The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 2 (of 3) or Everlasting Calendar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac (part 3 of 8)

The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 2 (of 3) or Everlasting Calendar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac (part 3 of 8)

St. Patrick was a gentleman, and he came from decent people: In Dublin town he built a church and on it put a steeple; His father was a Wollaghan, his mother an O’Grady, His aunt she was a Kinaghan, and his wife a widow Brady. Tooralloo tooralloo, what a glorious man our saint was, Tooralloo, tooralloo, O whack fal de lal, de lal, &c.

Och! Antrim hills are mighty high and so’s the hill of Howth too; But we all do know a mountain that is higher than them both too; ’Twas on the top of that high mount St. Patrick preach’d a sermon, He drove the frogs into the bogs, and banished all the vermin. Tooralloo, &c.

No wonder that we Irish lads, then, are so blythe and frisky; St. Patrick was the very man that taught us to drink whiskey; Och! to be sure, he had the knack and understood distilling, For his mother kept a sheebeen shop, near the town of Enniskillen. Tooralloo, &c.

The day after St. Patrick’s day is “Sheelah’s day,” or the festival in honour of Sheelah. Its observers are not so anxious to determine who “Sheelah” was, as they are earnest in her celebration. Some say she was “Patrick’s wife,” others that she was “Patrick’s mother,” while all agree that her “immortal memory” is to be maintained by potations of whiskey. The shamrock worn on St. Patrick’s day should be worn also on Sheelah’s day, and, on the latter night, be drowned in the last glass. Yet it frequently happens that the shamrock is flooded in the last glass of St. Patrick’s day, and another last glass or two, or more, on the same night, deluges the over-soddened trefoil. This is not “quite correct,” but it is endeavoured to be remedied the next morning by the display of a fresh shamrock, which is steeped at night in honour of “Sheelah” with equal devotedness.

That Saint Patrick was not married is clear from the rules of the Roman catholic church, which impose celibacy on its clergy. A correspondent suggests that the idea of his matrimonial connection, arose out of a burlesque, or, perhaps, ironical remark, by females of the poorer class in Ireland, to retaliate on their husbands for their excesses on the 17th of March; or, perhaps, from the opportunity the effects of such indulgence afforded them, these fair helpmates are as convivial on the following morning, as their “worser halves” were the preceding day. “Sheelah” is an Irish term, generally applied to a slovenly or muddling woman, more particularly if she be elderly. In this way, probably, the day after St. Patrick’s obtained the name of “Sheelah’s day,” speciale gratia, without any reference to the calendar of saints. The saint himself, if we determine from the sacrifices to his memory, is deemed a kind of christian Bacchus; and, on like home-made authority, “Sheelah” is regarded as his consort.

* * * * *

The editor of this work especially regrets that few of the peculiarities regarding this festival which are familiar to Irishmen have been communicated to him. He has received letters expressing surprise that so little has been observed concerning their country. Such complaints have been made under initials, and therefore he could not answer them: the complainants he has no doubt could have contributed largely themselves, and from them he would have required information. As many Irish usages are fast dying away, he hopes and earnestly solicits to be favoured with particulars, which he is persuaded the collections or recollections of his Irish readers can readily furnish, and which he will be most happy in having intrusted to him for publication. Any illustrations of Irish character and manners, especially if drawn up by natives of Ireland, will be highly valued.

* * * * *

On St. Patrick’s day, 1740, the butchers in Clare-market, London, hung up a grotesque figure of an Irishman. A great number of Irishmen came to pull it down, when a fierce battle ensued, much mischief was done, and several persons were dangerously wounded; but a file of musqueteers having been fetched from St. James’s, some of the rioters were taken into custody, and three of them were committed by col. De Veil to Newgate.[83]

* * * * *

A correspondent who signs, “IKEY PINGLE,” communicates a copy of a singular monumental inscription in the churchyard of Grimmingham, in Norfolk. It is subjoined on this day, because the public performer to whom it refers is stated to have quitted this stage of life on this day, in the year 1798.

~Epitaph.~

SACRED

To the memory of

THOMAS JACKSON, COMEDIAN,

who was engaged, 21st of Dec. 1741, to play a comic cast of characters, in this great theatre--the World: for many of which he was prompted by nature to excel.

The season being ended, his benefit over, the charges all paid, and his account closed, he made his exit in the tragedy of Death, on the 17th of March, 1798, in full assurance of being called once more to rehearsal; where he hopes to find his forfeits all cleared, his cast of parts bettered, and his situation made agreeable, by him who paid the great stock-debt, for the love he bore to performers in general.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 41·27.

[82] Letters from the Irish Highlands.

[83] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~March 18.~

Edward, king of the West Saxons.

On this anniversary, which is a holiday in the church of England calendar, and kept at the Exchequer, Rapin says, “I do not know upon what foundation Edward was made both a saint and a martyr, unless it was pretended he was murdered out of revenge for his great affection to Dunstan and the monks.” See farther concerning him in vol. i. p. 372.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 41·75.

~March 19.~

1826. Oxford Term ends.

PALM SUNDAY.

This is the first of Passion Week. To accounts of remarkable ceremonies peculiar to the day, and its present observance, it is proper to add the mode wherein it is celebrated by the papal pontiff at Rome. An eye-witness to the pageant relates as follows:--

About half-past nine in the morning, the pope entered the Sistine chapel, attired in a robe of scarlet and gold, which he wore over his ordinary dress, and took his throne. The cardinals, who were at first dressed in under-robes of a violet colour (the mourning for cardinals), with their rich antique lace, scarlet trains, and mantles of ermine, suddenly put off these accoutrements, and arrayed themselves in most splendid vestments, which had the appearance of being made of carved gold. The tedious ceremony of each separately kissing the pope’s hand, and making their three little bows, being gone through, and some little chaunting and fidgetting about the altar being got over, two palm branches, of seven or eight feet in length, were brought to the pope, who, after raising over them a cloud of incense, bestowed his benediction upon them: then a great number of smaller palms were brought, and a cardinal, who acted as the pope’s aid-de-camp on this occasion, presented one of these to every cardinal as he ascended the steps of the throne, who again kissed the pope’s hand and the palm, and retired. Then came the archbishops, who kissed both the pope’s hand and toe, followed by the inferior orders of clergy, in regular gradations, who only kissed the toe, as they carried off their palms.

The higher dignitaries being at last provided with palms, the deacons, canons, choristers, cardinals, train-bearers, &c. had each to receive branches of olive, to which, as well as to the palms, a small cross was suspended. At last, all were ready to act their parts, and the procession began to move: it began with the lowest in clerical rank, who moved off two by two, rising gradually in dignity, till they came to prelates, bishops, archbishops, and cardinals, and terminated by the pope, borne in his chair of state (sedia gestatoria) on men’s shoulders, with a crimson canopy over his head. By far the most striking figures in the procession were the bishops and patriarchs of the Armenian church. One of them wore a white crown, and another a crimson crown glittering with jewels. The mitres of the bishops were also set with precious stones; and their splendid dresses, and long wavy beards of silver whiteness, gave them a most venerable and imposing appearance.

The procession issued forth into the Sala Borgia (the hall behind the Sistine chapel), and marched round it, forming nearly a circle; for by the time the pope had gone out, the leaders of the procession had nearly come back again; but they found the gates of the chapel closed against them, and, on admittance being demanded, a voice was heard from within, in deep recitative, seemingly inquiring into their business, or claims for entrance there. This was answered by the choristers from the procession in the hall; and after a chaunted parley of a few minutes, the gates were again opened, and the pope, cardinals, and priests, returned to their seats. Then the passion was chaunted; and then a most tiresome long service commenced, in which the usual genuflections, and tinkling of little bells, and dressings and undressings, and walking up and coming down the steps of the altar, and bustling about, went on; and which at last terminated in the cardinals all embracing and kissing each other, which is considered the kiss of peace.

The palms are artificial, plaited of straw, or the leaves of dried reeds, so as to resemble the real branches of the palm-tree when their leaves are plaited, which are used in this manner for this ceremony in the catholic colonies of tropical climates. These artificial palms, however, are topped with some of the real leaves of the palm-tree, brought from the shores of the gulf of Genoa.[84]

Palm Sunday in Spain.

The following is a description of the celebration of this day in the cathedral of Seville:--

Early in the morning, the melancholy sound of the passion-bell announces the beginning of the solemnities for which the fast of Lent is a preparation. This bell, the largest of several which are made to revolve upon pivots, is moved by means of two long ropes, which by swinging the bell into a circular motion, are twined, gently at first, round the massive arms of a cross, of which the bell forms the foot, and the head its counterpoise. Six men then draw back the ropes, till the enormous machine receives a sufficient impetus to coil them in an opposite direction; and thus alternately, as long as ringing is required. To give this bell a tone appropriate to the sombre character of the season, it has been cast with several large holes disposed in a circle round the top--a contrivance which without diminishing the vibration of the metal, prevents the distinct formation of any musical note, and converts the sound into a dismal clangour.

The chapter, consisting of about eighty resident members, in choral robes of black silk with long trains and hoods, preceded by the inferior ministers, by thirty clergymen, in surplices, whose deep bass voices perform the plain or Ambrosian chaunt, and by the band of wind-instruments and singers, who execute the more artificial strains of modern or counterpoint music, move in a long procession round the farthest aisles, each holding a branch of the oriental, or date palm, which overtopping the heads of the assembled multitude, nod gracefully, and bend into elegant curves at every step of the bearers. For this purpose a number of palm-trees are kept with their branches tied up together, that, by the want of light, the more tender shoots may preserve a delicate yellow tinge. The ceremony of blessing these branches is solemnly performed by the officiating priest, previously to the procession, after which they are sent by the clergy to their friends, who tie them to the iron bars of the balconies, to be, as they believe, a protection against lightning.

In the long church-service for this day, the organ is silent, the voices being supported by hautboys and bassoons. All the altars are covered with purple or grey curtains. The holy vestments, during this week, are of the first-mentioned colour, except on Friday, when it is changed for black. The four accounts of our saviour’s passion, appointed as gospels for this day, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, are dramatized in the following manner:--Outside of the gilt-iron railing which encloses the presbytery, are two large pulpits of the same materials, from one of which, at the daily high mass, the sub-deacon chaunts the epistle, as the deacon does the gospel from the other. A movable platform with a desk, is placed between the pulpits on the passion-days; and three priests or deacons, in albes--the white vestment, over which the dalmatic is worn by the latter, and the casulla by the former--appear on these elevated posts, at the time when the gospel should be said. These officiating ministers are chosen among the singers in holy orders, one a bass, another a tenor, and the third a counter-tenor. The tenor chaunts the narrative without changing from the keynote, and makes a pause whenever he comes to the words of the interlocutors mentioned by the evangelist. In those passages the words of our saviour are sung by the bass in a solemn strain. The counter-tenor, in a more florid style, personates the inferior characters, such as Peter, the maid, and Pontius Pilate. The cries of the priests and the multitude are represented by the band of musicians within the choir.[85]

PALM SUNDAY CUSTOM

in Lincolnshire.

The following letter is from a correspondent on the spot where the custom is still preserved.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--There is a singular ceremony at Caistor church, Lincolnshire, every Palm Sunday, which you may think worth describing from this account of it.

A deputy from Broughton brings a very large ox-whip, called here a gad-whip. Gad is an old Lincolnshire measure of ten feet; the stock of the gad-whip is, perhaps, of the same length. The whip itself is constructed as follows. A large piece of ash, or any other wood, tapered towards the top, forms the stock; it is wrapt with white leather half way down, and some small pieces of mountain ash are enclosed. The thong is very large, and made of strong white leather. The man comes to the north porch, about the commencement of the first lesson, and cracks his whip in front of the porch door three times; he then, with much ceremony, wraps the thong round the stock of the whip, puts some rods of mountain ash lengthwise upon it, and binds the whole together with whip-cord. He next ties to the top of the whip-stock a purse containing two shillings, (formerly this sum was in twenty-four silver pennies,) then taking the whole upon his shoulder, he marches into the church, where he stands in front of the reading desk till the commencement of the second lesson: he then goes up nearer, waves the purse over the head of the clergyman, kneels down on a cushion, and continues in that position, with the purse suspended over the clergyman’s head, till the lesson is ended. After the service is concluded, he carries the whip, &c. to the manor-house of Undon, a hamlet adjoining, where he leaves it. There is a new whip made every year; it is made at Broughton, and left at Undon.

Certain lands in the parish of Broughton are held by the tenure of this annual custom, which is maintained to the present time.

I am, Sir, &c.

G. P. J.

* * * * *

On the 19th of March, 1755, three women in the village of Bergemoletto, near Piedmont, were buried for thirty-seven days in the ruins of a stable, by a heavy fall of snow. They survived their confinement, and the facts relating to it were published by Ignazio Somis, professor in the university of Turin. With the case of these poor creatures, that, related at p. 176, of our Elizabeth Woodcock, who remained so imprisoned eight days, is scarcely to be compared. Her sufferings highly interest the feelings; a narration of theirs would too deeply wound them.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 41·25

[84] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.

[85] Doblado’s Letters from Spain.

~March 20.~

LAMB SEASON.

An Anecdote.

It is related in the Scottish newspapers that about the year 1770, a Selkirkshire farmer, a great original in his way, and remarkable for his fondness of a “big price” for every thing, attended at Langholm fair, and, notwithstanding his parsimonious habits, actually sold his lambs to a perfect stranger upon his simply promising to pay him punctually at the next market. On his return home, the farmer’s servants, who regularly messed at the same table, and seldom honoured him with the name of master, inquired “Weel, Sandy, hae ye sell’t the lambs?” “Atweel hae I, and I gat saxpence mair a-head for them than ony body in the market.” “And a’ weel paid siller?” “Na, the siller’s no paid yet, but its sure eneuch.” “Wha’s your merchant, and, and what’s your security?” “Troth I never spiered, but he’s a decent lookin’ man wi tap boots, and a bottle-green coat.” The servants, at this, laughed outright, and tauntingly told him he would never get a farthing. Sandy, however, thought differently, and having accidentally hurt his leg so as to prevent him from travelling, he sent a shepherd to Langholm, with instructions to look for a man with a bottle-green coat, whom he was sure he said, to find standing near a certain sign. The shepherd did as he was bid, and, strange to say, discovered a person standing at the identical spot, who, on learning his errand, inquired kindly for his master, and paid the money to the uttermost farthing. Sandy, who piqued himself on his skill in physiognomy, heard the news without emotion, and merely said, “I wad at any time trust mair to looks than words, and whan I saw Colly smeiling about hun sae kindly, I ken’t weel eneuch he couldna be a scoundrel.” This result differs from one which might have been expected. Sandy believed in a “second sight,” which, in these times, a knowledge of the arts of life disqualify most persons for indulging on such an occasion.

* * * * *

In an early edition of vol. i. p. 374, the death of sir Isaac Newton is stated to have happened on this day in the year 1727; and it is added, that he was born on the 25th of December 1742, instead of the proper year 1642.

* * * * *

On the same page the death of the celebrated earl Mansfield, is mentioned to have taken place on the same day in the year 1793. He was aged eighty-nine, and his autograph is now added for the gratification of those who desire to be acquainted with the hand-writing of distinguished persons.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 42·81.

~March 21.~

Benedict.

Concerning this saint in our almanacs, see vol. i. p. 380.

A SURPRISING CALCULATION.

For the Every-Day Book.

In the summer of 1825, a meeting was held at Tunbridge in Kent, by some gentlemen interested in the formation of a rail road, in that neighbourhood; at which was a present a young gentleman well known for astonishing celerity in resolving difficult calculations by the aid of memory alone. One of the company, a great snuff-taker, and good mathematician, proposed the following, (as he thought,) puzzling question;

“If I take so many (a given quantity) of pinches of snuff every quarter of an hour, how many pinches shall I have taken in fifteen years?”

The young gentleman in little more than a minute gave his answer.

The snuff-taker called for pen, ink, and paper, to examine the answer, when after a considerable time he declared it erroneous; upon hearing which, the calculator asked the snuff-taker if he had allowed for the leap-years? being answered in the negative, the snuff-taker was requested to add them, when the calculator’s answer was found to be correct to a single pinch, to the no small astonishment and delight of the assembled party.

A. S.

* * * * *

The preceding anecdote is wholly new, and, after a “pinch of snuff,” the editor introduces a topic somewhat corresponding.

“TOBACCO.”

“EX FUMO dare lucem.”

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

The use of tobacco, “that stinking weed so much abused to God’s dishonour,” as Stow expresses himself, having become so common, as to be almost “naturalized on English ground;” perhaps a short article on the subject at this seasonable period, may not be unacceptable to the numerous readers of the Every-Day Book. Let me however be understood in the outset.

I do not mean to write a historical--nor yet critical--nor yet a poetical essay on my subject--no! I merely wish to “cull a few leaves” from the “fragrant herb,” and leave them for you to burn, or your readers to cut up, or smoke, at their good pleasure. Dropping all metaphor, the subject is worth attention, and treated with judgment, might be rendered highly interesting. Resigning all pretension however to that quality, I have merely collected a few “passages,” which, I hope, will be considered worthy of a place in your interesting miscellany.

“Commencing our commencement,” says the old French proverb, my medical dictionary, (Hooper’s) has the following under this head:--

“Tobacco. See Nicotiana.”

“Nicotiana. (From M. Nicot, who first brought it into Europe.) Tobacco.”

“1st. The name of a genus of plants in the Linnean system. Class Pentandria; order, Monogynia.”

“2nd. The former pharmacopæial name of the officinal tobacco,” &c. &c.

Hooper’s Medical Dictionary, 4th edit. p. 594.

In that elegant work, “Flora Domestica,” the botanical summary says, “This genus is named from Jean Nicot of Nismes, agent from the king of France to Portugal, who procured the seeds from a Dutchman, and sent them to France. Tobacco, from the island Tobago. The French have many names for it; as, le tabac: Nicotiane from its first introducer; petum [the original Indian appellation;] herbe du grand prieur; herbe à la Reine; herbe sacrìe; herbe propre à tous maux; herbe de St. Croix; &c. &c. Italian, tabacco; terna bona.”

Flora Domestica, 1823. p. 365.

Of these names, the Italian one of “terna bona,” is very singular, and as arbitrary as need be, for example, what connection can there be between tobacco, and the “grand prior,” the “queen’s,” or the “holy cross?” “Propre à tous maux,” is rather too comprehensive an appellation; I have copied but few of these names, many as there may appear to be.

Of all the subjects which have employed the pens of writers, perhaps no one has called forth so great a diversity of opinion as this; and we may perhaps go further, and say, that no other (save only, love and war) has attracted so much notice since its introduction. Popes, poets, historians, kings, and physicians, have dwelt upon its use and abuse, and even historians have condescended to mention it. But to proceed.

With regard to its first introduction into England, Hume says, “chap. xli. Eliz. 1558, 1603,” at the close of the narration of Drake’s attack on the Spanish provinces in the West Indies. “It is thought that Drake’s fleet first introduced the use of tobacco into England.”

In an after part of his work “Appendix, James I. 1603-1625,” he adds,

“After supplying themselves with provisions more immediately necessary for the support of life, the new planters began the cultivating of tobacco; and James notwithstanding his antipathy to that drug, which he affirmed to be pernicious to men’s morals as well as health, gave them permission to enter it in England; and he inhibited by proclamation all importation of it from Spain.”

At this period originated the story of the wetting poor sir Walter Raleigh, received from the hands (and bucket) of his servant; this, however, is too common to deserve transferring to your pages. The following facts, however, are not so generally known. “On the first introduction of tobacco, our ancestors carried its use to an enormous excess, smoking even in the churches, which made pope Urban VIII. in 1624, publish a decree of excommunication against those who used such an unseemly practice; and Innocent XII. A. D. 1690, solemnly excommunicated all those who should take snuff or tobacco, in St. Peter’s church at Rome.” Flora Domestica, p. 367.

This excess is perhaps only equalled by the case of William Breedon, vicar of Thornton, Bucks, “a profound divine, but absolutely the most polite person for nativities in that age;” of whom William Lilly, “student in astrology,” says, “when he had no tobacco, (and I suppose too much drink,) he would cut the bell ropes and smoke them.”--History of Lilly’s Life and Times, p. 44.[86]

* * * * *

To the eulogist of tobacco, who, on column 195 of your present volume, defies “all daintie meats,” and

----“keeps his kitchen in a box, And roast meat in a pipe,”

take as an antidote the following from Peter Hausted’s Raphael Thorius: London, 1551.

Let it be damn’d to Hell, and call’d from thence, Proserpine’s wine, the Furies’ frankincense, The Devil’s addle eggs.

Hawkins Brown, esq., parodying Ambrose Philips, writes thus prettily to his pipe:--

Little tube of mighty power, Charmer of an idle hour, Object of my warm desire; Lip of wax, and eye of fire; And thy snowy taper waist, With my finger gently brac’d; &c.

In our own times the following have appeared.

“La Pipe de Tabac,” a French song to music, by Geweaux, contains the following humorous stanzas:--

“Le soldat baille sous la tente, Le matelot sur le tillac, Bientôt ils ont l’âme contente, Avec la pipe de tabac; Si pourtant survient une belle, A l’instant le cœur fait tìc tac, Et l’Amant oublie auprès d’elle, Jusqu’à la pipe de tabac.

“Je tiens cette maxime utile, De ce fameux Monsieur de Crac, En campagne comme à la ville, Font tous l’amour et le tabac, Quand ce grand homme allait en guerre Il portait dans son petit sac, Le doux portrait de sa bergère, Avec la pipe de tabac.”

In the accompanying English version, they are thus imitated:--

See, content, the soldier smiling Round the vet’ran smoking crew And the tar, the time beguiling, Sighs and whiffs, and thinks of Sue. Calm the bosom; naught distresses;-- Labour’s harvest’s nearly ripe;-- ‘Susan’s health;’--the brim he presses,-- Here alone he quits his pipe.

Faithful still to every duty Ne’er his faithful heart will roam; Mines of wealth, and worlds of beauty, Tempt him not from Susan’s home. From his breast--wherever steering, Oft a sudden tear to wipe, Susan’s portrait,--sorrow cheering, First he draws--and then his pipe!

Our immortal Byron, in his poem of “The Island,” sings thus the praises of “the Indian weed:”--

Sublime tobacco!--which from east to west Cheers the tar’s labours, or the Turkman’s rest; Which on the Moslem’s ottoman divides His hours,--and rivals opium and his brides; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand; Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe When tipped with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers, wooing the caress More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far, Thy naked beauties---- Give me a cigar!

If, Sir, you should deem this communication worthy of your notice, I shall feel inclined to pursue my researches farther; and, whatever the result, allow me in the mean time to subscribe myself,

Your well-wisher,

FUMO.

P. S. Should you, Sir, burn this, the Roman adage, which I have used as my motto, will be once more verified.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·44.

[86] “The following commendation of Lilly is inserted under a curious frontispiece to his “Anima Astrologiæ,” 1676, containing portraits of Cardan, Guido, and himself.

“Let Envy burst--Vrania’s glad to see Her sons thus Ioyn’d in a Triplicity; To Cardan and to Guido much is due, But in one Lilly wee behold them Two.”

~March 22.~

Passion Wednesday.

In 1826, this being the Wednesday before Easter, called Passion Wednesday, is celebrated with great solemnity in catholic countries. At Seville a white veil conceals the officiating priest and ministers, during mass, until the words in the service “the veil of the temple was rent in twain” are chaunted. At this moment the veil disappears, as if by enchantment, and the ears of the congregation are stunned with the noise of concealed fireworks, which are meant to imitate an earthquake.

The evening service, named Tinieblas, (darkness) is performed this day after sunset. The cathedral, on this occasion, exhibits the most solemn and impressive aspect. The high altar, concealed behind dark grey curtains which fall from the height of the cornices, is dimly lighted by six yellow wax candles, while the gloom of the whole temple is broken in large masses by wax torches, fixed one on each pillar of the centre aisle, about one-third of its length from the ground. An elegant candlestick of brass, from fifteen to twenty feet high, is placed, on this and the following evening, between the choir and the altar, holding thirteen candles, twelve of yellow, and one of bleached wax, distributed on the two sides of the triangle which terminates the machine. Each candle stands by a brass figure of one of the apostles. The white candle occupying the apex is allotted to the virgin Mary. At the conclusion of each of the twelve psalms appointed for the service, one of the yellow candles is extinguished, till, the white taper burning alone, it is taken down and concealed behind the altar. Immediately after the ceremony, the Miserere, (Psalm 50.) set, every other year, to a new strain of music, is sung in a grand style. This performance lasts exactly an hour. At the conclusion of the last verse the clergy break up abruptly without the usual blessing, making a thundering noise by clapping their movable seats against the frame of the stalls, or knocking their ponderous breviaries against the boards, as the rubric directs.[87]

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 22d of March, 1687, Jean Baptiste Lully, the eminent musical composer, died at Paris. He was born of obscure parents at Florence, in 1634, and evincing a taste for music, a benevolent cordelier, influenced by no other consideration than the hope of his becoming eminent in the science, undertook to teach him the guitar. While under his tuition, a French gentleman, the chevalier Guise, arrived at Florence, commissioned by Mlle. de Montpensier, niece to Louis XIV., to bring her some pretty little Italian boy as a page. The countenance of Lully did not answer to the instructions, but his vivacity, wit, and skill on an instrument, as much the favourite of the French as of the Italians, determined the chevalier to send him to Paris. On his arrival, he was presented to the lady; but his figure obtained for him so cool a reception, that she commanded him to be entered in her household books as an under-scullion. Lully was at this time ten years old. In the moments of his leisure from the kitchen, he used to scrape upon a wretched fiddle. He was overheard by a person about the court, who informed the princess he had an excellent taste for music, and a master was employed to teach him the violin, under whom in the course of a few months, he became so great a proficient, that he was elevated to the rank of court-musician. In consequence of an unlucky accident he was dismissed from this situation; but, obtaining admission into the king’s band of violins, he applied himself so closely to study, that in a little time he began to compose. His airs were noticed by the king, Lully was sent for, and his performance of them was thought so excellent, that a new band was formed, called les petits violons, and under his direction it surpassed the band of twenty-four, till that time celebrated throughout Europe. This was about the year 1660, when the favourite entertainments at the French court were dramatic representations, consisting of dancing intermixed with singing and speaking in recitative; they were called ballets, and to many of them Lully was employed in composing the music.

In 1669, an opera in the French language, on the model of that at Venice, being established at Paris, Lully obtained the situation of composer and joint director, left his former band, instituted one of his own, and formed the design of building a new theatre near the Luxemburg palace, which he accomplished, and opened in November, 1670.

Previous to this, Lully, having been appointed surperintendent to the king’s private music, had neglected the practice of the violin; yet, whenever he could be prevailed with to play, his excellence astonished all who heard him.

In 1686, the king recovering from an indisposition that threatened his life, Lully composed a “Te Deum,” which was not more remarkable for its excellence, than the unhappy accident with which its performance was attended. In the preparations for the execution of it, and the more to demonstrate his zeal, he himself beat the time. With the cane that he used for this purpose, he struck his foot, which caused so much inflammation, that his physician advised him to have his little toe taken off; and, after a delay of some days, his foot; and at length the whole limb. At this juncture, an empiric offered to perform a cure without amputation. Two thousand pistoles were promised him if he should accomplish it, but his efforts were vain; and Lully died.

Lully’s confessor in his last illness required as a testimony of his sincere repentance, and as the condition of his absolution, that he should throw the last of his operas into the fire. After some excuses, Lully acquiesced, and pointing to a drawer in which the rough draft of “Achilles and Polixenes” was deposited, it was taken out and burnt, and the confessor went away satisfied. Lully grew better and was thought out of danger, when one of the young princes came to visit him: “What, Baptiste,” says he to him, “have you thrown your opera into the fire? You were a fool for thus giving credit to a gloomy Jansenist, and burning good music.” “Hush! hush! my lord,” answered Lully, in a whisper, “I knew very well what I was about, I have another copy of it!” This pleasantry was followed by a relapse; and the prospect of inevitable death threw him into such pangs of remorse, that he submitted to be laid on ashes with a cord round his neck; and, in this situation, he chaunted a deep sense of his late trangression.

Lully contributed greatly to the improvement of French music. In his overtures he introduced fugues, and was the first who, in the choruses, made use of the side and kettle drums. It is difficult to characterize his style, which seems to have been derived from no other source than his own invention.

His compositions were chiefly operas and other dramatic entertainments, adapted to the desires of Louis XIV., who was fond of dancing, and had not taste for any music but airs, in the composition of which a stated number of bars was the chief rule to be observed. Of harmony or fine melody, or of the relation between poetry and music, he seems to have had no conception; and these were restraints upon Lully’s talents.

He is said to have been the inventor of that species of composition, the overture; for, though the symphonies or preludes of Carissimi, Colonna, and others, are, in effect, overtures, yet they were compositions of a mild and placid kind, while Lully’s are animated and full of energy.[88]

* * * * *

Notwithstanding the character of Lully’s compositions, when unrestricted by the royal command and the bad taste of the court, he was one day reproached with having set nothing to music but languid verses. He flew to his harpsichord, and wildly running over the keys, sung, with great violence of gesture, the following terrific lines from Racine’s tragedy of “Iphigenie:”

“Un prêtre environne d’une foule cruelle Portera sur ma fille, une maine criminelle Dechirera son sein, et d’un œil curieux Dans son cœur palpitant consultera les Dieux.”

When cardinal d’Estrees was at Rome, he highly praised Corelli’s sonatas to that eminent composer. “Sir,” replied Corelli, “if they have any merit it is because I have studied Lully.” Handel has imitated Lully in many of his overtures.[89]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 42·79.

[87] Doblado’s Letters from Spain.

[88] Biograph. Dictionary of Musicians.

[89] Seward.

~March 23.~

MAUNDY THURSDAY.

Shere Thursday.

These denominations have been sufficiently explained in vol. i. p. 400, with an account of the Maundy at the chapel royal St. James’s. The Romish church this day institutes certain ceremonies to commemorate the washing of the disciples’ feet.

Celebration of the day at Seville.

The particulars of these solemnities are recorded by the rev. Blanco White.

The ceremonies of the high mass, are especially intended as a remembrance of the last supper, and the service, as it proceeds, rapidly assumes the deepest hues of melancholy. The bells, in every steeple, from one loud and joyous peal, cease at once, and leave a peculiar heavy stillness, which none can conceive but those who have lived in a populous Spanish town long enough to lose the sense of that perpetual tinkling which agitates the ear during the day and great part of the night.

In every church a “host,” consecrated at the mass, is carried with great solemnity to a temporary structure, called the monument, which is erected with more or less splendour, according to the wealth of the establishment. It is there deposited in a silver urn, generally shaped like a sepulchre, the key of which, hanging from a gold chain, is committed by the priest to the care of a chief inhabitant of the parish, who wears it round his neck as a badge of honour, till the next morning. The key of the cathedral monument is intrusted to the archbishop, if present, or to the dean in his absence.

The striking effect of the last-mentioned structure, the “monument” in the cathedral, is not easily conceived. It fills up the space between four arches of the nave, rising in five bodies to the roof of the temple. The columns of the two lower tiers, which, like the rest of the monument, imitate white marble filletted with gold, are hollow, allowing the numerous attendants who take care of the lights that cover it from the ground to the very top, to do their duty during four-and-twenty hours, without any disturbance or unseemly bustle. More than three thousand pounds of wax, besides one hundred and sixty silver lamps, are employed in the illumination.

The gold casket set with jewels, which contains the host, lies deposited in an elegant temple of massive silver, weighing five hundred and ten marks, which is seen through a blaze of light on the pediment of the monument. Two members of the chapter in their choral robes, and six inferior priests in surplices, attend on their knees before the shrine, till they are relieved by an equal number of the same classes at the end of every hour. This adoration is performed without interruption from the moment of depositing the host in the casket till that of taking it out the next morning. The cathedral, as well as many others of the wealthiest churches, are kept open and illuminated the whole night.

One of the public sights of the town, on this day, is the splendid cold dinner which the archbishop gives to twelve paupers, in commemoration of the apostles. The dinner is to be seen laid out on tables filling up two large rooms in the palace. The twelve guests are completely clothed at the expense of their host; and having partaken of a more homely dinner in the kitchen, they are furnished with large baskets to take away the splendid commons allotted to each in separate dishes, which they sell to the gourmands of the town. Each, besides, is allowed to dispose of his napkin, curiously made up into the figure of some bird or quadruped, which people buy as ornaments to their china cupboards, and as specimens of the perfection to which some of the poorer nuns have carried the art of plaiting.

At two in the afternoon, the archbishop, attended by his chapter, repairs to the cathedral, where he performs the ceremony, which, from the notion of its being literally enjoined by our saviour, is called the mandatum. The twelve paupers are seated on a platform erected before the high altar, and the prelate, stripped of his silk robes, and kneeling successively before each, washes their feet in a large silver bason.

About this time the processions, known by the name of cofradías, (confraternities) begin to move out of the different churches to which they are attached. The head of the police appoints the hour when each of these pageants is to appear in the square of the town hall, and the audiencia or court of justice. From thence their route to the cathedral, and out of it, to a certain point, is the same for all. These streets are lined by two rows of spectators of the lower classes, the windows being occupied by those of a higher rank. An order is previously published by the town-crier, directing the inhabitants to decorate their windows, which they do by hanging out the showy silk and chintz counterpanes of their beds. As to the processions themselves, except one which has the privilege of parading the town in the dead of night, they have little to attract the eye or affect the imagination. Their chief object is to convey groups of figures, as large as life, representing different scenes of our saviour’s passion.

There is something remarkable in the established and characteristic marks of some figures. The Jews are distinguished by long aquiline noses. Saint Peter is completely bald. The dress of the apostle John is green, and that of Judas Iscariot yellow; and so intimately associated is this circumstance with the idea of the traitor, that it has brought that colour into universal discredit. It is probably from this circumstance, (though yellow may have been allotted to Judas from some more ancient prejudice,) that the inquisition has adopted it for the sanbenito, or coat of infamy, which persons convicted of heresy are compelled to wear. The red hair of Judas, like Peter’s baldness, seems to be agreed upon by all the painters and sculptors in Europe. Judas’ hair is a usual name in Spain; and a similar application, it should seem, was used in England in Shakspeare’s time. “His hair,” says Rosalind, in As you like it, “is of the dissembling colour:” to which Celia answers--“Something browner than Judas’s.”

The midnight procession derives considerable effect from the stillness of the hour, and the dress of the attendants on the sacred image. None are admitted to this religious act but the members of that fraternity; generally young men of fashion. They all appear in a black tunic, with a broad belt so contrived as to give the idea of a long rope tied tight round the body; a method of penance commonly practised in former times. The face is covered with a long black veil, falling from a sugar-loaf cap three feet high. Thus arrayed, the nominal penitents advance, with silent and measured steps, in two lines, dragging a train six feet long, and holding aloft a wax-candle of twelve pounds, which they rest upon the hip-bone, holding it obliquely towards the vacant space between them. The veils, being of the same stuff with the cap and tunic, would absolutely impede the sight but for two small holes through which the eyes are seen to gleam, adding no small effect to the dismal appearance of such strange figures. The pleasure of appearing in a disguise, in a country where masquerades are not tolerated by the government, is a great inducement, to the young men for subscribing to this religious association. The disguise, it is true, does not in the least relax the rules of strict decorum which the ceremony requires; yet the mock penitents think themselves repaid for the fatigue and trouble of the night by the fresh impression which they expect to make on the already won hearts of their mistresses, who, by preconcerted signals, are enabled to distinguish their lovers, in spite of the veils and the uniformity of the dresses.

It is scarcely forty years since the disgusting exhibition of people streaming in their own blood, was discontinued by an order of the government. These penitents were generally from among the most debauched and abandoned of the lower classes. They appeared in white linen petticoats, pointed white caps and veils, and a jacket of the same colour, which exposed their naked shoulders to view. Having, previous to their joining the procession, been scarified on the back, they beat themselves with a cat-o’nine-tails, making the blood run down to the skirts of their garment. It may be easily conceived that religion had no share in these voluntary inflictions. There was a notion afloat, that this act of penance had an excellent effect on the constitution.[90]

* * * * *

The pope commemorates the washing of the disciples’ feet by officiating in person. A modern traveller who was present at the ceremony says,--“There were thirteen instead of twelve; the one being the representative of the angel that once came to the table of twelve that St. Gregory was serving. The twelve were old priests, but the one who performed the part of the angel was very young. They were all dressed in loose white gowns, and white caps on their heads, and clean woollen stockings, and were seated in a row along the wall, under a canopy. When the pope entered and took his seat at the top of the room, the whole company of them knelt in their places, turning towards him; and on his hand being extended in benediction, they all rose again and reseated themselves. The splendid garments of the pope were then taken off; and clad in a white linen robe which he had on under the others, and wearing the bishop’s mitre instead of the tiara, he approached the pilgrims, took from an attendant cardinal a silver bucket of water, knelt before the first of them, immersed one foot in the water, put water over it with his hand, and touched it with a square fringed cloth; kissed the leg, and gave the cloth, and a sort of white flower or feather, to the man; then went on to the next. The whole ceremony was over, I think, in less than two minutes, so rapidly was this act of humility gone through. From thence the pope returned to his throne, put on his robes of white and silver again, and proceeded to the Sala di Tavola: the thirteen priests were seated in a row at the table, which was spread with a variety of dishes, and adorned with a profusion of flowers. The pope gave the blessing, and walking along the side of the table opposite to them, handed each of them bread, then plates, and lastly, cups of wine. They regularly all rose up to receive what he presented; and the pope having gone through the forms of service, and given them his parting benediction, left them to finish their dinner in peace. They carry away what they cannot eat, and receive a small present in money besides.”[91]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·15

[90] Doblado’s Letters from Spain.

[91] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.

~March 24.~

GOOD FRIDAY.

This annual commemoration is the only one observed in England, with the exception of Christmas, by the suspension of all business, and the closing of shops. The late bishop Porteus having particularly insisted on this method of keeping Good Friday, the reverend Robert Robinson of Cambridge wrote a remarkable pamphlet, entitled, “The History and Mystery of Good Friday,” wherein he urges various statements and arguments against the usage. This tract has been published from time to time by Mr. Benjamin Flower. The controversy is referred to, because the writings of the bishop and his opponent state the grounds on both sides. It is to be remarked likewise, that several dissenters openly engage in their usual avocations, contrary to the general practice, which does not appear to be enforced by the church of England, farther than by notices through the parochial beadle and other officers.

Hot-cross Buns.

On the popular cry of “hot-cross buns,” and the custom of eating them to-day, there are particulars in vol. i. p. 402; and in the illustration of the ancient name and use of the bun, a few interesting passages are added. “The offerings which people in ancient times used to present to the gods, were generally purchased at the entrance of the temple; especially every species of consecrated bread, which was denominated accordingly. One species of sacred bread which used to be offered to the gods, was of great antiquity, and called boun. The Greeks, who changed the nu final into a sigma, expressed it in the nominative Βους, but in the accusative more truly boun, Βουν. Hesychius speaks of the boun, and describes it a kind of cake with a representation of two horns. Julius Pollux mentions it after the same manner, a sort of cake with horns. Diogenes Laertius, speaking of the same offering being made by Emperocles, describes the chief ingredients of which it was composed:--‘he offered up one of the sacred libra, called a boun, which was made of fine flour and honey.’ It is said of Cecrops, he first offered up this sort of sweet bread. Hence we may judge of the antiquity of the custom, from the times to which Cecrops is referred. The prophet Jeremiah takes notice of this kind of offering when he is speaking of the Jewish women at Pathros, in Egypt, and of their base idolatry; in all which their husbands had encouraged them: the women, in their expostulation upon his rebuke, tell him, ‘Did we make her cakes to worship her?’ &c. Jer. xliv. 18, 19. Ib. vii. 18.[92]”

Irish Custom.

In the midland districts of Ireland, viz. the province of Connaught, on Good Friday, it is a common practice with the lower orders of Irish catholics to prevent their young from having any sustenance, even to those at the breast, from twelve on the previous night to twelve on Friday night, and the fathers and mothers will only take a small piece of dry bread and a draught of water during the day. It is a common sight to see along the roads between the different market towns, numbers of women with their hair dishevelled, barefooted, and in their worst garments; all this is in imitation of Christ’s passion.[93]

* * * * *

In Ireland, as a catholic country, excessive attention prevails to the remarkable instances in the passion of Christ, which terminated in the crucifixion; and a revelation from Christ himself, to three nuns canonized by the Romish church, has been devised to heighten the fervour of the ignorant. The Irish journals of 1770, contain the copy of a singular paper said to have been sold to devotees at a high price, viz.

H I | S HOLY---+---JUBILEE, 1770. | |

“This revelation was made by the mouth of our Lord Jesus Christ, to those three saints, viz. St. Elizabeth, St. Clare, and St. Bridget, they being desirous to know something in particular of the blessed passion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

“First, I received 30 cuffs; 2dly, when I was apprehended in the garden, I received 40 blows: 3dly, I journeying to Annas’s house, got 7 falls: 4thly, they gave me 444 blows of whips upon my shoulders: 5thly, they raised me up from the ground, by the hair of the head, 330 times: 6thly, they gave me 30 blows against my teeth: 7thly, I have breathed 8888 sighs: 8thly, they drew me by my beard 35 times: 9thly, I received one mortal wound at the foot of the cross: 10th, 666 blows they gave me when I was bound to the pillar of stone: 11th, they set a crown of thorns upon my head: 12th, they have spitted at me 63 times: 13th, the soldiers gave me 88 blows of whips: 14th, they gave me gall and vinegar to drink: 15th, when I hanged on the cross I received five mortal wounds.

“All men or women that will say seven paters, seven aves, and a creed daily, in honour of the blessed passion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, for the space of 15 years, they shall obtain five graces: first, they shall receive plenary indulgence and remission of their sins; 2dly, they will not suffer the pains of purgatory; 3dly, if it happen that they die before 15 years be ended, they shall obtain grace as well as if they had suffered martyrdom; 4thly, in point of death, I will not come myself alone, to receive his own soul, but also his parents, if they be in purgatory; finally, I will convert them into everlasting bliss.

“This revelation hath those virtues, that whosoever shall carry it about him, shall be free from his enemies, neither will he die of any sudden death; and if there be any woman with child, that carry this revelation about her, she shall feel no pain in child-birth; and in whatsoever part of the house this revelation shall lye, it shall not be infected with any contagious diseases, or any other evil: and whosoever shall carry it about him, the glorious virgin Mary will show herself to him 46 days before his death.”

H I | S --+-- | |

The custom of preaching at St. Paul’s cross on Good Friday and other holidays, and some account of the cross itself is communicated in the following letter of a correspondent, who will be recognised by his initials to have been a contributor of former interesting articles.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Kennington, March 10, 1826.

Sir,--The following account of a sermon, annually preached on Good Friday at St. Paul’s cross, with a brief notice of that structure, will I hope be considered worthy preservation in your valuable miscellany.

It was, for a considerable period, a custom on Good Friday in the afternoon, for some learned man, by appointment of the bishop, to preach a sermon at Paul’s cross, which was situated in the midst of the churchyard on the north side towards the east end. The sermon generally treated of Christ’s passion; and upon the ensuing Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in Easter week, other learned men used to preach in a similar pulpit, at the Spital, now the Old Artillery Ground, Spitalfields; the subject of their discourse was the articles of Christ’s resurrection. Then, on Low Sunday, another divine was at Paul’s cross, to make a rehearsal of the four former sermons, either commending or disproving them as in his judgment he thought fit; all this done, (which by the by was no easy task,) he was to make a sermon himself, which in all were five sermons in one. At these sermons, so severally preached, the mayor, with his brethren the aldermen, were accustomed to be present in their “violets,” at St. Paul’s on Good Friday, and in their “scarlets,” both they and their ladies, at the Spital, in the holidays, except Wednesday in violet; and the mayor, with his brethren, on Low Sunday, in scarlet, at Paul’s cross. Since the Restoration these sermons were continued, by the name of the Spital sermons, at St. Bride’s, with the like solemnity, on Easter Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, every year.

Respecting the antiquity of this custom, I learn from Maitland, that, in the year 1398, king Richard having procured from Rome confirmation of such statutes and ordinances as were made in the parliament begun at Westminster and ended at Shrewsbury, he caused the same confirmation to be read and pronounced at Paul’s cross, and at St. Mary, Spital, in the sermons before all the people. Philip Malpas, one of the sheriffs, in the year 1439, the eighteenth of Henry VII., gave twenty shillings a year to the three preachers at the Spital. Stephen Foster, mayor, in the year 1454, gave forty shillings to the preachers of Paul’s cross and Spital. Opposite the pulpit at the Spital, was a handsome house of two stories high, for the mayor, aldermen, sheriffs, and other persons of distinction, to sit in, to hear the sermons preached in the Easter holidays; in the part above, stood the bishop of London and other prelates.

In foul and rainy weather, these solemn sermons were preached in a place called the shrowds, which was by the side of the cathedral church under covering, but open in front.--Ellis’s St. Paul’s Cathedral, p. 52.

For the maintenance of these St. Paul’s cross sermons, many of the citizens were liberal benefactors; as Aylmer, bishop of London, the countess dowager of Shrewsbury, Thomas Russell, George Bishop, who gave ten pounds a year, &c.; and for further encouragement of those preachers, in the year 1607, the lord mayor and court of aldermen then ordered, “that every one that should preach there, considering the journies some of them might take from the universities, or elsewhere, should at his pleasure be freely entertained, for five days space, with sweet and convenient lodging, fire, candle, and all other necessaries, viz. from Thursday before their day of preaching, to Thursday morning following.” This provision had a good effect, and the custom continued for some time, added to which the bishop of London, or his chaplain, when he sent to any one to preach, signified the place whither he might sojourn at his coming up, and be entertained freely. Towards this charge of the city, George Palin, a merchant of London, gave two hundred pounds to defray expenses.

At some future time a few observations on crosses will be introduced; at present I shall confine myself to the history of St. Paul’s cross, which was used, not only for the instruction of mankind by the doctrine of the preacher, but for every purpose, political or ecclesiastical; for giving force to oaths; for promulgating laws; or rather, the royal pleasure; for the emission of papal bulls; for anathematizing sinners; for benedictions; for exposing penitents under censure of the church; for recantations; for the private ends of the ambitious; and for defaming those who had incurred the displeasure of the crown. Pennant, 4to. 394.

To enter minutely into all the events connected with the history of this cross would be a work of considerable labour and difficulty, added to which, space could not be well spared in a work of the present nature. I shall therefore only notice some of the most remarkable that occur in history.

This cross was strongly built of timber, mounted upon steps of stone, and covered with lead. The earliest mention of it occurs in the year 1259, when king Henry III. commanded a general assembly to be made at the cross, where he in person commanded the mayor that on the morrow he should cause to be sworn before the alderman, every youth of twelve years of age or upward, to be true to the king and his heirs kings of England. In the same year Henry III. caused to be read at this cross a bull obtained from pope Urban IV. as an absolution for him and for all that were sworn to maintain the articles made in the parliament at Oxford. In the year 1299, the dean of St. Paul’s cursed at the cross all those which had searched in the church of St. Martin in the Fields for a hoard of gold, &c.

This pulpit cross was by tempest of lightning and thunder, much defaced Thomas Kempe, bishop of London, from 28 Hen. VI. to 5 Hen. VII., new built the pulpit and cross.

The following is curious:--

“On the 8th day of March, 1555, while a doctor preached at the cross, a man did penance for transgressing Lent, holding two pigs ready drest, whereof one was upon his head, having brought them to sell.”--[Strype’s Ecclesiastical Memorials.]

Before this cross, in 1483, was brought, divested of all her splendour, Jane Shore, the charitable, the merry concubine of Edward IV., and after his death, of his favourite the unfortunate lord Hastings. After the loss of her protectors, she fell a victim to the malice of the crook-backed tyrant Richard III. He was disappointed (by her excellent defence) of convicting her of witchcraft, and confederating with her lover to destroy him. He then attacked her on the side of frailty. This was undeniable. He consigned her to the severity of the church: she was carried to the bishop’s palace, clothed in a white sheet, with a taper in her hand, and from thence conducted to the cathedral, and the cross, before which she made a confession of her only fault. “In her penance she went,” says Holinshed, “in countenance and pase demure, so womanlie, that albeit she were out of all araie, save her kirtle onlie, yet went she so faire and lovelie, namelie, while the woondering of the people cast a comelie rud in hir cheeks (of whiche she before had most misse), that hir great shame was hir much praise among those that were more amorous of hir bodie than curious of hir soule. And manie good folkes that hated hir living (and glad were to see sin corrected), yet pitied they more hir penance than rejoised therin, when they considered that the Protector procured it more of a corrupt intent, than anie virtuous affection.”--[Hardyng’s Chron. 4to. Lond. 1812. p. 499.] She lived to a great age, but in great distress and poverty; deserted even by those to whom she had, during prosperity, done the most essential services.

In 1538, “The 24th of February being Sunday, the Rood of Boxeley, in Kent, called the ‘Rood of Grace,’ made with divers vices, to move the eyes and lips, was shewed at Pawle’s Cross by the preacher, which was the bishop of Rochester, and there it was broken and plucked to pieces.”--[Stow’s Annals, p. 575.]

“On the 17th of November, 1595, a day of great triumph for the long and prosperous raigne of her majestie (queen Elizabeth) at London, the pulpit crosse in Pawle’s churchyard was new repayred, painted, and partly inclosed with a wal of bricke: Doctour Fletcher, bishop of London, preached there in prayse of the queene, and prayer for her majestie, before the lord mayor, aldermen, and citizens, in their best liveries. Which sermon being ended, upon the church leades the trumpets sounded, the cornets winded, and the quiristers sung an antheme. On the steeple many lights were burned: the Tower shot off her ordinance, the bels were rung, bonefires made,” &c.--[Stow’s Annals, p. 770.]

Pennant says, the last sermon which was preached at this place was before James I., who came in great state from Whitehall, on Midlent Sunday, 1620; but Mr. Ellis, the learned and indefatigable editor of the new edition of Dugdale’s “History of St. Paul’s Cathedral,” says, there is a sermon in print, entitled, “The White Wolfe, preached at Paul’s Crosse, February 11, 1627;” and according to the continuator of “Stow’s Annals,” Charles I., on the 30th of May, 1630, having attended divine service in the cathedral, “went into a roome, and heard the sermon at Paule’s Crosse.”--[Stow’s Annals, p. 1045.]

Thus this cross stood till it was demolished, in 1643, by order of parliament, executed by the willing hands of Isaac Pennington, the fanatical lord mayor of London for that year, who died in the Tower a convicted regicide.

The engraving at the head of this article is from a drawing in the Pepysian library, and appears to have been the same that was erected circa 1450.

There is a large painting of this cross as it appeared on Sunday, 26th of March, 1620, when king James I., his queen, Charles, prince of Wales, the archbishop of Canterbury, &c. attended with their court. It has been engraved in Wilkinson’s “Londina Illustrata.”

I am, Sir, &c. &c.

T. A.

Good Friday at Lisbon.

To a protestant, the observance of this holiday in catholic countries is especially remarkable. In 1768, the late rev. George Whitefield published “An Account of some Lent and other Extraordinary Processions and Ecclesiastical Entertainments seen at Lisbon; in four Letters to an English Friend.” Very early in the morning of Good Friday, he had gone on board a vessel at Bellem for the purpose of sailing, but the wind dying away he returned ashore. “But how was the scene changed! Before, all used to be noise and hurry; now all was hushed and shut up in the most awful and profound silence. No clock or bell had been heard since yesterday noon, and scarce a person was to be seen in the street all the way to Lisbon. About two in the afternoon we got to the place where (I had heard some days ago) an extraordinary scene was to be exhibited: it was ‘the crucifixion of the Son of God, represented partly by dumb images, and partly by living persons, in a large church belonging to the convent of St. De Beato.’ Several thousands crowded into it, some of which, as I was told, had been waiting there ever since six in the morning. I was admitted, and very commodiously situated to view the whole performance. We had not waited long before the curtain was drawn up. Immediately, upon a high scaffold, hung in the front with black baize, and behind with silk purple damask laced with gold, was exhibited to our view an image of the Lord Jesus, at full length, crowned with thorns, and nailed on a cross, between two figures of like dimensions, representing the two thieves. At a little distance on the right hand was placed an image of the virgin Mary, in plain long ruffles, and a kind of widow’s weeds. The veil was purple silk, and she had a wire glory round her head. At the foot of the cross lay, in a mournful pensive posture, a living man dressed in woman’s clothes, who personated Mary Magdalen; and not far off stood a young man, in imitation of the beloved disciple. He was dressed in a loose green silk vesture and bob-wig. His eyes were fixed on the cross, and his two hands a little extended. On each side, near the front of the stage, stood two sentinels in buff, with formidable caps and long beards; and directly in the front stood another yet more formidable, with a large target in his hand. We may suppose him to be the Roman centurion. To complete the scene, from behind the purple hangings came out about twenty little purple-vested winged boys, two by two, each bearing a lighted wax taper in his hand, and having a crimson and gold cap on his head. At their entrance upon the stage, they gently bowed their heads to the spectators, then kneeled and made obeisance, first to the image on the cross, and then to that of the virgin Mary. When risen, they bowed to each other, and then took their respective places over against one another, on steps assigned for them on the front of the stage. Opposite to this, at a few yards’ distance, stood a black friar in a pulpit hung with mourning. For a while he paused, and then breaking silence, gradually raised his voice till it was extended to a pretty high pitch, though I think scarcely high enough for so large an auditory. After he had proceeded in his discourse about a quarter of an hour, a confused noise was heard near the great front door; and turning my head, I saw four long-bearded men, two of whom carried a ladder on their shoulders; and after them followed two more, with large gilt dishes in their hands, full of linen, spices, &c.; these, as I imagined, were the representatives of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimatlian. On a signal given from the pulpit, they advanced towards the steps of the scaffold; but, upon their first attempting to mount it, at the watchful centurion’s nod, the observant soldiers made a pass at them, and presented the points of their javelins directly to their breasts. They are repulsed. Upon this, a letter from Pilate is produced. The centurion reads it, shakes his head, and with looks that bespoke a forced compliance, beckons the sentinels to withdraw their arms. Leave being thus obtained, they ascend; and having paid their homage by kneeling first to the image on the cross and then to the virgin Mary, they retired to the back of the stage. Still the preacher continued declaiming, or rather, as was said, explaining the mournful scene. Magdalen persists in wringing her hands, and variously expressing her personated sorrow; while John (seemingly regardless of all besides) stood gazing on the crucified figure. By this time it was nearly three o’clock, and the scene was drawing to a close. The ladders are ascended, the superscription and crown of thorns taken off; long white rollers put round the arms of the image; and then the nails knocked out which fastened the hands and feet. Here Mary Magdalen looks most languishing, and John, if possible, stands more thunderstruck than before. The orator lifts up his voice, and almost all the hearers expressed their concern by weeping, beating their breasts, and smiting their cheeks. At length the body is gently let down; Magdalen eyes it, and gradually rising, receives the feet into her wide spread handkerchief; while John (who hitherto had stood motionless like a statue), as the body came nearer the ground, with an eagerness that bespoke the intense affection of a sympathizing friend, runs towards the cross, seizes the upper part of it into his clasping arms, and, with his disguised fellow-mourner, helps to bear it away. And here the play should end, was I not afraid that you would be angry with me if I did not give you an account of the last act, by telling you what became of the corpse after it was taken down. Great preparations were made for its interment. It was wrapped in linen and spices, &c. and being laid upon a bier richly hung, was carried round the churchyard in grand procession. The image of the virgin Mary was chief mourner; and John and Magdalen, with a whole troop of friars with wax tapers in their hands, followed. Determined to see the whole, I waited its return, and in about a quarter of an hour the corpse was brought in, and deposited in an open sepulchre prepared for the purpose; but not before a priest, accompanied by several of the same order, in splendid vestments, had perfumed it with incense, sang to, and kneeled before it. John and Magdalen attended the obsequies, but the image of the virgin Mary was carried away, and placed in the front of the stage, in order to be kissed, adored, and worshipped by the people. And thus ends this Good Friday’s tragi-comical, superstitious, idolatrous droll. I am well aware that the Romanists deny the charge of idolatry; but after having seen what I have seen this day, as well as at sundry other times since my arrival here, I cannot help thinking but a person must be capable of making more than metaphysical distinctions, and deal in very abstract ideas indeed, fairly to evade the charge.”

Good Friday at Seville.

The rev. Blanco White relates the celebration of the day at Seville in the following terms:--

The altars, which, at the end of yesterday’s mass, were publicly and solemnly stripped of their clothes and rich table-hangings by the hands of the priest, appear in the same state of distressed negligence. No musical sound is heard, except the deep-toned voices of the psalm, or plain chant singers. After a few preparatory prayers, and the dramatized history of the passion, already described, the officiating priest (the archbishop at the cathedral), in a plain albe or white tunic, takes up a wooden cross six or seven feet high, which, like all other crosses, has for the last two weeks of Lent been covered with a purple veil, and standing towards the people, before the middle of the altar, gradually uncovers the sacred emblem, which both the clergy and laity worship upon their knees. The prelate is then unshod by the assistant ministers, and taking the cross upon his right shoulder, as our saviour is represented by painters on his way to Calvary, he walks alone from the altar to the entrance of the presbytery or chancel, and lays his burden upon two cushions. After this, he moves back some steps, and approaching the cross with three prostrations, kisses it, and drops an oblation of a piece of silver into a silver dish. The whole chapter, having gone through the same ceremony, form themselves in two lines, and repair to the monument, from whence the officiating priest conveys the deposited host to the altar, where he communicates upon it without consecrating any wine. Here the service terminates abruptly; all candles and lamps are extinguished; and the tabernacle, which throughout the year contains the sacred wafers, being left open, every object bespeaks the desolate and widowed state of the church from the death of the saviour to his resurrection.

The ceremonies of Good Friday being short, and performed at an early hour, both the gay and the devout would be at a loss how to spend the remainder of the day but for the grotesque passion sermons of the suburbs and neighbouring villages, and the more solemn performance known by the name of Tres Horas,--three hours.

The practice of continuing in meditation from twelve to three o’clock of this day,--the time which our saviour is supposed to have hung on the cross,--was introduced by the Spanish Jesuits, and partakes of the impressive character which the members of that order had the art to impart to the religious practices by which they cherished the devotional spirit of the people. The church where the three hours are kept is generally hung in black, and made impervious to daylight. A large crucifix is seen on the high altar, under a black canopy, with six unbleached wax candles, which cast a sombre glimmering on the rest of the church. The females of all ranks occupy, as usual, the centre of the nave, squatting or kneeling on the matted ground, and adding to the dismal appearance of the scene by the colour of their veils and dresses.

Just as the clock strikes twelve, a priest in his cloak and cassock ascends the pulpit, and delivers a preparatory address of his own composition. He then reads the printed meditations on the seven words, or sentences, spoken by Jesus on the cross, allotting to each such a portion of time as that, with the interludes of music which follow each of the readings, the whole may not exceed three hours. The music is generally good and appropriate, and if a sufficient band can be collected, well repays to an amateur the inconvenience of a crowded church, where, from the want of seats, the male part of the congregation are obliged either to stand or kneel. It is, in fact, one of the best works of Haydn, composed a short time ago for some gentlemen of Cadiz, who showed both their taste and liberality in thus procuring this masterpiece of harmony for the use of their country. It has been lately published in Germany under the title of the “Sette Parole.”

Every part of the performance is so managed, that the clock strikes three about the end of the meditation, on the words, It is finished. The picture of the expiring saviour, powerfully drawn by the original writer of the Tres Horas, can hardly fail to strike the imagination when listened to under the influence of such music and scenery; and when, at the first stroke of the clock, the priest rises from his seat, and in a loud and impassioned voice, announces the consummation of the awful and mysterious sacrifice, on whose painful and bloody progress the mind has been dwelling so long, few hearts can repel the impression, and still fewer eyes can conceal it. Tears bathe every cheek, and sobs heave every female bosom. After a parting address from the pulpit, the ceremony concludes with a piece of music, where the powers of the great composer are magnificently displayed in the imitation of the disorder and agitation of nature which the evangelists relate.

The passion sermons for the populace might be taken for a parody of the three hours. They are generally delivered in the open air, by friars of the Mendicant orders, in those parts of the city and suburbs which are chiefly, if not exclusively, inhabited by the lower classes. Such gay young men, however, as do not scruple to relieve the dulness of Good Friday with a ride, and feel no danger of exposing themselves by any unseasonable laughter, indulge not unfrequently in the frolic of attending one of the most complete and perfect sermons of this kind at the neighbouring village of Castilleja.

A movable pulpit is placed before the church door, from which a friar, possessed of a stentorian voice, delivers an improved history of the passion, such as was revealed to St. Bridget, a Franciscan nun, who, from the dictation of the virgin Mary, has left us a most minute and circumstantial account of the life and death of Christ and his mother. This yearly narrative, however, would have lost most of its interest but for the scenic illustrations, which keep up the expectation and rivet the attention of the audience. It was formerly the custom to introduce a living saint Peter--a character which belonged by a natural and inalienable right to the baldest head in the village--who acted the apostle’s denial, swearing by Christ, he did not know the man. This edifying part of the performance is omitted at Castilleja; though a practised performer crows with such a shrill and natural note as must be answered with challenge by every cock of spirit in the neighbourhood. The flourish of a trumpet announces, in the sequel, the publication of the sentence passed by the Roman governor; and the town crier delivers it with legal precision, in the manner it is practised in Spain before an execution. Hardly has the last word been uttered, when the preacher, in a frantic passion, gives the crier the lie direct, cursing the tongue that has uttered such blasphemies. He then invites an angel to contradict both Pilate and the Jews; when, obedient to the orator’s desire, a boy gaudily dressed, and furnished with a pair of gilt pasteboard wings, appears at a window, and proclaims the true verdict of heaven. Sometimes, in the course of the preacher’s narrative, an image of the virgin Mary is made to meet that of Christ, on his way to Calvary, both taking an affectionate leave in the street. The appearance, however, of the virgin bearing a handkerchief to collect a sum for her son’s burial, is never omitted; both because it melts the whole female audience into tears, and because it produces a good collection for the convent. The whole is closed by the descendimiento, or unnailing a crucifix, as large as life, from the cross, an operation performed by two friars, who, in the character of Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, are seen with ladders and carpenters’ tools letting down the jointed figure, to be placed on a bier and carried into the church in the form of a funeral.

I have carefully glided over such parts of this absurd performance as would shock many an English reader, even in narrative. Yet, such is the strange mixture of superstition and profaneness in the people for whose gratification these scenes are exhibited, that, though any attempt to expose the indecency of these shows would rouse their zeal “to the knife,” I cannot venture to translate the jokes and sallies of wit that are frequently heard among the Spanish peasantry upon these sacred topics.[94]

Judas is a particular object of execration on Good Friday, in the Spanish and Portuguese navy. An eye-witness relates the following occurrences at Monte Video. “The three last days had been kept as days of sorrow; all the ships in the harbour expressed it by having their colours hoisted only half-mast high, as a token of mourning, and the yards crossed as much as possible, to make them resemble a crucifix, while apparent solemnity prevailed both on shore and in the harbour; but immediately on a signal, when the minute arrived, all being in waiting, the yards were squared, the colours hoisted wholly up, and the guns fired from all the ships in the harbour, while the bells on shore were set ringing promiscuously, as fast as possible; and at the bowsprit, or yard-arm of the ships was suspended an effigy of Judas, which they began to dip in the river, acting with the greatest possible enthusiasm and ridiculous madness, beating it on the shoulders, dipping it, and then renewing their former ridiculous conduct.”[95]

Relics of the Crucifixion.

Sir Thomas More, in his “Dialogue concernynge Heresyes, 1528,” says, “Ye might upon Good Friday, every yere this two hundred yere, till within this five yere that the turkes have taken the towne, have sene one of the thornes that was in Cristes crowne, bud and bring forth flowers in the service time, if ye would have gone to Rodes.” The printing press has done more mischief to miracles of this sort than the Turks.

Patience seems to have been wearied in supplying relics to meet the enormous demand. Invention itself became exhausted; for the cravings of credulity are insatiable. If angels are said to weep at man’s “fantastic tricks before high heaven,” protestants may smile, while, perhaps, many catholics deplore the countless frauds devised by Romish priests of knavish minds, for cajoling the unwary and the ignorant. “The greater the miracle the greater the saint,” has been assuredly a belief; and, according to that belief, the greater the relics, the greater the possessors must have appeared, in the eyes of the vulgar. In this view there is no difficulty in accounting for hordes of trumpery in shrines and reliquaries.

The instruments of the crucifixion--the very inscription on the cross--the crown of thorns--the nails--the lance--are shown to the present hour, as the true inscription, the true thorns, the true nails, and the true lance. So also there are exhibitions of the true blood, yet it is a printed truth, that what is exposed to worshippers in churches by ecclesiastics for true blood, is doubted of by the rev. Alban Butler. In a note to his article on “The Invention of the Holy Cross,” he states a ground for his incredulity, quite as singular as that whereon holders of the true blood maintain their faith. His words are: “The blood of Christ, which is kept in some places, of which the most famous is that at Mantua, seems to be what has sometimes issued from the miraculous bleeding of some crucifix, when pierced in derision by Jews or Pagans, instances of which are recorded in authentic histories.”[96] Though, as a catholic priest and biographer well acquainted with these “authentic histories,” Mr. Butler might have set them forth, yet he abstains from the disclosure; and hence on their superior credibility in his eyes, to the credibility of the declarations and testimonials urged by the owners of the blood itself, we may choose between their requisition to believe that the blood is the true blood, and Mr. Butler’s belief, that it is the blood of bleeding crucifixes. So stands the question of credibility.

Concerning the alleged implements of the crucifixion, it would be curious to examine particulars; but we are limited in room, and shall only recur to one--

“THE HOLY LANCE.”

Respecting this weapon, reference should be first made to the great authority cited above. Mr. Butler, speaking of other instruments of Christ’s crucifixion, which he maintains to be genuine, says:--

“The holy lance which opened his sacred side, is kept at Rome, but wants the point. Andrew of Crete says, that it was buried, together with the cross. At least, St. Gregory of Tours, and venerable Bede, testify, that, in their time, it was kept at Jerusalem. For fear of the Saracens it was buried privately at Antioch; in which city it was found, in 1098, under ground, and wrought many miracles, as Robert the monk, and many eye-witnesses, testify. It was carried first to Jerusalem, and soon after to Constantinople. The emperor, Baldwin II., sent the point of it to Venice, by way of pledge for a loan of money. St. Lewis, king of France, redeemed this relick by paying off the sum it lay in pledge for, and caused it to be conveyed to Paris, where it is still kept in the holy chapel. The rest of the lance remained at Constantinople, after the Turks had taken that city, till, in 1492, the sultan Bajazet sent it by an ambassador, in a rich and beautiful case, to pope Innocent VIII., adding, that the point was in the possession of the king of France.”

This is Mr. Butler’s account of the “holy lance,” without the omission of a word, which should be recollected for reasons that will be obvious.

St. Longinus.

It is now necessary to observe, that there is not any account of this saint in Alban Butler’s “Lives of the Saints,” though (in the Breviar Roman. Antiq. 1543) the 15th of March is dedicated to him for his festival, and though the saint himself is declared, in the Romish breviary, to have been the Roman soldier who pierced the side of the saviour with the lance; and that, “being almost blind by the blood which fell, it is supposed on his eyes, he immediately recovered his sight and believed;” and that, furthermore, “forsaking his military profession he converted many to the faith,” and under the president Octavius suffered martyrdom.[97]

Cardinal Vigerius.

This dignitary, who died in 1516, was bishop of Præneste, and arch-priest of the Vatican church. He wrote a book to prove that Christ’s tunic ought to give place to the eminence of Longinus’s lance. The occasion of the work unfolds the history of the holy lance. In 1488, the sultan Bajazet II., being in fear of his brother, who had become prisoner to the king of France, offered that sovereign, if he would keep his brother in France, all the relics which his late father Mahomet had found in Constantinople when he took that city. Bajazet’s letter came too late; the court of France had already promised to put his brother in the custody of Innocent VIII. “When the sultan knew this, he wrote to the pope, and endeavoured to gain him by presents, and amongst others by the iron of the lance that pierced our saviour’s side, which he had before offered to the grand master, and assured him of the punctual payment of 40,000 ducats every year, on condition that he would not let his brother go upon any pretence whatsoever.” It appears, however, that Bajazet retained the relic called the “seamless coat,” and that this gave rise to a great dispute in Italy, as to whether the holy lance presented to the pope, or the holy coat, which Bajazet reserved for himself, was the most estimable; and hence it was assigned to cardinal Vigerius to make it clear that the pope had the best relic. He executed the task to the satisfaction of those who contended for the precedence of the lance.[98]

THE TRUE LANCE.

Utrum horum?

Before speaking further on the lance itself, it must not be forgotten that Alban Butler has told us, “the holy lance kept at Rome wants the point,” and that after various adversities, the point was “conveyed to Paris, where it is still kept in the holy chapel.” But Richard Lassels, who in his “Voyage of Italy, 1670,” visited the church of St. Peter’s, Rome, says, the cupola of that church rests upon “vast square pillars a hundred and twenty feet in compass, and capable of stairs within them, and large sacristyes above for the holy reliques that are kept in them; to wit--the top of the lance wherewith our saviour’s side was pierced--under the top of the lance the statue of Longinus.” So that at Rome, where according to Mr. Butler, the “holy lance” itself is kept, he omits to mention that there is a top of the lance, besides the other top “in the holy chapel” at Paris. In that cathedral, too, we have the statue of St. Longinus, whom Mr. Butler also, for good reasons no doubt, omits to mention in his twelve volumes of “Lives of the Saints.”

But there is another “holy lance.” It is kept in the church of the hospital of Nuremberg, with the crown and sceptre and other regalia of Charlemagne. Misson so particularly distinguishes it, that his account shall be given verbatim. After mentioning the sword of Charlemaigne, which its keepers pretend “was brought by an angel from heaven;” he says, “they also keep many relics in this church; and among others St. Longin’s lance.” There is no reason to doubt, therefore, that the ecclesiastics of Nuremberg deemed Longinus a saint, as well as the ecclesiastics of St. Peter’s at Rome. Misson goes on to say, “They are not ignorant that this pretended lance is to be seen in above ten other places of the world; but, they say, theirs came from Antioch; it was St. Andrew who found it; one single man with it discomfited a whole army; it was the thing of the world which Charlemaigne loved most. The other lances are counterfeits, and this is the true one.” It is requisite to observe Misson’s very next words, which, though they do not seem connected with this “true lance” of Nuremberg, are yet connected with the issue. He proceeds to say, “They have also an extraordinary veneration for a piece of the cross, in the midst of which there is a hole that was made by one of the nails. They tell us, that heretofore, the emperors placed their greatest hopes of prosperity and success, both in peace and war, in the possession of this enlivening wood, with the nail and other relics that are kept at Nuremberg.” Misson then adds, by way of note, the following

List of these Relics.

The lance.

The piece of the wood of the cross.

One of the nails.

Five thorns of the crown that was put on Christ’s head.

Part of the chains with which St. Peter and St. Paul were bound at Rome.

A little piece of the manger.

A tooth of St. John Baptist.

One of St. Anne’s arms.

The towel with which Christ wiped the feet of his apostles.

A piece of St. John the Evangelist’s gown.

A piece from the table cloth which Christ used at his last supper with his disciples.

These relics, accompanying Misson’s account of the “true lance” of Nuremberg, are here enumerated, because his statement as to the existence of the lance, in connection with those relics, is corroborated by a rare print, sixteen inches and a quarter wide, by thirteen inches high, published by the ecclesiastics of Nuremberg, in the possession of the editor of the Every-Day Book. It represents the whole of these relics at one view, except the five thorns. The true lance, being placed in the print angle-ways, measures nineteen inches and three quarters, from the point of the sheath to the rim of the iron shaft. The preceding column contains a reduced fac-simile of this “true” relic. It is not denied that the “holy lance” at Paris, “where it is still kept in the holy chapel,” is also “true”--they are without a shadow of doubt, equally “true.” See Butler and Misson, and Misson and Butler.

By the by, it must be remembered, that the genuine lantern which Judas carried, was also “kept at Rome,” when Misson was there; and that, at the same time, Judas’s lantern was also at St. Denis in France--both genuine.[99]

* * * * *

The romance of “Spomydon,” printed by Wynkyn de Worde, celebrates the exploits of Charlemagne, for the recovery or the relics of the passion in the following lines:--

~Cherles--wanne fro the hethen houndes The spere and nayles of crystes woundes And also the croune of thorne And many a ryche relyke mo Maugre of them he wanne also And kylled them euen and morne.~

Pilate.

There is a tradition at Vienne, that in the reign of the emperor Tiberius, Pontius Pilate was exiled to that city, where he died not long after, of grief and despair, for not having prevented the crucifixion of the saviour; and his body was thrown into the Rhone. There it remained, neither carried away by the force of the current, nor consumed by decay, for five hundred years; until the town being afflicted with the plague, it was revealed to the then archbishop, in a vision, that the calamity was occasioned by Pilate’s body, which unknown to the good people of Vienne was lying at the foot of a certain tower. The place was accordingly searched and the body drawn up entire, but nothing could equal its intolerable odour. Wherefore, it was carried to a marsh two leagues from the town, and there interred; but for a long series of years after, strange noises were reported by certain people to issue from this place continually; these sounds were believed to be the groans of Pontius Pilate, and the cries of the devils tormenting him. They also imagined, the neighbourhood of his body to be the cause of violent storms of thunder and lightning which are frequent at Vienne; and as the tower, where the body was found, has been several times struck by lightning, it has acquired the name of the tower of Mauconseil.[100]

* * * * *

It will be seen from the subjoined letter of a correspondent, who communicates his name to the editor, that remains of the ancient disguises are still to be seen in the proceedings of those persons in this country, who, towards the termination of the fast of Lent, collect materials for good cheer to make an Easter festival.

PASTE EGGS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Liverpool, Good Friday, 1826.

Sir,--Having been much entertained lately by your accounts of “festivals, and fairs, and plays,” I am induced to contribute, in some small degree, to the store of amusement in your interesting every-day miscellany. The subject on which I am to treat, is a custom that prevails in the neighbourhood of West Derby, on this day; it is known by the denomination of “paste egging,” and is practised by the humbler classes of the juvenile peasantry.

The parties who are disposed to partake in the fun, disguise themselves in the most fantastic habiliments--such as clothes turned inside out, with strange patches on, some with masks, veils, ribbands, &c.; some with faces blacked, and (perhaps, your fair readers may not excuse me for telling them that,) even the females disguise their sex! Thus equipped, they betake themselves (in numbers of from about four to a dozen of both sexes) to the different farm-houses, and solicit contributions towards the “festival” of Easter Sunday. The beginning of my tale seems to indicate the sort of gifts that are expected; these gifts are generally made up of great numbers of eggs and oatmeal cakes. One of the party usually carries a basket for the cakes, another for the eggs, and (as our best feasts can scarcely be got up without a portion of the one thing needful,) a third is the bearer of a small box for pecuniary contributions.

Conscious of the charms of music, they generally exhilarate their benefactors with some animated songs, appropriate to the occasion, and sung in excellent taste; and by these means seldom fail to return homeward with a plentiful supply of their “paste egg,” and no trivial aid in money. With these materials, a festival is got up on Easter Sunday evening. The different parties meet at the village alehouse, where “Bacchus’s blisses and Venus’s kisses,” accompany the circling bowl, and associate the village host in a universal compact of mirth and merriment.

I cannot discover any reasonable account of the origin of this custom; and must, therefore, Mr. Editor, subscribe myself, your faithful servant,

WILL. HONEYCOMB.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·27.

[92] Bryant’s Analysis.

[93] Communicated by T. A.

[94] Doblado’s Letters.

[95] Gregory’s Journal of a captured Missionary.

[96] Butler’s Lives of the Saints, (edit. 1795) vol. v. p. 47.

[97] Bishop Patrick’s Reflections.

[98] Bayle.

[99] Misson’s Travels, 1714.

[100] Miss Plumtree’s Residence.

~March 25.~

Annunciation, or Lady Day.

QUARTER DAY.

For the Every-Day Book.

Relentless, undelaying quarter-day! Cold, though in Summer, cheerless, though in Spring, In Winter, bleak; in Autumn, withering-- No quarter dost thou give, not for one day, But rent and tax enforceth us to pay; Or, with a quarter-staff, enters our dwelling, Thy ruthless minion, our small chattels selling, And empty-handed sending us away!--

Thee I abhor, although I lack not coin To bribe thy “itching palm:” for I behold The poor and needy whom sharp hunger gnawing Compels to flit, on darksome night and cold, Leaving dismantled walls to meet thy claim:-- Then scorn I thee, and hold them free from blame!

X.

The Last Day of Lent.

Lady Morgan describes the “sepulchres,” in the churches of Italy, to have been watched night and day by hundreds clad in deep mourning from the dawn of Holy Thursday till Saturday at mid-day, when the body is supposed to rise from the grave, and the resurrection is announced by the firing of cannon, the blowing of trumpets, and the ringing of bells which from the preceding Thursday had been carefully tied up to protect them from the power of the devil. “On this day, the whole foreign population of Rome rolls on, in endless succession, to the Vatican. The portico, colonnades, and vestibules, both of the church and palace, assume the air of the court of a military despot. Every epoch in the military costume is there gaudily exhibited. Halberdiers in coats of mail, and slate-coloured pantaloons, which pass upon the faithful for polished steel armour; the Swiss in their antique dresses of buff and scarlet, and lamberkeens; the regular troops in their modern uniforms; the guardia nobile, the pope’s voltigeurs, all feathers and feebleness, gold and glitter; generals of the British army, colonels and subalterns of every possible yeomanry, with captains and admirals of the navy, and a host of nondescripts, laymen, and protestant clergymen, who ‘for the nonce’ take shelter under any thing resembling an uniform, that may serve as a passe-partout, where none are courteously received but such as wear the livery of church or state militant;--all move towards the portals of the Sistine chapel, which, with their double guards, resemble the mouth of a military pass, dangerous to approach, and difficult to storm. The ladies press with an imprudent impetuosity upon the guards, who, with bayonets fixed and elbows squared, repress them with a resistance, such as none but female assailants would dare to encounter a second time. Thousands of tickets of admission are shown aloft by upraised hands, and seconded by high-raised voices; while the officer of the guard, who can read and tear but one at a time, leaves the task of repulsion to the Swiss, who manfully second their ‘allez fous en’ with a physical force, that in one or two instances incapacitated the eager candidates for further application. A few English favoured by the minister, and all the princes and diplomatists resident at Rome, pioneered by their guards of honour, make their way without let or molestation. One side of the space, separated from the choir by a screen, is fitted up for them apart; the other is for the whole female congregation, who are crushed in, like sheep in a fold. The men, if in uniform or full court dresses, are admitted to a tribune within the choir; while the inferior crowd, left to shift for themselves, rush in with an impetuosity none can resist; for though none are admitted at all to the chapel without tickets, yet the number of applicants (almost exclusively foreign) is much too great for the limited capacity of the place. A scene of indescribable confusion ensues. The guards get mingled with the multitude. English peers are overturned by Roman canons. Irish friars batter the old armour of the mailed halberdiers with fists more formidable than the iron they attack. Italian priests tumble over tight-laced dandies; and the ‘Via via’ of the Roman guard, and the ‘Fous ne restez pas issi’ of the Swiss mingle with screams, supplications and reproofs, long after the solemn service of the church has begun. The procession of the sacrament to the Paoline chapel succeeds; its gates are thrown open, and its dusky walls appear illuminated with thousands of tapers, twinkling in the rays of the noonday sun, through an atmosphere of smoke. Few are able to enter the illuminated chapel, or to behold the deposition of the sacrament; and many who are informed of the programme of the day, by endeavouring to catch at all the ceremonies, scarcely attain to any.”[101]

Easter Eve in Spain.

Mr. Blanco White says, that the service in the cathedral of Seville begins this morning without either the sound of bells or of musical instruments. The paschal chandle is seen by the north side of the altar. It is, in fact, a pillar of wax, nine yards in height, and thick in proportion, standing on a regular marble pedestal. It weighs eighty arrobas, or two thousand pounds, of twelve ounces. This candle is cast and painted new every year, the old one being broken into pieces on the Saturday preceding Whitsunday, the day when part of it is used for the consecration of the baptismal font. The sacred torch is lighted with the new fire, which this morning the priest strikes out of a flint, and it burns during service till Ascension-day. A chorister in his surplice climbs up a gilt-iron rod, furnished with steps like a flag-staff, and having the top railed in, so as to admit of a seat on a level with the end of the candle. From this crow’s nest, the young man lights up and trims the wax pillar, drawing off the melted wax with a large iron ladle.

High mass begins this day behind the great veil, which for the two last weeks in Lent covers the altar. After some preparatory prayers, the priest strikes up the hymn Gloria in excelsis Deo. At this moment the veil flies off, the explosion of fireworks in the upper galleries reverberates in a thousand echoes from the vaults of the church, and the four-and-twenty large bells of its tower awake, with their discordant though gladdening sounds, those of the one hundred and forty-six steeples which this religious town boasts of. A brisk firing of musketry, accompanied by the howling of the innumerable dogs, which, unclaimed by any master, live and multiply in the streets, adds strength and variety to this universal din. The firing is directed against several stuffed figures, not unlike Guy Fawkes of the fifth of November, which are seen hanging by the neck on a rope, extended across the least frequented streets. It is then that the pious rage of the people of Seville is vented against the arch-traitor Judas, whom they annually hang, shoot, draw, and quarter in effigy.

The church service ends in a procession about the aisles. The priest bears the host in his hands, visible through glass as a picture within a medallion. The sudden change from the gloomy appearance of the church and its ministers, to the simple and joyous character of this procession, the very name of pasqua florída, the flowery passover, and, more than the name, the flowers themselves, which well-dressed children, mixed with the censer-bearers, scatter on the ground, crowd the mind and heart with the ideas, hopes, and feelings of renovated life, and give to this ceremony, even for those who disbelieve the personal presence of a Deity triumphant over death, a character of inexpressible tenderness.[102]

Papal Conversion of the Jews.

The day before Easter Sunday at Rome, two or more Jews are procured to be baptized. An eye-witness of a couple of these converts, says, “The two devoted Israelites prepared for this occasion, attired in dirty yellow silk gowns, were seated on a bench within the marble front of the baptistery, which resembles a large bath, both in form and shape, conning their prayers out of a book, with most rueful visages. Fast to their sides stuck their destined godfathers, two black-robed doctors of divinity, as if to guard and secure their spiritual captives. The ancient vase at the bottom of the font, in which, according to an absurd legend, Constantine was healed of his leprosy by St. Sylvester, stood before them filled with water, and its margin adorned with flowers. The cardinal bishop, who had been employed ever since six o’clock in the benediction of fire, water, oil, wax, and flowers, now appeared, followed by a long procession of priests and crucifixes. He descended into the font, repeated a great many prayers in Latin over the water, occasionally dipping his hand into it. Then a huge flaming wax taper, about six feet high, and of proportionate thickness, painted with images of the virgin and Christ, which had previously been blessed, was set upright in the vase; more Latin prayers were mumbled--one of the Jews was brought, the bishop cut the sign of the cross in the hair, at the crown of his head, then, with a silver ladle, poured some of the water upon the part, baptizing him in the usual forms, both the godfathers and he having agreed to all that was required of them. The second Jew was then brought, upon whom the same ceremonies were performed; this poor little fellow wore a wig, and, when the cold water was poured on his bare skull, he winced exceedingly, and made many wry faces. They were then conveyed to the altar of the neighbouring chapel, where they were confirmed, and repeated the creed. The bishop then made the sign of the cross upon their foreheads, with holy oil, over which white fillets were immediately tied to secure it; he then pronounced a long exhortation, in the course of which he frightened them so that the little Jew with a wig began to cry most bitterly, and would not be comforted. This being over, the Jews were conducted, with great ceremony, from the baptistery to the door of the church, where they stopped, and, after some chanting by the bishop, they were allowed to pass the threshold; they were then seated within the very pale of the altar, in order that they might witness a succession of various ceremonies.”[103]

Greek Preparation for Easter.

The Rev. J. Conner describes the ceremonies of the Greek church at Jerusalem on Easter-eve. “I went to the church to spend the night there, that I might view all the different observances. It is a general belief among the Greeks and Armenians, that, on Easter-eve, a fire descends from heaven into the sepulchre. The eagerness of the Greeks, Armenians, and others, to light their candles at this holy fire, carried an immense crowd to the church, notwithstanding the sum which they were obliged to pay. About nine at night, I retired to rest, in a small apartment in the church. A little before midnight, the servant roused me to see the Greek procession. I hastened to the gallery of the church. The scene was striking and brilliant. The Greek chapel was splendidly illuminated. Five rows of lamps were suspended in the dome; and almost every individual of the immense multitude held a lighted candle in his hand.” The ceremonies on Easter Sunday were very grand.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 42·85.

[101] Lady Morgan’s Italy.

[102] Doblado’s Letters.

[103] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.

~March 26.~

EASTER SUNDAY.

There is little trace in England of the imposing effect of this festival in papal terms.

* * * * *

It is affirmed, that at Queen’s-college, Oxford, the first dish brought to the table on Easter-day, is a red herring, riding away on horseback, that is to say, a herring placed by the cook, something after the likeness of a man on horseback, set on a corn sallad.[104] This is the only vestige of the pageants which formerly were publicly exhibited by way of popular rejoicing for the departure of the forty days Lent fast, and the return to solid eating with the Easter festival.

* * * * *

The custom of eating a gammon of bacon at Easter, still maintained in some parts of England, is founded on the abhorrence our forefathers thought proper to express, in that way, towards the Jews at the season of commemorating the resurrection.[105]

* * * * *

Lifting at Easter, and pace or paste eggs, with other usages derived from catholic customs, are described and traced in vol. i. p. 421.

Since these “Caps well fit; by Titus in Sandgate and Titus every where,” a curious little duodecimo, printed at Newcastle in 1785, has come into the editor’s hands, from whence is extracted the following--

Paste Egg Tale

Once--yes once, upon a Paste-Egg-Day, Some lords and ladies met to play; For then such pastimes bore the bell. Like old Olympicks--full as well; And now, our gentry on the green, Throng’d forth, to see, and to be seen, Moment this, for assignation, And all the courtesy of fashion.

A poor old woman, passing by, Gaz’d at the ring with curious eye Sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling. In thought approving--or reviling. Not yet quite froze, by want or age, Her fancy could at times engage; Her age might reckon eighty-five, But curiosity alive, She fix’d her barnacles to nose The better to observe the shows.

Discover’d soon--some wags stept forth, And ask’d her, what such sights were worth, What did she think of genteel modes, Where half believ’d themselves half-Gods? And t’other half, so wondrous wise, Believe that bliss--in trifling lies? They begg’d that she would frank declare What she thought such people were?

The grey-hair’d matron rubb’d her eyes, Then turn’d her glasses to the skies; As if to catch some thought in cue, To give them truth and laughter too. Next, humbly beg’d for some Paste Eggs, With leave to sit,--to rest her legs. Then down she squats, and round they throng, Impatient for some jokelike song;

Of eggs they brought her number nine, All nicely mark’d, and colour’d fine, One, was blacker than the sloe, Another, white as driven snow. Red, crimson, purple, azure, blue, Green, pink, and yellow, rose to view. She closely peel’d them, one by one, Broke this, and that, till all were done. Then shrugg’d her shoulders,--wav’d her head, But not one syllable she said.

Amaz’d, at silence so profound; The quality press closer round; And gently urg’d her, more and more, To answer what they ask’d before? And how did one so ripe in years, Estimate a life like theirs? What semblance, worthy observation, Suited the heirs of dissipation? Whilst she, kept pressing up and down As seeking how their wish to crown. What had she apropos to say Of persons so superbly gay?

In throth--quo’ she, I’m short and plain Long speaking only gives me pain; And faith I have ye, gentlefolks, As clear in view, as whites or yokes, So like those eggs--I can but smile, In every cast of light and style. Your transient colours, fleet as theirs, Your flimsiness, in spite of airs; In substance, scarce more rare or new, Some parboil’d--some par-rotten too: Of little worth, in wisdom’s eye, And thrown, at last, like egg-shells by.

They heard--they frown’d--but fled the green, As if a thunderbolt had been.

Lostwithiel Custom.

A very singular custom formerly prevailed at Lostwithiel, in Cornwall, on Easter Sunday. The freeholders of the town and manor having assembled together, either in person or by their deputies, one among them, each in his turn, gaily attired and gallantly mounted, with a sceptre in his hand, a crown on his head, and a sword borne before him, and respectfully attended by all the rest on horseback, rode through the principal street in solemn state to the church. At the churchyard stile, the curate, or other minister, approached to meet him in reverential pomp, and then conducted him to church to hear divine service. On leaving the church, he repaired, with the same pomp and retinue, to a house previously prepared for his reception. Here a feast, suited to the dignity he had assumed, awaited him and his suite; and, being placed at the head of the table, he was served, kneeling, with all the rites and ceremonies that a real prince might expect. This ceremony ended with the dinner; the prince being voluntarily disrobed, and descending from his momentary exaltation, to mix with common mortals. On the origin of this custom, but one opinion can be reasonably entertained, though it may be difficult to trace the precise period of its commencement. It seems to have originated in the actual appearance of the prince, who resided at Restormel castle in former ages; but on the removal of royalty, this mimic grandeur stepped forth as its shadowy representative, and continued for many generations as a memorial to posterity of the princely magnificence with which Lostwithiel had formerly been honoured.[106]

THE BIDDENDEN MAIDS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Tenterden, February, 1826.

Sir,--I beg to enclose you a specimen of a Biddenden cake, and a printed account, which you may perhaps think worth insertion in the Every-Day Book.

The small town of Biddenden is about four miles from Tenterden, on the right of the road. It is at present populous, though the clothing manufacture, which first occasioned the increase of the population of this part of the county, in the reign of Edward III. when the Flemings first introduced it, has for many years failed here: several good houses, still remaining, discover the prosperity of the former inhabitants. The church is a handsome regular building, and its tower a structure of a considerable height and strength; a portion of the old part is still remaining. In this there is a free grammar school, endowed with a good house and garden, and a salary of 20_l._ per annum. Two maiden sisters left some land adjoining the glebe to the parish, of the rent of 20_l._ a year, which is held by the churchwardens, and distributed in bread to the poor on Easter-day. A representation of the donors is impressed on the leaves, and on the cakes, which were formerly thrown from the roof of the church.

In the high chancel against the north wall is a monument, with a bust in white marble, executed by Scheemaker, of sir John Norris, who died in 1749; admiral of the British fleets, and vice-admiral of England.

I am, &c.

J. J. A. F.

* * * * *

The “Biddenden cake,” transmitted through this obliging correspondent, appears to have been made some years ago, and carefully preserved; the “printed account” accompanying it, is “adorned” by a wood cut figure of the founders of the endowment, improved by the engraver from the impressions on the cakes. But, altogether setting aside that wood cut, the annexed engraving is an exact representation of the baker’s impress on the cake sent to the editor, and is of the exact size of the cake. A verbatim copy of the “printed account” on a half sheet of demy, circulated at this time, is subjoined to the present engraving.

COPY OF THE PRINTED NARRATIVE BEFORE REFERRED TO.

A NEW AND ENLARGED ACCOUNT OF THE

BIDDENDEN MAIDS IN KENT,

BORN JOINED AT THE HIPS AND SHOULDERS:

With a well authenticated Account of a similar Phenomenon of Two Brothers.

On Easter Sunday in every year after Divine Service in the afternoon at the PARISH OF BIDDENDEN, in the County of Kent, there are by the Churchwardens, given to Strangers about 1000 Rolls, with an impression on them similar to the Plate. The origin of this Custom is thus related.

In the year 1100 at Biddenden, in Kent, were born ELIZABETH and MARY CHULKHURST, Joined together by the Hips and Shoulders, and who lived in that state, Thirty Four Years!! at the expiration of which time, one of them was taken ill and after a short period died; the surviving one was advised to be separated from the corpse which she absolutely refused by saying these words, “as we came together, we will also go together,” and about six hours after her sister’s decease, she was taken ill and died also. A Stone near the Rector’s Pew marked with a diagonal line is shewn as the place of their interment.

~The moon on the east oriel shone, Through slender shafts of shapely stone, The silver light, so pale and faint, Shewed the twin sisters and many a saint, Whose images on the glass were dyed; Mysterious maidens side by side. The moon beam kissed the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a mystic stain.~

It is further stated, that by their will, they bequeathed to the Churchwardens of the Parish of Biddenden, and their successors, Churchwardens for ever, certain pieces or parcels of Land in the Parish, containing about 20 Acres, which is hired at 40 Guineas per annum, and that in commemoration of this wonderful Phenomenon of Nature, the Rolls and about 300 Quartern Loaves and Cheese in proportion, should be given to the Poor Inhabitants of the Parish.

This account is entirely traditionary, the Learned Antiquarian HASTED, in his account of the Charities of the Parish, states the Land “was the gift of two Maidens, of the name of Preston: and that the print of the women on the cakes has only been used within these 80 years, and was made to represent two poor widows, as the general objects of a charitable benefaction.” It is probable that the investigation of the learned Antiquary, brought to light some record of the name of the Ladies, for in the year 1656, the Rev. W. Horner, then Rector of the Parish, claimed the Land, as having been given to augment his glebe, but was non-suited in the court of Exchequer. In the pleadings preserved in the Church, the names of the Ladies are not stated, not being known. There are also two other Places where such Phenomena are said to have occurred.

If these statements weaken the credibility of the tradition, the following account of a Lusus Naturæ, compiled from the London Medical Repository, for 1821, page 138, will unquestionably confirm the opinion of many as to the probability of the Phenomenon of the Biddenden Maids,--Mr. Livingstone, the Surgeon of the British Factory at Canton, relates that there was shewn at Macao, A-ke, a boy about sixteen years of age, to whom was attached another Male Child, united at the pit of the stomach by the neck, as if his head was plunged into Ake’s breast. At the time of their birth they were nearly of an equal size, but the parasite has not much increased since that period. The skin of A-ke joins regularly and smoothly, the neck of the parasite, so that he can turn his brother on either of his sides upon himself, but the natural position is breast to breast; on the whole the parasite is well formed being about two feet in length.--A-ke thinks that at one period their feelings were reciprocal, but for some time he has not perceived it except in one particular act, when his brother never fails to do the same, he however feels the slightest touch applied to his brother.

A-ke has generally a sickly appearance, but excepting the parasite, is well formed; about 4 feet 10 inches high; is easily fatigued in walking or ascending a flight of steps being obliged to support his brother with his hands. When fatigued he breathes with difficulty, and is only relieved by laying down.

CHAMBERS AND EXALL, Printers, (King’s Arms Printing Office) TENTERDEN.

* * * * *

The preceding “account” is an enlargement of a preceding one of the same size, on a larger type, with this imprint, “BIDDENDEN: Printed and Sold by R. Weston--1808. [Price Two-pence.]” R. Weston’s paper does not contain the story of “A-ke,” which is well calculated to make the legend of the “Biddenden Maids,” pass current with the vulgar.

Our Tenterden correspondent adds, in a subsequent letter, that, on Easter Sunday, Biddenden is completely thronged. The public houses are crowded with people attracted from the adjacent towns and villages by the usage, and the wonderful account of its origin, and the day is spent in rude festivity.

* * * * *

To elucidate this annual custom as fully as possible, all that Mr. Hasted says of the matter is here extracted:--

“Twenty acres of land, called the Bread and Cheese Land, lying in five pieces, were given by persons unknown, the yearly rents to be distributed among the poor of this parish. This is yearly done on Easter Sunday in the afternoon, in six hundred cakes, each of which have the figures of two woman impressed on them, and are given to all such as attend the church; and two hundred and seventy loaves, weighing three pounds and a half a piece, to which latter is added one pound and an half of cheese, are given, to the parishoners only, at the same time.

“There is a vulgar tradition in these parts, that the figures on the cakes represent the donors of this gift, being two women, twins, who were joined together in their bodies, and lived together so, till they were between twenty and thirty years of age. But this seems without foundation. The truth seems to be, that it was the gift of two maidens of the name of Preston, and that the print of the women on the cakes has taken place only within these fifty years, and was made to represent two poor widows as the general objects of a charitable benefaction. William Horner, rector of this parish in 1656 brought a suit in the exchequer for the recovery of these lands, as having been given for an augmentation of his glebe land, but he was nonsuited. The lands are bounded on the east by the glebe, on the south by the highway, and one piece on the north of the highway; they are altogether of the yearly value of about 31_l._ 10_s._”[107]

* * * * *

Allusion is made by the rev. Mr. Fosbroke, to a custom in the thirteenth century of seizing all ecclesiastics who walked abroad between Easter and Pentecost, because the apostles were seized by the Jews after Christ’s passion; and making them purchase their liberty by money.[108]

Mr. Brand relates, “that on Easter Sunday, is still retained at the city of Durham in the Easter holidays: on one day the men take off the women’s shoes, or rather buckles, which are only to be redeemed by a present: on another day the women make reprisals, taking off the men’s in like manner.” The annexed letter shows that the practice in that city is not quite out of fashion, though buckles are.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Durham, March 3, 1826.

Sir,--To contribute towards the information you desire to convey concerning popular customs, &c. I will describe one, much practised in Durham, which I think you have not noticed in the former volume of your interesting work.

On Easter Sunday it is a common custom here, for a number of boys to assemble in the afternoon, and as soon as the clock strikes four, scour the streets in parties, and accost every female they may happen to meet, with “pay for your shoes if you please,” at the same time, stooping to take them off; which, if they do, and do not immediately get a penny or two-pence, they will actually carry off by main force. I have known the boys have, at least, a dozen odd shoes; but generally, something is given, which in the evening they either spend in public houses, or divide. On Easter Monday, the women claim the same privilege towards the male sex. They begin much earlier in the day, and attack every man and boy they can lay hold of to make them pay for their shoes; if the men happen to wear boots, and will not pay any thing, the girls generally endeavour to seize their hats and run off. If a man catches the girl with the hat, it is usually thrown or handed about to the great amusement of the spectators, till the person is baffled out of a sixpence to redeem the right of wearing it again: but this, like all other old customs, has greatly fallen off lately, and is now chiefly practised by a few children.

I am, &c.

J. B.

* * * * *

A contributor to the “Gentleman’s Magazine” in August, 1790, says that, at Rippon, in Yorkshire, “on Easter Sunday, as soon as the service of the church is over, the boys run about the streets, and lay hold of every woman or girl they can, and take their buckles from their shoes. This farce is continued till the next day at noon, when the females begin, and return the compliment upon the men, which does not end till Tuesday evening; nay, I was told that, some years ago, no traveller could pass through the town without being stopped and having his spurs taken away, unless redeemed by a little money, which is the only way to have your buckles returned.”

Pressing in Church.

On the morning of Easter Sunday, 1596, during the reign of queen Elizabeth, the lord mayor and aldermen of London received the royal command to raise a thousand men with the utmost expedition; wherefore they repaired with their deputies, constables, and other officers, to the churches, and having caused the doors to be shut, took the people during divine service from their worship, till the number was completed, and having armed them, the men, so raised and equipped, were marched the same night for Dover, in order to their embarkation for France; but in the mean time, Elizabeth having received advice of the reduction of Calais by the Spaniards, they were countermanded, and returned to the city in about a week after their departure.[109]

EASTER DAY CUSTOMS

At Twickenham and Paddington.

According to Mr. Lysons, “There was an ancient custom at Twickenham, of dividing two great cakes in the church upon Easter-day among the young people; but it being looked upon as a superstitious relic, it was ordered by parliament, 1645, that the parishioners should forbear that custom, and, instead thereof, buy loaves of bread for the poor of the parish with the money that should have bought the cakes. It appears that the sum of £1. per annum is still charged upon the vicarage for the purpose of buying penny loaves for poor children on the Thursday after Easter. Within the memory of man they were thrown from the church-steeple to be scrambled for; a custom which prevailed also, some time ago, at Paddington, and is not yet totally abolished.” A correspondent imagines that the Paddington custom of throwing bread from the church-steeple, which exists also in other parishes, was derived from largesses bestowed on the poor by the Romish clergy on occasion of the festival, and that it has been continued since the Reformation, and, therefore, since the institution of poor rates, without due regard to its original object.

Biddenden Custom.

Since the former sheet was printed, an article occurs to the editor in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” which it seems proper to notice. The writer there states, that “Biddenden is a parish of great extent, as most parishes in the weald of Kent are;” that this part of the country is called the weald, “from the growth of large timber, oak particularly;” that the town of Biddenden is about five miles equi-distant from three several market towns, Cranbrook, Smarden, and Tenterden; and is distant about fifteen miles from Maidstone. On the same authority, is now added that it does not furnish any antique inscriptions, nor does the weald in general yield the inquirer any thing antique or invaluable to repay his search. In the reign of queen Elizabeth, John Mayne, esq. endowed a good house and garden with 20_l._ per annum, for a free grammar school, which owing to the salary being fixed at that amount by the founder, is neither eligible to persons qualified under the regulations, nor is it capable of being increased. The visitation of the school, was formerly in the archbishop of Canterbury, but is so no longer, and the schoolmaster is appointed by the lord. The archbishop is patron of the rectory, which, in the reign of Henry VIII., was valued so high as 35_l._ The fair here is on the 8th of November. Mr. Urban’s correspondent noticing “the two maided-sisters who grew together from the waist downwards,” refers to accounts of similar wonders, and waggishly ends his list by directing to the “Memoirs of Scriblerus, by A. Pope,” as an authority corroborative of the apocryphal “Biddenden Maids.”

PASTE EGGS.

A correspondent, T. A., mentions this custom in Cheshire: “Children go round the village and beg eggs for their Easter dinner; they accompany it by a short song, which I am sorry I am unable to present to you, but the burthen of it is addressed to the farmer’s dame, and asking ‘an egg, bacon, cheese, or an apple, or any good thing that will make us merry,’ ends with

‘And I pray you, good dame, an Easter egg.’”

* * * * *

In Cumberland and Westmorland, and other parts of the north of England, boys beg, on Easter eve, eggs to play with, and beggars ask for them to eat. These eggs are hardened by boiling, and tinged with the juice of herbs, broom-flowers, &c. The eggs being thus prepared, the boys go out and play with them in the fields; rolling them up and down, like bowls, upon the ground, or throwing them up, like balls, into the air.[110]

SUGAR CUPPING

In the Peak of Derbyshire.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Tideswell, Derbyshire, March 31, 1826.

Sir,--The pleasure and instruction I have derived from the perusal of your interesting miscellany, induce me to offer to your notice a custom in this neighbourhood denominated Sugar-cupping, which, like similar remnants of the “olden time,” is gradually running into disuse.

Last Sunday, being Easter-day, I walked to the “Dropping Tor,” the rendezvous of the “sugar-cuppers,” but, owing to the extreme inclemency of the weather, no one was there, nor was it, I believe, once visited during the day. From frequent inquiry of the oldest persons in the neighbourhood, I can learn nothing but that, on Easter Sunday, they were used, when children, to go to the “Dropping Tor,” with a cup in one pocket and a quarter of a pound of sugar in the other, and having caught in their cups as much water as was desired from the droppings of the spring, they dissolved the sugar in it, and drank it. The natural consequences resulting from the congregation of a quantity of “young men and maidens” followed, and they returned home. I was anxious to discover some jargon repeated by the youthful pilgrims, as an invocation to the saint of the spring, or otherwise; but I could not collect any thing of the kind. I conjecture this custom to be peculiar to this part. If you, or any of your correspondents, can furnish more satisfactory information respecting it, some of your readers will not regret I have troubled you with the hint.

With respect, I am,

Your obedient servant,

A PEAKRIL.

* * * * *

Further notice of this usage at “the Peak,” will be acceptable to the editor, who is neither acquainted with the practice nor its origin. At some wells it is customary, on certain days, for persons to strew flowers, or hang garlands on the brink. Accounts of this nature, especially if accompanied by a drawing of the place, are very desirable. We have hitherto had no water customs, yet springs were very early objects of veneration. These remains of ancient respect will be duly respected when communicated.

EASTER DAY AT ROME.

On this day the pope himself goes in grand procession to the cathedral of St. Peter, and assists at the high mass. The church is lined with the guarda nobile, in their splendid uniforms of gold and scarlet, and nodding plumes of white ostrich feathers, and the Swiss guards, with their polished cuirasses and steel helmets. The great centre aisle is kept clear by a double wall of armed men, for the grand procession, the approach of which is proclaimed by the sound of trumpet from the farther end of the church. Priests advance, loaded with still augmenting magnificence, as they ascend to the higher orders. Cloth of gold, and embroidery of gold and silver, and crimson velvet, and mantles of spotted ermine, and flowing trains, and attendant train-bearers, and mitres and crucifixes glittering with jewels, and priests and patriarchs, and bishops and cardinals, dazzle the eye, and fill the whole length of St. Peter’s. Lastly, comes the pope, in his crimson chair of state, borne on the shoulders of twenty palfrenieri, arrayed in robes of white, and wearing the tiara, or triple crown of the conjoined Trinity, with a canopy of cloth of silver floating over his head; preceded by two men, carrying enormous fans, composed of large plumes of ostrich feathers, mounted on long gilded wands. He stops to pay his adorations to the miraculous Madonna in her chapel, about half-way up; and this duty, which he never omits, being performed, he is slowly borne past the high altar, liberally giving his benediction with the twirl of the three fingers as he passes.

He is then set down upon a magnificent stool, in front of the altar, on which he kneels, and his crown being taken off, and the cardinals taking off their little red caps, and all kneeling in a row, he assumes the attitude of praying. Having remained a few minutes, he is taken to a chair prepared for him, to the right of the throne. There he reads from a book, and is again taken to the altar, on which his tiara has been placed; and, bareheaded, he repeats--or as, by courtesy, it is called, sings--a small part of the service, throws up clouds of incense, and is removed to the crimson-canopied throne. High mass is celebrated by a cardinal and two bishops, at which he assists. During the service, the Italians seem to consider it quite as much of a pageant as foreigners, but neither a new nor an interesting one; they either walk about, and talk, or interchange pinches of snuff with each other, exactly as if it had been a place of amusement, until the tinkling of a little bell, which announces the elevation of the host, changes the scene. Every knee is now bent to the earth, and every voice hushed; the reversed arms of the military ring with an instantaneous clang on the marble pavement, as they sink on the ground, and all is still as death. This does not last above two minutes till the host is swallowed. Thus begins and ends the only part that bears even the smallest outward aspect of religion. The military now pour out of St. Peter’s, and form an extensive ring before its spacious front, behind which the horse guards are drawn up, and an immense number of carriages, filled with splendidly dressed women, and thousands of people on foot, are assembled. Yet the multitude almost shrunk into insignificance in the vast area of the piazza; and neither piety nor curiosity collect sufficient numbers to fill it. The tops of the colonnades all round, however, are thronged with spectators; and it is a curious sight to see a mixture of all ranks and nations,--from the coronetted heads of kings, to the poor cripple who crawls along the pavement,--assembled together to await the blessing of their fellow mortal. Not the least picturesque figures among the throng are the contadini, who, in every variety of curious costume, flock in from their distant mountain villages, to receive the blessing of the holy father, and whose bright and eager countenances, shaded by their long dark hair, turn to the balcony where the pope is to appear. At length the two white ostrich-feather fans, the forerunners of his approach, are seen; and he is borne forward on his throne, above the shoulders of the cardinals and bishops, who fill the balcony. After an audible prayer he arises, and, elevating his hands to heaven, invokes a solemn benediction upon the multitude, and the people committed to his charge. Every head uncovers; the soldiers, and many of the spectators, kneel on the pavement to receive the blessing. It is given with impressive solemnity, but with little of gesture or parade. Immediately the thundering of cannon from the castle of St. Angelo, and the peal of bells from St. Peter’s, proclaim the joyful tidings to the skies. The pope is borne out, and the people rise from their knees.[111]

GREEK EASTER.

The “Picture of Greece in 1825,” by Messrs. Emerson and Humphreys, and count Pecchio, contains some particulars of the celebration of the Greek church. They say,

“To-day being the festival of Easter, Napoli presented a novel appearance, viz. a clean one. This feast as the most important in the Greek church, is observed with particular rejoicings and respect. Lent having ceased, the ovens were crowded with the preparations for banquetting. Yesterday every street was reeking with the blood of lambs and goats; and to-day, every house was fragrant with odours of pies and baked meats; all the inhabitants, in festival array, were hurrying along to pay their visits and receive their congratulations; every one, as he met his friend, saluted him with a kiss on each side of his face, and repeated the words Χριστος ανεστη--‘Christ is risen.’ The day was spent in rejoicings in every quarter; the guns were fired from the batteries, and every moment the echoes of the Palamede were replying to the incessant reports of the pistols and trophaics of the soldiery. On these occasions, the Greeks (whether from laziness to extract the ball, or for the purpose of making a louder report, I know not,) always discharge their arms with a bullet: frequent accidents are the consequence. To-day, one poor fellow was shot dead in his window, and a second severely wounded by one of these random shots. In the evening, a grand ceremony took place in the square: all the members of the government, after attending divine service in the church of St. George, met opposite the residence of the executive body; the legislative being the most numerous, took their places in a line, and the executive passing along them from right to left, kissing commenced with great vigour, the latter body embracing the former with all fervour and affection. Amongst such an intriguing factious senate as the Greek legislation, it requires little calculation to discern that the greater portion of these salutations were Judas’s kisses.”

TURKISH EASTER.

The journals of 1824, contain the following extract, from a private letter, dated Tangiers, in Africa:--“The day after my arrival I was present at the celebration of this country’s Easter, a religious ceremony which greatly resembles our Easter, and is so called.--At break of day, twenty salutes of cannon announce the festival. At this signal, the pacha proceeds to a great plain ranged outside the city, where he is received by all the troops of the garrison, ranged under arms. An unfortunate ram is laid upon an altar there; the pacha approaches it, and plunges a knife into its throat; a Jew then seizes the bleeding animal, hoists it on his shoulders, and runs off with it to the mosque. If the animal still lives at the moment he arrives there, which very seldom fails to occur, the year will be a good one: if the contrary happens, great lamentations and groanings are made--the year will be bad. As soon as the victim is dead, a great carnage begins. Every Moor sacrifices, according to his means, one or more sheep, and this in the open street; the blood streams down on all sides; men and women imbrue themselves in it as much as they please; they cry, sing, dance, and endeavour to manifest the joy that animates them in a thousand forms. As soon as night appears, the town resounds with discharges of musketry, and it is not till the end of eight days that this charming festival concludes.”

PROPHECY CONCERNING EASTER.

For the Every-Day Book.

Notwithstanding the flood of information which has been poured over the country during the last half century, superstition, at once the child and mother of ignorance, still holds no inconsiderable sway over the minds of men. It is true, that the days of ghosts and apparitions are nearly over, but futurity is as tempting as ever, and the seventh son of a seventh son is still potent enough to charm away the money and bewilder the senses of the credulous, and Nixon’s and Mother Shipton’s prophecies still find believers. The coincidences by which these legendary predictions are sometimes fulfilled, are often curious. The present year may be said to witness the accomplishment of one. It has been said--

When my Lord falls in my Lady’s lap, England beware of some mishap.

Meaning thereby, that when the festival of Easter falls near to Lady-day, (the 25th of March,) this country is threatened with some calamity. In the year 1818, Easter-day happened on the 22d of March, and in the November of that year, queen Charlotte died. In 1826, Easter-day happening on the 26th of March, distress in the commercial world may be regarded as a fulfilment of the prediction. Spanish history affords a curious instance of this kind. It is related, that Peter and John de Carvajal, who were condemned for murder, (A. D. 1312,) on circumstantial evidence, and that very frivolous, to be thrown from the summit of a rock, Ferdinand IV., then king of Spain, could by no means be prevailed upon to grant their pardon. As they were leading to execution, they invoked God to witness their innocence, and appealed to his tribunal, to which they summoned the king to appear in thirty days’ time. He laughed at the summons; nevertheless, some days after, he fell sick, and went to a place called Alcaudet to divert himself and recover his health, and shake off the remembrance of the summons if he could. Accordingly, the thirtieth day being come, he found himself much better, and after showing a great deal of mirth and cheerfulness on that occasion with his courtiers, and ridiculing the illusion, retired to rest, but was found dead in his bed the next morning. (See Turquet’s general History of Spain 1612, p. 458, cited in Dr. Grey’s notes to Hudibras, part iii. canto 1. lines 209, 210.)

The same author (Dr. Grey,) quotes from Dr. James Young, (Sidrophel vapulans, p. 29,) that Cardan, a celebrated astrologer lost his life to save his credit; for having predicted the time of his own death, he starved himself to verify it: or else being sure of his art, he took this to be his fatal day, and by those apprehensions made it so. The prophecy of George Wishart, the Scottish martyr, respecting the death of cardinal Beatoun, is a striking feature in a catalogue of coincidences. In such light may be cited the stories of the predicted death of the duke of Buckingham, in the time of Charles I., that of lord Lyttleton in later days, and many others.

Lord Bacon, who, on many points illuminated the sixteenth with the light of the nineteenth century, after referring in his chapter on prophecies (see his Essays) to the fulfilment of many remarkable fulfilments, delivers his opinion on that point in the following words:--“My judgment is, that they ought all to be despised, and ought to serve but for winter talk by the fireside. Though when I say despised, I mean for belief.----That that hath given them grace, and some credit consisteth in these things. 1st. that men mark when they hit, and never when they miss; as they do, also of dreams. 2d. that probable conjectures and obscure traditions many times turn themselves into prophecies: while the nature of man which coveteth divination, thinks it no peril to foretell that, which indeed they do but collect.----The 3d. and last (which is the great one) is, that almost all them, being infinite in number, have been impostures, and by idle and crafty brains, merely contrived and feigned after the event passed.”

J. W. H.

EASTER DAY.

The editor is favoured with a hint, which, from respect to the authority whence it proceeds, is communicated below in its own language.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Harley street, March 22, 1826.

Sir,--Before I slip from town for the holidays, let me observe that it may be useful, and more useful perhaps than you imagine, to many of your readers, if you were to mention the earliest day whereon Easter can occur: for, as not only movable feasts, but law terms, and circuits of judges, and the Easter recess of parliament, depend on this festival, it influences a vast portion of public business, and of the every-day concerns of a great number of individuals in the early season of the year.

The earliest possible day whereon Easter can happen, in any year, is the 22d of March. It fell on that day in 1818, and cannot happen on that day till the year 2285.

The latest possible day whereon Easter can happen, is the 25th of April.

We can have no squabble this year concerning the true time of Easter. The result of the papers on that subject in the first volume of your excellent publication, vindicated the time fixed for its celebration, in this country, upon those principles which infallibly regulate the period.

In common with all I am acquainted with, who have the pleasure of being acquainted with your Every-Day Book, I wish you and your work the largest possible success. I am, &c.

ALPHA.

P.S. It occurs to me that you may not be immediately able to authenticate my statement; and, therefore, I subscribe my name for your private satisfaction.

---- ------.

Easter King.

As the emperor, Charles V., was passing through a small village in Arragon, on Easter-day, he was met by a peasant, who had been chosen the paschal, or Easter king of his neighbourhood, according to the custom of his country, and who said to him very gravely, “Sir, it is I that am king.” “Much good may it do you, my friend,” replied the emperor, “you have chosen an exceedingly troublesome employment.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·95.

[104] Antiquarian Repertory.

[105] Drake’s Shakespeare and his Times.

[106] Hitchins’s Cornwall.

[107] Hasted’s Kent, 1790.

[108] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

[109] Maitland.

[110] Brand.

[111] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.

~March 27.~

EASTER MONDAY.

This is the day for choosing churchwardens in the different parishes, and for merry-making afterwards.

From the “Mirror of the Months.”

Now, at last, the Easter week is arrived, and the poor have for once in the year the best of it,--setting all things, but their own sovereign will, at a wise defiance. The journeyman who works on Easter Monday should lose his caste, and be sent to the Coventry of mechanics, wherever that may be. In fact, it cannot happen. On Easter Monday ranks change places; Jobson is as good as sir John; the “rude mechanical” is “monarch of all he surveys” from the summit of Greenwich-hill, and when he thinks fit to say “it is our royal pleasure to be drunk!” who shall dispute the proposition? Not I, for one. When our English mechanics accuse their betters of oppressing them, the said betters should reverse the old appeal, and refer from Philip sober to Philip drunk; and then nothing more could be said. But now, they have no betters, even in their own notion of the matter. And in the name of all that is transitory, envy them not their brief supremacy! It will be over before the end of the week, and they will be as eager to return to their labour as they now are to escape from it; for the only thing that an Englishman, whether high or low, cannot endure patiently for a week together, is, unmingled amusement. At this time, however, he is determined to try. Accordingly, on Easter Monday all the narrow lanes and blind alleys of our metropolis pour forth their dingy denizens into the suburban fields and villages, in search of the said amusement, which is plentifully provided for them by another class, even less enviable than the one on whose patronage they depend; for of all callings, the most melancholy is that of purveyor of pleasure to the poor.

During the Monday our determined holiday-maker, as in duty bound, contrives, by the aid of a little or not a little artificial stimulus, to be happy in a tolerably exemplary manner. On the Tuesday, he fancies himself happy to-day, because he felt himself so yesterday. On the Wednesday he cannot tell what has come to him, but every ten minutes he wishes himself at home, where he never goes but to sleep. On Thursday he finds out the secret, that he is heartily sick of doing nothing; but is ashamed to confess it; and then what is the use of going to work before his money is spent? On Friday he swears that he is a fool for throwing away the greatest part of his quarter’s savings without having any thing to show for it, and gets gloriously drunk with the rest to prove his words; passing the pleasantest night of all the week in a watchhouse. And on Saturday, after thanking “his worship” for his good advice, of which he does not remember a word, he comes to the wise determination, that, after all, there is nothing like working all day long in silence, and at night spending his earnings and his breath in beer and politics! So much for the Easter week of a London holiday-maker.

But there is a sport belonging to Easter Monday which is not confined to the lower classes, and which fun forbid that I should pass over silently. If the reader has not, during his boyhood, performed the exploit of riding to the turn-out of the stag on Epping-forest--following the hounds all day long at a respectful distance--returning home in the evening with the loss of nothing but his hat, his hunting whip, and his horse, not to mention a portion of his nether person--and finishing the day by joining the lady mayoress’s ball at the Mansion-house; if the reader has not done all this when a boy, I will not tantalize him by expatiating on the superiority of those who have. And if he has done it, I need not tell him that he has no cause to envy his friend who escaped with a flesh wound from the fight of Waterloo; for there is not a pin to choose between them.

EPPING HUNT.

In 1226, king Henry III. confirmed to the citizens of London, free warren, or liberty to hunt a circuit about their city, in the warren of Staines, &c.; and in ancient times the lord mayor, aldermen, and corporation, attended by a due number of their constituents, availed themselves of this right of chace “in solemn guise.” From newspaper reports, it appears that the office of “common hunt,” attached to the mayoralty, is in danger of desuetude. The Epping hunt seems to have lost the lord mayor and his brethren in their corporate capacity, and the annual sport to have become a farcical show.

A description of the Epping hunt of Easter Monday, 1826, by one “Simon Youngbuck,” in the Morning Herald, is the latest report, if it be not the truest; but of that the editor of the Every-Day Book cannot judge, for he was not there to see: he contents himself with picking out the points; should any one be dissatisfied with the “hunting of that day,” as it will be here presented, he has only to sit down, in good earnest, to a plain matter-of-fact detail of all the circumstances from his own knowledge, accompanied by such citations as will show the origin and former state of the usage, and such a detail, so accompanied, will be inserted--

“For want of a better this must do.”

On the authority aforesaid, and that, without the introduction of any term not in the Herald, be it known then, that before, and at the commencement of the hunt aforesaid, it was a cold, dry, and dusty morning, and that the huntsmen of the east were all abroad by nine o’clock, trotting, fair and softly, down the road, on great nine-hand skyscrapers, nimble daisy-cutting nags, flowing-tailed chargers, and ponies no bigger than the learned one at Astley’s; some were in job-coaches, at two guineas a-day; some in three-bodied nondescripts, some in gigs, some in cabs, some in drags, some in short stages, and some in long stages; while some on no stages at all, footed the road, smothered by dust driven by a black, bleak north-easter full in the teeth. Every gentleman was arrayed after his own particular taste, in blue, brown, or black--in dress-coats, long coats, short coats, frock coats, great coats, and no-coats;--in drab-slacks and slippers;--in gray-tights, and black-spurred Wellingtons;--in nankeen bomb-balloons;--in city-white cotton-cord unmentionables, with jockey toppers, and in Russian-drill down-belows, as a memento of the late czar. The ladies all wore a goose-skin under-dress, in compliment to the north-easter.

At that far-famed spot, the brow above Fairmead bottom, by twelve o’clock, there were not less than three thousand merry lieges then and there assembled. It was a beautiful set-out. Fair dames “in purple and in pall,” reposed in vehicles of all sorts, sizes, and conditions, whilst seven or eight hundred mounted members of the hunt wound in and out “in restless ecstasy,” chatting and laughing with the fair, sometimes rising in their stirrups to look out for the long-coming cart of the stag, “whilst, with off heel assiduously aside,” they “provoked the caper which they seemed to hide.” The green-sward was covered with ever-moving crowds on foot, and the pollard oaks which skirt the bottom on either side were filled with men and boys.

But where the deuce is the stag all this while? One o’clock, and no stag. Two o’clock, and no stag!--a circumstance easily accounted for by those who are in the secret, and the secret is this. There are buttocks of boiled beef and fat hams, and beer and brandy in abundance, at the Roebuck public-house low down in the forest; and ditto at the Baldfaced Stag, on the top of the hill; and ditto at the Coach and Horses, at Woodford Wells; and ditto at the Castle, at Woodford; and ditto at the Eagle, at Snaresbrook; and if the stag had been brought out before the beef, beer, bacon, and brandy, were eaten and drank, where would have been the use of providing so many good things? So they carted the stag from public-house to public-house, and showed him at threepence a head to those ladies and gentlemen who never saw such a thing before, and the showing and carting induced a consumption of eatables and drinkables, an achievement which was helped by a band of music in every house, playing hungry tunes to help the appetite; and then, when the eatables and drinkables were gone, and paid for, they turned out the stag.

Precisely at half-past two o’clock, the stag-cart was seen coming over the hill by the Baldfaced Stag, and hundreds of horsemen and gig-men rushed gallantly forward to meet and escort it to the top of Fairmead bottom, amidst such whooping and hallooing, as made all the forest echo again; and would have done Carl Maria Von Weber’s heart good to hear. And then, when the cart stopped and was turned tail about, the horsemen drew up in long lines, forming an avenue wide enough for the stag to run down. For a moment, all was deep, silent, breathless anxiety; and the doors of the cart were thrown open, and out popped a strapping four-year-old red buck, fat as a porker, with a chaplet of flowers round his neck, a girth of divers coloured ribbons, and a long blue and pink streamer depending from the summit of his branching horns. He was received, on his alighting, with a shout that seemed to shake heaven’s concave, and took it very graciously, looking round him with great dignity as he stalked slowly and delicately forward, down the avenue prepared for him; and occasionally shrinking from side to side, as some supervalorous cockney made a cut at him with his whip. Presently, he caught a glimpse of the hounds and the huntsmen, waiting for him at the bottom, and in an instant off he bounded, sideways, through the rank, knocking down and trampling all who crowded the path he chose to take; and dashing at once into the cover, he was out of sight before a man could say “Jack Robinson!” Then might be seen, gentlemen running about without their horses, and horses galloping about without their gentlemen; and hats out of number brushed off their owners’ heads by the rude branches of the trees; and every body asking which way the stag was gone, and nobody knowing any thing about him; and ladies beseeching gentlemen not to be too venturesome; and gentlemen gasping for breath at the thoughts of what they were determined to venture; and myriads of people on foot running hither and thither in search of little eminences to look from; and yet nothing at all to be seen, though more than enough to be heard; for every man, and every woman too, made as loud a noise as possible. Meanwhile the stag, followed by the keepers and about six couple of hounds, took away through the covers towards Woodford. Finding himself too near the haunts of his enemy, man, he there turned back, sweeping down the bottom for a mile or two, and away up the enclosures towards Chingford; where he was caught nobody knows how, for every body returned to town, except those who stopped to regale afresh, and recount the glorious perils of the day. Thus ended the Easter Hunt of 1826.

The Minervalia was a Roman festival in March, commencing on the 19th of the month, and lasting for five days. The first day was spent in devotions to the goddess; the rest in offering sacrifices, seeing the gladiators fight, acting tragedies, and reciting witticisms for prizes. It conferred a vacation on scholars who now, carried schooling money, or presents, called Minerval, to their masters.

According to Cicero there were five Minervas.

1. Minerva, the mother of Apollo.

2. Minerva, the offspring of the Nile, of whom there was a statue with this inscription:--“I am all that was, is, and is to come; and my veil no mortal hath yet removed.”

3. Minerva, who sprung armed from Jupiter’s brain.

4. Minerva, the daughter of Jupiter and Corypha, whose father Oceanus invented four-wheeled chariots.

5. Minerva, the daughter of Pallantis, who fled from her father, and is, therefore, represented with wings on her feet, in the same manner as Mercury.

The second Minerva, of Egypt, is imagined to have been the most ancient. The Phœnicians also had a Minerva, the daughter of Saturn, and the inventress of arts and arms. From one of these two, the Greeks derived their Minerva.

Minerva was worshipped by the Athenians before the age of Cecrops, in whose time Athens was founded, and its name taken from Minerva, whom the Greek called Ἁθηνη. It was proposed to call the city either by her name or that of Neptune, and as each had partizans, and the women had votes equal to the men, Cecrops called all the citizens together both men and women; the suffrages were collected; and it was found that all the women had voted for Minerva, and all the men for Neptune; but the women exceeding the men by one voice, Athens was called after Minerva. A temple was dedicated to her in the city, with her statue in gold and ivory, thirty-nine feet high, executed by Phydias.

It would be as difficult for most persons, who think Mr. Matthews acts easily, to act as he does, as it would be difficult to make such persons comprehend, that his ease is the result of labour, and that his present performance is the result of greater labour than his exhibitions of former years. An examination of the process by which he has attained the extraordinary ability to “command success,” would be a fatiguing inquiry to most readers, though a very curious one to some. He has been called a “mimic;” this is derogation from his real powers, which not only can represent the face, but penetrate the intellect. An expert swimmer is not always a successful diver: Mr. Matthews is both. His faculty of observation “surpasses show.” He leaves the features he contemplates, enters into the mind, becomes joint tenant of its hereditaments and appurtenances with the owner, and describes its secret chambers and closets. This faculty obtained lord Chesterfield his fame, and enabled him to persuade the judgment; but he never succeeded by his voice or pen in raising the passions, like Mr. Matthews, who, in that respect, is above the nobleman. The cause of this superiority is, that Mr. Matthews is the creature of feeling--of excitation and depression. This assertion is made without the slightest personal knowledge or even sight of him off the stage; it is grounded on a generalized view of some points in human nature. If Mr. Matthews were not the slave of temperament, he never could have pictured the Frenchman at the Post Office, nor the gaming Yorkshireman. These are prominences seized by his whole audience, on whom, however, his most delicate touches of character are lost. His high finish of the Irish beggar woman with her “poor child,” was never detected by the laughers at their trading duett of “Sweet Home!” The exquisite pathos of the crathur’s story was lost. To please a large assemblage the points must be broad. Mr. Matthews’s countenance of his host drawing the cork is an excellence that discovers itself, and the entire affair of the dinner is “pleasure made easy” to the meanest capacity. The spouting child who sings the “Bacchanal Song” in “Der Freischütz” from whence the engraving is taken, is another “palpable hit,” but amazingly increased in force to some of the many who heard it sung by Phillips. The “tipsy toss” of that actor’s head, his rollocking look, his stamps in its chorus, and the altogetherness of his style in that single song, were worth the entirety of the drama--yet he was seldom encored. To conclude with Mr. Matthews, it is merely requisite to affirm that his “At Home” in the year 1826, evinces rarer talent than the merit of a higher order which he unquestionably possesses. He is an adept at adaptation beyond compeer.

COLESHILL CUSTOM.

They have an ancient custom at Coleshill, in the county of Warwick, that if the young men of the town can catch a hare, and bring it to the parson of the parish before ten o’clock on Easter Monday, the parson is bound to give them a calve’s head, and a hundred eggs for their breakfast, and a groat in money.[112]

RIDING THE BLACK LAD.

An account of an ancient usage still maintained under this name at Ashton-under-Lyne, will be found in the annexed letter.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Ashton-under-Lyne, March, 1826.

Sir,

A singular custom prevails at this town on Easter Monday. Every year on that day a rude figure of a man made of an old suit of clothes stuffed with rags, hay, &c. is carried on a horse through all the streets. The people who attend it call at every public-house, for the purpose of begging liquor for its thirsty attendants, who are always numerous. During its progress the figure is shot at from all parts. When the journey is finished, it is tied to the market cross, and the shooting is continued till it is set on fire, and falls to the ground. The populace then commence tearing the effigy in pieces, trampling it in mud and water, and throwing it in every direction. This riot and confusion are increased by help of a reservoir of water being let off, which runs down the streets, and not unfrequently persons obtain large quantities of hay, rags, &c. independent of that which falls from the effigy. The greatest heroes at this time are of the coarsest nature.

The origin of this custom is of so ancient a nature that it admits of no real explanation: some assert that it is intended as a mark of respect to an ancient family--others deem it a disrespect. Dr. Hibbert considers it to have the same meaning as the gool-riding in Scotland, established for the purpose of exterminating weed from corn, on pain of forfeiting a wether sheep for every stock of gool found growing in a farmer’s corn. Gool is the yellow flower called the corn Marygold.

It is further supposed, that this custom originated with one of the Assheton’s, who possessed a considerable landed property in this part of Lancashire. He was vice-chancellor to Henry VI., who exercised great severity on his own lands, and established the gool or guld riding. He is said to have made his appearance on Easter Monday, clad in black armour, and on horseback, followed by a numerous train for the purpose of claiming the penalties arising from the neglect of farmers clearing their corn of the “carr gulds.” The tenants looked upon this visit with horror, and tradition has still perpetuated the prayer that was offered for a deliverance from his power:--

“Sweet Jesu, for thy mercy’s sake, And for thy bitter passion; Save us from the axe of the Tower, And from Sir Ralph of Assheton.”

It is alleged that, on one of his visits on Easter Monday, he was shot as he was riding down the principal street, and that the tenants took no trouble to find out the murderer, but entered into a subscription, the interest of which was to make an effigy of disgrace to his memory. At the present day, however, the origin is never thought of. The money is now derived from publicans whose interest it is to keep up the custom. An old steel helmet was used some years ago, but it is now no more; a tin one is used instead.

This custom is applied to another purpose. The occupation of the last couple married in the old year are represented on the effigy. If a tailor, the shears hang dangling by his side; if a draper, the cloth yard, and so on. The effigy then at the usual time visits the happy couple’s door, and unless the bearers are fed in a handsome manner, the dividing gentlemen are not easily got rid of. Some authors state that it is the first couple in the new year; but this is incorrect, as there is always great pressing for marrying on new year’s day, in order to be sufficiently early in the year.

Such is the custom of Blake Lad Monday--or Riding the Black Lad, a custom which thousands annually witness, and numbers come from great distances to see. It is the most thronged, and the most foolish, day the Ashtonians can boast of.

C. C.----G. M. R. C. S. E.

* * * * *

It is observed by the historian of “Manchester and Salford,” that the most prevalent of several traditions, as to the origin of this custom, is, that it is kept up to perpetuate the disgraceful actions of sir Ralph Ashton, who in the year 1483, as vice-constable of the kingdom, exercised great severity in this part of the country. From a sum issued out of the court to defray the expense of the effigy, and from a suit of armour, which till of late it usually rode in, together with other traditional particulars, there is another account of the custom. According to this, in the reign of Edward III., at the battle of Neville’s Cross, near Durham, his queen, with the earl of Northumberland as general, gained a complete victory over the Scots, under David, king of Scotland, and in this battle one Thomas Ashton of Ashton-under-Lyne, of whom no other particulars are known, served in the queen’s army, rode through the ranks of the enemy, and bore away the royal standard from the Scottish king’s tent. For this act of heroism, Edward III. knighted him; he became sir Thomas Ashton, of Ashton-under-Lyne; and to commemorate his valour, he instituted the custom above described, and left ten shillings yearly (since reduced to five) to support it, with his own suit of black velvet, and a coat of mail, the helmet of which yet remains.”[113] It will be observed in our correspondent’s account, that the helmet has at last disappeared.

“OLD VINEGAR,”

and

“Hard Metal Spoons.”

William Conway, who cried “hard metal spoons to sell or change,” is mentioned by Mr. J. T. Smith, as “a man whose cry is well-known to the inhabitants of London and its environs;” but since Mr. Smith wrote, the “cry” of Conway has ceased from the metropolis, and from the remembrance of all, save a few surviving observers of the manners in humble life that give character to the times. He is noticed here because he introduces another individual connected with the history of the season. Adopting Mr. Smith’s language, we must speak of Conway as though his “cry” were still with us. “This industrious man, who has eleven walks in and about London, never had a day’s illness, nor has once slept out of his own bed; and let the weather be what it may, he trudges on, and only takes his rest on Sundays. He walks, on an average, twenty-five miles a day; and this he has done for nearly forty-four years. His shoes are made from old boots, and a pair will last him about six weeks. In his walks he has frequently found small pieces of money, but never more than a one pound note. He recollects a windmill standing near Moorfields, and well remembers Old Vinegar.”[114] Without this notice of Conway, we should not have known “Old Vinegar,” who made the rings for the boxers in Moorfields, beating the shins of the spectators, and who, after he had arranged the circle, would cry out “mind your pockets all round.” He provided sticks for the cudgel players, whose sports commenced on Easter Monday. At that time the “Bridewell boys” joined in the pastime, and enlivened the day by their skill in athletic exercises.

WETTING THE BLOCK.

For the Every-Day Book.

The first Monday in March being the time when shoemakers in the country cease from working by candlelight, it used to be customary for them to meet together in the evening for the purpose of wetting the block. On these occasions the master either provided a supper for his men, or made them a present of money or drink; the rest of the expense was defrayed by subscriptions among themselves, and sometimes by donations from customers. After the supper was ended, the block candlestick was placed in the midst, the shop candle was lighted, and all the glasses being filled, the oldest hand in the shop poured the contents of his glass over the candle to extinguish it: the rest then drank the contents of theirs standing, and gave three cheers. The meeting was usually kept to a late hour.

This account of the custom is from personal observation, made many years ago, in various parts of Hampshire, Berkshire, and the adjoining counties. It is now growing into disuse, which I think is not to be regretted; for, as it is mostly a very drunken usage, the sooner it is sobered, or becomes altogether obsolete the better.

A SHOEMAKER.

N.B. In some places this custom took place on Easter Monday.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·32.

[112] Blount.

[113] Aikin’s Manchester.

[114] Smith’s Ancient Topography of London, 1815, 4to.

~March 28.~

EASTER TUESDAY.

Formerly, “in the Easter holidays, was the Clarke’s-ale for his private benefit, and the solace of the neighbourhood.”[115] Our ancestors were abundant drinkers; they had their “bride-ales,” “church-ales,” and other sort of ales, and their feats of potation were so great as to be surprising to their posterity; the remainder of whom, in good time, shall be more generally informed of these regular drinking bouts. “Easter-ale” was not always over with Easter week. Excessive fasting begat excessive feasting, and there was no feast in old times without excessive drinking. A morning head-ache from the contents of the tankard was cured by “a hair of the same dog,”--a phrase well understood by hard-drinkers, signifying that madness from drinking was to be cured by the madness of drinking again. It is in common use with drinkers of punch.

* * * * *

Some of the days in this month seem

“For talking age and youthful lovers made.”

The genial breezes animate declining life, and waft “visions of glory” to those who are about to travel the journey of existence on their own account. In the following lines, which, from the “Lady’s Scrap Book,” whence they were extracted, appear to have been communicated to her on this day, by a worthy old gentleman “of the old school,” there is a touch of satirical good humour, that may heighten cheerfulness.

NO FLATTERY

From J. M---- Esq.

To Miss H---- W----.

March 28, 1825.

I never said thy face was fair, Thy cheeks with beauty glowing; Nor whispered that thy woodland air With grace was overflowing.

I never said thy teeth were white, In hue were snow excelling; Nor called thine eye, so blue, so bright, Young Love’s celestial dwelling.

I never said thy voice so soft, Soft heart but ill concealing; Nor praised thy sparkling glances oft, So well thy thoughts revealing.

I never said thy taper form Was, Hannah, more than handsome; Nor said thy heart, so young, so warm, Was worth a monarch’s ransom.

I never said to young or old I felt no joy without thee: No, Hannah, no, I never told A single lie about thee.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·70.

[115] Aubrey.

~March 29.~

MARCH MORNINGS.

For the Every-Day Book.

There are frequently mornings in March, when a lover of nature may enjoy, in a stroll, sensations not to be exceeded, or, perhaps, equalled by any thing which the full glory of summer can awaken:--mornings, which tempt us to cast the memory of winter, or the fear of its recurrence out of our thoughts. The air is mild and balmy, with, now and then, a cool gush by no means unpleasant, but, on the contrary, contributing towards that cheering and peculiar feeling which we experience only in spring. The sky is clear, the sun flings abroad not only a gladdening splendour, but an almost summer glow. The world seems suddenly aroused to hope and enjoyment. The fields are assuming a vernal greenness,--the buds are swelling in the hedges,--the banks are displaying amidst the brown remains of last year’s vegetation, the luxuriant weeds of this. There are arums, ground-ivy, chervil, the glaucous leaves, and burnished flowers of the pilewort,

“The first gilt thing, Which wears the trembling pearls of spring;”

and many another fresh and early burst of greenery. All unexpectedly too, in some embowered lane, you are arrested by the delicious odour of violets--those sweetest of Flora’s children, which have furnished so many pretty allusions to the poets, and which are not yet exhausted; they are like true friends, we do not know half their sweetness till they have felt the sunshine of our kindness; and again, they are like the pleasures of our childhood, the earliest and the most beautiful. Now, however, they are to be seen in all their glory--blue and white--modestly peering through their thickly clustering leaves. The lark is carolling in the blue fields of air; the blackbird and thrush are again shouting and replying to each other from the tops of the highest trees. As you pass cottages, they have caught the happy infection. There are windows thrown open, and doors standing a-jar. The inhabitants are in their gardens, some cleaning away rubbish, some turning up the light and fresh-smelling soil amongst the tufts of snowdrops and rows of glowing yellow crocuses, which every where abound; and the children, ten to one, are busy peeping into the first bird’s-nest of the season--the hedge-sparrow’s, with its four blue eggs, snugly, but unwisely, built in the pile of old pea-rods.

In the fields the labourers are plashing and trimming the hedges, and in all directions are teams at plough. You smell the wholesome, and we may truly say, aromatic soil, as it is turned up to the sun, brown and rich, the whole country over. It is delightful as you pass along deep hollow lanes, or are hidden in copses, to hear the tinkling gears of the horses, and the clear voices of the lads calling to them. It is not less pleasant to catch the busy caw of the rookery, and the first meek cry of the young lambs. The hares are hopping about the fields, the excitement of the season overcoming their habitual timidity. The bees are revelling in the yellow catkins of the sallow. The woods, though yet unadorned with their leafy garniture, are beautiful to look on. They seem flushed with life. Their boughs are of a clear and glossy lead colour, and the tree-tops are rich with the vigorous hues of brown, red, and purple; and if you plunge into their solitudes, there are symptoms of revivification under your feet, the springing mercury, and green blades of the blue-bells--and perhaps, above you, the early nest of the missel-thrush perched between the boughs of a young oak, to tinge your thoughts with the anticipation of summer.

These are mornings not to be neglected by the lover of nature; and if not neglected, then, not to be forgotten, for they will stir the springs of memory, and make us live over again times and seasons, in which we cannot, for the pleasure and the purity of our spirits, live too much.

Nottingham.

W. H.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·12.

~March 30.~

KITTY FISHER.

On the 30th of March, 1759, this celebrated female issued a singular advertisement through the “Public Advertiser,” which shows her sensitiveness to public opinion. She afterwards became duchess of Bolton.

TO ERR is a blemish entailed upon mortality, and indiscretion seldom or never escapes without censure, the more heavy, as the character is more remarkable; and doubled, nay trebled, by the world, if that character is marked by success: then malice shoots against it all her stings, and the snakes of envy are let loose. To the humane and generous heart then must the injured appeal, and certain relief will be found in impartial honour. Miss Fisher is forced to sue to that jurisdiction to protect her from the baseness of little scribblers, and scurvy malevolence. She has been abused in public papers, exposed in print shops, and, to wind up the whole, some wretches, mean, ignorant, and venal, would impose upon the public by daring to publish her memoirs. She hopes to prevent the success of their endeavours, by declaring that nothing of that sort has the slightest foundation in truth.

C. FISHER.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·67.

~March 31.~

JOHN HAMPDEN.

This celebrated man wrote a letter to sir John Elliott, on this day, in the year 1631, which is deposited in the British Museum.[116] At its date, which was long before “the troubles of England,” wherein he bore a distinguished part, it appears that he was absorbed by constant avocation, and attention to the business of others. The letter has been obligingly transcribed and communicated by our kind correspondent, T. A. It is curious from its style and sentiments, and is here printed, because it has not before been published. The commencing and concluding words are given fac-simile, from the original. It is addressed thus,

To my honoured and deare friend Sr. JOHN ELLIOTT at his lodging in the Tower.

Tis well for mee that letters cannot blush, else you would easily reade mee guilty. I am ashamed of so long a silence and know not how to excuse it, for as nothing but businesse can speake for mee, of w^{ch} kinde I have many advocates, so can I not tell how to call any businesse greater than holding an affectionate correspondence with so excellent a friend. My only confidence is I pleade at a barr of loue, where absolutions are much more frequent then censures. Sure I ame that conscience of neglect doth not accuse mee; though euidence of fact doth. I would add more but y^{e} entertainment of a straunger friend calls upon mee, and one other unsuitable occasion hold mee excused: therefore, deare friend, and if you vouchsafe mee a letter, lett mee begg of you to teach mee some thrift of time; that I may imploy more in yo^{r} service who will ever bee

Hampd. March 31, 1631.

Command my service to y^{e} souldier if not gone to his colours.

THE SUN IN MARCH.

We may now see the great luminary at half-past five in the morning if “we shake off dull sloth,” and set our faces to be greeted by his, at his rising, in the open air. Lying a bed is a sad destroyer of health, and getting up early a vast improver of time. It is an old and a true saying, that “an hour in the morning before breakfast, is worth two all the rest of the day.”

* * * * *

In “The Examiner” of the 31st of March, 1822, there is the following pleasant little story.

THE WONDERFUL PHYSICIAN.

One morning at daybreak a father came into his son’s bedchamber, and told him that a wonderful stranger was to be seen. “You are sick,” said he, “and fond of great shows. Here are no quack-doctors now, nor keeping of beds. A remarkable being is announced all over the town, who not only heals the sick, but makes the very grass grow; and what is more, he is to rise out of the sea.” The boy, though he was of a lazy habit, and did not like to be waked, jumped up at hearing of such an extraordinary exhibition, and hastened with his father to the door of the house, which stood upon the sea-shore. “There,” said the father, pointing to the sun, which at that moment sprung out of the ocean like a golden world, “there, foolish boy, you who get me so many expenses with your lazy diseases, and yourself into so many troubles, behold at last a remedy, cheap, certain, and delightful. Behold at last a physician, who has only to look in your face every morning at this same hour, and you will be surely well.”

PROVINCIAL MEDICAL PRACTICE.

Country people who are unusually plain in notion, and straight forward in conduct, frequently commit the care of their health to very odd sort of practitioners.

A late celebrated empiric, in Yorkshire, called the Whitworth Doctor, was of so great fame as to have the honour of attending the brother of lord Thurlow. The name of this doctor was Taylor: he and his brother were farriers by profession, and to the last, if both a two-legged and a four-legged patient were presented at the same time, the doctor always preferred the four-legged one. Their practice was immense, as may be well imagined from the orders they gave the druggist; they dealt principally with Ewbank and Wallis, of York, and a ton of Glauber’s salt, with other articles in proportion, was their usual order. On a Sunday morning the doctors used to bleed gratis. The patients, often to the number of an hundred, were seated on benches round a room, where troughs were placed to receive the blood. One of the doctors then went and tied up the arm of each patient, and was immediately followed by the other who opened the vein. Such a scene is easier conceived than described. From their medical practice, the nice formality of scales and weights was banished; all was “rule of thumb.” An example of their practice may elucidate their claim to celebrity: being sent for to a patient who was in the last stage of a consumption, the learned doctor prescribed a leg of mutton to be boiled secundum artem, into very strong broth, a quart of which was to be taken at proper intervals: what might have been its success is not to be related, as the patient died before the first dose was got down. As bone-setters they were remarkably skilful, and, perhaps, to their real merit in this, and the cheapness of their medicines, they were indebted for their great local fame.

* * * * *

The “Public Ledger” of the 31st of March, 1825, contains

A crooked Coincidence.

A pamphlet published in the year 1703, has the following strange title:--“The deformity of sin cured, a sermon, preached at St. Michael’s, Crooked Lane, before the Prince of Orange; by the Rev. James Crookshanks. Sold by Matthew Dowton, at the Crooked Billet, near Cripplegate, and by all other Booksellers.” The words of the text are, “Every crooked path shall be made straight.” The Prince before whom it was preached was deformed in his person.

A SEASONABLE EPITAPH

on the late

J. C. MARCH, Esq.

Death seemed so envious of my clay, He bade me march and marched away; Now underneath the vaulted arch, My corpse must change to dust and March.

J. R. P.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·22.

[116] Addit. MSS. 5016.

On April, in old kalendars, is drawn A gallant hawker, pacing on a lawn, Holding a bell’d and hooded fowl of prey, Ready to loose him in the airy way. For daily, now, descends the solar beam, And the warm earth seems in a waking dream; Insects creep out, leaves burst, and flowers rise, And birds enchant the woods, and wing the skies; Each sentient being a new sense receives, And eloquently looks, to each, it lives.

The name of this month is before observed to have been derived from the verb aperire,[117] which signifies to open, because seeds germinate, and at this season flowers begin to blow; yet Macrobius affirms that it is derived from a Greek word signifying aphrilis, or descended from Venus, or, born of the scum of the sea, because Romulus dedicated the month to Venus. This may be the real derivation; the former is the most natural.

* * * * *

“April,” says the author of the Mirror of the Months, “is spring--the only spring month that we possess--the most juvenile of the months, and the most feminine--the sweetest month of all the year; partly because it ushers in the May, and partly for its own sake, so far as any thing can be valuable without reference to any thing else. It is, to May and June, what ‘sweet fifteen,’ in the age of woman, is to passion-stricken eighteen, and perfect two-and-twenty. It is worth two Mays, because it tells tales of May in every sigh that it breathes, and every tear that it lets fall. It is the harbinger, the herald, the promise, the prophecy, the foretaste of all the beauties that are to follow it--of all, and more--of all the delights of summer, and all the ‘pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious autumn.’ It is fraught with beauties that no other month can bring before us, and

‘It bears a glass which shows us many more.’

Its life is one sweet alternation of smiles and sighs and tears, and tears and sighs and smiles, till it is consummated at last in the open laughter of May.”

By the same hand we are directed to observe, “what a sweet flush of new green has started up to the face of this meadow! And the new-born daisies that stud it here and there, give it the look of an emerald sky, powdered with snowy stars. In making our way to yonder hedgerow, which divides the meadow from the little copse that lines one side of it, let us not take the shortest way, but keep religiously to the little footpath; for the young grass is as yet too tender to bear being trod upon; and the young lambs themselves, while they go cropping its crisp points, let the sweet daisies alone, as if they loved to look upon a sight as pretty and as innocent as themselves.” It is further remarked that “the great charm of this month, both in the open country and the garden, is undoubtedly the infinite green which pervades it every where, and which we had best gaze our fill at while we may, as it lasts but a little while,--changing in a few weeks into an endless variety of shades and tints, that are equivalent to as many different colours. It is this, and the budding forth of every living member of the vegetable world, after its long winter death, that in fact constitutes the spring; and the sight of which affects us in the manner it does, from various causes--chiefly moral and associated ones; but one of which is unquestionably physical: I mean the sight of so much tender green after the eye has been condemned to look for months and months on the mere negation of all colour, which prevails in winter in our climate. The eye feels cheered, cherished, and regaled by this colour, as the tongue does by a quick and pleasant taste, after having long palated nothing but tasteless and insipid things.--This is the principal charm of spring, no doubt. But another, and one that is scarcely second to this, is, the bright flush of blossoms that prevails over and almost hides every thing else in the fruit-garden and orchard. What exquisite differences and distinctions and resemblances there are between all the various blossoms of the fruit-trees; and no less in their general effect than in their separate details! The almond-blossom, which comes first of all, and while the tree is quite bare of leaves, is of a bright blush-rose colour; and when they are fully blown, the tree, if it has been kept to a compact head, instead of being permitted to straggle, looks like one huge rose, magnified by some fairy magic, to deck the bosom of some fair giantess. The various kinds of plum follow, the blossoms of which are snow-white, and as full and clustering as those of the almond. The peach and nectarine, which are now full blown, are unlike either of the above; and their sweet effect, as if growing out of the hard bare wall, or the rough wooden paling, is peculiarly pretty. They are of a deep blush colour, and of a delicate bell shape, the lips, however, divided, and turning backward, to expose the interior to the cherishing sun. But perhaps the bloom that is richest and most promising in its general appearance is that of the cherry, clasping its white honours all round the long straight branches, from heel to point, and not letting a leaf or a bit of stem be seen, except the three or four leaves that come as a green finish at the extremity of each branch. The other blossoms, of the pears, and (loveliest of all) the apples, do not come in perfection till next month.”

* * * * *

SPRING.

The beauties of the seasons are a constant theme with their discoverers--the poets. Spring, as the reproductive source of “light and life and love,” has the preeminence with these children of nature. The authors of “The Forest Minstrel and other poems,” William and Mary Howitt, have high claims upon reflective and imaginative minds, in return for the truth and beauty contained in an elegant volume, which cultivates the moral sense, and infuses a devotional spirit, through exquisite description and just application. The writers have traversed “woods and wilds, and fields, and lanes, with a curious and delighted eye,” and “written not for the sake of writing,” but for the indulgence of their overflowing feelings. They are “members of the Society of Friends,” and those who are accustomed to regard individuals of that community as necessarily incapable of poetical impression, will be pleased by reading from Mr. Howitt’s “Epistle Dedicatory” what he says of his own verses, and of his helpmate in the work:--

And now ’tis spring, and bards are gathering flowers; So I have cull’d you these, and with them sent The gleanings of a nymph whom some few hours Ago I met with--some few years I meant-- Gathering “true-love” amongst the wild-wood bowers; You’ll find some buds all with this posy blent, If that ye know them, which some lady fair Viewing, may haply prize, for they are wond’rous rare.

Artists have seldom represented friends--“of the Society of Friends,”--with poetical feeling. Mr. Howitt’s sketch of himself, and her whom he found gathering “true-love,” though they were not clad perhaps “as worldlings are,” would inspire a painter, whose art could be roused by the pen, to a charming picture of youthful affection. The habit of some of the young men, in the peaceable community, maintains its character, without that extremity of the fashion of being out of fashion, which marks the wearer as remarkably formal; while the young females of the society, still preserving the distinction prescribed by discipline, dress more attractively, to the cultivated eye, than a multitude of the sex who study variety of costume. Such lovers, pictured as they are imagined from Mr. Howitt’s lines, would grace a landscape, enfoliated from other stanzas in the same poem, which raise the fondest recollections of the pleasures of boyhood in spring.

Then did I gather, with a keen delight, All changes of the seasons, and their signs: Then did I speed forth, at the first glad sight Of the coy spring--of spring that archly shines Out for a day--then goes--and then more bright Comes laughing forth, like a gay lass that lines A dark lash with a ray that beams and burns, And scatters hopes and doubts, and smiles and frowns, by turns.

On a sweet, shining morning thus sent out, It seem’d what man was made for, to look round And trace the full brook, that, with clamorous route, O’er fallen trees, and roots black curling, wound Through glens, with wild brakes scatter’d all about; Where not a leaf or green blade yet was found Springing to hide the red fern of last year, And hemlock’s broken stems, and rustling rank grass sere.

But hazel catkins, and the bursting buds Of the fresh willow, whisper’d “spring is coming;” And bullfinches forth flitting from the woods, With their rich silver voices; and the humming Of a new waken’d bee that pass’d; and the broods Of ever dancing gnats, again consuming, In pleasant sun-light, their re-given time; And the germs swelling in the red shoots of the lime.

All these were tell-tales of far brighter hours, That had been, and again were on their way; The breaking forth of green things, and of flowers, From the earth’s breast; from bank and quickening spray Dews, buds, and blossoms; and in woodland bowers, Fragrant and fresh, full many a sweet bird’s lay, Sending abroad, from the exultant spring, To every living heart a gladsome welcoming.

Howitt.

[117] Vol. i. p. 407.

~April 1.~

ALL FOOL’S DAY.

In the first volume of the present work, (p. 409,) there is an account of the singular usage of fool-making to-day, which may be further illustrated by a few lines from an almanac of 1760:--

The first of April, some do say, Is set apart for All Fool’s-day; But why the people call it so, Nor I, nor they themselves, do know. But on this day are people sent On purpose for pure merriment; And though the day is known before, Yet frequently there is great store Of these forgetfuls to be found, Who’re sent to flance Moll Dixon’s round; And having tried each shop and stall, And disappointed at them all, At last some tell them of the cheat, And then they hurry from the street, And straightway home with shame they run, And others laugh at what is done. But ’tis a thing to be disputed, Which is the greatest fool reputed, The man that innocently went, Or he that him designedly sent.

Poor Robin.

* * * * *

The custom of making April fools prevails all over the continent. A lady relates that the day is further marked in Provence by every body, both rich and poor, having for dinner, under some form or other, a sort of peas peculiar to the country, called pois chiches. While the convent of the Chartreux was standing, it was one of the great jokes of the day to send novices thither to ask for these peas, telling them that the fathers were obliged to give them away to any body who would come for them. So many applications were in consequence made in the course of the day for the promised bounty, that the patience of the monks was at last usually exhausted, and it was well if the vessel carried to receive the pease was not thrown at the head of the bearer.

* * * * *

There is an amusing anecdote connected with the church of the convent of the Chartreux, at Provence. It was dedicated to St. John, and over the portico were colossal statues of the four evangelists, which have been thrown down and broken to pieces, and the fragments lie scattered about. The first time Miss Plumptre with her party visited this spot, they found an old woman upon her knees before a block of stone, muttering something to herself:--when she arose up, curiosity led them to inquire, whether there was any thing particular in that stone; to which she replied with a deep sigh, Ah oui, c’est un morceau de Saint Jean, “Ah yes, ’tis a piece of Saint John.” The old lady seemed to think that the saint’s intercession in her behalf, mutilated as he was, might still be of some avail.

* * * * *

In Xylander’s Plutarch there is a passage in Greek, relative to the “Feast of Fools,” celebrated by the Romans, to this effect, “Why do they call the Quirinalia the Feast of Fools? Either, because they allowed this day (as Juba tells us) to those who could not ascertain their own tribes, or because they permitted those who had missed the celebration of the Fornacalia in their proper tribes, along with the rest of the people, either out of negligence, absence, or ignorance, to hold their festival apart on this day.”

* * * * *

The Romans on the first day of April abstained from pleading causes, and the Roman ladies performed ablutions under myrtle trees, crowned themselves with its leaves, and offered sacrifices to Venus. This custom originated in a mythological story, that as Venus was drying her wetted hair by a river side, she was perceived by satyrs, whose gaze confused her:--

But soon with myrtles she her beauties veiled, From whence this annual custom was entail’d.

Ovid.

NEWCASTLE.

Extract from the Common Council Book.

“April 1, 1695. All-Saints’ parish humbly request the metal of the statue, towards the repair of their bells.”

This refers to a statue of James II. pulled down from the Exchange in consequence of lord Lumley having entered the town and declared for a free parliament. It was an equestrian figure in copper, of the size of Charles I. at Charing-cross. The mob demolished the statue, dragged it to the quay, and cast it into the river. As the parish of All-Saints desired to turn the deposit to some account, the parish of St. Andrews petitioned for a share of the spoil, and it appears by the subjoined extract from the council books, that each was accommodated.

“Ordered that All-Saints have the metal belonging to the horse of the said statue, except a leg thereof, which must go towards the casting of a new bell for St. Andrew’s parish.”

A print of the statue was published “on two large sheets of Genoa paper,” price 5_s._ by Joseph Barber of Newcastle. There is an engraving from it in “Local Records, by John Sykes, bookseller, Newcastle, 1824,” a book which consists of a chronological arrangement of curious and interesting facts, and events, that have occurred exclusively in the counties of Durham and Northumberland, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Berwick, with an obituary and anecdotes of remarkable persons. The present notice is taken from Mr. Sykes’s work.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·17.

~April 2.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 2d of April 1755, Severndroog castle, on the coast of Malabar, belonging to Angria, a celebrated pirate, was taken by commodore James. His relict, to commemorate her husband’s heroism, and to testify her affectionate respect to his memory, erected a tower of the same name on Shooters-hill, near Blackheath, where it is a distinguished land-mark at an immense distance to the circumjacent country.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·37.

~April 3.~

SIGNS OF THE SEASONS.

It is noticed on this day in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the birds are now arriving daily, and forming arrangements for the hatching and nurture of their future young. The different sorts of nests of each species, adapted to the wants of each, and springing out of their respective instincts, combined with the propensity to construct, would form a curious subject of research for the natural historian. Every part of the world furnishes materials for the aërial architects: leaves and small twigs, roots and dried grass, mixed with clay, serve for the external; whilst moss, wool, fine hair, and the softest animal and vegetable downs, form the warm internal part of these commodious dwellings:--

Of vernal songsters--some to the holly hedge, Nestling, repair, and to the thicket some; Some to the rude protection of the thorn Commit their feeble offspring: the cleft tree Offers its kind concealment to a few, Their food its insects, and its moss their nests: Others apart, far in the grassy dale Or roughening waste, their humble texture weave: But most in woodland solitudes delight, In unfrequented glooms or shaggy banks, Steep, and divided by a babbling brook, Whose murmurs soothe them all the livelong day, When by kind duty fixed. Among the roots Of hazel, pendent o’er the plaintive stream, They frame the first foundation of their domes, Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid, And bound with clay together. Now ’tis naught But restless hurry through the busy air, Beat by unnumbered wings. The swallow sweeps The slimy pool, to build the hanging house Intent: and often from the careless back Of herds and flocks a thousand tugging bills Pluck hair and wool; and oft, when unobserved, Steal from the barn a straw; till soft and warm, Clean and complete, their habitation grows.

Thomson.

* * * * *

The cavern-loving wren sequestered seeks The verdant shelter of the hollow stump, And with congenial moss, harmless deceit, Constructs a safe abode. On topmost boughs The glossy raven, and the hoarsevoiced crow, Rocked by the storm, erect their airy nests. The ousel, lone frequenter of the grove Of fragrant pines, in solemn depth of shade Finds rest; or ’mid the holly’s shining leaves, A simple bush the piping thrush contents, Though in the woodland concert he aloft Trills from his spotted throat a powerful strain, And scorns the humbler quire. The lark too asks A lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf, Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof; Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays Pours forth, as earth ne’er owns. Within the hedge The sparrow lays her skystained eggs. The barn, With eaves o’erpendant, holds the chattering tribe: Secret the linnet seeks the tangled copse: The white owl seeks some antique ruined wall, Fearless of rapine; or in hollow trees, Which age has caverned, safely courts repose: The thievish pie, in twofold colours clad, Roofs o’er her curious nest with firmwreathed twigs, And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreads The taloned kite, or pouncing hawk; savage Herself, with craft suspicion ever dwells.

Bidlake.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·37.

~April 4.~

CHEAP WEATHER GUIDE.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Cornhill, March, 1826.

Sir,--The following observations on the leechworm were made by a gentleman who kept one several years for the purpose of a weather-glass:

A phial of water, containing a leech, I kept on the frame of my lower sash window, so that when I looked in the morning I could know what would be the weather of the following day. If the weather proves serene and beautiful, the leech lies motionless at the bottom of the glass, and rolled together in a spiral form.

If it rains, either before or after noon, it is found crept up to the top of its lodging, and there it remains till the weather is settled. If we are to have wind, the poor prisoner gallops through its limped habitation with amazing swiftness, and seldom rests till it begins to blow hard.

If a storm of thunder and rain is to succeed, for some days before it lodges, almost continually, without the water, and discovers very great uneasiness in violent throes and convulsions.

In the frost, as in clear summer weather, it lies constantly at the bottom; and in snow, as in rainy weather, it pitches its dwelling upon the very mouth of the phial.

What reasons may be assigned for these circumstances I must leave philosophers to determine, though one thing is evident to every body, that it must be affected in the same way as that of the mercury and spirits in the weather-glass. It has, doubtless, a very surprising sensation; for the change of weather, even days before, makes a visible alteration upon its manner of living.

Perhaps it may not be amiss to note, that the leech was kept in a common eight-ounce phial glass, about three-quarters filled with water, and covered on the mouth with a piece of linen rag. In the summer the water is changed once a week, and in the winter once a fortnight. This is a weather-glass which may be purchased at a very trifling expense, and which will last I do not know how many years.

I am, &c.

J. F.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·82.

~April 5.~

SWALLOWS IN 1826.

Our friend J. H. H. whose letter on wild-fowl shooting, from Abbeville, is in vol. i. p. 1575, with another on lark shooting in France in the present volume, p. 91, writes from Southover, near Lewes, in Sussex, on this day, 1826, “How delightful the country looks! I shall leave you to imagine two swallows, the first I have seen, now preening themselves on the barn opposite, heartily glad that their long journey is at an end.” The birds come to us this year very early.

Pump with two Spouts.

In a letter of the 5th of April, 1808, to Dr. Aikin, inserted in his “Athenæum,” Mr. Roots says,--“In the year 1801, being on a tour through the Highlands of Scotland, I visited the beautiful city of Glasgow, and in passing one of the principal streets in the neighbourhood of the Tron church, I observed about five-and-twenty or thirty people, chiefly females, assembled round a large public pump, waiting their separate turns for water; and although the pump had two spouts for the evacuation of the water behind and before, I took notice that one of the spouts was carefully plugged up, no one attempting to fill his vessel from that source, whilst each was waiting till the rest were served, sooner than draw the water from the spout in question. On inquiry into the cause of this proceeding, I was informed by an intelligent gentleman residing in the neighbourhood, that though one and the same handle produced the same water from the same well through either of the spouts, yet the populace, and even better informed people, had for a number of years conceived an idea, which had been handed down from father to son, that the water when drawn from the hindermost spout would be of an unlucky and poisonous nature; and this vulgar prejudice is from time to time kept afloat, inasmuch, as by its being never used, a kind of dusty fur at length collects, and the water, when suffered from curiosity to pass through, at first runs foul; and this tends to carry conviction still further to these ignorant people, who with the most solemn assurances informed me, it was certain death to taste of the water so drawn, and no argument could divest them of their superstitious conceit, though the well had been repeatedly cleaned out, before them, by order of the magistrates, and the internal mechanism of the pump explained. We need not be surprised at the bigotted ignorance of the ruder ages, either in this country or in less civilized regions, when we witness facts so grossly superstitious obtaining in our own time.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·67.

~April 6.~

SPRING.

This period of the year is so awakening to intellectual powers, that for a few days some matters of fact are occasionally deferred in favour of imaginative and descriptive effusions occasioned by the season.

THE POET’S PEN.

(From the Greek of Menecrates.)

I was an useless reed; no cluster hung My brow with purple grapes, no blossom flung The coronet of crimson on my stem; No apple blushed upon me, nor (the gem Of flowers) the violet strewed the yellow heath Around my feet, nor Jessamine’s sweet wreath Robed me in silver: day and night I pined On the lone moor, and shiver’d in the wind. At length a poet found me. From my side He smoothed the pale and withered leaves, and dyed My lips in Helicon. From that high hour I SPOKE! My words were flame and living power, All the wide wonders of the earth were mine, Far as the surges roll, or sunbeams shine; Deep as earth’s bosom hides the emerald; High as the hills with thunder clouds are pall’d. And there was sweetness round me, that the dew Had never wet so sweet on violet’s blue. To me the mighty sceptre was a wand, The roar of nations peal’d at my command; To me the dungeon, sword, and scourge were vain, I smote the smiter, and I broke the chain; Or tow’ring o’er them all, without a plume, I pierced the purple air, the tempest’s gloom, Till blaz’d th’ Olympian glories on my eye, Stars, temples, thrones, and gods--infinity.

Pulci

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·84.

~April 7.~

SAINTS.

Our old acquaintance with the saints is not broken: but they are sad intruders on the beauties of the world, and we part from them, for a little while, after the annexed communication of an attempt to honour them.

SERMON AT ST. ANDREW’S.

For the Every-Day Book.

The following anecdote, under the article “Black Friars,” in Brand’s “History of Newcastle-upon-Tyne,” as a specimen of the extreme perversion of mind in the Romish clergy of former times, is curious, and may amuse your readers as much as it has me.

Richard Marshall, who had been one of the brethren, and also prior of the house, in the year 1521, at St. Andrew’s, Scotland, informed his audience there, that Pater noster should be addressed to God and not to the saints. The doctors of St. Andrew’s, in their great wisdom, or rather craftiness, appointed a preacher to oppose this tenet, which he did in a sermon from Matt. v. 3. “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” “Seeing,” says he, “we say good day, father, to any old man in the street, we may call a saint, pater, who is older than any alive: and seeing they are in heaven, we may say to any of them, ‘hallowed be thy name;’ and since they are in the kingdom of heaven, we may say to any of them ‘thy kingdom come:’ and seeing their will is God’s will, we may say, ‘thy will be done,’” &c. When the friar was proceeding further, he was hissed and even obliged to leave the city. Yet we are told, the dispute continued among the doctors about the pater. Some would have it said to God formaliter, to the saints materialiter; others, to God principaliter, to the saints minus principaliter; or primario to God, secundario to the saints; or to God strictè, and to the saints latè. With all these distinctions they could not agree. It is said, that Tom, who was servant to the sub-prior of St. Andrew’s, one day perceiving his master in trouble, said to him, “Sir, what is the cause of your trouble?” The master answered, “We cannot agree about the saying of the pater.” The fellow replied, “To whom should it be said but to God alone?” The master asks, “What then shall we do with the saints?” To which Tom rejoined, “Give them ave’s and crede’s enough, that may suffice them, and too well too.” The readers of the Every-Day Book will probably think that Tom was wiser or honester than his master.

J. F.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·10.

~April 8.~

FLOWERS.

On this day in the “Perennial Calendar,” Dr. Forster observes, that it may be proper to notice the general appearance of the wild and less cultivated parts of nature at this time. In the fields, the bulbous crowfoot, ranunculus bulbosus, begins to blow. Daisies become pretty common, and dandelions are seen here and there by road sides, and in fields, on a warm soil, are pretty abundant. The pilewort, ficaria verna, still decorates the thickets and shady green banks with its bright yellow stars of gold. It may be observed generally, that the flowers found at this time belong to the primaveral Flora; those of the vernal being as yet undeveloped. By the sides of rivers, streams, and ponds, along the wet margins of ditches, and in moist meadows, and marshes, grows the marsh marigold, caltha palustris, whose golden yellow flowers have a brilliant effect at a small distance.

Prolific gales Warm the soft air, and animate the vales. Woven with flowers and shrubs, and freshest green, Thrown with wild boldness o’er the lovely scene A brilliant carpet, of unnumbered dyes, With sweet variety enchants the eyes. Thick are the trees with leaves; in every grove The feathered minstrels tune their throats to love.

Kleist.

DOMESTIC ANTIQUITIES,

and a

LETTER OF LORD THURLOW’S.

A gentleman indulges the editor with the following account of a singular household utensil, and a drawing of it, from whence a correct engraving has been made; together with a letter from the late lord chancellor Thurlow, which from his distinguished hand on a singular occurrence, merits preservation.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

April 3, 1826.

Sir,--I shall be happy to communicate any thing in my power, connected with antiquities to the Every-Day Book, which I have taken from the beginning and been highly pleased with; and, first, I send you a drawing for insertion, if you think it worthy, of a carving, in my possession, on an ancient oak board, two feet in diameter.

It represents the letters ~I. h. c.~ in the centre, surrounded by this legend, viz.

“An harte that is wyse wyll obstine from sinnes and increas in the workes of God.”

As this legend reads backward, and all the carving is incuse, it was evidently intended to give impression to something; I imagine pastry.

An original letter is now before me, from lord chancellor Thurlow, to a Norfolk farmer, who had sent him a hare, and two and a half brace of partridges, enclosed in a large turnip of his own growth. The farmer had not any personal knowledge of his lordship, but, being aware he was a Norfolk man, he rightly conceived that his present would be looked upon with more interest on that account. The following is a copy of the chancellor’s letter:--

Bath, Dec. 31, 1778.

Sir,--I beg you will accept of my best thanks for your agreeable present. It gave me additional satisfaction to be so remembered in my native country; to which I, in particular, owe every sort of respect, and all the world agrees to admire for superiority in husbandry.

I am, Sir,

Your most obliged

And obedient servant,

THURLOW.

Having transcribed his lordship’s answer, you are at liberty to do with that, and the drawing of my carving, as you please; with this “special observance,” that you do not insert my name, which, nevertheless, for your satisfaction, I subscribe, with my abode.

Believe me, Sir, &c.

ETA.

* * * * *

⁂ The editor is gratified by the confidence reposed in him by the gentleman who wrote the preceding letter. He takes this opportunity of acknowledging similar marks of confidence, and reiterates the assurance, that such wishes will be always scrupulously observed.

It is respectfully observed to possessors of curiosities of any kind, whether ancient or modern, that if correct drawings of them be sent they shall be faithfully engraven and inserted, with the descriptive accounts.

The gradual disappearance of many singular traces of our ancestors, renders it necessary to call attention to the subject. “Apostle Spoons,” of which there is an engraving in vol. i. p. 178, have been dropping for the last thirty years into the refiner’s melting-pot, till sets of them are not to be purchased, or even seen, except in cabinets. Any thing of interest respecting domestic manners, habits, or customs, of old times, is coveted by the editor for the purpose of recording and handing them down to posterity.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·72.

~April 9.~

AN APRIL DAY.

Some verses in the “Widow’s Tale,” are beautifully descriptive of the season.

All day the lowhung clouds have dropt Their garnered fulness down; All day that soft grey mist hath wrapt Hill, valley, grove, and town. There has not been a sound to-day To break the calm of nature; Nor motion, I might almost say, Of life or living creature; Of waving bough, or warbling bird, Or cattle faintly lowing; I could have half believed I heard The leaves and blossoms growing. I stood to hear--I love it well, The rain’s continuous sound, Small drops, but thick and fast, they fell, Down straight into the ground. For leafy thickness is not yet Earth’s naked breast to screen, Though every dripping branch is set With shoots of tender green. Sure, since I looked at early morn, Those honeysuckle buds Have swelled to double growth; that thorn Hath put forth larger studs; That lilac’s cleaving cones have burst, The milkwhite flowers revealing; Even now, upon my senses first Methinks their sweets are stealing. The very earth, the steamy air, Is all with fragrance rife; And grace and beauty every where Are flushing into life. Down, down they come--those fruitful stores! Those earth-rejoicing drops! A momentary deluge pours, Then thins, decreases, stops; And ere the dimples on the stream Have circled out of sight, Lo! from the west, a parting gleam Breaks forth of amber light. But yet behold--abrupt and loud, Comes down the glittering rain; The farewell of a passing cloud, The fringes of her train.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·17.

~April 10.~

THE SEASON.

Art, as well as nature, is busily occupied in providing for real wants or natural desires. To gratify the ears and eyes of the young, we have more street organs and shows in spring than in the autumn, and the adventures of that merry fellow “Punch in the Puppet-show,” are represented to successive crowds in every street, whence his exhibitors conceive they can extract funds for the increase of their treasury.

A kind hand communicates an article of curious import, peculiarly seasonable.

PUNCH IN THE PUPPET SHOW.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--I do not know, whether in the absence of more interesting matter, a few remarks on an old favourite may be allowed. The character I am about to mention, has I am sure at one time or another delighted most of your readers, and I confess to be still amused with his vagaries--I mean “that celebrated wooden Roscius, Mister Punch.” It is very difficult to trace accurately the origin and variation of any character of this description; and I shall, therefore, only offer some unconnected notices.

In some of the old mysteries, wherein you are so well read, “the devil” was the buffoon of the piece, and used to indulge himself most freely in the gross indecencies tolerated in the earlier ages. When those mysteries began to be refined into moralities, the vice gradually superseded the former clown, if he may be so designated; and at the commencement of such change, frequently shared the comic part of the performance with him. The vice was armed with a dagger of lath, with which he was to belabour the devil, who, sometimes, however, at the conclusion of the piece, carried off the vice with him. Here we have something like the club wielded by Punch, and the wand of harlequin, at the present time, and a similar finish of the devil and Punch, may be seen daily in our streets.

About the beginning of the sixteenth century the drama began to assume a more regular form, and the vice, in his turn, had to make way for the clown or fool, who served to fill up the space between the acts, by supposed extemporaneous witticisms; holding, occasionally, trials of wit with any of the spectators who were bold enough to venture with him. The last play, perhaps, in which the regular fool was introduced, was “The Woman Captain” of Shadwell, in the year 1680. Tarleton, in the time of Shakspeare, was a celebrated performer of this description. The fool was frequently dressed in a motley or party-coloured coat, and each leg clad in different coloured hose. A sort of hood covered his head, resembling a monk’s cowl: this was afterwards changed for a cap, each being usually surmounted with the neck and head of a cock, or sometimes only the crest, or comb; hence the term cockscomb. In his hand he carried the bauble, a short stick, having at one end a fool’s head, and at the other, frequently a bladder with peas or sand, to punish those who offended him. His dress was often adorned with morris-bells, or large knobs. We may observe much similarity to this dress, in the present costume of Punch. He degenerated into a wooden performer, about the time that the regular tragedy and comedy were introduced, i. e. in the beginning of the sixteenth century. Strolling players were prohibited a few years afterwards, and some of those performers who had not skill or interest enough to get a situation in any established company, went about the country with puppet shows, or “motions,” as they were then called, wherein Punch was a prominent character, though not by that name, which was a subsequent importation, originally Policinello, or Punchinello; and when this name was introduced from the continent, some modifications were made also in the character to whom the name was attached. The civil wars, and subsequent triumph of puritanism, depressed theatrical proceedings, and Punch with other performers was obliged to hide himself, or act by stealth; but in the jovial reign of Charles II., he, and his brother actors, broke out with renewed splendour, and until the time of George I. he maintained his rank manfully, being mentioned with considerable respect even by the “Spectator.” About this time, however, harlequinades were introduced, and have been so successfully continued, that poor Punch is contented to walk the streets like a snail, with his house on his back, though still possessing as much fun as ever.

Pantomime, in its more extended sense, was known to the Greek and Roman stages, being introduced on the latter by Pylades and Bathyllus, in the time of Augustus Cæsar. From that time to the present, different modifications of this representation have taken place on the continent, and the lofty scenes of ancient pantomime, are degenerated to the bizarre adventures of harlequin, pantaloon, zany, pierrot, scaramouch, &c.

The first pantomine performed by grotesque characters in this country, was at Drury-lane theatre, in the year 1702. It was composed by Mr. Weaver, and called “The Tavern Bilkers.” The next was performed at Drury-lane in 1716, and it was also composed by Mr. Weaver, in imitation of the ancient pantomime, and called “The Loves of Mars and Venus.”

In 1717, the first harlequinade, composed by Mr. Rich, was performed at the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, called, “Harlequin Executed.” This performer, who acted under the name of Lun, was so celebrated for his taste in composing these entertainments, and for his skill, as a harlequin, that they soon became established in the public favour. He flourished until the year 1761, and all his productions succeeded.

The harlequin on the French stage differed from ours, for he had considerable license of speech, somewhat similar to the theatric fools of the sixteenth century. Many of the witticisms of Dominique, a celebrated harlequin in the time of Louis XIV. are still on record; it is said, indeed, that before his time, harlequin was but a grotesque ignorant character, but that he being a man of wit, infused it into his representation, and invented the character of Pierrot as a foolish servant, to fill up the piece. The old character of zany was similar to our modern clown, who now is generally the possessor of all the wit in the performance. The name of pantaloon is said to have been derived from the watch-word of the Venetians, pianta leone; if so, (which is doubtful) it must have been applied in derision of their fallen state, as compared with their former splendour. A more doubtful origin has been given of the name of harlequin; a young Italian actor of eminence in this style of character, came to Paris in the time of Henry III. of France, and having been received into the house of the president, Achilles de Harlai, his brother actors, are said to have called him harlequino, from the name of his master. There was a knight called Harlequin, an extravagant dissipated man, who spent his substance in the wars of Charles Martel, against the Saracens, and afterwards lived by pillage. Tradition says he was saved from perdition in consequence of his services against the infidels, but condemned for a certain time to appear nightly upon earth, with those of his lineage.

But, as to derivations, some have derived the term merry-andrew, from the time of the Druids, an Drieu, i.e. Arch-Druid,--others, from the celebrated Andrew Borde, the writer and empiric. The merry-andrew used at fairs to wear a patched coat like the modern harlequin, and sometimes a hunch on his back. It has been remarked that the common people are apt to give to some well-known facetious personage, the name of a favourite dish; hence, the jack-pudding of the English; the jean-potage of the French; the macaroni of the Italians, &c.

A word or two more about Punch, and I have done. There are some hand-bills in the British Museum, of the time of queen Ann, from whence I made a few extracts some time ago. They principally relate to the shows at Bartlemy fair, and I observe at “Heatly’s booth,” that “the performances will be compleated with the merry humors of sir John Spendall and Punchinello;” and James Miles, at “the Gun-Musick booth,” among other dances &c., exhibited “a new entertainment between a scaramouch, a harlequin, and a punchinello, in imitation of bilking a reckoning,--and a new dance by four scaramouches, after the Italian manner,” &c.

The famous comedian Edwin, (the Liston of his day) acted the part of Punch, in a piece called “The Mirror,” at Covent-garden theatre: in this he introduced a burlesque song by C. Dibdin, which obtained some celebrity; evidently through the merit of the actor, rather than the song, as it has nothing particular to recommend it.

Can’t you see by my hunch, sir, Faddeldy daddeldy dino, I am master Punch, sir, Riberi biberi bino, Fiddeldy, diddeldy, faddeldy, daddeldy, Robbery, bobbery, ribery, bibery, Faddeldy, daddeldy, dino, Ribery, bibery, bino. That merry fellow Punchinello, Dancing here, you see, sir, Whose mirth not hell Itself can quell He’s ever in such glee, sir, Niddlety, noddlety, niddlety, noddlety, niddlety, noddlety, nino. Then let me pass, old Grecian, Faddeldy, daddeldy, dino. To the fields Elysian, Bibery, bibery, bino. Fiddledy, diddledy, faddledy, daddledy, Robbery, bobbery, ribery, bibery, Faddledy, daddledy, dino, Ribery, bibery, bino. My ranting, roaring Pluto, Faddledy, daddledy, dino, Just to a hair will suit oh, Bibery, bibery, bino. Faddledy, daddledy, &c. Each jovial fellow, At Punchinello, Will, laughing o’er his cup roar, I’ll rant and revel, And play the devil, And set all hell in an uproar, Niddlety, noddlety, nino. Then let me pass, &c.

I therewith conclude this hasty communication, begging you to shorten it if you think proper.

I am, &c.

W. S----.

* * * * *

Edwin’s song in the character of Punch is far less offensive than many of the songs and scenes in “Don Juan,” which is still represented. This drama which is of Italian origin, the editor of the Every-Day Book, in his volume on “Ancient Mysteries,” has ventured to conjecture, may have been derived from the adventures of the street Punch. The supposition is somewhat heightened by Edwin’s song as the Punch of Covent-garden.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·32.

~April 11.~

ISLINGTON PARISH DINNER.

In March, an anonymous correspondent obligingly enclosed, and begged my acceptance of a ticket, for a parish dinner at Islington, on the 11th of April, 1738. It would have been rudeness to decline the civility, and as the editor was not prepared to join the guests at the great dinner, “not where they eat, but where they are eaten,” he appropriates the ticket to the use for which it was intended by the donor, T. H. of St. John-street.

It would do the reader’s heart good to see this ticket--“printed from a copper plate,” ten inches high, by seven inches wide--as large as a lord mayor’s ticket, and looking much better, because engraved by Toms, a fine firm artist of “the good old school,” which taught truth as an essential, and prohibited refinements, not existing in nature or sensible objects, as detraction of character.

It would do the reader’s heart good, I say, to see the dinner ticket I am now looking at. First, above the invitation--which is all that the lover of a dinner first sees--and therefore, because nothing precedes it, “above all,”--is a capital view of the old parish church, and the churchyard, wherein “lie the remains” of most of the company who attended the parish dinner--it being as certain that the remains of the rest of the company, occupy other tenements, of “the house appointed for all living,” as that they all lived, and ate and drank, and were merry.

This is not a melancholy, but a natural view. It may be said, there is “a time for all things,” but if there be any time, wherein we fear to entertain death, we are not fully prepared to receive him as we ought. It is true, that with “the cup of kindness” at our lips, we do not expect his friendly “shake,” before we finish the draught, yet the liquor will not be the worse for our remembering that his is a previous engagement; and, as we do not know the hour of appointment, we ought to be ready at all hours. The business of life is to die.

I am not a member of a parish club, but I have sometimes thought, if I could “do as others do,” and “go to club,” I should elect to belong to an old one, which preserved the minutes of its proceedings, and its muniments, from the commencement. My first, and perhaps last, serious motion, would be, “That each anniversary dinner ticket of the club, from the first ticket to the last issued, should be framed and glazed, and hung on the walls of the club room, in chronological order.” Such a series would be a never-failing source of interest and amusement. If the parish club of Islington exists, a collection of its tickets so disposed, might be regarded as annals of peculiar worth, especially if many of its predecessors in the annual office of “stewards for the dinner,” maintained the consequence of the club in the eyes of the parish, by respectability of execution and magnitude in the anniversary ticket, commensurate with that of the year 1738, with Toms’s view of the old parish church and churchyard. I regret that these cannot be here given in the same size as on the ticket; the best that can be effected, is a reduced fac-simile of the original, which is accomplished in the accompanying engraving. Let any one who knows the new church of Islington, compare it with the present view of the old church, and say which church he prefers. At this time, however, the present church may be more suitable to Islington, grown, or grown up to, as it is, until it is a part of London; but who would not wish it still a village, with the old edifice for its parish church. That Islington is now more opulent and more respectable, may be very true; but opulence monopolizes, and respectability is often a vain show in the stead of happiness, and a mere flaunt on the ruins of comfort. The remark is, of course, general, and not of Islington in particular, all of whose opulent or respectable residents, may really be so, for aught I know to the contrary. Be it known to them, however, on the authority of the old dinner ticket, that their predecessors, who succeeded the inhabitants from whose doings the village was called “merry Islington,” appear to have dined at a reasonable hour, enjoyed a cheerful glass, and lived in good fellowship.

Immediately beneath the view of the old church on the ticket, follows the stewards’ invitation to the dinner, here copied and subjoined verbatim.

~St. Mary, Islington.~

SIR,

You are desir’d to meet many others, NATIVES of this place, on TUESDAY, y^{e} 11th Day of April, 1738, at Mrs. ELIZ. GRIMSTEAD’S, y^{e} ANGEL & CROWN, in y^{e} upper Street, about y^{e} Hour of ONE; Then, & there w^{th.} FULL DISHES, GOOD WINE, & GOOD HUMOUR, to improve & make lasting that HARMONY, and FRIENDSHIP which have so long reigned among us.

Walter Sebbon

John Booth

Bourchier Durell

James Sebbon

STEWARDS.

N.B.--THE DINNER will be on the Table peremptorily at TWO.

Pray Pay the Bearer Five Shillings.

* * * * *

“Merry Islington!”--We may almost fancy we see the “jolly companions, every one,” in their best wigs, ample coats, and embroidered waistcoats, at their dinner; that we hear the bells ringing out from the square tower of the old church, and the people and boys outside the door of the “Angel and Crown, in y^{e} Upper Street,” huzzaing and rejoicing, that their betters were dining “for the good of the parish”--for so they did: read the ticket again.

England is proverbially called “the ringing island,” which is not the worst thing to say of it; and our forefathers were great eaters and hard drinkers, and that is not the worst thing to say of them; but of our country we can also tell better things, and keep our bells to cheer our stories; and from our countrymen we can select names among the living and the dead that would dignify any spot of earth. Let us then be proud of our ancient virtue, and keep it alive, and add to it. If each will do what he can to take care that the world is not the worse for his existence, posterity will relate that their ancestors did well in it.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·60.

~April 12.~

SIGN OF RAIN.

One of the “Hundred Mery Tales” teacheth that, ere travellers depart their homes, they should know natural signs; insomuch that they provide right array, or make sure that they be safely housed against tempest. Our Shakspeare read the said book of tales, which is therefore called “Shakspeare’s Jest Book;” and certain it is, that though he were not skilled in learning of the schoolmen, by reason that he did not know their languages, yet was he well skilled in English, and a right wise observer of things; wherein, if we be like diligent, we, also, may attain unto his knowledge. Wherefore, learn to take heed against rain, by the tale ensuing.

Of the herdsman that said, “Ride apace, ye shall have rain.”

A certain scholar of Oxford, which had studied the judicials of astronomy, upon a time as he was riding by the way, there came by a herdman, and he asked this herdman how far it was to the next town; “Sir,” quoth the herdman, “it is rather past a mile and an half; but, sir,” quoth he, “ye need to ride apace, for ye shall have a shower of rain ere ye come thither.” “What,” quoth the scholar, “maketh ye say so? there is no token of rain, for the clouds be both fair and clear.” “By my troth,” quoth the herdsman, “but ye shall find it so.”

The scholar then rode forth, and it chanced ere he had ridden half a mile further, there fell a good shower of rain, that the scholar was well washed, and wet to the skin. The scholar then turned him back and rode to the herdman, and desired him to teach him that cunning. “Nay,” quoth the herdman, “I will not teach you my cunning for naught.” Then the scholar proffered him eleven shillings to teach him that cunning. The herdman, after he had received his money, said thus:--“Sir, see you not yonder black ewe with the white face?” “Yes,” quoth the scholar. “Surely,” quoth the herdman, “when she danceth and holdeth up her tail, ye shall have a shower of rain within half an hour after.”

By this ye may see, that the cunning of herdmen and shepherds, as touching alterations of weathers, is more sure than the judicials of astronomy.

* * * * *

Upon this story it seemeth right to conclude, that to stay at home, when rain be foreboded by signs natural, is altogether wise; for though thy lodging be poor, it were better to be in it, and so keep thy health, than to travel in the wet through a rich country and get rheums thereby.

Home.

Cling to thy home! If there the meanest shed Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thine head, And some poor plot, with vegetables stored, Be all that pride allots thee for thy board, Unsavoury bread, and herbs that scatter’d grow, Wild on the river’s brink or mountain’s brow, Yet e’en this cheerless mansion shall provide More heart’s repose than all the world beside.

Leonidas of Tarentum.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·76.

~April 13.~

BIRDS.

About this time, according to Dr. Forster, whose observations on the migrations and habits of birds, are familiar to most persons acquainted with the natural history of our island, the bittern, ardea stellata, begins to make a booming noise in marshy places at eventide. The deep and peculiar hollow tone of this bird in the breeding season, can hardly be mistaken for that of any other: it differs essentially from the note of the same bird when on the wing.

The bittern booms along the sounding marsh, Mixt with the cries of heron and mallard harsh.

The bittern sits all day hid among the reeds and rushes with its head erect; at night it rises on the wing, and soars to a vast height in a spiral direction. Those who desire to see it must pursue a swampy route, through watery fens, quagmires, bogs, and marshes. The heron, ardea major, has now a nest, and is seen sailing about slowly in the air in search of its fishy prey, travelling from one fish pond to another, over a large tract of country. It is a bird of slow and heavy flight, though it floats on large and expansive wings.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·57.

~April 14.~

SPRING.

Genial weather at the commencement of the year, dresses the meadows with the common and beautiful flowers that delight childhood.

The Cowslip.

Cowslip, of all beloved, of all admired! Thee let me sing, the homely shepherd’s pride; Fit emblem of the maid I love, a form Gladdening the sight of man; a sweet perfume, Sending its balmy fragrance to the soul Daughter of Spring and messenger of May, Which shall I first declare, which most extol, Thy sovereign beauties, or thy sovereign use? With thee the rural dame a draught prepares, A nectarous draught, more luscious to my taste Than all thy boasted wine, besotted Bacchus! Maidens with thee their auburn tresses braid; Or, with the daisy and the primrose pale, Thy flowers entwining, weave a chaplet fair, To grace that pole round which the village train Lead on their dance to greet the jocund May; Jocund I’ll call it, for it lends a smile To thee, who never smil’st but once a year. I name thee not, thou poor unpitied wretch! Of all despised, save him whose liberal heart Taught him to feel your wrongs, and plead your cause, Departed Hanway! Peace be to his soul! Great is that man, who quits the path of fame, Who, wealth forsaking, stoops his towering mind From learning’s heights, and stretches out his arm To raise from dust the meanest of his kind. Now that the muse to thee her debt has paid, Friend of the poor and guardian of the wronged, Back let her pleased return, to view those sports, Whose rude simplicity has charms for me Beyond the ball or midnight masquerade. Oft on that merry morn I’ve joined their throng, A glad spectator; oft their uncouth dance Eyed most attentive; when, with tawdry show, Illsorted ribbons decked each maiden’s cap, And cowslip garlands every rustic hat.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·44.

~April 15.~

SEASONABLE.

To the Reader.

On Saturday, the 15th of April, 1826, No. 68, and Part XVII., of the Every-Day Book, forming No. 16, and Part IV. of the second volume, were published by Messrs. HUNT and CLARKE, of Tavistock-street, Covent-garden. As the removal of the office from Ludgate-hill may be an event of as much interest to the friends of the work as any other belonging to the day it is recorded here with the following explanation which was printed on the wrapper of the part:--

“This step relieves me from cares and anxieties which so embarrassed my progress, in conducting and writing the work, as to become overwhelming; and Messrs. Hunt and Clarke will publish it much earlier than hitherto.

“To subscribers the present arrangement will be every way beneficial.

“They will have the Every-Day Book punctually at a proper hour; and, as I shall be enabled to give it the time and attention essential to a thorough fulfilment of its plan, my exertions will, henceforth, be incessantly directed to that end. I, therefore, respectfully and earnestly solicit the friends of the work to aid me by their contributions. At the present moment they will be most acceptable.

“CORRESPONDENTS will, from this day, be pleased to address letters and parcels to me, at Messrs. Hunt and Clarke’s, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden.

W. HONE.”

☞ SIX INDEXES, with a Preface, Title-page, and Frontispiece to the first volume, will be ready for delivery before the appearance of the next sheet; and I hope the labour by which I have endeavoured to facilitate reference to every general and particular subject, may be received as somewhat of atonement, for the delay in these essentials. To guard against a similar accident, I have already commenced the index to the second volume.

W. HONE.

April 15, 1826.

⁂ VOLUME I. contains 868 octavo pages, or 1736 columns, illustrated by One Hundred and Seventy engravings: Price 14s. in boards.

PROGRESS OF THE SEASON.

Song Birds.

If we happen to be wandering forth on a warm still evening during the last week in this month, and passing near a roadside orchard, or skirting a little copse in returning from our twilight ramble, or sitting listlessly on a lawn near some thick plantation, waiting for bed time, we may chance to be startled from our meditations (of whatever kind they may be) by a sound issuing from among the distant leaves, that scares away the silence in a moment, and seems to put to flight even the darkness itself;--stirring the spirit, and quickening the blood, as no other mere sound can, unless it be that of a trumpet calling to battle. That is the nightingale’s voice. The cold spells of winter, that had kept him so long tongue-tied, and frozen the deep fountains of his heart, yield before the mild breath of spring, and he is voluble once more. It is as if the flood of song had been swelling within his breast ever since it last ceased to flow; and was now gushing forth uncontroullably, and as if he had no will to controul it: for when it does stop for a space, it is suddenly, as if for want of breath. In our climate the nightingale seldom sings above six weeks; beginning usually the last week in April. I mention this because many, who would be delighted to hear him, do not think of going to listen for his song till after it has ceased. I believe it is never to be heard after the young are hatched.--Now, too, the pretty, pert-looking blackcap first appears, and pours forth his tender and touching love-song, scarcely inferior, in a certain plaintive inwardness, to the autumn song of the robin. The mysterious little grasshopper lark also runs whispering within the hedgerows; the redstart pipes prettily upon the apple trees; the golden-crowned wren chirps in the kitchen-garden, as she watches for the new sown seeds; and lastly, the thrush, who has hitherto given out but a desultory note at intervals, to let us know that he was not away, now haunts the same tree, and frequently the same branch of it, day after day, and sings an “English Melody” that even Mr. Moore himself could not write appropriate words to.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·16.

~April 16.~

C. L., whose papers under these initials on “Captain Starkey,”[118] “The Ass, No. 2,[119]” and “Squirrels,”[120] besides other communications, are in the first volume, drops the following pleasant article “in an hour of need.”

THE MONTHS.

For the Every-Day Book.

Rummaging over the contents of an old stall at a half book, half old iron shop, in an alley leading from Wardour-street to Soho-square yesterday, I lit upon a ragged duodecimo, which had been the strange delight of my infancy, and which I had lost sight of for more than forty years:--the “QUEEN-LIKE CLOSET, or RICH CABINET:” written by Hannah Woolly, and printed for R. C. & T. S. 1681; being an abstract of receipts in cookery, confectionary, cosmetics, needlework, morality, and all such branches of what were then considered as female accomplishments. The price demanded was sixpence, which the owner (a little squab duodecimo of a character himself) enforced with the assurance that his “own mother should not have it for a farthing less.” On my demurring at this extraordinary assertion, the dirty little vendor reinforced his assertion with a sort of oath, which seemed more than the occasion demanded: “and now (said he) I have put my soul to it.” Pressed by so solemn an asseveration, I could no longer resist a demand which seemed to set me, however unworthy, upon a level with his dearest relations; and depositing a tester, I bore away the tattered prize in triumph. I remembered a gorgeous description of the twelve months of the year, which I thought would be a fine substitute for those poetical descriptions of them which your Every-Day Book had nearly exhausted out of Spenser. This will be a treat, thought I, for friend HONE. To memory they seemed no less fantastic and splendid than the other. But, what are the mistakes of childhood!--on reviewing them, they turned out to be only a set of common-place receipts for working the seasons, months, heathen gods and goddesses, &c. in samplars! Yet as an instance of the homely occupations of our great-grandmothers, they may be amusing to some readers: “I have seen,” says the notable Hannah Woolly, “such Ridiculous things done in work, as it is an abomination to any Artist to behold. As for example: You may find in some Pieces, Abraham and Sarah, and many other Persons of Old time, Cloathed, as they go now a-daies, and truly sometimes worse; for they most resemble the Pictures on Ballads. Let all Ingenious Women have regard, that when they work any Image, to represent it aright. First, let it be Drawn well, and then observe the Directions which are given by Knowing Men. I do assure you, I never durst work any Scripture-Story without informing my self from the Ground of it: nor any other Story, or single Person, without informing my self both of the Visage and Habit; As followeth.

“If you work Jupiter, the Imperial feigned God, He must have long Black-Curled-hair, a Purple Garment trimmed with Gold, and sitting upon a Golden Throne, with bright yellow Clouds about him.”

The Twelve Months of the Year.

March.

Is drawn in Tawny, with a fierce aspect, a Helmet upon his head, and leaning on a Spade, and a Basket of Garden Seeds in his Left hand, and in his Right hand the Sign of Aries: and Winged.

April.

A Young Man in Green, with, a Garland of Mirtle, and Hawthorn-buds; Winged; in one hand Primroses and Violets, in the other the Sign Taurus.

May.

With a Sweet and lovely Countenance, clad in a Robe of White and Green, embroidered with several Flowres, upon his Head a garland of all manner of Roses; on the one hand a Nightingale, in the other a Lute. His sign must be Gemini.

June.

In a Mantle of dark Grass green, upon his Head a garland of Bents, Kings-Cups, and Maiden-hair; in his Left hand an Angle, with a box of Cantharides, in his Right the Sign Cancer, and upon his arms a Basket of seasonable Fruits.

July.

In a Jacket of light Yellow, eating Cherries; with his Face and Bosom Sunburnt; on his Head a wreath of Centaury and wild Tyme; a Scythe on his shoulder, and a bottle at his girdle: carrying the Sign Leo.

August.

A Young Man of fierce and Cholerick aspect, in a Flame-coloured Garment; upon his Head a garland of Wheat and Rye, upon his Arm a Basket of all manner of ripe Fruits, at his Belt a Sickle. His Sign Virgo.

September.

A merry and chereful Countenance, in a Purple Robe, upon his Head a Wreath of red and white Grapes, in his Left hand a handful of Oats, withall carrying a Horn of Plenty, full of all manner of ripe Fruits, in his Right hand the Sign Libra.

October.

In a Garment of Yellow and Carnation, upon his head a garland of Oak-leaves with Akorns, in his Right hand the Sign Scorpio, in his Left hand a Basket of Medlars, Services, and Chesnuts; and any other Fruits then in Season.

November.

In a Garment of Changeable Green and Black upon his Head, a garland of Olives with the Fruit in his Left hand, Bunches of Parsnips and Turnips in his Right. His Sign Sagittarius.

December.

A horrid and fearful aspect, clad in Irish-Rags, or course Freez girt unto him, upon his Head three or four Night-Caps, and over them a Turkish Turbant; his Nose red, his Mouth and Beard clog’d with Isicles, at his back a bundle of Holly, Ivy or Misletoe, holding in fur’d Mittens the Sign of Capricornus.

January.

Clad all in White, as the Earth looks with the Snow, blowing his nails; in his Left Arm a Bilet, the Sign Aquarius standing by his side.

February.

Cloathed in a dark Skie-colour, carrying in his Right hand the Sign Pisces.

The following receipt, “=T=o dress up a Chimney very fine for the Summer time, as I have done many, and they have been liked very well,” may not be unprofitable to the housewives of this century.

“First, take a pack-thred and fasten it even to the inner part of the Chimney, so high as that you can see no higher as you walk up and down the House; you must drive in several Nails to hold up all your work; then get good store of old green Moss from Trees, and melt an equal proportion of Bees-wax and Rosin together and while it is hot, dip the wrong ends of the Moss in it, and presently clap it upon your pack-thred, and press it down hard with your hand; you must make hast, else it will cool before you can fasten it, and then it will fall down; do so all round where the pack-thred goes, and the next row you must joyn to that, so that it may seem all in one; thus do till you have finished it down to the bottom: then take some other kind of Moss, of a whitish-colour and stiff, and of several sorts or kinds, and place that upon the other, here and there carelessly, and in some places put a good deal, and some a little; then any kind of fine Snail-shels, in which the Snails are dead, and little Toad stools, which are very old, and look like Velvet, or any other thing that was old and pretty; place it here and there as your fancy serves, and fasten all with Wax and Rosin. Then for the Hearth of your Chimney, you may lay some Orpan-Sprigs in order all over, and it will grow as it lies; and according to the Season, get what flowers you can, and stick in as if they grew, and a few sprigs of Sweet-Bryer: the Flowers you must renew every Week; but the Moss will last all the Summer, till it will be time to make a fire; and the Orpan will last near two Months. A Chimney thus done doth grace a Room exceedingly.”

One phrase in the above should particularly recommend it to such of your female readers, as, in the nice language of the day, have done growing some time: “little toad stools, &c. and any thing that is old and pretty.” Was ever antiquity so smoothed over? The culinary recipes have nothing remarkable in them, besides the costliness of them. Every thing (to the meanest meats) is sopped in claret, steeped in claret, basted with claret, as if claret were as cheap as ditch water. I remember Bacon recommends opening a turf or two in your garden walks, and pouring into each a bottle of claret, to recreate the sense of smelling, being no less grateful than beneficial. We hope the chancellor of the exchequer will attend to this in his next reduction of French wines, that we may once more water our gardens with right Bourdeaux. The medical recipes are as whimsical as they are cruel. Our ancestors were not at all effeminate on this head. Modern sentimentalists would shrink at a cock plucked and bruised in a mortar alive, to make a cullis; or a live mole baked in an oven (be sure it be alive) to make a powder for consumption.--But the whimsicalest of all are the directions to servants--(for this little book is a compendium of all duties,)--the footman is seriously admonished not to stand lolling against his master’s chair, while he waits at table; for “to lean on a chair, when they wait, is a particular favour shown to any superior servant, as the chief gentleman, or the waiting woman when she rises from the table.” Also he must not “hold the plates before his mouth to be defiled with his breath, nor touch them on the right [inner] side.” Surely Swift must have seen this little treatise.

C. L.

Hannah concludes with the following address, by which the self-estimate which she formed of her usefulness, may be calculated:--

“Ladies, I hope you’re pleas’d and so shall I If what I’ve writ, you may be gainers by; If not; it is your fault, it is not mine, Your benefit in this I do design. Much labour and much time it hath me cost, Therefore I beg, let none of it be lost. The money you shall pay for this my book, You’ll not repent of, when in it you look. No more at present to you I shall say, But wish you all the happiness I may.”

H. W.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 16th of April, 1788, died, at the age of eighty-one, the far-famed count de Buffon, a man of uncommon genius and surprising eloquence, and often styled the “French Pliny,” because, like that philosopher, he studied natural history. Buffon was, perhaps, the most astonishing interpreter of nature that ever existed.[121] His descriptions are luminous and accurate, and every where display a spirit of philosophical observation; but the grand defect of his work is want of method, and he rejects the received principles of classification, and throws his subjects into groups from general points of resemblance. It may be more strongly objected, that many of his allusions are reprehensible; and, as regards himself, though he pretended to respect the ties of society, he constantly violated private morals. As an instance of his vanity, it is reported that he said, “the works of eminent geniuses are few; they are only those of Newton, Bacon, Leibnitz, Montesquieu, and my own.” He was ennobled by patent; and no less distinguished by academical honours, than by his own talents. He left a son, who, in 1793, was guillotined under Robespierre.[122]

BUBBLES.

Worthless speculations, in recent times, have distressed and ruined thousands by their explosion; and yet this has happened with the experience of former sufferers before us as matter of history. In the reign of James I., speculators preyed on public credulity under the authority of the great seal, till the government interposed by annulling the patents. In the reigns of Anne and George I., another race of swindlers deluded the unthinking with private lotteries and schemes of all sorts. The consequences of the South Sea bubble, at a later period, afflicted every family in the nation, from the throne to the labourer’s hut. So recently as the year 1809, there were similar attempts on a less scale, with similar results. The projects of 1824-5, which lingered till 1826, were mining companies.

* * * * *

In the reign of George I., a Mr. Fallowfield issued “proposals for making iron,” wherein he introduces some reflections on the miscarriages of Mr. Wood’s project of “making iron with pulverised ore.” Fallowfield had obtained a patent for making iron with peat, but delayed some time his putting it in practice, because of the mighty bustle made by Mr. Wood and his party. The proceedings of the latter projector furnish a fact under the present day.

It appears from the following statement, that Mr. Wood persisted till his scheme was blown into air by his own experiments.

April 16, 1731. “The proprietors assert that the iron so proposed to be made, and which they actually did make at Chelsea, on Monday, the 16th instant, is not brittle, but tough, and fit for all uses, and is to be manufactured with as little waste of metal, labour, and expense, as any other iron; and that it may and can be made for less than 10_l._ a ton, which they will make apparent to any curious inquirer.”

Whether this “call” upon the “curious inquirer” was designed to introduce “another call” upon the shareholders is not certain, but the call was answered by those to whom it was ostensibly addressed; for there is a notice of “Mr. Wood’s operators failing in their last trial at Chelsea, the 11th instant (May;) their iron breaking to pieces when it came under the great hammer.”[123] They excused it by saying the inspectors had purposely poisoned the iron! Had the assertion been true, Wood’s project might have survived the injury; but it died of the poison on the 3d of May, 1731, notwithstanding the affirmations of the proprietors, that “they actually did make iron at Chelsea, on Monday the 16th of April.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·95.

[118] Vol. i 965.

[119] Ibid. 1358.

[120] Ibid. 1386.

[121] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.

[122] General Biog. Dict.

[123] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~April 17.~

CHRONOLOGY.

Sir William Davenant, the reviver of the drama after the restoration of Charles II., and patentee of the theatre in Lincoln’s-inn-fields, died on the 17th of April, 1668. He was the son of an innkeeper at Oxford, where he was born in 1605; and after studying at Lincoln-college, became a page to Greville, lord Brooke, a literary nobleman, who encouraged his attainments. He cultivated acquaintance with the poetic muse, and the eminent wits of his time. His imagination, depraved by sensuality, was unequal to extensive flights in pure regions. He wrote chiefly to the taste of the court, prepared masques for its entertainment, and, on the death of Ben Jonson, had the honour of the laureateship. He served in the army of Charles I. against the parliament; was made lieutenant-general of the ordnance, knighted by the king at the siege of Gloucester, and, on the decline of the royal cause, retired to France, where he became a Roman catholic. In attempting to conduct a French colony to Virginia, he was captured by a parliament cruiser, and imprisoned in Cowes Castle, where he employed himself on “Gondibert,” a heroic poem, which he never finished. On this occasion his life was saved by Milton; and, when public affairs were reversed, Davenant repaid the service by protecting Milton.[124]

* * * * *

Davenant’s face was deformed by the consequences of vicious indulgence. The deficiency of feature exemplified in his portrait, is referred to by a note on a celebrated line in lord Byron’s “Curse of Minerva.”

Davenant and Shakspeare.

Pope is said to have placed Davenant, as a poet, above Donne;[125] but, notwithstanding the authority, it is questionable whether Pope’s judgment could have so erred. He is further said to have observed, that Davenant “seemed fond of having it taken for truth,” that he was “more than a poetical child of Shakspeare;” that he was Shakspeare’s godson; and that Shakspeare in his frequent journies between London and his native place, Stratford-upon-Avon, used to lie at Davenant’s, the Crown, in Oxford. He was very well acquainted with Mrs. Davenant; and her son, afterwards sir William, was supposed to be more nearly related to him than as a godson only. One day when Shakspeare had just arrived, and the boy sent for from school to him, a head of one of the colleges (who was pretty well acquainted with the affairs of the family) met the child running home, and asked him, whither he was going in so much haste? The boy said, “To my godfather, Shakspeare.” “Fie, child,” says the old gentleman, “why are you so superfluous? have you not learned yet that you should not use the name of God in vain?” The imputation is very doubtful.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·00.

[124] General Biog. Dict.

[125] Spence.

~April 18.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On this day, in the year 17 , there was a solemn mock procession, according to the fashion of the times, in ridicule of freemasonry, by an assemblage of humourists and rabble, which strongly characterises the manners of the period. Without further preface, a large broadside publication, published at the time, is introduced to the reader’s attention, as an article of great rarity and singular curiosity.

The year wherein this procession took place, is not ascertainable from the broadside; but, from the mode of printing and other appearances, it seems to have been some years before that which is represented in a large two-sheet “Geometrical View of the Grand Procession of Scald Miserable Masons, designed as they were drawn up over against Somerset-house, in the Strand on the 27th of April, 1742. Invented, and engraved, by A. Benoist.”

It should be further observed, that the editor of the Every-Day Book is not a mason; but he disclaims any intention to discredit an order which appears to him to be founded on principles of good-will and kind affection. The broadside is simply introduced on account of its scarcity, and to exemplify the rudeness of former manners. It is headed by a spirited engraving on wood, of which a reduced copy is placed below, with the title that precedes the original print subjoined.

The engraving is succeeded by a serio-comic Address, commencing thus:--

THE REMONSTRANCE of the Right Worshipful the GRAND MASTER, &c. of the SCALD MISERABLE MASONS.

WHEREAS by our Manifesto some time past, dated from our Lodge in Brick-street, WE did, in the most explicite manner, vindicate the ancient rights and privileges of this society, and by incontestable arguments evince our superior dignity and seniority to all other institutions, whether Grand-Volgi, Gregorians, Hurlothrumbians, Ubiquarians, Hiccubites, Lumber-Troopers, or Free-Masons; yet, nevertheless, a few persons under the last denomination, still arrogate to themselves the usurped titles of Most Ancient and Honourable, in open violations of truth and justice; still endeavour to impose their false mysteries (for a premium) on the credulous and unwary, under pretence of being part of our brotherhood; and still are determin’d with drums, trumpets, gilt chariots, and other unconstitutional finery, to cast a reflection on the primitive simplicity and decent economy of our ancient and annual peregrination: WE therefore think proper, in justification of Ourselves, publicly to disclaim all relation or alliance whatsoever, with the said society of Free-Masons, as the same must manifestly tend to the sacrifice of our dignity, the impeachment of our understanding, and the disgrace of our solemn mysteries: AND FURTHER, to convince the public of the candour and openness of our proceedings, WE here present them with a key to our procession; and that the rather, as it consists of many things emblematical, mystical, hieroglyphical, comical, satirical, political, &c.

AND WHEREAS many, persuaded by the purity of our constitution, the nice morality of our brethren, and peculiar decency of our rites and ceremonies, have lately forsook the gross errors and follies of the Free-Masonry, are now become true Scald Miserables: It cannot but afford a most pleasing satisfaction to all who have any regard to truth and decency, to see our procession increased with such a number of proselytes; and behold those whose vanity, but the last year, exalted them into a borrowed equipage, now condescend to become the humble cargo of a sand-cart.

[Then follows the following:]

A KEY or EXPLANATION of the Solemn and Stately Procession of the SCALD MISERABLE MASONS.

Two Tylers, or Guarders,

In yellow Cockades and Liveries, being the Colour ordained for the Sword Bearer of State. They, as youngest enter’d ’Prentices, are to guard the Lodge, with a drawn Sword, from all Cowens and Eves-droppers, that is Listeners, lest they should discover the incomprehensible Mysteries of Masonry.

A Grand Chorus of Instruments,

To wit. Four Sackbutts, or Cow’s Horns; six Hottentot Hautboys; four tinkling Cymbals, or Tea Canisters, with broken Glass in them; four Shovels and Brushes; two Double Bass Dripping-pans; a Tenor Frying-pan; a Salt-box in Delasol; and a Pair of Tubs.

Ragged enter’d ’Prentices,

Properly cloathed, giving the above Token, and the Word, which is Jachin.

The Funeral of Hyram,

Six stately unfledg’d Horses with Funeral Habilaments and Caparisons, carrying Escutcheons of the arms of Hyram Abiff, viz. a Master’s lodge, drawing, in a limping halting posture, with Solemn Pomp, a superb open hearse, nine Foot long, four Foot wide, and having a clouded Canopy, Inches and Feet innumerable in perpendicular Height, very nearly resembling a Brick Waggon: In the midst, upon a Throne of Tubs raised for that Purpose, lays the Corps in a Coffin cut out of one entire Ruby; but, for Decency’s sake, is covered with a Chimney-sweeper’s Stop-cloth, at the head of a memorable Sprig of Cassia.

Around in mournful Order placed, the loving, weeping, drunken Brethren sit with their Aprons, their Gloves they have put in their Pockets; at Top and at Bottom, on every side and every where, all round about, this open hearse is bestuck with Escutcheons and Streamers, some bearing the Arms, some his Crest, being the Sprig of Cassia, and some his Motto, viz. Macbenah.

Grand band of Musick as before.

Two Trophies

Of arms or achievements, properly quarter’d and emblazon’d, as allow’d by the college of arms, showing the family descents, with some particular marks of distinction, showing in what part of the administration that family has excelled. That on the right, the achievement of the right worshipful Poney, being Parte Perpale, Glim, and Leather-dresser, viz. the Utensils of a Link and Black-shoe-Boy: That on the left the trophy of his excellency, ---- ---- Jack, Grand-master elect, and Chimney-sweeper.

The Equipage

Of the Grand-master, being neatly nasty, delicately squaled, and magnificently ridiculous, beyond all human bounds and conceivings. On the right the Grand-master Poney, with the Compasses for his Jewel, appendant to a blue Riband round his neck: On the left his excellency ---- ---- Jack, with a Square hanging to a white Riband, as Grand-master elect: The Honourable Nic. Baboon, Esq.; senior grand Warden, with his Jewel, being the Level, all of solid gold, and blue Riband: Mr. Balaam van Assinman, Junior Warden, his Jewel the Plumb-Rule.

Attendants of Honour.

The Grand Sword Bearer, carrying the Sword of State. It is worth observing, This Sword was sent as a Present by Ishmael Abiff (a relation in direct Descent to poor old Hyram) King of the Saracens, to his grace of Wattin, Grand-Master of the Holy-Lodge of St. John of Jerusalem in Clerkenwell, who stands upon our list of Grand-masters for the very same year.

The Grand Secretary, with his Insignia, &c.

Probationists and Candidates close the whole Procession.

Tickets to be had, for three Megs a Carcass to scran their Pannum-Boxes, at the Lodge in Brick-Street, near Hide-Park Corner; at the Barley-Broth Womens at St. Paul’s Church-Yard, and the Hospital-Gate in Smithfield; at Nan Duck’s in Black-Boy-Alley, Chick-Lane; &c. &c. &c.

NOTE. No Gentlemen’s Coaches, or whole Garments, are admitted in our Procession, or at the Feast.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·22.

~April 19.~

SPRING.

This open day may be devoted to the contemplation of appearances and products of the season, presented to us by ministering bards: the first to be ushered in, is an offering from a hand whence nothing can be proffered that will not be especially acceptable.

For the Every-Day Book

THE BLACKTHORN.

The April air is shrewd and keen; No leaf has dared unfold, Yet thy white blossom’s radiant sheen, Spring’s banner, I behold. Though all beside be dead and drear, Undauntedly thy flowers appear.

Thou com’st the herald of a host Of blooms which will not fail, When summer from some southern coast Shall call the nightingale. Yet early, fair, rejoicing tree, Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.

All other trees are wont to wear, First leaves, then flowers, and last, Their burden of rich fruit to bear When summer’s pride is past: But thou,--so prompt thy flowers to show, Bear’st but the harsh, unwelcome sloe.

So oft young genius, at its birth, In confidence untried, Spreads its bright blossoms o’er the earth, And revels in its pride; But when we look its fruit to see, It stands a fair, but barren tree.

So oft, in stern and barbarous lands, The bard is heard to sing, Ere the uncultured soul expands, In the poetic spring; Then, sad and bootless are his pains, And linked with woe his name remains.

Therefore, thou tree whose early bough All blossomed meets the gale, Thou stirrest in my memory now Full many a tearful tale: And early, fair, rejoicing tree, Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.

W. HOWITT.

Passing the eye from the hedge-row to the earth, it lights on the “wee-tipp’d” emblem of “modesty” sung by poets of every clime wherein it blows:--

The Daisy.

There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field, In gay but quick succession shine; Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to nature dear, While moon and stars their courses run Wreaths the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December’s arms.

The purple heath, the golden broom, On moory mountains catch the gale, O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale;

But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forests, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox’s den.

Within the garden’s cultured round, It shares the sweet carnation’s bed; And blooms on consecrated ground In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild bee murmurs on its breast, The blue fly bends its pensile stem, Lights o’er the skylark’s nest.

’Tis Flora’s page:--in every place In every season fresh and fair It opens with perennial grace, And blossoms every where.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The rose has but a summer reign, The daisy never dies.

Montgomery.

The flower aptly described by Mr. Montgomery as “companion of the sun,” is not forgotten by a contemporary “child of song,” from whom, until now, no illustration has graced these pages: the absence may be apologized for, by opening one of his views of nature immediately.

Day Break in the Country.

Awake! awake! the flowers unfold, And tremble bright in the sun, And the river shines a lake of gold,-- For the young day has begun. The air is blythe, the sky is blue, And the lark, on lightsome wings, From bushes that sparkle rich with dew, To heaven her matin sings. Then awake, awake, while music’s note, Now bids thee sleep to shun, Light zephyrs of fragrance round thee float For the young day has begun.

I’ve wandered o’er yon field of light, Where daisies wildly spring, And traced the spot where fays of night Flew round on elfin wing: And I’ve watch’d the sudden darting beam Make gold the field of grain, Until clouds obscur’d the passing gleam And all frown’d dark again. Then awake, awake, each warbling bird, Now hails the dawning sun, Labour’s enlivening song is heard,-- For the young day has begun.

Is there to contemplation given An hour like this one, When twilight’s starless mantle’s riven By the uprising sun? When feather’d warblers fleet awake, His breaking beams to see, And hill and grove, and bush and brake, Are fill’d with melody. Then awake, awake, all seem to chide Thy sleep, as round they run, The glories of heaven lie far and wide,-- For the young day has begun.

R. Ryan.

Our elder poets are rife in description of the spring; but passing their abundant stores to “Rare Ben,” one extract more, and “the day is done.”

Whence is it-------------------- ------------- Winter is so quite forced hence And lock’d up under ground, that ev’ry sense Hath several objects; trees have got their heads, The fields their coats; that now the shining meads Do boast the paunse, lily, and the rose; And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blows? The seas are now more even than the land; The rivers run as smoothed by his hand; Only their heads are crisped by his stroke. How plays the yearling, with his brow scarce broke, Now in the open grass; and frisking lambs Make wanton ’saults about their dry suck’d dams? Who, to repair their bags, do rob the fields? How is’t each bough a several musick yields? The lusty throstle, early nightingale, Accord in tune, tho’ vary in their tale; The chirping swallow, call’d forth by the sun, And crested lark doth his division run: The yellow bees the air with murmur fill, The finches carol, and the turtles bill.

Jonson.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·52.

~April 20.~

DUCHESS OF EXETER’S WILL.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--A notice of St. Katherine’s church, near the tower, having already appeared in your first volume, induces me to subjoin, from “Testamenta Vetusta,” by Nicholas Harris Nicolas, Esq.,[126] the will of the duchess of Exeter, who was buried at the east end of the church now no longer existing.

I am, Sir, &c.

I. E----TT.

“Ann Holland, Dutchess of Exeter, April 20, 1457. My Body to be buried in the Chapel of the Chancel of the Church of St. Katharine’s, beside the Tower of London, where the Corpse of my Lord and husband is buried, and I forbid my executors to make any great feast, or to have a solemn hearse, or any costly lights, or largess of liveries, according to the glory or vain pomp of the world, at my funeral, but only to the worship of God, after the discretion of Mr. John Pynchebeke, Doctor in Divinity, one of my Executors. To the Master of St. Katharines, if he be present at the dirige and mass on my burial day, vi_s._ viii_d._; to every brother of that College being then present, iii_s._ iv_d._; to every priest of the same College then present, xx_d._; to every Clerk then present, xii_d._; to every Chorister, vi_d._; to every Sister then present, xx_d._; to every bedeman of the said place, viii_d._; I will that my executors find an honest priest to say mass and pray for my soul, my lords soul, and all Christian souls, in the Chapel where my Body be buried, for the space of seven years next after my decease; and that for so doing he receive every year xii marks, and daily to say Placebo, Dirige, and Mass, when so disposed.” The duchess’s will was proved on the 15th of May, 1458.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·10.

[126] Nichols and Son, 2 vols. royal 8vo.

~April 21.~

A SPRING DIVERSION

Of the Recorder of London.

Leaving “hill and valley, dale and field,” we turn for “a passing time” to scenes where, according to the authority subjoined by a worthy correspondent, we find “disorder--order.”

ANCIENT PICKPOCKETS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

April 15, 1826.

Sir,--The following notice of an ancient school for learning how to pick pockets is, I conceive, worthy notice in the Every-Day Book.

I am, Sir, &c.

T. A.

Kennington.

In the spring of 1585, Fleetwood, the recorder of London, with some of his brother magistrates, spent a day searching about after sundry persons who were receivers of felons. A considerable number were found in London, Westminster, Southwark, and the suburbs, with the names of forty-five “masterless men and cutpurses,” whose practice was to rob gentlemen’s chambers and artificers’ shops in and about London. They also discovered seven houses of entertainment for such in London; six in Westminster, three in the suburbs, and two in Southwark. Among the rest they found out one Watton, a gentleman born, and formerly a merchant of respectability but fallen into decay. This person kept an alehouse at Smart’s quay, near Billingsgate; but for some disorderly conduct it was put down. On this he began a new business, and opened his house for the reception of all the cutpurses in and about the city. In this house was a room to learn young boys to cut purses. Two devices were hung up; one was a pocket, and another was a purse. The pocket had in it certain counters, and was hung round with hawks’ bells, and over them hung a little sacring bell.[127] The purse had silver in it; and he that could take out a counter without any noise, was allowed to be a public foyster;[128] and he that could take a piece of silver out of the purse without noise of any of the bells, was adjudged a clever nypper.[129] These places gave great encouragement to evil doers in these times, but were soon after suppressed.[130]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·77.

[127] A small bell used in the ceremony of the mass, and rung on the elevation of the consecrated host.

[128] A pickpocket.

[129] A pickpurse, or cutpurse, so called from persons having their purses hanging in front from their girdle.

[130] Maitland.

~April 22.~

A JEW IS A THIEF!

“So runs the proverb; so believes the world.”

At least so say a great many who call themselves Christians, and who are willing to believe all evil of the Jews, who, in compliment to their own questionable goodness, they “religiously” hate, with all the soul of “irreligion.” The following account of an individual of the Jewish persuasion, well known to many observers of London characters, may disturb their position: it is communicated by a gentleman who gives his name to the editor with the article.

THE JEW NEAR JEWIN-STREET.

For the Every-Day Book.

They who are in the habit of observing the remarkable beings that perambulate the streets of this metropolis, either for profit or pleasure, must have observed “J. Levy,” not, to use a common phrase, “an every-day character,” but one who, for singularity of personal appearance, oddity of dress, simplicity of manner, and constant industry, deserves a place in your Every-Day Book.

For the last eighty years has Levy trudged the streets of “London and its environs,”--followed, latterly, by a dirty lame Jew boy, carrying a huge mahogany closed-up box, containing watches manufactured by makers of all degrees, from Tomkin to Levy of Liverpool--with jewellery of the most costly kind, to trinkets of Birmingham manufacture; and, strange to say, though his dealings have been extensive to a degree beyond imagination, he has hitherto given universal satisfaction.

A few evenings since, as I was smoking my accustomed “every-day cigar,” at a respectable house in Jewin-street, and looking quietly at the different sorts of persons forming the company assembled, a violent thumping upon the floor of the passage leading to the parlour, which was continued at an interval of every third second, announced the approach of some one who clearly imagined himself of no little importance, and thoroughly disturbed the quaker-like serenity of appearance which then prevailed in the room. “How is my dear good lady, and all her little ones? and her respectable husband?” inquired the stranger on the outside. Without waiting for a reply to the two questions, the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and in came a tall thin figure of a man, with a face plainly denoting that it had seen at least ninety winters, and bearing a beard of a dirty gray colour, some inches in length, and divided in the centre, but coming from under and above the ears, over which was tied a gaudy red and yellow silk handkerchief, and a huge pair of heavy costly-looking silver spectacles, which “ever and anon” he raised from his nose. He wore a coat which had once been blue, the skirts whereof almost hung to the ground, and were greatly in the fashion of a Greenwich pensioner’s; a velvet waistcoat with a double row of pearl buttons, to which was appended, through one of the buttonholes, a blue spotted handkerchief, reaching down to his knees, a pair of tight pantaloons, which evidently had been intended for another, as they scarcely gained the calf of his leg, and from the fobs whereof were suspended two watch-chains with a profusion of seals; and, on his head, was a hat projecting almost to points in the centre and back, but narrow in the sides. In his right hand a huge but well-made stick, wielded and pushed forward upon the ground by a powerful effort, had been the noisy herald of his approach.

On entering the room, he cast an inquiring look upon his astonished and quiet auditors, and stood for a moment to see the effect of his appearance: then, after an awful pause, lifting his spectacles to his nose, and almost thrusting his old but piercing eyes over the cases, with a tiger-like step he advanced to the full front of a quiet, inoffensive, Jack-Robinson-sort-of-a-man who was smoking his pipe, and, throwing his stick under his left arm, he took off his huge hat, thereby discovering a small velvet cap on the top of his head, and holding out his right hand he exclaimed, “Well, my good friend, how are you? my eyes are weak, but I can always, yes, always, discern a good friend: how are you? how is your good lady? I hope she is in good health, and all the little ones.” The astonished “Christian” looked as if he could have swallowed the pipe from which he was smoking, on being thus addressed by the bearded descendant of Moses, and being absolutely deprived of speech, cast an inquiring look of dismay around on his neighbours, who so far from commiserating his feelings, actually expressed by smiling countenances, the pleasure they took in the rencontre. This was adding oil to the fire, when suddenly turning full in the face of the Jew, who still held out his hand for a friendly shrug, he exclaimed with a voice of phrenzy, “My wife knows thee not! I know thee not! My children know thee not! Leave me! go!” The Jew’s hand was quickly withdrawn, while his alarmed countenance expressed the terror of his poor soul. The humiliated Jew said not a word, but quietly took his seat in the further corner of the room, and thence cast his eyes on a clock which was affixed to the wall, as if afraid of looking on a living object. He remained some minutes in this pitiable situation. At last, he took from his pocket, three or four watches, which he regularly applied to his ear, and afterwards wound up; then laying them upon the table, he triumphantly looked at the company, and--by his eyes--boldly challenged them to produce a wealth, equal to that he exposed to their view. Apparently satisfied, in his own mind, of his superiority as to wealth, over the man who had so cruelly denied all knowledge of him, he called in a kind, but a suppressed voice to the servant in attendance,--“Well, my dear! bring me a glass of good gin and water, sweet with sugar, mind little girl, and I will gratefully thank you; it will comfort my poor old heart.” “You shall have it, sir,” said the admiring girl, directing her attention to the exposed jewellery. They were the first kind words heard in that room by poor Levy, and they seemed to draw tears from his eyes; for, from his pocket, he brought forth as many handkerchiefs, of the most opposite and glowing colours, as the grave digger in Hamlet casts off waistcoats, all of which he successively applied to his eyes. The girl quickly returned with the required gin and water, and, after repeated stirring and tasting, casting an eager look at her, he, with the most marked humility, begged “one little, little bit more sugar, and it would be beautifuls,” which was of course granted, and the girl at parting was more liberally rewarded by the poor despised Jew, than by any other person in the room. Commiserating the feelings of a seemingly poor, and ancient man, whose religion and singularity of manner were his only crime, I spoke to him, and was highly delighted to find him infinitely superior to any about him; that is to say, so far as I could judge, for the greater number plainly showed, that they considered silence a sign of wisdom; probably it was so--with them.

Upon Levy leaving the room, I found he had lived in one house, in the neighbourhood, for upwards of sixty years, and borne an irreproachable character; that no man has ever called on him a second time for money due; that from goodness of heart, he has often gave away the fruits of his industry, and deprived himself of personal luxuries, to add to the comforts of others, without considering whether they were Jew or Gentile; that in his own house, he is liberal of his wine, and of attention to his guests; and that he does not deny, though he is far from publishing, that he has acquired wealth. And, yet, this honourable and venerable man, after having reached his ninety-third year, because of his eccentric costume and appearance, was deprived of the comforts of passing a happy hour, after the fatigues of the day. This I trust for the credit of christianity, and for his sake, is not a circumstance of “every-day.”

E. W. W.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·67.

~April 23.~

ST. GEORGE’S DAY.

1826. King’s birth-day kept.

For an account of St. George the patron saint of England, and how he fought and conquered a cruel dragon, and thereby saved the princess of Sylene from being devoured, see vol. i. p. 496-502.

* * * * *

On St. George’s day, people of fashion were accustomed, even to the beginning of the nineteenth century, to wear coats of cloth of blue, being the national colour in honour of the national saint. This, however, seems to be a reasonable conjecture for the custom. Mr. Archdeacon Nares, and other antiquaries, are at a loss for the real origin of the usage, which is ancient. In old times there were splendid pageants on this festival.

* * * * *

At Leicester, the “riding of the George” was one of the principal solemnities of the town. The inhabitants were bound to attend the mayor, or to “ride against the king,” as it is expressed, or for “riding the George,” or for any other thing to the pleasure of the mayor and worship of the town. St. George’s horse, harnessed, used to stand at the end of St. George’s chapel, in St. Martin’s church, Leicester.[131]

* * * * *

At Dublin, there are orders in the chain book of the city, for the maintenance of the pageant of St. George to the following effect:--

1. The mayor of the preceding year was to provide the emperor and empress with their horses and followers for the pageant; that is to say, the emperor with two doctors, and the empress with two knights and two maidens, richly apparelled, to bear up the train of her gown.

2. The mayor for the time being was to find St. George a horse, and the wardens to pay 3_s._ 4_d._ for his wages that day; and the bailiffs for the time being were to find four horses with men mounted on them well apparelled, to bear the pole axe, the standard, and the several swords of the emperor and St. George.

3. The elder master of the guild was to find a maiden well attired to lead the dragon, and the clerk of the market was to find a golden line for the dragon.

4. The elder warden was to find four trumpets for St. George, but St. George himself was to pay their wages.

5. The younger warden was obliged to find the king of Dele, (Sylene,) and the queen of Dele, (Sylene,) as also two knights, to lead the queen, and two maidens in black apparel to bear the train of her gown. He was also to cause St. George’s chapel to be well hung with black, and completely apparelled to every purpose, and to provide it with cushions, rushes, and other requisites, for the festivities of the day.[132]

These provisions and preparations refer to the narrative of the adventures of St. George already given in vol. i. p. 497.

St. George’s day at the court of St. James’s is a grand day, and, therefore, a collar day, and observed accordingly by the knights of the different orders.

Collar of S. S.

This is an opportunity for mentioning the origin of the collar worn by the judges.

This collar is derived from S^{ts}. Simplicius and Faustinus, two Roman senators, who suffered martyrdom under Dioclesian. The religious society or confraternity of St. Simplicius wore silver collars of double S. S.; between which the collar contained twelve small pieces of silver, in which were engraven the twelve articles of the creed, together with a single trefoil. The image of St. Simplicius hung at the collar, and from it seven plates, representing the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost. This chain was worn because these two brethren were martyred by a stone with a chain about their necks, and thus thrown into the Tiber. Sir John Fenn says, that collars were in the fifteenth century ensigns of rank, of which the fashions ascertained the degrees. They were usually formed of S. S. having in the front centre a rose, or other device, and were made of gold or silver, according to the bearer. He says, that knights only wore a collar of S. S; but this is a mistake.

At the marriage of prince Arthur, son of Henry VII., in 1507, “Sir Nicholas Vaux ware a collar of Esses, which weyed, as the goldsmiths that made it reported, 800 pound of nobles.” The collar worn by the judges is still a collar of S. S. divested of certain appendages.[133]

* * * * *

The mint mark in 1630, under Charles I., was St. George; in the reign of James I. it was a cross of St. George, surmounting a St. Andrew’s cross.[134]

“GOD SAVE THE KING.”

The origin of this air has exercised the researches of numberless individuals; whether it has been thoroughly ascertained seems doubtful; but it may be suitable to introduce a translation of the words into the Welsh language, by a celebrated antiquary of the principality, Dr. Owen Pugh. It is printed, verbatim, from a private copy which the editor was favoured with by Dr. Pugh in the course of the last summer.

CORONI SIOR IV.

DUW cadwa erom ni, Mewn fyniant, clod, a bri, Ein Brenin SIOR;

Hir yna o lesâad Teyrnasa àr ei wlad, Ein gobaith da, ein tad, Ein haelav bor.

Ei syn elynion o Bob màn gàn warth àr fo Aent hwy i lawr;

Dilëa di mòr iawn Amcanion brad sy lawn, Ac yna deua dawn Dainoni mawr.

Màl haul o dirion des Tròs BRYDAIN taena les Hir oes ein ior;

Ein breintiau, er ein mael, Areilied ev yn hael, A delo ìni gael Oes hir i SIOR!

IDRISON.

Myhevin, 5, 1820.

* * * * *

St. George’s day was selected at a very early period for the establishment of horse-races. An obliging correspondent communicates some interesting particulars of their institution.

EARLY HORSE RACING.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Kennington, April 16, 1826.

Sir,--The following notice of an ancient race, formerly held near Chester, is, I conceive, worthy preservation in your interesting work, which, I hope, in course of time, will treasure up records of every custom, game, or ancient observance, formerly so common in “merry England.”

Mr. Lysons, in his “Magna Brittania,” says, there are some old articles of a race for two bells among the corporation records, the earliest date of which was in 1512.

CHESTER RACES.

In 1609 or 10, Mr. William Lester, mercer, being mayor of Chester, and Mr. Robert Ambrye or Amory, ironmonger, sheriff of the city, at his, the last mentioned person’s, own cost, did cause three silver bells to be made of good value, which bells he appointed to be run for with horses “upon St. George’s Day, upon the Roode Dee from the new tower to the netes, there torning to run up to the watergate, that horse which come first there to have the beste bell; the second to have the seconde bell for that year putting in money, and for to--and shuerties to deliver in the bells that day twelvemonth.” The other bell was run for the same day upon the like conditions. This gave rise to the adage of “bearing the bell.” The bells and a bowl seem to have been brought down to the course with great pomp, as the following copy shows, carefully transcribed from the original among the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum.[135]

“The maner of the showe, that is, if God spare life and healthe, shall be seene by all the behoulders upon S^{ct} George’s day next, being the 23d of Aprill 1610, and the same with more addytion, to continew, being for the kyng’s crowne and dignitye, and the homage to the kynge and prynce, with that noble victor St. George, to be continued for ever, God save the Kynge.

It. ij men in greene evies,[136] set with worke upon their other habet, with black heare and black beards, very awgly to behould, and garlands upon their heads, with great clubbs in their hands, with firr[137] works to scatter abroad, to mantain way for the rest of the showe.

It. one on horseback with the buckler and head-peece of St. George, and iij men to guide him, with a drum before him, for the hon. of England.

It. one on horsebacke called Fame, with a trumpet in his hand, and iij to guide him, and he to make an oration with his habit, in pompe.

It. one called Mercury, to descend from above in a cloude, his winges and all other matters in pompe, and heavenly musicke with him, and after his oration spoken, to ryde on horsebacke with the musicke before him.

It. j called Chester, with an oration and drums before him, his habit in pompe.

It. j on horseback, with the kynge’s armes upon a shield in pompe.

It. j on horseback, concerninge the kyng’s crowne and dignity, with an oration in pompe.

It. j on horseback with a bell dedicated to the kinge, being double gilt, with the kyng’s armes upon, carried upon a septer in pompe, and before him a noise of trumpets in pompe.

It. one on horseback, with the Prince’s armes upon a shield in pompe.

It. one on horseback, with an oration from the prynce in pompe.

It. j on horseback, with the bell dedicated to the princes. Armes upon it, in pompe, and to be carried on a septer, and before the bell, a wayte of trumpetts.

It. j on horseback, with a cup for Saint George, caried upon a septer in pompe.

It. j on horseback, with an oracyon for St. George, in pompe.

It. St. George himselfe on horseback, in complete armour, with his flag and buckler in pompe, and before him a noyse of drums.

It. one on horseback called Peace, with an oration in pompe.

It. one on horseback called Plentye, with an oration in pompe.

It. one on horseback called Envy, with an oration, whom Love will comfort, in pompe.

It. one on horseback called Love, with an oration, to maintain all in pompe.

It. The maior and his brethren, at the Pentis of this Cittye, with their best apparell, and in skarlet, and all the orations to be made before him, and seene at the high crosse, as they passe to the roodeye, whereby grent shall be runne for by their horses, for the ij bells on a double staffe, and the cuppe to be runne for by the rynge in the same place by gennt, and with a great mater of shewe by armes, and thatt, and with more than I can recyte, with a banket after in the Pentis to make welcome the gennt: and when all is done, then judge what you have seene, and soe speake on your mynd, as you fynde. The actor for the p’sent.

ROBART AMORY.”

Amor is love and Amory is his name that did begin this pomp and princelye game, the charge is great to him that all begun, let him be satisfyed now all is done.

Notwithstanding Mr. Amory exerted himself and entertained the citizens so well in 1610, it was ordered in 1612, “that the sports and recreations used on St. George’s day, should in future be done by the direction of the mayor and citizens, and not of any private person.[138]” No authority has occurred in my researches on this subject, for tracing the gradual alterations by which the bell and the bowl of these ancient races, have been converted to the ordinary prizes at similar meetings. They are now held the first entire week in May, which comes as near the original time (old St. George’s day) as possible. They generally attract a vast assemblage of the fashionable world, and the city subscribes liberally to keep up the respectability of the races.

I am, Sir, &c.

~A.~

OLD GUILDFORD CHURCH.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Mr. Editor,--In “A Tour through the whole Island of Great Britain,” 4 vols. 12mo., there is the following notice of an accident on St. George’s day, which you will oblige a constant reader by inserting in the Every-Day Book.

J. H.

On Wednesday the 23d of April, 1740, the upper church at Guildford, in Surrey, fell down. It was an ancient building, and not long before, seven hundred and fifty pounds were expended upon it in repairs. There was preaching in it on the Sunday before, and workmen were employed in taking down the bells, who, providentially, had quitted the spot about a quarter of an hour before the accident happened, so that not one person received any hurt, though numbers were spectators. Three bells had been taken down, and the other three fell with the steeple, which broke the body of the church to pieces, though the steeple received but little damage by the fall.

SPRING IN THE CITY,

and

JEMMY WHITTLE.

At Laurie and Whittle’s print-shop “nearly opposite St. Dunstan’s church, Fleet-street,” or rather at Jemmy Whittle’s, for he was the manager of the concern--I cannot help calling him “Jemmy,” for I knew him afterwards, in a passing way, when every body called him Jemmy; and after his recollection failed, and he dared no longer to flash his merriment at the “Cock,” at Temple-bar, and the “Black Jack,” in Portugal-street, but stood, like a sign of himself, at his own door, unable to remember the names of his old friends, they called him “poor Jemmy!”--I say, I remember at Jemmy Whittle’s there was always a change of prints in spring-time. Jemmy liked, as he said, to “give the public something alive, fresh and clever, classical and correct!” One print, however, was never changed; this was “St. Dunstan and the Devil.” To any who inquired why he always had “that old thing” in the window, and thought it would be better out, Jemmy answered, “No, no, my boy! that’s my sign--no change--church and state, you know!--no politics, you know!--I hate politics! there’s the church, you know, [pointing to St. Dunstan’s,] and here am I, my boy!--it’s my sign, you know!--no change, my boy!” Alas, how changed! I desired to give a copy of the print on St. Dunstan’s day in the first volume of the Every-Day Book, and it could not be found at “the old shop,” nor at any printsellers I resorted to. Another print of Jemmy Whittle’s was a favourite with me, as well as himself; for, through every mutation of “dressing out” his window it maintained its place with St. Dunstan. It was a mezzotinto, called

“In summer’s heat, and winter’s cold.”

During all seasons this print was exhibited, “fresh, and fresh.” At that time prints from the Flemish and Dutch masters, and humorous matters of all kinds, were public favourites. From my early liking to the “Laughing Boy,” and because, with the merit of good design, it is a superior specimen of popular taste at the time I speak of, a copy is at the service of that reader, who may perhaps think with “poor Jemmy Whittle,” that an agreeable subject is always in season, and that as a worse might have been presented, this speaking relatively, is really very pretty.

I am now speaking of five and thirty years ago, when shop windows, especially printsellers’, were set out according to the season. I remember that in spring-time “Jemmy Whittle,” and “Carrington Bowles, in St. Paul’s Church-yard,” used to decorate their panes with twelve prints of flowers of “the months,” engraved after Baptiste, and “coloured after nature,”--a show almost, at that time, as gorgeous as “Solomon’s Temple, in all its glory, all over nothing but gold and jewels,” which a man exhibited to my wondering eyes for a halfpenny.

Spring arrives in London--and even east of Temple-bar--as early as in the country. For--though there are neither hawthorns to blossom, nor daisies to blow--there is scarcely a house “in the city,” without a few flower pots inside or outside; and when “the seeds come up,” the Londoner knows that the spring is “come to town.” The almanac, also, tells him, that the sun rises earlier every day, and he makes his apprentices rise easier; and the shop begins to be watered and swept before breakfast; and perchance, as the good man stands at his door to look up, and “wonder what sort of a day it will be,” he sees a basket with primroses or cowslips, and from thence he hazards to assert, at “the house he uses” in the evening, that the spring is very forward; which is confirmed, to his credit, by some neighbour, who usually sleeps at Bow or Brompton, or Pentonville or Kennington, or some other adjacent part of “the country.”

To the east of Temple-bar, the flower-girl is “the herald of spring.” She cries “cowslips! sweet cowslips!” till she screams “bow-pots! sweet, and pretty bow-pots!” which is the sure and certain token of full spring in London. When I was a child, I got “a bow-pot” of as many wall-flowers and harebells as I could then hold in my hand, with a sprig of sweet briar at the back of the bunch, for a halfpenny--such a handful; but, now, “they can’t make a ha’penny bow-pot--there’s nothing under a penny;” and the penny bow-pot is not half so big as the ha’penny one, and somehow or other the flowers don’t smell, to me, as they used to do.----

It will not do however to run on thus, for something remains to be said concerning the patron of the day; and, to be plain with the reader, the recollections of former times are not always the most cheering to the writer.

ST. GEORGE.

There are some circumstances in the history of Russia which abate our pretensions to our celebrated saint. In that country he is much revered. His figure occurs in all the churches, represented as usual, riding on a horse, and piercing a dragon with his lance. This device also forms part of the arms of the Russian sovereign, and is on several of the coins. Certain English historians have conjectured, that Ivan Vassilievitch II., being presented with the garter by queen Elizabeth, assumed the George and the dragon for his arms, and ordered it to be stamped upon the current money. But it does not appear that the tzar was created a knight of the garter; and it is certain that the sovereigns of Moscow bore this device before they had the least connection with England. In Hackluyt, vol. i. p. 255, Chanceler, the first Englishman who discovered Russia, speaks of a despatch sent in 1554, from Ivan Vassilievitch to queen Mary:--“This letter was written in the Moscovian tongue, in letter much like to the Greeke letters, very faire written in paper, with a broade seale hanging at the same, sealed in paper upon waxe. This seale was much like the broad seale of England, having on the one side the image of a man on horseback in complete harnesse fighting with a dragon.”

Russian coins of a very early date represent the figure of a horseman spearing a dragon; one particularly, of Michael Androvitz appears to have been struck in 1305, forty years before the institution of the order of the garter in England. From this period, numerous Russian coins are successively distinguished by the same emblem. Various notions have been put forth concerning the origin of the figure; but it seems probable that the Russians received the image of St. George and the dragon either from the Greeks or from the Tartars, by both of whom he was much revered; by the former as a christian saint and martyr, and by the latter as a prophet or a deity. We know from history, that in the fourth or fifth century he was much worshipped amongst the Greeks; and that afterwards the crusaders, during their first expedition into the Holy Land, found many temples erected to his honour. The Russians, therefore, who were converted to christianity by the Greeks, certainly must have received at the same time a large catalogue of saints, which made an essential part of the Greek worship, and there can be no reason to imagine that St. George was omitted.

In a villa of prince Dolgorucki, near Moscow, is an old basso-relievo of St. George and the dragon, found in a ruined church at Intermen, in the Crimea; it had a Greek inscription almost erased, but the words ΑΙΟΟ ΓΕΟΡΓΟΟ, or St. George, and the date 1330, were still legible. As it appears from this basso-relievo that he was worshipped in the Crimea so near the court of Russia when the great dukes resided at Kiof, his introduction into that country is easily accounted for.

Still, it is very likely that the Russians received from the Tartars the image of a horseman spearing a serpent, as represented upon their most ancient coins, and which formed a part of the great duke’s arms, towards the beginning of the sixteenth century. The Russians had none before they were conquered by the Tartars; and soon after they were brought under the Tartar yoke, they struck money. The first Russian coins bear a Tartar inscription, afterwards, with Tartar letters on one side, and Russian characters on the other; and there is still preserved in the cabinet of St. Petersburgh, a piece of money, exhibiting a horseman piercing a dragon, with the name of the great duke in Russian, and on the reverse a Tartar inscription.

The story of a saint or a deity spearing a dragon, was known all over the east; among the Mahometans, a person called Gergis or George, under a similar figure, was much revered as a prophet; and similar emblems have been discovered among many barbarous nations of the east. Whether these nations took it from the Greeks, or the latter from them, cannot be ascertained; for of the real existence of such a person as St. George, no positive proofs have ever been advanced.

But whether the Russians derived St. George from the Greeks or the Tartars, it is certain that his figure was adopted as the arms of the grand dukes, and that the emblem of the saint and the dragon, has been uniformly represented on the reverse of the Russian coins.

With respect to the arms, Herberstein, in his account of his embassy to Moscow in 1518, under Vassili Ivanovitch, has given a wooden print of that prince, at the bottom of which are engraved his arms, representing thus-- a naked man on horseback, piercing a serpent with his lance. The equestrian figure in this device has a Tartar-like appearance, and is so coarse and rude, that it seems to have been derived from a people in a far more uncivilized state of society than the Greeks: add to this, that the Greeks always represented St. George clad in armour.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·27.

[131] Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.

[132] Ibid.

[133] Ibid.

[134] Ibid.

[135] Harl. MSS. 2150. f. 356.

[136] Ivy.

[137] Fire.

[138] Corporation Records.

~April 24.~

ST. MARK’S EVE.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

JOE BROWN--THE CHURCH WATCH.

Sir,--As you solicit communications of local usages or customs, I send you some account of the “Watching the church” on St. Mark’s E’en, in Yorkshire. According to the superstitions of some other counties, the eve of St. John’s day is the privileged night for unquiet spirits to revisit the upper world, and flit over the scenes of their mortal existence. But, in Yorkshire, it was believed by the superstitious and the peasantry within these twenty years, and is so still perhaps, that if a person have the hardihood to place himself within the porch of the church, or in a position which commands the church door, on the ghostly e’en of St. Mark, (it must be St. Mark, O. S.,) he will see the souls of those whose bodies are to be buried at that church the following year, approach the church in the dead waste and middle of the night. The doors are flung open by some invisible hand just at twelve o’clock, and the spirits enter in the rotation their mortal bodies are to die in. This hour is an epitome of the year; those who are to die soon, enter the first--and those who will almost survive the year, do not approach until nearly one o’clock, at which time the doors are carefully closed and secured as they were in the day. Another remarkable feature in the shadowy pageant is this; those that come to an untimely end, are represented by their ghostly proxies, in the very article of dissolution. If a person is to be hanged, or to hang himself, as Burns says in his “Tam O’Shanter,”

“Wi’ his last gasp his gab will gape.”

If the person is to be drowned, his representative will come as if struggling and splashing in water, and so on in other cases of premature death. I must likewise mention, that the “church-watcher” pretends he is fixed in a state of impotence to his seat, during the ghostly hour, and only receives the use of his powers of locomotion when the clock strikes one. Another peculiarity attends this nocturnal scene: the souls of those who are to be seriously indisposed, likewise join the procession; they peep into the church, face about, and return to their wonted residences in their slumbering mortal habitations. But the souls of the condemned enter the church, and are not observed to return.

When a boy at home, I recollect a man who was said to watch the church; his name was “Joe Brown.” This man used to inspire my youthful fancy with great awe. I was not the only one who regarded him with fear: he contrived by a certain mysterious behaviour, to impress weak and youthful minds with feelings which bordered upon terror. His person is vividly imprinted on my memory; his face was broad, his features coarse, and he had what is called a hare-lip, which caused him to speak through the nose, or to snaffle, as they term it in Yorkshire. He never would directly acknowledge that he watched the church; but a mysterious shrug or nod tended to convey the assertion. Two circumstances which took place in my remembrance, served to stamp his fame as a ghost-seer. At the fair-tide, he quarreled with a young man, who put him out of the room in which they were drinking; he told his antagonist that he would be under the sod before that day twelve months, which happened to be the case. The other circumstance was this; he reported a young man would be drowned, who lived in the same street in which my father’s house was situated. I well recollect the report being current early in the year. On Easter Sunday, a fine young man, a bricklayer’s apprentice went to bathe in the river Ouse, (which runs by C----d, my native town,) and was drowned; this fulfilled his prediction, and made him be regarded with wonder. Whether excited by the celebrity such casual forebodings acquired him, or whether a knavish propensity lurked at the bottom of his affected visionary abstractedness, this last of the “church-watchers” turned out an arrant rogue; the latter years of his execrable existence were marked with rapine and murder. For a time he assumed the mask of religion, but the discipline of the sect he joined was too strict to suit his dishonest views. He was expelled the society for mal-practices, quickly joined himself to another, and afterwards associated with a loose young man, who, if alive, is in New South Wales, whither he was transported for life. They commenced a system of petty plunder, which soon increased to more daring acts of robbery and burglary. They withdrew to a distance from C----d for a time; a warrant was out against them for a burglary, of which they were the suspected perpetrators. They went to a small town where they were not known, and assumed the disguise of fortune-tellers. “Old Joe” was the “wise man,” and affected to be dumb, whilst his younger confederate, like a flamen of old, interpreted his mystic signs. They lodged at a house kept by two aged sisters, spinsters. They found that these females were possessed of a little money, and kept it in a box. One night they gave their hostesses sweetened ale, in which they had infused a quantity of laudanum. One of the poor women never woke again, but the other lived. These men were taken up and examined, but liberated for want of proof. They afterwards were suspected of having shot the Leeds and Selby carrier in the night; at length they were taken for stealing some hams, and in consequence of their bad character, sentenced to transportation for life. The termination of Joe’s life was remarkable; Sampson like, he drew destruction on his own head. When about to be embarked for Botany Bay, Joe, either touched by conscience, or through reluctance to leave England, made a confession of his crimes. He and his companion were removed from the Isle of Wight to York castle. Joe alone was put on his trial, and, though not convicted on his own confession, corroborating circumstances of his guilt were produced, and the sister of the poisoned female appeared against him. He was found guilty of the murder, and executed at York, at the Lent assizes of 1809. Sir Simon Le Blanc was the judge.

I have dwelt longer, perhaps, on the vile actions of this last of the “church-watchers” than will be amusing to the reader; but he seemed completely identified with the local superstitions of the county. In some degree he made them subservient to further his roguish designs, by assuming the goblin appearance of the “Barguest,” and, with his auxiliary, turned it to no bad account. This preternatural appearance alarmed the superstitious, who fled, pursued by the supposed demon. In their panic haste they would leave their doors or gates open, and the rogues never failed to turn these oversights to good account, plundering the house or robbing the premises. This statement is strictly true, they robbed several people in this novel and ingenious manner. By the by, it may be observed, that the “Barguest” is an out-of-door goblin, believed by the vulgar to haunt the streets and lanes of country towns and villages. Its alleged appearance indicates death, or some great calamity.

I am, Sir, &c.

J. P.

* * * * *

On Monday, April 24, 1825, the late Henry Fuseli, Esq., R. A. was buried in St. Paul’s cathedral, and a circumstance occurred at his funeral which ought to be known. A gentleman, whose intimacy with Mr. Fuseli seems to have been overlooked by the managers of the funeral, was desirous of paying the last sad tribute of respect to the remains of his friend. He waited the arrival of the body at the cathedral gate, and, after the authorized mourners had alighted, joined with others in following the procession. At the instant that the train from the mourning coaches had entered the great west doors, they were slammed to from within against all who bore not the undertaker’s habiliments of woe, and it was announced that the rest were to go round to the north door. At that door admittance was refused to all who would not pay “twopence a piece.” Those who “paid twopence” were thus permitted to hasten and rejoin the train. The corpse on being borne down the stairs of the vault was then followed as before. Here the door of the vault was suddenly thrust against all who were not mourners, ex officio, and a shilling demanded from each of the sympathizing attendants who had not on the funeral garments. Compliance with this further exaction qualified them to see the “funeral performed.” This was personally communicated to the editor by the gentleman referred to.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·97.

~April 25.~

ST. MARK.[139]

St. Mark’s day was anciently kept a fast through all the country, and no flesh eaten upon it. Also upon this, and the three first days of Cross, or the Rogation week, there were processions by the prior and monks of Durham to one of the parish churches, and a sermon preached at each. Upon Holy Thursday was a procession with two crosses, borne before the monks, and each in rich copes; the prior in one of cloth of gold, so massy that his train was supported. Shrines and relics were also carried. Of the two litanies performed twice in the year, the greater and the less, the first, on St. Mark’s day, was instituted by Gregory on account of a pestilence, called also the black cross, from the black clothes worn from weeping and penance; or “peraventure, because they covered the crosse and auters with blessed hayres.” The smaller litany was sung three days before the Ascension, and was called the rogations, processions, &c., because then a general procession was made, the cross borne, and bells rung. In the procession of some churches there was a dragon with a great tail filled full of chaff, which was emptied on the third day, to show that the devil after prevailing the first and second day, before and under the law, was on “the thyrde day of grace, by the passion of Jhesu criste, put out of his reame.”[140]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·57.

[139] See vol. i. p. 512, 521, &c.

[140] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

~April 26.~

A LAND STORM.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--Permit me to call your attention to the following description of a storm, which may be acceptable to the readers of the Every-Day Book.

I am, Sir, &c.

J. W.

COLONEL BEAUFOY’S ACCOUNT

of a Remarkable Storm.

On Sunday, the 26th of April, 1818, about half-past twelve o’clock, the neighbourhood of Stanmore was visited by a tremendous storm of hail, rain, and wind, accompanied by some unusual phenomena. The elevated situation of Bushey heath afforded me peculiar facilities for viewing its progress and effects, which occupied in space about five miles in a direct line, and in time about twenty minutes. The morning had been close and sultry, the heavens sufficiently clear to enable me to observe the transit of the sun over the meridian, the wind variable, the barometer 29,000 inches, the thermometer 61°, the hygrometer 52°, and the variation of the needle 24° 41′ 46′′ west. I shortly observed the heavens in the south-east quarter much overcast, and some dense black clouds forming in that direction, which immediately discharged rain in torrents, followed by tremendous hail, lightning, and thunder. In about half an hour the fury of the storm had somewhat abated, when my attention was attracted to the south-east by an amazing commotion among the clouds, which appeared to roll over and into each other with considerable rapidity. Beneath these dark clouds there appeared a small white one, moving with surprising velocity towards the north-west; at the same time whirling round in a horizontal direction with prodigious quickness, accompanied with a horrid noise, which I can only compare to a stunning and most discordant whistle. The form of this white cloud was, in the first instance, that of a very obtuse cone with its apex downwards, which, during its rotary motion, occasionally approached and retired from the earth; the tail of the cone elongating continually as it receded, but on approaching the surface of the ground expanding like the lower part of an hour-glass; when it appeared to collect all the surrounding air into its immediate vortex, as it rebounded with such violence as to root up trees, unroof houses and hayricks, throw down walls and in short every thing that impeded its progress. The effects were, however, exceedingly partial and irregular, depending apparently on the distance of the mouth of the funnel from such objects as chanced to come in the course of direction; as also on the area included within the vortex, at the times it exerted its powers of destruction. This whirlwind appears to have commenced near Mrs. Dickson’s farm, situated about one mile to the west of the village of Kenton, in Middlesex; and from thence proceeded in a north by west direction, by compass, over Bellemont, through the orchard adjoining the widow Woodbridge’s cottage, over Mr. Roberts’s field, Mr. Riddock’s nursery, Mr. Martin’s pleasure-grounds, Mr. Utterson’s plantations, and the marquis of Abercorn’s to Mr. Blackwell’s premises, where it changed its direction from north by west, to north by east, passing over Bushey village, through Mr. Bellas’s farm and orchard, and finally exhausting its fury about a mile and a half further. At Mr. Dickson’s farm it removed some ridge tiles, and part of the thatch of outhouses and hayricks; and on reaching widow Woodbridge’s orchard it had obtained much greater force, as it levelled the fruit trees and tore away a greater part of the tiling of the cottage, against which it carried a wooden building several feet with great violence. In passing through Mr. Roberts’s field it blew down eleven large elms, the breadth of the tornado at this place not exceeding one hundred yards, as was evident from the trifling injury sustained by the other trees to the right and left. Crossing the road leading to Stanmore, it entered Mr. Riddock’s nursery, where it did considerable injury to the young trees, and almost entirely stripped one side of the house, carrying away the thatch of the hayricks, and unroofing some of the outhouses. A large may-bush that stood in front of the greenhouse of Mr. Martin was rooted up, but neither the building nor glass received the smallest injury; while a shed at the back of the house, and likewise the cow-house which almost adjoined, had many tiles carried away. It next entered Mr. Utterson’s plantations, and destroyed fifty trees, appearing to have selected particular ones to wreak its fury; for while one was torn up by the roots, those around it were untouched, and some were broken in two places as though they had been twice subjected to the action of the vortex. On approaching Mr. Utterson’s cottage the storm divided into two parts, one proceeded to the right, the other to the left, as was shown by the thatch remaining undisturbed, while trees standing both in front and behind the house were thrown down. At the extremity of the house the storm seems to have again united, as it tore away some wooden paling though completely sheltered by the building, stripping the tiles of lower outhouses, and throwing down a considerable part of the garden wall. At the marquis of Abercorn’s it passed close by an elm, one of whose branches it carried away, the remainder being untouched; and it then threw down about seventy-five yards of garden wall, and leaving an interval of the same extent uninjured, destroyed thirty more; this seems to imply that the storm had here a second time divided. Near this spot one of the marquis’s workmen was thrown down by the violence of the wind, and after being rolled over repeatedly, was at length compelled to hold by the grass to prevent his being carried further. In passing over the dovehouse the pigeons were whirled to the ground, and a quantity of paling was torn up and blown to a great distance. The current of wind now proceeded across the road to Mr. Blackwell’s brick-kiln, tearing from its hinges and tumbling into a ditch a fieldgate; levelling sixty-five feet of the garden wall in one direction, and also the upper part of another wall running in right angles, in the opposite. The outhouses at this place were much damaged, but the dwelling-house was not touched. After leaving the garden it assailed a large beech, which measured at the base eighteen feet in circumference. My eye happened to be fixed on this tree at the moment; the wind commenced by giving its large head a considerable twist, and in an instant tore it up by the roots. After passing over the gravel pits at Harrow Weald, and a part of the village of Bushey, where it nearly unroofed a house, it continued its course without doing any further mischief until it reached Mr. Bellas’s farm. At this place its effects were very destructive among the fruit-trees and large elms, besides tearing away the tiles and thatch of the house, buildings, and ricks; for here the storm appears to have contracted to a width of sixty yards, and its impetuosity to have increased in proportion as its breadth diminished. After passing in a north by east direction about a mile and a half further than Mr. Bellas’s farm, its fury most probably subsided, as the only further mischief I have been able to trace was the destruction of two small elms in a hedgerow, and whose support had been weakened by digging away the earth from their roots. I observed when the clouds or vapour from which all this storm proceeded, enveloped the upper part of the cone in which Mr. Blackwell burns his bricks, the cone appeared to be surrounded with a thick mist, and most violently agitated. I also observed that in its passage over the gravel pits, it tore up the earth and gravel, not in a uniform manner, but, as it were, by jumps, leaving intervals between the various points of contact of sometimes one hundred yards and upwards; and the dreadful whistling noise continued unabated until the cessation of the storm. This phenomena was at one time within less than a quarter of a mile of my house; but the trees in the garden were not much affected by it, though I have reason to believe, from the testimony of several persons, on whose veracity I can rely, that the violence of the storm was such as to force them to lay hold of hedges to prevent their being thrown down. Mr. Blackwell, in particular, mentioned that in returning from church with one of his children, in order to secure himself and boy from being carried away, he was obliged to hold by a stake. It is further stated on the most respectable authority, that cattle were seen lifted, or rather driven, from one end of the field to the other. There is reason to believe that one or more meteoric stones fell during the storm; for one of the late marquis of Abercorn’s gardeners told me he had observed “a large stone about the size of his fist, descend in nearly a perpendicular direction, after a very dazzling flash of lightning, not followed by thunder.” At my request he readily showed the spot on which it apparently fell; but the place being full of holes the search was unsuccessful; or it might have fallen into a pond situated near the place. I, as well as others, after a flash of lightning, heard a noise similar to the firing of a large rocket, or resembling a number of hard substances shot out of a cart.[141]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·35.

[141] Thomson’s Annals.

~April 27.~

A SPRING WALK ON THE SURREY HILLS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--Having, like Falstaff, “babbled o’ green fields,” I resolved to visit them; and a few mornings ago, taking with me a certain talisman with his majesty’s head thereon, I bent my steps through the now populous town of Walworth, famous, like London, for its “Sir William,” and in whose history are many things well worthy your notice. Proceeding thence through Camberwell, I ascended the hill at whose foot quietly stands the Sunday resort of many town immured beings, the public-house yclept “the Fox-under-the-Hill.” Here the works of man are intruding on the country in villas of various shapes and dimensions, the sight of which would make the former possessors of the land, if they loved their fields, and could look around them, feel as did the American chief, who dining one day with some British officers at a house which commanded a view of the vast lakes and forests formerly the inheritance of his fathers, was observed to eye the scene before him with melancholy scrutiny.--“Chieftain,” remarked General ----, “you are sad!” “I am;” was his answer, “and how can I be otherwise, when I think of the time when all I look on was the property of my nation; but ’tis gone; the white men have got it, and we are a houseless and a homeless people. The white man came in his bark, and asked leave to tie it to a tree; it was given him--he then asked to build him a hut; it was granted--but how was our kindness repaid? his hut became a fort, his bark brought in her womb the children of the thunder to our shores--they drove us from forest to forest, from mountain to mountain, they destroyed our habitations and our people, they rooted up our trees, and have left us but the desert--I am sad; and how can I be otherwise?” I return from this digression to ascend Herne Hill, the Elysium of many of our merchants and traders, whose dwellings look the abodes of happy mortals,--beings, seeking, in retirement from the busy world, to repay themselves for the anxieties and fatigues of life with peace and competence.

O, how blest is he who here Can calmly end life’s wild career; He who in the torrid zone, Hath the spirit’s wasting known, Or pin’d where winter ’neath the pole, Through the body wrings the soul, Losing in this peaceful spot Memory of his former lot. And O, how happy were it mine, To build me here, ere life decline, A cot, ’mid these sequestered grounds, With every year three hundred pounds.

Gentlemen of Herne Hill I envy you--but I am not a money-getting man, so it is useless to wish for such a treasure. Proceeding onward, I wind down the southern declivity of this lovely Olympus--it has been, ere now, to me, a Parnassus, but that is past, and the hoofs of Lancefield’s steeds have superseded those of Pegasus.--On the left a quiet green lane, such as Byron would have loved, leads to Dulwich, famous for its college, and the well paid and well fed inhabitants thereof, and its gallery of pictures. On the right is an opening as yet unprofaned by brick and mortar--the only place now left, from whence a traveller can view the soft scenery around. I go down this vista, and am rewarded with a beauteous prospect of variegated hills, vallies, meadows, &c. &c. I again approach the steep, retracing my path; and descending further, green fields and still greener hedges are on each side of me, studded with various wild flowers. At every step I hear the rich music of nature; the sky-lark is above me singing, heedless if the gled[142] be in the blue cloud; and at least a score of robins with their full bright eyes, and red bosoms, hopping about me, singing as stout as if it was winter, and looking quite as bold. There is a mixture of cheerfulness and melancholy in their song, which to me is pleasing; now loud and shrill, and now a long rolling sound like the rising of the wind. Advancing, I come in sight of the New Church of Norwood with its unsightly steeple. Ichabod! the glory of the church has departed. I never observe the new churches on the Surrey side of the river, without imagining their long bodies and short steeples look, from a distance, like the rudders of so many sailing barges. Where is the grand oriel--the square tower? what have we in their stead? a common granary casement, and a shapeless spire. I again move onward rather tired, and turning to the left, after a short uphill journey with a charming view on all sides, arrive at “the Woodman,” where the talisman I spoke of showed its power, by instantly procuring me good eating and other refreshing solace. Here a man might sit for an hour unwearied, better in head and heart from the loveliness of the scenery beneath him; and here I repose,--

Inhaling as the news I read The fragrance of the Indian weed.

You are, I have heard, no smoker; yet there is “a something” in a pipe which produces that tranquillity of mind you so much need; if alone it is a companion, bringing quiet thoughts and pleasing visions; it is a good friend if not abused, and is, above all, a promoter of digestion--no bad quality. Below me, yet wearing its livery of brown, lies the wood, the shadowy haunt of the gypsey tribe ere magisterial authority drove them away. Many a pleasant hour have I spent in my younger days with its Cassandras, listening to their prophetic voices, and looking at their dark eyes.

O, the dusky hands are ne’er forgot, That my palm trac’d, Of her I clasp’d, in that calm spot, Around the waist; I feel the thrill Of her fingers still, Her dark eyes on me beam, O, what joyous thoughts my bosom fill Of that sweet dream.

But--as the song says--

“Farewell to Glenowen For I must be going.”

I proceed; Sydenham lies before me, beyond it in softened distance, Beckenham and Bromley meet the eye, with Dulwich below--and half hidden, and afar off, is smoky London, with the Abbey towers and St. Paul’s dome looking gloomily grand. In the foreground lies a rich variety of upland and dale, studded with snow white dwellings. Leaving the wood on my left, I reach the reservoir of the canal, and read no less than three boards threatening with the severest penalties all intruders. Again I am surrounded with sky-larks; I watch one leave the grass, he is up nearly a quarter of an hour, and here I meet a man with a dozen or more nests of young birds, blackbirds, thrushes, and robins, which is very early for the latter. Pacing slowly up a quiet lane to the left of the canal, I arrive at a few delightful cottages on the brow of the hill; below them to the south--

A lovely prospect opens wide, Wave-like hills on every side, By human hands diversified.

Somewhere near the canal, at a brickmaker’s hut, poor Dermody, the Irish poet, retired sick, and in poverty. Turning to the left I view Forest Hill, the sweetest haunt of my poetic hours, but here, as at every other desirable spot for meditation, frowns the warning board, placed by the hand of envious monopoly--

“The law will punish all who enter here.”

Nun Head Hill, the favourite resort of smoke-dried artisans, and other Londoners, is taken from them, and a narrow path is all that remains for their Sunday promenade. Ruminating on the change I move on, and espying a gap in the hedge, enter a field, where, reclining on the long grass, I muse, till, like the shadowy kings in Macbeth, my cares and sorrows pass before me. I listen! it is the music of heaven--numerous skylarks tower aloft, the best I have yet heard; ye that wish for good ones catch them here--which advice, if they heard, would doubtless bring them down on me with beak and claw. Hark! it is the tit-lark, the harbinger of the nightingale; he is just come over, and the other will quickly follow: he drops from the tallest tree, and sings till earth receives him. His song is short, but very sweet; nothing can equal his rising “Weet--weet--weet--weet--weet--weet--weet,” and dying “Feer--feer--feer--feer--feer--feer--feer,” and his lengthened “Snee----jug--jug--jug.” It is from him that the best notes of your canaries are obtained; he will sing till July. About the fifteenth, the fowler will go out, and the nightingale will sell his freedom for a meal-worm--how many of us mortals do the same to gratify our appetites! The bird now caught will be a good one, which is more than I can say of the mortal. He will not yet have paired with the hen, she not having made her appearance. The males arrive first, at least so say the catchers, but I doubt if they emigrate at all. The tame ones in cages when they leave off song get extremely fat, and are half stupid till the season returns; perhaps the wild ones do the same, and retire into secrecy during the winter. I merely surmise that such may be the case.

Evening drawing on, and the wind edging round to the northward, I bend my course through Peckham, and again enter the busy haunts of man, where, reaching my home, I sit down and write this for your columns, hoping it may be acceptable.

I am, Sir, &c.

J.

Kent Road,

April 14, 1826.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 50·20.

[142] Hawk.

~April 28.~

CHRONOLOGY.

In 1658, during this month, the accomplished colonel Richard Lovelace died in the Gatehouse at Westminster, whither he had been committed for his devotion to the interests and fortunes of the Stuart family. His celebrity is preserved by some elegant poems; one is especially remarkable for natural imagery, and beautiful expression of noble thought:--

When love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates; When I lye tangled in her haire, And fettered with her eye, The birds that wanton in the aire Know no such libertye.

When flowing cups ran swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our carelesse heads with roses crowned, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe, When healths and draughts goe free, Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, Know no such libertie.

When, linnet-like, confined I With shriller note shall sing The mercye, sweetness, majestye, And glories of my king; When I shall voyce aloud how good He is, how great should be, Th’ enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such libertie.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron barrs a cage, Mindes, innocent and quiet, take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love, And in my soule am free, Angels alone, that soare above, Enjoy such libertie.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 50·21.

~April 29.~

THE APRIL OF 1826.

This month is remarkable for the endurance of great suffering by many thousands of English artisans.

In a “Statement to the Right Hon. Robert Peel, by the Hand-loom Weavers of Blackburn,” they say--

“Our dwellings are totally destitute of every comfort.

“Every article of value has disappeared, either to satisfy the cravings of hunger, or to appease the clamour of relentless creditors.

“Thousands who were once possessed of an honest independence gained by laborious industry, are now sunk in the lowest depths of poverty.

“Were the humane man to visit the dwellings of four-fifths of the weavers, and see the miserable pittance which sixteen hours’ hard labour can procure, even of those who are fully employed, divided between the wretched parents and their starving little ones, he would sicken at the sight.

“When we look upon our starving wives and children, and have no bread to give them, we should consider ourselves still more degraded than we are, as undeserving the name of Englishmen, were we to withhold our complaint from his majesty’s government, or to abstain from speaking in proper terms of what we consider the present unparalleled distress which exists among the weavers; and we implore you, sir, by all the ties which bind the patriot to his country, by that anxiety for the welfare of England which you have frequently evinced, to use that influence which you possess with his majesty’s government towards procuring an amelioration of the condition of the most injured and oppressed class of his majesty’s subjects.”

The rev. Joseph Fletcher of Mile-end corroborates these statements by local acquaintance with the districts, and affirms of his own knowledge, that “the recent causes of commercial distress have produced unparalleled misery.”

“In the town of Blackburn and its vicinity, it has reached its highest point of aggravation. At the present crisis, upwards of seven thousand looms are unemployed in Blackburn, and nearly fourteen thousand persons have been compelled to depend on the bounty of the inhabitants; and as, according to the late census, Blackburn contains about twenty-one thousand inhabitants, two-thirds of the population are in a state of utter destitution.

“The remaining number of the middle and higher classes of society, bears a far less proportion to the population than in any part of the kingdom, while the same disproportion exists amidst a teeming and immense population in the villages and hamlets of the district.

“Thus, the accessible sources of relief are diminished, and the means of alleviation are not in the power of those whose very dependence for their own supply rests on the destitute themselves.”

* * * * *

The pleasure of the very poor man, while he endures the privations of his ordinary condition, is the mere absence of bodily disease; and he patiently awaits the time when his life shall depart, and his body shall be buried at the parish expense, and his family shall walk from his funeral into the workhouse. This is his state in the best of times; but, in a season of general calamity to his class, when the barely sufficient sources of existence fail, his death is no provision for his wife and children; then the poor are rated for the maintenance of the poor; whole parishes became paupers; and the district must necessarily be supported by voluntary contributions throughout the country.

The dwelling of the very poor man is always cheerless; but the abode of indigence, reduced to starvation, is a cave of despair. Thousands of families are perishing for lack of food at the moment when this is written. From him who has a little, a little is required--and from him who has much, much is required--that the plague of famine be stayed. The case is beyond the reach of legislation, but clearly within the power of associated benevolence to mitigate. A cry of hunger is gone forth--is the ear deaf, that it cannot hear?--are the hands that have been often effectually stretched forth, shortened that they cannot save?

THE POOR MAN’S HOME.

“Home is home, though it is never so homely.” Exceptions to this position are taken by ELIA, who, as regards the poor man, deems it a “fallacy,” to which “crowded places of cheap entertainment, and the benches of alehouses, if they could speak, would bear mournful testimony.”--“To them the very poor man resorts for an image of the home, which he cannot find at home. For a starved grate, and a scanty firing, that is not enough to keep alive the natural heat in the fingers of so many shivering children with their mother, he finds in the depth of winter always a blazing hearth, and a hob to warm his pittance of beer by. Instead of the clamours of a wife, made gaunt by famishing, he meets with a cheerful attendance beyond the merits of the trifle which he can afford to spend. He has companions which his home denies him, for the very poor man can ask no visiters. He can look into the goings on of the world, and speak a little to politics. At home there are no politics stirring but the domestic. All interests, real or imaginary, all topics that should expand the mind of man, and connect him with a sympathy to general existence, are crushed in the absorbing consideration of food to be obtained for the family. Beyond the price of bread, news is senseless and impertinent. At home there is no larder. Here there is at least a show of plenty; and while he cooks his lean scrap of butcher’s meat before the common bars, or munches his humble cold viands, his relishing bread and cheese with an onion, in a corner, where no one reflects upon his poverty, he has sight of the substantial joint providing for the landlord and his family. He takes an interest in the dressing of it; and while he assists in removing the trivet from the fire, he feels that there is such a thing as beef and cabbage, which he was beginning to forget at home. All this while he deserts his wife and children. But what wife, and what children? Prosperous men, who object to this desertion, image to themselves some clean contented family like that which they go home to. But look at the countenance of the poor wives who follow and persecute their good man to the door of the public-house, which he is about to enter, when something like shame would restrain him, if stronger misery did not induce him to pass the threshold. That face, ground by want, in which every cheerful, every conversable lineament has been long effaced by misery,--is that a face to stay at home with? is it more a woman, or a wild cat? alas! it is the face of the wife of his youth, that once smiled upon him. It can smile no longer. What comforts can it share? what burdens can it lighten? Oh, it is a fine thing to talk of the humble meal shared together. But what if there be no bread in the cupboard? The innocent prattle of his children takes out the sting of a man’s poverty. But the children of the very poor do not prattle. It is none of the least frightful features in that condition, that there is no childishness in its dwellings. Poor people, said a sensible old nurse to us once, do not bring up their children; they drag them up. The little careless darling of the wealthier nursery, in their hovel is transformed betimes into a premature reflecting person. No one has time to dandle it, no one thinks it worth while to coax it, to soothe it, to toss it up and down, to humour it. There is none to kiss away its tears. If it cries, it can only be beaten. It has been prettily said, that a babe is fed with milk and praise. But the aliment of this poor babe was thin, unnourishing; the return to its little baby-tricks, and efforts to engage attention, bitter ceaseless objurgation. It never had a toy, or knew what a coral meant. It grew up without the lullaby of nurses; it was a stranger to the patient fondle, the hushing caress, the attracting novelty, the costlier plaything, or the cheaper off-hand contrivance to divert the child; the prattled nonsense, (best sense to it,) the wise impertinencies, the wholesome lies, the apt story interposed, that puts a stop to present sufferings, and awakens the passion of young wonder. It was never sung to, no one ever told to it a tale of the nursery. It was dragged up, to live or to die as it happened. It had no young dreams. It broke at once into the iron realities of real life. A child exists not for the very poor as any object of dalliance; it is only another mouth to be fed, a pair of little hands to be betimes inured to labour. It is the rival, till it can be the co-operator, for food with the parent. It is never his mirth, his diversion, his solace; it never makes him young again, with recalling his young times. The children of the very poor have no young times. It makes the very heart to bleed to overhear the casual street-talk, between a poor woman and her little girl, a woman of the better sort of poor, in a condition rather above the squalid beings which we have been contemplating. It is not of toys, of nursery books, of summer holidays (fitting that age); of the promised sight, or play; of praised sufficiency at school. It is of mangling and clear starching, of the price of coals, or of potatoes. The questions of the child, that should be the very outpourings of curiosity in idleness, are marked with forecast and melancholy providence. It has come to be a woman, before it was a child. It has learned to go to market; it chaffers. It haggles, it envies, it murmurs; it is knowing, acute, sharpened; it never prattles. Had we not reason to say that the home of the very poor is no home?”[143]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·02.

[143] New Monthly Magazine, March, 1826.

~April 30.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 30th of April, 1745, the battle of Fontenoy was fought between the allied armies of England, Holland, and Austria, under the command of the duke of Cumberland, and a superior French army, under marshal count De Saxe. Here the advantage of the day was to the French; the duke of Cumberland left his sick and wounded to the humanity of the victors, and Louis XV. obtained the mastery of the Netherlands.

The battle was commenced with the formal politeness of a court minuet. Captain Lord Charles Hay, of the English guards, advanced from the ranks with his hat off; at the same moment, lieutenant count D’Auteroche, of the French guards, advanced also, uncovered, to meet him. Lord Charles bowed:--“Gentleman of the French guards,” said he, “fire!” The count bowed to lord Charles. “No my lord,” he answered, “we never fire first!” They again bowed; each resumed his place in his own ranks; and after these testimonies of “high consideration,” the bloody conflict commenced, and there was a carnage of twelve thousand men on each side.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 50·57.

Also, in calendars, the month of May Is marked the month of Love--two lovers stray, In the old wood-cuts, in a forest green, Looking their love into each other’s eyes And dreaming happiness that never dies; And there they talk unheard, and walk unseen, Save by the birds, who chant a louder lay To welcome such true lovers with the May.

*

The month of May was deemed by the Romans to be under the protection of Apollo; and it being the month wherein they made several expiations, they prohibited marrying in May. On the first day of May the Roman ladies sacrificed to Bona Dea, the Good Goddess, or the Earth, represented in the Frontispiece to the first volume of the Every-Day Book, with the zodiacal signs of the celestial system, which influences our sphere to produce its fruits in due order.

* * * * *

It is in May that “Spring is with us once more pacing the earth in all the primal pomp of her beauty, with flowers and soft airs and the song of birds every where about her, and the blue sky and the bright clouds above. But there is one thing wanting, to give that happy completeness to her advent, which belonged to it in the elder times; and without which it is like a beautiful melody without words, or a beautiful flower without scent, or a beautiful face without a soul. The voice of man is no longer heard, hailing her approach as she hastens to bless him; and his choral symphonies no longer meet and bless her in return--bless her by letting her behold and hear the happiness that she comes to create. The soft songs of women are no longer blended with her breath as it whispers among the new leaves; their slender feet no longer trace her footsteps in the fields and woods and wayside copses, or dance delighted measures round the flowery offerings that she prompted their lovers to place before them on the village green. Even the little children themselves, that have an instinct for the spring, and feel it to the very tips of their fingers, are permitted to let May come upon them, without knowing from whence the impulse of happiness that they feel proceeds, or whither it tends. In short,

‘All the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday:’

while man, man alone, lets the season come without glorying in it; and when it goes he lets it go without regret; as if ‘all seasons and their change’ were alike to him; or rather, as if he were the lord of all seasons, and they were to do homage and honour to him, instead of he to them! How is this? Is it that we have ‘sold our birthright for a mess of pottage?’--that we have bartered ‘our being’s end and aim’ for a purse of gold? Alas! thus it is:

‘The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away--a sordid boon!’

--But be this as it may, we are still able to feel what nature is, though we have in a great measure ceased to know it; though we have chosen to neglect her ordinances, and absent ourselves from her presence, we still retain some instinctive reminiscences of her beauty and her power; and every now and then the sordid walls of those mud hovels which we have built for ourselves, and choose to dwell in, fall down before the magic touch of our involuntary fancies, and give us glimpses into ‘that imperial palace whence we came,’ and make us yearn to return thither, though it be but in thought.

‘Then sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor’s sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the MAY!’”[144]

[144] Mirror of the Months.

~May 1.~

St. Philip and St. James.[145]

MAY DAY.

As we had some agreeable intimacies to-day last year, we will seek our country friends in other rural parts, this “May morning,” and see “how they do.”

To illustrate the custom of going “a Maying,” described in volume i., a song still used on that occasion is subjoined:--

THE MAYER’S CALL.

Come, lads, with your bills, To the wood we’ll away, We’ll gather the boughs, And we’ll celebrate May.

We’ll bring our load home, As we’ve oft done before, And leave a green bough, At each good master’s } good neighbour’s } door. pretty maid’s }

To-morrow, when work’s done, I hold it no wrong, If we go round in ribands, And sing them a song.

Come, lads, bring your bills, To the wood we’ll away, We’ll gather the boughs, And we’ll celebrate May.

There is a rural ditty chanted in villages and country towns, preparatory to gathering the May:--

THE MAY EVE SONG.

If we should wake you from your sleep, Good people listen now, Our yearly festival we keep, And bring a Maythorn bough.

An emblem of the world it grows, The flowers its pleasures are, But many a thorn bespeaks its woes, Its sorrow and its care.

Oh! sleep you then, and take your rest, And, when the day shall dawn, May you awake in all things blest-- A May without a thorn.

And when, to-morrow we shall come Oh! treat us not with scorn; From out your bounty give us some-- Be May without a thorn.

May He, who makes the May to blow, On earth his riches sheds, Protect thee against every woe, Shower blessings on thy heads.

After “bringing home the May,” here is another lay:--

THE MAYER’S SONG.

On the Mayers deign to smile, Master, mistress, hear our song, Listen but a little while, We will not detain you long.

Life with us is in its spring, We enjoy a blooming May, Summer will its labour bring, Winter has its pinching day.

Yet the blessing we would use Wisely--it is reason’s part-- Those who youth and health abuse, Fail not in the end to smart.

Mirth we love--the proverb says, Be ye merry but be wise, We will walk in wisdom’s ways, There alone true pleasure lies.

May, that now is in its bloom, All so fragrant and so fair, When autumn and when winter come, Shall its useful berries bear.

We would taste your home-brew’d beer,-- Give not, if we’ve had enough,-- May it strengthen, may it cheer, Waste not e’er the precious stuff.

We of money something crave, For ourselves we ask no share, John and Jane the whole shall have, They’re the last new married pair.

May it comfort to them prove, And a blessing bring to you; Blessings of connubial love, Light on all like morning dew.

So shall May, with blessings crown’d, Welcom’d be by old and young, Often as the year comes round, Shall the May-day song be sung.

Fare ye well, good people all, Sweet to-night may be your rest, Every blessing you befall, Blessing others you are blest.

As the day advances, a ballad suitable to the “village sports” is sung by him who has the honour to crown his lass as the “May-day queen.”--

THE WREATH OF MAY.

This slender rod of leaves and flowers, So fragrant and so gay, Produce of spring’s serener hours, Peculiarly is May.

This slender rod, the hawthorn bears, And when its bloom is o’er, Its ruby berries then it wears, The songster’s winter store.

Then, though it charm the sight and smell, In spring’s delicious hours, The feather’d choir its praise shall tell, ’Gainst winter round us lowers.

O then, my love, from me receive, This beauteous hawthorn spray, A garland for thy head I’ll weave, Be thou my queen of May.

Love and fragrant as these flowers, Live pure as thou wert born, And ne’er may sin’s destructive powers, Assail thee with its thorn.

One more ditty, a favourite in many parts of England, is homely, but there is a prettiness in its description that may reconcile it to the admirers of a “country life:”--

THE MAY DAY HERD.

Now at length ’tis May-day morn, And the herdsman blows his horn; Green with grass the common now, Herbage bears for many a cow.

Too long in the straw yard fed, Have the cattle hung their head, And the milk did well nigh fail, The milk-maid in her ashen pail.

Well the men have done their job, Every horn has got its knob; Nor shall they each other gore, Not a bag, or hide, be tore.

Yet they first a fight maintain, Till one cow the mastery gain; They, like man, for mastery strive, They by others’ weakness thrive.

Drive them gently o’er the lawn, Keep them from the growing corn; When the common they shall gain, Let them spread wide o’er the plain.

Show them to the reedy pool, There at noon their sides they’ll cool, And with a wide whisking tail, Thrash the flies as with a flail.

Bring them gently home at eve, That their bags they may relieve, And themselves of care divest, Chew the cud and take their rest.

Now the dairy maid will please, To churn her butter, set her cheese; We shall have the clotted cream, The tea-table’s delightful theme.

Raise the song, then, let us now, Sing the healthful, useful cow, England well the blessing knows, A land with milk that richly flows.

May-day is a Spring day.

Spring--“the innocent spring,” is the firstling of revolving nature; and in the first volume, is symbolized by an infant. In that engraving there is a sort of appeal to parental feeling; yet an address more touching to the heart is in the following little poem:--

A Mother to her First-born.

’Tis sweet to watch thee in thy sleep, When thou, my boy, art dreaming; ’Tis sweet, o’er thee a watch to keep, To mark the smile that seems to creep O’er thee like daylight gleaming.

’Tis sweet to mark thy tranquil breast, Heave like a small wave flowing; To see thee take thy gentle rest, With nothing save fatigue opprest, And health on thy cheek glowing.

To see thee now, or when awake, Sad thoughts, alas! steal o’er me; For thou, in time, a part must take, That may thy fortunes mar or make, In the wide world before thee.

But I, my child, have hopes of thee, And may they ne’er be blighted!-- That I, years hence, may live to see Thy name as dear to all as me, Thy virtues well requited.

I’ll watch thy dawn of joys, and mould Thy little mind to duty-- I’ll teach thee words, as I behold Thy faculties like flowers unfold, In intellectual beauty.

And then, perhaps, when I am dead, And friends around me weeping-- Thoul’t see me to my grave, and shed A tear upon my narrow bed, Where I shall then be sleeping!

BARTON WILFORD.

* * * * *

The Maypole nearest to the metropolis, that stood the longest within the recollection of the editor, was near Kennington-green, at the back of the houses, at the south corner of the Workhouse-lane, leading from the Vauxhall-road to Elizabeth-place. The site was then nearly vacant, and the Maypole was in the field on the south side of the Workhouse-lane, and nearly opposite to the Black Prince public-house. It remained till about the year 1795, and was much frequented, particularly by milk maids.

* * * * *

A delightfully pretty print of a merry-making “round about the Maypole,” supplies an engraving on the next page illustrative of the prevailing tendency of this work, and the simplicity of rural manners. It is not so sportive as the dancings about the Maypoles near London formerly; there is nothing of the boisterous rudeness which must be well remembered by many old Londoners on May-day.

It is a pleasant sight, to see A little village company Drawn out upon the first of May To have their annual holiday:-- The pole hung round with garlands gay; The young ones footing it away; The aged cheering their old souls With recollections and their bowls; Or, on the mirth and dancing failing, Their oft-times-told old tales re-taleing.

*

The innocent and the unaspiring may always be happy. Their pleasures like their knitting needles, and hedging gloves, are easily purchased, and when bestowed are estimated as distinctions. The late Dr. Parr, the fascinating converser, the skilful controverter, the first Greek scholar, and one of the greatest and most influential men of the age, was a patron of May-day sports. Opposite his parsonage-house at Hatton, near Warwick, on the other side of the road, stood the parish Maypole, which on the annual festival was dressed with garlands, surrounded by a numerous band of villagers. The doctor was “first of the throng,” and danced with his parishioners the gayest of the gay. He kept the large crown of the Maypole in a closet of his house, from whence it was produced every May-day, with fresh flowers and streamers preparatory to its elevation, and to the doctor’s own appearance in the ring. He always spoke of this festivity as one wherein he joined with peculiar delight to himself, and advantage to his neighbours. He was deemed eccentric, and so he was; for he was never proud to the humble, nor humble to the proud. His eloquence and wit elevated humility, and crushed insolence; he was the champion of the oppressed, a foe to the oppressor, a friend to the friendless, and a brother to him who was ready to perish. Though a prebend of the church with university honours, he could afford to make his parishoners happy without derogating from his ecclesiastical dignities, or abatement of self-respect, or lowering himself in the eyes of any who were not inferior in judgment, to the most inferior of the villagers of Hatton.

* * * * *

Formerly a pleasant character dressed out with ribands and flowers, figured in village May-games under the name of

The Jack-o’-the-Greens would sometimes come into the suburbs of London, and amuse the residents by rustic dancing. The last of them, that I remember, were at the Paddington May-dance, near the “Yorkshire Stingo,” about twenty years ago, from whence, as I heard, they diverged to Bayswater, Kentish-town, and adjoining neighbourhoods. A Jack-o’-the-Green always carried a long walking stick with floral wreaths; he whisked it about in the dance, and afterwards walked with it in high estate like a lord mayor’s footman.

* * * * *

On this first of the month we cannot pass the poets without listening to their carols, as we do, in our walks, to the songs of the spring birds in their thickets.

TO MAY.

Welcome! dawn of summer’s day, Youthful, verdant, balmy May! Sunny fields and shady bowers, Spangled meads and blooming flowers, Crystal fountains--limpid streams, Where the sun of nature beams, As the sigh of morn reposes, Sweetly on its bed of roses! Welcome! scenes of fond delight, Welcome! eyes with rapture bright-- Maidens’ sighs--and lovers’ vows-- Fluttering hearts--and open brows! And welcome all that’s bright and gay, To hail the balmy dawn of May!

J. L. Stevens.

* * * * *

The most ancient of our bards makes noble melody in this glorious month. Mr. Leigh Hunt selects a delightful passage from Chaucer, and compares it with Dryden’s paraphrase:--

It is sparkling with young manhood and a gentle freshness. What a burst of radiant joy is in the second couplet; what a vital quickness in the comparison of the horse, “starting as the fire;” and what a native and happy case in the conclusion!

The busy lark, the messenger of day, Saleweth[146] in her song the morrow gray; And fiery Phœbus riseth up so bright, That all the orient laugheth of the sight; And with his stremès drieth in the greves[147] The silver droppès hanging in the leaves; And Arcite, that is in the court real[148] With Theseus the squier principal, Is risen, and looketh on the merry day; And for to do his observance to May, Remembring on the point of his desire, He on the courser, starting as the fire; Is risen to the fieldès him to play, Out of the court, were it a mile or tway. And to the grove, of which that I you told, By àventure his way he gan to hold, To maken him a garland of the greves, Were it of woodbind or of hawthorn leaves, And loud he sung against the sunny sheen: “O May, with all thy flowers and thy green, Right welcome be thou, fairè freshè May: I hope that I some green here getten may.” And from his courser, with a lusty heart, Into the grove full hastily he start, And in a path he roamed up and down.

Dryden falls short in the freshness and feeling of the sentiment. His lines are beautiful; but they do not come home to us with so happy and cordial a face. Here they are. The word morning in the first line, as it is repeated in the second, we are bound to consider as a slip of the pen; perhaps for mounting.

The morning-lark, the messenger of day, Saluteth in her song the morning gray; And soon the sun arose with beams so bright, That all the horizon laughed to see the joyous sight He with his tepid rays the rose renews, And licks the drooping leaves, and dries the dews; When Arcite left his bed, resolv’d to pay Observance to the month of merry May: Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode, That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod: At ease he seemed, and prancing o’er the plains, Turned only to the grove his horses’ reins, The grove I named before; and, lighted there, A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair Then turned his face against the rising day, And raised his voice to welcome in the May “For thee, sweet month, the groves green liveries wear, If not the first, the fairest of the year: For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature’s ready pencil paints the flowers: When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight, Nor goats with venom’d teeth thy tendrils bite, As thou shalt guide my wandering steps to find The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind.” His vows address’d, within the grove he stray’d.

“How poor,” says Mr. Hunt, “is this to Arcite’s leaping from his courser ‘with a lusty heart.’ How inferior the common-place of the ‘fiery steed,’ which need not involve any actual notion in the writer’s mind, to the courser ‘starting as the fire;’--how inferior the turning his face to ‘the rising day,’ and ‘raising his voice,’ to the singing ‘loud against the sunny sheen;’ and lastly, the whole learned invocation and adjuration of May, about guiding his ‘wandering steps’ and ‘so may thy tender blossoms’ &c. to the call upon the fair fresh May, ending with that simple, quick-hearted line, in which he hopes he shall get ‘some green here;’ a touch in the happiest taste of the Italian vivacity. Dryden’s genius, for the most part, wanted faith in nature. It was too gross and sophisticate. There was as much difference between him and his original, as between a hot noon in perukes at St. James’s, and one of Chaucer’s lounges on the grass, of a May morning. All this worship of May is over now. There is no issuing forth in glad companies to gather boughs; no adorning of houses with ‘the flowery spoil;’ no songs, no dances, no village sports and coronations, no courtly-poetries, no sense and acknowledgment of the quiet presence of nature, in grove or glade.

O dolce primavera, o fior novelli, O aure o arboscelli, o fresche erbette, O piagge benedette, o colli o monti, O valli o fiumi o fonti o verde rivi, Palme lauri ed olive, edere e mirti; O gloriosi spirti de gli boschi; O Eco, o antri foschi o chiare linfe, O faretrate ninfe o agresti Pani, O Satiri e Silvani, o Fauni e Driadi, Naiadi ed Amadriadi, o Semidee, Oreadi e Napee,--or siete sole.

Sannazzar.

O thou delicious spring, O ye new flowers, O airs, O youngling bowers; fresh thickening grass, And plains beneath heaven’s face; O hills and mountains, Vallies, and streams, and fountains; banks of green, Myrtles, and palms serene, ivies, and bays; And ye who warmed old lays, spirits o’ the woods, Echoes, and solitudes, and lakes of light; O quivered virgins bright, Pans rustical, Satyrs and Sylvans all, Dryads, and ye That up the mountains be; and ye beneath In meadow or flowery heath,--ye are alone.

“This time two hundred years ago, our ancestors were all anticipating their May holidays. Bigotry came in, and frowned them away; then debauchery, and identified all pleasure with the town; then avarice, and we have ever since been mistaking the means for the end.--Fortunately, it does not follow, that we shall continue to do so. Commerce, while it thinks it is only exchanging commodities, is helping to diffuse knowledge. All other gains,--all selfish and extravagant systems of acquisition,--tend to over-do themselves, and to topple down by their own undiffused magnitude. The world, as it learns other things, may learn not to confound the means with the end, or at least,(to speak more philosophically,) a really poor means with a really richer. The veriest cricket-player on a green has as sufficient a quantity of excitement, as a fundholder or a partizan; and health, and spirits, and manliness to boot. Knowledge may go on; must do so, from necessity; and should do so, for the ends we speak of: but knowledge, so far from being incompatible with simplicity of pleasures, is the quickest to perceive its wealth. Chaucer would lie for hours looking at the daisies. Scipio and Lælius could amuse themselves with making ducks and drakes on the water. Epaminondas, the greatest of all the active spirits of Greece, was a flute-player and dancer. Alfred the Great could act the whole part of a minstrel. Epicurus taught the riches of temperance and intellectual pleasure in a garden. The other philosophers of his country walked between heaven and earth in the colloquial bowers of Academus; and ‘the wisest heart of Solomon,’ who found every thing vain because he was a king, has left us panegyrics on the spring and ‘the voice of the turtle,’ because he was a poet, a lover, and a wise man.”[149]

* * * * *

Aubrey remarks, that he never remembers to have seen a Maypole in France; but he says, “in Holland, they have their May-booms, which are streight young trees, set up; and at Woodstock, in Oxon, they every May-eve goe into the parke, and fetch away a number of hawthorne-trees, which they set before their dores: ’tis pity that they make such a destruction of so fine a tree.”

* * * * *

As the old antiquary takes us to Woodstock, and a novel by the “Great Unknown,” bears that title, we will “inn” there awhile, agreeably to an invitation of a correspondent who signs Ωνωφιλτατος, and who promises entertainment to the readers of the Every-Day Book, from an account of some out-of-the-way doings at that place, when there were out-of-the-way doings every where. Our friend with the Greek name is critical; for as regards the “new novel,” he says, that “Woodstock would have been much better if the author had placed the incidents before the battle of Worcester, and supposed that Charles had been drawn over to England to engage in some plot of Dr. Rochecliffes, which had proved unsuccessful. This might have spared him one great anachronism, (placing the pranks of the merry devil of Woodstock in 1651, instead of 1649,) at the same time that it would throw a greater air of probability over the story; for the reader who is at all acquainted with English history, continually feels his pleasure destroyed by the recollection that in Charles’s escapes after the battle of Worcester, he never once visited Woodstock. Nor does the merry devil of Woodstock excite half the interest, or give us half the amusement he would have done, if the author had lately read the narrative I am now about to copy. He seems to have perused it at some distance of time, and then to have written the novel with imperfect recollection of the circumstances.--But let me begin my story; to wit, an article in the ‘British Magazine’ for April, 1747, which will I suppose excite some curiosity, and is in the following words:--

“THE GENUINE HISTORY

of the

“GOOD DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK,

“Famous in the world in the year 1649 and never accounted for, or at all understood to this time.”

The teller of this “Genuine History” proceeds as hereafter verbatim.

Some original papers having lately fallen into my hands under the name of “Authentic Memoirs of the Memorable Joseph Collins of Oxford, commonly known by the name of Funny Joe, and now intended for the press,” I was extremely delighted to find in them a circumstantial and unquestionable account of the most famous of all invisible agents, so well known in the year 1649, under the name of the good devil of Woodstock, and even adored by the people of that place for the vexation and distress it occasioned some people they were not much pleased with. As this famous story, though related by a thousand people, and attested in all its circumstances beyond all possibility of doubt by people of rank, learning, and reputation, of Oxford and the adjacent towns, has never yet been accounted for or at all understood, and is perfectly explained in a manner that can admit of no doubt in these papers, I could not refuse my readers their share of the pleasure it gave me in reading.

As the facts themselves were at that time so well known that it would have been tedious to enumerate them, they are not mentioned in these papers; but that our readers may have a perfect account of the whole transaction, as well as the secret history of it, I shall prefix a written account of it, drawn up and signed by the commissioners themselves, who were the people concerned, and which I believe never was published, though it agrees very well with the accounts Dr. Plot and other authors of credit give of the whole affair. This I found affixed to the author’s memorial, with this title:--

“A particular account of the strange and surprising apparitions and works of spirits, which happened at Woodstock, in Oxfordshire, in the months of October and November, in the year of our Lord Christ 1649, when the honourable the commissioners for surveying the said manor-house, park, woods, and other demesnes belonging to that manor, sat and remained there. Collected and attested by themselves.

“The honourable the commissioners arrived at Woodstock manor-house, October 13th, and took up their residence in the king’s own rooms. His majesty’s bed-chamber they made their kitchen, the council hall their pantry, and the presence chamber was the place where they sat for despatch of business. His majesty’s dining-room they made their wood yard, and stowed it with no other wood but that of the famous royal oak[150] from the high park, which, that nothing might be left with the name of the king about it, they had dug up by the roots, and bundled up into faggots for their firing.

“October 16. This day they first sat for the despatch of business. In the midst of their first debate there entered a large black dog (as they thought) which made a terrible howling, overturned two or three of their chairs, and doing some other damage, went under the bed, and there gnawed the cords. The door this while continued constantly shut, when after some two or three hours, Giles Sharp, their secretary, looking under the bed, perceived that the creature was vanished, and that a plate of meat which one of the servants had hid there was untouched, and showing them to their honours, they were all convinced there could be no real dog concerned in the case; the said Giles also deposed on oath that to his certain knowledge there was not.

“October 17. As they were this day sitting at dinner in a lower room, they heard plainly the noise of persons walking over their heads, though they well knew the doors were all locked, and there could be none there; presently after they heard also all the wood of the king’s oak brought by parcels from the dining-room, and thrown with great violence into the presence chamber, as also the chairs, stools, tables, and other furniture, forcibly hurled about the room, their own papers of the minutes of their transactions torn, and the ink-glass broken. When all this had some time ceased, the said Giles proposed to enter first into these rooms, and in presence of the commissioners of whom he received the key, he opened the door, and entering with their honours following him, he there found the wood strewed about the room, the chairs tossed about and broken, the papers torn, and the ink-glass broken over them, all as they had heard, yet no footsteps appeared of any person whatever being there, nor had the doors ever been opened to admit or let out any persons since their honours were last there. It was therefore voted nem. con. that the person who did this mischief could have entered no other way than at the keyhole of the said doors.

“In the night following this same day, the said Giles and two other of the commissioners’ servants, as they were in bed at the same room with their honours, had their bed’s feet lifted up so much higher than their heads, that they expected to have their necks broken, and then they were let fall at once with such violence as shook them up from the bed to a good distance; and this was repeated many times, their honours being amazed spectators of it. In the morning the bedsteads were found cracked and broken, and the said Giles, and his fellows, declared they were sore to the bones with the tossing and jolting of the beds.

“October 19. As they were all in bed together, the candles were blown out with a sulphurous smell, and instantly many trenchers of wood were hurled about the room, and one of them putting his head above the clothes, had not less than six forcibly thrown at him, which wounded him very grievously. In the morning the trenchers were all found lying about the room, and were observed to be the same they had eaten on the day before, none being found remaining in the pantry.

“October 20. This night the candles were put out as before, the curtains of the bed in which their honours lay, were drawn to and fro many times with great violence; their honours received many cruel blows, and were much bruised beside with eight great pewter dishes, and three dozen wooden trenchers which were thrown on the bed, and afterwards heard rolling about the room.

“Many times also this night they heard the forcible falling of many faggots by their bed side, but in the morning no faggots were found there, no dishes or trenchers were there seen neither, and the aforesaid Giles attests that by their different arranging in the pantry, they had assuredly been taken thence and after put there again.

“October 21. The keeper of their ordinary and his bitch lay with them; this night they had no disturbance.

“October 22. Candles put out as before. They had the said bitch with them again, but were not by that protected; the bitch set up a very piteous cry, the clothes of their beds were all pulled off, and the bricks, without any wind, were thrown off the chimney tops into the midst.

“October 24. The candles put out as before. They thought all the wood of the king’s oak was violently thrown down by their bedsides; they counted sixty-four faggots that fell with great violence, and some hit and shook the bed, but in the morning none were found there, nor the door of the room opened in which the said faggots were.

“October 25. The candles put out as before. The curtains of the bed in the drawing-room were forcibly drawn many times; the wood thrown out as before; a terrible crack like thunder was heard, and one of the servants running to see if his masters were not killed, found at his return three dozen of trenchers laid smoothly upon his bed under the quilt.

“October 26. The beds were shaken as before, the windows seemed all broken to pieces, and the glass fell in vast quantities all about the room. In the morning they found the windows all whole, but the floor strewed with broken glass, which they gathered and laid by.

“October 29.[151] At midnight, candles went out as before; something walked majestically through the room and opened and shut the window; great stones were thrown violently into the room, some whereof fell on the beds, others on the floor; and at about a quarter after one a noise was heard as of forty cannon discharged together, and again repeated at about eight minutes distance. This alarmed and raised all the neighbourhood, who coming into their honours’ room gathered up the great stones, fourscore in number, many of them like common pebbles and boulters, and laid them by where they are to be seen to this day at a corner of the adjoining field. This noise, like the discharge of cannon, was heard throughout the country for sixteen miles round. During these noises, which were heard in both rooms together, both the commissioners and their servants gave one another over for lost and cried out for help, and Giles Sharp snatching up a sword had well nigh killed one of their honours, taking him for the spirit as he came in his shirt into the room. While they were together the noise was continued, and part of the tiling of the house and all the windows of an upper room were taken away with it.

“October 30. At midnight, something walked into the chamber treading like a bear: it walked many times about, then threw the warming-pan violently on the floor, and so bruised it that it was spoiled. Vast quantities of glass were now thrown about the room, and vast numbers of great stones and horses’ bones thrown in; these were all found in the morning, and the floor, beds, and walls, were all much damaged by the violence they were thrown in.

“November 1. Candles were placed in all parts of the room, and a great fire made; at midnight, the candles all yet burning, a noise like the burst of a cannon was heard in the room, and the burning billets were tossed all over the room and about the beds, that had not their honours called in Giles and his fellows, the house had been assuredly burnt; an hour after the candles went out as usual, the crack of many cannon was heard, and many pails full of green stinking water were thrown on their honours in bed; great stones were also thrown in as before, the bed curtains and bedsteads torn and broken: the windows were now all really broken, and the whole neighbourhood alarmed with the noises; nay, the very rabbit-stealers that were abroad that night in the warren, were so frightened at the dismal thundering, that they fled for fear, and left their ferrets behind them.

“One of their honours this night spoke, and in the name of God asked what it was and why it disturbed them so. No answer was given to this, but the noise ceased for a while, when the spirit came again, and as they all agreed brought with it seven devils worse than itself. One of the servants now lighted a large candle, and set it in the doorway between the two chambers, to see what passed, and as he watched it he plainly saw a hoof striking the candle and candlestick into the middle of the room, and afterwards making three scrapes over the snuff of the candle to scrape it out. Upon this, the same person was so bold as to draw a sword; but he had scarce got it out when he perceived another invisible hand had hold of it too, and pulled with him for it, and at length prevailing, struck him so violently on the head with the pummel, that he fell down for dead with the blow. At this instant was heard another burst like the discharge of a broadside of a ship of war, and at about a minute or two’s distance each, no less than nineteen more such; these shook the house so violently that they expected every moment it would fall upon their heads. The neighbours on this were all alarmed, and running to the house, they all joined in prayers and psalm-singing, during which the noise still continued in the other rooms, and the discharge of cannon without though no one was there.”

Dr. Plot concludes his relation of this memorable event with observing, that though tricks have been often played in affairs of this kind, many of these things are not reconcileable to juggling; such as--1. The loud noises beyond the power of man to make without such instruments as were not there. 2. The tearing and breaking the beds. 3. The throwing about the fire. 4. The hoof treading out the candle; and, 5. The striving for the sword, and the blow the man received from the pummel of it.

To see, however, how great men are sometimes deceived, we may recur to this one tract, where among other things there is one entitled “The secret history of the good devil of Woodstock,” in which we find it under the author’s own hand, that he, Joseph Collins, commonly called funny Joe, was himself this very devil; that he hired himself as a servant to the commissioners under the feigned name of Giles Sharp, and by the help of two friends, an unknown trap-door in the ceiling of the bedchamber, and a pound of common gunpowder, played all these amazing tricks by himself, and his fellow servants, whom he had introduced on purpose to assist him, had lifted up their own beds.

The candles were contrived by a common trick of gunpowder put in them, to put themselves out by a certain time.

The dog who began the farce was, as he swore, no dog, but truly a bitch who had the day before whelped in that room and made all this disturbance in seeking for her puppies; and which when she had served his purpose, he let out and then looked for. The story of the hoof and sword himself alone was witness to, and was never suspected as to the truth of them though mere fictions. By the trap-door his friends let down stones, faggots, glass, water, &c. which they either left there or drew up again as best suited with him; and by this way let themselves in and out without opening the doors and going through the key-holes; and all the noises he declares he made by placing quantities of white gunpowder over pieces of burning charcoal on plates of tin, which as they melted went off with that violent explosion.

One thing there was beyond all these he tells us, which was also what drove them from the house in reality, though they never owned it. This was they had formed a reserve of part of the premises to themselves, and hid their mutual agreement, which they had drawn up in writing, under the earth in a pot in a corner of the room in which they usually dined, in which an orange tree grew: when in the midst of their dinner one day this earth of itself took fire and burned violently with a blue flame, filling the room with a strong sulphurous stench; and this he also professes was his own doing, by a secret mixture he had placed there the day before.

I am very happy in having an opportunity of setting history right about these remarkable events; and would not have the reader disbelieve my author’s account of them, from his naming either white gunpowder going off when melted, or his making the earth about the pot take fire of its own accord; since, however improbable these accounts may appear to some readers, and whatever secrets they might be in Joe’s time, they are well known now in chemistry. As to the last, there needs only to mix an equal quantity of iron filings, finely powdered, and powder of pure brimstone, and make them into a paste with fair water. This paste, when it has lain together about twenty-six hours, will of itself take fire, and burn all the sulphur away, with a blue flame and great stink. For the others, what he calls white gunpowder, is plainly the thundering powder called pulvis fulminans by our chemists. It is made only of three parts of saltpetre, two parts of pearl-ashes, or salt of tartar, and one part of flower of brimstone, mixed together and beat to a fine powder; a small quantity of this held on the point of a knife over a candle will not go off till it melts, and then give a report like a pistol; and this he might easily dispose of in larger quantities, so as to make it go off of itself, while he was with his masters.

* * * * *

From this diversion at Woodstock, wherein if we have exceeded be it remembered that Aubrey carried us thither, we return to the diversions of the month.

Ye shepherdesses, in a goodly round, Purpled with health, as in the greenwood shade, Incontinent ye thump the echoing ground, And deftly lead the dance along the glade; (O may no showers your merry makes affray!) Hail at the opening, at the closing day, All hail, ye Bonnibels, to your own season, May.

Nor ye absent yourselves, ye shepherd swains, But lead to dance and song the liberal May, And while in jocund ranks you beat the plains, Your flocks shall nibble and your lambkins play, Frisking in glee. To May your garlands bring, And ever and anon her praises sing: The woods shall echo May,--with May the vallies ring.

* * * * *

MAY DAY IN LONDON.

The truant schoolboy now at eve we meet, Fatigued and sweating thro’ the crowded street, His shoe embrown’d at once with dust and clay, With whitethorn loaded, which he takes for May. Round his flapp’d hat in rings the cowslips twine, Or in cleft osiers form a golden line. On milk-pail rear’d the borrow’d salvers glare, Topp’d with a tankard, which two porters bear, Reeking they slowly toil o’er rugged stones, And joyless milkmaids dance with aching bones.

A pageant quite as gay, of less estate, With flowers made and solid silver plate-- A lesser garland--on a damask bed, Was carried on a skilful porter’s head; It stopp’d at every customer’s street-door, And all the milkmaids ranged themselves before; The fiddler’s quick’ning elbow quicker flew, And then he stamp’d, and then the galliard grew. Then cows the meadows ranged and fed on grass, And milk was sometimes water’d--now, alas! In huge first floors each cow, a prison’d guest, Eats rancid oil-cake in unnat’ral rest, Bids from her udder unconcocted flow A stream a few short hours will turn to--foh! Milk manufactories usurp the place Of wholesome dairies, and the milkmaid’s face, And garlands go no more, and milkmaids cease-- Yet tell me one thing, and I’ll be at peace; May I, ye milk companions, hope to see Old “milk mi-eau” once more dilute my tea?

* * * * *

Profitons enfans des beaux jours Cette verdure passagère Nous apprend qu’une loy sévère En doit bientost finir le cours.

In this way the setting up of the Maypole is represented by one of the old French prints of the customs of the seasons, published “à Paris chez I. Mariette,” with the preceding lines subjoined. It is wholly a rustic affair. In an English village such an event would have been celebrated to the simple sounds from a pipe and tabor, or at most a fiddle; but our neighbours of the continent perform the ceremony by beat of drum and sound of trumpet. Their merriments are showy as themselves; ours are of a more sober character, and in the country seem nearer to a state of pastoral simplicity.

My brown Buxoma is the featest maid, That e’er at wake delightsome gambol play’d, Clean as young lambkins or the goose’s down, And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown. The witless lamb may sport upon the plain, The frisking kid delight the gaping swain, The wanton calf may skip with many a bound, And my cur, Tray, play deftest feats around; But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.

Gay.

Also, on May-day we have the superstitions of innocence, or ignorance if the reader please--no matter which, it is the same thing. In the same poet’s budget of country charms and divinations belonging to different seasons, he represents a young girl divining respecting her sweetheart, with as much certainty as the Pythian dame concerning the fate of nations.

Last May-day fair I search’d to find a snail That might my secret lover’s name reveal: Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found, For always snails near sweetest fruit abound. I seiz’d the vermine; home I quickly sped, And on the hearth the milk-white embers spread: Slow crawl’d the snail, and if I right can spell, In the soft ashes mark’d a curious L: Oh, may this wond’rous omen lucky prove! For L is found in Luberkin and Love. With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

Gay.

MAY DAY IN DUBLIN.

For the Every-Day Book.

On the first day of May, in Dublin and its vicinity, it is customary for young men and boys to go a few miles out of town in the morning, for the purpose of cutting a May-bush. This is generally a white thorn, of about four or five feet high, and they carry it to the street or place of their residence, in the centre of which they dig a hole, and having planted the bush, they go round to every house and collect money. They then buy a pound or more of candles, and fasten them to various parts of the tree or bush, in such a manner so as to avoid burning it. Another portion of “the collection” is expended in the purchase of a heap of turf, sufficient for a large fire, and, if the funds will allow, an old tar barrel. Formerly it was not considered complete without having a horse’s skull and other bones to burn in the fire. The depots for these bones were the tanners’ yards in a part of the suburbs, called Kilmainham; and on May morning, groups of boys drag loads of bones to their several destinations. This practice gave rise to a threat, yet made use of:--“I will drag you like a horse’s head to the bone-fire.” About dusk when no more money can be collected, the bush is trimmed, the turf and bones are made ready to set on fire, the candles are all lighted, the bush fully illuminated, and the boys giving three huzzas, begin to dance and jump round it. If their money will afford the expenditure, they have a pot of porter to drink round. After an hour or so, the heap of turf and bones are set fire to, and when the candles are burnt out, the bush is taken up and thrown into the flames. They continue playing about until the fire is burnt out; each then returns to his home; and so ends their May-day.

About two or three miles from Dublin, on the great northern road, is a village called Finglass; it is prettily situated, and is the only place I know of in the neighbourhood of Dublin, where May-day is kept up in the old style. A high pole is decorated with garlands, and visiters come in from different parts of the country, and dance round it to whatever music chance may have conducted there. The best male and female dancer are chosen king and queen, and placed on chairs.

When the dancing is over, they are carried by some of the party to an adjacent public-house, where they regale themselves with ham, beef, whiskey-punch, ale, cakes, and porter, after which they generally have a dance in-doors, and then disperse.

There is an old song relating to the above custom, beginning--

Ye lads and lasses all to-day, To Finglass let us haste away; With hearts so light and dresses gay To dance around the Maypole.--

A. O. B.

* * * * *

It is communicated by T. A. that it was formerly a custom in Cheshire for young men to place birchen boughs on May-day over the doors of their mistresses, and marke the residence of a scold by an alder bough. There is an old rhyme which mentions peculiar boughs for various tempers, an owler (alder) for a scolder, a nut for a slut, &c. Mr. Ormerode, the county historian, presumes the practice is disused; but he mentions that in the main street of Weverham, in Cheshire, are two Maypoles, which are decorated on this day with all due attention to the ancient solemnity: the sides are hung with garlands, and the top terminated by a birch, or other tall slender tree with its leaves on; the bark being peeled, and the stem spliced to the pole, so as to give the appearance of one tree from the summit.

ORIGIN OF MAY DAY.

Our usages on this day retain the character of their ancient origin.

The Romans commenced the festival of Flora on the 28th of April, and continued it through several days in May. Ovid records the mythological attributes and dedication of the season to that goddess:--

Fair Flora! now attend thy sportful feast, Of which some days I with design have past;-- A part in April and a part in May Thou claims’t, and both command my tuneful lay; And as the confines of two months are thine To sing of both the double task be mine. Circus and stage are open now and free-- Goddess! again thy feast my theme must be. Since new opinions oft delusive are Do thou, O Flora, who thou art declare; Why should thy poet on conjectures dwell? Thy name and attributes thou best can’st tell. Thus I.--to which she ready answer made, And rosy sweets attended what she said; Though, now corrupted, Flora be my name, From the Greek Chloris that corruption came:-- In fields where happy mortals whilome stray’d Chloris my name, I was a rural maid; To praise herself a modest nymph will shun, But yet a god was by my beauty won.

Flora then relates, that Zephyr became enamoured of her as Boreas had been, that “by just marriage to his bed,” she was united to Zephyr, who assigned her the dominion over Spring, and that she strews the earth with flowers and presides over gardens. She further says, as the deity of flowers,--

I also rule the plains. When the crops flourish in the golden field; The harvest will undoubted plenty yield; If purple clusters flourish on the vine, The presses will abound with racy wine; The flowering olive makes a beauteous year, And how can bloomless trees ripe apples bear? The flower destroyed of vetches, beans, and peas, You must expect but small or no increase; The gift of honey’s mine, the painful bees, That gather sweets from flowers or blooming trees, To scented shrubs and violets I invite, In which I know they take the most delight; A flower an emblem of young years is seen, With all its leaves around it fresh and green; So youth appears, when health the body sways, And gladness in the mind luxuriant plays.

From these allegorical ascriptions, the Roman people worshipped Flora, and celebrated her festivals by ceremonies and rejoicings, and offerings of spring flowers and the branches of trees in bloom, which through the accommodation of the Romish church to the pagan usages, remain to us at the present day.

WELLINGTON, UNDER THE WREKIN.

For the Every-Day Book.

It has been usual for the people in this neighbourhood to assemble on the Wrekin-hill, on the Sunday after May-day, and the three successive Sundays, to drink a health “to all friends round the Wrekin;” but as on this annual festival, various scenes of drunkenness and other licentiousness were frequently exhibited, its celebration has, of late, been very properly discouraged by the magistracy, and is going deservedly to decay.

February, 1826.

W. P.

MAY DAY STORY-TELLING.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

April 25, 1826.

Sir,--At a village in Westmoreland called Temple Sowerby, perhaps if not the most, at least one of the most beautiful in the north of England, there has been, “from time whereof the memory of man is not to the contrary,” and still is, a custom on the first day of May for a number of individuals to assemble on the green, and there propose a certain number as candidates for contesting the various prizes then produced, which consist of a grindstone as the head prize; a hone or whetstone, for a razor, as the second; and whetstones of an inferior description, for those who can only reach a state of mediocrity in “the noble art of lying.”

The people are the judges: each candidate in rotation commences a story, such as his fertile genius at the moment prompts; and the more marvellous or improbable his story happens to be, so much the greater chance is there of his success.

After being amused in this manner for a considerable length of time, and awarding the prizes to the most deserving, the host of candidates, judges, and other attendants, adjourn to the inns, where the sports of the day very often end in a few splendid battles.

There is an anecdote, very current in the place, of a late bishop of Carlisle passing through in his carriage on this particular day, when his attention being attracted by the group of persons assembled together, very naturally inquired the cause. His question was readily answered by a full statement of facts which brought from his lordship a severe lecture on the iniquity of such a proceeding; and at the conclusion, he said, “For my part I never told a lie in my life.” This was immediately reported to the judges, upon which, without any dissent, the hone was awarded to his lordship as most deserving of it; and, as is reported, it was actually thrown into his carriage.

For the truth of the anecdote I cannot venture to assert; but the existence of the custom is a well-known fact to many of your readers in the metropolis.

I am, Sir, &c.

C. T.

FLORAL GAMES OF TOULOUSE.

Over a door in the consistory of the Hôtel de Ville at Toulouse, is a small marble figure of Clemence Isaure. In this consistory, the meetings were held for distributing the prizes in the floral games; the figure had flowers in her hand, but they are broken off. Below it on a tablet of brass, is a Latin inscription, in Roman capitals, but with so many abbreviations, and some of these of a nature so unintelligible, that the meaning is scarcely to be deciphered. This much, however, is to be collected from it, that Clemence Isaure is represented to have been the daughter of L. Isaurus, of the ancient and illustrious family of the Isauræ of Toulouse; that the institution of the “floral games” is ascribed to her; that she is said to have built the Hôtel de Ville at her own expense; to have bequeathed to the city the markets for corn, wine, fish, and vegetables; and to have left the remainder of her property in perpetuity to the city for the support of the floral games; yet, it does not mention her age, or at what period she lived, or whether she was maiden, wife, or widow.

“Le Roman de Clemence Isaure,” an old ballad story, represents her to have been a fair lady of Toulouse, with whom the handsome Lautrec was deeply enamoured, and that she returned his love with equal passion. Alphonso, her father, having chosen another husband for Clemence, she resisted the union, declaring that her life was at his disposal, but that as long as she should live, her heart must be wholly Lautrec’s. Then Alphonso caused her to be chained, and shut her up in a strong tower, and threatened Lautrec’s life if he could get him into his power; and Lautrec, having found the place of his mistress’s imprisonment, like a true lover despised her cruel father’s threats, and went to the tower and repeated his vows and sorrows to the fair Clemence, who came to the grate and told him of his danger, and prayed him to enter into the service of the French king, and follow military glory, and chase the recollection of their loves and their misfortunes; and as a pledge, she presented him with three flowers, a violet, an eglantine, and a marigold. The first she gave him as her colour, that he might appear as her knight; the second was her favourite flower; and the third an emblem of the chagrin and sorrow by which her heart was consumed. Then Clemence kissed the flowers, and let her tears fall on them, and threw them to her lover, and her father appeared, and Lautrec gathered up the flowers, and hastily withdrew. In obedience to the injunctions of his mistress, he departed from Toulouse for the French king’s court; but before he had proceeded far on his journey, he heard that the English were marching against the city; and he returned when the inhabitants were flying before the enemy, and abandoning the ramparts, and leaving them defenceless: and only one old man resisted and valiantly maintained his ground. Then Lautrec fled to his assistance, and discovered him to be Alphonso, the father of Clemence: and at the moment when a fatal stroke was aimed at the old man, he rushed forward and received the mortal wound himself, and died in Alphonso’s arms, and gave him the flowers he received from Clemence, and conjured him to deliver them to his daughter, and to console her under the distress his fate would bring upon her. And Alphonso relented, and in great sorrow carried the flowers to Clemence, and related the untimely death of Lautrec; and her afflictions were too heavy for her to bear, and she fell a victim to despair and anguish, and followed her lover to the grave. But in remembrance of their sad story, she bequeathed her whole property to the city of Toulouse for the celebration of annual games, at which, prizes of golden flowers, like those she had given to Lautrec, were to be distributed to the skilful troubadours who should compose the best poem, upon the occasion. This is the history of the gallant Lautrec and the fair Clemence, in the poetical romance.

But according to Pierre Caseneuve, the author of an “Inquiry into the Origin of the Floral Games at Toulouse,” there is strong reason to doubt whether such a person as Clemence ever existed. Among the archives of the Hôtel de Ville are several chronicles of the floral games, the oldest of which states, that in the year 1324, seven of the principal inhabitants of Toulouse, desirous to promote the fame and prosperity of the city, resolved to establish an annual festival there, for the cultivation of the Provençal poetry, a spirit of piety, and suavity of manners. They therefore proposed that all persons skilled in Provençal poetry, should be invited to assemble at Toulouse every year in the beginning of May, to recite their compositions, and that a violet of gold should be given to him whose verses the judges should determine the most worthy; and a circular letter in the Provençal poetry was dispersed over the province of Languedoc, inviting competitors to assemble in the beginning of May the following year, to celebrate this festival.

The poetical compositions were not to be confined to the lays of lovers reciting their passion, and the fame of their mistresses; but the honour of God, and glorifying his name, was to be their first object. It was wished that poetry should conduce to the happiness of mankind, and by furnishing them a source of innocent and laudable amusement, make time pass pleasantly, repress the unjust sallies of anger, and dissipate the dark vapours of sadness. For these reasons it was termed, by the institutors, the “Gay Science.”

In consequence of this invitation, a large concourse of competitors resorted to Toulouse; and in May, 1325, the first festival of the floral games was celebrated. Verses were recited by the candidates before a numerous assembly. The seven persons with whom the meeting originated, presided under the title of the chancellor of the “Gay Science,” and his six assessors, and there also sat with them, the capitouls or chief magistrates of the town as judges; and there was a great assemblage of knights, of gentlemen, and of ladies. The prize was given to the candidate whose verses were determined by the majority of the judges to be the most worthy.

The “floral games” of Toulouse continued to be celebrated in like manner, at the sole expense of the institutors, till the magistrates seeing the advantage they were of to the town, by the vast concourse of people brought thither, and considering that their continuance must be precarious while they depended upon the ability and disposition of a few individuals for their support, resolved to convert the institution into a public concern; and, with the concurrence of the principal inhabitants, it was determined that the expense should in future be defrayed by the city, that to the original prize two others should be added, a silver eglantine, and a silver marigold; and that occasional ones might be distributed at the option of the judges to very young poets, as stimulants to them to aim at obtaining the principal prizes.

After about thirty years it was judged expedient to appoint a committee, who should draw up such a code of statutes as might include every possible case that could occur, and these statutes were laid before the judges for their approbation.

Among these decrees the principal were, that no prize could be given to a heretic, a schismatic, or an excommunicated person; that whoever was a candidate for any of the prizes, should take a solemn oath that the poetry was his own composition, without the least assistance from any other person; that no woman should be admitted to the competition, unless her talents in composing verses were so celebrated as to leave no doubt of her being capable of writing the poetry offered:--that no one who gained a prize was allowed to be a candidate again till after a lapse of three years, though he was expected in the intervening years to compose verses for the games, and recite them; and that if any or all the prizes remained undisposed of, from no verses being produced that were judged worthy of them, the prizes were to remain over to the next year, then to be given away in addition to the regular prizes of the year.

Under these and other regulations the “floral games” became celebrated throughout Europe; and within fifty years from their first institution they were the resort of all persons of distinction. In 1388, the reigning king of Arragon sent ambassadors to Charles the Sixth of France, with great pomp and solemnity, requesting that some of the poets of the “floral games” at Toulouse might be permitted to come to the court, and assist in establishing similar games there; promising that, when they had fulfilled their mission, they should receive rewards equal to their merits, and consistent with his royal munificence.

This account of the institution of the “floral games” is from the oldest registers relative to them; wherein there is no mention made of the lady Clemence Isaure till 1513, nearly two hundred years after their institution; and it is well known that the statue of the lady Clemence in the consistory, was not put up till the year 1557. In that year it had been proposed in the college of the Gay Science to erect a monument to her memory in the church of La Dorade, where she was reputed to have been buried; but this idea was afterwards changed for putting up her statue in the room where the “floral games” were held. From that time the statue was always crowned with flowers at the time of the celebration of the games, and a Latin oration pronounced in honour of her. A satirical sonnet in the Provençal language upon the idea of erecting either a monument or a statue to a lady who never had any existence in the world, is preserved in Pierre Caseneuve’s “Inquiry into the Origin of the Floral Games.”

But by whomsoever the “floral games” of Toulouse were instituted, it is remarkable, that the festival was constantly observed for more than four centuries and a half without interruption. It did not cease to be celebrated till the revolution. It was not, however, continued entirely according to the original institution, since for a considerable time the use of the Provençal language, in the poetry for the prizes, had been abandoned, and the French substituted for it. At what period this change took place does not seem to be well ascertained. The number of prizes, too, was increased to five, the principal of which was still the golden violet; but instead of one eglantine, and one marigold of silver, two of each were given. The violet was appropriated to the best ode; the others were for a piece in heroic poetry, for one in pastoral poetry, for a satirical piece, and for a sonnet, a madrigal, a song, or some other minor effusion.

Three of the deputies to the parliament had for some time presided at these games, instead of the chancellor of the Gay Science with his six assessors; and with them were associated the capitouls, or chief magistrates of the town. All the other magistrates, and the whole body of the parliament, attended in their robes of office, with the principal gentlemen of the town, and a brilliant assemblage of ladies in full dress. These were ranged round the room in seats raised like an amphitheatre, and the students of the university sat on benches in the centre. The room was ornamented with festoons of flowers and laurel, and the statue of Clemence Isaure was crowned with them. After the oration in honour of her was pronounced, the judges, having previously consulted together in private, and assigned the prizes to the pieces which they thought most worthy of them, stood up, and, naming the poem to which one was given, pronounced with an audible voice, “Let the author come forward.” The author then presented himself; when his name was declared, it was followed by a grand flourish of music. The same ceremony was repeated as each piece was announced. The whole concluded with each author publicly reading his poem.

Many of these prize poems are to be found in different collections. Several prizes were in latter times adjudged to females, without any strict investigation having been previously made into the possibility of the pieces to which they were decreed being female compositions. It was owing to having gained a silver eglantine at one of these festivals that the celebrated Fabre d’Eglantine assumed the latter part of his name. He was a Languedocian by birth, a native of Limoux, a small town about four leagues from Toulouse.[152]

* * * * *

Without such encouragements to be poetical, as were annually offered by the conductors of the “floral games” at Toulouse, our kind feelings have been cultivated, and our literature is enriched by a race of poets, whom we may venture to array against the united armies of continental bards. It may be doubted whether a May prize of Toulouse was ever awarded for sweeter verses, than Matt. Prior’s on Chloe’s May flowers.

THE GARLAND.

The pride of every grove I chose The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink, and blushing rose, To deck my charming Chloe’s hair.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf’d to place Upon her brow the various wreath; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flowers she wore along the day, And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they looked more gay Than glowing in their native bed.

Undrest at evening, when she found Their odour lost, their colours past, She changed her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast.

The eye dropt sense distinct and clear, As any muse’s tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.

Dissembling what I knew too well, “My love, my life,” said I, “explain This change of humour; pr’ythee tell: That falling tear--what does it mean?”

She sighed; she smil’d; and, to the flowers Pointing, the lovely moralist said, “See, friend, in some few fleeting hours See yonder, what a change is made!

“Ah, me! the blooming pride of May, And that of beauty are but one, At morn both flourish bright and gay; Both fade at evening, pale and gone.

“At dawn poor Stella danc’d and sung; The amorous youth around her bowed, At night her fatal knell was rung; I saw and kissed her in her shroud.

“Such as she is, who died to-day; Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy muse display The justice of thy Chloe’s sorrow.”

Prior.

A beautiful ode by another of our poets graces the loveliness of the season, and finally “points a moral” of sovereign virtue to all who need the application, and will take it to heart.

SPRING.

Lo! where the rosy bosom’d hours, Fair Venus’ train appear, Disclose the long expected flowers, And wake the purple year! The attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo’s note, The untaught harmony of spring: While whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gathered fragrance fling.

Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade; Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech O’er-canopies the glade, Beside some water’s rushy brink With me the muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low how little are the proud, How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of care; The panting herds repose: Yet hark, how through the peopled air The busy murmur glows! The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon: Some lightly o’er the current skim, Some slow, their gayly-gilded trim Quick-glancing to the sun.

To Contemplation’s sober eye Such is the race of man: And they that creep and they that fly, Shall end where they began. Alike the busy and the gay But flutter through life’s little day In fortune’s varying colours drest. Brushed by the hand of rough mischance; Or chill’d by age, their airy dance They leave in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply; “Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display: On hasty wings thy youth is flown; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-- We frolic while ’tis May.”

Gay.

Then, too, a bard of the preceding centuries introduces “the Shepherd’s Holiday,” the day we now memorialize, with nymphs singing his own sweet verses in “floral games.”

Nymph 1.

Thus, thus begin, the yearly rites Are due to Pan on these bright nights, His morn now riseth, and invites To sports, to dances, and delights: All envious, and profane away, This is the shepherd’s holiday.

Nymph 2.

Strew, strew, the glad and smiling ground, With every flower, yet not confound The primrose drop, the spring’s own spouse, Bright daisies, and the lips-of-cows, The garden-star, the queen of May, The rose, to crown the holiday.

Nymph 3.

Drop drop your violets, change your hues, Now red, now pale, as lovers use, And in your death go out as well As when you lived unto the smell: That from your odour all may say, This is the shepherd’s holiday.

Jonson.

* * * * *

It is to be observed as a remarkable fact, that among the poets, the warmest advocates and admirers of the popular sports and pastimes in village retreats, uniformly invigorate and give keeping to their pictures, by sparkling lights and harmonizing shadows of moral truth.

But hark! the bagpipe summons on the green, The jocund bagpipe, that awaketh sport; The blithsome lasses, as the morning sheen, Around the flower-crown’d Maypole quick resort; The gods of pleasure here have fix’d their court. Quick on the wing the flying moment seize, Nor build up ample schemes, for life is short, Short as the whisper of the passing breeze.

GATHERING OF MAY DEW.

This engraving represents certain lads and lasses of “auld Reekie,” who are early gatherers of “May-dew,” in the act of dancing to the piper’s “skirl.” From a slight sketch accompanying the communication, Mr. George Cruikshank’s pencil depicts the “action,” which it should be observed takes place on a hill.

------------ Strathspeys and reels, Put life and metal in their heels.

Burns.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Edinburgh, April 20, 1826.

My Dear Sir,--Allow me, without preface, to acquaint you with a custom of gathering the May-dew here on the first of May.

About four o’clock in the morning there is an unusual stir; a great opening of area gates, and ringing of bells, and a “gathering” of folk of all clans, arrayed in all the colours of the rainbow; and a hurrying of gay throngs of both sexes through the King’s-park to Arthur’s-seat.

In the course of half an hour the entire hill is a moving mass of all sorts and sizes. At the summit may be seen a company of bakers, and other craftsmen, dressed in kilts, dancing round a Maypole. On the more level part “next door,” is usually an itinerant vender of whiskey, or mountain (not May) dew, your approach to whom is always indicated by a number of “bodies” carelessly lying across your path, not dead, but drunk. In another place you may descry two parties of Irishmen, who, not content with gathering the superficial dew, have gone “deeper and deeper yet,” and fired by a liberal desire to communicate the fruits of their industry, actively pelt each other with clods.

These proceedings commence with the daybreak. The strong lights thrown upon the various groups by the rising sun, give a singularly picturesque effect to a scene, wherein the ever-varying and unceasing sounds of the bagpipes, and tabours and fifes, et hoc genus omne, almost stun the ear. About six o’clock, the appearance of the gentry, toiling and pechin up the ascent, becomes the signal for serving men and women to march to the right-about; for they well know that they must have the house clean, and every thing in order earlier than usual on May-morning.

About eight o’clock the “fun” is all over; and by nine or ten, were it not for the drunkards who are staggering towards the “gude town,” no one would know that any thing particular had taken place.

Such, my dear sir, is the gathering of May-dew. I subjoin a sketch of a group of dancers, and

I am, &c.

P. P., Jun.

* * * * *

It is noticed in the “Morning Post” of the second of May, 1791, that the day before, “being the first of May, according to annual and superstitious custom, a number of persons went into the fields and bathed their faces with the dew on the grass, under the idea that it would render them beautiful.”

* * * * *

May-dew was held of singular virtue in former times. Pepys on a certain day in May makes this entry in his diary:--

“My wife away, down with Jane and W. Hewer to Woolwich, in order to a little ayre, and to lie there to night, and so to gather May-dew to-morrow morning, which Mrs. Turner hath taught her is the only thing in the world to wash her face with; and” Pepys adds, “I am contented with it.” His “reasons for contentment” seem to appear in the same line; for he says, “I (went) by water to Fox-hall, and there walked in Spring-garden;” and there he notices “a great deal of company, and the weather and garden pleasant: and it is very pleasant and cheap going thither, for a man may go to spend what he will, or nothing--all as one: but to hear the nightingale and other birds; and here a fiddler, and there a harp; and here a jew’s-trump, and here laughing, and there fine people walking, is mighty diverting,” says Mr. Pepys, while his wife is gone to lie at Woolwich, “in order to a little ayre, and to gather May-dew.”

GERARD’S HALL MAYPOLE.

Basing Lane.

Whence this lane derived its name of Basing, Stow cannot tell. It runs out of Bread-street, and was called the Bakehouse, but, “whether meant for the king’s bakehouse, or bakers dwelling there, and baking bread to serve the market in Bread-street, where the bread was sold, I know not,” says Stow; “but sure I am, I have not read of Basing or of Gerard, the gyant, to have any thing there to doe.”

It seems that this Maypole was fabled to have been “the justing staff of Gerard, a gyant.” Stow’s particulars concerning it, and his account of Gerard’s-hall, which at this time is an inn for Bath and West of England coaches and other conveyances, are very interesting. He says, “On the south side of this (Basing) lane is one great house, of old time builded upon arched vaults, and with arched gates of stone, brought from Cane in Normandie; the same is now a common ostrey for receit of travelers, commonly and corruptly called Gerard’s-hall, of a gyant said to have dwelled there. In the high roofed hall of this house, sometime stood a large Firre-Pole, which reached to the roofe thereof, and was said to be one of the staves that Gerard the gyant used in the warres, to runne withall. There stood also a ladder of the same length, which (as they said) served to ascend to the top of the staffe. Of later yeeres this hall is altered in building, and divers roomes are made in it. Notwithstanding, the pole is removed to one corner of the hall, and the ladder hanged broken upon a wall in the yard. The hosteler of that house said to mee, the pole lacked half a foote of forty in length. I measured the compasse thereof, and found it fifteene inches. Reason of the pole could the master of the hostery give me none, but bade mee reade the Chronicles, for there he heard of it. Which answer,” says Stow, “seemed to me insufficient: for he meant the description of Britaine, for the most part drawne out of John Leyland, his commentaries (borrowed of myselfe) and placed before Reynes Wolfe’s Chronicle, as the labours of another.” It seems that this chronicle has “a chapter of gyants or monstrous men--of a man with his mouth sixteene foote wide, and so to Gerard the gyant and his staffe,” which Stow speaks of as “these fables,” and then he derives the house called Gerard’s-hall, from the owner thereof, “John Gisors, maior of London, in the yeere 1245,” and says, “The pole in the hall might bee used of old time (as then the custome was in every parish) to bee set up in the summer, a Maypole, before the principall house in the parish or streete, and to stand in the hall before the scrine, decked with hollie and ivie at the feast of Christmas. The ladder served for the decking of the Maypole, and reached to the roof of the hall.”

To this is added, that “every mans house of old time was decked with holly and ivie in the winter, especially at Christmas;” whereof, gentle reader, be pleased to take notice, and do “as they did in the old time.”

* * * * *

We think we remember something about milkmaids and their garlands in our boyish days; but even this lingering piece of professional rejoicing is gone; and instead of intellectual pleasures at courts, manly games among the gentry, the vernal appearance every where of boughs and flowers, and the harmonious accompaniment of ladies’ looks, all the idea that a Londoner now has of May-day, is the dreary gambols and tinsel-fluttering squalidness of the poor chimney-sweepers! What a personification of the times;--paper-gilded dirt, slavery, and melancholy, bustling for another penny!

Something like celebrations of May-day still loiter in more remote parts of the country, such as Cornwall, Devonshire, and Westmoreland; and it is observable, that most of the cleverest men of the time come from such quarters, or have otherwise chanced upon some kind of insulation from its more sophisticated common-places.--Should the subject come before the consideration of any persons who have not had occasion to look at it with reference to the general character of the age, they will do a great good, and perhaps help eventually to alter it, by fanning the little sparks that are left them of a brighter period. Our business is to do what we can, to remind the others of what they may do, to pay honours to the season ourselves, and to wait for that alteration in the times, which the necessity of things must produce, and which we must endeavour to influence as genially as possible in its approach.[153]

* * * * *

From Mr. Leslie’s pencil, there is a picture of May-day, “in the old time”--the “golden days of good queen Bess”--whereon a lady, whose muse delights in agreeable subjects, has written the following descriptive lines:--

ON MAY DAY.

By Leslie.

Beautiful and radiant May, Is not this thy festal day? Is not this spring revelry Held in honour, queen, of thee? ’Tis a fair: the booths are gay, With green boughs and quaint display Glasses, where the maiden’s eye May her own sweet face espy; Ribands for her braided hair, Beads to grace her bosom fair; From yon stand the juggler plays With the rustic crowd’s amaze; There the morris-dancers stand, Glad bells ringing on each hand; Here the Maypole rears its crest, With the rose and hawthorn drest; And beside are painted bands Of strange beasts from other lands. In the midst, like the young queen, Flower-crowned, of the rural green, Is a bright-cheeked girl, her eye Blue, like April’s morning sky, With a blush, like what the rose To her moonlight minstrel shows; Laughing at her love the while,-- Yet such softness in the smile, As the sweet coquette would hide Woman’s love by woman’s pride. Farewell, cities! who could bear All their smoke and all their care, All their pomp, when wooed away By the azure hours of May? Give me woodbine, scented bowers Blue wreaths of the violet flowers, Clear sky, fresh air, sweet birds, and trees, Sights and sounds, and scenes like these!

L. E. L.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Northampton, April, 1826.

Sir,--Having received much information from your Every-Day Book, I shall be very happy to afford any that I may be able to glean; but my means are extremely limited. I however mention a custom at Northampton on the first of May, with some hope that I am not troubling you with a “twice-told tale.”

The girls from the neighbouring villages of Kingsthorpe, &c. on the morning of May-day, come into the town with May garlands, which they exhibit from house to house, (to show, as the inhabitants say, what flowers are in season,) and usually receive a trifle from each house. The garland is composed of two hoops crossing each other vertically, and covered with flowers and streamers of various coloured ribands; these are affixed to a staff about five feet long by which it is carried, and in each of the apertures between the hoops is placed a smartly dressed doll.

The accompanying sketch will convey some idea of the garland. There are numerous streamers attached to it, of all the colours of the rainbow. Should you think this notice worth inserting, I shall feel obliged by your substituting any signature you please for my name, which, agreeable to your request to correspondents who communicate accounts of customs, &c., I subjoin.

I am, &c.

B. S. G. S.

A large brush made of a number of small whalebone sticks, fastened into a round ball of wood, and extending in most cases to a diameter of two feet, is thrust up the chimney by means of hollow cylinders or tubes, fitting into one another like the joints of a fishing rod, with a long cord running through them; it is worked up and down, as each fresh joint is added, until it reaches the chimney pot; it is then shortened joint by joint, and on each joint being removed, is in like manner worked up and down in its descent; and thus you have your chimney swept perfectly clean by this machine, which is called a Scandiscope.

* * * * *

Some wooden tubes, a brush, and rope, Are all you need employ; Pray order, maids, the Scandiscope, And not the climbing boy.

* * * * *

Copy of a printed hand-bill, distributed before May-day, 1826.

~No May Day Sweeps.~

CAUTION.

The inhabitants of this parish are most respectfully informed, that the UNITED SOCIETY OF MASTER CHIMNEY SWEEPERS intend giving their apprentices a dinner, at the Eyre Arms St John’s Wood, on the first of May, instead of suffering them to collect money as heretofore; the public are therefore cautioned against encouraging in any way such collections, as they are too frequently obtained by persons of the worst descriptions, or for the sinister purposes of their employers.

N. B. The procession will start from the Bedford Arms, Charlotte-street, Bedford-square, at eleven o’clock.

On Monday, the first of May, 1826, (pursuant to the above notice,) the first anniversary dinner of the “United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers,” took place at the Eyre tavern, St. John’s-wood, Marylebone.

About eleven o’clock, two hundred of their apprentices proceeded in great regularity through the principal streets and squares at the west end of the town, accompanied by an excellent band of music. The clean and wholesome appearance of the lads, certainly, reflected much credit on their masters, and attracted crowds of persons to the above tavern, where the boys were regaled with a substantial repast of roast beef and plum-pudding; after which the masters themselves sat down to a very excellent dinner provided for the occasion.

On the cloth being removed, and the usual routine of loyal toasts drank, the chairman addressed his brother tradesmen, congratulating them on the formation of a society that was calculated to do such essential service to the trade in general. It would be the means of promoting the welfare of their apprentices,--which was a feeling he was convinced every one of them had at heart,--who, instead of being permitted to loiter and dance about the streets on the first of May, dressed up in tawdry apparel, and soliciting money, should in future be regaled with substantial fare on each forthcoming day of the anniversary of the society, in order to put an end to the degrading practice which had for such a length of time stigmatized the trade. (Applause.)

“Success to the United Society of Chimney Sweepers,” having been drank with thunders of applause,

Mr. BENNETT, of Welbeck-street, addressed the company on the subject of cleansing chimnies with the machine, the introduction of which he was confident would never answer the intended purposes. He urged the absolute necessity of employing climbing boys in their trade; and instanced several cases in which the machines were rendered perfectly useless: most of the chimnies in the great houses at the west end of the town were constructed in such a manner that it was utterly impossible to clear them of soot, unless a human being was sent up for that purpose. He admitted that some houses had chimnies which were built perpendicular; but even in those were frequently to be met with what the trade called “cores,” which were large pieces of mortar that projected out from the brick-work, and that collected vast quantities of soot on their surface, so that no machine could get over the difficulty. When the subject of the climbing boys was before the house of lords, he (Mr. Bennett) was sent for by the earl of Hardwicke, who was desirous of personally ascertaining whether the practice of allowing boys to ascend chimnies could be dispensed with entirely. He (Mr. Bennett) had attended at his lordship’s residence with the machine, which was tried in most of the chimnies in the house, but the experiment failed; one of his apprentices having been ultimately obliged to ascend for the purpose of extricating the machine from impediments which were only to be surmounted by the activity of climbing boys. The result was, that his lordship subsequently expressed his opinion that the machines could never answer the purposes for which they were originally intended, and therefore had his chimnies swept by the old method. Mr. Bennett concluded by making some observations on the harsh manner in which the trade had been aspersed. He said it had been insinuated that their apprentices, in consequence of being permitted to ascend chimnies, were often rendered objects for the remainder of their lives. There were, he admitted, a few solitary instances of accidents happening in their trade as well as in every other. He now only wished that their opponents might have an opportunity of witnessing the healthy and cheerful state in which their apprentices were.

A master chimney-sweeper, with great vehemence of action and manner, said, “I am convinced, Mr. Chairman, that it is a thing impossible to do away with our climbing boys. For instance, look at the duke of York’s fifty-one new chimnies. Let me ask any one of you in company, is it possible a machine could be poked up any one of them? I say, no; and for this reason--that most of them run in a horizontal line, and then abruptly turn up, so that you see a machine would be of no more use than if you were to thrust up an old broomstick; and I mean to stick to it, that our opponents may as well try to put down chimney-sweepers in the old way, as the Equitable Loan Bank Company endeavoured to cut up the business of the pawnbrokers. (Applause.) When I look round the table, (said the speaker,) and see such respectable gentlemen on my right and on my left, and in front of me, who dares to say that the United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers are not as respectable a body of tradesmen as any in London? and although, if I may be excused the expression, there is not a gentleman now present that has not made his way in the ‘profession,’ by climbing up chimnies. (There was a universal nod of assent at this allusion.) Therefore, continued the speaker, the more praise is due to us, and I now conclude by wishing every success to our new society.” The above animated address was received with the loudest plaudits.

Several other master chimney-sweepers addressed the company, after which the ladies were introduced into the room, and dancing commenced, which was kept up to a late hour.[154]

* * * * *

On the first of May, 1807, the slave trade in the West Indies was proscribed by the British parliament, and we see by the proceedings at the Eyre tavern, St. John’s-wood, that on the first of May, 1826, an effort was made to continue the more cruel black slavery of white infants. Some remarks reported to have been made by these gentlemen in behalf of their “black art,” require a word or two.

We are told that after the usual routine of loyal toasts, the chairman congratulated his “brother tradesmen” on the formation of a society that was calculated to do “essential service to the trade in general.” There can be no doubt that “the king” was the first name on their list of toasts, yet it happens that his majesty is at the head of an association for abolishing their “trade.” The first names on the roll of “The Society for suspending Climbing Boys by the use of the Scandiscope,” are those of the “patron,” and the president, vice-presidents, committee, and treasurer. These are chiefly prelates, peers, and members of the house of commons; but the “patron” of the society is “the king,” in opposition to whom, in the capacity of “patron,” Mr. Bennett, the master-sweep, of Welbeck-street, urges the “absolute necessity” of employing climbing boys. One of his reasons is, that in some chimnies the bricklayers have “cores” of mortar whereon the soot accumulates so that no machine can get over the difficulty; but this only shows the “absolute necessity” of causing the “cores” to be removed from chimnies already so deformed, and of making surveyors of future houses responsible for the expenses of alteration, if they suffer them to be so improperly constructed. Mr. Bennett says, that lord Hardwicke was convinced “the machines could never answer the purposes for which they were originally intended, and therefore had his chimnies swept by the old method.” If his lordship did express that opinion, it is in opposition to the opinion of the king, as “patron,” the late bishop of Durham, the present bishop of Oxford, the duke of Bedford, the lords Grosvenor, Morley, Harrowby, Gwydir, Auckland, and other distinguished individuals, who as president and vice-presidents of the society, had better opportunities of determining correctly, than Mr. Bennett probably afforded to earl Hardwicke.

Another “master chimney-sweeper” is reported to have said, “look at the duke of York’s fifty-one new chimnies:--most of them run in a horizontal line, and then abruptly turn up, so that, you see, a machine would be of no more use than if you were to thrust up an old broomstick:” and then he asks, “who dares to say that the United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers are not as respectable a body of tradesmen as any in London?” and triumphantly adds, that “there is not a gentleman now present that has not made his way in the profession by climbing up chimnies.” To this “there was a universal nod of assent.” But a universal admission by all “the gentlemen present” that they had climbed to respectability by climbing up chimnies, is of very little weight with those who observe and know that willing slaves become the greatest and most effective oppressors; and as to the duke of York’s new chimnies, it is not credible his royal highness can be informed that the present construction of his chimnies necessarily dooms unborn infants to the certain fate of having the flesh torn from their joints before they can sweep such chimnies. The scandalous default of a surveyor has subjected the duke of York to the odium of being quoted as an authority in opposition to a society for abolishing a cruel and useless trade, wherein servitude is misery, and independence cannot be attained but by the continual infliction of blows and torture on helpless children. Yet as an act of parliament abated the frequency of conflagrations, by empowering district surveyors to cause the erection of party walls, so a few clauses added to the building act would authorize the surveyors to enforce the building of future chimnies without “cores,” and of a form to be swept by the “Scandiscope.” Master chimney-sweepers would have no reason to complain of such enactment, inasmuch as they would continue to find employment, till the old chimnies and the prejudices in favour of cruelty to children, disappeared by effluxion of time.

* * * * *

The engraving at the head of this article is altered from a lithographic print representing a “Scandiscope.” Perhaps the machine may be better understood from the annexed diagram. It simply consists of a whalebone brush, and wooden cylinders strung on rope, and put into action by the method described beneath the larger engraving.

Mr. George Smart obtained two gold medals from the Society of Arts for this invention. The names of the machine chimney-sweepers in different parts of London may be obtained from Mr. Wilt, secretary of the “Society for superseding Climbing Boys,” No. 125, Leadenhall-street; the treasurer of the institution is W. Tooke, esq., F. R. S. Any person may become a member, and acquaint himself with the easy methods by which the machine is adopted to almost any chimney. As the climbing chimney-sweepers are combining to oppose it, all humane individuals will feel it a duty to inquire whether they should continue willing instruments in the hands of the “profession” for the extension of the present cruel practice.

* * * * *

The late Mrs. Montagu gave an annual dinner to the poor climbing boys which ceased with her death.

And is all pity for the poor sweeps fled, Since Montagu is numbered with the dead? She who did once the many sorrows weep, That met the wanderings of the woe-worn sweep! Who, once a year, bade all his griefs depart, On May’s sweet morn would doubly cheer his heart! Washed was his little form, his shirt was clean, On that one day his real face was seen, His shoeless feet, now boasted pumps--and new. The brush and shovel gaily held to view! The table spread, his every sense was charmed, And every savoury smell his bosom warmed; His light heart joyed to see such goodly cheer, And much he longed to taste the mantling beer: His hunger o’er--the scene was little heaven-- If riches thus can bless, what blessings might be given! But, she is gone! none left to soothe their grief, Or, once a year, bestow their meed of beef! Now forth he’s dragged to join the beggar’s dance; With heavy heart, he makes a slow advance, Loudly to clamour for that tyrant’s good, Who gives with scanty hand his daily food!

It is the interest of the “United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers” to appear liberal to the wretched beings who are the creatures of their mercy; of the variation and degrees of that mercy, there is evidence before the committee of the house of commons. Sympathy for the oppressed in the breast of their oppressors is reasonably to be suspected. On the minutes of the “Society for superseding Climbing Boys,” there are cases that make humanity shudder; against their recurrence there is no security but the general adoption of machines in chimnies--instead of children.

* * * * *

Mr. Montgomery’s “Chimney Sweeper’s Friend, and Climbing Boys’ Album,” is a volume of affecting appeal, dedicated to the king, “in honour of his majesty’s condescending and exemplary concern for the effectual deliverance of the meanest, the poorest, and weakest of British born subjects, from unnatural, unnecessary, and unjustifiable personal slavery and moral degradation.” It contains a variety of beautiful compositions in prose and verse: one of them is--

THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER.

Communicated by Mr. Charles Lamb, from a very rare and curious little work, Mr. Blake’s “Songs of Innocence.”

When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me, while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry, “Weep! weep! weep!” So your chimnies I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

There’s little Tom Toddy, who cried when his head, That was curl’d like a lamb’s back, was shaved, so I said, “Hush, Tom, never mind it for when your head’s bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.”

And so he was quiet, and that very night As Tom was a sleeping, he had such a sight, That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins so black.

And by came an angel, who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins, and set them all free; Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun,

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy He’d have God for his father, and never want joy.

And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work; Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm, So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

Dining with Duke Humphrey,

MAY DAY HONOURS TO HIM.

In old St. Paul’s cathedral “within a proper chappel purposely made for him,” and in a proper tomb, sir John Beauchamp, constable of Dover, and warden of the cinque ports, was buried in the year 1358. “This deceased nobleman,” says Stow, “by ignorant people hath been erroneously mistermed and said to be duke Humfrey, the good duke of Gloucester, who lyeth honourably buried at Saint Albans in Hartfordshire, twenty miles from London; in idle and frivolous opinion of whom, some men, of late times, have made a solemne meeting at his tombe upon Saint Andrewe’s day in the morning (before Christmasse) and concluded on a breakfast or dinner, as assuring themselves to be servants, and to hold diversity of offices under the good duke Humfrey.”

Stow’s continuator says, “Likewise, on May-day, tankard bearers, watermen, and some other of like quality beside, would use to come to the same tombe early in the morning, and, according as the other, deliver serviceable presentation at the same monument, by strewing herbes, and sprinkling faire water on it, as in the duty of servants, and according to their degrees and charges in office: but (as Master Stow hath discreetly advised such as are so merrily disposed, or simply profess themselves to serve duke Humfrey in Pauls) if punishment of losing their dinners daily, there, be not sufficient for them, they should be sent to St. Albans, to answer there for their disobedience, and long absence from their so highly well deserving lord and master, as in their merry disposition they please so to call him.”

There can be no doubt that this mock solemnity on May-day, and the feast of St. Andrew, on pretence of attending a festival in Paul’s, on the invitation of a dead nobleman in another place, gave rise to the saying concerning “dining with duke Humfrey.” It is still used respecting persons who inquire “where shall I dine?” or who have lost, or are afraid of “losing their dinners.”

PRINTERS’ MAY FESTIVAL.

The following particulars of a very curious celebration is remarkable, as being a description of the old mode of festivous enjoyment, “according to order,” and the wearing of garlands by the stewards, with “whifflers” in the procession.[155] It is extracted from Randle Holme’s “Storehouse of Armory, 1688.”

Stationers’ Hall May Feast.

The Printers, Journeymen, with the Founders and Ink-makers have every year a general Feast, which is kept in the Stationers Hall on or about May Day. It is made by 4 Stewards, 2 Masters, and 2 Journeymen; and with the Collection of half a Crown a piece of every Guest, the charges of the whole Feast is defrayed.

About 10 of the Clock in the Morning on the Feast day, the Company invited meet at the place appointed, and from thence go to some Church thereabouts in this following Order. First, 4 Whifflers (as Servitures) by two and two, walking before with white Staves in their Hands, and red and blew Ribbons hung Belt-wise upon their Shoulders: these make way for the Company.

Then walks the Beadle of the Company of Stationers, with the Companies Staff in his Hand, and Ribbons as afore.

Then the Minister, whom the Stewards have engaged to Preach the Sermon, and his Reader or Clerk.

Then the Stewards walk, by two and two, with long white wands in their Hands, and all the rest of the Company follow in like order, till they enter the Church, &c. Service ended, and a Sermon suitable for the occasion finished, they all return to their Hall in the same order, where upon their entrance each Guest delivers his Ticket to a Person appointed, which gives him admittance; where every one Feasts himself with what he likes best, being delighted all the while with Musicks and Songs, &c.

After Dinner the Ceremony of Electing new Stewards for the next Year begins: then the Stewards withdraw into another Room, and put Garlands of Laurel or Box on their Heads, and white wands in their Hands, and are Ushered out of the withdrawing Room thus;--

First, the Companies Beadle with his Staff in his Hand, and Musick sounding before him;

Then one of the Whifflers with a great Bowl of White wine and Sugar in his right Hand, and his Staff in the left: after him follows the eldest Steward.

Then another Whiffler as aforesaid, before the second Steward; in like manner another Whiffler before the third; and another before the fourth Steward.

And thus they walk, with Musick sounding before them, three times round the Hall; and, in the fourth round, the first Steward takes the Bowl from his Whiffler, and Drinks to one (whom before he resolved on) by the Title of Mr. Steward Elect; and taking the Garland off his own Head, puts it on the Steward Elect’s Head, at which all the Company clap their Hands in token of Joy.

Then the present Steward takes out the Steward elect, and Walks with him, hand in hand, (giving him the right Hand,) behind the three other Stewards, another round the Hall; and in the next round as aforesaid, the second Steward drinks to another with the same Ceremony as the first did; and so the third, and so the fourth. And then all walk one round more, hand in hand, about the Hall, that the Company may take Notice of the Stewards Elect: and so ends the Ceremony of the Day.

This is a front view of a watch tower, or one of the barbicans, on the city wall, which was discovered near Ludgate-hill on the first of May, 1792. Below is a section of Ludgate-hill from a plan of London by Hollar, wherein this tower is described.

They are both represented in an engraving published by the late Mr. Nathaniel Smith, of Great May’s buildings, from whence the preceding views are copied for the purpose of more especially marking the discovery of the old tower on this festival day.

~Opera Arm Chairs.~

A rare tract, connected with the history of the opera in England, records a jeu d’esprit, which, together with the tract, are attributed to the author of the “Pursuits of Literature:” it will be seen to relate to the present day from the following extracts from the pamphlet.

THE EDITOR

TO

THE READER.

May 5, 1800.

Piu non si turbi all’ anima La sua tranquillità: Pensiamo solo a ridere; SARA QUEL CHE SARA’.

Aria; Gli Zingari in Fiera. A. 2.

* * * * *

The following poetical Composition appeared in the Morning Herald of May 1, 1800; and it is reprinted at the very particular request of several persons, votaries of the Opera, Fashion, Wit, and Poetry, who were desirous that it should be preserved in a less perishable form than that of a Newspaper.

The occasion of THE ARM-CHAIRS being placed in the Pit at the Opera House was this. Before the opening of the Opera House this season, it was generally understood, that HIS MAJESTY had graciously signified to Lord Salisbury his concern, that any of the Subscribers should be deprived of their Boxes on the nights when HIS MAJESTY honoured the Theatre with his presence. This being communicated to Mr. Taylor, he observed that the ROYAL objection might easily be obviated, by detaching the last Row from the Pit, on these occasions, for the reception of the Subscribers. This was done accordingly, and a Row of ARM-CHAIRS, with Locks and Keys to the bottoms of them, were placed there, which on every other night were to be free for general accommodation. But about two months after, the Arm-Chairs were removed, and a long bench was substituted.

On this great event, the Editor has no Intercepted Letters to lay before the public by authority, and therefore he has not applied to Mr. Canning for a Preface, nor for Notes to Mr. Gifford. There is no Egyptian Fast to be solemnized, nor Festival to be celebrated. He can assure them also, that neither the Mustapha Raschid Effendi and Mustapha Ressichi Effendi for the Grand Vizir; nor General Dessaix and Citizen Poussielgue for General Kleber, were Commissioners on signing this Convention. But THE EVACUATION OF THE ARM-ED CHAIRS was effected without bloodshed or loss on either side, by LORD GALLOWAY and Mr. BELL, Commissioners on the part of the Amateurs and Conoscenti, and by Signor LORENZO DA PONTE, Poet to the Opera House, and Mr. SOLOMON, Leader of the Band, Commissioners on the part of General Taylor and the Dramatic Field Marshal THE MARQUIS OF SALISBURY. The Arm-ed Chairs were surrendered three days after the signing of the Capitulation, without the intervention of any gallant Knight[156] from Sweden or from Malta.

* * * * *

Thus far is from the preface, and after a few remarks and a “Scena” in Italian, the poem alluded to, and here reprinted verbatim, is introduced in the following manner:--

March 19, 1800.

THE ARGUMENT.

A month or two ago, Lord Galloway came to the Opera, and on the Pit-door near the Orchestra being opened, he perceived, to his confusion and astonishment, that a long Bench was substituted in the place of the ROW OF ARM-CHAIRS at the bottom of the Pit, the principal or central of which he had filled for so many nights with discernment and dignity, and to the general satisfaction of every person present. His Lordship conceiving, rather hastily, that this measure was intended as a personal slight to himself, retired disconcerted, without taking his seat; and, as he is a votary of the Muses, penned the following Lamentation, which he sent to Lord Salisbury the next day, and recovered his wonted good humour, cheerfulness, and gayety.

* * * * *

PANDOLFO ATTONITO!

OR,

LORD GALLOWAY’S

POETICAL LAMENTATION

ON THE

REMOVAL OF THE ARM-CHAIRS

FROM THE

PIT AT THE OPERA HOUSE!

WHAT!--the proud honours of the chair Must I no more, with CECIL(a), share?-- Still be my soul serene Virtù, or virtue’s but a name, Brutus and Galloway exclaim, And sighing quit the scene.

Too sure I heard a warning knell, And told my Critic Brother BELL(b) The fall of seats(c) and stocks; Yet fondly sooth’d by BOLLA’S airs, Thought TAYLOR’S bottom, and his chairs Secure with keys and locks.(d)

But ah! how Fortune loves to joke! Expell’d am I, who sung and spoke As loud as at the Fair:(e) While yearly, with six thousand pound, The Commons ADDINGTON have bound Their Servant TO THE CHAIR.

My purer taste, my classic eye, Unzon’d Thalia could descry, Who stepp’d beyond her place: How oft I warn’d, in either house, That charms too plain at last would rouse The Mitre and the Mace!

I with Pandolfo watch’d the sphere, When Mars on Venus shone so clear, That Saturn(f) felt the shock: Grave SHUTE and HENRY shrunk at Love, And at the loose flesh-colour’d glove, That blush’d at twelve o’clock.

I said, some folks would thunder Greek At HILLIGSBERG’S Morale lubrique, And PARISOT’S costume!(g) Where shall Paull_inia_, tight and round,(h) In vest appropriate now be found, With India’s palm and plume?

Old Q--NSB--RY feels his dotard qualm, Terpsichorè can pour no balm O’er half his visual ray; Nor WILLIAM(i) can console the Sag, Nor Elisée(k) his pain assuage, Nor Yarmouth smooth his way.

When MARINARI’S(l) magic hand Traced the bold view in fabled land, For Fawns and Wood-nymphs meet Ah, soon, I cried, may SAL’SB’RY think, ’Tis just, that they who dance should drink, And they who sing, should eat. (ll)

For this, in arbitrating state, In presence of the wise and great, I sung the Sovereign’s air:(m) Firm was my voice, for TAYLOR smil’d; Nor deem’d I then, (too well beguil’d,) How slippery was the Chair.

Nor G--rd--n’s coarse and brawny Grace, The last new Woman IN THE PLACE(n) With more contempt could blast; Not Marlb’rough’s damp on Blandford’s purse To me could prove a heavier curse; My fame, my glory past.

Fall’n though I am, I ne’er shall mourn, Like the dark Peer on STORER’S urn,(nn) Reflecting on his seat! In vain that mean mysterious Sire In embers would conceal the fire; While Honour’s pulse can beat.

For me shall droop th’ Assyrian Queen,(o) With softest train and tragic mien, The SIDDONS in her art; E’en BOLLA(p) shall forget to please, With sparkling eye and playful ease, And Didelot shall start.

Leo enthron’d bade Querno sit; And GIANNI’S(q) verse and regal wit THE CONSUL loves to share: Pye has the laurel and the sack, And C--mbe the foolscoat on his back, But Galloway, no Chair.

Yet though, reduc’d by Taylor’s pranks, I sit confounded in the ranks, Good Humour’s still my own; Still shall I breathe in rapt’rous trance, “Eternal be the Song, the Dance, THE OPERA AND THE THRONE!”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·75.

[145] See vol. i. p. 541.

[146] Saluteth.

[147] Groves.

[148] Royal.

[149] The Indicator.

[150] This is not king Charles the Second’s celebrated “Royal Oak,” but the “King’s Oak” so often mentioned in the novel. To make it standing in 1651 is another anachronism by the by. Ωνωφιλτατος.

[151] Sic in orig. Why the other two days are passed over silently I know not.--Ωνωφιλτατος.

[152] Plumptre.

[153] The Examiner.

[154] The Times, May 3, 1826.

[155] Whifflers, see vol. i. p. 1444, note, and 1488.

[156] This differs a little from THE ARGUMENT prefixed to the Poem, but the impartial Historian of a future age will weigh the authorities on either side, and record the truth according to the evidence.

THE EDITOR.

(a) “Our Midas sits Lord Chancellor of Plays.”

Dunciad.

(b) Mr. BELL, an ingenious Gentleman, very conversant in the Stocks and Funds, Grand Amateur, and Connoisseur of the Lower Bench.

(c) It is feared that the Noble Lord alludes to the value of seats in a certain House, after the Union.

EDITOR.

(d) The bottoms of these lamented Chairs were kept under lock and key.

(e) i. e. As loud as the very Gipsies themselves on the Stage at the Fair. This is poetry, but no fiction.

EDITOR.

(f)

“Quel Saturno briccon ti guarda trino.”

Gli Zingari in Fiera, A. I.

(g)

Contecta levi velatum pectus amictu, Et tereti strophio luctantes vincta papillas.

Catullus.

(h) Alluding to the fascinating Ballet of Paul et Virginie. BACCHUS AND ARIADNE too are now constrained to appear in patch-work dresses. The Costume is lost, and the Graces mourn. Jacet semisepulta Venus. So says the D. of Q. and many others of the ton hold the same doctrine.

If Propertius were Ballet Master he would cast the parts of the HILLISBERG toujours gaie et intéressante, of the PARISOT au geste animé et sublime, and of the LABORIE à sourire doux et enchanteur, with exquisite and appropriate taste.

Hæc hederas legat in thyros, Hæc carmina nervis Aptet, et Illa manu texat utraque rosam!

(i) Lord William Gordon.

(k) PERE ELISE’E, Conoscente e Medico di camera al Serenissimo Duca.

“Corpo dotato di Sanitá.”

Gli Zingari in Fiera.

(l) The painter of various exquisite scenes at the Opera House.

(ll) Les Chanteurs et les Danseurs, des deux Sexes, a Monsieur T. si tendre et si cruel; “Il faut que nous vivions.”--REPONSE de Monsiur R. “Je n’en vois pas la nécessité.”

LE TABLEAU,

Présenté à Monseigneur le Chambellan POLONIUS!

“Chanteurs, Danseurs, assailants, assaillis, Battans, battus, dans ce grand chamaillis: Ciel, que de cris, et que de hurlemens! PERE ELISE’E reprit un peu ses sens; Il se tenoit les deux côtés de rire, Et reconnut que ce fatal empire De l’Opera, des Jeux, et du grand Ton, Etoit sans doute une œuvre du Démon.”

THE EDITOR.

(m) The Air of Midas in the Burletta, beginning thus:

“I’m given to understand that you’re all in a pother here, Disputing whether, &c.”

(n) An expression used, with a curious felicity, by her Grace for “the Manufactured Ladies of Fashion” imported from Yorkshire and other Counties into Portland Place, &c. whose houses she condescended to enter. But once she was most unfortunately mistaken.

Car Madame M--LLS, _ouvrant un large bec, (Ayant en un Palais changée sa chaumière, Son air de drap devint démarche fiere;) Disoit tout haut, que_ G--RD--N _parloit Grec. Les Grands surpris admirent sa hauteur, Et les Petits l’appellént Dame d’honneur_.

LEÇON _à deux tranchans, tant à la Bourgeoisie, qu’à la Noblesse_.

THE EDITOR.

(nn) ANTONY STORER, Esq. formerly Member for Morpeth, (as some persons may possibly recollect,) a gentleman well known in the circles of fashion and polite literature.

(o) BANTI la Sovrana.

(p) BOLLA la Vezzosa.

(q) GIANNI, the Italian Poet Laureat to Buonaparte, as Camillo Querno was to Pope Leo X. For a specimen of Gianni’s Poetry, see THE TIMES of Dec. 31, 1800.

~May 2.~

DEMONSTRATIVE PROOF.

It is noticed in the journals of May, 1817, that in the preceding summer, Mr. J. Welner, a German chemist, retired to his house in the country, there to devote himself, without being disturbed, to the study and examination of poisonous substances for the purpose of producing a complete “Toxicology,” established by undeniable proof. He tried his poisons upon himself, and appeared insensible to the great alterations which such dangerous trials produced upon his health. At the latter end of the month of October, he invented some unknown poisonous mixture; and wished to be assured of its effect. The following is the account which he gives of it in the last page of his manuscript:--“A potion composed of--(here the substances are named, and the doses indicated)--is mortal; and the proof of it is--that I am dying!”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·55.

~May 3.~

INVENTION OF THE CROSS.

For the origin of this church of England holiday, see vol. i. p. 611.

“A PIE SAT ON A PEAR TREE.”

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

May 3, 1826.

Sir,--There is a custom at Yarmouth dinners, which in my opinion would be “more honoured in the breach than the observance.” After the cloth has been removed, and the ladies have retired, some one in the company, who is an adept in the game, sings the following lines,--

“A pie sat on a pear tree, A pie sat on a pear tree, A pie sat on a pear tree, Heigh oh! heigh oh! heigh oh!”

At the conclusion, the person sitting next to the singer continues the strain thus,--

“And once so merrily hopp’d she;”

during which the first singer is obliged to drink a bumper, and should he be unable to empty his glass before the last line is sung, he must begin again until he succeeds.

The difficulty consists in swallowing the liquor fast enough, many getting tipsy before they are able to accomplish it. This of course goes round the party, until the whole are either completely “knocked up,” save a few who from the capacity of their throats are so fortunate as to escape. Your inserting the above in the Every-Day Book will much oblige, Sir, &c.

J. F.

The preceding is from a valued correspondent, on whose veracity full reliance is placed by the editor; he will nevertheless be happy to hear that this usage is on the decline.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·67.

~May 4.~

1826. HOLY THURSDAY,

Or Ascension Day.

For this movable feast see vol. i. p. 651, 643.

TISSINGTON WELL DRESSING.

For the Every-Day Book.

Unless the historians of Derbyshire have been very negligent in their inquiries, the peak differs exceedingly from mountainous tracts in general, where the customs, manners, and language of antiquity are preserved with peculiar care. The language, indeed, has retained its olden character, but of peculiar customs little is known. In Lysons’ “Magna Britannia,” the practices of rush-bearing, of hanging up white gloves and garlands of roses in the churches, at the funerals of young maidens,--of foot-ball plays, now confined to Derby, and this well-dressing of Tissington are the sum total of those notices under the head of “Country Customs.” A correspondent communicated to the Every-Day Book in March, a custom existing near Tideswell; and I have seen it stated in a provincial paper, that a right is claimed in the Peak Forest of marrying after the fashion of Gretna Green, and that such a wedding actually took place not very long ago. Something more of this should be known.

Tissington well-dressing is a festivity, which not only claims a high antiquity, but is one of the few country fêtes which are kept up with any thing like the ancient spirit. It is one which is heartily loved and earnestly anticipated. One which draws the hearts of those who were brought up there, but whom fortune has cast into distant places, homewards with an irresistible charm. I have not had the pleasure of witnessing it, but I have had that of seeing the joy which sparkled in the eyes of the Tissingtonians as they talked of its approach, and of their projected attendance. Long before the time arrives, they have canvassed the neighbourhoods where they reside, for flowers to take with them: and these flowers, in all the instances which have come under my notice have been red daisies, and none else. If, however, John Edwards, in his poem, “The Tour of the Dove,” be correct, others must be used, and those wild flowers:--

“Still Dovedale yield thy flowers to deck the fountains Of Tissington, upon its holyday; The customs long preserved among the mountains Should not be lightly left to pass away. They have their moral; and we often may Learn from them how our wise forefathers wrought, When they upon the public mind would lay Some weighty principle, some maxim brought Home to their hearts, the healthful product of deep thought.”

In a note he adds;--“The custom of decorating wells with flowers, and attending them with religious services and festive rejoicings on Holy Thursday, is not peculiar to Tissington. Many other wells have been committed to the patronage of the saints, and treated with reverence; some on account of the purity, and others for the medicinal virtues of their waters. St. Alkmund’s well at Derby, is an instance of the former class, where the name has been continued long after the superstition which gave it has passed away. In the dark ages of popery, this veneration for holy wells was carried to an idolatrous excess, insomuch, that in the reigns of Edgar and Canute, it was found necessary to issue edicts prohibiting well-worship. But the principle of veneration for waters, if restricted within its proper bounds, is amiable: indeed, it seems to have been implanted in the breast of man in all ages. A fountain is the emblem of purity and benevolence. From the days when the patriarchs journeyed in the wilderness, down to the present period--whether bursting from the arid sands of the African desert, or swelling out its genial waters amid the Greenland snows--its soft melody, its refreshing virtues, and its transparency, have ever been a subject of delight and interest to the human race. Who could have approached the Bethesda of the Jews with a callous heart? Who could have listened to the song of Israel with indifference, when her princes had digged the well, and her nobles and lawgiver stood around it?”

Rhodes, who has traversed almost every part of the peak with indefatigable zeal, gives the following account in his “Peak Scenery.” “An ancient custom still prevails in the village of Tissington, to which indeed it appears to be confined, for I have not met with any thing of a similar description in any other part of Derbyshire. It is denominated well-flowering, and Holy Thursday is devoted to the rites and ceremonies of this elegant custom. This day is regarded as a festival; and all the wells in the place, five in number, are decorated with wreaths and garlands of newly-gathered flowers, disposed in various devices. Sometimes boards are used, which are cut to the figure intended to be represented, and covered with moist clay, into which the stems of the flowers are inserted to preserve their freshness; and they are so arranged as to form a beautiful mosaic work, often tasteful in design, and vivid in colouring: the boards, thus adorned, are so placed in the spring, that the water appears to issue from amongst beds of flowers. On this occasion the villagers put on their best attire, and open their houses to their friends. There is service at the church, where a sermon is preached: afterwards a procession takes place, and the wells are visited in succession: the psalms for the day, the epistle and gospel are read, one at each well, and the whole concludes with a hymn which is sung by the church singers, and accompanied by a band of music. This done, they separate, and the remainder of the day is spent in rural sports and holiday pastimes.

The custom of well-flowering as it exists at Tissington, is said to be a popish relic; but in whatever way it originated, one would regret to see it discontinued. That it is of great antiquity cannot be disputed; it seems to have existed at different periods of time, in countries far remote from each other. In the earliest ages of poetry and romance, wherever fountains and wells were situated, the common people were accustomed to honour them with the title of saints. In our own country innumerable instances occur of wells being so denominated.” “Where a spring rises or a river flows,” says Seneca, “there should we build altars, and offer sacrifices.” At the fountain of Arethusa in Syracuse, of which every reader of poetry and history has often heard, great festivals were celebrated every year. In Roman antiquity the fontinalia were religious feasts, held in honour of the nymphs of wells and fountains; the ceremony consisted in throwing nosegays into fountains, and putting crowns of flowers upon wells. Many authorities might be quoted in support of the antiquity of this elegant custom, which had its origin anterior to the introduction of christianity. It was mingled with the rites and ceremonies of the heathens, who were accustomed to worship streams and fountains, and to suppose that the nymphs, whom they imagined the goddesses of the waters, presided over them. Shaw in his “History of the Province of Morray,” says, that “heathen customs were much practised amongst the people there;” and he cites as an instance, “that they performed pilgrimages to wells, and built chapels to fountains.”

“From this ancient usage, which has been continued through a long succession of ages, and is still in existence at Tissington, arose the practice of sprinkling the Severn and the rivers of Wales with flowers, as alluded to by Dyer in his poem of the Fleece and by Milton in his Comus.--

--------------With light fantastic toe the nymphs Thither assembled, thither every swain; And o’er the dimpled stream a thousand flowers, Pale lilies, roses, violets and pinks, Mixed with the green of burnet, mint, and thyme, And trefoil, sprinkled with their sportive arms: Such custom holds along the irriguous vales, From Wreakin’s brow to archy Dolvoryn.

Dyer.

----------------The shepherds at their festivals Carol her good deeds loud in rustic lays, And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream, Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.

Milton.”

I hope some of your correspondents will contribute to our information by accounts of well-dressings in other parts of the kingdom.

SHAFTESBURY “BYZANT.”

The town of Shaftesbury from its situation on the top of a high hill, is entirely destitute of springs; except at the foot of the hills in St. James’s parish, where are two wells, in the possession of private persons. At the foot of Castle-hill were formerly some water-works, to supply the town, their reservoir was on the top of the Butter cross; but the inhabitants have from time immemorial been supplied with water brought on horse’s backs, or on people’s heads, from three or four large wells, a quarter of a mile below the town in the hamlet of Motcomb, and parish of Gillingham; on which account there is this particular custom yearly observed by ancient agreement, dated 1662, between the lord of the manor of Gillingham, and the mayor and burgesses of Shaftesbury. The mayor is obliged the Monday before Holy Thursday to dress up a prize besom, or byzant, as they call it, somewhat like a May garland in form, with gold and peacock’s feathers, and carry it to Enmore Green, half a mile below the town, in Motcomb, as an acknowledgment for the water; together with a raw calf’s head, a pair of gloves, a gallon of beer, or ale, and two penny loaves of white wheaten bread, which the steward receives, and carries away to his own use. The ceremony being over, the “byzant” is restored to the mayor, and brought back by one of his officers with great solemnity. This “byzant” is generally so richly adorned with plate and jewels, borrowed from the neighbouring gentry, as to be worth not less than 1500_l._[175]

PROCESSION OF THE CAMEL.

Holy Thursday was formerly a day of great festivity at Beziers, in France, and was celebrated with a variety of little sports.

“The Procession of the Camel” constituted one part of them. A figure representing that animal, with a man in the inside, was made to perform ridiculous tricks. The municipal officers, attended by the companies of the different trades and manufactures, preceded the camel. It was followed by a cart, over which were branches of trees twined into an arbour, filled with people: the cart was drawn by mules ornamented with bunches of flowers and ribands; a number of people stuck over with flowers and little twigs of trees, who were called the “wild men,” followed the cart and closed the procession. After parading about the town all day, towards evening the whole company repaired to the chapel of the Blue Penitents, where it was met by the chapter of the cathedral, who had previously also gone in procession round the town, and then a large quantity of bread was given away by the chapter among the poor.

Another part of the ceremonies of the day was, that the peasants from the country assembled in the streets with crooks in their hands, and ranging themselves in long files on each side, made mock skirmishes with their crooks, aiming strokes at each other, and parrying them with great dexterity. Each of these skirmishes ended with a dance to the fife and tabourine. The inhabitants threw sugar-plums and dried fruits at each other from their windows, or as they passed in the streets.

The day usually concluded by a favourite dance among the young men and women, called la danse des treilles. Every dancer carried a cerceau, as it is called, that is a half hoop, twined with vine branches; and ranging themselves in long files on each, side of the street, formed different groups. The young men were all dressed in white jackets and trowsers, and the young women in white jackets with short petticoats, and ornaments of flowers and ribands. These sports of Beziers were suspended during the revolution.[176]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·77.

[175] Hutchins’s Dorset.

[176] Miss Plumptre.

~May 5.~

“A PARTICULAR FACT.”

THE INDEXES, &c. to the EVERY-DAY BOOK, VOL. I. were published on the 5th of May, 1826.

The new preface to the volume is particularly addressed to the notice of correspondents, and I shall be particularly obliged if every reader of the work will favour it with attentive perusal.

CHRONOLOGY.

It should be observed of Joseph Baretti, who died on this day in the year 1789, that he was the friend and associate of Johnson, who introduced him to the Thrale family, and whom he assisted in the compilation of his “Dictionary of the English Language.”

Baretti was a native of Turin; he had received a good education, and inherited paternal property, which in his youth he soon gambled away, and resorted to a livelihood by teaching Italian to some English gentlemen at Venice; whence he repaired to England, and distinguished himself as a teacher of Italian. By his employment under Dr. Johnson, he acquired such a knowledge of our language as to be enabled to compile the “Italian and English Dictionary,” which is still in use. He then revisited his native country, and after an absence of six years returned through Spain and Portugal, and in 1768 published “An Account of the Manners and Customs of Italy,” in reply to some querulous strictures on that country in the “Letters from Italy” by surgeon Sharp, which Baretti’s book effectually put down, with no small portion both of humour and argument. Not long afterwards, he was accosted in the Haymarket by a woman, whom he repulsed with a degree of roughness which was resented by her male confederates, and in the scuffle, he struck one of them with a French pocket dessert knife. On this, the man pursued and collared him; when Baretti, still more alarmed, stabbed him repeatedly with the knife, of which wounds he died on the following day. He was immediately taken into custody, and tried for murder at the Old Bailey, when Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick, Reynolds, and Beauclerk gave testimony to his good character; and although he did not escape censure for his too ready resort to a knife, he was acquitted. Domesticated in the Thrale family, he accompanied them and Dr. Johnson to Paris, but in a fit of unreasonable disgust, quitted them the next year; and in the latter part of his life was harassed with pecuniary difficulties, which were very little alleviated by his honorary post of foreign secretary to the Royal Academy, and an ill-paid pension of eighty pounds per annum under the North administration. Among other works he published one with the singular title of “Tolondron: Speeches to John Bowles about his edition of Don Quixote, together with some account of Spanish Literature.” This was his last production; his constitution was broken by uneasiness of mind and frequent attacks of the gout, and he died in May, 1789.

Baretti was rough and cynical in appearance, yet a pleasant companion; and of his powers in conversation Johnson thought very highly.

He communicated several of Dr. Johnson’s letters to the “European Magazine,” and intended to publish several more; but on his decease his papers fell into the hands of ignorant executors, who barbarously committed them to the flames.[177]

It is remarkable that with Johnson’s scrupulous attachment to the doctrines and ceremonies of the church of England, he was sincerely attached to Baretti, whose notions on religious matters widely differed from the opinions of “the great lexicographer.” Johnson seems to have been won by his friend’s love of literature and independence of character. Baretti often refused pecuniary aid when it was greatly needed by his circumstances: his morals were pure, and his conduct, except in the unhappy instance which placed his life in jeopardy, was uniformly correct. He died with the reputation of an honest man.

* * * * *

There is an engraving representing Diogenes at noon-day with his lantern in one hand, and in the other a circular picture frame, which is left vacant, that a purchaser of the print may insert the portrait of the man he delights to honour as the most honest. Hence the vacancy is sometimes supplied by the celebrated John Wilkes, the prophetic Richard Brothers, the polite lord Chesterfield, Churchill, the satirist, Sam House, or Joseph Baretti, or any other. “Cornelius May,” of whose existence, however, there is reason to doubt, would scarcely find a head to grace the frame.

“POETRY.”

“The Knaverie of the Worlde, sette forthe in homelie verse, by Cornelius May,” from “The Seven Starrs of Witte,” 1647.

Ah me throughoute the worlde Doth wickednesse abounde! And well I wot on neither hande Can honestie be founde.

The wisest man in Athens Aboute the citie ran With a lanthorne in the light of daie To find an honeste man;

And when at night he sate him downe To reckon on his gaines, He onely founde--alack poore man! His labour for his paines.

And soe thou now shalt finde Alle men of alle degree Striving, as if their onely trade Were that of cheating thee.

Thy friend will bid thee welcome, His servantes at thy calle-- The dearest friend he has on earthe Till he has wonne thy alle;

He will play with thee at dice Till thy golde is in his hande, He will meete thee at the tennis court Till he winne alle thy lande.

The brother of thy youth When ye shared booke and bedde Would eat himself the sugar plums And leave thee barley bread:

But growing up to manhode His hart is colder grown, Aske in thy neede for barley bread And he’ll give thee a stone.

The wife whom thou dost blesse Alack, she is thy curse-- A bachelor’s an evil state, But a married man’s is worse.

The lawyer at his deske Good lawe will promise thee Untill thy very last groat Is given for his fee.

Thy baker, and thy brewer Doe wronge thee night and morne; And thy miller, he doth grinde thee In grinding of thy corne.

Thy goldsmith and thy jeweller Are leagu’d in knavish sorte, And the elwande of thy tailor It is an inche too shorte.

Thy cooke hath made thy dish From the offals on the shelfe, While fishe and fowle and savourie herbes Are served to himselfe.

The valet thou dost trust, Smooth-tongued and placid-faced, Dothe weare thy brilliantes in his cappe And thou wear’st his of paste.

Alack! thou canst not finde Of high or lowe degree In cott or courte or cabinett A man of honestie.

There is not in the worlde, Northe, southe, or easte, or weste, Who would maintaine a righteous cause Against his intereste.

Ah me! it grieves me sore, And I sorrowe nighte and daie, To see how man’s arch enemie Doth leade his soule astraie.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·22.

[177] General Biog. Dict.

~May 6.~

BIRDS.

The bird-catchers are now peering about the fields and thickets in search of different species of song-birds, for the purpose of netting and training them for sale.

* * * * *

Old bird-fanciers treat the younger ones with disdain, as having corrupted the rich melodies of the birds, by battling them against each other, in singing matches, for strength of pipe.

* * * * *

For the Every-Day Book.

SONNET,

Written on hearing my Blackbird, while confined to my Bed by Illness.

Bird of the golden beak, thy pensive song Floats visions of the country to my mind; And sweet sounds heard the pleasant woods among, I hear again, while on my bed reclined. Weaken’d in frame, and harass’d by my kind, I long for fair-green fields and shady groves, Where dark-eyed maids their brows with wild flowers bind, And rosy health with meditation roves.

Sing on, my bird--as in thy native tree, Sing on--and I will close my burning eyes, Till in my fav’rite haunts again I be, And sweetest music on my ears arise; And waving woods their shades around me close, And sounds of waters lull me to repose.

April 16, 1826.

S. R. J.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·57.

~May 7.~

THE SEASON.

Thunny Fishing.

The Mediterranean produces many sorts of fish unknown to us, the thunny among others. The manner in which these fish are caught is somewhat curious; it is a sort of hunting at sea. The nets are extended in the water so as to close upon the fish when they come within reach of them, and then the boats chase them to that part where they are taken: they have great force in their tails, so that much caution is required in getting them aboard. Vernet among his other sea-pieces has a very good one of this fishery. There are four principal places near Marseilles where it is carried on, called the madragues, which are rented out to the fishers, by the town, at a considerable advantage. When Louis XIII. visited Marseilles in 1662, he was invited to a thunny fishing at the principal madrague of Morgion, and found the diversion so much to his taste, that he often said it was the pleasantest day he had spent in his whole progress through the south.

The thunnies come in such shoals, that in the height of the season, that is, in the months of May and June, from five to six hundred are sometimes taken in a day at one madrague only: they commonly weigh from about ten to twenty or twenty-five pounds each, but they have been known to weigh even as much as fifty pounds. They are very delicious food, but the flesh is so solid that it seems something between fish and meat; it is as firm as sturgeon, but beyond all comparison finer flavoured. They dress this fish in France in a great variety of ways, and always excellent: it makes capital soup, or it is served as a ragout, or plain fried or broiled; pies are made of it, which are so celebrated as to be sent all over France; they will keep good for six weeks or two months. There is also a way of preserving it to keep the whole year round with salt and oil, called thon mariné: this is eaten cold, as we eat pickled salmon, and is delicious. Besides the great season in May and June, they are caught in considerable numbers in the autumn, about November, which is the great season for making the pies. A large quantity of them were sent to Paris against Buonaparte’s coronation. Stragglers of these fish are occasionally taken the whole year round. They are an ugly fish to the eye.

The palamede, though much smaller than the thunny, seems so much of the same nature that some persons have supposed it only the young thunny; but naturalists say that it is a distinct species of fish. It is mentioned by Gibbon in his description of Constantinople, as, at the time of the foundation of that city, the most celebrated among the variety of excellent fish taken in the Propontis.[178]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·70.

[178] Miss Plumptre.

~May 8.~

“THE FURRY.”

For the Every-Day Book.

On the eighth of May, at Helston, in Cornwall, is held what is called “the Furry.” The word is supposed by Mr. Polwhele to have been derived from the old Cornish word fer, a fair or jubilee. The morning is ushered in by the music of drums and kettles, and other accompaniments of a song, a great part of which is inserted in Mr. Polwhele’s history, where this circumstance is noticed. So strict is the observance of this day as a general holiday, that should any person be found at work, he is instantly seized, set astride on a pole, and hurried on men’s shoulders to the river, where he is sentenced to leap over a wide place, which he of course fails in attempting, and leaps into the water. A small contribution towards the good cheer of the day easily compounds for the leap. About nine o’clock the revellers appear before the grammar-school, and demand a holiday for the schoolboys. After which they collect contributions from house to house. They then fade into the country, (fade being an old English word for go,) and, about the middle of the day, return with flowers and oak branches in their hats and caps. From this time they dance hand in hand through the streets, to the sound of the fiddle, playing a particular tune, running into every house they pass without opposition. In the afternoon, a select party of the ladies and gentlemen make a progress through the street, and very late in the evening repair to the ball-room. A stranger visiting the town on the eighth of May, would really think the people mad; so apparently wild and thoughtless is the merriment of the day.

There is no doubt of “the Furry” originating from the “Floralia,” anciently observed by the Romans on the fourth of the calends of May.[179]

* * * * *

“Every pot has two handles.” This means “that one story’s good, till another story’s told;” or, “there is no evil without its advantages.”

If it is generally “good” to anticipate festival days in the Every-Day Book, it is an “evil” to be “behind-hand;” and yet “advantages” have sometimes resulted from it. For instance, the day of “the Furry” at Helston, elapsed before this sheet was sent to press; but a correspondent who was present at the festival on that day in the present year, 1826, sends an account of the manner wherein it is conducted at present; and though the former “story’s good,” his particular description of the last Furry, is a lively picture of the pleasant manner, wherein it continues to be celebrated: thus is illustrated the ancient saying, that “every pot has two handles.”

It would be ill acknowledgment of the annexed letter to abridge it, by omitting its brief notice of the origin of the Furry, already adverted to, and therefore the whole is inserted verbatim.

HELSTON “FURRY, OR FLORA DAY.”

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--Having for several years past resided in Cornwall, (from whence I have lately returned,) I beg to inform you of one of their gayest days of amusement, which is regularly kept up in the borough of Helston on the eighth day of May.

It originated from the Roman custom of paying an early tribute of respect to the goddess Flora; the garlands of flowers worn on the occasion confirms this opinion. This festival commences at an early hour: the morning is enlivened by the sound of “drum and fife;” and music, harmony, and dance are the sports of “high and low”--“from morn to night.” Some of the oldest townsmen chant some ancient ditties--not very comprehensible, “nor is the melody thereof enchanting.”

The hilarity of the day precludes the possibility of doing business; every consideration but mirth, music, and feasting is set at naught. Should any persons be found at work, they are instantly seized, set astride on a pole, and jolted away on men’s shoulders, amidst thousands of huzzas, &c., and at last sentenced to leap over the river, (which by the by is none of the narrowest,) the result which therefore frequently happens is--they jump into it. The payment of a certain fine towards the expenses of the day saves them from this cooling.

At nine in the morning the mob gathers round the various seminaries, and countless voices demand a holiday for all in them, which is acceded to: a collection from the housekeepers is then commenced towards the general fund. While this is going on, the young folks of both sexes go to the gardens of the neighbourhood, and return at twelve with their heads dressed out with gay flowers, oak branches, &c. On entering the town they are joined by a band of music; they dance through the streets to the “Flora Tune.” In their progress they go through every house and garden they please without distinction; all doors are opened, and, in fact, it is thought much of by the householders to be thus favoured.

The older branch of the population dance in the same manner, for it is to be noticed they have select parties, and at different hours; no two sets dance together, or at the same time. Then follows the gentry, which is really a very pleasing sight on a fine day from the noted respectability of this rich borough. In this set the sons and daughters of some of the first and noblest families of Cornwall join. The appearance of the ladies is enchanting. Added to their personal charms, in ball-room attire, each tastefully adorned with beautiful spring flowers, in herself appears to the gazer’s eye a Flora, and leads us to conceive the whole a scene from fairy land. The next set is, the soldiers and their lasses; then come the tradesmen and their wives; journeymen and their sweethearts; and, “though last not least,” the male and female servants in splendid livery; best bibs and tuckers are in request, and many pretty brunettes are to be found in their Sunday finery, with healthy smiling looks, which on such a day as this are sure to make sad havoc with the hearts of the young men.

In the evening a grand ball is always held at the assembly rooms; to which, this year, were added the performance of the “Honey Moon” at the theatre, by Dawson’s company of comedians, Powell’s celebrated troop of horse at the Circus, and Mr. Ingleby’s sleight of hand at the rooms. The borough was thronged with visiters from all parts of the country. It is a pleasing task to conclude by being able to state, that Aurora rose on the ninth without any account of accident or disappointment being experienced by any of its numerous attendants. I have many other anecdotes of Cornwall, which I shall forward you in case you deem them worthy a place in your Every-Day Book, to which I wish the success it really deserves.

I am, Sir,

Your’s truly,

SAM SAM’S SON.

London, May 16, 1826.

⁂ This communication was almost past the time; yet, as we set out with a proverb, we may end with “better late than never;” and, “not to ride a free horse to death,” but merely to “drive the nail that will go,” thanks are offered to “Sam Sam’s Son,” with the hope of early receiving his “future agreeable favours.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·07.

[179] Guide to Mount’s Bay.

~May 9.~

A MATCH.

A New York paper of the ninth of May, 1817, announces that in Montgomery county, Mr. Jesse Johnson, being eighteen or nineteen years of age, and four feet one inch high, and weighing about seventy-five pounds, was married to Miss Nancy Fowler, about twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, six feet two inches high, and weighing about two hundred and fifty pounds. “Sure such a pair were never seen.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·20.

~May 10.~

JUSTICE.

In May, 1736, Henry Justice, of the Middle Temple, Esq., was tried at the Old Bailey, for stealing books out of Trinity-college library in Cambridge. He attempted to defeat the prosecution by pleading, that in the year 1734, he was admitted fellow-commoner of the said college, whereby he became a member of that corporation, and had a property in the books, and therefore could not be guilty of felony, and read several clauses of their charter and statutes to prove it. But after several hours’ debate, it appeared he was only a boarder or lodger, by the words of the charter granted by Henry VIII. and queen Elizabeth. He was found guilty.

On the tenth of the month, having been put to the bar to receive sentence, he moved, that as the court had a discretionary power, he might be burnt in the hand and not sent abroad; first, for the sake of his family, as it would be an injury to his children and to his clients, with several of whom he had great concerns, which could not be settled in that time; secondly, for the sake of the university, for he had numbers of books belonging to them, some in friends’ hands, and some sent to Holland, and if he was transported he could not make restitution. As to himself, considering his circumstances, he had rather go abroad, having lived in credit till this unhappy mistake, as he called it, and hoped the university would intercede for him. The deputy-recorder commiserated his case, told him how greatly his crime was aggravated by his education and profession, and then sentenced him to be transported to some of his majesty’s plantations in America for seven years.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·87.

~May 11.~

LONDON GYMNASTIC SOCIETY.

The establishment of this institution is of so great importance to the health and manners of the metropolis, that to pass it unregarded would be inexcusable. Much of mental infirmity proceeds from bodily infirmity. Without activity, the entire human being is diseased. A disposition to inactivity generates imbecility of character; diligence ceases, indolence prevails, unnatural feelings generate unnatural desires, and the individual not only neglects positive duties, but becomes sensual and vicious. The “London Gymnastic Society,” therefore, in a national point of view is of the highest regard. A letter, subjoined, will be found to represent some of its exercises and advantages in an agreeable and interesting manner.

GYMNASTIC EXERCISES.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--On the twenty-second of March, not less than fifteen hundred persons assembled at the Mechanics’ Institute for the purpose of forming a “London Gymnastic Society.” This event is likely to have very important and useful results to the community, and, therefore, within the plan of the Every-Day Book to record. I have no intention to describe what passed on the occasion, any further than by stating that a series of resolutions in support of the proposed object were unanimously adopted; and as great misconception prevails as to the nature of gymnastic exercises, some light on the subject, beyond that conveyed in your first volume, may be interesting.

The grounds on which the use of exercise generally are recommended, are precisely those from which the benefits of this particular class are to be inferred; with this advantage in favour of gymnastics, that they combine the advantages of almost every other species. If it be desirable that the body should be strengthened, the limbs acquire flexibility, the muscles be brought into full play, and the spirits be invigorated, gymnastics must be allowed to be salutary for such are their ordinary effects. Moreover, if it be desirable that a man should become acquainted with his physical capabilities, in order that he may be encouraged to exert them on suitable occasions, within the compass of safety, and be aware when he is in danger of trespassing beyond the proper limit, gymnastics must be beneficial, for they instruct him where that limit lies, and give him entire confidence within it. And so gradual are the steps by which the pupil is led on towards proficiency, now mastering a small difficulty, then advancing to one a little greater, then to another, and another, that at last he accomplishes the evolution which at one time appeared to him of greatest difficulty with more facility than he at first accomplished the first lesson; while all the time he has been acquiring in the process increased capability, strength, confidence, and presence of mind. For the utility of these exercises does not end in the gymnasium; it only begins there. The performances of the evolutions are means by which great ends are attained; the vigour acquired in performing them, being afterwards useful wherever vigour may be required.

In the preliminary exercises, the pupil is taught to accustom himself to extend his arms and legs in various natural positions, in quick succession; sometimes exerting the arms only, the legs resting passive, sometimes the reverse; and sometimes exerting both legs and arms together. These exercises are not so strictly preliminary as to require the pupil to become perfect in them before he engages in others. On the contrary, he may with advantage, at a very early stage, combine them with those of greater difficulty; and also at an advanced stage, find it useful occasionally to recur to them. But let us proceed to the bars.

The bars consist of two pieces of wood placed parallel, in a horizontal position, on supporters, extending breast-high from the ground. The pupil having raised himself erect between the bars (they are something less than two feet apart, and about five feet in length) passes from one end to the other by the help of his hands only, moving one hand forward at a time, as the feet are moved in walking. He next places himself in the centre between the bars, and keeping his legs straight and close together projects them over the right hand bar, and so arrives on the ground. He then does the same on the left side, then on the right side backwards, either with or without previously swinging, then on the left side backwards in the same way. He next resumes his position at the end of the bars; but instead of walking or treading along the bars with his hands, as in the first exercise, he this time lifts both hands together, and passes to the other end by short jumps. He then returns to the centre of the bars, and retaining hold of them, projects his body over the left hand bar, from which position, by slightly springing, he projects himself over that on his right. This evolution he performs also on both sides, and later in his progress backwards also. Then there is the half moon, or semi-circle, which is performed by projecting the legs over one of the bars in front, and then bringing them back, and swinging them over the same bar behind. As the pupil advances, he is enabled to project himself over the bars unassisted by the lower part of his arms; also to rest the lower part of his arms on the bars, and from that position to raise himself erect by the hands only, repeating the evolution several times in succession, to pass from one side of the bar to the other, without touching the ground, and many other evolutions all conducing in one way or another to the strength and elasticity of his frame.

The horizontal poles are placed at various heights from the ground, according to the height of the pupil, and the exercises to be performed on them. Those chiefly used are a few inches above the head. One of the first lessons on the pole is analogous to the first on the parallel bars, the pupil passing from one end of the pole to the other, by the help of his hands only, first by moving one hand at a time as in walking, afterwards by moving both hands together. Grasping the pole with both hands, the pupil is taught to raise himself in various ways above it--to pass over it--to pass from one side of the pole to the other, &c. &c. The exercises on the pole are equal in diversity to those on the bars, perhaps on the whole more arduous, and certainly equally beneficial. I believe the arms and back are particularly strengthened by this diversion of the exercises.

Leaving the pole, let us attend a moment to the masts, the ropes, and the ladders. These are of various heights and dimensions. The pupil first learns to climb the rope and mast by the assistance of his hands and feet, afterwards by his hands only, and by degrees he learns to ascend the latter without the assistance of his feet or legs. The leaping with and without a pole, jumping, running, throwing the javelin, the use of the broad sword, &c., do not require description as they are more or less familiar to every one. I therefore confine myself to naming them, and observing that familiar as some of them are, the regulations under which they are practised tend greatly to increase their utility.[180]

There is still a division of these exercises which I have not mentioned, and which deserves a full description, and that is, the exercises on the horse--a wooden horse--without head or tail--but, as I feel myself quite unable to bear anything like adequate testimony to the merits of this very useful and quiet quadruped, I must reluctantly leave his eulogium to others more competent. It is a subject I cannot well get upon, being but a very indifferent equestrian.

I remain, Sir, &c.

A PARALLEL BARRISTER.

* * * * *

To all individuals of sedentary occupations, in great towns and cities, gymnastic exercises are of immense benefit. It is difficult to convince, but it is a duty to attempt persuading them, that their usual habits waste the spirits, destroy health, and shorten life. Hundreds of Londoners die every year for want of exercise.

It is not necessary that we should cultivate gymnastics “after the manner of the ancients,” but only so much as may be requisite to maintain the even tenour of existence. The state of society in towns, continually imposes obstructions to health, and offers inducements to the slothful, in the shape of palliatives, which ultimately increase “the miseries of human life.” Exercise is both a prevention and a remedy; but, we must not mistake--diligence is not, therefore, exercise.

* * * * *

Our present pastimes are almost all within doors; the old ones were in the open air. Our ancestors danced “on the green” in the day time; we, if we dance at all, move about in warm rooms at night: and then there are the “late hours;” the “making a toil of a pleasure;” the lying in bed late the next morning; the incapacity to perform duties in consequence of “recreation!” The difference to health is immense--if it be doubted, inquire of physicians. The difference to morals is not less--if reflection be troublesome, read the proceedings in courts of justice, and then reflect. We have much to unlearn.

* * * * *

It is a real amusement to go to a theatre, and see an indolent audience sitting to witness feats of agility.

Here we see that some of the tricks and dexterities of Mazurier and Gouffe were performed centuries ago; and here, too, we have an illustration that the horizontal bars of our correspondent, the “Parallel Barrister,” though novelties now, were known before our grandfathers were grandchildren. The print from whence this is copied, is from sir Mark Sykes’s collection: it is produced here as a curiosity.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·74.

[180] The information relative to the exercise so crudely conveyed throughout this hasty letter, is derived from observation of the gymnasium in the New Road, under the excellent management of professor Voelker.

~May 12.~

THE MONTH.

Hail, May! lovely May! how replenished my pails! The young dawn o’erspreads the broad east, streaked with gold! My glad heart beats time to the laugh of the vales, And Colin’s voice rings through the wood from the fold. The wood to the mountain submissively bends, Whose blue misty summit first glows with the sun! See! thence a gay train by the wild rill descends To join the mixed sports:--Hark! the tumult’s begun.

Be cloudless, ye skies!--And be Colin but there; Not dew-spangled bents on the wide level dale, Nor morning’s first smile can more lovely appear Than his looks, since my wishes I cannot conceal. Swift down the mad dance, while blest health prompts to move, We’ll court joys to come, and exchange vows of truth: And haply, when age cools the transports of love, Decry, like good folks, the vain follies of youth.

Bloomfield.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·22.

~May 13.~

1826. Oxford Term ends.

OLD MAY DAY.

Scottish Beltein.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--I confess I was not a little astonished a few days ago, on becoming acquainted with a custom evidently heathenish in its origin, which exists in the united kingdom, where, it must be admitted, great advances have been made in morals and religion, as well as in science and general knowledge.

The fact I allude to is in Dr. Jamieson’s “Dictionary of the Scottish Language.” He mentions a festival called Beltane, or Beltein, annually held in Scotland on old May-day. A town in Perthshire is called “Tillee Beltein;” i. e. the eminence (or high place) of the fire of Baal. Near this are two druidical temples of upright stones with a well, adjacent to one of them, still held in great veneration for its sanctity, and on that account visited by vast numbers of superstitious people. In the parish of Callander (same county) upon “Beltein day,” they cut a circular trench in the ground, sufficient to enclose the whole company assembled. “They kindle a fire and dress a repast of eggs and milk in the consistence of a custard; they knead a cake of oatmeal, which is toasted at the embers against a stone.” After the custard is eaten, they divide the cake into as many equal parts as there are persons present, and one part is made perfectly black with charcoal.

The bits of cake are put into a bonnet and are drawn blindfold, and he who draws the black bit is considered as “devoted to be sacrificed to Baal, and is obliged to leap three times through the flame.”

Mr. Pennant in his “Tour in Scotland, 1769,” gives a similar account with varying ceremonies.

“In Ireland,” says Mr. Macpherson, “Beltein is celebrated on the twenty-first of June at the time of the solstice. There they make fires on the tops of the hills, and every member of the family is made to pass through the fire, as they reckon this ceremony to ensure good fortune during the succeeding year. This resembles the rite used by the Romans in Palilia.”--“Beltein (adds Mr. M.) is also observed in Lancashire.”

This “custom” being entirely new to me, and appearing so much to illustrate many passages in the Bible which refer to the idolatry of the ancients, I forward it to you agreeably to your printed invitation.

I am, &c.

J. K. S.

STRAND MAYPOLE.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--In your account of the Maypole which stood in the Strand, you have stated that the said Maypole upon its decay was obtained of the parish by sir I. Newton, and placed at Wanstead for support of his telescope; but in the preface to the ninth edition of Derham’s “Astro-Theology,” published 1750, he says, “And now for a close I shall take this opportunity of publicly owning, with all honour and thankfulness, the generous offer made me by some of my friends, eminent in their stations, as well as skill and abilities in the laws, who would have made me a present of the Maypole in the Strand, (which was to be taken down,) or any other pole I thought convenient for the management of Mr. Huygens’s glass; but as my incapacity of accepting the favour of those noble Mecænates hath been the occasion of that glass being put into better hands, so I assure myself their expectations are abundantly answered by the number and goodness of the observations that have been and will be made therewith.”

As you will perceive by the expression “which was to be taken down,” it must have been standing at the time of publication of his book, and as sir I. Newton died in 1726, the “compilation” from which you extracted your account must be erroneous. The name of the philosopher to whom the glass belonged, you will also perceive to be misspelled. I should not have troubled you with these trifling corrections, but as I am sure your admirable work will pass through many editions, you may not in the future ones refuse to make the alteration.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient servant,

May 17, 1826.

J. S.

* * * * *

I am obliged to J. S. for his endeavour to rectify what he deems an error; but it rather corroborates than invalidates the fact stated in vol. i. p. 560, on the authority of the work there referred to.

J. S. quotes “the ninth edition of Derham’s ‘Astro-Theology,’ published 1750,” and infers that the Strand Maypole “must have been standing at the time of publishing his book;” and so it was; but it was no more in being when the “ninth edition” of his book was published, than Derham himself was, who died in 1735. The first edition of “his book” was published in 1714, and Derham then wrote of it as then standing, and the citation of J. S. shows that it was then contemplated to present Derham with the Maypole for Huygens’s glass, which from “incapacity” he could not accept, and was therefore the occasion of the glass “being put into better hands.” These “better hands” were sir Isaac Newton’s; the object of the intended present of the Maypole to Derham was for Huygens’s glass; and it is reasonable to believe that as sir Isaac had the glass, so also he had the Maypole to appropriate to the purpose of the glass.

Nevertheless, though I think J. S. has failed in proving my authority to be erroneous, and that he himself is mistaken, I repeat that I am obliged by his intention; and I add, that I shall feel obliged to any one who will take the trouble of pointing out any error. I aim to be accurate, and can truly say that it costs me more time to establish the facts I adduce, than to write and arrange the materials after I have convinced myself of their authority.

* * * * *

THE MONTH.

May Morning.

But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side; The lowing herd; the sheepfold’s simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above; The hollow murmur of the ocean tide; And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown’d with her pail the tripping milk-maid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings; Through rustling corn the hare astonished springs; Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower; The shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tow’r.

Beattie.

May Evening.

Sweet was the sound when oft at evening’s close, By yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watch-dog’s voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

Goldsmith.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·12.

~May 14.~

1826. WHITSUNDAY.

This is the annual commemoration of the feast of Pentecost. In the catholic times of England it was usual to dramatise the descent of the Holy Ghost in the churches; and hence we have Barnaby Googe’s rhymes:--

On Whitsunday whyte pigeons tame in strings from heauen flie, And one that framed is of wood still hangeth in the skie. Thou seest how they with idols play, and teach the people too; None otherwise then little gyrles with pvppets vse to do.

Naogeorgus.

These celebrations are noticed in vol. i. p. 685.

Whitsunday Accident.

ST. ANTHONY’S CHURCH, CORNWALL.

In an old tract printed against church ceremonies during “the troubles of England,” there is an account of “fearfull judgements that God hath shewed upon churches,” one whereof is alleged by the puritan author to have been manifested on this day. His account is curious, and the fact being historical, is here related in his own words, viz.

On VVhitsunday last, 1640, in the parish of Anthony in Cornwall, when people were kneeling at the Communion, great claps of thunder were heard, as though divers Cannons had been shot off at once, and extraordinary, and most fearfull flashes of Lightnings, and a terrible and unspeakable strange sound, to the great amazement of the people; and when the Minister was turning towards the Communion Table, to give the Cup, after he had given the Bread, he saw (to his thinking) a flaming fire about his body, and withall, heard a terrible and unspeakable sound, and had no hurt, save that the outside of one of his legs was scalded: presently after, divers balls of fire came into the Church and struck one Ferdinando Reepe on the sole of his left foot, with such a violence, as he thought his foot had been split in pieces, and was for a while deprived of his senses: One John Hodge was stricken in the knees and thighs, and lower parts of his body, so as he thought every part of his body to be unjoynted: One Dorothy Tubbe was stricken so, as she thought her legs and knees were struck off from her body: One Anthony Peeke was fearfully struck in all the lower parts of his body, and thought that he had been shot thorow, and was lift up from kneeling, and set upon the form by which hee kneeled: One Susan Collins was struck in the lower parts of her body, so as it seemed to her, to be struck off from the upper part, and was scalded on the wrist of the right hand: A great fire, far redder then any lightning, came into the Church, and struck one Nicholas Shelton on both sides of his head, as though he had been struck with two flat stones, and did shake his body, as though it would shake it in pieces, whereby he lost his sight and his senses: One Roger Nile was struck on the backbone, on the right side, and on the anckle on the inside of his left leg, so as for a while, he was not able to stand; after the fire, there was heard in the Church, as it were, the hissing of a great shot; and after that a noise, as though divers Cannons had been shot off at once, to make one single and terrible report; the noise did not descend from above, but was heard, and seemed to begin close at the Northside of the Communion Table: After this fire and noise, then followed a loathsome smell of Gunpowder and Brimstone, and a great smoak. The Church had no harm, save that seven or eight holes and rents were made in the wall of the Steeple, some on the inside, and some on the outside; impressions on the stones in divers places, as if they were made by force of shot, discharged out of a great Ordnance, so as in divers places, light might be seen through the walls. In this storm was no body kill’d, save one Dog in the Belfree, and another at the feet of one kneeling to receive the Cup; As soon as this fearfull storm was over, they that were weak, not able to stand, were (through the mercy of God) restored to their strength; and they that were frantick, to their senses; and he that was blind, was restored to his sight; and came all to the Lords Table, and received the VVine, and went all in the afternoon to give God thanks.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·47.

~May 15.~

1826. WHIT MONDAY.

This second season of annual holidays in England, with the humours of Greenwich fair, and the sports in the park, is described in vol. i. p. 687, &c.

It is a universal festival in the humble ranks of life throughout the kingdom.

Hark, how merrily, from distant tower, Ring round the village bells; now on the gale They rise with gradual swell, distinct and loud, Anon they die upon the pensive ear, Melting in faintest music. They bespeak A day of jubilee, and oft they bear, Commixt along the unfrequented shore, The sound of village dance and tabor loud, Startling the musing ear of solitude. Such is the jocund wake of Whitsuntide, When happy superstition, gabbling eld, Holds her unhurtful gambols. All the day The rustic revellers ply the mazy dance On the smooth shaven green, and then at eve Commence the harmless rites and auguries; And many a tale of ancient days goes round. They tell of wizard seer, whose potent spells Could hold in dreadful thrall the labouring moon, Or draw the fixed stars from their eminence, And still the midnight tempest; then, anon, Tell of uncharnelled spectres, seen to glide Along the lone wood’s unfrequented path, Startling the nighted traveller; while the sound Of undistinguished murmurs, heard to come From the dark centre of the deepening glen, Struck on his frozen ear.

H. K. White.

DROP HANDKERCHIEF.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--The approaching Whitsuntide brings to my remembrance a custom which I believe to be now quite obsolete.

I remember when I was a boy that it was usual in Devonshire, at Easter and Whitsuntide, for young people of both sexes to form a ring at fairs and revels, and play at what was termed “drop handkerchief.” After the ring was formed, which used to be done with little difficulty, a young man would go round it once or twice, examining all the time with curious eye each well formed blooming maiden; the favoured fair was selected by the handkerchief being thrown over her shoulders, and at the same time saluted with a kiss. The young man then took his place in the ring, and the young woman proceeded round it as he had done before, until she dropped the handkerchief behind one of the young men. As soon as this was done she would bound away with the swiftness of a roe, followed by the young man, and if, as was sometimes the case, she proved to be the lightest of foot, considerable merriment was afforded to the bystanders in witnessing the chase through its different windings, dodgings, and circumlocutions, which ended in the lady’s capture, with a kiss for the gentleman’s trouble.

I believe many matches in the humble walks of life may date their origin from this custom; and however the opulent and refined may be disposed to object to a promiscuous assemblage of the sexes, I am doubtful whether they can point out any plan which shall rival in innocence and gaiety those of our forefathers, many of which are gone, and as pseudo-delicacy and refinement are now the order of the day, I fear that they never can return again.

Cannon-street.

R. S.

* * * * *

The editor saw “Drop-handkerchief” in Greenwich-park at Whitsuntide, 1825, and mentioned it as “Kiss in the ring” in vol. i. p. 692.

WHIT MONDAY AT LICHFIELD.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,--In the pleasant little city of Lichfield (celebrated for the neatness of its streets, and the beauty of its splendid cathedral) the annual fair for the exhibition of shows, &c. is held on Whit Monday, and it is the custom on that day for a procession, accompanied with musicians, flags, &c. to be formed, composed of part of the corporation, with its inferior officers, &c. who are joined by several of the best mechanics of the place, each of whom carries a representation in miniature of his separate workshop and mode of trade, the figures being so formed as to be put in motion by machinery, and worked by a single wheel. These representations are about two feet square, and are fixed at the top of a pole about two yards high, decorated with flowers, &c. The procession walks from the guildhall to a high hill in the vicinity of the city, called Greenhill, (but which is now nearly surrounded by houses,) where a temporary booth has been erected, with a small space of ground enclosed at the front with boards. This booth is also decorated with flowers, and hence the fair has derived the appellation of “The Greenhill Bower.” On arriving at this booth, the gates of the enclosed park are opened and the procession enters. The different little machines are placed around the enclosure, and then put in motion by the separate “operatives,” in the presence of the higher portion of the corporation, who award which of the machines presents the greatest ingenuity, and prizes are distributed accordingly. This takes place about the middle of the day. The machines remain, and are put in motion and exhibited by their owners until the evening. The booth itself is filled with refreshments; and men being stationed at the gates to prevent the entrance of the disorderlies, every well-dressed person is admitted at once, and some cakes, &c. are given gratuitously away; the corporation I believe being at this expense. The various shows are ranged in different parts of the hill, and as none make their appearance there but such as have already graced “Bartholomew,” it will be endless for me to say another word on this part of the subject, as by reference to your notices of September 3, 1825, will more fully and at large appear, and where your reader will find, although enough, yet “not to spare.” I am, &c. J. O. W.

WHITSUNTIDE HIRINGS.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

May 3, 1826.

Sir,--If you think the annexed worth a place in your invaluable and entertaining work, you will extremely oblige me by inserting it.

I am, Sir, &c.

HENRY WM. DEWHURST.

63, Upper Thornhaugh-street,

Bedford-square.

Cumberland Hirings.

The “hirings” for farmers’ servants half yearly at Whitsuntide and Martinmass, though not altogether peculiar to the county of Cumberland, are however, I conceive, entitled to notice. Those who come to be hired stand in a body in the market-place, and to distinguish themselves hold a bit of straw or green sprig in their mouths. When the market is over the girls begin to file off and gently pace the streets, with a view of gaining admirers, whilst the young men with similar designs follow them; and having “eyed the lasses,” each picks up a sweetheart, conducts her to a dancing-room, and treats her with punch, wine, and cake. Here they spend their afternoon, and part of their half-year’s wages, in drinking and dancing, unless, as it frequently happens, a girl becomes the subject of contention, when the harmony of the meeting is interrupted, and the candidates for her love settle the dispute by blows. When the diversions of the day are concluded, the servants generally return to their homes for a few holidays before they enter on their new servitude. At fairs, as well as hirings, it is customary for all the young people in the neighbourhood to assemble and dance at the inns and alehouses. In their dances, which are jigs and reels, exertion and agility are more regarded than ease and grace. But little order is observed in these rustic assemblies: disputes frequently arise, and are generally terminated by blows. During these combats the weaker portion of the company, with the minstrels, get on the benches, or cluster in corners, whilst the rest support the combatants; even the lasses will often assist in the battle in support of their relations or lovers, and in the last cases they are desperate. When the affray is over the bruised pugilists retire to wash, and the tattered nymphs to re-adjust their garments. Fresh company arrives, the fiddles strike up, the dancing proceeds as before, and the skirmish which had commenced without malice, is rarely remembered. In their dancing parties the attachments of the country people are generally formed.

ENSHAM, OXON.

Old Custom.

Till within the last century, an old custom prevailed in the parish of Ensham, Oxfordshire, by which the townspeople were allowed on Whit Monday to cut down and carry away as much timber as could be drawn by men’s hands into the abbey-yard, the churchwardens previously marking out such timber by giving the first chop; so much as they could carry out again, notwithstanding the opposition of the servants of the abbey to prevent it, they were to keep for the reparation of the church. By this service they held their right of commonage at Lammas and Michaelmas; but about the beginning of the last century, this practice was laid aside by mutual consent.[181]

KIDLINGTON, OXON.

There is a custom at Kidlington, in Oxfordshire, on Monday after Whitson Week, to provide a fat live lamb; and the maids of the town, having their thumbs tied behind them, run after it, and she that with her mouth takes and holds the lamb, is declared Lady of the Lamb; which being dressed, with the skin hanging on, is carried on a long pole before the lady and her companions to the green, attended with music, and a morisco dance of men, and another of women, where the rest of the day is spent in dancing, mirth, and merry glee. The next day the lamb is part baked, boiled, and roast, for the lady’s feast, where she sits majestically at the upper end of the table, and her companions with her, with music and other attendants, which ends the solemnity.[182]

NECTON, NORFOLK.

For the Every-Day Book.

Various purse clubs, or benefit societies, annual feasts, and other merry-makings, having from time immemorial produced a Whitsuntide holiday amongst the inhabitants of numerous villages in Norfolk, in 1817, colonel, at that time major, Mason, in order to concentrate these festivities, and render Necton, (his place of family residence,) the focus of popular attraction to the neighbouring villagers, established a guild or festival for rural sports, on Whit Monday and Tuesday. Having, during the late war, while with his regiment (the East Norfolk Militia) had an opportunity of observing the various celebrations of Whitsuntide, in different parts of the kingdom, he was thus enabled to constitute Necton guild, a superior holiday festival. Arranged under his immediate patronage, and conducted by his principal tenantry, it soon became, and still continues, the most respectable resort of Whitsuntide festivities in Norfolk.

Previous to the festival, the following printed notice is usually circulated

“WHITSUN HOLIDAYS

“On the afternoons of Whit Monday and Whit Tuesday next, a guild for rural games, Maypole dances, &c. will be held in the grounds of William Mason, Esq., Necton.

“The guild being entirely distinct from a fair, no stalls, stands, or booths, or other conveniences for the sale of goods, will be suffered to be brought upon the grounds, but by those who have special leave for that purpose, in writing, given on application to John Carr, master beadle.

“The guild will open each day at two P. M., and canteens, (where refreshments of all sorts may be had, and cold dinners supplied,) will close each night by sound of bell at eleven.

“N. B.--As this guild is regularly policed, it is hoped that the hilarity of the festival will continue to be preserved as heretofore, by the order and obliging conduct of all those who come to mix in the entertainment.

“Signed by * * * Mayor.

“* * * * Past Mayor.

“GOD SAVE THE KING.”

The field selected for the purpose is beautifully and picturesquely situated, opposite the park of Necton-hall. Near the centre is a raised mound of earth fenced round to protect it from the pressure of the crowd, on which is erected a “Maypole,” crowned with a streamer or pennant, and encircled by numerous garlands of flowers and evergreens, suspended longitudinally from the top to the bottom of the pole:--this is called the Maypole-stand. At a convenient distance are placed the stalls, canteens, and booths; the principal of which, tastefully decorated with evergreens, is called “the mayor’s booth,” and is solely appropriated to his friends and the select party of the company; care being taken to prevent improper intrusion.

From the “mayor’s booth,” early on Whit Monday afternoon, the ceremony of commencing or proclaiming the guild emanates in the following order of procession:--

Constable of Necton in a red scarf, with his staff of office. Beadles or special constables with staves, two and two. Master beadle of the guild, with a halberd. Six boys and girls, Maypole dancers, two and two, hand in hand. Band of Music. Maskers, or morris-dancers, fancifully attired, two and two. Pursuivant with a truncheon, habited in a tabard, on which is depictured an allegorical representation of the arms of Necton. Sword-bearer in grotesque dress, on horseback. Standard bearer on horseback. THE MAYOR OF THE GUILD, On horseback, in full dress suit and purple robes with his chain of office. Standard bearer on horseback. The mayor elect on horseback. Standard bearer on horseback. Principal tenantry on horseback, two and two. Beadles of the guild. Maskers or morris-dancers, fancifully attired, two and two. Six boys and girls, Maypole dancers, two and two, hand in hand. Beadles of the guild. Band of music. Man bearing a standard. Members of Royal Oak Friendly Society, with purple and light blue favours in their hats, two and two. Members of the Necton Old Club Friendly Society with light blue favours in their hats, two and two.

Taking a circuitous route through the field into the park, upon arriving at the principal entrance to the hall, where the colonel and his friends are waiting the approach of the procession, the mayor alights, and thus addresses the patron:--

“Honourable sir,-- “The period now arriv’d, In which the tokens of my mayoralty Must be resign’d,--I make it my request, You should appoint as mayor elect, this year, Our worthy friend and colleague, Mr. * * * * But in resigning, beg best thanks to give For the diversion of our last year’s guild;-- Hoping the festival will as much this year, By weather and kind friends be happy blest.”

To this the colonel replies, “by thanking the mayor for his past services,--for the good order and regularity observed during the last festival,--and the pleasure it will afford him to make the new appointment.”--They then enter the vestibule, where the mayor resigning his robes and tokens of office, the mayor elect is then invested with them. After returning to the door, the colonel congratulates the new mayor on entering his office, &c. to which his worship thus replies:--

“Honourable sir,-- “With pleasure I receive Th’ official tokens of my mayoralty, Which now in place of our late worthy mayor, Alderman * * * * I do most willingly take: Be well assured, as much as in me lies, I will good rule and order strict maintain, That peace and pleasure may together tend To make our guild, two days of even mirth Hoping all here assembled at the hall, Anon will join us in the festive scene, And bidding all most welcome to our guild: I thus respectful beg to take my leave, That I may tend my duties in the field.”--

The procession then returns by the same route and in the same order, with the exception of the new and the past mayors who have changed places. The rustic sports then commence;--the master beadle, ringing a bell, proclaims the sport and the prize, the competitors for which are desired to “come upon the Maypole-stand.”--The sports usually selected, are

Wrestling-matches. Foot-races. Jingling-matches. Jumping in sacks. Wheel-barrow races, blindfold. Spinning matches. Whistling matches. Grinning ditto, through a horse-collar. Jumping matches. &c. &c. &c. &c.

These are occasionally enlivened with Maypole dances, by the boys and girls of the village, selected and dressed for the occasion, and also by the maskers or morris-dancers. When the shades of evening prevent the continuance of these sports, the spacious “mayor’s booth” is then the object of attraction. Well lighted, and the floor boarded for the occasion, country dances commence, which are generally kept up with great spirit and harmony, till the master beadle with his bell announces the time arrived for closing the booths and canteens, “by order of the mayor.” A few minutes, and sometimes (by permission) a little longer, terminates the amusement, which is always concluded, on both evenings, by the whole company joining in the national anthem of “God save the king.”

That “Necton guild” is considered as a superior establishment to a rustic fair, or other merry-making, by the numerous, respectable, and fashionable companies who generally attend from all parts of the neighbourhood. Undisturbed by those scenes of intoxication and disorder, usually prevalent at village fairs, the greatest harmony prevails throughout, and the superior attention and accommodation afforded by the patron and directors of the festival, to all classes of well-behaved and respectable visiters, cannot fail to render “Necton guild,” a popular and attractive resort of Whitsuntide festivities.

I have attempted a sketch of the Maypole stand, &c. from my own knowledge, for I have usually rambled to Necton one or two evenings of each year, since the “guild” was established, and hence I have given you the particulars from actual observation, though I am indebted to a friend, who is a diligent and accurate recorder of customs for the speeches, &c. I must further observe, that the mound of earth I have endeavoured to represent is permanent in the field, and about three feet high, though I have erroneously represented it as higher from lack of eye in drawing, to which indeed I make no pretension. The dancers are the morris-dancers in grotesque dresses; the men with fanciful figured print waistcoat and small clothes, decked with bows; and the women in coloured skirts, trimmed like stage dresses for Spanish girls, with French toques instead of caps.

I find you have removed the publishing office since I wrote last, but I hope you do not mean to withdraw yourself from the work. Should you continue “the soul” of the Every-Day Book “body,” you shall hear from me again, whenever and as soon as I can.

K.

* * * * *

⁂ To obviate the possibility of misapprehension in consequence of the EVERY-DAY BOOK being published by Messrs. HUNT and CLARKE, I take this opportunity of observing, that those gentlemen have no other concern in the work than that of being its publishers, and that it has never ceased from my entire management from the time they undertook that service for me on my own solicitation. No one has any share or interest in it, or any power of influencing its management, and it will continue to be conducted and written by me, as it has been, from the first hour of its commencement. I hope that this is a full and final answer to every inquiry on the subject.

May, 1826.

W. HONE.

WHITSUN ALES.

It is pleasant to read the notices of these ancient revels in our topographical histories. One of them gives the following account of a Cornish merriment.

“For the church-ale, two young men of the parish are yerely chosen by their last foregoers to be wardens, who, dividing the task, make collection among the parishioners, of whatsoever provision it pleaseth them voluntarily to bestow. This they employ in brewing, baking, and other acates, against Whitsuntide, upon which holidays the neighbours meet at the church house, and there merily feed on their owne victuals, each contributing some petty portion to the stock, which, by many smalls, groweth to a meetly greatness; for there is entertayned a kind of emulation between these wardens, who, by his graciousness in gathering, and good husbandry in expending, can best advance the churche’s profit. Besides, the neighbour parishes at those times lovingly visit one another, and frankly spend their money together. The afternoons are consumed in such exercises as olde and yonge folk (having leysure) doe accustomably weare out the time withall. When the feast is ended, the wardens yeeld in their accounts to the parishioners; and such money as exceedeth the disbursement is layd up in store, to defray any extraordinary charges arising in the parish, or imposed on them for the good of the countrey or the prince’s service; neither of which commonly gripe so much, but that somewhat stil remayneth to cover the purse’s bottom.”[183]

Another says, “There were no rates for the poor in my grandfather’s days; but for Kingston St. Michael (no small parish) the church-ale of Whitsuntide did the business. In every parish is (or was) a church-house to which belonged spits, crocks, &c. utensils for dressing provision. Here the housekeepers met, and were merry, and gave their charity. The young people were there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. the ancients sitting gravely by, and looking on. All things were civil, and without scandal.”[184]

Mr. Douce tells us, that “At present the Whitsun ales are conducted in the following manner. Two persons are chosen, previously to the meeting, to be lord and lady of the ale, who dress as suitably as they can, to the characters they assume. A large empty barn, or some such building, is provided for the lord’s hall, and fitted up with seats to accommodate the company. Here they assemble to dance and regale in the best manner their circumstances and the place will afford; and each young fellow treats his girl with a riband or favour. The lord and lady honour the hall with their presence, attended by the steward, sword-bearer, purse-bearer, and mace-bearer with their several badges or ensigns of office. They have likewise a train-bearer or page, and a fool or jester, drest in a party-coloured jacket, whose ribaldry and gesticulation, contribute not a little to the entertainment of some part of the company. The lord’s music, consisting of a pipe and tabor, is employed to conduct the dance. Some people think this custom is a commemoration of the ancient Drink-lean, a day of festivity, formerly observed by the tenants, and vassals of the lord of the fee, within his manor; the memory of which, on account of the jollity of those meetings, the people have thus preserved ever since. The glossaries inform us, that this Drink-lean was a contribution of tenants, towards a potation or ale, provided to entertain the lord or his steward.”[185]

* * * * *

At Islington A fair they hold, Where cakes and ale Are to be sold. At Highgate, and At Holloway The like is kept Here every day. At Totnam Court And Kentish Town, And all those places Up and down.

Poor Robin, 1676.

PEPPARD REVEL.

The “Reading Mercury” of May 24, 1819, contains the following advertisement:--

“Peppard Revel will be held on Whit Monday, May 31, 1819; and for the encouragement of young and old gamesters, there will be a good hat to be played for at cudgels; for the first seven couple that play, the man that breaks most heads to have the prize; and one shilling and sixpence will be given to each man that breaks a head, and one shilling to the man that has his head broke.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·35.

[181] Topographical, &c. Description of Oxfordshire.

[182] Blount’s Jocular Tenures.

[183] Carew’s Cornwall.

[184] Aubrey’s Wiltshire.

[185] Brand.

~May 16.~

Among the peers without compeer, A noble lord of parliament, Upon “his country’s good” intent, Through Durham daily took his walk, And talk’d, “ye gods, how he would talk!” His private riches how immense! His public virtue, how intense Preeminent of all the great, His mighty wisdom ruled the state! His claims, to high consideration, Brought deeper into debt the nation. Was he not, then, a statesman? what, Else, could he be?--for I know not.

A REMARKABLE CHARACTER.

On the sixteenth of May, 1796, died in Durham workhouse, at the advanced age of eighty-five years, the “duke of Baubleshire.” His title was neither ancestral, nor conferred by creation; but, as Napoleon is said to have placed the iron crown on his own head, and vowed to maintain it with his sword, so Thomas French assumed the title of duke of Baubleshire of his own will, and maintained his nobility throughout life, by wearing a star of coloured paper, or cloth, on the breast of his spencer. As a further mark of his quality, he mounted a cockade in his hat, and several brass curtain rings on his fingers. Thus decorated, and with a staff in his hand to support his feeble frame, he constantly tottered through Durham; every street of which ancient city acknowledged his distinction.

At this time it is difficult to conjecture the origin of Thomas French’s title. He assumed it with the decline of his understanding, until which period he had been a labouring man, and supported himself by the work of his hands. In right of his dukedom, he publicly urged his claims to immense possessions. It was his constant usage to stop and accost every one he knew, or could introduce himself to, on points of business, connected with the Baubleshire estates. Though at no time master of a shilling, he incessantly complained of having been defrauded of vast amounts, in cash and bank bills; and parties whom he suspected of these transactions, he threatened to punish with the utmost rigour of the law. He seldom saw a goodly horse, or a handsome carriage, without claiming it, and insisted on his rights so peremptorily and pertinaciously, as to be exceedingly vexatious to the possessors of the property. He fearlessly exhibited charges of misappropriation against individuals of all ranks and conditions. According to his grace’s representations, every covetable personalty in Durham and its vicinage, had been clandestinely obtained from Baubleshire; nor did he make any secret of his intimate and frequent correspondence with the king, on the subject of raising men for carrying on the war, and other important affairs of state. He likewise expressed his opinions on other men’s characters and conduct without reserve; and notwithstanding his abject poverty, his pointed observations frequently inflicted wounds, for which it would have been folly to express resentment.

The duke of Baubleshire was occupied with his numerous concerns, till within three or four days of his death, when he took to his bed; and over burdened by old age, peaceably lay down with the other departed dignitaries of the earth. The present portrait and particulars of him are from a print lithographed at Durham, where he took his title, and where he still lives in ephemeral fame.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·30.

~May 17.~

1826. EMBER WEEK.

Oxford Term begins.

Remarkable Performance.

On the seventeenth of May, 1817, a respectable farmer of Kirton Lindsey for a wager of a few pounds, undertook to ride a poney up two pair of stairs into a chamber of the George Inn, and down again, which he actually performed before a numerous company, whose astonishment was heightened by the rider being upwards of eleven stone weight, and his horse less than thirty. They were weighed after the feat to decide a wager.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 56·65.

~May 18.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the eighteenth of May, 1664, the following public advertisement was issued for the healing of the people by king Charles II.

Notice.

His sacred majesty having declared it to be his royal will and purpose to continue the healing of his people for the evil during the month of May, and then give over till Michalmas next. I am commanded to give notice thereof, that the people may not come up to the town in the interim and lose their labour.

Newes, 1664.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·32.

~May 19.~

“POOR JOE MOODY!”

A willing record is given to the memory of an unfortunate young man, in the language of an intelligent correspondent.

For the Every-Day Book.

Poor Joe Moody lived in Ballingdon, a village in Essex; he was an idiot, a good, simple-hearted creature. The character of his infirmity was childishness; he would play at marbles, spin his top, run his hoop, and join the little boys in the village, with whom he was a great favourite, in all their sports. As a boy he was rational, but when he assumed the man, which he would now and then do, the poor fellow was a sad picture of misery. He would sit upon the steps of an old house, and ask if you did not hear the thunder; then he would start as if to restrain the fury of a horse, and he would suddenly become mild again, and say, “I have seen her grave!” and he would weep like a child for hours. The story of his early life I have heard my father thus relate:--

“When I went to school with Joe Moody, he was a fine fellow, and remarkable for his good temper and lively disposition; he could run from us all, and was one of the best cricketers in the town. After he had left school he became acquainted with Harriet F----; she was a very lovely girl, young and amiable, and had been sought by more than one respectable farmer in the neighbourhood; but Joe was preferred by her, and by her parents. I need not say how endeared to each other they were; the sequel shows it too plainly. In a few days they were to have been made happy; friends were invited to the wedding, and a rich old aunt was to be of the party. Joe proposed that Harriet and himself should go and fetch this old lady; a mark of respect which was readily agreed to. With hopes high, and hearts of gaiety, the young folks set off on a fine summer’s morning, with feelings which only youth and love can know. Who can say this shall be a day of happiness? They had scarcely lost sight of home when the sky became overcast, and in a few minutes a dreadful storm burst over their heads. The thunder and lightning were terrific, and the high spirited horse became unmanageable. Poor Joe endeavoured to restrain its fury, but in vain; it left the track of the road; the hood of the chaise struck against the projecting branch of a tree, and both were thrown out with extreme violence to the earth. Joe soon recovered, and his first care was his Harriet--she was a corpse at his feet! Poor Joe spoke not for some weeks; and the first return of imperfect sense, was shown by his swimming a little cork boat which he found.”

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us