it, they don’t choose to sign ’em to their letters for private reasons,--why don’t you print ’em? They cann’t give up their authors you know, (that’s impossible,) but what does that signify? And then you give ’em so much trouble to call and make inquiries--not that they care about that, but it looks so. However, I’m in a great hurry and so you’ll excuse me.--Mind though I shall pop in every day till I catch you. I hope you’ll print the song--it’s all my own writing, it will do for Liston, depend on it. What a joke--isn’t it a good one?

Pryory Place,

January 6, 1826.

Yours eternally,

PAUL PRY.

P. S. Don’t forget the Index--I want to learn all the particulars--multum in parvo--all quite correct.

P. S. I’m told you’ve eleven children--is it true? What day shall you have another?--to-day?--Twelfth-day? that would be a joke--wouldn’t it? I hope I don’t intrude. I don’t wish to seem curious.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·07.

[24] Howard on Climate.

~January 11.~

Feast Week.

This is a term in many parts of England for an annual festivity celebrated on the occasion described in the subjoined communication.

For the Every-Day Book.

THE FEAST WEEK.

This festival, so called, is supposed to be nearly coeval with the establishment of Christianity in this island. Every new church that was founded was dedicated to some peculiar saint, and was naturally followed by a public religious celebration, generally on the day of that saint, or on the Sunday immediately following. Whatever might be the origin, the festival part is still observed in most of the villages of several of the midland and other counties. It is a season much to be remembered, and is anticipated with no little pleasure by the expecting villagers. The joyful note of preparation is given during the preceding week; and the clash, and splash, and bustle of cleansing, and whitewashing, and dusting, is to be seen and heard in almost every cottage. Nor is the still more important object of laying in a good solid supply for a hungry host of visitors forgotten. Happy those who can command a ham for the occasion. This is a great favourite, as it is a cut-and-come-again dish, ready at hand at all times. But this is mostly with the tip-topping part. Few but can boast of a substantial plum-pudding!--And now the important day is arrived. The merry bells from the steeple announce the event; and groups of friends and relations, not forgetting distant cousins and children, are seen making their way, long before the hour of dinner, to the appointed spot. This is Sunday; and in the afternoon a portion of these strangers, clean and neatly dressed, are seen flocking to the village church, where the elevated band in the gallery, in great force both in noise and number, contribute lustily to their edification, and the clergyman endeavours to improve the solemnity of the occasion by an appropriate address. During the early part of the ensuing week, the feast is kept up with much spirit: the village presents a holiday appearance, and openhousekeeping, as far as may be, is the order of the day; the bells at intervals send forth an enlivening peal; all work is nearly suspended; gay stalls of gingerbread and fruit, according to the season of the year, together with swings and roundabouts, spread out their allurements to the children; bowls, quoits, and nine-pins, for the men; and the merry dance in the evening, for the lasses. Fresh visitors keep dropping in; and almost all who can make any excuse of acquaintance are acknowledged, and are hospitably entertained, according to the means of their village friends. As the week advances, these means gradually diminish; and as an empty house has few attractions, by the end of the week the bustle ceases, and all is still and silent, as if it had never been.

Man naturally requires excitement and relaxation; but it is essentially necessary that they should be adapted to his situation and circumstances. The feast week, however alluring it may appear in description, is in reality productive of greater evil than good. The excitement lasts too long, and the enjoyment, whatever it may be, is purchased at the sacrifice of too great expense. It is a well-known fact, that many of the poor who have exerted every effort to make this profuse, but short-lived display, have scarcely bread to eat for weeks after. But there is no alternative, if they expect to be received with the same spirit of hospitality by their friends. The alehouses, in the interim, are too often scenes of drunkenness and disorder; and the labouring man who has been idle and dissipated for a week, is little disposed for toil and temperance the next. Here, then, the illusion of rural simplicity ends! These things are managed much better where one fair day, as it is called, is set apart in each year, as is the case in many counties; the excitement, which is intense for ten or twelve hours, is fully sufficient for the purpose; all is noise and merriment, and one general and simultaneous burst and explosion, if it may be so expressed, takes place. You see groups of happy faces. Every one is willing “to laugh he knows not why, and cares not wherefore;” and one day’s gratification serves him for every day’s pleasing topic of reference for weeks to come.

S. P.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·62.

~January 12.~

Leeches unhurt by Frost.

Among the cold-blooded animals which resist the effects of a low temperature, we may reckon the common leech, which is otherwise interesting to the meteorologist, on account of its peculiar habits and movements under different states of the atmosphere. A group of these animals left accidentally in a closet without a fire, during the frost of 1816, not only survived, but appeared to suffer no injury from being locked up in a mass of ice for many days.[25]

SWEEPING RHETORIC.

Certain rewards allowed by act of parliament to firemen, turncocks, and others, who first appear with their engines and implements at premises sworn to be on fire, were claimed at the public office, Marlborough-street, in this month, 1826, and resisted on the ground that the chimney, which belonged to a brewery, and was more than eighty feet high, was not, and could not be on fire. A witness to that end, gave a lively specimen of familiar statement and illustration. He began by telling the magistrate, that he was a sweep-chimney by profession--a piece of information very unnecessary, for he was as black and sooty a sweep as ever mounted a chimney-top,--and then went on in this fashion--“This here man, (pointing to the patrol,) your wortship, has told a false affidavit. I knows that ere chimley from a hinfant, and she knows my foot as well as my own mother. The way as I goes up her is this--I goes in all round the boiler, then I twistes in the chimley like the smoke, and then up I goes with the wind, for, your wortship, there’s a wind in her that would blow you out like a feather, if you didn’t know her as well as I do, and that makes me always go to the top myself, because there isn’t a brick in her that doesn’t know my foot. So that you see, your wortship, no soot or blacks is ever in her: the wind won’t let ’em stop: and besides they knows that I go up her regular. So that she always keeps herself as clean as a new pin. I’ll be bound the sides of her is as clean this minute as I am (not saying much for the chimney); therefore, your wortship, that ere man as saw two yards of fire coming out of her, did not see no such thing, I say; and he has told your wortship, and these here gentlemen present, a false affidavit, I say. I was brought up in that chimley, your wortship, and I can’t abear to hear such things said--lies of her; and that’s all as I knows at present, please your wortship.”[26]

AMUSEMENTS.

The London Christmas evenings of 1826, appear to have been kept out of doors, for every place of entertainment was overflowing every night.

At this season, from six o’clock in the evening, a full tide of passengers sets in along every leading street to each of the theatres. Hackney coaches drawl, and cabriolets make their way, and jostle each other, and private carriages swiftly roll, and draw up to the box door with a vigorous sweep, which the horses of hired vehicles are too aged, or too low in condition to achieve. Within a hundred yards of either playhouse, hands are continually thrust into each coach window, with “a bill of the play,” and repeated cries of “only a penny!” The coachdoor being opened, down fall the steps with a sharp clackity-clack-click, and the companies alight, if they can, without the supernumerary aid of attendant pliers, who offer their over-ready arms to lean upon, and kindly entreat--“Take care, sir!--mind how you step ma’am--this way if you please--this way,” all against your will, and ending with “I hope you’ll please to remember a poor fellow!” the “poor fellow” having done nothing but interrupt you. When past the “pay place,” great coats, umbrellas, shawls or other useful accompaniments to and from “the house,” though real encumbrances within it, may be safely deposited with persons stationed for their reception, who attach tickets to them, and deliver corresponding numbers, which ensure the return of your property on your coming out; sixpence or a shilling being a gratuity for the accommodation. Then, when the whole is over, there is the strict blockade of coaches further than the eye can reach; servants looking out for the parties they came with, and getting up their masters’ carriages; and a full cry of hackney coachmen and their representatives, vociferating “Want a coach, sir? Here’s your coach, sir! Which is it, sir? Coach to the city, sir! West end, sir! Here! Coach to the city! Coach to Whitechapel! Coach to Portman-square! Coach to Pentonville! Coach to the Regent’s Park! This way! this way! Stand clear there! Chariot, or a coach, sir? No chariots, sir, and all the coaches are hired! There’s a coach here, sir--just below! Coachman, draw up!” and drawing up is impossible, and there is an incessant confusion of calls and complaints, and running against each other, arising out of the immediate wants of every body, which can only be successively gratified. Pedestrians make their way home, or to the inns, as fast as possible, or turn in to sup at the fish-shops, which, in five minutes, are more lively than their oysters were at any time. “Waiter! Waiter! Yes, sir! Attend to you directly, sir! Yours is gone for, sir! Why, I’ve ordered nothing! It’s coming directly, sir! Ginger-beer--why this is poison! Spruce--why this is ginger-beer! Porter, sir! I told you brandy and water! Stewed oysters! I ordered scolloped! When am I to have my supper? You’ve had it, sir--I beg your pardon, sir, the gentleman that sat here is gone, sir! Waiter! waiter!” and so on; and he who has patience, is sure to be indulged with an opportunity of retaining it, amidst loud talking and laughter; varied views of the new pantomime; conflicting testimony as to the merits of the clown and the harlequin; the “new scenery, dresses, and machinery;” likings and dislikings of certain actresses; “the lovely” Miss So-and-so, or “that detestable” woman, Mrs. Such-an-one, that clever fellow, “Thing-a-merry,” or that stupid dog, “What-d’ye-call-um.” These topics failing, and the oysters discussed, then are stated and considered the advantages of taking something “to keep’em down;” the comparative merits of Burton, Windsor, or Edinburgh ale; the qualities of porter; the wholesomeness of smoking; the difference between a pipe and a segar, and the preference of one to the other; whether brandy or rum, or the clear spirit of juniper, is the best preservative of health; which of the company or their friends can drink most; whether the last fight was “a cross,” and who of all the men in the fancy is most “game;” whether the magistrates dare to interfere with “the ring;” whether if fighting should be “put an end to” Englishmen will have half the courage they had three hundred years ago, before prize fighting existed; whether Thurtell was not “a good one” to the last, and whether there’s a better “trump” in the room. On these points, or to points like these, the conversation of an oyster room is turned by sitters after the play, till they adjourn to “spend the evening” at the “flash-and-foolish” houses which “keep it up” all night in the peculiar neighbourhood of the public office, Bow-street. This is more than mere animal gratification, as the police reports exemplify.

Capital oysters, I declare! Excellent spruce, and ginger beer! Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread-- We’ll just have a pipe--and then to bed.

*

Why should not this be deemed a real scene, and as respectable as that just described. It is quite as lively and as intellectual. The monkey eats, and according to many accounts can catch fish as well as man. It is told of this animal, that from love of the crab and experience of his claws, he gently shakes his tail before the hole of the crab, who, as soon as he begins to “pull him by his long tail,” is drawn out by that dependancy and falls a prey to his decoyer. It is related that a party of officers belonging to the 25th regiment of infantry, on service at Gibraltar, amused themselves with whiting fishing at the back of the rock till they were obliged to shift their ground from being pelted from above, they did not know by whom. At their new station they caught plenty of fish, but the drum having unexpectedly beat to arms, they rowed hastily ashore, and drew their boat high and dry upon the beach. On their return they were greatly surprised to find it in a different position ashore, and some hooks baited which they had left bare. In the end it was ascertained that their pelters while they were fishing were a party of young monkeys. They were driven off by two or three old ones who remained secretly observing the whiting fishing of the officers till they had retired. The old monkeys then launched the boat, put to sea, baited their hooks, and proceeded to work. The few fish they caught, they hauled up with infinite gratification, and when tired they landed, placed the boat as nearly as they could in its old position, and went up the rock with their prey. General Elliot, while commander at Gibraltar, never suffered the monkeys with which the rock abounds to be molested or taken.

The faculty of imitation in monkeys is limited, but not so in man; a remarkable instance of this is lately adduced in a pleasant little story of perhaps the greatest performer on our stage.

Garrick.

At a splendid dinner-party at lord ----’s they suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was become of him, till they were drawn to the window by the convulsive screams and peals of laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see Garrick mimicking a turkey-cock in the court yard, with his coat-tail stuck out behind, and in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party only two persons present had seen the British Roscius; and they seemed as willing as the rest to renew their acquaintance with their old favourite. This anecdote is new: it is related by the able writer of a paper concerning “Persons one would wish to have seen,”[27] as an instance of Garrick’s singleness of purpose when he was fully possessed by an idea.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 34·45.

[25] Howard on Climate.

[26] The Times, 5th January, 1826.

[27] In the New Monthly Magazine, Jan. 1826.

~January 13.~

1826. Hilary Cambridge Term begins.

St. VERONICA.

Some curious circumstances are connected with the name of this saint, who appears to have been a poor ignorant girl, born near Milan, where she worked in the fields for her living. Conceiving a desire to become a nun, she sat up at night to learn to read and write, which, her biographer says, for want of an instructor, was a great fatigue to her. He proceeds to tell us, that she was relieved from labour of that kind in the following manner:--“One day, being in great anxiety about her learning, the mother of God, in a comfortable vision, bade her banish that anxiety, for it was enough if she knew three letters.” So Veronica became a nun, seeking “the greatest drudgery,” desiring “to live always on bread and water,” and dying “at the hour which she had foretold, in the year 1497, and the fifty-second of her age. Her sanctity was confirmed by miracles.” We gather this from Alban Butler, who subjoins, by way of note, thus:--

“The print of the holy face of our Saviour on a linen cloth is kept in St. Peter’s church at Rome, with singular veneration.--Some private writers and churches have given the name of St. Veronica to the devout woman who is said to have presented this linen to our divine Redeemer, but without sufficient warrant.”

* * * * *

Before saying any thing concerning the earlier St. Veronica, or “this linen” whereon Romish writers allege Christ impressed his own portrait by wiping his face with it, mention may be made of another portrait of him which Romish writers affirm he miraculously executed in the same manner, and sent to Abgarus, king of Edessa, in the way hereafter related. They have further been so careful as to publish a print of this pretended portrait, with representations around illustrating the history they tell of it. An engraving from it immediately follows. The Latin inscription beneath their print is placed beneath the present engraving.

No circumstance is more remarkable than the existence of this pretended resemblance, as an object of veneration in the Romish church. Being one of the greatest curiosities in its numerous cabinets of relics, it has a place in this work, which, while it records manners and customs, endeavours to point out their origin, and the means by which they have been continued. Nor let it be imagined that these representations have not influenced our own country; there is evidence to the contrary already, and more can be adduced if need require, which will incontestably prove that many of our present popular customs are derived from such sources.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·27.

~January 14.~

1826. Oxford Hilary Term begins.

SAILORS.

Mariners form a distinct community, with peculiar manners, little known to their inland fellow countrymen, except through books. In this way Smollett has done much, and from Mr. Leigh Hunt’s “Indicator,” which may not be in every one’s hands, though it ought to be, is extracted the following excellent description:

SEAMEN ON SHORE.

And first of the common sailor.--The moment the common sailor lands, he goes to see the watchmaker, or the old boy at the Ship. His first object is to spend his money: but his first sensation is the strange firmness of the earth, which he goes treading in a sort of heavy light way, half waggoner and half dancing master, his shoulders rolling, and his feet touching and going; the same way, in short, in which he keeps himself prepared for all the rolling chances of the vessel, when on deck. There is always, to us, this appearance of lightness of foot and heavy strength of upper works, in a sailor. And he feels it himself. He lets his jacket fly open, and his shoulders slouch, and his hair grow long to be gathered into a heavy pigtail; but when full dressed, he prides himself on a certain gentility of toe; on a white stocking and a natty shoe, issuing lightly out of the flowing blue trowser. His arms are neutral, hanging and swinging in a curve aloof; his hands, half open, look as if they had just been handling ropes, and had no object in life but to handle them again. He is proud of appearing in a new hat and slops, with a belcher handkerchief flowing loosely round his neck, and the corner of another out of his pocket. Thus equipped, with pinchbeck buckles in his shoes (which he bought for gold) he puts some tobacco in his mouth, not as if he were going to use it directly, but as if he stuffed it in a pouch on one side, as a pelican does fish, to employ it hereafter: and so, with Bet Monson at his side, and perhaps a cane or whanghee twisted under his other arm, sallies forth to take possession of all Lubberland. He buys every thing that he comes athwart,--nuts, gingerbread, apples, shoe-strings, beer, brandy, gin, buckles, knives, a watch, (two, if he has money enough,) gowns and handkerchiefs for Bet, and his mother and sisters, dozens of “superfine best men’s cotton stockings,” dozens of “superfine best women’s cotton ditto,” best good check for shirts (though he has too much already), infinite needles and thread (to sew his trowsers with some day), a footman’s laced hat, bear’s grease to make his hair grow (by way of joke), several sticks, all sorts of jew articles, a flute (which he can’t play and never intends), a leg of mutton which he carries somewhere to roast, and for a piece of which the landlord of the Ship makes him pay twice what he gave for the whole;--in short, all that money can be spent upon, which is every thing but medicine gratis; and this he would insist on paying for. He would buy all the painted parrots on an Italian’s head, on purpose to break them, rather than not spend his money. He has fiddles and a dance at the Ship, with oceans of flip and grog; and gives the blind fiddler tobacco for sweetmeats, and half a crown for treading on his toe. He asks the landlady with a sigh, after her daughter Nance who first fired his heart with her silk stockings; and finding that she is married and in trouble, leaves five crowns for her; which the old lady appropriates as part payment for a shilling in advance. He goes to the port playhouse with Bet Monson, and a great red handkerchief full of apples, gingerbread nuts, and fresh beef; calls out for the fiddlers and Rule Britannia; pelts Tom Sikes in the pit; and compares Othello to the black ship’s cook in his white night-cap. When he comes to London, he and some messmates take a hackney-coach, full of Bet Monsons and tobacco pipes, and go through the streets smoking and lolling out of window. He has ever been cautious of venturing on horseback; and among his other sights in foreign parts, relates with unfeigned astonishment how he has seen the Turks ride,--“Only,” says he, guarding against the hearer’s incredulity, “they have saddle-boxes to hold ’em in, fore and aft; and shovels like for stirrups.” He will tell you how the Chinese drink, and the NEGURS dance, and the monkies pelt you with cocoa-nuts; and how king Domy would have built him a mud hut and made him a peer of the realm, if he would have stopped with him and taught him to make trowsers. He has a sister at a “school for young ladies,” who blushes with a mixture of pleasure and shame at his appearance; and whose confusion he completes, by slipping fourpence into her hand, and saying out loud that he has “no more copper” about him. His mother and elder sisters at home doat on all he says and does, telling him however that he is a great sea-fellow, and was always wild ever since he was a hop-o’-my-thumb no higher than the window-locker. He tells his mother she would be a duchess in Paranaboo; at which the good old portly dame laughs and looks proud. When his sisters complain of his romping, he says that they are only sorry it is not the baker. He frightens them with a mask made after the New Zealand fashion, and is forgiven for his learning. Their mantle-piece is filled by him with shells and shark’s teeth; and when he goes to sea again, there is no end of tears, and God-bless you, and home-made gingerbread.

His officer on shore does much of all this, only, generally speaking, in a higher taste. The moment he lands he buys quantities of jewellery and other valuables, for all the females of his acquaintance; and is taken in for every article. He sends in a cart load of fresh meat to the ship, though he is going to town next day; and calling in at a chandler’s for some candles, is persuaded to buy a dozen of green wax, with which he lights up the ship at evening; regretting that the fine moonlight hinders the effect of the colour. A man, with a bundle beneath his arm, accosts him in an undertone; and, with a look in which respect for his knowledge is mixed with an avowed zeal for his own interest, asks if his honour will just step under the gangway here, and inspect some real India shawls. The gallant lieutenant says to himself, “this fellow knows what’s what by his face;” and so he proves it by being taken in on the spot. When he brings the shawls home, he says to his sister with an air of triumph, “there Poll, there’s something for you; only cost me twelve, and is worth twenty, if it’s worth a dollar.” She turns pale--“Twenty what, my dear George? Why, you haven’t given twelve dollars for it, I hope?” “Not I, by the Lord.”--“That’s lucky; because you see, my dear George, that all together is not worth more than fourteen or fifteen shillings.” “Fourteen or fifteen what! Why, it’s real India, en’t it? Why the fellow told me so; or I’m sure I’d as soon”--(here he tries to hide his blushes with a bluster) “I’d as soon have given him twelve douses on the chaps as twelve guineas.” “Twelve GUINEAS,” exclaims the sister; and then drawling forth “Why--my--DEAR--George,” is proceeding to show him what the articles would have cost him at Condell’s, when he interrupts her by requesting her to go and choose for herself a tea-table service. He then makes his escape to some messmates at a coffee-house, and drowns his recollection of the shawls in the best wine, and a discussion on the comparative merits of the English and West Indian beauties and tables. At the theatre afterwards, where he has never been before, he takes a lady at the back of one of the boxes for a woman of quality: and when after returning his long respectful gaze with a smile, she turns aside and puts her handkerchief to her mouth, he thinks it is in derision, till his friend undeceives him. He is introduced to the lady; and ever afterwards, at first sight of a woman of quality (without any disparagement either to those charming personages), expects her to give him a smile. He thinks the other ladies much better creatures than they are taken for; and for their parts, they tell him, that if all men were like himself, they would trust the sex again:--which, for aught we know, is the truth. He has, indeed, what he thinks a very liberal opinion of ladies in general; judging them all, in a manner, with the eye of a seaman’s experience. Yet he will believe nevertheless in the “true-love” of any given damsel whom he seeks in the way of marriage, let him roam as much, or remain as long at a distance as he pleases. It is not that he wants feeling; but that he has read of it, time out of mind, in songs; and he looks upon constancy as a sort of exploit, answering to those which he performs at sea. He is nice in his watches and linen. He makes you presents of cornelians, antique seals, cocoa-nuts set in silver, and other valuables. When he shakes hands with you, it is like being caught in a windlass. He would not swagger about the streets in his uniform, for the world. He is generally modest in company, though liable to be irritated by what he thinks ungentlemanly behaviour. He is also liable to be rendered irritable by sickness; partly because he has been used to command others, and to be served with all possible deference and alacrity; and partly, because the idea of suffering pain, without any honour or profit to get by it, is unprofessional, and he is not accustomed to it. He treats talents unlike his own with great respect. He often perceives his own so little felt that it teaches him this feeling for that of others. Besides, he admires the quantity of information which people can get, without travelling like himself; especially when he sees how interesting his own becomes, to them as well as to every body else. When he tells a story, particularly if full of wonders, he takes care to maintain his character for truth and simplicity, by qualifying it with all possible reservations, concessions, and anticipations of objection; such as “in case, at such times as, so to speak, as it were, at least, at any rate.” He seldom uses sea-terms but when jocosely provoked by something contrary to his habits of life; as for instance, if he is always meeting you on horseback, he asks if you never mean to walk the deck again; or if he finds you studying day after day, he says you are always overhauling your log-book. He makes more new acquaintances, and forgets his old ones less, than any other man in the busy world; for he is so compelled to make his home every where, remembers his native one as such a place of enjoyment, has all his friendly recollections so fixed upon his mind at sea, and has so much to tell and to hear when he returns, that change and separation lose with him the most heartless part of their nature. He also sees such a variety of customs and manners, that he becomes charitable in his opinions altogether; and charity, while it diffuses the affections, cannot let the old ones go. Half the secret of human intercourse is to make allowance for each other.

When the officer is superannuated or retires, he becomes, if intelligent and inquiring, one of the most agreeable old men in the world, equally welcome to the silent for his card-playing, and to the conversational for his recollections. He is fond of astronomy and books of voyages; and is immortal with all who know him, for having been round the world, or seen the Transit of Venus, or had one of his fingers carried off by a New Zealand hatchet, or a present of feathers from an Otaheitean beauty. If not elevated by his acquirements above some of his humbler tastes, he delights in a corner-cupboard holding his cocoa-nuts and punch-bowl; has his summer-house castellated and planted with wooden cannon; and sets up the figure of his old ship, the Britannia or the Lovely Nancy, for a statue in the garden; where it stares eternally with red cheeks and round black eyes, as if in astonishment at its situation.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·20.

~January 15.~

Changes of Climate.

An opinion has been long entertained, that there are vicissitudes in the climate and temperature of the air unknown to former times, and that such variations exist in America as well as in Europe. It is said that the transatlantic changes have been more frequent, and the heat of the sun not so early or so strongly experienced as formerly. In America, these alterations are attributed to a more obvious cause than uncertain hypothesis, and at not many degrees distance. For instance, the ice in the great river St. Lawrence, at Quebec, did not break up till the first week in May, 1817, when it floated down the stream in huge masses, and in vast quantities; these, with other masses from the coast of Labrador, &c. spread a general coldness many degrees to the southward. But a few weeks before the snow fell in some parts of New England, and New York, to a considerable depth, and there were severe frosts. The vessels from England and Ireland, which arrived at Quebec, all concurred in their accounts of the dangers which they encountered, and the cold which they suffered. In fine, it would appear that the ice in those regions had accumulated to so alarming a degree, as to threaten a material change in all the adjacent countries, and to verify the theory of some who imagined that the extreme cold of the north was gradually making encroachments upon the extreme heat of the south. They have remarked, in confirmation of their opinions, that the accounts of travellers and navigators, furnish strong reasons for supposing that the islands of ice in the higher northern latitudes, as well as the glaciers on the Alps, continue perpetually to increase in bulk. At certain times, in the ice mountains of Switzerland, there occur fissures, which show the immense thickness of the frozen matter; some of these cracks have measured three or four hundred ells deep. The great islands of ice, in the northern seas bordering upon Hudson’s Bay, have been observed to be immersed one hundred fathoms beneath the surface of the sea, and to have risen a fifth or sixth part above the surface, measuring, at the same time, about a mile and a half in diameter. It has been shown by Dr. Lyster, that the marine ice contains some salt, and less air, than common ice, and that it therefore is more difficult of solution. From these premises, he endeavours to account for the perpetual augmentation of those floating islands. By a celebrated experiment of Mr. Boyle, it has been demonstrated that ice evaporates very fast, in severe frosty weather, when the wind blows upon it; and as ice, in a thawing state, is known to contain six times more cold than water, at the same degree of sensible coldness, it is easy to conceive that winds sweeping over islands and continents of ice, perhaps much below northing on Fahrenheit’s scale, and rushing thence into our latitudes, must bring most intense degrees of cold along with them. If to this be added the quantity of cold produced by the evaporation of the water, as well as by the solution of ice, it can scarcely be doubted but that the arctic seas are the principal source of the cold of our winters, and that it is brought hither by the regions of the air blowing from the north, and which take an apparently easterly direction, by their coming to a part of the surface of the earth, which moves faster than the latitude from which they originate. Hence, the increase of the ice in the polar regions, by increasing the cold of our climate, adds, at the same time, to the bulk of the glaciers of Italy and Switzerland.

Reasonings of this kind are supported by the greatest names, and countenanced by the authentic reports of the best informed travellers. Mr. Bradley attributes the cold winds and wet weather, which sometimes happen in May and June, to the solution of ice islands accidentally detached and floating from the north. Mr. Barham, about the year 1718, in his voyage from Jamaica to England, in the beginning of June, met with some of those islands, which were involved in such a fog that the ship was in danger of striking against them. One of them measured sixty miles in length.

On the 22d of December, 1789, there was an instance of ice islands having been wafted from the southern polar regions. It was on these islands that the Guardian struck, at the commencement of her passage from the Cape of Good Hope towards Botany Bay. These islands were wrapt in darkness, about one hundred and fifty fathoms long, and above fifty fathoms above the surface of the waves. In the process of solution, a fragment from the summit of one of them broke off, and plunging into the sea, caused a tremendous commotion in the water, and dense smoke all around it.

These facts were strongly urged upon public attention in the autumn of 1817,[28] as grounds of not only curious and interesting, but likewise of highly important speculation. A supposed change in the temper, and the very character of our seasons, was deemed to have fallen within the observation of even young men, or at least middle-aged men; and upon this supposition, it was not deemed extravagant to anticipate the combined force of the naval world employed in navigating the immense masses of ice into the more southern oceans; while to render the notion more agreeable, and to enliven the minds of such as might think such matters of speculation dull or uninteresting, the project was laid before them in a versified garb, characterising the arctic regions.

There in her azure coif, and starry stole, Grey Twilight sits, and rules the slumbering pole; Bends the pale moon-beams round the sparkling coast, And strews, with livid hands, eternal frost! There, Nymphs! alight, array your dazzling powers, With sudden march alarm the torpid hours; On ice-built isles expand a thousand sails, Hinge the strong helm, and catch the frozen gales; The winged rocks to feverish climates guide, Where fainting zephyrs pant upon the tide; Pass where to Ceuta Calpe’s thunder roars, And answering echoes shake the kindred shores; Pass where with palmy plumes Canary smiles, And in her silver girdle binds her isles; Onward, where Niger’s dusky Naiad laves A thousand kingdoms with prolific waves, Or leads o’er golden sands her threefold train In steamy channels to the fervid main, While swarthy nations crowd the sultry coast, Drink the fresh breeze, and hail the floating frost; Nymphs! veil’d in mist, the melting treasures steer, And cool with arctic snows the tropic year. So from the burning line, by monsoons driv’n, Clouds sail in squadrons o’er the darken’d heav’n, Wide wastes of sand the gelid gales pervade, And ocean cools beneath the moving shade.

Darwin.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·05.

[28] See M. Chronicle, 4 Oct. 1817.

~January 16.~

HOGMANY.

Mr. Reddock’s paper on this subject, at page 13. has elicited the following letter from a literary gentleman, concerning a dramatic representation in England similar to that which Mr. Reddock instances at Falkirk, and other parts of North Britain. Such communications are particularly acceptable; because they show to what extent usages prevail, and wherein they differ in different parts of the country. It will be gratifying to every one who peruses this work, and highly so to the editor, if he is obliged by letters from readers acquainted with customs in their own vicinity, similar to those that they are informed of in other counties, and particularly if they will take the trouble to describe them in every particular. By this means, the Every-Day Book will become what it is designed to be made,--a storehouse of past and present manners and customs. Any customs of any place or season that have not already appeared in the work, are earnestly solicited from those who have the means of furnishing the information. The only condition stipulated for, as absolutely indispensable to the insertion of a letter respecting facts of this nature, is, that the name and address of the writer be communicated to the editor, who will subjoin such signature as the writer may choose his letter should bear to the eye of the public. The various valuable articles of this kind which have hitherto appeared in the work, however signed by initials or otherwise, have been so authenticated to the editor’s private satisfaction, and he is thus enabled to vouch for the genuineness of such contributions.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

In your last number appeared a very amusing article touching some usages and customs in Scotland, and communicated from Falkirk. In the description of the boys’ play, ingeniously suggested as typical of the Roman invasion under Agricola, we, however, read but a varied edition of what is enacted in other parts besides Scotland, and more particularly in the western counties, by those troops of old Father Christmas boys, which are indeed brief chronicles of the times. I mean, those paper-decorated, brick-dust-daubed urchins, ’yclept Mummers.

To be sure they do not begin,

“Here comes in the king of Macedon;”

but we have instead,

“Here comes old Father Christmas, Christmas or Christmas not, I hope old Father Christmas never will be forgot.”

And then for the Scottish leader Galgacus, we find,

“Here comes in St. George, St. George That man of mighty name, With _sword and buckler by my side I hope to win the game_.”

These “western kernes” have it, you see, Mr. Editor, “down along,” to use their own dialect, with those of the thistle. Then, too, we have a fight. Oh! how beautiful to my boyish eyes were their wooden swords and their bullying gait!--then we have a fight, for lo

“Here’s come I, the Turkish knight, Come from the Soldan’s land to fight, And be the foe’s blood hot and bold With my sword I’ll make it cold.”

A vile Saracenic pun in the very minute of deadly strife. But they fight--the cross is victorious, the crescent o’erthrown, and, as a matter of course, even in our pieces of mock valour, duels we have therein--the doctor is sent for; and he is addressed, paralleling again our players of “Scotia’s wild domain,” with

“Doctor, doctor, can you tell What will make a sick man well?”

and thereupon he enumerates cures which would have puzzled Galen, and put Hippocrates to a “non-plus;” and he finally agrees, as in the more classical drama of your correspondent, to cure our unbeliever for a certain sum.

The “last scene of all that ends this strange eventful history” consists in the entrance of the most diminutive of these Thespians, bearing, as did Æneas of old, his parent upon his shoulders, and reciting this bit of good truth and joculation (permitting the word) by way of epilogue:

“Here comes I, little Johnny Jack, With my wife and family at my back, Yet, though my body is but small, I’m the greatest rogue amongst ye all; This is my scrip--so for Christmas cheer If you’ve any thing to give throw it in here.”

This may be but an uninteresting tail-piece to your correspondent’s clever communication, but still it is one, and makes the picture he so well began of certain usages more full of point.

I doat upon old customs, and I love hearty commemorations, and hence those mimics of whom I have written--I mean the mummers--are my delight, and in the laughter and merriment they create I forget to be a critic, and cannot choose but laugh in the fashion of a Democritus, rather than weep worlds away in the style of a Diogenes.

I am, &c. &c.

J. S. jun.

Little Chelsea,

Jan. 4, 1826.

* * * * *

In the preface to Mr. Davies Gilbert’s work on “Ancient Christmas Carols,” there is an account of Cornish sports, with a description of a “metrical play,” which seems to be the same with which is the subject of the preceding letter.

* * * * *

Being on the popular drama, and as the topic arose in Mr. Reddock’s communication from Scotland, a whimsical dramatic anecdote, with another of like kin from that part of the kingdom, is here subjoined from a Scottish journal of this month in the year 1823.

New Readings of Burns.

We were lately favoured with the perusal of a Perth play-bill, in which Tam O’Shanter, dramatized, is announced for performance as the afterpiece. A ludicrous mistake has occurred, however, in the classification of the Dramatis Personæ. The sapient playwright, it would appear, in reading the lines

“Tam had got planted unco richt, Fast by an ingle bleezin’ finely, Wi’ reaman’ swats that drank divinely,”

very naturally conceiving ream an’ swats, from the delectable style of their carousing, to be a brace of Tam’s pot companions, actually introduced them as such, as we find in the bill that the characters of “Ream” and “Swats” are to be personated by two of the performers!

This reminds us of an anecdote, connected with the same subject, which had its origin nearer home. Some time ago we chanced to be in the shop of an elderly bookseller, when the conversation turned upon the identity of the characters introduced by Burns in his Tam O’Shanter. The bibliopole, who had spent the early part of his life in this neighbourhood, assured us that, “exceptin’ Kerr, he kent every body to leuk at that was mentioned, frae Tam himsel’ doun to his mare Maggie.” This being the first time we had ever heard Mr. Kerr’s cognomen alluded to, in connection with Tam O’Shanter, we expressed considerable surprise, and stated that he undoubtedly must have made a mistake in the name. “It may be sae, but its a point easily sattled,” said he, raxing down a copy of Burns from the shelf. With “spectacles on nose,” he turned up the poem in question. “Ay, ay,” said he, in an exulting tone, “I thocht I was na that far wrang--

“Care mad to see a man sae happy, E’n drowned himself amang the happy.”

Now, I kent twa or three o’ the Kerr’s that leev’t in the town-head, but I never could fin’ out whilk o’ them Burns had in his e’e when he wrote the poem.”[29]

* * * * *

To Thespian ingenuity we are under an obligation for an invention of great simplicity, which may be useful on many occasions, particularly to literary persons who are too far removed from the press to avail themselves of its advantages in printing short articles for limited distribution.

A Dramatic Printing Apparatus.

Itinerant companies of comedians frequently print their play-bills by the following contrivance: The form of letter is placed on a flat support, having ledges at each side, that rise within about a thirteenth of an inch of the inked surface of the letter. The damped paper is laid upon the letter so disposed, and previously inked, and a roller, covered with woollen cloth, is passed along the ledges over its surface; the use of the ledges is to prevent the roller from rising in too obtuse an angle against the first letters, or going off too abruptly from the last, which would cause the paper to be cut, and the impression to be injured at the beginning and end of the sheet. The roller must be passed across the page, for if it moves in the order of the lines, the paper will bag a little between each, and the impression will be less neat.[30]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·65.

[29] Ayr Courier.

[30] Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum.

~January 17.~

Snow, &c.

On the 16th and 17th of January, 1809, Mr. Howard observed, that the snow exhibited the beautiful blue and pink shades at sunset which are sometimes observable, and that there was a strong evaporation from its surface. A circular area, of five inches diameter, lost 150 grains troy, from sunset on the 15th to sunrise next morning, and about 50 grains more by the following sunset; the gauge being exposed to a smart breeze on the house top. The curious reader may hence compute for himself, the enormous quantity raised in those 24 hours, without any visible liquefaction, from an acre of snow: the effects of the load thus given to the air were soon perceptible. On the 17th, a small brilliant meteor descended on the S. E. horizon about 6 p. m. On the 18th, though the moon was still conspicuous, the horns of the crescent were obtuse. On the 19th appeared the Cirrus cloud, followed by the Cirrostratus. In the afternoon a freezing shower from the eastward glazed the windows, encrusted the walls, and encased the trees, the garments of passengers, and the very plumage of the birds with ice. Birds thus disabled were seen lying on the ground in great numbers in different parts of the country. Nineteen rooks were taken up alive by one person at Castle Eaton Meadow, Wilts. The composition of this frozen shower, examined on a sheet of paper, was no less curious than these effects. It consisted of hollow spherules of ice, filled with water; of transparent globules of hail; and of drops of water at the point of freezing, which became solid on touching the bodies they fell on. The thermometer exposed from the window indicated 30,5°. This was at Plaistow. The shower was followed by a moderate fall of snow. From this time to the 24th, there were variable winds and frequent falls of snow, which came down on the 22d in flakes as large as dollars, with sleet at intervals. On the 24th a steady rain from W. decided for a thaw. This and the following night proved stormy: the melted snow and rain, making about two inches depth of water on the level, descended suddenly by the rivers, and the country was inundated to a greater extent than in the year 1795. The River Lea continued rising the whole of the 26th, remained stationary during the 27th, and returned into its bed in the course of the two following days. The various channels by which it intersects this part of the country were united in one current, above a mile in width, which flowed with great impetuosity, and did much damage. From breaches in the banks and mounds, the different levels, as they are termed, of embanked pasture land, were filled to the depth of eight or nine feet. The cattle, by great exertions, were preserved, being mostly in the stall; and the inhabitants, driven to their upper rooms, were relieved by boats plying under the windows. The Thames was so full during this time, that no tide was perceptible; happily, however, its bank suffered no injury; and the recession of the water from the levels proceeded with little interruption till the 23d of February, when it nearly all subsided. No lives were lost in these parts; but several circumstances concurred to render this inundation less mischievous than it might have been, from the great depth of snow on the country. It was the time of neap tide; the wind blew strongly from the westward, urging the water down the Thames; while moonlight nights, and a temperate atmosphere, were favourable to the poor, whose habitations were filled with water. On the 28th appeared a lunar halo of the largest diameter. On the 29th, after a fine morning, the wind began to blow hard from the south, and during the whole night of the 30th it raged with excessive violence from the west, doing considerable damage. The barometer rose, during this hurricane, one-tenth of an inch per hour. The remainder of the noon was stormy and wet, and it closed with squally weather; which, with the frequent appearance of the rainbow, indicated the approach of a drier atmosphere, a change on few occasions within Mr. Howard’s recollection more desirable.

Numerous inundations, consequent on the thaw of the 24th, appear to have prevailed in low and level districts all along the east side of the island: but in no part with more serious destruction of property, public works, and the hopes of the husbandman, than in the fens of Cambridgeshire: where, by some accounts, 60,000, by others above 150,000 acres of land, were laid under deep water, through an extent of 15 miles. It is a fact worth preserving, that about 500 sacks filled with earth, and laid on the banks of the Old Bedford river, at various places, where the waters were then flowing over, proved effectual in saving that part of the country from a general deluge.

It’s a custom at Highgate, that all who go through, Must be sworn on the horns, sir!--and so, sir, must you! Bring the horns! shut the door!--now, sir, take off your hat!-- When you come here again, don’t forget to mind that!

*

“Have you been sworn at Highgate?” is a question frequently asked in every part of the kingdom; for, that such a custom exists in this village is known far and near, though many who inquire, and are asked, remain ignorant of the ceremony. As the practice is declining, diligence has been exercised to procure information on the spot, and from every probable source, concerning this remarkable usage.

The village of Highgate takes its name from the gate across the public road into London, opposite the chapel, which is sometimes erroneously called the church, for it is, in fact, only a chapel of ease to Hornsey church. This road runs through land belonging to the bishopric of London, and was made, by permission of the bishop in former times, probably when the whole of this spot, and the circumjacent country, was covered with wood, and part of the great forest of Middlesex, which, according to Matthew Paris, was infested by wolves, stags, boars, and other wild beasts, besides robbers. This gate, from being on the great northern eminence towards London, was called the high-gate; as the land became cleared of wood, houses arose near the spot, and hence the village now called Highgate. It seems probable, that the first dwelling erected here was the gate-house. The occupier of the inn of that name holds it under a lease from the bishop, under which lease he also farms the bishop’s toll. In the year 1769 the old gate-house, which extended over the road, was taken down, and the present common turnpike-gate put up. So much, then, concerning Highgate, as introductory to the custom about to be related.

“Swearing on the horns,” which now is “a custom more honour’d in the breach than in the observance,” prevailed at Highgate as a continual popular amusement and private annoyance. An old and respectable inhabitant of the village says, that sixty years ago upwards of eighty stages stopped every day at the Red Lion, and that out of every five passengers three were sworn. It is a jocular usage of the place, from beyond the memory of man, especially encouraged by certain of the villagers, to the private advantage of public landlords. On the drawing up of coaches at the inn-doors, particular invitations were given to the company to alight, and after as many as could be collected were got into a room for purposes of refreshment, the subject of being “sworn at Highgate” was introduced, and while a little artifice easily detected who had not taken the oath, some perhaps expressed a wish to submit to the ceremony. It often happened however, that before these facts could be ascertained “the horns” were brought in by the landlord, and as soon as they appeared, enough were usually present to enforce compliance. “The horns,” fixed on a pole of about five feet in height, were erected, by placing the pole upright on the ground, near the person to be sworn, who was required to take off his hat, and all present having done the same, the landlord then, in a loud voice, swore in the “party proponent.” What is called the oath is traditional, and varies verbally in a small degree. It has been taken down in writing from the lips of different persons who administer it, and after a careful collation of the different versions the following may be depended on as correct.--The landlord, or the person appointed by him to “swear in,” proclaims aloud--

“Upstanding and uncovered! Silence!” Then he addresses himself to the person he swears in, thus:--

“TAKE NOTICE what I now say unto you, for that is the first word of your oath--mind that! You must acknowledge me to be your adopted Father, I must acknowledge you to be my adopted son (or daughter.) If you do not call me father you forfeit a bottle of wine, if I do not call you son, I forfeit the same. And now, my good son, if you are travelling through this village of Highgate, and you have no money in your pocket, go call for a bottle of wine at any house you think proper to go into, and book it to your father’s score. If you have any friends with you, you may treat them as well, but if you have money of your own, you must pay for it yourself. For you must not say you have no money when you have, neither must you convey the money out of your own pocket into your friends’ pockets, for I shall search you as well as them, and if it is found that you or they have money, you forfeit a bottle of wine for trying to cozen and cheat your poor old ancient father. You must not eat brown bread while you can get white, except you like the brown the best; you must not drink small beer while you can get strong, except you like the small the best. You must not kiss the maid while you can kiss the mistress, except you like the maid the best, but sooner than lose a good chance you may kiss them both. And now, my good son, for a word or two of advice. Keep from all houses of ill repute, and every place of public resort for bad company. Beware of false friends, for they will turn to be your foes, and inveigle you into houses where you may lose your money and get no redress. Keep from thieves of every denomination. And now, my good son, I wish you a safe journey through Highgate and this life. I charge you, my good son, that if you know any in this company who have not taken this oath, you must cause them to take it, or make each of them forfeit a bottle of wine, for if you fail to do so you will forfeit a bottle of wine yourself. So now, my son, God bless you! Kiss the horns or a pretty girl if you see one here, which you like best, and so be free of Highgate!”

If a female be in the room she is usually saluted, if not, the horns must be kissed: the option was not allowed formerly. As soon as the salutation is over the swearer-in commands “silence!” and then addressing himself to his new-made “son,” he says, “I have now to acquaint you with your privilege as a freeman of this place. If at any time you are going through Highgate and want to rest yourself, and you see a pig lying in a ditch you have liberty to kick her out and take her place; but if you see three lying together you must only kick out the middle one and lie between the other two! God save the king!” This important privilege of the freemen of Highgate was first discovered by one Joyce a blacksmith, who a few years ago kept the Coach and Horses, and subjoined the agreeable information to those whom “he swore in.”

When the situation of things and persons seems to require it, the “bottle of wine” is sometimes compounded for by a modus of sundry glasses of “grog,” and in many cases a pot of porter.

* * * * *

There is one circumstance essential for a freeman of Highgate to remember, and “that is the first word of his oath,--mind that!” If he fail to recollect that, he is subject to be resworn from time to time, and so often, until he remember that. He is therefore never to forget the injunction before he swears, to take notice what is said, “for that is the first word of your oath--mind that!” Failure of memory is deemed want of comprehension, which is no plea in the high court of Highgate--“mind that!” That is, that that “that,” is “that.”

* * * * *

There is no other formality in the administration or taking of this oath, than what is already described; and the only other requisite for “a stranger in Highgate” to be told, is, that now in the year 1826, there are nineteen licensed houses in this village, and that at each of these houses the “horns” are kept, and the oath administered by the landlord or his deputy.

To note the capabilities of each house, their signs are here enumerated, with the quality of horns possessed by each.

1. THE GATE-HOUSE is taken first in order, as being best entitled to priority, because it has the most respectable accommodation in Highgate. Besides the usual conveniences of stabling and beds, it has a coffee-room, and private rooms for parties, and a good assembly-room. The horns there are Stag’s.

2. Mitre, has Stag’s horns.

3. Green Dragon, Stag’s horns.

4. Red Lion and Sun, Bullock’s horns.

The late husband of Mrs. Southo, the present intelligent landlady of this house, still lives in the recollection of many inhabitants, as having been a most facetious swearer in.

5. Bell, Stag’s horns. This house now only known as the sign of the “Bell,” was formerly called the “Bell and Horns.” About fifty years ago, it was kept by one Anderson, who had his “horns” over his door, to denote that persons were sworn there as well as at the Gate-house. Wright, the then landlord of the “Red Lion and Sun,” determined not to be outrivalled, and hung out a pair of bullock’s horns so enormous in size, and otherwise so conspicuous, as to eclipse the “Bell and Horns;” at last, all the public houses in the village got “horns,” and swore in. It is within recollection that every house in Highgate had “the horns” at the door as a permanent sign.

6. Coach and Horses, Ram’s horns. 7. Castle, Ram’s horns. 8. Red Lion, Ram’s horns. 9. Wrestler’s, Stag’s horns. 10. Bull, Stag’s horns. 11. Lord Nelson, Stag’s horns. 12. Duke of Wellington, Stag’s horns.

This house is at the bottom of Highgate Hill, towards Finchley, in the angle formed by the intersection of the old road over the hill, and the road through the archway to Holloway. It therefore commands the Highgate entrance into London, and the landlord avails himself of his “eminence” at the foot of the hill, by proffering his “horns” to all who desire to be free of Highgate.

13. Crown, Stag’s horns. This is the first public house in Highgate coming from Holloway.

14. Duke’s Head, Stag’s horns. 15. Cooper’s Arms, Ram’s horns. 16. Rose and Crown, Stag’s horns. 17. Angel, Stag’s horns. 18. Flask, Ram’s horns.

This old house is now shut up. It is at the top of Highgate Hill, close by the pond, which was formed there by a hermit, who caused gravel to be excavated for the making of the road from Highgate to Islington, through Holloway. Of this labour old Fuller speaks, he calls it a “two-handed charity, providing water on the hill where it was wanting, and cleanliness in the valley which before, especially in winter, was passed with difficulty.”

19. Fox and Crown, Ram’s Horns.

This house, commonly called the “Fox” and the “Fox under the Hill,” is nearly at the top of the road from Kentish Town to Highgate, and though not the most remarked perhaps, is certainly the most remarkable house for “swearing on the horns.” Guiver, the present landlord, (January 1826) came to the house about Michaelmas 1824, and many called upon him to be sworn in; not having practised he was unqualified to indulge the requisitionists, and very soon finding, that much of the custom of his house depended on the “custom of Highgate,” and imagining that he had lost something by his indifference to the usage, he boldly determined to obtain “indemnity for the past, and security for the future.” Thereupon he procured habiliments, and an assistant, and he is now an office-bearer as regards the aforesaid “manner” of Highgate, and exercises his faculties so as to dignify the custom. Robed in a domino with a wig and mask, and a book wherein is written the oath, he recites it in this costume as he reads it through a pair of spectacles. The staff with “the horns” is held by an old villager who acts as clerk, and at every full stop, calls aloud, “Amen!” This performance furnishes the representation of the present engraving from a sketch by Mr. George Cruikshank. He has waggishly misrepresented one of the figures, which not being the landlord, who is the most important character, no way affects the general fidelity of the scenes sometimes exhibited in the parlour of the Fox and Crown.

* * * * *

It is not uncommon for females to be “sworn at Highgate.” On such occasions the word “daughter” is substituted for “son,” and other suitable alterations are made in the formality. Anciently there was a register kept at the gate-house, wherein persons enrolled their names when sworn there, but the book unaccountably disappeared many years ago.--Query. Is it in Mr. Upcott’s collection of autographs?

There seems to be little doubt, that the usage first obtained at the Gate-house; where, as well as in other public houses, though not in all, at this time, deputies are employed to swear in. An old inhabitant, who formerly kept a licensed house, says, “In my time nobody came to Highgate in any thing of a carriage, without being called upon to be sworn in. There was so much doing in this way at one period, that I was obliged to hire a man as a ‘swearer-in:’ I have sworn in from a hundred to a hundred and twenty in a day. Bodies of tailors used to come up here from town, bringing five or six new shopmates with them to be sworn; and I have repeatedly had parties of ladies and gentlemen in private carriages come up purposely to be made free of Highgate in the same way.”

Officers of the guards and other regiments repeatedly came to the Gate-house and called for “the horns.” Dinner parties were formed there for the purpose of initiating strangers, and as pre-requisite for admission to sundry convivial societies, now no more, the freedom of Highgate was indispensable.

* * * * *

Concerning the origin of this custom, there are two or three stories. One is, that it was devised by a landlord, who had lost his licence, as a means of covering the sale of his liquors; to this there seems no ground of credit.

Another, and a probable account, is, to this effect--That Highgate being the place nearest to London where cattle rested on their way from the north for sale in Smithfield, certain graziers were accustomed to put up at the Gate-house for the night, but as they could not wholly exclude strangers, who like themselves were travelling on their business, they brought an ox to the door, and those who did not choose to kiss its horns, after going through the ceremony described, were not deemed fit members of their society.

* * * * *

It is imagined by some, because it is so stated in a modern book or two as likely, that the horns were adopted to swear this whimsical oath upon, because it was tendered at the parish of Horns-ey, wherein Highgate is situated.

The reader may choose either of these origins; he has before him all that can be known upon the subject.

* * * * *

An anecdote related by Mrs. Southo of the Red Lion and Sun, may, or may not, be illustrative of this custom. She is a native of Hoddesdon in Hertfordshire, where her father kept the Griffin, and she says, that when any fresh waggoner came to that house with his team, a drinking horn, holding about a pint, fixed on a stand made of four rams’ horns, was brought out of the house, and elevated above his head, and he was compelled to pay a gallon of beer, and to drink out of the horn. She never heard how the usage originated; it had been observed, and the stand of rams’ horns had been in the house, from time immemorial.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·52.

~January 18.~

St. Priscian.

In the church of England calendar.

OLD TWELFTH DAY.

This is still observed in some parts of England.

Don Sebastian.

In default of holiday making by the editor, who during the Christmas season has been employed in finishing the indexes, which will be in the readers’ hands in few days to enable them to complete the first volume of this work, he has now and then turned to his collections to relieve the wearisomeness of his occupation, and finding the following anecdote in “The Times” of Dec. 1825, he subjoins from his stores an illustration of the curious fact it relates to. “It may be mentioned,” The Times says, “as a singular species of infatuation, that many Portuguese residing in Brazil as well as Portugal, still believe in the coming of Sebastian, the romantic king, who was killed in Africa about the year 1578, in a pitched battle with the emperor Muley Moluc. Some of these old visionaries will go out, wrapped in their large cloaks, on a windy night, to watch the movements of the heavens, and frequently, if an exhalation is seen flitting in the air, resembling a falling star, they will cry out, “there he comes!” Sales of horses and other things are sometimes effected, payable at the coming of king Sebastian. It was this fact that induced Junot, when asked what he would be able to do with the Portuguese, to answer, what can I do with a people who are still waiting for the coming of the Messiah and king Sebastian?”

This superstitious belief is mentioned in a MS. Journal of a Residence at Lisbon in 1814, written by an individual personally known to the editor, who extracts from the narrative as follows:--

It is the daily practice at Lisbon for the master of the family to cater for the wants of his table himself. According to ancient usage, he must either employ and pay a porter to carry home his purchases at market, or send a servant for them. A certain doctor, well known to be a lover of fish, and an enthusiastic expectant of Don Sebastian, was watched several days in the fish market by some knavish youths, who contrived a trick upon him. One morning, they observed him very intent upon a fine large fish, yet disagreeing with the fishmonger as to its price. One of these knaves managed to inform the man, if he would let the doctor have the fish at his own price he would pay the difference, and the fishmonger soon concluded the bargain with the doctor. As soon as he was gone, one of the party, without the fishmonger’s knowledge, insinuated down the fish’s throat a scroll of parchment curiously packed, and shortly afterwards, the doctor’s servant arrived for his master’s purchase. On opening the fish, in order to its being cooked, the parchment deposit was found, and the credulous man, to his astonishment and delight, read as follows:--

“Worthy and well-beloved Signor: ---- ----, respected by the saints and now revered by men. From our long observation of thine heart’s integrity, and in full knowledge of thy faith and firm belief, thou art selected as the happy instrument of our return; but know, most worthy Signor, the idea of a white horse in clouds of air, is a mere fable invented by weak men. It will be far otherwise, but be thou circumspect and secret, and to thee these things will be explained hereafter. Know, that by the element of water, by which we make this known, we shall return. Not far from Fort St. Juliana is a spot thou knowest well, a smooth declivity towards the sea; it is there we first shall touch the shore of our loved Portugal to-morrow’s night at twelve. Be thou there alone, and softly gliding on the water’s surface a small boat shall appear. Be silent and remain quiet on our appearance, for until we can join our prayers with thine thou must not speak; load not thyself with coin, for soon as dawn appears a troop of goodly horse from Cintra’s Road will rise upon thy view. But be not destitute of wherewith to bear thine expense. All thy future life shall be thy prince’s care.

“SEBASTIAN.”

The trick succeeded; for the next day the doctor left Lisbon as privately as possible, while his trepanners who had watched him quickly followed, two in a boat hired for the purpose, and two on shore, to make a signal. The boat arrived at the appointed hour, and the doctor expected nothing less than the landing of the long expected and well-beloved Sebastian. It reached the shore, and by those who stepped out and their confederates concealed on the beach, the doctor was eased of some doubloons he had with him, received a cool dip in the water, and was left on the beach to bewail his folly. The story soon got wind, and now (in 1814) there are wags who, when they observe the doctor coming, affect to see something in the sky; this hint concerning Don Sebastian’s appearance is usually intimated beyond the reach of the doctor’s cane.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·12.

~January 19.~

Feast of Lanthorns.

This is a festival with the Chinese on the fifteenth day of the first month of their year. It is so called from the great number of lanthorns hung out of the houses, and in the streets; insomuch that it rather appears a season of madness, than of feasting. On this day are exposed lanthorns of all prices, whereof some are said to cost two thousand crowns. Some of their grandees retrench somewhat every day out of their table, their dress, their equipage, &c. to appear the more magnificent in lanthorns. They are adorned with gilding, sculpture, painting, japanning, &c. and as to their size, it is extravagant; some are from twenty-five to thirty feet diameter; they represent halls and chambers. Two or three such machines together would make handsome houses. In lanthorns of these dimensions the Chinese are able to eat, lodge, receive visits, have balls, and act plays. The great multitude of smaller lanthorns usually consist of six faces or lights, each about four feet high, and one and a half broad, framed in wood finely gilt and adorned; over these are stretched a fine transparent silk, curiously painted with flowers, trees, and sometimes human figures. The colours are extremely bright; and when the torches are lighted, they appear highly beautiful and surprising.

French Lark Shooting.

To the gentleman whose letter from Abbeville, descriptive of “Wild fowl shooting in France,” is on p. 1575 of vol. I., the editor is indebted for another on “Lark shooting,” which is successfully practised there by a singular device unknown to sportsmen in this country.[31]

------------------ As far-off islanders, Innocent of trade, unskilled in commerce, To whom a glass or toy unknown before Is wonderful, give freely, flocks and fruits To gain mere baubles; so, these silly birds Attracted by the glisten of the twirler, Hover above the passing strange decoy, Intent to gaze, and fall the gunner’s prey.

*

Abbeville.

Dear Sir,

If I do not send you your wished for wood cuts I at least keep my promise of letting you hear from me. I told you in my last you should have something about our lark-shooting, and so you shall, and at this time too; though I assure you writing flying as I almost do, is by no means so agreeable to me as shooting flying, which is the finest sport imaginable. When I come home I will tell you all about it, for the present I can only acquaint you with enough to let you into the secret of the enjoyment that I should always find in France, if I had no other attraction to the country. I must “level” at once, for I have no time to spare, and so “here goes,” as the boy says.

Partridge and quail shooting cease in this delightful part of the world about the middle of October, for by that time the partridges are so very wild and wary that there is no getting near them. The reason of this is, that our fields here are all open without either hedge or ditch, and when the corn and hemp are off, the stubble is pulled up so close by the poor people for fuel, that there is no cover for partridges; as to the quails, they are all either “killed off,” or take their departure for a wilder climate; and then there is nothing left for the French gentry to amuse themselves with but lark-shooting. These birds are attracted to any given spot in great numbers by a singular contrivance, called a miroir. This is a small machine, made of a piece of mahogany, shaped like a chapeau bras, and highly polished; or else it is made of common wood, inlaid with small bits of looking glass, so as to reflect the suns rays upwards. It is fixed on the top of a thin iron rod, or upright spindle, dropped through an iron loop or ring attached to a piece of wood, to drive into the ground as here represented.

By pulling a string fastened to the spindle, the miroir twirls, and the reflected light unaccountably attracts the larks, who hover over it, and become a mark for the sportsman. In this way I have had capital sport. A friend of mine actually shot six dozen before breakfast. While he sat on the ground he pulled the twirler himself, and his dogs fetched the birds as they dropped. However, I go on in the common way, and employ a boy to work the twirler. Ladies often partake in the amusement on a cold dry morning, not by shooting but by watching the sport. So many as ten or a dozen parties are sometimes out together, firing at a distance of about five hundred yards apart, and in this way the larks are constantly kept on the wing. The most favourable mornings are when there is a gentle light frost, with little or no wind, and a clear sky--for when there are clouds the larks will not approach. One would think the birds themselves enjoyed their destruction, for the fascination of the twirler is so strong, as to rob them of the usual “fruits of experience.” After being fired at several times they return to the twirler, and form again into groupes above it. Some of them even fly down and settle on the ground, within a yard or two of the astonishing instrument, looking at it “this way and that way, and all ways together,” as if nothing had happened.

Larks in France fetch from three to four sous a piece. In winter, however, when they are plentiful, they are seldom eaten, because here they are always dressed with the trail, like snipes and woodcocks; but for this mode of cooking they are not fitted when the snow is on the ground, because they are then driven to eat turnip-tops, and other watery herbs, which communicate an unpleasant flavour to the trail. Were you here at the season, to eat larks in their perfection, and dressed as we dress them, I think your praise of the cooking would give me the laugh against you, if you ever afterwards ventured to declaim against the use of the gun, which, next to my pencil, is my greatest hobby. I send you a sketch of the sport, with the boy at the twirler--do what you like with it.

I rather think I did not tell you in my last, that the decoy ducks, used in wild-fowl shooting, are made of wood--any stump near at hand is hacked out any how for the body, while a small limb of any tree is thrust into the stump for the duck’s neck, and one of the side branches left short makes his head. These ducks answer the purpose with their living prototypes, who fly by moonlight, and have not a perfect view, and don’t stay for distinctions, like philosophers.

It will not be long before I’m off for England, and then, &c.

I am, &c.

J. H. H.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·02.

[31] To his former letter J. J. H. are printed as initials by mistake, instead of J. H. H.

~January 20.~

Fabian.

In the church of England calendar.[32]

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