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 5 of 8)
The old religion of the Druids secured unbounded authority over the minds of the people. This engine was too powerful to be lightly relinquished; and the papacy instead of directing them to the sublime contemplation of one all-powerful, all-commanding governor of the universe, through whom alone all live and move and have their being, transferred to new names the ancient reveries of a supernatural agency perpetually interposing in all the petty affairs of mankind. The operators in this agency, genii, fairies, dæmons, and wizards, were all comprehended under the one denomination of saints. Enchanters and dragons were exchanged for pious solitaries and wonderful ascetics, who calmed tempests with a word, walked on the waves of the ocean as on dry land, or wafted over it upon cloaks or millstones; who metamorphosed their staves into trees, and commanded fountains to rise under their feet; by whom the sick were healed; whose shadows were pretended to have raised the dead; and whose approach might be perceived by the perfume their bodies spread throughout the air.
* * * * *
Two of the most illustrious and wonder-working saints of the country, Saint Pol de Léon and Saint Jean du Doigt, were established at only a short distance from Morlaix; the former a little to the north-west of the town, the latter a little to the north-east. The town of St. Pol de Léon stands on the coast. From the boldness and beauty of the workmanship of the cathedral, it was supposed that it could hardly have been executed by mortal hands; it would have been to the honour of the saint to have ascribed it to him, as a notable worker of miracles, but, by the most fervent, the architecture is attributed to the devil.
Miss Plumptre says, “The name of this episcopal see has become familiar in England, from its bishop having made a very conspicuous figure in his emigration hither, and having here at length ended his days. I did not find the character of this prelate more popular among his fellow-countrymen in Brétagne, than it had been among his fellow-emigrants in London: they gave him the same character,--of one of the most haughty, insolent, and over-bearing among the ecclesiastical dignitaries in France; and while the Brétons had in general an almost superstitious veneration for their clergy, they regarded this bishop with very different sentiments.”
* * * * *
The honour of having given birth to St. Pol de Léon is ascribed to England about the year 490. When a boy he gave an earnest of what might in future be expected of him. The fields of the monastery in which he was a student, were ravaged by such a number of birds, that the whole crop of corn was in danger of being devoured. St. Pol summoned the sacrilegious animals to appear before the principal of the monastery, St. Hydultus, that they might receive the correction they merited. The birds, obedient to his summons, presented themselves in a body; but St. Hydultus, being of a humane disposition, only gave them a reproof and admonition, and then let them go, even giving them his benediction at their departure. The grateful birds never after touched the corn of the monastery. In a convent of nuns hard by, situated on the sea-shore, and extremely exposed to the tempestuous winds of the north, lived a sister of St. Pol. She represented the case of the convent to her brother; when he ordered the sea to retire four thousand paces from the convent; which it did immediately. He then directed his sister and her companions to range a row of flints along the shore for a considerable distance; which was no sooner done than they increased into vast rocks, they so entirely broke the force of the winds, that the convent was never after incommoded.
* * * * *
For some reason or other, it does not appear what, St. Pol de Léon took a fancy to travel, and walked over the sea one fine morning from England to the Isle of Batz. Immediately on landing there, by a touch of his staff--for saints used a staff instead of a wand, which was the instrument employed by fairies--he cured three blind men, two who were dumb, and one who was a cripple with the palsy.
* * * * *
A count de Guythure, who was governor of Batz at the saint’s arrival laboured under a mortal uneasiness of mind, on account of a little silver bell belonging to the reigning king of England, the possession of which, in defiance of the injunction contained in the tenth commandment, he coveted exceedingly. St. Pol ordered a fish to swallow the bell, and bring it over: this was instantly performed; but the saint had provided a rival to himself, for the bell became a no less celebrated adept in miracles than he was, and between them both the want of physicians in the country was entirely precluded. The bell was afterwards deposited among the treasures in the cathedral of St. Pol de Léon.
* * * * *
But the Isle of Batz was visited with even a heavier affliction than the mortal uneasiness of its governor; it was infested by a terrible dragon, which devoured men, animals, and every thing that came in its way. St. Pol, dressed in his pontificial robes and accompanied by a young man whom he had selected for the purpose, repaired to the monster’s cavern, and commanded him to come forth. He soon appeared, making dreadful hissings and howlings; a stroke of the saint’s staff silenced him: a rope thrown round his neck, and an order to lead him away finished all opposition. St. Pol conducted him to the northernmost point of the island; another stroke of his staff precipitated the monster into the sea, and he never more returned.
* * * * *
The count de Guythure, charmed with the saint, resigned his splendid palace to him, and retired to Occismor on the continent, the place where the town now stands. The saint converted the palace into a monastery; and, there being no water, had recourse to his staff again, and produced a fountain of fresh water still existing on the sea-shore, which is not affected by the overflowing of the sea.
St. Pol was afterwards bishop of Occismor, on which occasion the place changed its name. Here he continued to work miracles, till, growing weary of mankind, he retired again to the Isle of Batz, where he died at the age of a hundred and two years. The inhabitants of the island and the people of Occismor disputed for his body; the dispute was settled by each agreeing to accept half. They were about to carry this agreement into execution, when the body suddenly disappeared, and was afterwards found on the sea-shore at Occismor, which was considered as a plain indication that the saint himself chose that for the place of his interment. Such are the kind of fables related of this saint.
* * * * *
An occurrence in the town of St. Pol de Léon about the end of the seventeenth century, has only this of prodigy in it, that such facts are not common. A seigneur of the neighbourhood had accumulated debts to so large an amount, that he was entirely unable to discharge them, and knew not what means to pursue for extricating himself from his embarrassments. Three of his tenants, farmers, offered to undertake the management of his affairs, if he would resign every thing in trust to them for a certain term of years; and they proffered to allow him half the revenue he had drawn from them, and with the remainder to pay off his debts, taking to themselves only what profit they might be able to derive from the speculation. The seigneur agreed to the proposal, and every part of the agreement was punctually performed by the farmers. At the term agreed on the estates were returned to the owner, not merely disencumbered, but exceedingly increased in value, and in a state of excellent cultivation, while the farmers had at the same time made a fair profit to themselves. At the final conclusion of the agreement they made a present to the seigneur’s lady of eight horses, that she might come to church, as they said, in a manner suitable to her rank.
In Brittany, mingled with the legends of saints are its still more ancient superstitions. There is scarcely a rock, a fountain, a wood, or a cave, to which some tale of wonder is not attached. From thence omens and auguries are drawn regarding the ordinary occurrences of life. Every operation of nature is attributed by the Brétons to miraculous interposition: they believe that the air, the earth, and the waters are peopled with supernatural agents of all sorts and descriptions.
* * * * *
Likewise there are fountains, into which if a child’s shirt or shift be thrown and it sinks, the child will die within the year; if it should swim, it is then put wet on the child, and is a charm against all kinds of diseases. The waters of some fountains are poured upon the ground by those who have friends at sea, to procure a favourable wind for them during four-and-twenty hours.
* * * * *
Another mode of procuring a favourable wind is to sweep up the dust from a church immediately after mass, and blow it towards the side on which the friends are expected to return. The croak of the raven and the song of the thrush are answers to any questions put to them; they tell how many years any one is to live, when he is to be married, and how many children he is to have. Any noise which cannot be immediately accounted for foretells some misfortune, and the howling of a dog is as sure forerunner of death in a family of Brittany as in England. The noise of the sea, or the whistling of the wind heard in the night, is the lamentation of the spirit of some one who has been drowned, complaining for want of burial.
* * * * *
A dæmon or spirit of some kind, called the Teusarpouliet, often presents himself to the people under the form of a cow, a dog, a cat, or some other domestic animal; nay, he will sometimes in his assumed form do all the work of the house.
* * * * *
Jean gant y Tan, “John and his fire,” is a dæmon who goes about in the night with a candle on each finger, which he keeps constantly turning round very quick. What end this is to answer does not appear; there seems none, but the pleasure of frightening any body who may chance to meet him.
* * * * *
Another nocturnal wanderer is a spectre in white carrying a lantern; he appears at first like a mere child, but as you look at him he increases in size every moment, till he becomes of a gigantic stature, and then disappears. Like the other he seems to have no object in his walks except to frighten people. One of the servants in the house where Miss Plumptre resided very gravely gave her an account of a rencontre which she once had with this gentleman. She had been out on an errand, and returning home over the Place du Peuple she saw a light coming towards her, which she thought at first was somebody with a lantern; but as it came near she perceived the white figure, and it began to increase in size,--so then she knew what it was, and she put her hands before her face, and ran screaming home. Her master, she said, laughed at her for a fool, and said it was her own fancy, because he had never happened to see the spectre; nay, she did not know whether he would believe in it if he did see it; but nobody should persuade her out of her senses; she saw it as plain as ever she saw any thing in her life, and she had never ventured since to go out by herself after dark without a lantern, for the spectre never presents himself before people who carry a light.
* * * * *
The Cariguel Ancou, or “Chariot of death,” is a terrible apparition covered with a white sheet, and driven by skeletons; and the noise of the wheels is always heard in the street passing the door of a house where a person is dying.
* * * * *
The Buguel-nos is a beneficent spirit of a gigantic stature, who wears a long white cloak, and is only to be seen between midnight and two in the morning. He defends the people against the devil by wrapping his cloak round them; and while they are thus protected they hear the infernal chariot whirl by, with a frightful noise, the charioteer making hideous cries and howlings: it may be traced in the air for a long time after, by the stream of light which it leaves behind it.
* * * * *
There are a set of ghostly washerwoman called ar cannerez nos, or “nocturnal singers,” who wash their linen always by night, singing old songs and tales all the time: they solicit the assistance of people passing by to wring the linen; if it be given awkwardly, they break the person’s arm; if it be refused, they pull the refusers into the stream, and drown them.
* * * * *
In the district of Carhaix is a mountain called St. Michael, whither it is believed all dæmons cast out from the bodies of men are banished: if any one sets his foot at night within the circle they inhabit, he begins to run, and will never be able to cease all the rest of the night. Nobody therefore ventures to this mountain after dark.
* * * * *
The Brétons throw pins or small pieces of money into certain wells or springs, for good luck; in others the women dip their children, to render them inaccessible to pain. They watch the graves of their friends for some nights after their interment, lest the devil should seize upon them, and carry them off to his dominions.
* * * * *
In the district of Quimperlé there is a fountain called Krignac: to drink three nights successively of this at midnight is an infallible cure for an intermittent fever; or, if it should not succeed it is a sure sign that the patient’s time is come, and he has nothing to do but quietly wait the stroke of death.
If a person who keeps bees has his hives robbed, he gives them up immediately, because they never can succeed afterwards. This idea arises from an old Bréton proverb, which says, Nesquét a chunche, varlearch ar laër “No luck after the robber.” But why the whole weight of the proverb is made to fall upon the bee-hives, it might be difficult to determine.
In other parts of the country they tie a small piece of black stuff to the bee-hives, in case of a death in the family, and a piece of red in the case of a marriage; without which the bees would never thrive. On the death of any one, they draw from the smoke of the fire an augury whether his soul be gone to the regions of the blessed or the condemned: if the smoke be light and mount rapidly, he is gone to heaven; if it be thick and mount slowly, he is doomed to the regions below. If the left eye of a dead person do not close, his nearest relation is to die very soon.
* * * * *
The Brétons have the legend of St. Guénolé, whose sister had an eye plucked out by a goose; the saint took the eye out of the goose’s entrails, and restored it to its place without its appearing in any way different from what it was before.
They tell you likewise of St. Vincent Ferrier, who, while he was celebrating mass at Vannes, perceived that he had lost his gloves and parapluie; and recollecting that he had left them at Rome went thither to seek them, and returned and finished his mass, without one of his congregation having perceived his absence.
They have also a narrative of a wolf who ate up a poor man’s ass. St. Malo ordered the wolf to perform the functions of the ass, which he continued to do ever after; and though sometimes shut up in the stable with the sheep, never offered to touch them, but contentedly fed on thistles, and such other provender as his predecessor used to have.
* * * * *
A peasant boy in the district of Lesneven was never able to pronounce any other words than O itroun guerhes Mari, “O lady Virgin Mary.” This he was perpetually repeating, and he passed among the country people for an idiot. As he grew up he would live no longer with his parents in their cottage, but slept in the hollow of a tree, and ran about the woods making his usual cry; in the coldest weather he plunged into the water up to his neck, still uttering his usual words, and came up without receiving any injury. After he died, a lily sprang from the spot where he was interred. “A miracle!” was the immediate cry, and a church was built over the grave, dedicated to Notre Dame de Follgoat, “Our lady of the madman of the woods,” where notable miracles were afterwards performed.
* * * * *
Certain ruins near the coast, a little to the south of Brest, are reputed to be those of a palace which belonged to the Courils, a sort of pigmies, who deal in sorceries, are very malicious, and are great dancers. They are often seen by moonlight skipping about consecrated stones or any ancient druidical monument; they seize people by the hand, who cannot help following them in all their movements; and when the spirits have made them dance as long as they please, they trip up their heels, leave them sprawling on the ground, and go laughing away.
* * * * *
There are in more than one place near the western coast stones set up in the same manner as those at Stonehenge. A species of genii, called Gaurics, are supposed to dance among them; and the stones are called, in general, Chior-gaur, or “The giants’ dance.” In one of the places where some of these stones are to be seen, the people of the neighbourhood, if asked what they mean, say that it was a procession to a wedding which was all in a moment changed into stone for some crime, but they do not know what. In another place they are reputed to be the funeral procession of a miser, who received this punishment because in his lifetime he had never given any thing to the poor.
These are only a few out of the innumerable superstitions which prevail throughout Bretagne, but they are sufficient to give a perfect idea of the power which imagination has over the minds of these people.[260]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·30.
[259] See vol. i. col. 935.
[260] Miss Plumptre.
~July 15.~
ST. SWITHIN.
For this saint, and his supposed miraculous power over the weather, see vol. i. p. 953.
* * * * *
On this day in the year 1743 died, “in earnest,” the wife of one Kirkeen, who was twice at Dublin ready to be buried; but came to life to her loving husband’s great disappointment, who fearing the like accident immediately put her into a coffin, had it nailed up, and buried her the next day.
As wrapp’d in death like sleep Xantippe lay, ’Twas thought her soul had gently stole away; Th’ officious husband, with a pious care, Made no delay her funeral pile to rear: Too fast, alas! they move the seeming dead, With heedless steps the hasty bearers tread, And slipping thump the coffin on the ground, Which made the hollow womb of earth resound; The sudden shock unseal’d Xantippe’s eyes, O! whither do you hurry me? she cries; Where is my spouse?--lo! the good man appears, And like an ass hang down his dangling ears; Unwillingly renews his slavish life, To hug the marriage chain, and hated wife. For ten long tedious years he felt her pow’r, At length ’twas ended in a lucky hour; But now the husband, wiser than before, Fearing a fall might former life restore, Cries, “Soft, my friends! let’s walk in solemn measure, Nor make a toil of that which gives us pleasure.”[261]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·60.
[261] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~July 16.~
SILENCE OF THE BIRDS.
Dr. Forster observes, there is one circumstance that will always render the country in July and August less pleasing than in the other summer and spring months, namely, that the birds do not sing. Aves mutae might be regularly entered into the calendar for these two months.
Silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue Talked now unto the echo of the groves. Only the curled streams soft chidings kept; And little gales that from the greene leafe swept Dry summer’s dust, in fearefull whisperings stirred, As loth to waken any singing bird.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·37.
~July 17.~
A PENANCE.
“The Times” of July 17, 1826, says that on Sunday last Isaac Gaskill, bone-setter and farmer, of Bolton-by-the-Sands, did penance for the crime of incest in the parish church of that place. As the punishment is not very common, we subjoin, as a matter of curiosity to some of our readers, the
Form of Penance.
“Whereas, I, good people, forgetting my duty to Almighty God, have committed the detestable sin of incest, by contracting marriage, or rather the show or effigy of marriage, with Mary Ann Taylor, the sister of my late wife, and thereby have justly provoked the heavy wrath of God against me, to the great danger of my own soul, and the evil example of others; I do earnestly repent, and am heartily sorry for the same, desiring Almighty God, for the merits of Jesus Christ, to forgive me both this and all other offences, and also hereafter so to assist me with his Holy Spirit, that I never fall into the like offence again; and for that end and purpose I desire you all here present to pray with me, and for me, saying, ‘Our father,’” &c.--Westmoreland Chronicle.
NINEPENNY MARL.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--There is an ancient game, played by the “shepherds of Salisbury Plain,” and “village rustics” in that part of the country, called “Ninepenny Marl.” Not having read any account of it in print, I hasten to describe it on your historical and curious pages. Decyphering and drawing lines on the sand and ground are of great antiquity; and where education has failed to instruct, nature has supplied amusement. The scheme, which affords the game of “Ninepenny Marl,” is cut in the clay, viz.:--
+-----------+-----------+ |\ | /| | +---------+---------+ | | |\ | /| | | | +-------+-------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-+-+ +-+-+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-------+-------+ | | | |/ | \| | | +---------+---------+ | |/ | \| +-----------+-----------+
or it might be drawn upon the crown of a hat with chalk. In cottages and public houses, it is marked on the side of a pair of bellows, or upon a table, and, in short, any plain surface. “Marl” is played, like cards, by two persons; each person has nine bits of pipe, or stick, so as to distinguish it from those of the opponent. Each puts the pipe or stick upon one of the points or corners of the line, alternately, till they are all filled. There is much caution required in this, or your opponent will avail himself of your error, by placing his man on the very point which it is necessary you should occupy; the chief object being to make a perfect line of three, either way, and also to prevent the other player doing so. Every man that is taken is put into the square till no further move can be made. But if the vanquished be reduced to only three, he can hop and skip into any vacant place, that he may, if possible, even at the last, form a line, which is sometimes done by very wary manœuvres. However simple “Ninepenny Marl” may appear, much skill is required, particularly in the choice of the first places, so as to form the lines as perfectly and quickly as possible. This game, like cards, has its variations. But the above imperfectly described way is that to which I was accustomed when a boy. I have no doubt, Mr. Editor, many of your country readers are not wholly ignorant of the innocent occupation which “Ninepenny Marl” has afforded in the retirement of leisure; and with strong recollections of its attractions,
I am, Sir,
Your obliged correspondent,
*, *, P.
P---- T--, July, 1826.
P. S. “The shepherds of Salisbury Plain” are so proverbially idle, that rather than rise, when asked the road across the plain, they put up one of their legs towards the place, and say, “Theek woy!” (this way)--“Thuck way!” (that way.)
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·17.
~July 18.~
On Friday the eighteenth of July, 1806, the sale of the magnificent collection of natural history and curiosities formed by sir Ashton Lever, was concluded by Messrs. King and Lochee, of King-street, Covent-garden.
* * * * *
It is impossible to give an adequate account of the “Leverian Museum,” but its celebrity throughout Europe seems to require some further notice than a bare mention: a few facts are subjoined to convey an idea of its extent, and of the gratification the lovers of natural history and antiquities must have derived from its contemplation.
The last place wherein the Leverian collection was exhibited, was in a handsome building on the Surrey side of the Thames, near Blackfriars-bridge, consisting of seventeen different apartments, occupying nearly one thousand square yards. In these rooms were assembled the rarest productions in the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, with inimitable works of art, and the various dresses, manufactures, implements of war, &c. of the Indian nations in North and South America, Otaheite, Botany-bay and other foreign parts, collected by the late captain Cook and other navigators.
* * * * *
The preceding engraving represents the rotunda of the museum, from a print published about twenty years before the sale took place. It is an accurate record of the appearance of that part of the edifice, until the auction, which was held on the premises, finally broke up the rare assemblage of objects exhibited. After the sale the premises were occupied for many years by the library, apparatus, and other uses of the Surrey Institution. They are now, in 1826, used for recreation of another kind. On the exterior of the building is inscribed “Rotunda Wine Rooms.” It is resorted to by lovers of “a good glass of wine” and “a cigar,” and there is professional singing and music in “the Rotunda” every Tuesday and Thursday evening.
* * * * *
The last editor of Mr. Pennant’s “London,” in a note on his author’s mention of the Leverian Museum, remarks its dispersion, by observing that “this noble collection, which it is said was offered to the British Museum for a moderate sum, was sold by auction in 1806. The sale lasted thirty-four days. The number of lots, many containing several articles, amounted to four thousand one hundred and ninety-four.”
This statement is somewhat erroneous. An entire copy of the “Catalogue of the Leverian Museum,” which was drawn up by Edward Donavan, Esq. the eminent naturalist, is now before the editor of the Every-Day Book, with the prices annexed. It forms an octavo volume of four hundred and ten pages, and from thence it appears that the sale lasted sixty-five days, instead of thirty-four, and that the lots amounted to 7879, instead of 4194, as stated by Mr. Pennant’s editor.
ORDER OF THE CATALOGUE.
Days. Part I. 5th May to 13th 8 -- II. 14th 22d 8 -- III. 23d 31st 8 -- IV. 2d June to 11th 8 -- V. 12th 20th 8 -- VI. 21st 9th July 17 Addition 10th July to 13th 3 Appendix 14th 18th 5 -- Days 65
Leicester House.
The first exhibition of the Leverian Museum in London, was at “Leicester house,” Leicester-square. “This house was founded,” Mr. Pennant says, “by one of the Sydnies, earls of Leicester. It was for a short time the residence of Elizabeth, daughter of James I., the titular queen of Bohemia, who, on February 13, 1661, here ended her unfortunate life. It was successively the pouting-place of princes. The late king (George II.) when prince of Wales, after he had quarrelled with his father, lived here several years. His son, Frederick, followed his example, succeeded him in his house, and in it finished his days.”
Mr. Pennant then proceeds, more immediately to our purpose, to observe, “No one is ignorant of the magnificent and instructive museum, exhibited in this house by the late sir Ashton Lever. It was the most astonishing collection of the subjects of natural history ever collected, in so short a space, by any individual. To the disgrace of our kingdom, after the first burst of wonder was over, it became neglected; and when it was offered to the public, by the chance of a guinea lottery, only eight thousand out of thirty-six thousand tickets were sold. Finally, the capricious goddess frowned on the spirited proprietor of such a number of tickets, and transferred the treasure to the possessor of only two, Mr. Parkinson.” Further on, Mr. Pennant says, “I must not omit reminding the reader, that the celebrated museum collected by the late sir Ashton Lever, is transported to the southern end of Blackfriars-bridge by Mr. Parkinson, whom fortune favoured with it in the Leverian lottery. That gentleman built a place expressly for its reception, and disposed the rooms with so much judgment, as to give a most advantageous view of the innumerable curiosities. The spirit of the late worthy owner seems to have been transfused into the present. He spares no pains or expense to augment a collection, before equally elegant and instructive.”
* * * * *
Mr. Pennant, in his “History of Quadrupeds,” likewise makes mention of the Leverian Museum, as “a liberal fund of inexhaustible knowledge in most branches of natural history,” and he especially names “the matchless collection of animals” there exhibited, to which he had recourse while correcting the descriptions for the last edition of his work.
We have gathered from Mr. Pennant, that the Leverian Museum was disposed of by lottery, and his own opinion, as a naturalist, of its merit. The evidence whereon the committee of the house of commons founded its report in behalf of the bill, which afterwards passed and enabled sir Ashton Lever to dispose of his museum in that manner, amply testifies the opinion conceived of it by individuals fully qualified to decide on its importance.
Mr. Tennant who had been upwards of twenty years a collector of subjects of natural history, and had seen all the cabinets of curiosities, both public and private, of any note in Holland, France, and Portugal, and those at Brussels, Dresden, Brunswick, and Vienna, and had also seen the Spanish cabinet while collecting in Holland, said, that he had never seen any collection more rare, more curious, or more instructive than sir Ashton Lever’s, nor any that could be compared with it; that it exceeded all others in the beauty and preservation of the numerous articles it contained, which were better selected than any he had seen elsewhere; and that it contained many specimens that could not be procured at any expense.
Sir William Hamilton gave similar testimony. Having a particular love for natural history, in different journeys to and from Naples, where he was ambassador from Great Britain, he had seen every public and private museum in Holland, France, Germany, Italy, and Sicily, and he thought sir Ashton Lever’s collection was in every respect the finest.
Baron Dimsdale said he had seen the cabinets of curiosities at Moscow and St. Petersburgh, and also those at Paris and Dresden, which are esteemed very curious and valuable, and that they were not, all together, to be compared with sir Ashton Lever’s museum.
* * * * *
After such distinguished and unquestionable testimonials respecting this collection, it would be trifling to adduce a poem in proof that it merited praise; but as a curiosity, which, on account of the youth of its author, sir Ashton Lever himself must have deemed a “curiosity,” the following may be perused with interest.
VERSES,
ADDRESSED TO SIR ASHTON LEVER, BY A LITTLE BOY OF TEN YEARS OLD ON BEING FAVOURED WITH A SIGHT OF HIS MUSEUM.
November 6, 1778.
If I had Virgil’s judgment, Homer’s fire, And could with equal rapture strike the lyre, Could drink as largely of the muse’s spring, Then would I of sir Ashton’s merits sing. Look here, look there, above, beneath, around, Sure great Apollo consecrates the ground. Here stands a tiger, mighty in his strength, There crocodiles extend their scaly length: Subtile, voracious to devour their food, Savage they look, and seem to pant for blood. Here shells and fish, and finny dolphins seen, Display their various colours blue and green. View there an urn which Roman ashes bore, And habits once that foreign nations wore. Birds and wild beasts from Afric’s burning sand, And curious fossils rang’d in order stand. Now turn your eyes from them, and quick survey, Spars, diamonds, crystals, dart a golden ray View apes in different attitudes appear, With horns of bucks, and goats, and shamois deer. Next various kinds of monsters meet the eye; Dreadful they seem, grim-looking as they lie. What man is he that does not view with awe The river-horse that gives the Tigris law? Dauntless he looks, and, eager to engage, Lashes his sides, and burns with steady rage. View where an elephant’s broad bulk appears, And o’er his head his hollow trunk he rears: He seems to roar, impatient for the fight, And stands collected in his utmost might. Some I have sung, much more my muse could name; A nobler muse requires sir Ashton’s fame. I’ve gained my end, if you, good sir, receive This feeble present, which I freely give. Your well-known worth, to distant nations told, Amongst the sons of Fame shall be enroll’d.
T. P.[262]
Kennington, Nov. 8, 1778.
It seems appropriate and desirable to give the above representation of Mr. Parkinson’s ticket, for there are few who retain the original. Besides--the design is good, and as an engraving it is an ornament.
And--as a memorial of the method adopted by sir Ashton Lever to obtain attention to the means by which he hoped to reimburse himself for his prodigious outlay, and also to enable the public to view the grand prize which the adventure of a guinea might gain, one of his advertisements is annexed from a newspaper of January 28, 1785.
SIR ASHTON LEVER’s Lottery Tickets are now on sale at Leicester-house, every day (Sundays excepted) from Nine in the morning till Six in the evening, at One Guinea each; and as each ticket will admit four persons, either together or separately, to view the Museum, no one will hereafter be admitted but by the Lottery Tickets, excepting those who have already annual admission.
This collection is allowed to be infinitely superior to any of the kind in Europe. The very large sum expended in making it, is the cause of its being thus to be disposed of, and not from the deficiency of the daily receipts (as is generally imagined) which have annually increased, the average amount for the last three years being 1833_l._ per annum.
The hours of admission are from Eleven till Four.
Good fires in all the galleries.
* * * * *
The first notice of the Leverian Museum is in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for May, 1773, by a person who had seen it at Alkerington, near Manchester, when it was first formed. Though many specimens of natural history are mentioned, the collection had evidently not attained its maturity. It appears at that time to have amounted to no more than “upwards of one thousand three hundred glass cases, containing curious subjects, placed in three rooms, besides four sides of rooms shelved from top to bottom, with glass doors before them.” The works of art particularized by the writer in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” are “a head of his present majesty, cut in cannil coal, said to be a striking likeness; indeed the workmanship is inimitable--also a drawing in Indian ink of a head of a late duke of Bridgewater, valued at one hundred guineas--a few pictures of birds in straw, very natural, by Miss Gregg; a basket of flowers, cut in paper, a most masterly performance; the flowers are justly represented, not the least dot of the apices of the stamina wanting, or the least fault in the proportion; every part is so truly observed, that it was new to me every time I went to see it, and gave me great delight. This curious basket of flowers was executed by Mrs. Groves. There are a great number of antique dresses and parts of dresses of our own and other nations--near two hundred species of warlike instruments, ancient and modern; but as I am no friend to fighting, of these I took no further notice, or else I might have mentioned the tomahawk, the scalping-knife, and many more such desperate diabolical instruments of destruction, invented, no doubt, by the devil himself.”
* * * * *
Down in the Potteries it’s “a sight,” The whole day long, from morn till night, To see the girls, and women grown, The child, the damsel, and old crone By the well-sides at work, or singing, While waiting for the water’s springing; Telling what Francis Moore presages, Or who did not bring home his wages. P’rhaps one exclaims, “time runs away!” Her neighbour cries, “Why, what’s to-day?” And, when she knows, feigns mighty sorrow-- She thought to-day would be to-morrow? Another thinks another’s daughter Grows monstrous tall----“Halloo! the water!” Up it rises, and they skurry, In a skimble skamble hurry, Shouting and bawling “Where’s the pot?” “Why I was first”--“No, you were not.”-- As quick as thought they empt’ the well, And the last comers take a spell, At waiting, while the others go, With their full pitchers, dawdling so, You’d think they’d nothing else to do But to keep looking round at you. However, all are honest creatures, And some have pretty shapes and features: So, if there be an end of lotteries, You may find prizes in the Potteries.
*
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·52.
[262] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~July 19.~
K. George IV. crowned.
Holiday at all the public offices.
“THE GLORY OF REGALITY.”
This is the title of “A Historical Treatise on the Anointing and Crowning of the Kings and Queens of England, by Arthur Taylor, Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries. London: 1820.” 8vo. pp. 440.
The present notice is designed to acquaint inquirers with the most important and satisfactory work regarding our regal ceremonies that exists. Mr. Taylor’s volume is a storehouse of information concerning the kingly title and office, the regalia, the assistants at the coronation, the tenants of the crown by grand sergeantry performing services, the ceremonial, the processions, and the feast. That part of the book entitled a “Chronicle of the Coronations,” is full of singular details. The “History of the Coronation Oath” is remarkably curious and interesting. There is likewise an appendix of important documents and records, a valuable index, and, according to a good old custom, which modern authors find it convenient to neglect, the reader is referred to every source of information on the subjects treated of, by a list of upwards of two hundred and thirty works resorted to, and quoted by Mr. Taylor, in the course of his labours. Few writers of the present day have achieved a monument of so much diligence as this work.--The trifling sum at which it was published can scarcely have remunerated its erudite author, beyond the expense of the paper and print and wood engravings.
Mr. Arthur Taylor is in the foremost rank of learned typographers; and, better for himself in a pecuniary view, he is printer to the corporation of London, to which office he was elected while travelling in Italy, after the publication of his “Glory of Regality.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·87.
~July 20.~
ST. MARGARET.
This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs.
Butler speaks of her merely as a virgin, who is “said” to have been instructed in the faith by a christian nurse, and persecuted by her father, who was a pagan priest; that after being tormented, she was martyred by the sword “in the last general persecution;” that “her name occurs in the litany inserted in the old Roman order,” and in ancient Greek calendars; that, from the east, her veneration was exceedingly propagated in England, France, and Germany during the holy wars; that “Vida, the glory of the christian muses,” honoured her as “one of the titular saints of Cremona, his native city, with two hymns, begging of God through her prayers” a happy death and a holy life; and that “her body is now kept at Monte Fiascone, in Tuscany.”
The Egyptians are not more famous for embalming, than the Romish church is celebrated for the keeping of saints’ bodies--with the additional reputation of a peculiar tact at discovering them. It was not at all uncommon to distinguish their bones, from other mortuary remains, a few centuries after death.
We are told that St. Margaret received the crown of martyrdom in the year 278,[263] therefore her body, “now kept at Monte Fiascone,” may be regarded to have been as well “kept” through one thousand five hundred years, as those of other saints; for it must be observed that none but saints’ bodies “keep.” There is not an instance of the body of any lay individual, however virtuous or illustrious, having remained to us through fifteen centuries.
* * * * *
The illustrious father of the order of the Jesuits, Peter Ribadeneira, rather confusedly relates that St. Margaret was devoured by the devil; and “in an other place it is sayd that he swalowed her into his bely,” and that while in his inside she made the sign of the cross, and she “yssued out all hole and sounde,” though it is added that this account “is apocrifum.” We are told that a devil appeared to her in the likeness of a man, but she caught him by the head, threw him down, set her right foot on his neck, and said, “Lye still thou fende, under the fote of a woman.” In that situation the devil admitted he was vanquished, and declared he would not have cared if a young man had conquered him, but he was very vexed to have been overcome by a young woman. St. Margaret asked him what he was, and he answered that his name was Veltis, that he was one of a multitude of devils who had been enclosed in a brass vessel by Solomon, and that after Solomon’s death this vessel was broken at Babylon by persons who supposed it contained a treasure, when all the devils flew out and took to the air, where they were incessantly espying how to “assayle ryghtfull men.” Then she took her foot from his neck, and said to him, “Flee hens thou wretched fende,” and behold “the earth opened and the fende sanke in.”[264]
However “right comfortable” this relation may be, there is more “delection” in that of St. Margaret being swallowed by the devil; it is a pity it is “apocrifum.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·25.
[263] Mr. Audley.
[264] Golden Legend.
~July 21.~
ST. VICTOR OF MARSEILLES.
We are informed by Butler that this saint was a martyr under the emperor Maximian. From his silence as to the saint’s life, it is to be inferred that biographers of saints were rare, while, from his elaborate account of the saint’s death, it is to be inferred that their martyrdoms were attended by able reporters.
The abbey of St. Victor at Marseilles was one of the most celebrated religious foundations in Europe. It claimed to have been the first monastery established in France. Its ruins are striking objects of curiosity to visiters of the town.
* * * * *
St. Victor’s monastery was founded by St. Cassien, patriarch of Constantinople, in the fourth or fifth century. The spot was fixed upon by St. Cassien for his new foundation, from the ground being already considered as sacred by the Marseillais, for we are assured that Mary Magdalen and her brother Lazarus arrived in Provence with a cargo of saints, fixed their residence at Marseilles, and converted a great number of the inhabitants; and that Mary Magdalen after remaining there some time, desirous of being more secluded, withdrew to a grotto in the rock on which the abbey of St. Victor now stands. Still, pressed by crowds, she removed a league from Marseilles to the quarter of Aygalades, where afterwards was founded a monastery of the Carmes. Even here she could not find seclusion, and she finally fixed her retreat at the Sainte Beaume, a grotto in the mountain of St. Pilon, in a more remote part of the country where she ended her days.
On the spot sanctified by her first retreat, a chapel was erected and dedicated to the Holy Virgin under the title of “Nôtre Dame de la Confession.” A little confusion seems here to have been made between Mary Magdalen, in remembrance of whom the spot was considered as sacred, and the virgin mother; for after the monastery was built, a chapel in it was dedicated to the Virgin Mary, while little notice was taken of Mary the penitent.
The monastery of St. Cassien many years after the body of the celebrated St. Victor was interred there, was called the monastery of St. Victor. His foot was said to have been cut off by order of Maximian, for having kicked down a statue of Jupiter when required to sacrifice to it; this foot has been a relic in high esteem ever since. Afterwards his head was cut off, and the head became another relic of very high value. Various miracles are reported to have been wrought at his tomb, particularly in the cure of demoniacs.
It is also related that the tomb of the emperor Maximian, who died and was interred at Marseilles, was discovered about the middle of the eleventh century, and recognised to be his by an inscription. The body was in a leaden coffin, and found entire, having been preserved by an odoriferous liquor with which it was anointed without, and filled within. Two chalices of gold, full of the same liquor, were placed on each side of the head. As a persecutor of the christian church, his body was by order of Raimbaud, archbishop of Aries, thrown into the sea; and it is alleged that for some time after the water of the spot where it was thrown bubbled furiously, as if boiling over a fire, and cast up smoke and flames from the bosom of the deep.
* * * * *
There is a tradition respecting St. Victor in the archives of the abbey, that a dragon of the wood adjoining devoured every thing that came in his way, human beings as well as animals; whereupon St. Victor went forth to fight him, armed cap-à-piè, and mounted on a mettled courser, and that he slew him and freed the country from so terrible a scourge. An effigy of the saint, engaged with his fearful antagonist, was carved in stone, and placed over the porch of the great church: and the same device was adopted as the great seal of the monastery. The carving over the church porch remains to this day, though somewhat defaced: it is the exact counterpart of the English St. George and the dragon. Underneath is inscribed
Massiliam vere. (VICTOR) civesque tuere.
* * * * *
On the St. Victor’s day, which is the twenty-first of July, there were formerly held at Marseilles a festival and procession in honour of him, called “La Triomphale.” The relics of the saint were carried round the town by the prior of the monastery, attended by the whole community. At the head of the procession marched a cavalier in complete armour, highly ornamented, carrying a lance in one hand, and in the other the standard of the abbey, on which were the arms richly embroidered; he wore a rich scarf, and his horse had a housing of white damask, ornamented with blue crosses. This cavalier was intended to represent St. Victor. He was preceded by twelve cavaliers carrying lighted tapers, and accompanied by a band of music with drums and trumpets. Six pages followed him. As soon as the people heard the music, and saw the standard, they flocked in crowds to join the procession. As it passed along the quay of the port, all the vessels hoisted their colours, and saluted it with a discharge of cannon and musquetry; and the consuls, with the rest of the magistrates, met it at an appointed place, to pay their homage to the saint, and attend him back to the abbey.
This ceremony had been observed every year from time immemorial, till monsieur de Belsunce, the bishop of Marseilles, who distinguished himself so much in the great plague of 1720, prevailed upon the magistrates to consent to the abolition of it, for the following reason. He was about to publish a biography of the bishops, his predecessors, from the first conversion of the town to the christian faith, among whom it was necessary to include St. Victor; and not wishing him to appear otherwise than a christian bishop and martyr, he thought he would not be considered in these lights only, while the people were accustomed to see him every year in a character directly opposite; so that no way appeared of making the impression he desired, except by abolishing the annual ceremony. Until then the relics of St. Victor, who was esteemed the patron saint of Marseilles were always borne in the procession. They were likewise carried in procession at the time of any public calamity; but on these occasions the armed cavalier did not make his appearance.
* * * * *
The grotto, which for a short time had been the residence of Mary Magdalen, was, on the foundation of the monastery converted into a chapel, and a tomb erected to her memory. It was said that no woman could enter this chapel without being immediately struck blind; and for some centuries no female attempted to penetrate the sanctity of the place, till the celebrated queen Joan insisted on admission, when it is said she had sooner passed the portal than she was deprived of her sight. It was afterwards restored, on her putting a balustrade of solid silver round the image of the virgin. This image has been preserved, and a place has been allotted her in the church; but one of the remarkable effects of the French revolution is, that a woman can now look at it without experiencing the least inconvenience.
On the tomb of the Magdalen, which was of white marble, were many curious figures carved in relief--among others a wolf suckling two children; and in the inferior church were seven very fine marble columns of the Corinthian order. These are supposed to have been some of the many spoils of the Pagan temples, which the monks of St. Victor are known to have appropriated to their own use.
It was formerly a popular belief, that in this place were deposited the bodies of seven brothers who were not dead, but lay there to sleep till the general resurrection. What became of them at the demolition of the abbey does not appear.
* * * * *
Among the curiosities of the abbey of St. Victor was a well, with a small column of granite on each side of it. On one of the columns was a figure which was called the impression of the devil’s claw; and the story concerning it was, that the old gentleman, being envious of the superior sanctity of the holy fathers, stole one day into the monastery with a malicious intention to corrupt them. What form he assumed is not stated by the record, but he was soon discovered, and obliged to make his escape; in doing which he stepped over these two columns, and left the impression of his claw upon one of them. The truth was, that the columns were ancient ones, and the devil’s claw the remains of an acanthus’ leaf.
* * * * *
The abbey of St. Victor was secularized under Louis XV. Formerly none but natives of Marseilles could be members of the community, and the city had the right of placing in it, a certain number of youth for education free of expense. These valuable privileges were surrendered, and the canons were in future only to be chosen from among such families of Provence, as could produce a title of a hundred and fifty years’ nobility on the paternal side. From that time the foundation assumed the title of “the noble and illustrious collegiate church of St. Victor.”
In a few years afterwards, the new canons, being all nobles, petitioned the king for a badge to distinguish them from the other chapters of the province; and they obtained permission to wear a cross, or rather a star of enamel, similar to that worn by the knights of Malta, slung round the neck with a deep red ribband. In the centre of the cross was represented on one side the figure of St. Victor with the dragon, and round it “Divi Victoris Massiliensis,” and on the other, the great church of the abbey, with the words “Monumentis et nobilitate insignis.”
The luxury and libertinism of the new canons were matter of notoriety and scandal, and in the great overthrow of the sceptre and priesthood, the abbey of St. Victor became one of the first objects of popular vengeance. So complete was the demolition of many parts of the buildings, that even the very stones were carried away; but in the greater part fragments of the walls are still left standing. Among the ruins are many fragments of carved work, which the monks had appropriated to the decoration of their monastery. The most beautiful of these remains were deposited in the Lyceum at Marseilles.[265]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·87.
[265] Miss Plumptre.
~July 22.~
MAGDALENE.
This name is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs.
The character of Magdalen is ably vindicated from the common and vulgar imputation by the illustrious Lardner, in a letter to the late Jonas Hanway, wherein he urges on the eminent philanthropist, the manifest impropriety of calling a receptacle for female penitents by the name of Magdalen.
St. Mary Magdalen.
Sainte Beaume near Marseilles is a vast cavity in a mountain, thence called the mountain of the Sainte Beaume. Here Mary Magdalen has been reputed to have secluded herself during the latter years of her life, and to have died. The spot is considered as holy ground; and in former times the pilgrimages undertaken to it from very distant parts, occasioned the cavern to be converted into a chapel dedicated to the Magdalen. About the end of the thirteenth century, a convent of Dominican friars was built close to the cavern, and the chapel was from that time served by the monks of the convent. Afterwards an hospice, or inn, for the accommodation of pilgrims, and travellers, was added, and in this state it remained till the revolution.
* * * * *
Miss Plumptre describes an interesting visit to Sainte Beaume:--
From Nans we soon began to ascend the lesser mountains, which form the base of the principal one, and, after pursuing a winding path for a considerable distance, came to a plain called the Plan d’Aulps, at the foot of the great mountain. The whole side of this latter is covered with wood, except an interval in one spot, which presents to the eye an enormous rock, almost perpendicular. As this opened upon us in crossing the plain, monsieur B----, who was acquainted with the spot, said, “Now you can see the convent.” We looked around, but saw no signs of a habitation: “No,” said he, “you must not look round, you must look upwards against the rock.” We did so, and to our utter astonishment descried it about halfway up this tremendous precipice; appearing, when beheld in this point of view, as if it had no foundation, but was suspended against the rock, like any thing hung upon a nail or peg. The sensation excited by the idea of a human habitation in such a place was very singular; it was a mixture of astonishment mingled with awe, and an involuntary shuddering, at the situation of persons living in a spot which had the appearance of being wholly inaccessible: it seemed as if the house could have been built only by magic, and that by magic alone the inhabitants could have been transported into it.
Having crossed the plain, we entered the wood through which the pathway that leads up to the grotto and the convent winds. A more complete or sublime scene of solitude can scarcely be conceived. Though great numbers of the trees were cut down during the revolution, sufficient still remain to form a thick shade.
On arriving at the convent, we found that the appearance we had observed from below, was a deception occasioned by the distance; that it was built on a narrow esplanade on the rock, which just afforded room for the building and a walk before it, guarded on the side of the precipice by a parapet. It was indeed a formidable sight to look over this upon the precipice below. Both the convent and the inn were pillaged in the revolution, and little more than their shells remain.
The grotto is a fine specimen of the wild features of nature. The roof is a natural vault, and the silence of the place is only interrupted by the dripping of water from the roof at the further end, into a basin formed by the rock, which receives it below. This water is remarkably clear and limpid, and is warm in winter, but very cold in summer. It is considered of great efficacy in the cure of diseases, from the miraculous powers with which it is endowed through the sanctity of the place. The cures it performs are confined, therefore, to those who have faith enough to rely upon its efficacy. The great altar of the chapel was very magnificent, all of marble, enclosed within an iron balustrade. The iron is gone, but most of the marble remains, though much broken and scattered about; and what appeared remarkable was that a great many fleurs-de-lys in mosaic, with which the altar was decorated, were left untouched. Behind the altar is a figure in marble of the Magdalen, in a recumbent posture, with her head resting upon her right hand.
* * * * *
Another point of the mountain, directly above the grotto of the Sainte Beaume, is called St. Pilon: it is nearly six hundred feet higher than the esplanade on which the convent stands, and between two-thirds and three-quarters of an English mile perpendicular height above the level of the sea. It is said, that while the Magdalen was performing her penitence in the grotto, she was constantly carried up to St. Pilon by angels seven times a day to pray; and in aftertimes a chapel in form of a rotunda was erected there in commemoration of this circumstance; but this is now destroyed. Very small models of it in bone, containing a chaplet and crucifix, used to be made at the convent, which were purchased by visiters.
* * * * *
Among the illustrious visiters to Sainte Beaume, were Francis I., with his mother, the queen his first wife, and the duchess of Alençon his sister. In commemoration of this visit, which was in 1516, a statue of Francis was erected in the grotto: it remained there nearly to the time of the revolution. In 1517, the duchess of Mantua, accompanied by a numerous train of attendants, made a pilgrimage thither, as she was passing through Provence; sixteen years afterwards it was visited by Eleanor of Austria, second wife to Francis, with the dauphin and the dukes of Orleans and Angoulême. In 1660 it was honoured with the presence of Louis XIV., his mother, the duke of Anjou, and the numerous train by whom they were attended in their progress through the south.
Since this period it does not appear that any persons of note visited the shrine from devotional motives; but it has always been a great object of the devotion of the Provençeaux, particularly of the lower class. It was often made a part of the marriage contract among them, that the husband should accompany the wife in a pilgrimage thither, within the first year after they were married; but even if no express stipulation was made, the husband who did not do so was thought to have failed very much in the attention and regard due to his wife. Whitsun week was the usual time for making these visits, and all the avenues to the grotto were at this time thronged with company, as if it had been a fair. All the way from Nans to the grotto are little oratories by the road side at certain distances, in which there used to be pictures of the Magdalen’s history.
* * * * *
Among the most illustrious guests the grotto ever received, must be reckoned Petrarch. He went at the solicitation of Humbert, dauphin of the Viennois, and of cardinal Colonna, very much against his own inclination. In a letter which he wrote thirty-four years afterwards to his intimate friend Philip of Cabassole, bishop of Cavaillon, he says, “We passed three days and three nights in this holy and horrible cavern. Wearied with the society of persons whom I had accompanied spite of myself, I often wandered alone into the neighbouring forest. I had even recourse to my usual remedy for chasing the ennui which arises from being in company not perfectly agreeable to me. My imagination at such moments recurs to my absent friends, and represents them as if present with me: though my acquaintance with you was not then of long standing, yet you came to my assistance; I fancied that you were seated by me in the grotto, and invited me to write some verses in honour of the holy penitent, towards whom you had always a particular devotion; when I immediately obeyed, and wrote such as first occurred.” The verses are little more than a poetical description of the place.
* * * * *
A carmelite friar of the seventeenth century, whose name was Jean Louis Barthelemi, but who always called himself Pierre de St. Louis, determined to amuse his solitary hours with writing a poem upon some illustrious saint. He hesitated awhile between Elias, whom he considered as the founder of his order, and Mary Magdalen, a female with whom he had been enamoured before his retirement. Love at length decided the question, and he composed a poem in twelve books, which he entitled, “The Magdalenéïde, or Mary Magdalen at the Desert of the Sainte Beaume in Provence, a Spiritual and Christian Poem.” This work cost five years of close application, and came forth one of the most whimsical effusions that ever flowed from the pen of pious extravagance. Some idea of it may be collected from a few extracts literally translated.
Having treated at large of the Magdalen’s irregular conduct in the early part of her life, and of her subsequent conversion, he says, “But God at length changed this coal into a ruby, this crow into a dove, this wolf into a sheep, this hell into a heaven, this nothing into something, this thistle into a lily, this thorn into a rose, this sin into grace, this impotence into power, this vice into virtue, this caldron into a mirror.” Again, speaking of the thirty years which she is reputed to have passed in the grotto and the woods adjoining, deploring the sins of her youth, he says, “The woods might make her pass for a Hamadryad, her tears might make her to be thought a Naiad;--come then, ye curious, and you may behold an aquatic nymph in the midst of a forest.” And again, in a panegyric upon her penitence, is the following very extraordinary passage: “While she occupies herself in expatiating the offences of her preterite time, which was but imperfect, the future is destined to repair the loss;--the present is such that it is indicative of a love which mounts to the infinitive, and in a degree always superlative, turning against herself the accusative.” The poet concludes his work by saying, “If you desire grace and sweetness in verses, in mine will you find them; and if you seek ingenious thoughts, you will find that the points of these are not blunted.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·47.
~July 23.~
LONGEVITY.
Died, at Elderslie, on the twenty-third of July, 1826, Hugh Shaw, at the great age of 113 years. Till within the previous eighteen months he walked every Saturday to Paisley, and returned, a distance of seven miles. While able to go about, he had no other means of support than what he collected by begging from door to door. After his confinement to the house, he was supported by private bounty. Previous to the last three weeks of his life, he was able to leave his bed every day. Latterly he was blind and deaf. He is said to have left strict charges that, as he had never received parish relief, he should be buried without its aid, even if he were interred without a coffin. His funeral was attended by a number of respectable inhabitants of Paisley, and by a party of the forty-second regiment, wherein he had served.[266]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·25.
[266] Scotch paper.
~July 24.~
REMARKABLE EARTHQUAKE.
The following communication was received too late for insertion on the fifteenth of the month, under which day the reader will be pleased to consider it to belong.
For the Every-Day Book.
JULY 15.
On the fifteenth of July, 1757, a violent shock of an earthquake was felt on the western part of Cornwall. Its operations extended from the islands of Scilly, as far east as Leskeard, and as far as Camelford north. The noise exceeded that of thunder; the tremours of the earth were heard and seen in different mines, particularly the following:--In Carnoth Adit in St. Just, the shock was felt eighteen fathoms deep; and in Boseadzhil Downs mine, thirty fathoms. At Huel-rith mine in the parish of Lelant, the earth moved under the miners, quick, and with a trembling motion. In Herland mine, in the parish of Gwinear, the noise was heard sixty fathoms deep. In Chace-water mine, near Redruth, at seventy fathoms deep, a dull and rumbling sound. The effect on the miners may easily be conceived; they are generally a very superstitious race of men.[267]
Cornish Hurling.
“Hurling matches” are peculiar to Cornwall. They are trials of skill between two parties, consisting of a considerable number of men, forty to sixty aside, and often between two parishes. These exercises have their name from “hurling” a wooden ball, about three inches diameter, covered with a plate of silver, which is sometimes gilt, and has commonly a motto--“Fair play is good play.” The success depends on catching the ball dexterously when thrown up, or dealt, and carrying it off expeditiously, in spite of all opposition from the adverse party; or, if that be impossible, throwing it into the hands of a partner, who, in his turn, exerts his efforts to convey it to his own goal, which is often three or four miles’ distance. This sport therefore requires a nimble hand, a quick eye, a swift foot, and skill in wrestling; as well as strength, good wind, and lungs. Formerly it was practised annually by those who attended corporate bodies in surveying the bounds of parishes; but from the many accidents that usually attended that game, it is now scarcely ever practised. Silver prizes used to be awarded to the victor in the games.
Cornish Wrestling and the Hug.
The mode of wrestling in Cornwall is very different from that of Devonshire, the former is famous in the “hug,” the latter in kicking shins. No kicks are allowed in Cornwall, unless the players who are in the ring mutually agree to it. A hat is thrown in as a challenge, which being accepted by another, the combatants strip and put on a coarse loose kind of jacket, of which they take hold, and of nothing else: the play then commences. To constitute a fair fall, both shoulders must touch the ground, at, or nearly, the same moment. To guard against foul play, to decide on the falls, and manage the affairs of the day, four or six sticklers (as the umpires are called) are chosen, to whom all these matters are left.
In the “Cornish hug,” Mr. Polwhele perceived the Greek palæstral attitudes finely revived; two Cornishmen in the act of wrestling, bear a close resemblance to the figures on old gems and coins.
The athletic exercise of wrestling thrives in the eastern part of Cornwall, particularly about Saint Austle and Saint Columb. At the latter place resides Polkinhorne, the champion of Cornwall, and by many considered to be entitled to the championship of the four western counties. He keeps a respectable inn there, is a very good-looking, thick-set man--still he does not look the man he is--“he has that within him that surpasses show.” A contest between him and Cann, the Devonshire champion, was expected to take place in the course of this summer; much “chaffing” passed between them for some time in the country papers, but it appears to be “no go;” no fault of the Cornish hero, “who was eager for the fray”--the Devonshire lad showed the “white feather” it is acknowledged by all. Polkinhorne has not practised wrestling for several years past; while Cann has carried off the prize at every place in Devon that he “showed” at. They certainly are both “good ones.” Parkins, a friend of the Cornish hero, is a famous hand at these games; and so was James Warren, of Redruth, till disabled in February, 1825, by over exertion on board the Cambria brig, bound for Mexico--the vessel that saved the crew and passengers of the Kent East Indiaman. He has been in a very ill state of health ever since; the East India Company and others have voted him remuneration, and many of the sufferers have acknowledged their debt of gratitude to him for saving their lives.
With a view of maintaining the superiority in amusements in which the Cornish delight, John Knill, Esq. of great eminence at St. Ives, bequeathed the income of an estate to trustees, that the same might be distributed in a variety of prizes, to those who should excel in racing, rowing, and wrestling. These games he directed should be held every fifth year for ever, around a mausoleum which he erected in 1782, on a high rock near the town of St. Ives.
The first celebration took place in July, 1801, when, according to the will of the founder, a band of virgins, all dressed in white, with four matrons, and a company of musicians, commenced the ceremony by walking in pairs to the summit of the hill, where they danced, and chanted a hymn composed for the purpose round the mausoleum, in imitation of druids around the cromlechs of the departed brave. Ten guineas were expended in a dinner at the town, of which six of the principal inhabitants partook. Some idea of the joyous scene may be conceived by reading an account of an eye-witness.
“Early in the morning the roads from Helston, Truro, and Penzance were lined with horses and vehicles of every description, while thousands of travellers on foot poured in from all quarters till noon, when the assembly formed. The wrestlers entered the ring; the troop of virgins, dressed in white, advanced with solemn step to the notes of harmony; the spectators ranged themselves along the hills; at length the mayor of St. Ives appeared in his robes of state. The signal was given; the flags were displayed in waving splendour from the towers of the castle; the sight was grand. Here the wrestlers exerted their sinewy strength; there the rowers in their various dresses of blue, white, and red, urged the gilded prows of their boats through the sparkling waves--the dashing of oars--the songs of the virgins--all joined to enliven the picture. The ladies and gentlemen of Penzance returned to an elegant dinner at the Union hotel, and a splendid ball concluded the evening entertainments.”
These games were again celebrated in 1806, 1811, 1816, and 1821, with increased fervour and renewed admiration.
The following chorus was sung by the virgins:--
Quit the bustle of the bay, Hasten, virgins, come away; Hasten to the mountain’s brow Leave, oh! leave St. Ives below; Haste to breathe a purer air, Virgins fair, and pure as fair. Quit St. Ives and all her treasures, Fly her soft voluptuous pleasures; Fly her sons, and all the wiles Lurking in their wanton smiles Fly her splendid midnight-halls, Fly the revels of her balls; Fly, oh! fly the chosen seat, Where vanity and fashion meet. Hither hasten; form the ring, Round the tomb in chorus sing, And on the loft mountain’s brow, aptly dight, Just as we should be--all in white, Leave all our baskets and our cares below.
The celebration of the foregoing game falls in this year, 1826. Should any thing particular transpire more than the foregoing, you shall hear from
SAM SAM’S SON.
July 20, 1826.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·70.
[267] Friday, July 15, 1757, about seven in the evening, a smart shock of an earthquake was felt at Falmouth, attended with great noise, which almost every one heard, and saw the windows and things in the houses in motion. As the shock did not last above half a minute, the people were not sensible what it was till afterwards. It was thought to come from the south-west and to go eastward.--Gentleman’s Magazine.
~July 25.~
ST. JAMES.
This name in the calendar refers to St. James the Great, who was so called “either because he was much older than the other James, or because our Lord conferred upon him some peculiar honours and favours.”[268] He was put to death under Herod.
“THE DEATH FETCH.”
A new piece under the title of “The Death Fetch, or the Student of Gottingen,” was brought out on this day in 1826, at the English Opera-house, in the Strand. The following notice of its derivation, with remarks on the tendency of the representation, appeared in the “Times” the next morning:--“It is a dramatic resurrection of the story of ‘The Fetches,’ which is to be found in the ‘Tales of the O’Hara Family,’ and has been introduced to the stage by Mr. Benham, the author of those tales. Considering that it is exceedingly difficult, through the medium of a dramatic entertainment, to impress the minds of an audience with those supernatural imaginings, which each individual may indulge in while reading a volume of the mysterious and wonderful, we think Mr. Benham has manifested considerable adroitness in adapting his novel to the stage. We think, at the same time, that his abilities might have been much better employed. The perpetuation of the idea of such absurd phantasies as fetches and fairies--witches and wizards--is not merely ridiculous, but it is mischievous. There was scarcely a child (and we observed many present) who last night witnessed the ‘fetch’ or double of the Gottingen student and his mistress, and who recollects the wild glare of Miss Kelly’s eye, (fatuity itself, much less childhood, would have marked it,) that will not tremble and shudder when the servant withdraws the light from the resting-place of the infant. Such scenes cannot be useful to youth; and, leaving the skill of the actor out of the question, we know not how they can give pleasure to age. This theatre was ostensibly instituted as a sort of stay and support to legitimate ‘English opera;’ and we feel convinced that one well-written English opera, upon the model of the old schooll--that school so well described by general Burgoyne, in his preface to his own excellent work, ‘The Lord of the Manor,’ would do more credit to the proprietor of this theatre, and bring more money to his treasury, than ‘a wilderness of Frankensteins and Fetches.’”
* * * * *
Rightly ordered minds will assent to the observations in the “Times.” Every correct thinker, too, is aware that from causes very easily to be discovered, but not necessary to trace, the “regular houses” must adopt degrading and mischievous representations or close their doors. Nor is any accession to our “stock plays” to be expected; for if perchance a piece of sterling merit were written, its author would be lamentably ignorant of “the business of the stage” were he to think of “offering it.” The “regular drama” is on its last legs.
* * * * *
Leaving the fable of the play of the “Death Fetch” altogether, and merely taking its name for the purpose of acquainting the reader with the attributes of a “fetch,” recourse is had in the outset to the “Tales of the O’Hara Family.” The notions of such of the good people of Ireland, as believe at this time in that “airy thing,” are set forth with great clearness by the author of that work, who is a gentleman of the sister kingdom with well-founded claims to distinction, as a man of genius and literary ability. The following is extracted preparatory to other authorities regarding “fetches” in general.
A Tale of the O’Hara Family.
I was sauntering in hot summer weather by a little stream that now scarce strayed over its deep and rocky bed, often obliged to glance and twine round some large stone, or the trunk of a fallen tree, as if exerting a kind of animated ingenuity to escape and pursue its course. It ran through a valley, receding in almost uniform perspective as far as the eye could reach, and shut up at its extremity by a lofty hill, sweeping directly across it. The sides of the valley bore no traces of cultivation. Briers and furze scantily clothed them; while, here and there, a frittered rock protruded its bald forehead through the thin copse. No shadow broke or relieved the monotonous sheet of light that spread over every object. The spare grass and wild bushes had become parched under its influence; the earth, wherever it was seen bare, appeared dry and crumbling into dust; the rocks and stones were partially bleached white, or their few patches of moss burnt black or deep red. The whole effect was fiercely brilliant, and so unbroken, that a sparrow could not have hopped, or a grass-mouse raced across, even in the distance, without being immediately detected as an intrusion upon the scene.
The desertion and silence of the place, sympathized well with its lethargic features. Not a single cabin met my eye through the range of the valley; over head, indeed, the gables of one or two peeped down, half hidden by their sameness of colour with the weather-tanned rocks on which they hung, or with the heather that thatched them; but they and their inmates were obviously unconnected with the solitude in which I stood, their fronts and windows being turned towards the level country, and thence the paths that led to them must also have diverged. No moving thing animated my now almost supernatural picture; no cow, horse, nor sheep, saunteringly grazed along the margin of my wizard stream. The very little birds flew over it, I conveniently thought, with an agitated rapidity, or if one of them alighted on the shrivelled spray, it was but to look round for a moment with a keen mistrustful eye; and then bound into its fields of air, leaving the wild branch slightly fluttered by his action. If a sound arose, it was but what its own whispering waters made; or the herdsboy’s whistle faintly echoed from far-off fields and meadows; or the hoarse and lonesome caw of the rook, as he winged his heavy flight towards more fertile places.
Amid all this light and silence, a very aged woman, wildly habited, appeared, I know not how, before me. Her approach had not been heralded by any accompanying noise, by any rustle among the bushes, or by the sound of a footstep; my eyes were turned from the direction in which she became visible, but again unconsciously recurring to it, fixed on the startling figure.
She was low in stature, emaciated, and embrowned by age, sun, or toil, as it might be; her lank white hair hung thickly at either side of her face; a short red mantle fell loosely to her knees; under it a green petticoat descended to within some inches of her ankles; and her arms, neck, head, and feet, were bare. There she remained, at the distance of only about twenty yards, her small grey eyes vacantly set on mine; and her brows strenuously knit, but, as I thought, rather to shadow her sight from the sun, than with any expression of anger or agitation. Her look had no meaning in it; no passion, no subject. It communicated nothing with which my heart or thought held any sympathy; yet it was long, and deep, and unwincing. After standing for some time, as if spell-bound by her gaze, I felt conscious of becoming uneasy and superstitious in spite of myself; yet my sensation was rather caused by excitement than by fear, and saluting the strange visitant, I advanced towards her. She stood on a broad slab in the centre of the bed of the stream, but which was now uncovered by the water. I had to step from stone to stone in my approach, and often wind round some unusually gigantic rock that impeded my direct course; one of them was, indeed, so large, that when I came up to it, my view of the old woman was completely impeded. This roused me more: I hastily turned the angle of the rock; looked again for her in the place she had stood--but she was gone.--My eye rapidly glanced round to detect the path she had taken. I could not see her.
Now I became more disturbed. I leaned my back against the rock, and for some moments gazed along the valley. In this situation, my eye was again challenged by her scarlet mantle glittering in the sunlight, at the distance of nearly a quarter of a mile from the spot where she first appeared. She was once more motionless, and evidently looked at me. I grew too nervous to remain stationary, and hurried after her up the stony bed of the stream.
A second time she disappeared; but when I gained her second resting-place, I saw her standing on the outline of the distant mountain, now dwindled almost to the size of a crow, yet, boldly relieved against the back-ground of white clouds, and still manifested to me by her bright red mantle. A moment, and she finally evaded my view, going off at the other side of the mountain. This was not to be borne: I followed, if not courageously, determinedly. By my watch, to which I had the curiosity and presence of mind to refer, it took me a quarter of an hour to win the summit of the hill; and she, an aged woman, feeble and worn, had traversed the same space in much less time. When I stood on the ridge of the hill, and looked abroad over a widely-spreading country, unsheltered by forest, thicket, or any other hiding-place, I beheld her not.
Cabins, or, to use the more poetical name, authorized by the exquisite bard of “O’Connor’s child,” sheelings, were now abundantly strewed around me, and men, women, and children, at work in the fields, one and all assured me no such person had, that day, met their notice, and added, it was impossible she could have crossed without becoming visible to them. I never again beheld (excepting in my dreams) that mysterious visitant, nor have ever been able to ascertain who or what she was.
After having spoken to the peasants, I continued my walk, descending the breast of the mountain which faced the valley, but now avoiding the latter, and sauntering against the thready current of the stream, with no other feeling that I can recollect, but an impatience to ascertain its hidden source. It led me all round the base of the hill. I had a book in my pocket, with which I occasionally sat down, in an inviting solitude; when tired of it, I threw pebbles into the water, or traced outlines on the clouds; and the day insensibly lapsed, while I thus rioted in the utter listlessness of, perhaps, a diseased imagination.
Evening fell. I found myself, in its deepest shades, once more on the side of the mountain opposite that which turned towards the valley. I sat upon a small knoll, surrounded by curves and bumps, wild and picturesque in their solitude. I was listening to the shrill call of the plover, which sounded far and faint along the dreary hills, when a vivid glow of lightning, followed by a clattering thundercrash, roused me from my reverie. I was glad to take shelter in one of the cabins, which I have described as rather numerously strewed in that direction.
The poor people received me with an Irish cead mille phalteagh--“a hundred thousand welcomes”--and I soon sat in comfort by a blazing turf fire, with eggs, butter, and oaten bread, to serve my need as they might.
The family consisted of an old couple, joint proprietors of my house of refuge; a son and daughter, nearly full grown; and a pale, melancholy-looking girl of about twenty years of age, whom I afterwards understood to be niece to the old man, and since her father’s death, under his protection. From my continued inquiries concerning my witch of the glen, our conversation turned on superstitions generally. With respect to the ancient lady herself, the first opinion seemed to be--“the Lord only knows what she was:”--but a neighbour coming in, and reporting the sudden illness of old Grace Morrissy, who inhabited a lone cabin on the edge of the hill, my anecdote instantly occurred to the auditory, one and all; and now, with alarmed and questioning eyes, fixed on each other, they concluded I had seen her “fetch:” and determined amongst themselves that she was to die before morning.
The “fetch” was not entirely new to me, but I had never before been afforded so good an opportunity of becoming acquainted with its exact nature and extent among the Irish peasantry. I asked questions, therefore, and gathered some--to me--valuable information.
In Ireland, a “fetch” is the supernatural fac-simile of some individual, which comes to ensure to its original a happy longevity, or immediate dissolution; if seen in the morning the one event is predicted; if in the evening, the other.
During the course of my questions, and of the tales and remarks to which they gave rise, I could observe that the pale, silent girl, listened to all that was said with a deep, assenting interest: or, sighing profoundly, contributed only a few melancholy words of confirmation. Once, when she sighed, the old man remarked--“No blame to you, Moggy mavourneen, fur it’s you that lives to know it well, God help you, this blessed night.” To these words she replied with another long-drawn aspiration, a look upwards, and an agitation of feature, which roused my curiosity, if not my sympathy, in no ordinary degree. I hazarded queries, shaped with as much delicacy as I could, and soon learned that she had seen, before his death, the “fetch” of her beloved father. The poor girl was prevailed on to tell her own story; in substance as follows:--
Her father had, for some days, been ill of a fever. On a particular evening, during his illness, she had to visit the house of an acquaintance at a little distance, and for this purpose, chose a short cut across some fields. Scarcely arrived at the stile that led from the first into the second field, she happened to look back, and beheld the figure of her father rapidly advancing in her footsteps. The girl’s fear was, at first, only human; she imagined that, in a paroxysm, her father had broken from those who watched his feverish bed; but as she gazed, a consciousness crept through her, and the action of the vision served to heighten her dread. It shook its head and hand at her in an unnatural manner, as if commanding her to hasten on. She did so. On gaining the second stile, at the limit of the second field, she again summoned courage to look behind, and again saw the apparition standing on the first stile she had crossed, and repeating its terrible gesticulations. Now she ran wildly to the cottage of her friend, and only gained the threshold when she fainted. Having recovered, and related what she saw, a strong party accompanied her by a winding way, back to her father’s house, for they dared not take that one by which she had come. When they arrived, the old man was a corpse; and as her mother had watched the death-struggle during the girl’s short absence, there could be no question of his not having left his bed in the interim.
The man who had come into us, and whom my humble host called “gossip,” now took up the conversation, and related, with mystery and pathos, the appearance to himself of the “fetch” of an only child. He was a widower, though a young man, and he wept during the recital. I took a note of his simple narrative, nearly in his own words; and a rhyming friend has since translated them into metre.
The mother died when the child was born, And left me her baby to keep; I rocked its cradle the night and morn, Or, silent, hung o’er it to weep
’Twas a sickly child through its infancy, Its cheeks were so ashy pale; Till it broke from my arms to walk in glee Out in the sharp fresh gale.
And then my little girl grew strong, And laughed the hours away; Or sung me the merry lark’s mountain song, Which he taught her at break of day.
When she wreathed her hair in thicket bowers, With the hedge-rose and hare-bell, blue; I called her my May, in her crown of flowers, And her smile so soft and new.
And the rose, I thought, never shamed her cheek, But rosy and rosier made it; And her eye of blue did more brightly break, Through the blue-bell that strove to shade it.
One evening I left her asleep in her smiles, And walked through the mountains, lonely; I was far from my darling, ah! many long miles, And I thought of her, and her only;
She darkened my path like a troubled dream, In that solitude far and drear; I spoke to my child! but she did not seem To hearken with human ear;
She only looked with a dead, dead eye, And a wan, wan cheek of sorrow-- I knew her “fetch!” she was called to die, And she died upon the morrow.
* * * * *
Our young readers are required to observe that these “Tales of the O’Hara Family” are merely tales, invented to amuse the mind, or create wonder. Yet things of this sort are still believed by ignorant people, and in the dark ages they were credited, or affected to be credited, by those who ought to have known better. Mr. Brand has heaped together a great many of these superstitions.
* * * * *
Besides general notices of death, certain families were reputed to have particular warnings; some by the appearance of a bird, and others by the figure of a tall woman in white, who shrieked about the house. This in Ireland is called the banshee, or “the shrieking woman.”
* * * * *
In some of the great families an admonishing demon or genius was supposed to be a visiter. The family of Rothmurchas is alleged to have had the bodack au dun, “the ghost of the hill;” and the Kinchardines “the spectre of the bloody hand.” Gartinberg-house was said to have been haunted by Bodach Gartin, and Tulloch Gorms by Maug Monlack, or “the girl with the hairy left hand.”
The highlanders, like the Irish, imagined their deaths to have been foretold by the cries of the benshi, or “the fairies’ wife,” along the paths that their funerals were to take.
* * * * *
In Wales--the exhalations in churchyards, called corpse candles, denoted coming funerals. Very few of the good people of Carmarthen died without imagining they saw their corpse candles, or death-lights.
In Northumberland, the vulgar saw their waff, or “whiff,” as a death token, which is similar to the Scotch wraith, or the appearance of a living person to himself or others.
* * * * *
In some parts of Scotland, the “fetch” was called the fye. It was observed to a woman in her ninety-ninth year, that she could not long survive. “Aye,” said she, with great indignation, “what fye-token do you see about me?” This is quoted by Brand from the “Statistical Account of Scotland,” vol. xxi. p. 150; and from the same page he cites an anecdote to show with what indifference death is sometimes contemplated.
James Mackie, by trade a wright, was asked by a neighbour for what purpose he had some fine deal in his barn. “It is timber for my coffin,” quoth James. “Sure,” replies the neighbour, “you mean not to make your own coffin. You have neither resolution nor ability for the task.” “Hout away man,” says James, “if I were once begun, I’ll soon ca’t by hand.” The hand, but not the heart, failed him, and he left the task of making it to a younger operator.
This anecdote brought to Mr. Brand’s remembrance what certainly happened in a village in the county of Durham, where it is the etiquette for a person not to go out of the house till the burial of a near relation. An honest simple countryman, whose wife lay a corpse in his house, was seen walking slowly up the village: a neighbour ran to him, and asked “Where in heaven, John, are you going?” “To the joiner’s shop,” said poor John, “to see them make my wife’s coffin; it will be a little diversion for me.”
* * * * *
In Cumberland, wraiths are called swarths, and in other places “fetches.” Their business was to appear at the moment preceding the death of the person whose figure they assumed. “Sometimes,” says Brand, “there is a greater interval between the appearance and the death.”
According to Dr. Jamieson, the appearance of the wraith was not to be taken as indicating immediate death, “although, in all cases, it was viewed as a premonition of the disembodied state.” The season of the day wherein it was seen, was understood to presage the time of the person’s departure. If early in the morning, it was a token of long life and even old age; if in the evening, it indicated that death was at hand.
* * * * *
A worthy old lady of exceeding veracity, frequently acquainted the editor of the Every-Day Book with her supposed superhuman sights. They were habitual to her. One of these was of an absent daughter, whom she expected on a visit, but who had not arrived, when she left her chamber to go to a lower part of the house. She was surprised on meeting her on the stairs, for she had not heard the street door opened. She expressed her surprise, the daughter smiled and stood aside to let her mother pass, who naturally as she descended, reached out her hand to rest it on her daughter’s arm as assistance to her step; but the old lady mistook and fell to the bottom of the stairs. In fact her daughter was not there, but at her own home. The old lady lived some years after this, and her daughter survived her; though, according to her mother’s imagination and belief, she ought to have died in a month or two.
* * * * *
In 1823, the editor of this work being mentally disordered from too close application, left home in the afternoon to consult a medical friend, and obtain relief under his extreme depression. In Fleet-street, on the opposite side of the way to where he was walking, he saw a pair of legs devoid of body, which he was persuaded were his own legs, though not at all like them. A few days afterwards when worse in health, he went to the same friend for a similar purpose, and on his way saw himself on precisely the same spot as he had imagined he had seen his legs, but with this difference that the person was entire, and thoroughly a likeness as to feature, form, and dress. The appearance seemed as real as his own existence. The illusion was an effect of disordered imagination.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·20.
[268] Mr. Audley.
~July 26.~
ST. ANN.
She was the mother of the Virgin Mary, and is a saint of great magnitude in the Romish church. Her name is in the church of England calendar, and the almanacs.
There are curious particulars concerning Ann and her husband St. Joachim, in vol. i. col. 1008.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·67.
~July 27.~
FALL OF NANNEU OAK.
This is a remarkable incident in the annals of events relating to the memorials of past times.
THE HAUNTED OAK OF NANNEU,
Near Dolgelly, in Merionethshire.
On the twenty-seventh of July, 1813, sir Richard Colt Hoare, bart., the elegant editor of “Giraldus Cambrensis,” was at Nanneu, “the ancient seat of the ancient family of the Nanneus,” and now the seat of sir Robert Williams Vaughan, bart. During that day he took a sketch of a venerable oak at that place, within the trunk of which, according to Welsh tradition, the body of Howel Sele, a powerful chieftain residing at Nanneu, was immured by order of his rival Owen Glyndwr. In the night after the sketch was taken, this aged tree fell to the ground. An excellent etching of the venerable baronet’s drawing by Mr. George Cuitt of Chester, perpetuates the portrait of this celebrated oak in its last moments. The engraving on the next page is a mere extract from this masterly etching.
It stood alone, a wither’d oak Its shadow fled, its branches broke; Its riven trunk was knotted round, Its gnarled roots o’erspread the ground Honours that were from tempests won, In generations long since gone, A scanty foliage yet was seen, Wreathing its hoary brows with green, Like to a crown of victory On some old warrior’s forehead grey, And, as it stood, it seem’d to speak To winter winds in murmurs weak, Of times that long had passed it by And left it desolate, to sigh Of what it was, and seem’d to wail, A shadeless spectre, shapeless, pale.
Mrs. Radclife.[269]
The charm which compels entrance to Mr. Cuitt’s print within every portfolio of taste, is the management of his point in the representation of the beautiful wood and mountain scenery around the tree, to which the editor of the Every-Day Book would excite curiosity in those who happen to be strangers to the etching. But this gentleman’s fascinating style is independent of the immediate object on which he has exercised it, namely, “the spirit’s Blasted Tree,” an oak of so great fame, that sir Walter Scott celebrates its awful distinction among the descendants of our aboriginal ancestors, by the lines of “Marmion,” affixed to the annexed representation.
All nations have their omens drear, Their legions wild of woe and fear, To Cambria look--the peasant see, Bethink him of Glendowerdy, And shun “the spirit’s Blasted Tree.”
Marmion.
“The spirit’s Blasted Tree” grew in a picturesque part of Wales, abounding with local superstitions and memorials of ancient times. At the distance of a few miles from the beautiful valley of Tal y Lyn, the aspect of the country is peculiarly wild. The hills almost meet at their basis, and change their aspect. Instead of verdure, they have a general rude and savage appearance. The sides are broken into a thousand forms; some are spiring and sharp pointed; but the greater part project forward, and impend in such a manner as to render the apprehension of their fall tremendous. A few bushes grow among them, but their dusky colour as well as the darkness of the rocks only add horror to the scene. One of the precipices is called Pen y Delyn, from its resemblance to a harp. Another is styled Llam y Lladron, or “the Thieves’ Leap,” from a tradition that thieves were brought there and thrown down. On the left is the rugged and far-famed height of Cader Idris, and beneath it a small lake called Llyn y tri Graienyn, or “the lake of the Three Grains,” which are three vast rocks tumbled from the neighbouring mountain, which the peasants say were “Three Grains” that had fallen into the shoe of the great Idris, and which he threw out here, as soon as he felt them hurting his foot.
From thence, by a bad road, Mr. Pennant, in one of his “Tours in Wales,” reached Nanneu. “The way to Nanneu is a continual ascent of two miles; and perhaps it is the highest situation of any gentleman’s house in Britain. The estate is covered with fine woods, which clothe all the sides of the dingles for many miles.”
The continuation of Mr. Pennant’s description brings us to our tree as he saw it: “On the road side is a venerable oak in its last stage of decay, and pierced by age into the form of a gothic arch; yet its present growth is twenty-seven feet and a half. The name is very classical, Derwen Ceubren yr Ellyll, ‘the hollow oak, the haunt of demons.’ How often has not warm fancy seen the fairy tribe revel round its trunk! or may not the visionary eye have seen the Hamadryad burst from the bark of its coeval tree.”
The inscription beneath Mr. Cuitt’s print mentions, that when sir Richard Colt Hoare sketched this oak, it was within the kitchen-garden walls of sir Robert W. Vaughan.
“Above Nanneu,” Mr. Pennant mentions “a high rock, with the top incircled with a dike of loose stones: this had been a British post, the station, perhaps, of some tyrant, it being called Moel Orthrwn, or ‘the Hill of Oppression.’” Mr. Pennant says, the park is “remarkable for its very small but very excellent venison:” an affirmation which may be taken for correct, inasmuch as the tour of an antiquary in such a region greatly assists tasteful discrimination. Within the park Mr. Pennant saw “a mere compost of cinders and ashes,” the ruins of the house of Howel Sele, whose body is alleged to have been buried in “the spirit’s Blasted Tree” by Owen Glyndwr.
* * * * *
Owen Glyndwr, or Glendower, is rendered popular in England by the most popular of our dramatic poets, from whom it may be appropriate to take the outlines of his poetical character, in connection with the legend of Howel Sele’s singular burial.
The first mention of Owen Glyndwr, in the works of our great bard, is in “King Richard II.” by Henry of Lancaster, afterwards king Henry IV. Before he passes over into Wales, he says in the camp at Bristol--
--------------------- Come lords, away, To fight with Glendower and his complices, A while to work, and after, holiday.
This line relating to Glendower, Theobald deemed an interpolation on Shakspeare, and it has been so regarded by some subsequent commentators. We have “Owen Glendower,” however, as one of the dramatis personæ in “Henry IV.” wherein he is first mentioned by the earl of Westmoreland as “the irregular and wild Glendower:” king Henry calls him “the great magician, damn’d Glendower;” Hotspur terms him “great Glendower;” and Falstaff tells prince Henry--
“There’s villainous news abroad--that same mad fellow of the north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado--and swore the devil his true liegeman--he is there too; that devil Glendower. Art thou not horribly afraid?”
In the conference between “Glendower” and his adherents, he says to Henry Percy:--
-------------------Sit good cousin Hotspur: For by that name as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale; and, with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets; and--at my birth, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak’d like a coward---- The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. These signs have mark’d me extraordinary; And all the courses of my life do show, I am not in the roll of common men. Where is he living,--clipp’d in with the sea, That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,-- Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? And bring him out, that is but woman’s son, Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, And hold me pace in deep experiments.-- I can call spirits from the vasty deep-- I can teach thee, cousin, to command the devil.
On occasion of the chiefs taking leave of their wives, before they separate for battle with the king, Glendower gives proof of his supernatural powers. The wife of Mortimer proposes to soothe her husband by singing to him in her native Welsh, if he will repose himself.
Mort. With all my heart, I’ll sit-- Glend. Do so. And those musicians that shall play to you, Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence; Yet straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. [The music plays. Hot. Now, I perceive, the devil understands Welsh-- By’r lady, he’s a good musician.
Without going into the history of Owen Glyndwr, it may be observed that he claimed the throne of Wales, and that the presages which Shakspeare ascribed to his birth, are the legends of old chronicles. Howel Sele, of Nanneu, was his first cousin, yet he adhered to the house of Lancaster, and was therefore opposed to Owen’s pretensions. The abbot of Cymmer, in hopes of reconciling them, brought them together, and apparently effected his purpose. Howel was reckoned the best archer of his day. Owen while walking out with him observed a doe feeding, and told him there was a fine mark for him. Howel bent his bow, and, pretending to aim at the doe, suddenly turned and discharged the arrow full at the breast of Glyndwr, who wearing armour beneath his clothes received no hurt. He seized on Sele for his treachery, burnt his house, and hurried him away from the place; nor was it known how he was disposed of till forty years after, when the skeleton of a large man, such as Howel, was discovered in the hollow of the great oak before described; wherein it was supposed Owen had immured him in reward of his perfidy. While Owen was carrying him off, his rescue was attempted by his relation Gryffydd ap Geoyn of Ganllwyd in Ardudwy, but he was defeated by Owen with great loss of men, and his houses of Berthlwyd and Cefn Coch were reduced to ashes.[270]
* * * * *
Sir Walter Scott to illustrate his lines in “Marmion,” inserts, among the notes on that poem, a legendary tale by the rev. George Warrington with this preface:--
“The event, on which this tale is founded, is preserved by tradition in the family of the Vaughans of Hengwyrt; nor is it entirely lost, even among the common people, who still point out this oak to the passenger. The enmity between the two Welsh chieftains, Howel Sele and Owen Glendwr, was extreme, and marked by vile treachery in the one, and ferocious cruelty in the other. The story is somewhat changed and softened, as more favourable to the characters of the two chiefs, and as better answering the purpose of poetry, by admitting the passion of pity, and a greater degree of sentiment in the description. Some trace of Howel Sele’s mansion was to be seen a few years ago, and may perhaps be still visible in the park of Nanneu, now belonging to sir Robert Vaughan, baronet, in the wild and romantic tracts of Merionethshire. The abbey mentioned passes under two names, Vener and Cymmer. The former is retained, as more generally used.”
THE SPIRIT’S BLASTED TREE.
Ceubren yr Ellyll.
Through Nannau’s Chace as Howel passed, A chief esteemed both brave and kind, Far distant borne, the stag-hound’s cry Came murmuring on the hollow wind.
Starting, he bent an eager ear,-- How should the sounds return again? His hounds lay wearied from the chace, And all at home his hunter train.
Then sudden anger flash’d his eye, And deep revenge he vowed to take On that bold man who dared to force His red deer from the forest brake.
Unhappy chief! would nought avail, No signs impress thy heart with fear, Thy lady’s dark mysterious dream, Thy warning from the hoary seer?
Three ravens gave the note of death, As through mid air they winged their way; Then o’er his head, in rapid flight, They croak,--they scent their destined prey.
Ill omened bird! as legends say, Who hast the wonderous power to know, While health fills high the throbbing veins, The fated hour when blood must flow.
Blinded by rage alone he passed, Nor sought his ready vassals’ aid: But what his fate lay long unknown, For many an anxious year delayed.
A peasant marked his angry eye, He saw him reach the lake’s dark bourne, He saw him near a blasted oak, But never from that hour return.
Three days passed o’er, no tidings came;-- Where should the chief his steps delay? With wild alarm the servants ran, Yet knew not where to point their way.
His vassals ranged the mountain’s height, The covert close, and wide-spread plain; But all in vain their eager search, They ne’er must see their lord again.
Yet fancy, in a thousand shapes, Bore to his home the chief once more Some saw him on high Moel’s top, Some saw him on the winding shore.
With wonder fraught the tale went round, Amazement chained the hearer’s tongue; Each peasant felt his own sad loss, Yet fondly o’er the story hung.
Oft by the moon’s pale shadowy light, His aged nurse, and steward grey, Would lean to catch the stoned sounds, Or mark the flittering spirit stray.
Pale lights on Cader’s rocks were seen, And midnight voices heard to moan; ’Twas even said the blasted oak, Convulsive, heaved a hollow groan:
And, to this day, the peasant still, With cautious fear, avoids the ground; In each wild branch a spectre sees, And trembles at each rising sound.
Ten annual suns had held their course, In summer’s smile, or winter’s storm; The lady shed the widowed tear, As oft she traced his manly form.
Yet still to hope her heart would cling As o’er the mind illusions play,-- Of travel fond, perhaps her lord To distant lands had steered his way.
’Twas now November’s cheerless hour, Which drenching rain and clouds deface; Dreary bleak Robell’s tract appeared, And dull and dank each valley’s space.
Loud o’er the wier the hoarse flood fell, And dashed the foamy spray on high; The west wind bent the forest tops, And angry frowned the evening sky.
A stranger passed Llanelltid’s bourne, His dark-grey steed with sweat besprent, Which, wearied with the lengthened way, Could scarcely gain the hill’s ascent.
The portal reached,--the iron bell Loud sounded round the outward wall Quick sprang the warder to the gate, To know what meant the clamorous call.
“O! lead me to your lady soon; Say,--it is my sad lot to tell, To clear the fate of that brave knight, She long has proved she loved so well.”
Then, as he crossed the spacious hall, The menials look surprise and fear: Still o’er his harp old Modred hung, And touched the notes for griefs worn ear.
The lady sat amidst her train; A mellowed sorrow marked her look: Then, asking what his mission meant, The graceful stranger sighed and spoke:--
“O could I spread one ray of hope, One moment raise thy soul from woe, Gladly my tongue would tell its tale, My words at ease unfettered flow!
“Now, lady, give attention due, The story claims thy full belief: E’en in the worst events of life, Suspense removed is some relief.
“Though worn by care, see Madoc here, Great Glyndwr’s friend, thy kindred’s foe, Ah, let his name no anger raise, For now that mighty chief lies low.
“E’en from the day, when, chained by fate, By wizard’s dream or potent spell, Lingering from sad Salopia’s field, ’Reft of his aid the Percy fell:--
“E’en from that day misfortune still, As if for violated faith, Pursued him with unwearied step Vindictive still for Hotspur’s death.
“Vanquished at length, the Glyndwr fled Where winds the Wye her devious flood; To find a casual shelter there, In some lone cot, or desert wood.
“Clothed in a shepherd’s humble guise, He gained by toil his scanty bread; He who had Cambria’s sceptre borne, And her brave sons to glory led!
“To penury extreme, and grief, The chieftain fell a lingering prey; I heard his last few faultering words, Such as with pain I now convey.
“‘To Sele’s sad widow bear the tale Nor let our horrid secret rest; Give but his corse to sacred earth, Then may my parting soul be blest.’--
“Dim waxed the eye that fiercely shone, And faint the tongue that proudly spoke And weak that arm, still raised to me, Which oft had dealt the mortal stroke.
“How could I then his mandate bear Or how his last behest obey? A rebel deemed, with him I fled; With him I shunned the light of day.
“Proscribed by Henry’s hostile rage, My country lost, despoiled my land, Desperate, I fled my native soil, And fought on Syria’s distant strand.
“O, had thy long lamented lord The holy cross and banner viewed, Died in the sacred cause! who fell Sad victim of a private feud!
“Led, by the ardour of the chace, Far distant from his own domain; From where Garthmaelan spreads her shades, The Glyndwr sought the opening plain.
“With head aloft, and antlers wide, A red buck roused, then crossed in view, Stung with the sight, and wild with rage, Swift from the wood fierce Howel flew.
“With bitter taunt, and keen reproach, He, all impetuous, poured his rage, Reviled the chief as weak in arms, And bade him loud the battle wage.
“Glyndwr for once restrained his sword, And, still averse, the fight delays; But softened words, like oil to fire, Made anger more intensely blaze.
“They fought; and doubtful long the fray! The Glyndwr gave the fatal wound! Still mournful must my tale proceed, And its last act all dreadful sound.
“How could we hope for wished retreat His eager vassals ranging wide? His bloodhounds’ keen sagacious scent, O’er many a trackless mountain tried?
“I marked a broad and blasted oak, Scorched by the lightning’s livid glare; Hollow its stem from branch to root, And all its shrivelled arms were bare.
“Be this, I cried, his proper grave!-- (The thought in me was deadly sin.) Aloft we raised the hapless chief, And dropped his bleeding corpse within.”
A shriek from all the damsels burst, That pierced the vaulted roofs below, While horror-struck the lady stood, A living form of sculptured woe.
With stupid stare, and vacant gaze, Full on his face her eyes were cast, Absorbed!--she lost her present grief, And faintly thought of things long past.
Like wild-fire o’er the mossy heath, The rumour through the hamlet ran: The peasants crowd at morning dawn, To hear the tale,--behold the man.
He led them near the blasted oak, Then, conscious, from the scene withdrew: The peasant’s work with trembling haste, And lay the whitened bones to view!--
Back they recoiled!--the right hand still, Contracted, grasped a rusty sword; Which erst in many a battle gleamed, And proudly decked their slaughtered lord.
They bore the corse to Vener’s shrine, With holy rites, and prayers addressed; Nine white-robed monks the last dirge sang, And gave the angry spirit rest.
* * * * *
It must be remembered that the real history of Howel Sele’s death is to be collected from Mr. Pennant’s account of their sudden feud already related; though he by no means distinctly states whether Glyndwr caused him to be placed in the oak after he had been slain, or “immured” him alive and left him to perish. It is rather to be inferred that he was condemned by his kinsmen to the latter fate. According to Pennant he perished in the year 1402, and we see that his living burial place survived him, pierced and hallowed by the hand of time, upwards of four centuries.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY’S OAK.
In an elegant volume called “Sylvan Sketches, a companion to the park and the shrubbery, with illustrations from the works of the poets by the author of the Flora Domestica,” there is a delightful assemblage of poetical passages on the oak, with this memorial of a very celebrated one:--
“An oak was planted at Penshurst on the day of sir Philip Sidney’s birth, of which Martyn speaks as standing in his time, and measuring twenty-two feet round. This tree has since been felled, it is said by mistake; would it be impossible to make a similar mistake with regard to the mistaker?
“Several of our poets have celebrated this tree: Ben Jonson in his lines to Penshurst, says,--
‘Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport; Thy mount to which thy Dryads do resort, Where Pan and Bacchus their high seats have made, Beneath the broad beech and the chesnut shade, That taller tree which of a nut was set, At his great birth where all the muses met. There in the writhed bark are cut the names Of many a sylvan taken with his flames.’
“It is mentioned by Waller:--
‘Go, boy, and carve this passion on the bark Of yonder tree, which stands the sacred mark Of noble Sidney’s birth.’
“Southey says, speaking of Penshurst--
--------‘Sidney here was born. Sidney than whom no greater, braver man, His own delightful genius ever feigned, Illustrating the vales of Arcady With courteous courage, and with loyal loves. Upon his natal day the acorn here Was planted; it grew up a stately oak, And in the beauty of its strength it stood And flourished, when its perishable part Had mouldered dust to dust. That stately oak Itself hath mouldered now, but Sidney’s name Endureth in his own immortal works.’
“This tree was frequently called the ‘bare oak,’ by the people of the neighbourhood, from a resemblance it was supposed to bear to the oak which gave name to the county of Berkshire. Tradition says, that when the tenants went to the park gates as it was their custom to do to meet the earl of Leicester, when they visited that castle, they used to adorn their hats with boughs from this tree. Within the hollow of its trunk was a seat which contained five or six persons with ease and convenience.”
THE OAK OF MAMRE.
We are told that this oak was standing in the fourth century. Isidore affirms that when he was a child in the reign of the emperor Constantius, he was shown a turpentine tree very old, which declared its age by its bulk, as the tree under which Abraham dwelt; that the heathens had a surprising veneration for it, and distinguished it by an honourable appellation.[271] Some affirm that it existed within the last four centuries.
At the dispersion of the Jews under Adrian, about the year 134, “an incredible number of all ages and sexes were sold at the same price as horses, in a very famous fair called the fair of the turpentine tree: whereupon the Jews had an abhorrence for that fair.” St. Jerome mentions the place at which the Jews were sold under the name of “Abraham’s tent;” where, he says, “is kept an annual fair very much frequented.” This place “on Mamre’s fertile plains,” is alleged to have been the spot where Abraham entertained the angels.[272]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·50.
[269] See this lady’s “Posthumous Works,” vol. iv. Stonehenge stanza 53, from whence these lines are capriciously altered.
[270] Pennant.
[271] Bayle, art. Abraham.
[272] Bayle, art. Barcochebas.
~July 28.~
ST. DECLAN.
The festival of this saint, who was the first bishop of Ardmore, in the county of Waterford, is held on the twenty-fourth of the month. The brief memoir of St. Declan, by Alban Butler, did not seem to require notice of him on that day; but the manner wherein the feast was celebrated in 1826, is so remarkably particularized in an Irish paper, as to claim attention.
Ardmore and its Patron.
St. Declan is represented to have been the friend and companion of St. Patrick, and, according to tradition, Ardmore was an episcopal see, established in the fifth century by St. Declan, who was born in this county, and was of the family of the Desii. He travelled for education to Rome, resided there for some years, was afterwards ordained by the pope, returned to his own country about the year 402, and about that time founded the abbey and was made bishop of Ardmore. He lived to a great age; and his successor, St. Ulthan, was alive in the year 550. A stone, a holy well, and a dormitory, in the churchyard, still bear the name of St. Declan. “St. Declan’s stone” is on the beach; it is a large rock, resting on two others, which elevate it a little above the ground. On the twenty-fourth of July, the festival of the saint, numbers of the lowest class do penance on their bare knees around the stone, and some, with great pain and difficulty, creep under it, in expectation thereby of curing or preventing, what it is much more likely to create, rheumatic affections of the back. In the churchyard is the “dormitory of St. Declan,” a small low building, held in great veneration by the people in the neighbourhood, who frequently visit it in order to procure some of the earth, which is supposed to cover the relics of the saint.[273]
On the twenty-fourth of July, 1826, several thousand persons of all ages and both sexes assembled at Ardmore. The greater part of the extensive strand, which forms the western side of the bay, was literally covered by a dense mass of people. Tents and stands for the sale of whiskey, &c. were placed in parallel rows along the shore; the whole at a distance bore the appearance of a vast encampment. Each tent had its green ensign waving upon high, bearing some patriotic motto. One of large dimensions, which floated in the breeze far above the others, exhibited the words “Villiers Stuart for ever.”
At an early hour, those whom a religious feeling had drawn to the spot, commenced their devotional exercises by passing under the holy rock of St. Declan. The male part of the assemblage were clad in trowsers and shirts, or in shirts alone; the females, in petticoats pinned above the knees, and some of the more devout in chemises only. Two hundred and ninety persons of both sexes thus prepared, knelt at one time indiscriminately around the stone, and passed separately under it to the other side. This was not effected without considerable pain and difficulty, owing to the narrowness of the passage, and the sharpness of the rocks. Stretched at full length on the ground on the face and stomach, each devotee moved forward, as if in the act of swimming, and thus squeezed or dragged themselves through. Upwards of eleven hundred persons of both sexes, in a state of half nudity, were observed to undergo the ceremony in the course of the day. A reverend gentleman, who stood by part of the time, was heard to exclaim, “O, great is their faith.” Several of their reverences passed and re-passed to and from the chapel close by the “holy rock,” during the day. The “holy rock,” of so great veneration, is believed to be endued with miraculous powers. It is said to have been wafted from Rome upon the surface of the ocean, at the period of St. Declan’s founding his church at Ardmore, and to have borne on its top a large bell for the church tower, and vestments for the saint.
At a short distance from this sacred memorial, on a cliff overhanging the sea, is the well of the saint. Thither the crowds repair after the devotions at the rock are ended. Having drank plentifully of its water, they wash their legs and feet in the stream which issues from it, and, telling their beads, sprinkle themselves and their neighbours with the fluid. These performances over, the grave of the patron saint is then resorted to. Hundreds at a time crowded around it, and crush each other in their eagerness to obtain a handful of the earth which is believed to cover the mortal remains of Declan. A woman stood breast high in the grave, and served out a small portion of its clay to each person requiring it, from whom in return she received a penny or halfpenny for the love of the saint. The abode of the saint’s earthly remains has sunk to the depth of nearly four feet, its clay having been scooped away by the finger nails of the pious. A human skull of large dimensions was placed at the head of the tomb, before which the people bowed, believing it to be the identical skull of the tutelar saint.
This visit to St. Declan’s grave completed the devotional exercises of a day held in greater honour than the sabbath, by those who venerate the saint’s name, and worship at his shrine. The tents which throughout the day, from the duties paid to the “patron,” had been thronged with the devotionalists of the morning, resounded from evening till daybreak, with sounds inspired by potations of whiskey; and the scene is so characterised by its reporter as to seem exaggerated.[274]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·65.
[273] Ryland’s History of Waterford.
[274] Waterford Mail.
~July 29.~
ST. MARTHA.
On the festival of this saint of the Romish church, a great fair is held at Beaucaire, in Languedoc, to which merchants and company resort from a great distance round. It is a great mart for smugglers and contraband traders, and is the harvest of the year both to Beaucaire and Tarascon; for, as the former is not large enough to accommodate the influx of people, Tarascon, in Provence, which is separated from it by the Rhone, is generally equally full.
* * * * *
Tarascon, according to a popular tradition, has its name from a terrible beast, a sort of dragon, known by the name of the tarasque, which, in ancient days, infested the neighbourhood, ravaging the country, and killing every thing that came in its way, both man and beast, and eluding every endeavour made to take and destroy it, till St. Martha arrived in the town, and taking compassion on the general distress, went out against the monster, and brought him into the town in chains, when the people fell upon him and slew him.
St. Martha, according to the chronicles of Provence, had fled from her own country in company with her sister Mary Magdalen, her brother Lazarus, and several other saints both male and female. They landed at Marseilles, and immediately spread themselves about the country to preach to the people. It fell to the lot of St. Martha to bend her steps towards Tarascon, where she arrived at the fortunate moment above mentioned. She continued to her dying day particularly to patronise the place, and was at her own request interred there. Her tomb is shown in a subterranean chapel belonging to the principal church. It bears her figure in white marble, as large as life, in a recumbent posture, and is a good piece of sculpture, uninjured by the revolution. In the church a series of paintings represent the escape of St. Martha and her companions from their persecutors, their landing in Provence, and some of their subsequent adventures. She is the patron saint of Tarascon.
* * * * *
It is presumed that the story of a beast ravaging the neighbouring country had its origin in fact; but that instead of a dreadful dragon it was a hyena. Bouche, however, in his Essai sur l’Histoire de Provence, while he mentions the popular tradition of the dragon, makes no mention of the supposed hyena, which he probably would have done had there been any good ground for believing in its existence.
Be this as it may, the fabulous story of the dragon was the occasion of establishing an annual festival at Tarascon, the reputed origin of which seems no less fabulous than the story itself. According to the tradition, the queen, consort to the reigning sovereign of the country, unaccountably fell into a deep and settled melancholy, from which she could not be roused. She kept herself shut up in her chamber, and would not see or be seen by any one; medicines and amusements were in vain, till the ladies of Tarascon thought of celebrating a festival, which they hoped, from its novelty might impress the mind of their afflicted sovereign.
A figure was made to represent the “tarasque,” with a terrible head, a terrible mouth, with two terrible rows of teeth, wings on its back, and a terrible long tail. At the festival of St. Martha, by whom the “tarasque” was chained, this figure was led about for eight days successively, by eight of the principal ladies in the town, elegantly dressed, and accompanied by a band of music. The procession was followed by an immense concourse of people, in their holyday clothes; and during the progress, alms were collected for the poor. All sorts of gaieties were exhibited; balls, concerts, and shows of every kind--nothing, in short, was omitted to accomplish the purpose for which the festival was instituted.
And her majesty condescended to be amused: that hour her melancholy ceased, and never after returned. Whether the honour of this happy change was wholly due to the procession, or whether the saint might not assist the efforts of the patriotic ladies of Tarascon, by working a miracle in favour of the restoration of the queen’s health, is not on record; but her malady never returned; and the people of Tarascon were so much delighted by the procession of the “tarasque,” that it was determined to make the festival an annual one.
* * * * *
This festival was observed till the revolution; but in “the reign of terror,” the people of Arles, between whom and those of Tarascon a great jealousy and rivalship had for many years subsisted, came in a body to the latter place, and, seizing the “tarasque,” burnt it in the market-place. This piece of petty spite sadly chagrined the Tarasconians. Their “tarasque” was endeared to them by its antiquity, as well as by the amusement it afforded them. For four years the festival of the “tarasque” remained uncelebrated, when an attempt was made to reestablish it; a new “tarasque” was procured by subscription among the people; but this also was seized by the Arletins, and carried over the river to Beaucaire, where it remained ever since.
“However,” said a hostess of Tarascon to Miss Plumptre, “since Buonaparte has happily restored order in France, we are looking forward to better times, and hope before the next festival of St. Martha, to be permitted to reclaim our ‘tarasque,’ and renew the procession.”
“Ah, ladies,” she added, “you have no idea how gay and how happy we all used to be at that time! The rich and the poor, the old and the young, the men and the women, all the same! all laughed, all danced, all sung; there was not a sad face in the town. The ladies were all so emulous of leading the ‘tarasque!’ They were all dressed alike; one was appointed to regulate the dress, and whatever she ordered the rest were obliged to follow. Sometimes the dresses were trimmed with gold or silver, sometimes with lace, so rich, so grand! God knows whether we shall ever see such times again. Ah! it was only because we were so happy that the people of Arles envied us, and had such a spite against us; but they have no reason to envy us now, we have had sorrow enough: ninety-three persons were guillotined here, and you may think what trouble that has spread among a number of families. I myself, ladies, have had my share of sorrow. My husband was not indeed guillotined, but he was obliged to fly the town to avoid it: he never quitted France, but went about from place to place where he was not known, working and picking up a livelihood as well as he could; and it is only since Buonaparte has been first consul that he has ventured to return. Besides, every thing that I had of any value, my linen, my mattresses, my silver spoons and forks, were all taken away by the requisition, and I can only hope to have things comfortably about me again by degrees, if we are so lucky as to get tolerable custom to our inn.” And then she entered upon a long string of apologies for the state of her house. “She was afraid,” she said, “that we should find things very uncomfortable, but it was not in her power to receive ladies and gentlemen as she had been used to do before her misfortunes. A few years hence, if Buonaparte should but live, she hoped, if we should happen to pass that way again, we should see things in a very different state.”[275]
THE SEASON.
“Now,” we perceive in the “Mirror of the Months,” that, “now, on warm evenings after business hours, citizens of all ages grow romantic; the single, wearing away their souls in sighing to the breezes of Brixton-hill, and their soles in getting there; and the married, sipping syllabub in the arbours of White Conduit-house, or cooling themselves with hot rolls and butter at the New River Head.
“Now, too, moved by the same spirit of romance, young patricians, who have not yet been persuaded to banish themselves to the beauty of their paternal groves, fling themselves into funnies, and fatigue their ennui to death, by rowing up the river to Mrs. Grange’s garden, to eat a handful of strawberries in a cup-full of cream.
“Now, adventurous cockneys swim from the Sestos of the Strand stairs to the Abydos of the coal-barge on the opposite shore, and believe that they have been rivalling Lord Byron and Leander--not without wondering, when they find themselves in safety, why the lady for whom the latter performed a similar feat is called the Hero of the story, instead of the Heroine.
“Finally,--now pains-and-pleasure-taking citizens hire cozey cottages for six weeks certain in the Curtain-road, and ask their friends to come and see them ‘in the country.’”
The Feast of Cherries.
There is a feast celebrated at Hamburg, called the “feast of cherries,” in which troops of children parade the streets with green boughs, ornamented with cherries, to commemorate a victory, obtained in the following manner:--In 1432, the Hussites threatened the city of Hamburg with an immediate destruction, when one of the citizens, named Wolf, proposed that all the children in the city, from seven to fourteen years of age, should be clad in mourning, and sent as supplicants to the enemy. Procopius Nasus, chief of the Hussites, was so touched with this spectacle, that he received the young supplicants, regaled them with cherries and other fruits, and promised them to spare the city.
The children returned crowned with leaves, holding cherries, and crying “victory!”--and hence, the “feast of cherries” is an annual commemoration of humane feelings.[276]
* * * * *
TO THE GNAT.
For the Every-Day Book.
Native of Ponds! I scarce could deem Thee worthy of my praise, Wert thou not joyous in the beam Of summer’s closing days.
But who can watch thy happy bands Dance o’er the golden wave, And be not drawn to fancy’s lands,-- And not their pleasures crave?
Small as thou art to vulgar sight, In beauty thou art born:-- Thou waitest on my ears at night, Sounding thine insect horn.
The sun returns--his glory spreads In heaven’s pure flood of light; Thou makest thine escape from beds, And risest with a bite.
Where’er thy lancet draws a vein, ’Tis always sure to swell; A very molehill raised with pain As many a maid can tell.
Yet, for thy brief epitome Of love, life, tone and thrall; I’d rather have a bump from thee, Than Spurz-heim, or from Gall.
J. R. P.
Fish.
It is noted by Dr. Forster, that towards the end of July the fishery of pilchards begins in the west of England. Through August it continues with that of mullets, red surmallets, red gurnards, and several other fish which abound on our south-west coasts. In Cornwall, fish is so cheap and so commonly used as an article of food, that we remember so lately as August, 1804, the then rector of Boconnoc used to have turbot for supper, which he considered as a good foundation for a large bowl of posca, a sort of weak punch drank in that country. Having witnessed on this day in 1822, the grand Alpine view of the lake of Geneva, and the Swiss and Savoyard mountains behind it, from Mount Jura, we are reminded to present the reader with the following excellent lines which we have met with in “Fables, by Thomas Brown, the Younger,” London, 1823.
VIEW OF THE ALPS AND THE LAKE OF GENEVA FROM THE JURA.
’Twas late, the sun had almost shone His last and best, when I ran on, Anxious to reach that splendid view Before the daybeams quite withdrew; And feeling as all feel, on first Approaching scenes, where they are told Such glories on their eyes shall burst As youthful bards in dreams behold.
’Twas distant yet, and as I ran, Full often was my wistful gaze Turned to the sun, who now began To call in all his outpost rays, And form a denser march of light, Such as beseems a hero’s flight.
Oh! how I wished for Joshua’s power To slay the brightness of that hour! But no, the sun still less became, Diminished to a speck, as splendid And small as were those tongues of flame That on the apostles’ heads descended.
’Twas at this instant, while there glowed This last intensest gleam of light, Suddenly through the opening road The valley burst upon my sight; That glorious valley with its lake, And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, Mighty and pure, and fit to make The ramparts of a godhead’s dwelling.
I stood entranced and mute as they Of Israel think the assembled world Will stand upon the awful day, When the ark’s light, aloft unfurled Among the opening clouds shall shine, Divinity’s own radiant sign! Mighty Mont Blanc, thou wert to me That minute, with thy brow in heaven, As sure a sign of Deity As e’er to mortal gaze was given Nor ever, were I destined yet To live my life twice o’er again, Can I the deepfelt awe forget, The ecstacy that thrilled me then.
’Twas all the unconsciousness of power And life, beyond this mortal hour; Those mountings of the soul within At thoughts of heaven, as birds begin By instinct in the cage to rise, When near their time for change of skies; That proud assurance of our claim To rank among the sons of light, Mingled with shame! oh, bitter shame! At having risked that splendid right, For aught that earth, through all its range Of glories, offers in exchange!
’Twas all this, at the instant brought, Like breaking sunshine o’er my thought; ’Twas all this, kindled to a glow Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine Thus purely ever, man might grow, Even upon earth, a thing divine, And be once more the creature made To walk unstained the Elysian shade.
No, never shall I lose the trace Of what I’ve felt in this bright place: And should my spirit’s hope grow weak, Should I, oh God! e’er doubt thy power, This mighty scene again I’ll seek, At the same calm and glowing hour; And here, at the sublimest shrine That nature ever reared to thee, Rekindle all that hope divine, And feel my immortality.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·80.
[275] Miss Plumptre’s Travels in France.
[276] Phillips’s Account of Fruits.
~July 30.~
THE OLD GATES OF LONDON.
On the 30th of July, 1760, the materials of the three following city gates were sold before the committee of city lands to Mr. Blagden, a carpenter in Coleman-street, viz.--
Aldgate, for £177 10_s._ Cripplegate, 91 0 Ludgate, 148 0[277]
NEW BISHOP OF DURHAM--
BISHOP AUCKLAND CUSTOM.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
July 30, 1826.
Dear Sir,--In the “Times,” of the twenty-second instant, there is the following paragraph, copied from the Newcastle paper. “The bishop of Durham arrived at his castle at Bishop Auckland, on Friday last. On his entering into the county at Croft-bridge, which separates it from the county of York, he was met by the officers of the see, the mayor and corporation of Stockton, and several of the principal nobility and others of the county. Here a sort of ceremony was performed, which had its origin in the feudal times,” &c.
The origin of the ceremony above alluded to is this. About the commencement of the fourteenth century, sir John Conyers slew with his falchion in the fields of Sockburne, a monstrous creature, a dragon, a worm, or flying serpent, that devoured men, women, and children. The then owner of Sockburne, as a reward for his bravery, gave him the manor with its appurtenances to hold for ever, on condition that he met the lord bishop of Durham, with this falchion, on his first entrance into his diocese, after his election to that see. And in confirmation of this tradition, there is painted in a window of Sockburne church, the falchion just now spoken of; and it is also cut in marble, upon the tomb of the great ancestor of the Conyers’, together with a dog and the monstrous worm or serpent, lying at his feet. When the bishop first comes into his diocese, he crosses the river Tees, either at the Ford of Nesham, or Croft-bridge, at one of which places the lord of the manor of Sockburne, or his representative, rides into the middle of the river, if the bishop comes by Nesham, with the ancient falchion drawn in his hand, or upon the middle of Croft-bridge; and then presents it to the bishop, addressing him in the ancient form of words. Upon which the bishop takes the falchion into his hands, looks at it, and returns it back again, wishing the lord of the manor his health and the enjoyment of his estate.
There are likewise some lands at Bishop’s Auckland, called Pollard’s lands, held by a similar service, viz. showing to the bishop one fawchon, at his first coming to Auckland after his consecration. The form of words made use of is, I believe, as follows:--
“My Lord,--On behalf of myself as well as of the several other tenants of Pollard’s lands, I do humbly present your lordship with this fawchon, at your first coming here, wherewith as the tradition goeth, Pollard slew of old, a great and venomous serpent, which did much harm to man and beast, and by the performance of this service these lands are holden.”
The drawing of the falchion and tomb in Sockburne church, I have unfortunately lost, otherwise it should have accompanied this communication: perhaps some of your numerous readers will be able to furnish you with it.
I remain,
Dear Sir, &c.
J. F.
* * * * *
The editor joins in his respected correspondent’s desire to see a representation in the Every-Day Book, of “the falchion and tomb in Sockburne church.” A correct drawing of it shall be accurately engraven, if any gentleman will be pleased to communicate one: such a favour will be respectfully acknowledged.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·57.
[277] British Chronologist.
~July 31.~
MAYOR OF BARTLEMASS.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
July 4, 1826.
Sir,--The following is a brief notice of the annual mock election of the “mayor of Bartlemass,” at Newbury, in Berkshire.
The day on which it takes place, is the first Monday after St. Anne’s; therefore, this year if not discontinued, and I believe it is not, it will be held on the thirty-first day of July. The election is held at the Bull and Dog public-house, where a dinner is provided; the principal dishes being bacon and beans, have obtained for it the name of the “bacon and bean feast.” In the course of the day a procession takes place. A cabbage is stuck on a pole and carried instead of a mace, accompanied by similar substitutes for the other emblems of civic dignity, and there is, of course, plenty of “rough music.” A “justice” is chosen at the same time, some other offices are filled up, and the day ends by all concerned getting completely “how came ye so.”
In the same town, a mock mayor and justice are likewise chosen for Norcutt-lane, but whether on the same day or not I cannot say; how long these customs have existed, or whence they originated I do not know; they were before I, or the oldest man in the town, can remember.
A SHOEMAKER.
THE SEASON.
By the “Mirror of the Months,” the appearance of natural scenery at this season is brought before us. “The corn-fields are all redundant with waving gold--gold of all hues--from the light yellow of the oats, (those which still remain uncut,) to the deep sunburnt glow of the red wheat. But the wide rich sweeps of these fields are now broken in upon, here and there, by patches of the parched and withered looking bean crops; by occasional bits of newly ploughed land, where the rye lately stood; by the now darkening turnips--dark, except where they are being fed off by sheep flocks; and lastly by the still bright-green meadows, now studded every where with grazing cattle, the second crops of grass being already gathered in.
“The woods, as well as the single timber trees that occasionally start up with such fine effect from out of the hedge-rows, or in the midst of meadows and corn-fields, we shall now find sprinkled with what at first looks like gleams of scattered sunshine lying among the leaves, but what, on examination, we shall find to be the new foliage that has been put forth since midsummer, and which yet retains all the brilliant green of the spring. The effect of this new green, lying in sweeps and patches upon the old, though little observed in general, is one of the most beautiful and characteristic appearances of this season. In many cases, when the sight of it is caught near at hand, on the sides of thick plantations, the effect of it is perfectly deceptive, and you wonder for a moment how it is, that while the sun is shining so brightly every where, it should shine so much more brightly on those particular spots.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·60.
The ears are fill’d, the fields are white, The constant harvest-moon is bright To grasp the bounty of the year, The reapers to the scene repair, With hook in hand, and bottles slung, And dowlas-scrips beside them hung. The sickles stubble all the ground, And fitful hasty laughs go round; The meals are done as soon as tasted, And neither time nor viands wasted. All over--then, the barrels foam-- The “Largess”-cry, the “Harvest-home!”
*
The “Mirror of the Months” likens August to “that brief, but perhaps best period of human life, when the promises of youth are either fulfilled or forgotten, and the fears and forethoughts connected with decline have not yet grown strong enough to make themselves felt; and consequently when we have nothing to do but look around us, and be happy.” For it is in this month that the year “like a man at forty, has turned the corner of its existence; but, like him, it may still fancy itself young, because it does not begin to feel itself getting old. And perhaps there is no period like this, for encouraging and bringing to perfection that habit of tranquil enjoyment, in which all true happiness must mainly consist: with pleasure it has, indeed, little to do; but with happiness it is every thing.”
The author of the volume pursues his estimate by observing, that “August is that debateable ground of the year, which is situated exactly upon the confines of summer and autumn; and it is difficult to say which has the better claim to it. It is dressed in half the flowers of the one, and half the fruits of the other; and it has a sky and a temperature all its own, and which vie in beauty with those of the spring. May itself can offer nothing so sweet to the senses, so enchanting to the imagination, and so soothing to the heart, as that genial influence which arises from the sights, the sounds, and the associations, connected with an August evening in the country, when the occupations and pleasures of the day are done, and when all, even the busiest, are fain to give way to that ‘wise passiveness,’ one hour of which is rife with more real enjoyment than a whole season of revelry. Those who will be wise (or foolish) enough to make comparisons between the various kinds of pleasure of which the mind of man is capable, will find that there is none (or but one) equal to that felt by a true lover of nature, when he looks forth upon her open face silently, at a season like the present, and drinks in that still beauty which seems to emanate from every thing he sees, till his whole senses are steeped in a sweet forgetfulness, and he becomes unconscious of all but that instinct of good which is ever present with us, but which can so seldom make itself felt amid that throng of thoughts which are ever busying and besieging us, in our intercourse with the living world. The only other feeling which equals this, in its intense quietude, and its satisfying fulness, is one which is almost identical with it,--where the accepted lover is gazing unobserved, and almost unconsciously, on the face of his mistress, and tracing their sweet evidences of that mysterious union which already exists between them.
“The whole face of nature has undergone, since last month, an obvious change; obvious to those who delight to observe all her changes and operations, but not sufficiently striking to insist on being seen generally by those who can read no characters but such as are written in a text hand. If the general colours of all the various departments of natural scenery are not changed, their hues are; and if there is not yet observable the infinite variety of autumn, there is as little the extreme monotony of summer. In one department, however, there is a general change, that cannot well remain unobserved. The rich and unvarying green of the corn-fields has entirely and almost suddenly changed to a still richer and more conspicuous gold colour; more conspicuous on account of the contrast it now offers to the lines, patches, and masses of green with which it every where lies in contact, in the form of intersecting hedge-rows, intervening meadows, and bounding masses of forest. These latter are changed too; but in hue alone, not in colour. They are all of them still green; but it is not the fresh and tender green of the spring, nor the full and satisfying, though somewhat dull, green of the summer; but many greens, that blend all those belonging to the seasons just named, with others at once more grave and more bright; and the charming variety and interchange of which are peculiar to this delightful month, and are more beautiful in their general effect than those of either of the preceding periods: just as a truly beautiful woman is perhaps more beautiful at the period immediately before that at which her charms begin to wane, than she ever was before. Here, however, the comparison must end; for with the year its incipient decay is the signal for it to put on more and more beauties daily, till, when it reaches the period at which it is on the point of sinking into the temporary death of winter, it is more beautiful in general appearance than ever.”
~August 1.~
LAMMAS DAY.
Though the origin of this denomination is related in vol. i. col. 1063, yet it seems proper to add that Lammas or Lambmas day obtained its name from a mass ordained to St. Peter, supplicating his benediction on lambs, in shearing season, to preserve them from catching cold. St Peter became patron of lambs, from Christ’s metaphorical expression, “Feed my lambs,” having been construed into a literal injunction.[278] Raphael makes this misconstruction the subject of one of his great cartoons, by representing Christ as speaking to Peter, and pointing to a flock of lambs.
Lammas Towers in Mid-Lothian.
There was a Lammas festival, which prevailed in the Lothians from very early times among the young persons employed during summer in tending the herds at pasture. The usage is remarkable.
It appears that the herdsmen within a certain district, towards the beginning of summer, associated themselves into bands, sometimes to the number of a hundred or more. Each of these communities agreed to build a tower in some conspicuous place, near the centre of their district, which was to serve as the place of their rendezvous on Lammas day. This tower was usually built of sods; for the most part square, about four feet in diameter at the bottom, and tapering to a point at the top, which was seldom above seven or eight feet from the ground. In building it, a hole was left in the centre for admitting a flag-staff, on which to display their colours. The tower was usually begun to be built about a month before Lammas, and was carried up slowly by successive additions from time to time, being seldom entirely completed till a few days before Lammas; though it was always thought that those who completed their’s soonest, and kept it standing the longest time before Lammas, behaved in the most gallant manner, and acquired most honour by their conduct.
From the moment the foundation of the tower was laid, it became an object of care and attention to the whole community; for it was reckoned a disgrace to suffer it to be defaced; so that they resisted, with all their power, any attempts that should be made to demolish it, either by force or fraud; and, as the honour that was acquired by the demolition of a tower, if affected by those belonging to another, was in proportion to the disgrace of suffering it to be demolished, each party endeavoured to circumvent the other as much as possible, and laid plans to steal upon the tower unperceived, in the night time, and level it with the ground. Great was the honour that such a successful exploit conveyed to the undertakers; and, though the tower was easily rebuilt, and was soon put into its former state, yet the news was quickly spread by the successful adventurers, through the whole district, which filled it with shouts of joy and exultation, while their unfortunate neighbours were covered with shame. To ward off this disgrace, a constant nightly guard was kept at each tower, which was made stronger and stronger, as the tower advanced; so that frequent nightly skirmishes ensued at these attacks, but were seldom of much consequence, as the assailants seldom came in force to make an attack in this way, but merely to succeed by surprise; as soon, therefore, as they saw they were discovered, they made off in the best manner they could.
To give the alarm on these, and other occasions, every person was armed with a “tooting horn;” that is, a horn perforated in the small end, through which wind can be forcibly blown from the mouth, so as to occasion a loud sound; and, as every one wished to acquire as great dexterity as possible in the use of the “tooting horn,” they practised upon it during the summer, while keeping their beasts; and towards Lammas they were so incessantly employed at this business, answering to, and vying with each other, that the whole country rang continually with the sounds; and it must no doubt have appeared to be a very harsh and unaccountable noise to a stranger who was then passing through it.
As the great day of Lammas approached, each community chose one from among themselves for their captain, and they prepared a stand of colours to be ready to be then displayed. For this purpose, they usually borrowed a fine table napkin of the largest size, from some of the farmer’s wives within the district; and, to ornament it, they borrowed ribbons, which they tacked upon the napkin in such fashion as best suited their fancy. Things being thus prepared, they marched forth early in the morning on Lammas day, dressed in their best apparel, each armed with a stout cudgel, and, repairing to their tower, there displayed their colours in triumph; blowing horns, and making merry in the best manner they could. About nine o’clock they sat down upon the green; and each taking from his pocket, bread and cheese, or other provisions, made a hearty breakfast, drinking pure water from a well, which they always took care should be near the scene of banquet.
In the mean time, scouts were sent out towards every quarter, to bring them notice if any hostile party approached; for it frequently happened, that on that day the herdsmen of one district went to attack those of another district, and to bring them under subjection to them by main force. If news were brought that a hostile party approached, the horns sounded to arms, and they immediately arranged themselves in the best order they could devise; the stoutest and boldest in front, and those of inferior prowess behind. Seldom did they wait the approach of the enemy, but usually went forth to meet them with a bold countenance, the captain of each company carrying the colours, and leading the van. When they met, they mutually desired each other to lower their colours in sign of subjection. If there appeared to be a great disproportion in the strength of the parties, the weakest usually submitted to this ceremony without much difficulty, thinking their honour was saved by the evident disproportion of the match; but, if they were nearly equal in strength, none of them would yield, and it ended in blows, and sometimes bloodshed. It is related, that, in a battle of this kind, four were actually killed, and many disabled from work for weeks.
If no opponent appeared, or if they themselves had no intention of making an attack, at about mid-day they took down their colours, and marched with horns sounding, towards the most considerable village in their district; where the lasses, and all the people, came out to meet them, and partake of their diversions. Boundaries were immediately appointed, and a proclamation made, that all who intended to compete in the race should appear. A bonnet ornamented with ribbons was displayed upon a pole, as a prize to the victor; and sometimes five or six started for it, and ran with as great eagerness as if they had been to gain a kingdom; the prize of the second race was a pair of garters, and the third a knife. They then amused themselves for some time, with such rural sports as suited their taste, and dispersed quietly to their respective homes before sunset.
When two parties met, and one of them yielded to the other, they marched together for some time in two separate bodies, the subjected body behind the other; and then they parted good friends, each performing their races at their own appointed place. Next day, after the ceremony was over, the ribbons and napkin that formed the colours, were carefully returned to their respective owners, the tower was no longer a matter of consequence, and the country returned to its usual state of tranquility.
The above is a faithful account of this singular ceremony which was annually repeated in all the country, within the distance of six miles west from Edinburgh, about thirty years before Dr. Anderson wrote, which was in the year 1792. How long the custom prevailed, or what had given rise to it, or how far it had extended on each side, he was uninformed. He says, “the name of Lammas-towers will remain, (some of them having been built of stone,) after the celebration of the festival has ceased. This paper will at least preserve the memory of what was meant by them. I never could discover the smallest traces of this custom in Aberdeenshire, though I have there found several towers of stone, very like the Lammas-towers of this country; but these seem to have been erected without any appropriated use, but merely to look at. I have known some of those erected in my time, where I knew for certain that no other object was intended, than merely to amuse the persons who erected them.”[279]
THE COBBLERS’ FESTIVAL AT PARIS ON THE FIRST OF AUGUST, 1641.
A rare old “broadside” in French, printed at the time, with a large and curious wood-cut at the head, now before the editor, describes a feast of the cobblers of Paris in a burlesque manner, from whence he proposes to extract some account of their proceedings as closely as may be to the original.
First, however, it is proper to observe that the wood engraving, on the next page, is a fac-simile of one third, and by far the most interesting portion of the original.
The entire occupation of the preceding page by a cut, which is the first of the kind in the Every-Day Book, may startle a few readers, but it must gratify every person who regards it either as a faithful transcript of the most interesting part of a very rare engraving, or as a representation of the mode of feasting in the old pot-houses of Paris.
Nothing of consequence is lost by the omission of the other part of the engraving; for it is merely a crowd of smaller figures, seated at the table, eating and drinking, or reeling, or lying on the floor inebriated. The only figure worth notice, is a man employed in turning a spit, and he has really so lack-a-daisical an appearance, that it seems worth while to give the top corner of the print in fac-simile.
We perceive from the page-cut that at the period when the original was executed, the French landlords “chalked up the score” as ours do, and that cobblers had music at their dinners as well as their betters. The band might not be so complete, but it was as good as they could get, and the king and his nobles could not have more than money could procure. The two musicians are of some consideration, as well suited to the scene; nor is the mendicant near them to be disregarded; he is only a little more needy, and, perhaps, a little less importunate than certain suitors for court favours. The singer who accompanies himself on the guitar at the table, is tricked out with a standing ruff and ruffles, and ear-rings, and seems a “joculator” of the first order;--and laying aside his dress, and the jaunty set of his hat, which we may almost imagine had been a pattern for a recent fashion, his face of “infinite humour” would distinguish him any where. However rudely the characters are cut, they are well discriminated. The serving man, with a spur on one foot and without a shoe on the other, who pours wine into a glass, is evidently a person--
“contented in his station who minds his occupation.”
Vandyke himself could scarcely have afforded more grace to a countess, than the artist of the feast has bestowed on a cobbler’s wife.
* * * * *
From the French of the author who drew up the account referring to the engraving, we learn that on the first day of August, 1641, the “Society of the Trade of Cobblers,” met in solemn festival (as, he observes, was their custom) in the church of St. Peters of Arsis, where, after having bestowed all sorts of praises on their patron, they divided their consecrated bread between them, with which not one third of them was satisfied; for while going out of the church they murmured, while the others chuckled.
After interchanging the reciprocal honours, they were accustomed to pay to each other, (which we may fairly presume to have been hard blows,) many of the most famous of their calling departed to a pot-house, and had a merry-making. They had all such sorts of dishes at their dinner as their purses would afford; particularly a large quantity of turnip-soup, on account of the number of persons present; and as many ox-feet and fricasees of tripe, as all the tripe-shops of the city and its suburbs could furnish, with various other dishes which the reporter says he does not choose to name, lest he should give offence to the fraternity. He mentions cow-beef, however, as one of the delicacies, and hints at their excesses having disordered their stomachs and manners. He speaks of some of them having been the masters, and of others as more than the masters, for they denominated themselves Messieurs le Jurez, of their honourable calling. He further says, that to know the whole history of their assembly, you must go to Gentily, at the sign of St. Peter, where, when at leisure, they all play together at bowls. He adds, that it is not necessary to describe them all, because it is not the custom of this highly indispensable fraternity to do kindness, and they are always indignant at strong reproaches.
Finally, he says, “I pray God to turn them from their wickedness.” He subjoins a song which he declares if you read and sing, will show he has told the truth, and that you will be delighted with it. He alleges, that he drew it up to make you better acquainted with the scene represented in the wood-cut, in order that you might be amused and laugh. Whether it had that tendency cannot be determined, for unluckily the song, which no doubt was the best part, has perished from the copy of the singular paper now described.
LAMMAS DAY
Exeter Lammas Fair.
The charter for this fair is perpetuated by a glove of immense size, stuffed and carried through the city on a very long pole, decorated with ribbons, flowers, &c. and attended with music, parish beadles, and the mobility. It is afterwards placed on the top of the Guildhall, and then the fair commences; on the taking down of the glove, the fair terminates.
P.
RIPPON LAMMAS FEAST.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--If the following sketch of St. Wilfrid’s life, as connected with his feast at Rippon, be thought sufficiently interesting for insertion, you will oblige an old contributor.
The town of Rippon owes its rise to the piety of early times, for we find that Eata, abbot of Melross and Lindisfarne, in the year 661 founded a monastery there, for which purpose he had lands given him by Alchfrid, at that time king of Deira, and afterwards of the Northumbrians; but before the building was completed, the Scottish monks retired from the monastery, and St. Wilfrid was appointed abbot in 663, and soon afterwards raised to the see of York. This prelate was then in high favour with Oswy and Egfrid, kings of Northumberland, and the principal nobility, by whose liberality he rose to such a degree of opulence as to vie with princes, and enable him to build several rich monasteries; but his great pomp and immense wealth having drawn upon him the jealousy of the king and the archbishop of Canterbury, he was exiled. After an absence of ten years he was allowed to return to his see, and died in the monastery of Oundle in 711, aged seventy-six, and was interred there. In 940, his remains were removed to Canterbury, by Odo, archbishop of that see. Amongst all the miracles recorded of Wilfrid by the author of his life,[280] one, if true, was very extraordinary, and would go far to convert the most obdurate pagan. It is said, that at this time, God so blessed the holy man’s endeavours towards the propagation of the faith, that, on a solemn day for baptizing some thousands of the people of Sussex, the ceremony was no sooner ended but the heavens distilled such plentiful showers of rain, that the country was relieved by it from the most prodigious famine ever heard of. So great was the drought, and provision so scarce, that, in the extremity of hunger, fifty at a time joined hand in hand and flung themselves into the sea, in order to avoid the death of famine by land. But by Wilfrid’s means their bodies and souls were preserved.
The town of Rippon continues to this day to honour the memory of its benefactor by an annual feast. On the Saturday following Lammas-day, the effigy of St. Wilfrid is brought into the town with great ceremony, preceded by music, when the people go out to meet it in commemoration of the return of their favourite saint and patron from exile. The following day called St. Wilfrid’s Sunday is dedicated to him. On the Monday and Tuesday there are horse-races for small sums only; though formerly there were plates of twenty, thirty, forty, and fifty pounds.[281]
The following is a literal copy of part of an advertisement from the “Newcastle Courant” August 28, 1725.
“TO BE RUN FOR. The usual four miles’ course on Rippon Common, in the county of York, according to articles. On Monday the thirteenth of September a purse of twenty guineas by any horse, mare, or gelding that was no more than five years old the last grass, to be certified by the breeder, each horse to pay two guineas entrance, run three heats, the usual four miles’ course for a heat, and carry nine stone, besides saddle and bridle. On Tuesday the fourteenth, THE LADY’S PLATE of fifteen pounds’ value by any horse, &c. Women to be the riders: each to pay one guinea entrance, three heats, and twice about the common for a heat.”
During the feast of St. Wilfrid, which continues nearly all the week, the inhabitants of Rippon enjoy the privilege of rambling through the delightful grounds of “Studley Royal,” the seat of Mrs. Laurence, a lady remarkable for her amiable character and bounty to the neighbouring poor. On St. Wilfrid’s day the gates of this fairy region are thrown open, and all persons are allowed to wander where they please.
No description can do justice to the exuberant distribution of nature and art which surrounds one on every side on entering these beautiful and enchanting grounds; the mind can never cease to wonder, nor the eye tire in beholding them.
The grounds consist of about three hundred acres, and are laid out with a taste unexcelled in this country. There is every variety of hill and dale, and a judicious introduction of ornamental buildings with a number of fine statues; among them are Hercules and Antæus, Roman wrestlers, and a remarkably fine dying gladiator. The beauties of this terrestrial paradise would fill a volume, but the chief attraction is the grand monastic ruin of Fountain’s abbey. This magnificent remain of olden time is preserved with the utmost care by the express command of its owner, and is certainly the most perfect in the kingdom. It is seated in a romantic dale surrounded by majestic oaks and firs. The great civility of the persons appointed to show the place, is not the least agreeable feeling on a visit to Studley Royal.
I am, &c.
J. J. A. F.
DISSENTERS’ FESTIVAL.
The first of August, as the anniversary of the death of queen Anne, and the accession of George I., seems to have been kept with rejoicing by the dissenters. In the year 1733, they held a great meeting in London, and several other parts of the kingdom to celebrate the day, it being that whereon the “schism bill” was to have taken place if the death of the queen had not prevented it. If this bill had passed into a law, dissenters would have been debarred the liberty of educating their own children.[282]
DOGGET’S COAT AND BADGE.
Also in honour of this day there is a rowing match on the river Thames, instituted by Thomas Dogget an old actor of celebrity, who was so attached to the Brunswick family, that sir Richard Steele called him “a whig up to the head and ears.”
In the year after George I. came to the throne, Dogget gave a waterman’s coat and silver badge to be rowed for by six watermen on the first day of August, being the anniversary of that king’s accession to the throne. This he continued till his death, when it was found that he had bequeathed a certain sum of money, the interest of which was to be appropriated annually, for ever, to the purchase of a like coat and badge, to be rowed for in honour of the day by six young watermen whose apprenticeships had expired the year before. This ceremony is every year performed on the first of August, the claimants setting out, at a signal given, at that time of the tide when the current is strongest against them, and rowing from the Old Swan, near London-bridge, to the White Swan at Chelsea.[283]
Broughton, who was a waterman, before he was a prize-fighter, won the first coat and badge.
* * * * *
This annual rowing-match is the subject of a ballad-opera, by Charles Dibdin, first performed at the Haymarket, in 1774, called “The Waterman, or the First of August.” In this piece Tom Tugg, a candidate for Dogget’s coat and badge, sings the following, which was long a popular
SONG.
And did you not hear of a jolly young waterman, Who at Blackfriars-bridge used for to ply; And he feather’d his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart and delighting each eye: He looked so neat, and rowed so steadily, The maidens all flocked in his boat so readily, And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air, That this waterman ne’er was in want of a fare.
What sights of fine folks he oft row’d in his wherry! ’Twas clean’d out so nice, and so painted withal; He was always first oars when the fine city ladies, In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall: And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering, But ’twas all one to Tom, their gibing and jeering, For loving, or liking, he little did care, For this waterman ne’er was in want of a fare.
And yet, but to see how strangely things happen, As he row’d along, thinking of nothing at all, He was plied by a damsel so lovely and charming, That she smiled, and so straightway in love he did fall; And, would this young damsel but banish his sorrow, He’d wed her to-night before to-morrow: And how should this waterman ever know care, When he’s married and never in want of a fare?
Tom Tug wins Dogget’s coat and badge under the eyes of his mistress, who sits with her friends to see the rowing-match from an inn window overlooking the river; and, with the prize, he wins her heart.
DOGGET.
Colley Cibber calls Dogget “a prudent, honest man,” and relates anecdotes highly to our founder’s honour. One of them is very characteristic of Dogget’s good sense and firmness.
The lord chamberlain was accustomed to exercise great power over actors. In king William’s reign he issued an order that no actor of either company should presume to go from one to the other without a discharge, and the lord chamberlain’s permission; and messengers actually took performers who disobeyed the edict into custody. Dogget was under articles to play at Drury-lane, but conceiving himself treated unfairly, quitted the stage, would act no more, and preferred to forego his demands rather than hazard the tediousness and danger of the law to recover them. The manager, who valued him highly, resorted to the authority of the lord chamberlain. “Accordingly upon his complaint, a messenger was immediately despatched to Norwich, where Dogget then was, to bring him up in custody. But doughty Dogget, who had money in his pocket, and the cause of liberty at his heart, was not in the least intimidated by this formidable summons. He was observed to obey it with a particular cheerfulness, entertaining his fellow-traveller, the messenger, all the way in the coach (for he had protested against riding) with as much humour as a man of his business might be capable of tasting. And, as he found his charges were to be defrayed, he, at every inn, called for the best dainties the country could afford, or a pretended weak appetite could digest. At this rate they jollily rolled on, more with the air of a jaunt than a journey, or a party of pleasure than of a poor devil in durance. Upon his arrival in town, he immediately applied to the lord chief justice Holt for his habeas corpus. As his case was something particular, that eminent and learned minister of the law took a particular notice of it: for Dogget was not only discharged, but the process of his confinement (according to common fame) had a censure passed upon it in court.”
“We see,” says Cibber, “how naturally power, only founded on custom, is apt, where the law is silent, to run into excesses; and while it laudably pretends to govern others, how hard it is to govern itself.”[284]
* * * * *
Scarcely any thing is known of this celebrated performer, but through Cibber, with whom he was a joint patentee in Drury-lane theatre. They sometimes warmly differed, but Cibber respected his integrity and admired his talents. The accounts of Dogget in “Cibber’s Apology,” are exceedingly amusing, and the book is now easily accessible, for it forms the first volume of “Autobiography, a collection of the most instructive and amusing lives written by the parties themselves;”--a work printed in an elegant form, and published at a reasonable price, and so arranged that every life may be purchased separately.
Cibber says of Dogget, “He was a golden actor.--He was the most an original, and the strictest observer of nature, of all his contemporaries. He borrowed from none of them; his manner was his own; he was a pattern to others, whose great merit was, that they had sometimes tolerably imitated him. In dressing a character to the greatest exactness he was remarkably skilful; the least article of whatever habit he wore, seemed in some degree to speak and mark the different humour he presented; a necessary care in a comedian, in which many have been too remiss or ignorant. He could be extremely ridiculous without stepping into the least impropriety to make him so. His greatest success was in characters of lower life, which he improved from the delight he took in his observations of that kind in the real world. In songs and particular dances, too, of humour, he had no competitor. Congreve was a great admirer of him, and found his account in the characters he expressly wrote for him. In those of Fondlewife, in his ‘Old Batchelor,’ and Ben, in ‘Love for Love,’ no author and actor could be more obliged to their mutual masterly performances.”
Dogget realized a fortune, retired from the stage, and died, endeared to watermen and whigs, at Eltham, in Kent, on the twenty-second of September, 1721.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·77.
[278] Mr. Brady’s Clavis Calendara.
[279] Dr. James Anderson, in Trans. Soc. Antiq. Scot.
[280] V. Wilfridi inter xx Scriptores.
[281] Gentleman’s Magazine.
[282] Ibid.
[283] Jones’s Biographia Dramaticæ.
[284] Autobiography, 1826, 18mo. vol. i. p. 202.
~August 2.~
CHRONOLOGY.
Thomas Gainsborough, eminent as a painter, and for love of his art, died on the second of August, 1788. His last words were, “We are all going to heaven, and Vandyke is of the party.” He was buried, by his own desire, near his friend Kirby, the author of the Treatise on “Perspective,” in the grave-yard of Kew chapel.
Gainsborough was born at Sudbury, in Suffolk, in 1727, where his father was a clothier, and nature the boy’s teacher. He passed his mornings in the woods alone; and in solitary rambles sketched old trees, brooks, a shepherd and his flock, cattle, or whatever his fancy seized on. After painting several landscapes, he arrived in London and received instructions from Gravelot and Hayman: he lived in Hatton-Garden, married a lady with 200_l._ a year went to Bath, and painted portraits for five guineas, till the demand for his talent enabled him gradually to raise the price to a 100_l._ He settled in Pall-mall in 1774, with fame and fortune.
Gainsborough, while at Bath, was chosen a member of the Royal Academy on its institution, but neglected its meetings. Sir Joshua Reynolds says, “whether he most excelled in portraits, landscapes, or fancy pictures, it is most difficult to determine.” His aërial perspective is uncommonly light and beautiful. He derived his grace and elegance from nature, rather than manners; and hence his paintings are inimitably true and bewitching. Devoted to his art, he regretted leaving it; just before his death, he said, “he saw his deficiences, and had endeavoured to remedy them in his last works.”
No object was too mean for Gainsborough’s pencil; his habit of closely observing things in their several particulars, enabled him to perceive their relations to each other, and combine them. By painting at night, he acquired new perceptions: he had eyes and saw, and he secured every advantage he discovered. He etched three plates; one for “Kirby’s Perspective;” another an oak tree with gypsies; and the third, a man ploughing on a rising ground, which he spoiled in “biting in:” the print is rare.
In portraits he strove for natural character, and when this was attained, seldom proceeded farther. He could have imparted intelligence to the features of the dullest, but he disdained to elevate what nature had forbidden to rise; hence, if he painted a butcher in his Sunday-coat, he made him, as he looked, a respectable yeoman; but his likenesses were chiefly of persons of the first quality, and he maintained their dignity. His portraits are seldom highly finished, and are not sufficiently estimated, for the very reason whereon his reputation for natural scenery is deservedly high. Sir Joshua gave Gainsborough one hundred guineas for a picture of a girl and pigs, though its artist only required sixty.[285]
Gainsborough had what the world calls eccentricities. They resulted rather from his indulgence in study, than contempt for the usages of society. It was well for Gainsborough that he could disregard the courtesies of life without disturbance to his happiness, from those with whom manners are morals.
A series of “Studies of Figures” from Gainsborough’s “Sketch Books,” are executed in lithography, in exact imitation of his original drawings by Mr. Richard Lane. Until this publication, these drawings were unknown. Mr. Lane’s work is to Gainsborough, what the prints in Mr. Otley’s “Italian School of Design,” are to Raphael and Michael Angelo. Each print is so perfect a fac-simile, that it would be mistaken for the original drawing, if we were not told otherwise. This is the way to preserve the reputation of artists. Their sketches are often better than their paintings; the elaboration of a thought tends to evaporate its spirit.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·95.
[285] Pilkington.
~August 3.~
CHRONOLOGY.
Michael Adanson, an eminent naturalist of Scottish extraction, born in April, 1727, at Aix, in Provence, died at Paris on the third of August, 1806. Needham, at one of his examinations, presented Adanson, then a child, with a microscope, and the use of the instrument gave the boy a bias to the science which he distinguished as a philosopher. His parents destined him for the church, and obtained a prebend’s stall for him, but he abandoned his seat, made a voyage to Senegal in 1757, and published the result of his labours in a natural history of that country. This obtained him the honour of corresponding member in the Academy of Sciences. In 1763, his “Famille des Plantes” appeared; it was followed by a design of an immense general work, which failed from Louis XV., withholding his patronage. He formed the project of a settlement on the African coast for raising colonial produce without negro slavery, which the French East India company refused to encourage: he refused to communicate his plan to the English, who, after they had become martyrs of Senegal, applied for it to Adanson, through lord North. He declined invitations from the courts of Spain and Russia, and managed as well as he could with pensions derived from his office of royal censor, his place in the academy, and other sources inadequate to the expense of forming his immense collections. He was reduced to poverty by the revolution. The French invited him to join it as a member; he answered, “he had no shoes.” This procured him a small pension, whereon he subsisted till his death.[286]
* * * * *
So early as thirteen years of age, Adanson began to write notes on the natural histories of Aristotle and Pliny; but soon quitted books to study nature. He made a collection of thirty-three thousand existences, which he arranged in a series of his own. This was the assiduous labour of eight years. Five years spent at Senegal, gave him the opportunity of augmenting his catalogue. He extended his researches to subjects of commercial utility, explored the most fertile and best situated districts of the country, formed a map of it, followed the course of the Niger, and brought home with him an immense collection of observations, philosophical, political, moral, and economical, with an addition to his catalogue of about thirty thousand hitherto unknown species, which, with his former list, and subsequent additions brought the whole number to more than ninety thousand.
* * * * *
The arrangement of Adanson’s “Families des Plantes,” is founded upon the principle, “that if there is in nature a system which we can detect, it can only be founded on the totality of the relations of characters, derived from all the parts and qualities of plants.” His labours are too manifold to be specified, but their magnitude may be conceived from his having laid before the academy, in 1773, the plan of his “Universal Natural Encyclopædia,” consisting of one hundred and twenty manuscript volumes, illustrated by seventy-five thousand figures, in folio. In 1776, he published in the “Supplement of the first Encyclopædia,” by Diderot and D’Alembert, the articles relative to natural history and the philosophy of the sciences, comprised under the letters A. B. C. In 1779, he journied over the highest mountains in Europe, whence he brought more than twenty thousand specimens of different minerals, and charts of more than twelve hundred leagues of country. He was the possessor of the most copious cabinet in the world.
Adanson’s first misfortune from the revolution was the devastation of his experimental garden, in which he had cultivated one hundred and thirty kinds of mulberry to perfection; and thus the labour of the best part of his life was overthrown in an instant. One privation succeeded another, till he was plunged in extreme indigence, and prevented from pursuing his usual studies for want of fire and light. “I have found him in winter (says his biographer) at nine in the evening, with his body bent, his head stooped to the floor, and one foot placed upon another, before the glimmering of a small brand, writing upon this new kind of desk, regardless of the inconvenience of an attitude which would have been a torment to any one not excited by the most inconceivable habit of labour, and inspired with the ecstacy of meditation.”
Adanson’s miserable condition was somewhat alleviated by the minister Benezech; but another minister, himself a man of letters, Francois de Neufchateau, restored Adanson to the public notice, and recommended him to his successors. The philosopher, devoted to his studies, and apparently little fitted for society, sought neither patron nor protector; and indeed he seems never to have been raised above that poverty, which was often the lot of genius and learning in the stormy period of the revolution. His obligations to men in power were much less than to a humbler benefactor, whose constant and generous attachment deserves honourable commemoration. This was Anne-Margaret-Roux, the wife of Simon Henry, who, in 1783, at the age of twenty-eight, became the domestic of Adanson, and from that time to his death, stood in the place to him of relations, friends, and fortune. During the extremity of his distress, when he was in want of every necessary, she waited upon him during the day, and passed the night, without his knowledge, in labours, the wages of which she employed in the purchase of coffee and sugar, without which he could do nothing. At the same time, her husband, in the service of another master in Picardy, sent every week bread, meat, and vegetables, and even his savings in money, to supply the other wants of the philosopher. When Adanson’s accumulated infirmities rendered the cares of the wife insufficient, Simon Henry came and assisted her, and no more quitted him.
From the time of his residence at Senegal, Adanson was exceedingly sensible of cold and humidity; and from inhabiting a ground floor, without cellars, in one of the lowest streets in Paris, he was continually labouring under rheumatic affections. The attitude in which he read and wrote, which was that of his body bent in an arm-chair, and his legs raised high on each side of the chimney-place, contributed to deposit humours upon his loins, and the articulations of his thighs. When he had again got a little garden, he used to pass whole days before his plants, sitting upon his crossed legs; and he often forgot, in the ardour of study, to go to bed. This mode of life occasioned an osseous disease in the right thigh. In January, 1806, as he was standing by his fire, he perceived his thigh bend, and would have fallen, had he not been supported by his devoted domestic. He was put to bed, the limb was replaced, and he was attended with the utmost assiduity by the faithful pair, who even tore up their own linen for his dressings. Except his surgeon, they were the only human beings he saw during the last six months of his life--a proof how little he had cultivated friendship among his equals. Napoleon informed of his wretched situation, sent him three thousand livres, which his two attendants managed with the greatest fidelity. Whilst confined to his bed, he continued his usual occupation of reading and writing, and was seen every morning with the pen in his hand, writing without spectacles, in very small characters, at arm’s length. The powers of his understanding were entire when he expired.[287]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·25.
[286] General Biography, vol. i. 17.
[287] Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum.
~August 4.~
LONG BOWLS.
On the fourth of August, 1739, a farmer of Croydon undertook for a considerable wager, to bowl a skittle-bowl from that town to London-bridge, about eleven miles, in 500 times, and performed it in 445.[288]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·72.
[288] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~August 5.~
ST. JAMES’S DAY, Old Style.
It is on this day, and not on St. James’s day new style, as mistakingly represented in vol. i. col. 978, that oysters come in.
OYSTER DAY.
For the Every-Day Book.
Greengrocers rise at dawn of sun-- August the fifth--come haste away! To Billingsgate the thousands run,-- ’Tis Oyster Day!--’tis Oyster Day!
Now at the corner of the street With oysters fine the tub is filled; The cockney stops to have a treat Prepared by one in opening skilled.
The pepper-box, the cruet,--wait To give a relish to the taste; The mouth is watering for the bait Within the pearly cloisters chased.
Take off the beard--as quick as thought The pointed knife divides the flesh;-- What plates are laden--loads are bought And eaten raw, and cold, and fresh!
Some take them with their steak for sauce, Some stew, and fry, and scollop well; While, Leperello-like, some toss; And some in gutting them excel.[289]
Poor creatures of the ocean’s wave! Born, fed, and fatted for our prey;-- E’en boys, your shells when parted, crave, Perspective for the “Grotto day.”
With watchful eye in many a band The urchin wights at eve appear; They raise their “lights” with voice and hand-- “A grotto comes but once a year!”
Then, in some rustic gardener’s bed The shells are fixed for borders neat; Or, crushed within a dustman’s shed, Like deadmen’s bones ’neath living feet.
*, *, P.
CHRONOLOGY.
Sir Reginald Bray, the architect of king Henry the seventh’s chapel, died August 5, 1503. His family came into England with the Conqueror, and flourished in Northampton and Warwickshire. He was second son to sir Richard Bray, a privy counsellor to king Henry VI. In the first year of Richard III. Reginald had a general pardon, for having adhered, it is presumed, to Henry VI. He favoured the advancement of the earl of Richmond to the throne as Henry VII., who made him a knight banneret, probably on Bosworth field. At this king’s coronation he was created a knight of the bath, and afterwards a knight of the garter.
Sir Reginald Bray was a distinguished statesman and warrior. He served at the battle of Blackheath in 1497, on the Cornish insurrection under lord Audley, part of whose estates he acquired by grant. He was constable of Oakham castle in Rutlandshire, joint chief justice of the forests south of Trent, high steward of the university of Oxford, chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, and high treasurer. Distinguished by the royal favour, he held the Isle of Wight for his life at an annual rent of three hundred marks, and died possessed of large estates, under a suspicious sovereign who extorted large sums from his subjects when there was very little law to control the royal will. His administration was so just as to procure him the title of “the father of his country.” To his skill in architecture we are indebted for the most eminent ecclesiastical ornament of the metropolis--the splendid chapel founded by Henry in his lifetime at Westminster; and he conducted the chapel of St. George, at Windsor palace, to its completion.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·47.
[289] See the supper scene in “Don Giovanni,”--also the Irishman’s joke of eating the oysters and taking his master the shells. Speaking of “Oysters”--the song sung by Grimaldi senior,--“An oyster crossed in love,”--has been very popular.
~August 6.~
TRANSFIGURATION.
For this denomination of the day see vol. i. col. 1071.
It is alleged that this festival was observed at Rome in the fifth century, though not universally solemnized until in 1457 pope Calixtus III. ordained its celebration to commemorate the raising of the siege of Belgrade by Mahomet II.[290]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·37.
[290] Butler. Brady.
~August 7.~
NAME OF JESUS.
A festival in honour of the name of Jesus appears was anciently held on the second Sunday in Epiphany, from whence it was removed at the reformation to this day, and the name of St. Donatus expunged by the English reformers to make room for it. That saint’s name had previously been substituted for that of St. Afra, to whom the day had first been dedicated in honour of her martyrdom.
* * * * *
Augsburg cathedral was rebuilt by St. Ulric to whom and St. Afra jointly it was dedicated: a Latin folio with engravings by Kilian describes its magnificence.[291] In the church were preserved the sculls of several saints, blazing with jewellery, mitred or crowned, reposing on embroidered cushions, and elevated on altars or reliquaries. One of these is selected as a specimen of the sumptuous adornment of deceased mortality in Roman catholic churches.
ST. AFRA.
This saint is alleged to have suffered martyrdom under Dioclesian. She had led an abandoned life at Augsburg, but being required to sacrifice to the heathen deities she refused; wherefore, with certain of her female companions, she was bound to a stake in an island on the river Lech, and suffocated by smoke from vine branches. She is honoured as chief patroness of Augsburg.
ST. ULRIC.
This saint was bishop of Augsburg, which city he defended against the barbarians by raising walls and erecting fortresses around it, and died in 973, surrounded by his clergy, while lying on ashes strewed on the floor in the form of a cross.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·20.
[291] Basilica S. S. Udalrici et Afræ, Imperialis Monasterii ord. S. Benedicti Augustæ Vindel. Historice descripta; edit. secunda. August. Vindel. 1653.
~August 8.~
THE SEASON.
This time of the year is usually remarkably fine. The rich glow of summer is seldom in perfection till August. We now enjoy settled hot weather, a glowing sky, with varied and beautiful, but not many clouds, and delightfully fragrant and cool evenings. The golden yellow of the ripe corn, the idea of plenty inspired by the commencing harvest of wheat, the full and mature appearance of the foliage, in short the tout ensemble of nature at this time is more pleasing than perhaps that of any of the other summer months.
One of the editors of the “Perennial Calendar,” inserts some verses which he found about this time among his papers; he says they are “evidently some parody,” and certainly they are very agreeable.
* * * * *
INFANTINE RECOLLECTIONS
In Fancy how dear are the scenes of my childhood Which old recollections recal to my view! My own little garden, its plants, and the wild wood, The old paper Kite that my Infancy flew.
The cool shady Elm Grove, the Pond that was by it, My small plaything Mill where the rain torrent fell; My Father’s Pot Garden, the Drying Ground nigh it, The old wooden Pump by the Melon ground well.
That Portugal Laurel I hail as a treasure, For often in Summer when tired of play, I found its thick shade a most exquisite pleasure, And sat in its boughs my long lessons to say.
There I first thought my scholarship somewhat advancing, And turning my Lilly right down on its back, While my thirst for some drink the Sun’s beams were enhancing I shouted out learnedly--Da mihi lac.
No image more dear than the thoughts of these baubles, Ghigs, Peg Tops, and Whip Tops, and infantine games The Grassplot for Ball, and the Yewwalk for Marbles, And the arbours for whoop, and the vine trellis frames.
Those three renowned Poplars, by Summer winds waved By Tom, Ben, and Ned, that were planted of yore, ’Twixt the times when these Wights were first breeched and first shaved May now be hewn down, and may waver no more!
How well I remember, when Spring flowers were blowing, With rapture I cropt the first Crocuses there! Life seemed like a Lamp in eternity glowing, Nor dreamt I that all the green boughs would be sear.
In Summer, while feasting on Currants and Cherries, And roving through Strawberry Beds with delight, I thought not of Autumn’s Grapes, Nuts, and Blackberries, Nor of Ivy decked Winter cold shivering in white.
E’en in that frosty season, my Grandfather’s Hall in, I used to sit turning the Electric Machine, And taking from Shockbottles shocks much less galling, If sharper than those of my manhood I ween.
The Chesnuts I picked up and flung in the fires, The Evergreens gathered the hot coals to choke; Made reports that were emblems of blown up desires, And warm glowing hopes that have ended in smoke.
How oft have I sat on the green bench astonished To gaze at Orion and Night’s shady car, By the starspangled Sky’s Magic Lantern admonished Of time and of space that were distant afar!
But now when embarked on Life’s rough troubled ocean, While Hope with her anchor stands up on the bow, May Fortune take care of my skiff put in motion, Nor sink me when coyly she steps on the prow.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·97.
~August 9.~
THE EAGLE--A ROYAL BIRD.
The “Gentleman’s Magazine” records that, on August the ninth, 1734 a large eagle was taken near Carlton, in Kent, by a taylor: its wings when expanded were three yards eight inches long. It was claimed by the lord of the manor, but afterwards demanded by the king’s falconer as a royal bird and carried to court.
* * * * *
It was formerly a custom with itinerant showmen, who had tolerably sized eagles among their “wonders of nature,” to call them “Eagles of the Sun.”
TO THE SUN.
Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere The mystery of thy making was reveal’d! Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, Which gladden’d, on their mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour’d Themselves in orisons! Thou material God! And representative of the Unknown-- Who chose thee for His shadow! Thou chief star! Centre of many stars! which mak’st our earth Endurable, and temperest the hues And hearts of all who walk within thy rays; Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes, And those who dwell in them! for near or far, Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, Even as our outward aspects;--thou dost rise, And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well!
Byron.
SUNSET.
We walked along the pathway of a field, Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o’er, But to the west was open to the sky: There now the sun had sunk; but lines of gold Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points Of the far level grass and nodding flowers, And the old dandelion’s hoary beard, And, mingled with the shades of twilight lay On the brown massy woods: and in the east The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose Between the black trunks of the crowded trees, While the faint stars were gathering overhead.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·45.
~August 10.~
This is the festival day of St. Lawrence.
CHRONOLOGY.
Old Anthony Munday, the pleasant continuator of Stow’s “Survey,” renders this day remarkable by a curious notice.
This is an exactly reduced fac-simile representation of the wood-cut in Stow, and the following is Anthony Munday’s story:--
“This monument, or that of which this is a shadow, with their characters engraven about it, stands in Petty France, at the west end of the lower churchyard of St. Botolphes, Bishopsgate, (not within, but without the walls, the bounds of our consecrated ground,) and was erected to the memory of one Coya Shawsware, a Persian merchant, and a principal servant and secretary to the Persian ambassadour, with whom he and his sonne came over. He was aged forty-four, and buried the tenth of August, 1626: the ambassadour himselfe, young Shawsware his sonne, and many other Persians (with many expressions of their infinite love and sorrow) following him to the ground betweene eight and nine of the clocke in the morning. The rites and ceremonies that (with them) are done to the dead, were chiefly performed by his sonne, who, sitting crosse-legged at the north end of the grave, (for his tombe stands north and south,) did one while reade, another while sing; his reading and singing intermixt sighing and weeping: and this, with other things that were done in the grave in private (to prevent with the sight the relation) continued about halfe an houre.
“But this was but this dayes businesse: for, as this had not beene enough to performe to their friend departed, to this place and to this end (that is, prayer, and other funerall devotions) some of them came every morning and evening at sixe and sixe, for the space of a moneth together; and had come (as it was then imagined) the whole time of their abode here in England, had not the rudenesse of our people disturbed and prevented their purpose.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·69.
~August 11.~
Dog Days end.
CLOUDS.
Clouds are defined to be a collection of vapours suspended in the atmosphere, and rendered visible.
Although it be generally allowed that clouds are formed from the aqueous vapours, which before were so closely united with the atmosphere as to be invisible, it is not easy to account for the long continuance of some very opaque clouds without dissolving; or to assign the reason why the vapours, when they have once begun to condense, do not continue to do so till they at last fall to the ground in the form of rain or snow, &c. It is now known that a separation of the latent heat from the water, of which vapour is composed, is attended with a condensation of that vapour in some degree; in such case it will first appear as a smoke, mist, or fog; which, if interposed between the sun and earth, will form a cloud; and the same causes continuing to operate, the cloud will produce rain or snow. It is however abundantly evident that some other cause beside mere heat or cold is concerned in the formation of clouds, and the condensation of atmospherical vapours. This cause is esteemed in a great measure the electrical fluid; indeed electricity is now so generally admitted as an agent in all the great operations of nature, that it is no wonder to find the formation of clouds attributed to it; and this has accordingly been given by Beccaria as the cause of the formation of all clouds whatsoever, whether of thunder, rain, hail, or snow.
But whether the clouds are produced, that is, the atmospheric vapours rendered visible, by means of electricity or not, it is certain that they do often contain the electric fluid in prodigious quantities, and many terrible and destructive accidents have been occasioned by clouds very highly electrified. The most extraordinary instance of this kind perhaps on record, happened in the island of Java, in the East Indies, in August, 1772. On the eleventh of that month, at midnight, a bright cloud was observed covering a mountain in the district called Cheribon, and several reports like those of a gun were heard at the same time. The people who dwelt upon the upper parts of the mountain not being able to fly fast enough, a great part of the cloud, eight or nine miles in circumference, detached itself under them, and was seen at a distance, rising and falling like the waves of the sea, and emitting globes of fire so luminous, that the night became as clear as day. The effects of it were astonishing; every thing was destroyed for twenty miles round; the houses were demolished; plantations were buried in the earth; and two thousand one hundred and forty people lost their lives, besides one thousand five hundred head of cattle, and a vast number of horses, goats, &c.
* * * * *
The height of the clouds is not usually great: the summits of high mountains being commonly quite free from them, as many travellers have experienced in passing these mountains. It is found that the most highly electrified clouds descend lowest, their height being often not more than seven or eight hundred yards above the ground; and sometimes thunderclouds appear actually to touch the ground with one of their edges; but the generality of clouds are suspended at the height of a mile, or little more, above the earth.
* * * * *
The motions of the clouds, though often directed by the wind, are not always so, especially when thunder is about to ensue. In this case they are seen to move very slowly, or even to appear quite stationary for some time. The reason of this probably is, that they are impelled by two opposite streams of air nearly of equal strength; and in such cases it seems that both the aërial currents ascend to a considerable height; for Messrs. Charles and Robert, when endeavouring to avoid a thunder cloud, in one of their aërial voyages with a balloon, could find no alteration in the course of the current, though they ascended to the height of four thousand feet above the earth. In some cases the motions of the clouds evidently depend on their electricity, independent of any current of air whatever. Thus, in a calm and warm day, small clouds are often seen meeting each other in opposite directions, and setting out from such short distances, that it cannot be supposed that any opposite winds are the cause. Such clouds, when they meet, instead of forming a larger one, become much smaller, and sometimes quite vanish; a circumstance most probably owing to the discharge of opposite electricities into each other. And this serves also to throw some light on the true cause of the formation of clouds; for if two clouds, the one electrified positively, and the other negatively, destroy each other on contact, it follows that any quantity of vapour suspended in the atmosphere, while it retains its natural quantity of electricity, remains invisible, but becomes a cloud when electrified either plus or minus.
* * * * *
The shapes of the clouds are probably owing to their electricity; for in those seasons in which a great commotion has been excited in the atmospherical electricity, the clouds are seen assuming strange and whimsical shapes, that are continually varying. This, as well as the meeting of small clouds in the air, and vanishing upon contact, is a sure sign of thunder.
* * * * *
The uses of the clouds are evident, as from them proceeds the rain that refreshes the earth, and without which, according to the present state of nature, the whole surface of the earth must become a mere desert. They are likewise useful as a screen interposed between the earth and the scorching rays of the sun, which are often so powerful as to destroy the grass and other tender vegetables. In the more secret operations of nature too, where the electric fluid is concerned, the clouds bear a principal share; and chiefly serve as a medium for conveying that fluid from the atmosphere into the earth, and from the earth into the atmosphere: in doing which, when electrified to a great degree, they sometimes produce very terrible effects; an instance of which is related above.[292]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·35.
[292] Dr. Hutton.
~August 12.~
K. GEORGE IV. BORN.
On the twenty-fifth of August, 1761, the princess Charlotte of Mecklinburgh Strelitz, embarked with her attendants at Cuxhaven, on board the royal yacht, under the salute of a squadron destined to convey her to England, as the affianced bride of his majesty George III. On the twenty-eighth, she sailed, and after that day, no despatches were received until she arrived at Harwich, on the sixth of September.
The court was in some concern lest the tediousness of her voyage might have affected her health; but her highness, during her tedious passage, continued in very good health and spirits, often diverting herself with playing on the harpsichord, practising English tunes, and endearing herself to those who were honoured with the care of her person. She had been twice in sight of the British coast, and as often driven off by contrary winds; one day in hopes of landing on English ground, and the next in danger of being driven to the coasts of Norway. Her arrival, therefore, was a desirable event; but as it was night when she came to Harwich, her highness slept on board, and continued there till three in the afternoon the next day, during which time her route had been settled, and instructions received as to the manner of her proceeding to St. James’s.
At her landing, she was received by the mayor and aldermen of Harwich, in their usual formalities. About five o’clock she came to Colchester, and stopped at the house of Mr. Enew, where she was received and waited upon by Mrs. Enew and Mrs. Rebow; but captain Best attended her with coffee, and lieutenant John Seaber with tea. Being thus refreshed, she proceeded to Witham, where she arrived at a quarter past seven, and stopped at lord Abercorn’s, and his lordship provided as elegant an entertainment for her as the time would admit. During supper, the door of the room was ordered to stand open, that every body might have the pleasure of seeing her highness, and on each side of her chair stood the lords Harcourt and Anson. She slept that night at his lordship’s house.
A little after twelve o’clock next day, her highness came to Romford, where the king’s coach and servants met her; and after stopping to drink coffee at Mr. Dutton’s where she was waited upon by the king’s servants, she entered the king’s coach. The attendants of her highness were in three other coaches. In the first were some ladies of Mecklenburgh, and in the last was her highness, who sat forward, and the duchess of Ancaster and Hamilton backward.
On the road she was extremely courteous to every body, showing herself, and bowing to all who seemed desirous of seeing her, and ordering the coach to go extremely slow through the towns and villages as she passed, that as many as would might have a full view of her. The carriages were attended by an incredible number of spectators, both on horse and foot, to Stratford-le-Bow and Mile-end, where they turned up Dog-row, and prosecuted their journey to Hackney turnpike, then by Shoreditch church, and up Old-street to the City-road, across Islington, along the New-road into Hyde-park, down Constitution-hill into St. James’s park, and then to the garden-gate of the palace, where she was received by all the royal family. She was handed out of the coach by the duke of York, and met in the garden by his majesty, who in a very affectionate manner raised her up and saluted her, as she was going to pay her obeisance, and then led her into the palace, where she dined with his majesty, the princess dowager, and the princess Augusta. After dinner her highness was pleased to show herself with his majesty in the gallery and other apartments fronting the park.
About eight o’clock in the evening, the procession began to the chapel-royal. Her highness was attended by six dukes’ daughters as bride-maids; her train was supported by the daughters of six earls, and she was preceded by one hundred and twenty ladies in extremely rich dresses, who were handed into the chapel by the duke of York. The marriage ceremony was performed by the archbishop of Canterbury. The duke of Cumberland gave the princess’s hand to his majesty, and, immediately on the joining of their hands, the park and tower guns were fired. There was afterwards a public drawing-room; but no one was presented. The metropolis was illuminated, and there were the utmost public demonstrations of joy.
On the following day, the ninth of September, there was the most brilliant court at St. James’s ever remembered.
On the fourteenth, the lord mayor, aldermen, and common council of London, waited on their majesties and the princess dowager of Wales, with their addresses of congratulation. On the same day the chancellor and university of Cambridge presented the university address, and in the evening, about a quarter after six, their majesties went to Drury-lane theatre in chairs, and most of the royal family in coaches, to see the “Rehearsal;” they were attended by the horse guards. The theatre was full almost as soon as the doors were opened. Of the vast multitude assembled, not a fiftieth part gained admission. Never was seen so brilliant a house; the ladies were mostly dressed in the clothes and jewels they wore at the royal marriage.
* * * * *
On the twelfth of August, 1762, at twenty-four minutes after seven, an heir apparent to the throne afterwards king George IV., was born. The archbishop of Canterbury was in the room, and certain great officers of state in a room adjoining, with the door open into the queen’s apartment. The person who waited on the king with the news, received a present of a five hundred pound bank bill.[293]
On this occasion, congratulatory addresses flowed in on their majesties from every part of the kingdom.
The quakers’ address was presented to his majesty on the first of October, and read by Dr. Fothergill, as follows:--
George the Third, king of Great Britain, and the dominions thereunto belonging.
The humble address of his Protestant subjects, the people called Quakers.
May it please the king,
The satisfaction we feel in every event that adds to the happiness of our sovereign, prompts us to request admittance to the throne, on the present interesting occasion.
The birth of a prince, the safety of the queen, and thy own domestic felicity increased, call for our thankfulness to the Supreme Dispenser of every blessing; and to the king our dutiful and unfeigned congratulations.
In the prince of Wales we behold another pledge of the security of those inestimable privileges, which we have enjoyed under the monarchs of thy illustrious house--kings, distinguished by their justice, their clemency, and regard to the prosperity of their people: a happy presage, that under their descendants, our civil and religious liberties will devolve, in their full extent, to succeeding generations.
Long may the Divine Providence preserve a life of so great importance to his royal parents, to these kingdoms, and to posterity; that formed to piety and virtue, he may live beloved of God and man, and fill at length the British throne with a lustre not inferior to his predecessors.
The King’s answer.
I take very kindly this fresh instance of your duty and affection, and your congratulations on an event so interesting to me and my family. You may always rely on my protection.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·35.
[293] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~August 13.~
CHRONOLOGY.
August 13, 1783.--The eminent lawyer, John Dunning (lord Ashburton) died. He was the second son of an attorney at Ashburton, in Devonshire, where he was born, October 18, 1731, educated at the free-school there, and articled to his father. Preferring the principles to the practice of the law, he obtained admission to the bar, and attended on the court and circuits without briefs, till, in 1759, he drew a memorial in behalf of the East India company against the claims of the Dutch, which was deemed a masterpiece in language and reasoning, and brought him into immediate notice. His able arguments against general warrants obtained him high reputation, and he was engaged in almost every great case. He became successively recorder of Bristol, member for Calne, and solicitor-general, which office he surrendered on the resignation of his friend lord Shelburne. When this nobleman returned to power he made Mr. Dunning chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, and a peer of parliament. At the bar he was a most eloquent and powerful orator, and in the house of commons a distinguished opponent of the American war. He is reputed to have been the soundest common and constitutional lawyer of his time.[294]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·77.
[294] General Biographical Dictionary, vol. i. p. 673.
~August 14.~
CHRONOLOGY.
August 14, 1794, died George Colman the elder, an elegant scholar, and dramatist. He was born in 1733, at Florence, where his father was appointed resident from Great Britain to the court of Tuscany. He received his education at Westminster-school, and Christchurch-college, Oxford, where he became acquainted with Lloyd, Churchill, and Bonnel Thornton. In conjunction with the latter he wrote “the Connoisseur,” which procured him many eminent literary friendships. By the advice of lord Bath he went to the bar, but neglected its duties to court the muses. His fame as a dramatist is maintained by the “Clandestine Marriage,” the “Provoked Husband,” and the “Jealous Wife.” He wrote several other pieces for the stage, translated Terence, and Horace’s “Art of Poetry,” and became manager of Covent-garden theatre, and afterwards the patentee of the little theatre in the Haymarket, which he managed till paralysis impaired his faculties, and he sunk into a state of helplessness, from whence he never recovered.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·27.
~August 15.~
ASSUMPTION, B. V. M.
This Romish festival is retained in the church of England calendar.
* * * * *
Our old acquaintance Barnaby Googe rhimes of this festival from Naogeorgus:--
The blessed virgin Marie’s feast, hath here his place and time, Wherein departing from the earth, she did the heavens clime; Great bundels then of hearbes to Church, the people fast doe beare, The which against all hurtfull things, the priest doth hallow theare. Thus kindle they and nourish still, the people’s wickednesse, And vainly make them to beleeve whatsoever they expresse: For sundrie witchcrafts by these hearbs ar wrought, and divers charmes, And cast into the fire, are thought to drive away all harmes, And every painefull griefe from man, or beast, for to expell, Farre otherwise than nature, or the worde of God doth tell.
* * * * *
There is a volume printed at Amsterdam, 1657, entitled, “Jesus, Maria, Joseph; or the Devout Pilgrim of the Everlasting Blessed Virgin Mary, in his Holy Exercises, Affections, and Elevations, upon the sacred Mysteries of Jesus, Maria, Joseph.” From this curious book an amusing extract may be adduced, as a specimen of the language employed by certain writers of the Romish church in their addresses to the virgin:--
“You, O Mother of God, are the spiritual Paradise of the second Adam; the delicate cabinet of that divine marriage which was made betwixt the two natures; the great hall wherein was celebrated the world’s general reconciliation; you are the nuptial bed of the eternal word; the bright cloud carrying him who hath the cherubins for his chariot; the fleece of wool filled with the sweet dew of heaven, whereof was made that admirable robe of our royal shepherd, in which he vouchsafed to look after his lost sheep; you are the maid and the mother, the humble virgin and the high heaven both together; you are the sacred bridge whereby God himself descended to the earth; you are that piece of cloth whereof was composed the glorious garment of hypostatical union, where the worker was the Holy Ghost, the hand the virtue of the Most High, the wool the old spoils of Adam, the woof your own immaculate flesh, and the shuttle God’s incomparable goodness, which freely gave us the ineffable person of the word incarnate.
“You are the container of the incomprehensible; the root of the world’s first, best, and most beautiful flower; the mother of him who made all things; the nurse of him who provides nourishment for the whole universe; the bosom of him who unfolds all being within his breast; the unspotted robe of him who is clothed with light as with a garment; you are the sally-port through which God penetrated into the world; you are the pavilion of the Holy Ghost; and you are the furnace into which the Almighty hath particularly darted the most fervent sunbeams of his dearest love and affection.
“All hail! fruitful earth, alone proper and only prepared to bring forth the bread corn by which we are all sustained and nourished; happy leaven, which hath given relish to Adam’s whole race, and seasoned the paste whereof the true life-giving and soul-saving bread was composed; ark of honour in which God himself was pleased to repose, and where very glory itself became sanctified; golden pitcher, containing him who provides sweet manna from heaven, and produces honey from the rock to satisfy the appetites of his hungry people; you are the admirable house of God’s humiliation, through whose door he descended to dwell among us; the living book wherein the Father’s eternal word was written by the pen of the Holy Ghost. You are pleasing and comely as Jerusalem, and the aromatical odours issuing from your garments outvie all the delights of Mount Lebanus; you are the sacred pix of celestial perfumes, whose sweet exhalations shall never be exhausted; you are the holy oil, the unextinguishable lamp, the unfading flower, the divinely-woven purple, the royal vestment, the imperial diadem, the throne of the divinity, the gate of Paradise, the queen of the universe, the cabinet of life, the fountain ever flowing with celestial illustrations.
“All hail! the divine lantern encompassing that crystal lamp whose light outshines the sun in its midday splendour, the spiritual sea whence the world’s richest pearl was extracted; the radiant sphere, enclosing him within your sacred folds, whom the heavens cannot contain within their vast circumference; the celestial throne of God, more glistering than that of the glorious cherubims, the pure temple, tabernacle, and seat of the divinity.
“You are the well-fenced orchard, the fruitful border, the fair and delicate garden of sweet flowers, embalming the earth and air with their odoriferous fragrance, yet shut up and secured from any enemy’s entrance and irruption; you are the holy fountain, sealed with the signet of the most sacred Trinity, from whence the happy waters of life inflow upon the whole universe; you are the happy city of God, whereof such glorious things are everywhere sung and spoken.”[295]
NOTRE DAME DES ANGES.
One of the highest mountains of the chain that encircles the territory of Marseilles, has upon its summit a very singular rock, which appears exactly like the ruin of an old castle. This mountain derived its name from a chapel about halfway up, dedicated to the holy virgin, under the name of “Notre Dame des Anges,” but destroyed during the revolution. On the day of the Assumption, there is held on the mountain in the vicinity of the chapel, what is called in the Provençal tongue, a roumaragi, which is a country feast. The people from the neighbouring parts assemble on the spot, dressed in their Sunday clothes, where they join in dancing, playing at bowls, of which the Provençaux are passionately fond, quoits, running races, and other rural sports. Every village in Provence has a similar fête on some day in the year. In case of the village being named after any saint, which is very common, as St. Joseph, St. Barnabé, St. Zacharie, St. Louis, and many others, the roumaragi is held on that saint’s day. That on the mountain of Notre Dame des Anges is held on the Assumption, on account of the chapel having been dedicated to the holy virgin. During the revolution there was a general suspension of these festivals, but to the great joy of the Provençaux, they were resumed under Napoleon.[296]
PAGEANT OF THE ASSUMPTION AT ROUEN.
It is related in Mr. Dawson Turner’s “Tour through Normandy,” that formerly a pageant in honour of the virgin was held in the archbishopric of Rouen. Des Marêts, the governor of Dieppe, in 1443, established it in honour of the final expulsion of the English. The first master of the Guild of the Assumption was the founder of it, under whose auspices and direction it was conducted.
About midsummer the principal inhabitants used to assemble at the hotel de ville, or townhouse of Dieppe, and there they selected the girl of the most exemplary character to represent the Virgin Mary, and with her six other young women, to act the parts of the daughters of Sion. The honour of figuring in this holy drama was greatly coveted; and the historian of Dieppe gravely assures us, that the earnestness felt on the occasion mainly contributed to the preservation of that purity of manners and that genuine piety, which subsisted in this town longer than in any other of France! But the election of the virgin was not sufficient: a representative of St. Peter was also to be found among the clergy; and the laity were so far favoured, that they were permitted to furnish the eleven other apostles.
This done, upon the fourteenth of August the virgin was laid in a cradle of the form of a tomb, and was carried early in the morning, (of the fifteenth,) attended by her suite of either sex, to the church of St. Jacques; while, before the door of the master of the guild, was stretched a large carpet, embroidered with verses in letters of gold, setting forth his own good qualities, and his love for the holy Mary. Hither also, as soon as lauds had been sung, the procession repaired from the church, and then it was joined by the governor of the town, the members of the guild, the municipal officers, and the clergy of the parish of St. Remi. Thus attended, they paraded the town, singing hymns, which were accompanied by a full band. The procession was increased by the great body of the inhabitants; and its impressiveness was still further augmented by numbers of the youth of either sex, who assumed the garb and attributes of their patron saints, and mixed in the immediate train of the principal actors. They then again repaired to the church, where Te Deum was sung by the full choir, in commemoration of the victory over the English; and high mass was performed, and the sacrament administered to the whole party.
During the service, a scenic representation was given of the Assumption of the Virgin. A scaffolding was raised, reaching nearly to the top of the dome, and supporting an azure canopy intended to emulate the “spangled vault of heaven;” and about two feet below the summit of it appeared, seated on a splendid throne, an old man as the image of the Father Almighty, a representation equally absurd and impious, and which could alone be tolerated by the votaries of the worst superstitions of popery. On either side four pasteboard angels, of the size of men, floated in the air, and flapped their wings in cadence to the sounds of the organ; while above was suspended a large triangle, at whose corners were placed three smaller angels, who, at the intermission of each office, performed upon a set of little bells the hymn of “Ave Maria gratiâ Dei plena per Secula,” &c., accompanied by a larger angel on each side with a trumpet. To complete this portion of the spectacle, two others, below the old man’s feet, held tapers, which were lighted as the services began, and extinguished at their close; on which occasions the figures were made to express reluctance by turning quickly about; so that it required some dexterity to apply the extinguishers. At the commencement of the mass, two of the angels by the side of the Almighty descended to the foot of the altar, and, placing themselves by the tomb, in which a pasteboard figure of the virgin had been substituted for her living representative, gently raised it to the feet of the Father. The image, as it mounted, from time to time, lifted its head and extended its arms, as if conscious of the approaching beatitude; then, after having received the benediction, and been encircled by another angel with a crown of glory, it gradually disappeared behind the clouds. At this instant a buffoon, who all the time had been playing his antics below, burst into an extravagant fit of joy; at one moment clapping his hands most violently, at the next stretching himself out as if dead. Finally he ran up to the feet of the old man, and hid himself under his legs, so as to show only his head. The people called him Grimaldi, an appellation that appears to have belonged to him by usage; and it is a singular coincidence, that the surname of the noblest family of Genoa the Proud, thus assigned by the rude rabble of a seaport to their buffoon, should belong of right to the sire and son, whose mops and mowes afford pastime to the upper gallery at Covent-garden.
Thus did the pageant proceed in all its grotesque glory; and, while
These laboured nothings in so strange a style Amazed th’ unlearned, and made the learned smile,
the children shouted aloud for their favourite Grimaldi; the priests, accompanied with bells, trumpets, and organs, thundered out the mass; the pious were loud in their exclamations of rapture at the devotion of the virgin, and the whole church was filled with a hoarse and confused murmuring sound. The sequel of this, as of most other similar representations, was a hearty dinner.
* * * * *
This adoration of the virgin, so prevalent in Romish worship, is adverted to in a beautiful passage of “Don Roderick.”
How calmly gliding through the dark blue sky The midnight moon ascends! Her placid beams, Through thinly scattered leaves and boughs grotesque, Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope; Here, o’er the chesnut’s fretted foliage grey And massy, motionless they spread; here shine Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night Their chasms; and there the glittering argentry Ripples and glances on the confluent streams. A lovelier, purer light than that of day Rests on the hills; and oh, how awfully Into that deep and tranquil firmament The summits of Auseva rise serene! The watchman on the battlements partake The stillness of the solemn hour; he feels The silence of the earth, the endless sound Of flowing water soothes him, and the stars, Which in that brightest moonlight well nigh quenched, Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth Of yonder sapphire infinite are seen, Draw on with elevating influence Toward eternity the attempered mind Musing on worlds beyond the grave he stands, And to the virgin mother silently Breathes forth her hymn of praise.
Southey.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·62.
[295] Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum.
[296] Miss Plumptre.
~August 16.~
CHRONOLOGY.
August 16, 1678, died Andrew Marvel, a man who “dared be honest in the worst of times.” He was the son of a clergyman at Hull in Yorkshire, where he was born in 1620. In 1633, he was sent to Trinity-college, Cambridge; in 1657, he became assistant to Milton in his office of Latin secretary to Cromwell; and at the restoration he was chosen to represent his native town in the house of commons.
His conduct was marked by inflexible adherence to the principles of liberty, and his wit as a writer was levelled at the corruptions of the court; yet Charles II. courted his society for the pleasure of his conversation. He lived in a mean lodging in an obscure court in the Strand, where he was visited by lord Danby, at the desire of the king, with his majesty’s request, to know in what way he could serve him; Marvel answered, it was not in the king’s power to serve him. Lord Danby in the course of conversation assured him of any place he might choose; Marvel replied, he could not accept the offer without being unjust to his country by betraying its interests, or ungrateful to the king by voting against him. Before lord Danby took leave he told him his majesty had sent him a thousand pounds as a mark of his private esteem. Marvel did not need the assurance; he refused the money, and after his noble visiter departed, borrowed a guinea which he wanted of a friend. This great man after having served his constituents for twenty successive years in parliament, was buried at their expense in the church of St. Giles-in-the-Fields.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·65.
~August 17.~
BALL AND CROSS OF ST. PAUL’S.
August 17, 1736, died Mr. Niblet, master of the copper mills at Mitcham, Surrey, renowned in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” and in this column, for having made the ball and cross of St. Paul’s cathedral, London.[297]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·52.
[297] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~August 18.~
CHRONOLOGY.
August 18, 1746, William, earl of Kilmarnock, aged forty-two, and Arthur, baron Balmerino, aged fifty-eight, were beheaded on Tower-hill, as traitors, for levying war against king George II., in behalf of the pretender.
At the foot of a flight of stairs in the tower, lord Kilmarnock met lord Balmerino, and embracing him said, “My lord, I am heartily sorry to have your company in this expedition.” At the Tower-gates, the sheriffs gave receipts for their bodies to the lieutenant, who, as usual, said, “God bless king George,” whereon the earl of Kilmarnock bowed; lord Balmerino exclaimed, “God bless king James.” They were preceded by the constable of the Tower hamlets, the knight-marshal’s men, tipstaves, and the sheriff’s officers, the sheriffs walking with their prisoners, followed by the tower warders, and a guard of musqueteers. Two hearses and a mourning coach terminated the procession, which passed through lines of foot soldiers to the scaffold on the south side of the hill, around which the guards formed an area, and troops of horse wheeled off, and drew up in their rear five deep.
The lords were conducted to separate apartments in a house facing the scaffold, and their friends admitted to see them. The rev. Mr. Hume, a near relative of the earl of Hume, with the rev. Mr. Foster, an amiable dissenting minister, who never recovered the dismal effect of the scene, assisted the earl of Kilmarnock; the chaplain of the tower, and another clergyman of the church of England accompanied lord Balmerino, who on entering the house, hearing several of the spectators ask, “which is lord Balmerino?” answered with a smile, “I am lord Balmerino, gentlemen, at your service.” Earl Kilmarnock spent an hour with Mr. Foster in devotional exercises, and afterwards had a conference with lord Balmerino, who on their taking leave said, “My dear lord Kilmarnock, I am only sorry that I cannot pay this reckoning alone: once more farewell for ever!”
As lord Kilmarnock proceeded to the scaffold attended by his friends, the multitude showed the deepest signs of pity and commiseration. Struck by the sympathy of the immense assemblage, and the variety of dreadful objects on the stage of death, his coffin, the heading-block, the axe, and the executioners, he turned to Mr. Hume and said, “Hume! this is terrible,” but his countenance and voice were unchanged. The black baize over the rails of the scaffold was removed, that the people might see all the circumstances of the execution, and a single stroke from the headsman, separated him from the world.
Lord Balmerino in the mean time having solemnly recommended himself to the Supreme Mercy, conversed cheerfully with his friends, took wine, and desired them to drink to him “ane degree ta haiven.” The sheriff entered to inform him that all was ready, but was prevented by the lordship inquiring if the affair was over with lord Kilmarnock. “It is,” said the sheriff. He then inquired, and being informed, how the executioner performed his office, observed, “It was well done;” turning himself to the company, he said, “Gentlemen I shall detain you no longer,” and saluted them with unaffected cheerfulness. He mounted the scaffold with so easy an air, as to astonish the spectators. No circumstance in his whole deportment showed the least fear or regret, and he frequently reproved his friends for discovering either, upon his account. He walked several times round the scaffold, bowed to the people, went to his coffin, read the inscription, and with a nod, said “it is right;” he then examined the block, which he called his “pillow of rest.” Putting on his spectacles, and taking a paper out of his pocket, he read it with an audible voice, and then delivering it to the sheriff, called for the executioner, who appearing, and being about to ask his lordship’s pardon, he interrupted him with “Friend, you need not ask my forgiveness, the execution of your duty is commendable,” and gave him three guineas, saying, “Friend, I never was rich, this is all the money I have now, and I am sorry I can add nothing to it but my coat and waistcoat,” which he then took off, together with his neckcloth, and threw them on his coffin. Putting on a flannel waistcoat, provided for the purpose, and taking a plaid cap out of his pocket, he put it on his head, saying he died “a Scotchman.” He knelt down at the block, to adjust his posture, and show the executioner the signal for the stroke. Once more turning to his friends, and looking round on the crowd, he said, “Perhaps some may think my behaviour too bold, but remember, sir, (said he to a gentleman who stood near him,) that I now declare it is the effect of confidence in God, and a good conscience, and I should dissemble if I should show any signs of fear.”
Observing the axe in the executioner’s hand as he passed him, he took it from, him, felt the edge, and returning it, clapped the executioner on the shoulder to encourage him. He then tucked down the collar of his shirt and waistcoat, and showed him where to strike, desiring him to do it resolutely, for “in that,” said his lordship, “will consist your kindness.”
Passing to the side of the stage, he called up the wardour, to whom he gave some money, asked which was his hearse, and ordered the man to drive near.
Immediately, without trembling or changing countenance, he knelt down at the block, and with his arms stretched out, said, “O Lord, reward my friends, forgive my enemies, and receive my soul,” he gave the signal by letting them fall. His firmness and intrepidity, and the unexpected suddenness of the signal, so surprised the executioner, that the blow was not given with strength enough to wound him very deep; another blow immediately given rendered him insensible, and a third completed the work of death.
* * * * *
Lord Balmerino had but a small estate. His lady came to London, and frequently attended him during his confinement in the Tower. She was at dinner with him when the warrant came for his execution the Monday following. Being very much shocked, he desired her not to be concerned. “If the king had given me mercy,” he said, “I should have been glad of it; but since it is otherwise, I am very easy, for it is what I have expected, and therefore it does not at all surprise me.” She was disconsolate, and rose immediately from table; on which he started from his chair, and said, “Pray, my lady, sit down, for it shall not spoil my dinner.”[298]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 64·17.
[298] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~August 19.~
EARWIGS.
It is noted in the “Historical Chronicle” of the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” on the nineteenth of August, 1755, under the head, “Stroud,” that at that time there were such quantities of earwigs in that vicinity that they distroyed not only the flowers and fruits, but the cabbages, were they ever so large. The houses, especially the old wooden buildings, were swarming with them. The cracks and crevices were surprisingly full, they dropped out in such multitudes that the floors were covered; the linen, of which they are very fond, were likewise full, as was also the furniture, and it was with caution that people eat their provisions, for the cupboards and safes were plentifully stocked with the disagreeable intruders.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·72.
~August 20.~
CHRONOLOGY.
On the twentieth of August, 1589, James VI. of Scotland afterwards James I. of England married the princess Anne of Denmark, daughter to Frederick II. She became the mother of the ill-fated Charles I.
LOVE TOKENS.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--It was the custom in England in “olden tyme,” as the ancient chronicles have it, for “enamoured maydes and gentilwomen,” to give to their favourite swains, as tokens of their love, little handkerchiefs about three or four inches square, wrought round about, often in embroidery, with a button or tassel at each corner, and a little one in the centre. The finest of these favours were edged with narrow gold lace, or twist; and then, being folded up in four cross folds, so that the middle might be seen, they were worn by the accepted lovers in their hats, or at the breast. These favours became at last so much in vogue, that they were sold ready made in the shops in Elizabeth’s time, from sixpence to sixteen-pence a piece. Tokens were also given by the gentlemen, and accepted by their fair mistresses; thus ascribed in an old comedy of the time:--
Given earrings we will wear Bracelets of our lover’s hair; Which they on our arms shall twist (With our names carved) on our wrists.
I am, &c.
H. M. LANDER
King’s Bench Walk, Temple.
* * * * *
For the Every-Day Book.
AN EVENING WALK.
Love Lane.
’Tis fitter now to ease the brain, To take a quiet walk in a green lane.
Byron.
This observation of our matchless bard, the idol and delight of our own times, though just, few I fear follow--either from want of inclination, or what is as bad, want of time. But there are some whose hours of toil, mental and bodily, do not preclude them from seeking the tranquil haunts of nature. With me, after nervous irritability and mental excitement, it has been, and is a favourite enjoyment, to quit the dusky dwellings of man, and wander among the fields and green lanes of our southern shore, while the sun is declining, and stillness begins to settle around.
Listlessly roving, whither I cared not, I have sauntered along till I felt my unquiet sensations gradually subside, and a pleasing calmness steal upon me. I know of nothing more annoying than that nervous thrilling or trembling, which runs through the whole frame after the mind has been troubled; it seems to me like the bubbling and restless swell of the ocean after a storm--one mass of fretful and impatient water, knowing not how to compose itself. But to come to the green fields. There is a lane leading from the grove at Camberwell called Love-lane; it is well so called--long, winding, and quiet, with scenery around beautifully soft--the lover might wander with the mistress of his soul for hours in undisturbed enjoyment. This lane is dear to me, for with it is linked all my early associations--the bird--the butterfly--the wild white rose--my first love. The bird is there still, the butterfly hovers there, and the rose remains; but where is my first love? I may not ask. Echo will but answer, “where!” yet I may in imagination behold her--I call up the shadowy joys of former times, and like the beautiful vision in “Manfred,” she stands before me:--
A thousand recollections in her train Of joy and sorrow, ere the bitter hour Of separation came, never again To meet in this wide world as we have met, To feel as we have felt, to look, to speak, To think alone as we have thought allow’d.
What happy feelings have been ours in that quiet lane! We have wandered arm in arm, gazed on the scenery, listened to the bird. We have not spoken, but our eyes have met, and thoughts too full for utterance, found answers there. Those days are gone; yet I love to wander there alone, even now; to press the grass that has been pressed by her feet, to pluck the flower from the hedge where she plucked it, to look on the distant hills that she looked on, rising in long smooth waves, when not a sound is heard save the “kiss me dear,” which some chaffinch is warbling to his mate, or the trickling of waters seeking their sandy beds in the hollows beneath the hedgerows. I strolled thither a few evenings ago: the sun was softly sinking, and the bright crimson which surrounded him, fading into a faint orange, tinged here and there with small sable clouds; the night-cloud was advancing slowly darkly on; afar in the horizon were
The light-ships of the sky Sailing onward silently.
One bird, the lark, was singing his evening song among the cool grass; softly, sweetly, it died away, and all was silent deep tranquillity; a pleasing coolness came on the faint breeze over the neighbouring fields, pregnant with odours, refreshing as they were fragrant. It was twilight; the green of the distant hills changed to a greyish hue, their outlines were enlarged, the trees assumed a more gigantic appearance, and soft dews began to ascend; faint upshootings of light in the eastern horizon foretold the rising of the moon; she appeared at length above the clouds, and a deeper stillness seemed to come with her, as if nature, like man at the presence of a lovely women, was hushed into silent admiration; the grey clouds rolled away on each side of her as rolls the white foam of the ocean before the bows of the vessel; her course was begun, and,
“Silently beautiful, and calmly bright Along her azure path I saw her glide Heedless of all those things that neath her light In bliss or woe or pain or care abide. Wealth, poverty, humility, and pride, All are esteemed as nothing in her sight, Nor make her for one moment turn aside. So calm philosophy unmoved pursues Throughout the busy world its quiet way; Nor aught that folly wiles or glory woos, Can tempt awhile its notice or its stay: Above all earthly thoughts its way it goes And sinks at length in undisturbed repose.”
Coldly and calmly the full orb glided through the stillness of heaven. My thoughts were of the past, of the millions who had worshipped her, of the many she had inspired--of Endymion, of the beautiful episode of Nisus and Euryalus in Virgil, of Diana of the Ephesians, of the beautiful descriptions of her by the poets of every age, of every clime. The melancholy yet pleasing feeling which came on me I can hardly describe: my disquietude had ceased; an undisturbed calmness succeeded it; my thoughts were weaned from the grosser materiality of earth, and were soaring upward in silent adoration. I felt the presence of a divinity, and was for a moment happy. Ye who are careworn, whose minds are restless, go at the peaceful hour of eve to the green fields and the hedge-clothed lanes. If you are not poets, you will feel as poets; if you doubt, you will be convinced of Supreme Power and Infinite Love; and be better in head and heart for your journey.
S. R. J.
* * * * *
SONG.
BY SAMUEL DANIEL, 1590.
Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that most with cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoyed it sighing cries Heigh ho!
Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full, nor fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoyed it sighing cries Heigh ho![299]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·92.
[299] Communicated by C. T.
~August 21.~
MERLIN’S CAVE, AND STEPHEN DUCK.
We are told on the thirtieth of June, 1735, that her majesty (the queen of George II.) ordered “Mr. Rysbrack to make the bustos in marble of all the kings of England from William the Conqueror, in order to be placed in her new building in the gardens at Richmond.”
On the twenty-first of August, in the same year, we learn that the figures her majesty had ordered for Merlin’s cave were placed therein, viz. 1.--Merlin at a table with conjuring books and mathematical instruments, taken from the face of Mr. Ernest, page to the prince of Wales; 2.--King Henry VIIth’s queen, and 3.--Queen Elizabeth, who come to Merlin for knowledge, the former from the face of Mrs. Margaret Purcell, and the latter from Miss Paget’s; 4.--Minerva from Mrs. Poyntz’s; 5.--Merlin’s secretary, from Mr. Kemp’s, one of his royal highness the duke’s grenadiers; and 6.--a witch, from a tradesman’s wife at Richmond. Her majesty ordered also a choice collection of English books to be placed therein; and appointed Mr. Stephen Duck to be cave and library keeper, and his wife to an office of trust and employment.[300]
* * * * *
Stephen Duck was a versifying thrasher, whom she got appointed a yeoman of the guard, and afterwards obtained orders for, and the living of Byfleet, in Surrey. The poor fellow sought happiness at the wrong end, and drowned himself in 1756.
Contentment, rosy, dimpled maid, Thou brightest daughter of the sky, Why dost thou to the hut repair, And from the gilded palace fly?
I’ve trac’d thee on the peasant’s cheek; I’ve mark’d thee in the milkmaid’s smile; I’ve heard thee loudly laugh and speak, Amid the sons of want and toil.
Yet, in the circles of the great, Where fortune’s gifts are all combined, I’ve sought thee early, sought thee late, And ne’er thy lovely form could find. Since then from wealth and pomp you flee, I ask but competence and thee!
Lady Manners.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·65.
[300] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~August 22.~
BATTLE OF BOSWORTH.
This is the anniversary of the memorable conflict wherein Richard III. lost his life and crown.
For the Every-Day Book.
The well of which the above is a representation, is situate on the spot where the celebrated battle of Bosworth field was fought, by which, the long-existing animosities between the rival houses of York and Lancaster were finally closed. The king is said, during the heat of the engagement, to have refreshed himself with water from this spring. A few years ago a subscription was entered into, for the purpose of erecting some memorial of this circumstance, and the late learned Dr. Parr being applied to, furnished an inscription, of which the following is a copy.
AQVA . EX . HOC . PVTEO . HAVSTA SITIM . SEDAVIT RICARDVS . TERTIVS . REX . ANGLIAE CVM . HENRICO . COMITE . DE . RICHMONDIA ACERRIME . ATQVE . INFENSISSIME PRAELIANS ET . VITA . PARITER . AC . SCEPTRO AVTE . NOCTEM . CARITVRVS XI KAL . SEPT . A. D. MCCCCLXXXV.
TRANSLATION.
Richard the III. King of England, most eagerly and hotly contending with Henry, Earl of Richmond, and about to lose before night both his sceptre and his life, quenched his thirst with water drawn from this well.--August 22, 1485.
The Roman month was divided into kalends, nones, and ides, all of which were reckoned backwards. The kalends are the first day of the month.--Thus the first of September being the kalends of September, the thirty-first of August would be pridie kalendarum, or the second of the kalends of September; the thirtieth of August would then be the third of the kalends of September. Pursuing this train the twenty-second of August, and the XI of the kalends of September will be found to correspond.
The battle of Bosworth field was fought on the twenty-second of August, 1485, “on a large flat spacious ground,” says Burton, “three miles distant from this town.” Richmond, afterwards Henry VII., landed at Milford-haven on the sixth of August, and arrived at Tamworth on the eighteenth. On the nineteenth he had an interview with his father-in-law, lord Stanley, when measures were converted for their further operations. On the twentieth, he encamped at Atherstone, and on the twenty-first, both armies were in sight of each other the whole day. Richard entered Leicester with his army on the sixteenth, having the royal crown on his head; he slept at Elmesthorpe on the night of the seventeenth. On the eighteenth he arrived at Stapleton, where he continued till Sunday the twenty-first. The number of his forces exceeded sixteen thousand--those of Richmond did not amount to five thousand. On each side the leader addressed his troops with a splendid oration “which was scarcely finished” says an old historian, “but the one army espied the other. Lord! how hastily the soldiers buckled their helms! how quickly the archers bent their bows and brushed their feathers! how readily the billmen shook their bills and proved their staves, ready to approach and join when the terrible trumpet should sound the bloody blast to victory or death!” The first conflict of the archers being over, the armies met fiercely with sword and bills, and at this period Richmond was joined by lord Stanley, which determined the fortune of the day.
In this battle, which lasted little more than two hours, above one thousand persons were slain on the side of Richard. Of Richmond’s army, scarcely one hundred were killed, amongst whom, the principal person was sir William Brandon, his standard bearer. Richard is thought to have despised his enemy too much, and to have been too dilatory in his motions. He is universally allowed to have performed prodigies of valour, and is said to have fallen at last by treachery, in consequence of a blow from one of his followers. His body was thrown across a horse, and carried, for interment, to the Greyfriars at Leicester. He was the only English monarch, since the conquest, that fell in battle, and the second who fought in his crown. Henry V. appeared in his at Agincourt, which was the means of saving his life, (though, probably, it might provoke the attack,) by sustaining a stroke with a battle-axe, which cleft it. Richard’s falling off in the engagement, was taken up and secreted in a bush, where it was discovered by sir Reginald Bray and placed upon Henry’s head. Hence arises the device of a crown in a hawthorn bush, at each end of Henry’s tomb in Westminster-abbey.
In 1644, Bosworth field became again the scene of warfare; an engagement, or rather skirmish, taking place between the parliamentary and royal forces, in which the former were victorious without the loss of a single individual.
G. J.
* * * * *
The late Mr. William Hutton, the historian of Birmingham, wrote an account of “The Battle of Bosworth Field,” which Mr. Nichols published, and subsequently edited with considerable additions. Mr. Hutton apprehended that the famous well where Richard slaked his thirst would sink into oblivion. A letter from Dr. Parr to Mr. Nichols, dated Hatton, September 13, 1813, removes these apprehensions:--
“As to Bosworth Field, six or seven years ago I explored it, and I found Dick’s Well, out of which the tradition is that Richard drank during the battle. It was in dirty, mossy ground, and seemed to me in danger of being destroyed by the cattle. I therefore bestirred myself to have it preserved, and to ascertain the owner. The bishop of Down spoke to the archbishop of Armagh, who said that the ground was not his. I then found it not to be Mrs. Pochin’s. Last year I traced it to a person to whom it had been bequeathed by Dr. Taylor, formerly rector of Bosworth. I went to the spot, accompanied by the rev. Mr. Lynes, of Kirkby-Malory. The grounds had been drained. We dug in two or three places without effect. I then applied to a neighbouring farmer, a good intelligent fellow. He told me his family had drawn water from it for six or seven years, and that he would conduct me to the very place. I desired him to describe the signs. He said there were some large stones, and some square wood, which went round the well at the top. We dug, and found things as he had described them; and, having ascertained the very spot, we rolled in the stones, and covered them with earth. Now lord Wentworth, and some other gentlemen, mean to fence the place with some strong stones, and to put a large stone over it with the following inscription; and you may tell the story if you please.
“Yours, &c.
“S. PARR.”
The inscription is given in the preceding notice of the battle of Bosworth by G. J., who likewise obligingly transmitted the drawing of the well in its present state.
* * * * *
The editor is highly favoured by the interesting communication from a gentleman profoundly erudite in genealogical lore.
For the Every-Day Book.
The ravages inflicted by the all-subduing hand of time are not more distinctly traceable in the deserted hall of the dismantled castle, and the moulding fane of the dilapidated abbey, than in the downfall or extinction of ancient and distinguished races of nobility, who in ages long past by have shook the senate and field, have scattered plenty o’er a smiling land, or, as alas! is too frequently the melancholy reverse, shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
Considerations of this nature have suggested a review of the few families remaining in our peerage, whose ancestors enjoyed that distinction.
“Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent Their antient rage on Bosworth’s purple field.”
The protracted duration and alternated reverses of the contest between the houses of Lancaster and York, added to the rancorous inveteracy indispensably inherent in a barbarous age, will account for the comparatively rare sprinkling of the immediate descendants of the followers and councillors of the Plantagenets in our present house of peers. In France, on the other hand, the contemporary struggle for the throne laid between an indisputed native prince, Charles VII. and a foreign competitor, our Henry VI. The courtesies of war (imperfect even as they existed in those days) were allowed fairer play, and those who escaped the immediate edge of the foeman’s sword were not handed over to the axe of the executioner.
The awful mortality which befell one eminent branch of our gallant Plantagenets at the period in question, is recorded in emphatic terms by their animated and faithful chronicler, Shakspeare:--
“Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, Have sold their lives unto the house of York, And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.”
List of English Peerages now existing on the Roll, of which the Date of Creation is prior to the Accession of Henry VII.
Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Beaufort, as Baron de Botetourt. Marquis Townshend, as Baron de Ferrars. Marquis of Hastings, as Baron Hastings. Earl of Shrewsbury. Earl of Berkeley, as Baron Berkeley. Earl Delawarr, as Baron Delawarr and West. Earl of Abergavenny, as Baron Abergavenny. Baroness de Roos. Baron Le Despencer. Baron de Clifford. Baron Audley. Baron Clinton. Baron Dacre. Baron de la Zouche. Baroness Willoughby d’Eresby. Baroness Grey de Ruthyn. Baron Stourton.
List of Families now invested with the Dignity of Peerage, whose Ancestors in the Male Line, enjoyed the Peerage before the Accession of Henry VII.
Where a well-grounded doubt exists, an asterisk is prefixed to the name.
Howard * Spencer * Montagu Clinton Talbot Stanley Hastings Grey Berkeley Windsor Lumley West Neville Devereux Courtenay Stourton Clifford Willoughby * Basset
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·50.
~August 23.~
CHRONOLOGY.
August 23, 1305, sir William Wallace, “the peerless knight of Elleslie,” who bravely defended Scotland against Edward I. was executed by order of that monarch on Tower-hill. This distinguished individual is popular in England five hundred years after his death, through the well-known ballad
“Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,” &c.
THE SEASON.
Swallows are now preparing for their departure. On this day, in 1826, the editor observed hundreds of them collecting so high in the air that they seemed of the size of flies; they remained wheeling about and increasing in number upwards of an hour before dusk, when they all took their flight in a south-western direction.
CHELDONIZING, OR SWALLOW SINGING.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book
Sir,--The recent, and it is hoped still continued subscriptions in aid of suffering humanity, induce an observation, that to the very remote origin of collecting general alms, may be traced most of the mummeries practised in Christendom in the gothic centuries, and in the English counties, even till within our own memory. Among the Rhodians one method of soliciting eleemosynary gifts, called cheldonizing, or swallow-singing, is corroboratory of the assertion. This benevolence, or voluntary contribution, was instituted by Cleobulus of Lindos, at a time when public necessity drove the Lindians to the expedient of soliciting a general subscription. Theognis speaks of cheldonizing as taking place among the sacred rites practised at Rhodes in the month Boëdromion, or August, and deriving its name from the customary song:--
The swallow, the swallow is here, With his back so black, and his belly so white; He brings on the pride of the year, With the gay months of love and the days of delight.
Come, bring out the good humming stuff, Of your nice tit-bits let the swallow partake, Of good bread and cheese give enough, And a slice of your right Boëdromion cake.
Our hunger, our hunger it twinges, So give my good masters, I pray; Or we’ll pull off your door from its hinges, And, ecod! we’ll steal young madam away.
She’s a nice little pocket-piece darling, And faith ’twill be easy to carry her hence; Away with old prudence so snarling, And toss us down freely a handful of pence.
Come, let us partake of your cheer, And loosen your purse strings so hearty; No crafty old grey beards are here, And see we’re a merry boy’s party, And the swallow, the swallow is here!
Plutarch refers to another Rhodian custom, which is particularly mentioned by Phœnix of Colophon, a writer of iambics, who describes the practice being that of certain men going about to collect donations for the crow, and singing or saying--
My good, worthy masters, a pittance bestow, Some oatmeal, or barley, or wheat, for the crow; A loaf or a penny, or e’en what you will, As fortune your pockets may happen to fill.
From the poor man a grain of his salt may suffice, For your crow swallows all, and is not very nice; And the man who can now give his grain and no more, May another day give from a plentiful store.
Come, my lad, to the door, Plutus nods to our wish, And our sweet little mistress comes out with a dish; She gives us her figs, and she gives us a smile, Heaven bless her, and guard her from sorrow and guile;
And send her a husband of noble degree, And a boy to be danc’d on his grand-daddy’s knee; And a girl like herself to rejoice her good mother, Who may one day present her with just such another.
God bless your dear hearts all a thousand times o’er! Thus we carry our singing to door after door; Alternately chanting, we ramble along, And treat all who give, or give not, a song.
The song thus concludes--
My good, worthy masters, a pittance bestow, Your bounty, my good, worthy mistresses throw; Remember the crow, he is not very nice, Do but give as you can, and the gift will suffice.
Pamphilius of Alexandria, in his chapter on names, says these men making collections for the crow, were called coronistæ, or crow-mummers; and their songs were named coronismata, as Hagnooles, the Rhodian, relates in his work, entitled “Coronistæ.”
I am, &c.
J. H. B.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·92.
~August 24.~
ST. BARTHOLOMEW.
For St. Bartholomew, see vol. i. col. 1131.
MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW.
This horrible slaughter is noticed in the same volume at the same place. For particulars of the probable amount of the persons massacred, and the different accounts of historians, the reader is referred to a most able article in the “Edinburgh Review, June, 1826,” on the extraordinary misrepresentations of the event and its perpetrators in Mr. Lingard’s “History of England.”
A RESIDENT IN THE FLEET.
On the twenty-fourth of August, 1736, a remarkably fat boar was taken up in coming out of Fleet Ditch into the Thames: it proved to be a butcher’s, near Smithfield-bars, who had missed him five months, all which time, it seems, he had been in the common sewer, and was improved in price from ten shillings to two guineas.[301]
THE FIRST PIGS IN SCOTLAND.
Within the last century (probably about 1720) a person in the parish of Ruthwell, in Dumfriesshire, called the “Gudeman o’ the Brow,” received a young swine as a present from some distant part; which seems to have been the first ever seen in that part of the country. This pig having strayed across the Lochar into the adjoining parish of Carlavroc, a woman who was herding cattle on the marsh, by the sea side, was very much alarmed at the sight of a living creature, that she had never seen or heard of before, approaching her straight from the shore as if it had come out of the sea, and ran home to the village of Blackshaw screaming. As she ran, the pig ran snorking and grunting after her, seeming glad that it had met with a companion. She arrived at the village so exhausted and terrified, that before she could get her story told she fainted away. By the time she came to herself, a crowd of people had collected to see what was the matter, when she told them, that “There was a diel came out of the sea with two horns in his head and chased her, roaring and gaping all the way at her heels, and she was sure it was not far off.” A man called Wills Tom, an old schoolmaster, said if he could see it he would “cunger the diel,” and got a bible and an old sword. The pig immediately started behind his back with a loud grumph, which put him into such a fright, that his hair stood upright in his head, and he was obliged to be carried from the field half dead.
The whole crowd ran some one way and some another; some reached the house-tops, and others shut themselves in barns and byres. At last one on the house-top called out it was “the Gudeman o’ the Brow’s grumphy,” he having seen it before. Thus the affray was settled, and the people reconciled, although some still entertained frightful thoughts about it, and durst not go over the door to a neighbour’s house after dark without one to set or cry them. One of the crowd who had some compassion on the creature, called out, “give it a tork of straw to eat, it will be hungry.”
Next day the pig was conveyed over the Lochar, and on its way home, near the dusk of evening, it came grunting up to two men who were pulling thistles on the farm of Cockpool. Alarmed at the sight, they mounted two old horses they had tethered beside them, intending to make their way home, but the pig getting between them and the houses, caused them to scamper out of the way and land in Lochar moss, where one of their horses was drowned, and the other with difficulty relieved. The night being dark, they durst not part one from the other to call for assistance, lest the monster should find them out and attack them singly; nor durst they speak above their breath for fear of being devoured. At day-break next morning they took a different course, by Cumlongon castle, and made their way home, where they found their families much alarmed on account of their absence. They said that they had seen a creature about the size of a dog, with two horns on its head, and cloven feet, roaring out like a lion, and if they had not galloped away, it would have torn them to pieces. One of their wives said, “Hout man, it has been the Gudeman of the Brow’s grumphy; it frightened them a’ at the Blackshaw yesterday, and poor Meggie Anderson maist lost her wits, and is ay out o ae fit into anither sin-syne.”
The pig happened to lay all night among the corn where the men were pulling thistles, and about day-break set forward on its journey for the Brow. One Gabriel Gunion, mounted on a long-tailed grey colt, with a load of white fish in a pair of creels swung over the beast, encountered the pig, which went nigh among the horse’s feet and gave a snork. The colt, being as much frightened as Gabriel, wheeled about and scampered off sneering, with his tail on his “riggin,” at full gallop. Gabriel cut the slings and dropt the creels, the colt soon dismounted his rider, and going like the wind, with his tail up, never stopped till he came to Barnkirk point, where he took the Solway Frith and landed at Bownes, on the Cumberland side. Gabriel, by the time he got up, saw the pig within sight, took to his heels, as the colt was quite gone, and reached Cumlongon wood in time to hide himself, where he staid all that day and night, and next morning got home almost exhausted. He told a dreadful story! The fright caused him to imagine the pig as big as a calf, having long horns, eyes like trenchers, and a back like a hedgehog. He lost his fish; the colt was got back, but never did more good; and Gabriel fell into a consumption, and died about a year afterwards.
About the same time a vessel came to Glencaple quay, a little below Dumfries, that had some swine on board; one of them having got out of the vessel in the night, was seen on the farm of Newmains next morning. The alarm was spread, and a number of people collected. The animal got many different names, and at last it was concluded to be a “brock” (a badger). Some got pitchforks, some clubs, and others old swords, and a hot pursuit ensued; the chase lasted a considerable time, owing to the pursuers losing heart when near their prey and retreating. One Robs Geordy having rather a little more courage than the rest, ran “neck or nothing,” forcibly upon the animal, and run it through with a pitchfork, for which he got the name of “stout hearted Geordy” all his life after. A man, nearly a hundred years of age, who was alive in 1814, in the neighbourhood where this happened, declared that he remembered the Gudeman of the Brow’s pig, and the circumstances related, and he said it was the first swine ever seen in that country.[302]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·80.
[301] Gentleman’s Magazine.
[302] Henderson on the Breeding of Swine. 1814, 8vo.
~August 25.~
ISLINGTON CATTLE MARKET.
August 25, 1746, a distemper which arose among the horned cattle, broke out afresh in the parts adjacent to London, and “the fair for the sale of Welsh cattle near Islington was kept at Barnet.”[303]
IMPORTANT TO HOUSEKEEPERS.
The following letter from a lady claims the attention of every good housewife at this particular season.
BLACKBERRY JAM.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Westbury, Wiltshire, Aug. 15, 1826.
Sir,--The importance that I attach to the above sweet subject,--the uses of “a jam” even may be important,--induces me to offer you the option of republishing a few lines on the occasion, which first appeared in a very condensed form last autumn, in the “Examiner” newspaper. I am anxious to obtain further celebrity, and a wider circulation of the merits which this wholesome dainty justly lay claim, and the success that attended my former little notice of it, encourage me to persevere; for I was informed that after the publication alluded to, the “Herald” copied it, and that subsequently it was cried in the streets of your dingy metropolis.
I can only judge of the prevailing quantity of the kindly blackberry, by the vast profusion that enriches our woody vales, where nature seems resolved to solace herself for the restrictions to which she has been confined by the dreary downs that skirt our beautiful vicinity; and where Falstaff must surely have originated his happy expression of “reasons being plenty as blackberries!” But I am keeping you too long from the subject. The method of preparing the delicate conserve that forms so large a portion of my children’s favourite adjunctive aliment, is so simple, that it can be achieved by the merest novice in the nice department of “domestic management.”
Boil the blackberries with half their weight of coarse moist sugar for three quarters of an hour,[304] keeping the mass stirred constantly. It is a mistake to suppose that a stewpan is a necessary vehicle on the occasion; the commonest tin saucepan will answer the purpose equally well. The more luxurious preserves being made with white sugar, and that of equal weight with the fruit, are necessarily unwholesome; but the cheapness of this homely delicacy, besides its sanative properties renders it peculiarly desirable for scantily furnished tables. It has been a “staple commodity” in my family for some years past, and with the exception of treacle, I find it the most useful aliment in “regulating the bowels” of my children;--you as a “family man,” sir, will excuse, nay, appreciate the observation, and all your readers who have “their quivers full of them,” will not disdain the gratis prescription that shall supersede the guinea fee! Indeed, to the sparing use of butter, and a liberal indulgence in treacle and blackberry jam, I mainly attribute the extraordinary health of my young family. The prodigal use, or rather the abuse, of butter that pervades all classes, has often surprised me: the very cottage children, whose tattered apparel bespeaks abject poverty, I continually meet munching their “hunks” of bread, smeared with butter; how much should I rejoice to see, because I know its superiority in every respect, my favourite jam substituted! But cottage children are far from being objects of my compassion, for they live in the “country,” which comprehensive word conveys delicious ideas of sun, fresh air, exercise, flowers, shady trees, and this wholesome fruit clustering about them, and inviting their chubby fingers at every healthful step. My pity is reserved for their forlorn little brethren, doomed to breathe the unwholesome atmosphere of crowded manufactories, and close narrow alleys in populous cities! What a luxury would a supper be twice a week, for instance, to the poor little “bottoms” in Spitalfields.[305] Who knows but they might receive their first taste for Shakspeare while being fed, like their great prototype in the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” with blackberries! “Dewberries,” which Titania ordered for the refreshment of her favourite, are so nearly allied to their glossy neighbours, that when the season is far advanced the two are not easily distinguished. Shakspeare, who knew every thing, was of course aware that the dewberry ripens earlier than the blackberry; namely, in the season for “apricots.” It must be confessed that nothing but the associations that are connected with the elegant and romantic name “dewberry,” fit only for the mouth of a fairy to pronounce, could induce me to give a preference to the latter; they are not so numerous, nor consequently so useful. I own I am sanguine respecting the general introduction of blackberries into the London street cries. What an innovation they would cause! what a rural sight, and sound, and taste, and smell, would they introduce into that wilderness of houses! What a conjuring up of happy feelings--almost as romantic as those that are inspired by “bilberries, ho!” When I resided in London, I recollect the wild, and exquisite, and undefinable sensations that were excited by the peculiar and un-city-like cry of these “whorts.”[306] I used to look out at the blue-frocked boys who sold them, with their heavy country faces; capacious “gabardines,” that hinted of Caliban; round hats, that knew no touch of form; and unaccountable laced up boots; with as much astonishment, as if I had beheld and heard purveyors from the wilderness shouting “Manna!” which we all know is “angel’s food!”
I have taken up sadly too much of your time, sir, I feel assured. I intended but to name the method of making blackberry jam, to assure you of its salubrity, and to request you to recommend its general use:--and I have only now to request that you will not suffer the very imperfect manner in which I, who cannot write for the public eye, have handled the subject to deter you from doing it justice.
I am, Sir,
Yours respectfully,
I. J. T.
P. S. It has just occurred to me to say, why should not grocers, confectioners, fruiterers, and chandlers, speculate in the “new article,” and provide a store of it to meet a probable demand? I should think it might be sold, with a reasonable profit, at sixpence or eightpence a pound.
* * * * *
DEATH OF THE LOTTERY.
In the spring, and for three weeks after midsummer, 1826, the lottery-office keepers incessantly plied every man, woman, and child in the United Kingdom, and its dependencies, with petitions to make a fortune in “the last lottery that can be drawn.” Men paraded the streets with large printed placards on poles, or pasted on their backs, announcing “All Lotteries End for Ever! 18th of July.” The walls were stuck, and hand-bills were thrust into the hands of street passengers, with the same heart-rending intelligence, and with the solemn assurance that the demand for tickets and shares was immense! Their prices had so risen, were so rising, and would be so far beyond all calculation, that to get shares or tickets at all, they must be instantly purchased! As the time approached, a show was got up to proclaim that the deplorable “Death of the Lottery,” would certainly take place on the appointed day; but on some account or other, the pathetic appeal of the benevolent contractors was disregarded, and the gentlemen about to be “turned off,” were as unheeded, and as unlamented as criminals, who say or sing in their last moments--
“Gentlefolks all Pity our fall! Have pity all, Pity our fall!”
At length the stoney-hearted public were “respectfully” informed that “the lords of the treasury had issued a “reprieve,” and that the “drawing” and “quartering” and so forth was, “postponed from Tuesday, 18th July,” to some dull day in October, “when Lotteries will finish for ever?”
* * * * *
Of late years lotteries have been drawn at Coopers’-hall. Formerly they were drawn at the place, and in the manner exhibited in the preceding representation, after an engraving by Cole.
PHRENOLOGY.
PHRENOLOGICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. By George Cruikshank. London: Published by George Cruikshank, Myddelton-terrace, Pentonville. 1826.
“In the name of wonder,” a reader may inquire, “is the Every-Day Book to be a Review.” By no means;--but “George Cruikshank” is a “remarkable person;” his first appearance in the character of an author is a “remarkable event,” in the August of 1826; and, as such, deserves a “remarkable notice.”
Every reader is of course aware, that, as certainly as a hazel-rod, between the fingers of a gifted individual, discovers the precious metals and waters beneath the earth, so certainly, a phrenological adept, by a discriminating touch of the nodosities on the surface of the head, detects the secret sources, or “springs of human action.” To what extent Mr. Cruikshank has attained this quality, or whether he is under obligations to Dr. Combe for “a touch” of his skill, or has bowed his head to Mr. De Ville for “a cast” in plaster, is not so clear, as that his “Phrenological Illustrations” will be as popular, and assuredly as lasting as the science itself--“Cruikshank and Craniology--for ever!”
Be it observed, however, that “Craniology,” which alliterates so well with “Cruikshank,” was only a “proper” term, while the disciples of doctors Gall and Spurzheim were traversing the exterior of the cranium; but after they had gained a knowledge of the interior, and classified and arranged their discoveries, they generalized the whole, and relinquished the term “craniology” for the denomination “phrenology.” This change was obviously imperative, because “craniology” signifies no more than an acquaintance with the outside of the head, and “phrenology” implies familiarity with its contents.
Still, however, the incipient phrenologist must avail himself of “craniology,” as an introduction to the nobler science. To him it is as necessary a guide as topography is to a student in geology, who without that requisite, and supposing him ignorant of the characters of mountains may lose his way, and be found vainly boring Schehalion, or sinking a shaft within the crater of an exhausted volcano. To prevent such mistakes in “phrenology,” the “estate under the hat” has been thoroughly explored, and divided and subdivided: names and numbers have been assigned to each portion, and the entire globe of the microcosm accurately measured, and mapped, “according to the latest surveys.”
Mr. Cruikshank’s “Illustrations of Phrenology” form a more popular introduction to the science than its most ardent admirers could possibly hope. He acknowledges his obligations to doctors Gall and Spurzheim, and implicitly adopts their arrangement of the “organs;” a word, by the by, that signifies those convexities which may be seen by the eye, or touched by the finger, on the exterior of the greater convexity called the head; and which are produced, or thrown up thereon, by the working or heaving of the ideas internally. From this process it appears that a man “bores” his own head, so as to form concavities within and convexities without; and, in the same way, by the power of speech, “bores” the heads of his friends. The term “to bore,” however, as commonly used, signifies “to bother,” or “perplex and confound,” and therefore is not admitted in the nomenclature of “phrenology,” which condescends to level every “bump,” to the right understanding of the meanest capacity.
Of Mr. Cruikshank’s proficiency or rank in the phrenological school, the writer of this article is incompetent to judge; but, as regards his present work, whether he be a master, or only a monitor, is of little consequence; he seems well grounded in rudiments, and more he does not profess to teach. Instead of delivering a mapped head in plaister of Paris with his book, he exhibits an engraving of three “bare polls,” or polls sufficiently bare to discover the position of every convexity or “organ” whereon he duly marks their numbers, according to the notation of doctors Gall and Spurzheim. From hence we learn that we have nine propensities, nine sentiments, eleven knowing faculties, and four reflecting faculties. Adhering to the doctrinal enumeration and nomenclature of the “organs” worked out, or capable of being worked out, by these propensities, sentiments, and faculties, on every human head, he wisely prefers the Baconian as the best method of teaching “the new science,” and exhibits the effects of each of the thirty-three “organs” in six sheets of etchings by himself, from his own views of each “organ.”
It is now proper to hint at the mode wherein the artist has executed his design, and to take each organ according to its number, and under its scientific term.
I.--AMATIVENESS.
Mr. Cruikshank seems to imagine that this organ may induce a declaration of undivided attachment to an intermediate object, in order to arrive at the object sincerely desired: under the circumstances represented, this deviation of “amativeness” may be denominated “cupboard love.”
II.--PHILOPROGENITIVENESS.
The tendency of this perplexing organ hastens the necessity of extending our “colonial policy.” This sketch is full of life and spirit.
III.--INHABITIVENESS.
The subject of the artist’s point, a “tenant for life,” doubtless has an amazing developement of the organ.
IV.--ADHESIVENESS.
Is “enough to frighten a horse.” This organ will be further observed on presently.
V.--COMBATIVENESS.
Its vigorous cultivation is displayed with much animation.
VI.--DESTRUCTIVENESS.
A familiar illustration of this organ is derived from a common occurrence in almost every market-town. Its contemplation, and a few recent incidents, suggest a query or two. A bull ran into a china shop, but instead of proceeding to the work of demolition, threw his eye around the place, thrust his horn under the arm of a richly painted vase, and ran briskly into the street with his prize. Was this act ascribable to the organ of “colour,” or that of “covetiveness?” An ox walked into a well-furnished parlour, and withdrew without doing further mischief than ogling himself in the looking-glass. Were these “stolen” looks occasioned by “covetiveness,” or “self-love?” Another of the bos tribe rapidly passed men, women, and children, ran up the steps to an open street door, hurried through the passage, ascended every flight of the stair-case, nor stopped till he had gained the front attic, from whence he put his head through the window, and looked down from his proud eminence, over the parapet, upon his “followers.” On this third example may be quoted what Mr. Cruikshank says of another organ, “Inhabitiveness. To this organ is ascribed, in man, Self Love, and in other animals, Physical height. The artist has endeavoured to give his idea of inhabitiveness in plate 2.” On comparing the anecdote last related, with the artist’s idea in the plate he refers to, it is clear that, on this occasion, his view might have been more elevated. In the last-mentioned bull, “Inhabitiveness” seems to have been the prevailing organ. Separately considering the three animals, and their general character, and the tempting objects by which each was surrounded, without their manifestation of any action to denote the existence of “destructiveness,” a question arises, whether counteracting organs may not be cultivated in such animals, to the extent of neutralizing the primary developement.
VII.--CONSTRUCTIVENESS.
This is so elegant an exhibition of the propensity in connection with certain vegetable tendencies, that it is doubtful whether developements from the action of the sap in plants, may not admit of classification with our own.
VIII.--COVETIVENESS.
In this representation, the countenance of a boy is frightfully impressed by the incessant restlessness of the “organ,” combined with “cautiousness.” See No. XII.
IX.--SECRETIVENESS.
Exhibits one of the advantages of this “propensity” in the sex.
X.--SELF LOVE.
Narcissus himself could not be more strongly marked, than this “heart-breaking” personage.
XI.--APPROBATION. See No. XXXIII.
XII.--CAUTIOUSNESS.
Prudence and indecision are here united by a decisive touch. The accessory, who assists this “procedure of the human understanding,” is exceedingly
--------------“light and airy; Brisk as a bee, blithe as a fairy.”
XIII.--BENEVOLENCE.
A “benevolent” individual, receiving loud acknowledgments from the object of his favours.
XIV.--VENERATION.
Mr. Cruikshank says, that “Dr. Gall observed this organ chiefly in persons with bald heads.” The artist satisfactorily exemplifies, that when its absence occurs in Englishmen, it is a rare exception to the national character.
XV.--HOPE.
This sentiment is always allegorized with an anchor, and Mr. Cruikshank represents a poor animal under its influence, “brought to an anchor.”
XVI.--IDEALITY.
Mr. Cruikshank says, that “Mr. Forster calls this the organ of mysterizingness. It is supposed that a peculiar developement of this organ, which is remarkably conspicuous in all poets, occurs in persons who are disposed to have visions, see ghosts, demons, &c.” The artist represents certain appearances, which will be recognised as “familiars.”
XVII.--CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.
“According to Dr. Spurzheim, this is the organ of righteousness;” but, “Dr. Gall thinks there is no organ of conscience.” Mr. Cruikshank exemplifies the latter opinion, by the surprise of a female on receiving “an unexpected offer.” It will not surprise the reader if he looks at the print.
XVIII.--FIRMNESS.
“Firmness,” he regards in the light of “a character now being consigned rapidly to oblivion.” But, “while there is life there is hope,” and the character alluded to cannot be destroyed without the annihilation of “adhesiveness,” which Mr. Cruikshank defines in the language of the science, and “has endeavoured to give a strong but faithful illustration of, in plate 2;” a representation, alas! too accurate. See No. IV.
XIX.--INDIVIDUALITY.
A more select specimen could not have been produced.
XX.--FORM.
This is well represented. “Persons,” says Mr. Cruikshank, “endowed with this organ, are fond of seeing pictures, &c.” They may likewise be frequently detected in jelly-rooms, and the upper boxes of the theatres.
XXI.--SIZE.
Remarkably developed in “a great man now no more!”
XXII.--WEIGHT.
A compliment from the artist, “to which he is confident no loyal man will offer an objection.”
XXIII.--COLOUR.
As a specimen of art, this is the most successful of the illustrations.
XXIV.--SPACE.
An enlarged view of a deep seated organ, bottomed on the character of a people whom we have outrivalled.
XXV.--ORDER.
This organ as a ruling power, is placed by Mr. Cruikshank in the hand; its developement manifestly generates “Veneration.”
XXVI.--TIME.
In Mr. Cruikshank’s words, “the artist’s illustration of it will be familiar to every one.”
XXVII.--NUMBER.
A portrait of an individual in whom the power of this organ is supposed to have been preeminent.
XXVIII.--TUNE.
This organ, according to the artist, produces rectitude in the dog.
XXIX.--LANGUAGE.
XXX.--COMPARISON.
The organ of “Comparison” is exemplified by full developements from “Long Acre,” and “Little St. Martin’s-lane,” within one door from the residence of “Mr. Thomas Rodd, bookseller, Great Newport-street,” whose stock of books, large as it is, cannot furnish any thing like the “words that burn,” in the artist’s representation of “LANGUAGE.”[307]
XXXI.--CAUSALITY.
“This is nothing more than the organ of Inquisitiveness,” and the artist himself exercises it, by gently feeling his reader’s pulse.
XXXII.--WIT.
There is great difficulty in defining this organ. Mr. Cruikshank’s representation of it is humorous.
XXXIII.--IMITATION.
This is an admirable exhibition of the organ, as we may imagine it to be cultivated by “Mr. Mathews-At home!” with decided “APPROBATION.” See No. XI.
Having hastily gone over the organs of the science, we have an additional one, “The Organ of DRAWING.” Mr. Cruikshank says, he “cannot satisfy himself as to the precise seat of this organ, or as to the extent of its sphere of activity, but he has attempted an illustration of it.” He thinks it not improbable “that the possession of this special faculty, now only at his fingers’ ends, may enable him to venture again” if his present efforts are successful. Why they should not be it is difficult to conceive; for however whimsical and ludicrous his “Phrenological Illustrations” may sometimes be, they are so connected with the vocabulary of the science at the commencement of his publication, as to form the horn-book, the primer, the reading made easy, and the grammar of phrenology.
Such a production as this, at such a price, (eight shillings plain, and twelve shillings coloured,) from such an artist, could not have been expected. His inimitable powers have hitherto entertained and delighted the public far more to the emolument of others than himself; and now that he has ventured to “take a benefit” on his own account, there cannot be a doubt that his admirers will encourage “their old favourite” to successive endeavours for their amusement and instruction. His entire talents have never been called forth; and some are of a far higher order than even the warmest friends to his pencil can conceive.
Though the work is to be obtained of all the booksellers in London, and every town in the united kingdom, yet it would be a well-timed compliment to Mr. Cruikshank if town purchasers of his “Phrenological Illustrations” were to direct their steps to his house, No. 25, Myddelton Terrace, Pentonville.
SHOWERS OF BLOOD.
On the 25th of August, 1826, the editor of the Every-Day Book, while writing in his room, took up the open envelope of a letter he had received about ten minutes before, and to his surprise, observed on its inner side, which had been uppermost on the table, several spots which seemed to be blood. They were fresh and wet, and of a brilliant scarlet colour. They could not be red ink, for there was none in the house; nor could they have been formed on the paper by any person, for no one had entered the room; nor had he moved from the chair wherein he sat. The appearances seemed unaccountable, till considering that the window sashes were thrown up, and recollecting an anecdote in the “Life of Peiresc,” he was persuaded that they were easily to be accounted for; and that they were a specimen of those “showers of blood,” which terrified our forefathers in the dark ages, and are recorded by old chroniclers.
It is related, for instance, that in the fifth century, “at Yorke, it rained bloud;” and in 697, “corne, as it was gathered in the harvest time, appeared bloudie,” and “in the furthermost partes of Scotland it rayned bloud.”[308] In 1553, it was deemed among the forewarnings of the deaths of Charles and Philip, dukes of Brunswick, that there were “drops of bloude upon hearbes and trees.”[309]
* * * * *
As a solution of the origin, or cause of bloody spots on the paper, the anecdote in Gassendi’s “Life of Peiresc” is added.
“Nothing in the whole year, 1608, did more please him,--than that he observed and philosophized about--the bloody rain, which was commonly reported to have fallen about the beginning of July; great drops thereof were plainly to be seen, both in the city itself, upon the walls of the churchyard of the great church, which is near the city wall, and upon the city walls themselves; also upon the walls of villages, hamlets, and towns, for some miles round about; for in the first place, he went himself to see those wherewith the stones were coloured, and did what he could to come to speak with those husbandmen, who beyond Lambesk, were reported to have been so affrighted at the falling of the said rain, that they left their work, and ran as fast as their legs could carry them into the adjacent houses. Whereupon, he found that it was a fable which was reported, touching those husbandmen. Nor was he pleased that the naturalists should refer this kind of rain to vapours drawn up out of red earth aloft into the air, which congealing afterwards into liquor, fall down in this form; because such vapours as are drawn aloft by heat, ascend without colour, as we may know by the alone example of red roses, out of which the vapours that arise by heat, are congealed into transparent water. He was less pleased with the common people, and some divines, who judged that it was a work of the devils and witches, who had killed innocent young children; for this he counted a mere conjecture, possibly also injurious to the goodness and providence of God.
“In the mean while an accident happened, out of which he conceived he had collected the true cause thereof. For some months before, he shut up in a box a certain palmer-worm which he had found, rare for its bigness and form; which, when he had forgotten, he heard a buzzing in the box, and when he opened it, found the palmer-worm, having cast its coat, to be turned into a very beautiful butterfly, which presently flew away, leaving in the bottom of the box a red drop as broad as an ordinary sous or shilling; and because this happened about the beginning of the same month, and about the same time an incredible multitude of butterflies were observed flying in the air, he was therefore of opinion, that such kind of butterflies resting upon the walls, had there shed such like drops, and of the same bigness. Wherefore, he went the second time, and found by experience, that those drops were not to be found on the house tops, nor upon the round sides of the stones which stuck out, as it would have happened, if blood had fallen from the sky, but rather where the stones were somewhat hollowed, and in holes, where such small creatures might shroud and nestle themselves. Moreover, the walls which were so spotted, were not in the middle of towns, but they were such as bordered upon the fields, nor were they on the highest parts, but only so moderately high as butterflies are commonly wont to flie.
“Thus, therefore, he interpreted that which Gregory of Tours relates, touching a bloody rain seen at Paris in divers places, in the days of Childebert, and on a certain house in the territory of Senlis; also that which is storied, touching raining of blood about the end of June, in the days of king Robert; so that the blood which fell upon flesh, garments, or stones, could not be washed out, but that which fell on wood might; for it was the same season of butterflies, and experience hath taught us, that no water will wash these spots out of the stones, while they are fresh and new. When he had said these and such like things to Varius, a great company of auditors being present, it was agreed that they should go together and search out the matter, and as they went up and down, here and there, through the fields, they found many drops upon stones and rocks; but they were only on the hollow and under parts of the stones, but not upon those which lay most open to the skies.”
Thus the first mentioned appearances on the paper, may be naturally accounted for, and so
----------“ends the history Of this wonderful mystery.”
* * * * *
On the evening of the same day, the 25th of August, 1826, the editor witnessed the terrific tempest of thunder and lightning, mentioned in the newspapers. He was walking in the London-road near the Surrey obelisk, when the flashes sheeted out more rapidly in succession, and to greater extent than have ever been witnessed in this country, within the memory of man. They were accompanied by a gale of wind that took up light objects, such as hay, leaves, and sticks, and immense clouds of dust to a great height, and impelled people along against their will. The sudden loud claps of thunder, and the red forking of the flashes were tremendously grand and appalling. At one time there was a crashing burst of thunder, and a rushing sound from the electric fluid, like the discharge of a flight of rockets close at hand. This was in the midst of a torrent of rain, which lasted only a few minutes, and was as heavy as from the bursting of a number of water spouts. This storm was literally a tornado.
* * * * *
Lightning was looked upon as sacred both by the Greeks and Romans, and was supposed to be sent to execute vengeance on the earth. Hence persons killed with lightning, being thought hateful to the gods were buried apart by themselves, lest the ashes of other men should receive pollution from them. All places struck with lightning were carefully avoided and fenced round, from an opinion that Jupiter had either taken offence at them, and fired upon them the marks of his displeasure, or that he had by this means pitched upon them as sacred to himself. The ground thus fenced about, was called by the Romans bidental. Lightning was much observed in augury, and was a good or bad omen, according to the circumstances attending it.[310]
When a stormy cloud, which is nothing but a heap of exhalations strongly electrified, approaches near enough to a tower, or a house, or a cloud not electrified; when it approaches so near, that a spark flies from it, this occasions the explosion, which we call a clap of thunder. The light we then see is the lightning, or the thunderbolt. Sometimes we see only a sudden and momentary flash, at other times it is a train of fire, taking different forms and directions. The explosion attending the lightning, shows that it is the vapours which occasion the thunder; by taking fire suddenly, they agitate and dilate the air violently. At every electrical spark a clap is heard. The thunder is sometimes composed of several claps or prolonged and multiplied by echoes.
As soon as we see a flash of lightning, we have only to reckon the seconds in a watch, or how often our pulse beats, between the flash and the clap. Whoever can reckon ten pulsations between the lightning and the thunder, is still at the distance of a quarter of a league from the storm; for it is calculated that the sound takes nearly the time of forty pulsations, in going a league. The lightning does not always go in a direct line from top to bottom. It often winds about and goes zigzag, and sometimes it does not lighten till very near the ground. The combustible matter which reaches the ground, or takes fire near it, never fails to strike. But sometimes it is not strong enough to approach us, and like an ill-charged cannon, it disperses in the atmosphere and does no harm. When, on the contrary, the fiery exhalations reach the ground, they sometimes make terrible havoc.
We may judge of the prodigious force of the lightning by the wonderful effects it produces. The heat of the flame is such, that it burns and consumes every thing that is combustible. It even melts metals, but it often spares what is contained in them, when they are of a substance not too close to leave the passage free. It is by the velocity of the lightning that the bones of men and animals are sometimes calcined, while the flesh remains unhurt. That the strongest buildings are thrown down, trees split, or torn up by the root, the thickest of walls pierced, stones and rocks broken, and reduced to ashes. It is to the rarification and violent motion of the air, produced by the heat and velocity of the lightning, that we must attribute the death of men and animals found suffocated, without any appearance of having been struck by lightning.
“Experience teaches us, that the rain which falls when it thunders, is the most fruitful to the earth. The saline and sulphurous particles which fill the atmosphere during a storm, are drawn down by the rain, and become excellent nourishment for the plants; without mentioning the number of small worms, seeds, and little insects which are also drawn down in thunder showers, and are with the help of a microscope, visible in the drops of water.”[311]
* * * * *
In August, 1769, a flash of lightning fell upon the theatre at Venice, in which were more than six hundred persons. Besides killing several of the audience, it put out the candles, singed a lady’s hair, and melted the gold case of her watch and the fringe of her robe. The earrings of several ladies were melted, and the stones split; and one of the performers in the orchestra, had his violincello shattered in a thousand splinters, but received no damage himself.[312]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·97.
[303] Gentleman’s Magazine.
[304] If the berries be gathered in wet weather, an hour will not be too long a time to boil them.
[305] I have heard of the distress among the weavers, and heaven forbid that I should speak lightly of their calamities!--But eat they must, and eat they do: and if reduced to bread, so called, butter, or cheese, is included; it is this I regret, for jam would be cheaper as well as more wholesome, and should be purchased at the shops as other articles of consumption are.
[306] As they are called, near the uncultivated moorland waste where they grow. Wortleberrey is the correct name.
[307] Mr. Rodd seldom adventures in paper and print, yet he has put forth a “second edition, with considerable additions,” of a curious and useful little volume bearing the modest title of “An Attempt at a Glossary of some words used in Cheshire, communicated to the Society of Antiquarians. By Roger Wilbraham, Esq. F. R. S. and S. A. London, 1826,” royal 18mo. pp. 120.
If a person desires to collect books, or to be acquainted with the writers on any given subject, ancient or modern, rare or common, I know of no one to whom he can apply more successfully, or on whom he can rely for judgment and integrity more implicitly, than Mr. Thomas Rodd. His mind is as well stored with information, as his shop is with good authors, in every class of literature; and he is as ready to communicate his knowledge gratuitously, as he is to part with his books at reasonable prices “to those who choose to buy them.”--Editor.
[308] Hollinshed.
[309] Batman’s Doome.
[310] Ency. Brit.
[311] Sturm.
[312] Annual Register.
~August 26.~
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 26th of August, 1635, died Lope de Vega, called the “Spanish Phenix,” aged sixty-three years. His funeral was conducted with princely magnificence by his patron, the duke of Susa, and his memory was celebrated with suitable pomp in all the theatres of Spain.
Lope de Vega was the rival and conqueror of Cervantes in the dramatic art; yet in his youth he embarked in the celebrated Spanish armada, for the invasion of England, and spent part of his life in civil and military occupations.
His invention is as unparalleled in the history of poetry, as the talent which enabled him to compose regular and well constructed verse with as much ease as prose. Cervantes, on this account, styled him a prodigy of nature. His verses flowed freely, and such was his confidence in his countrymen, that as they applauded his writings, which were unrestrained by critical notes, he refused conformity to any restrictions. “The public,” he said, “paid for the drama, and the taste of those who paid should be suited.”
He required only four-and-twenty hours to write a versified drama of three acts, abounding in intrigues, prodigies, or interesting situations, and interspersed with sonnets and other versified accompaniments. In general the theatrical manager carried away what De Vega wrote before he had time to revise it, and a fresh applicant often arrived to prevail on him to commence a new piece immediately. In some instances he composed a play in the short space of three or four hours. This astonishing facility enabled him to supply the Spanish theatre with upwards of two thousand original dramas. According to his own testimony he wrote on an average five sheets every day, and at this rate he must have produced upwards of twenty millions of verses.
He was enriched by his talents, and their fame procured him distinguished honours. He is supposed at one time to have possessed upwards of a hundred thousand ducats, but he was a bad economist, for the poor of Madrid shared his purse. He was elected president of the spiritual college in that capital; and pope Urban VIII. sent him the degree of doctor in divinity with a flattering letter, and bestowed on him the cross of Malta; he was also appointed fiscal of the apostolic chamber, and a familiar of the inquisition, an office regarded singularly honourable at that period. Whenever he appeared in the streets, boys ran shouting after him; he was surrounded by crowds of people, all eager to gain a sight of the “prodigy of nature;” and those who could not keep pace with the rest, stood and gazed on him with wonder as he passed.
Lope de Vega’s inexhaustible fancy and fascinating ease of composition, communicated that character to Spanish comedy; and all subsequent Spanish writers trod in his footsteps, until its genius was banished by the introduction of the French taste into Spain.[313]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 60·77.
[313] Bouterwek.
~August 27.~
1688. A DATE IN PANYER-ALLEY.
The editor has received a present from Mr. John Smith of a wood block, engraved by himself, as a specimen of his talents in that department of art, and in acknowledgment of a friendly civility he is pleased to recollect at so long a distance from the time when it was offered, that it only dwelt in his own memory.
The impression from this engraving, and the accompanying information, will acquaint the reader with an old London “effigy” which many may remember to have seen. It is the only cut in the present sheet; for an article on a popular amusement, which will require a considerable number of engravings, is in preparation, and the artists are busily engaged on them.
Concerning this stone we must resort to old Stow. According to this “honest chronicler,” he peregrinated to where this stone now stands, and where in his time stood “the church of St. Michael ad Bladudum, or at the corne (‘corruptly,’ he says, ‘at the querne,’) so called, because in place thereof, was sometime a corne-market. At the west end of this parish church is a small passage for people on foot thorow the same church;” and he proceeds to throw the only light that seems to appear on this stone, “and west from the said church, some distance, is another passage out of Paternoster-row, and is called (of such a signe) Panyer-alley, which commeth out into the north, over against Saint Martin’s-lane.”
It is plain from Stow’s account, that Panyer-alley derived its name from “a signe,” but what that “signe” was we are ignorant of. It may have been a tavern-sign, and this stone may have been the ancient sign in the wall of the tavern. It represents a boy seated on a panyer, pressing a bunch of grapes between his hand and his foot. By some people it is called “the Pick-my-toe.” The inscription mentions the date when it was either repaired or put up in its present situation in a wall on the east side of the alley, and affirms that the spot is the highest ground of the city.
While we are at this place, it is amusing to remark what Stow observes of Ivy-lane, which runs parallel with Panyer-alley westward. He says, that “Ivie-lane” was “so called of ivie growing on the walls of the prebend’s houses,” which were situated in that lane; “but now,” speaking of his own days, “the lane is replenished on both sides with faire houses, and divers offices have been there kept, by registers, namely, for the prerogative court of the archbishop of Canturbury, the probate of wils, which is now removed into Warwicke-lane, and also for the lord treasurer’s remembrance of the exchequer, &c.”
Hence we see that in Ivy-lane, now a place of mean dwelling, was one of the great offices at present in Doctors’ Commons, and another of equal importance belonging to the crown; but the derivation of its name from the ivy on the walls of the prebends’ houses, an adjunctive ornament that can scarcely be imagined by the residents of the closely confined neighbourhood, is the pleasantest part of the narration.
* * * * *
And Stow also tells us of “Mount-goddard-street,” which “goeth up to the north end of Ivie-lane,” of its having been so called “of the tippling there, and the goddards mounting from the tappe to the table, from the table to the mouth, and some times over the head.”
Goddards.
These were cups or goblets made with a cover or otherwise. In “Tancred and Gismunda,” an old play, we are told, “Lucrece entered, attended by a maiden of honour with a covered goddard of gold, and, drawing the curtains, she offered unto Gismunda to taste thereof.” So also Gayton, in his “Festivous Notes on Don Quixote,” mentions--
“A goddard, or an anniversary spice bowl, Drank off by th’ gossips.”
Goddard, according to Camden, means “godly the cup,” and appears to Mr. Archdeacon Nares, who cites these authorities to have been a christening cup. That gentleman can find no certain account of the origin of the name.
Perhaps goddard was derived from “godward:” we had looking godward, and thinking godward, and perhaps drinking godward, for a benediction might have been usual at a christening or solemn merry-making; and from thence godward drinking might have come to the godward cup, and so the goddard.
THE CUCKOO.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--If the following “Address to the Cuckoo,” from my work on birds, should suit the pages of the Every-Day Book, it is quite at your service.
Of the cuckoo, I would just observe, that I do not think, notwithstanding all that Dr. Jenner has written concerning it, its natural history is by any means fully developed. I have had some opportunities of observing the habits of this very singular bird, and in me there is room for believing that, even when at maturity, it is sometimes, if not frequently, fed by other birds. It is very often attended by one, two, or even more, small birds, during its flight, for what purpose is not, I believe, at present known. The “wry-neck,” junx torquilla, called in some provinces the “cuckoo’s maiden,” is said to be one of these. Perhaps it may be novel information to your readers to be told, that there is a bird in the United States of America, called “Cowpen,” emberiza pecoris, by Wilson, which lays her eggs in other bird’s nests, in a similar way to the cuckoo in this country: the “cowpen” is, however, a much smaller bird than the cuckoo.
I am, &c.
JAMES JENNINGS.
Dalby-terrace, City-road,
August 28, 1826.
TO THE CUCKOO.
Thou monotonous bird! whom we ne’er wish away, Who hears thee not pleas’d at the threshold of May Thy advent reminds us of all that is sweet, Which nature, benignant, now lays at our feet; Sweet flowers--sweet meadows--sweet birds and their loves; Sweet sunshiny mornings, and sweet shady groves; Sweet smiles of the maiden--sweet looks of the youth, And sweet asseverations, too, prompted by truth; Sweet promise of plenty throughout the rich vale; And sweet the bees’ humming in meadow and vale; Of the summer’s approach--of the presence of spring, For ever, sweet cuckoo! continue to sing. Oh, who then, dear bird! could e’er wish thee away, Who hears thee not pleas’d at the threshold of May
As every trait in the natural history of birds is interesting, I beg leave to state that I shall be greatly obliged to any reader of the Every-Day Book for the communication of any novel fact or information concerning this portion of the animal kingdom, of which suitable acknowledgment will be made in my work. I understand the late lord Erskine wrote and printed for private circulation, a poem on the rook. Can any of your readers oblige me with a copy of it, or refer me to any person or book so that I might obtain a sight of it?
J. J.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·35.
~August 28.~
ST. AUGUSTINE.
Of this father of the church, whose name is in the church of England calendar, there is a memoir in vol. i. col. 1144.
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 28th of August, 1736, a man passing the bridge over the Savock, near Preston, Lancashire, saw two large flights of birds meet with such rapidity, that one hundred and eighty of them fell to the ground. They were taken up by him, and sold in Preston market the same day.
HOAX AT NORWICH.
The following bill was in circulation in Norwich and the neighbourhood for days previous, and on the evening of August 28, 1826, 20,000 sagacious people from the city and country around, on foot, on horseback, in chaises, gigs, and other vehicles, collected below the hill to witness the extraordinary performance.
“St. James’s-hill, back of the Horse-barracks.
“The public are respectfully informed that signor Carlo Gram Villecrop, the celebrated Swiss mountain-flyer, from Geneva and Mont Blanc, is just arrived in this city, and will exhibit, with a Tyrolese pole fifty feet long, his most astonishing gymnastic flights, never before witnessed in this country. Signor Villecrop has had the great honour of exhibiting his most extraordinary feats on the continent before the king of Prussia, Emperor of Austria, the Grand duke of Tuscany, and all the resident nobility in Switzerland. He begs to inform the ladies and gentlemen of this city, that he has selected St. James’s-hill and the adjoining hills for his performances, and will first display his remarkable strength, in running up the hill with his Tyrolese pole between his teeth. He will next lay on his back, and balance the same pole on his nose, chin, and different parts of his body. He will climb up on it with the astonishing swiftness of a cat, and stand on his head at the top; on a sudden he will leap three feet from the pole without falling, suspending himself by a shenese cord only. He will also walk on his head, up and down the hill, balancing his pole on one foot. Many other feats will be exhibited, in which signor Villecrop will display to the audience the much admired art of toppling, peculiar only to the peasantry of Switzerland. He will conclude his performance by repeated flights in the air, up and down the hill, with a velocity almost imperceptible, assisted only by his pole, with which he will frequently jump the astonishing distance of forty and fifty yards at a time. Signor Villecrop begs to assure the ladies and gentlemen who honour him with their company, that no money will be collected till after the exhibition, feeling convinced that his exertions will be liberally rewarded by their generosity. The exhibition to commence on Monday, the 28th of August, 1826, precisely at half-past 5 o’clock in the evening.”
Signor Carlo Gram Villecrop did not make his appearance. The people were drawn together, and the whole ended, as the inventor designed, in a “hoax.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·55.
~August 29.~
St. John Baptist beheaded.
The anniversary of the baptist’s decollation is in the church of England calendar. His death is known to have been occasioned by his remonstrance to Herod against his notorious cruelties. “In consequence of this,” says Mr. Audley, “Herod imprisoned him in the castle of Machærus, and would have put him to death, but was afraid of the people.” Herodias also would have killed John, had it been in her power. At length, on Herod’s birthday, Salome, the daughter of Herodias, by her former husband, Philip, danced before him, his captains, and chief estates, or the principal persons of Galilee. This so pleased Herod, that he “promised her, with an oath, whatsoever she should ask, even to the half of his kingdom.” Hearing this, she ran to her mother and said, “what shall I ask?” The mother, without hesitation, replied, “the head of John the Baptist.” Herod was exceedingly sorry when he heard such a request; but out of regard to his oaths and his guests, he immediately sent an executioner to behead John in prison. This was instantly done, and the head being brought in a charger, was given to Salome; and she, forgetting the tenderness of her sex, and the dignity of her station, carried it to her mother.
Jerome says, that “Herodias treated the baptist’s head in a very disdainful manner, pulling out the tongue which she imagined had injured her, and piercing it with a needle.” Providence, however, as Dr. Whitby observes, interested itself very remarkably in the revenge of this murder on all concerned. Herod’s army was defeated in a war occasioned by his marrying Herodias, which many Jews thought a judgment on him for the death of John. Both he, and Herodias, whose ambition occasioned his ruin, were afterwards driven from their kingdom, and died in banishment, at Lyons, in Gaul. And if any credit may be given to Nicephorus, Salome, the young lady who made the cruel request, fell into the ice as she was walking over it, which, closing suddenly, cut off her head.
It is added by Mr. Audley, that the abbot Villeloin says in his memoirs, “the head of St. John the Baptist was saluted by him at Amiens, and it was the fifth or sixth he had had the honour to kiss.”
ARCHBISHOP CHICHELEY.
Lord Orford, in a letter dated the 29th of August, says, “I have just been reading a new public history of the colleges of Oxford, by Anthony Wood, and there found a feature in a character that always offended me, that of archbishop Chicheley, who prompted Henry V. to the invasion of France, to divert him from squeezing the overgrown clergy. When that priest meditated founding All Souls college, and ‘consulted his friends, who seem to have been honest men, what great matters of piety he had best perform to God in his old age, he was advised by them to build an hospital for the wounded and sick soldiers, that daily returned from the wars then had in France.’ I doubt his grace’s friends thought as I do of his artifice.--‘But,’ continues the historian, ‘disliking these motions, and valuing the welfare of the deceased more than the wounded and diseased, he resolved with himself to promote his design--which was to have masses said for the king, queen, and himself, &c., while living, and for their souls when dead;’ and that mummery, the old foolish rogue, thought more efficacious than ointments and medicines for the wretches he had made! and of the chaplains and clerks he instituted in that dormitory, one was to teach grammar, and another prick song. How history makes one shudder and laugh by turns!”
AN ECCENTRIC CHARACTER.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--I trouble you with an account of an eccentric character, which may, perhaps, amuse some of your numerous readers, if it should meet your approbation.
Yours, most respectfully,
C. C----y, M. R. C. S. E.
Ashton Under Lyne,
July 17th, 1826.
BILLY BUTTERWORTH.
Near the summit of a small hill, called Gladwick Lowes, situated on the borders of Lancashire, near the populous town of Oldham, commanding a very extensive prospect, stands the solitary, yet celebrated hut of “Billy Butterworth.” The eccentric being who bears this name from his manner of dressing an immense beard reaching to his girdle, and many other singularities, has obtained the name of the “hermit,” though from the great numbers that daily and hourly visit him from all parts, he has no real claim to the title.
Billy Butterworth’s hut is a rude building of his own construction, a piece of ground having been given him for the purpose. In the building of this hut, the rude hand of uncultivated nature laughed to scorn the improvements of modern times, for neither saw, nor plane, nor level, nor trowel, assisted to make it appear gracious in the eye of taste; a rude heap of stones, sods of earth, moss, &c. without nails or mortar are piled together in an inelegant, but perfectly convenient manner, and form a number of apartments. The whole building is so firmly put together, that its tenant fears not the pelting of a merciless storm, but snug under his lowly roof appears equally content with the smiles or frowns of fortune.
To give a proper description of the hermit’s hut, would be very difficult, but a brief sketch will enable the reader to form a pretty good idea of the object. It is surrounded by a fancy and kitchen garden, fancifully decorated with rude seats, arches, grottos, &c., a few plaister of Paris casts are here and there placed so as to have a pleasing effect. The outer part of the hut consists of the hermit’s chapel, in which is a half-length figure of the hermit himself. To this chapel the hermit retires at certain hours, in devotion to his Maker; besides the chapel is an observatory, where the hermit amuses his numerous visiters, by exhibiting a small and rather imperfect camera obscura of his own construction, by which he is enabled to explain the surrounding country for four or five miles. Near the camera obscura is a raised platform, almost on a level with the roof of the hermitage--this he calls “the terrace.” From the terrace there is a beautiful view of country.--The towns of Ashton-under-Lyne, Stockport, Manchester, lie in the distance, with the adjacent villages, and the line of Yorkshire hills, from among which “Wild Bank” rises majestically above its neighbours. The hermit makes use of this situation, to give signals to the village at the foot of the hill, when he wishes to be supplied with any article of provision for the entertainment of his visiters, such as liquors, cream, sallads, bread, &c.; of confectionary, he has generally a good stock.
We next come to his summer arbours, which are numerous in his garden, and furnished with table and seats for parties to enjoy themselves separately, without interfering with others. The dovehouse is placed in the garden, where he keeps a few beautiful pairs of doves. Of the out-buildings, the last we shall describe, is the carriage-house. The reader smiles at the word “carriage” in such a situation, and would be more apt to believe me had I said a wheel-barrow. But no! grave reader, “Billy Butterworth” runs his carriage, which is of the low gig kind, drawn by an ass, and on some extra visits, by two asses. A little boy, called Adam, is the postillion, as there is only seating for one in the carriage. The boy acts as a waiter in busy times. In this carriage “Billy Butterworth” visits his wealthy neighbours, and meets with a gracious reception. He frequently visits the earl of Stamford, earl de Wilton, &c. &c. From his grotesque dress and equipage, he excites mirth to a great degree.
The inner part of this hermit’s hut consists of many different apartments, all of which are named in great style; such as the servants’ hall--pavilion--drawing-room--dining-room--library, &c. &c. The walls are lined with drapery, tastefully hung, and the furniture exhibits numerous specimens of ancient carved woodwork. Pictures of all sorts from the genuine oil painting, &c. prints of good line engraving down to the common caricature daubs, are numerously hung in every part of the hut. Natural curiosities are so placed, as to excite the curiosity of the gazing ignoramus.
“Billy Butterworth” is himself a tall man, of rather a commanding figure, with dark hair and dark sparkling eyes. His countenance is of a pleasing but rather melancholy appearance, which is increased by an immensely long black beard which makes him an object of terror to the neighbouring children. On the whole, although he is now in the evening of life, the remains of a once handsome man are very evident. His dress is varied according to the seasons, but always resembling the costume in king Charles’s days; a black cap, black ostrich feather and buckle, long waistcoat, jacket with silk let into the sleeves, small clothes of the same, and over the whole a short mantle.
“Billy Butterworth” has practised these whims, if I may call them so, for twelve or fourteen years in this solitary abode. His reason for this manner of life is not exactly known, but he seems to acknowledge in some degree, that a disappointment in love has been the cause. Let that rest as it will, he has a handsome property, accumulated, it is said, by these eccentric means. Indeed he acknowledged to the author of this, that on fine days in summer, he has realized from selling sweetmeats, and receiving gifts from visiters, five guineas a day. He is so independent now that he will not receive a present from friends. He is communicative as long as a stranger will listen, but if the stranger is inquisitive he ceases to converse any thing more. He is polite and well informed on general topics, and has evidently read much.
* * * * *
While the hermit was lately on a journey to his friends, a mischievous wag advertised “the hut,” &c. to be let. The day fixed upon being rainy, no bidders made their appearance. I send you a copy of the advertisement from a printed one in my possession.
* * * * *
TO BE LET,
For a term of years, or from year to year; and may be entered upon immediately, all that hut, garden, and premises, with the appurtenances, situate at Gladwick Lowes, near Oldham, in the county of Lancaster, now occupied as an
HERMITAGE,
By Mr. Wm. Butterworth.
This romantic spot being the only place of fashionable resort in the vicinity of the populous town of Oldham, and the unrivalled reputation which it has so long deservedly enjoyed, render it peculiar desirable to any gentleman who may wish to acquire an independency at a trifling risk. The motive for the intended removal of the present proprietor is, his having already secured a comfortable competency, joined to a desire of giving some gentleman of a disposition similar to his own, an opportunity of participating in the advantages which he has so long derived from this delightful retirement.
Among the many curiosities with which his sequestered hut abounds, may be particularized the following valuable articles.
His celebrated self-constructed Bed.
A Table,
which is supposed formerly to have belonged to some of the ancient saxon monarchs, and was presented to Mr. B., by her grace the duchess of Beaufort.
Praxitele’s stature of Jupiter Ammon, brought from Greece, by the right honourable the earl of Elgin, and came into the hands of the present possessor, through the medium of the duke of Devonshire, after it had, for a considerable period, formed one of the most permanent ornaments of his grace’s splendid mansion, Chatsworth house.
A capital portrait of Mrs. Siddons, painted by B. West, Esq., P. R. A.
A most excellent and peculiarly constructed Camera Obscura, which distinctly represents objects at the distance of thirty miles.
A sonorous Speaking Trumpet, wonderfully adapted to the present situation.
A brace of pistols, formerly the property of Blind Jack of Knaresborough, by whom they were cut out of solid rock.
A very ancient and most curious Trebduchet, a relic of Ptolemy the Third’s Sarcophagus.
A variety of coins, medals, shells, fossils, and other mineral productions, tastefully classified and arranged.
It would be very desirable if the above could be disposed of with the hermitage, but if not, Mr. B. would be willing to enter into a separate agreement for them. For further particulars, apply to Mr. W. B.
N.B. The stock of pop, peppermint, gingerbread, and Eccles cakes, with the signboards, dials, inscriptions, rams’ horns, and other tasteful and appropriate decorations, will be required to be taken at a valuation.
To be let Monday August 29, 1825.
A HOAX “IN CHANCERY.”
There is a spirit of waggery which contributes to public amusement, and occasionally annoys individual repose. The following lines are in a journal of this day 1826.
A VISION.
BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL.
“Up!” said the spirit, and ere I could pray One hasty orison, whirl’d me away To a limbo, lying--I wist not where-- Above or below, in earth or air; All glimmering o’er with a doubtful light, One couldn’t say whether ’twas day or night; And crost by many a mazy track, One didn’t know how to get on or back; And I felt like a needle that’s going astray (With its one eye out) through a bundle of hay: When the spirit he grinn’d, and whisper’d me, “Thou’rt now in the Court of Chancery!”
Around me flitted unnumber’d swarms Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms; (Like bottled-up babes, that grace the room Of that worthy knight, sir Everard Home)-- All of them, things half-kill’d in rearing; Some were lame--some wanted hearing; Some had through half a century run, Though they hadn’t a leg to stand upon.
Others, more merry, as just beginning, Around on a point of law were spinning; Or balanced aloft, ’twixt Bill and Answer, Lead at each end, like a tight rope dancer.-- Some were so cross, that nothing could please ’em;-- Some gulp’d down affidavits to ease ’em; All were in motion, yet never a one, Let it move as it might, could ever move on. “These,” said the spirit, “you plainly see, Are what they call suits in Chancery!”
I heard a loud screaming of old and young, Like a chorus by fifty Vellutis’ sung; Or an Irish dump (“the words by Moore”) At an amateur concert scream’d in score;-- So harsh on my ear that wailing fell Of the wretches who in this limbo dwell! It seem’d like the dismal symphony Of the shapes Æneas in hell did see; Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous cook Cut off and left the frogs in the brook, To cry all night, till life’s last dregs, “Give us our legs!--give us our legs!” Touched with the sad and sorrowful scene, I ask’d what all this yell might mean, When the spirit replied with a grin of glee, “’Tis the cry of the suitors in Chancery!”
I look’d, and I saw a wizard rise, With a wig like a cloud before men’s eyes. In his aged hand he held a wand, Wherewith he beckoned his embryo hand, And then mov’d and mov’d, as he wav’d it o’er, But they never got on one inch more, And still they kept limping to and fro, Like Ariels’ round old Prospero-- Saying, “dear master, let us go,” But still old Prospero answer’d “No.” And I heard, the while, that wizard elf, Muttering, muttering spells to himself, While over as many old papers he turn’d, As Hume e’er moved for or Omar burn’d. He talk’d of his virtue--though some, less nice, (He own’d with a sigh) preferr’d his Vice-- And he said, “I think”--“I doubt”--“I hope”-- Call’d God to witness, and damn’d the Pope; With many more sleights of tongue and hand I couldn’t, for the soul of me, understand. Amaz’d and poz’d, I was just about To ask his name, when the screams without The merciless clack of the imps within, And that conjurer’s mutterings, made such a din, That, startled, I woke--leap’d up in my bed-- Found the spirit, the imps, and the conjurer fled. And bless’d my stars, right pleas’d to see, That I wasn’t, as yet, in Chancery.
For several years before the appearance of his solemn “Aids to Reflection” in 1825, Mr. Coleridge had been to the world “as though he was not;” and since that “Hand-book” of masterly sayings his voice has ceased from the public. Forgotten he could not be, yet when he was remembered it was by inquiries concerning his present “doings,” and whispers of his “whereabout.” On a sudden the preceding verses startle the dull town, and dwelling on the lazy ear, as being, according to their printed ascription, “by the author of Christabel.” In vindication of himself against the misconception of the wit of their real author, the imputed parent steps forth in the following note.
TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.
Grove, Highgate, Tuesday Evening.
Sir,--I have just received a note from a city friend, respecting a poem in “The Times” of this morning ascribed to me. On consulting the paper, I see he must refer to “A Vision,” by the author of “Christabel.” Now, though I should myself have interpreted these words as the author, I doubt not, intended them, viz., as a part of the fiction; yet with the proof before me that others will understand them literally, I should feel obliged by your stating, that till this last half hour the poem and its publication were alike unknown to me; and I remain, Sir, respectfully yours,
S. T. COLERIDGE.
This little “affair” exemplifies that it is the fortune of talent to be seldom comprehended.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·45.
~August 30.~
CHRONOLOGY.
August 30, 1750. Miss Flora Macdonald was married to a gentleman of the same name related to sir Alexander Macdonald, bart. This lady is celebrated in Scottish annals for having heroically and successfully assisted the young Pretender to escape, when a price was set upon his head. Her self-devotion is minutely recorded in the late Mr. Boswell’s “Ascanius,” and Johnson has increased her fame by his notice of her person and character, in his “Tour to the Hebrides.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 62·95.
~August 31.~
GRASSHOPPERS.
It was observed at the end of August, 1742, great damage was done to the pastures in the country, particularly about Bristol by swarms of grasshoppers; and the like happened in the same year at Pennsylvania to a surprising degree.[314]
* * * * *
In 1476, “Grasshoppers and the great rising of the river Isula did spoyle al Poland.”[315]
* * * * *
Grasshoppers are infested by a species of “insect parasites” thicker than a horse hair, and of a brown colour. It consumes the intestines, and at first sight in the body of the grasshopper, has been mistaken for the intestines themselves.
The eminent entomologist who mentions this fact, observes that “insects generally answer the most beneficial ends, and promote in various ways, and in an extraordinary degree, the welfare of man and animals.” The evils resulting from them occur partially when they abound beyond their natural limits, “God permitting this occasionally to take place, not merely with punitive views, but also to show us what mighty effects he can produce by instruments seemingly the most insignificant: thus calling upon us to glorify his power, wisdom, and goodness, so evidently manifested, whether he relaxes or draws tight the reins by which he guides insects in their course, and regulates their progress; and more particularly to acknowledge his overruling Providence so conspicuously exhibited by his measuring them, as it were, and weighing them, and taking them out, so that their numbers, forces, and powers, being annually proportioned to the work he has prescribed to them, they may neither exceed his purpose, nor fall short of it.”[316]
* * * * *
THE VALLEY OF NIGHTINGALES.
A Scene near the Hotwells, Bristol.[317]
“Then said I, master, pleasant is this place And sweet are those melodious notes I hear; And happy they, among man’s toiling race, Who, of their cares forgetful, wander near.”
Bowles.
To those who might not happen to know St. Vincent’s rocks, Clifton, and the very beautiful scenery near the Hotwells, Bristol, it might be desirable to state that the river Avon winds here through a sinuous defile, on one side of which “the rocks” rise perpendicularly in a bold yet irregular manner, to the height of many hundred feet; the opposite side is not so bold, but it is, nevertheless, extremely beautiful, being clothed in many places with wood, and has besides a VALLEY, through which you may ascend to Leigh Down. This valley has been named the “Valley of Nightingales,” no doubt, in consequence of those birds making it their resort.
“Where foliaged full in vernal pride Retiring winds thy favourite vale; And faint the moan of Avon’s tide, Remurmurs to the nightingale.”
C. A. Elton’s Poems, Disappointment.
In a note, Mr. ELTON informs us that this stanza alludes to the “Valley of Nightingales opposite St. Vincent’s rocks at Clifton.” The lovers of the picturesque will here find ample gratification. If, in the following poem, the truth in natural history be a little exceeded in reference to a troop of nightingales, it is hoped that the poetical licence will be pardoned. The vicinity of the Hotwells has been lately much improved by a carriage drive beneath and around those rocks.
Seest thou yon tall ROCKS where, midst sunny light beaming, They lift up their heads and look proudly around; While numerous choughs, with their cries shrill and screaming, Wheel from crag unto crag, and now o’er the profound?
Seest thou yonder VALLEY where gushes the fountain; Where the nightingales nestling harmoniously sing; Where the mavis and merle and the merry lark mounting, In notes of wild music, now welcome the spring.
Seest thou yonder shade, where the woodbine ascending, Encircles the hawthorn with amorous twine, With the bryony scandent, in gracefulness blending; What sweet mingled odours scarce less then divine!
Hearest thou the blue ring-dove in yonder tree cooing; The red-breast, the hedge-sparrow, warble their song; The cuckoo, with sameness of note ever wooing; Yet ever to pleasure such notes will belong!
And this is the VALLEY OF NIGHTINGALES;--listen To those full-swelling sounds, with those pauses between, Where the bright waving shrubs, midst the pale hazels, glisten, There oft may a troop of the songsters be seen.
Seest thou yon proud ship on the stream adown sailing, O’er ocean, her course, to strange climes she now bends; Oh! who may describe the deep sobs or heart-wailing Her departure hath wrought amongst lovers and friends?
The rocks now re-echo the songs of the sailor As he cheerfully bounds on his watery way; But the maiden!--ah! what shall that echo avail her, When absence and sorrow have worn out the day?
Behold her all breathless, still gazing, pursuing, And waving, at times, with her white hand adieu; On the rock now she sits, with fixed eye, the ship viewing; No picture of fancy--but often too true.
Dost thou see yon flush’d HECTIC, of health poor remainder, With a dark hollow eye, and a thin sunken cheek; While AFFECTION hangs o’er him with thoughts that have pained her, And that comfort and hope, still forbid her to speak?[318]
Yes, FRIENDSHIPS! AFFECTIONS! ye ties the most tender! Fate, merciless fate, your connection will sever; To that tyrant remorseless--all, all must surrender! I once had a SON--HERE we parted for ever![319]
Now the sun, o’er the earth, rides in glory uncloud The rocks and the valleys delightedly sing; The BIRDS in wild concert, in yonder wood shrouded, Awake a loud CHORUS to welcome the spring.
And this is the valley of nightingales;--listen To those full-swelling sounds, with those pauses between, Where the bright waving shrubs, midst the pale hazels, glisten, There oft may a troop of the songsters be seen.
J.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·72.
The last in-gathering of the crop Is loaded, and they climb the top, And there huzza with all their force, While Ceres mounts the foremost horse: “Gee-up!” the rustic goddess cries, And shouts more long and loud arise; The swagging cart, with motion slow, Reels careless on, and off they go!
*
* * * * *
HARVEST-HOME is the great August festival of the country.
An account of this universal merry-making may commence with a communication from a lady, which the engraving is designed to illustrate.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Westbury, Wiltshire, August 8, 1826.
Sir,--The journal from whence I extract the following scene was written nearly two years ago, during a delightful excursion I made in company with one “near and dear,” and consequently before your praiseworthy endeavours to perpetuate old customs had been made public. Had my journey taken place during the present harvest month, the trifle I now send should have been better worth your perusal, for I would have investigated for your satisfaction a local custom, that to me was sufficiently delightful in a passing glance.
I am, Sir, &c.
I. J. T.
HAWKESBURY HARVEST HOME.
September, 1824.--After dinner, at Wotton-under-edge, we toiled up the side and then struck off again towards the middle of the hills, leaving all beauty in the rear; and from thence, until our arrival at Bath the next day, nothing is worth recording, but one little pleasing incident, which was the celebration of a harvest-home, at the village of Hawkesbury, on the top of Cotswold.
As we approached the isolated hamlet, we were “aware” of a Maypole--that unsophisticated trophy of innocence, gaiety, and plenty; and as we drew near, saw that it was decorated with flowers and ribands fluttering in the evening breeze. Under it stood a waggon with its full complement of men, women, children, flowers, and corn; and a handsome team of horses tranquilly enjoying their share of the finery and revelry of the scene; for scarlet bows and sunflowers had been lavished on their winkers with no niggard hand. On the first horse sat a damsel, no doubt intending to represent Ceres; she had on, of course, a white dress and straw bonnet--for could Ceres or any other goddess appear in a rural English festival in any other costume? A broad yellow sash encompassed a waist that evinced a glorious and enormous contempt for classical proportion and modern folly in its elaborate dimensions.
During the rapid and cordial glance that I gave this questionable scion of so graceful a stock, I ascertained two or three circumstances--that she was good-natured, that she enjoyed the scene as a downright English joke, and that she had the most beautiful set of teeth I ever beheld. What a stigma on all tooth-doctors, tooth-powders, and tooth-brushes. There was something very affecting in this simple festival, and I felt my heart heave, and that the fields looked indistinct for some minutes after we had lost sight of its primitive appearance; however it may now, I thought, be considered by the performers as a “good joke,” it had its origin, doubtless, in some of the very finest feelings that can adorn humanity--hospitality, sociality, happiness, contentment, piety, and gratitude.
Our fair correspondent adds:--
P.S.--Intelligence could surely be obtained from the spot, or the neighbourhood, of the manner of celebrating the festival; it is probably peculiar to the range of the Cotswold; and a more elaborate account of so interesting a custom would, doubtless, be valuable to yourself, sir, as well as to your numerous readers. I can only regret that my ability does not equal my will, on this or any other subject, that would forward your views in publishing your admirable Every-Day Book.
The editor inserts this hint to his readers in the neighbourhood of Cotswold, with a hope that it will induce them to oblige him with particulars of what is passing under their eyes at this season every day. He repeats that accounts of these, or any other customs in any part of the kingdom, will be especially acceptable.
* * * * *
Another correspondent has obligingly complied with an often expressed desire on this subject.
HARVESTING ON SUNDAY.
London, August 4, 1826.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--As you request, on the wrapper of your last part, communications, &c., respecting harvest, I send you the following case of a very singular nature, that came before the synod of Glasgow and Ayr.
In the harvest of 1807, there was a great deal of wet weather. At the end of one of the weeks it brightened up, and a drying wind prepared the corn for being housed. The rev. Mr. Wright, minister of Mayhole, at the conclusion of the forenoon service on the following sabbath-day, stated to his congregation, that he conceived the favourable change of the weather might be made use of to save the harvest on that day, without violating the sabbath. Several of his parishioners availed themselves of their pastor’s advice. At the next meeting of presbytery, however, one of his reverend brethren thought proper to denounce him, as having violated the fourth commandment; and a solemn inquiry was accordingly voted by a majority of the presbytery. Against this resolution, a complaint and appeal were made to the synod at the last meeting. Very able pleadings were made on both sides, after which it was moved and seconded,--“That the synod should find that the presbytery of Ayr have acted in this manner, in a precipitate and informal manner, and that their sentence ought to be reversed.” It was also moved and seconded,--“That the synod find the presbytery of Ayr have acted properly, and that it should be remitted to them to take such further steps in this business as they may judge best.” After reasoning at considerable length, the synod, without a vote, agreed to set aside the whole proceedings of the presbytery in this business.[320]
This subject reminds me of the following verses to urge the use of “the time present.”
DELAYS.
By Robert Southwell, 1595.
Shun delays, they breed remorse; Take thy time, while time is lent thee; Creeping snails have weakest force; Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee; Good is best, when soonest wrought, Ling’ring labours come to naught.
Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and wind stay no man’s pleasure; Seek not time, when time is past, Sober speed is wisdom’s leisure. After wits are dearly bought, Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought.
Time wears all his locks behind; Take thou hold upon his forehead; When he flies, he turns no more, And behind his scalp is naked. Works adjourn’d have many stays; Long demurs breed new delays.
I am, Sir,
Your obliged and constant reader,
R. R.
* * * * *
We are informed on the authority of Macrobius, that among the heathens, the masters of families, when they had got in their harvest, were wont to feast with their servants, who had laboured for them in tilling the ground. In exact conformity to this, it is common among Christians, when the fruits of the earth are gathered in, and laid in their proper repositories, to provide a plentiful supper for the harvest men and the servants of the family. At this entertainment, all are in the modern revolutionary idea of the word, perfectly equal. Here is no distinction of persons, but master and servant sit at the same table, converse freely together, and spend the remainder of the night in dancing, singing, &c., in the most easy familiarity. Bourne thinks the origin of both these customs is Jewish, and cites Hospinian, who tells us that the heathens copied after this custom of the Jews, and at the end of their harvest, offered up their first-fruits to the gods, for the Jews rejoiced and feasted at the getting in of the harvest.
This festivity is undoubtedly of the most remote antiquity. That men in all nations, where agriculture flourished, should have expressed their joy on this occasion by some outward ceremonies, has its foundation in the nature of things. Sowing is hope; reaping, fruition of the expected good. To the husbandman, whom the fear of wet, blights, &c. had harrassed with great anxiety, the completion of his wishes could not fail of imparting an enviable feeling of delight. Festivity is but the reflex of inward joy, and it could hardly fail of being produced on this occasion, which is a temporary suspension of every care.[321]
* * * * *
Mr. Brand brings a number of passages to show the manner of celebrating this season.
One of the “Five hundred points of husbandry” relates to August.
Grant harvest-lord more, by a penny or twoo, To call on his fellowes the better to doo: Give gloves to thy reapers a Larges to crie, And daily to loiterers have a good eie.
Tusser.
“Tusser Redivivus,” in 1744, says, “He that is the lord of harvest, is generally some stayed sober-working man, who understands all sorts of harvest-work. If he be of able body, he commonly leads the swarth in reaping and mowing. It is customary to give gloves to reapers, especially where the wheat is thistly. As to crying a Largess, they need not be reminded of it in these our days, whatever they were in our author’s time.”
* * * * *
Stevenson, in his “Twelve Moneths,” 1661, mentions under August, that “the furmenty pot welcomes home the harvest cart, and the garland of flowers crowns the captain of the reapers; the battle of the field is now stoutly fought. The pipe and the tabor are now busily set a-work, and the lad and the lass will have no lead on their heels. O! ’tis the merry time wherein honest neighbours make good cheer; and God is glorified in his blessings on the earth.”
* * * * *
THE HOCK CART, OR HARVEST HOME.
Come sons of summer, by whose toile We are the Lords of wine and oile; By whose tough labours, and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands, Crown’d with the eares of corne, now come, And, to the pipe, sing harvest home. Come forth, my Lord, and see the cart, Drest up with all the country art. See here a maukin, there a sheet As spotlesse pure as it is sweet: The horses, mares, and frisking fillies, Clad, all, in linnen, white as lillies, The harvest swaines and wenches bound For joy, to see the hock-cart crown’d. About the cart heare how the rout Of rural younglings raise the shout; Pressing before, some coming after, Those with a shout, and these with laughter. Some blesse the cart; some kisse the sheaves; Some prank them up with oaken leaves: Some crosse the fill-horse; some with great Devotion stroak the home-borne wheat: While other rusticks, lesse attent To prayers than to merryment, Run after with their breeches rent. Well, on brave boyes, to your Lord’s hearth Glitt’ring with fire, where, for your mirth, You shall see first the large and cheefe Foundation of your feast, fat beefe: With upper stories, mutton, veale, Add bacon, which makes full the meale; With sev’rall dishes standing by, As here a custard, there a pie, And here all-tempting frumentie, And for to make the merrie cheere If smirking wine be wanting here, There’s that which drowns all care, stout beere, Which freely drink to your Lord’s health, Than to the plough, the commonwealth; Next to your flailes, your fanes, your fatts Then to the maids with wheaten hats; To the rough sickle, and the crookt sythe Drink, frollick, boyes, till all be blythe, Feed and grow fat, and as ye eat, Be mindfull that the lab’ring neat, As you, may have their full of meat; And know, besides, ye must revoke The patient oxe unto the yoke, And all goe back unto the plough And harrow, though they’re hang’d up now. And, you must know, your Lord’s word’s true, Feed him ye must, whose food fils you. And that this pleasure is like raine, Not sent ye for to drowne your paine. But for to make it spring againe.
Herrick.
* * * * *
Hoacky is brought Home with hallowin, Boys with plumb-cake The cart following.
Poor Robin, 1676.
* * * * *
Mr. Brand says, “the respect shown to servants at this season, seems to have sprung from a grateful sense of their good services. Every thing depends at this juncture on their labour and despatch. Vacina, (or Vacuna, so called as it is said à vacando, the tutelar deity, as it were, of rest and ease,) among the ancients, was the name of the goddess to whom rustics sacrificed at the conclusion of harvest. Moresin tells us, that popery, in imitation of this, brings home her chaplets of corn, which she suspends on poles, that offerings are made on the altars of her tutelar gods, while thanks are returned for the collected stores, and prayers are made for future ease and rest. Images too of straw or stubble, he adds, are wont to be carried about on this occasion; and that in England he himself saw the rustics bringing home in a cart, a figure made of corn, round which men and women were singing promiscuously, preceded by a drum or piper.”
The same collector acquaints us that Newton, in his “Tryall of a Man’s owne Selfe,” (12mo. London, 1602,) under breaches of the second commandment, censures “the adorning with garlands, or presenting unto any image of any saint whom thou hast made speciall choice of to be thy patron and advocate, the firstlings of thy increase, as corne and graine, and other oblations.”
Ceres.
As we were returning, says Hentzner, in 1598, to our inn, we happened to meet some country people celebrating their harvest-home; their last load of corn they crown with flowers, having besides an image richly dressed, by which perhaps they would signify Ceres. This they keep moving about, while men and women, men and maid-servants, riding through the streets in the cart, shout as loud as they can till they arrive at the barn.
“I have seen,” says Hutchinson in his “History of Northumberland,” “in some places, an image apparelled in great finery, crowned with flowers, a sheaf of corn placed under her arm, and a scycle in her hand, carried out of the village in the morning of the conclusive reaping day, with music and much clamour of the reapers, into the field, where it stands fixed on a pole all day, and when the reaping is done, is brought home in like manner. This they call the harvest queen, and it represents the Roman Ceres.”
Mr. Brand says, “an old woman, who in a case of this nature is respectable authority, at a village in Northumberland, informed me that not half a century ago, they used every where to dress up something similar to the figure above described, (by Hutchinson,) at the end of harvest, which was called a harvest doll, or kern baby. This northern word is plainly a corruption of corn baby, or image, as is the kern supper, of corn supper. In Carew’s ‘Survey of Cornwall,’ p. 20. b. ‘an ill kerned or saved harvest’ occurs.”
* * * * *
At Wellington in Devonshire, the clergyman of the parish informed Mr. Brand, that when a farmer finishes his reaping, a small quantity of the ears of the last corn are twisted or tied together into a curious kind of figure, which is brought home with great acclamations, hung up over the table, and kept till the next year. The owner would think it extremely unlucky to part with this, which is called “a knack.” The reapers whoop and hollow “a knack! a knack! well cut! well bound! well shocked!” and, in some places, in a sort of mockery it is added, “well scattered on the ground.” A countryman gave a somewhat different account, as follows: “When they have cut the corn, the reapers assemble together: ‘a knack’ is made, which one placed in the middle of the company holds up, crying thrice ‘a knack,’ which all the rest repeat: the person in the middle then says--
‘Well cut! well bound! Well shocked! well saved from the ground.’
He afterwards cries ‘whoop,’ and his companions holloo as loud as they can.”
“I have not,” says Mr. Brand, “the most distant idea of the etymology of the ‘knack,’ used on this occasion. I applied for one of them. No farmer would part with that which hung over his table; but one was made on purpose for me. I should suppose that Moresin alludes to something like this when he says, ‘Et spiceas papatus (habet) coronas, quas videre est in domibus,’ &c.”
* * * * *
It is noticed by Mr. Brand, that Purchas in his “Pilgrimage,” speaking of the Peruvian superstitions, and quoting Acosta, tells us, “In the sixth moneth they offered a hundred sheep of all colours, and then made a feast, bringing the mayz from the fields into the house, which they yet use. This feast is made, coming from the farm to the house, saying certain songs, and praying that the mayz may long continue. They put a quantity of the mayz (the best that groweth in their farms) in a thing which they call pirva, with certain ceremonies, watching three nights. Then do they put it in the richest garment they have, and, being thus wrapped and dressed, they worship this pirva, holding it in great veneration, and saying, it is the mother of the mayz of their inheritance, and that by this means the mayz augments and is preserved. In this moneth they make a particular sacrifice, and the witches demand of this pirva if it hath strength enough to continue until the next year; and if it answers no, then they carry this maiz to the farm whence it was taken, to burn, and make another pirva as before: and this foolish vanity still continueth.”
On this Peruvian “pirva,” the rev. Mr. Walter, fellow of Christ’s-college, Cambridge, observes to Mr. Brand, that it bears a strong resemblance to what is called in Kent, an ivy girl, which is a figure composed of some of the best corn the field produces, and made, as well as they can, into a human shape; this is afterwards curiously dressed by the women, and adorned with paper trimmings, cut to resemble a cap, ruffles, handkerchief, &c. of the finest lace. It is brought home with the last load of corn from the field upon the waggon, and they suppose entitles them to a supper at the expense of their employers.
“Crying the Mare.”
This custom is mentioned by Mr. Brand as existing in Hertfordshire and Shropshire. The reapers tie together the tops of the last blades of corn, which they call “mare,” and standing at some distance, throw their sickles at it, and he who cuts the knot, has the prize, with acclamations and good cheer. Blount adds, respecting this custom, that “after the knot is cut, then they cry with a loud voice three times, ‘I have her.’ Others answer as many times, ‘what have you?’--‘A mare, a mare, a mare.’--‘Whose is she,’ thrice also.--‘J. B.’ (naming the owner three times.)--‘Whither will you send her?’--‘To J. a Nicks,’ (naming some neighbour who has not all his corn reaped;) then they all shout three times, and so the ceremony ends with good cheer. In Yorkshire, upon the like occasion, they have a harvest dame; in Bedfordshire, a Jack and a Gill.”
* * * * *
Having been preceded “into the bosom of the land” by a lady, and become acquainted with accounts from earlier chroniclers of harvest customs, we now pay our respects to the communications of other correspondents, who have been pleased to comply with our call for information.
GLOUCESTERSHIRE AND SUFFOLK.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--With pleasure I have read your entertaining and instructing collection from its commencement, and I perceive you have touched upon a subject in one of your sheets, which in my youth used to animate my soul, and bring every energy of my mind and of my body into activity; I mean, harvest.
Yes, sir, in my younger days I was introduced into the society of innocence and industry; but, I know not how it was, Dame Fortune kicked me out, and I was obliged to dwell in smoke and dirt, in noise and bustle, in wickedness and strife compared with what I left; but I forgive her, as you know she is blind. May I, Mr. Editor, converse with you in this way a little?
In Gloucestershire this interesting season is thus kept. Of course the good man of the house has informed the industrious and notable dame the day for harvest-home; and she, assisted by her daughters, makes every preparation to keep out famine and banish care--the neighbours and friends are invited, hot cakes of Betty’s own making, and such butter that Sukey herself had churned, tea, ale, syllabub, gooseberry wine, &c. And what say you? Why, Mr. Editor, this is nothing, this is but the beginning--the grand scene is out of doors. Look yonder, and see the whole of the troop of men, women, and children congregated together. They are about to bring home the last load. You have seen election chairings, Mr. Editor; these are mere jokes to it. This load should come from the furthest field, and that it should be the smallest only just above the rails, a large bough is placed in the centre, the women and children are placed on the load, boys on the horses, they themselves trimmed with cowslips and boughs of leaves, and with shouts of “harvest-home,” the horses are urged forward, and the procession comes full gallop to the front of the farm-house, where the before happy party are waiting to welcome home the last load. Now, he who has the loudest and the clearest voice, mounts upon a neighbouring shed, and with a voice which would do credit to your city crier, shouts aloud--
We have ploughed, we have sowed, We have reaped, we have mowed, We have brought home every load, Hip, hip, hip, Harvest home!
and thus, sir, the whole assembly shout “huzza.” The strong ale is then put round, and the cake which Miss made with her own hands:--the load is then driven round to the stack-yard or barn, and the horses put into the stable. John puts on a clean white frock, and William a clean coloured handkerchief: the boys grease their shoes to look smart, and all meet in the house to partake of the harvest supper, when the evening is spent in cheerfulness. Here, Mr. Editor, is pomp without pride, liberality without ostentation, cheerfulness without vice, merriment without guilt, and happiness without alloy.
They say that old persons are old fools and although I am almost blind, yet I cannot resist telling you of what I have also seen in my boyish days in Suffolk. I do not mean to be long, sir, but merely to give you a few particulars of an ancient custom, which I must leave you to finish, so that while you take a hearty pinch of snuff (I know you don’t like tobacco) I shall have completed.
At the commencement of harvest one is chosen to be “my lord.” He goes first in reaping, and mowing, and leads in every occupation. Now, sir, if you were to pass within a field or two of this band of husbandmen, “my lord” would leave the company, and approaching you with respect, ask of you a largess. Supposing he succeeded, which I know he would, he would hail his companions, and they would thus acknowledge the gift: my lord would place his troop in a circle, suppose fifteen men, and that they were reaping, each one would have a hook in his hand, or, if hoeing of turnips, he would bring his hoe. My lord then goes to a distance, mounts the stump of a tree, or a gate post, and repeats a couplet (forgive the treachery of my memory, for I forget the words). The men still standing in the circle listen with attention to the words of my lord, and at the conclusion each with his reap-hook pointing with his right hand to the centre of the circle, and with intent as if watching and expecting, they utter altogether a groan as long as four of your breves (if you go by notes): then, as if impelled together, their eyes are lifted to the heavens above them, their hooks point in the same direction, and at the same time they change the doleful groan to a tremendous shout, which is repeated three distinct times.
The money thus got during harvest, is saved to make merry with at a neighbouring public-house, and the evening is spent in shouting of the largess, and joyful mirth.
I am, Sir, &c.
S. M.
* * * * *
Another correspondent presents an interesting description of usages in another county.
NORFOLK.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
---- Norfolk, August, 14, 1826.
Sir,--In this county it is a general practice on the first day of harvest, for the men to leave the field about four o’clock, and retire to the alehouse, and have what is here termed a “whet;” that is, a sort of drinking bout to cheer their hearts for labour. They previously solicit any who happen to come within their sight with, “I hope, sir, you will please to bestow a largess on us?” If the boon is conceded the giver is asked if he would like to have his largess halloed; if this is assented to, the hallooing is at his service.
At the conclusion of wheat harvest, it is usual for the master to give his men each a pot or two of ale, or money, to enable them to get some at the alehouse, where a cheerful merry meeting is held amongst themselves.
The last, or “horkey load” (as it is here called) is decorated with flags and streamers, and sometimes a sort of kern baby is placed on the top at front of the load. This is commonly called a “ben;” why it is so called, I know not, nor have I the smallest idea of its etymon, unless a person of that name was dressed up and placed in that situation, and that, ever after, the figure had this name given to it. This load is attended by all the party, who had been in the field, with hallooing and shouting, and on their arrival in the farmyard they are joined by the others. The mistress with her maids are out to gladden their eyes with this welcome scene, and bestir themselves to prepare the substantial, plain, and homely feast, of roast beef and plumb pudding.
On this night it is still usual with some of the farmers to invite their neighbours, friends, and relations, to the “horkey supper.” Smiling faces grace the festive board; and many an ogling glance is thrown by the rural lover upon the nut-brown maid, and returned with a blushing simplicity, worth all the blushes ever made at court. Supper ended, they leave the room, (the cloth, &c. are removed,) and out of doors they go, and a hallooing “largess” commences--thus
[Music: Hallo! Lar- - - - - - - - -gess.
(ad infinitum.)
(with three successive Whoops.)]
The men and boys form a circle by taking hold of hands, and one of the party standing in the centre, having a gotch[322] of horkey ale placed near him on the ground, with a horn or tin sort of trumpet in his hand, makes a signal, and “halloo! lar-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ge-ess” is given as loud and as long as their lungs will allow, at the same time elevating their hands as high as they can, and still keeping hold. The person in the centre blows the horn one continued blast, as long as the “halloo-largess.” This is done three times, and immediately followed by three successive whoops; and then the glass, commonly a horn one, of spirit-stirring ale, freely circles. At this time the hallooing-largess is generally performed with three times three.
This done, they return to the table, where foaming nappy ale is accompanied by the lily taper tube, and weed of India growth; and now mirth and jollity abound, the horn of sparkling beverage is put merrily about, the song goes round, and the joke is cracked. The females are cheerful and joyous partakers of this “flow of soul.”
When the “juice of the barrel” has exhilarated the spirits, with eyes beaming cheerfulness, and in true good rustic humour, the lord of the harvest accompanied by his lady, (the person is so called who goes second in the reap, each sometimes wearing a sort of disguise,) with two plates in his hand, enters the parlour where the guests are seated, and solicits a largess from each of them. The collection made, they join their party again at the table, and the lord recounting to his company the success he has met with, a fresh zest is given to hilarity, a dance is struck up, in which, though it can hardly be said to be upon the “light fantastic toe,” the stiffness of age and rheumatic pangs are forgotten, and those who have passed the grand climactric, feel in the midst of their teens.
Another show of disguising is commonly exhibited on these occasions, which creates a hearty rustic laugh, both loud and strong. One of the party habited as a female, is taken with a violent pang of the tooth ache, and the doctor is sent for. He soon makes his appearance, mounted on the back of one of the other men as a horse, having in his hands a common milking stool, which he bears upon, so as to enable him to keep his back in nearly a horizontal position. The doctor brings with him the tongs, which he uses for the purpose of extracting the tooth: this is a piece of tobacco pipe adapted to the occasion, and placed in the mouth; a fainting takes place from the violence of the operation, and the bellows are used as a means of causing a reviving hope.
When the ale has so far operated that some of the party are scarcely capable of keeping upon their seat, the ceremony of drinking healths takes place in a sort of glee or catch; one or two of which you have below. This health-drinking generally finishes the horkey. On the following day the party go round among the neighbouring farmers (having various coloured ribands on their hats, and steeple or sugar-loaf formed caps, decked with various coloured paper, &c.,) to taste their horkey beer, and solicit largess of any one with whom they think success is likely. The money so collected is usually spent at the alehouse at night. To this “largess money spending,” the wives and sweethearts, with the female servants of their late masters, are invited; and a tea table is set out for the women, the men finding more virtue in the decoction of Sir John Barleycorn, and a pipe of the best Virginia.
I have put together what now occurs to me respecting harvest-home, and beg to refer you to Bloomfield’s “Wild Flowers,” in a piece there called the “Horkey;” it is most delightfully described.
The glee or catch at the health-drinking is as follows:--
Here’s a health unto our master, He is the finder of the feast: God bless his endeavours, And send him increase, And send him increase, boys, All in another year.
Here’s your master’s good health So drink off your beer; I wish all things may prosper, Whate’er he takes in hand; We are all his servants, And are all at his command.
So drink, boys, drink, And see you do not spill; For if you do, You shall drink two, For ’tis your master’s will.
Another Health Drinking.
Behold, and see, his glass is full, At which he’ll take a hearty pull, He takes it out with such long wind, That he’ll not leave one drop behind.
Behold and see what he can do, He has not put it in his shoe; He has not drank one drop in vain, He’ll slake his thirst, then drink again.
Here’s a health unto my brother John, It’s more than time that we were gone; But drink your fill, and stand your ground, This health is called the plough-boys round.
To this may be added the following.
A Health Drinking.
There was a man from London came, With a rum-bum-bum-bare-larum; Drink up your glass for that’s the game, And say ne’er a word, except--Mum.
The great object is to start something which will catch some unguarded reply in lieu of saying “Mum,” when the party so unguardedly replying, is fined to drink two glasses.
For the beginning of Harvest there is this
Harvest Song.
Now Lammas comes in, Our harvest begin, We have done our endeavours to get the corn in; We reap and we mow And we stoutly blow And cut down the corn That did sweetly grow.
The poor old man That can hardly stand, Gets up in the morning, and do all he can, Gets up, &c. I hope God will reward Such old harvest man.
But the man who is lazy And will not come on, He slights his good master And likewise his men; We’ll pay him his wages And send him gone, For why should we keep Such a lazy drone.
Now harvest is over We’ll make a great noise, Our master, he says, You are welcome, brave boys; We’ll broach the old beer, And we’ll knock along, And now we will sing an old harvest song.
I shall be happy if this will afford the readers of the Every-Day Book any information concerning the harvest customs of this county.
I am, Sir, &c.
~G. H. I.~
* * * * *
A valuable correspondent transmits a particular account of his country custom, which will be read with pleasure.
DEVON.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--As the harvest has now become very general, I am reminded of a circumstance, which I think worthy of communicating to you. After the wheat is all cut, on most farms in the north of Devon, the harvest people have a custom of “crying the neck.” I believe that this practice is seldom omitted on any large farm in that part of the country. It is done in this way. An old man, or some one else well acquainted with the ceremonies used on the occasion, (when the labourers are reaping the last field of wheat,) goes round to the shocks and sheaves, and picks out a little bundle of all the best ears he can find; this bundle he ties up very neat and trim, and plats and arranges the straws very tastefully. This is called “the neck” of wheat, or wheaten-ears. After the field is cut out, and the pitcher once more circulated, the reapers, binders, and the women, stand round in a circle. The person with “the neck” stands in the centre, grasping it with both his hands. He first stoops and holds it near the ground, and all the men forming the ring, take off their hats, stooping and holding them with both hands towards the ground. They then all begin at once in a very prolonged and harmonious tone to cry “the neck!” at the same time slowly raising themselves upright, and elevating their arms and hats above their heads; the person with “the neck” also raising it on high. This is done three times. They then change their cry to “wee yen!”--“way yen!”--which they sound in the same prolonged and slow manner as before, with singular harmony and effect, three times. This last cry is accompanied by the same movements of the body and arms as in crying “the neck.” I know nothing of vocal music, but I think I may convey some idea of the sound, by giving you the following notes in gamut.
[Music: Very Slow.
We yen! We yen!]
Let these notes be played on a flute with perfect crescendos and diminuendoes, and perhaps some notion of this wild sounding cry may be formed. Well, after having thus repeated “the neck” three times, and “wee yen” or “way yen” as often, they all burst out into a kind of loud and joyous laugh, flinging up their hats and caps into the air, capering about and perhaps kissing the girls. One of them then gets “the neck,” and runs as hard as he can down to the farm-house, where the dairy-maid, or one of the young female domestics, stands at the door prepared with a pail of water. If he who holds “the neck” can manage to get into the house, in any way unseen, or openly, by any other way than the door at which the girl stands with the pail of water, then he may lawfully kiss her; but, if otherwise, he is regularly soused with the contents of the bucket. On a fine still autumn evening, the “crying of the neck” has a wonderful effect at a distance, far finer than that of the Turkish muezzin, which lord Byron eulogizes so much, and which he says is preferable to all the bells in Christendom. I have once or twice heard upwards of twenty men cry it, and sometimes joined by an equal number of female voices. About three years back, on some high grounds, where our people were harvesting, I heard six or seven “necks” cried in one night, although I know that some of them were four miles off. They are heard through the quiet evening air, at a considerable distance sometimes. But I think that the practice is beginning to decline of late, and many farmers and their men do not care about keeping up this old custom. I shall always patronise it myself, because I take it in the light of a thanksgiving. By the by, I was about to conclude, without endeavouring to explain the meaning of the words, “we yen!” I had long taken them for Saxon, as the people of Devon are the true Saxon breed. But I think that I am wrong. I asked an old fellow about it the other day, and he is the only man who ever gave me a satisfactory explanation. He says, that the object of crying “the neck” is to give the surrounding country notice of the end of harvest, and that they mean by “we yen!” we have ended. It may more probably mean “we end,” which the uncouth and provincial pronunciation has corrupted into “we yen!”
I am, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
July, 1826.
R. A. R.
P. S. In the above hastily written account, I should have mentioned that “the neck” is generally hung up in the farm-house, where it remains sometimes three or four years. I have written “we yen,” because I have always heard it so pronounced; they may articulate it differently in other parts of the country.
ESSEX.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--As harvest has began in various counties, I beg leave to give you a description of what is called the “harvest supper,” in Essex, at the conclusion of the harvest.
After the conclusion of the harvest, a supper is provided, consisting of roast beef and plum pudding, with plenty of strong ale, with which all the men who have been employed in getting in the corn regale themselves. At the beginning of the supper, the following is sung by the whole of them at the supper.
Here’s a health to our master, The lord of the feast, God bless his endeavours, And send him increase; May prosper his crops, boys, That we may reap another year, Here’s your master’s good health, boys, Come, drink off your beer.
After supper the following:--
Now harvest is ended and supper is past, Here’s our mistress’s good health, boys, Come, drink a full glass; For she is a good woman, she provides us good cheer, Here’s your mistress’s good health, boys, Come, drink off your beer.
The night is generally spent with great mirth, and the merry-makers seldom disperse till “Bright Phœbus has mounted his chariot of day.”
I am, &c.
AN ESSEX MAN AND SUBSCRIBER.
* * * * *
It is the advice of the most popular of our old writers on husbandry, that--
In harvest time, harvest folke, servants and all, Should make, altogether, good cheere in the hall: And fill out the black bole, of bleith to their song, And let them be merry all harvest time long. Once ended thy harvest, let none be beguilde, Please such as did please thee, man, woman, and child. Thus doing, with alway such help as they can, Thou winnest the praise of the labouring man.
Tusser.
“Tusser Redivivus” says, “This, the poor labourer thinks, crowns all; a good supper must be provided, and every one that did any thing towards the Inning must now have some reward, as ribbons, laces, rows of pins to boys and girls, if never so small, for their encouragement, and, to be sure, plumb-pudding. The men must now have some better than best drink, which, with a little tobacco and their screaming for their largesses, their business will soon be done.”
Harvest Goose.
For all this good feasting, yet art thou not loose, Til Ploughman thou givest his harvest home goose; Though goose goe in stubble, I passe not for that, Let goose have a goose, be she lean, be she fat.
Tusser.
Whereon “Tusser Redivivus” notes, that “the goose is forfeited, if they overthrow during harvest.” A MS. note on a copy of Brand’s “Antiquities,” lent to the editor, cites from Boys’s “Sandwich,” an item “35 Hen. VIII. Spent when we ete our harvyst goose iij^{s}. vi^{d}. and the goose x^{d}.”
In France under Henry IV. it is cited by Mr. Brand from Seward, that “after the harvest, the peasants fixed upon some holiday to meet together and have a little regale, (by them called the harvest gosling,) to which they invited not only each other, but even their masters, who pleased them very much when they condescended to partake of it.”
* * * * *
According to information derived by Mr. Brand, it was formerly the custom at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, for each farmer to drive furiously home with the last load of his corn, while the people ran after him with bowls full of water in order to throw on it; and this usage was accompanied with great shouting.
HARVEST-HOME.
Who has not seen the cheerful harvest-home, Enliv’ning the scorch’d field, and greeting gay The slow decline of Autumn. All around The yellow sheaves, catching the burning beam, Glow, golden lustre; and the trembling stem Of the slim oat, or azure corn-flow’r, Waves on hedge-rows shady. From the hill The day-breeze softly steals with downward wing, And lightly passes, whisp’ring the soft sounds Which moan the death of Summer. Glowing scene! Nature’s long holiday! Luxuriant, rich, In her proud progeny, she smiling marks Their graces, now mature, and wonder-fraught! Hail! season exquisite!--and hail, ye sons Of rural toil!--ye blooming daughters!--ye Who, in the lap of hardy labour rear’d, Enjoy the mind unspotted! Up the plain, Or on the side-long hill, or in the glen, Where the rich farm, or scatter’d hamlet, shows The neighbourhood of peace ye still are found, A merry and an artless throng, whose souls Beam thro’ untutor’d glances. When the dawn Unfolds its sunny lustre, and the dew Silvers the out-stretch’d landscape, labour’s sons Rise, ever healthful,--ever cheerily, From sweet and soothing rest; for fev’rish dreams Visit not lowly pallets! All the day They toil in the fierce beams of fervid noon-- But toil without repining! The blithe song Joining the woodland melodies afar, Fling its rude cadence in fantastic sport On Echo’s airy wing! the pond’rous load Follows the weary team: the narrow lane Bears on its thick-wove hedge the scatter’d corn, Hanging in scanty fragments, which the thorn Purloin’d from the broad waggon. To the brook That ripples, shallow, down the valley’s slope, The herds slow measure their unvaried way;-- The flocks along the heath are dimly seen By the faint torch of ev’ning, whose red eye Closes in tearful silence. Now the air Is rich in fragrance! fragrance exquisite! Of new-mown hay, of wild thyme dewy wash’d, And gales ambrosial, which, with cooling breath, Ruffle the lake’s grey surface. All around The thin mist rises, and the busy tones Of airy people, borne on viewless wings, Break the short pause of nature. From the plain The rustic throngs come cheerly, their loud din Augments to mingling clamour. Sportive hinds, Happy! more happy than the lords ye serve!-- How lustily your sons endure the hour Of wintry desolation; and how fair Your blooming daughters greet the op’ning dawn Of love-inspiring spring! Hail! harvest-home! To thee, the muse of nature pours the song, By instinct taught to warble! Instinct pure, Sacred, and grateful, to that pow’r ador’d, Which warms the sensate being, and reveals The soul, self-evident, beyond the dreams Of visionary sceptics! Scene sublime! Where the rich earth presents her golden treasures; Where balmy breathings whisper to the heart Delights unspeakable! Where seas and skies, And hills and vallies, colours, odours, dews, Diversify the work of nature’s God!
Mrs. Robinson.
* * * * *
It was formerly the custom in the parish of Longforgan, in the county of Perth North Britain, to give what was called a maiden feast. “Upon the finishing of the harvest the last handful of corn reaped in the field was called the maiden. This was generally contrived to fall into the hands of one of the finest girls in the field, and was dressed up with ribands, and brought home in triumph with the music of fiddles or bagpipes. A good dinner was given to the whole band, and the evening spent in joviality and dancing, while the fortunate lass who took the maiden was the queen of the feast; after which this handful of corn was dressed out generally in the form of a cross, and hung up with the date of the year, in some conspicuous part of the house. This custom is now entirely done away, and in its room each shearer is given sixpence and a loaf of bread. However, some farmers, when all their corns are brought in, give their servants a dinner and a jovial evening, by way of harvest-home.”[323]
* * * * *
The festival of the in-gathering in Scotland, is poetically described by the elegant author of the “British Georgics.”
THE KIRN.
Harvest Home.
The fields are swept, a tranquil silence reigns, And pause of rural labour, far and near. Deep is the morning’s hush; from grange to grange Responsive cock-crows, in the distance heard, Distinct as if at hand, soothe the pleased ear; And oft, at intervals, the flail, remote, Sends faintly through the air its deafened sound.
Bright now the shortening day, and blythe its close, When to the Kirn the neighbours, old and young, Come dropping in to share the well-earned feast. The smith aside his ponderous sledge has thrown, Raked up his fire, and cooled the hissing brand His sluice the miller shuts; and from the barn The threshers hie, to don their Sunday coats. Simply adorned, with ribands, blue and pink, Bound round their braided hair, the lasses trip To grace the feast, which now is smoking ranged On tables of all shape, and size, and height, Joined awkwardly, yet to the crowded guests A seemly joyous show, all loaded well: But chief, at the board-head, the haggis round Attracts all eyes, and even the goodman’s grace Prunes of its wonted length. With eager knife, The quivering globe he then prepares to broach; While for her gown some ancient matron quakes, Her gown of silken woof, all figured thick With roses white, far larger than the life, On azure ground,--her grannam’s wedding garb, Old as that year when Sheriffmuir was fought. Old tales are told, and well-known jests abound, Which laughter meets half way as ancient friends, Nor, like the worldling, spurns because thread bare.
When ended the repast, and board and bench Vanish like thought, by many hands removed, Up strikes the fiddle; quick upon the floor The youths lead out the half-reluctant maids, Bashful at first, and darning through the reels With timid steps, till, by the music cheered, With free and airy step, they bound along, Then deftly wheel, and to their partner’s face, Turning this side, now that, with varying step. Sometimes two ancient couples o’er the floor, Skim through a reel, and think of youthful years.
Meanwhile the frothing bickers,[324] soon as filled, Are drained, and to the gauntress[325] oft return, Where gossips sit, unmindful of the dance. Salubrious beverage! Were thy sterling worth But duly prized, no more the alembic vast Would, like some dire volcano, vomit forth Its floods of liquid fire, and far and wide Lay waste the land; no more the fruitful boon Of twice ten shrievedoms, into poison turned, Would taint the very life blood of the poor, Shrivelling their heart-strings like a burning scroll.
Grahame.
In the island of Minorca, “Their harvests are generally gathered by the middle of June; and, as the corn ripens, a number of boys and girls station themselves at the edges of the fields, and on the tops of the fence-walls, to fright away the small birds with their shouts and cries. This puts one in mind of Virgil’s precept in the first book of his ‘Georgics,’
‘Et sonitu terrebis aves,’----
and was a custom, I doubt not, among the Roman farmers, from whom the ancient Minorquins learned it. They also use for the same purpose, a split reed, which makes a horrid rattling, as they shake it with their hands.”
* * * * *
In Northamptonshire, “within the liberty of Warkworth is Ashe Meadow, divided amongst the neighbouring parishes, and famed for the following customs observed in the mowing of it. The meadow is divided into fifteen portions, answering to fifteen lots, which are pieces of wood cut off from an arrow, and marked according to the landmarks in the field. To each lot are allowed eight mowers, amounting to one hundred and twenty in the whole. On the Saturday sevennight after midsummer-day, these portions are laid out by six persons, of whom two are chosen from Warkworth, two from Overthorp, one from Grimsbury, and one from Nethercote. These are called field-men, and have an entertainment provided for them upon the day of laying out the meadow, at the appointment of the lord of the manor. As soon as the meadow is measured, the man who provides the feast, attended by the hay-ward of Warkworth, brings into the field three gallons of ale. After this the meadow is run, as they term it, or trod, to distinguish the lots; and, when this is over, the hay-ward brings into the field a rump of beef, six penny loaves, and three gallons of ale, and is allowed a certain portion of hay in return, though not of equal value with his provision. This hay-ward and the master of the feast have the name of crocus-men. In running the field each man hath a boy allowed to assist him. On Monday morning lots are drawn, consisting some of eight swaths and others of four. Of these the first and last carry the garlands. The two first lots are of four swaths, and whilst these are mowing, the mowers go double; and, as soon as these are finished, the following orders are read aloud:--‘Oyez, Oyez, Oyez, I charge you, under God, and in his majesty’s name, that you keep the king’s peace in the lord of the manor’s behalf, according to the orders and customs of this meadow. No man or men shall go before the two garlands; if you do, you shall pay your penny, or deliver your scythe at the first demand, and this so often as you shall transgress. No man, or men, shall mow above eight swaths over their lots, before they lay down their scythes and go to breakfast. No man, or men, shall mow any farther than Monksholm-brook, but leave their scythes there, and go to dinner; according to the custom and manner of this manor. God save the king!’ The dinner, provided by the lord of the manor’s tenant, consists of three cheesecakes, three cakes, and a new-milk cheese. The cakes and cheesecakes are of the size of a winnowing-sieve; and the person who brings them is to have three gallons of ale. The master of the feast is paid in hay, and is farther allowed to turn all his cows into the meadow on Saturday morning till eleven o’clock; that by this means giving the more milk the cakes may be made the bigger. Other like customs are observed in the mowing of other meadows in this parish.”[326]
* * * * *
Harvest time is as delightful to look on to us, who are mere spectators of it, as it was in the golden age, when the gatherers and the rejoicers were one. Now, therefore, as then, the fields are all alive with figures and groups, that seem, in the eye of the artist, to be made for pictures--pictures that he can see but one fault in; (which fault, by the by, constitutes their only beauty in the eye of the farmer;) namely, that they will not stand still a moment, for him to paint them. He must therefore be content, as we are, to keep them as studies in the storehouse of his memory.
Here are a few of those studies, which he may practise upon till doomsday, and will not then be able to produce half the effect from them that will arise spontaneously on the imagination, at the mere mention of the simplest words which can describe them:--The sunburnt reapers, entering the field leisurely at early morning, with their reaphooks resting on their right shoulders, and their beer-kegs swinging to their left hands, while they pause for a while to look about them before they begin their work.--The same, when they are scattered over the field: some stooping to the ground over the prostrate corn, others lifting up the heavy sheaves and supporting them against one another, while the rest are plying their busy sickles, before which the brave crop seems to retreat reluctantly, like a half-defeated army.--Again, the same collected together into one group, and resting to refresh themselves, while the lightening keg passes from one to another silently, and the rude clasp-knife lifts the coarse meal to the ruddy lips.--Lastly, the piled-up wain, moving along heavily among the lessening sheaves, and swaying from side to side as it moves; while a few, whose share of the work is already done, lie about here and there in the shade, and watch the near completion of it.[327]
KENTISH HOP PICKING.
Who first may fill The bellying bin, and cleanest cull the hops. Nor ought retards, unless invited out By Sol’s declining, and the evening’s calm, Leander leads Lætitia to the scene Of shade and fragrance--Then th’ exulting band Of pickers, male and female, seize the fair Reluctant, and with boisterous force and brute, By cries unmov’d, they bury her in the bin. Nor does the youth escape--him too they seize, And in such posture place as best may serve To hide his charmer’s blushes. Then with shouts They rend the echoing air, and from them both (So custom has ordain’d) a largess claim.
Smart.
[314] Gentleman’s Magazine.
[315] Bateman’s Doome.
[316] Kirby and Spence’s Entomology.
[317] From “Ornithologia; or the Birds, a Poem, with an introduction, to their natural history, and copious notes, by James Jennings, author of Observations on the Dialects of the West of England,” &c. &c. This work has been for some time ready for the press, but its appearance is delayed in consequence of the depressed state of trade.
[318] The hot wells are, unfortunately, too often the last resort of the consumptive.
[319] A promising youth who died some years since at Berbice.
[320] Literary Panorama, 1807.
[321] Brand’s Popular Antiquities.
[322] A large stone, or earthen pitcher.
[323] Statistical Account of Scotland.
[324] Beakers.
[325] Wooden frames on which beer casks are set.--Johnson.
[326] Bridges’ Northamptonshire.
[327] Mirror of the Months.
The harvest-men ring Summer out With thankful song, and joyous shout; And, when September comes, they hail The Autumn with the flapping flail.
*
This besides being named “gerst-monat” by the Anglo-Saxons,[328] they also called haligemonath, or the “holy-month,” from an ancient festival held at this season of the year. A Saxon menology, or register of the months, (in Wanley’s addition to Hickes,) mentions it under that denomination, and gives its derivation in words which are thus literally translated “haligemonath--for that our forefathers, the while they heathens were, on this month celebrated their devil-gild.” To inquire concerning an exposition which appears so much at variance with this old name, is less requisite than to take a calm survey of the month itself.
* * * * *
I at my window sit, and see Autumn his russet fingers lay On every leaf of every tree; I call, but summer will not stay.
She flies, the boasting goddess flies, And, pointing where espaliers shoot, Deserve my parting gift, she cries, I take the leaves, but not the fruit.
Still, at this season--
The rainbow comes and goes, The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth;-- But yet we know, where’er we go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
“I am sorry to mention it,” says the author of the Mirror of the Months, “but the truth must be told even in a matter of age. The year then is on the wane. It is ‘declining into the vale’ of months. It has reached ‘a certain age.’--It has reached the summit of the hill, and is not only looking, but descending, into the valley below. But, unlike that into which the life of man declines, this is not a vale of tears; still less does it, like that, lead to that inevitable bourne, the kingdom of the grave. For though it may be called (I hope without the semblance of profanation) ‘the valley of the shadow of death,’ yet of death itself it knows nothing. No--the year steps onward towards its temporary decay, if not so rejoicingly, even more majestically and gracefully, than it does towards its revivification. And if September is not so bright with promise, and so buoyant with hope, as May, it is even more embued with that spirit of serene repose, in which the only true, because the only continuous enjoyment consists. Spring ‘never is, but always to be blest;’ but September is the month of consummations--the fulfiller of all promises--the fruition of all hopes--the era of all completeness.
“The sunsets of September in this country are perhaps unrivalled, for their infinite variety, and their indescribable beauty. Those of more southern countries may, perhaps, match or even surpass them, for a certain glowing and unbroken intensity. But for gorgeous variety of form and colour, exquisite delicacy of tint and pencilling, and a certain placid sweetness and tenderness of general effect, which frequently arises out of a union of the two latter, there is nothing to be seen like what we can show in England at this season of the year. If a painter, who was capable of doing it to the utmost perfection, were to dare depict on canvas one out of twenty of the sunsets that we frequently have during this month, he would be laughed at for his pains. And the reason is, that people judge of pictures by pictures. They compare Hobbima with Ruysdael, and Ruysdael with Wynants, and Wynants with Wouvermans, and Wouvermans with Potter, and Potter with Cuyp; and then they think the affair can proceed no farther. And the chances are, that if you were to show one of the sunsets in question to a thorough-paced connoisseur in this department of fine art, he would reply, that it was very beautiful, to be sure, but that he must beg to doubt whether it was natural, for he had never seen one like it in any of the old masters!”
* * * * *
In the “Poetical Calendar” there is the following address “to Mr. Hayman,” probably Francis Hayman, the painter of Vauxhall-gardens, who is known to us all, through early editions of several of our good authors, “with copper-plates, designed by Mr. Hayman.”
AN AUTUMNAL ODE.
Yet once more, glorious God of day, While beams thine orb serene, O let me warbling court thy stay To gild the fading scene! Thy rays invigorate the spring, Bright summer to perfection bring, The cold inclemency of winter cheer, And make th’ autumnal months the mildest of the year.
Ere yet the russet foliage fall I’ll climb the mountain’s brow, My friend, my Hayman, at thy call, To view the scene below: How sweetly pleasing to behold Forests of vegetable gold! How mix’d the many chequer’d shades between The tawny, mellowing hue, and the gay vivid green!
How splendid all the sky! how still! How mild the dying gale! How soft the whispers of the rill, That winds along the vale! So tranquil nature’s works appear, It seems the sabbath of the year: As if, the summer’s labour past, she chose This season’s sober calm for blandishing repose.
Such is of well-spent life the time, When busy days are past; Man, verging gradual from his prime, Meets sacred peace at last: His flowery spring of pleasures o’er, And summer’s full-bloom pride no more, He gains pacific autumn, mild and bland, And dauntless braves the stroke of winter’s palsied hand.
For yet a while, a little while, Involv’d in wintry gloom, And lo! another spring shall smile, A spring eternal bloom: Then shall he shine, a glorious guest, In the bright mansions of the blest, Where due rewards on virtue are bestow’d, And reap’d the golden fruits of what his autumn sow’d.
* * * * *
It is remarked by the gentleman-usher of the year, that “the fruit garden is one scene of tempting profusion.
“Against the wall, the grapes have put on that transparent look which indicates their complete ripeness, and have dressed their cheeks in that delicate bloom which enables them to bear away the bell of beauty from all their rivals. The peaches and nectarines have become fragrant, and the whole wall where they hang is ‘musical with bees.’ Along the espaliers, the rosy-cheeked apples look out from among their leaves, like laughing children peeping at each other through screens of foliage; and the young standards bend their straggling boughs to the earth with the weight of their produce.
“Let us not forget to add, that there is one part of London which is never out of season, and is never more in season than now. Covent-garden market is still the garden of gardens; and as there is not a month in all the year in which it does not contrive to belie something or other that has been said in the foregoing pages, as to the particular season of certain flowers, fruits, &c., so now it offers the flowers and the fruits of every season united. How it becomes possessed of all these, I shall not pretend to say: but thus much I am bound to add by way of information,--that those ladies and gentlemen who have country-houses in the neighbourhood of Clapham-common or Camberwell-grove, may now have the pleasure of eating the best fruit out of their own gardens--provided they choose to pay the price of it in Covent-garden market.”[329]
* * * * *
The observer of nature, where nature can alone be fully enjoyed, will perceive, that, in this month, “among the birds, we have something like a renewal of the spring melodies. In particular, the thrush and blackbird, who have been silent for several weeks, recommence their songs,--bidding good bye to the summer, in the same subdued tone in which they hailed her approach--wood-owls hoot louder than ever; and the lambs bleat shrilly from the hill-side to their neglectful dams; and the thresher’s flail is heard from the unseen barn; and the plough-boy’s whistle comes through the silent air from the distant upland; and snakes leave their last year’s skins in the brakes--literally creeping out at their own mouths; and acorns drop in showers from the oaks, at every wind that blows; and hazel-nuts ask to be plucked, so invitingly do they look forth from their green dwellings; and, lastly, the evenings close in too quickly upon the walks to which their serene beauty invites us, and the mornings get chilly, misty, and damp.”
Finally, “another singular sight belonging to this period, is the occasional showers of gossamer that fall from the upper regions of the air, and cover every thing like a veil of woven silver. You may see them descending through the sunshine, and glittering and flickering in it, like rays of another kind of light. Or if you are in time to observe them before the sun has dried the dew from off them in the early morning, they look like robes of fairy tissue-work, gemmed with innumerable jewels.”[330]
* * * * *
SEPTEMBER.
An Ode.
Farewell the pomp of Flora! vivid scene! Welcome sage Autumn, to invert the year-- Farewell to summer’s eye-delighted green! Her verdure fades--autumnal blasts are near. The silky wardrobe now is laid aside, With all the rich regalia of her pride.
And must we bid sweet Philomel adieu? She that was wont to charm us in the grove? Must Nature’s livery wear a sadder hue, And a dark canopy be stretch’d above? Yes--for September mounts his ebon throne, And the smooth foliage of the plain is gone.
Libra, to weigh the harvest’s pearly store, The golden balance poizes now on high, The calm serenity of Zephyr o’er, Sol’s glittering legions to th’ equator fly, At the same hour he shows his orient head, And, warn’d by Thetis, sinks in Ocean’s bed.
Adieu! ye damask roses, which remind The maiden fair-one, how her charms decay; Ye rising blasts, oh! leave some mark behind, Some small memorial of the sweets of May; Ah! no--the ruthless season will not hear, Nor spare one glory of the ruddy year.
No more the waste of music sung so late From every bush, green orchestre of love, For now their winds the birds of passage wait, And bid a last farewell to every grove; While those, whom shepherd-swains the sleepers call, Choose their recess in some sequester’d wall.
Yet still shall sage September boast his pride, Some birds shall chant, some gayer flowers shall blow, Nor is the season wholly unallied To purple bloom; the haler fruits shall grow, The stronger plants, such as enjoy the cold, And wear a livelier grace by being old.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 63·69.
[328] See vol. i. p. 1147.
[329] Mirror of the Months.
[330] Ibid.
~September 1.~
GILES.
This popular patron of the London district, which furnishes the “Mornings at Bow-street” with a large portion of amusement, is spoken of in vol. i. col. 1149.
* * * * *
Until this day partridges are protected by act of parliament from those who are “privileged to kill.”
Application for a License.
In the shooting season of 1821, a fashionably dressed young man applied to sir Robert Baker for a license to kill--not game, but thieves. This curious application was made in the most serious and business-like manner imaginable. “Can I be permitted to speak a few words to you, sir?” said the applicant. “Certainly, sir,” replied sir Robert. “Then I wish to ask you, sir, whether, if I am attacked by thieves in the streets or roads, I should be justified in using fire-arms against them, and putting them to death?” Sir Robert Baker replied, that every man had a right to defend himself from robbers in the best manner he could; but at the same time he would not be justified in using fire-arms, except in cases of the utmost extremity. “Oh! I am very much obliged to you, sir; and I can be furnished at this office with a license to carry arms for that purpose?” The answer, of course, was given in the negative, though not without a good deal of surprise at such a question, and the inquirer bowed and withdrew.
* * * * *
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER.
Here the rude clamour of the sportsman’s joy, The gun fast-thundering, and the winded horn, Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game: How, in his mid-career, the spaniel struck, Stiff, by the tainted gale, with open nose, Out-stretched, and finely sensible, draws full, Fearful, and cautious, on the latent prey; As in the sun the circling covey bask Their varied plumes, and watchful every way Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye. Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat Their idle wings, entangled more and more: Nor on the surges of the boundless air, Though borne triumphant, are they safe; the gun, Glanc’d just, and sudden, from the fowler’s eye, O’ertakes their sounding pinions; and again, Immediate brings them from the towering wing, Dead to the ground: or drives them wide-dispers’d, Wounded, and wheeling various, down the wind.
These are not subjects for the peaceful muse, Nor will she stain with such her spotless song; Then most delighted, when she social sees The whole mix’d animal creation round Alive, and happy. ’Tis not joy to her, This falsely-cheerful barbarous game of death This rage of pleasure, which the restless youth Awakes impatient, with the gleaming morn; When beasts of prey retire, that all night long, Urg’d by necessity, had rang’d the dark, As if their conscious ravage shunn’d the light, Asham’d. Not so the steady tyrant man, Who with the thoughtless insolence of power Inflam’d, beyond the most infuriate wrath Of the worst monster that e’er roam’d the waste, For sport alone pursues the cruel chase, Amid the beamings of the gentle days. Upbraid, ye ravening tribes, our wanton rage, For hunger kindles you, and lawless want; But lavish fed, in nature’s bounty roll’d, To joy at anguish, and delight in blood, Is what your horrid bosoms never knew.
So sings the muse of “The Seasons” on the one side; on the other, we have “the lay of the last minstrel” in praise of “Fowling,” the “rev. John Vincent, B. A. curate of Constantine, Cornwall,” whose “passion for rural sports, and the beauties of nature,” gave birth to “a poem where nature and sport were to be the only features of the picture,” and wherein he thus describes.
Full of th’ expected sport my heart beats high, And with impatient step I haste to reach The stubbles, where the scatter’d ears afford A sweet repast to the yet heedless game. How my brave dogs o’er the broad furrows bound, Quart’ring their ground exactly. Ah! that point Answers my eager hopes, and fills my breast With joy unspeakable. How close they lie! Whilst to the spot with steady pace I tend. Now from the ground with noisy wing they burst, And dart away. My victim singled out, In his aërial course falls short, nor skims Th’ adjoining hedge o’er which the rest unhurt Have pass’d. Now let us from that lofty hedge Survey with heedful eye the country round; That we may bend our course once more to meet The scatter’d covey: for no marker waits Upon my steps, though hill and valley here, With shrubby copse, and far extended brake Of high-grown furze, alternate rise around.
Inviting is the view,--far to the right In rows of dusky green, potatoes stretch, With turnips mingled of a livelier hue. Towards the vale, fenc’d by the prickly furze That down the hill irregularly slopes, Upwards they seem’d to fly; nor is their flight Long at this early season. Let us beat, With diligence and speed restrain’d, the ground, Making each circuit good.
Near yonder hedge-row where high grass and ferns The secret hollow shade, my pointers stand. How beautiful they look! with outstretch’d tails, With heads immovable and eyes fast fix’d, One fore-leg rais’d and bent, the other firm, Advancing forward, presses on the ground! Convolv’d and flutt’ring on the blood stain’d earth, The partridge lies:--thus one by one they fall, Save what with happier fate escape untouch’d, And o’er the open fields with rapid speed To the close shelt’ring covert wing their way.
When to the hedge-rows thus the birds repair, Most certain is our sport; but oft in brakes So deep they lie, that far above our head The waving branches close, and vex’d we hear The startled covey one by one make off. Now may we visit some remoter ground; My eager wishes are insatiate yet, And end but with the sun. Yet happy he, Who ere the noontide beams inflame the skies, Has bagg’d the spoil; with lighter step he treads, Nor faints so fast beneath the scorching ray. The morning hours well spent, should mighty toil Require some respite, he content can seek Th’ o’er-arching shade, or to the friendly farm Betake him, where with hospitable hand His simple host brings forth the grateful draught Of honest home-brew’d beer, or cider cool. Such friendly treatment may each fowler find Who never violates the farmer’s rights, Nor with injurious violence, invades His fields of standing corn. Let us forbear Such cruel wrong, though on the very verge Of the high waving field our days should point.
* * * * *
The pen of a country gentleman communicates an account of a remarkable character created by “love of the gun.”
THE LOSCOE MISER.
For the Every-Day Book.
About sixty years ago, at Loscoe, a small village in Derbyshire, lived James Woolley, notorious for three things, the very good clocks he made, his eccentric system of farming, and the very great care he took of his money. He was, like Elwes and Dancer, an old bachelor, and for the same reason, it was a favourite maxim with him, and ever upon his lips, that “fine wives and fine gardens are mighty expensive things:” he consequently kept at a very respectful distance from both. He had, indeed, an unconquerable dread of any thing “fine,” or that approached in any way that awful and ghost-like term “expensive.”
It would seem that Woolley’s avaricious bias, was not, as is generally the case, his first ruling passion, though a phrenologist, might entertain a different opinion. “When young,” says Blackner in his History of Nottinghamshire, “he was partial to shooting; but being detected at his sport upon the estate of the depraved William Andrew Horne, Esq. of Butterly (who was executed on the 11th of December, 1759, at Nottingham, for the murder of a child) and compelled by him to pay the penalty, he made a vow never to cease from labour, except when nature compelled him, till he had obtained sufficient property to justify him in following his favourite sport, without dreading the frowns of his haughty neighbour. He accordingly fell to work, and continued at it till he was weary, when he rested, and “to it again,”--a plan which he pursued without any regard to night or day. He denied himself the use of an ordinary bed, and of every other comfort, as well as necessary, except of the meanest kind. But when he had acquired property to qualify him to carry a gun, he had lost all relish for the sport; and he continued to labour at clock-making, except when he found an opportunity of trafficking in land, till he had amassed a considerable fortune, which he bequeathed to one of his relations. I believe he died about 1770.”
It must have been a singular spectacle to any one except Woolley’s neighbours, who were the daily observers of his habits, to have seen a man worth upwards of 20,000_l._ up at five in the morning brushing away with his bare feet the dew as he fetched up his cows from the pasture, his shoes and stockings carefully held under his arm to prevent them from being injured by the wet; though, by the by, a glance at them would have satisfied any one they had but little to fear from the dew or any thing else. A penny loaf boiled in a small piece of linen, made him an excellent pudding; this with a halfpenny worth of small beer from the village alehouse was his more than ordinary dinner, and rarely sported unless on holydays, or when he had a friend or tenant to share the luxury.
Once in his life Woolley was convicted of liberality. He had at great labour and expense of time made, what he considered, a clock of considerable value, and, as it was probably too large for common purposes, he presented it to the corporation of Nottingham, for the exchange. In return he was made a freeman of the town. They could not have conferred on him a greater favour: the honour mattered not--but election-dinners were things which powerfully appealed through his stomach to his heart. The first he attended was productive of a ludicrous incident. His shabby and vagrant appearance nearly excluded him from the scene of good-eating, and even when the burgesses sat down to table, no one seemed disposed to accommodate the miserly old gentleman with a seat. The chairs were quickly filled: having no time to lose, he crept under the table and thrusting up his head forced himself violently into one, but not before he had received some heavy blows on the bare skull.
The most prominent incident in his history, was a ploughing scheme of his own invention. He had long lamented that he kept horses at a great expense for the purposes of husbandry. To have kept a saddle-horse would have been extravagant--and at last fancying he could do without them, they were sold, and the money carefully laid by. This was a triumph--a noble saving! The winter passed away, and his hay and corn-stacks stood undiminished; ploughing time however arrived, and his new plan must be carried into effect. The plough was drawn from its inglorious resting-place, and a score men were summoned from the village to supply the place of horses. At the breakfast-table he was not without fears of a famine--he could starve himself, but a score of brawny villagers, hungry, and anticipating a hard day’s work, would eat, and drink too, and must be satisfied. They soon proceeded to the field, where a long continued drought had made the ground almost impenetrable; the day became excessively hot, and the men tugged and puffed to little purpose; they again ate heartily, and drank more good ale than the old man had patience to think of; and difficult as it was, to force the share through the unyielding sward, it was still more difficult to refrain from laughing out at the grotesque figure their group presented. They made many wry faces, and more wry furrows, and spoiled with their feet what they had not ploughed amiss. But this was not all. Had a balloon been sent up from the field it could scarcely have drawn together more intruders; he tried, but in vain, to keep them off; they thronged upon him from all quarters; his gates were all set open or thrown off the hooks; and the fences broken down in every direction. Woolley perceived his error; the men, the rope traces, and the plough were sent home in a hurry, and with some blustering, and many oaths, the trespassers were got rid of. The fences were mended, and the gates replaced, and having to his heart’s content gratified his whim, he returned to the old-fashioned custom of ploughing with horses, until in his brains’ fertility he could discover something better and less “expensive!”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 60·40.
~September 2.~
LONDON BURNT, 1666.
This notice in our almanacs was descriptively illustrated in vol. i. col. 1150-1165.
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR, 1826.
Another year arrives, and spite of corporation “resolutions,” and references to “the committee,” and “reports,” and “recommendations,” to abolish the fair, it is held again. “Now,” says an agreeable observer, “Now arrives that Saturnalia of nondescript noise and nonconformity, ‘Bartlemy fair;’--when that prince of peace-officers, the lord mayor, changes his sword of state into a sixpenny trumpet, and becomes the lord of misrule and the patron of pickpockets; and lady Holland’s name leads an unlettered mob instead of a lettered one; when Mr. Richardson maintains, during three whole days and a half, a managerial supremacy that must be not a little enviable even in the eyes of Mr. Elliston himself; and Mr. Gyngell holds, during the same period, a scarcely less distinguished station as the Apollo of servant-maids; when ‘the incomparable (not to say eternal) young Master Saunders’ rides on horseback to the admiration of all beholders, in the person of his eldest son; and when all the giants in the land, and the dwarfs too, make a general muster, and each proves to be, according to the most correct measurement, at least a foot taller or shorter than any other in the fair, and in fact, the only one worth seeing,--‘all the rest being impostors!’ In short, when every booth in the fair combines in itself the attractions of all the rest, and so perplexes with its irresistible merit the rapt imagination of the half-holyday schoolboys who have got but sixpence to spend upon the whole, that they eye the outsides of each in a state of pleasing despair, till their leave of absence is expired twice over, and then return home filled with visions of giants and gingerbread-nuts, and dream all night long of what they have not seen.”[331]
* * * * *
The almanac day for Bartholomew fair, is on the third of the month, which this year fell on a Sunday, and it being prescribed that the fair shall be proclaimed “on or before the third,” proclamation was accordingly made, and the fair commenced on Saturday the second of September, 1826. Its appearance on that and subsequent days, proves that it is going out like the lottery, by force of public opinion; for the people no longer buy lottery tickets even in “the last lottery,” nor pay as they used to do at “Bartlemy fair.” There were this year only three shows at sixpence, and one at twopence; all the rest were “only a penny.”
The sixpenny shows were, Clarke, with riders and tumblers; Richardson, with his tragi-comical company, enacting “Paul Pry;” and wicked Wombwell, with his fellow brutes.
In the twopenny show were four lively little crocodiles about twelve inches long, hatched from the eggs at Peckham, by steam; two larger crocodiles; four cages of fierce rattle snakes; and a dwarf lady.
In the penny shows were a glass-blower, sitting at work in a glass wig, with rows of curls all over, making pretty little teacups at threepence each, and miniature tobacco pipes for a penny; he was assisted by a wretched looking female, who was a sword-swallower at the last figure, and figured in this by placing her feet on hot iron, and licking a poker nearly red hot with her tongue. In “Brown’s grand company from Paris,” there were juggling, tight-rope dancing, a learned horse, and playing on the salt-box with a rolling-pin, to a tune which is said to be peculiar to the pastime. The other penny shows were nearly as last year, and silver-haired ladies and dwarfs, more plentiful and less in demand than learned pigs, who, on that account, drew “good houses.”
In this year’s fair there was not one “up-and-down,” or “round-about.”
The west side of Giltspur-street was an attractive mart to certain “men of letters;” for the ground was covered with “relics of literature.” In the language of my informant, for I did not visit the fair myself, there was a “path of genius” from St. Sepulchre’s church to Cock-lane. He mentions that a person, apparently an agent of a religious society, was anxiously busy in the fair distributing a bill entitled--“Are you prepared to die?”
ROMAN REMAINS AT PENTONVILLE,
and
THE WHITE CONDUIT.
I am not learned in the history or the science of phrenology, but, unless I am mistaken, surely in the days of “craniology,” the organ of “inhabitiveness” was called the organ of “travelling.” Within the last minute I have felt my head in search of the development. I imagine it must be very palpable to the scientific, for I not only incline to wander but to locate. However that may be, I cannot find it myself--for want, I suppose, of a topographical view of the cranium, and I have not a copy of Mr. Cruikshank’s “Illustrations of Phrenology” to refer to.
At home, I always sit in the same place if I can make my way to it without disturbing the children; all of whom, by the by, (I speak of the younger ones,) are great sticklers for rights of sitting, and urge their claims on each other with a persistence which takes all my authority to abate. I have a habit, too, at a friend’s house of always preferring the seat I dropped into on my first visit; and the same elsewhere. The first time I went to the Chapter Coffee-house, some five-and-twenty years ago, I accidentally found myself alone with old Dr. Buchan, in the same box; it was by the fireplace on the left from Paternoster-row door: poor Robert Heron presently afterwards entered, and then a troop of the doctor’s familiars dropped in, one by one; and I sat in the corner, a stranger to all of them, and therefore a silent auditor of their pleasant disputations. At my next appearance I forbore from occupying the same seat, because it would have been an obtrusion on the literary community; but I got into the adjoining box, and that always, for the period of my then frequenting the house, was my coveted box. After an absence of twenty years, I returned to the “Chapter,” and involuntarily stepped to the old spot; it was pre-occupied; and in the doctor’s box were other faces, and talkers of other things. I strode away to a distant part of the room to an inviting vacancy, which, from that accident, and my propensity, became my desirable sitting place at every future visit. My strolls abroad are of the same character. I prefer walking where I walked when novelty was charming; where I can have the pleasure of recollecting that I formerly felt pleasure--of rising to the enjoyment of a spirit hovering over the remains it had animated.
One of my oldest, and therefore one of my still-admired walks is by the way of Islington. I am partial to it, because, when I was eleven years old, I went every evening from my father’s, near Red Lion-square, to a lodging in that village “for a consumption,” and returned the following morning. I thus became acquainted with Canonbury, and the Pied Bull, and Barnesbury-park, and White Conduit-house; and the intimacy has been kept up until presumptuous takings in, and enclosures, and new buildings, have nearly destroyed it. The old site seems like an old friend who has formed fashionable acquaintanceships, and lost his old heartwarming smiles in the constraint of a new face.
In my last Islington walk, I took a survey of the only remains of the Roman encampment, near Barnesbury-park. This is a quadrangle of about one hundred and thirty feet, surrounded by a fosse or ditch, about five-and-twenty feet wide, and twelve feet deep. It is close to the west side of the present end of the New Road, in a line with Penton-street; immediately opposite to it, on the east side of the road, is built a row of houses, at present uninhabited, called Minerva-place. This quadrangle is supposed to have been the prætorium or head quarters of Suetonius, when he engaged the British queen, Boadicea, about the year 60. The conflict was in the eastward valley below, at the back of Pentonville. Here Boadicea, with her two daughters before her in the same war-chariot, traversed the plain, haranguing her troops; telling them, as Tacitus records, “that it was usual to the Britons to war under the conduct of women,” and inciting them to “vengeance for the oppression of public liberty, for the stripes inflicted on her person, for the defilement of her virgin daughters;” declaring “that in that battle they must remain utterly victorious or utterly perish: such was the firm purpose of her who was a woman; the men, if they pleased, might still enjoy life and bondage.” The slaughter was terrible, eighty thousand of the Britons were left dead on the field; it terminated victoriously for the Romans, near Gray’s-inn-lane, at the place called “Battle Bridge,” in commemoration of the event.
The pencil of the artist has been employed to give a correct and picturesque representation as it now appears, in September, 1826, of the last vestige of the Roman power in this suburb. The view is taken from the north-east angle of the prætorium. Until within a few years the ground about it was unbroken; and, even now, the quadrangle itself is surprisingly complete, considering that nearly eighteen centuries have elapsed since it was formed by the Roman soldiery. In a short time the spirit of improvement will entirely efface it, and houses and gardens occupy its site. In the fosse of this station, which is overrun with sedge and brake, there is so pretty a “bit,” to use an artist’s word, that I have caused it to be sketched.
This may be more pleasantly regarded when the ancient works themselves have vanished. Within a few yards of the western side of the fosse, and parallel with it, there is raised a mound or rampart of earth. It is in its original state and covered with verdure. In fine mornings a stray valitudinarian or two may be seen pacing its summit. Its western slope has long been the Sunday resort of Irishmen for the game of foot-ball.
Getting back into the New Road, its street which stands on fields I rambled in when a boy, leads to “White Conduit-house,” which derives its name from a building still preserved, I was going to say, but I prefer to say, still standing.
Mr. Joseph Fussell who resides within sight of this little edifice, and whose pencil took the Roman general’s station, and the well, also drew this Conduit; and his neighbour, Mr. Henry White, engraved the three, as they now present themselves to the reader’s eye.
The view of the “White Conduit” is from the north, or back part, looking towards Pentonville, with Pancras new church and other buildings in the distance. It was erected over a head of water that formerly supplied the Charter-house, and bore a stone in front inscribed “T. S.” the initials of Sutton, the founder, with his arms, and the date “1641.”[332]
About 1810, the late celebrated Wm. Huntington, S.S., of Providence chapel, who lived in a handsome house within sight, was at the expense of clearing the spring for the use of the inhabitants; but, because his pulpit opinions were obnoxious, some of the neighbouring vulgar threw loads of soil upon it in the night, which rendered the water impure, and obstructed its channel, and finally ceasing to flow, the public was deprived of the kindness he proposed. The building itself was in a very perfect state at that time, and ought to have been boarded up after the field it stood in was thrown open. As the new buildings proceeded it was injured and defaced by idle labourers and boys, from mere wantonness and reduced to a mere ruin. There was a kind of upper floor or hayloft in it, which was frequently a shelter to the houseless wanderer. A few years ago some poor creatures made it a comfortable hostel for the night, with a little hay. Early in the morning a passing workman perceived smoke issuing from the crevices, and as he approached heard loud cries from within. Some mischievous miscreants had set fire to the fodder beneath the sleepers, and afterwards fastened the door on the outside: the inmates were scorched by the fire, and probably they would all have been suffocated in a few minutes, if the place had not been broken open.
The “White Conduit” at this time merely stands to shame those who had the power, and neglected to preserve it. To the buildings grown up around, it might have been rendered a neat ornament, by planting a few trees and enclosing the whole with an iron railing, and have stood as a monument of departed worth. This vicinity was anciently full of springs and stone conduits; the erections have long since gone to decay, and from their many waters, only one has been preserved, which is notoriously deficient as a supply to the populous neighbourhood. During the heats of summer the inhabitants want this common element in the midst of plenty. The spring in a neighbouring street is frequently exhausted by three or four o’clock in the afternoon, the handle of the pump is then padlocked till the next morning, and the grateful and necessary refreshment of spring-water is not to be obtained without going miles in search of another pump. It would seem as if the parochial powers in this quarter were leagued with publicans and sinners, to compel the thirsty to buy deleterious beer and bowel-disturbing “pop,” or to swallow the New River water fresh with impurities from the thousands of people who daily cleanse their foul bodies in the stream, as it lags along for the use of our kitchens and tea-tables.
“White Conduit-house,” has ceased to be a recreation in the good sense of the word. Its present denomination is the “Minor Vauxhall,” and its chief attraction during the passing summer has been Mrs. Bland. She has still powers, and if their exercise here has been a stay and support to this sweet melodist, so far the establishment may be deemed respectable. It is a ground for balloon-flying and skittle-playing, and just maintains itself above the very lowest, so as to be one of the most doubtful places of public resort. Recollections of it some years ago are more in its favour. Its tea-gardens then in summer afternoons, were well accustomed by tradesmen and their families; they are now comparatively deserted, and instead, there is, at night, a starveling show of odd company and coloured lamps, a mock orchestra with mock singing, dancing in a room which decent persons would prefer to withdraw their young folks from if they entered, and fire-works “as usual,” which, to say the truth, are usually very good.
Such is the present state of a vicinage which, “in my time,” was the pleasantest near spot to the north of London. The meadow of the “White Conduit” commanded an extensive prospect of the Hampstead and Highgate hills, over beautiful pastures and hedge-rows which are now built on, or converted into brick clamps, for the material of irruption on the remaining glades. The pleasant views are wholly obstructed. In a few short years, London will distend its enormous bulk to the heights that overlook its proud city; and, like the locusts of old, devour every green field, and nothing will be left to me to admire, of all that I admired.
* * * * *
ELEGY
Written in Bartlemy Fair, at Five o’clock in the morning, in 1810.
The clock-bell tolls the hour of early day, The lowing herd their Smithfield penance drie, The watchman homeward plods his weary way And leaves the fair--all solitude to me!
Now the first beams of morning glad the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds; Save when the sheep-dog bays with hoarse affright, And brutal drovers pen the unwilling folds.
Save that where sheltered, or from wind or shower, The lock’d-out ’prentice, or frail nymph complain, Of such as, wandering near their secret bower, Molest them, sensible in sleep, to pain.
Beneath those ragged tents--that boarded shade, Which late display’d its stores in tempting heaps; There, children, dogs, cakes, oysters, all are laid, There, guardian of the whole, the master sleeps.
The busy call of care-begetting morn, The well-slept passenger’s unheeding tread; The showman’s clarion, or the echoing horn, Too soon must rouse them from their lowly bed.
Perhaps in this neglected booth is laid Some head volcanic, oft discharging fire! Hands--that the rod of magic lately sway’d; Toes--that so nimbly danc’d upon the wire.
Some clown, or pantaloon--the gazers’ jest, Here, with his train in dirty pageant stood: Some tired-out posture-master here may rest, Some conjuring swordsman--guiltless of his blood!
The applause of listening cockneys to command, The threats of city-marshal to despise; To give delight to all the grinning band, And read their merit in spectators’ eyes,
Is still their boast;--nor, haply, theirs alone, Polito’s lions (though now dormant laid) And human monsters, shall acquire renown, The spotted Negro--and the armless maid!
Peace to the youth, who, slumbering at the Bear, Forgets his present lot, his perils past: Soon will the crowd again be thronging there, To view the man on wild Sombrero cast.
Careful their booths, from insult to protect, These furl their tapestry, late erected high; Nor longer with prodigious pictures deck’d, They tempt the passing youth’s astonish’d eye.
But when the day calls forth the belles and beaux, The cunning showmen each device display, And many a clown the useful notice shows, To teach ascending strangers--where to pay.
Sleep on, ye imps of merriment--sleep on! In this short respite to your labouring train; And when this time of annual mirth is gone, May ye enjoy, in peace, your hard-earned gain![333]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 60·40.
[331] Mirror of the Months.
[332] Nelson’s History of Islington.
[333] The Morning Chronicle, 1810.
~September 3.~
PURTON FAIR, WILTS.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
August 18, 1826.
Dear Sir,--Perhaps you, or some of your readers, may be acquainted with a small village in the north of Wiltshire, called Purton, very pleasantly situated, and dear to me, from a child; it being the place where I passed nearly all my boyish days. I went to school there, and there spent many a pleasant hour which I now think of with sincere delight; and perhaps you will not object to a few particulars concerning a fair held there on the first day of May and the third day of September in every year.
The spot whereon Purton fair is annually celebrated, is a very pleasant little green called the “close,” or play-ground, belonging to all the unmarried men in the village. They generally assemble there every evening after the toils of the day to recreate themselves with a few pleasant sports. Their favourite game is what they call backswording, in some places called singlestick. Some few of the village have the good fortune to be adepts in that noble art, and are held up as beings of transcendent genius among the rustic admirers of that noted science. They have one whom they call their umpire, to whom all disputes are referred, and he always, with the greatest possible impartiality, decides them.
About six years ago a neighbouring farmer, whose orchard joins the green, thought that his orchard might be greatly improved. He accordingly set to work, pulled down the original wall, and built a new one, not forgetting to take in several feet of the green. The villagers felt great indignity at the encroachment, and resolved to claim their rights. They waited till the new wall should be complete, and in the evening of the same day a party of about forty marched to the spot armed with great sticks, pickaxes, &c., and very deliberately commenced breaking down the wall. The owner on being apprised of what was passing, assembled all his domestics and proceeded to the spot, when a furious scuffle ensued, and several serious accidents happened. At last, however, the aggressor finding he could not succeed, proposed a settlement; he entirely removed the new wall on the following day, and returned it to the place where the old one stood.
On the morning of the fair, as soon as the day begins to dawn, all is bustle and confusion throughout the village. Gipsies are first seen with their donkies approaching the place of rendezvous; then the village rustics in their clean white Sunday smocks, and the lasses with their Sunday gowns, caps, and ribands, hasten to the green, and all is mirth and gaiety.
I cannot pass over a very curious character who used regularly to visit the fair, and I was told by an ancient inhabitant that he had done so for several years. He was an old gipsy who had attained to high favour with all the younkers of the place, from his jocular habits, curious dress, and the pleasant stories he used to relate. He called himself “Corey Dyne,” or “Old Corey,” and those are the only names by which he was known. He was accustomed to place a little hat on the ground, from the centre of which rose a stick about three feet high, whereon he put either halfpence or a small painted box, or something equally winning to the eye of his little customers. There he stood crying, “Now who throws with poor old Corey--come to Corey--come to Corey Dyne; only a halfpenny a throw, and only once a year!” A boy who had purchased the right to throw was placed about three feet from the hat, with a small piece of wood which he threw at the article on the stick, and if it fell in the hat, (which by the by it was almost invariably sure to do,) the thrower lost his money; but if out of the hat, on the ground, the article from the stick was claimed by the thrower. The good humour of “Old Corey” generally ensured him plenty of custom. I have oftentimes been a loser with him, but never a winner. I believe that no one in all Purton knows from whence he is, although every body is acquainted with him.
There was a large show on the place, at which the rustics were wont to gaze with surprise and admiration. The chief object of their wonder was our “punch.” They could not form the slightest idea how little wooden figures could talk and dance about; they supposed that there must be some life in them. I well remember that I once undertook to set them right, but was laughed at and derided me for my presumption and boast of superior knowledge.
There was also another very merry fellow who frequented the fair by the name of “Mr. Merryman.” He obtained great celebrity by giving various imitations of birds, &c., which he would very readily do after collecting a sufficient sum “to clear his pipe,” as he used to say. He then began with the nightingale, which he imitated very successfully, then followed the blackbird--linnet--goldfinch--robin--geese and ducks on a rainy morning--turkies, &c. &c. Then, perhaps, after collecting some more money “to clear his pipe,” he would imitate a jackass, or a cow. His excellent imitation of the crow of a cock strongly affected the risible muscles of his auditors.
The amusements last till near midnight, when the rustics, being exhilarated with the effects of good strong Wiltshire ale, generally part after a few glorious battles.
The next day several champions enter the field to contest the right to several prizes, which are laid out in the following order:--
1st. A new smock.
2nd. A new hat with a blue cockade.
3rd. An inferior hat with a white cockade.
4th. A still inferior hat without a cockade.
A stage is erected on the green, and at five o’clock the sport commences; and a very celebrated personage, whom they call their umpshire, (umpire,) stands high above the rest to award the prizes. The candidates are generally selected from the best players at singlestick, and on this occasion they use their utmost skill and ingenuity, and are highly applauded by the surrounding spectators. I must not forget to remark that on this grand, and to them, interesting day, the inhabitants of Purton do not combat against each other. No--believe me, sir, they are better acquainted with the laws of chivalry. Purton produces four candidates, and a small village adjoining, called Stretton, sends forth four more. These candidates are representatives of the villages to which they respectively belong, and they who lose have to pay all the expenses of the day; but it is to the credit of the sons of Purton I record, that for seven successive years their candidates have been returned the victors. The contest generally lasts two hours, and, after that, the ceremony of chairing the representatives takes place, which is thus performed:--Four chairs made with the boughs of trees are in waiting, and the conquerors are placed therein and carried through the village with every possible demonstration of joy, the inhabitants shouting “Purton for ever! huzza! my boys, huzza!” and waving boughs over their triumphant candidates. After the chairing they adjourn to the village public-house, and spend the remainder of the evening as before.
The third day is likewise a day of bustle and confusion. All repair to a small common, called the cricket ground, and a grand match takes place between the Purton club and the Stretton club; there are about twenty candidates of a side. The vanquished parties pay a shilling each to defray the expense of a cold collation, which is previously provided in a pleasant little copse adjoining the cricket-ground, and the remainder of the day is spent convivially.
I remember hearing the landlord of the public-house at Purton, (which is situated on one side of the green,) observe to a villager, that during the three days’ merriment he had sold six thousand gallons of strong beer and ale; the man of course doubted him, and afterwards very sarcastically remarked to me, “It’s just as asy, measter, for he to zay zix thousand gallons as dree thousand!” Does not this, good Mr. Editor, show a little genuine Purton wit?
I have now, my dear sir, finished, and have endeavoured to describe three pleasant days spent in an innocent and happy manner; and if I have succeeded in affording you any service, or your readers any amusement, I am amply rewarded. Allow me to add I feel such an affection for old Purton, that should I at any time in my life visit Wiltshire, I would travel twenty miles out of my road to ramble once more in the haunts of my boyhood.
Believe me, my dear Sir,
Yours very sincerely,
August, 18, 1826.
C. T.
* * * * *
P.S. Since writing the above I have received a letter from a very particular friend who went to Purton school five years, to whom I applied for a few extra particulars respecting the fair, &c., and he thus writes, “Dear C. You seem to think that with the name I still retain all the characteristics and predilections of a hodge; and therefore you seek to me for information respecting the backsword-playing, fair, &c. Know that as to the first, it is (and has been for the last two years) entirely done away with, as the principal ‘farmers’ in the place ‘done’ like it, and so don’t suffer it. As to the fair, where lads and lasses meet in their best gowns, and ribands, and clean smocks, you must know, most assuredly, more of it than I do, as I seldom troubled about it. You must bear in mind that this fair is exactly the same as that held in the month of May, but as no notice has been taken of it by Mr. Hone in either of his volumes, I suppose it very little matters whether your description is of the fair held in May or September.”
I have to lament, my dear sir, the discontinuance of the ancient custom of backswording at Purton village; but so long as they keep up their fairs, the other loss will not be so much felt.
C. T.
* * * * *
August 30, 1826.
I forgot to mention in my particulars of Purton-fair, that Old Corey, and the other celebrated worthies, only come to the September fair, as the May fair is disregarded by them, it being a fair principally for the sale of cattle, &c. and the September fair is entirely devoted to pleasure. Perhaps you can introduce this small piece of intelligence, together with the following doggrel song written for the occasion.
C. T.
TO THE WORTHY AND RESPECTABLE INHABITANTS OF PURTON,
This SONG is most respectfully inscribed,
By their ever true and devoted humble servant,
CHARLES TOMLINSON.
=SONG.=
PURTON FAIR.
Come, neighbours, listen, I’ll sing you a song, Which, I assure you, will not keep you long; I’ll sing a good song about old Purton fair, For that is the place, lads, to drive away care.
The damsels all meet full of mirth and of glee, And they are as happy as happy can be; Such worth, and such beauty, fairs seldom display, And sorrow is banished on this happy day.
There’s the brave lads of Purton at backsword so clever, Who were ne’er known to flinch, but victorious ever; The poor boys of Stretton are basted away, For Purton’s fam’d youths ever carry the day.
’Tis “Old Corey Dyne,” who wisely declares, Stretton’s lads must be beaten at all Purton’s fairs; They can’t match our courage, then, huzza! my boys, To still conquering Purton let’s kick up a noise.
“Old Corey’s” the merriest blade in the fair, What he tells us is true, so, prithee, don’t stare; “Remember poor Corey, come, pray have a throw, ’Tis but once a year, as you very well know.”
But--here ends my song, so let’s haste to the green, ’Tis as pretty a spot as ever was seen; And if you are sad or surrounded with care, Haste quickly! haste quickly! to OLD PURTON FAIR.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·07.
~September 4.~
HOW TO KEEP APPLES.
Gather them dry, and put them with clean straw, or clean chaff, into casks; cover them up close, and put them into a cool dry cellar. Fruit will keep perfectly good a twelvemonth in this manner.
How to mark your fruit.
Let the cultivator of choice fruit cut in paper the initial letters of his name, or any other mark he likes; and just before his peaches, nectarines, &c. begin to be coloured, stick such letters or mark with gum-water on that side of the fruit which is next the sun. That part of the rind which is under the paper will remain green, in the exact form of the mark, and and so the fruit be known wheresoever found, for the mark cannot be obliterated.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 59·92.
~September 5.~
OLD BARTHOLOMEW.
This day has been so marked in our almanacs since the new style.
THE SEASON.
We may expect very pleasant weather during this month. For whether the summer has been cold, warm, or showery, September, in all latitudes lying between 45 and 55 degrees north, produces, on an average, the finest and pleasantest weather of the year: as we get farther south the pleasantest temperature is found in October; more northward than 55 degrees the chills of autumn are already arrived, and we must look for temperature to August.[334]
* * * * *
THE GYMNASIUM.
For the Every-Day Book.
Hæc opera atque hæ sunt generosi Principis artes.
Juv. Sat. 8. L. 224.
Let cricket, tennis, fives, and ball, The active to amusement call; Let sportsmen through the fields at morn Discharge the gun and sound the horn,-- Gymnastic sport shall fill my hours, Renew my strength and tone my powers.
I learn to climb, to walk and run, I make defence, and dangers shun; Now quick, now slow, now poised on high, I stand in air and vault the sky; The sailor’s skill, the soldier’s part, I compass by Gymnastic art.
All life’s concerns require that health Should be secured to gather wealth; That limb and muscle, nerve and vein, Should vigorous force and motion gain:-- Seek the Gymnasium,--try the plan, And be the strong and graceful man.
The Olympic games, of Grecian birth, Gave many a youth athletic worth; Hence Romans shone;--hence Britons fought, The Picts and Vandals influence caught; The lance, the spear, and arrow flew, And prove what deeds Gymnastics do.
With ease the horseman learns to ride And keep his hobby in his pride; Bloodless the feats are here pursued, And vanquished contests are renewed. Hey for Gymnastics!--’tis the rage Both with the simple and the sage.
Clias, and Voelker as the chief, Each makes his charge and gives relief; Each points his pupils to the goal, And, more than Parry, gains the pole:-- Up and be trim!--the sport is fine,-- Fling down the gauntlet,--mount the line.
Caleidoscopes were once the taste,-- Velocipedes were rode for haste,-- Those fed the eye with pleasing views, These ran the streets and tithed their dues; Thrown to the shade like fashions past, Gymnastics reign, for they are last.
Nature with art is like a tower, Strong in defence in every hour; Nature with art can nearly climb The Alp and Appenine of time; Make life more lasting, life more bold, By true Gymnastic skill controlled.
J. R. PRIOR.
Sept. 1826.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 60·35.
[334] Perennial Calendar.
~September 6.~
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 6th of September, 1734, died in France, the Sieur Michael Tourant, aged ninety-eight, of whom it is said he never eat salt, and had none of the infirmities of old age.[335]
A TOTAL ECLIPSE IN CALIGRAPHY.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--As a subscriber to your highly entertaining work, I take the liberty of sending you the following.
In the first volume of the Every-Day Book, page 1086, I found an account of some small writing, executed by Peter Bales, which Mr. D’Israeli presumed to have been the whole bible written so small, that it might be put in an English walnut no bigger than a hen’s egg. “The nut holdeth the book; there are as many leaves in this little book as in the great bible, and as much written in one of the little leaves, as a great leaf of the bible.”--There is likewise an account in the same pages of the “Iliad” having been written so small that it might be put in a nut-shell; which is nothing near so much as the above.
I have lately seen written within the compass of a new penny piece, with the naked eye, and with a common clarified pen, the lord’s prayer, the creed, the ten commandments, the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth collects after Trinity, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, &c., the name of the writer, place of abode, nearest market town, county, day of the month and date of the year, all in words at length, and with the whole of the capital letters and stops belonging thereto, the commandments being all numbered. It was written by, and is in the possession of, Mr. John Parker of Wingerworth, near Chesterfield, Derbyshire: the writing bears date September 10, 1823. This piece of writing, I find, upon calculation, to be considerably smaller than either of the before-mentioned pieces. My calculation is as follows:--
A moderate sized egg will hold a book one inch and three quarters by one inch and three-eighths. Bibles have from about sixty to eighty lines in a column; I have not seen more. In this ingenious display of fine penmanship, there are eighty lines in one inch, and two half-eighths of an inch, which in one inch and three quarters, (the length of the bible,) is one hundred and six lines, which would contain one-third more matter than the bibles with eighty lines in a column; and one line of this writing, one inch and two-half eighths of an inch in length, (which is the sixteenth of an inch less in bread than the small bible,) is equal to two lines from one column of the great bible--for example.
Isaiah. Chap. XXIV.--Two lines of verse 20, the bible having seventy-nine lines in a column:--
“and the transgression thereof shall be heavy upon it, and it shall fall, and not rise again.”
Ezekiel, Chap. XXX.--Two lines of verse 12, the bible having sixty-three lines in a column:--
“and I will make the Land waste, and all that is therein, by the hand of strangers.”
One line of Mr. Parker’s writing being part of the seventh collect after Trinity:--
“good things; graft in our hearts the love of thy name, increase in us true religion, now”--
Another line being part of the ninth and tenth commandments:--
“false witness against thy neighbour. 10.--Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house.”--
Mr. Parker very obligingly submits his writing to the inspection of the curious, and would execute one similar for a proper reward. If this account should be thought worthy of a place in your “Every-Day Book,” I shall feel much obliged by its insertion, and will endeavour to send you something amusing respecting the customs, pastimes, and amusements of this part of Derbyshire.
I am, Sir,
Your well-wisher
And obedient servant,
JOHN FRANCIS BROWNE.
Lings, near Chesterfield,
August, 30, 1826.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 59·17.
[335] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~September 7.~
ENURCHUS.
For this saint, in the church of England calendar, see vol. i. col. 1253.
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 7th of September, 1772, a most astonishing rain fell at Inverary, in Scotland, by which the rivers rose to such a height, as to carry every thing along with the current that stood in the way. Even trees that had braved the floods for more than one hundred years, were torn up by the roots and carried down the stream. Numbers of bridges were swept away, and the military roads rendered impassable. All the duke of Argyle’s cascades, bridges, and bulwarks, were destroyed at his fine palace, in that neighbourhood.[336]
A Latin line beneath his name May lift along the laureate’s fame, As on a crutch, and make it go For half an age, for all to know That there was one, in our time, Who thought mere folly not a crime; And, though he scorn’d to be a scorner And offer Brown to Poets Corner, Imagined it a fit proceeding To give his life--let who will sneer at It--“PALMAM QUI MERUIT FERAT.”
MR. JOHN SYKES, bookseller, Johnson’s-head, Newcastle, in the “Local Records, or Historical Register of Remarkable Events,” which, in 1824, he compiled into a very interesting octavo volume, inserts the death, with some account of the “life, character, and behaviour,” of the self-celebrated poet-laureate of Durham, whose portrait adorns this page. He has not been registered here under the day of his decease according to Mr. Syke’s obit, but it is not fitting as regards this work, that Brown should die for ever, and therefore, from a gentleman who knew him, the reader will please to accept the following
MEMOIR OF JAMES BROWN.
For the Every-Day Book.
This curious personage was well known for a long series of years to the inhabitants of Northumberland and Durham, and we believe few men have figured on the stage of the world more remarkable for their peculiarities and eccentricities.
Of the early part of James Brown’s life little is known that can be depended upon, but the compiler of the present article has heard him assert that he was born at Berwick-on-Tweed; if this be the case it is probable he left that town at a very early age, as in his speech none of the provincialisms of the lower order of inhabitants of Berwick could be observed, and had he resided there for any length of time, he must have imperceptibly imbibed the vulgar dialect. Certain, however, it is, that when a young man he resided in that “fashionable” part of Newcastle-upon-Tyne called “the Side,” where he kept a rag-shop, and was in the habit of attending the fairs in the neighbourhood with clothes ready-made for sale. During his residence in Newcastle his first wife died; of this person he always spoke in terms of affection, and was known long after her death, to shed tears on her being alluded to. In all probability it was owing to his loss of her that his mind became disturbed, and from an industrious tradesman he became a fanatic. A few years after her decease he married a Miss Richardson, of Durham, a respectable though a very eccentric character, and who survived him a year. This lady being possessed of a theatre, and some other little property in Durham, he removed to that city to reside.
When Brown first devoted himself to the muses is uncertain, but about thirty-three years ago, he lived in Newcastle, styled himself the poet-laureate of that place, and published a poem explanatory of a chapter in the Apocalypse, which was “adorned” with a hideous engraving of a beast with ten horns. Of this plate he always spoke in terms of rapture. We have heard that it was designed by the bard; but as Mr. B., though a poet, never laid any claim to the character of an artist, it is our belief that he had no hand in its manufacture, but that it was the work of some of those waggish friends who deceived him by their tricks, and rendered his life a pleasure. Their ingenious fictions prevented his dwelling on scenes by which his existence might have been embittered, and it is but justice to his numerous hoaxers to assert, that without their pecuniary assistance he would have often been in want of common necessaries. Though credulous he was honest; though poor he was possessed of many virtues; and while they laughed at the fancies of the visionary, they respected the man. Brown once indulged a gentleman in Durham with a sight of the drawing above alluded to, and on a loud laugh at what the poet esteemed the very perfection of terrific sublimity, Brown told him “he was no christian, or he would not deride a scriptural drawing which the angel Gabriel had approved!”
Brown’s poesy was chiefly of a serious nature, (at least it was intended to be so,) levity and satire were not his forte. Like Dante, his imagination was gloomy--he delighted to describe the torments of hell--the rattling of the chains, and the screams of the damned; the mount of Sisyphus was his Parnassus, the Styx was his Helicon, and the pale forms that flit by Lethe’s billows, the muses that inspired his lay. His poems consisted chiefly of visions, prophecies, and rhapsodies, suggested by some part of the sacred volume of the contents of which he had an astonishing recollection. When he was at the advanced age of ninety-two it was almost impossible to quote any passage of scripture to him without his remembering the book, chapter, and frequently the verse from whence it was taken. Of his poetry (though in his favourite city he has left many imitators) we cannot say any thing in praise; it had “neither rhyme nor reason,” it was such as a madman would inscribe on the walls of his cell. His song, like that of the witches in Thalaba, was “an unintelligible song” to all but the writer, on whose mind in reading it, to use the words of one of the sweetest of our modern poets, “meaning flashed like strong inspiration.” The only two lines in his works that have any thing like meaning in them are--
“When men let Satan rule their heart They do act the devil’s part.”
Our author’s last, and as he esteemed it, his best work--his monumentum ære perennius, was a pamphlet published in Newcastle in 1820, by Preston and Heaton, at the reasonable price of one shilling; for, unlike his brother bards, Mr. Brown never published in an expensive form. He was convinced that merit would not lie hid though concealed in a pamphlet, but like Terence’s beauty, diu latere non potest, and that nonsense, though printed in quarto with the types of a Davison, would be still unnoticed and neglected. On his once being shown the quarto edition of the “White Doe,” and told that he ought to publish in a similar manner, his answer was that “none but the devil’s poets needed fine clothes!” The pamphlet above alluded to was entitled “Poems on Military Battles, Naval Victories, and other important subjects, the most extraordinary ever penned, a Thunderbolt shot from a Lion’s Bow at Satan’s Kingdom, the Kingdom of the Devil and the Kingdom of this World reserving themselves in darkness for the great and terrible Day of the Lord, as Jude, the servant of God, declareth: By JAMES BROWN, P. L.” This singular work was decorated with a whole length portrait of the author treading on the “devil’s books,” and blowing a trumpet to alarm sinners; it was, as we have heard him say, the work of a junior pupil of the ingenious Mr. Bewick.
During the contest for Durham, in 1820, a number of copies of an election squib, written by a humble individual connected with a northern newspaper, and entitled “A Sublime Epistle, Poetic and Politic, by James Brown, P. L.” was sent him for distribution; these, after printing an explanatory address on the back of the title, wherein he called himself S. S. L. D., the “Slayer of Seven Legions of Devils,” and disowned the authorship, he turned to his own emolument by selling at sixpence a copy.
In religious affairs Brown was extremely superstitious; he believed in every mad fanatic who broached opinions contrary to reason and sense. The wilder the theory, the more congenial to his mind. He was successively a believer in Wesley, Messrs. Buchan, Huntington, Imanuel Swedenburg, and Joanna Southcote; had he lived a little longer he would probably have been “a ranter.” He was a great reader, and what he read he remembered. The bible, of which he had a very old and curious pocket edition in black letter, was his favourite work; next to that he esteemed Alban Butler’s wonderful lives of the saints, to every relation of which he gave implicit credit, though, strange to tell, he was in his conversation always violent against the idolatries of the catholic church.
When Brown was a follower of Mr. Buchan, he used to relate that he fasted forty days and forty nights, and it is to this subject that veterinary doctor Marshall, of Durham, his legitimate successor, alludes in the following lines of an elegy he wrote on the death of his brother poet and friend:--
“He fasted forty days and nights When Mr. Buchan put to rights The wicked, for a wonder; And not so much, it has been thought, As weigh’d the button on his coat, He took to keep sin under.”
So said a Bion worthy of such an Adonis! but other accounts differ. If we may credit Mr. Sykes, the respectable author of “Local Records,” Marshall erred in supposing that the poet, camelion-like, lived on air for “forty days and forty nights.” Mr. Sykes relates that in answer to a question he put to him as to how he contrived for so long a time to sustain the cravings of nature, Brown replied, that “they (he and the rest of the party of fasters) only set on to the fire a great pot, in which they boiled water, and then stirred into it oatmeal, and supped that!”
Brown was very susceptible of flattery, and all his life long constantly received letters in rhyme, purporting to come from Walter Scott, Byron, Shelley, Southey, Wilson, and other great poets; with communications in prose from the king of England, the emperor of Morocco, the sultan of Persia, &c. All of these he believed to be genuine, and was in the habit of showing as curiosities to his friends, who were frequently the real authors, and laughed in their sleeves at his credulity.
In 1821, Brown received a large parchment, signed G. R., attested by Messrs. Canning and Peel, to which was suspended a large unmeaning seal, which he believed to be the great seal of Great Britain. This document purported to be a patent of nobility, creating him “baron Durham, of Durham, in the county palatine of Durham.” It recited that this title was conferred on him in consequence of a translation of his works having been the means of converting the Mogul empire! From that moment he assumed the name and style of “baron Brown,” and had a wooden box made for the preservation of his patent.
Of the poetic pieces which Brown was in the habit of receiving, many were close imitations of the authors whose names were affixed to them, and evinced that the writers were capable of better things. One “from Mr. Coleridge,” was a respectable burlesque of the “Ancient Mariner,” and began:--
It is a lion’s trumpeter, And he stoppeth one of three.
Another, “from Mr. Wilson,” commenced thus:--
Poetic dreams float round me now, My spirit where art thou? Oh! art thou watching the moonbeams smile On the groves of palm in an Indian isle; Or dost thou hang over the lovely main And list to the boatswain’s boisterous strain; Or dost thou sail on sylphid wings Through liquid fields of air, Or, riding on the clouds afar, Dost thou gaze on the beams of the evening star So beautiful and so fair. O no! O no! sweet spirit of mine Thou art entering a holy strain divine A strain which is so sweet, Oh, one might think ’twas a fairy thing, A thing of love and blessedness, Singing in holy tenderness, A lay of peaceful quietness, Within a fairy street! But ah! ’tis BROWN, &c. &c.
A piece “from Walter Scott” opened with:--
The heath-cock shrill his clarion blew Among the heights of Benvenue, And fast the sportive echo flew, Adown Glenavin’s vale. But louder, louder was the knell, Of Brown’s Northumbrian penance-bell,[337] The noise was heard on Norham fell, And rung through Teviotdale.
These burlesques were chiefly produced by the law and medical students in Newcastle and Durham, and the young gentlemen of the Catholic College of Ushaw, near the latter place. As the writer of this sketch was once congratulating Mr. Brown on his numerous respectable correspondents, the old man said that he had an acquaintance far superior to any of his earthly ones, and no less a personage than the angel Gabriel, who, he stated, brought him letters from Joanna Southcote, and call to carry back his answers! This “Gabriel” was a young West Indian then residing in Durham, who used to dress himself in a sheet with goose wings on his shoulders and visit the poet at night, with letters purporting to be written to him in heaven by the far-famed prophetess. After “Gabriel” left Durham, Brown was frequently told of the deception which had been practised upon him, but he never could be induced to believe that his nocturnal visiter was any other than the angel himself. “Did I not,” he once said, “see him clearly fly out at the ceiling!” Brown used to correspond with some of Joanna’s followers in London, on the subject of these supposed revelations, and actually found (credite posteri) believers in the genuineness.
Amongst Brown’s strange ideas, one was that he was immortal, and should never die. Under this delusion when ill he refused all medical assistance, and it induced him at the age of 90 to sell the little property which he acquired by marriage, for a paltry guinea a week, to be paid during the life of himself and Mrs. Brown, and the life of the survivor. The property he parted from, in consideration of this weekly stipend, was a leasehold house in Sadler-street, (the theatre having been pulled down soon after the erection of the present one opposite to it,) and the house was conveyed to two Durham tradesmen, Robinson Emmerson and George Stonehouse, by whom the allowance was for some time regularly paid; but on the latter becoming embarrassed in his circumstances, the payment was discontinued, and poor Brown and his aged wife were thrown on the world without a farthing, at a time when bodily and mental infirmities had rendered them incapable of gaining a livelihood. Far be it from the writer of this to cast any aspersion on Messrs. Emmerson and Stonehouse, but it does certainly appear to him that their conduct to Brown was unkind to say the least of it. After this calamity Brown became for a few months an inhabitant of a poor-house, which he subsequently left for a lodging at an obscure inn, where, on the 11th of July, 1823, he died in a state of misery and penury at the advanced age of 92; his wife shortly afterwards died in the poorhouse. They are both interred in the churchyard of St. Oswald.
Such was James Brown the Durham poet, who with all his eccentricities was an honest, harmless and inoffensive old man. Of his personal appearance, the excellent portrait which accompanies this memoir from a drawing by Mr. Terry is an exact resemblance. All who knew him will bear testimony to its correctness. It is indeed the only one in existence that gives a correct idea of what he was. The other representations of him are nothing better than caricatures.
D.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·45.
[336] Annual Register.
[337] Ringing the penance-bell was an expression which frequently occurred in his writings. As--
We toll’d the devil’s penance-bell, And warn’d you to keep from hell, &c.
The penance-bell occurs three or four times in each of his several poems.
~September 8.~
NATIVITY B. V. M.
The legend of this festival retained in the church of England calendar, is related in vol. i. col. 1274.
CHRONOLOGY.
Fatal Puppet Play.
Extract from the Parish Register of Burwell, in Cambridgeshire, “1727, September 8. N. B. About nine o’clock in the evening, a most dismal fire broke out in a barn in which a great number of persons were met together to see a puppet-show. In the barn there were a great many loads of new light straw; the barn was thatched with straw, which was very dry, and the inner roof of the barn was covered with old dry cobwebs; so that the fire, like lightning, flew round the barn in an instant, and there was but one small door belonging to the barn, which was close nailed up, and could not be easily broke open; and when it was opened, the passage was so narrow, and every body so impatient to escape, that the door was presently blocked up, and most of those that did escape, which were but very few, were forced to crawl over the heads and bodies of those that lay on a heap at the door, and the rest, in number seventy-six, perished instantly, and two more died of their wounds within two days. The fire was occasioned by the negligence of a servant, who set a candle and lantern to, or near, the heap of straw that was in the barn. The servant’s name was Richard Whitaker, of the parish of Hadstock, in Essex, near Linton, in Cambridgeshire, who was tried for the fact at the assizes held at Cambridge, March 27, 1728, but he was acquitted.”[338]
STAINES CHURCH, MIDDLESEX.
Exhumation.
In a small apartment under the staircase leading to the gallery at the west end of the church, is presented the singular and undesirable spectacle of two unburied coffins, containing human bodies. The coffins are covered with crimson velvet and are otherwise richly embellished. They are placed beside each other on trestles, and bear respectively the following inscriptions:--
“JESSIE ASPASIA.
The most excellent and truly beloved wife of F. W. Campbell, Esq. of Barbreck, N. B. and of Woodlands in Surrey. Died in her 28th year,
July 11th, 1812.”
“HENRY E. A. CAULFIELD, ESQ. Died Sept. 3, 1808. Aged 29 years.”
As it was necessarily supposed that coffins thus open to inspection would excite much curiosity, a card is preserved at the sexton’s house, which states, in addition to the intelligence conveyed by the above inscriptions, that the deceased lady was daughter of W. T. Caulfield, Esq. of Rahanduff in Ireland, by Jessie, daughter of James, third lord Ruthven; and that she bore, with tranquil and exemplary patience, a fatal disorder produced by grief on the death of her brother, who removed from a former place of sepulture, now lies beside her in unburied solemnity.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 57·87.
[338] Lysons.
~September 9.~
THE SEASON.
At this period of the year the fashionable people of unfashionable times were accustomed to close their sojournments on the coasts, and commence their inland retreats before they “came to town for good.” In this respect manners are altered. The salubrity of the ocean-breeze is now courted, and many families, in defiance of gales and storms, spend the greater part of the winter at the southern watering places. The increase of this remarkable deviation deserves to be noticed, as a growing accommodation to the purposes of life.
* * * * *
A literary gentleman on his arrival from viewing the world of waters, obliges the editor with some original flowings from his pen, so fresh and beautiful, that they are submitted immediately to the reader’s enjoyment.
SONNET.
Written in a Cottage by the Sea-side. Hastings.
Ye, who would flee from the world’s vanities From cities’ riot, and mankind’s annoy, Seek this lone cot, and here forget your sighs, For health and rest are here--guests but too coy. If the vast ocean, with its boundless space, Its power omnipotent, and eternal voice, Wean not thy thoughts from wearying folly’s choice, And mortal trifling, unto virtue’s grace, To high intent, pure purpose, and sweet peace, Leaving of former bitter pangs no trace;-- If each unworthy wish it does not drown, And free thee from ennui’s unnerving thrall, Then art thou dead to nature’s warning call, And fit but for the maddening haunts of town.
August, 1826.
W. T. M.
SONNET STANZAS.
On the Sea.
I never gaze upon the mighty sea, And hear its many voices, but there steals A host of stirring fancies, vividly Over my mind; and memory reveals A thousand wild and wondrous deeds to me; Of venturous seamen, on their daring keels; And blood-stain’d pirates, sailing fearlessly; And lawless smugglers, which each cave conceals; In his canoe, the savage, roving free; And all I’ve read of rare and strange, that be On every shore, o’er which its far wave peals: With luxuries, in which Imagination reels, Of bread fruit, palm, banana, cocoa tree, And thoughts of high emprize, and boundless liberty!
I ne’er upon the ocean gaze, but I Think of its fearless sons, whose sails, unfurl’d, So oft have led to Art’s best victory. Columbus upon unknown waters hurl’d, Pursuing his sole purpose, firm and high, The great discovery of another world; And daring Cook, whose memory’s bepearled With pity’s tears, from many a wild maid’s eye; Their Heiva dance, in fancy I espy, While still the dark chief’s lip in anger curled: O’er shipwreck’d Crusoe’s lonely fate I sigh, His self-form’d bark on whelming billows whirled; And oft, in thought, I hear the Tritons cry, And see the mermaid train light gliding by.
I never gaze upon the boundless deep, But still I think upon the glorious brave, Nelson and Blake, who conquered but to save; I hear their thunders o’er the billows sweep, And think of those who perish’d on the wave, That Britain might a glorious harvest reap! High hearts and generous, Vain did foemen Peace to their souls, and sweetly may they sleep, Entomb’d within the ocean’s lonely cave! Still many a lovely eye for them shall weep, Tears, far more precious than the pearls, that keep Their casket there, or all the sea e’er gave, To the bold diver’s grasp, whose fearless leap With wealth enriches, or in death must sleep!
W. T. M.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·55.
~September 10.~
THE RAINBOW.
Behold yon bright, ethereal bow, With evanescent beauties glow; The spacious arch streams through the sky, Decked with each tint of nature’s dye: Refracted sunbeams, through the shower, A humid radiance from it pour; Whilst colour into colour fades, With blended lights and softening shades.
LUNAR RAINBOW.
On the 10th of September, 1802, a very beautiful lunar rainbow was observed at Matlock, in Derbyshire, between the hours of eight and nine in the evening: its effect was singularly pleasing. The colours of these phenomena are sometimes very well defined; but they have a more tranquil tone than those which originate in the solar beams. They are not unfrequent in the vicinity of Matlock, being mentioned by some writers among the natural curiosities of that delightful spot.
On Saturday evening, September 28, 1822, an extremely interesting iris of this description was distinctly observed by many persons in the neighbourhood of Boston, in Lincolnshire. It made its appearance nearly north, about half-past eight in the evening. This bow of the heavens was every way complete, the curvature entire, though its span was extensive, and the altitude of its apex seemed to be about 20 degrees. The darkness occasioned by some clouds pregnant with rain, in the back ground of this white arch of beauty, formed a striking contrast, while several stars in the constellation of Ursa Major, (the great bear,) which were for a time conspicuous, imparted additional grandeur to the scene.[339]
* * * * *
An observer of a nocturnal rainbow on the 17th of August 1788, relates its appearance particularly. “On Sunday evening, after two days, on both of which, particularly the former, there had been a great deal of rain, together with lightning and thunder, just as the clocks were striking nine, three and twenty hours after full moon, looking through my window, I was struck with the appearance of something in the sky which seemed like a rainbow. Having never seen a rainbow by night, I thought it a very extraordinary phenomenon, and hastened to a place where there were no buildings to obstruct my view of the hemisphere. The moon was truly ‘walking in brightness,’ brilliant as she could be, not a cloud was to be seen near her; and over-against her, toward the northwest, or perhaps rather more to the north, was a rainbow, a vast arch, perfect in all its parts, not interrupted or broken as rainbows frequently are, but unremittedly visible from one horizon to the other. In order to give some idea of its extent, it is necessary to say, that, as I stood toward the western extremity of the parish of Stoke Newington, it seemed to take its rise from the west of Hampstead, and to end, perhaps, in the river Lea, the eastern boundary of Tottenham; its colour was white, cloudy, or greyish, but a part of its western leg seemed to exhibit tints of a faint, sickly green. I continued viewing it for some time, till it began to rain; and at length the rain increasing, and the sky growing more hazy, I returned home about a quarter or twenty minutes past nine, and in ten minutes came out again, but by that time all was over, the moon was darkened by clouds, and the rainbow of course vanished.”[340]
A “walking” man should not refrain To take a saunter up Webb’s-lane, Tow’rds Shepherd’s bush, and see a rude Old lumb’ring pump. It’s made of wood, And pours its water in a font So beautiful--that if he do’n’t Admire how such a combination Was form’d, in such a situation, He has no power of causation, Or taste, or feeling; but must live Painless, and pleasureless; and give Himself to doing what he can; And die a sort of sort-of-man.
Some persons walk the strait road from Dan to Beersheba, and finding it firm beneath the foot, have no regard to any thing else, and are satisfied when they get to their journey’s end. I do not advise these good kind of people to go to Hammersmith; but, here and there, an out-of-the-way man will be glad to bend his course thitherward, in search of the object represented. It is fair to say I have not seen it myself: it turned up the other day in an artist’s sketch-book. He had taken it as an object, could tell no more than that he liked it, and, as I seemed struck by its appearance, but could not then go to look at it and make inquiries, he volunteered his services, and wrote me as follows:--“I went to Hammersmith, and was some time before I could find the place again; however, I at length discovered it in Webb’s-lane, opposite the Thatched-house, (Mr. Gowland is the landlord.) There I took some refreshment, and gained what information I could, which was but little. The stone font with other things (old carved ornaments, &c., which were used in fitting up the upper rooms of some cottages that the pump belongs to) were purchased at a sale; and this was all I could obtain at the Thatched-house. Coming from thence I learned from a cobler at work that there was originally a leaden pump, but that it was doubled up, and rolled away, by some thieves, and they attempted to take the font, but found it too heavy. The Crispin could not inform me where the sale was, but he told me where his landlady lived and her name, which was Mrs. Springthorp, of Hammersmith, any one could tell me her house: so, being very tired, I took coach, and rode to town without inquiry. Please to send me word whether I shall do it for next week.”
To the latter inquiry my answer of course was “yes,” but I am as dark as my informant, as to the origin of what he calls the “font” which forms the sink of this pump. It does not appear to me to be a font, but a vase. I could have wished he had popped the question to “Mrs. Springthorp” respecting the place from whence it came, and concerning the “other things, old carved ornaments, &c.” I entreat some kind reader to diligently seek out and obligingly acquaint me with full particulars of these matters. In the mean time I console myself with having presented a picturesque object, and with the hope of being enabled to account for the agreeable union.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·07.
[339] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.
[340] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~September 11.~
WOODLAND WALKS.
These are delightful at any time. At about this season of the year, 1817, the following poetical description appeared in a newspaper which no longer exists:--
LINES
BY MR. J. H. REYNOLDS.
Whence is the secret charm of this lone wood, Which in the light of evening sweetly sleeps!-- I tread with lingering feet the quiet steeps, Where thwarted oaks o’er their own old age brood;-- And where the gentler trees, in summer weather, Spring up all greenly in their youth together; And the grass is dwelling in a silent mood, And the fir-like fern its under forest keeps In a strange stillness. My winged spirit sweeps Not as it hath been wont,--but stays with me Like some domestic thing that loves its home; It lies a-dreaming o’er the imagery Of other scenes,--which from afar do come, Matching them with this indolent solitude. Here,--I am walking in the days gone by,-- And under trees which I have known before. My heart with feelings old is running o’er-- And I am happy as the morning sky. The present seems a mockery of the past-- And all my thoughts flow by me, like a stream, That hath no home, that sings beneath the beam Of the summer sun,--and wanders through sweet meads,-- In which the joyous wildflower meekly feeds,-- And strays,--and wastes away in woods at last. My thoughts o’er many things fleet silently,-- But to this older forest creep, and cling fast. Imagination, ever wild and free, With heart as open as the naked sea, Can consecrate whate’er it looks upon:-- And memory, that maiden never lone, Lights all the dream of life. While I can see This blue deep sky,--that sun so proudly setting In the haughty west,--this spring patiently wetting The shadowy dell,--these trees so tall and fair, That have no visiters but the birds and air:-- And hear those leaves a gentle whispering keep, Light as young joy, and beautiful as sleep,-- The melting of sweet waters in the dells,-- The music of the loose flocks’ lulling bells, Which sinks into the heart like spirit’s spells. While these all softly o’er my senses sweep,-- I need not doubt that I shall ever find Things, that will feed the cravings of my mind. My happiest hours were past with those I love On steeps;--in dells, with shadowy trees above; And therefore it may be my soul ne’er sleeps, When I am in a pastoral solitude:-- And such may be the charm of this lone wood, That in the light of evening sweetly sleeps.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·40.
~September 12.~
STORM AT ENGHIEN.
On the 12th of September, 1817, the gentlemen forming a deputation of the “Caledonian Horticultural Society,” while inspecting Mr. Parmentier’s gardens at Enghien, were suddenly overtaken by a violent thunder storm, and compelled to flee for shelter to Mr. Parmentier’s house. “As this thunder storm was of a character different from what we are accustomed to in Scotland, and much more striking than what we had witnessed at Brussels, a short notice of it may be excused.--A dense, black cloud was seen advancing from the east; and as this cloud developed itself and increased in magnitude, one-half of the horizon became shrouded in darkness, enlivened only by occasional flashes of forked lightning, while the other half of the horizon remained clear, with the sun shining bright. As the black cloud approached, the sun’s rays tinged it of a dull copper colour, and the reflected light caused all the streets and houses to assume the same lurid and metallic hue. This had a very uncommon and impressive effect. Before we reached the mayor’s house, scarce a passenger was to be seen in the streets; but we remarked women at the doors, kneeling, and turning their rosaries as they invoked their saints. Meantime ‘thick and strong the sulphurous flame descended;’ the flashes and peals began to follow each other in almost instantaneous succession, and the tout-ensemble became awfully sublime. A sort of whirlwind, which even raised the small gravel from the streets, and dashed it against the windows, preceded the rain, which fell in heavy drops, but lasted only a short time. The sun now became obscured, and day seemed converted into night. Mr. Parmentier having ordered wine, his lady came to explain that she could not prevail on any of the servants to venture across the court to the cellar. The mayor, in spite of our remonstrances, immediately undertook the task himself; and when, upon his return, we apologised for putting him to so much trouble, he assured us that he would not on any account have lost the brilliant sight he had enjoyed, from the incessant explosions of the electric fluid, in the midst of such palpable darkness. Such a scene, he added, had not occurred at Enghien for many years; and we reckoned ourselves fortunate in having witnessed it. We had to remain housed for more than two hours; when the great cloud began to clear away, and to give promise of a serene and clear evening.”
Two days before, on the 10th, the same party had been surprised at Brussels by a similar tempest. They were on a visit to the garden of Mr. Gillet, and remarking on the construction of his forcing-house. “In this forcing-house, as is usual, the front of the roof extends over the sloping glass, till it reaches the perpendicular of the parapet. Mr. Gillet had no doubt, that the object of this sort of structure is to help to save the glass from the heavy falls of hail, which frequently accompany thunder storms. Just as he had made this observation, we perceived menacing thunder clouds approaching: the gardener hastened to secure his glazed frames; Mr. Gillet took his leave; and before we could get home, the whole horizon was overcast; lightning flashed incessantly; the streets seemed to have been suddenly swept of the inhabitants, the shop-doors were shut, and we could scarcely find a person of whom to inquire the way.”--The day had been altogether sultry; and at ten o’clock P. M. the mercury in the thermometer stood at seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.[341]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 56·42.
[341] Journal of a Horticultural Tour.
~September 13.~
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 56·90.
~September 14.~
HOLY CROSS.
The origin of the festival of “Holy Cross,” standing in the church of England calendar and almanacs, is related in vol. i. col. 1291, with some account of the rood and the rood-loft in churches.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·20.
~September 15.~
“THE DEVIL LOOKING OVER LINCOLN.”
On the 15th of September, 1731, “the famous devil that used to overlook Lincoln college in Oxford, was taken down, having, about two years since, lost his head, in a storm.”
On the same day in the same year “a crown, fixed on the top of Whitehall gate in the reign of king Charles II., fell down suddenly.”[342]
* * * * *
The origin of the statue of the devil at Oxford is not so certain as that the effigy was popular, and gave rise to the saying of “the devil looking over Lincoln.”
SATANIC SUPERSTITIONS.
That the devil has a “cloven foot,” which he cannot hide if it be looked for is a common belief with the vulgar. “The ground of this opinion at first,” says sir Thomas Browne, “might be his frequent appearing in the shape of a goat,” (this accounts also for his horns and tail,) “which answers this description. This was the opinion of the ancient christians, concerning the apparition of panites, fauns, and satyrs; and of this form we read of one that appeared to Anthony in the wilderness.” Mr. Brand collects, respecting this appearance, that Othello says, in the “Moor of Venice,”
“I look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable; If that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee;”
which Dr. Johnson explains: “I look towards his feet, to see, if, according to the common opinion, his feet be cloven.” There is a popular superstition both in England and Scotland relative to goats: that they are never to be seen for twenty-four hours together; and that once in that space, they pay a visit to the devil in order to have their beards combed.
Baxter, in his “World of Spirits,” mentions an anecdote from whence Mr. Brand imagines, that “this infernal visitant was in no instance treated with more sang froid on his appearing, or rather, perhaps, his imagined appearance, than by one Mr. White of Dorchester.” That gentleman was assessor to the Westminster Assembly at Lambeth, and “the devil, in a light night, stood by his bed-side: he looked awhile whether he would say or do any thing, and then said, ‘If thou hast nothing else to do, I have;’ and so turned himself to sleep.”
* * * * *
King James I. told his parliament in a speech on a certain occasion, that “the devil is a busy bishop.” It has been objected to this saying of “His Most Dread Majesty,” that it would have sounded well enough from a professed enemy to the bench, “but came very improperly from a king who flattered them more, and was more flattered by them, than any prince till his time.”[343]
PRINTERS’ DEVILS.
As I was going the other day into Lincoln’s-inn, (says a writer in the “Grub-street Journal” of October 26, 1732,) under a great gateway, I met several lads loaded with great bundles of newspapers, which they brought from the stamp-office. They were all exceeding black and dirty; from whence I inferred they were “printers’ devils,” carrying from thence the returns of unsold newspapers, after the stamps had been cut off. They stopt under the gateway, and there laid down their loads; when one of them made the following harangue: “Devils, gentlemen, and brethren:--though I think we have no reason to be ashamed on account of the vulgar opinion concerning the origin of our name, yet we ought to acknowledge ourselves obliged to the learned herald, who, upon the death of any person of title, constantly gives an exact account of his ancient family in my London Evening Post. He says, there was one monsieur Devile, or De Ville, who came over with William the Conqueror, in company with De Laune, De Vice, De Val, D’Ashwood, D’Urfie, D’Umpling, &c. One of the sons of a descendant of this monsieur De Ville, was taken in by the famous Caxton in 1471, as an errand boy; was afterwards his apprentice, and in time an eminent printer, from whom our order took their name; but suppose they took it from infernal devils, it was not because they were messengers frequently sent in darkness, and appeared very black, but upon a reputable account, viz., John Fust, or Faustus, of Mentz, in Germany, was the inventor of printing, for which he was called a conjurer, and his art the black art. As he kept a constant succession of boys to run on errands, who were always very black, these they called devils; some of whom being raised to be his apprentices, he was said to have raised many a devil. As to the inferior order among us, called flies, employed in taking newspapers off the press, they are of later extraction, being no older than newspapers themselves. Mr. Bailey thinks, their original name was lies, taken from the papers they so took off, and the alteration occasioned thus. To hasten these boys, the pressmen used to cry flie, lie, which naturally fell into one single word lie. This conjecture is confirmed by a little corruption in the true title of the fLying Post; since, therefore, we are both comprehended under the title of devils, let us discharge our office with diligence; so may we attain, as many of our predecessors have done, to the dignity of printers, and to have an opportunity of using others as much like poor devils, as we have been used by them, or as they and authors are used by booksellers. These are an upstart profession, who have engrossed the business of bookselling, which originally belonged solely to our masters. But let them remember, that if we worship Belial and Beelzebub, the God of flies, all the world agrees, that their God is mammon.”
* * * * *
The preceding is from the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for October, 1732; and it is mentioned, that “at the head of the article is a picture emblematically displaying the art and mystery of printing; in which are represented a compositor, with an ass’s head; two pressmen, one with the head of a hog, the other of a horse, being names which they fix upon one another; a flie taking off the sheets, and a devil hanging them up; a messenger with a greyhound’s face kicking out the “Craftsman;” a figure with two faces, for the master, to show he prints on both sides; but the reader is cautioned against applying it to any particular person, who is, or ever was a printer; for that all the figures were intended to represent characters and not persons.”
* * * * *
It is a proverbial expression, not confined to our country, that “the devil is not so black as he is painted.” The French, in their usual forms of speech, mention him with great honour and respect. Thus, when they would commend any thing, they break out into this pious exclamation, “Diable! que cela est bon!” When they would represent a man honest, sincere, and sociable, they call him “un bon Diable.” Some of our own countrymen will say, a thing is “devilish good;” a lady is “devilish pretty.” In a mixture of surprise and approbation, they say, “the devil’s in this fellow, or he is a comical devil.” Others speak of the apostate angel with abhorrence, and nothing is more common than to say, “such a one is a sad devil.” I remember when I was at St. Germains, a story of a gentleman, who being in waiting at the court of king James II., and the discourse running upon demons and apparitions, the king asked him whether ever he had seen any thing of that sort. “Yes,” replied he, “last night.” His majesty asked him what he had seen. He answered, “the devil.” Being asked in what shape,--“O sir,” said he, with a sigh, “in his usual and natural shape, that of an empty bottle.”[344]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 59·32.
[342] Gentleman’s Magazine.
[343] Ibid.
[344] Ibid.
~September 16.~
FRAUDULENT DEBTOR.
On the 16th of September, 1735, Mr. Yardley died in the Fleet prison, where he had been confined nearly ten years in execution for a debt of a hundred pounds. He was possessed of nearly seven hundred a year, and securities and other effects to the value of five thousand pounds were found in his room.[345]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 59·04.
[345] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~September 17.~
LAMBERT.
There is an account of this saint of the church of England calendar, in vol. i. col. 1295.
REMARKABLE THIEF.
On the 17th of September, 1737, the secret was discovered of some mysterious robberies committed in Gray’s-inn, while the inhabitants had been in the country.
About a month before, there died at a madhouse near Red Lion-square, one Mr. Rudkins, who had chambers up three pair of stairs, at No. 14, in Holborn-court, Gray’s-inn. His sister-in law and executrix, who lived in Staffordshire, wrote to Mr. Cotton, a broker, to take care of the effects in her behalf; and he having read a Mr. Warren’s advertisement of his chambers having been robbed, found several of his writings there; several things of a Mr. Ellis, who had been robbed about two years before of above three hundred pounds, of a Mr. Lawson’s of the Temple, and of captain Haughton’s, whose chambers were broken open some years previously, and two hundred pounds’ reward offered for his writings, which were a part found here. There were also found books to one hundred pounds’ value, belonging to Mr. Osborne the bookseller in Gray’s-inn.
It is remarkable, that when Mr. Rudkins had any thing in view in this way, he would padlock up his own door, and take horse at noonday, giving out to his laundress that he was going into the country. His chambers consisted of five rooms, two of which not even his laundress was ever admitted into, and in these was found the booty, with all his working tools, picklocks, &c. He had formerly been a tradesman in King-street, near Guildhall. It is further remarkable of this private house-breaker, that he always went to Abingdon’s coffee-house, in Holborn, on an execution-day, to see from thence the poor wretches pass by to their dismal end; and at no other time did he frequent that coffee-house.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·95.
~September 18.~
GEORGE I. AND II. LANDED.
The “coming over” of these two kings of the house of Brunswick, is marked in the almanacs on this day, which is kept as a holiday at all the public offices, except the excise, stamps, and customs.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·97.
~September 19.~
UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN.
In September, 1737, a new university founded at Gottingen, by his Britannic majesty, which has since attained to great eminence, was “opened with a very solemn inauguration.” In 1788, the black board, on the walls of its council-house, bore three edicts for the expulsion of three students named Westfield, Planch, and Bauer. These papers were drawn up in Latin by the celebrated professor Heyne, and are printed in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for June, 1789. King George IV., when prince regent in 1814, sent a copy of every important work published in England during the ten preceding years, as a present to the library of the university, agreeable to a promise he had made to that purport.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 57·87.
~September 20.~
HEALTH--Cholera Morbus.
This is, of all times of the year, the most productive of epidemical disorders of the bowels, which are erroneously ascribed to fruits, but which, in reality, the autumnal fruits seem best calculated to mollify. If the diarrhea be very violent, or accompanied with incessant vomiting, as in cholera morbus, the best practice is, after the intestinal canal has been suffered copiously to evacuate itself, to take small doses of chalk, or of some other substance known to check the disorder, with which chemists are always prepared. But in ordinary cases, it is a safer plan to let the disease spend itself, as there is a great deal of irritation of the intestines, which the flux carries off. We should avoid eating animal food, but take tea, broths, gruel, and other diluents, and the disorder will usually soon subside of itself. After it has so subsided we should guard against its return, by taking great care to keep the bowels regular, by eating light and vegetable food and fruits, or now and then taking a gentle dose of aloes, gr. iiii. The pills which commonly go by the name of Hunt’s pills, if genuine, are very good medicines to regulate the bowels. When low spirits and want of bile indicate the liver to partake much of the disease, two grains of the pil. hydrarg., commonly called blue pill, may be used now and then with advantage.[346]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·45.
[346] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.
~September 21.~
THE SEASON.
Swallows and martins are still very numerous, the general migration not having begun. They roost in immense numbers on buildings, round about which martins fly some times in such quantities as almost to darken the air with their plumes. Sparrows, linnets, various finches, and also plovers, are now seen about in flocks, according to an annual habit, prevalent among many kinds of birds, of assembling together in autumn.[347]
* * * * *
The accompanying stanzas applicable to the season, are extracted from an original poem, entitled “The Libertine of the Emerald Isle,” which will, probably, be published early in the next year.
AUTUMN.
For the Every-Day Book.
The leaves are falling, and the hollow breeze At ev’ning tide sweeps mournfully along, Making sad music, such as minor keys Develope in a melancholy song: The meadows, too, are losing by degrees Their green habiliments--and now among The various works of nature there appears A gen’ral gloom, prophetic of the year’s
Approaching dissolution:--but to me These sombre traits are pregnant with delight, And yield my soul more true felicity Than words can justly picture:--they invite My mind to contemplation--they agree With my heart’s bias, and at once excite Those feelings, both of love and admiration, Which make this world a glorious revelation!
Hence--not unfrequently when all is still, And Cynthia walks serenely through the sky, Silv’ring the groves and ev’ry neighb’ring hill, I sit and ponder on the years gone by: This is the time when reason has her fill Of this world’s good and evil, when the eye Of contemplation takes a boundless range Of spheres that never vacillate or change!
Sweet Autumn! thou’rt surrounded with the charms Of reason, and philosophy, and truth, And ev’ry “sound reflection” that disarms This life of half its terrors:--in our youth We feel no sense of danger, and the qualms Of conscience seldom trouble us forsooth, Because the splendour of its reign destroys Whatever checks our sublunary joys?
But thou art far too rigid and severe To let these errors triumph for a day, Or suffer folly, in her mad career, To sweep our reas’ning faculties away! Thou pointest out the fun’ral of the year, The summer’s wreck and palpable decay, Stamping a “moral lesson” on the mind, To awe, restrain, and meliorate mankind!
But men are callous to thy warning voice, And pass thee by, regardless of thy worth, Making a false and perishable choice Of all the fleeting pleasures of the earth: They love gross riot, turbulence, and noise, The Bacchanalian’s ebriating mirth, And when the autumn of their lives creeps on, Their wit has vanish’d, and their strength is gone!
But had they been observant of thy pow’rs, And ponder’d o’er thy ruin and decay, They might have well applied them to those hours Which nothing, for an instant, can delay; But whilst health, strength, and competence are our’s, And youth is basking in the summer’s ray, Life’s autumn scenes reluctantly are view’d, And folly’s visions joyously pursued!
B. W. R.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·02.
[347] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.
~September 22.~
ST. MAURICE.
This saint, to whom and his companions a festival is celebrated by the Romish church on this day, received a similar honour in England. They are said to have been officers in the Theban legion, which refused to sacrifice to the gods on their march into Gaul, and were, therefore, ordered to be decimated by Maximian. Every tenth man was accordingly put to death, and on their continued resistance, a second decimation ordered, and Maurice and his companions encouraged them, and the whole legion consisting of six thousand six hundred men, well armed, being no way intimidated to idolatry by cruelty, were slaughtered by the rest of the army, and relics of their bodies were gathered and preserved, and worked miracles.[348]
BATTLE OF THREEKINGHAM.
For the Every-Day Book.
The village of Threekingham, in the county of Lincoln, was known by the name of Laundon, previous to this day, A. D. 870, when a battle was fought between the English and Danes, of which Ingulphus, a monk of Crowland abbey, has left the following account.
The Danes entered England in the year 879, and wintered at York; and in the year 880 proceeded to the parts of Lindsey, in Lincolnshire, where they commenced their destructive depredations by laying waste the abbey of Bardney. In the month of September in the latter year, earl Algar, with two of his seneschals, (Wibert, owner of Wiberton, and Leofric, owner of Leverton,) attended by the men of Holland (Lincolnshire), Toly, a monk (formerly a soldier), with two hundred men belonging to Crowland abbey, and three hundred from Deeping, Langtoft, and Boston, Morcar, lord of Bourn, with his powerful family, and Osgot, sheriff of Lincolnshire, with the forces of the county, being five hundred more, mustered in Kesteven, on the day of St. Maurice, and fought with the Danes, over whom they obtained considerable advantage, killing three of their kings and many of their private soldiers, and pursued the rest to their very camp, until night obliged them to separate. In the same night several princes and earls of the Danes, with their followers, who had been out in search of plunder, came to the assistance of their countrymen; by the report of which many of the English were so dismayed that they took to flight. Those, however, who had resolution to face the enemy in the morning, went to prayers, and were marshalled for battle. Among the latter was Toly with his five hundred men in the right wing, with Morcar and his followers to support them; and Osgot the sheriff, with his five hundred men, and with the stout knight, Harding de Riehall, and the men of Stamford. The Danes, after having buried the three kings whom they had lost the day before, at a place there called Laundon, but since, from that circumstance, called Three-king-ham, marched out into the field. The battle began, and the English, though much inferior in numbers, kept their ground the greater part of the day with steadiness and resolution, until the Danes feigning a flight, were rashly pursued without attention to order. The Danes then took advantage of the confusion of the English, returned to the charge, and made their opponents pay dearly for their temerity; in fine, the Danes were completely victorious. In this battle, earl Algar, the monk Toly, and many other valiant men, were slain on the part of the English; after which the Danes proceeded to the destruction of the abbeys of Crowland, Thorney, Ramsey and Hamstede (Peterborough) and many other places in the neighbourhood.--Thus far is from Ingulphus the monk.
A fair, said to have arisen from the above circumstance, is annually held at Three-king-ham, on a remarkable piece of ground, called Stow Green Hill, reported to be the spot whereon the battle was principally contested, and Domesday-book in some degree corroborates the statement; for in the Conqueror’s time, A. D. 1080, when that survey was taken, we find that there was then a fair held here, which yielded forty shillings, accounted for to Gilbert de Gand, lord of Foldingham. This fair, however, is not held now in the month of September, but commences on the 15th of June, and continues till the fourth of July, and was very probably changed in the fifty-second year of the reign of king Henry III., who according to Tanner’s “Notitia Monastica,” granted a charter for a fair at this place to the monastery of Sempringham.
SLEAFORDENSIS.
September 8, 1826.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 57·70.
[348] Butler.
~September 23.~
OPENING OF THE WINTER THEATRES.
For the Every-Day Book.
To cultivate pleasant associations, may well be deemed a part and parcel of the philosophy of life. Now that spring, that sweet season redolent of flowers and buds hath passed away, and summer mellowing into autumn, has well nigh fallen into the “sere the yellow leaf,” we in “populous city pent,” gladly revert to those social enjoyments peculiar to a great metropolis, and among which stand conspicuous, the amusements of the acted drama.
The opening of the winter theatres may be reckoned as one of the principal fasti of cockney land, an epoch which distinctly marks the commencement of a winter in London. How changed from the auspicious season, when the bright sun glancing into our gloomy retreats, tantalizes us with visions of the breathing sweets of nature, and when we in our very dreams “babbled of green fields,”--to the period when even the thronged and dirty streets are endurable, as we wend our way perchance through a fog, (a London particular,) towards the crowded and gaily lighted theatre, by contrast made more brilliant.
“My first play” forms an era to most young persons, and is generally cherished among our more agreeable juvenile reminiscences: but the subject has been recently expatiated upon so delightfully and in so genial a spirit by ELIA, as almost to make further comment “a wasteful and ridiculous excess.” I well remember the vast and splendid area of old Drury-lane theatre, where the mysterious green curtain portico, to that curious microcosm the stage, first met my youthful gaze. The performances were, the “Stranger” and “Blue Beard,” both then in the very bloom of their popularity: and whatever difference of opinion may exist as to the moral tendency of the first, all must allow that never piece was more effective in the representation, when aided by the unrivalled talents of Kemble, and Mrs. Siddons, at that time in the zenith of their powers. I confess, that to my unsophisticated boyish feelings, subdued by the cunning of the scene, it seemed quite natural, that the sufferings of bitter remorse and repentance should suffice to ensure the pity and forgiveness of outraged society.--Happy age, when the generous impulses of our nature are not yet blunted by the stern experience of after life!
This brings me to record a remarkable and disastrous event in theatrical annals, and one which in a great measure suggested the present communication. It was my fortune to be present at the last performances ever given on the boards of Old Drury--and which took place on Thursday evening the 23rd of February, 1809--when was acted for the first, and as it proved, the last time, a new opera composed by Bishop, called the “Circassian Bride.” The next night this magnificent theatre was a pile of burning ruins. The awful grandeur of the conflagration defies description, but to enlarge upon a circumstance so comparatively recent would be purely gratuitous; it was, however, an event which might be truly said, “to eclipse the harmless gaiety of nations,”--for the metropolis then presented the unprecedented spectacle of the national drama without a home,--the two sister theatres both prostrate in the dust!
Annexed is a copy of the play-bill, which at this distance of time, may perhaps be valued as an interesting relic, illustrative of dramatic history.
J. H.
* * * * *
NEVER ACTED.
Theatre Royal, Drury-lane.
This present THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1809.
Their Majesties Servants will perform a New Opera, in Three Acts, called the
CIRCASSIAN BRIDE.
With New Scenery, Dresses, and Decorations.
The OVERTURE and MUSIC entirely new, composed by Mr. BISHOP.
CIRCASSIANS.
Alexis, Mr. BRAHAM,
Rhindax, Mr. DE CAMP,
Demetrio, Mr. MARSHALL,
Basil, Mr. RAY,
Officers, Mr. GIBBON, Mr. MILLER,
Chief Priest, Mr. MADDOCKS,
Erminia, Miss LYON.
ENGLISH.
Ben Blunt, Mr. BANNISTER,
Tom Taffrel, Mr. SMITH,
Rachael, Mrs. MOUNTAIN.
TARTARS.
Usberg, (the Khan,) Mr. J. SMITH,
Barak, Mr. MATHEWS, Kerim, Mr. FISHER, Hassan, Mr. COOKE, Slaves, Messrs. WEBB, EVANS, CHATTERLEY, Anna, Mrs. BLAND.
The DANCE by Mesds. GREEN, TWAMLEY, DAVIS, H. and F. DENNET.
Chorus of Circassians, Tartars, &c. By Messrs. Danby, Cook, Evans, Caulfield, Bond, Dibble, Jones, Mesds. Stokes, Chatterley, Menage, Maddocks, Wells, Butler. The New Scenes designed by Mr. GREENWOOD, And executed by him, Mr. BANKS, and Assistants. The Dresses and Decorations, by Mr. JOHNSTON, and executed by him, Mr. BANKS and Mr. UNDERWOOD. The Female Dresses designed and executed by Miss REIN. Books of the Songs to be had in the Theatre.
To which will be added the Farce of FORTUNE’S FROLIC.
Robin Roughhead, Mr. MATHEWS, Rattle, Mr. PALMER, Nancy Miss LACY Margery, Mrs. SPARKS, Dolly, Mrs. HARLOWE. Places for the Boxes to be taken of Mr. SPRING, at the Box-Office, Russel-street.
No money to be returned.
Vivant Rex et Regina! (Lowndes and Hobbs, Printers, Marquis-court, Drury-lane.)
* * * * *
“ELIA.”-Why should J. H. pop on me with his mention of ELIA, just as I was about to write “an article?” Write!--it’s impossible. I have turned to “My First Play”--I cannot get it out my head: the reader must take the consequence of my inability, and of the fault of J. H., and read what I shall never approach to, in writing, were I to “grind my quill these hundred years”----
MY FIRST PLAY
BY ELIA.
At the north end of Cross-court there yet stands a portal, of some architectural pretensions, though reduced to humble use, serving at present for an entrance to a printing-office. This old door-way, if you are young, reader, you may not know was the identical pit entrance to Old Drury--Garrick’s Drury--all of it that is left. I never pass it without shaking some forty years from off my shoulders, recurring to the evening when I passed through it to see my first play. The afternoon had been wet, and the condition of our going (the elder folks and myself) was, that the rain should cease. With what a beating heart did I watch from the window the puddles, from the stillness of which I was taught to prognosticate the desired cessation! I seem to remember the last spurt, and the glee with which I ran to announce it.
We went with orders, which my godfather F. had sent us. He kept the oil shop (now Davies’s) at the corner of Featherstone-building, in Holborn. F. was a tall grave person, lofty in speech, and had pretensions above his rank. He associated in those days with John Palmer, the comedian, whose gait and bearing he seemed to copy; if John (which is quite as likely) did not rather borrow somewhat of his manner from my godfather. He was also known to, and visited by, Sheridan. It was to his house in Holborn, that young Brinsley brought his first wife on her elopement with him from a boarding school at Bath--the beautiful Maria Linley. My parents were present (over a quadrille table) when he arrived in the evening with his harmonious charge.--From either of these connections, it may be inferred that my godfather could command an order for the then Drury-lane theatre at pleasure--and, indeed, a pretty liberal issue of those cheap billets, in Brinsley’s easy autograph, I have heard him say was the sole remuneration which he had received for many years’ nightly illumination of the orchestra, and various avenues of that theatre--and he was content that it should be so. The honour of Sheridan’s familiarity--or supposed familiarity--was better to my godfather than money.
F. was the most gentlemanly of oilmen; grandiloquent, yet courteous. His delivery of the commonest matters of fact was Ciceronian. He had two Latin words almost constantly in his mouth, (how odd sounds Latin from an oilman’s lips!) which my better knowledge since, has enabled me to correct. In strict pronunciation they should have been sounded vice versâ--but in those young years they impressed me with more awe than they would now do, read aright from Seneca or Varro--in his own peculiar pronunciation, monosyllabically elaborated, or anglicized, into something like verse verse. By an imposing manner, and the help of these distorted syllables, he climbed (but that was little) to the highest parochial honours which St. Andrew’s has to bestow.
He is dead, and thus much I thought due to his memory, both for my first orders (little wondrous talismans!--slight keys, and insignificant to outward sight, but opening to me more than Arabian paradises!) and moreover, that by his testamentary beneficence I came into possession of the only landed property which I could ever call my own--situate near the road-way village of pleasant Puckeridge, in Hertfordshire. When I journied down to take possession, and planted foot on my own ground, the stately habits of the donor descended upon me, and I strode (shall I confess the vanity?) with larger paces over my allotment of three quarters of an acre, with its commodious mansion in the midst with the feeling of an English freeholder, that all betwixt sky and centre was my own. The estate has passed into more prudent hands, and nothing but an agrarian can restore it.
In those days were pit orders. Beshrew the uncomfortable manager who abolished them!--with one of these we went. I remember the waiting at the door--not that which is left--but between that and an inner door in shelter--O when shall I be such an expectant again;--with the cry of nonpareils, an indispensable playhouse accompaniment in those days. As near as I can recollect, the fashionable pronunciation of the theatrical fruiteresses then was, “Chase some oranges, chase some numparels, chase a bill of the play;”--chase pro chuse. But when we got in, and I beheld the green curtain that veiled a heaven to my imagination, which was soon to be disclosed--the breathless anticipations I endured! I had seen something like it in the plate prefixed to “Troilus and Cressida,” in Rowe’s “Shakspeare”--the tent scene with Diomede--and a sight of that plate can always bring back in a measure the feeling of that evening.--The boxes at that time, full of well-dressed women of quality, projected over the pit; and the pilasters reaching down were adorned with a glistering substance (I know not what) under glass (as it seemed) resembling--a homely fancy--but I judged it to be sugar-candy--yet, to my raised imagination, divested of its homelier qualities, it appeared a glorified candy!--The orchestra lights at length arose, those “fair Auroras!” Once the bell sounded. It was to ring out yet once again--and, incapable of the anticipation, I reposed my shut eyes in a sort of resignation upon the maternal lap. It rang the second time. The curtain drew up--I was not past six years old--and the play was Artaxerxes!
I had dabbled a little in the Universal History--the ancient part of it--and here was the court of Persia. It was being admitted to a sight of the past. I took no proper interest in the action going on, for I understood not its import--but I heard the word Darius, and I was in the midst of Daniel. All feeling was absorbed in vision. Gorgeous vests, gardens, palaces, princesses, passed before me. I knew not players. I was in Persepolis for the time; and the burning idol of their devotion almost converted me into a worshipper. I was awe-struck, and believed those significations to be something more than elemental fires. It was all enchantment and a dream. No such pleasure has since visited me but in dreams.--Harlequin’s Invasion followed; where, I remember, the transformation of the magistrates into reverend beldams seemed to me a piece of grave historic justice, and the tailor carrying his own head to be as sober a verity as the legend of St. Denys.
The next play to which I was taken was the “Lady of the Manor,” of which, with the exception of some scenery, very faint traces are left in my memory. It was followed by a pantomime, called “Lun’s Ghost”--a satiric touch, I apprehend, upon Rich, not long since dead--but to my apprehension (too sincere for satire) “Lun” was as remote a piece of antiquity as “Lud”--the father of a line of Harlequins--transmitting his dagger of lath (the wooden sceptre) through countless ages. I saw the primeval Motley come from his silent tomb in a ghastly vest of white patch-work, like the apparition of a dead rainbow. So harlequins (thought I) look when they are dead.
My third play followed in quick succession. It was the “Way of the World.” I think I must have sat at it as grave as a judge; for, I remember, the hysteric affectations of good lady Wishfort affected me like some solemn tragic passion. “Robinson Crusoe” followed; in which Crusoe, man Friday, and the parrot, were as good and authentic as in the story.--The clownery and pantaloonery of these pantomimes have clean passed out of my head. I believe, I no more laughed at them, than at the same age I should have been disposed to laugh at the grotesque Gothic heads (seeming to me then replete with devout meaning) that gape, and grin, in stone around the inside of the old round church (my church) of the Templars.
I saw these plays in the season 1781-2, when I was from six to seven years old. After the intervention of six or seven other years (for at school all play-going was inhibited) I again entered the doors of a theatre. That old Artaxerxes evening had never done ringing in my fancy. I expected the same feelings to come again with the same occasion. But we differ from ourselves less at sixty and sixteen, than the latter does from six. In that interval what had I not lost! At the first period I knew nothing, understood nothing, discriminated nothing. I felt all, loved all, wondered all--
Was nourished, I could not tell how.--
I had left the temple a devotee, and was returned a rationalist. The same things were there materially; but the emblem, the reference, was gone!--The green curtain was no longer a veil, drawn between two worlds, the unfolding of which was to bring back past ages, to present “a royal ghost,”--but a certain quantity of green baize, which was to separate the audience for a given time from certain of their fellow-men who were to come forward and pretend those parts. The lights--the orchestra lights--came up a clumsy machinery. The first ring, and the second ring, was now but a trick of the prompter’s bell--which had been, like the note of the cuckoo, a phantom of a voice, no hand seen or guessed at which ministered to its warning. The actors were men and women painted. I thought the fault was in them; but it was in myself, and the alteration which those many centuries--of six short twelvemonths--had wrought in me. Perhaps it was fortunate for me that the play of the evening was but an indifferent comedy, as it gave me time to crop some unreasonable expectations, which might have interfered with the genuine emotions with which I was soon after enabled to enter upon the first appearance to me of Mrs. Siddons in “Isabella.” Comparison and retrospection soon yielded to the present attraction of the scene; and the theatre became to me, upon a new stock, the most delightful of recreations.
* * * * *
After this robbery of “ELIA,” my conscience forces me to declare that I wish every reader would save me from the shame of further temptation to transgress, by ordering “ELIA” into his collection. There is no volume in our language so full of beauty, truth, and feeling, as the volume of “ELIA.” I am convinced that every person who has not seen it, and may take the hint, will thank me for acquainting him with a work which he cannot look into without pleasure, nor lay down without regret. It is a delicious book.
SHERBORNE BELLS.
On this day it is a custom to exercise the largest bell of one of our country churches, in the manner described in the following communication.
TOLLING DAY.
For the Every-Day Book.
The 23d of September has obtained in Sherborne, Dorset, the name of “tolling-day,” in commemoration of the death of John Lord Digby, baron Digby of Sherborne, and earl of Bristol, in the year MDCXCVIII. and in conformity with the following wish expressed in a codicil annexed to his lordship’s will.
“Item, I give and bequeath out of my said estate to the parish church, the yearly sum of ten pounds, to be paid by my successors, lords of the said manor for the time being, at and upon, or within forty days after, the feast days of St. Michael the archangel, and of the annunciation of our blessed lady St. Mary the virgin, by equal portions yearly and for ever, and to be employed and bestowed by the churchwardens of the said parish for the time being, with the consent of the lord of the said manor for the time being, in keeping in good repair the chancel, and towards the reparations of the rest of the said church, yearly and for ever; provided that my successors, the lord or lords of the said manor for the time being, shall have and enjoy a convenient pew, or seat, in the said chancel for himself and family for ever; and provided that the said churchwardens for the time being, shall cause the largest bell in the tower of the said church, to be tolled six full hours, that is to say, from five to nine of the clock in the forenoon, and from twelve o’clock till two in the afternoon, on that day of the said month whereon it shall be my lot to depart this life, every year and for ever; otherwise this gift of ten pounds per annum shall determine and be void.”
This custom is annually observed, but not to the extent above intended, the tolling of the bell being limited to two hours instead of six. It begins to toll at six o’clock and continues till seven in the morning, when six men, who toll the bell for church service, repair to the mansion of the present earl Digby, with two large stone jars, which are there filled with some of his lordship’s strong beer, and, with a quantity of bread and cheese, taken to the church by the tollers and equally divided amongst them, together with a small remuneration in money paid by the churchwardens as a compensation for their labour. At twelve o’clock the bell is again tolled till one, and in the evening divine service is performed at the church, and a lecture suited to the occasion delivered from the pulpit; for which lecture or sermon the vicar is paid thirty pounds, provided by the will of the above donor.
R. T.
BOW BELLS.
Who has not heard of “Bow Bells?” Who that has heard them does not feel an interest in their sounds, or in the recollection of them? The editor is preparing an article on “Bow Bells,” and for that purpose particularly desires communications. Accounts relative to their present or former state, or any facts or anecdotes respecting them at any time, are earnestly solicited from every reader as soon as possible.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 56·02.
~September 24.~
A GOOD TENANT.
In the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for September, 1775, Mr. Clayton, a wealthy farmer of Berkshire, is related to have died at the extraordinary age of a hundred and fifteen years, and retained his faculties to the last; he is further remarkable, for having rented one farm ninety years. An occupancy of so great duration, by one individual, is perhaps unequalled in the history of landlord and tenant.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 55·40.
~September 25.~
SEA SIDE SPORTS.
There is an exhilarating effect in the sea-air and coast scenery, which inland views or atmosphere, however fine, fail to communicate.
On the 25th of September, 1825, a gentleman and lady came out of one of the hotels near the Steyne, and after taking a fair start, set off running round the Steyne. They both ran very swiftly, but the young lady bounded forward with the agility of the chamois and the fleetness of the deer, and returned to the spot from whence they started a considerable distance before the gentleman. She appeared much pleased with her victory. There were but few persons on the Steyne at the time, but those who were there, expressed their admiration at the swiftness of this second Atalanta.[349]
BRIGHTON.
In Mr. Hazlitt’s “Notes of a Journey through France and Italy,” he mentions the place from whence he sailed for the continent:--
“Brighton stands facing the sea, on the bare cliffs, with glazed windows to reflect the glaring sun, and black pitchy bricks shining like the scales of fishes. The town is however gay with the influx of London visiters--happy as the conscious abode of its sovereign! Every thing here appears in motion--coming or going. People at a watering-place may be compared to the flies of a summer; or to fashionable dresses, or suits of clothes, walking about the streets. The only idea you gain is, of finery and motion. The road between London and Brighton, presents some very charming scenery; Reigate is a prettier English country-town than is to be found anywhere--out of England! As we entered Brighton in the evening, a Frenchman was playing and singing to a guitar.--The genius of the south had come out to meet us.”
When Mr. Hazlitt arrived at Brighton, it was in the full season. He says, “A lad offered to conduct us to an inn. ‘Did he think there was room?’ He was sure of it. ‘Did he belong to the inn?’ ‘No,’ he was from London. In fact, he was a young gentleman from town, who had been stopping some time at the White-horse hotel, and who wished to employ his spare time (when he was not riding out on a blood-horse) in serving the house, and relieving the perplexities of his fellow-travellers. No one but a Londoner would volunteer his assistance in this way. Amiable land of Cockayne, happy in itself, and in making others happy! Blest exuberance of self-satisfaction, that overflows upon others! Delightful impertinence, that is forward to oblige them!”
* * * * *
It is here both in place and season, to quote a passage of remarkably fine thought:--
“There is something in being near the sea, like the confines of eternity. It is a new element, a pure abstraction. The mind loves to hover on that which is endless, and for ever the same. People wonder at a steam-boat, the invention of man, managed by man, that makes its liquid path like an iron railway through the sea--I wonder at the sea itself, that vast Leviathan, rolled round the earth, smiling in its sleep, waked into fury, fathomless, boundless, a huge world of water-drops.--Whence is it, whither goes it, is it of eternity or of nothing? Strange ponderous riddle, that we can neither penetrate nor grasp in our comprehension, ebbing and flowing like human life, and swallowing it up in thy remorseless womb,--what art thou? What is there in common between thy life and ours, who gaze at thee? Blind, deaf and old, thou seest not, hearest not, understandest not; neither do we understand, who behold and listen to thee! Great as thou art, unconscious of thy greatness, unwieldy, enormous, preposterous twin-birth of matter, rest in thy dark, unfathomed cave of mystery, mocking human pride and weakness. Still is it given to the mind of man to wonder at thee, to confess its ignorance, and to stand in awe of thy stupendous might and majesty, and of its own being, that can question thine!”[350]
* * * * *
In Mr. Hazlitt’s “Journey through France and Italy,” there are “thoughts that breathe and words that burn.” His conceptions of beauty and grandeur, are at all times simple and vast. His works are pervaded by the results of profound thinking. His sentences have the power of elevating things that are deemed little remarkable, and of lowering those which successive submissions to over praise, have preposterously magnified. Many of the remarks on works of art, in his “Notes of a Journey through France and Italy,” will be wholly new to persons who never reflected on the subjects of his criticism, and will not be openly assented to by others thinking as he does, who, for the first time, has ventured to publicly dissent from received notions. If any of his opinions be deemed incorrect, the difference can easily be arbitrated. Taking the originals, whether corporeal or imaginary existences, as the standard, our pure sight and feeling may be relied on as unerring judges of the imitations.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 54·27.
[349] Brighton paper.
[350] Mr. Hazlitt’s Journey.
~September 26.~
ST. CYPRIAN. OLD HOLY ROOD.
For these remembrances in the church of England calendar and almanacs, see vol. i. p. 1324.
* * * * *
Communications of local customs are always received and inserted with satisfaction. It is with peculiar pleasure that the editor submits the following, from a gentleman with respect to whom he has nothing to regret, but that he is not permitted to honour the work, by annexing the name of the respectable writer to the letter.
PAISLEY HALLOW-EVE FIRES.
SHEFFIELD SCOTLAND FEAST.
Paisley, September 21, 1826.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,--Having been a subscriber to your Every-Day Book from its first appearance in this town, up to the present time, I reproach myself with neglect, in not having sent you before now, an account of a rather singular custom prevalent here, and, as it should seem, of ancient date.
The river White Cart, on which Paisley stands, although affected by the tide, and navigable to the town for vessels not exceeding fifty tons’ burden, is often remarkably shallow at low water. This is especially the case between the highest and the lowest of three stone bridges, by which the old town or burgh is connected with the new town. In this shallow part of the stream, parties of boys construct, on Hallow-eve,--the night when varied superstitions engross most of old Scotia’s peasantry,--circular raised hearths, if I may so term them, of earth or clay; bordered by a low round wall composed of loose stones, sods, &c. Within these enclosures, the boys kindle on their hearths, bonfires, often of considerable size. From the bridges, the appearance of these bonfires, after nightfall, is singular; and attracts, as spectators, many of the grown-up inhabitants of the place. The number and glare of the fires, their tremulous reflection in the surrounding water, the dark moving figures of the boys that group around them, and the shouts and screams set up by the youthful urchins in testimony of enjoyment, might almost make one fancy that the rites and incantations of magic, or of wizardry, were taking place before one’s very eyes. What is the origin of this custom, or how long it has prevailed, I do not know.
Ere I relinquish my pen, allow me to describe to you another singular custom, which obtains in the largest town of England, north of the Trent.[351] No one is better acquainted than, Mr. Hone, are you, with the existence of the wake or feast, still held annually in some of the towns, and nearly all the parochial villages of the midland and northern counties. In many of the larger towns, the traces of the ancient wake are, indeed, nearly worn out, and this is pretty much the case with that particular town, to which reference has just been made, namely, Sheffield; our great national emporium for cutlery, files, edge-tools, and the better kinds of plated goods. Only in a few ancient and primitive families, do roast beef, plum-pudding, and an extra allowance of Yorkshire stingo, gracing, on Trinity Sunday, a large table, begirt with some dozen of happy, and happy-faced town and country cousins, show, that the venerable head of the family, and his antique dame, have not forgotten Sheffield feast-day. But if the observance of Sheffield feast itself be thus partial, and verging towards disuse, amends is made for the circumstance, in the establishment, and pretty vigorous keeping up of sundry local feasts, held on different days, within the town, or in its suburbs. Besides those of the Wicker and little Sheffield, which are suburban, Broad-lane and Scotland-street, in the town itself, have their respective feasts too. At Little Sheffield and in Broad-lane, the zest of the annual festivity is often heightened by ass-races; foot-races, masculine, for a hat; foot-races, feminine, for a chemise; grinning-matches; and, though less frequently, the humours and rattle of a mountebank and his merry andrew. Occasionally too changes, in imitation of those on the church bells, are rung, by striking with a hammer, or a short piece of steel, on six, eight, or ten long bars each suspended by twine from the roof of a workshop, and the entire set chosen so as to resemble pretty nearly, a ring of bells, both in diversity and in sequence of tone.[352]
Scotland feast, however, in point of interest, bears away the bell from all the other district revels of Sheffield. It is so called from Scotland-street, already mentioned; a long, hilly, and very populous one, situated in the northern part of the town. On the eve of the feast, which is yearly held on the 29th of May, the anniversary of the restoration of our second Charles, parties of the inhabitants repair into the neighbouring country; whence, chiefly however from Walkley-bank, celebrated as Sheffield schoolboys too well know for birch trees, they bring home, at dead of night, or morning’s earliest dawn, from sixteen to twenty well-sized trees, besides a profusion of branches. The trees they instantly plant in two rows; one on each side of the street, just without the kirbstone of the flagged pavement. With the branches, they decorate the doors and windows of houses, the sign-boards of drinking-shops, and so on. By five or six in the morning Scotland-street, which is not very wide, has the appearance of a grove. And soon, from ropes stretched across it, three, four, or five, superb garlands delight the eyes, and dance over the heads of the feast-folk. These garlands are composed of hoops, wreathed round with foliage and flowers, fluttering with variously coloured ribands, rustling with asidew,[353] and gay with silver tankards, pints, watches, &c. Before the door of the principal alehouse, the largest tree is always planted. The sign of this house is, if memory do not deceive me, the royal oak.[354] But be this as it may, certain it is, that duly ensconced among the branches of the said tree, may always be seen the effigy, in small, of king Charles the Second: to commemorate indeed the happy concealment and remarkable escape of the merry monarch, at Boscobel, should seem to be the object of creating a sylvan scene at “Scotland feast;” while that of holding the feast itself on the anniversary of his restoration is, there can be little doubt, to celebrate with honour the principal event in the life of him, after whose ancient and peculiar kingdom the street itself is named. To the particulars already given, it needs scarcely be added, that dancing, drinking, and other merry-making are, as a Scotsman would say, rife,[355] at the annual commemoration thus briefly described.
Thanking you for much instruction, as well as entertainment, already derived from your book, and wishing you success from its publication, I remain, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
GULIELMUS.
Asidew.
In vol. i. col. 1213, arsedine is noticed as having been in use at Bartholomew fair, and Mr. Archdeacon Nares’s supposition is mentioned, that arsedine, arsadine, or orsden, as it was variously called, was a corruption of arsenic, or orpiment. The editor then ventured to hazard a different suggestion, and show that the word might be saxon, and expressive of “pigments obtained from minerals and metals.” Since then, a note in Mr. Sharp’s remarkably interesting “Dissertation on the Country Mysteries,” seems to favour the notion.
Mr. Sharp says, “At the end of Gent’s ‘History of York, 1730,’ is an advertisement of numerous articles, sold by Hammond, a bookseller of that city, and amongst the rest occurs ‘Assidue or horse-gold,’ the very next article to which, is ‘hobby-horse-bells.’--A dealer in Dutch metal, Michael Oppenheim, 27, Mansell-street, Goodman’s-fields, thus described himself in 1816--‘Importer of bronze powder, Dutch metal, and OR-SEDEW,’ and upon inquiry respecting the last article, it proved to be that thin yellow metal, generally known by the name of tinsel, much used for ornamenting children’s dolls, hobby-horses, and some toys, as well as manufactured into various showy articles of dress. The word orsedew is evidently a corruption of oripeau i. e. leaf (or skin) gold, afterwards brass. The Spaniards call it oropoel, gold-skin, and the Germans flitter-gold.”[356]
Through Mr. Sharp we have, at length, attained to a knowledge of this substance as the true arsedine of our forefathers, and the asidew of the Sheffield merry-makers at present.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 55·57.
[351] I speak advisedly. As a town, Sheffield, the place here referred to, is larger and more populous than Leeds. In 1821 it contained with its suburbs, but without including either out-hamlets, or the country part of the parish, at least 58,000 inhabitants;--Leeds no more than 48,000.
[352] When the period for which an apprentice is bound (seven years) expires, his “loosing” is held by himself, and shopmates. Then are these steel bells made to jangle all day. At night the loosing is farther celebrated by a supper and booze. The parochial ringers frequently attend festivities with a set of hand-bells, which, in the estimation of their auditors, they make “discourse most eloquent music.”
[353] Asidew. The orthography of this word may be wrong. I never, to my knowledge, saw it written. It is used in Sheffield to express a thin, very thin brass leaf, of a high gold colour.
[354] In my boyish days, one Ludlam kept it. Was it he to whom belonged the dog which gave occasion to this proverbial saying? “As idle as Ludlam’s dog, that lay down to bark?”
[355] Abundant.
[356] Mr. Sharp’s Dissertation, p. 29.
~September 27.~
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 27th of September, 1772, died at Turnhurst, in Staffordshire, James Brindley, a man celebrated for extraordinary mechanical genius and skilful labours in inland navigation. He was born at Tunsted, in the parish of Wormhill, Derbyshire, in 1716, where he contributed to support his parents’ family till he was nearly seventeen years of age, when he bound himself apprentice to a wheelwright named Bennet, near Macclesfield, in Cheshire. In the early period of his apprenticeship, he performed several parts of the business without instruction, and so satisfied the millers, that he was always consulted in preference to his master, and before the expiration of his servitude, when Mr. Bennet, by his age and infirmities, became unable to work, he carried on the business, and provided a comfortable subsistence for the old man and his family.
About this time Bennet was employed in constructing an engine paper-mill, the first of the kind that had been attempted in these parts; but, as he was likely to fail in the execution of it, Mr. Brindley, without communicating his design, set out on Saturday evening after the business of the day was finished, and having inspected the work, returned home on Monday morning, after a journey of fifty miles, informed his master of its defects, and completed the engine to the entire satisfaction of the proprietors. He afterwards engaged in the mill-wright business on his own account. The fame of his inventions in a little while spread far beyond his own neighbourhood. In 1752, he was employed to erect a curious water-engine at Clifton, in Lancashire, for the purpose of draining coal-mines, which had before been performed at an enormous expense. The water for the use of this engine was conveyed from the river Irwell by a subterraneous channel, nearly six hundred yards long, which passed through a rock; and the wheel was fixed thirty feet below the surface of the ground.
In 1755, he constructed a new silk-mill at Congleton, in Cheshire, according to the plan proposed by the proprietors, after the execution of it by the original undertaker had failed; and in the completion of it he added many new and useful improvements. He introduced one contrivance for winding the silk upon the bobbins equally, and not in wreaths; and another for stopping, in an instant, not only the whole of this extensive system, in all its various movements, but any individual part of it at pleasure. He likewise invented machines for cutting the tooth and pinion wheels of the different engines, in a manner that produced a great saving of time, labour, and expense. He also introduced into the mills, used at the potteries in Staffordshire for grinding flintstones, several valuable additions, which greatly facilitated the operation.
In 1756, he constructed a steam-engine at Newcastle-under-Line, upon a new plan. The boiler was made with brick and stone, instead of iron plates, and the water was heated by fire-places, so constructed as to save the consumption of fuel. He also introduced cylinders of wood instead of those of iron, and substituted wood for iron in the chains which worked at the end of the beam. But from these and similar contrivances for the improvement of this useful engine, his attention was diverted by the great national object of “inland navigation.” In planning and executing canals his mechanical genius found ample scope for exercise, and formed a sort of distinguishing era in the history of our country.