The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 3 (of 3) Everlasting Calerdar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac (part 4 of 8)
Kirby, or as it is frequently called, Kirby Malhamdale, from the name of the beautiful valley in which it is situate, is one of the most sequestered villages in Craven, and well worthy of the attention of the tourist, from the loveliness of its surrounding scenery and its elegant church, which hitherto modern barbarity has left unprofaned by decorations and ornaments, as churchwardens and parish officers style those acts of Vandalism, by which too many of the Craven churches have been spoiled, and on which Dr. Whitaker has animadverted in pretty severe language. That excellent historian and most amiable man, whose memory will ever be dear to the inhabitants of Craven, speaking of Kirby church, says, “It is a large, handsome, and uniform building of red stone, probably of the age of Henry VII. It has one ornament peculiar, as far as I recollect, to the churches in Craven, to which the Tempests were benefactors. Most of the columns have in the west side, facing the congregation as they turned to the altar, an elegant niche and tabernacle, once containing the statue of a saint. In the nave lies a grave-stone, with a cross fleury in high relief, of much greater antiquity than the present church, and probably covering one of the canons of Dereham.”[137]
At the west end of the church, on each side of the singer’s gallery, are two emblematical figures, of modern erection, painted on wood; one of them, Time with his scythe, and this inscription, “Make use of time;” the other is a skeleton, with the inscription “Remember death.” With all due deference to the taste of the parishioners, it is my opinion that these paintings are both unsuited to a Christian temple, and the sooner they are removed the better. The gloomy mythology of the Heathens ill accords with the enlightened theology of Christianity.
At the east end of the church are monumental inscriptions to the memory of John Lambert, the son, and John Lambert, the grandson of the well-known general Lambert, of roundhead notoriety. The residence of the Lamberts was Calton-hall, in the neighbourhood; and at Winterburn, a village about two miles from Calton, is one of the oldest Independent chapels in the kingdom, having been erected and endowed by the Lamberts during the usurpation of Cromwell; it is still in possession of this once powerful sect, and was a picturesque object: it had something of sturdy non-conformity in its appearance, but alas! modern barbarism has been at work on it, and given it the appearance of a respectable barn. The deacons, who “repaired and beautified” it, ought to place their names over the door of the chapel, in characters readable at a mile’s distance, that the traveller may be informed by whom the chapel erected by the Lamberts was deformed.
I often have lamented, that ministers of religion have so little to do with the repairs of places of worship. The clergy of all denominations are, in general, men of cultivated minds and refined tastes, and certainly better qualified to superintend alterations than country churchwardens and parish officers, who, though great pretenders to knowledge, are usually ignorant destroyers of the beauty of the edifices confided to their care.
T. Q. M.
April, 1827.
[132] The Saint Giles’s of Skipton, where the lower order of inhabitants generally reside.
[133] Should any reader of this day find fault with the inelegant manner in which the dialogue is carried on between Kitchen and the soldier, in defence I beg leave to say, the dialogue is told as general Bibo related it, and though in many parts of the tale I have made so many alterations, that I should not be guilty of any impropriety in calling it an original: I do not consider myself authorized to change the dialogues occasionally introduced.
[134] In Kirby Malhamdale church-yard is a public house, verifying the lines of the satirist:--
Where God erects a house of prayer, The devil builds a chapel there.
[135] Skipton-castle.
[136] Rylstone-hall. See Wordsworth’s beautiful poem the White Doe.
[137] History of Craven.
* * * * *
SALT.
The conjecture of T. Q. M. concerning the disappearance of the spectre-host, and the breaking up of the nocturnal banquet, in the church-yard of Kirby Malhamdale, is ingenious, and entitled to the notice of the curious in spectral learning: but it may be as well to consider whether the point of the legend may not be further illustrated.
According to Moresin, salt not being liable to putrefaction, and preserving things seasoned with it from decay, was the emblem of eternity and immortality, and mightily abhorred by infernal spirits. “In reference to this symbolical explication, how beautiful,” says Mr. Brand, “is that expression applied to the righteous, ‘Ye are the salt of the earth!’”
On the custom in Ireland of placing a plate of salt over the heart of a dead person, Dr. Campbell supposes, in agreement with Moresin’s remark, that the salt was considered the emblem of the incorruptible part; “the body itself,” says he, “being the type of corruption.”
It likewise appears from Mr. Pennant, that, on the death of a highlander, the friends laid on the breast of the deceased a wooden platter, containing a small quantity of salt and earth, separate and unmixed; the earth an emblem of the corruptible body--the salt an emblem of the immortal spirit.
The body’s salt the soul is, which when gone The flesh soone sucks in putrefaction.
Herrick.
The custom of placing a plate of salt upon the dead, Mr. Douce says, is still retained in many parts of England, and particularly in Leicestershire; but the pewter plate and salt are laid with an intent to hinder air from getting into the body and distending it, so as to occasion bursting or inconvenience in closing the coffin. Though this be the reason for the usage at present, yet it is doubtful whether the practice is not a vulgar continuation of the ancient symbolical usage; otherwise, why is salt selected?
To these instances of the relation that salt bore to the dead, should be annexed Bodin’s affirmation, cited by Reginald Scot; namely, that as salt “is a sign of eternity, and used by divine commandment in all sacrifices,” so “the devil loveth no SALT in his meat.”--This saying is of itself, perhaps, sufficient to account for the sudden flight of the spectre, and the vanishing of the feast in the church-yard of Kirby Malhamdale on the call for the salt.
Finally may be added, salt from the “Hesperides” of Herrick:--
TO PERILLA.
Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve to see Me, day by day, to steale away from thee? Age cals me hence, and my gray haires bid come And haste away to mine eternal home; ’Twill not be long, Perilla, after this, That I must give thee the supremest kisse: Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring Part of the creame from that religious spring, With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet; That done, then wind me in that very sheet Which wrapt thy smooth limbs, when thou didst plore The gods protection but the night before; Follow me weeping to my turfe, and there Let fall a primrose, and with it a teare: Then, lastly, let some weekly strewings be Devoted to the memory of me; Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep Still in the cold and silent shades of sleep.
*
* * * * *
A CORPORATION.
Mr. Howel Walsh, in a corporation case tried at the Tralee assizes, observed, that “a corporation cannot blush. It was a body it was true; had certainly a head--a new one every year--an annual acquisition of intelligence in every new lord mayor. Arms he supposed it had, and long ones too, for it could reach at any thing. Legs, of course, when it made such long strides. A throat to swallow the rights of the community, and a stomach to digest them! But whoever yet discovered, in the anatomy of any corporation, either bowels, or a heart?”
In the worst inn’s worst room, with mat half-hung, The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung, On once a flock-bed, but repair’d with straw, With tape-ty’d curtains, never meant to draw, The George and Garter dangling from that bed Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, Great Villiers lies--alas! how chang’d from him, That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim! Gallant and gay, in Cliveden’s proud alcove. The bow’r of wanton Shrewsbury and Love: Or just as gay at council, in a ring Of mimick’d Statesmen, and their merry King. No wit to flatter, ’reft of all his store! No fool to laugh at, which he valued more! There victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame; this lord of useless thousands ends.
Pope.
In an amusing and informing topographical tract, written and published by Mr. John Cole of Scarborough, there is the preceding representation of the deathbed-house of the witty and dissipated nobleman, whose name is recorded beneath the engraving. From this, and a brief notice of the duke in a work possessed by most of the readers of the Table Book,[138] with some extracts from documents, accompanying Mr. Cole’s print, an interesting idea may be formed of this nobleman’s last thoughts, and the scene wherein he closed his eyes.
The room wherein he died is marked above by a star * near the window.
Kirkby-Moorside is a market town, about twenty-six miles distant from Scarborough, seated on the river Rye. It was formerly part of the extensive possessions of Villiers, the first duke of Buckingham, who was killed by Felton, from whom it descended with his title to his son, who, after a profligate career, wherein he had wasted his brilliant talents and immense property, repaired to Kirkby-Moorside, and died there in disease and distress.
In a letter to bishop Spratt, dated “Kerby-moor Syde, April 17, 1687,” the earl of Arran relates that, being accidentally at York on a journey towards Scotland, and hearing of the duke of Buckingham’s illness, he visited him. “He had been long ill of an ague, which had made him weak; but his understanding was as good as ever, and his noble parts were so entire, that though I saw death in his looks at first sight, he would by no means think of it.--I confess it made my heart bleed to see the duke of Buckingham in so pitiful a place, and in so bad a condition.--The doctors told me his case was desperate, and though he enjoyed the free exercise of his senses, that in a day or two at most it would kill him, but they durst not tell him of it; so they put a hard part on me to pronounce death to him, which I saw approaching so fast, that I thought it was high time for him to think of another world.--After having plainly told him his condition, I asked him whom I should send for to be assistant to him during the small time he had to live: he would make me no answer, which made me conjecture, and having formerly heard that he had been inclining to be a Roman Catholic, I asked him if I should send for a priest; for I thought any act that could be like a Christian, was what his condition now wanted most; but he positively told me that he was not of that persuasion, and so would not hear any more of that subject, for he was of the church of England.--After some time, beginning to feel his distemper mount, he desired me to send for the parson of this parish, who said prayers for him, which he joined in very freely, but still did not think he should die; though this was yesterday, at seven in the morning, and he died about eleven at night.
“I have ordered the corpse to be embalmed and carried to Helmsley castle, and there to remain till my lady duchess her pleasure shall be known. There must be speedy care taken: for there is nothing here but confusion, not to be expressed. Though his stewards have received vast sums, there is not so much as one farthing, as they tell me, for defraying the least expense. But I have ordered his intestines to be buried at Helmsley, where his body is to remain till farther orders. Being the nearest kinsman upon the place, I have taken the liberty to give his majesty an account of his death, and sent his George and blue ribbon to be disposed as his majesty shall think fit. I have addressed it under cover to my lord president, to whom I beg you would carry the bearer the minute he arrives.”
A letter, in Mr. Cole’s publication, written by the dying duke, confesses his ill-spent life, and expresses sincere remorse for the prostitution of his brilliant talents.
“FROM THE YOUNGER VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, ON HIS DEATHBED TO DR. W----
“Dear doctor,
“I always looked upon you to be a person of true virtue, and know you to have a sound understanding; for, however I have acted in opposition to the principles of religion, or the dictates of reason, I can honestly assure you I have always had the highest veneration for both. The world and I shake hands; for I dare affirm, we are heartily weary of each other. O, what a prodigal have I been of that most valuable of all possessions, Time! I have squandered it away with a profusion unparalleled; and now, when the enjoyment of a few days would be worth the world, I cannot flatter myself with the prospect of half a dozen hours. How despicable, my dear friend, is that man who never prays to his God, but in the time of distress. In what manner can he supplicate that Omnipotent Being, in his afflictions, whom, in the time of his prosperity, he never remembered with reverence.
“Do not brand me with infidelity, when I tell you, that I am almost ashamed to offer up my petitions at the throne of Grace, or to implore that divine mercy in the next world which I have so scandalously abused in this.
“Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon as the blackest of crimes, and not ingratitude to God? Shall an insult offered to a king be looked upon in the most offensive light, and yet no notice (be) taken when the King of kings is treated with indignity and disrespect?
“The companions of my former libertinism would scarcely believe their eyes, were you to show this epistle. They would laugh at me as a dreaming enthusiast, or pity me as a timorous wretch, who was shocked at the appearance of futurity; but whoever laughs at me for being right, or pities me for being sensible of my errors, is more entitled to my compassion than resentment. A future state may well enough strike terror into any man who has not acted well in this life; and he must have an uncommon share of courage indeed who does not shrink at the presence of God. The apprehensions of death will soon bring the most profligate to a proper use of his understanding. To what a situation am I now reduced! Is this odious little hut a suitable lodging for a prince? Is this anxiety of mind becoming the character of a Christian? From my rank I might have expected affluence to wait upon my life; from religion and understanding, peace to smile upon my end: instead of which I am afflicted with poverty, and haunted with remorse, despised by my country, and, I fear, forsaken by my God.
“There is nothing so dangerous as extraordinary abilities. I cannot be accused of vanity now, by being sensible that I was once possessed of uncommon qualifications, especially as I sincerely regret that I ever had them. My rank in life made these accomplishments still more conspicuous, and fascinated by the general applause which they procured, I never considered the proper means by which they should be displayed. Hence, to procure a smile from a blockhead whom I despised, I have frequently treated the virtues with disrespect; and sported with the holy name of Heaven, to obtain a laugh from a parcel of fools, who were entitled to nothing but contempt.
“Your men of wit generally look upon themselves as discharged from the duties of religion, and confine the doctrines of the gospel to meaner understandings. It is a sort of derogation, in their opinion, to comply with the rules of Christianity; and they reckon that man possessed of a narrow genius, who studies to be good.
“What a pity that the holy writings are not made the criterion of true judgment; or that any person should pass for a fine gentleman in this world, but he that appears solicitous about his happiness in the next.
“I am forsaken by all my acquaintance, utterly neglected by the friend of my bosom, and the dependants on my bounty; but no matter! I am not fit to converse with the former, and have no ability to serve the latter. Let me not, however, be wholly cast off by the good. Favour me with a visit as soon as possible. Writing to you gives me some ease, especially on a subject I could talk of for ever.
“I am of opinion this is the last visit I shall ever solicit from you; my distemper is powerful; come and pray for the departing spirit of the poor unhappy
“BUCKINGHAM.”
The following is from the parish register of Kirkby Moorside.
COPY.
buried in the yeare of our Lord [1687.]
April ye 17.
Gorges uiluas Lord dooke of bookingam, etc.
This vulgar entry is the only public memorial of the death of a nobleman, whose abuse of faculties of the highest order, subjected him to public contempt, and the neglect of his associates in his deepest distress. If any lesson can reach the sensualist he may read it in the duke’s fate and repentant letter.
* * * * *
The publication of such a tract as Mr. Cole’s, from a provincial press, is an agreeable surprise. It is in octavo, and bears the quaint title of the “Antiquarian Trio,” because it describes, 1. The house wherein the duke of Buckingham died. 2. Rudston church and obelisk. 3. A monumental effigy in the old town-hall, Scarborough, with a communication to Mr. Cole from the Rev. J. L. Lisson, expressing his opinion, that it represents John de Mowbray, who was constable of Scarborough castle in the reign of Edward II. Engravings illustrate these descriptions, and there is another on wood of the church of Hunmanby, with a poem, for which Mr. Cole is indebted to the pen of “the present incumbent, the Rev. Archdeacon Wrangham, M. A. F. R. S.”
[138] The Every-Day Book.
* * * * *
~Literature.~
“SERVIAN POPULAR POETRY, translated by JOHN BOWRING,” 1827.
It is an item of “Foreign Occurrences,” in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” July, 1807, that a firman of the grand signior sentenced the whole Servian nation to extermination, without distinction of age or sex; if any escaped the sword, they were to be reduced to slavery. Every plain matter-of-fact man knew from his Gazetteer that Servia was a province of Turkey in Europe, bounded on the north by the Danube and Save, which separate it from Hungary, on the east by Bulgaria, on the west by Bosnia, and on the south by Albania and Macedonia; of course, he presumed that fire and sword had passed upon the country within these boundaries, and that the remaining natives had been deported; and consequently, to render the map of Turkey in Europe perfectly correct, he took his pen, and blotted out “Servia.” It appears, however, that by one of those accidents, which defeat certain purposes of state policy, and which are quite as common to inhuman affairs, in “sublime” as in Christian cabinets, there was a change of heads in the Turkish administration. The Janizaries becoming displeased with their new uniforms, and with the ministers of Selim, the best of grand signiors, his sublime majesty was graciously pleased to mistake the objects of their displeasure, and send them the heads of Mahmud Effendi, and a few ex-ministers, who were obnoxious to himself, instead of the heads of Achmet Effendi, and others of his household; the discontented therefore immediately decapitated the latter themselves; and, further, presumed to depose Selim, and elevate Mustapha to the Turkish throne. According to an ancient custom, the deposed despot threw himself at the feet of his successor, kissed the border of his garment, retired to that department of the seraglio occupied by the princes of the blood who cease to reign, and Mustapha, girded with the sword of the prophet, was the best of grand signiors in his stead. This state of affairs at the court of Constantinople rendered it inconvenient to divert the energies of the faithful to so inconsiderable an object as the extinction of the Servian nation; and thus Servia owes its existence to the Janizaries’ dislike of innovation on their dress; and we are consequently indebted to that respectable prejudice for the volume of “Servian popular Poetry,” published by Mr. Bowring. We might otherwise have read, as a dry matter of history, that the Servian people were exterminated A. D. 1807, and have passed to our graves without suspecting that they had songs and bards, and were quite as respectable as their ferocious and powerful destroyers.
Mr. Bowring’s “Introduction” to his specimens of “Servian popular Poetry,” is a rapid sketch of the political and literary history of Servia.
“The Servians must be reckoned among those races who vibrated between the north and the east; possessing to-day, dispossessed to-morrow; now fixed, and now wandering: having their head-quarters in Sarmatia for many generations, in Macedonia for following ones, and settling in Servia at last. But to trace their history, as to trace their course, is impossible. At last the eye fixes them between the Sava and the Danube, and Belgrade grows up as the central point round which the power of Servia gathers itself together, and stretches itself along the right bank of the former river, southwards to the range of mountains which spread to the Adriatic and to the verge of Montengro. Looking yet closer, we observe the influence of the Venetians and the Hungarians on the character and the literature of the Servians. We track their connection now as allies, and now as masters; once the receivers of tribute from, and anon as tributaries to, the Grecian empire; and in more modern times the slaves of the Turkish yoke. Every species of vicissitude marks the Servian annals--annals represented only by those poetical productions of which these are specimens. The question of their veracity is a far more interesting one than that of their antiquity. Few of them narrate events previous to the invasion of Europe by the Turks in 1355, but some refer to facts coeval with the Mussulman empire in Adrianople. More numerous are the records of the struggle between the Moslem and the Christian parties at a later period; and last of all, they represent the quiet and friendly intercourse between the two religions, if not blended in social affections, at least associated in constant communion.”
Respecting the subject more immediately interesting, Mr. Bowring says--
“The earliest poetry of the Servians has a heathenish character; that which follows is leagued with Christian legends. But holy deeds are always made the condition of salvation. The whole nation, to use the idea of Göthe, is imaged in poetical superstition. Events are brought about by the agency of angels, but the footsteps of Satan can be nowhere traced; the dead are often summoned from their tombs; awful warnings, prophecies, and birds of evil omen, bear terror to the minds of the most courageous.
“Over all is spread the influence of a remarkable, and, no doubt, antique mythology. An omnipresent spirit--airy and fanciful--making its dwelling in solitudes--and ruling over mountains and forests--a being called the Vila, is heard to issue its irresistible mandates, and pour forth its prophetic inspiration: sometimes in a form of female beauty--sometimes a wilder Diana--now a goddess, gathering or dispersing the clouds--and now an owl, among ruins and ivy. The Vila, always capricious, and frequently malevolent, is a most important actor in all the popular poetry of Servia. The Trica Polonica is sacred to her. She is equally renowned for the beauty of her person and the swiftness of her step:--‘Fair as the mountain Vila,’ is the highest compliment to a Servian lady--‘Swift as the Vila,’ is the most eloquent eulogium on a Servian steed.
“Of the amatory poems of the Servians, Göthe justly remarks, that, when viewed all together, they cannot but be deemed of singular beauty; they exhibit the expressions of passionate, overflowing, and contented affection; they are full of shrewdness and spirit; delight and surprise are admirably portrayed; and there is, in all, a marvellous sagacity in subduing difficulties, and in obtaining an end; a natural, but at the same time vigorous and energetic tone; sympathies and sensibilities, without wordy exaggeration, but which, notwithstanding, are decorated with poetical imagery and imaginative beauty; a correct picture of Servian life and manners--every thing, in short, which gives to passion the force of truth, and to external scenery the character of reality.
“The poetry of Servia was wholly traditional, until within a very few years. It had never found a pen to record it, but has been preserved by the people, and principally by those of the lower classes, who had been accustomed to listen and to sing these interesting compositions to the sound of a simple three-stringed instrument, called a Gusle; and it is mentioned by Göthe, that when some Servians who had visited Vienna were requested to write down the songs they had sung, they expressed the greatest surprise that such simple poetry and music as theirs should possess any interest for intelligent and cultivated minds. They apprehended, they said, that the artless compositions of their country would be the subject of scorn or ridicule to those whose poetry was so polished and so sublime. And this feeling must have been ministered to by the employment, even in Servia, of a language no longer spoken; for the productions of literature, though it is certain the natural affections, the every-day thoughts and associations could not find fit expression in the old church dialect:--
“The talk Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk Of the mind’s business, is the undoubted stalk ‘True song’ doth grow on.”
“The collection of popular songs, Narodne srpske pjesme, from which most of those which occupy this volume are taken, was made by Vuk, and committed to paper either from early recollections, or from the repetition of Servian minstrels. These, he informs us, and his statement is corroborated by every intelligent traveller, form a very small portion of the treasure of song which exists unrecorded among the peasantry. How so much of beautiful anonymous poetry should have been created in so perfect a form, is a subject well worthy of inquiry. Among a people who look to music and song as a source of enjoyment, the habit of improvisation grows up imperceptibly, and engages all the fertilities of imagination in its exercise. The thought which first finds vent in a poetical form, if worth preservation, is polished and perfected as it passes from lip to lip, till it receives the stamp of popular approval, and becomes as it were a national possession. There is no text-book, no authentic record, to which it can be referred, whose authority should interfere with its improvement. The poetry of a people is a common inheritance, which one generation transfers sanctioned and amended to another. Political adversity, too, strengthens the attachment of a nation to the records of its ancient prosperous days. The harps may be hung on the willows for a while, during the storm and the struggle, but when the tumult is over, they will be strung again to repeat the old songs, and recall the time gone by.
“The historical ballads, which are in lines composed of five trochaics, are always sung with the accompaniment of the Gusle. At the end of every verse, the singer drops his voice, and mutters a short cadence. The emphatic passages are chanted in a louder tone. ‘I cannot describe,’ says Wessely, ‘the pathos with which these songs are sometimes sung. I have witnessed crowds surrounding a blind old singer, and every cheek was wet with tears--it was not the music, it was the words which affected them.’ As this simple instrument, the Gusle, is never used but to accompany the poetry of the Servians, and as it is difficult to find a Servian who does not play upon it, the universality of their popular ballads may be well imagined.”
While Mr. Bowring pays cheerful homage to a rhyme translation of a Servian ballad, in the Quarterly Review, No. LXIX. p. 71, he adds, that it is greatly embellished, and offers a version, in blank verse, more faithful to the original, and therefore more interesting to the critical inquirer. The following specimen of Mr. Bowring’s translation may be compared with the corresponding passage in the Review.
She was lovely--nothing e’er was lovelier; She was tall and slender as the pine tree; White her cheeks, but tinged with rosy blushes, As if morning’s beam had shone Till that beam had reach’d its high meridian; And her eyes, they were two precious jewels; And her eyebrows, leeches from the ocean; And her eyelids, they were wings of swallows; Silken tufts the maiden’s flaxen ringlets; And her sweet mouth was a sugar casket; And her teeth were pearls array’d in order; White her bosom, like two snowy dovelets; And her voice was like the dovelet’s cooing; And her smiles were like the glowing sunshine.
On the eyebrows of the bride, described as “leeches from the ocean,” it is observable that, with the word leech in Servian poetry, there is no disagreeable association. “It is the name usually employed to describe the beauty of the eyebrows, as swallows’ wings are the simile used for eyelashes.” A lover inquires
“Hast thou wandered near the ocean? Has thou seen the pijavitza?[139] Like it are the maiden’s eyebrows.”
There is a stronger illustration of the simile in
THE BROTHERLESS SISTERS.
Two solitary sisters, who A brother’s fondness never knew. Agreed, poor girls, with one another. That they would make themselves a brother. They cut them silk, as snow-drops white; And silk, as richest rubies bright; They carved his body from a bough Of box-tree from the mountain’s brow; Two jewels dark for eyes they gave; For eyebrows, from the ocean’s wave They took two leeches; and for teeth Fix’d pearls above, and pearls beneath; For food they gave him honey sweet. And said, “Now live, and speak, and eat.”
The tenderness of Servian poetry is prettily exemplified in another of Mr. Bowring’s translations.
FAREWELL.
Against white Buda’s walls, a vine Doth its white branches fondly twine: O no! it was no vine-tree there It was a fond, a faithful pair, Bound each to each in earliest vow-- And, O! they must be severed now! And these their farewell words:--“We part-- Break from my bosom--break--my heart! Go to a garden--go, and see, Some rose-branch blushing on the tree; And from that branch a rose-flower tear, Then place it on thy bosom bare; And as its leavelets fade and pine, So fades my sinking heart in thine.” And thus the other spoke: “My love! A few short paces backward move, And to the verdant forest go; There’s a fresh water-fount below; And in the fount a marble stone, Which a gold cup reposes on; And in the cup a ball of snow-- Love! take that ball of snow to rest Upon thine heart within thy breast, And as it melts unnoticed there, So melts my heart in thine, my dear!”
One other poem may suffice for a specimen of the delicacy of feeling in a Servian bosom, influenced by the master-passion.
THE YOUNG SHEPHERDS.
The sheep, beneath old Buda’s wall, Their wonted quiet rest enjoy; But ah! rude stony fragments fall. And many a silk-wool’d sheep destroy; Two youthful shepherds perish there, The golden George, and Mark the fair.
For Mark, O many a friend grew sad, And father, mother wept for him: George--father, friend, nor mother had, For him no tender eye grew dim: Save one--a maiden far away, She wept--and thus I heard her say:
“My golden George--and shall a song, A song of grief be sung for thee-- ’Twould go from lip to lip--ere long By careless lips profaned to be; Unhallow’d thoughts might soon defame The purity of woman’s name.
“Or shall I take thy picture fair, And fix that picture in my sleeve? Ah! time will soon the vestment tear. And not a shade, nor fragment leave: I’ll not give him I love so well To what is so corruptible.
“I’ll write thy name within a book; That book will pass from hand to hand. And many an eager eye will look, But ah! how few will understand!-- And who their holiest thoughts can shroud From the cold insults of the crowd?”
[139] The leech.
* * * * *
GRETNA GREEN.
For the Table Book.
This celebrated scene of matrimonial mockery is situated in Dumfrieshire, near the mouth of the river Esk, nine miles north-west from Carlisle.
Mr. Pennant, in his journey to Scotland, speaks in the following terms of Gretna, or, as he calls it, Gretna Green. By some persons it is written Graitney Green, according to the pronunciation of the person from whom they hear it:--
“At a short distance from the bridge, stop at the little village of Gretna--the resort of all amorous couples, whose union the prudence of parents or guardians prohibits. Here the young pair may be instantly united by a fisherman, a joiner, or a blacksmith, who marry from two guineas a job, to a dram of whiskey. But the price is generally adjusted by the information of the postilions from Carlisle, who are in pay of one or other of the above worthies; but even the drivers, in case of necessity, have been known to undertake the sacerdotal office. This place is distinguished from afar by a small plantation of firs, the Cyprian grove of the place--a sort of landmark for fugitive lovers. As I had a great desire to see the high-priest, by stratagem I succeeded. He appeared in the form of a fisherman, a stout fellow in a blue coat, rolling round his solemn chaps a quid of tobacco of no common size. One of our party was supposed to come to explore the coast; we questioned him about the price, which, after eying us attentively, he left to our honour. The church of Scotland does what it can to prevent these clandestine matches, but in vain; for these infamous couplers despise the fulmination of the kirk, and excommunication is the only penalty it can inflict.”
The “Statistical Account of Scotland” gives the subsequent particulars:--“The persons who follow this illicit practice are mere impostors--priests of their own creation, who have no right whatever either to marry, or exercise any part of the clerical function. There are at present more than one of this description in this place; but the greatest part of the trade is monopolized by a man who was originally a tobacconist, and not a blacksmith, as is generally believed. He is a fellow without education, without principle, without morals, and without manners. His life is a continued scene of drunkenness: his irregular conduct has rendered him an object of detestation to all the sober and virtuous part of the neighbourhood. Such is the man (and the description is not exaggerated) who has had the honour to join in the sacred bonds of wedlock many people of great rank and fortune from all parts of England. It is forty years and upwards since marriages of this kind began to be celebrated here. At the lowest computation, about sixty are supposed to be solemnized annually in this place.”
Copy Certificate of a Gretna Green Marriage.
“Gretnay Green Febry 17 1784
“This is to Sertfay to all persons that may be Cunserned that William Geades from the Cuntey of Bamph in thee parish of Crumdell and Nelley Patterson from the Sitey of Ednbrough Both Comes before me and Declares them Selvese to be Both Single persons and New Mareid by thee way of thee Church of Englond And Now maried by thee way of thee Church of Scotland as Day and Deat abuv menchned by me
DAVID M‘FARSON
his WILLIAM [X] GEADES Mark
NELLY PATORSON
Witness DANELL MORAD”
By the canons and statutes of the church of Scotland, all marriages performed under the circumstances usually attending them at Gretna Green, are clearly illegal; for although it may be performed by a layman, or a person out of orders, yet, as in England, bans or license are necessary, and those who marry parties clandestinely are subject to heavy fine and severe imprisonment. Therefore, though Gretna Green be just out of the limits of the English Marriage Act, that is not sufficient, unless the forms of the Scottish church are complied with.
H. M. LANDER.
* * * * *
SCOTCH ADAM AND EVE.
The first record for marriage entered into the session-book of the West Parish of Greenock, commences with Adam and Eve, being the Christian names of the first couple who were married after the book was prepared. The worthy Greenockians can boast therefore of an ancient origin, but traces of Paradise or the Garden of Eden in their bleak regions defy research.
* * * * *
BOA CONSTRICTOR.
Jerome speaks of “a dragon of wonderful magnitude, which the Dalmatians in their native language call boas, because they are so large that they can swallow oxen.” Hence it should seem, that the boa-snake may have given birth to the fiction of dragons.[140]
[140] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.
* * * * *
~Varia.~
PIOUS DIRECTION POST.
Under this title, in a west-country paper of the present year, (1827) there is the following statement:--
On the highway near Bicton, in Devonshire, the seat of the right hon. lord Rolle, in the centre of four cross roads, is a directing post with the following inscriptions, by an attention to which the traveller learns the condition of the roads over which he has to pass, and at the same time is furnished with food for meditation:--
To Woodbury, Topsham, Exeter.--Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.
To Brixton, Ottery, Honiton.--O hold up our goings in thy paths that our footsteps slip not.
To Otterton, Sidmouth, Culliton, A. D. 1743.--O that our ways were made to direct that we might keep thy statutes.
To Budleigh.--Make us to go in the paths of thy commandments, for therein is our desire.
* * * * *
MARSEILLES.
The history of Marseilles is full of interest. Its origin borders on romance. Six hundred years before the Christian era, a band of piratical adventurers from Ionia, in Asia Minor, by dint of superior skill in navigation, pushed their discoveries to the mouth of the Rhone. Charmed with the white cliffs, green vales, blue waters, and bright skies, which they here found, they returned to their native country, and persuaded a colony to follow them to the barbarous shores of Gaul, bearing with them their religion, language, manners, and customs. On the very day of their arrival, so says tradition, the daughter of the native chief was to choose a husband, and her affections were placed upon one of the leaders of the polished emigrants. The friendship of the aborigines was conciliated by marriage, and their rude manners were softened by the refinement of their new allies in war, their new associates in peace. In arts and arms the emigrants soon acquired the ascendancy, and the most musical of all the Greek dialects became the prevailing language of the colony.[141]
[141] American paper.
* * * * *
~Law.~
CHANCERY.
Unhappy Chremes, neighbour to a peer. Kept half his lordship’s sheep, and half his deer; Each day his gates thrown down, his fences broke. And injur’d still the more, the more he spoke;
At last resolved his potent foe to awe, And guard his right by statute and by law-- A suit in Chancery the wretch begun; Nine happy terms through bill and answer run, Obtain’d his cause and costs, and was undone.
* * * * *
A DECLARATION IN LAW.
Fee simple and a simple fee. And all the fees in tail. Are nothing when compared to thee, Thou best of fees--fe-male.
* * * * *
LAW AND PHYSIC.
It has been ascertained from the almanacs of the different departments and of Paris, that there are in France no less than seventeen hundred thousand eight hundred and forty-three medical men. There are, according to another calculation, fourteen hundred thousand six hundred and fifty-one patients. Turning to another class of public men, we find that there are nineteen hundred thousand four hundred and three pleaders, and upon the rolls there are only nine hundred and ninety-eight thousand causes; so that unless the nine hundred and two thousand four hundred and three superfluous lawyers see fit to fall sick of a lack of fees and employment, there must remain three hundred thousand one hundred and ninety-two doctors, with nothing to do but sit with their arms across.[142]
[142] Furet.
* * * * *
“THE NAUGHTY PLACE.”
A Scotch pastor recognised one of his female parishioners sitting by the side of the road, a little fuddled. “Will you just help me up with my bundle, gude mon?” said she, as he stopped.--“Fie, fie, Janet,” cried the pastor, “to see the like o’ you in sic a plight: do you know where all drunkards go?”--“Ay, sure,” said Janet, “they just go whar a drap o’ gude drink is to be got.”
Vol. I.--18.
For the Table Book.
Where May-day is still observed, many forms of commemoration remain, the rude and imperfect outlines of former splendour, blended with local peculiarities. The festival appears to have originated about A. M. 3760, and before Christ 242 years, in consequence of a celebrated courtezan, named Flora, having bequeathed her fortune to the people of Rome, that they should at this time, yearly, celebrate her memory, in singing, dancing, drinking, and other excesses; from whence these revels were called Floralia, or May-games.[143] After some years, the senate of Rome exalted Flora amongst their thirty thousand deities, as the goddess of flowers, and commanded her to be worshipped, that she might protect their flowers, fruits, and herbs.[144] During the Catholic age, a great portion of extraneous ceremony was infused into the celebration, but that the excesses and lawless misrule attributed to this Floralian festival, by the fanatic enthusiasts of the Cromwellian age, ever existed, is indeed greatly to be doubted. It was celebrated as a national festival, an universal expression of joy and adoration, at the commencement of a season, when nature developes her beauties, dispenses her bounties, and wafts her “spicy gales,” rich with voluptuous fragrance, to exhilarate man, and enliven the scenes around him.
In no place where the custom of celebrating May-day still continues does it present so close a resemblance to its Roman origin as at Lynn. This perhaps may be attributed to the circumstance of a colony of Romans having settled there, about the time of the introduction of Christianity into Britain, and projected the improvement and drainage of the marsh land and fens, to whom Lynn owes its origin, as the mother town of the district.[145] That they brought with them their domestic habits and customs we know; and hence the festival of May-day partakes of the character of the Roman celebrations.
Early on the auspicious morn, a spirit of emulation is generally excited among the juveniles of Lynn, in striving who shall be first to arise and welcome “sweet May-day,” by opening the door to admit the genial presence of the tutelary goddess,
-------- borne on Auroral zephyrs And deck’d in spangled, pearly, dew-drop gems.
The task of gathering flowers from the fields and gardens for the intended garland succeeds, and the gatherers frequently fasten the doors of drowsy acquaintances, by driving a large nail through the handle of the snack into the door-post, though, with the disappearance of thumb-snacks, that peculiarity of usage is of course disappearing too.
The Lynn garland is made of two hoops of the same size, fixed transversely, and attached to a pole or staff, with the end through the centre, and parallel to the hoops. Bunches of flowers, interspersed with evergreens, are tied round the hoops, from the interior of which festoons of blown birds’ eggs are usually suspended, and long strips of various-coloured ribbons are also pendant from the top. A doll, full dressed, of proportionate size, is seated in the centre, thus exhibiting an humble, but not inappropriate representation of Flora, surrounded by the fragrant emblems of her consecrated offerings. Thus completed, the garlands are carried forth in all directions about the town, each with an attendant group of musicians, (i. e. horn-blowers,[146]) collecting eleemosynary tributes from their acquaintances. The horns, used only on this occasion, are those of bulls and cows, and the sounds produced by them when blown in concert, (if the noise from two to twenty, or perhaps more, may be so termed,) is not unlike the lowing of a herd of the living animals. Forgetful of their youthful days, numberless anathemas are ejaculated by the elder inhabitants, at the tremendous hurricane of monotonous sounds throughout the day. Though deafening in their tones, there appears something so classically antique in the use of these horns, that the imagination cannot forbear depicturing the horn-blowers as the votaries of Io and Serapis,[147] (the Egyptian Isis and Osiris,) in the character of the Lynn juveniles, sounding their Io Pæans to the honour of Flora.
Having been carried about the town, the garland, faded and drooping, is dismounted from the staff, and suspended across a court or lane, where the amusement of throwing balls over it, from one to another, generally terminates the day. The only public garland, amongst the few now exhibited, and also the largest, is one belonging to the young inmates of St. James’s workhouse, which is carried by one of the ancient inhabitants of the asylum, as appears in the sketch, attended by a numerous train of noisy horn-blowing pauper children, in the parish livery. Stopping at the door of every respectable house, they collect a considerable sum, which is dropped through the top of a locked tin canister, borne by one of the boys.
Previous to the Reformation, and while the festival of May-day continued under municipal patronage, it was doubtless splendidly celebrated at Lynn, with other ceremonies now forgotten; but having, by the order of council in 1644,[148] become illegal, it was severed from the corporation favour, and in a great measure annihilated. After the Restoration, however, it resumed a portion of public patronage, and in 1682 two new May-poles were erected; one in the Tuesday market-place, and the other at St. Anne’s Fort. The festival never entirely recovered the blow it received under the Commonwealth; the May-poles have long since disappeared, and probably the remnants, the garlands themselves, will soon fade away; for the celebration is entirely confined to the younger branches of the inhabitants. The refinement, or, more strictly speaking, the degeneracy of the age, has so entirely changed the national character, that while we ridicule and condemn the simple, and seemingly absurd, habits of our ancestors, we omit to venerate the qualities of their hearts; qualities which, unmixed with the alloy of innovating debasement, are so truly characteristic, that
----- “with all their faults, I reiterate them still, ------- and, while yet a nook is left, Where ancient English customs may be found, Shall be constrain’d to love them.”
That the celebration of May-day, as a national festival, should have been abolished, is not surprising, when we consider the formidable attacks directed against it by the spirit of fanaticism, both from the pulpit and the press; a curious specimen of which is here inserted from “FUNEBRIA FLORÆ, the Downfall of May-games,” a scarce tract, published in 1661 “by Thomas Hall, B. D., and pastor of King’s Norton.”[149] It is, as the author observes, “a kind of dialogue, and dialogues have ever been accounted the most lively and delightful, the most facile and fruitfullest way of teaching. Allusions and similes sink deep, and make a better impression upon the spirit; a pleasant allusion may do that which a solid argument sometimes cannot do; as, in some cases, iron may do that which gold cannot.”--From this curious tract is derived the following, with some slight omissions--
“INDICTMENT OF FLORA.”
“Flora, hold up thy hand, thou art here indicted by the name of Flora, of the city of Rome, in the county of Babylon, for that thou, contrary to the peace of our sovereign lord, his crown and dignity, hast brought in a pack of practical fanatics, viz.--ignorants, atheists, papists, drunkards, swearers, swashbucklers, maid-marian’s, morrice-dancers, maskers, mummers, Maypole stealers, health-drinkers, together with a rascallion rout of fiddlers, fools, fighters, gamesters, lewd-women, light-women, contemners of magistracy, affronters of ministry, rebellious to masters, disobedient to parents, misspenders of time, and abusers of the creature, &c.
“Judge. What sayest thou, guilty or not guilty?
“Prisoner. Not guilty, my lord.
“Judge. By whom wilt thou be tried?
“Prisoner. By the pope’s holiness, my lord.
“Judge. He is thy patron and protector, and so unfit to be a judge in this case.
“Prisoner. Then I appeal to the prelates and lord bishops, my lord.
“Judge. This is but a tiffany put off, for though some of that rank did let loose the reins to such profaneness, in causing the book of sports, for the profanation of God’s holy day, to be read in churches, yet ’tis well known that the gravest and most pious of that order have abhorred such profaneness and misrule.
“Prisoner. Then I appeal to the rout and rabble of the world.
“Judge. These are thy followers and thy favourites, and unfit to be judges in their own case.
“Prisoner. My lord, if there be no remedy, I am content to be tried by a jury.
“Judge. Thou hast well said, thou shall have a full, a fair, and a free hearing.--Crier, call the jury.
“Crier. O yes, O yes; all manner of persons that can give evidence against the prisoner at the bar let them come into court, and they shall be freely heard.
“Judge. Call in the Holy Scriptures.
“Crier. Make room for the Holy Scriptures to come in.
“Judge. What can you say against the prisoner at the bar?
“Holy Scriptures. Very much, my lord. I have often told them, that the night of ignorance is now past, and the light of the gospel is come, and therefore they must walk as children of the light, denying all ungodliness and worldly lusts. I have often told them, that they must shun all the appearance of evil, and have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, nor conform themselves like to the wicked of this world. I have often told them, that our God is a jealous God, and one that will not endure to have his glory given to idols.
“Judge. This is full and to the purpose indeed; but is there no more evidence to come in?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is Pliny, an ancient writer, famous for his Natural History.
“Judge. What can you say against the prisoner at the bar?
“Pliny. My lord, I have long since told them, that these were not christian, but pagan feasts; they were heathens, (and as such knew not God,) who first instituted these Floralia and May-games. I have told them that they were instituted according to the advice of the Sibyl’s books, in the 516th year after the foundation of the city of Rome, to prevent the blasting and barrenness of the trees and the fruits of the earth. (Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. xviii. c. 29.)
“Judge. Sir, you have given us good light in this dark case; for we see that the rise of these feasts was from Pagans, and that they were ordained by the advice of Sibyl’s books, and not of God’s book; and for a superstitious and idolatrous end, that thereby Flora, not God, might be pleased, and so bless their fruits and flowers. This is clear, but have you no more evidence?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is Cœlius Lactantius Firmianus, who lived about three hundred years after Christ, who will plainly tell you the rise of these profane sports.
“Judge. I have heard of this celestial, sweet, and firm defender of the faith, and that he was a second Cicero for eloquence in his time. Sir, what can you say against the prisoner at the bar?
“Lactantius. My lord, I have long since declared my judgment against this Flora, in my first book of false religions, &c.
“Judge. This is plain and full, I now see that Lactantius is Firmianus, not only sweet, but firm and constant, &c. Have you no more evidence?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is the Synodus Francica, which was called, Anno Dom. 742.
“Judge. What can you say against the prisoner at the bar?
“Synodus. My lord, I have long since decreed, that the people of God shall have no pagan feasts or interludes, but that they reject and abominate all the uncleannesses of Gentilism, and that they forbear all sacrilegious fires, which they call bonfires, and all other observations of the Pagans whatsoever.
“Judge. This is clear against all heathenish feasts and customs, of which this is one. But have you no evidence nearer home?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is one that will conquer them all, and with the sword of justice suddenly suppress them.
“Judge. Who is that I pray you? Let me see such a man.
“Crier. My lord, it is Charles the Second, king of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith.
“Judge. Truly he deserves that title, if he shall now appear in defence of the truth, against that profane rout which lately threatened the extirpation both of sound doctrine and good life. I hear that the king is a sober and temperate person, and one that hates debauchery; I pray you let us hear what he saith.
“Crier. My lord, the king came into London May 29th, and on the 30th he published a Proclamation against Profaneness, to the great rejoicing of all good people of the land. When all was running into profaneness and confusion, we, poor ministers, had nothing left but our prayers and tears; then, even then, it pleased the Most High to put it into the heart of our sovereign lord the king, eminently to appear in the cause of that God who hath so eminently appeared for him, and hath brought him through so many dangers and difficulties to the throne, and made so many mountains a plain before him, to testify against the debauchery and gross profaneness, which, like a torrent, had suddenly overspread the land. (Proclamation against Profaneness, &c. &c.)
“Judge. Now blessed be the Lord, the King of kings, who hath put such a thing as this into the heart of the king, and blessed be his counsel, the good Lord recompense it sevenfold into his bosom, and let all the sons of Belial fly before him; as the dust before the wind, let the angel of the Lord scatter them.
“Prisoner. My lord, I and my retinue are very much deceived in this Charles the Second; we all conceited that he was for us. My drunkards cried, “A health to the king;” the swearers swore, “A health to the king;” the papist, the atheist, the roarer, and the ranter, all concluded that now their day was come; but alas! how are we deceived!
“Judge. I wish that you, and all such as you are, may for ever be deceived in this kind, and that your eyes may rot in your heads before you ever see idolatry, superstition, and profaneness countenanced in the land.--Have you no more evidence to produce against these profane practices?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is an Ordinance of Parliament against them.
“Prisoner. My lord, I except against this witness above all the rest; for it was not made by a full and free parliament of lords and commons, but by some rump and relic of a parliament, and so is invalid.
“Judge. You are quite deceived, for this ordinance was made by lords and commons when the house was full and free; and those the best that England ever had, for piety towards God and loyalty to their sovereign. Let us hear what they say.
“Ordinance of Parliament. My lord, I have plainly told them, that since the profanation of the Lord’s day hath been heretofore greatly occasioned by May-poles, the lords and commons do therefore ordain that they shall be taken down and removed, and that no May-pole shall be hereafter erected or suffered to remain within this kingdom, under the penalty of five shillings for every week, till such May-pole is taken down.[150]
“Judge. This is to the purpose. This may clearly convince any sober man of the sinfulness of such practices, and make them abhor them; for what is forbidden by the laws of men, especially when those laws are consonant to the laws of God, may not be practised by any person; but these profane sports being forbidden by the laws of men, are herein consonant to the laws of God, which condemn such sinful pastimes. Have you no more evidence besides this ordinance to batter these Babylonish towers?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is the Solemn League and Covenant, taken in a solemn manner by king, lords, and commons, the assembly of divines, the renowned city of London, the kingdom of Scotland, and by many thousands of ministers and people throughout this nation.
“Prisoner. My lord, these things are out of date, and do not bind now our troubles are over.
“Judge. The sixth branch of the covenant will tell you, that we are bound all the days of our lives to observe these things zealously and constantly against all opposition; and I suppose every good man thinks himself bound to preserve the purity of religion, to extirpate popery, heresy, superstition, and profaneness, not only in times of trouble, but as duties to be practised in our places and callings all our days. Now if May-games and misrules do savour of superstition and profaneness, (as ’tis apparent they do,)--if they be contrary to sound doctrine and the power of godliness, (as to all unprejudiced men they are,)--then, by this solemn league and sacred covenant, we are bound to root them up. This is sufficient, if there were no more; but because men are loath to leave what they dearly love, let us see whether you have any further evidence?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is an excellent Order from the Council of State, made this present May, (1661,) wherein they take notice of a spirit of profaneness and impiety that hath overspread the land; therefore they order, that the justices of the peace and commissioners for the militia do use their utmost endeavours to prevent all licentiousness and disorder, and all profanation of the sabbath; that they suppress all ale-houses, and all ungodly meetings; that they own and protect all good men in their pious and sober walking. The council doth likewise command them to have a special care to prevent profaneness and disorders of people about May-poles and meetings of that nature, and their rude and disorderly behaviours towards people, in molesting them, to get monies to spend vainly at such meetings.
“Judge. This is full and to the point indeed, blessed be God, and blessed be their counsel. But have you yet no more evidence?
“Crier. Yes, my lord, here is Mr. Elton, a man eminent for piety, and of known integrity in his time; he hath long since told us, that such filthy company, where there is such filthy speeches and lascivious behaviour, with mixed dancing at their merry meetings, &c.; and therefore to be abhorred by all sober Christians.[151]
“To him assents that great divine, Dr. Ames, who tells us, that those who will shun incontinency and live chastely, must shun such profane meetings; and take heed of mixed dancing, stage-plays, and such incentives.[152]
“Prisoner. My lord, these were old puritans and precisians, who were more nice than wise.
“Crier. I will produce men of another strain; here are bishops against you. Bishop Babington hath long since told us, that these sinful pastimes are the devil’s festival, &c. being forbidden by scripture, which commands us to shun all appearance of evil.[153]
“Here is also bishop Andrews, who tells us that we must not only refrain from evil, but also from the show of evil; and must do things honest not only before God, but also before men; to this end we must shun wanton dancing, stage-plays, &c. because our eyes thereby behold much wickedness, and a man cannot go on these hot coals and not be burnt, nor touch such pitch and not be defiled, nor see such wanton actions and not be moved.[154]
“Judge. This is pious, and to the purpose; here is evidence sufficient; I shall now proceed to sentence.
“Crier. My lord, I desire your patience to hear one witness more, and then I have done.
“Judge. Who is that which comes so late into court?
“Crier. My lord, ’tis the acute and accomplished Ovid.
“Prisoner. My lord, he is a heathen poet, who lived about twenty years before Christ.
“Judge. His testimony will be the stronger against your heathenish vanities. Publius Ovidius Naso, what can you say against mistress Flora?
“Ovid. My lord, I have long since told the world, that the senatorian fathers at Rome did order the celebration of these Floralian sports to be yearly observed about the beginning of May, in honour of Flora, that our fruits and flowers might the better prosper. At this feast there was drinking, dancing, and all manner, &c.[155]
“Prisoner. Sir, you wrong the poet, and may for ought I know wrong me, by wrapping up his ingenious narrative in so little room--
“Judge. I love those whose writings are like jewels, which contain much worth in a little compass.
“Crier. And it please you, my lord, we will now call over the jury, that the prisoner may see we have done her no wrong.
“Judge. Do so.
“Crier. Answer to your names--Holy Scriptures, ONE--Pliny, TWO--Lactantius, THREE--Synodus Francica, FOUR--Charles the Second, FIVE--Ordinance of Parliament, SIX--Solemn League and Covenant, SEVEN--Order of the Council of State, EIGHT--Messrs. Elton and Ames, NINE--Bishop Babington, TEN--Bishop Andrews, ELEVEN--Ovid, TWELVE.--These, with all the godly in the land, do call for justice against this turbulent malefactor.
“Judge. Flora, thou hast here been indicted for bringing in abundance of misrule and disorder into church and state; thou hast been found guilty, and art condemned both by God and man,--by scriptures, fathers, councils,--by learned and pious divines,--and therefore I adjudge thee to
PERPETUAL BANISHMENT,
that thou no more disturb this church and state, lest justice do arrest thee.”--
K.
* * * * *
ACCOUNT OF A MAY-DAY COLLATION
Given by Whitelocke, in the English Manner, (during his Embassy from Oliver Cromwell,) to Christina, Queen of Sweden, and some of her favourite Ladies and Courtiers.
This being May-day, Whitelocke, according to the invitation he had made to the queen, put her in mind of it, that as she was his mistress, and this May-day, he was by the custom of England to wait upon her to take the air, and to treat her with some little collation, as her servant.
The queen said, the weather was very cold, yet she was very willing to bear him company after the English mode.
With the queen were Woolfeldt, Tott, and five of her ladies. Whitelocke brought them to his collation, which he had commanded his servants to prepare in the best manner they could, and altogether after the English fashion.
At the table with the queen sat La Belle Countesse, the Countesse Gabriel Oxenstierne, Woolfeldt, Tott, and Whitelocke; the other ladies sat in another room. Their meat was such fowl as could be gotten, dressed after the English fashion, and with English sauces, creams, puddings, custards, tarts, tanseys, English apples, bon chrétien pears, cheese, butter, neats’ tongues, potted venison, and sweetmeats, brought out of England, as his sack and claret also was; his beer was also brewed, and his bread made by his own servants, in his own house, after the English manner; and the queen and her company seemed highly pleased with this treatment: some of her company said, she did eat and drink more at it than she used to do in three or four days at her own table.
The entertainment was as full and noble as the place would afford, and as Whitelocke could make it, and so well ordered and contrived, that the queen said, she had never seen any like it: she was pleased so far to play the good housewife, as to inquire how the butter could be so fresh and sweet, and yet brought out of England? Whitelocke, from his cooks, satisfied her majesty’s inquiry; that they put the salt butter into milk, where it lay all night, and the next day it would eat fresh and sweet as this did, and any butter new made, and commended her majesty’s good housewifery; who, to express her contentment to this collation, was full of pleasantness and gayety of spirits, both in supper-time, and afterwards: among other frolics, she commanded Whitelocke to teach her ladies the English salutation; which, after some pretty defences, their lips obeyed, and Whitelocke most readily.
She highly commended Whitelocke’s music of the trumpets, which sounded all supper-time, and her discourse was all of mirth and drollery, wherein Whitelocke endeavoured to answer her, and the rest of the company did their parts.
It was late before she returned to the castle, whither Whitelocke waited on her; and she discoursed a little with him about his business, and the time of his audience, and gave him many thanks for his noble treatment of her and her company.
Two days after this entertainment, Mons. Woolfeldt, being invited by Whitelocke, told him that the queen was extremely pleased with his treatment of her. Whitelocke excused the meanness of it for her majesty. Woolfeldt replied, that both the queen and all the company esteemed it as the handsomest and noblest that they ever saw; and the queen, after that, would drink no other wine but Whitelocke’s, and kindly accepted the neats’ tongues, potted venison, and other cakes, which, upon her commendation of them, Whitelocke sent unto her majesty.[156]
* * * * *
MAY-DAY CHEESES.
To the Editor.
DEAR SIR,--On the first of May, at the village of Randwick, near Stroud, there has been, from time immemorial, the following custom:--Three large cheeses, (Gloucester of course,) decked with the gayest flowers of this lovely season, are placed on litters, equally adorned with flowers, and boughs of trees waving at the corners. They are thus borne through the village, accompanied by a joyous throng, shouting and huzzaaing with all their might and main, and usually accompanied by a little band of music. They proceed in this manner to the church-yard, where the cheeses being taken from the litters, and divested of their floral ornaments, are rolled three times round the church. They are then carried back in the same state, and in the midst of the village are cut up and distributed piecemeal to the inhabitants.
I am, dear, sir, &c.
C. TOMLINSON.
April, 1827.
[143] Hospinian de Orig. Festorum--Polydore Virgil--and Godwin Antiq.
[144] Aug. de Civit. Dei--Rosinus de Antiquit. Rom.--and Hall’s Funebria Floræ.
[145] The Romans having undertaken to drain the fens, and rescue marsh lands, by strong embankments, from the ravages of the ocean, founded Lynn, (it is supposed,) in the reign of the emperor Claudius, under the direction of Catus Decianus, the Roman procurator of the Iceni, who was the principal superintendant of the canals, embankments, and other works of improvement then carried on in the fens. He is also thought to have brought over to his assistance, in this stupendous labour, a colony of Belgians, or Batavians, from whose dialect, the Belgio Celtique, the etymology of Lynn is considered to be derived. (Richard’s Hist. of Lynn, vol. i. p. 221.)
[146] By sound of trumpet all the courtezans in Rome were called to the Floralian sports, where they danced, it is said, (though greatly to be doubted,) in a state of nudity, about the streets, with the trumpets blown before them. Hence Juvenal, (Sat. 60,) speaking of a lewd woman, calls her a Floralian courtezan (Godwin Antiq.--Polydore Virgil--Farnab. in Martial, Epig. 110. 1.--Hall’s Funebria Floræ.)
[147] Io, in heathen mythology, was the daughter of Inachus, transformed by Jupiter into a white heifer, and worshipped under the name of Isis by the Egyptians. Serapis was the son of Jupiter and Niobe; he first taught the Egyptians to sow corn and plant vines; and, after his death, was worshipped as an ox, under the name of Osiris.
[148] Every-Day Book, vol. i. p. 556.
[149] A copy of Hall’s Funebria Floræ was sold January 20, 1819, in the Bindley Collection, for £6. 12_s._ 6_d._
[150] Ordinance of Parliament, 1644:--see Every-Day Book, vol. i. p. 556.
[151] Elton’s Exposition of the Second Commandment.
[152] Ames, Cas. Cons. I v. c. 39.
[153] Babington on the Seventh Commandment.
[154] Bishop Andrews’s Exposition of the Seventh Commandment.
[155] Ovid, Fastorum, lib. v.
[156] Gentleman’s Magazine, 1822.
* * * * *
~Easter.~
EASTER-BOX.
A custom was instituted in the city of Thoulouse by Charlemagne, that at Easter any Christian might give a box on the ear to a Jew, wherever he chanced to meet him, as a mark of contempt for the nation, which had, at that season, crucified the Saviour of mankind. This usage, scandalous in itself, was sometimes, through zeal, practised with great violence. It is stated that the eye of a poor Jew was forced out, on that side of the head whereon the blow was given. In the course of centuries this cruel custom was commuted for a tax, and the money appropriated to the use of the church of St. Saturnin.[157] Accounts of the prevalence of this custom in our own country are related in the Every-Day Book, vol. i.
[157] Miss Plumptre.
* * * * *
DOCTOR GIBBS, ALIAS “HUCK’N!”
For the Table Book.
Dr. Gibbs, commonly called “Huck’n!” was an extraordinary individual, who followed the profession of an itinerary veterinary surgeon in the west of England. His ways were different from his neighbours, and his appearance was so singular, that a stranger might have taken him for a tramping tinker. Like Morland, he had an unfortunate predilection for “signs,” under whose influence he was generally to be found. He would “keep it up to the last,” with his last shilling; and, like the wit in doctor Kitchiner’s converzaziones, he would “come at seven and go it at eleven.” To love for his profession, he added a love for old pastimes, customs, and revelries. He was a man, in the fullest extent of the word, a lover of his country--zealous in his friendships, he exercised the virtues of humanity, by aiding and even feeding those who were in severe distress. He spent much, for his means were considerable--they were derived from his great practice. His knowledge of his art was profound; a horse’s life was as safe in his hands, as the writer’s would be in sir Astley Cooper’s.
In his person, “Huck’n!” was muscular, and he stood above the middle size; his habits gave him an unwieldy motion; his complexion was sandy; his aspect muddled; large eyebrows pent-housed his small glassy blue eyes; a wig of many curls, perking over his bald forehead, was closed by a bush of his own hair, of another colour behind; his whiskers were carroty, and he usually had an unshorn beard. It was when he entered a stable, or cow-pen, in his leather apron half-crossed, with his drug-pouch at his side, that he appeared in a skilful light. His thick holly walking-stick with a thong run through the top, was tried in the service, as its worn appearance testified, and many an animal’s mouth could witness. He rarely pulled the drenching horn, or fleam from his pocket to operate, but he rolled his tongue over his beloved “pigtail,” juicily deposited in the nook of a precarious tooth, and said,--“HUCK’N!” Hence his nomme de guerre--and hence the proverb that outlives him--“he that can chew like Huck’n! may cure like Huck’n!” The meaning of this emphatic monosyllable remains a secret. Some of the superstitious conjectured, that he used it in stables and outhouses as a charm to scare the witches from riding the cattle. This liberty is verily believed by many to exist to this day; hence a horseshoe is nailed to the sill of the stable-door, that the midnight hags of “air and broom” may not cross the iron bar-rier.[158]
It is thirty years since “Huck’n” flourished. If he had a home, it was at Hullavington, near Malmsbury, where as a pharmacist, farrier, and phlebotomist of high character and respectability, to his patients--who are known to evince more patience than most of the human species--he was very attentive. He would cheerfully forego his cheerful glass, his boon companions, his amusing anecdotes, necessary food, and nocturnal rest, to administer to the comfort of a poor “dumb creature,” and remain day and night till life departed, or ease returned. Were he alive he would tell us, that in our intercourse with the brute creation, we should exercise humane feelings, and bestir ourselves to assuage the acute pain, betokened by agonizing looks and groans, in suffering animals.
“HUCK’N!” was an improvident man: under more classical auspices, he might have stood first in his profession; but he preferred being “unadorned--adorned the most.” He lived to assist the helpless, and died in peace. Let persons of higher pretensions do more--“Huck’n?”[159]
J. R. P.
March, 1827.
[158] Vermin and destructive birds are nailed, or rather crucified, on the park barns of noblemen by their gamekeepers, to hold intruders in terrorem, and give ocular proofs of skill and vigilance.
[159] The Saxon word “Halidom” signifies “Holy Judgment:” whence in old times, “By my Halidom!” was a solemn oath among country people.--“By Gonnies!”--“By Gosh!” and a hundred other exclamations, may have originated in the avoiding an oath, or the performing a pledge--but what is “Huck’n?”
* * * * *
The above print, obligingly presented, is submitted to the reader, with the following in explanation--
To the Editor.
SIR,--As I have taken in your Every-Day Book, and continue with the Table Book, I send you the subjoined account, which, perhaps, may be worth your consideration, and the engraved wood-block for your use.
I remain your well-wisher,
X.
AN ACCOUNT OF THE MANOR OF STOKE LYNE IN OXFORDSHIRE, LATE THE PROPERTY OF THE EARL AND COUNTESS OF SHIPBROOK.
The lord of the manor has a right, by ancient custom, to bear a hawk about his arms agreeable to the print: it arose from the following circumstance. When Charles the First held his parliament at Oxford, the then lord of Stoke Lyne was particularly useful to the king in his unfortunate situation, and rendered him service. To reward him he offered him knighthood, which he declined, and merely requested the king’s permission to bear behind his coat of arms a hawk, which his majesty instantly granted. The present lord of the manor is Mr. Cole of Twickenham, inheriting the estate by descent from the late earl and countess, and whose family are registered in the parish church as early as March 22, 1584. There is also a monument of them in the church of Petersham, 1624; and another branch of the same family were created baronets, March 4, 1641, supposed to be the oldest family in the county of Middlesex.
* * * * *
This engraving of the milkmaids’ garland, and the costume of themselves and their fiddler, at the close of the century before last, is from a print in “Mémoires, &c. par un Voyageur en Angleterre,” an octavo volume, printed “à la Haye 1698,” wherein it is introduced by the author, Henry Misson, to illustrate a passage descriptive of the amusements of London at that time. His account of the usage is to the following effect:--
On the first of May, and the five or six days following, all the young and pretty peasant girls, who are accustomed to bear about milk for sale in the city, dress themselves very orderly, and carry about them a number of vases and silver vessels, of which they make a pyramid, adorned with ribbons and flowers. This pyramid they bear on their heads instead of the ordinary milk-pail, and accompanied by certain of their comrades and the music of a fiddle, they go dancing from door to door surrounded by young men and children, who follow them in crowds; and every where they are made some little present.
* * * * *
ISABELLA COLOUR.
The archduke Albert married the infanta Isabella, daughter of Philip II. king of Spain, with whom he had the Low Countries in dowry. In the year 1602, he laid siege to Ostend, then in the possession of the heretics, and his pious princess, who attended him in that expedition, made a vow that till the city was taken she would never change her clothes. Contrary to expectation, it was three years before the place was reduced; in which time her highness’s linen had acquired a hue, which from the superstition of the princess and the times was much admired, and adopted by the court fashionables under the name of the “Isabella-colour:” it is a whitish yellow, or soiled buff--better imagined than described.[160]
[160] Sir J. Hawkins.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XV.
[From the “City Night-Cap,” a Tragi-Comedy, by Robert Davenport, 1651.]
Lorenzo Medico suborns three Slaves to swear falsely to an adultery between his virtuous Wife Abstemia, and his Friend Philippo. They give their testimony before the Duke of Verona, and the Senators.
Phil.--how soon Two souls, more precious than a pair of worlds, Are levell’d below death! Abst. Oh hark! did you not hear it? Sen. What, Lady? Abst. This hour a pair of glorious towers is fallen Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath Beneath the grave: you all have seen this day A pair of souls both cast and kiss’d away. Sen. What censure gives your Grace? Duke. In that I am kinsman To the accuser, that I might not appear Partial in judgment, let it seem no wonder, If unto your Gravities I leave The following sentence: but as Lorenzo stands A kinsman to Verona, so forget not, Abstemia still is sister unto Venice. Phil. Misery of goodness! Abst. Oh Lorenzo Medico, Abstemia’s Lover once, when he did vow, And when I did believe; then when Abstemia Denied so many princes for Lorenzo, Then when you swore:--Oh maids, how men can weep, Print protestations on their breasts, and sigh, And look so truly, and then weep again, And then protest again, and again dissemble!-- When once enjoy’d, like strange sights, we grow stale; And find our comforts, like their wonder, fail. Phil. Oh Lorenzo! Look upon tears, each one of which well-valued Is worth the pity of a king; but thou Art harder far than rocks, and canst not prize The precious waters of truth’s injured eyes. Lor. Please your Grace, proceed to censure. Duke. Thus ’tis decreed, as these Lords have set down, Against all contradiction: Signor Philippo, In that you have thus grossly, Sir, dishonour’d Even our blood itself in this rude injury Lights on our kinsman, his prerogative Implies death on your trespass; but, (your merit Of more antiquity than is your trespass), That death is blotted out; perpetual banishment, On pain of death if you return, for ever From Verona and her signories. Phil. Verona is kind. Sen. Unto you, Madam, This censure is allotted: your high blood Takes off the danger of the law; nay from Even banishment itself: this Lord, your husband, Sues only for a legal fair divorce, Which we think good to grant, the church allowing: And in that the injury Chiefly reflects on him, he hath free licence To marry when and whom he pleases. Abst. I thank ye, That you are favorable unto my Love, Whom yet I love and weep for. Phil. Farewell, Lorenzo, This breast did never yet harbour a thought Of thee, but man was in it, honest man: There’s all the words that thou art worth. Of your Grace I humbly thus take leave. Farewell, my Lords;-- And lastly farewell Thou, fairest of many, Yet by far more unfortunate!--look up, And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die Love’s martyr, the sad map of injury.-- And so remember, Sir, your injured Lady Has a brother yet in Venice.
* * * * *
Philippo, at an after-trial, challenges Lorenzo.
Phil.--in the integrity, And glory of the cause, I throw the pawn Of my afflicted honour; and on that I openly affirm your absent Lady Chastity’s well knit abstract; snow in the fall, Purely refined by the bleak northern blast, Not freer from a soil; the thoughts of infants But little nearer heaven: and if these princes Please to permit, before their guilty thoughts Injure another hour upon the Lady, My right-drawn sword shall prove it.--
* * * * *
Abstemia, decoyed to a Brothel in Milan, is attempted by the Duke’s Son.
Prince. Do you know me? Abst. Yes, Sir, report hath given intelligence, You are the Prince, the Duke’s son. Prince. Both in one. Abst. Report, sure, Spoke but her native language. You are none Of either. Prince. How! Abst. Were you the Prince, you would not sure be slaved To your blood’s passion. I do crave your pardon For my rough language. Truth hath a forehead free And in the tower of her integrity Sits an unvanquish’d virgin. Can you imagine, ’Twill appear possible you are the Prince? Why, when you set your foot first in this house, You crush’d obedient duty unto death; And even then fell from you your respect. Honour is like a goodly old house, which If we repair not still with virtue’s hand, Like a citadel being madly raised on sand, It falls, is swallow’d, and not found. Prince. If thou rail upon the place, prithee how camest thou hither? Abst. By treacherous intelligence; honest men so, In the way ignorant, through thieves’ purlieus go.-- Are you Son to such a Father? Send him to his grave then, Like a white almond tree, full of glad days With joy that he begot so good a Son. O Sir, methinks I see sweet Majesty Sit with a mourning sad face full of sorrows, To see you in this place. This is a cave Of scorpions and of dragons. Oh turn back; Toads here engender: ’tis the steam of death; The very air poisons a good man’s breath. Prince. Let me borrow goodness from thy lips. Farewell! Here’s a new wonder; I’ve met heav’n in hell.
Undue praise declined.
------ you are far too prodigal in praise, And crown me with the garlands of your merit; As we meet barks on rivers,--the strong gale Being best friends to us,--our own swift motion Makes us believe that t’other nimbler rows; Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes.
* * * * *
[From the “Conspiracy,” a Tragedy by Henry Killigrew, 1638. Author’s age 17.]
The Rightful Heir to the Crown kept from his inheritance: an Angel sings to him sleeping.
Song.
While Morpheus thus does gently lay His powerful charge upon each part, Making thy spirits ev’n obey The silver charms of his dull art;
I, thy Good Angel, from thy side,-- As smoke doth from the altar rise, Making no noise as it doth glide,-- Will leave thee in this soft surprise;
And from the clouds will fetch thee down A holy vision, to express Thy right unto an earthly crown; No power can make this kingdom less.
But gently, gently, lest I bring A start in sleep by sudden flight, Playing aloof, and hovering, Till I am lost unto the sight.
This is a motion still and soft; So free from noise and cry, That Jove himself, who hears a thought, Knows not when we pass by.
C. L.
* * * * *
THE GOOD CLERK.
He writeth a fair and swift hand, and is completely versed in the four first rules of Arithmetic, in the Rule of Three, (which is sometimes called the Golden Rule,) and in Practice. We mention these things, that we may leave no room for cavillers to say, that any thing essential hath been omitted in our definition; else, to speak the truth, these are but ordinary accomplishments, and such as every understrapper at a desk is commonly furnished with. The character we treat of soareth higher.
He is clean and neat in his person; not from a vain-glorious desire of setting himself forth to advantage in the eyes of the other sex, (with which vanity too many of our young sparks now-a-days are infected,) but to do credit (as we say) to the office. For this reason he evermore taketh care that his desk or his books receive no soil; the which things he is commonly as solicitous to have fair and unblemished, as the owner of a fine horse is to have him appear in good keep.
He riseth early in the morning; not because early rising conduceth to health, (though he doth not altogether despise that consideration,) but chiefly to the intent that he may be first at the desk. There is his post--there he delighteth to be; unless when his meals, or necessity, calleth him away; which time he always esteemeth as lost, and maketh as short as possible.
He is temperate in eating and drinking, that he may preserve a clear head and steady hand for his master’s service. He is also partly induced to this observation of the rules of temperance by his respect for religion, and the laws of his country; which things (it may once for all be noted) do add special assistances to his actions, but do not and cannot furnish the main spring or motive thereto. His first ambition (as appeareth all along) is to be a good clerk, his next a good Christian, a good patriot, &c.
Correspondent to this, he keepeth himself honest, not for fear of the laws, but because he hath observed how unseemly an article it maketh in the day-book or ledger, when a sum is set down lost or missing; it being his pride to make these books to agree and to tally, the one side with the other, with a sort of architectural symmetry and correspondence.
He marrieth, or marrieth not, as best suiteth with his employer’s views. Some merchants do the rather desire to have married men in their counting-houses, because they think the married state a pledge for their servants’ integrity, and an incitement to them to be industrious; and it was an observation of a late lord mayor of London, that the sons of clerks do generally prove clerks themselves, and that merchants encouraging persons in their employ to marry, and to have families, was the best method of securing a breed of sober, industrious young men attached to the mercantile interest. Be this as it may, such a character as we have been describing, will wait till the pleasure of his employer is known on this point; and regulateth his desires by the custom of the house or firm to which he belongeth.
He avoideth profane oaths and jesting, as so much time lost from his employ; what spare time he hath for conversation, which in a counting-house such as we have been supposing can be but small, he spendeth in putting seasonable questions to such of his fellows, (and sometimes respectfully to the master himself,) who can give him information respecting the price and quality of goods, the state of exchange, or the latest improvements in book-keeping; thus making the motion of his lips, as well as of his fingers, subservient to his master’s interest. Not that he refuseth a brisk saying, or a cheerful sally of wit, when it comes enforced, is free of offence, and hath a convenient brevity. For this reason he hath commonly some such phrase as this in his mouth:--
It’s a slovenly look To blot your book.
Or,
Red ink for ornament, black for use, The best of things are open to abuse.
So upon the eve of any great holiday, of which he keepeth one or two at least every year, he will merrily say in the hearing of a confidential friend, but to none other:--
All work and no play Makes Jack a dull boy.
Or,
A bow always bent must crack at last.
But then this must always be understood to be spoken confidentially, and, as we say, under the rose.
Lastly, his dress is plain, without singularity; with no other ornament than the quill, which is the badge of his function, stuck under the dexter ear, and this rather for convenience of having it at hand, when he hath been called away from his desk, and expecteth to resume his seat there again shortly, than from any delight which he taketh in foppery or ostentation. The colour of his clothes is generally noted to be black rather than brown, brown rather than blue or green. His whole deportment is staid, modest, and civil. His motto is regularity.----
This character was sketched, in an interval of business, to divert some of the melancholy hours of a counting-house. It is so little a creature of fancy, that it is scarce any thing more than a recollection of some of those frugal and economical maxims which, about the beginning of the last century, (England’s meanest period,) were endeavoured to be inculcated and instilled into the breasts of the London apprentices,[161] by a class of instructors who might not inaptly be termed the masters of mean morals. The astonishing narrowness and illiberality of the lessons contained in some of those books is inconceivable by those whose studies have not led them that way, and would almost induce one to subscribe to the hard censure which Drayton has passed upon the mercantile spirit:--
The gripple merchant, born to be the curse Of this brave isle.[162]
[161] This term designated a larger class of young men than that to which it is now confined; it took in the articled clerks of merchants and bankers, the George Barnwells of the day.
[162] The Reflector.
* * * * *
~Defoeana.~
No. I.
THE TRADESMAN.
I have now lying before me that curious book, by Daniel Defoe, “The complete English Tradesman.” The pompous detail, the studied analysis of every little mean art, every sneaking address, every trick and subterfuge (short of larceny) that is necessary to the tradesman’s occupation, with the hundreds of anecdotes, dialogues (in Defoe’s liveliest manner) interspersed, all tending to the same amiable purpose, namely, the sacrificing of every honest emotion of the soul to what he calls the main chance--if you read it in an ironical sense, and as a piece of covered satire, make it one of the most amusing books which Defoe ever wrote, as much so as any of his best novels. It is difficult to say what his intention was in writing it. It is almost impossible to suppose him in earnest. Yet such is the bent of the book to narrow and to degrade the heart, that if such maxims were as catching and infectious as those of a licentious cast, which happily is not the case, had I been living at that time, I certainly should have recommended to the grand jury of Middlesex, who presented the Fable of the Bees, to have presented this book of Defoe’s in preference, as of a far more vile and debasing tendency. I will give one specimen of his advice to the young tradesman, on the government of his temper. “The retail tradesman in especial, and even every tradesman in his station, must furnish himself with a competent stock of patience; I mean that sort of patience which is needful to bear with all sorts of impertinence, and the most provoking curiosity that it is impossible to imagine the buyers, even the worst of them, are or can be guilty of. A tradesman behind his counter must have no flesh and blood about him, no passions, no resentment; he must never be angry, no not so much as seem to be so, if a customer tumbles him five hundred pounds worth of goods, and scarce bids money for any thing; nay, though they really come to his shop with no intent to buy, as many do, only to see what is to be sold, and though he knows they cannot be better pleased than they are, at some other shop where they intend to buy, ’tis all one, the tradesman must take it, he must place it to the account of his calling, that ’tis his business to be ill used and resent nothing; and so must answer as obligingly to those that give him an hour or two’s trouble and buy nothing, as he does to those who in half the time lay out ten or twenty pounds. The case is plain, and if some do give him trouble and do not buy, others make amends and do buy; and as for the trouble, ’tis the business of the shop.” Here follows a most admirable story of a mercer, who, by his indefatigable meanness, and more than Socratic patience under affronts, overcame and reconciled a lady, who upon the report of another lady that he had behaved saucily to some third lady, had determined to shun his shop, but by the over-persuasions of a fourth lady was induced to go to it; which she does, declaring beforehand that she will buy nothing, but give him all the trouble she can. Her attack and his defence, her insolence and his persevering patience, are described in colours worthy of a Mandeville; but it is too long to recite. “The short inference from this long discourse,” says he, “is this, that here you see, and I could give you many examples like this, how and in what manner a shopkeeper is to behave himself in the way of his business; what impertinences, what taunts, flouts, and ridiculous things, he must bear in his trade, and must not show the least return, or the least signal of disgust: he must have no passions, no fire in his temper; he must be all soft and smooth: nay, if his real temper be naturally fiery and hot, he must show none of it in his shop: he must be a perfect, complete hypocrite if he will be a complete tradesman.[163] It is true, natural tempers are not to be always counterfeited; the man cannot easily be a lamb in his shop, and a lion in himself; but, let it be easy or hard, it must be done, and is done: there are men who have, by custom and usage, brought themselves to it, that nothing could be meeker and milder than they, when behind the counter, and yet nothing be more furious and raging in every other part of life; nay, the provocations they have met with in their shops have so irritated their rage, that they would go up stairs from their shop, and fall into frenzies, and a kind of madness, and beat their heads against the wall, and perhaps mischief themselves, if not prevented, till the violence of it had gotten vent, and the passions abate and cool. I heard once of a shopkeeper that behaved himself thus to such an extreme, that when he was provoked by the impertinence of the customers, beyond what his temper could bear, he would go up stairs and beat his wife, kick his children about like dogs, and be as furious for two or three minutes, as a man chained down in Bedlam; and again, when that heat was over, would sit down and cry faster than the children he had abused; and after the fit, he would go down into the shop again, and be as humble, courteous, and as calm as any man whatever; so absolute a government of his passions had he in the shop, and so little out of it: in the shop, a soulless animal that would resent nothing; and in the family a madman: in the shop, meek like a lamb; but in the family, outrageous like a Lybian lion. The sum of the matter is, it is necessary for a tradesman to subject himself by all the ways possible to his business; his customers are to be his idols: so far as he may worship idols by allowance, he is to bow down to them and worship them; at least, he is not in any way to displease them, or show any disgust or distaste, whatsoever they may say or do; the bottom of all is, that he is intending to get money by them, and it is not for him that gets money to offer the least inconvenience to them by whom he gets it; he is to consider that, as Solomon says, the borrower is servant to the lender, so the seller is servant to the buyer.” What he says on the head of pleasures and recreations is not less amusing:--“The tradesman’s pleasure should be in his business, his companions should be his books, (he means his ledger, waste-book, &c.;) and if he has a family, he makes his excursions up stairs and no further:--none of my cautions aim at restraining a tradesman from diverting himself, as we call it, with his fireside, or keeping company with his wife and children.”[164]
[163] As no qualification accompanies this maxim, it must be understood as the genuine sentiment of the author.
[164] The Reflector.
* * * * *
MANNERS OF A SPRUCE LONDON MERCER, AND HIS FEMALE CUSTOMER, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
Those who have never minded the conversation of a spruce Mercer, and a young Lady his Customer that comes to his shop, have neglected a scene of life that is very entertaining.--His business is to sell as much silk as he can, at a price by which he shall get what he proposes to be reasonable, according to the customary profits of the trade. As to the lady, what she would be at is to please her fancy, and buy cheaper by a groat or sixpence per yard than the things she wants are usually sold for. From the impression the gallantry of our sex has made upon her, she imagines (if she be not very deformed), that she has a fine mien and easy behaviour, and a peculiar sweetness of voice; that she is handsome, and if not beautiful, at least more agreeable than most young women she knows. As she has no pretensions to purchase the same things with less money than other people, but what are built on her good qualities, so she sets herself off to the best advantage her wit and discretion will let her. The thoughts of love are here out of the case; so on the one hand she has no room for playing the tyrant, and giving herself angry and peevish airs; and on the other, more liberty of speaking kindly, and being affable, than she can have almost on any other occasion. She knows that abundance of well-bred people come to his shop, and endeavours to render herself as amiable, as virtue and the rules of decency admit of. Coming with such a resolution of behaviour, she cannot meet with anything to ruffle her temper.--Before her coach is yet quite stopt, she is approached by a gentleman-like man, that has every thing clean and fashionable about him, who in low obeisance pays her homage, and as soon as her pleasure is known that she has a mind to come in, hands her into the shop, where immediately he slips from her, and through a by-way, that remains visible for only half a moment, with great address intrenches himself behind the counter: here facing her, with a profound reverence and modish phrase he begs the favour of knowing her commands. Let her say and dislike what she pleases, she can never be directly contradicted: she deals with a man, in whom consummate patience is one of the mysteries of his trade; and whatever trouble she creates, she is sure to hear nothing but the most obliging language, and has always before her a cheerful countenance, where joy and respect seem to be blended with good humour, and all together make up an artificial serenity, more engaging than untaught nature is able to produce.--When two persons are so well met, the conversation must be very agreeable, as well as extremely mannerly, though they talk about trifles. Whilst she remains irresolute what to take, he seems to be the same in advising her, and is very cautious how to direct her choice; but when once she has made it, and is fixed, he immediately becomes positive that it is the best of the sort, extols her fancy, and the more he looks upon it, the more he wonders he should not have discovered the preeminence of it over any thing he has in his shop. By precept, example, and great observation, he has learned unobserved to slide into the inmost recesses of the soul, sound the capacity of his customers, and find out their blind side unknown to them: by all which he is instructed in fifty other stratagems to make her overvalue her own judgment, as well as the commodity she would purchase. The greatest advantage he has over her, lies in the most material part of the commerce between them, the debate about the price, which he knows to a farthing, and she is wholly ignorant of: therefore he no where more egregiously imposes upon her understanding; and though here he has the liberty of telling what lies he pleases, as to the prime cost and the money he has refused, yet he trusts not to them only; but, attacking her vanity, makes her believe the most incredible things in the world, concerning his own weakness and her superior abilities. He had taken a resolution, he says, never to part with that piece under such a price, but she has the power of talking him out of his goods beyond anybody he ever sold to: he protests that he loses by his silk, but seeing that she has a fancy for it, and is resolved to give no more, rather than disoblige a lady he has such an uncommon value for, he will let her have it, and only begs that another time she will not stand so hard with him. In the mean time the buyer, who knows that she is no fool and has a voluble tongue, is easily persuaded that she has a very winning way of talking, and thinking it sufficient for the sake of good breeding to disown her merit, and in some witty repartee retort the compliment, he makes her swallow very contentedly the substance of every thing he tells her. The upshot is, that with the satisfaction of having saved ninepence per yard, she has bought her silk exactly at the same price as anybody else might have done, and often gives sixpence more than, rather than not have sold it, he would have taken.--
* * * * *
We have copied the above from Mandeville’s “Fable of the Bees,” Edition 1725. How far, and in what way, the practice between the same parties differs at this day, we respectfully leave to our fair shopping friends, of this present year 1827, to determine.
L.
* * * * *
CURING OF HERRINGS.
From the Works of Thomas Nash, 1599.
“It is to bee read, or to bee heard of, howe in the punie shipe or nonage of Cerdicke sandes, when the best houses and walles there were of mudde, or canvaze, or poldavies entiltments, a fisherman of Yarmouth, having drawne so many herrings hee wist not what to do with all, hung the residue, that hee could not sel nor spend, in the sooty roofe of his shad a drying; or say thus, his shad was a cabinet in decimo sexto, builded on foure crutches, and he had no roome in it, but that garret in excelsis, to lodge them, where if they were drie let them be drie, for in the sea they had drunk too much, and now hee would force them doo penance for it. The weather was colde, and good fires hee kept, (as fishermen, what hardnesse soever they endure at sea, will make all smoke, but they will make amends for it when they come to land;) and what with his fiering and smoking, or smokie fiering, in that his narrow lobby, his herrings, which were as white as whalebone when he hung them up, nowe lookt as red as a lobster. It was four or five dayes before either hee or his wife espied it; and when they espied it, they fell downe on their knees and blessed themselves, and cride, ‘A miracle, a miracle!’ and with the proclaiming it among their neighbours they could not be content, but to the court the fisherman would, and present it to the King, then lying at Burrough Castle two miles off.”
The same facetious author, in enumerating the excellences of herrings, says, “A red herring is wholesome in a frosty morning: it is most precious fish-merchandise, because it can be carried through all Europe. No where are they so well cured as at Yarmouth. The poorer sort make it three parts of their sustenance. It is every man’s money, from the king to the peasant. The round or cob, dried and beaten to powder, is a cure for the stone. Rub a quart-pot, or any measure, round about the mouth with a red herring, the beer shall never foam or froath in it. A red herring drawn on the ground will lead hounds a false scent. A broiled herring is good for the rheumatism. The fishery is a great nursery for seamen, and brings more ships to Yarmouth than assembled at Troy to fetch back Helen.”
At the end of what Nash calls “The Play in Praise of Red Herrings,” he boasts of being the first author who had written in praise of fish or fishermen: of the latter he wittily and sarcastically says, “For your seeing wonders in the deep, you may be the sons and heirs of the prophet Jonas; you are all cavaliers and gentlemen, since the king of fishes chose you for his subjects; for your selling smoke, you may be courtiers; for your keeping fasting days, friar-observants; and, lastly, look in what town there is the sign of the three mariners, the huff-capped drink in that house you shall be sure of always.”
Should any one desire to be informed to what farther medicinal and culinary purposes red herring may be applied with advantage, Dodd’s Natural History of the Herring may be consulted. If what is there collected were true, there would be little occasion for the faculty, and cookery would no longer be a science.
G. B.
Norwich.
* * * * *
~Poetry.~
TO JOVE THE BENEFICENT.
For the Table Book.
Oh thou, that holdest in thy spacious hands The destinies of men! whose eye surveys Their various actions! thou, whose temple stands Above all temples! thou, whom all men praise! Of good the author! thou, whose wisdom sways The universe! all bounteous! grant to me Tranquillity, and health, and length of days; Good will t’wards all, and reverence unto thee; Allowance for man’s failings, of my own The knowledge; and the power to conquer all Those evil things to which we are too prone-- Malice, hate, envy--all that ill we call. To me a blameless life, Great Spirit! grant, Nor burden’d with much care, nor narrow’d by much want.
S. R. J.
* * * * *
~Varia.~
WILSON AND SHUTER.
When Wilson the comedian made his début, it was in the character formerly supported by Shuter; but, upon his appearance on the stage, the audience called out for their former favourite, by crying, “Off, off--Shuter, Shuter!” Whereon Wilson, turning round, and with a face as stupid as art could make it, and suiting his action to his words, replied, “Shoot her, shoot her?” (pointing at the same time to the female performer on the stage with him,) “I’m sure she does her part very well.” This well-timed sally of seeming stupidity turned the scale in his favour, and called down repeated applause, which continued during the whole of the performance.[165]
* * * * *
KITTY WHITE’S PARENTHESIS.
Kitty White, a pupil to old Rich, the comedian, was instructed by O’Brien, of Drury-lane, how to perform Sylvia, in “The Recruiting Officer.” The lady reciting a passage improperly, he told her it was a parenthesis, and therefore required a different tone of voice, and greater volubility. “A parenthesis!” said Miss White, “What’s that?” Her mother, who was present, blushing for her daughter’s ignorance, immediately exclaimed, “Oh, what an infernal limb of an actress will you make! not to know the meaning of ’prentice, and that it is the plural number of ’prentices!”
* * * * *
LADY WALLIS AND MR. HARRIS.
Mr. Harris, patentee of Covent-garden theatre, having received a very civil message from lady Wallis, offering him her comedy for nothing, Mr. H. observed, upon his perusal, that her ladyship knew the exact value of it.[166]
* * * * *
SMOKY CHIMNIES.
A large bladder filled with air, suspended about half way up the chimney by a piece of string attached to a stick, and placed across a hoop, which may be easily fastened by nails, will, it is said, prevent the disagreeable effects of a smoky chimney.
* * * * *
OLD ENGLISH PROVERB.
“An ounce of mother wit is worth a pound of learning,” seems well exemplified in the following dialogue, translated from the German:
Hans, the son of the clergyman, said to the farmer’s son Frederick, as they were walking together on a fine summer’s evening, “How large is the moon which we now see in the heavens?”
Frederick. As large as a baking-dish.
Hans. Ha! ha! ha! As large as a baking-dish? No, Frederick, it is full as large as a whole country.
Frederick. What do you tell me? as large as a whole country? How do you know it is so large?
Hans. My tutor told me so.
While they were talking, Augustus, another boy, came by; and Hans ran laughing up to him, and said, “Only hear, Augustus! Frederick says the moon is no bigger than a baking-dish.”
“No?” replied Augustus, “The moon must be at least as big as our barn. When my father has taken me with him into the city, I have observed, that the globe on the top of the dome of the cathedral seems like a very little ball; and yet it will contain three sacks of corn; and the moon must be a great deal higher than the dome.”
Now which of these three little philosophers was the most intelligent?--I must give it in favour of the last; though Hans was most in the right through the instruction of his master. But it is much more honourable to come even at all near the truth, by one’s own reasoning, than to give implicit faith to the hypothesis of another.
[165] Monthly Mirror.
[166] Ibid.
Vol. I.--19.
OFFICE OF LORD HIGH ADMIRAL.
An engraving of the great seal of Charles Lord Howard of Effingham, as high admiral of England, with another, his lordship’s autograph, are presented to the readers of the Table Book from the originals, before the Editor, affixed to a commission in the first year of that nobleman’s high office, granting to sir Edward Hoby, knight, the vice-admiralty of the hundred of Milton, in the county of Kent.[167]
It will be remembered, that the lord Howard of Effingham, afterwards created earl of Nottingham, was the distinguished admiral of the English fleet, which, in conjunction with the winds of heaven, dispersed and destroyed the formidable Spanish armada for the invasion of England in 1588, during the reign of queen Elizabeth. These engraved representations therefore are no mean illustrations to a short account of the office of lord high admiral, which, after having been in commission upwards of a century, is revived in the person of the heir apparent to the throne.
* * * * *
It is commonly said, that we have obtained the term admiral from the French. The first admiral of France, or that ever had been there by title of office, was Enguerrand de Bailleul, lord of Coucy, who was so created by Philip the Hardy in 1284, and under that title appointed to command a fleet for the conquest of Catalonia and other Spanish provinces from Peter of Arragon.
The French are presumed to have gained the term in the crusades a little before this period, under St. Lewis, who instituted the order of “the ship,” an honour of knighthood, to encourage and reward enterprise against the Turks. The collar of this order, at the lower end whereof hung a ship, was interlaced on double chains of gold, with double scallop-shells of gold, and double crescents of silver interwoven, “which figured the sandy shore and port of Aigues-Mortes, and, with the ship, made manifest declaration that this enterprise was to fight with infidel nations, which followed the false law of Mahomet who bare the crescent.”[168] The chief naval commander of the Saracens is said to have been called the admirante, and from him the French are conjectured to have gained their amiral: if they did, it was the only advantage secured to France by the expedition of St. Lewis.[169]
Still, however, whether the French amiral, comes from the Saracen admirante is doubtful; and though the title occurs in French history, before we discover admiral in our own, it is also doubtful whether we derive it from our neighbours. The Saxons had an officer, whom from his duties they called “Aen-Mere-all, that is All upon the sea:”[170] this title therefore of our ancient ancestors may reasonably be presumed to have been the etymon of our admiral.
* * * * *
William de Leybourne was the first Englishman that had the style of admiral. At the assembly at Bruges in 1297, (25 Edward I.) he was styled Admirallus Maris Regis, and soon after the office became tripartite. We subsequently meet with the titles of admiralty of the north and of the west, and in 1387 (10 Richard II.) we find Richard, son of Allan, earl of Arundel and Surry, denominated Admirallus Angliæ: this is the earliest mention of that style.[171]
Charles, lord Howard of Effingham, the illustrious high admiral of Elizabeth, held the office eighteen years under his heroic mistress, and was continued in it fourteen years longer by her successor James I. In 1619 he was succeeded in it by George, marquis (afterwards the first duke) of Buckingham, who held the dignity till 1636, (temp. Car. I.) when it was in commission for a week, and then conferred on Algernon, earl of Northumberland, and afterwards, by the parliament, on Robert, earl of Warwick. He surrendered his commission in 1645, under an ordinance that members should have no employment, and the office was executed by a committee of both houses, of whom the earl was one. In 1649, the commissioners of the admiralty under the Commonwealth were allowed three shillings each per diem.
At the restoration of Charles II. in 1660, his brother James, duke of York, was appointed lord high admiral; but on the passing of the test act in 1673, being a Roman Catholic, he resigned, and the office was put in commission, with prince Rupert as first lord, till 1679. It remained in commission till the end of that reign.
James II. (the duke of York just mentioned) on his accession declared himself, in council, lord high admiral, and lord general of the navy, and during his short reign managed the admiralty affairs by Mr. Secretary Pepys.
Throughout the reign of William III., the admiralty was continued in commission.
Queen Anne, in 1702, appointed her consort, prince George of Denmark, lord high admiral of England; he executed the office under that style, with a council, till 1707, when, on account of the union, he was styled lord high admiral of Great Britain, and so continued with a council as before. He died October 28, 1708, and the queen acted by Mr. Secretary Burchel, till the 29th of November, when her majesty appointed Thomas, earl of Pembroke, lord high admiral of Great Britain, with a fee of 300 marks per annum. In November, 1709, the admiralty was again put in commission, and has been so continued from that time till April 1827, when the duke of Clarence was appointed lord high admiral of Great Britain.
* * * * *
The lord high admiral has the management and controul of all maritime affairs, and the government of the royal navy. He commissions all naval officers, from an admiral to a lieutenant; he takes cognizance and decides on deaths, murders, maims, and all crimes and offences committed on or beyond sea, in all parts of the world, on the coasts, in all ports or havens, and on all rivers to the first bridge from the sea. He appoints deputies for the coasts, coroners for the view of dead bodies found at sea, or on the waters within his jurisdiction, and judges for his court of admiralty. To him belongs all fines and forfeitures arising from the exercise of his office, the goods of pirates, &c. maritime deodands, wrecks, salvage, sea-prize, waifs and strays, porpoises, and other great sea-fishes, called royal fishes, whale and sturgeon only excepted.[172] He is conservator of rivers and public streams, and of all ships and fisheries, with power to reform unlawful nets and engines; and he arrests and seizes ships, impresses mariners, pilots, masters, gunners, bombardiers, and any other persons wheresoever they may be met with, as often as the naval service may require.[173] Formerly, in common with other admirals, he wore a whistle suspended by a gold chain, with which he cheered his men to action, but which has now descended to the boatswain.[174]
* * * * *
The powers of the commission from the lord Howard of Effingham, high admiral of England, to sir Edward Hoby, may further illustrate the nature and extent of this high office. The deed itself is in Latin, fairly engrossed on parchment, with a large and fine illumination, entirely filling the side and bottom margins, representing a branch of white roses tinged with red, entwined with a branch of honeysuckle, the leaves and flowers in fair and proper colours.
This commission empowers “sir Edward Hobbie, knight,” to take cognizance of, and proceed in all civil and maritime causes, contracts, crimes, offences, and other matters, appertaining to the jurisdiction of the English admiralty of the queen in the hundred of Milton in the county of Kent, and the maritime parts thereof, and thereto adjacent, and to hear and determine the same: AND to inquire by the oath of good and loyal men of the said hundred of all traitors, pirates, homicides, and felons, and of all suicides, and questionable deaths and casualties within such admiralty jurisdiction, and of their estates, and concerning whatever appertains to the office of the lord high admiral in the said hundred. AND of and concerning the anchorage and shores and the royal fishes, viz. sturgeons, whales, shellfish, (cetis,) porpoises, dolphins, rigge and grampuses, and generally of all other fishes whatsoever, great and small, belonging to the queen in her office of chief admiralty of England: AND to obtain and receive all pecuniary penalties in respect of crimes and offences belonging to such jurisdiction within the said hundred, and to decide on all such matters: AND to proceed against all offenders according to the statutes of the queen and her kingdom, and according to the admiralty power of mulcting, correcting, punishing, castigating, reforming, and imprisoning within the said hundred or its jurisdiction: AND to inquire concerning nets of too small mesh, and other contrivances, or illicit instruments, for the taking of fish: AND concerning the bodies of persons wrecked and drowned in the waters of the hundred: AND concerning the keeping and preservation of the statutes of the queen and her kingdom in the maritime parts of the said hundred: AND concerning the wreck of the sea: AND to exercise the office of coroner, according to the statutes in the third and fourth years of Edward the First: AND to proceed according to the statutes concerning the damage of goods upon the sea in the 27th year of Edward III.: “AND you the aforesaid sir Hobbie, our vice-admiral, commissary, and deputy in the office of vice-admiralty, in and over the aforesaid hundred of Milton, we appoint, recommending to you and your locum tenens firmness in the execution of your duty, and requiring you yearly in Easter and Michaelmas term to account to the Court of Admiralty your proceedings in the premises.”---- “Given at Greenwich under our great seal the twelfth day of the month of July in the year of our Lord from the incarnation one thousand five hundred and eighty-five, and in the twenty-seventh year of the reign of our most serene lady Elizabeth by the grace of God queen of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith, &c.”
The “great seal” above mentioned is the great seal of the admiralty, engraved on a preceding page, and as there represented, of the exact size of the seal appended to the commission.
[167] For the loan of this document, the editor is indebted to his valuable and valued correspondent J. J. K.
[168] Favine, b. iii. c 4.
[169] “This good prince being dead of a dysentry at the camp of Carthage in Africa, the fifth day of August One thousand two hundred threescore and ten, his body was boiled in wine and water, until that the flesh was neatly divided from the bones. His flesh and entrails were given to the king of Sicily, monsieur Charles of France, brother to the king, who caused them to be interred in the monastery of Mont Reall, of the order of St. Benedict, near to the city of Palermo in Sicily. But the bones, wrapped up worthily in seare cloth and silks, excellently embalmed with most precious perfumes, were carried to St. Denis in France: and with them those of his son, monsieur John of France, count of Nevers, dying in the camp and of the same disease.” Favine.
[170] Maitland, Cok. Just. p. i.
[171] Godolphin’s Admiralty Jurisdiction, 1746.
[172] Beatson.
[173] Cowel, &c.
[174] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiquities.
* * * * *
MILTON HUNDRED, KENT.
Through a different source than that, whence the commission just set forth came to hand, the Editor has now before him various original papers formerly belonging to sir Edward Hoby, concerning his private and public concerns. The two following relate to the hundred of Milton.
I.
Articles of the Queene’s Majestie Lands belonging to the Mannor of Milton with ther yearly values as they wilbe letten, and of the other benefitts belonging to the same mannor, which are now letten by her Majestie in farme.
Acres. Value. Earable Lands 276 13_s._ 4_d._ 184_li._ Meadowe Lands 39 20_s._ 39_li._ Mershe Lands 12 20_s._ 12_li._ Pasture Lands 80 15_s._ 60_li._ (Shent?) Lands 34 6_s._ 8_d._ 11_li._ 6_s._ 8_d._ Towne meade 25 5_s._ 6_li._ 5_s._ --- ---------------------- 466 331_li._ 0_s._ 8_d._ --- ----------------------
Rents of Assise 115_li._ 1_s._ 10_d._ The Myll 12_li._ Faires and Marketts 10_li._ Relieves and Alienac’ons 4_li._ Fines and Amercements 6_li._ 13_s._ 4_d._ Wastes Strayes Fellons } 13_li._ 6_s._ 8_d._ Goods and Wrack of Sea } ---------------------- 161_li._ 1_s._ 10_d._ ---------------------- 492_li._ 2_s._ 6_d._ ----------------------
Articles of the Queene’s Majestie Lands and other benefitts belonging to the Hundred of Marden now less letten in farme.
Acres. Value. Queene’s Lands 9 8_s._ 3_li._ 12_s._ Rents of Assise 14_li._ 9_s._ 5_d._ Wastes Straies and Fellons goods 3_li._ 6_s._ 8_d._ -------------------- 21_li._ 8_s._ 1_d._ -------------------- S’m Tot. of the proffitte} of bothe the mannors } 513_li._ 10_s._ 7_d._ It is oversom’ed viij p. ann.
II.
SIR EDWARD HOBY for a Lease of the custodie of MILTON and MARDEN.
The Queene’s Ma’tie by warrant of the late Lord Treasourer the sixt daye of July, in the xiijth Yeare of her Raigne, did graunt Custodia of the Mannor of Milton, and the Hundred of Milton, and Marden, &c. vnto Thomas Randolphe for Threescore years, yieldinge 120_li._ yearly rent and vjs. viijd increase of the rent. Prouiso semper q’d si aliquis alius plus dare voluerit de incr’o per Annum pro Custod. predict sine fraude vel malo ingenio Quod tunc idem Thomas Randolphe tantum pro eadem soluere teneatur si Custod. voluerit her’e sup’dict.
The Lease is by meane conveyance colorably sett over vnto one Thomas Bodley, but the interest is in one Richard Potman, Attorney towards the Lawe.
Sr Edward Hoby knight the xxvjth of Maye xlmo Regine nunc, before the nowe Lord Treasourer and the Barons of the Exchequer did personally cum, and in wrytinge under his hande, Offer, sine fraude vel malo ingenio, to increase the Queene’s rent 100li. yearly, which sayd Offer was accepted and attested, with Mr. Baron Clarke’s hande redy to be inrolled.
Whereupon the sayd Sr Edward Hoby doth humbly praye that Yor Lo’pp wilbe pleased to gyve warrant for the inrowlinge thereof accordingely, and that a scire facias maye presently be awarded agaynst the Leasee, to shewe cause whye the former Pattent shoulde not be repealed, and the custody aforesayd graunted to the sayd Sr Edward Hoby.
Note.
The lyke tender was heretofore made xxxijdo Regine Elizabeth by Richard Varney Esquyer, agaynst Gregory Wolmer Esquyer, for the Mannor of Torrington Magna: beinge in extent to her Ma’tie for the dett of Phillipp Basset, and leased with the like Prouiso, and thereby obteyned a newe Lease from her Ma’tie.
* * * * *
The preceding documents are so far interesting, as they connect sir Edward Hoby with the hundred of Milton and Maiden, beyond his public office of vice admiral of the former place, and show the underletting of the crown lands in the reign of Elizabeth, with something of the means employed at that time to obtain grants.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XVI.
[From “Tottenham Court,” a Comedy, by Thomas Nabbs, 1638.]
Lovers Pursued.
Worthgood, Bellamie, as travelling together before daylight.
Worth. Come, my Delight; let not such painted griefs Press down thy soul: the darkness but presents Shadows of fear; which should secure us best From danger of pursuit. Bell. Would it were day! My apprehension is so full of horror; I think each sound, the air’s light motion Makes in these thickets, is my Uncle’s voice, Threat’ning our ruins. Worth. Let his rage persist To enterprise a vengeance, we’ll prevent it. Wrapt in the arms of Night, that favours Lovers, We hitherto have ’scaped his eager search; And are arrived near London. Sure I hear The Bridge’s cataracts, and such-like murmurs As night and sleep yield from a populous number. Bell. But when will it be day? the light hath comfort: Our first of useful senses being lost, The rest are less delighted. Worth. Th’ early Cock Hath sung his summons to the day’s approach: Twill instantly appear. Why startled, Bellamie? Bell. Did no amazing sounds arrive thy ear; Pray, listen. Worth. Come, come; ’tis thy fear suggests Illusive fancies. Under Love’s protection We may presume of safety. (Within.) Follow, follow, follow. Bell. Aye me, ’tis sure my Uncle; dear Love Worthgood? Worth. Astonishment hath seiz’d my faculties. My Love, my Bellamie, ha! Bell. Dost thou forsake me, Worthgood? (Exit, as losing him.) Worth. Where’s my Love? Dart from thy silver crescent one fair beam Through this black air, thou Governess of Night, To shew me whither she is led by fear. Thou envious Darkness, to assist us here, And then prove fatal! (Within.) Follow, follow, follow. Worth. Silence your noise, ye clamorous ministers Of this injustice. Bellamie is lost; She’s lost to me. Not her fierce Uncle’s rage, Who whets your eager aptness to pursue me With threats or promises; nor his painted terrors Of laws’ severity; could ever work Upon the temper of my resolute soul To soften it to fear, till she was lost. Not all the illusive horrors, which the night Presents unto th’ imagination, T’ affright a guilty conscience, could possess me, While I possess’d my Love. The dismal shrieks Of fatal owls, and groans of dying mandrakes, Whilst her soft palm warm’d mine, were music to me.-- Their light appears.--No safety does consist In passion or complaints. Night, let thine arms Again assist me; and, if no kind minister Of better fate guide me to Bellamie, Be thou eternal. (Within.) Follow, follow, follow.
* * * * *
Bellamie, alone, in Marybone Park.
Bell. The day begins to break; and trembling Light, As if affrighted with this night’s disaster, Steals thro the farthest air, and by degrees Salutes my weary longings.--O, my Worthgood, Thy presence would have checkt these passions; And shot delight thro’ all the mists of sadness, To guide my fear safe thro’ the paths of danger: Now fears assault me.--’Tis a woman’s voice. She sings; and in her music’s chearfulness Seems to express the freedom of a heart, Not chain’d to any passions.
Song, within.
What a dainty life the Milkmaid leads! When over the flowery meads She dabbles in the dew, And sings to her cow; And feels not the pain Of Love or Disdain. She sleeps in the night, tho’ she toils in the day And merrily passeth her time away.
Bell. Oh, might I change my misery For such a shape of quiet!
[From the “Duchess of Suffolk,” an Historical Play, by T. Heywood, 1631.]
A Tragic Pursuit.
The Duchess, with her little child, preparing to escape by night from the relentless persecution of the Romanists.
Duch. (to the Nurse) Give me my child, and mantle;--now Heaven’s pleasure: Farewell;--come life or death, I’ll hug my treasure. Nay, chide not, pretty babe; our enemies come: Thy crying will pronounce thy mother’s doom. Be thou but still; This gate may shade us from their envious will.
(Exit.)
(A noise of Pursuers. She re-enters.)
Duch. Oh fear, what art thou? lend me wings to fly; Direct me in this plunge of misery. Nature has taught the Child obedience; Thou hast been humble to thy mother’s wish. O let me kiss these duteous lips of thine, That would not kill thy mother with a cry. Now forward, whither heav’n directs; for I Can guide no better than thine infancy. Here are two Pilgrims bound for Lyon Quay,[175] And neither knows one footstep of the way.
(Noise again heard.)
Duch. Return you? then ’tis time to shift me hence.
(Exit, and presently Re-enters.)
Duch. Thus far, but heav’n knows where, we have escaped The eager pursuit of our enemies, Having for guidance my attentive fear. Still I look back, still start my tired feet, Which never till now measured London street: My Honours scorn’d that custom; they would ride; Now forced to walk, more weary pain to bide. Thou shalt not do so, child; I’ll carry thee In Sorrow’s arms to welcome misery. Custom must steel thy youth with pinching want, That thy great birth in age may bear with scant Sleep peaceably, sweet duck, and make no noise: Methinks each step is death’s arresting voice. We shall meet nurse anon; a dug will come, To please my quiet infant: when, nurse, when?
* * * * *
The Duchess, persecuted from place to place, with Berty, her Husband, takes comfort from her Baby’s smiles.
Duch. Yet we have scaped the danger of our foes; And I, that whilom was exceeding weak Through my hard travail in this infant’s birth, Am now grown strong upon necessity, How forwards are we towards Windham Castle? Berty. Just half our way: but we have lost our friends, Thro’ the hot pursuit of our enemies. Duch. We are not utterly devoid of friends; Behold, the young Lord Willoughby smiles on us: And ’tis great help to have a Lord our friend.
C. L.
[175] From which place she hopes to embark for Flanders.
* * * * *
~Theatrical Customs.~
PLAY-BILLS.
To the Editor.
Sir,--Conjecturing that some slight notices of the early use of play-bills by our comedians might be interesting to your readers, allow me respectfully to request the insertion of the following:--
So early as 1587, there is an entry in the Stationers’ books of a license granted to John Charlewood, in the month of October, “by the whole consent of the assistants, for the onlye ymprinting of all maner of bills for players. Provided that if any trouble arise herebye, then Charlewoode to bear the charges.” Ames, in his Typogr. Antiq., p. 342, referring to a somewhat later date, states, that James Roberts, who printed in quarto several of the dramas written by the immortal Shakspeare, also “printed bills for the players;” the license of the Stationers’ Company had then probably devolved to him. The announcements of the evening’s or rather afternoon’s entertainment was not circulated by the medium of a diurnal newspaper, as at present, but broadsides were pasted up at the corners of the streets to attract the passerby. The puritanical author of a “Treatise against Idleness, Vaine-playes, and Interludes,” printed in black letter, without date, but possibly anterior to 1587, proffers an admirable illustration of the practice.--“They use,” says he, in his tirade against the players, “to set up their bills upon postes some certain dayes before, to admonish the people to make resort to their theatres, that they may thereby be the better furnished, and the people prepared to fill their purses with their treasures.” The whimsical John Taylor, the water-poet, under the head of Wit and Mirth, also alludes to the custom.--“Master Nat. Field, the player, riding up Fleet-street at a great pace, a gentleman called him, and asked what play was played that day. He being angry to be stay’d on so frivolous a demand, answered, that he might see what play was plaied on every poste. I cry your mercy, said the gentleman, I took you for a poste, you rode so fast.”
It may naturally be inferred, that the emoluments of itinerant players could not afford the convenience of a printed bill, and hence from necessity arose the practice of announcing the play by beat of drum. Will. Slye, who attended Kempe in the provincial enactment of his “Nine Men of Gotham,” is figured with a drum. Parolles, in Shakspeare’s “All’s Well that ends Well,” alludes to this occupation of some of Will. Slye’s fellows, “Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English comedians.”
The long detailed titles of some of the early quarto plays induce a supposition, that the play-bills which introduced them to public notice were similarly extended. The “pleasant conceited Comedy,” and “the Bloody Tragedy,” were equally calculated to attract idling gazers on the bookstalls, or the “walks at St. Paul’s,” and to draw gaping crowds about some vociferous Autolycus, who was probably an underling belonging to the company, or a servant to one of the players; for, as they ranked as gentlemen, each forsooth had his man. A carping satirical writer, who wrote anonymously “Notes from Blackfriers,” 1617, presents some traces of a play-bill crier of that period.
-------------“Prithee, what’s the play? The first I visited this twelvemonth day. They say--‘A new invented boy of purle, That jeoparded his neck to steale a girl Of twelve, and lying fast impounded for’t, Has hither sent his bearde to act his part, Against all those in open malice bent, That would not freely to the theft consent: Faines all to ’s wish, and in the epilogue Goes out applauded for a famous--rogue.’ --Now hang me if I did not look at first, For some such stuff, by the fond-people’s thrust.”
In 1642, the players, who till the subversion of the kingly prerogative in the preceding year, basked in the sunshine of court favour, and publicly acknowledged the patronage of royalty, provoked, by their loyalty, the vengeance of the stern unyielding men in power. The lords and commons, assembled on the second day of September in the former year, suppressed stage plays, during these calamitous times, by the following
Ordinance.
“Whereas the distressed estate of Ireland, steeped in her own blood, and the distracted estate of England, threatened with a cloud of blood, by a Civill Warre; call for all possible meanes to appease and avert the wrath of God, appearing in these judgments; amongst which, fasting and prayer having been often tried to be very effectuall, have bin lately, and are still enjoyned: And whereas public sports doe not well agree with public calamities, nor publike Stage Playes with the seasons of humiliation, this being an exercise of sad and pious solemnity, and the other spectacles of pleasure, too commonly expressing lascivious mirth and levitie: It is therefore thought fit, and ordeined by the Lords and Commons in this Parliament assembled, that while these sad causes, and set times of humiliation doe continue, publike Stage Playes shall cease, and bee forborne. Instead of which, are recommended to the people of this land, the profitable and seasonable considerations of repentance, reconciliation, and peace with God, which probably may produce outward peace and prosperity, and bring againe times of joy and gladnesse to these nations.”
The tenour of this ordinance was strictly enforced; many young and vigorous actors joined the king’s army, in which for the most part they obtained commissions, and others retired on the scanty pittances they had earned, till on the restoration, the theatre burst forth with new effulgence. The play-bill that announced the opening of the new theatre, in Drury-lane, April 8, 1663, has been already printed in the Every-Day Book. The actors’ names were then, for the first time, affixed to the characters they represented; and, to evince their loyalty, “Vivat Rex et Regina,” was appended at the foot of the bills, as it continues to this day.
In the reign of the licentious Charles II., wherein monopolies of all kinds were granted to court favourites, licenses were obtained for the sole printing of play-bills. There is evidence in Bagford’s Collections, Harl. MSS. No. 5910, vol. ii., that in August, 1663, Roger L’Estrange, as surveyor of the imprimery and printing presses, had the “sole license and grant of printing and publishing all ballads, plays, &c. not previously printed, play-bills, &c.” These privileges he sold to operative printers. When that license ceased, I have yet to learn.
The play-bills at Bartholomew-fair were in form the same as those used at the regular theatres; but, as they were given among the populace, they were only half the size. One that Dogget published recently, in my possession, had W. R. in the upper corners, as those printed in the reign of Charles II., had C. R., the royal arms being in the centre.
The luxurious mode of printing in alternate black and red lines, was adopted in Cibber’s time; the bills of Covent-garden theatre were generally printed in that manner. The bills of Drury-lane theatre, within the last ten years, have issued from a private press, set up in a room below the stage of that theatre. The bills for the royal box, on his majesty’s visit to either theatre, are printed on white satin.
Connected with these notices of playbills, are the means by which they were dispersed. A century ago, they were sold in the theatres by young women, called “orange-girls,” some of whom, Sally Harris and others, obtained considerable celebrity; these were succeeded by others, who neither coveted nor obtained notoriety. The “orange-girls” have gone out, and staid married women, who pay a weekly stipend to the box-lobby fruit-woman, now vend play-bills in the theatre, but derive most of their emolument from the sale of the “book of the play,” or “the songs” of the evening. The old cry about the streets, “Choice fruit, and a bill of the play--Drury-lane or Covent-garden,” is almost extinct; the barrow-women are obliged to obtain special permission to remain opposite some friendly shopkeeper’s door; and the play-bills are chiefly hawked by little beggarly boys.
I am, sir, &c.
WILL O’ THE WISP.
March, 1827.
* * * * *
THE LINNET FANCY.
To the Editor of the Table Book.
It is my fantasie to have these things, For they amuse me in my moody hours: Their voices waft my soul into the woods: Where bends th’ enamour’d willow o’er the stream, They make sweet melody.
Of all the earthly things by which the brain of man is twisted and twirled, heated and cooled, fancy is the most powerful. Like a froward wife, she invariably leads him by the nose, and almost every man is in some degree ruled by her. One fancies a horse, another an ass--one a dog, another a rabbit--one’s delight is in dress, another’s in negligence--one is a lover of flowers, another of insects--one’s mind runs on a pigeon, another’s on a hawk--one fancies himself sick, the doctor fancies he can cure him: death--that stern reality--settles the matter, by fancying both. One, because he has a little of this life’s evil assail him, fancies himself miserable, another, as ragged as a colt, fancies himself happy. One, as ugly as sin, and as hideous as death, fancies himself handsome--another, a little higher than six-penn’orth of halfpence, fancies himself a second Saul. In short, it would take a monthly part of the Table Book to enumerate the different vagaries of fancy--so multifarious are her forms. Leaving this, proceed we to one of the fancies which amuse and divert the mind of man in his leisure and lonely hours--the “Linnet Fancy.”
“Linnet fancy!” I think I hear some taker-up of the Table Book say, “What’s in a linnet?--rubbish--
A bird that, when caught, May be had for a groat.”
Music! I answer--melody, unrivalled melody--equal to Philomel’s, that ever she-bird of the poets.--I wish they would call things by their proper names; for, after all, it is a cock--hens never make harmonious sounds. The fancy is possessed but by a few, and those, generally, of the “lower orders”--the weavers and cobblers of Whitechapel and Spitalfields, for instance. A good bird has been known to fetch ten sovereigns. I have frequently seen three and four given for one.
Whence the song of the linnet was obtained I cannot tell; but, from what I have heard the tit-lark and sky-lark do, I incline to believe that a good deal of theirs is in the song of the linnet. This song consists of a number of jerks, as they are called, some of which a bird will dwell on, and time with the most beautiful exactness: this is termed a “weighed bird.” Others rattle through it in a hurried manner, and take to what is termed battling; these are birds often “sung” against others. It is with them as in a party where many are inclined to sing, the loudest and quickest tires them out; or, as the phrase is, “knocks them down.” These jerks are as under. Old fanciers remember more, and regret the spoliation and loss of the good old strain. I have heard some of them say, that even larks are not so good as they were forty years ago. The reader must not suppose that the jerks are warbled in the apple-pie order in which he sees them here: the birds put them forth as they please: good birds always finish them.
Jerks.
Tuck--Tuck--Fear.
Tuck, Tuck, Fear--Ic, Ic, Ic.
Tuck, Tuck, Fear--Ic quake-e-weet. This is a finished jerk.
Tuck, Tuck, Joey.
Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, Joey--Tolloc cha, Ic quake-e-weet.
Tuck, Tuck, Wizzey.
Tuck, Tuck, Wizzey--Tyr, Tyr, Tyr, Cher--Wye wye Cher.
Tolloc, Ejup, R--Weet, weet, weet.
Tolloc, Ejup, R--Weet, cheer.
Tolloc, Ejup, R--Weet, weet, weet--cheer.
Tolloc, Tolloc, cha--Ic, Ic, Ic, Ic quake--Ic, Ic.
Tolloc, Tolloc, cha--Ic, Ic, Ic, Ic, quake--Ic, Ic, Tyr, Fear.
Tolloc, Tolloc, R--Weet, weet, weet, cheer--Tolloc, cha--Ejup.
Tolloc, Tolloc, R--Ejup.
Tolloc, Tolloc, R--Cha, cea--Pipe, Pipe, Pipe.
Tolloc, Tolloc, R--Ejup--Pipe, Pipe, Pipe.
Lug, Lug, G--Cher, Cher, Cher.
Lug, Lug--Orchee, weet.
Lug, Lug, G--Pipe, Pipe, Pipe.
Lug, Lug, G--Ic, Ic, Ic, Ic, quake, e Pipe Chow.
Lug, Lug, E chow--Lug, Ic, Ic, quake e weet.
Lug, Lug, or--cha cea.
Ic Ic R--Ejup--Pipe chow.
Lug, Lug, E chow, Lug, Ic, Ic, quake-e-weet.
Ic, Ic, R--Ejup, Pipe.
Ic, Ic, R--Ejup, Pipe, chow.
Ic Ic--R cher--Wye, wye, cher.
Ic, Ic R, cher--Weet, cheer.
Ic, Ic--quake-e-weet.
Ic, chow--E chow--Ejup, weet.
Tyr, Tyr, Cher--Wye, wye, cher.
Bell, Bell, Tyr.
Ejup, Ejup, Pipe, Chow.
Ejup, Ejup, Pipe.
Ejup, Ejup, Poy.
Peu Poy--Peu Poy. This is when calling to each other.
Cluck, Cluck, Cha.
Cluck, Cluck, Cha, Wisk--R, Wisk.
Ic, quake-e-weet--R Cher.
Ic, Quake-e-Pipe--Tolloc Ic--Tolloc Ic Tolloc Ic--R Cher.
Fear, Fear, weet--Ejup, Pipe, Chow.
Pipe, Pipe, Pipe, Pipe--Ejup, Ejup, Ejup.
Ejup R--Lug, Ic, Ic, quake-e-weet.
Ic, Ic, R, Chow, Ic, Ic, R--Ic, Ic, quake, tyr, fear.
Most of these my own birds do. Several strains have been known of the linnet, the best of which I believe was Wilder’s.
The method of raising is this. Get a good bird--as soon as nestlings can be had, purchase four, or even six; put them in a large cage, and feed them with boiled or scalded rape-seed, mixed with bread. This will do till about three weeks old; then throw in dry seed, rape, flax, and canary, bruised; they will pick it up, and so be weaned from the moist food. You may then cage them off in back-cages, and hang them under the old ones.
If you do not want the trouble of feeding them, buy them at a shop about a month old, when they are able to crack the seed. Some persons prefer branchers to nestlings; these are birds caught about July. When they are just able to fly among the trees, they are in some cases better than the others; and invariably so, if they take your old bird’s song, being stronger and steadier. Nestlings lose half their time in playing about the cage.
As two heads are said to be better than one, so are two birds, therefore he who wants to raise a strain, should get two good ones, about the end of May--stop one of them. This is done by putting your cage in a box, just big enough to hold it, having a door in front to pull up. Some have a glass in the door to enable them to see the birds; others keep them in total darkness, only opening their prison to give them food and water. The common way is to put the cage in the box, and close the door, by a little at a time, daily, keeping it in a warm place. This is a brutal practice, which I have never subscribed to, nor ever shall; yet it does improve the bird, both in feather and song. By the time he has “moulted off,” the other bird will “come in” stout, and your young ones will take from him; thus you will obtain good birds.
To render your birds tame, and free in song, move them about; tie them in handkerchiefs, and put them on the table, or any where that you safely can; only let their usual place of hanging be out of sight of each other. Their seeing one another makes them fretful. To prevent this, have tin covers over their water-pots.
The man who keeps birds should pay attention to them: they cannot speak, but their motions will often tell him that something is wrong; and it will then be his business to discover what. He who confines birds and neglects them, deserves to be confined himself; they merit all we can do for them, and are grateful. What a fluttering of wings--what a stretching of necks and legs--what tappings with the bill against the wires of their cages have I heard, when coming down to breakfast; what a burst of song--as much as to say, “Here’s master!”
Should any one be induced, from this perusal, to become a fancier, let him be careful with whom, and how he deals, or he will assuredly be taken in. In choosing a bird, let him see that it stands up on its perch boldly; let it be snake-headed, its feathers smooth and sleek, its temper good; this you may know by the state of its tail: a bad-tempered bird generally rubs his tail down to a mere bunch of rags. Hear the bird sing; and be sure to keep the seller at a distance from him; a motion of his master’s hand, a turn of his head, may stop a bird when about to do something bad. Let him “go through” with his song uninterrupted; you will then discover his faults.
In this dissertation (if it may be so called) I have merely given what has come under my own observation; others, who are partial to linnets, are invited to convey, through the same medium, their knowledge, theoretical and practical, on the subject.
I am, sir, &c.
S. R. J.
* * * * *
FOUNDATION OF THE
LONDON UNIVERSITY.
On Monday, the 30th of April, 1827, his royal highness the duke of Sussex laid the foundation-stone of the London University. The spot selected for the building is situated at the end of Gower-street, and comprehends a very extensive piece of ground. The adjacent streets were crowded with passengers and carriages moving towards the place. The day was one of the finest of this fine season. The visiters, who were admitted by cards, were conducted to an elevated platform, which was so much inclined, that the most distant spectator could readily see every particular of the ceremony. Immediately before this platform, and at about three yards distant from it, was another, upon which the foundation-stone was placed. The persons admitted were upwards of two thousand, the greatest proportion composed of well-dressed ladies. Every house in the neighbourhood, which afforded the smallest opportunity of witnessing the operations, was crowded from the windows to the roof; and even many windows in Gower-street, from which no view of the scene could be any way obtained, were filled with company. At a quarter past three o’clock, the duke of Sussex arrived upon the ground, and was greeted by the acclamations of the people both inside and outside the paling. When he descended from his carriage, the band of the third regiment of foot-guards, which had been upon the ground some time before, playing occasional airs, struck up “God save the king.” The royal duke, attended by the committee and stewards, went in procession to the platform, upon which the foundation-stone was deposited. The stone had been cut exactly in two, and in the lower half was a rectangular hollow, to receive the medals and coins, and an inscription engraved upon a copper-plate:--
DEO OPT. MAX. SEMPITERNO ORBIS ARCHITECTO FAVENTE QVOD FELIX FAVSTVM QVE SIT OCTAVVM REGNI ANNVM INEVNTE GEORGIO QVARTO BRITANNIARVM REGE CELSISSIMVS PRINCEPS AVGVSTVS FREDERICVS SUSSEXIAE DVX OMNIVM BONARVM ARTIVM PATRONVS ANTIQVISSIMI ORDINIS ARCHITECTONICI PRAESES APVD ANGLOS SVMMVS PRIMVM LONDINENSIS ACADEMIAE LAPIDEM INTER CIVIVM ET FRATRVM CIRCVMSTANTIVM PLAVSVS MANV SVA LOCAVIT PRID. KAL. MAII. OPVS DIV MVLTVM QVE DESIDERATVM VRBI PATRIAE COMMODISSIMVM TANDEM ALIQVANDO INCHOATVM EST ANNO SALVTIS HVMANAE MDCCCXXVII ANNO LVCIS NOSTRAE MMMMMDCCCXXVII. NOMINA CLARISSIMORVM VIRORVM QVI SVNT E CONCILIO HENRICVS DVX NORFOLCIAE HENRICVS MARCHIO DE LANSDOWN DOMINVS IOANNES RVSSELL IOANNES VICECOMES DVDLEY ET WARD GEORGIVS BARO DE AVCKLAND HONORABILIS IAC. ABERCROMBIE IACOBVS MACINTOSH EQVES ALEX. BARING GEORGIVS BIRKBECK HEN. BROUGHAM THOMAS CAMPBELL I. L. GOLDSMID OLINTHVS GREGORY GEORGIVS GROTE IOSEPHVS HVME ZAC. MACAULAY IACOBVS MILL BENIAMINVS SHAW IOHANNES SMITH GVLIELMVS TOOKE HEN. WARBVRTON HEN. WAYMOVTH IOANNES WISHAW THOMAS WILSON GVLIELMVS WILKINS, ARCHITECTVS.
After this inscription had been read, the upper part of the stone was raised by the help of pullies, and his royal highness having received the coins, medals, and inscription, deposited them in the hollow formed for their reception. The two parts of the stone were then fastened together, and the whole was lifted from the ground. A bed of mortar was next laid upon the ground by the workmen, and his royal highness added more, which he took from a silver plate, and afterwards smoothed the whole with a golden trowel, upon which were inscribed the following words:--“With this trowel was laid the first stone of the London University, by his royal highness Augustus duke of Sussex, on the 30th of April, 1827. William Wilkins, architect; Messrs. Lee and Co., builders.” The stone was then gradually lowered amidst the cheers of the assembly, the band playing “God save the king.” His royal highness, after having proved the stone with a perpendicular, struck it three times with a mallet, at the same time saying, “May God bless this undertaking which we have so happily commenced, and make it prosper for the honour, happiness, and glory, not only of the metropolis, but of the whole country.”
An oration was then delivered by the Rev. Dr. Maltby, in which he offered up a prayer to the Almighty in behalf of the proposed University.
Dr. LUSHINGTON stated, that he had been chosen by the committee as the organ of their opinions. He remarked that the London University must effect good. The clouds of ignorance had passed away, and the sun had broken forth and dispelled the darkness which had hitherto prevailed. No man dared now to assert that the blessings of education should not be extended to every, even the lowest, of his majesty’s subjects. He then expatiated on the advantages which were likely to arise from the establishment of a London University, and especially on its admission of Dissenters, who were excluded from the two great Universities. He concluded by passing an eloquent compliment upon the public conduct of the duke of Sussex, who, attached to no party, was a friend to liberality, and promoted by his encouragement any efforts of the subjects of this realm, whatever their political opinions, if their motives were proper and praiseworthy.
The duke of SUSSEX acknowledged the compliments paid to him, and stated, that the proudest day of his life was that upon which he had laid the first stone of the London University, surrounded as he was by gentlemen of as high rank, fortune, and character, as any in the kingdom. He was quite convinced that the undertaking must be productive of good. It would excite the old Universities to fresh exertions, and force them to reform abuses. His royal highness concluded, amidst the cheers of the assembly, by repeating that the present was the happiest day of his life.
His royal highness and the committee then left the platform, and the spectators dispersed, highly gratified with the exhibition of the day.
In the evening, the friends and subscribers to the new University dined together, in the Freemasons’ Hall. On no previous occasion of a similar nature was that room so crowded; upwards of 420 persons sat down to table, with his royal highness the duke of Sussex in the chair.
The cloth having been removed, “The King” was drank with three times three.
The next toast was “The Duke of Clarence, the Lord High Admiral of England,” and the rest of the royal family. As soon as the royal chairman, in proposing the above toast, stated the title of the new office held by his royal brother, the room rang with acclamations.
The duke of NORFOLK then proposed the health of his royal highness the duke of Sussex, who, he said, had added to the illustrious title which he inherited by birth, that of the friend of the arts, and the patron of every liberal institution in the metropolis. (Cheers.)
The toast was drunk with three times three.
His ROYAL HIGHNESS said, that he received what his noble friend had been pleased to say of him, more as an admonition than as a compliment, because it brought to his recollection the principles on which his family was seated on the throne of this country. He was rejoiced at every circumstance which occurred to refresh his memory on that subject, and never felt so happy as when he had an opportunity of proving by acts, rather than professions, how great was his attachment to the cause of liberty and the diffusion of knowledge. (Cheers.) He repeated what he had stated in the morning, that the University of London had been undertaken with no feelings of jealousy or ill-will towards the two great English Universities already existing, but only to supply a deficiency, which was notoriously felt, and had been created by changes in circumstances and time since the foundation of those two great seminaries of learning. He concluded by once more repeating, that he had never felt more proud in his life than when he was laying the foundation-stone of the new University in the presence of some of the most honest and enlightened men of whom this country could boast. (Applause.) He then proposed “Prosperity to the University of London,” which was drunk with three times three, and loud applause.
Mr. BROUGHAM rose amidst the most vehement expressions of approbation. He rose, he said, in acquiescence to the command imposed upon him by the council, to return thanks to the royal chairman for the kind and cordial manner in which he had been pleased to express himself towards the new University, and also to the company present for the very gratifying manner in which they had received the mention of the toast. The task had been imposed upon him, God knew, not from any supposed peculiar fitness on his part to execute it, but from a well-grounded recollection that he was amongst the earliest and most zealous promoters of the good work they were met to celebrate. Two years had not elapsed since he had the happiness of attending a meeting, at which, peradventure, a great proportion of those whom he was now addressing were present, for the purpose of promoting the foundation of the new University, held in the middle of the city of London, the cradle of all our great establishments, and of the civil and religious liberties of this land; the place where those liberties had first been nurtured; near the spot where they had been watered by the most precious blood of the noblest citizens; and he much deceived himself if the institution, the foundation of which they had met to celebrate, was not destined, with the blessing of Divine Providence, to have an extensive influence in rendering the liberties to which he had before alluded, eternal in England, and to spread the light of knowledge over the world. (Cheers.) On the day which he had referred to, the circumstances under which he spoke were very different from those which now surrounded him. The advocates of the University had then to endure the sneers of some, the more open taunts and jibes of others, accompanied with the timidly expressed hopes of many friends, and the ardent good wishes and fond expectations of a large body of enlightened men, balanced however by the loudly expressed and deep execrations of the enemies of human improvement, light, and liberty, throughout the world. (Applause.) Now, however, the early clouds and mists which had hung over the undertaking had disappeared, and the friends of the new University had succeeded in raising the standard of the establishment in triumph over its defeated enemies--they had succeeded in laying the foundation of the University, amidst the plaudits of surrounding thousands, accompanied by the good wishes of their kind in every corner of the globe. (Cheers.) The council had come to a fixed resolution that in the selection of teachers for the University, no such phrase as “candidate” for votes should ever be used in their presence. The appointments would be given to those who were found most worthy; and if the merits, however little known, should be found to surpass those of others the most celebrated, only in the same proportion as the dust which turned the balance, the former would certainly be preferred. Instead of teaching only four or five, or at the utmost six months in the year, it was intended that the lectures at the new University should continue nine months in the year. After each lecture, the lecturer would devote an hour to examining, in turn, each of the pupils, to ascertain whether he had understood the subject of his discourse. The lecturer would then apply another hour, three times in the week, if not six, (the subject was under consideration,) to the further instruction of such of his pupils as displayed particular zeal in the search of knowledge. By such means, it was hoped that the pupils might not only be encouraged to learn what was already known, but to dash into untried paths, and become discoverers themselves. (Applause.) The honourable and learned gentleman then proceeded, in a strain of peculiar eloquence, to defend himself from a charge which had been made against him, of being inimical to the two great English Universities, which he designated the two lights and glories of literature and science. Was it to be supposed that because he had had the misfortune not to be educated in the sacred haunts of the muses on the Cam or the Isis, that he would, like the animal, declare the fruit which was beyond his reach to be sour? He hoped that those two celebrated seats of learning would continue to flourish as heretofore, and he would be the last person in the world to do any thing which could tend to impair their glory. The honourable and learned gentleman said, he would conclude by repeating the lines from one of our sweetest minstrels, which he had before quoted in reference to the undertaking which they had assembled to support. He then quoted the passage prophetically--now it was applicable as a description of past events:--
“As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.”
The ROYAL CHAIRMAN then proposed “The Marquis of Lansdown, and the University of Cambridge,” which was drank with great applause.
The Marquis of LANSDOWN, on rising, was received with loud cheers. He felt himself highly honoured, he said, in having his name coupled with the University in which he had received his education. He felt the greatest veneration for that institution, and he considered it by no means inconsistent with that feeling to express the most ardent wishes for the prosperity of the new University. (Applause.) He was persuaded that the extension of science in one quarter could not be prejudicial to its cultivation in another. (Applause.)
“The Royal Society” was next drank, then “Prosperity to the City of London,” and Mr. Alderman Venables returned thanks.
“Prosperity to the City of Westminster” being drank, Mr. Hobhouse returned thanks.
“The health of Lord Dudley” was drank with much applause.
Amongst the other toasts were “Prosperity to the Universities of Scotland and Ireland;” “Henry Brougham, Esq., and the Society for the Promotion of Useful Knowledge;” “The Duke of Norfolk;” “The Mechanics’ Institution,” &c.
The company did not separate till a late hour.[176]
[176] The Times.
* * * * *
~Syr Delaballe ande the Moncke.~
A LEGENDE OFFE TINMOUTHE PRIORIE.
(For the Table Book.)
~“O horrydde dede toe kylle a manne forre a pygges hede.”~--INSCRIPTION.
Quahat want ye, quahat want ye thoue jollie fryare, Sayde Syr Delavalles Wardoure brave; Quahat lack ye, quahat lack ye, thoue jollie fryare;-- ------Saythe--Openne ye portalle, knave, Three wearye legues fro ye Pryorye Ive com synne ye sonne hathe smylde onne ye sea.
Nowe naye, nowe naye, thoue halie fryare, I maie notte lett ye ynne; Syr Delavalles moode ys notte forre ye Roode, Ande hee cares nott toe shryve hys synne; And schoulde hee retorne quithe hys hoonde and horne, Hee will gare thye haliness rynne.
Forre Chryste hys sak nowe saie nott naie, Botte openne ye portalle toe mee; Ande I wylle donne a ryche benyzonne Forre thye gentlesse ande cortesye:-- Bye Masse ande bye Roode gyffe thys boone ys quithstoode, Thoue shalte perryshe bye sorcerie.
Y’enne quycklie ye portalle wals opennd wyde, Syr Delavalles hal wals made free, Ande ye table wals spredde forre ye fryare quithe spede, Ande he fesstedde ryghte plentyfullie: Dydde a fryare wyghte everre lack off myghte Quhenne hee token chepe hostelrye?
Ande ye fryare hee ate, ande ye fryare hee dronke, Tylle ye cellarmonne wonderred fulle sore; And hee wysh’d hymm atte home att Saynte Oswynnes tombe,[177] Quithe hys relyckes ande myssall lore: Botte ye fryare hee ate offe ye vensonne mete, Ande ye fryare hee dronke ye more.
Nowe thys daie wals a daie off wassell keppt, Syr Delavalles byrthe daie I weene, And monnie a knycghte ande ladye bryghte, Ynne Syr Delavalles castell wals seene; Botte synne ye sunne onne ye blue sea schonne. They’d huntedd ye woodes sae greene.
And ryche and rare wals ye feste prepardde Forre ye knycghtes ande ladyes gaie; Ande ye fyelde ande ye floode baythe yyeldedd yere broode Toe grace ye festalle daie; And ye wynnes fro Espagne wyche longe hadde layne, And spyces fro farre Cathaye.
Botte fyrst ande fayrest offe al ye feste, Bye Syr Delavalle pryzd moste dere, A fatte boare rostedde ynn seemlye gyze, Toe grace hys lordlye chere: Ye reke fro ye fyre sore hongerdde ye fryare, Ynne spyte of refectynge gere.
Ande thuss thoughte ye fryare als he sate, Y’sse Boare ys ryghte savourie; I wot tys noe synn ytts hede toe wynne, Gyffe I mote ryghte cunnynglie; Ysse goddelesse knycghte ys ane churche hatynge wyghte, Toe fylche hymme ne knaverie.
Quithe yatt hee toke hys lethernne poke, Ande whettedde hys knyfe soe shene, Ande hee patyentlye sate atte ye kytchenne yate Tyll ne villeins quehere thyther seene; Yenne quithe meikle drede cutte offe ye boares hede. Als thoe ytte nevere hadde beene.
Yenne ye fryare hee nymblie footedde ye swerde, Ande bente hym toe halie pyle; Forre ance quithynne yttes sacredde shrynne, Hee’d loucgche and joke atte hys guyle; Botte hie thee faste quithe thye outmoste haste, Forre thye gate ys monnie a myle.
Nowe Chryste ye save, quehene ye vylleins sawe. Ye boare quithouten ye hede, They wyst ande grie yatte wytcherie Hadde donne ye featouse dede Ynne sore dystraughte ye fryare they soucghte, Toe helpe y’em ynne yere nede.
Theye soucghte and soucghte ande lang theye soucghte, Ne fryare ne hede cold fynde, Forre fryare ande hede farre oer ye mede, Were scuddynge ytte lyk ye wynde: Botte haste, botte haste, thoue jollie fryare, Quehere boltt and barre wylle bynde.
Ye sunne wals hyghe yane hys journeye flyghte, Ande homewarde ye fysher bote rowedde,[178] Quehenne ye deepe soundynge horne shoudde Syr Delavalles retorne, Quithe hys knychtes ande ladyes proude: Ye bagpypes y’sonde ande ye jeste went ronde, Ande revelrye merrye ande loude.
Botte meikle, botte meikle wals ye rage, Offe ye hoste and compagnie, Quehenne ye tale wals tolde offe ye dede soe bolde, Quilke wals layde toe wytcherie: Ande howe ynne destraucghte ye moncke they soucghte, Ye moneke offe ye Pryorie.
Now rycghtlie y wyss Syr Delavalle knewe, Quehenne tould of ye fryare knave; Bye mye knycghthoode I vowe hee schalle derelye rue, Thys trycke hee thoucghte soe brave; Ande awaie flewe ye knycghte, lyk are egle’s flychte, Oere ye sandes of ye northerne wave.
Ande faste and faste Syr Delavalle rodde, Tylle ye Pryorie yate wals ynne vyewe, Ande ye knycghte wals awar offe a fryare talle, Quithe ane loke baythe tiredde ande grewe, Who quithe rapydde spanne oerre ye grene swerde ranne, Ye wrathe offe ye knycghte toe eschewe.
Botte staie, botte staie, thou fryare knave, Botte staie ande shewe toe mee, Quatte thoue haste ynne yatte leatherne poke, Quilke thoue mayest carrie soe hie, Now Chryste ye save, sayde ye fryare knave, Fire-botte forre ye Pryorie.
Thoue lyest! thoue lyest! thoue knavyshe preste, Thoue lyest untoe mee, Ye knycghte hee toke ye leatherne poke, Ande hys boare’s hede dydde espie, And stylle ye reke fro ye scotchedde cheke, Dydde seeme rychte savourie.
Goddeswotte! botte hadde ye seene ye fryare, Quithe his skynne of lividde hue, Quehenne ye knycghte drewe outte ye rekynge snoutte, Ande floryshodde hys huntynge thewe; Gramercye, gramercye, nowe godde Syr Knycghte, Als ye Vyrgynne wylle mercye schewe.
Botte ye knycghte hee bangedde ye fryare aboutte, Ande bette hys backe fulle sore; And hee bette hym als hee rolledde onne ye swerde, Tylle ye fryare dydde loudlie roare: Ne mote hee spare ye fryare maire, Y’anne Mahounde onne easterene shore.[179]
Nowe tak ye yatte ye dogge offe ane moncke, Nowe tak ye yatte fro mee; Ande awaie rodde ye knycghte, ynne grete delycghte, Atte hys fete offe flagellrie; Ande ye sands dydde resounde toe hys chevalx boundde,[180] Als hee rodde nere ye mergynnedde sea.
Botte whaes yatte hyghes fro ye Pryorie yatte, Quithe a crosse soe halie ande talle, Ande offe monckes a crowde al yelpynge lowde, Atte quahatte mote ye fryare befalle; Forre theye seene ye dede fra ye Pryorie hede, Ande herde hym piteousse calle.
Ye fryare hee laye ynne sare distraucghte, Al wrythynge ynne grymme dismaie, Eche leeshedde wonnde spredde blode onne ye gronde, And tyngedde ye daisie gaie: Wae fa’ ye dede, ande yere laye ye hede, Bothe reekynge als welle mote theye.
Ne worde hee spak, ne cryne colde mak, Quehenne ye pryore cam breathlesse nyghe; Botte ye teares y’ranne fro ye halie manne, Als hee heavedde monie a syghe: Y’nne ye pryore wals redde offe ye savourie hede, Y’atte nere ye moncke dydde ly.
Y’enne theye bore ye moncke toe ye Pryorie yatte, Ynne dolorousse steppe ande slowe, They vengeannce vowdde, ynne curses loude, Onne ye horsmanne wyghte I trowe; Ye welkynne range wi yere yammerynges lange, Als ye cam ye Pryorie toe.
A leache offe skylle, quithe meikle care. Ande herbes ande conjurie, Soone gav ye moncke hys wontedde sponke, Forre hys quyppes ande knaverie; Quehenne hee tould how ye knycghte, Syr Delavalle hyghte, Hadde donne ye batterie.
Botte woe forre thys knycghte offe hyghe degre, And greete als welle hee maie, Forre ye fryare y’wot hee batteredde and bruysdde, Toke ylle, als ye churchmenne saye, Ande ys surelie dede quythouten remede, Quithynne yere ande eke a daie.
Farewelle toe y’re landes, Syr Delavalle bolde, Farewelle toe y’re castelles three, Y’ere gonne fro thye heyre, tho greiveste thoue saire Y’ere gonne toe ye Pryorie; Ande thoue moste thole a wollennne stole, Ande lacke thye libertie--
Three lange lange yeres ynne dolefulle gyze, Ynne Tynemouthe Abbie praie, And monie a masse toe hevenwerde passe, Forre ye fryare yatte thou dyddst slaye: Thoue mayest loke oere ye sea ande wyshe toe bee free, Botte ye pryore offe Tynemouthe saythe naye.
Quehenne thoue haste spente three lange lange yeres Toe ye halie londe thoue moste hie, Thye falchyonne wyelde onne ye battelled fyelde, Gaynste ye paynimme chevalrie; Three crescentes bryghte moste thoue wynne ynne fyghte, Ere thoue wynnste thye dere countrie.
Ande onne ye spotte quehere ye ruthless dede Ystayndde ye medowe grene, Al fayre toe see ynne masonrie, Als talle als ane oakenne treene, Thoue moste sette a stonne quithe a legende thereonne, Yatte ye murtherre yere hadde beene.
Ye masses maiste gryevedde Syr Delavalle sore, Botte praye he moste ande maye, Hee thrummelldde hys bede, ande bente hys hede, Thoroughe ye nyhte ande thoroughe ye daye, Tylle ye three yeres oerre, hee lepte toe ye shore, Ande cryedde toe ye battelle awaye!
Hee doffedde hys stole offe woolenne coorse, Ande donnde ynne knycghtlye pryde, Hys blade ande cuirasse, ande sayde ne mo masse, Quehyle hee crossedde ye byllowye tyd: Ne candle, ne roode, botte ye fyghtynge moode, Wals ye moode offe ye borderre syde.
Soone soone myddst ye foes offe ye halie londe, Quehere ye launces thyckestte grewe, Wals Syr Delavalle seene, quithe hys brande soe kene, Onne hys stede soe stronge ande trewe; Ye Pagannes they felle, ande passdde toe helle, Ande hee monie a Saracenne slewe.
Ande hee soone fra ye rankes offe Saladynne bore Three crescentes off sylverre sheene, Ne paganne knycghte mote quithestonde hys myghte, Who foughtenne forre wyffe and wene; Saincte George, cryedde ye knycghte, ande Englande’s myghte, Orre a bedde nethe ye hyllocke grene.
Gallantlye rodde Syr Delavalle onne Quehere lethal woundes were gyvenne, Ande ye onnesettes brave, lyk a swepynge wave, Rolldde ye warriors off Chryste toe hevene: Botte forre eche halie knycghte y’ slayne ynne fyghte, A hondredde fals hertes were ryvenne.
Nowe brave Syr Delavalles penaunce wals donne, Hee hamewerde soughtenne hys waie; Fro ye battel playne acrosse ye mayne, Toe fayre Englonndes wellcom baie; Toe see hys lone bryde, toe ye northe hee hyedde, Quithoutenne stoppe orr staye.
* * * * *
Ance maire ys merrye ye borderre londe, Harke thoroughe ye myddnyghte gale, Ye bagpypes agayne playe a wasselle strayne, Ronde ronde flees ye joyaunce tale: Monie a joke offe ye fryares poke Ys passedde oerre hylle ande dale.
Ye Ladye Delavalle ance matre smylde, Ande sange tylle herre wene onne herre knee, Ande pryedde herre knycghte ynne fonde delyghte, Quihile hee helde herre lovynglye: Ne gryevedde hee maire offe hys dolorres sayre, Tho’ stryppedde offe londe ande ffee.
Atte Werkeworthe castelle, quilke proudlie lookes Oerre ye stormie northernne mayne, Ye Percye gretedde ye borderre knycghte, Quithe hys merryeste mynstrelle strayne: Throngedde wals ye hal, quithe nobles alle, Toe wellcom ye knycghte agayne.
Nowe at thys daye quihile yeres rolle onne Ande ye knycghte dothe cauldlie ly, Ye stonne doth stande onne ye sylente londe Toe tellen toe strangeres nyghe. Yatte ane horrydde dede forre a pygge hys hede Dydde y’ere toe hevenwerdde crye.
* * * * *
ON THE ABOVE LEGEND.
To the Editor.
The legend of “Syr Delavalle and the Moncke” is “owre true a tale.” The stone syr Delavalle was compelled to erect in commemoration of this “horryd dede” is (or rather the shattered remains of its shaft are) still lying close to a neat farmhouse, called Monkhouse, supposed to be built on the identical spot on which the “flagellrie” was effected, and is often bent over by the devout lovers of monkish antiquity.
The poem was found amongst the papers of an ingenious friend, who took pleasure in collecting such rhymes; but as he has been dead many years, I have no means of ascertaining at what period it was written, or whether it was the original channel through which the story has come down to posterity. I have some confused recollection, that I heard it stated my friend got this, and several similar ballads, from a very old man who resided at a romantic village, at a short distance from Tynemouth Priory, called “Holywell.” It is possible that there may be some account of its source among my lamented friend’s papers, but as they are very multitudinous and in a confused mass, I have never had courage to look regularly through them. There are several other poems of the like description the labour of copying which I may be induced to undergo should I find that this is within the range of the Table Book.
ALPHA
London, April 14, 1827.
[177] St. Oswyn’s tomb was at Tynemouth Priory.
[178] There is an old picturesque fishing town, called Callercoats, in the direct road between the seat of the Delavals and Tynemouth abbey.
[179] The whipping described in this ballad was performed within about three quarters of a mile from the entrance of the Abbey, within hearing and sight of the astonished “halie monckes.”
[180] The nearest road from Delaval Castle to Tynemouth Abbey is a fine sandy beach, beaten hard by the ceaseless dash of the German Ocean wave.
* * * * *
Vol. I.--20.
This sketch, in the pocket-book of an artist, suddenly startled recollection to the April of my life--the season of sunshine hopes, and stormy fears--when each hour was a birth-time of thought, and every new scene was the birth-place of a new feeling. The drawing carried me back to an October morning in 1797, when I eagerly set off on an errand to Boughton-hill, near Canterbury, for the sake of seeing the country on that side of Chatham for the first time. The day was cloudy, with gales of wind. I reached Chatham-hill, and stood close to this sign, looking over the flood of the Medway to the Nore, intently peering for a further sea-view. Flashes of fire suddenly gleamed in the dim distance, and I heard the report of cannon. Until then, such sounds from the bosom of the watery element were unknown to me, and they came upon my ear with indescribable solemnity. We were at war with France; and supposing there was a battle between two fleets off the coast, my heart beat high; my thoughts were anxious, and my eyes strained with the hope of catching something of the scene I imagined. The firing was from the fleet at the Nore, in expectation of a royal review. The king was then proceeding from Greenwich to Sheerness, in the royal yacht, attended by the lords of the admiralty, to go on board the Dutch ships captured by lord Duncan, at the battle of Camperdown.[181] On my return to Chatham, the sign of “the Star” was surrounded by sailors, who, with their shipmates inside the house, were drinking grog out of pewter-pots and earthen basins, and vociferating “Rule Britannia.”
The following year, on the evening of a glorious summer’s day, I found refuge in this house from the greatest storm I had then seen. It came with gusts of wind and peals of thunder from the sea. Standing at the bow-window, I watched the lightning sheeting the horizon, making visible the buried objects in the black gloom, and forking fearfully down, while the rain fell in torrents, and the trees bent before the furious tempest like rushes. The elements quickly ceased their strife, the moon broke out, and in a few minutes there was
The spacious firmament on high, And all the blue ethereal sky And spangled heavens, a shining frame.
The “Star” in war time was the constant scene of naval and military orgies, and therefore rather repelled than courted other visitants. It is now a respectable inn and a stage for the refreshment of coach travellers. During a hasty trip to Canterbury a short time ago, Mr. Samuel Williams stopped there long enough to select its sign, and the character of the view beyond it, as “a bit” for his pencil, which I, in turn, seized on, and he has engraved it as a decoration for the Table Book.
My readers were instructed at the outset of the work that, if they allowed me to please myself, we might all be pleased in turn. If I am sometimes not their most faithful, I am never otherwise than their most sincere servant; and therefore I add that I am not always gratified by what gratifies generally, and I have, in this instance, presented a small matter of my particular liking. I would have done better if I could. There are times when my mind foils and breaks down suddenly--when I can no more think or write than a cripple can run: at other times it carries me off from what I ought to do, and sets me to something the very negative to what I wish. I then become, as it were, possessed; an untamable spirit has its will of me in spite of myself:--what I have omitted, or done, in the present instance, illustrates the fact.
*
[181] Owing to adverse winds, his majesty could not get farther than the Hope.
* * * * *
GREENGROCERS’ DEVICES.
For the Table Book.
Dear Sir,--In my wanderings through the metropolis at this season, I observe an agreeable and refreshing novelty, an ingenious contrivance to make mustard and cress seeds grow in pleasant forms over vessels and basketwork, covered on their exterior with wet flannel, wherein the seeds are deposited, and take root and grow, to adorn the table or recess. The most curious which struck me, consisted of a “hedgehog”--a doll’s head looking out of its vernally-growing clothes--a “Jack in the green”--a Dutch cheese in “a bower”--“Paul Pry”--and “Pompey’s pillar.”
If greengrocers proceed in these devices, their ingenuity may suggest a rivalry of signs of a more lasting nature, suitable to the shop windows of other tradesmen.
Yours, truly,
J. R.
April 30, 1827.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XVII.
[From the “Parliament of Bees;” further Extracts.]
Oberon. Flora, a Bee.
Ober. A female Bee! thy character? Flo. Flora, Oberon’s Gardener, Huswive both of herbs and flowers, To strew thy shrine, and trim thy bowers, With violets, roses, eglantine, Daffadown, and blue columbine, Hath forth the bosom of the Spring Pluckt this nosegay, which I bring From Eleusis (mine own shrine) To thee, a Monarch all divine; And, as true impost of my grove, Present it to great Oberon’s love. Ober. Honey dews refresh thy meads. Cowslips spring with golden heads; July-flowers and carnations wear Leaves double-streakt, with maiden-hair; May thy lilies taller grow, Thy violets fuller sweetness owe; And last of all, may Phœbus love To kiss thee: and frequent thy grove. As thou in service true shalt be Unto our crown and royalty.
* * * * *
Oberon holds a Court, in which he sentences the Wasp, the Drone, and the Humble-bee, for divers offences against the Commonwealth of Bees.
Oberon. Prorex, his Viceroy; and other Bees.
Pro. And whither must these flies be sent? Ober. To Everlasting Banishment. Underneath two hanging rocks (Where babbling Echo sits and mocks Poor travellers) there lies a grove, With whom the Sun’s so out of love, He never smiles on’t: pale Despair Calls it his Monarchal Chair. Fruit half-ripe hang rivell’d and shrunk On broken arms, torn from the trunk: The moorish pools stand empty, left By water, stol’n by cunning theft To hollow banks, driven out by snakes, Adders, and newts, that man these lakes: The mossy leaves, half-swelter’d, serv’d As beds for vermin hunger sterv’d: The woods are yew-trees, bent and broke By whirlwinds; here and there an oak, Half-cleft with thunder. To this grove We banish them. Culprits. Some mercy, Jove! Ober. You should have cried so in your youth, When Chronos and his daughter Truth Sojourn’d among you; when you spent Whole years in riotous merriment, Thrusting poor Bees out of their hives, Seizing both honey, wax, and lives. You should have call’d for mercy when You impaled common blossoms; when, Instead of giving poor Bees food, You ate their flesh, and drank their blood. Fairies, thrust ’em to their fate.
* * * * *
Oberon then confirms Prorex in his Government; and breaks up Session.
Ober.----now adieu! Prorex shall again renew His potent reign: the massy world, Which in glittering orbs is hurl’d About the poles, be Lord of: we Only reserve our Royalty-- Field Music.[182] Oberon must away; For us our gentle Fairies stay: In the mountains and the rocks We’ll hunt the Grey, and little Fox, Who destroy our lambs at feed, And spoil the nests where turtles feed.
* * * * *
[From “David and Bethsabe,” a Sacred Drama, by George Peel, 1599.]
Nathan. David.
Nath. Thus Nathan saith unto his Lord the King: There were two men both dwellers in one town; The one was mighty, and exceeding rich In oxen, sheep, and cattle of the field; The other poor, having nor ox, nor calf, Nor other cattle, save one little lamb, Which he had bought, and nourish’d by his hand. And it grew up, and fed with him and his, And ate and drank as he and his were wont, And in his bosom slept, and was to live As was his daughter or his dearest child.-- There came a stranger to this wealthy man, And he refused and spared to take his own, Or of his store to dress or make his meat, But took the poor man’s sheep, partly poor man’s store; And drest it for this stranger in his house. What, tell me, shall be done to him for this? Dav. Now, as the Lord doth live, this wicked man Is judged, and shall became the child of death; Fourfold to the poor man he shall restore, That without mercy took his lamb away. Nath. THOU ART THE MAN, AND THOU HAST JUDGED THYSELF.-- David, thus saith the Lord thy God by me: I thee anointed King in Israel, And saved thee from the tyranny of Saul; Thy master’s house I gave thee to possess, His wives unto thy bosom I did give, And Juda and Jerusalem withal; And might, thou know’st, if this had been too small, Have given thee more. Wherefore then hast thou gone so far astray, And hast done evil, and sinned in my sight? Urias thou hast killed with the sword, Yea with the sword of the uncircumcised Thou hast him slain; wherefore from this day forth The sword shall never go from thee and thine: For thou hast ta’en this Hithite’s wife to thee, Wherefore behold I will, saith Jacob’s God, In thine own house stir evil up to thee, Yea I before thy face will take thy wives, And give them to thy neighbour to possess. This shall be done to David in the day, That Israel openly may see thy shame. Dav. Nathan, I have against the Lord, I have Sinned, oh sinned grievously, and lo! From heaven’s throne doth David throw himself, And groan and grovel to the gates of hell. Nath. David, stand up; thus saith the Lord by me, David the King shall live, for he hath seen The true repentant sorrow of thy heart; But for thou hast in this misdeed of thine Stirr’d up the enemies of Israel To triumph and blaspheme the Lord of Hosts, And say, “He set a wicked man to reign Over his loved people and his tribes;” The Child shall surely die, that erst was born, His Mother’s sin, his Kingly Father’s scorn. Dav. How just is Jacob’s God in all his works! But must it die, that David loveth so? O that the mighty one of Israel Nill change his doom, and says the Babe must die Mourn, Israel, and weep in Sion gates; Wither, ye cedar trees of Lebanon; Ye sprouting almonds with your flowing tops, Droop, drown, and drench in Hebron’s fearful streams: The Babe must die, that was to David born, His Mother’s sin, his Kingly Father’s scorn.
C. L.
[182] The hum of Bees.
* * * * *
~Dissertations on Doomsday.~
For the Table Book.
§ I. NAME.
Doomsday Book, one of the most ancient records of England, is the register from which judgment was to be given upon the value, tenure, and services of lands therein described.
Other names by which it appears to have been known were Rotulus Wintoniæ, Scriptura Thesauri Regis, Liber de Wintonia, and Liber Regis. Sir Henry Spelman adds, Liber Judiciarius, Censualis Angliæ, Angliæ Notitia et Lustratio, and Rotulus Regis.
§ II. DATE.
The exact time of the Conqueror’s undertaking the Survey, is differently stated by historians. The Red Book of the Exchequer seems to have been erroneously quoted, as fixing the time of entrance upon it in 1080; it being merely stated in that record, that the work was undertaken at a time subsequent to the total reduction of the island to William’s authority. It is evident that it was finished in 1086. Matthew Paris, Robert of Gloucester, the Annals of Waverley, and the Chronicle of Bermondsey, give the year 1083, as the date of the record; Henry of Huntingdon, in 1084; the Saxon Chronicle in 1085; Bromton, Simeon of Durham, Florence of Worcester, the Chronicle of Mailros, Roger Hovedon, Wilkes, and Hanningford, in 1086; and the Ypodigma Neustriæ and Diceto in 1087.
The person and property of Odo, bishop of Bayeux, are said to have been seized by the Conqueror in 1082.
§ III. ORIGIN AND OBJECT.
Ingulphus affirms, that the Survey was made in imitation of the policy of Alfred, who, at the time he divided the kingdom into counties, hundreds, and tithings, had an Inquisition taken and digested into a Register, which was called, from the place in which it was reposited, the Roll of Winchester. The formation of such a Survey, however, in the time of Alfred, may be fairly doubted, as we have only a solitary authority for its existence. The separation of counties also is known to have been a division long anterior to the time of Alfred. Bishop Kennet tells us, that Alfred’s Register had the name of Domeboc, from which the name of Doomsday Book was only a corruption.
Dom-boc is noticed in the laws of Edward the elder, and more particularly in those of Æthelstan, as the code of Saxon laws.
§ IV. MODE OF EXECUTION.
For the adjusting of this Survey, certain commissioners, called the king’s justiciaries, were appointed inquisitors: it appears, upon the oaths of the sheriffs, the lords of each manor, the presbyters of every church, the reeves of every hundred, the bailiffs, and six villans of every village, were to inquire into the name of the place, who held it in the time of Edward (the Confessor,) who was the present possessor, how many hides in the manor, how many carrucates in demesne, how many homagers, how many villans, how many cotarii, how many servi, what freemen, how many tenants in socage, what quantity of wood, how many meadows and pasture, what mills and fish-ponds, how much added or taken away, what the gross value in king Edward’s time, what the present value, and how much each free-man or soch-man had or has. All this was to be triply estimated; first, as the estate was in the time of the Confessor; then, as it was bestowed by king William; and, thirdly, as its value stood at the formation of the Survey. The jurors were, moreover, to state whether any advance could be made in the value. The writer of the Saxon Chronicle, with some degree of asperity, informs us, that not a hyde or yardland, not an ox, cow, or hog, were omitted in the census.
PRINCIPAL MATTERS NOTICED IN THIS RECORD.
§ I. PERSONS.
(1.) After the bishops and abbats, the highest persons in rank were the Norman barons.
(2.) Taini, tegni, teigni, teini, or teinni, are next to be mentioned, because those of the highest class were in fact nobility, or barons of the Saxon times. Archbishops, bishops, and abbats, as well as the great barons, are also called thanes.
(3.) Vavassores, in dignity, were next to the barons, and higher thanes. Selden says, they either held of a mesne lord, and not immediately of the king, or at least of the king as of an honour or manor and not in chief. The grantees, says sir Henry Spelman, that received their estates from the barons or capitanei, and not from the king, were called valvasores, (a degree above knights.)
(4.) The aloarii, alodarii, or alodiarii, tenants in allodium, (a free estate “possessio libera.”) The dinges mentioned, tom i. fol. 298, are supposed to have been persons of the same description.
(5.) Milites. The term miles appears not to have acquired a precise meaning at the time of the Survey, sometimes implying a soldier, or mere military servant, and sometimes a person of higher distinction.
(6.) Liberi Homines appears to have been a term of considerable latitude; signifying not merely the freeman, or freeholders of a manor, but occasionally including all the ranks of society already mentioned, and indeed all persons holding in military tenure. “The ordinary freemen, before the conquest,” says Kelham, “and at the time of compiling Doomsday, were under the protection of great men; but what their quality was, further than that their persons and blood were free, that is, that they were not nativi, or bondmen, it will give a knowing man trouble to discover to us.” These freemen are called in the Survey liberi homines comendati. They appear to have placed themselves, by voluntary homage, under this protection: their lord or patron undertook to secure their estates and persons, and for this protection and security they paid to him an annual stipend, or performed some annual service. Some appear to have sought a patron or protector, for the sake of obtaining their freedom only; such the liberi homines comendatione tantum may be interpreted. According to the laws of the Conqueror, a quiet residence of a year and a day, upon the king’s demesne lands, would enfranchise a villan who had fled from his lord. “Item si servi permanserint sine calumnia per annum et diem in civitatibus nostris vel burgis in muro vallatis, vel in castris nostris, a die illa liberi afficiuntur et liberi a jugo servitutis suæ sunt in perpetuum.” The commendati dimidii were persons who depended upon two protectors, and paid half to one and half to the other. Sub commendati were under the command of those who were themselves depending upon some superior lord. Sub commendati dimidii were those who were under the commendati dimidii, and had two patrons or protectors, and the same as they had. Liberi homines integri were those who were under the full protection of one lord, in contradistinction to the liberi homines dimidii. Commendatio sometimes signified the annual rent paid for the protection. Liberi homines ad nullam firmam pertinentes were those who held their lands independent of any lord. Of others it is said, “qui remanent in manu regis.” In a few entries of the Survey, we have liberæ feminæ, and one or two of liberæ feminæ commendatæ.
(7.) Sochmanni, or socmens, were those inferior landowners who had lands in the soc or franchise of a great baron; privileged villans, who, though their tenures were absolutely copyhold, yet had an interest equal to a freehold.
(8.) Of this description of tenantry also were the rachenistres, or radchenistres, who appear likewise to have been called radmanni, or radmans. It appears that some of the radchenistres, like the sochmen, were less free than others. Dr. Nash conjectured that the radmanni and radchenistres were probably a kind of freemen who served on horseback. Rad-cnihꞇ is usually interpreted by our glossarists equestris homo sive miles, and Raðheꞃe equestris exercitus.
(9.) Villani. The clearest notion of the tenure of villani is probably to be obtained from sir W. Blackstone’s Commentaries. “With regard to folk-land,” says he, “or estates held in villenage, this was a species of tenure neither strictly Feodal, Norman, nor Saxon, but mixed or compounded of them all; and which also, on account of the heriots that usually attend it, may seem to have somewhat Danish in its composition. Under the Saxon government, there were, as sir William Temple speaks, a sort of people in a condition of downright servitude, used and employed in the most servile works, and belonging, both they and their children, and their effects, to the lord of the soil, like the rest of the cattle or stock upon it. These seem to have been those who held what was called the folk-land, from which they were removable at the lord’s pleasure. On the arrival of the Normans here, it seems not improbable that they, who were strangers to any other than a feodal state, might give some sparks of enfranchisement to such wretched persons as fell to their share, by admitting them, as well as others, to the oath of fealty, which conferred a right of protection, and raised the tenant to a kind of estate superior to downright slavery, but inferior to every other condition. This they called villenage, and the tenants villeins; either from the word vilis, or else, as sir Edward Coke tells us, a villa; because they lived chiefly in villages, and were employed in rustic works of the most sordid kind. They could not leave their lord without his permission; but if they ran away, or were purloined from him, might be claimed and recovered by action, like beasts or other chatels. The villeins could acquire no property either in lands or goods; but if he purchased either, the lord might enter upon them, oust the villein, and seize them to his own use, unless he contrived to dispose of them before the lord had seized them; for the lord had then lost his opportunity. The law however protected the persons of villeins, as king’s subjects, against atrocious injuries of the lord.”
(10.) Bordarii of the Survey appear at various times to have received a great variety of interpretations. Lord Coke calls them “boors, holding a little house, with some land of husbandry, bigger than a cottage.” Some have considered them as cottagers, taking their name from living on the borders of a village or manor; but this is sufficiently refuted by Doomsday itself, where we find them not only mentioned generally among the agricultural occupiers of land, but in one instance as “circa aulam manentes,” dwelling near the manor-house; and even residing in some of the larger towns. Boꞃð, bishop Kennett notices, was a cottage. The cos-cets, corcez, cozets, or cozez, were apparently the same as the cottarii and cotmanni; cottagers who paid a certain rent for very small parcels of land.
(11.) Bures, buri, or burs, are noticed in the first volume of Doomsday itself, as synonymous with coliberti. The name of coliberti was unquestionably derived from the Roman civil law. They are described by lord Coke as tenants in free socage by free rent. Cowel says, they were certainly a middle sort of tenants, between servile and free, or such as held their freedom of tenure under condition of such works and services, and were therefore the same landholders whom we meet with (in aftertimes) under the name of conditionales.
Such are the different descriptions of tenantry, and their rights more particularly noticed in Doomesday.
(12.) Servi. It is observed by bishop Kennett, and by Morant after him, in his History of Essex, that the servi and villani are, all along in Doomsday, divided from each other; but that no author has fixed the exact distinction between them. The servi, bishop Kennett adds, might be the pure villanes, and villanes in gross, who, without any determined tenure of land, were, at the arbitrary pleasure of the lord, appointed to servile works, and received their wages and maintenance at the discretion of the lord. The other were of a superior degree, and were called villani, because they were villæ or glebæ adscripti, i. e. held some cottage and lands, for which they were burthened with such stated servile works as their lords had annexed to them. The Saxon name for servus was Eꞅne. The ancillæ of the Survey were females, under circumstances nearly similar to the servi. These were disposed of in the same way, at the pleasure of the lord. The laws, however, protected their chastity; they could not be violated with impunity, even by their owners.
(13.) Censarii, censores, or censorii, were also among the occupiers of land. They appear to have been free persons, censum reddentes.
(14.) Porcarii. Although in one or two instances in Doomsday Survey mere swine-herds seem to have been intended by Porcarii, yet in the generality of entries in which they are mentioned, they appear in the rank of free occupiers, who rented the privilege of feeding pigs in the woodlands, some for money, and some for payments in kind.
(15.) The homines, who are so frequently mentioned, included all sorts of feudatory tenants. They claimed a privilege of having their causes and persons tried only in the court of their lord, to whom they owed the duty of submission, and professed dependance.
(16.) Angli and Anglici occur frequently in the Survey among the under tenants, holding in different capacities.
(17.) Among the offices attached to names, we find accipitrarii or ancipitrarii, arbalistarii or balistarii arcarii biga, camerarii campo, constabularius, cubicularius, dapifer, dispensator, equarius, forestarii huscarli ingeniator, interpres, lagemanni, Latinarius, legatus liberatores marescal, or marescalcus medici, monitor, pincerna recter navis regis, scutularius, stalre, stirman or stiremannus regis, thesaurarius and venatores of a higher description.
(18.) Offices of an inferior description, and trades, are aurifabri, carpentarii, cemetarii, cervisiarii, coci, coqui, or koci, fabri, ferrarii, figuli fossarii, fossator, granetarius, hostarius, inguardi, joculator regis, joculatrix, lanatores, loricati, lorimarius, loripes, mercatores, missatici, monetarii, parcher, parm’t piscatores, pistores, portarius potarii, or poters, prebendarii prefecti, prepositi salinarii servientes, sutores, tonsor, and vigilantes homines. Among ecclesiastical offices, we have Capicerius, Æcel. Winton the sacrist, and Matricularias, Æcel. S. Johannis Cestriæ. Buzecarts were mariners. Hospites, occupiers of houses.
Among the assistants in husbandry, we find apium custos, avantes homines, berquarii bovarii caprarum mediator daia granatarius mellitarii, mercennarius, porcarii, and vacarius.
S. R. F.
* * * * *
I. ANCIENT TENURE.
II. MODERN ANECDOTE.
For the Table Book.
TENURE OF THE ANCIENT MANOR OF BILSINGTON PRIORY, THE SEAT OF THOMAS CARR RIDER, ESQ.
The manor of Bilsington inferior was held in grand sergeantry in the reign of Edward III. by the service of presenting three maple cups at the king’s coronation and, at the time of the coronation of Charles II., by the additional service of carrying the last dish of the second course to the king’s table. The former service was performed by Thomas Rider, who was knighted (Mos pro Lege) by his late majesty George III., when the king, on receiving the maple cups from the lord of the manor, turned to the mayor of Oxford, who stood at his right hand, and, having received from him for his tenure of that city a gold cup and cover, gave him these three cups in return.
* * * * *
ANECDOTE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS WASHINGTON AND THE CELEBRATED ADMIRAL VERNON, UNCLE TO THE LATE EARL OF SHIPBROOK.
When the admiral was attacking Porto Bello, with his six ships only, as is described on the medal struck on the occasion, he observed a fine young man in appearance, who, with the most intrepid courage, attended with the most perfect calmness, was always in that part of the ship which was most engaged. After the firing had ceased, he sent his captain to request he would attend upon him, which he immediately obeyed; and the admiral entering into conversation, discovered by his answers and observations that he possessed more abilities than usually fall to the lot of mankind in general. Upon his asking his name, the young man told him it was George Washington; and the admiral, on his return home, strongly recommended him to the attention of the admiralty. This great man, when he built his house in America, out of gratitude to his first benefactor, named it “Mount Vernon,” and at this moment it is called so.
* * * * *
~Zoology.~
I. THE KING’S OSTRICH.
II. THE HORSE ECLIPSE.
Mr. Joshua Brookes, the eminent anatomist, gave a lecture on Wednesday evening, the 25th of April, 1827, at the house of the Zoological Society, in Bruton-street, on the body of an ostrich which his majesty had presented to the society. The lecture was attended by lord Auckland, lord Stanley, Dr. Birkbeck, and several other noblemen and gentlemen distinguished for their devotion to the interests of science. The ostrich, which was a female, and had been presented to his majesty about two years before by colonel Denham, had been kept at Windsor, and had died about three weeks previous to the lecture, of obesity, a disease which frequently shortens the lives of wild animals of every species, when attempts are made to domesticate them.
Mr. Brookes commenced by observing, that when he retired from the practice of anatomy, he did not expect to appear again before the public; but, as the noble directors of the society had honoured him by considering that his services might be of some use in forwarding that most interesting science zoology, he had only to remark that he felt great pride in adding his mite of information to the mass with which the society was furnished from other sources. The period had arrived, when the science of natural history bad fair to reach a height in this country, which would enable us to rival the establishments founded for its promotion abroad. The founder of the study of zoology in England was the great John Hunter; and he was followed by individuals well known to the scientific world, in Edinburgh, Gottingen, and Amsterdam. In the latter city, the science of zoology was pursued with great success by professor Camper, who, when he was in London, invited him (Mr. Brookes) and a professional friend to breakfast, and treated them with bones, consisting of the teeth of rats, mice, and deer, served up in dishes made out of the rock of Gibraltar. The fact was, that the professor had, shortly before, explored this celebrated rock, in search of bones, for the purposes of comparative anatomy. The learned lecturer then entered into a very minute account of the various peculiarities of the ostrich, and described with great clearness the organs by which this extraordinary bird was enabled to travel with its excessive speed. This peculiarity he ascribed to the power of the muscles, which pass from the pelvis to the foot, and cause the ostrich to stand in a vertical position, and not like other birds resembling it, on the toes.
For proof of the intimate relation between muscular power and extraordinary swiftness, Mr. Brookes mentioned that the chief professor of the Veterinary College had informed him, that upon dissecting the body of the celebrated racer Eclipse, one of the fleetest horses ever seen in this kingdom, it was found that he possessed muscles of unparalleled size. The lecturer here produced an anatomical plate of Eclipse; for the purpose of displaying his extraordinary muscular power, and observed, that if he had not told his hearers that it represented a race-horse, from the size of the muscles they might conclude, that he was showing them the plate of a cart-horse.[183]
This engraving is from a drawing, in a treatise “on the proportions of Eclipse: by Mr. Charles Vial de Saint Bel, professor of the Veterinary College of London, &c.” 4to. 1791. Mr. Saint Bel’s work was written with a view to ascertain the mechanical causes which conspire to augment the velocity of the gallop; and no single race-horse could have been selected as a specimen of speed and strength equal to Eclipse. According to a calculation by the writer just mentioned, Eclipse, free of all weight, and galloping at liberty in his greatest speed, could cover an extent of twenty-five feet at each complete action on the gallop; and could repeat this action twice and one third in each second of time: consequently, by employing without reserve all his natural and mechanical faculties on a straight line, he could run nearly four miles in the space of six minutes and two seconds.
Eclipse was preeminent above all other horses, from having ran repeated races, without ever having been beat. The mechanism of his frame was almost perfect; and yet he was neither handsome, nor well proportioned. Compared with a table of the geometrical portions of the horse, in use at the veterinary schools of France, Eclipse measured in height one seventh more than he ought--his neck was one third too long--a perpendicular line falling from the stifle of a horse should touch the toe; this line in Eclipse touched the ground, at the distance of half a head before the toe--the distance from the elbow to the bend of the knee should be the same as from the bend of the knee to the ground; the former, in Eclipse, was two parts of a head longer than the latter. These were some of the remarkable differences between the presumed standard of proportions in a well-formed horse, and the horse of the greatest celebrity ever bred in England.
The excellence of Eclipse in speed, blood, pedigree, and progeny, will be transmitted, perhaps, to the end of time. He was bred by the former duke of Cumberland, and, being foaled during the “great eclipse,” was named “Eclipse” by the duke in consequence. His royal highness, however, did not survive to witness the very great performances he himself had predicted; for, when a yearling, Eclipse was disposed of by auction, with the rest of the stud, and a remarkable circumstance attended his sale. Mr. Wildman, a sporting gentleman, arrived after the sale had commenced, and a few lots had been knocked down. Producing his watch, he insisted that the sale had begun before the time advertised. The auctioneer remonstrated; Mr. Wildman was not to be appeased, and demanded that the lots already sold should be put up again. The dispute causing a loss of time, as well as a scene of confusion, the purchasers said, if there was any lot already sold, which he had an inclination to, rather than retard progress, it was at his service. Eclipse was the only lot he had fixed upon, and the horse was transferred to him at the price of forty-six guineas. At four, or five years old, Captain O’Kelly purchased him of Mr. Wildman for seventeen hundred guineas. He remained in Col. O’Kelly’s possession, winning king’s plates and every thing he ran for, until the death of his owner, who deemed him so valuable, as to insure the horse’s life for several thousand guineas. He bequeathed him to his brother, Philip O’Kelly, Esq. The colonel’s decease was in November, 1787. Eclipse survived his old master little more than a year, and died on the 27th of February, 1789, in the twenty-sixth year of his age. His heart weighed 13 lbs. The size of this organ was presumed to have greatly enabled him to do what he did in speed and strength. He won more matches than any horse of the race-breed was ever known to have done. He was at last so worn out, as to have been unable to stand, and about six months before his death was conveyed, in a machine constructed on purpose, from Epsom to Canons, where he breathed his last.
Colonel Dennis O’Kelly, the celebrated owner of Eclipse, amassed an immense fortune by gambling and the turf, and purchased the estate of Canons, near Edgware, which was formerly possessed by the duke of Chandos, and is still remembered as the site of the most magnificent mansion and establishment of modern times. The colonel’s training stables and paddocks, at another estate near Epsom, were supposed to be the best appointed in England.
* * * * *
Besides O’Kelly’s attachment to Eclipse, he had an affection to a parrot, which is famed for having been the best bred bird that ever came to this country. He gave fifty guineas for it at Bristol, and paid the expenses of the woman who brought it up to town. It not only talked what is usually termed “every thing,” but sang with great correctness a variety of tunes, and beat time as he sang; and if perchance he mistook a note in the tune, he returned to the bar wherein the mistake arose, and corrected himself, still beating the time with the utmost exactness. He sang any tune desired, fully understanding the request made. The accounts of this bird are so extraordinary, that, to those who had not seen and heard the bird, they appeared fabulous.
[183] The Times.
* * * * *
THE EVENING LARK.
For the Table Book.
I love thee better at this hour, when rest Is shadowing earth, than e’en the nightingale: The loudness of thy song that in the morn Rang over heaven, the day has softened down To pensive music.
In the evening, the body relaxed by the toil of the day, disposes the mind to quietness and contemplation. The eye, dimmed by close application to books or business, languishes for the greenness of the fields; the brain, clouded by the smoke and vapour of close rooms and crowded streets, droops for the fragrance of fresh breezes, and sweet smelling flowers.
Summer cometh, The bee hummeth, The grass springeth, The bird singeth, The flower groweth, And man knoweth The time is come When he may rove Thro’ vale and grove. No longer dumb.
There he may hear sweet voices, Borne softly on the gale; There he may have rich choices Of songs that never fail; The lark, if he be cheerful, Above his head shall tower; And the nightingale, if fearful, Shall soothe him from the bower.
* * * * *
If red his eye with study, If pale with care his cheek, To make them bright and ruddy, The green hills let him seek. The quiet that it needeth His mind shall there obtain; And relief from care, that feedeth Alike on heart and brain.
Urged by this feeling, I rambled along the Old Kent Road, making my way through the Saturnalian groups, collected by that mob-emancipating-time Easter Monday; wearied with the dust, and the exclamations of the multitude, I turned down the lane leading to the fields, near the place wherein the fair of Peckham is held, and sought for quietness in their greenness--and found it not. Instead of verdure, there were rows of dwellings of “plain brown brick,” and a half-formed road, from whence the feet of man and horse impregnated the air with stifling atoms of vitrified dust. Proceeding over the Rye, up the lane at the side of Forest-hill, I found the solitude I needed. The sun was just setting; his parting glance came from between the branches of the trees, like the mild light of a lover’s eye, from her long dark lashes, when she receives the adieu of her beloved, and the promise of meeting on the morrow. The air was cool and fitful, playing with the leaves, as not caring to stir them; and as I strayed, the silence was broken by the voice of a bird--it was the tit-lark. I recognised his beautiful “weet” and “fe-er,” as he dropped from the poplar among the soft grass; and I lingered near the wood, in the hope of hearing the nightingale--but he had not arrived, or was disposed to quiet. Evening closed over me: the hour came
When darker shades around us thrown Give to thought a deeper tone.
Retracing my steps, I reached that field which stretches from the back of the Rosemary-branch to the canal; darkness was veiling the earth, the hum of the multitude was faintly audible; above it, high in the cool and shadowy air, rose the voice of a sky-lark, who had soared to take a last look at the fading day, singing his vespers. It was a sweeter lay than his morning, or mid-day carol--more regular and less ardent--divested of the fervour and fire of his noontide song--its hurried loudness and shrill tones. The softness of the present melody suited the calm and gentle hour. I listened on, and imagined it was a bird I had heard in the autumn of last year: I recollected the lengthy and well-timed music--the “cheer che-er,” “weet, weet, che-er”--“we-et, weet, cheer”--“che-er”--“weet, weet”--“cheer, weet, weet.” I still think it to have been the very bird of the former season. Since then he had seen
The greenness of the spring, and all its flowers; The ruddiness of summer and its fruits; And cool and sleeping streams, and shading bowers The sombre brown of autumn, that best suits His leisure hours, whose melancholy mind Is calm’d with list’ning to the moaning wind, And watching sick leaves take their silent way, On viewless wings, to death and to decay.
He had survived them, and had evaded the hawk in the cloud, and the snake in the grass. I felt an interest in this bird, for his lot had been like mine. The ills of life--as baleful to man, as the bird of prey and the invidious reptile to the weakest of the feathered race--had assailed me, and yet I had escaped. The notes in the air grew softer and fainter--I dimly perceived the flutter of descending wings--one short, shrill cry finished the song--darkness covered the earth--and I again sought human habitations, the abodes of carking cares, and heart-rending jealousies.
S. R. J.
April 16, 1827.
* * * * *
THE VOICE OF SPRING.
I come, I come! ye have call’d me long; I come o’er the mountains with light and song! Ye may trace my steps o’er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth, By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.
I have breath’d on the south, and the chestnut flowers By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes, Are veil’d with wreaths on Italian plains. --But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, To speak of the ruin of the tomb!
I have pass’d o’er the hills of the stormy north, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth; The fisher is out on the sunny sea, And the rein-deer bounds thro’ the pasture free, And the pine has a fringe of softer green, And the moss looks bright where my step has been.
I have sent thro’ the wood-paths a gentle sigh, And call’d out each voice of the deep blue sky, From the nightbird’s lay thro’ the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan’s wild note by the Iceland lakes, When the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.
From the streams and founts I have loos’d the chain, They are sweeping on to the silvery main, They are flashing down from the mountain-brows, They are flinging spray on the forest-boughs, They are bursting fresh from their starry caves, And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.
Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come! Where the violets lie, may be now your home; Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye, And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly. With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay!
Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, The waters are sparkling in wood and glen, Away from the chamber and dusky hearth, The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth, Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains, And youth is abroad in my green domains.
MRS. HEMANS.
* * * * *
MOTHERING SUNDAY.
For the Table Book.
To the accounts in the Every-Day Book of the observance of Mid Lent, or “Mothering Sunday,” I would add, that the day is scrupulously observed in this city and neighbourhood; and, indeed, I believe generally in the western parts of England. The festival is kept here much in the same way as the 6th of January is with you: that day is passed over in silence with us.
All who consider themselves dutiful children, or who wish to be so considered by others, on this day make presents to their mother, and hence derived the name of “Mothering Sunday.” The family all assemble; and, if the day prove fine, proceed, after church, to the neighbouring village to eat frumerty. The higher classes partake of it at their own houses, and in the evening come the cake and wine. The “Mothering cakes” are very highly ornamented, artists being employed to paint them. This social meeting does not seem confined to the middling or lower orders; none, happily, deem themselves too high to be good and amiable.
The custom is of great antiquity; and long, long may it be prevalent amongst us.
Your constant reader,
JUVENIS (N.)
Bristol, March 28, 1827.
* * * * *
~Defoeana.~
No. II.
MIXED BREEDS;
OR,
EDUCATION THROWN AWAY.
I came into a public-house once in London, where there was a black Mulatto-looking man sitting, talking very warmly among some gentlemen, who I observed were listening very attentively to what he said; and I sat myself down, and did the like; ’twas with great pleasure I heard him discourse very handsomely on several weighty subjects; I found he was a very good scholar, had been very handsomely bred, and that learning and study was his delight; and more than that, some of the best of science was at that time his employment: at length I took the freedom to ask him, if he was born in England? He replied with a great deal of good humour, but with an excess of resentment at his father, and with tears in his eyes, “Yes, yes, sir, I am a true born Englishman, to my father’s shame be it spoken; who, being an Englishman himself, could find in his heart to join himself to a negro woman, though he must needs know, the children he should beget, would curse the memory of such an action, and abhor his very name for the sake of it. Yes, yes, (said he repeating it again,) I am an Englishman, and born in lawful wedlock; happy it had been for me, though my father had gone to the devil for wh----m, had he lain with a cook-maid, or produced me from the meanest beggar in the street. My father might do the duty of nature to his black wife; but, God knows, he did no justice to his children. If it had not been for this black face of mine, (says he, then smiling,) I had been bred to the law, or brought up in the study of divinity: but my father gave me learning to no manner of purpose; for he knew I should never be able to rise by it to any thing but a learned valet de chambre. What he put me to school for I cannot imagine; he spoiled a good tarpawling, when he strove to make me a gentleman. When he had resolved to marry a slave, and lie with a slave, he should have begot slaves, and let us have been bred as we were born: but he has twice ruined me; first with getting me a frightful face, and then going to paint a gentleman upon me.”--It was a most affecting discourse indeed, and as such I record it; and I found it ended in tears from the person, who was in himself the most deserving, modest, and judicious man, that I ever met with, under a negro countenance, in my life.
* * * * *
CHINESE IDOL.
It had a thing instead of a head, but no head; it had a mouth distorted out of all manner of shape, and not to be described for a mouth, being only an unshapen chasm, neither representing the mouth of a man, beast, fowl, or fish: the thing was neither any of the four, but an incongruous monster: it had feet, hands, fingers, claws, legs, arms, wings, ears, horns, every thing mixed one among another, neither in the shape or place that nature appointed, but blended together, and fixed to a bulk, not a body; formed of no just parts, but a shapeless trunk or log; whether of wood, or stone, I know not; a thing that might have stood with any side forward, or any side backward, any end upward, or any end downward; that had as much veneration due to it on one side, as on the other; a kind of celestial hedgehog, that was rolled up within itself, and was every thing every way; formed neither to walk, stand, go, nor fly; neither to see, hear, nor speak; but merely to instil ideas of something nauseous and abominable into the minds of men that adored it.
* * * * *
MANNERS OF A LONDON WATERMAN, AND HIS FARE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
What I have said last [of the Manners of a spruce London Mercer,[184]] makes me think on another way of inviting customers, the most distant in the world from what I have been speaking of, I mean that which is practised by the watermen, especially on those whom by their mien and garb they know to be peasants. It is not unpleasant to see half a dozen people surround a man they never saw in their lives before, and two of them that can get the nearest, clapping each an arm over his neck, hug him in as loving and familiar a manner as if he were their brother newly come home from an East India voyage; a third lays hold of his hand, another of his sleeve, his coat, the buttons of it, or any thing he can come at, whilst a fifth or a sixth, who has scampered twice round him already without being able to get at him, plants himself directly before the man in hold, and within three inches of his nose, contradicting his rivals with an open-mouthed cry, shows him a dreadful set of large teeth, and a small remainder of chewed bread and cheese, which the countryman’s arrival had hindered from being swallowed. At all this no offence is taken, and the peasant justly thinks they are making much of him; therefore far from opposing them he patiently suffers himself to be pushed or pulled which way the strength that surrounds him shall direct. He has not the delicacy to find fault with a man’s breath, who has just blown out his pipe, or a greasy head of hair that is rubbing against his chaps: dirt and sweat he has been used to from his cradle, and it is no disturbance to him to hear half a score people, some of them at his ear, and the furthest not five feet from him, bawl out as if he was a hundred yards off: he is conscious that he makes no less noise when he is merry himself, and is secretly pleased with their boisterous usages. The hawling and pulling him about he construes in the way it is intended; it is a courtship he can feel and understand: he can’t help wishing them well for the esteem they seem to have for him: he loves to be taken notice of, and admires the Londoners for being so pressing in their offers of service to him, for the value of threepence or less; whereas in the country, at the shop he uses, he can have nothing but he must first tell them what he wants, and, though he lays out three or four shillings at a time, has hardly a word spoke to him unless it be in answer to a question himself is forced to ask first. This alacrity in his behalf moves his gratitude, and unwilling to disoblige any, from his heart he knows not whom to choose. I have seen a man think all this, or something like it, as plainly as I could see the nose on his face; and at the same time move along very contentedly under a load of watermen, and with a smiling countenance carry seven or eight stone more than his own weight, to the water side.
Fable of the Bees: 1725.
[184] See Table Book, p. 567.
* * * * *
~May.~
MAY GOSLINGS.--MAY BATHERS.
For the Table Book.
On the first of May, the juvenile inhabitants of Skipton, in Craven, Yorkshire, have a similar custom to the one in general use on the first of April. Not content with making their companions fools on one day, they set apart another, to make them “May goslings,” or geese. If a boy made any one a May gosling on the second of May, the following rhyme was said in reply:--
“May-day’s past and gone, Thou’s a gosling, and I’m none.”
This distich was also said, mutatis mutandis, on the second of April. The practice of making May goslings was very common about twelve years ago, but is now dying away.
As the present month is one when very severe colds are often caught by bathers, it may not be amiss to submit to the readers of the Table Book the following old saying, which is very prevalent in Skipton:--
“They who bathe in May Will be soon laid in clay; They who bathe in June Will sing a merry tune.”
T. Q. M.
* * * * *
SAILORS ON THE FIRST OF MAY.
For the Table Book.
Sir,--You have described the ceremony adopted by our sailors, of shaving all nautical tyros on crossing the line,[185] but perhaps you are not aware of a custom which prevails annually on the first of May, in the whale-fishery at Greenland and Davis’s Straits. I therefore send you an account of the celebration which took place on board the Neptune of London, in Greenland, 1824, of which ship I was surgeon at that period.
Previous to the ship’s leaving her port, the sailors collected from their wives, and other female friends, ribands “for the garland,” of which great care was taken until a few days previous to the first of May, when all hands were engaged in preparing the said garland, with a model of the ship.
The garland was made of a hoop, taken from one of the beef casks; this hoop, decorated with ribands, was fastened to a stock of wood, of about four feet in length, and a model of the ship, prepared by the carpenter, was fastened above the hoop to the top of the stock, in such a manner as to answer the purpose of a vane. The first of May arrives; the tyros were kept from between decks, and all intruders excluded while the principal performers got ready the necessary apparatus and dresses. The barber was the boatswain, the barber’s mate was the cooper, and on a piece of tarpawling, fastened to the entrance of the fore-hatchway, was the following inscription:--
“NEPTUNE’S EASY SHAVING SHOP,
Kept by
JOHN JOHNSON.”
The performers then came forward, as follows:--First, the fiddler, playing as well as he could on an old fiddle, “See the conquering hero comes;” next, four men, two abreast, disguised with matting, rags, &c. so as to completely prevent them from being recognised, each armed with a boat-hook; then came Neptune himself, also disguised, mounted on the carriage of the largest gun in the ship, and followed by the barber, barber’s mate, swab-bearer, shaving-box carrier, and as many of the ship’s company as chose to join them, dressed in such a grotesque manner as to beggar all description. Arrived on the quarter-deck they were met by the captain, when his briny majesty immediately dismounted, and the following dialogue ensued:--
Nept. Are you the captain of this ship, sir?
Capt. I am.
Nept. What’s the name of your ship?
Capt. The Neptune of London.
Nept. Where is she bound to?
Capt. Greenland.
Nept. What is your name?
Capt. Matthew Ainsley.
Nept. You are engaged in the whale fishery?
Capt. I am.
Nept. Well, I hope I shall drink your honour’s health, and I wish you a prosperous fishery.
[Here the captain presented him with three quarts of rum.]
Nept. (filling a glass.) Here’s health to you, captain, and success to our cause. Have you got any fresh-water sailors on board? for if you have, I must christen them, so as to make them useful to our king and country.
Capt. We have eight of them on board at your service; I therefore wish you good morning.
The procession then returned in the same manner as it came, the candidates for nautical fame following in the rear; after descending the fore-hatchway they congregated between decks, when all the offerings to Neptune were given to the deputy, (the cook,) consisting of whiskey, tobacco, &c. The barber then stood ready with his box of lather, and the landsmen were ordered before Neptune, when the following dialogue took place with each, only with the alteration of the man’s name, as follows:--
Nept. (to another.) What is your name?
Ans. Gilbert Nicholson.
Nept. Where do you come from?
Ans. Shetland.
Nept. Have you ever been to sea before?
Ans. No.
Nept. Where are you going to?
Ans. Greenland.
At each of these answers, the brush dipped in the lather (consisting of soap-suds, oil, tar, paint, &c.) was thrust into the respondent’s mouth and over his face; then the barber’s-mate scraped his face with a razor, made of a piece of iron hoop well notched; his sore face was wiped with a damask towel, (a boat-swab dipped in filthy water) and this ended the ceremony. When it was over they undressed themselves, the fiddle struck up, and they danced and regaled with their grog until they were “full three sheets in the wind.”
I remain, sir, &c.
H. W. DEWHURST.
Crescent-street,
Euston-square.
[185] Every-Day Book, vol. ii.
* * * * *
NAVAL ANECDOTE.
During the siege of Acre, Daniel Bryan, an old seaman and captain of the fore-top, who had been turned over from the Blanche into sir Sidney Smith’s ship Le Tigré, repeatedly applied to be employed on shore; but, being an elderly man and rather deaf, his request was not acceded to. At the first storming of the breach by the French, one of their generals fell among the multitude of the slain, and the Turks, in triumph, struck off his head, and, after mangling the body with their sabres, left it a prey to the dogs, which in that country are of great ferocity, and rove in herds. In a few days it became a shocking spectacle, and when any of the sailors who had been on shore returned to their ship, inquiries were constantly made respecting the state of the French general. To Dan’s frequent demands of his messmates why they had not buried him, the only answer he received was, “Go and do it yourself.” One morning having obtained leave to go and see the town, he dressed himself as though for an excursion of pleasure, and went ashore with the surgeon in the jolly-boat. About an hour or two after, while the surgeon was dressing the wounded Turks in the hospital, in came honest Dan, who, in his rough, good-natured manner, exclaimed, “I’ve been burying the general, sir, and now I’m come to see the sick!” Not particularly attending to the tar’s salute, but fearing that he might catch the plague, which was making great ravages among the wounded Turks, the surgeon immediately ordered him out. Returning on board, the cockswain asked of the surgeon if he had seen old Dan? It was then that Dan’s words in the hospital first occurred, and on further inquiry of the boat’s crew they related the following circumstances:--
The old man procured a pick-axe, a shovel, and a rope, and insisted on being let down, out of a port-hole, close to the breach. Some of his more juvenile companions offered to attend him. “No!” he replied, “you are too young to be shot yet; as for me, I am old and deaf, and my loss would be no great matter.” Persisting in his adventure, in the midst of the firing, Dan was slung and lowered down, with his implements of action on his shoulder. His first difficulty was to beat away the dogs. The French levelled their pieces--they were on the instant of firing at the hero!--but an officer, perceiving the friendly intentions of the sailor, was seen to throw himself across the file: instantaneously the din of military thunder ceased, a dead, solemn silence prevailed, and the worthy fellow consigned the corpse to its parent earth. He covered it with mould and stones, placing a large stone at its head, and another at its feet. The unostentatious grave was formed, but no inscription recorded the fate or character of its possessor. Dan, with the peculiar air of a British sailor, took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and attempted to write
“HERE YOU LIE, OLD CROP!”
He was then, with his pick-axe and shovel, hoisted into the town, and the hostile firing immediately recommenced.
A few days afterwards, sir Sidney, having been informed of the circumstance, ordered old Dan to be called into the cabin.--“Well, Dan, I hear you have buried the French general.”--“Yes, your honour.”--“Had you any body with you?”--“Yes, your honour.”--“Why, Mr. ---- says you had not.”--“But I had, your honour.”--“Ah! who had you?”--“God Almighty, sir.”--“A very good assistant, indeed. Give old Dan a glass of grog.”--“Thank your honour.” Dan drank the grog, and left the cabin highly gratified. He was for several years a pensioner in the royal hospital at Greenwich.
* * * * *
THE “RIGHT” LORD LOVAT.
The following remarkable anecdote, communicated by a respectable correspondent, with his name and address, may be relied on as genuine.
For the Table Book.
An old man, claiming to be “the right lord Lovat,” i. e. heir to him who was beheaded in 1745, came to the Mansion-house in 1818 for advice and assistance. He was in person and face as much like the rebel lord, if one may judge from his pictures, as a person could be, and the more especially as he was of an advanced age. He said he had been to the present lord Lovat, who had given him food and a little money, and turned him away. He stated his pedigree and claim thus:--The rebel lord had an only brother, known by the family name of Simon Fraser. Before lord Lovat engaged in the rebellion, Simon Fraser went to a wedding in his highland costume; when he entered the room where the party was assembled, an unfortunate wight of a bagpiper struck up the favourite march of a clan in mortal enmity with that of Fraser, which so enraged him, that he drew his dirk and killed the piper upon the spot. Fraser immediately fled, and found refuge in a mine in Wales. No law proceedings took place against him as he was absent, and supposed to have perished at sea. He married in Wales, and had one son, the old man abovenamed, who said he was about sixty. When lord Lovat was executed his lands became forfeited; but in course of time, lord L. not having left a son, the estates were granted by the crown to a collateral branch, (one remove beyond Simon Fraser,) the present lord, it not being known that Simon Fraser was alive or had left issue. It is further remarkable that the applicant further stated, that both he and his father, Simon Fraser, were called lord Lovat by the miners and other inhabitants of that spot where he was known.
The old man was very ignorant, not knowing how to read or write, having been born in the mine and brought up a miner; but he said he had preserved Simon Fraser’s highland dress, and that he had it in Wales.
* * * * *
FAST-PUDDING.
EXTRACT FROM THE FAMOUS HISTORIE OF FRIAR BACON.
How Friar Bacon deceived his Man, that would fast for conscience sake.
Friar Bacon had only one man to attend him; and he, too, was none of the wisest, for he kept him in charity more than for any service he had of him. This man of his, named Miles, never could endure to fast like other religious persons did; for he always had, in one corner or other, flesh, which he would eat, when his master eat bread only, or else did fast and abstain from all things.
Friar Bacon seeing this, thought at one time or other to be even with him, which he did, one Friday, in this manner: Miles, on the Thursday night, had provided a great black-pudding for his Friday’s fast; that pudding he put in his pocket, (thinking to warm it so, for his master had no fire on those days.) On the next day, who was so demure as Miles! he looked as though he could not have eat any thing. When his master offered him some bread, he refused it, saying, his sins deserved a greater penance than one day’s fast in a whole week. His master commended him for it, and bid him take heed he did not dissemble, for if he did, it would at last be known. “Then were I worse than a Turk,” said Miles. So went he forth, as if he would have gone to pray privately, but it was for nothing but to prey privily on his black-pudding. Then he pulled out, and fell to it lustily: but he was deceived, for, having put one end in his mouth, he could neither get it out again, nor bite it off; so that he stamped for help. His master hearing him, came; and finding him in that manner, took hold of the other end of the pudding, and led him to the hall, and showed him to all the scholars, saying, “See here, my good friends and fellow-students, what a devout man my servant Miles is! He loved not to break a fast-day--witness this pudding, that his conscience will not let him swallow!” His master did not release him till night, when Miles did vow never to break any fast-day while he lived.
* * * * *
CLERICAL ERRORS.
For the Table Book.
THE REV. MR. ALCOCK, OF BURNSAL, NEAR SKIPTON, YORKSHIRE.
Every inhabitant of Craven has heard tales of this eccentric person, and numberless are the anecdotes told of him. I have not the history of Craven, and cannot name the period of his death exactly, but I believe it happened between fifty and sixty years ago. He was a learned man and a wit--so much addicted to waggery, that he sometimes forgot his office, and indulged in sallies rather unbecoming a minister, but nevertheless he was a sincere Christian. The following anecdotes are well known in Craven, and may amuse elsewhere. One of Mr. Alcock’s friends, at whose house he was in the habit of calling previously to his entering the church on Sundays, once took occasion to unstitch his sermon and misplace the leaves. At the church, Mr. Alcock, when he had read a page, discovered the joke. “Peter,” said he, “thou rascal! what’s thou been doing with my sermon?” then turning to his congregation he said, “Brethren, Peter’s been misplacing the leaves of my sermon, I have not time to put them right, I shall read on as I find it, and you must make the best of it that you can;” and he accordingly read through the confused mass, to the astonishment of his flock. On another occasion, when in the pulpit, he found that he had forgotten his sermon; nowise disappointed at the loss, he called out to his clerk, “Jonas, I have left my sermon at home, so hand us up that Bible, and I’ll read ’em a chapter in Job worth ten of it!” Jonas, like his master, was an oddity, and used to make a practice of falling asleep at the commencement of the sermon, and waking in the middle of it, and bawling out “amen,” thereby destroyed the gravity of the congregation. Mr. Alcock once lectured him for this, and particularly requested he would not say amen till he had finished his discourse. Jonas promised compliance, but on the following Sunday made bad worse, for he fell asleep as usual, and in the middle of the sermon awoke and bawled out “Amen at a venture!” The Rev. Mr. Alcock is, I think, buried before the communion-table of Skipton church, under a slab of blue marble, with a Latin inscription to his memory.
T. Q. M.
* * * * *
REMARKABLE EPITAPH.
For the Table Book.
FRANK FRY, of Christian Malford, Wilts, whose bones lie undisturbed in the church-yard of his native village, wrote for himself the following
“EPITAPH.
“Here lies I Who did die; I lie did As I die did, Old Frank Fry!
“When the worms comes To pick up their crumbs, They’ll have in I-- A rare Frank Fry!”
The worms have had, in Frank, a lusty subject--his epitaph is recorded only in the Table Book.
*, *, P.
* * * * *
A MODERN MYSTERY.
To the Editor.
Blackwall, April 13, 1827.
Sir,--As I perceive you sometimes insert in your Table Book articles similar to the enclosed original printed Notice, you may perhaps think it worthy of a place in your amusing miscellany; if so, it is much at your service.
I am, &c.
F. W.
(Literal Copy.)
NOTICE.
Saturday 30 and on Sunday 31 of the corrent, in the Royal Theatre of St. Charles will be represented by the Italian Company the famous Holy Drama intitled
IL TRIONFO DI GIUDITTA,
O SIA
LA MORTE D’OLOFERNE.
In the interval of the frist to the second act it shall have a new and pompous Ball of the composition of John Baptista Gianini, who has by title:
IL SACRIFICIO D’ABRAMO,
in which will enter all the excellent corp of Ball, who dance at present in the said Royal Theatre; the spetacle will be finished with the second act and Ball analog to the same Drama, all with the nessessary decoration.
This is who is offered to the Respectable Publick of whom is waited all the protection and concurrence:
It will begin at 8 o’clok.
Na Officina de Simāo Thaddeo Ferreira. 1811. Com licenca.
* * * * *
ODD SIGN.
For the Table Book.
At West-end, near Skipton in Craven, Yorkshire, a gate hangs, as a sign to a public-house, with this inscription on it--
This gate hangs well, And hinders none; Refresh and pay, And travel on.
J. W.
Vol. I.--21.
SNUFFERS.
Perhaps there is no implement of domestic use that we are less acquainted with, in its old form, than snuffers. I have now before me a pair, which for their antiquity and elegant workmanship seem worth attention: the engraving on the other side represents their exact size and construction.
After some research, I can only meet with particulars of one other pair, which were found in digging the foundation of a granary, at the foot of a hill adjoining to Cotton Mansion-house, (formerly the seat of the respectable family of the Mohuns,) in the parish of St. Peter, Portisham, about two miles north-east from Abbotsbury in Dorsetshire. They were of brass, and weighed six ounces. “The great difference,” says Mr. Hutchins, “between these and modern utensils of the same name and use is, that these are in shape like a heart fluted, and consequently terminate in a point. They consist of two equal lateral cavities, by the edges of which the snuff is cut off and received into the cavities, from which it is not got out without particular application and trouble. There are two circumstances attending this little utensil, which seem to bespeak it of considerable age: the roughness of the workmanship, which is in all respects as rude and coarse as can be well imagined, and the awkwardness of the form.” There is an engraving of the Dorsetshire snuffers in the history of that county.
The snuffers now submitted to notice are superior in design and workmanship to those found in Dorsetshire. The latter seem of earlier date, and they divide in the middle of the upper as well as the lower part, but in one respect both pairs are alike: they are each “in shape like a heart,” and they each terminate in a point formed exactly in the manner shown by the present engraving. The print likewise shows that the box of the snuffers bears a boldly chased winged head of Mercury, who had more employments and occupations than any other of the ancient deities. Whether as the director of theft, as the conductor of the departed to their final destination, as an interpreter to enlighten, or as an office-bearer constantly in requisition, the portrait of Mercury is a symbol appropriate to the implement before us. The engraving shows the exact size of the instrument, and the present appearance of the chasing, which is in bold relief, and was, originally, very elegant.
These snuffers are plain on the underside, and made without legs. They were purchased, with some miscellaneous articles, by a person who has no clue to their former possessors, but who rightly imagined that in an archæological view they would be acceptable to the Table Book.
*
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XVIII.
[From “David and Bethsabe:” further Extracts.]
Absalon, rebelling.
Now for the crown and throne of Israel, To be confirm’d with virtue of my sword, And writ with David’s blood upon the blade. Now, Jove,[186] let forth the golden firmament, And look on him with all thy fiery eyes, Which thou hast made to give their glories light. To shew thou lovest the virtue of thy hand, Let fall a wreath of stars upon my head, Whose influence may govern Israel With state exceeding all her other Kings. Fight, Lords and Captains, that your Sovereign May shine in honour brighter than the sun And with the virtue of my beauteous rays Make this fair Land as fruitful as the fields, That with sweet milk and honey overflowed. God in the whissing of a pleasant wind Shall march upon the tops of mulberry trees, To cool all breasts that burn with any griefs; As whilom he was good to Moyses’ men, By day the Lord shall sit within a cloud, To guide your footsteps to the fields of joy; And in the night a pillar bright as fire Shall go before you like a second sun. Wherein the Essence of his Godhead is; That day and night you may be brought to peace, And never swerve from that delightsome path That leads your souls to perfect happiness: This he shall do for joy when I am King. Then fight, brave Captains, that these joys may fly Into your bosoms with sweet victory.
* * * * *
Absalon, triumphant.
Absalon. First Absalon was by the trumpet’s sound Proclaim’d thro’ Hebron King of Israel; And now is set in fair Jerusalem With complete state and glory of a crown. Fifty fair footmen by my chariot run; And to the air, whose rupture rings my fame, Wheree’er I ride, they offer reverence. Why should not Absalon, that in his face Carries the final purpose of his God, (That is, to work him grace in Israel), Endeavour to achieve with all his strength The state that most may satisfy his joy-- Keeping his statutes and his covenants sure? His thunder is intangled in my hair, And with my beauty is his lightning quench’d. I am the man he made to glory in, When by the errors of my father’s sin He lost the path, that led into the Land Wherewith our chosen ancestors were blest.
* * * * *
[From a “Looking Glass for England and London,” a Tragi-comedy, by Thomas Lodge and Robert Green, 1598.]
Alvida, Paramour to Rasni, the Great King of Assyria, courts a petty King of Cilicia.
Alvida. Ladies, go sit you down amidst this bower, And let the Eunuchs play you all asleep: Put garlands made of roses on your heads, And play the wantons, whilst I talk awhile. Ladies. Thou beautiful of all the world, we will.
(Exeunt.)
Alvida. King of Cilicia, kind and courteous; Like to thyself, because a lovely King; Come lay thee down upon thy Mistress’ knee, And I will sing and talk of Love to thee. Cilicia. Most gracious Paragon of excellence, It fits not such an abject wretch as I To talk with Rasni’s Paramour and Love. Alvida. To talk, sweet friend! who would not talk with thee? Oh be not coy: art thou not only fair? Come twine thine arms about this snow-white neck, A love-nest for the Great Assyrian King. Blushing I tell thee, fair Cilician Prince, None but thyself can merit such a grace. Cilica. Madam, I hope you mean not for to mock me. Alvida. No, King, fair King, my meaning is to yoke thee, Hear me but sing of Love: then by my sighs, My tears, my glancing looks, my changed cheer, Thou shalt perceive how I do hold thee dear. Cilicia. Sing, Madam, if you please; but love in jest. Alvida. Nay, I will love, and sigh at every jest.
(She sings.)
Beauty, alas! where wast thou born, Thus to hold thyself in scorn, When as Beauty kiss’d to wooe thee? Thou by Beauty dost undo me. Heigho, despise me not.
I and thou in sooth are one, Fairer thou, I fairer none: Wanton thou; and wilt thou, wanton, Yield a cruel heart to plant on? Do me right, and do me reason; Cruelty is cursed treason. Heigho, I love; Heigho, I love; Heigho, and yet he eyes me not.
Cilicia. Madam your Song is passing passionate. Alvida. And wilt thou then not pity my estate? Cilicia. Ask love of them who pity may impart. Alvida. I ask of thee, sweet; thou hast stole my heart. Cilicia. Your love is fixed on a greater King. Alvida. Tut, women’s love--it is a fickle thing. I love my Rasni for my dignity: I love Cilician King for his sweet eye. I love my Rasni, since he rules the world: But more I love this Kingly little world. How sweet he looks!--O were I Cynthia’s sphere, And thou Endymion, I should hold thee dear: Thus should mine arms be spread about thy neck, Thus would I kiss my Love at every beck. Thus would I sigh to see thee sweetly sleep: And if thou wak’st not soon, thus would I weep: And thus, and thus, and thus: thus much I love thee.
* * * * *
[From “Tethys’ Festival,” by Samuel Daniel, 1610.]
Song at a Court Masque.
Are they shadows that we see And can shadows pleasure give?-- Pleasures only shadows be, Cast by bodies we conceive; And are made the things we deem In those figures which they seem.-- But these pleasures vanish fast, Which by shadows are exprest:-- Pleasures are not, if they last; In their passing is their best. Glory is most bright and gay In a flash, and so away. Feed apace then, greedy eyes, On the wonder you behold; Take it sudden as it flies, Tho’ you take it not to hold: When your eyes have done their part, Thought must lengthen it in the heart.
C. L.
[186] Jove, for Jehovah.
* * * * *
~Scylla and Charybdis.~
ANCIENT AND PRESENT STATE.
Incidit in Scyllam, cupiens vitare Charybdis.
This Latin verse, which has become proverbial, is thus translated:--
He falls on Scylla, who Charybdis shuns.
The line has been ascribed to Ovid; it is not, however, in that or any other classic poet, but has been derived from Philippe Gualtier, a modern French writer of Latin verses. Charybdis is a whirlpool in the straits of Messina, on the coast of Sicily, opposite to Scylla, a dangerous rock on the coast of Italy. The danger to which mariners were exposed by the whirlpool is thus described by Homer in Pope’s translation:
Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms, And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms; When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves, The rough rock roars; tumultuous boil the waves: They toss, they foam, a wild confusion raise, Like waters bubbling o’er the fiery blaze: Eternal mists obscure the aërial plain, And high above the rock she spouts the main. When in her gulfs the rushing sea subsides, She drains the ocean with the refluent tides. The rock rebellows with a thundering sound; Deep, wondrous deep, below appears the ground.
Virgil imagines the origin of this terrific scene:
That realm of old, a ruin huge, was rent In length of ages from the continent. With force convulsive burst the isle away; Through the dread opening broke the thund’ring sea: At once the thund’ring sea Sicilia tore, And sunder’d from the fair Hesperian shore; And still the neighbouring coasts and towns divides With scanty channels, and contracted tides. Fierce to the right tremendous Scylla roars, Charybdis on the left the flood devours.
Pitt.
A great earthquake in the year 1783 diminished the perils of the pass.[187] Thirteen years before this event, which renders the scene less poetical, Brydone thus describes
SCYLLA.
May 19, 1770. Found ourselves within half a mile of the coast of Sicily, which is low, but finely variegated. The opposite coast of Calabria is very high, and the mountains are covered with the finest verdure. It was almost a dead calm, our ship scarce moving half a mile in an hour, so that we had time to get a complete view of the famous rock of Scylla, on the Calabrian side, Cape Pylorus on the Sicilian, and the celebrated Straits of the Faro that runs between them. Whilst we were still some miles distant from the entry of the Straits, we heard the roaring of the current, like the noise of some large impetuous river confined between narrow banks. This increased in proportion as we advanced, till we saw the water in many places raised to a considerable height, and forming large eddies or whirlpools. The sea in every other place was as smooth as glass. Our old pilot told us, that he had often seen ships caught in these eddies, and whirled about with great rapidity, without obeying the helm in the smallest degree. When the weather is calm, there is little danger; but when the waves meet with this violent current, it makes a dreadful sea. He says, there were five ships wrecked in this spot last winter. We observed that the current set exactly for the rock of Scylla, and would infallibly have carried any thing thrown into it against that point; so that it was not without reason the ancients have painted it as an object of such terror. It is about a mile from the entry of the Faro, and forms a small promontory, which runs a little out to sea, and meets the whole force of the waters, as they come out of the narrowest part of the Straits. The head of this promontory is the famous Scylla. It must be owned that it does not altogether come up to the formidable description that Homer gives of it; the reading of which (like that of Shakspeare’s Cliff) almost makes one’s head giddy. Neither is the passage so wondrous narrow and difficult as he makes it. Indeed it is probable that the breadth of it is greatly increased since his time, by the violent impetuosity of the current. And this violence too must have always diminished, in proportion as the breadth of the channel increased.
Our pilot says, there are many small rocks that show their heads near the base of the large ones. These are probably the dogs that are described as howling round the monster Scylla. There are likewise many caverns that add greatly to the noise of the water, and tend still to increase the horror of the scene. The rock is near two hundred feet high. There is a kind of castle or fort built on its summit; and the town of Scylla, or Sciglio, containing three or four hundred inhabitants, stands on its south side, and gives the title of prince to a Calabrese family.
CHARYBDIS.
The harbour of Messina is formed by a small promontory or neck of land that runs off from the east end of the city, and separates that beautiful basin from the rest of the Straits. The shape of this promontory is that of a reaping-hook, the curvature of which forms the harbour, and secures it from all winds. From the striking resemblance of its form, the Greeks, who never gave a name that did not either describe the object or express some of its most remarkable properties, called this place Zancle, or the Sickle, and feigned that the sickle of Saturn fell on this spot, and gave it its form. But the Latins, who were not quite so fond of fable, changed its name to Messina, (from Messis, a harvest,) because of the great fertility of its fields. It is certainly one of the safest harbours in the world after ships have got in; but it is likewise one of the most difficult access. The celebrated gulf or whirlpool of Charybdis lies near to its entry, and often occasions such an intestine and irregular motion in the water, that the helm loses most of its power, and ships have great difficulty to get in, even with the fairest wind that can blow. This whirlpool, I think, is probably formed by the small promontory I have mentioned; which contracting the Straits in this spot, must necessarily increase the velocity of the current; but no doubt other causes, of which we are ignorant, concur, for this will by no means account for all the appearances which it has produced. The great noise occasioned by the tumultuous motion of the waters in this place, made the ancients liken it to a voracious sea-monster perpetually roaring for its prey; and it has been represented by their authors, as the most tremendous passage in the world. Aristotle gives a long and a formidable description of it in his 125th chapter De Admirandis, which I find translated in an old Sicilian book I have got here. It begins, “Adeo profundum, horridumque spectaculum, &c.” but it is too long to transcribe. It is likewise described by Homer, 12th of the Odyssey; Virgil, 3d Æneid; Lucretius, Ovid, Sallust, Seneca, as also by many of the old Italian and Sicilian poets, who all speak of it in terms of horror; and represent it as an object that inspired terror, even when looked on at a distance. It certainly is not now so formidable; and very probably, the violence of this motion, continued for so many ages, has by degrees worn smooth the rugged rocks and jutting shelves, that may have intercepted and confined the waters. The breadth of the Straits too, in this place, I make no doubt is considerably enlarged. Indeed, from the nature of things it must be so; the perpetual friction occasioned by the current must wear away the bank on each side, and enlarge the bed of the water.
The vessels in this passage were obliged to go as near as possible to the coast of Calabria, in order to avoid the suction occasioned by the whirling of the waters in this vortex; by which means when they came to the narrowest and most rapid part of the Straits, betwixt Cape Pelorus and Scylla, they were in great danger of being carried upon that rock. From whence the proverb, still applied to those, who in attempting to avoid one evil fall into another.
There is a fine fountain of white marble on the key, representing Neptune holding Scylla and Charybdis chained, under the emblematical figures of two sea-monsters, as represented by the poets.
The little neck of land, forming the harbour of Messina, is strongly fortified. The citadel, which is indeed a very fine work, is built on that part which connects it with the main land. The farthermost point, which runs out to sea, is defended by four small forts, which command the entry into the harbour. Betwixt these lie the lazaret, and a lighthouse to warn sailors of their approach to Charybdis, as that other on Cape Pelorus is intended to give them notice of Scylla.
It is probably from these lighthouses (by the Greeks called Pharoi) that the whole of this celebrated Strait has been denominated the Faro of Messina.
* * * * *
According to Brydone, the hazard to sailors was less in his time than the Nestor of song, and the poet of the Æneid, had depicted in theirs. In 1824, Capt. W. H. Smyth, to whom a survey of the coast of Sicily was intrusted by the lords of the Admiralty, published a “Memoir” in 1824, with the latest and most authentic accounts of these celebrated classic spots--viz.:
SCYLLA.
As the breadth across this celebrated strait has been so often disputed, I particularly state, that the Faro Tower is exactly six thousand and forty-seven English yards from that classical bugbear, the Rock of Scylla, which, by poetical fiction, has been depicted in such terrific colours, and to describe the horrors of which, Phalerion, a painter, celebrated for his nervous representation of the awful and the tremendous, exerted his whole talent. But the flights of poetry can seldom bear to be shackled by homely truth, and if we are to receive the fine imagery, that places the summit of this rock in clouds brooding eternal mists and tempests--that represents it as inaccessible, even to a man provided with twenty hands and twenty feet, and immerses its base among ravenous sea-dogs;--why not also receive the whole circle of mythological dogmas of Homer, who, though so frequently dragged forth as an authority in history, theology, surgery, and geography, ought in justice to be read only as a poet. In the writings of so exquisite a bard, we must not expect to find all his representations strictly confined to a mere accurate narration of facts. Moderns of intelligence, in visiting this spot, have gratified their imaginations, already heated by such descriptions as the escape of the Argonauts, and the disasters of Ulysses, with fancying it the scourge of seamen, and that in a gale its caverns ‘roar like dogs;’ but I, as a sailor, never perceived any difference between the effect of the surges here, and on any other coast, yet I have frequently watched it closely in bad weather. It is now, as I presume it ever was, a common rock, of bold approach, a little worn at its base, and surmounted by a castle, with a sandy bay on each side. The one on the south side is memorable for the disaster that happened there during the dreadful earthquake of 1783, when an overwhelming wave (supposed to have been occasioned by the fall of part of a promontory into the sea) rushed up the beach, and, in its retreat, bore away with it upwards of two thousand people.
CHARYBDIS.
Outside the tongue of land, or Braccio di St. Rainiere, that forms the harbour of Messina, lies the Galofaro, or celebrated vortex of Charybdis, which has, with more reason than Scylla, been clothed with terrors by the writers of antiquity. To the undecked boats of the Rhegians, Locrians, Zancleans, and Greeks, it must have been formidable; for, even in the present day, small craft are sometimes endangered by it, and I have seen several men-of-war, and even a seventy four gun ship, whirled round on its surface; but, by using due caution, there is generally very little danger or inconvenience to be apprehended. It appears to be an agitated water, of from seventy to ninety fathoms in depth, circling in quick eddies. It is owing probably to the meeting of the harbour and lateral currents with the main one, the latter being forced over in this direction by the opposite point of Pezzo. This agrees in some measure with the relation of Thucydides, who calls it a violent reciprocation of the Tyrrhene and Sicilian seas; and he is the only writer of remote antiquity I remember to have read, who has assigned this danger its true situation, and not exaggerated its effects. Many wonderful stories are told respecting this vortex, particularly some said to have been related by the celebrated diver, Colas, who lost his life here. I have never found reason, however, during my examination of this spot, to believe one of them.
[187] Bourn’s Gazetteer.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
A FRAGMENT.
FROM CORNELIUS MAY’S “JOURNEY TO THE GREATE MARKETT AT OLYMPUS”--“SEVEN STARRS OF WITTE.”
One daye when tired with worldly toil, Upp to the Olympian mounte I sped, as from soul-cankering care, Had ever been my wonte; And there the gods assembled alle I founde, O strange to tell! Chaffering, like chapmen, and around The wares they had to sell. Eache god had sample of his goodes, Which he displaied on high; And cried, “How lack ye?” “What’s y’re neede?” To every passer by. Quoth I, “What have you here to sell? To purchase being inclined;” Said one, “We’ve art and science here, And every gifte of minde.” “What coin is current here?” I asked, Spoke Hermes in a trice, “Industrie, perseverence, toile, And life the highest price.” I saw Apollo, and went on, Liking his wares of olde; “Come buy,” said he, “this lyre of mine, I’ll pledge it sterling golde; This is the sample of its worthe, ’Tis cheape at life, come buy!” So saying, he drew olde Homer forth, And placed him ’neath my eye. I turn’d aside, where in a row Smalle bales high piled up stood; Tyed rounde with golden threades of life. And eache inscribed with blood, “Travell to far and foreign landes;” “The knowledge of the sea;” “Alle beastes, and birdes, and creeping thinges, And heaven’s immensity;” “Unshaken faithe when alle men change,” “The patriot’s holy heart;” “The might of woman’s love to stay When alle besides departe.” I next saw things soe strange of forme, Their names I mighte not knowe, Unlike aught either in heaven or earthe, Or in the deeps below; Then Hermes to my thoughte replied, “Strange as these thinges appeare, Gigantic power, the mighte of arte And science are laide here; Yeare after yeare of toile and thoughte Can buy these stores alone; Yet boughte, how neare the gods is man, What knowledge is made known! The power and nature of all thinges, Fire, aire, and earthe, and flood. Known and made subject to man’s will For evill or for good.” Next look’d I in a darksome den, Webbed o’er with spider’s thread, Where bookes were piled, and on eache booke I “metaphysics” read; Spoke Hermes, “Friend, the price of these Is puzzling of the brain, A gulf of words which, who gets in, Can ne’er get oute again.” I then saw “law,” piled up alofte, And asked its price to know; “Its price is, conscience and good name,” Said Hermes, whispering low. Nexte, “Physic and divinity,” I stood as I was loth, To take or leave, with curling lip, Said Hermes, “Quackery, both!” “Now, friend,” said I, “since of your wares You no good thing can telle, You are the honestest chapman That e’er had wares to selle.”
* * * * *
* * * * *
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND:
OR,
MANNERS OF LONDON MERCHANTS A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
Tempore mutato de nobis fabula narratur.
Decio, a man of great figure, that had large commissions for sugar from several parts beyond sea, treats about a considerable parcel of that commodity with Alcander, an eminent West India merchant; both understood the market very well, but could not agree. Decio was a man of substance, and thought nobody ought to buy cheaper than himself. Alcander was the same, and not wanting money, stood for his price. Whilst they were driving their bargain at a tavern near the Exchange, Alcander’s man brought his master a letter from the West Indies, that informed him of a much greater quantity of sugars coming for England than was expected. Alcander now wished for nothing more than to sell at Decio’s price, before the news was public; but being a cunning fox, that he might not seem too precipitant, nor yet lose his customer, he drops the discourse they were upon, and putting on a jovial humour, commends the agreeableness of the weather; from whence falling upon the delight he took in his gardens, invites Decio to go along with him to his country house, that was not above twelve miles from London. It was in the month of May, and as it happened upon a Saturday in the afternoon, Decio, who was a single man, and would have no business in town before Tuesday, accepts of the other’s civility, and away they go in Alcander’s coach. Decio was splendidly entertained that night and the day following; the Monday morning, to get himself an appetite, he goes to take the air upon a pad of Alcander’s, and coming back meets with a gentleman of his acquaintance, who tells him news was come the night before that the Barbadoes fleet was destroyed by a storm; and adds, that before he came out, it had been confirmed at Lloyd’s coffee-house, where it was thought sugars would rise twenty-five per cent. by change time. Decio returns to his friend, and immediately resumes the discourse they had broke off at the tavern. Alcander who, thinking himself sure of his chap, did not design to have moved it till after dinner, was very glad to see himself so happily prevented; but how desirous soever he was to sell, the other was yet more eager to buy; yet both of them afraid of one another, for a considerable time counterfeited all the indifference imaginable, till at last Decio, fired with what he had heard, thought delays might prove dangerous, and throwing a guinea upon the table, struck the bargain at Alcander’s price. The next day they went to London; the news proved true, and Decio got five hundred pounds by his sugars. Alcander, whilst he had strove to overreach the other, was paid in his own coin: yet all this is called fair dealing; but I am sure neither of them would have desired to be done by, as they did to each other.
Fable of the Bees, 1725.
* * * * *
CHILTERN HUNDREDS.
The acceptance of this office, or stewardship, vacates a seat in parliament, but without any emolument or profit. Chiltern is a ridge of chalky hills crossing the county of Bucks, a little south of the centre, reaching from Tring in Hertfordshire to Henly in Oxford. This district belongs to the crown, and from time immemorial has given title to the nominal office of stewards of the Chiltern hundreds. Of this office, as well as the manor of East Hundred, in Berks, it is remarkable, that although frequently conferred upon members of parliament, it is not productive either of honour or emolument; being granted at the request of any member of that house, merely to enable him to vacate his seat by the acceptance of a nominal office under the crown; and on this account it has frequently been granted to three or four members a week.
* * * * *
This is an eccentric, good-humoured character--a lover of a chirruping cup--and a favourite with the pitmen of Durham. He dresses like them, and mixes and jokes with them; and his portrait seems an appropriate illustration of the following paper, by a gentleman of the north, well acquainted with their remarkable manners.
* * * * *
THE PITMAN.
For the Table Book.
“O the bonny pit laddie, the cannie pit laddie, The bonny pit laddie for me, O!-- He sits in a hole, as black as a coal, And brings all the white money to me, O!”
OLD PIT SONG.
Gentle Reader,--Whilst thou sittest toasting thy feet at the glowing fuel in thy grate, watching in dreaming unconsciousness the various shapes and fantastic forms appearing and disappearing in the bright, red heat of thy fire--here a beautiful mountain, towering with its glowing top above the broken and diversified valley beneath--there a church, with its pretty spire peeping above an imagined village; or, peradventure, a bright nob, assuming the ken of human likeness, thy playful fancy picturing it the semblance of some distant friend--I say, whilst thou art sitting in this fashion, dost thou ever think of that race of mortals, whose whole life is spent beyond a hundred fathoms below the surface of mother earth, plucking from its unwilling bosom the materials of thy greatest comfort?
The pitman enables thee to set at nought the “pelting of the pitiless storm,” and render a season of severity and pinching bitterness, one of warmth, and kindly feeling, and domestic smiles. If thou hast never heard of these useful and daring men who
“Contemn the terrors of the mine, Explore the caverns, dark and drear, Mantled around with deadly dew; Where congregated vapours blue, Fir’d by the taper glimmering near, Bid dire explosion the deep realms invade, And earth-born lightnings gleam athwart th’ infernal shade;”[188]
--who dwell in a valley of darkness for thy sake, and whose lives are hazarded every moment in procuring the light and heat of the flickering flame--listen with patience, if not with interest, to a short account of them, from the pen of one who is not unmindful of
“The simple annals of the poor.”
The pitmen, who are employed in bringing coals to the surface of the earth, from immensely deep mines, for the London and neighbouring markets, are a race entirely distinct from the peasantry surrounding them. They are principally within a few miles of the river Wear, in the county of Durham, and the river Tyne, which traces the southern boundary of Northumberland. They reside in long rows of one-storied houses, called by themselves “pit-rows,” built near the chief entrance to the mine. To each house is attached a small garden,
“For ornament or use,”
and wherein they pay so much attention to the cultivation of flowers, that they frequently bear away prizes at floral exhibitions.
Within the memory of the writer, (and his locks are not yet “silver’d o’er with age,”) the pitmen were a rude, bold, savage set of beings, apparently cut off from their fellow men in their interests and feelings; often guilty of outrage in their moments of ebrious mirth; not from dishonest motives, or hopes of plunder, but from recklessness, and lack of that civilization, which binds the wide and ramified society of a great city. From the age of five or six years, their children are immersed in the dark abyss of their lower worlds; and when even they enjoy the “light of the blessed sun,” it is only in the company of their immediate relations: all have the same vocation, and all stand out, a sturdy band, separate and apart from the motley mixture of general humanity.
The pitmen have the air of a primitive race. They marry almost constantly with their own people; their boys follow the occupations of their sires--their daughters, at the age of blooming and modest maidenhood, linking their fate to some honest “neebor’s bairn:” thus, from generation to generation, family has united with family, till their population has become a dense mass of relationship, like the clans of our northern friends, “ayont the Cheviot’s range.” The dress of one of them is that of the whole people. Imagine a man, of only middling stature, (few are tall or robust,) with several large blue marks, occasioned by cuts, impregnated with coal-dust, on a pale and swarthy countenance, a coloured handkerchief around his neck, a “posied waistcoat” opened at the breast, to display a striped shirt beneath, a short blue jacket, somewhat like, but rather shorter than the jackets of our seamen, velvet breeches, invariably unbuttoned and untied at the knee, on the “tapering calf” a blue worsted stocking, with white clocks, and finished downwards by a long, low-quartered shoe, and you have a pitman before you, equipped for his Saturday’s cruise to “canny Newcastle,” or for his Sabbath’s gayest holiday.
On a Saturday evening you will see a long line of road, leading to the nearest large market town, grouped every where with pitmen and their wives or “lasses,” laden with large baskets of the “stomach’s comforts,” sufficient for a fortnight’s consumption. They only are paid for their labour at such intervals; and their weeks are divided into what they term “pay week,” and “bauf week,” (the etymology of “bauf,”[189] I leave thee, my kind reader, to find out.)--All merry and happy--trudging home with their spoils--not unfrequently the thrifty husband is seen “half seas over,” wrestling his onward way with an obstinate little pig, to whose hind leg is attached a string, as security for allegiance, while ever and anon this third in the number of “obstinate graces,” seeks a sly opportunity of evading its unsteady guide and effecting a retreat over the road, and “Geordie” (a common name among them) attempts a masterly retrograde reel to regain his fugitive. A long cart, lent by the owners of the colliery for the purpose, is sometimes filled with the women and their marketings, jogging homeward at a smart pace; and from these every wayfarer receives a shower of taunting, coarse jokes, and the air is filled with loud, rude merriment. Pitmen do not consider it any deviation from propriety for their wives to accompany them to the alehouses of the market town, and join their husbands in their glass and pint. I have been amused by peeping through the open window of a pothouse, to see parties of them, men and women, sitting round a large fir table, talking, laughing, smoking, and drinking con amore; and yet these poor women are never addicted to excessive drinking. The men, however, are not particularly abstemious when their hearts are exhilarated with the bustle of a town.
When the pitman is about to descend to the caverns of his labour, he is dressed in a checked flannel jacket, waistcoat, and trowsers, with a bottle or canteen slung across his shoulders, and a satchell or haversack at his side, to hold provender for his support during his subterrene sojourn. At all hours, night and day, groups of men and boys are seen dressed in this fashion wending their way to their colliery, some carrying sir Humphrey Davy’s (called by them “Davy’s”) safety-lamp, ready trimmed, and brightened for use. They descend the pit by means of a basket or “corfe,” or merely by swinging themselves on to a chain, suspended at the extreme end of the cordage, and are let down, with inconceivable rapidity, by a steam-engine. Clean and orderly, they coolly precipitate themselves into a black, smoking, and bottomless-looking crater, where you would think it almost impossible human lungs could play, or blood dance through the heart. At nearly the same moment you see others coming up, as jetty as the object of their search, drenched and tired. I have stood in a dark night, near the mouth of a pit, lighted by a suspended grate, filled with flaring coals, casting an unsteady but fierce reflection on the surrounding swarthy countenances; the pit emitting a smoke as dense as the chimney of a steam-engine; the men, with their sooty and grimed faces, glancing about their sparkling eyes, while the talking motion of their red lips disclosed rows of ivory; the steam-engines clanking and crashing, and the hissing from the huge boilers, making a din, only broken by the loud, mournful, and musical cry of the man stationed at the top of the pit “shaft,” calling down to his companions in labour at the bottom. This, altogether, is a scene as wild and fearful as a painter or a poet could wish to see.
All have heard of the dreadful accidents in coal-mines from explosions of fire-damp, inundations, &c., yet few have witnessed the heart-rending scenes of domestic calamity which are the consequence. Aged fathers, sons, and sons’ sons, a wide branching family, all are sometimes swept away by a fell blast, more sudden, and, if possible, more terrible, than the deadly Sirocca of the desert.
Never shall I forget one particular scene of family destruction. I was passing along a “pit-row” immediately after a “firing,” as the explosion of fire-damp is called, when I looked into one of the houses, and my attention became so rivetted, that I scarcely knew I had entered the room. On one bed lay the bodies of two men, burnt to a livid ash colour; the eldest was apparently sixty, the other about forty--father and son:--on another bed, in the same room, were “streaked” three fine boys, the oldest not more than fifteen--sons of the younger dead--all destroyed at the same instant by the same destructive blast, let loose from the mysterious hand of Providence: and I saw--Oh God! I shall never forget--I saw the vacant, maddened countenance, and quick, wild glancing eye of the fatherless, widowed, childless being, who in the morning was smiling in her domestic felicity; whose heart a few hours before was exultingly beating as she looked on her “gudeman and bonny bairns.” Before the evening sun had set she was alone in the world; without a prop for her declining age, and every endearing tie woven around her heart was torn and dissevered. I passed into the neat little garden--it was the spring time--part of the soil was fresh turned up, and some culinary plants were newly set:--these had been the morning work of the younger father--his spade was standing upright in the earth at the last spot he had laboured at; he had left it there, ready for the evening’s employment:--the garden was yet blooming with all the delightful freshness of vernal vegetation its cultivator was withered and dead--his spade was at hand for another to dig its owner’s grave.
Amidst all their dangers, the pitmen are a cheerful, industrious race of men. They were a few years ago much addicted to gambling, cock-fighting, horse-racing, &c. Their spare hours are diverted now to a widely different channel; they are for the most part members of the Wesleyan sects; and, not unfrequently in passing their humble but neat dwellings, instead of brawls and fights you hear a peaceful congregation of worshippers, uttering their simple prayers; or the loud hymn of praise breaking the silence of the eventide.
The ancient custom of sword-dancing at Christmas is kept up in Northumberland, exclusively by these people. They may be constantly seen at that festive season with their fiddler, bands of swordsmen, Tommy and Bessy, most grotesquely dressed, performing their annual routine of warlike evolutions. I have never had the pleasure of seeing the Every-Day Book, but I have no doubt this custom has there been fully illustrated.
Ψ
[188] HUDDESFORD.
[189] Quære? Whether some wag has not originally given the pitman the benefit of this term from bafler or baffolier, to mock or affront; “aiblins,” it may be a corruption of our English term “balk,” to disappoint.
* * * * *
Some years ago a Tynemouth vessel, called the “Northern Star,” was lost, and the following ballad made on the occasion: the memory of a lady supplies the words--
For the Table Book.
THE NORTHERN STAR.
The Northern Star Sail’d over the bar, Bound to the Baltic sea-- In the morning grey She stretch’d away,-- ’Twas a weary day to me.
For many an hour In sleet and shower By the lighthouse rock I stray, And watch till dark For the winged bark Of him that is far away.
The castle’s bound I wander round Amidst the grassy graves,[190] But all I hear Is the north wind drear, And all I see are the waves.
Oh roam not there Thou mourner fair, Nor pour the useless tear, Thy plaint of woe Is all below-- The dead--they cannot hear.
The Northern Star Is set afar, Set in the Baltic sea, And the waves have spread The sandy bed, That holds thy love from thee.
[190] Tynemouth-castle, the grounds of which are used as a cemetery.
* * * * *
~British Mines.~
For the Table Book.
Mines of gold and silver, sufficient to reward the conqueror, were found in Mexico and Peru; but the island of Britain never produced enough of the precious metals to compensate the invader for the trouble of slaughtering our ancestors.
Camden mentions gold and silver mines in Cumberland, a mine of silver in Flintshire, and of gold in Scotland. Speaking of the copper mines of Cumberland, he says that veins of gold and silver were found intermixed with the common ore; and in the reign of Elizabeth gave birth to a suit at law between the earl of Northumberland and another claimant.
Borlase, in his History of Cornwall, relates, “that so late as the year 1753 several pieces of gold were found in what the miners call stream tin; and silver is now got in considerable quantity from several of our lead mines.”
A curious paper, concerning the gold mines of Scotland, is given by Mr. Pennant, in the Appendix, No. 10. to his second part of a “Tour in Scotland, in 1772;” but still there never was sufficient gold and silver enough to constitute the price of victory. The other metals, such as tin, copper, iron, and lead, are found in abundance at this day; antimony and manganese in small quantities.[191]
Of the copper mines now working in Cornwall, “Dolcoath,” situated near Camborn, is the deepest, having a 220 fathom level under the adit, which is 40 fathoms from the surface; so that the total depth is 260 fathoms, or 1560 feet: it employs upwards of 1000 persons. The “Consolidated Mines,” in Gwennap, are the most productive perhaps in the world, yielding from 10_l._ to 12000_l._ a month of copper ore, with a handsome profit to the shareholders. “Great St. George” is the only productive mine near St. Agnes, and the only one producing metal to the “English Mining Association.”
Of the tin mines, “Wheal Nor,” in Breague, is an immense concern, producing an amazing quantity, and a large profit to the company. “Carnon Stream,” near Perran, is now yielding a good profit on its capital. It has a shaft sunk in the middle of the stream. The washings down from so many mines, the adits of which run in this stream, bring many sorts of metal, with some curious bits of gold.
Of late years the mine called Wheal Rose, and some others belonging to sir Christopher Hawkins, have been the most prolific of lead, mixed with a fair proportion of silver. Wheal Penhale, Wheal Hope, and others, promise favourably.
As yet Wheal Sparnon has not done much in cobalt; the quality found in that mine is very excellent, but quantity is the “one thing needful.”
The immense quantity of coals consumed in the numerous fire-engines come from Wales; the vessels convey the copper ore, as it is brought by the copper companies, to their smelting works: it is a back freight for the shipping.
Altogether, the number of individuals who derive their living by means of the mineral district of Cornwall must be incalculable; and it is a great satisfaction to know, that this county suffered less during the recent bad times than perhaps any other county.
SAM SAM’S SON.
April 30, 1827.
[191] A Missouri paper states, that copper is in such abundance and purity, from the falls of St. Anthony to Lake Superior, that the Indians make hatchets and ornaments of it, without any other instrument than the hammer. The mines still remain in the possession of the Indians.
* * * * *
~Angling~
AT THAMES DITTON.
For the Table Book.
Thames Ditton is a pretty little village, delightfully situated on the banks of the Thames, between Kingston and Hampton Court palace. During the summer and autumn, it is the much-frequented resort of the followers of Isaac Walton’s tranquil occupation.
The Swan inn, only a few paces from the water’s edge, remarkable for the neatness and comfort of its appearance, and for the still more substantial attractions of its internal accommodation, is kept by Mr. John Locke, a most civil, good-natured, and obliging creature; and, what is not of slight importance to a bon-vivant, he has a wife absolutely incomparable in the preparation of “stewed eels,” and not to be despised in the art of cooking a good beef-steak, or a mutton-chop.
But what is most remarkable in this place is its appellation of “lying Ditton”--from what reason I have ever been unable to discover, unless it has been applied by those cockney anglers, who, chagrined at their want of sport, have bestowed upon it that very opprobrious designation; and perhaps not entirely without foundation for when they have been unsuccessful in beguiling the finny tribe, the fishermen, who attend them in their punts, are always prepared to assign a cause for their failure; as that the water is too low--or not sufficiently clear--or too muddy--or there is a want of rain--or there has been too much of that element--or--any thing else--except a want of skill in the angler himself, who patiently sits in his punt, watching the course of his float down the stream, or its gentle diving under the water, by which he flatters himself he has a bite, listening to the stories of his attendant, seated in calm indifference at his side, informing him of the mortality produced among the gelid tribe by the noxious gas which flows into the river from the metropolis, the alarming effects from the motion of the steam-boats on their fishy nerves, and, above all, from their feeding at that season of year on the green weeds at the bottom.
However, there are many most skilful lovers of the angle who pay weekly, monthly, or annual visits to this retired spot; amongst whom are gentlemen of fortune, professional men, and respectable tradesmen. After the toils of the day, the little rooms are filled with aquatic sportsmen, who have left the cares of life, and the great city behind them, and associate in easy conversation, and unrestrained mirth.
One evening last summer there alighted from the coach a gentleman, apparently of the middle age of life, who first seeing his small portmanteau, fishing-basket, and rods safely deposited with the landlord, whom he heartily greeted, walked into the room, and shaking hands with one or two of his acquaintances, drew a chair to the window, which he threw up higher than it was before; and, after surveying with a cheerful countenance the opposite green park, the clear river with its sedgy islands, and the little flotilla of punts, whose tenants were busily engaged on their gliding floats, he seemed as delighted as a bird that has regained his liberty: then, taking from his pocket a paper, he showed its contents to me, who happened to be seated opposite, and asked if I was a connoisseur in “single hair;” for, if I was, I should find it the best that could be procured for love or money. I replied that I seldom fished with any but gut-lines; yet it appeared, as far as I could judge, to be very fine. “Fine!” said he, “it would do for the filament of a spider’s-web; and yet I expect to-morrow to kill with it a fish of a pound weight. I recollect,” continued he, “when I was but a tyro in the art of angling, once fishing with an old gentleman, whose passion for single-hair was so great, that, when the season of the year did not permit him to pursue his favourite diversion, he spent the greatest part of his time in travelling about from one end of the kingdom to the other, seeking the best specimens of this invaluable article. On his visits to the horse-dealers, instead of scrutinizing the horses in the customary way, by examining their legs, inquiring into their points and qualities, or trying their paces, to the unspeakable surprise of the venders, he invariably walked up to the nether extremities of the animals, and seized hold of their tails, by which means he was enabled to select a capital assortment of hairs for his ensuing occupation.”
After the new-comer had finished his amusing anecdote, the noise of a numerous flock of starlings, which had assembled among the trees in the park preparatory to their evening adjournment to roost, attracted his notice by the babel-like confusion of their shrill notes, and led him again to entertain us with a story touching their peculiarities.
“I remember,” said he, “when I was at a friend’s house in Yorkshire last autumn, there were such immense numbers of these birds, who sought their sustenance by day on the neighbouring marshes, and at night came to roost in his trees, that at length there was not room for their entire accommodation; the consequence of which was, that it became a matter of necessity that a separation of their numbers should take place--a part to other quarters, the remainder to retain possession of their old haunts. If I might judge from the conflicting arguments which their confused chatterings seemed to indicate, the contemplated arrangement was not at all relished by those who were doomed to separate from their companions--a separation, however, did take place--but the exiles would not leave the field undisputed. Birds, like aid-de-camps of an army, flew from one side to the other--unceasing voices gave note of dreadful preparation--and, at last, both sides took flight at the same instant. The whirring sound of their wings was perfectly deafening; when they had attained a great height in the air, the two forces clashed together with the greatest impetuosity; immediately the sky was obscured with an appearance like the falling of snow, descending gradually to the earth, accompanied with a vast quantity of bodies of the starlings, which had been speared through by hostile beaks-they literally fell like hail. It was then growing rather dusk; I could merely see the contending flocks far above me for some time--it became darker--and I returned to narrate this extraordinary aërial combat to my friend, who in the morning had the curiosity to accompany me to the field of battle, where we picked up, according to an accurate calculation, 1087 of these birds, some quite dead, and others generally severely wounded, with an amazing quantity of their feathers.”
I saw this amusing gentleman on the following morning sitting quietly in his punt, exercising his single-hair skill, nearly opposite to the little fishing-house.
E. J. H.
April, 1827.
* * * * *
TICKLING TROUT.
For the Table Book.
It is a liberty taken by poachers with the little brook running through Castle Coombe, to catch trout by tickling. I instance the practice there because I have there witnessed it, although it prevails in other places. The person employed wades into the stream, puts his bare arms into the hole where trout resort, slides his fingers under the fish, feels its position, commences tickling, and the trout falls gradually into his hand, and is thrown upon the grass. This is a successful snare, destructive to the abundance of trout, and the angler’s patient pleasure. The lovers of the “hook and eye” system oppose these ticklish practices, and the ticklers, when caught, are “punished according to law,” while the patrons of the “rod and line” escape. Shakspeare may have hinted at retribution, when he said
“A thousand men the fishes gnawed upon.”
Pope tell us that men are
“Pleased with a feather, tickled with a straw.”
P.
* * * * *
THE CLERKS OF CORNWALL.
1. In the last age there was a familiarity between the parson and the clerk and the people, which our feelings of decorum would revolt at, e. g.--“I have seen the ungodly flourish like a green bay tree.”--“How can that be, maister?” said the clerk of St. Clement’s. Of this I was myself an ear-witness.
2. At Kenwyn, two dogs, one of which was the parson’s, were fighting at the west-end of the church; the parson, who was then reading the second lesson, rushed out of the pew, and went down and parted them, returned to his pew, and, doubtful where he had left off, asked the clerk, “Roger, where was I?” “Why down parting the dogs, maister,” said Roger.
3. At Mevagizzey, when non-resident clergymen officiated, it was usual with the squire of the parish to invite them to dinner. Several years ago, a non-resident clergyman was requested to do duty in the church of Mevagizzey on a Sunday, when the Creed of St. Athanasius is directed to be read. Before he had begun the service, the parish-clerk asked him, whether he intended to read the Athanasian Creed that morning. “Why?” said the clergyman. “Because if you do, no dinner for you at the squire’s, at Penwarne.”
4. A very short time since, parish-clerks used to read the first lesson. I once heard the St. Agnes clerk cry out, “At the mouth of the burning viery vurnis,--Shadrac, Meshac, and Abednego, com voath and com hether.” [Daniel, chap, iii.]
The clerk of Lamorran, in giving out the Psalm, “Like a timorous bird to distant mountains fly,” always said, “Like a temmersum burde, &c. &c.” with a shake of the head, and a quavering of the voice, which could not but provoke risibility.[192]
[192] Rev. Mr. Polwhele’s Recollections.
* * * * *
~Custom~
OBSERVED BY THE
LORD LIEUTENANTS OF IRELAND.
On the great road from London to West Chester, we find, at the principal inns, the coats of arms of several lord lieutenants of Ireland, framed, and hung up in the best rooms. At the bottom of these armorial pictures (as I may call them) is a full display of all the titles of the party, together with the date of the year when each viceroyship commenced. I have often inquired the reason of this custom, but never could procure a satisfactory answer. I do not reprobate the idea of this relique of ancient dignity, as these heraldic monuments were doubtless intended to operate as public evidences of the passage of each lord-deputy to his delegated government. They now seem only to be preserved for the gratification of the vanity of the capital innkeepers, by showing to humble travellers that such and such lord lieutenants did them the honour to stop at their houses; and yet I will not say, but that for half-a-crown handsomely offered to his excellency’s gentleman, they might likewise become part of the furniture of every ale-house in Dunstable.
After fruitless inquiry, accident furnished me with the ground of this custom, which now only serves to excite a little transitory curiosity. Having occasion to look into sir Dudley Digge’s “Complete Ambassador,” published in 1654, I was obliged to the editor for a solution, who, in the preface, (signed A. H.,) speaking of the reserve of the English ambassadors, in not making public their negotiations, has this observation--“We have hardly any notion of them but by their arms, which are hung up in inns where they passed.”
This paragraph at once accounts for the point before us, and is sufficient, at the same time, to show that the custom was anciently, and even in the seventeenth century, common to every ambassador, though it now only survives with those who go in the greater and more elevated line of royal representation to Ireland.
SAMUEL PEGGE.[193]
[193] Curialia Miscellanea.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
THE BACHELOR’S PLAINT.
AN ODE OF THE OLDEN TIME.
Hark! the curfew, friend to night, Banishes the cheerful light; Now the scholar, monk, and sage-- All by lamp that con the page-- All to whom the light is dear Sigh that sullen knell to hear! Labour now with day is done; To the wave the weary sun Rushes, from its cool to borrow Vigour for his course to-morrow: Yet, in kindness, scorning quite Thus to rob the world of light, He lends the moon his useful beams, And through the night by proxy gleams. Kine unyok’d, sheep safely penn’d, Ploughmen, hind, and shepherd wend To the hostel’s welcome latch, From the tankard’s draught to snatch Strength, relax’d, which, blithe of strain, Deeds of day they act again! Now the nightingale’s sad note Through the listening air ’gins float, Warning youth in warded tower, Maiden in her greenwood bower; ’Tis the very witching time, Dear alike to love and rhyme! Every lover, at the strain, Speeds the shady grove to gain, Where awaits the treasur’d maid; Where each care and toil’s repaid! Each fond heart now lightly veers, With alternate hopes and fears; Each fond heart now sweetly glows, With love’s rapturous joys and woes; Each fond heart--ah, why not mine!-- Gently hails the day’s decline; But, alas! mine,--woe is me!-- Is benumb’d by apathy; Is indifference’ dull throne-- There she reigns, unmov’d, alone! There one stagnant calm presides, Chilling all sweet feelings’ tides! Ah, methinks, I fierce despair Better than such calm could bear: I have nought to hope or fear-- No emotion claims a tear-- No soft rapture wakes a smile, Meeding centuries of toil! Listless, sad, forlorn, I rove, Feeling still the heart wants Love! Nought to me can pleasure give, Shadow of the dead I live! No sweet maid’s consenting blush On my cheek brings rapture’s flush! No fond maiden’s tender tear Thrills my soul with transports dear! No kind maiden’s kiss bestows Blest reward for all my woes! No sweet maid’s approving smile Beams my labours to beguile! Best incentive Love can claim, Leading age to wealth and fame. A lone and lonely being I, Only seem to live--to die! With mankind my vacant heart Feels as if it had no part! Love, thy slave I’d rather be, Than free, if this is being free! Rather feel thy worst annoy, Than live and never know thy joy! Come, then, let thy keenest dart, Drive this loath’d Freedom from my heart: I’ll bear whole ages of thy pain, One moment of thy bliss to gain!
W. T. M.
May, 1827.
* * * * *
BRUMMELLIANA.
A great deal used to be said of Beau Nash and his witticisms; but certainly we never met with any thing of his which was at all equal to the oracular sentences of the gentleman who gives a name to this article. Of all the beaux that ever flourished--at least, of all that ever flourished on the same score--exemplary of waistcoat, and having authoritative boots from which there was no appeal--he appears to us to have been the only one who made a proper and perfect union of the coxcombical and ingenious. Other men may have been as scientific on the subject of bibs, in a draper-like point of view; and others may have said as good things, which had none of the colouring arising out of the consciousness of fashionable preeminence. Beau Fielding, we believe, stands on record as the handsomest of beaux. There is Beau Skeffington, now rather sir Lumley, who, under all his double-breasted coats and waistcoats, never had any other than a single-hearted soul; he is to be recorded as the most amiable of beaux; but Beau Brummell for your more than finished coxcomb. He could be grave enough, but he was any thing but a solemn coxcomb. He played with his own sceptre. It was found a grand thing to be able to be a consummate fop, and yet have the credit of being something greater; and he was both. Never was any thing more exquisitely conscious, yet indifferent; extravagant, yet judicious. His superiority in dress gave such importance to his genius, and his genius so divested of insipidity his superiority in dress, that the poet’s hyperbole about the lady might be applied to his coat; and
“You might almost say the body thought.”
It was a moot point which had the more tact, his gloves or his fingers’ ends. He played the balls of wit and folly so rapidly about his head, that they lost their distinctions in one crowning and brilliant halo.
Mr. Brummell, it is true, is no longer in favour as a settler of fashions. Why, it is not our business to inquire. But though it may be said of his waistcoat, like Troy, that it was, his wit is, and will remain; and here, for the first time, a few specimens of it are collected. If George Etheridge himself would not have acknowledged a brother in George Brummell, then are no two gloves of a colour.
To begin with what is usually reckoned the prince of his good things. Mr. Brummell having fallen out of favour with an illustrious person, was of course to be cut, as the phrase is, when met in public. Riding one day with a friend, who happened to be otherwise regarded, and encountering the personage in question, who spoke to the friend without noticing Mr. Brummell, he affected the air of one who waits aloof while a stranger is present; and then, when the great man was moving off, said to his companion, loud enough for the other to hear, and placidly adjusting his bibs, “Eh! who is our fat friend?”
Having taken it into his head, at one time, to eat no vegetables, and being asked by a lady if he had never eaten any in his life, he said, “Yes, madam, I once eat a pea.”
Being met limping in Bond-street, and asked what was the matter, he said he had hurt his leg, and “the worst of it was, it was his favourite leg.”
Somebody inquiring where he was going to dine next day, was told that he really did not know: “they put me in my coach and take me somewhere.”
He pronounced of a fashionable tailor that he made a good coat, an exceedingly good coat, all but the collar: nobody could achieve a good collar but Jenkins.
Having borrowed some money of a city beau, whom he patronised in return, he was one day asked to repay it; upon which he thus complained to a friend: “Do you know what has happened?”--“No.”--“Why, do you know, there’s that fellow, Tomkins, who lent me five hundred pounds, has had the face to ask me for it; and yet I had called the dog ‘Tom,’ and let myself dine with him.”
“You have a cold, Mr. Brummell,” observed a sympathizing group. “Why do you know,” said he, “that on the Brighton road, the other day, that infidel, Weston, (his valet,) put me into a room with a damp stranger.”
Being asked if he liked port, he said, with an air of difficult recollection, “Port? port?--Oh, port!--Oh, ay; what, the hot intoxicating liquor so much drank by the lower orders?”
Going to a rout, where he had not been invited, or rather, perhaps, where the host wished to mortify him, and attempted it, he turned placidly round to him, and, with a happy mixture of indifference and surprise, asked him his name. “Johnson,” was the answer. “Jauhnson,” said Brummell, recollecting, and pretending to feel for a card; “Oh, the name, I remember, was Thaun-son (Thompson;) and Jauhnson and Thaunson, you know, Jauhnson and Thaunson, are really so much the same kind of thing!”
A beggar petitioned him for charity “even if it was only a farthing.”--“Fellow,” said Mr. Brummell, softening the disdain of the appellation in the gentleness of his tone, “I don’t know the coin.”
Having thought himself invited to somebody’s country seat, and being given to understand, after one night’s lodging, that he was in error, he told an unconscious friend in town who asked him what sort of a place it was, that it was an “exceedingly good place for stopping one night in.”
Speaking lightly of a man, and wishing to convey his maximum of contemptuous feeling about him, he said, “He is a fellow, now, that would send his plate up twice for soup.”
It was his opinion, that port, and not porter, should be taken with cheese. “A gentleman,” said he, “never malts with his cheese, he always ports.”
It being supposed that he once failed in a matrimonial speculation, somebody condoled with him; upon which he smiled, with an air of better knowledge on that point, and said, with a sort of indifferent feel of his neckcloth, “Why, sir, the truth is, I had great reluctance in cutting the connection; but what could I do? (Here he looked deploring and conclusive.) Sir, I discovered that the wretch positively ate cabbage.”
Upon receiving some affront from an illustrious personage, he said that it was “rather too good. By gad, I have half a mind to cut the young one, and bring old G--e into fashion.”
When he went visiting, he is reported to have taken with him an elaborate dressing apparatus, including a silver basin; “For,” said he, “it is impossible to spit in clay.”
On being asked by a friend, during an unseasonable summer, if he had ever seen such a one? “Yes,” replied B. “last winter.”
On a reference being made to him as to what sum would be sufficient to meet the annual expenditure for clothes, he said, “that with a moderate degree of prudence and economy, he thought it might be managed for eight hundred per annum.”
He told a friend that he was reforming his way of life, “For instance,” said he, “I sup early; I take a-a-little lobster, an apricot puff, or so, and some burnt champaigne, about twelve; and my man gets me to bed by three.”[194]
[194] Literary Pocket Book.
Vol. I.--22.
Friday, May, -- 1827.
I had appointed this morning with my friend W. for a visit to the gallery of paintings at Dulwich College; and he was to obtain from a printseller an admission ticket, and bring it with him. He came furnished with the ticket, but as the ticket provided that the public were not to be admitted on a Friday, our seeing the pictures was out of the question. Neither of us, however, was in a humour to be disappointed of a holiday; we therefore set out in the direction we had intended. A coachman hailed us from the box of a Dulwich stage; we gave him an assenting nod, and mounted the roof: and after a brisk drive through Walworth and Camberwell, which are now no other way distinguishable from the metropolis, than by the irregular forms and sizes of the houses, and the bits of sickly grass and bottle-green poplars that further diversify them, we attained to the sight of the first out-of-town looking trees and verdure on the ascent towards Herne-hill. Here we began to feel “another air;” and during the calm drive down the hill into Dulwich--the prettiest of all the village entrances in the environs of London--we had glimpses, between the elms and sycamores, of pleasant lawns And blooming gardens, with bursts of the fine distances. The calm of the scene was heightened by the note of the cuckoo: it was no “note of fear” to us--we remembered our good wives surrounded by their families; they had greeted our departure with smiles, and hopes that the day would be pleasant, and that we should enjoy ourselves;--the mother and the children rejoiced in “father’s holiday” as a day of happiness to them, because it would make him happier.
Leaving Dulwich College on our right, with an useless regret, that, by our mistake as to the day, the picture-gallery was closed to us, we indulged in a passing remark on the discrepancies of the building--the hall and west wing of the Elizabethan age; the east wing in the Vanbrugh style; and the gallery differing from each. Alighting, just beyond, at the end of the old road, and crossing to the new one in the same line, we diligently perused an awful notice from the parochial authorities against offenders, and acquainted ourselves with the rewards for apprehending them. The board seemed to be a standing argument in behalf of reading and writing, in opposition to some of the respectable inhabitants of Dulwich, who consider ignorance the exclusive property of labourers and servants, which they cannot be deprived of without injury to their morals.
Ascending the hill, and leaving on the left hand a large house, newly built by a rich timber-merchant, with young plantations that require years of growth before they can attain sufficient strength to defend the mansion from the winds, we reached the summit of the hill, and found a direction-post that pointed us to a choice of several roads. We strolled into one leading to Penge Common through enclosed woodlands. Our ears were charmed by throngs of sweet singing birds; we were in a cathedral of the feathered tribes, where “every denomination” chanted rapturous praises and thanksgivings; the verger-robins twittered as they accompanied us with their full sparkling eyes and bright liveried breasts.--
Chiefs of the choir, and highest in the heavens, As emulous to join the angels’ songs, Were soaring larks; and some had dared so far They seem’d like atoms sailing in the light; Their voices and themselves were scarce discern’d Above their comrades, who, in lower air Hung buoyant, brooding melody, that fell Streaming, and gushing, on our thirsty ears. In this celestial chancel we remain’d To reverence these creatures’ loud Te Deum-- A holy office of their simple natures To Him--the great Creator and Preserver-- Whom they instinctively adored.
A gate in the road was opened to us by a poor woman, who had seen our approach from her road-side dwelling; she had the care of collecting the toll from horsemen and carriage-drivers--we were foot-passengers, and credited our tailors for the civility. At a few yards beyond this turnpike we stopped to read a dictatorial intimation:--“All trespassers on these woods will be prosecuted, and the constables have orders to take them into custody.” I am not sure that there is a “physiognomy of hand-writing,” but I am a believer in the physiognomy of style, and the features of this bespoke a Buonaparte of the hundred who had partaken of the carvings under an enclosure-act. No part was fenced off from the common road, and the land had been open to all till spoliation deprived the commoners of their ancient right, and annexed the common soil to a neighbouring domain. Whose it now is, by law, I know not, nor inquired. I look around, and cottages have disappeared, and there are villas instead; and the workhouses are enlarged, and, instead of labour, tread-mills are provided. According to a political economist of ancient times, “There is much food in the tillage of the poor;” and “He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent.” To whom of old was it said, “The spoil of the poor is in your houses?”
We lingered on our way, and passed a bridge over the canal, towards a well-looking public-house, called “the Old Crooked Billet.” Before the door is, what is called, a “sign,” which, according to modern usage, is a sign-post, with a sign-board without a sign, inscribed with the name of what the sign had been. Formerly this was a little ale-house, and to denote its use to the traveller, the landlord availed himself of one of the large old trees then before the door, and hung upon the lowest of its fine spreading branches not the “sign” of the billet, but a real “crooked billet:” this was the origin of “the Old Crooked Billet” on (what was) Penge Common. We had set out late and loitered, and after a brief reconnoitre entered the house in search of refreshment. The landlord and his family were at dinner in a commodious, respectable bar. He rose to us like “a giant refreshed,” and stood before us a good-humoured “Boniface”--every inch a man--who had attained to strength and fair proportion, by virtue of the ease and content wherein he lived. We found from his notable dame that we could have eggs and bacon, and spinach put into the pot from the garden, in a few minutes; nothing could have been suggested more suitable to our inclination, and we had the pleasure of being smiled into a comfortable parlour, with a bow-window view of the common. The time necessary for the preparation of our meal afforded leisure to observe the hostel. W. went out to pencil the exterior in his sketch-book. Except for the situation, and the broad, good-humoured, country face of our landlord, we might have imagined ourselves in town; and this was the only uncomfortable feeling we had. The sign-board on the other side of the road revealed the name of our entertainer--“R. Harding,” and the parlour mantlepiece told that he was a “Dealer in Foreign Wines, Segars, &c.” This inscription, written in clerk-like German text, framed and glazed, was transportation against my will, to the place from whence I came. Our attention was diverted by the rolling up of a gig, espied afar off by “mine host,” who waited at the door with an eye to business, and his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket. The driver, a thin, sharp-featured, pock-faced man, about forty, alighted with as much appearance of kindly disposition as he could bring his features to assume, and begged the favour of an order for “a capital article.” His presented card was received with a drop of the landlord’s countenance, and a shake of the head. The solicitor--and he looked as keenly as a Chancery-lane one--was a London Capillaire-maker; he urged “a single bottle;” the landlord pleaded his usage of sugar and demurred, nor could he be urged on to trial. Our repast brought in, and finished with a glass of country brewed and a segar, W. completed his sketch, and we paid a moderate charge, and departed with “the Old Crooked Billet” as exhibited in the engraving. The house affords as “good accommodation for man and horse” as can be found in any retired spot so near London. Our stroll to it was delightful. We withdrew along the pleasant road to the village of Beckenham. Its white pointed spire, embowered in trees, had frequently caught our sight in the course of the day, and we desired to obtain a near view of a church that heightened the cheerful character of the landscape. It will form another article--perhaps two.
*
* * * * *
~Witchcraft.~
THE MOUNTAIN ASH.
To the Editor.
_Witherslack, near Milnthorpe, Westmoreland._
Sir,--I think you have not celebrated in the Every-Day Book the virtues of the mountain ash, or as it is called in the northern counties, the Wiggen Tree.--Its anti-witching properties are there held in very high esteem. No witch will come near it; and it is believed that the smallest twig, which might cross the path of one of these communers with the powers of darkness, would as effectually stop her career, however wild it might be, or however intent she might be on the business of evil, as did the “key-stane” of the bridge of Doon stop the fiendish crew, that pursued poor Tam O’Shanter and his luckless mare Maggie.
You are well aware that there are few places, especially in the country, in which one of these agents of the devil, ycleped “witches,” does not reside. She may always be known by her extreme penury and ugliness. There is generally also a protuberance of flesh on some part of the neck or jaw, by which it is known that she has sold herself to the father of lies. She has usually a large black cat, of which she is prodigiously fond, and takes special care. Some shrewdly suspect this to be the “old gentleman” himself. She is very envious, and frequently makes malicious prognostications of evil, which subsequent events but too faithfully verify. She must therefore, with all these qualifications, be the authoress of every mishap, which cannot more reasonably be accounted for. For example, should the “auld witch” call at any farmhouse during the operation of churning, and be suffered to depart without a sop being thrown to her, in the shape of a small print of butter, you will be sure to have many a weary hour of labour the next time you churn, before butter can be obtained. And, therefore, to prevent the old beldam introducing herself into the churn, the churn-staff must be made of the “Wiggen Tree,” and you will be effectually freed from her further interference in that case. The cattle in the stables and cow-houses, if she takes a spite against you, are frequently found, or dreaded to be found, (for many an instance of such things is recorded on undoubted testimony,) in a morning, tied together, standing on their heads, the cows milked, and every other mischievous prank played, which a malicious fiend could invent: and therefore to prevent all these dire ills, the shafts of the forks, and all other utensils used in those places, must be made of the all-powerful “Wiggen.” She frequently does the same mischief in places far remote on the same night; and although old and crippled, and showing “all the variety of wretchedness” by day, at night she mounts her broomstick, and wings her airy course to the moon, if need be. All honest people, who have a due regard to undisturbed slumbers during the night, when all the world knows that
Church-yards yawn, And hell itself breathes forth contagion to the world,
take special care to have a branch of this never-failing antidote to witchery at their bed heads. This has been the practice of my mother ever since I can remember; she also carries a hare’s foot in her pocket, to guard against all attacks in that quarter by day. You will think that these precautions are very uncalled for, perhaps, at this time of day, but such we have been in our generations, and such to a considerable extent we now are, and therefore pray do record us.
I remain, Sir, &c.
CARLE.
* * * * *
A PARTICULAR DIRECTION.
A few months ago a letter, bearing the following curious superscription, was put into the post-office in Manchester:--“For Mr. Colwell that Keeps the Shop in Back Anderson-st. to Bee Gave to Jack Timlen that Keeps the pigs in his own Sellar in Back Anderson-st. the irish man that has the Large family that bgs the mail from Mr. Colwell and milk to Bolton.”[195]
[195] Bolton Express.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XIX.
[From the “Silver Age,” an Historical Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.]
Proserpine seeking Flowers.
Pros. O may these meadows ever barren be, That yield of flowers no more variety! Here neither is the White nor Sanguine Rose, The Strawberry Flower, the Paunce, nor Violet; Methinks I have too poor a meadow chose: Going to beg, I am with a Beggar met, That wants as much as I. I should do ill To take from them that need.--
* * * * *
Ceres, after the Rape of her Daughter.
Cer. Where is my fair and lovely Proserpine? Speak, Jove’s fair Daughter, whither art thou stray’d I’ve sought the meadows, glebes, and new-reap’d fields Yet cannot find my Child. Her scatter’d flowers, And garland half-made-up, I have lit upon; But her I cannot spy. Behold the trace Of some strange wagon,[196] that hath scorcht the trees, And singed the grass: these ruts the sun ne’er sear’d. Where art thou, Love, where art thou, Proserpine?--
She questions Triton for her Daughter.
Cer.----thou that on thy shelly trumpet Summons the sea-god, answer from the depth. Trit. On Neptune’s sea-horse with my concave trump Thro’ all the abyss I’ve shrill’d thy daughter’s loss. The channels clothed in waters, the low cities In which the water-gods and sea-nymphs dwell, I have perused; sought thro’ whole woods and forests Of leafless coral, planted in the deeps; Toss’d up the beds of pearl; rouzed up huge whales, And stern sea-monsters, from their rocky dens; Those bottoms, bottomless; shallows and shelves, And all those currents where th’ earth’s springs break in; Those plains where Neptune feeds his porpoises, Sea-morses, seals, and all his cattle else: Thro’ all our ebbs and tides my trump hath blazed her, Yet can no cavern shew me Proserpine.
She questions the Earth.
Cer. Fair sister Earth, for all these beauteous fields, Spread o’er thy breast; for all these fertile crops, With which my plenty hath enrich’d thy bosom; For all those rich and pleasant wreaths of grain, With which so oft thy temples I have crowned; For all the yearly liveries, and fresh robes, Upon thy summer beauty I bestow-- Shew me my Child! Earth. Not in revenge, fair Ceres, That your remorseless ploughs have rak’t my breast, Nor that your iron-tooth’d harrows print my face So full of wrinkles; that you dig my sides For marle and soil, and make me bleed my springs Thro’ all my open’d veins to weaken me-- Do I conceal your Daughter. I have spread My arms from sea to sea, look’d o’er my mountains, Examin’d all my pastures, groves, and plains, Marshes and wolds, my woods and champain fields, My dens and caves--and yet, from foot to head, I have no place on which the Moon[197] doth tread. Cer. Then, Earth, thou’st lost her; and, for Proserpine, I’ll strike thee with a lasting barrenness. No more shall plenty crown thy fertile brows; I’ll break thy ploughs, thy oxen murrain-strike: With idle agues I’ll consume thy swains; Sow tares and cockles in thy lands of wheat, Whose spikes the weed and cooch-grass shall outgrow, And choke it in the blade. The rotten showers Shall drown thy seed, which the hot sun shall parch, Or mildews rot; and what remains, shall be A prey to ravenous birds.--Oh Proserpine!-- You Gods that dwell above, and you below, Both of the woods and gardens, rivers, brooks, Fountains and wells, some one among you all Shew me her self or grave: to you I call.
Arethusa riseth.
Are. That can the river Arethusa do. My streams you know, fair Goddess, issue forth From Tartary by the Tenarian isles: My head’s in Hell where Stygian Pluto reigns. There did I see the lovely Proserpine, Whom Pluto hath rapt hence; behold her girdle, Which on her way dropt from her lovely waist, And scatter’d in my streams.--Fair Queen, adieu! Crown you my banks with flowers, as I tell true.
* * * * *
[From the “Golden Age,” an Historical Play, by the same Author, 1611.]
Sibilla, the Wife of Saturn, is by him enjoined to slay the new-born Jupiter. None can do it for his smiles.
Sibilla. Vesta. Nurse.
Sib. Mother, of all that ever mothers were Most wretched! Kiss thy sweet babe ere he die, That hath life only lent to suffer death. Sweet Lad, I would thy father saw thee smile. Thy beauty, and thy pretty infancy, Would mollify his heart, were’t hew’d from flint, Or carved with iron tools from Corsic rock. Thou laugh’st to think thou must be kill’d in jest. Oh! if thou needs must die, I’ll be thy murtheress, And kill thee with my kisses, pretty knave.-- And can’st thou laugh to see thy mother weep? Or art thou in thy chearful smiles so free, In scorn of thy rude father’s tyranny? I’ll kiss thee ere I kill thee: for my life The Lad so smiles, I cannot hold the knife. Vest. Then give him me; I am his Grandmother, And I will kill him gently: this sad office Belongs to me, as to the next of kin. Sib. For heaven’s sake, when you kill him, hurt him not. Vest. Come, little knave, prepare your naked throat I have not heart to give thee many wounds, My kindness is to take thy life at once. Now-- Alack, my pretty Grandchild, smilest thou still? I have lust to kiss, but have no heart to kill. Nurse. You may be careless of the King’s command But it concerns me; and I love my life More than I do a Stripling’s. Give him me, I’ll make him sure; a sharp weapon lend, I’ll quickly bring the Youngster to his end.-- Alack, my pretty knave, ’twere more than sin With a sharp knife to touch thy tender skin. O Madam, he’s so full of angel grace, I cannot strike, he smiles so in my face. Sib. I’ll wink, and strike; come, once more reach him hither; For die he must, so Saturn hath decreed: ’Las, for a world I would not see him bleed. Vest. Ne shall he do. But swear me secrecy; The Babe shall live, and we be dangerless.
C. L.
[196] The car of Dis.
[197] Proserpine; who was also Luna in Heaven, Diana on Earth.
* * * * *
THE FIRST BUTTERFLY.
One of the superstitions prevailing in Devonshire is, that any individual neglecting to kill the first butterfly he may see for the season will have ill-luck throughout the year. The following recent example is given by a young lady:--“The other Sunday, as we were walking to church, we met a man running at full speed, with his hat in one hand, and a stick in the other. As he passed us, he exclaimed, ‘I sha’n’t hat’en now, I b’lieve.’ He did not give us time to inquire what he was so eagerly pursuing; but we presently overtook an old man, whom we knew to be his father, and who being very infirm, at upwards of seventy, generally hobbled about by the aid of two sticks. Addressing me, he observed, ‘My zin a took away wan a’ my sticks, miss, wan’t be ebble to kill’n now, though, I b’lieve.’ ‘Kill what?’ said I. ‘Why, ’tis a butterfly, miss, the furst hee’th a zeed for the year; and they zay that a body will have cruel bad luck if a ditn’en kill a furst a zeeth.’”[198]
[198] Dorset Chronicle, May, 1825.
* * * * *
KING JAMES I. AT DURHAM.
To the Editor.
Sir,--If you think the subjoined worthy of a place in your Table Book, I shall feel glad to see it. I believe it has never been in print; it is copied from an entry in one of the old corporation books.
Yours, very truly,
M. J.
Durham, May, 1827.
THE MANNER OF THE KINGES MAJESTY COMING TO THE CITTIE OF DURHAM, ANNO DOM. 1617, AS FOLLOWETH.
Upon Good Friday, being the 18th of April, 1617, Mr. Heaborne, one of his majesties gentlemen ushers spoke to George Walton, Maior, that it was his majesties pleasure to come in state unto the cittie, and that it were fitting that the maior and aldermen should be ready upon the next daie following, being Satturdaie, to give their attendance upon his majestie in some convenient place within the cittie; and the said maior to have his foot-cloth horse their ready to attend, which likewise was done upon Elvet Bridge, near the tower thereof, being new rayled, within the rayles of wood then made for that purpose: at which time his said majesties said gentleman usher standing by the said maior and aldermen till his majesties coming, when there was a speech delivered by the said maior to his majestie, together with the maces and staffe; and at time fitting in the same speech so made, a silver bowle gilt, with a cover, was presented by the said maior to his majestie, which appeares as followeth:--
“Most gracious soveraigne. What unspeakable joy is this your highness presents unto us, your loving subjects; our tongues are not able to utter, nor our meanes to shew you welcome. Your gracious majestie, at your happie cominge hither with much peace and plentie found this cittie inabled, with divers liberties and priveledges, all sovering pittie and power spiritual and temporal being in yourself, gave unto us the same againe; and afterwards, of your gracious bountie, confirmed them under your great seal of England. We humbly beseech your majestie continue your favours towards this cittie; and in token of our love and loyaltie, crave the acceptance of this myte, and we shall be readie to the uttermost expence of our dearest bloud, to defend you and your royal progeny here on earth, as with our prayers to God to blesse you and all yours in all eternitie.”
After which speech the maior was called by his majesties gentleman usher to take his horse, and to ride before his majestie; immediate upon which commandment made by his majesties gentleman usher, there was at the same place, about forty yards distance, certayne verses spoken by an apprentice of this cittie to his majestie, as followeth: after which, the maior was placed in rank next the sword, and so rode forward, carring the citties mace, to the church.
To the Kinges most Excellent Majestie.
“Durham’s old cittie thus salutss our king With entertainment, she doth homlie bring: And cannot smyle upon his majestie With shew of greatness; but humilitie Makes her express herself in modern guise Dejected to this north, bare to your eyes. For the great prelate, which of late adorde His dignities, and for which we implore Your highnesse aide to have a continuance-- And so confirmed by your dread ---- arm. Yet what our royal James did grant herein, William, our bishoppe, hath oppugnant been; Small task to sway down smallnesse, where man’s might Hath greater force than equity or right. But these are only in your brest included From your most gracious grant. Therefore we pray, That the faire sunshine of your brightest daie, Would smyle upon this cittie with clere beams, To exhale the tempest off insuing streames. Suffer not, great prince, our ancient state, By one fore’d will to be depopulate, Tis one seeks our undoeing: but to you, Ten thousand hearts shall pray, and knees shall bowe And this dull cell of earth wherein we live, Unto your name immortal prayse shall give. Confirm our grant, good kinge. Durham’s old cittie Would be more powerful so it has Jame’s pittie.”
REMARK.
The complaint against the bishop arose from a suit which he had instituted against the corporation in the Exchequer, for taking all the bishop’s privileges and profits of the markets and courts into their own hands, and for driving his officers by violence out of the tollbooth on the 3d of October, (7th of James I.,) and preventing their holding the courts there as usual, as well as for several other similar matters, when judgment was given against the corporation on the 24th of June, (8th of James I.,) 1611.
* * * * *
MARCH OF INTELLECT.
Every intelligent mind of right reflection accords its wishes for general enlightenment. It appears, from a fashionable miscellany, that a late distinguished writer expressed himself to that effect; the following are extracts from the article referred to. They contain, in the sequel, a forcible opinion on the tendency of the present general diffusion of literature.--
CONVERSATIONS OF MATURIN.
Maturin’s opinions of poetry, as of every thing else, were to be inferred rather than gathered. It was very difficult to draw him into literary conversation: like Congreve, he wished to be an author only in his study. Yet he courted the society of men of letters when it was to be had; but would at any time have sacrificed it to dally an hour in the drawing-room, or at the quadrille. Sometimes, however, amongst friends (particularly if he was in a splenetic mood) he freely entered into a discussion upon the living authors of England, and delivered his opinions rapidly, brilliantly, and with effect. On one occasion a conversation of this description took place, in which I had the pleasure of participating. I will recall the substance of it as well as I can. Do not expect from Maturin the turgidity of Boswell’s great man, or the amiable philosophy of Franklin: you will be disappointed if you anticipate any thing profound or speculative from him; for at the best of times he was exceedingly fond of mixing up the frivolity of a fashionable conversazione with the most solid subjects.
I met him in the county of Wicklow on a pedestrian excursion in the autumn; a relaxation he constantly indulged in, particularly at that season of the year. It was in that part of the vale of Avoca, where Moore is said to have composed his celebrated song: a green knoll forms a gradual declivity to the river, which flows through the vale, and in the centre of the knoll there is the trunk of an old oak, cut down to a seat. Upon that venerable trunk, say the peasants, Moore sat when he composed a song that, like the Rans de Vache of the Swiss, will be sung amidst those mountains and valleys as long as they are inhabited. Opposite to that spot I met Maturin, accompanied by a young gentleman carrying a fishing-rod. We were at the distance of thirty miles from Dublin; in the heart of the most beautiful valley in the island; surrounded by associations of history and poetry, with spirits subdued into tranquillity by the Italian skies above, and the peaceful gurgling of the waters below us. Never shall I forget Maturin’s strange appearance amongst those romantic dells. He was dressed in a crazy and affectedly shabby suit of black, that had waxed into a “brilliant polish” by over zeal in the service of its master; he wore no cravat, for the heat obliged him to throw it off, and his delicate neck rising gracefully from his thrice-crested collar, gave him an appearance of great singularity. His raven hair, which he generally wore long, fell down luxuriantly without a breath to agitate it; and his head was crowned with a hat which I could sketch with a pencil, but not with a pen. His gait and manner were in perfect keeping; but his peculiarities excited no surprise in me, for I was accustomed to them. In a short time we were seated on the banks of the Avoca, the stream cooling our feet with its refreshing spray, and the green foliage protecting us from the sun.
“Moore is said to have written his song in this place.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” replied Maturin. “No man ever wrote poetry under a burning sun, or in the moonlight. I have often attempted a retired walk in the country at moonlight, when I had a madrigal in my head, and every gust of wind rang in my ears like the footsteps of a robber. One robber would put to flight a hundred tropes. You feel uneasy in a perfectly secluded place, and cannot collect your mind.”
“But Moore, who is a poet by inspiration, could write in any circumstances?”
“There is no man of the age labours harder than Moore. He is often a month working out the fag-end of an epigram. ’Pon my honour, I would not be such a victim to literature for the reputation of Pope, the greatest man of them all.”
“Don’t you think that every man has his own peculiarity in writing, and can only write under particular excitements, and in a particular way?”
“Certainly. Pope, who ridiculed such a caprice, practised it himself; for he never wrote well but at midnight. Gibbon dictated to his amanuensis, while he walked up and down the room in a terrible passion; Stephens wrote on horseback in a full gallop; Montaigne and Chateaubriand in the fields; Sheridan over a bottle of wine; Molière with his knees in the fire; and lord Bacon in a small room, which he said helped him to condense his thoughts. But Moore, whose peculiarity is retirement, would never come here to write a song he could write better elsewhere, merely because it related to the place.”
“Why omit yourself in the list? you have your own peculiarity.”
“I compose on a long walk; but then the day must neither be too hot, nor cold; it must be reduced to that medium from which you feel no inconvenience one way or the other; and then when I am perfectly free from the city, and experience no annoyance from the weather, my mind becomes lighted by sunshine, and I arrange my plan perfectly to my own satisfaction.”
“From the quantity of works our living poets have given to the public, I would be disposed to say that they write with great facility, and without any nervous whim.”
* * * * *
“But lord Byron--he must write with great ease and rapidity?”
“That I don’t know; I never could finish the perusal of any of his long poems. There is something in them excessively at variance with my notions of poetry. He is too fond of the obsolete; but that I do not quarrel with so much as his system of converting it into a kind of modern antique, by superadding tinsel to gold. It is a sort of mixed mode, neither old nor new, but incessantly hovering between both.”
“What do you think of Childe Harold?”
“I do not know what to think of it, nor can I give you definitively my reasons for disliking his poems generally.”
“You have taken up a prejudice, perhaps, from a passage you have forgotten, and never allowed yourself patience to examine it.”
“Perhaps so; but I am not conscious of a prejudice.”
“No man is.”
* * * * *
“And which of the living poets fulfils your ideal standard of excellence?”
“Crabbe. He is all nature without pomp or parade, and exhibits at times deep pathos and feeling. His characters are certainly homely, and his scenes rather unpoetical; but then he invests his subject with so much genuine tenderness and sweetness, that you care not who are the actors, or in what situations they are placed, but pause to recollect where it was you met something similar in real life. Do you remember the little story ‘Delay is Danger?’ I’ll recite you a few lines describing my favourite scene, an autumn-evening landscape:--
“On the right side the youth a wood survey’d, With all its dark intensity of shade; Where the rough wind alone was heard to move, In this, the pause of nature and of love, When now the young are rear’d, and when the old, Lost to the tie, grow negligent and cold-- Far to the left he saw the huts of men Half hid in mist that hung upon the fen; Before him swallows, gathering for the sea, Took their short flights, and twitter’d on the lea And near the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done, And slowly blacken’d in the sickly sun; All these were sad in nature, or they took Sadness from him, the likeness of his look, And of his mind--he ponder’d for a while, Then met his Fanny with a borrow’d smile.”
“Except Gray’s Elegy, there is scarcely so melancholy and touching a picture in English poetry.”
“And whom do you estimate after Crabbe?”
“I am disposed to say Hogg. His Queen’s Wake is a splendid and impassioned work. I like it for its varieties, and its utter simplicity. What a fine image is this of a devoted vessel suddenly engulfed at sea:
“Some ran to the cords, some kneel’d at the shrine. But all the wild elements seem’d to combine; ’Twas just but one moment of stir and commotion, And down went the ship like a bird of the ocean!”
“But do not altogether take me at my word in what I say of Crabbe and Hogg. They have struck the chord of my taste; but they are not, perhaps, the first men of the day. Moore is a writer for whom I feel a strong affection, because he has done that which I would have done if I could: but after him it would be vain to try any thing.”
* * * * *
“Is it your opinion that the swarm of minor poets and writers advance the cause of literature, or that the public taste would be more refined and informed, if those who administered to it were fewer and better?”
“I object to prescribing laws to the republic of letters. It is a free republic, in which every man is entitled to publicity if he chooses it. The effect unquestionably of a swarm of minor poets is the creation of a false taste amongst a certain class; but then that is a class that otherwise would have no taste at all, and it is well to draw their attention to literature by any agency. In the next age their moral culture will improve, and we shall go on gradually diminishing the contagion.”[199]
[199] New Monthly Magazine.
* * * * *
We have here a print of the cherry-woman of a hundred years ago, when cherries were so little grown, that the popular street cry was double the price of the present day. Readers of the Every-Day Book may remember the engraving of the “London barrow-woman,” with her cherry-cry--“round and sound”--the cherry-woman (that was) of our own times--the recollection of whose fine person, and melodious voice, must recur to every one who saw and heard her--a real picture to the mind’s eye, discoursing “most excellent music.”
The man blowing a trumpet, “Troop, every one!” was a street seller of hobby-horses--toys for the children of a hundred years ago. He carried them, as represented in the engraving, arranged in a partitioned frame on his shoulder, and to each horse’s head was a small flag with two bills attached. The crier and his ware are wholly extinct. Now-a-days we give a boy the first stick at hand to thrust between his legs as a Bucephalus--the shadow of a shade:--our forefathers were better natured, for they presented him with something of the semblance of the generous animal. Is a horse now less popular with boys than then? or did they, at that time, rather imitate the galloping of the real hobby-horse in the pageants and mummeries that passed along the streets, or pranced in the shows at fairs and on the stage? Be that as it may, this is a pretty plaything for “little master;” and toymakers would find account in reviving the manufacture for the rising generation. They have improved the little girl’s doll, and baby-house: are they ignorant that boys, as soon as they can walk, demand a whip and a horse?
* * * * *
MR. HOBDAY’S GALLERY.
No. 54, PALL-MALL.
In addition to the associations for the exhibition and sale of pictures by living artists, Mr. Hobday opened an establishment on the 21st of May for the same purpose, adjoining the British Institution, This gentleman is known to the public as a respectable portrait painter, with a taste for art entitled to consideration for his present spirited endeavour in its behalf.
In this exhibition there are performances of distinguished merit by several eminent artists. The Upas, or poison-tree of Java, by Mr. Danby, in illustration of the legend in Darwin’s Loves of the Plants, is a fine picture, already known. Another by Mr. Danby--is a wood on the sea-shore, with figures, Ulysses and Nausicaa, from Homer. A Fête Champêtre, by Mr. Stothard, is one of a class of subjects, which its venerable painter has distinguished by his magic pencil; Mr. Edwin Landseer’s Lion disturbed at his repast, a forcible and well-remembered effort of his genius, stands near it. Mr. Charles Landseer’s Merchant, with Slaves and Merchandise, reposing in a Brazilian Rancho; the Entombing of Christ, by Mr. Westall; landscapes, by Messrs. Daniel, Glover, Hoffland, Laporte, Linnell, W. Westall, &c.; pictures by sir W. Beechey, Messrs. Chalon, Kidd, Heaphy, Rigaud, Singleton, Stephanoff, J. Ward, &c., grace the walls of the establishment. Every picture in this gallery is for sale; and, under Mr. Hobday’s management, it promises to be a means of introducing the public to an acquaintance with distinguished works of art still remaining open to the selection of its patrons.
* * * * *
~Topography.~
ORIGINAL NOTICE.
For the Table Book.
Denton-castle, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, and on the north-west side of Otley, was once the seat of the parliament’s general, Fairfax, and came to the present family of Ibbetson by relationship. Prince Rupert in passing by it on his march into Lancashire, in order to assist the king’s troops in that quarter, was about to raze it, but going into the house, he observed the pictures of the Manners and the Villiers, Fairfax’s ancestors, and out of good will towards them he desisted. It, however, was afterwards unfortunately destroyed by the carelessness of a maid servant, who dropping asleep at the time she was picking feathers, the candle fell into the feathers and burnt the house to the ground. In a few years afterwards, it was rebuilt by the father of sir Henry Ibbetson, bart. in the year 1721, and has this remarkable motto in the pediment:--
“Quod nec Jovis ira nec ignis nec poterit ferrum.”
VERSES
To the memory of Denzil Ibbetson, fourth son of sir Henry Ibbetson, bart., who unfortunately lost his life by an accidental discharge of his gun when shooting at Cocken, near Durham, the seat of his aunt, lady Mary Carr, sister of Henry earl of Darlington--1774.
1.
Thy fate, lamented Ibbetson, we were. With an unfeign’d and sympathetic tear; Thy virtues, on our mem’ries graven deep, Recall the painful thought of what was dear.
2.
Yet ’tis not for thy sufferings, but our own, That heaves the heartfelt melancholy sigh, That death, which haply cost thee not a groan, Leaves us to mourn with what we ne’er can vie.
3.
That life, good humour, and that manly sense, Those ever-pleasing ties, that friendly heart, Which but unwittingly could give offence, Disarm’d ev’n Death’s grim tyrant of his dart.
4.
Without one pang or agonizing groan, Thy soul reliev’d forsook its vile abode, For joys more worthy of the good alone-- “The bosom of thy Father and thy God.”
* * * * *
PRONUNCIATION.
The difficulty of applying rules to the pronunciation of our language may be illustrated in two lines, where the combination of the letters ough, is pronounced in no less than seven different ways, viz. as o, uf, of, up, ow, oo, and ock.
Though the tough cough and hiccough plough me through; O’er life’s dark lough my course I still pursue.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
EMIGRATION OF THE ROOKS
FROM
CARLTON GARDENS, 1827.
“I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau, If birds confabulate or no:-- ’Tis certain they were always able, To hold discourse, at least in fable.”
Cowper.
The mandate pass’d, the axe applied, The woodman’s efforts echoed wide; The toppling elm trees fell around, And cumbrous ruin strew’d the ground. The tuneful thrush, whose vernal song Was earliest heard the boughs among, Exil’d from grounds, where he was bred, To some far habitation fled; Remote from court and courtly strife, To pass a sober, quiet life. O’er head the Rooks, in circles flew, And closer still, and closer drew; Then perch’d amid the desolation, In senatorial consultation: The chairman, far advanc’d in age, A sapient-looking personage, Who long the councils of the land Had sway’d with a tenacious hand; --For e’en among the feather’d race, There are, who cling to pow’r and place:-- There wanted not, among the throng, Those who averr’d, that much too long He had, within the sable state, Continued to adjudicate;-- So tardily his judgments came, They injur’d his judicial fame; What, though they were unting’d by bribe, Or fear;--the sad impatient tribe, Who fed on Hope’s expectancies, Were ruin’d--by his just decrees! But to our tale:--the speaker now, Perch’d on an elm tree’s topmost bough, Had hush’d the multitude in awe, You might not hear a single “caw;” He then in pride of conscious pow’r, Commenc’d the bus’ness of the hour. “Ye rooks and daws in senate met;” He said, and smooth’d his breast of jet: “What crimes, among our sable band, Have brought this ruin on our land? Has murder mark’d our noonday flight? Or depredation in the night? Has rook or daw, in thought or word, Rebell’d against our Sovereign Lord? No! rather say, our loyalty Has echo’d oft, from tree to tree! Have we not, when the cannon’s sound Gave joyous intimation round, Of triumph won by land or sea, Join’d in the general jubilee? Why, then, ye advocates of taste, Lay ye our habitations waste? Why level low our rookery, And blot it out from memory? Man lacketh not a host of pleas, To vindicate his cruelties. ‘Improvement’s come!’ ’tis thus they rhyme ‘Upon the rolling car of Time.’[200]-- Yes! come, if blessings they dispense, With due regard to feeling--sense; But when they emanate from pride, And scheme on scheme is multiplied, To beautify by acts like this, Their overgrown metropolis, To please the vitiate taste of men, They cease to be improvements then. ’Tis not enough, to please the eye, With terrace walks, and turrets high; With sloping lawns, and dark arcades; With cock-boat lakes, and forest glades, With schoolboy cataracts and jets; With Turkish mosques and minarets! Or Lilliputian arches, rich, Spanning a vegetating ditch! Improvement opes a nobler field, Than Grecian plinth and column yield! ’Tis when the streams of treasure flow, To lighten sorrow,--soften woe;-- Rebuild the structure, ruin raz’d, Relume the eye, that want hath glaz’d: And flowing far from revelry, They cheer the sons of penury, Who sicken in the breeze of health! And starve, amid a nation’s wealth! To chase despair--and bring relief, For human crime, and human grief! These are thy triumphs, Virtue! these Are sparks of heav’n-born sympathies, That through man’s denser nature shine, And prove his origin divine! Oh! may we hope, in Britain’s school, There are, who, free from sophist rule, Have learnt not, ’neath Italian skies, Their native genius to despise; In whom, amid the bosom’s throes, The innate love of country glows! Assembled birds! it is for you To point the course we must pursue: Our monarch ne’er could contemplate Amid the recent change in state, That we, like other rooks, should be Exil’d from seats of royalty! Then let us humbly seek the throne, And make our common grievance known His Majesty will ne’er consent, That this, our sable parliament, Should thus be driv’n abroad to roam, And banish’d from our native home.”
He ceas’d;--a shout of wild applause, Tumultuous burst, from rooks and daws! Ne’er yet, had yonder central sun, Since worlds had in their orbits run, Beheld upon a spot of earth So much of simultaneous mirth. Scarce had the turbulence subsided. When, as if Fate their joy derided, The hatchet reach’d with thund’ring stroke The tree from whence the Chairman spoke. Alas! the triumph was but brief; The sound struck awe--like midnight thief-- The senate fled from falling trees, And stretch’d their pinions to the breeze: The shrubs behind Spring Garden-place Receiv’d the emigrated race. Now far from woodman’s axe, with care They build, and breed, and nestle there.
T. T.
[200]
Come bright Improvement on the car of Time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime.
Pleasures of Hope
* * * * *
MUSIC AND ANIMALS.
Bonaventure d’Argonne says, “Doubting the truth of those who say it is natural for us to love music, especially the sounds of instruments, and that beasts are touched with it, I one day, being in the country, endeavoured to determine the point; and, while a man was playing on the trump marine, made my observations on a cat, a dog, a horse, an ass, a hind, cows, small birds, and a cock and hens, who were in a yard, under a window on which I was leaning. I did not perceive that the cat was the least affected; and I even judged, by her air, that she would have given all the instruments in the world for a mouse, sleeping in the sun all the time; the horse stopped short from time to time before the window, lifting his head up now and then, as he was feeding on the grass; the dog continued for above an hour seated on his hind legs, looking steadfastly at the player; the ass did not discover the least indication of his being touched, eating his thistles peaceably; the hind lifted up her large wide ears, and seemed very attentive; the cows slept a little, and after gazing as though they had been acquainted with us, went forward: some birds who were in an aviary, and others on the trees and bushes, almost tore their throats with singing; but the cock, who minded only his hens, and the hens, who were solely employed in scraping on a neighbouring dunghill, did not show in any manner that they took the least pleasure in hearing the trump marine.”
* * * * *
IRISHMEN ON A HOLIDAY.
When they met at a “pattern,” (patron, perhaps,) or merry-making, the lively dance of the girls, and the galloping jig-note of the bagpipes, usually gave place to the clattering of alpeens, and the whoops of onslaught; when one of them sold his pig, or, under Providence, his cow, at the fair, the kicking up of a “scrimmage,” or at least the plunging head foremost into one, was as much matter of course as the long draughts of ale or whiskey that closed his mercantile transaction. At the village hurling-match, the “hurlet,” or crooked stick, with which they struck the ball, often changed its playful utility; nay, at a funeral, the body was scarce laid in the grave, when the voice of petty discord might be heard above the grave’s silence.
These contentions, like all great events, generally arose from very trivial causes. A drunken fellow, for instance, was in a strange public-house; he could not content himself with the new faces near him, so struck at some three, six, or ten, as it might be; and, in course, got soundly drubbed. On his return home he related his case of injury, exhibiting his closed eye, battered mouth, or remnant of nose; enlisting all his relatives, “kith-and-kin;” in fact, all his neighbours who liked “a bit of diversion,” and they generally included the whole male population able to bear arms. At the head of his faction he attended the next fair, or other place of popular resort, where he might expect to meet his foes; the noise of his muster went abroad, or he sent a previous challenge: the opposite party assembled in as much force as possible, never declining the encounter; one or other side was beaten, and tried to avenge its disgrace on the first opportunity; defeat again followed, and again produced like efforts and results; and thus the solemn feud ran through a number of years and several generations.
A wicked, “devil-may-care” fellow, feverish for sport, would, at fair, pattern, or funeral, sometimes smite another without any provocation, merely to create a riot; the standers-by would take different sides, as their taste or connections inclined them; and the fray, thus commencing between two individuals who owed each other no ill-will, embroiled half the assembled concourse. Nay, a youth, in despair that so fine a multitude was likely to separate peaceably, stripped off his heavy outside coat, and trailed it through the puddle, daring any of the lookers on to tread upon it; his defiance was rarely ineffectual; he knocked down, if possible, the invited offender; a general battle ensued, that soon spread like wild-fire, and every “alpeen” was at work in senseless clatter and unimaginable hostility.
The occurrence of the word “alpeen” seems to suggest a description of the weapon of which it is the name, and this can best be given in a piece of biographical anecdote.
Jack Mullally still lives in fame, though his valiant bones are dust. He was the landlord of a public-house in a mountain district; a chivalrous fellow, a righter of wrongs, the leader of a faction of desperate fighting men, and, like Arthur, with his doughty knights, a match for any four among them, though each a hero; and, above all, the armourer of his department. In Jack’s chimney-corner hung bundles of sticks, suspended there for the purpose of being dried and seasoned; and these were of two descriptions of warlike weapons; shortish oaken cudgels, to be used as quarter-staves, or, par excellence, genuine shillelaghs; and the alpeens themselves,--long wattles with heavy knobs at the ends, to be wielded with both hands, and competent, under good guidance, to the felling of a reasonable ox.
Jack and his subjects, Jack and his alpeens, were rarely absent from any fair within twenty miles, having always business on hands in the way of their association. When a skirmish took place, the side that could enlist in its interests Jack, his alpeens, and his merry men, was sure of victory. The patriarch was generally to be found seated by his kitchen fire; business was beneath him; he left all that to the “vanithee;” and his hours lapsed, when matters of moment did not warn him to the field, either in wetting his sticks with a damp cloth, and then heating them over the turf blaze, to give them the proper curve; or, in teaching a pet starling to speak Irish, and whistle “Shaun Buoy;” or, haply, in imbibing his own ale or whiskey, and smoking his short black pipe, or doohdeen, as himself termed it. And here he gave audience to the numerous suitors and ambassadors who, day by day, came to seek his aid, preparatory to a concerted engagement. His answer was never hastily rendered. He promised, at all events, to be with his corps at the appointed ground; and then and there he would proclaim of which side he was the ally. This precautionary course became the more advisable, as he was always sure of a request from both factions; and time, forethought, and inquiry, were necessary to ascertain which side might prove the weakest; for to the weakest (the most aggrieved formed no part of his calculations) Jack invariably extended his patronage.
The vanithee, good woman, when she heard of an approaching fair, or other popular meeting, immediately set about preparing plasters and ointments; and this resulted from a thrifty forecast; for were she to call in a doctor every time her husband’s head wanted piecing, it would run away with the profits of her business. Jack, indeed, never forgot his dignity so far as to inform his wife that he intended being engaged on such occasions; but she always took it for granted, and with the bustle of a good housewife, set about her preparations accordingly: till, at length, a breach happened in his skull which set her art at defiance; and ever since she lives the sole proprietor of the public-house where Jack once reigned in glory. The poor widow has thriven since her husband’s death; and is now rich, not having lately had Jack’s assistance in spending, (she never had it in earning.) She recounts his exploits with modest spirit; and one blessing at least has resulted from her former matronly care of the good man--she is the Lady Bountiful of her district; a quack it may be, yet sufficiently skilful for the uncomplicated ailments of her country customers.[201]
[201] Tales of the O’Hara Family. First Series.
* * * * *
LONDON HOLIDAYS.
Holidays, like all other natural and lively things, are good things; and the abuse does not argue against the use. They serve to keep people in mind that there is a green and glad world, as well as a world of brick and mortar and money-getting. They remind them disinterestedly of one another, or that they have other things to interchange besides bills and commodities. If it were not for holidays and poetry, and such like stumbling blocks to square-toes, there would be no getting out of the way of care and common-places.--They keep the world fresh for improvement. The great abuse of holidays is when they are too few. There are offices, we understand, in the city, in which, with the exception of Sundays, people have but one holiday or so throughout the year, which appears to us a very melancholy hilarity. It is like a single living thing in a solitude, which only adds to the solitariness. A clerk issuing forth on his exclusive Good Friday must in vain attempt to be merry, unless he is a very merry person at other times. He must be oppressed with a sense of all the rest of the year. He cannot have time to smile before he has to be grave again. It is a difference, a dream, a wrench, a lay-sabbath, any thing but a holiday. There was a Greek philosopher, who, when he was asked on his death-bed what return could be made him for the good he had done his country, requested that all the little boys might have a holiday on the anniversary of his birth-day. Doubtless they had many besides, and yet he would give them another. When we were at school, we had a holiday on every saint’s day, and this was pretty nearly all that we, or, indeed, any one else, knew of some of those blessed names in the calendar. When we came to know that they had earned this pleasure for us by martyrdom and torment, we congratulated ourselves that we had not known it sooner; and yet, upon the principle of the Greek philosopher, perhaps a true lover of mannikin-kind would hardly object to have his old age burnt out at the stake, if he could secure to thousands hereafter the beatitude of a summer’s holiday.[202]
[202] Literary Pocket Book.
* * * * *
THE HUSBANDMEN OF HINDU.
They are generally termed Koonbees, and on the whole they are better informed than the lower classes of our own countrymen; they certainly far surpass them in propriety and orderliness of demeanour. They are mild and unobtrusive in their manners, and quickly shrink from any thing like an opposite behaviour in others. Litigation is not a marked part of their character. They are forgetful of injury; or if they harbour animosity, they are seldom hurried by it into acts of violence or cruelty. Custom has taught them not to have much respect for their women, or rather, indeed, to look on them with contempt; but they are always indulgent to them, and never put any restraint on their liberty. The great attachment they have to their children forms an amiable part of their character. They are usually frugal, inclining to parsimony, and not improvident; but at their marriage feasts they are lavish and profuse, and on these and other occasions often contract debts that are a burden to them for life. Their religion strongly enjoins charity, and they are disposed to be hospitable, but their extreme poverty is a bar to their being extensively so. No person, however, would ever be in want of a meal amongst them, and they are always kind and attentive to strangers when there is nothing offensive in their manners. They are just in their dealings amongst themselves, but would not be scrupulous in overreaching government or those without. Theft is scarcely known amongst them, and the voice of the community is loud against all breaches of decorum, and attaches weight and respectability to virtuous conduct in its members. The vices of this people, which they owe chiefly to their government, are dissimulation, cunning, and a disregard to truth. They are naturally timid, and will endeavour to redress their wrongs rather by stratagem than more generous means; when roused, however, they will be found not without courage, nor by any means contemptible enemies. Although not remarkable for sharpness, they are not wanting in intelligence. They are all minutely informed in every thing that relates to their own calling. They are fond of conversation, discuss the merits of different modes of agriculture, the characters of their neighbours, and every thing that relates to the concerns of the community, and many of them are not without a tolerable knowledge of the leading events of the history of their country.
The Hindu husbandman rises at cock crow, washes his hands, feet, and face, repeats the names of some of his gods, and perhaps takes a whiff of his pipe or a quid of tobacco, and is now ready to begin his labour. He lets loose his oxen, and drives them leisurely to his fields, allowing them to graze, if there is any grass on the ground, as they go along, and takes his breakfast with him tied up in a dirty cloth, or it is sent after him by one of his children, and consists of a cake (made unleavened of the flour of Badjeree or Juwaree,) and some of the cookery of the preceding day, or an onion or two. On reaching his field it is perhaps seven or eight o’clock; he yokes his oxen, if any of the operations of husbandry require it, and works for an hour or two, then squats down and takes his breakfast, but without loosing his cattle. He resumes his work in a quarter of an hour, and goes on till near twelve o’clock, when his wife arrives with his dinner. He then unyokes his oxen, drives them to drink, and allows them to graze or gives them straw; and takes his dinner by the side of a well or a stream, or under the shade of a tree if there happens to be one, and is waited on during his meal by his wife. After his dinner he is joined by any of his fellow labourers who may be near, and after a chat takes a nap on his spread cumley or jota for half an hour, while his wife eats what he has left. He yokes his cattle again about two or half-past two o’clock, and works till sunset, when he proceeds leisurely home, ties up and feeds his oxen, then goes himself to a brook, bathes and washes, or has hot water thrown over him by his wife at home. After his ablutions, and perhaps on holidays anointing himself with sandal wood oil, he prays before his household gods, and often visits one or more of the village temples. His wife by this time has prepared his supper, which he takes in company with the males of the family. His principal enjoyment seems to be between this meal and bed-time, which is nine or ten o’clock. He now fondles and plays with his children, visits or is visited by his neighbours, and converses about the labour of the day and concerns of the village, either in the open air or by the glimmering light of a lamp, learns from the shopkeeper or beadle what strangers have passed or stopped at the village, and their history, and from any of the community that may have been at the city (Poohnah) what news he has brought. In the less busy times, which are two or three months in the year, the cultivators take their meals at home, and have sufficient leisure for amusement. They then sit in groups in the shade and converse, visit their friends in the neighbouring villages, go on pilgrimages, &c. &c.
The women of the cultivators, like those of other Asiatics, are seldom the subject of gallantry, and are looked on rather as a part of their live stock than as companions, and yet, contrary to what might be expected, their condition seems far from being unhappy. The law allows a husband to beat his wife, and for infidelity to maim her or else put her to death; but these severities are seldom resorted to, and rarely any sort of harsh behaviour. A man is despised who is seen much in company with women. A wife, therefore, never looks for any fondling from her husband; it is thought unbecoming in him even to mention her name, and she is never allowed to eat in company with him, from the time of their wedding dinner; but patiently waits on him during his meals, and makes her repast on what he leaves. But setting aside these marks of contempt, she is always treated with kindness and forbearance, unless her conduct is very perverse and bad, and she has her entire liberty. The women have generally the sole direction of household affairs, and if clever, notwithstanding all their disadvantages, not unfrequently gain as great an ascendancy over their lords as in other parts of the world.[203]
[203] Mr. Coates in Trans. Bombay Lit. Soc.
* * * * *
ROUND ROBIN.
It was customary among the ancients to write names, whether of the gods, or of their friends, in a circle, that none might take offence at seeing another’s name preferred to his own. The Cordeliers have formerly been known to have paid the same attention to delicacy, and when a pope has demanded the names of some priests of their order, that one might be raised to the purple, they have sent those names written circularly, that they might not seem to recommend one more than another. The race of sailors are the only people who preserve this very ancient custom in its purity, for when any remonstrance is on foot among them, they sign it in a circle, and call it a round robin.
* * * * *
NAMES.
Toward the middle of the fifteenth century, it was the fancy of the wits and learned men of the age, particularly in Italy, to change their baptismal names for classical ones. As Sannazarius, for instance, who altered his own plain name “Jacopo” to “Actius Syncerus.” Numbers did the same, and among the rest, Platina the historian, at Rome, who, not without a solemn ceremonial, took the name of “Callimachus,” instead of “Philip.” Pope Paul II., who reigned about that time, unluckily chanced to be suspicious, illiterate, and heavy of comprehension. He had no idea that persons could wish to alter their names, unless they had some bad design, and actually scrupled not to employ imprisonment, and other violent methods, to discover the fancied mystery. Platina was most cruelly tortured on this frivolous account; he had nothing to confess, so the pope, after endeavouring in vain to convict him of heresy, sedition, &c. released him, after a long imprisonment.
* * * * *
Formerly there were many persons surnamed Devil. In an old book, the title of which does not recur, mention is made of one Rogerius Diabolus, lord of Montresor.
An English monk, “Willelmus, cognomento Diabolus,” and another person, “Hughes le Diable, lord of Lusignan.”
Robert, duke of Normandy, son to William the Conqueror, was surnamed “the Devil.”
In Norway and Sweden there were two families of the name of “Trolle,” in English “Devil,” and every branch of these families had an emblem of the “Devil” for their coat of arms.
In Utrecht there was a family of “Teufels,” or “Devils,” and another in Brittany named “Diable.”
* * * * *
A SEA BULL.
An Irishman, who served on board a man of war in the capacity of a waister, was selected by one of the officers to haul in a tow-line of considerable length, which was towing over the tafrail. After rowsing in forty or fifty fathoms, which had put his patience severely to proof, as well as every muscle of his arms, he muttered to himself, “Sure, it’s as long as to day and to-morrow! It’s a good week’s work for any five in the ship!--Bad luck to the arm or leg it’ll leave me at last!--What! more of it yet!--Och, murder; the sa’s mighty deep to be sure!”--After continuing in a similar strain, and conceiving there was little probability of the completion of his labour, he suddenly stopped short, and addressing the officer of the watch, exclaimed, “Bad manners to me, sir, if I don’t think somebody’s cut off the other end of it!”
* * * * *
CHEERFUL FUNERAL.
Lodovick Cortusius, an eminent lawyer, who died at Padua on the 15th of July, 1518, when upon his death-bed forbad his relations to shed tears at his funeral, and even put his heir under a heavy penalty if he neglected to perform his orders. On the other hand, he ordered musicians, singers, pipers, and fiddlers, of all kinds, to supply the place of mourners, and directed that fifty of them should walk before his corpse with the clergymen, playing upon their several instruments; for this service he ordered each of them half a ducat. He likewise appointed twelve maids in green habits to carry his corpse to the church of St. Sophia, where he was buried, and that they too as they went along should sing aloud, having each of them, as a recompense, a handsome sum of money allotted for a portion. All the clergy of Padua marched before in long procession, together with all the monks of the convent, except those wearing black habits, whom he expressly excluded by his will, lest the blackness of their hoods should throw a gloom upon the cheerfulness of the procession.
* * * * *
ANECDOTE.
CHARLES I. AND PARLIAMENTS.
Mr. Pye, the late poet laureate, in his “Sketches,” says, “When I was at Oxford, my tutor having the revisal of some papers relative to the civil war, (I know not if they have been published,) showed me a letter from one of the king’s secretaries, with remarks on the margin in the king’s own handwriting. One expression particularly struck me, as seeming to show his determination to lay aside the use of parliaments. The paper was a circular request to some of the counties for their pecuniary assistance, I believe on the Scots’ invasion. The words were, as nearly as I can recollect, (sixteen years having elapsed since I saw the letter,) ‘Your obliging me in this instance will induce me to ask your aid in a manner more agreeable to yourselves.’ These words had a line drawn through them; and there was written on the margin, in the king’s hand: ‘I have SCORED out these words, as they seem to imply a promise of calling a parliament, of which I have no intention.’”
* * * * *
THE YANKEE CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP.
For the Table Book.
A Pat--an odd joker--and Yankee more sly, Once riding together, a gallows pass’d by: Said the Yankee to Pat, “If I don’t make too free, Give that gallows its due, pray where then would you be?” “Why honey,” said Pat, “faith that’s easily known I’d be riding to town--by myself--all alone.”
SAM SAM’S SON
Vol. I.--23.
--Ancient Charity let flow this brook Across the road, for sheep and beggar-men To cool their weary feet, and slake their thirst.
*
On our way from Penge,[204] W. thought this object worth sketching. He occupied himself with his pencil, and I amused myself with dropping grains of dust among a fleet of tadpoles on the yellow sands, and watching their motions; a few inches from them, in a clearer shallow, lay a shoal of stickle-backs as on their Dogger-bank: a thread and a blood-worm, and the absence of my friend, and of certain feelings in behalf of the worms, would have afforded me excellent sport. The rivulet crosses the road from a meadow, where I heard it in its narrow channel, and muttering inwardly “the rapids are near,” from the “Canadian Boat-song,” I fell into a reverie on Wilson’s magnificent painting of the falls of Niagara, in Mr. Landseer’s painting-room. While I seated myself by the wayside, and, among ground-ivy and periwinkle, discriminating the diminutive forms of trees in the varied mosses of an old bank, I recollected descriptions I had read of transatlantic scenery, and the gigantic vegetation on the Ohio and Mississipi.
A labourer told us, that this little brook is called “Chaffinch’s River,” and that it springs from “the Alders,” near Croydon, and runs into the Ravensbourne.
[204] See p. 674.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XX.
[From “Bussy D’Ambois his Revenge,” a Tragedy, by George Chapman, 1613.]
Plays and Players.
Guise.--I would have these things Brought upon Stages, to let mighty Misers See all their grave and serious mischiefs play’d, As once they were in Athens and old Rome. Clermont. Nay, we must now have nothing brought on Stages But puppetry, and pied ridiculous antics. Men thither come to laugh, and feed fool-fat: Check at all goodness there, as being profaned: When, wheresoever Goodness comes, she makes The place still sacred, though with other feet Never so much ’tis scandal’d and polluted. Let me learn any thing, that fits a man, In any Stables shewn, as well as Stages.-- Baligny. Why, is not all the World esteem’d a Stage? Clermont. Yes, and right worthily; and Stages too Have a respect due to them, if but only For what the good Greek Moralist says of them: “Is a man proud of greatness, or of riches? Give me an expert Actor; I’ll shew all That can within his greatest glory fall: Is a man ’fraid with poverty and lowness? Give me an Actor; I’ll shew every eye What he laments so, and so much does fly: The best and worst of both.”--If but for this then, To make the proudest outside, that most swells With things without him, and above his worth, See how small cause he has to be so blown up; And the most poor man, to be griev’d with poorness; Both being so easily borne by expert Actors: The Stage and Actors are not so contemptful, As every innovating Puritan, And ignorant Swearer out of jealous envy, Would have the world imagine. And besides That all things have been liken’d to the mirth Used upon Stages, and to Stages fitted; The Splenetive Philosopher, that ever Laugh’d at them all, were worthy the enstaging: All objects, were they ne’er so full of tears, He so conceited, that he could distill thence Matter, that still fed his ridiculous humour. Heard he a Lawyer, never so vehement pleading, He stood and laugh’d. Heard he a Tradesman, swearing Never so thriftily, selling of his wares, He stood and laugh’d. Heard he a Holy Brother, For hollow ostentation, at his prayers Ne’er so impetuously, he stood and laugh’d. Saw he a Great Man, never so insulting, Severely inflicting, gravely giving laws, Not for their good but his--he stood and laugh’d. Saw he a Youthful Widow, Never so weeping, wringing of her hands For her dead Lord, still the Philosopher laugh’d.-- Now, whether he supposed all these Presentments Were only maskeries, and wore false faces, Or else were simply vain, I take no care; But still he laugh’d, how grave soe’er they were.
* * * * *
Stoicism.
---- in this one thing all the discipline Of manners and of manhood is contain’d; A Man to join himself with the Universe In his main sway; and make (in all things fit) One with that All; and go on, round as it: Not plucking from the whole his wretched part, And into straits, or into nought revert; Wishing the complete Universe might be Subject to such a rag of it as He.
* * * * *
Apparitions before the Body’s Death SCOTICE, Second Sight.
---- these true Shadows of the Guise and Cardinal, Fore-running thus their Bodies, may approve, That all things to be done, as here we live, Are done before all times in th’ other life.
* * * * *
[From “Satiromastix,” a Comedy, by Thomas Decker, 1602: in which Ben Jonson, under the name of Horace, is reprehended, in retaliation of his “Poetaster;” in which he had attacked two of his Brother Dramatists, probably Marston and Decker, under the names of Crispinus and Demetrius.]
Horace. What could I do, out of a just revenge, But bring them to the Stage? they envy me, Because I hold more worthy company. Demetrius. Good Horace, no; my cheeks do blush for thine, As often as thou speaks’t so. Where one true And nobly-virtuous spirit for thy best part Loves thee, I wish one ten even from my heart. I make account I put up as deep share In any good man’s love, which thy worth owns, As thou thyself; we envy not to see Thy friends with bays to crown thy Poesy. No, here the gall lies; we that know what stuff Thy very heart is made of, know the stalk On which thy learning grows, and can give life To thy (once dying) baseness, yet must we Dance antics on thy paper. Crispinus. This makes us angry, but not envious. No; were thy warpt soul put in a new mould, I’d wear thee as a jewel set in gold.
* * * * *
[From the “Antipodes,” a Comedy, by Richard Brome, 1633.]
Directions to Players.
Nobleman. ---------My actors Are all in readiness, and I think all perfect, But one, that never will be perfect in a thing He studies; yet he makes such shifts extempore, (Knowing the purpose what he is to speak to), That he moves mirth in me ’bove all the rest. For I am none of those Poetic Furies, That threats the actor’s life, in a whole Play That adds a syllable, or takes away. If he can fribble through, and move delight In others, I am pleased.-- * * * * Let me not see you now, In the scholastic way you brought to town with you, With see-saw sack-a-down, like a sawyer; Nor in a comic scene play Hercules Furens, Tearing your throat to split the audients’ ears;-- And you, Sir, you had got a trick of late Of holding out your breech in a set speech; Your fingers fibulating on your breast, As if your buttons or your bandstrings were Helps to your memory; let me see you in’t No more, I charge you. No, nor you, Sir, In that o’er-action of your legs I told you of, Your singles and your doubles--look you--thus-- Like one of the dancing-masters of the bear-garden; And when you’ve spoke, at end of every speech, Not minding the reply, you turn you round As tumblers do, when betwixt every feat They gather wind by firking up their breeches. I’ll none of these absurdities in my house; But words and actions married so together, That shall strike harmony in the ears and eyes Of the severest, if judicious, critics. Players. My Lord, we are corrected. Nobleman. Go, be ready.-- But you, Sir, are incorrigible, and Take licence to yourself to add unto Your parts your own free fancy; and sometimes To alter or diminish what the writer With care and skill composed; and when you are To speak to your Co-actors in the scene, You hold interloqutions with the audients. Player. That is a way, my Lord, has been allowed On elder stages, to move mirth and laughter. Nobleman. Yes, in the days of Tarleton and Kemp, Before the Stage was purged from barbarism, And brought to the perfection it now shines with. Then Fools and Jesters spent their wits, because The Poets were wise enough to save their own For profitabler uses.--
C. L.
* * * * *
THE DIVER OF CHARYBDIS.
To the Editor.
Sir,--Mr. Brydone, in the quotations you have made,[205] appears to doubt the accuracy of the stories relating to Charybdis. I never recollect to have heard mention of the name of Colus, but apprehend he was the same as the famous Sicilian diver, Nicolo Pesce. Associated with Charybdis, some notice of this extraordinary man may not be uninteresting.
The authenticity of this account depends entirely on the authority of Kircher. He assures us, he had it from the archives of the kings of Sicily; but its having so much of the marvellous in it, many have been disposed to doubt its accuracy. Historians are too fond of fiction, but we should by no means doubt their sincerity, when we find them on other subjects not contemptible authorities.
“In the time of Frederic, king of Sicily, (says Kircher,) there lived a celebrated diver, whose name was Nicholas, and who, from his amazing skill in swimming, and his perseverance under the water, was surnamed the fish. This man had from his infancy been used to the sea; and earned his scanty subsistence by diving for corals and oysters, which he sold to the villagers on shore. His long acquaintance with the sea at last brought it to be almost his natural element. He was frequently known to spend five days in the midst of the waves, without any other provisions than the fish which he caught there, and ate raw. He often swam over from Sicily into Calabria, a tempestuous and dangerous passage, carrying letters from the king. He was frequently known to swim among the gulfs of Lipari, no way apprehensive of danger.
“Some mariners out at sea one day observing something at a distance from them, regarded it as a sea-monster; but upon its approach it was known to be Nicholas, whom they took into their ship. When they asked him whither he was going in so stormy and rough a sea, and at such a distance from land, he showed them a packet of letters, which he was carrying to one of the towns of Italy, exactly done up in a leather bag, in such a manner that they could not be wetted by the sea. He kept them company for some time in their voyage, conversing and asking questions; and, after eating with them, took his leave, and jumping into the sea, pursued his voyage alone.
“In order to aid these powers of enduring in the deep, nature seemed to have assisted him in a very extraordinary manner; for the spaces between his fingers and toes were webbed as in a goose: and his chest became so very capacious, that he was able, at one inspiration, to take in as much breath as would serve him a whole day.
“The account of so extraordinary a person did not fail to reach the king himself; who commanded Nicholas to be brought before him. It was no easy matter to find Nicholas, who generally spent his time in the solitudes of the deep; but, at last, after much searching, he was discovered, and brought before his majesty. The curiosity of this monarch had long been excited by the accounts he had heard of the bottom of the gulf of Charybdis; he now therefore conceived that it would be a proper opportunity to obtain more certain information. He therefore commanded the poor diver to examine the bottom of this dreadful whirlpool; and, as an incitement to his obedience, he ordered a golden cup to be thrown into it. Nicholas was not insensible of the danger to which he was exposed; dangers best known only to himself, and therefore he presumed to remonstrate; but the hopes of the reward, the desire of pleasing the king, and the pleasure of showing his skill, at last prevailed. He instantly jumped into the gulf, and was as instantly swallowed up in its bosom. He continued for three quarters of an hour below, during which time the king and his attendants remained on shore anxious for his fate: but he at last appeared, holding the cup in triumph in one hand, and making his way good among the waves with the other. It may be supposed he was received with applause when he came on shore; the cup was made the reward of his adventure; the king ordered him to be taken proper care of; and, as he was somewhat fatigued and debilitated with his labour, after a hearty meal he was put to bed, and permitted to refresh himself with sleeping.
“When his spirits were thus restored, he was again brought before the king, to satisfy his curiosity with a narrative of the wonders he had seen; and his account was to the following effect:--He would never, he said, have obeyed the king’s commands, had he been apprized of half the dangers that were before him. There were four things, he said, which rendered the gulf dreadful, not only to men but to the fishes themselves. 1. The force of the water bursting up from the bottom, which required great strength to resist. 2. The abruptness of the rocks, which on every side threatened destruction. 3. The force of the whirlpool dashing against these rocks. And, 4. The number and magnitude of the polypous fish, some of which appeared as large as a man; and which, every where sticking against the rocks projected their fibrous arms to entangle him. Being asked, how he was able so readily to find the cup that had been thrown in, he replied, that it happened to be flung by the waves into the cavity of a rock against which he himself was urged in his descent. This account, however, did not satisfy the king’s curiosity. Being requested once more to venture into the gulf for further discoveries, he at first refused: but the king, desirous of having the most accurate information possible of all things to be found in the gulf, repeated his solicitations; and to give them greater weight, produced a larger cup than the former, and added also a purse of gold. Upon these considerations the unfortunate diver once again plunged into the whirlpool, and was never heard of more.”
This is Kircher’s account, some assertions of whom will undoubtedly excite incredibility in the minds of all. I do not wish to offer any remarks, but leave your readers to form their own opinions.
People, by being accustomed to the water from their infancy, may often, at length, not only be enabled to stay much longer under water, but putting on a kind of amphibious nature, have the use of all their faculties as well under the water as on the dry land. Most savage nations are remarkable for this; and, even among civilized nations, many persons are found capable of continuing submerged for an incredible time.
I am, &c.,
A. B.
Hackney, May, 1827.
[205] At page 643, &c.
* * * * *
COUNTRY LITTLE KNOWN.
We have to inform the public of a remarkable discovery, which, though partially disclosed by former travellers, has still remained, for the most part, a strange secret. It is this;--that there is actually, at this present moment, and in this our own beautiful country of Great Britain, a large tract of territory, which to nine hundred and ninety-nine thousandths of our beloved countrymen is as much an undiscovered land as the other end of New South Wales, or the Pole which they have gone to find out. We have read of places in romance, which were more shut out by magic from people’s eyes, though close to them, than if a fifty-foot wall encircled them. It would seem as if some such supernatural prohibition existed with regard to the land in question; for the extremities of it reach to within a short distance from the metropolis, which it surrounds on all sides; nay, we have heard of persons riding through it, without seeing any thing but a sign-post or some corn; and yet it is so beautiful, that it is called emphatically “the country.”
It abounds in the finest natural productions. The more majestic parts of it are at a distance, but the zealous explorer may come upon its gentler beauties in an incredibly short time. Its pastures and cattle are admirable. Deer are to be met with in the course of half a day’s journey; and the traveller is accompanied, wherever he goes, with the music of singing birds. Immediately towards the south is a noble river, which brings you to an upland of the most luxuriant description, looking in the water like a rich-haired beauty in her glass: yet the place is in general solitary. Towards the north, at a less distance, are some other hilly spots of ground, which partake more of the rudely romantic, running however into scenes of the like sylvan elegance; and yet these are still more solitary. The inhabitants of these lands, called the country-people, seem, in truth, pretty nearly as blind to their merits as those who never see them; but their perceptions will doubtless increase, in proportion as their polished neighbours set the example. It should be said for them, that some causes, with which we have nothing to do in this place, have rendered them duller to such impressions than they appear to have been a century or two ago; but we repeat, that they will not live in such scenes to no purpose, if those who know better take an interest in their improvement. Their children have an instinct that is wiser, till domestic cares do it away. They may be seen in the fields and green lanes, with their curly locks and brown faces, gathering the flowers which abound there, and the names of which are as pretty as the shapes and colours. They are called wild roses, primroses, violets, the rose campion, germander, stellaria, wild anemone, bird’s-eye, daisies and buttercups, lady-smocks, ground-ivy, hare-bells or blue-bells, wake-robin, lillies of the valley, &c. &c. The trees are oaks, elms, birches, ash, poplar, willow, wild cherry, the flowering may-bush, &c. &c. all, in short, that we dote upon in pictures, and wish that we had about us when it is hot in Cheapside and Bond-street. It is perfectly transporting, in fine weather, like the present for instance, to lounge under the hedge-row elms in one of these sylvan places, and see the light smoke of the cottages fuming up among the green trees, the cattle grazing or lying about with a heavy placidity accordant to the time and scene, “painted jays” glancing about the glens, the gentle hills sloping down into water, the winding embowered lanes, the leafy and flowery banks, the green oaks against the blue sky, their ivied trunks, the silver-bodied and young-haired birches, and the mossy grass treble-carpeted after the vernal rains. Transporting is it to see all this; and transporting to hear the linnets, thrushes, and blackbirds, the grave gladness of the bee, and the stock-dove “brooding over her own sweet voice.” And more transporting than all is it to be in such places with a friend, that feels like ourselves, in whose heart and eyes (especially if they have fair lids) we may see all our own happiness doubled, as the landscape itself is reflected in the waters.[206]
[206] The Indicator.
* * * * *
SPECTROLOGY.
A REMARKABLE NARRATIVE.
Nicolai, the celebrated German bookseller, a member of the royal society of Berlin, presented to that institution a memoir on the subject of a complaint with which he was affected, and one of the singular consequences of which was, the representation of various spectres. M. Nicolai for some years had been subject to a congestion in the head, and was blooded frequently for it by leeches. After a detailed account of the state of his health, on which he grounds much medical as well as psychological reasoning, he gives the following interesting narrative:--
In the first two months of the year 1791, I was much affected in my mind by several incidents of a very disagreeable nature; and on the 24th of February a circumstance occurred which irritated me extremely. At ten o’clock in the forenoon my wife and another person came to console me; I was in a violent perturbation of mind, owing to a series of incidents which had altogether wounded my moral feelings, and from which I saw no possibility of relief: when suddenly I observed at the distance of ten paces from me a figure--the figure of a deceased person. I pointed at it, and asked my wife whether she did not see it. She saw nothing, but being much alarmed endeavoured to compose me, and sent for the physician. The figure remained some seven or eight minutes, and at length I became a little more calm; and as I was extremely exhausted, I soon afterwards fell into a troubled kind of slumber, which lasted for half an hour. The vision was ascribed to the great agitation of mind in which I had been, and it was supposed I should have nothing more to apprehend from that cause; but the violent affection having put my nerves into some unnatural state, from this arose further consequences, which require a more detailed description.
In the afternoon, a little after four o’clock, the figure which I had seen in the morning again appeared. I was alone when this happened; a circumstance which, as may be easily conceived, could not be very agreeable. I went therefore to the apartment of my wife, to whom I related it. But thither also the figure pursued me. Sometimes it was present, sometimes it vanished; but it was always the same standing figure. A little after six o’clock several stalking figures also appeared; but they had no connection with the standing figure. I can assign no other reason for this apparition than that, though much more composed in my mind, I had not been able so soon entirely to forget the cause of such deep and distressing vexation, and had reflected on the consequences of it, in order, if possible, to avoid them; and that this happened three hours after dinner, at the time when the digestion just begins.
At length I became more composed with respect to the disagreeable incident which had given rise to the first apparition; but though I had used very excellent medicines, and found myself in other respects perfectly well, yet the apparitions did not diminish, but, on the contrary, rather increased in number, and were transformed in the most extraordinary manner.
After I had recovered from the first impression of terror, I never felt myself particularly agitated by these apparitions, as I considered them to be what they really were, the extraordinary consequences of indisposition; on the contrary, I endeavoured as much as possible to preserve my composure of mind, that I might remain distinctly conscious of what passed within me. I observed these phantoms with great accuracy, and very often reflected on my previous thoughts, with a view to discover some law in the association of ideas, by which exactly these or other figures might present themselves to the imagination.--Sometimes I thought I had made a discovery, especially in the latter period of my visions; but, on the whole, I could trace no connection which the various figures that thus appeared and disappeared to my sight had, either with my state of mind or with my employment, and the other thoughts which engaged my attention. After frequent accurate observations on the subject, having fairly proved and maturely considered it, I could form no other conclusion on the cause and consequence of such apparitions than that, when the nervous system is weak, and at the same time too much excited, or rather deranged, similar figures may appear in such a manner as if they were actually seen and heard; for these visions in my case were not the consequence of any known law of reason, of the imagination, or of the otherwise usual association of ideas; and such also is the case with other men, as far as we can reason from the few examples we know.
The origin of the individual pictures which present themselves to us, must undoubtedly be sought for in the structure of that organization by which we think; but this will always remain no less inexplicable to us than the origin of these powers by which consciousness and fancy are made to exist.
The figure of the deceased person never appeared to me after the first dreadful day; but several other figures showed themselves afterwards very distinctly; sometimes such as I knew, mostly, however, of persons I did not know, and amongst those known to me, were the semblances of both living and deceased persons, but mostly the former; and I made the observation, that acquaintances with whom I daily conversed never appeared to me as phantasms; it was always such as were at a distance. When these apparitions had continued some weeks, and I could regard them with the greatest composure, I afterwards endeavoured, at my own pleasure, to call forth phantoms of several acquaintance, whom I for that reason represented to my imagination in the most lively manner, but in vain.--For however accurately I pictured to my mind the figures of such persons, I never once could succeed in my desire of seeing them externally; though I had some short time before seen them as phantoms, and they had perhaps afterwards unexpectedly presented themselves to me in the same manner. The phantasms appeared to me in every case involuntarily, as if they had been presented externally, like the phenomena in nature, though they certainly had their origin internally; and at the same time I was always able to distinguish with the greatest precision phantasms from phenomena. Indeed, I never once erred in this, as I was in general perfectly calm and self-collected on the occasion. I knew extremely well, when it only appeared to me that the door was opened, and a phantom entered, and when the door really was opened and any person came in.
It is also to be noted, that these figures appeared to me at all times, and under the most different circumstances, equally distinct and clear. Whether I was alone, or in company, by broad daylight equally as in the nighttime, in my own as well as in my neighbour’s house; yet when I was at another person’s house, they were less frequent; and when I walked the public street they very seldom appeared. When I shut my eyes, sometimes the figures disappeared, sometimes they remained even after I had closed them. If they vanished in the former case, on opening my eyes again nearly the same figures appeared which I had seen before.
I sometimes conversed with my physician and my wife, concerning the phantasms which at the time hovered around me; for in general the forms appeared oftener in motion than at rest. They did not always continue present--they frequently left me altogether, and again appeared for a short or longer space of time, singly or more at once; but, in general, several appeared together. For the most part I saw human figures of both sexes; they commonly passed to and fro as if they had no connection with each other, like people at a fair where all is bustle; sometimes they appeared to have business with one another. Once or twice I saw amongst them persons on horseback, and dogs and birds; these figures all appeared to me in their natural size, as distinctly as if they had existed in real life, with the several tints on the uncovered parts of the body, and with all the different kinds of colours of clothes. But I think, however, that the colours were somewhat paler than they are in nature.
None of the figures had any distinguishing characteristic; they were neither terrible, ludicrous, nor repulsive; most of them were ordinary in their appearance--some were even agreeable.
On the whole, the longer I continued in this state, the more did the number of phantasms increase, and the apparitions became more frequent. About four weeks afterwards I began to hear them speak: sometimes the phantasms spoke with one another; but for the most part they addressed themselves to me: those speeches were in general short, and never contained any thing disagreeable. Intelligent and respected friends often appeared to me, who endeavoured to console me in my grief, which still left deep traces in my mind. This speaking I heard most frequently when I was alone; though I sometimes heard it in company, intermixed with the conversation of real persons; frequently in single phrases only, but sometimes even in connected discourse.
Though at this time I enjoyed rather a good state of health, both in body and mind, and had become so very familiar with these phantasms, that at last they did not excite the least disagreeable emotion, but on the contrary afforded me frequent subjects for amusement and mirth; yet as the disorder sensibly increased, and the figures appeared to me for whole days together, and even during the night, if I happened to awake, I had recourse to several medicines, and was at last again obliged to have recourse to the application of leeches.
This was performed on the 20th of April, at eleven o’clock in the forenoon. I was alone with the surgeon, but during the operation the room swarmed with human forms of every description, which crowded fast one on another; this continued till half-past four o’clock, exactly the time when the digestion commences. I then observed that the figures began to move more slowly; soon afterwards the colours became gradually paler; and every seven minutes they lost more and more of their intensity, without any alteration in the distinct figure of the apparitions. At about half-past six o’clock all the figures were entirely white, and moved very little; yet the forms appeared perfectly distinct; by degrees they became visibly less plain, without decreasing in number, as had often formerly been the case. The figures did not move off, neither did they vanish, which also had usually happened on other occasions. In this instance they dissolved immediately into air; of some even whole pieces remained for a length of time, which also by degrees were lost to the eye. At about eight o’clock there did not remain a vestige of any of them, and I have never since experienced any appearance of the same kind. Twice or thrice since that time I have felt a propensity, if I may be so allowed to express myself, or a sensation, as if I saw something which in a moment again was gone. I was even surprised by this sensation whilst writing the present account, having, in order to render it more accurate, perused the papers of 1791, and recalled to my memory all the circumstances of that time. So little are we sometimes, even in the greatest composure of mind, masters of our imagination.
Beyond the Lich-gate stand ten ancient yews-- Branching so high they seem like giant mutes, With plumes, awaiting rich men’s funerals And poor men’s bury’ngs:--stretching, over all, An arch of triumph for Death’s victories.
*
Over the wickets to many of the church-yards in Kent is a shed, or covered way, of ancient structure, used as a resting-place for funerals, and for the shelter of the corpse until the minister arrives to commence the service for the dead. This at Beckenham is one of the most perfect in the county: the footway beyond, to the great entrance-door of the church, is canopied by a grove of trees, “sad sociate to graves.” These old church-yard buildings, now only seen in villages, were formerly called lich-gates, and the paths to them were called lich-lanes, or lich-ways.
The word lich signified a corpse. Hence the death-owl was anciently called the lich-owl.
The shrieking Litch-owl, that doth never cry But boding death, and quick herself inters In darksome graves, and hollow sepulchres.
Drayton.
Also, from lich is derived the name of the city of Lichfield, so called because of a massacre on that spot.
A thousand other saints whom Amphibal had taught, Flying the pagan foe, their lives that strictly sought, Were slain where Litchfield is, whose name doth rightly sound There, of those Christians slain, dead field, or burying ground.
Drayton.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
THE TWO GRAVES.
In yonder cowslip’s sprinkled mead A church’s tapering spire doth rise, As if it were directing us Unto a fairer paradise; Within the yard, so fair and green, Full many a grave is to be seen.
Often upon a summer’s eve The church-yard’s smooth, green sward I’ve trod! Reading the rugged epitaphs Of those who lie beneath the sod; But in one spot two graves were seen, Which always stopp’d my wandering.
Upon one stone’s expansive front Was writ, in language stiff and cold, That he, who lay beneath that slab, Had died when he was very old; And at its close a simple line Said, that his age was ninety-nine.
Another small and polish’d stone Beside the former did appear; It said, that that grave’s occupant Had died when in his third year: How eloquent the polish’d praise Lavish’d on that child’s winning ways!
The old man lay beneath the stone, Where nought in praise of him was told; It only said, that there he lay, And that he died when he was old: It did not chronicle his years, His joys and sorrows--hopes and fears.
Ninety-nine years of varying life On gliding pinions by had fled; (Oh what long years of toil and strife!) Ere he was number’d with the dead; But yet no line was left to tell How he had liv’d, or how he fell!
Had he no wife,--no child,--no friend? To cheer him as he pass’d away; No one who would his name commend, And wail as he was laid in clay? Of this the record nought supplied,-- It only said he liv’d and died!
How must his soul have been oppress’d, As intimates dropp’d from his side! And he, almost unknown, was left Alone,--upon this desert wide! Wife--children--friends--all, all were gone, And he left in the world alone!
His youthful friends had long grown old, And then were number’d with the dead; His step had totter’d, sight grown dim, And ev’ry source of pleasure fled; By nature’s law such must have been, Th’ effect of the long years he’d seen!
But then the record nought supplied, How he had spent this length’ned life; Whether in peace and quietness, Or had he worried been with strife: Perhaps the muse to him had given Visions of glory, fire from Heaven!
All is conjecture! He was laid Beneath the cold, unfeeling clay, His fame--if he had sigh’d for fame-- Had from remembrance pass’d away. Hope, joy, fear, sorrow, all were fled, And he lay number’d with the dead!
Oh! cold and cheerless is the thought, That I shall be as he is now; My very name remember’d not, And fame’s wreath wither’d on my brow: Of me no record be supplied, But that I liv’d, and that I died!
Such is the tone of sorrowing thought That through my heart has often past, As, on a summer’s brightning eve, A look upon those graves I’ve cast, Where youth and age together lie, Emblems of frail mortality!
O. N. Y.
* * * * *
THE WHITE LADY.
A ROMANTIC AND TRUE ANECDOTE.
At Nottingham, a year or two ago, Sophia Hyatt, in consequence of extreme deafness, was accidentally run over by a carrier’s cart, at the entrance of the Maypole inn-yard, and unfortunately killed. She had arrived that morning in a gig from Newstead Papplewick, or somewhere in that neighbourhood, and had been, for the three or four preceding years, a lodger in one of the farm-houses belonging to colonel Wildman, at Newstead Abbey. No one knew exactly from whence she came, nor what were her connections. Her days were passed in rambling about the gardens and grounds of the abbey, to which, from the kindness of colonel Wildman, she had free access. Her dress was invariably the same; and she was distinguished by the servants at Newstead, as the “white lady.” She had ingratiated herself with the Newfoundland dog which came from Greece with the body of lord Byron, by regularly feeding him; and on the evening before the fatal accident, she was seen, on quitting the gardens, to cut off a small lock of the dog’s hair, which she carefully placed in her handkerchief. On that evening also, she delivered to Mrs. Wildman a sealed packet, with a request that it might not be opened till the following morning. The contents of the packet were no less interesting than surprising; they consisted of various poems in manuscript, written during her solitary walks, and all of them referring to the bard to whom Newstead once belonged. A letter, addressed to Mrs. Wildman, was enclosed with the poetry, written with much elegance of language and native feeling; it described her friendless situation, alluded to her pecuniary difficulties, thanked the family for their kind attention towards her, and stated the necessity she was under of removing for a short period from Newstead. It appeared from her statement, that she had connections in America, that her brother had died there, leaving a widow and family, and she requested colonel Wildman’s assistance to arrange certain matters, in which she was materially concerned. She concluded with declaring, that her only happiness in this world consisted in the privilege of being allowed to wander through the domain of Newstead, and to trace the various spots which had been consecrated by the genius of lord Byron. A most kind and compassionate note was conveyed to her immediately after the perusal of this letter, urging her, either to give up her journey, or to return to Newstead as quickly as possible. With the melancholy sequel the reader is acquainted. Colonel Wildman took upon himself the care of her interment, and she was buried in the church-yard of Hucknall, as near as possible to the vault which contains the body of lord Byron. The last poem she composed was the following: it seems to have been dictated by a melancholy foreboding of her fate.
MY LAST WALK IN THE GARDENS OF NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
Here no longer shall I wander Lone, but in communion high, Kindred spirits greet me--yonder Glows the form that’s ever nigh.
Wrapt in blissful contemplation, From that hill no more I gaze On scenes as fair as when creation Rose--the theme of seraphs’ lays.
And thou, fair sylph, that round its basis Driv’st thy car, with milk-white steed; Oft I watch’d its gentle paces-- Mark’d its track with curious heed.
Why? oh! why thus interesting, Are forms and scenes to me unknown? Oh you, the Muses’ power confessing, Define the charm your bosoms own.
Why love to gaze or playful fountain, Or lake, that bore him on its breast? Lonely to wander o’er each mountain, Grove, or plain, his feet have press’d?
It is because the Muses hover, And all around, a halo shed; And still must every fond adorer Worship the shrine, the idol fled.
But ’tis past; and now for ever Fancy’s vision’s bliss is o’er; But to forget thee, Newstead--never, Though I shall haunt thy shades no more.[207]
[207] Nottingham Review.
* * * * *
DUELS.
Duelling in England was carried to its greatest possible excess in the reigns of James I. and of the two Charles’s. In the reign of the latter Charles, the seconds always fought as well as their principals; and as they were chosen for their courage and adroitness, their combats were generally the most fatal. Lord Howard, of Carlisle, in the reign of Charles II., gave a grand fête champêtre at Spring Gardens, near the village of Charing, the Vauxhall of that day. This fête was to facilitate an intrigue between lord Howard and the profligate duchess of Shrewsbury: but the gay and insinuating Sidney flirted with the duchess, abstracted her attention from Howard, and ridiculed the fête. The next day his lordship sent a challenge to Sidney, who chose as his second a tall, furious, adroit swordsman, named Dillon; Howard selected a young gentleman, named Rawlings, just come into possession of an estate of 10,000_l._ a year. Sidney was wounded in two or three places, whilst his second was run through the heart, and left dead on the field. The duke of Shrewsbury became afterwards so irritated as to challenge the infamous Buckingham for intriguing with his wife. The duchess of Shrewsbury, in the disguise of a page, attended Buckingham to the field, and held his horse whilst he fought and killed her husband. The profligate king, in spite of every remonstrance from the queen, received the duke of Buckingham with open arms, after this brutal murder.
In 172 duels fought during the last sixty years, 69 persons were killed; (in three of these duels, neither of the combatants survived;) 96 persons were wounded, 48 desperately and 48 slightly; and 188 escaped unhurt. Thus, rather more than one-fifth lost their lives, and nearly one-half received the bullets of their antagonists. It appears also, that out of this number of duels, eighteen trials took place; six of the arraigned were acquitted, seven found guilty of manslaughter, and three of murder; two were executed, and eight imprisoned for different periods.
About thirty years ago, there was a duelling society held in Charleston, South Carolina, where each “gentleman” took precedence according to the numbers he had killed or wounded in duels. The president and deputy had killed many. It happened that an old weather-beaten lieutenant of the English navy arrived at Charleston, to see after some property which had devolved upon him, in right of a Charleston lady, whom he had married; and on going into a coffee-house, engaged in conversation with a native, whose insults against England were resented, and the English lieutenant received a challenge. As soon as the affair was known, some gentlemen waited upon the stranger to inform him, that the man who had called him out was a duellist, a “dead shot,” the president of the duellist club; they added, that the society and all its members, though the wealthiest people of the place, were considered so infamous by really respectable persons, that he would not be held in disesteem by not meeting the challenger. The lieutenant replied, that he was not afraid of any duellist; he had accepted the challenge, and would meet his man. They accordingly did meet, and at the first fire the lieutenant mortally wounded his antagonist. In great agony, and conscience-stricken, he invoked the aid of several divines, and calling the “duellist society” to his bedside, lectured them upon the atrocity of their conduct, and begged, as his dying request, that the club might be broken up. The death of this ruffian suppressed a society which the country did not possess sufficient morals or gentlemanly spirit to subdue.
In Virginia, a Mr. Powell, a notorious duellist, purposely met and insulted an English traveller, for having said, that “the Virginians were of no use to the American Union, it requiring one half of the Virginians to keep the other half in order;” the newspapers took it up as a national quarrel, and anticipated the meeting, without the magistracy having decency, morals, or public spirit sufficient to interfere. The Englishman, therefore, got an American duellist as his second, went into training and practice, and met his adversary amidst a mob of many thousands to witness the fight. Mr. Powell was killed on the first shot, and the Englishman remained unhurt.
The brother of general Delancey, the late barrack-master general, having high words with a “gentleman” in a coffee-house at New York, the American immediately called for pistols, and insisted upon fighting in the public coffee-room, across one of the tables. None of the “gentlemen” present interfered; they fought across the table, and the American dishonestly firing before his time, the Englishman was shot dead upon the spot. Lately, at Nashville, a gentleman was shot dead before his own door, in a duel, in the principal square of the city.
In 1763, the secretary of the English treasury, Mr. Martin, notoriously trained himself as a duellist, for the avowed purpose of shooting Mr. Wilkes, whom he first insulted in the House of Commons, and afterwards wounded in the park. This gave rise to Churchill’s poem of “The Duellist;” the House of Commons ordered his majesty’s sergeant surgeon to attend Mr. Wilkes, and Mr. Martin was considered to “have done the state some service.”
At that period duels were frequent among clergymen. In 1764, the Rev. Mr. Hill was killed in a duel by cornet Gardener, of the carabineer. The Reverend Mr. Bate fought two duels, and was subsequently created a baronet, and preferred to a deanery after he had fought another duel. The Reverend Mr. Allen killed a Mr. Delany in a duel, in Hyde Park, without incurring any ecclesiastical censure, though judge Buller, on account of his extremely bad conduct, strongly charged his guilt upon the jury.
In 1765, occurred a celebrated duel between the father of the late lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth, a famous duellist. They quarrelled at a club-dinner at the Star and Garter, Pall Mall, about game; Chaworth was a great game preserver, and lord Byron had argued upon the cruelty and impolicy of the game laws. They agreed to fight in an adjoining room, by the light of only one candle. Lord Byron entered first; and, as Chaworth was shutting the door, turning his head round, he beheld lord Byron’s sword half undrawn; he immediately whipped his own weapon out, and making a lunge at his lordship, ran it through his waistcoat, conceiving that his sword had gone through his body: lord Byron closed, and, shortening his sword, stabbed Mr. Chaworth in the belly. The challenge had proceeded from Chaworth. Lord Byron read his defence to the House of Lords, and was found guilty of manslaughter; and, upon the privilege of his peerage, was discharged on paying his fees.
In 1772, a Mr. M‘Lean was challenged and killed by a Mr. Cameron; and the mother of Mr. M‘Lean, on hearing of the shocking event, instantly lost her senses, whilst a Miss M‘Leod, who was to have been married to the deceased, was seized with fits, and died in three days.
In Mr. Sheridan’s duel with Mr. Mathews, the parties cut and slashed at each other, à la mode de théâtre, until Mr. Mathews left a part of his sword sticking in Mr. Sheridan’s ear.
In a famous duel in which Mr. Riddell was killed, and Mr. Cunningham very severely wounded, the challenge, by mistake, had fallen in the first instance into the hands of sir James Riddell, father to Mr. Riddell, who, on having it delivered to him, did no more than provide surgeons for the event.
In 1789, colonel Lennox conceived himself to have been insulted by the late duke of York having told him, before all the officers on the parade of St. James’s, “that he desired to derive no protection from his rank of prince.” The colonel accordingly fought his royal highness, it was said, with cork bullets; but be that as it may, he contrived to disturb one of the huge rows of curls which it was then the fashion to wear on the side of the head.
In 1790, a captain Macrae fought and killed sir George Ramsay, for refusing to dismiss a faithful old servant who had insulted captain Macrae. Sir George urged, that even if the servant were guilty, he had been sufficiently punished by the cruel beating that captain Macrae had given him. As soon as the servant heard that his master had been killed on his account, he fell into strong convulsions, and died in a few hours. Captain Macrae fled, and was outlawed.
In 1797, colonel Fitzgerald, a married man, eloped from Windsor with his cousin, the daughter of lord Kingston. Colonel King, the brother, fought colonel Fitzgerald in Hyde Park. They fired six shots each without effect; and the powder being exhausted, colonel King called his opponent “a villain,” and they resolved to fight again next day. They were, however, put under an arrest, when colonel Fitzgerald had the audacity to follow lord Kingston’s family to Ireland, to obtain the object of his seduction from her parents. Colonel King hearing of this, repaired to the inn where colonel Fitzgerald put up. Colonel Fitzgerald had locked himself in his room, and refused admission to colonel King, who broke open the door, and running to a case of pistols, seized one, and desired colonel Fitzgerald to take the other. The parties grappled, and were fighting, when lord Kingston entered the room; and perceiving, from the position of the parties, that his son must lose his life, instantly shot Fitzgerald dead on the spot.
In 1803, a very singular duel took place in Hyde Park, between a lieutenant W., of the navy, and a captain I., of the army. Captain I. had seduced the lieutenant’s sister. Lieutenant W. seemed impressed with a deep sense of melancholy: he insisted that the distance should be only six paces. At this distance they fired, and the shot of captain I. struck the guard of lieutenant W.’s pistol, and tore off two fingers of his right hand. The lieutenant deliberately wrapped his handkerchief round the wound, and looking solemnly to heaven, exclaimed, “I have a left hand, which never failed me.” They again took their ground. Lieutenant W. looked steadfastly at captain I., and casting his eyes up to heaven, was heard to utter “forgive me.” They fired, and both fell. Captain I. received the ball in his head, and died instantly: the lieutenant was shot through the breast. He inquired if captain I.’s wound was mortal. Being answered in the affirmative, he thanked heaven that he had lived so long. He then took his mourning ring off his finger, and said to his second, “Give this to my sister, and tell her it is the happiest moment I ever knew.” He had scarcely uttered the last word, when a quantity of blood gushed from his wound, and he instantly expired.
These are practices in a Christian country.
* * * * *
ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE.
At a late meeting under a commission of bankruptcy, at Andover, between Mr. FLEET and Mr. MANN, both respectable solicitors of that town, some disagreement arose, which ended in the former sending the latter a challenge, to which the following answer was returned.
To Kingston Fleet, Esq.
I am honour’d this day, sir, with challenges two, The first from friend Langdon, the second from you; As the one is to fight, and the other to dine, I accept his “engagement,” and yours must decline. Now, in giving this preference, I trust you’ll admit I have acted with prudence, and done what was fit, Since encountering him, and my weapon a knife, There is some little chance of preserving my life; Whilst a bullet from you, sir, might take it away, And the maxim, you know, is to live while you may. If, however, you still should suppose I ill-treat you, By sternly rejecting this challenge to meet you, Bear with me a moment, and I will adduce Three powerful reasons by way of excuse: In the first place, unless I am grossly deceiv’d, I myself am in conscience the party aggriev’d; And therefore, good sir, if a challenge must be, Pray wait till that challenge be tender’d by me. Again, sir, I think it by far the more sinful, To stand and be shot, than to sit for a skinful; From whence you’ll conclude (as I’d have you, indeed) That fighting composes not part of my creed-- And my courage (which, though it was never disputed, Is not, I imagine, too, too deeply rooted) Would prefer that its fruit, sir, whate’er it may yield, Should appear at “the table,” and not in “the field.” And, lastly, my life, be it never forgot, Possesses a value which yours, sir, does not;[208] So I mean to preserve it as long as I can, Being justly entitled “a family Man,” With three or four children, (I scarce know how many,) Whilst you, sir, have not, or ought not, to have any. Besides, that the contest would be too unequal, I doubt not will plainly appear by the sequel: For e’en you must acknowledge it would not be meet That one small “Mann of war” should engage “a whole Fleet.”
Andover, July 24, 1826.
[208] Mr. Fleet is a batchelor.
* * * * *
SIGNS OF LOVE, AT OXFORD.
By an Inn-consolable Lover.
She’s as light as the Greyhound, and fair as the Angel; Her looks than the Mitre more sanctified are; But she flies like the Roebuck, and leaves me to range ill, Still looking to her as my true polar Star. New Inn-ventions I try, with new art to adore, But my fate is, alas! to be voted a Boar; My Goats I forsook to contemplate her charms, And must own she is fit for our noble King’s Arms. Now Cross’d, and now Jockey’d, now sad, now elate, The Chequers appear but a map of my fate; I blush’d like a Blue-cur to send her a Pheasant, But she call’d me a Turk, and rejected my present; So I moped to the Barley-mow, griev’d in my mind, That the Ark from the flood ever rescu’d mankind! In my dreams Lions roar, and the Green Dragon grins And fiends rise in shape of the Seven deadly sins. When I ogle the Bells, should I see her approach, I skip like a Nag and jump into the Coach. She is crimson and white, like a Shoulder of Mutton, Not the red of the Ox was so bright, when first put on: Like the Hollybush prickles, she scratches my liver, While I moan, and I die like the Swan by the river!
* * * * *
~Prolific Writers.~
The copiousness and the multiplicity of the writings of many authors, have shown that too many find a pleasure in the act of composition, which they do not communicate to others. Great erudition and every-day application is the calamity of that voluminous author, who, without good sense, and what is more rare, without that exquisite judgment which we call good taste is always prepared to write on any subject, but at the same time on no one reasonably. We are astonished at the fertility and the size of our own writers of the seventeenth century, when the theological war of words raged, spoiling so many pages and brains. They produced folio after folio, like almanacks. The truth is, that it was then easier to write up to a folio, than in our days to write down to an octavo; for correction, selection, and rejection, were arts as yet unpractised. They went on with their work, sharply or bluntly, like witless mowers, without stopping to whet their scythes. They were inspired by the scribbling demon of that rabbin, who, in his oriental style and mania of volume, exclaimed, that were “the heavens formed of paper, and were the trees of the earth pens, and if the entire sea run ink, these only could suffice” for the monstrous genius he was about to discharge on the world.
* * * * *
WILLIAM PRYNNE.
Prynne seldom dined: every three or four hours he munched a manchet, and refreshed his exhausted spirits with ale brought to him by his servant; and when “he was put into this road of writing,” as Anthony à Wood telleth, he fixed on “a long quilted cap, which came an inch over his eyes, serving as an umbrella to defend them from too much light;” and then, hunger nor thirst did he experience, save that of his voluminous pages. Prynne has written a library, amounting, perhaps, to nearly two hundred books. Our unlucky author, whose life was involved in authorship, and his happiness, no doubt, in the habitual exuberance of his pen, seems to have considered the being debarred from pen, ink, and books, during his imprisonment, as an act more barbarous than the loss of his ears. The extraordinary perseverance of Prynne in this fever of the pen appears in the following title of one of his extraordinary volumes, “Comfortable Cordials against discomfortable Fears of Imprisonment; containing some Latin Verses Sentences, and Texts of Scripture, written by Mr. Wm. Prynne on his Chamber Walls, in the Tower of London, during his Imprisonment there; translated by him into English Verse, 1641.” Prynne literally verified Pope’s description:--
“Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls, With desperate charcoal round his darkened walls.”
We have also a catalogue of printed books, written by Wm. Prynne, Esq., of Lincoln’s Inn, in these classes,
BEFORE, } DURING, } his imprisonment, and } SINCE }
with this motto, “Jucundi acti labores,” 1643. The secret history of this voluminous author concludes with a characteristic event: a contemporary who saw Prynne in the pillory at Cheapside, informs us, that while he stood there they “burnt his huge volumes under his nose, which had almost suffocated him.”
* * * * *
FRENCH PAMPHLETEER.
One Catherinot all his life was printing a countless number of feuilles volantes in history and on antiquities; each consisting of about three or four leaves in quarto: Lenglet du Fresnoy calls him “Grand auteur des petits livres.” This gentleman liked to live among antiquaries and historians; but with a crooked head-piece, stuck with whims, and hard with knotty combinations, all overloaded with prodigious erudition, he could not ease it at a less rate than by an occasional dissertation of three or four quarto pages. He appears to have published about two hundred pieces of this sort, much sought after by the curious for their rarity: Brunet complains he could never discover a complete collection. But Catherinot may escape “the pains and penalties” of our voluminous writers, for De Bure thinks he generously printed them to distribute among his friends. Such endless writers, provided they do not print themselves into an alms-house, may be allowed to print themselves out; and we would accept the apology which Monsieur Catherinot has framed for himself, which is preserved in Beyeri Memoriæ Librorum Rariorum. “I must be allowed my freedom in my studies, for I substitute my writings for a game at the tennis-court, or a club at the tavern; I never counted among my honours these opuscula of mine, but merely as harmless amusements. It is my partridge, as with St. John the Evangelist; my cat, as with Pope St. Gregory; my little dog, as with St. Dominick; my lamb, as with St. Francis; my great black mastiff, as with Cornelius Agrippa; and my tame hare, as with Justus Lipsius.” Catherinot could never get a printer, and was rather compelled to study economy in his two hundred quartos of four or eight pages; his paper was of inferior quality, and when he could not get his dissertations into his prescribed number of pages, he used to promise the end at another time, which did not always happen. But his greatest anxiety was to publish and spread his works; in despair he adopted an odd expedient. Whenever Monsieur Catherinot came to Paris, he used to haunt the quaies where books are sold, and while he appeared to be looking over them, he adroitly slided one of his own dissertations among these old books. He began this mode of publication early, and continued it to his last days. He died with a perfect conviction that he had secured his immortality; and in this manner he disposed of more than one edition of his unsaleable works.[209]
[209] D’Israeli.
* * * * *
LOVE’S PROGRESS OF A TOBACCONIST.
For the Table Book.
1.
When bless’d with Fanny’s rosy smiles, I thought myself in heaven; Fanny is blooming twenty-two, And I am--thirty-seven.
2.
I thought her deck’d with every grace, Without one vice to jar, Fresh as new carrot was her face And sweet as Macabar.
3.
Besides a person fair to view She had a thousand pounds; Not to be sneezed at--I had two, And credit without bounds.
4.
Our courtship oft consisted in Slight taps and gentle knocks; And when I gave her a small pinch, She quick return’d a box.
5.
Howe’er, one morning, in a rage, With me herself she put, She call’d me blackguard, and declar’d I was from thence short cut.
6.
In vain I tried the cause to smoke, When she had ta’en offence; In vain recall’d the words I spoke, That she had deem’d bad scents.
7.
But soon a mutual friend contriv’d Our quarrel up to botch; Fanny confess’d her temper warm-- ’Twas natural--she was Scotch.
8.
We married--snugly in my shop Fanny’s become a fixture, And all the neighbourhood declare, We’re quite a pleasant mixture.
SAM SAM’S SON.
* * * * *
THE LORD CHANCELLOR.
The title of chancellor originated with the Romans. It was adopted by the church, and became a half ecclesiastic, and half lay office. The chancellor was intrusted with all public instruments which were authenticated; and when seals came into use, the custody of them was confided to that officer. The mere delivery of the king’s great seal, or the taking it away, is all the ceremony that is used in creating or unmaking a chancellor, the officer of the greatest weight and power subsisting in the kingdom. The first chancellor in England was appointed in the reign of William the Conqueror, and with only one exception, it was enjoyed by ecclesiastics until the time of Elizabeth, when such officers were called keepers of the great seal. From the time of sir Thomas More’s appointment, which took place in the reign of Henry VIII., there is only one instance of a clergyman having been elevated to the office--namely, Dr. Williams, dean of Westminster, in the time of James I.--The chancellor is a privy counsellor by office, and speaker of the house of lords by prescription. To him belongs the appointment of all justices of the peace throughout the kingdom. When the chancellor was an ecclesiastic, he became keeper of the king’s conscience, and remained so. He is also visitor of all hospitals and colleges of the king’s foundation. He is patron of all livings under twenty pounds per annum in the king’s book. He is the general guardian of all infants, idiots, and lunatics, and has the superintendence of all charitable institutions in the kingdom. He takes precedent of every temporal lord, except the royal family, and of all others, except the archbishop of Canterbury. It is declared treason by statute of Edward III. to slay the chancellor in his place, and doing his office.--In the year 1689, there were commissioners appointed for executing the office of lord chancellor.
* * * * *
~Anonymiana.~
THE GREAT LORD CHANCELLOR.
Sir Thomas More, when at the bar, is said to have undertaken only such causes as appeared just to his conscience, and never to have accepted a fee from a widow, orphan, or poor person; yet he acquired by his practice the considerable sum, in those days, of four hundred pounds per annum. When he rose to the height of his profession, his diligence was so great, that one day being in court he called for the next cause, on which it was answered, that there were no more suits in chancery. This made a punning bard of that time thus express himself:--
When More some years had chancellor been, No more suits did remain; The same shall never more be seen. Till More be there again.
CHANCERY.
Cancellæ are lattice-work, by which the chancels being formerly parted from the body of the church, they took their names from thence. Hence, too, the court of chancery and the lord chancellor borrowed their names, that court being enclosed with open work of that kind. And, so, to cancel a writing is to cross it out with the pen, which naturally makes something like the figure of a lattice.
DILIGENCE AND DELIGHT.
It is a common observation, that unless a man takes a delight in a thing, he will never pursue it with pleasure or assiduity. Diligentia, diligence, is from diligo, to love.
PAMPHLET, PALM, PALMISTRY.
Pamphlet.--This word is ancient, see Lilye’s Euphnes, p. 5; Lambarde’s Perambulation of Kent, p. 188; Hearne’s Cur. Disc. p. 130; Hall’s Chronicle, in Edward V. f. 2; Richard III. f. 32; Skelton, p. 47; Caxton’s Preface to his Virgil, where it is written paunflethis; Oldys’s British Librarian, p. 128; Nash, p. 3, 64; and also his preface, wherein he has the phrase, “to pamphlet on a person” and pampheleter, p. 30.
The French have not the word pamphlet, and yet it seems to be of French extraction, and no other than palm-feuillet, a leaf to be held in the hand, a book being a thing of a greater weight. So the French call it now feuille volante, retaining one part of the compound.
Palm is the old French word for hand, from whence we have palmistry, the palm of the hand, a palm or span, and to palm a card, and from thence the metaphor of palming any thing upon a person.
CAMBRIDGE WIT.
A gentleman of St. John’s College, Cambridge, having a clubbed foot, which occasioned him to wear a shoe upon it of a particular make, and with a high heel, one of the college wits called him Bildad the shuhite.
GRADUAL REFORM.
When lord Muskerry sailed to Newfoundland, George Rooke went with him a volunteer: George was greatly addicted to lying; and my lord, being very sensible of it, and very familiar with George, said to him one day, “I wonder you will not leave off this abominable custom of lying, George.” “I can’t help it,” said the other. “Puh!” says my lord, “it may be done by degrees; suppose you were to begin with uttering one truth a day.”
PRIVATE AND PUBLIC.
Charles II. spending a cheerful evening with a few friends, one of the company, seeing his majesty in good humour, thought it a fit time to ask him a favour, and was so absurd as to do so: after he had mentioned his suit, Charles instantly and very acutely replied, “Sir, you must ask your king for that.”
A HUNDRED TO ONE.
“There were a hundred justices,” says one, “at the monthly meeting.” “A hundred,” says another. “Yes,” says he, “do you count, and I will name them. There was justice Balance, put down one; justice Hall, put down a cipher, he is nobody; justice House, you may put down another cipher for him--one and two ciphers are a hundred.”
* * * * *
THE CHILD OF MIGHT.
For the Table Book.
War was abroad, and the fleeting gale Loud, o’er the wife’s and the daughter’s wail, Brought the summoning sound of the clarion’s blast-- Age and affection looked their last On the valour and youth that went forth to the tomb-- Young eyes were bright at the nodding plume-- Banner and spear gleam’d in the sun-- And the laugh was loud as the day were won: But the sun shall set, and--ere ’tis night,-- Woe to thee, Child of Pride and Might.
’Tis the hour of battle, the hosts are met, Pierc’d is the hauberk, cleft the bass’net: Like a torrent the legions thunder’d on-- Lo! like its foam, they are vanish’d and gone Thou whom this day beauty’s arms carest, The hoof of the fleeing spurns thy crest-- Thy pride yet lives on thy dark brow’s height, But, where is thy power, CHILD OF MIGHT?
J. J. K.
Vol. I.--24.
“Any New-River water here.”
This is another of the criers of a hundred years ago, and, it seems, he cried “New-River water.” The cry is scarce, though scarcely extinct, in the environs of London.
I well remember the old prejudices of old-fashioned people in favour of water brought to the door, and their sympathy with the complaints of the water-bearer. “Fresh and fair new River-water! none of your pipe sludge!” vociferated the water-bearer. “Ah dear!” cried his customers, “Ah dear! Well, what’ll the world come to!--they wo’n’t let poor people live at all by and by--here they’re breaking up the ground, and we shall be all under water some day or other with their goings on--I’ll stick to the carrier as long as he has a pail-full and I’ve a penny, and when we haven’t we must all go to the workhouse together.” This was the talk and the reasoning of many honest people within my recollection, who preferred taxing themselves to the daily payment of a penny and often twopence to the water-carrier, in preference to having “Company’s-water” at eighteen shillings per annum. Persons of this order of mind were neither political economists nor domestic economists: they were, for the most part, simple and kind-hearted souls, who illustrated the ancient saying, that “the destruction of the poor is their poverty”--they have perished for “lack of knowledge.”
The governing principle of Napoleon was, that “every thing must be done for the people, and nothing by them:” the ruling practice of the British people is to do every thing for themselves; and by the maintenance of this good old custom they have preserved individual freedom, and attained to national greatness. All our beneficial national works have originated with ourselves--our roads, our bridges, our canals, our water-companies, have all been constructed by our own enterprise, and in the order of our wants.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XXI.
[From Sir Richard Fanshaw’s Translation of “Querer Por Solo Querer”--“To love for love’s sake”--a Romantic Drama, written in Spanish by Mendoza: 1649.]
Felisbravo, Prince of Persia, from a Picture sent him of the brave Amazonian Queen of Tartary, Zelidaura, becoming enamoured, sets out for that realm; in his way thither disenchants a Queen of Araby; but first, overcome by fatigue, falls asleep in the Enchanted Grove, where Zelidaura herself coming by, steals the Picture from him. The passion of the Romance arises from his remorse at being taken so negligent; and her disdain that he should sleep, having the company of her Picture. She here plays upon him, who does not yet know her, in the disguise of a Rustic.
Fel. What a spanking Labradora! Zel. You, the unkent Knight, God ye gud mora![210] Fel. The time of day thou dost mistake. Zel.--and joy-- Fel.--of what? Zel. That I discover. By a sure sign, you are awake. Fel. Awake? the sign-- Zel. Your being a lover. Fel. In love am I? Zel.--and very deep. Fel. Deep in love! how is that seen? Zel. Perfectly. You do not sleep. Fel. Rustic Excellence, unscreen, And discover that sweet face, Which covers so much wit and grace. Zel. You but dream so: sleep again, And forget it. Fel. Why, now, Saint? Zel. Why, the Lady, that went in,[211] Looks as if that she did paint. Fel. What has that to do with sleeping? She is indeed angelical. Zel. That picture now’s well worth your keeping. For why? ’tis an original. Fel. Is this Shepherdess a Witch? Or saw the sleeping treason, which I committed against Love Erst, in the Enchanted Grove? Me hast thou ever seen before? Zel. Seen? aye, and know thee for a man That will turn him, and sleep more Than a dozen dunces can. Thou ken’st little what sighs mean. Fel. Unveil, by Jove, that face serene. Zel. What, to make thee sleep again? Fel. Still in riddles? Zel. Now he sees: This pinching wakes him by degrees. Fel. Art thou a Nymph? Zel. Of Parnass Green. Fel. Sleep I indeed, or am I mad? Zel. None serve thee but the Enchanted Queen? I think what dull conceits ye have had Of the bird Phœnix, which no eye E’er saw; an odoriferous Lye: How of her beauty’s spells she’s told; That by her spirit thou art haunted; And, having slept away the old, With this new Mistress worse enchanted. Fel. I affect not, Shepherdess, Myself in such fine terms to express; Sufficeth me an humble strain: Too little happy to be vain.-- Unveil! Zel. Sir Gallant, not so fast. Fel. See thee I will. Zel. See me you shall: But touch not fruit you must not taste.
(She takes off her veil.)
What says it, now the leaf doth fall? Fel. It says, ’tis worthy to comprize The kernel of so rare a wit: Nor, that it grows in Paradise; But Paradise doth grow in it. The tall and slender trunk no less divine, Tho’ in a lowly Shepherdesses rine.
(He begins to know her.)
This should be that so famous Queen For unquell’d valour and disdain.-- In these Enchanted Woods is seen Nothing but illusions vain. Zel. What stares the man at? Fel. I compare A Picture--I once mine did call-- With the divine Original. Zel. Fall’n again asleep you are: We poor human Shepherd Lasses Nor are pictured, nor use glasses. Who skip their rank, themselves and betters wrong: To our Dames, god bless ’em, such quaint things belong. Here a tiny brook alone, Which fringed with borrow’d flowers (he has Gold and silver enough on his own) Is heaven’s proper looking-glass, Copies us: and its reflections, Shewing natural perfections, Free from soothing, free from error. Are our pencil, are our mirror. Fel. Art thou a Shepherdess? Zel.--and bore On a mountain, called THERE. Fel. Wear’st thou ever heretofore Lady’s clothes? Zel. I Lady’s gear?-- Yes--what a treacherous poll have I!-- In a Country Comedy I once enacted a main part; Still I have it half by heart: The famous History it was Of an Arabian--let me see-- No, of a Queen of Tartary, Who all her sex did far surpass In beauty, wit, and chivalry: Who with invincible disdain Would fool, when she was in the vein, Princes with all their wits about ’em; But, an they slept, to death she’d flout ’em. And, by the mass, with such a mien My Majesty did play the Queen; Our Curate had my Picture made, In the same robes in which I play’d.
To my taste this is fine, elegant, Queen-like raillery; a second part of Love’s Labours Lost, to which title this extraordinary Play has still better pretensions than even Shakspeare’s: for after leading three pair of Royal Lovers thro’ endless mazes of doubts, difficulties; oppositions of dead fathers’ wills; a labyrinth of losings and findings; jealousies; enchantments; conflicts with giants, and single-handed against armies; to the exact state in which all the Lovers might with the greatest propriety indulge their reciprocal wishes--when, the deuce is in it, you think, but they must all be married now--suddenly the three Ladies turn upon their Lovers; and, as an exemplification of the moral of the Play, “Loving for loving’s sake,” and a hyper-platonic, truly Spanish proof of their affections--demand that the Lovers shall consent to their mistresses’ taking upon them the vow of a single life; to which the Gallants with becoming refinement can do less than consent.--The fact is that it was a Court Play, in which the Characters; males, giants, and all; were played by females, and those of the highest order of Grandeeship. No nobleman might be permitted amongst them; and it was against the forms, that a great Court Lady of Spain should consent to such an unrefined motion, as that of wedlock, though but in a play.
Appended to the Drama, the length of which may be judged from its having taken nine days in the representation, and me three hours in the reading of it--hours well wasted--is a poetical account of a fire, which broke out in the Theatre on one of the nights of its acting, when the whole Dramatis Personæ were nearly burnt, because the common people out of “base fear,” and the Nobles out of “pure respect,” could not think of laying hands upon such “great Donnas;” till the young King, breaking the etiquette, by snatching up his Queen, and bearing her through the flames upon his back, the Grandees, (dilatory Æneases), followed his example, and each saved one (Anchises-fashion), till the whole Courtly Company of Comedians were got off in tolerable safety.--Imagine three or four stout London Firemen on such an occasion, standing off in mere respect!
C. L.
[210] She affects rusticity.
[211] The Enchanted Queen of Araby, of whom Zelidaura is jealous.
* * * * *
THE STUART PAPERS,
IN POSSESSION OF THE KING.
In the year 1817 the public, or, more correctly speaking, the English public at Rome, were much excited by the report of a very singular discovery. The largest and the most interesting collection of papers relating to the Stuart family, probably existing, was suddenly recovered. The circumstances connected with the discovery are curious. Dr. W., whose residence on the continent for many years had been unceasingly devoted to every species of research which could tend to throw light on the antiquities of his country and the history of her kings, had in the Scotch college at Paris, after much patient investigation, arrived at the knowledge of some Gaelic MSS., and, what may be perhaps deemed of more consequence, of several papers relating to the dethroned family. The Gaelic MSS., it was imagined, would throw some light on the quarrel de lana caprina of the Ossian “remains,” a name which, as it has been given to the Iliad and Odyssey, cannot be considered as an insult to the claims of the Irish or Scottish phantom which has been conjured up under the name of Ossian: but the Journals, &c., though they added little to his actual information, and communicated few facts not hitherto before the public, had at least the merit of placing the end of the clue in his hand, and hinting first the probability of a more productive inquiry elsewhere. It occurred to him that after the demise of James II., as the majority of the family habitually resided at Rome, much the greater number of interesting documents ought still to be discoverable in that city, and, whatever facilities might originally have existed, they must have been increased considerably, and indeed enhanced by the late extinction of the direct line in the person of the cardinal de York.[212] His journey to Rome, and the results of his perseverance fully justified these conjectures. There was nothing in Dr. W.’s appearance or manner, nothing in the circumstances of his long absence from his country, which could offer motives of encouragement; no man carried less before him, as far as externals were in question, that letter of recommendation to which the most uncourteous are compelled to yield. He was in bad odour with his own government, and consequently with every thing legitimate and subservient on the continent, and one of the worst calculated individuals that Providence could have selected, if not for a discovery, at least for its preservation. Dr. W. was known to few of his countrymen at Rome; and as well as I recollect, they were exclusively Scotch, but his acquaintance amongst the natives was extensive and useful. He had been engaged in some cotton speculations in the Campagna, which had altogether failed; more, I believe, from want of funds and public spirit, than from any error in the project or its execution. The soil was favourable, the climate favourable, and the specimen I saw scarcely inferior to the Asiatic. But whatever may have been the causes, the results were salutary, and productive at least of this advantage, that it served to introduce him to the “mezzo ceto” circles of the capital. A mercante di Campagna is a personage in nowise inferior to a lawyer, and Dr. W. knew how to preserve his importance amongst his competitors. The information which he gained here was a new source of encouragement. After much sagacious and persevering inquiry, and occasional but partial disappointments, he at last chanced in a happy hour on the great object of all his labours. He was informed in rather a circuitous manner, that a considerable portion of the late cardinal de York’s effects lay still in the hands of the executors, but could not at first ascertain whether they comprehended any large masses of his papers. Enough, however, had been detected to lead him much farther: he seized the hint, profited by it, and in a few weeks satisfactorily assured himself that the papers were, as he suspected, included, and were at that very moment at Rome. He lost no time in addressing himself to the proper quarter, but monsignor ---- was out of town, (the acting executor of the cardinal,) and it was very doubtful whether his agent, the abbate Lupi, was sufficiently authorized or empowered to dispose of them in his absence; the abbate Lupi, less scrupulous, or more ignorant than persons in situations of such high trust, smiled at the communication, and conducted the doctor without delay to the premises where these cartacci, or paper-rubbish, as he termed them, were still lying in confusion. It was a dark and dreary garret or gallery, at the top of the house. The abbate pushed back a crazy door, and showed them heaped up, in large lots, in various parts of the chamber. The garret was crumbling, the wind and rain entered ad libitum through the broken tiles, the rats prowled and plundered at full discretion, like the followers of Omar, and had now lived for many years at free quarters on the spoils; but neither decay, nor the seasons and their ravages, nor the rats and their incursions, nor the appearance of daily loss, were sufficient to rouse the habitual indolence of the administrators to the least effort for the preservation of the remainder. There was a sufficient quantity, however, left to surpass the most ardent anticipations of the doctor: he gazed in silence and astonishment; it was a moment of true and unalloyed delight--an instant which, in the estimate of the enthusiast, will outbalance the sufferings of months and years, like the “Land! land!” of Columbus, or the eureka of Pythagoras. He hesitated, he doubted--he took up the paper that was nearest to him; his warmest wishes were realized; it was an autograph of James II. A glance over the rest was sufficient; it was with difficulty he could suppress the feeling of exultation which shivered and fled over his whole frame. After an affected question or two, the abbate accepted his proposal, and very near five hundred thousand documents, of unquestionable authenticity and of the first historic importance and authority, were knocked down to him for not more than three hundred Roman crowns. Dr. W. still meditated, paused, appeared reluctant, inquired for the letter of attorney, examined it, and finding all in order, and powers as he imagined sufficiently full, the arrangement in a few moments was completed. Two carts were brought to the door, the papers were thrown into them confusedly, and so little did the abbate value their utility, that on two or three packets falling into the street, they undoubtedly would have lain there with other rubbish, had not the doctor immediately hastened to take them up and carried them himself to his lodgings.
The prize was now won, and a collection perhaps unrivalled in Europe, an El Dorado of imaginary wealth and glory, was safely lodged in the precincts of his own apartment. Joy is talkative, and for once the doctor altogether forgot his caution, and in the dangerous moment of a first triumph, rushed to his countrymen, and proclaimed his veni, vidi, vici to their envy and astonishment. They were invited to inspect them. Rome, the capital of a considerable state, is still a provincial town, and events of this kind hardly require newspapers. In a few days the news of all the poets and barbers was the singular good fortune of the doctor. What it was no one knew, except the duchess of D----. Her drawing-room was not only the rendezvous of every stranger, and particularly of every Englishman at Rome, but, what ought to have been considered as of infinitely more moment and indeed danger, was a sort of antechamber to the Vatican. Her acquaintance with the cardinal secretary intimately connected her with the Papal government; and, during her life and his administration, the English might almost be said to be, in the language of the modern city, the assistants of the pontifical throne. The duchess requested a cabinet peep. The doctor expostulated;--he ought to have done so, but on the contrary he was gratified by the compliment, and a little conversazione packet was made up with expedition for her next evening party. The doctor had time to judge of his acquisition, and made a judicious selection, but so unfortunately inviting, that his noble patroness could with difficulty confine to her own breast the sentiments she felt of surprise and admiration. Besides, it would be selfish to conceal the gratification from her friends; the papers were of course in a few days to start for England. Who could tell when they were likely to be out? Then there was an enjoyment, not likely to be resisted by a duchess and a protectress, of all that was literary at Rome, in tumbling over an original MS.--and such a MS.--and reading and judging the important work, before it was even dreamt of by the rest of the world. She had been favoured, and could not be blamed for extending, like the doctor, the favour to others. She had two or three very dear friends, and she could not reflect without pain on what they might say, and with so much justice, should they discover, some days afterwards, that she had been in possession of such a treasure, though for a few hours, without kindly participating her pleasures with her acquaintances.
These reasons, cogent at any time, were altogether invincible under the circumstances of the case. The duchess had many friends, but the most intimate of these many was the cardinal secretary. The practised eye of that statesman could not be so easily seduced. He was one of the chief invited of the evening, and as usual appeared amongst the earliest of the guests. The papers were on the table on his entry; they became the chief, the first, and soon the only topic of conversation. They were examined; the cardinal read, folded them up, and was silent; but ere daylight the next morning a guard of the pope’s carabiniers attacked Dr. W.’s apartment, which was not the castle of an Englishman, and very important papers were irrecoverably lost to him, and perhaps to the public for ever.
The next morning, all the valets de place in Rome knew, and took care to inform their masters, that during the night the abbate Lupi had been arrested, and lay actually in prison for a gross violation of his trust; but it was not understood till much later in the day, that the moment the cardinal had left the apartments of the duchess, orders had been also given to have the papers immediately put under the seal and wardship of the state. The doctor was consequently awakened, as we have seen, rather earlier than usual, in the most unceremonious manner imaginable, and requested, in rather a peremptory manner, to point out the treasury room. Tortures were not used, but threats were. The sanctuary was easily discovered; the inviolable seal was fixed on the door; and a guard put over the house, during the remainder of the day.
The arrest of the abbate was followed up by a measure of more rigour, and of far greater importance. The contract itself was annulled on the ground of incompetence in the seller--the three hundred crowns were ordered to be paid back, and Dr. W. permitted to appeal, and satisfy himself with civil answers as well as he could, and with what every jurisconsult of the Curia Innocenziana had decided, or would decide if called upon by the secretary, to be the ancient and existing law of Rome.
The doctor made, through himself and others, the ordinary applications, each of which were received and answered in the ordinary manner. This was encouraging; and he vented his indignation amongst his acquaintances; and, when the access and struggle was over, lay like Gulliver, fatigued on his back.
In the mean time, a vessel arrived from England at Cività Vecchia, and a boat’s crew a little after from Fiumicino at Rome. The papers were released and embarked. The doctor expostulated, and the cardinal secretary received him with his usual urbanity. His visit was quite as satisfactory as any of the preceding, and as conclusive as such visits generally are at Rome. The cardinal heard every thing with the most dignified composure, and simply replied, that any application to him personally was now unavailing, and that he could not do better than apply to the king of England, in whose hands the papers in question would probably be found in the course of another month.
The doctor bowed and took the advice,--but, in leaving the room, it occurred to him that he might not meet a more favourable reception at Downing-street than at the Vatican. A friend at that time resident at Rome proposed to act as his representative to the minister, and acquitted himself in the sequel with a fidelity as rare amongst ambassadors as attorneys.
I never heard any thing decisive of the result of this interview;--but I have no doubt the cardinal was in the right. No inquiries at all disquieting were made, or questions asked, of the keeper of the king’s conscience, on the adjudication of the court of Rome. The king of England, in right of his Stuart blood, keeps, and will leave to his descendants, probably, the care of publishing all the Stuart MSS.
But in the momentous interval between the discovery of the papers, and their voyage to England, more eyes than those of an English duchess and a cardinal secretary of state contrived to glance over the treasure. For a day or two they were exposed to the inspection of the privileged few, at the head of whom was the late professor Playfair, lord S----, lord of session, &c.: to one of these favoured individuals I am indebted for most of the particular which follow.
On entering the chamber where they were arranged, which was a small room, on the first floor, of a small apartment in a secondary quarter of Rome, he found the walls to a great height literally covered with piles of paper of every size and quality. They were packed so close, had been so long unopened, and had so much suffered from the humidity, that each packet was found to contain, on examination, a very much larger quantity than had at first been expected. They were arranged in the most perfect order, and classed according to the age, country, or writer. Several were autographs, and copies, where they existed, were in the best preservation, and generally under the eye, and by the order of the first authority. The series commenced about the period of the king’s arrival in France, and were continued down, with scarcely any interruption or hiatus, to the demise of the last direct heir, the cardinal de York. They embraced not only every document connected with political matters, but entered into the most minute details on the domestic and personal affairs of the illustrious individuals, to whom they related, and threw a very singular light on transactions which have been long concealed, or viewed under very partial bearings, by the British public. Not only the private and confidential correspondence between the different members of the royal family, but references to the most trivial circumstances connected with the interior of the royal household, and various other matters of similar interest, were everywhere observable. The revenues, the expenditure, were regularly noted; a large volume or ledger, almost completely filled with items of this kind, gave no bad scale of the gradation or diminution of expense, calculated on country, time, and situation, and therefore a very fair estimate of their means under the successive fortunes to which they had been exposed. But by far the most interesting documents of the collection referred to the important political transactions of that memorable epoch. James II. occupies a considerable, and, indeed, a principal portion of this interest. His letters to his son, written and corrected in his own hand, give a very flattering portrait, and perhaps a very authentic one, of his character in almost all his domestic relations, without much claim, but also without much pretension, to style--the sin of that age, and not less of the succeeding: they are not without a certain tinge of the elegance of manner, which, though by no means his apanage, had more or less been contracted in those dissolute circles which had inspired Hamilton. But there were other qualities with which they abounded, of much higher value and importance, greater depth of feeling than what usually exists in courts, paternal affection in all the bitterness of an unrequited fondness, and a settled and unavailing despair (he died, indeed, of a lethargy) of the future destinies of his house, grounded on the frail support he could anticipate from the depraved habits of his son. The reproaches addressed to him are frequent, and fraught with the overflowing waters of fatherly disappointment; the brouillon, or rough draft of the letter, which was sometimes preserved, was often blotted, and the wavering and agitation of his mind betrayed itself very visibly in his very hand. The general view which they give is favourable, and presents a kindlier aspect of his character than what we are habituated to meet with in the generality of the Whig writers.[213]
[212] His Royal Highness the Cardinal de York, or as he was sometimes called, “Your Majesty,” reposes in the subterraneous church of St. Peter, under a plain sarcophagus, which bears the name of Hen. IX. No one will dispute the title of a few handfuls of dust, but it is worth observing that something very similar reappears on the monument in St. Peter’s itself. This is consistent in a Roman: legitimacy, like the priesthood, is indelible, and cannot be rubbed out by misfortune or wrong. The sketch in Forsyth is interesting and delicate, though rather Jacobite and Scotch. I met many persons who retained recollections of him at Rome, but none of these recollections are worth noticing. He seems to have rendered himself more remarkable by petty peculiarities, than any great quality of heart or head. He was supposed to be the quickest driver for a cardinal of the whole college, and sometimes came in from Frascati, (his bishopric and habitual residence,) a distance of about fourteen miles, in an hour and a quarter. This was thought in the first instance marvellous, and in the next indecorous. The only honours he retained were his titles great and little, and the privilege of mounting the Vatican in a sedan-chair.
[213] New Monthly Magazine.
* * * * *
THE PLANETS.
THEIR COMPARATIVE SIZES AND POSITIONS.
To assist the mind in framing a conception of the magnitude and relative distances of the primary planets, let us have recourse to the following method. The dome of St. Paul’s is 145 feet in diameter. Suppose a globe of this size to represent the Sun; then a globe of 9⁷⁄₁₀ inches will represent Mercury; one of 17⁹⁄₁₀ inches, Venus; one of 18 inches, the Earth; one of 5 inches diameter, the Moon, (whose distance from the earth is 240,000 miles;) one of 10 inches, Mars; one of 15 feet, Jupiter; and one of 11½ feet, Saturn, with his ring four feet broad, and at the same distance from his body all round.
In this proportion, suppose the Sun to be at St. Paul’s, then
☿ Mercury might be at the Tower of London,
♀ Venus at St. James’s Palace,
⊖ The Earth at Marylebone,
♂ Mars at Kensington,
♃ Jupiter at Hampton Court,
♄ Saturn at Clifden;
all moving round the cupola of St. Paul’s as ☉ their common centre.
* * * * *
ACCOUNT OF THE BEE-EATER
Of Selborne, Hampshire.
BY THE REV. GILBERT WHITE, 1789.
We had in this village, more than twenty years ago, an idiot boy, whom I well remember, who, from a child, showed a strong propensity to bees: they were his food, his amusement, his sole object; and as people of this cast have seldom more than one point in view, so this lad exerted all his few faculties on this one pursuit. In the winter he dosed away his time, within his father’s house, by the fire-side, in a kind of torpid state, seldom departing from the chimney-corner; but in the summer he was all alert, and in quest of his game in the fields and on sunny banks. Honey-bees, humble-bees, and wasps, were his prey, wherever he found them: he had no apprehensions from their stings, but would seize them nudis manibus, and at once disarm them of their weapons, and suck their bodies for the sake of their honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill his bosom between his shirt and his skin with a number of these captives; and sometimes would confine them in bottles. He was a very merops apiaster, or bee-bird, and very injurious to men that kept bees; for he would slide into their bee-gardens, and, sitting down before the stools, would rap with his finger on the hives, and so take the bees as they came out. He has been known to overturn hives for the sake of honey, of which he was passionately fond. Where metheglin was making, he would linger round the tubs and vessels, begging a draught of what he called bee-wine. As he ran about, he used to make a humming noise with his lips, resembling the buzzing of bees. This lad was lean and sallow, and of a cadaverous complexion; and, except in his favourite pursuit, in which he was wonderfully adroit, discovered no manner of understanding. Had his capacity been better, and directed to the same object, he had perhaps abated much of our wonder at the feats of a more modern exhibiter of bees; and we may justly say of him now,
“Thou, Had thy presiding star propitious shone, Should’st Wildman be.”
When a tall youth, he was removed from hence to a distant village, where he died, as I understand, before he arrived at manhood.
* * * * *
Before the Reformation, says Anthony à Wood, “in every church was a poor man’s box, but I never remembered the use of it; nay, there was one at great inns, as I remember it was, before the wars.”
Poor-boxes are often mentioned in the twelfth century. At that period pope Innocent III. extended papal power to an inordinate height; absolved subjects from allegiance to their sovereigns; raised crusades throughout Europe for the recovery of the holy sepulchre; laid France under an interdict; promised paradise to all who would slaughter the Albigenses; excommunicated John, king of England; and ordered hollow trunks to be placed in all the churches, to receive alms for the remission of the sins of the donors.[214]
A communication to the Antiquarian Society, accompanied by drawings of the poor-boxes on this and the opposite page, briefly describes them.[215] The common poor-box in the churches appears to have been a shaft of oak, hollowed out at the top, covered by a hinged lid of iron, with a slit in it, for the money to fall through into the cavity, and secured by one or two iron locks.
Perhaps the most curiously constructed of the ancient poor-boxes now remaining, is that in the church of Cawston, near Aylsham. The church was built between 1385 and 1414. The poor-box was provided with three keys, two of which were for the churchwardens, and the third was most probably for the clergyman, as one of the key-holes is more ornamented than the others. The most singular part of this box is an inverted iron cup, for preventing the money from being taken out by means of any instrument through the holes on the top of the box.
The engravings above represent--1. this poor-box, as it stands on an octangular stone basement; 2. a perfect view of the lid; 3. another of the interior, with the manner wherein the cup is suspended for the security of the money; 4. a section of the box.
In places where the presumed richness of the boxes rendered them liable to be plundered, they were strongly bound or clamped with iron plates, as shown in the present engravings.
The church of Loddon, in the south-eastern angle of the county of Norfolk, about five miles from Bungay, was built about 1495, and contains a depository of this description, with two separate boxes, each of them secured by two padlocks: over one of these is a hole in the lid for the offerings. When a sufficient sum was collected, it was taken out and placed in the adjoining box in the presence of the two churchwardens.
Ben Jonson, in his “Masque of the Metamorphosed Gipsies, as it was thrice presented before king James, 1621, &c.” makes a gipsy tell Tom Ticklefoot, a rustic musician,--
“On Sundays you rob the poor’s-box with your tabor; The collectors would do it, you save them a labour.”
Whereunto a countryman answers,
“Faith, but a little: they’ll do it non-upstant.”[216]
From this we gather that it was customary at that time to put money in the parish poor’s-box on Sundays, and that the trustees of the poor were sometimes suspected of misapplying it.
The neglect of this mode of public contribution is noted in Hogarth’s marriage scene of the “Rake’s Progress,” by a cobweb covering the poor’s-box in the church. There is an intimation to the same effect in one of Beaumont and Fletcher’s plays, which further intimates that poor’s-boxes had posies--
The poor man’s box is there too: if ye find any thing Besides the posy, and that half rubb’d out too, For fear it should awaken too much charity, Give it to pious uses: that is, spend it.
Spanish Curate, 1647.
The posies or mottoes on poor’s-boxes were short sentences to incite benevolence--such as, “He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord,” &c.
[214] Fosbroke’s Encyclopædia of Antiquities.
[215] This communication from J. A. Repton, Esq., is printed, with engravings from his drawings, in the “Archæologia,” 1821.
[216] Non-upstant, notwithstanding.
* * * * *
~Poetry.~
ANGEL HELP.[217]
This rare Tablet doth include Poverty with Sanctitude. Past midnight this poor Maid hath spun, And yet the work not half is done, Which must supply from earnings scant A feeble bed-rid parent’s want. Her sleep-charged eyes exemption ask, And Holy hands take up the task; Unseen the rock and spindle ply, And do her earthly drudgery.
Sleep, saintly Poor One, sleep, sleep on, And, waking, find thy labours done.
Perchance she knows it by her dreams; Her eye hath caught the golden gleams (Angelic Presence testifying,) That round her everywhere are flying; Ostents from which she may presume That much of Heaven is in the room. Skirting her own bright hair they run, And to the Sunny add more Sun: Now on that aged face they fix, Streaming from the Crucifix; The flesh-clogg’d spirit disabusing. Death-disarming sleeps infusing, Prelibations, foretastes high, And equal thoughts to live or die.
Gardener bright from Eden’s bower, Tend with care that Lily Flower; To its leaves and root infuse Heaven’s sunshine, Heaven’s dews; ’Tis a type and ’tis a pledge Of a Crowning Privilege: Careful as that Lily Flower, This Maid must keep her precious dower; Live a Sainted Maid, or die Martyr to Virginity.
Virtuous Poor Ones, sleep, sleep on, And, waking, find your labours done.
C. LAMB.
New Monthly Magazine,
June 1, 1827.
* * * * *
COWPER.
The poet of “The Sofa,” when “in merry pin,” trifled pleasantly. As an instance of his manner, there remains the following
LETTER TO THE REV. J. NEWTON.
July 12, 1781.
My very dear Friend,--I am going to send, what, when you have read, you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose there’s nobody knows, whether what I have got, be verse or not; by the tune or the time, it ought to be rhyme; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such a ditty before?
I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in hopes to do good; and if the reviewers should say “to be sure, the gentleman’s muse wears Methodist shoes; you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she and her bard, have little regard, for the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoidening play, of the modern day: and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and then wear a tittering air, ’tis only her plan, to catch if she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production, on a new construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap, all that may come, with a sugar plum.”--This opinion in this will not be amiss: ’tis what I intend, my principal end; and if I succeed, and folks should read, till a few are brought, to a serious thought, I should think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as far from hence, to the end of my sense, and by hook or crook, write another book, if I live and am here, another year.
I have heard before, of a room with a floor, laid upon springs, and such like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing. And now I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and as you advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned; which that you may do, ere madam and you are quite worn out, with jigging about, I take my leave, and here you receive a bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me--
W. C.
* * * * *
When prevented by rains and floods from visiting the lady who suggested “The Task,” Cowper beguiled the time by writing to her the following lines, and afterwards printing them with his own hand. He sent a copy of these verses, so printed, to his sister, accompanied by the subjoined note written upon his typographical labours.
To watch the storms, and hear the sky Give all the almanacks the lie; To shake with cold, and see the plains In autumn drown’d with wintry rains: ’Tis thus I spend my moments here, And wish myself a Dutch mynheer; I then should have no need of wit, For lumpish Hollander unfit; Nor should I then repine at mud, Or meadows delug’d with a flood; But in a bog live well content, And find it just my element; Should be a clod, and not a man, Nor wish in vain for sister Anne, With charitable aid to drag My mind out of its proper quag; Should have the genius of a boor, And no ambition to have more.
My dear Sister,--You see my beginning; I do not know but in time I may proceed to the printing of halfpenny ballads. Excuse the coarseness of my paper; I wasted so much before I could accomplish any thing legible, that I could not afford finer. I intend to employ an ingenious mechanic of this town to make me a longer case, for you may observe that my lines turn up their tails like Dutch mastiffs; so difficult do I find it to make the two halves exactly coincide with each other.
We wait with impatience for the departure of this unseasonable flood. We think of you, and talk of you; but we can do no more till the waters subside. I do not think our correspondence should drop because we are within a mile of each other; it is but an imaginary approximation, the flood having in reality as effectually parted us, as if the British Channel rolled between us.
Yours, my dear sister, with Mrs. U.’s best love,
WILLIAM COWPER.
Monday, Aug. 12, 1782.
[217] Suggested by a picture in the possession of Charles Aders, Esq. Euston-square, in which is represented the Legend of a poor female Saint, who, having spun past midnight to maintain a bed-rid mother, has fallen asleep from fatigue, and Angels are finishing her work. In another part of the chamber, an Angel is tending a lily, the emblem of her purity.
* * * * *
HIGHLAND DEER AND SHEEP.
“THE LAST DEER OF BEANN DORAN.”
A note to a poem, with this title, by John Hay Allan, Esq., relates, that in former times the barony of Glen Urcha was celebrated for the number and the superior race of its deer. When the chieftains relinquished their ancient character and their ancient sports, and sheep were introduced into the country, the want of protection, and the antipathy of the deer to the intruding animals, gradually expelled the former from the face of the country, and obliged them to retire to the most remote recesses of the mountains. Contracted in their haunts from corrai to corrai, the deer of Glen Urcha at length wholly confined themselves to Beann Doran, a mountain near the solitary wilds of Glen Lyon, and the vast and desolate mosses which stretch from the Black Mount to Loch Ranach. In this retreat they continued for several years; their dwelling was in a lonely corrai at the back of the hill, and they were never seen in the surrounding country, except in the deepest severity of winter, when, forced by hunger and the snow, a straggler ventured down into the straiths. But the hostility which had banished them from their ancient range, did not respect their last retreat. The sheep continually encroached upon their bounds, and contracted their resources of subsistence. Deprived of the protection of the laird, those which ventured from their haunt were cut off without mercy or fair chase; while want of range, and the inroads of poachers, continually diminished their numbers, till at length the race became extinct.
About the time of the disappearance of the deer from these wilds, an immense stag was one evening seen standing upon the side of Beann Donachan. He remained for some time quietly gazing towards the lake, and at length slowly descended the hill, and was crossing the road at Stronnmilchon, when he was discovered by some herdsmen of the hamlet. They immediately pursued him with their cooleys; and the alarm being given, the whole straith, men, women, and children, gathered out to the pursuit. The noble animal held them a severe chase till, as he passed through the copse on the north side of Blairachuran, his antlers were entangled in the boughs, he was overtaken by the pursuers, and barbarously slaughtered by the united onset, and assault of dogs, hay-forks, and “Sgian an Dubh.” When divided, he proved but a poor reward for the fatigue; for he was so old, that his flesh was scarcely eatable. From that time the deer were seen no more in Beann Doran; and none now appear in Glen Urcha, except when, in a hard winter, a solitary stag wanders out of the forest of Dalness, and passes down Glen Strae or Corrai Fhuar.
The same cause which had extirpated the deer from Glen Urcha has equally acted in most part of the Highlands. Wherever the sheep appear, their numbers begin to decrease, and at length they become totally extinct. The reasons of this apparently singular consequence is, the closeness with which the sheep feed, and which, where they abound, so consumes the pasturage, as not to leave sufficient for the deer: still more is it owing to the unconquerable antipathy which these animals have for the former. This dislike is so great, that they cannot endure the smell of their wool, and never mix with them in the most remote situations, or where there is the most ample pasturage for both. They have no abhorrence of this kind to cattle, but, where large herds of these are kept, will feed and lie among the stirks and steers with the greatest familiarity.
* * * * *
HIGHLAND MEALS.
Among the peculiarities of highland manners is an avowed contempt for the luxuries of the table. A highland hunter will eat with a keen appetite and sufficient discrimination: but, were he to stop in any pursuit, because it was meal time, to growl over a bad dinner, or visibly exult over a good one, the manly dignity of his character would be considered as fallen for ever.[218]
[218] Mrs. Grant.
* * * * *
TREAD MILLS.
At Lewes, each prisoner walks at the rate of 6,600 feet in ascent per day; at Ipswich, 7,450; at St. Alban’s, 8,000; at Bury, 8,650; at Cambridge, 10,176; at Durham, 12,000; at Brixton, Guildford, and Reading, the summer rate exceeds 13,000; while at Warwick, the summer rate is about 17,000 feet in ten hours.[219]
[219] The Times.
* * * * *
EXTRAORDINARY
ORAN-OUTANG,
THE WILD MAN OF THE WOODS.
The largest and most remarkable oran-outang ever seen by Europeans, was discovered by an officer of the ship Mary Anne Sophia, in the year 1824, at a place called Ramboon, near Touromon, on the west coast of Sumatra.
When the officer alluded to first saw the animal, he assembled his people, and followed him to a tree in a cultivated spot, on which he took refuge. His walk was erect and waddling, but not quick, and he was obliged occasionally to accelerate his motion with his hands; but with a bough which he carried, he impelled himself forward with great rapidity. When he reached the trees his strength was shown in a high degree, for with one spring he gained a very lofty branch, and bounded from it with the ease of the smaller animals of his kind. Had the circumjacent land been covered with wood, he would certainly have escaped from his pursuers, for his mode of travelling by bough or tree was as rapid as the progress of a very fleet horse: but at Ramboon there are but few trees left in the midst of cultivated fields, and amongst these alone he jumped about to avoid being taken. He was first shot on a tree, and after having received five balls, his exertion was relaxed, owing, no doubt, to loss of blood; and the ammunition having been by that time expended, his pursuers were obliged to have recourse to other measures for his destruction. One of the first balls probably penetrated his lungs, for immediately after the infliction of the wound, he slung himself by his feet from a branch with his head downwards, and allowed the blood to flow from his mouth. On receiving a wound, he always put his hand over the injured part, and the human-like agony of his expression had the natural effect of exciting painful feelings in his assailants. The peasantry seemed as amazed at the sight of him as the crew of the ship; for they had never seen one before, although living within two days’ journey from the vast and impenetrable forests on the island. They cut down the tree on which he was reclining exhausted; but the moment he found it falling, he exerted his remaining strength, and gained another, and then a third, until he was finally brought to the ground, and forced to combat his unrelenting foes, who now gathered very thickly round, and discharged spears and other missiles against him. The first spear, made of a very strong supple wood, which would have resisted the strength of the strongest man, was broken by him like a carrot; and had he not been in almost a dying state, it was feared that he would have severed the heads of some of the party with equal ease. He fell, at length, under innumerable stabs inflicted by the peasantry.
The animal is supposed to have travelled some distance from the place where he was killed, as his legs were covered with mud up to the knees. His hands and feet had great analogy to human hands and feet, only that the thumbs were smaller in proportion, and situated nearer the wrist-joint. His body was well proportioned; he had a fine broad expanded chest and a narrow waist; but his legs were rather short, and his arms very long, though both possessed such sinew and muscle as left no doubt of their strength. His head was well proportioned with his body, and the nose prominent; the eyes were large, and the mouth larger than the mouth in man. His chin was fringed, from the extremity of one ear to the other, with a shaggy beard, curling luxuriantly on each side, and forming altogether an ornamental, rather than a frightful appendage to his visage. When he was first killed, the hair of his coat was smooth and glossy, and his teeth and whole appearance indicated that he was young, and in the full possession of his physical powers. He was nearly eight feet high.
The skin and fragments of this surprising oran-outang were presented to the Asiatic Society at Calcutta; and on the 5th of January, 1825, Dr. Abel examined them, and read the observations he had made. The height already mentioned is according to the estimate of those who saw the animal alive, but the measurement of the skin went far to determine this question. The skin, dried and shrivelled as it was, in a straight line from the top of the shoulder to the point whence the ancle had been removed, measured five feet ten inches; the perpendicular length of the neck in the preparation, was three inches and a half; the length of the face, from the forehead to the chin, nine inches; and of the skin attached to the foot, from the line of its separation from the body to the heel, eight inches. The measurements were made by Dr. Abel himself. Thus we have one foot eight inches and a half to be added to the five feet ten inches, in order to approximate his real stature, which would make seven feet six inches and a half; and allowing the six inches and a half for the shortening that would result from the folding of the skin over the shoulders, the height would then be full seven feet. This is the greatest ascertained height of any tail-less monkey mentioned in the several notices which Dr. Abel collected from different writers on man-like apes.
The skin itself was of a dark leaden colour; the hair a brownish red, shaggy, and long over the shoulders and flanks.
Dr. Abel remarked, that of the small animals more particularly known in Europe, under the designation of oran-outang, one was an inhabitant of Africa, and the other of the east. Several living specimens of both have been seen in Europe, but all were of small stature, and very young, never exceeding three feet in height, or as many years of age. These animals were long considered as varieties of the same species, although in point of fact they are very distinctly separated by external character and anatomical distinctions. The African animal being always black with large ears, the eastern specimens as invariably having reddish brown hair, and very small ears; the former also are unprovided with the sacs communicating with the windpipe, which are always found in the latter.[220]
Different naturalists have deemed the oran-outang to be the connecting link between the brute and the human being.
[220] Calcutta Government Gazette, Jan. 13, 1825.
* * * * *
A LITTLE LEARNING
---- “not a dangerous thing.”
Mr. Thomas Campbell having been chosen lord rector of the university of Glasgow, made his inaugural speech on the 12th of April, 1827, wherein are the following estimable remarks on desultory attainments:--
“In comparing small learned acquisitions with none at all, it appears to me to be equally absurd to consider a little learning valueless, or even dangerous, as some will have it, as to talk of a little virtue, a little wealth, or health, or cheerfulness, or a little of any other blessing under heaven, being worthless or dangerous.
“To abjure any degree of information, because we cannot grasp the whole circle of the sciences, or sound the depths of erudition, appears to be just about as sensible as if we were to shut up our windows because they are too narrow, or because the glass has not the magnifying power of a telescope.
“For the smallest quantity of knowledge that a man can acquire, he is bound to be contentedly thankful, provided his fate shuts him out from the power of acquiring a larger portion--but whilst the possibility of farther advancement remains, be as proudly discontented as ye will with a little learning. For the value of knowledge is like that of a diamond, it increases according to its magnitude, even in much more than a geometrical ratio.--One science and literary pursuit throws light upon another, and there is a connection, as Cicero remarks, among them all--
“‘Omnes Artes, quæ ad humanitatem pertinent, habent quoddam commune vinculum, et quasi cognatione quadam inter se continentur.’
“No doubt a man ought to devote himself, in the main, to one department of knowledge, but still he will be all the better for making himself acquainted with studies which are kindred to and with that pursuit.--The principle of the extreme division of labour, so useful in a pin manufactory, if introduced into learning, may produce, indeed, some minute and particular improvements, but, on the whole, it tends to cramp human intellect.
“That the mind may, and especially in early youth, be easily distracted by too many pursuits, must be readily admitted. But I now beg leave to consider myself addressing those among you, who are conscious of great ambition, and of many faculties; and what I say, may regard rather the studies of your future than of your present years.
“To embrace different pursuits, diametrically opposite, in the wide circle of human knowledge, must be pronounced to be almost universally impossible for a single mind.--But I cannot believe that any strong mind weakens its strength, in any one branch of learning, by diverging into cognate studies; on the contrary, I believe that it will return home to the main object, bringing back illustrative treasures from all its excursions into collateral pursuits.”
* * * * *
FIGURES, AND NUMBERS.
Respecting the origin of the numeral figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, there are various opinions, but the one most generally received is, that they were brought into Europe from Spain; that the Spaniards received them from the Moors, the Moors from the Arabians, and the Arabians from the Indians.
Bishop Huet, however, thinks it improbable that the Arabians received figures from the Indians, but, on the contrary, that the Indians obtained them from the Arabians, and the Arabians from the Grecians; from whom, in fact, they acquired a knowledge of every science they possessed. The shape of the figures they received underwent a great alteration; yet if we examine them, divested of prejudice, we shall find very manifest traces of the Grecian figures, which were nothing more than letters of their alphabet.
A small comma, or dot, was their mark for units.
The letter β (b) if its two extremities are erased, produces the figure 2.
If we form the letter γ (g) with more inclination to the left than usual, shorten the foot, and give some rotundity to the left horns near the left side, we shall make the figure 3.
The letter Δ (D) is the figure 4, as we should find on giving the left leg a perpendicular form, and lengthening it below the base, which also should be enlarged towards the left.
From the ε (e short) is formed the 5, by only bringing towards the right side the demicircle which is beneath inclining to the left.
From the figure 5 they made the 6, by leaving out the foot, and rounding the body.
Of the Ζ (Z) they make the 7, by leaving out the base.
If we turn the four corners of the Η (e long) towards the inside, we shall make the figure 8.
The ϑ (th) was the figure 9 without any alteration.
The nought was only a point which they added to their figures, to make them ten times more; it was necessary that this point should be made very distinctly, to which end they formed it like a circle, and filled it up; this method we have neglected.
Theophanus, the Eastern chronologist, says in express terms, that the Arabians had retained the Grecian numbers, not having sufficient characters in their own language to mark them.
Menage says, they were first employed in Europe in 1240, in the Alphonsian Tables, made under the direction of Alphonso, son to king Ferdinand of Castile, by Isaac Hazan, a Jew of Toledo, and Abel Ragel, an Arabian. Dr. Wallis conceives they were generally used in England about the year 1130.
In the indexes of some old French books these figures are called Arabic ciphers, to distinguish them from Roman numerals.
NUMBER X, 10.
It is observed by Huet as a remarkable circumstance, that for calculation and numerical increase the number 10 is always used, and that decimal progression is preferred to every other. The cause of this preference arises from the number of our fingers, upon which men accustom themselves to reckon from their infancy. First, they count the units on their fingers, and when the units exceed that number, they have recourse to another ten. If the number of tens increase, they still reckon on their fingers; and if they surpass that number, they then commence a different species of calculation by the same agents; as thus--reckoning each finger for tens, then for hundreds, thousands, &c.
From this mode of reckoning by the fingers then, we have been led to prefer the number ten, though it is not so convenient and useful a number as twelve. Ten can only be divided by two and five, but twelve can be divided by two, three, four, and six.
The Roman numbers are adduced in proof of the origin of reckoning by the number ten, viz.--
The units are marked by the letter I, which represent a finger.
The number five is marked by the letter V, which represents the first and last finger of a hand.
Ten, by an X, which is two V’s joined at their points, and which two V’s represent the two hands.
Five tens are marked by an L; that is half the letter E, which is the same as C, the mark for a hundred.
Five hundred is marked by a D, half of the letter Φ, which is the same as M, the mark for a thousand.
According to this, the calculation of the Roman numbers was from five to five, that is, from one hand to the other. Ovid makes mention of this mode, as also of the number ten:--
“Hic numeris magno tunc in honore fuit. Seu quia tot digiti per quos numerare solemnus, Seu quia bis quino femina mense parit. Seu quod ad usque decem numero crescente venitur: Principium spatiis sumitur inde novis.”
Vitruvius also makes the same remark; he says, “Ex manibus denarius digitorum numerus.”
We have refined, however, upon the convenience which nature has furnished us with to assist us in our calculations; for we not only use our fingers, but likewise various figures, which we place in different situations, and combine in certain ways, to express our ideas.
* * * * *
Many unlettered nations, as the inhabitants of Guinea, Madagascar, and of the interior parts of America, know not how to count farther than ten. The Brasilians, and several others, cannot reckon beyond five; they multiply that number to express a greater, and in their calculations they use their fingers and toes. The natives of Peru use decimal progression; they count from one to ten; by tens to a hundred; and by hundreds to a thousand. Plutarch says, that decimal progression was not only used among the Grecians, but also by every uncivilized nation.
* * * * *
~Omniana.~
FOX, THE QUAKER.
This individual, many years deceased, was a most remarkable man in his circle; a great natural genius, which employed itself upon trivial or not generally interesting matters. He deserved to have been known better than he was. The last years of his life he resided at Bristol. He was a great Persian scholar, and published some translations of the poets of that nation, which were well worthy perusal. He was self-taught, and had patience and perseverance for any thing. He was somewhat eccentric, but had the quickest reasoning power, and consequently the greatest coolness, of any man of his day, who was able to reason. His house took fire in the night; it was situated near the sea; it was uninsured, and the flames spread so rapidly nothing could be saved. He saw the consequences instantly, made up his mind to them as rapidly, and ascending a hill at some distance in the rear of his dwelling, watched the picture and the reflection of the flames on the sea, admiring its beauties, as if it were a holiday bonfire.
* * * * *
DIVING-BELLS.
The first diving-bell we read of was nothing but a very large kettle, suspended by ropes, with the mouth downwards, and planks to sit on fixed in the middle of its concavity. Two Greeks at Toledo, in 1588, made an experiment with it before the emperor Charles V. They descended in it, with a lighted candle, to a considerable depth. In 1683, William Phipps, the son of a blacksmith, formed a project for unloading a rich Spanish ship sunk on the coast of Hispaniola. Charles II. gave him a ship with every thing necessary for his undertaking; but being unsuccessful, he returned in great poverty. He then endeavoured to procure another vessel, but failing, he got a subscription, to which the duke of Albemarle contributed. In 1687, Phipps set sail in a ship of two hundred tons, having previously engaged to divide the profits according to the twenty shares of which the subscription consisted. At first all his labours proved fruitless; but at last, when he seemed almost to despair, he was fortunate enough to bring up so much treasure, that he returned to England with the value of 200,000_l._ sterling. Of this sum he got about 20,000_l._, and the duke 90,000_l._ Phipps was knighted by the king, and laid the foundation of the fortunes of the present noble house of Mulgrave. Since that time diving-bells have been often employed. On occasion of the breaking in of the water of the Thames during the progress of the tunnel under the Thames, Mr. Brunel frequently descended in one to the bed of the river.
* * * * *
GAMING.
----“The ruling passion strong in death.”
In “Arliquiniana” avarice, and love of gaming, are exemplified by the following anecdote:--
A French woman, who resided on her estate in the country, falling ill, sent to the village curate, and offered to play with him. The curate being used to gaming, gladly entertained the proposal, and they played together till he lost all his money. She then offered to play with him for the expenses of her funeral, in case she should die. They played, and the curate losing these also, she obliged him to give her his note of hand for so much money lent, as her funeral expenses would amount to. She delivered the note to her son, and died within eight or ten days afterwards, and the curate was paid his fees in his own note of hand.
* * * * *
THE TANNER.
AN EPIGRAM.
A Bermondsey tanner would often engage, In a long tête-à-tête with his dame, While trotting to town in the Kennington stage, About giving their villa a name.
A neighbour, thus hearing the skin-dresser talk, Stole out, half an hour after dark, Pick’d up in the roadway a fragment of chalk, And wrote on the palings--“Hide Park!”[221]
* * * * *
FRIENDSHIP ON THE NAIL.
When Marigny contracted a friendship with Menage, he told him he was “upon his nail.” It was a method he had of speaking of all his friends; he also used it in his letters; one which he wrote to Menage begins thus: “Oh! illustrious of my nail.”
When Marigny said, “you are upon my nail,” he meant two things--one, that the person was always present, nothing being more easy than to look at his nail; the other was, that good and real friends were so scarce, that even he who had the most, might write their names on his nail.
[221] New Monthly Magazine.
* * * * *
~Notice~
TO THE CHANCE CUSTOMERS
OF THE
COMPANY OF FLYING STATIONERS.
Formerly there was a numerous class who believed every thing they saw in print. It is just possible that a few of these persuadable persons may survive; I therefore venture to remark, that my name printed on the squibs now crying about the streets is a forgery.
W. HONE.
June 8, 1827.
Vol. I.--25.
The parish of Beckenham lends its name to the hundred, which is in the lath of Sutton-at-Hone. It is ten miles from London, two miles north from Bromley, and, according to the last census, contains 196 houses and 1180 inhabitants. The living is a rectory valued in the king’s books at 6_l._ 18_s._ 9_d_. The church is dedicated to St. George.
----Beyond “Chaffinch’s River” there is an enticing field-path to Beckenham, but occasional sights of noble trees kept us along the high road, till the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer signalled that we were close upon the village. We wound through it at a slow pace, vainly longing for something to realize the expectations raised by the prospect of it on our way.
Beckenham consists of two or three old farm-like looking houses, rudely encroached upon by a number of irregularly built dwellings, and a couple of inns; one of them of so much apparent consequence, as to dignify the place. We soon came to an edifice which, by its publicity, startles the feelings of the passenger in this, as in almost every other parish, and has perhaps greater tendency to harden than reform the rustic offender--the “cage,” with its accessory, the “pound.” An angular turn in the road, from these lodgings for men and cattle when they go astray, afforded us a sudden and delightful view of
“The decent church that tops the neighb’ring hill.”
On the right, an old, broad, high wall, flanked with thick buttresses, and belted with magnificent trees, climbs the steep, to enclose the domain of I know not whom; on the opposite side, the branches, from a plantation, arch beyond the footpath. At the summit of the ascent is the village church with its whitened spire, crowning and pinnacl’ing this pleasant grove, pointing from amidst the graves--like man’s last only hope--towards heaven.
This village spire is degradingly noticed in “An accurate Description of Bromley and Five Miles round, by Thomas Wilson, 1797.” He says, “An extraordinary circumstance happened here near Christmas, 1791; the steeple of this church was destroyed by lightning, but a new one was put up in 1796, made of copper, in the form of an extinguisher.” The old spire, built of shingles, was fired on the morning of the 23d of December, in the year seventeen hundred and ninety, in a dreadful storm. One of the effects of it in London I perfectly remember:--the copper roofing of the new “Stone Buildings” in Lincoln’s Inn was stripped off by the wind, and violently carried over the opposite range of high buildings, the Six Clerks’ offices, into Chancery Lane, where I saw the immense sheet of metal lying in the carriage way, exactly as it fell, rolled up, with as much neatness as if it had been executed by machinery. As regards the present spire of Beckenham church, its “form,” in relation to its place, is the most appropriate that could have been devised--a picturesque object, that marks the situation of the village in the forest landscape many miles round, and indescribably graces the nearer view.
We soon came up to the corpse-gate of the church-yard, and I left W. sketching it,[222] whilst I retraced my steps into the village in search of the church-keys at the parish clerk’s, from whence I was directed back again, to “the woman who has the care of the church,” and lives in the furthest of three neat almshouses, built at the church-yard side, by the private benefaction of Anthony Rawlings, in 1694. She gladly accompanied us, with the keys clinking, through the mournful yew-tree grove, and threw open the great south doors of the church. It is an old edifice--despoiled of its ancient font--deprived, by former beautifyings, of carvings and tombs that in these times would have been remarkable. It has remnants of brasses over the burial places of deceased rectors and gentry, from whence dates have been wantonly erased, and monuments of more modern personages, which a few years may equally deprave.
There are numerous memorials of the late possessors of Langley, a predominant estate in Beckenham. One in particular to sir Humphry Style, records that he was of great fame, in his day and generation, in Beckenham: he was “Owner of Langley in this parish, Knight and Baronet of England and Ireland, a gentleman of the privy chamber in ordinary to James I., one of the cupbearers in ordinary to King Charles, and by them boath intrusted with the weighty affairs of this countye: Hee was justice of peace and quorum, Deputy lieftenant, and alsoe (an hono’r not formerly conferred upon any) made Coronell of all the trayned band horse thereof.”
The possession of Langley may be traced, through the monuments, to its last heritable occupant, commemorated by an inscription; “Sacred to the Memory of Peter Burrell, Baron Gwydir, of Gwydir, Deputy Great Chamberlain of England, Born July 16, 1754; Died at Brighton, June 29th, 1820, aged 66 years.” After the death of this nobleman Langley was sold. The poor of Beckenham speak his praise, and lament that his charities died with him. The alienation of the estate deprived them of a benevolent protector, and no one has arisen to succeed him in the character of a kind-hearted benefactor.
A tablet in this church, to “Harriet, wife of (the present) J. G. Lambton, Esq. of Lambton Hall, Durham,” relates that she died “in her twenty-fifth year.”
Within the church, fixed against the northern corner of the west end, is a plate of copper, bearing an inscription to this import:--Mary Wragg, of St. John’s, Westminster, bequeathed 15_l._ per annum for ever to the curate of Beckenham, in trust for the following uses; viz. a guinea to himself for his trouble in taking care that her family vault should be kept in good repair; a guinea to be expended in a dinner for himself, and the clerk, and parish officers; 12_l._ 10_s._ to defray the expenses of such repairs; if in any year the vault should not require repair, the money to be laid out in eighteen pennyworth of good beef, eighteen pennyworth of good bread, five shillings worth of coals, and 4_s._ 6_d._ in money, to be given to each of twenty of the poorest inhabitants of the parish; if repairs should be required, the money left to be laid out in like manner and quantity, with 4_s._ 6_d._ to as many as it will extend to; and the remaining 8_s._ to be given to the clerk. In consequence of Mary Wragg’s bequest, her vault in the church-yard is properly maintained, and distribution made of beef, bread, and money, every 28th of January. On this occasion there is usually a large attendance of spectators; as many as please go down into the vault, and the parochial authorities of Beckenham have a holiday, and “keep wassel.”
There is carefully kept in this church a small wooden hand-box, of remarkable shape, made in king William’s time, for the receipt of contributions from the congregation when there are collections. As an ecclesiastical utensil with which I was unacquainted, W. took a drawing, and has made an engraving of it.
This collecting-box is still used. It is carried into the pews, and handed to the occupants, who drop any thing or nothing, as they please, into the upper part. When money is received, it passes through an open slit left between the back and the top enclosure of the lower half; which part, thus shut up, forms a box, that conceals from both eye and hand the money deposited. The contrivance might be advantageously adopted in making collections at the doors of churches generally. It is a complete security against the possibility of money being withdrawn instead of given; which, from the practice of holding open plates, and the ingenuity of sharpers, has sometimes happened.
In the middle of two family pews of this church, which are as commodious as sitting parlours, there are two ancient reading desks like large music stands, with flaps and locks for holding and securing the service books when they are not in use. These pieces of furniture are either obsolete in churches, or peculiar to that of Beckenham; at least I never saw desks of the like in any other church.
Not discovering any thing further to remark within the edifice, except its peal of five bells, we strolled among the tombs in the church-yard, which offers no inscriptions worth notice. From its solemn yew-tree grove we passed through the “Lich-gate,” already described. On our return to the road by which we had approached the church, and at a convenient spot, W. sketched the view he so freely represents in the engraving. The melodists of the groves were in full song. As the note of the parish-clerk rises in the psalm above the common voice of the congregation, so the loud, confident note of the blackbird exceeds the united sound of the woodland choir: one of these birds, on a near tree, whistled with all his might, as if conscious of our listening, and desirous of particular distinction.
Wishing to reach home by a different route than that we had come, we desired to be acquainted with the way we should go, and went again to the almshouses which are occupied by three poor widows, of whom our attendant to the church was one. She was alone in her humble habitation making tea, with the tokens of her office-bearing, the church keys, on the table before her. In addition to the required information, we elicited that she was the widow of Benjamin Wood, the late parish-clerk. His brother, a respectable tradesman in London, had raised an excellent business, “Wood’s eating-house,” at the corner of Seething-lane, Tower-street, and at his decease was enabled to provide comfortably for his family. Wood, the parish-clerk, had served Beckenham in that capacity many years till his death, which left his widow indigent, and threw her on the cold charity of a careless world. She seems to have outlived the recollection of her husband’s relatives. After his death she struggled her way into this almshouse, and gained an allowance of two shillings a week; and on this, with the trifle allowed for her services in keeping clean the church, at past threescore years and ten, she somehow or other contrives to exist.
We led dame Wood to talk of her “domestic management,” and finding she brewed her own beer with the common utensils and fire-place of her little room, we asked her to describe her method: a tin kettle is her boiler, she mashes in a common butter-firkin, runs off the liquor in a “crock,” and tuns it in a small-beer-barrel. She is of opinion that “poor people might do a great deal for themselves if they knew how: but,” says she, “where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
*
* * * * *
A font often denotes the antiquity, and frequently determines the former importance of the church, and is so essential a part of the edifice, that it is incomplete without one. According to the rubrick, a church may be without a pulpit, but not without a font; hence, almost the first thing I look for in an old church is its old stone font. Instead thereof, at Beckenham, is a thick wooden baluster, with an unseemly circular flat lid, covering a sort of wash-hand-basin, and this the “gentlemen of the parish” call a “font!” The odd-looking thing was “a present” from a parishioner, in lieu of the ancient stone font which, when the church was repaired after the lightning-storm, was carried away by Mr. churchwarden Bassett, and placed in his yard. It was afterwards sold to Mr. Henry Holland, the former landlord of the “Old Crooked Billet,” on Penge Common, who used it for several years as a cistern, and the present landlord has it now in his garden, where it appears as represented in the engraving. Mr. Harding expresses an intention of making a table of it, and placing it at the front of his house: in the interim it is depicted here, as a hint, to induce some regard in Beckenham people, and save the venerable font from an exposure, which, however intended as a private respect to it by the host of the “Crooked Billet,” would be a public shame to Beckenham parish.
[222] Mr. W.’s engraving of his sketch is on p. 715.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
GONE OR GOING.
1.
Fine merry franions, Wanton companions, My days are ev’n banyans With thinking upon ye; How Death, that last stringer, Finis-writer, end-bringer, Has laid his chill finger, Or is laying, on ye.
2.
There’s rich Kitty Wheatley, With footing it featly That took me completely, She sleeps in the Kirk-house; And poor Polly Perkin, Whose Dad was still ferking The jolly ale firkin-- She’s gone to the Work-house:
3.
Fine gard’ner, Ben Carter (In ten counties no smarter) Has ta’en his departure For Proserpine’s orchards; And Lily, postillion, With cheeks of vermilion, Is one of a million That fill up the church-yards.
4.
And, lusty as Dido, Fat Clemitson’s widow Flits now a small shadow By Stygian hid ford; And good Master Clapton Has thirty years nap’t on The ground he last hap’t on; Intomb’d by fair Widford;
5.
And gallant Tom Docwra, Of Nature’s finest crockery, Now but thin air and mockery, Lurks by Avernus; Whose honest grasp of hand, Still, while his life did stand, At friend’s or foe’s command, Almost did burn us.
6.
(Roger de Coverly Not more good man than he), Yet is he equally Push’d for Cocytus, With cuckoldy Worral, And wicked old Dorrel, Gainst whom I’ve a quarrel-- His death might affright us!
7.
Had he mended in right time, He need not in night time, (That black hour, and fright-time,) Till sexton interr’d him, Have groan’d in his coffin, While demons stood scoffing-- You’d ha’ thought him a coughing-- My own father[223] heard him!
8.
Could gain so importune, With occasion opportune, That for a poor Fortune, That should have been ours,[224] In soul he should venture To pierce the dim center, Where will-forgers enter, Amid the dark Powers?--
9.
Kindly hearts I have known; Kindly hearts, they are flown; Here and there if but one Linger, yet uneffaced,-- Imbecile, tottering elves, Soon to be wreck’d on shelves, These scarce are half themselves, With age and care crazed.
10.
But this day, Fanny Hutton Her last dress has put on; Her fine lessons forgotten, She died, as the dunce died; And prim Betsey Chambers, Decay’d in her members, No longer remembers Things, as she once did:
11.
And prudent Miss Wither Not in jest now doth wither, And soon must go--whither Nor I, well, nor you know; And flaunting Miss Waller-- That soon must befal her, Which makes folks seem taller,[225]-- Though proud, once, as Juno!
ELIA.
[223] Who sat up with him.
[224] I have this fact from Parental tradition only.
[225] Death lengthens people to the eye.
* * * * *
~Scottish Legends.~
HIGHLAND SCENERY.
The scenery and legend of Mr. James Hay Allan’s poem, “The Bridal of Caölchairn,” are derived from the vicinity of Cruachan, (or Cruachan-Beinn,) a mountain 3390 feet above the level of the sea, situated at the head of Loch Awe, a lake in Argyleshire. The poem commences with the following lines: the prose illustrations are from Mr. Allan’s descriptive notes.
Grey Spirit of the Lake, who sit’st at eve At mighty Cruächan’s gigantic feet; And lov’st to watch thy gentle waters heave The silvery ripple down their glassy sheet; How oft I’ve wandered by thy margin sweet, And stood beside the wide and silent bay, Where the broad Urcha’s stream thy breast doth meet, And Caölchairn’s forsaken Donjon grey Looks from its narrow rock upon thy watery way.
Maid of the waters! in the days of yore What sight yon setting sun has seen to smile Along thy spreading bound, on tide, and shore, When in its pride the fortress reared its pile, And stood the abbey on “the lovely isle;” And Fraòch Elan’s refuge tower grey Looked down the mighty gulf’s profound defile. Alas! that Scottish eye should see the day, When bower, and bield, and hall, in shattered ruin lay.
What deeds have past upon thy mountain shore; What sights have been reflected in thy tide; But dark and dim their tales have sunk from lore: Scarce is it now remembered on thy side Where fought Mac Colda, or Mac Phadian died. But lend me, for a while, thy silver shell, ’Tis long since breath has waked its echo wide; Then list, while once again I raise its swell, And of thy olden day a fearful legend tell--
INISHAIL.
“----the convent on the lovely isle.”
Inishail, the name of one of the islands in Loch Awe, signifies in Gaëlic “the lovely isle.” It is not at present so worthy of this appellation as the neighbouring “Fràoch Elan,” isle of heather, not having a tree or shrub upon its whole extent. At the period when it received its name, it might, however, have been better clothed; and still it has a fair and pleasant aspect: its extent is larger than that of any other island in the lake, and it is covered with a green turf, which, in spring, sends forth an abundant growth of brackens.
There formerly existed here a convent of Cistercian nuns; of whom it is said, that they were “memorable for the sanctity of their lives and the purity of their manners: at the Reformation, when the innocent were involved with the guilty in the sufferings of the times, their house was supprest, and the temporalities granted to Hay, the abbot of Inchaffrey, who, abjuring his former tenets of religion, embraced the cause of the reformers.”[226] Public worship was performed in the chapel of the convent till the year 1736: but a more commodious building having been erected on the south side of the lake, it has since been entirely forsaken; nothing now remains of its ruin but a small part of the shell, of which only a few feet are standing above the foundation. Of the remaining buildings of the order there exists no trace, except in some loose heaps of stones, and an almost obliterated mound, which marks the foundation of the outer wall. But the veneration that renders sacred to a Highlander the tombs of his ancestors, has yet preserved to the burying-ground its ancient sanctity. It is still used as a place of interment, and the dead are often brought from a distance to rest there among their kindred.
In older times the isle was the principal burying-place of many of the most considerable neighbouring families: among the tombstones are many shaped in the ancient form, like the lid of a coffin, and ornamented with carvings of fret-work, running figures, flowers, and the forms of warriors and two-handed swords. They are universally destitute of the trace of an inscription.
Among the chief families buried in Inishail were the Mac Nauchtans of Fràoch Elan, and the Campbells of Inbherau. Mr. Allan could not discover the spot appropriated to the former, nor any evidence of the gravestones which must have covered their tombs. The place of the Campbells, however, is yet pointed out. It lies on the south side of the chapel, and its site is marked by a large flat stone, ornamented with the arms of the family in high relief. The shield is supported by two warriors, and surmounted by a diadem, the signification and exact form of which it is difficult to decide; but the style of the carving and the costume of the figures do not appear to be later than the middle of the fifteenth century.
On the top of the distant hill over which the road from Inverara descends to Cladich there formerly stood a stone cross, erected on the spot where Inishail first became visible to the traveller. These crosses were general at such stations in monastic times, and upon arriving at their foot the pilgrims knelt and performed their reverence to the saint, whose order they were approaching. From this ceremony, the spot on the hill above-mentioned was and is yet called “the cross of bending.”
FRAOCH ELAN.
“The refuge tower grey Looked down the mighty gulf’s profound defile.”
The little castellated isle of “Fràoch Elan” lies at a short distance from Inishail, and was the refuge hold of the Mac Nauchtans. It was given to the chief, Gilbert Mac Nauchtan, by Alexander III. in the year 1276, and was held by the tenure of entertaining the king whenever he should pass Loch Awe. The original charter of the grant was lately in possession of Mr. Campbell of Auchlian, and a copy is to be found in “Sir James Balfour’s Collection of Scottish Charters.” The islet of “Fràoch Elan” is in summer the most beautiful in Scotland. On one side the rock rises almost perpendicular from the water. The lower part and the shore is embowered in tangled shrubs and old writhing trees. Above, the broken wall and only remaining gable of the castle looks out over the boughs; and on the north side a large ash-tree grows from the foundation of what was once the hall, and overshadows the ruin with its branches. Some of the window-niches are yet entire in the keep, and one of these peeping through the tops of the trees, shows a view of fairie beauty over the waters of the lake, and the woody banks of the opposite coast. In the summer, Fràoch Elan, like most of the islands in Loch Awe, is the haunt of a variety of gulls and wild fowl. They come from the sea-coast, a distance of twenty-four miles, to build and hatch their young. At this season, sheldrakes, grey gulls, kitaweaks, white ducks, teal, widgeon, and divers, abound in the Loch. Fràoch Elan is chiefly visited by the gulls, which hold the isle in joint tenure with a water-eagle who builds annually upon the top of the remaining chimney.
It is not very long since this beautiful isle has been delivered over to these inhabitants; for a great aunt of a neighbouring gentleman was born in the castle, and in “the forty-five,” preparations were privately made there for entertaining the prince had he passed by Loch Awe.
From the name of Fràoch Elan some have erroneously, and without any authority of tradition, assigned it as the dragon’s isle,[227] in the ancient Gaëlic legend of “Fràoch and the daughter of Mey.” There is, in truth, no farther relation between one and the other, than in a resemblance of name between the island and the warrior. The island of the tale was called “Elan na Bheast,” the Monster’s Isle, and the lake in which it lay was named Loch Luina. This is still remembered to have been the ancient appellation of Loch Avich, a small lake about two miles north of Loch Awe. There is here a small islet yet called “Elan na Bheast,” and the tradition of the neighbourhood universally affirms, that it was the island of the legend.
RIVAL CHIEFS.
“Where fought Mac Colda, and Mac Phadian died.”
“Alaister Mac Coll Cedach.” Alexander, the son of left-handed Coll, was a Mac Donald, who made a considerable figure in the great civil war: he brought two thousand men to the assistance of Montrose, and received from him a commission of lieutenancy in the royal service. He is mentioned by contemporary writers, under the corrupted name of Kolkitto; but time has now drawn such a veil over his history, that it is difficult to ascertain with any degree of certainty from what family of the Mac Donalds he came. By some it is asserted, that he was an islesman; but by the most minute and seemingly authentic tradition, he is positively declared to have been an Irishman, and the son of the earl of Antrim.
Of his father there is nothing preserved but his name, his fate, and his animosity to the Campbells, with whom, during his life, he maintained with deadly assiduity the feud of his clan. It was his piper who was hanged at Dunavàig in Ceantir, and in his last hour saved the life of his chieftain by composing and playing the inexpressibly pathetic pibroch, “Colda mo Roon.” But though he escaped at this juncture, Colda was afterwards taken by the Campbells, and hung in chains at Dunstaffnage. His death was the chief ground of that insatiate vengeance with which his son ever after pursued the followers of Argyle. Long after the death of his father, Alaister chanced to pass by Dunstaffnage in return from a descent which he had made in the Campbell’s country. As he sailed near the castle, he saw the bones of his father still hanging at the place where he had suffered, and swinging in the sea-breeze. He was so affected at the sight of the lamentable remains, that he solemnly vowed to revenge them by a fearful retribution, and hastening his return to Ireland gathered what force he was able, and sailing back to Scotland offered his services to Montrose. He was gladly accepted; and during the various adventures of the marquis in the Hielands, Alaister Mac Colda was one of the most valuable of his adherents; and his followers were accounted among the bravest and best experienced in the royal army. Some of their exploits are recorded in the “Leobhair Dearg,” or “Red Book of Clanranald,” and fully justify the fame which they received.
Alaister was present at the battle of Inbherlochie, and after the action he was sent with his followers to the country of Argyle. He entered the Campbell lands by Glen Eitive, and wherever he came put all who bore the name of that clan to fire and sword. As he marched down Glen Eitive, he crossed the bounds of the Mac Intires in Glen O, and in passing the house of their chieftain, a circumstance occurred, which gives a lively picture of the extent of the ancient respect paid by a clansman to the ties of his blood. The Mac Intires were originally descended from the Mac Donalds, and lived from time immemorial upon the border of the Campbells, between that race and the south-east march of the Clan Donald in Glen Coe. Upon the decline of the vast power of this sept after the fatal battle of Harlow, and upon the subsequent increase of power to the Campbells, the Mac Intires placed themselves under the latter clan, and lived with them as the most powerful of their followers. When Alaister Mac Colda passed through Glen O, he was not acquainted with the name of the place nor the race of its inhabitants; but knowing that he was within the bounds of the Campbells, he supposed that all whom he met were of that clan. Glen O was deserted at his approach, and it is probable that the men were even then in service with Argyle. Alaister, in his usual plan of vengeance, ordered fire to the house of the chieftain. A coal was instantly set in the roof, and the heather of which it was made was quickly in a blaze. Before, however, the flames had made much progress, Alaister was told that the house which he was burning was that of the chieftain of Mac Intire. The man of Mac Donald immediately commanded his people to do their endeavour to extinguish the fire; “for,” said he, “it is the house of our own blood.”[228] The flames were soon overcome, and Colda passed through the glen of the Mac Intires in peace into Glen Urcha, where he burnt and destroyed all within his reach. From hence, he marched entirely round Loch Awe, carrying devastation through the ancient and original patrimony of the Campbells. As he passed by the Loch of Ballemòr, the inhabitants (a small race named Mac Chorchadell, and dependant upon the former clan) retired from their huts into the little castle of their chieftain, which is situated in the midst of the Loch. Being in no way connected with his enemies by blood, Alaister did not conceive that with them he held any feud, and quietly marched past their deserted habitations, without laying a hand upon their property. But as his men were drawing from the lake, one of the Mac Chorchadells fired upon their rear, and wounded a Mac Donald. Alaister instantly turned: “Poor little Mac Chorchadell,” said he in Gaëlic, “I beg your pardon for my want of respect in passing you without stopping to pay my compliments; but since you will have it so, I will not leave you without notice.”--He returned, and burnt every house in Ballemòr.
The power of the Campbells had been so broken at Inbherlochie, that it was not until Mac Colda had arrived near the west coast of their country, that they were again in a condition to meet him in a pitched fight. At length they encountered him on the skirt of the moss of Crenan, at the foot of a hill not far from Auchandaroch. The battle was fought with all the fury of individual and deadly hatred, but at last the fortune of Alaister prevailed, and the Campbells were entirely routed, and pursued with great slaughter off the field of battle. Some time afterwards they again collected what numbers they could gather, and once more offered battle to Alaister, as he was returning to Loch Awe. The conflict was fought at the ford of Ederline, the eastern extremity of the lake; but here the success of the Mac Donalds forsook them. They were entirely beaten and scattered, so that not six men were left together; and those who escaped from the field were cut off by their enemies, as they endeavoured to lurk out of their country. Of Alaister’s fate each clan and each district has a different story. The Argyle Campbells say that he was killed at the ford, and a broadsword said to have been his, and to have been found on the field of battle, is at this day in the possession of Peter Mac Lellich (smith), at the croft of Dalmallie. The Louden Campbells, on the contrary, assert, that Alaister escaped from the overthrow, and wandering into Ayrshire, was slain by them while endeavouring to find a passage into Ireland. The Mac Donalds do not acknowledge either of these stories to be true, but relate that their chieftain not only escaped from the battle, but (though with much difficulty) effected his flight to Ireland, where a reward being set upon his head, he was at length, in an unguarded moment, when divested of his arms, slain by one of the republican troopers, by whom he was sought out.
The fate of Alaister Mac Colda is said to have been governed by that fatality, and predicted by that inspiration, which were once so firmly believed among the Highlanders. His foster-mother, says tradition, was gifted with the second sight; and, previous to his departure from Ireland, the chieftain consulted her upon the success of his expedition. “You will be victorious over all born of woman,” replied the seer, “till you arrive at Goch-dum Gho; but when you come to that spot, your fortune shall depart for ever.”--“Let it be so,” said Alaister, “I shall receive my glory.” He departed, and the spirit of his adventure and the hurry of enterprise, perhaps, banished from his mind the name of the fatal place. It was indeed one so insignificant and remote, that its knowledge was most probably confined to the circle of a few miles, and not likely to be restored to the notice of Mac Colda, by mention or inquiry. It was on the eve of his last battle, as his “bratach” was setting up at the ford of Ederline, that his attention was caught by a mill at a little distance; for some accidental reason he inquired its name:--“Mullian Goch-dum Gho,” replied one of his men. The prediction was at once remembered. The enemy were at hand, and Alaister knew that he should fall. Convinced of the fatality of the prophecy, he sought not to retreat from the evil spot: the bourne of his fortune was past, and he only thought of dying as became him in the last of his fields. He made no comment upon the name of the place; but, concealing from his followers the connection which it bore with his fate, gave directions for the proceedings of the approaching morning. In the battle he behaved as he was wont, and in the close of the day was seen fighting furiously with two of the Campbells, who appeared unable to overcome him. Nothing more was heard of him: his body was never discovered; but when the slain were buried by the conquerors, his claidh-mòr was found beneath a heap of dead.
* * * * *
Mac Phadian was an Irish captain, who, with a considerable body of his countrymen, assisted Edward I. of England in his war to subvert the independence of Scotland; but though he took a very active part in the turbulent period in which he lived, and possessed sufficient courage and talents to raise himself from obscurity to power, yet we have nothing left of his history but the account of his last enormities, and the overthrow and death which they finally brought. It is probable, that we are even indebted for this information to the celebrity of the man by whom he fell, and which in preserving the victory of the conqueror, has also perpetuated the memory of the vanquished.
The scene of the last actions of Mac Phadian lay in Lorn and Argyle; and the old people in the neighbourhood of Loch Awe still retain a tradition, which marks out the spot where he fell. Time, however, and the decay of recitation during the last century, have so injured all which remained of oral record, that the legend of Mac Phadian is now confined to a very few of the elder fox-hunters and shepherds of the country, and will soon pass into oblivion with those by whom it is retained----
Some time in the latter end of the year 1297, or the beginning of the year 1298, Edward made a grant to Mac Phadian of the lordships of Argyle and Lorn. The first belonged to sir Niel Campbell, knight, of Loch Awe, and chief of his clan; the second was the hereditary patrimony of John, chief of Mac Dougall. Sir Niel did his endeavour to resist the usurpation of his lands, and though fiercely beset by the traitor lords, Buchan, Athol, and Mentieth, he for some time maintained his independence against all their united attempts. But John of Lorn, who was himself in the interest and service of the English, and at that time in London, concurred with king Edward in the disponing of his territories, and received in remuneration a more considerable lordship. Mac Phadian did not, however, remain in quiet possession of his ill-acquired domains; he was strongly opposed by Duncan of Lorn, uncle to the lord; but joining with Buchan, Athol, and Mentieth, he at length drove out his enemy, and compelled him to seek shelter with sir Niel Campbell. Upon this success the above-mentioned allies, at the head of a mixed and disorderly force gathered from all parts, and from all descriptions, Irish and Scots, to the amount of fifteen thousand men, made a barbarous inroad into Argyle, and suddenly penetrating into the district of Nether Loch Awe, wasted the country wherever they came, and destroyed the inhabitants without regard to age or sex. In this exigency the Campbell displayed that constancy and experience which had rendered his name celebrated among his countrymen. Unable to resist the intoxicated multitude of his enemies, with Duncan of Lorn, and three hundred of his veteran clansmen, he retired by the head of Loch Awe and the difficult pass of Brandir to the inaccessible heights of Craiganuni, and breaking down the bridge over the Awe below, prevented the pursuit of the enemy to his position. Nothing could be more masterly than the plan of this retreat.
Mac Phadian, thus baffled and outmanœuvred, not only failed in his object of offence, but found himself drawn into an intricate and desolate labyrinth, where his multitude encumbered themselves: the want of subsistence prevented him from remaining to blockade sir Niel, and his ignorance of the clues of the place made it difficult to extricate himself by a retreat. In this exigence he was desirous of returning to Nether Loch Awe, where there was abundance of cattle and game for the support of his men. At length he discovered a passage between the rocks and the water; the way was only wide enough for four persons to pass abreast; yet, as they were not in danger of pursuit, they retired in safety, and effected their march to the south side of the lake.
The measures employed by Wallace to relieve the Campbell, and to reach the fastness wherein Mac Phadian had posted himself, were romantic and daring----
Mac Phadian’s followers were completely surprised and taken at disarray. They snatched their arms, and rushed to defend the pass with the boldest resolution. At the first onset the Scots bore back their enemies over five acres of ground; and Wallace, with his iron mace, made fearful havoc among the enemy. Encouraged, however, by Mac Phadian, the Irish came to the rescue; the battle thickened with more stubborn fury; and for two hours was maintained with such obstinate eagerness on both sides, that neither party had any apparent advantage. At length the cause and valour of Wallace prevailed. The Irish gave way and fled, and the Scots of their party threw down their arms, and kneeled for mercy. Wallace commanded them to be spared for their birth sake, but urged forward the pursuit upon the Irish. Pent in by the rocks and the water, the latter had but little hope in flight. Many were overtaken and slain as they endeavoured to climb the crags, and two thousand were driven into the lake and drowned. Mac Phadian, with fifteen men, fled to a cave, and hoped to have concealed himself till the pursuit was over; but Duncan of Lorn having discovered his retreat, pursued and slew him with his companions; and having cut off the head of the leader, brought it to Wallace, and set it upon a stone high in one of the crags as a trophy of the victory.
In one of the steeps of Cruächan, nearly opposite the rock of Brandir, there is a secret cave, now only known to a very few of the old fox-hunters and shepherds: it is still called “Uagh Phadian,” Mac Phadian’s cave; and is asserted by tradition to be the place in which Mac Phadian died. The remembrance of the battle is nearly worn away, and the knowledge of the real cave confined to so few, that the den in which Mac Phadian was killed is generally believed to be in the cliffs of Craiganuni: this is merely owing to the appearance of a black chasm in the face of that height, and to a confusion between the action of Mac Phadian with Wallace, and his pursuit of sir Niel Campbell. But the chasm in Craiganuni, though at a distance it appears like the mouth of a cave, is but a cleft in the rock; and the few who retain the memory of the genuine tradition of the battle of the Wallace, universally agree that the cave in the side of Cruächan was that in which Mac Phadian was killed.
* * * * *
The “Bridal of Caölchairn” is a legendary poem, founded upon a very slight tradition, concerning events which are related to have occurred during the absence of sir Colin Campbell on his expedition to Rome and Arragon. It is said by the tale, that the chieftain was gone ten years, and that his wife having received no intelligence of his existence in that time, she accepted the addresses of one of her husband’s vassals, Mac Nab of Barachastailan. The bridal was fixed; but on the day when it was to have been solemnized, the secret was imparted to sir Colin in Spain, by a spirit of the nether world. When the knight received the intelligence, he bitterly lamented the distance which prevented him from wreaking vengeance upon his presumptuous follower. The communicating spirit, either out of love for mischief, or from a private familiarity with sir Colin, promised to obviate this obstacle; and on the same day, before the bridal was celebrated, transported the chieftain in a blast of wind from Arragon to Glen Urcha. In what manner sir Colin proceeded, tradition does not say; it simply records, that the bridal was broken, but is silent upon the nature of the catastrophe. The legend is now almost entirely forgotten in the neighbourhood where its events are said to have taken place. “As far as I know,” says Mr. Allan, “it is confined to one old man, named Malcolm Mac Nab, who lives upon the hill of Barachastailan; he is between eighty and ninety years of age, and the last of the race of ancient smiths, who remains in the place of his ancestors. A few yards from his cottage there is the foundation of one of those ancient circular forts built by the Celts, and so frequently to be met in the Highlands: these structures are usually ascribed by the vulgar to Fion and his heroes. In a neighbouring field, called ‘Larich nam Fion,’ there were formerly two others of these buildings; their walls of uncemented stone were not many years since entire, to the height of eight or nine feet; but they have since been pulled down and carried away to repair the neighbouring cottages: it is from these buildings that the hill received its name of ‘Bar-a-chas-tailan,’ the ‘eminence of the castles.’”
The tide of centuries has rolled away O’er Innishail’s solitary isle, The wind of ages and the world’s decay Has swept upon the Campbells’ fortress pile: And far from what they were is changed the while The monks’ grey cloister, and the baron’s keep. I’ve seen the sun within the dungeon smile, And in the bridal bower the ivy creep. I’ve stood upon the fane’s foundation stone, Heard the grass sigh upon the cloister’s heap, And sat upon the holy cross o’erthrown, And marked within the cell where warriors sleep, Beneath the broad grey stone the timorous rabbit peep.
The legend of the dead is past away As the dim eye amid the night doth fail. The memorie of the fearful bridal day Is parted from the people of the vale; And none are left to tell the weary tale. Save on yon lone green hill by Fion’s tower Yet lives a man bowed down with age and ail: Still tells he of the fearful legend’s hour-- It was his father fell within the bridal bower.
But though with man there is a weary waste. It is not so beyond the mortal way; With the unbodied spirits nought is spaced; But when the aged world has worn away, They look on earth where once their dwelling lay. And to their never-closing eye doth show All that has been--a fairie work of day; And all which here their mortal life did show, Yet lives in that which never may decay; When thought, and life, and memorie below Has sunk with all it bore of gladness or of woe.
At eventime on green Inchail’s isle A dim grey form doth sit upon the hill: No shadow casts it in the moonshine smile, And in its folded mantle bowed and still No feature e’er it showed the twilight chill, But seems beneath its hood a void grey. The owlet, when it comes, cries wild and shrill; The moon grows dim when shows it in its ray, None saw it e’er depart;--but it is not at day.
By Caölchairn at night when all is still, And the black otter issues from his lair, He hears a voice along the water chill, It seems to speak amid the cloudy air; But some have seen beyond the Donjon stair Where now the floor from the wall is gone, A form dim standing ’mid the ether fair, No light upon its fixed eye there shone, And yet the blood seems wet upon its bosom wan.
[226] Statistical Account, vol. viii. p. 347.
[227] Statistical Account of Scotland, vol. viii. p. 346; and Pennant’s Tour in Scotland, 1774, p. 217.
[228] When the chieftain returned to his house, the coal which had so near proved its destruction, was found in the roof; it was taken out by order of Mac Intire, and preserved with great care by his descendants, till the late Glen O was driven to America by the misfortunes of the Highlands and the oppression of his superior.
* * * * *
MY ARM-CHAIR.
For the Table Book.
In my humble opinion an arm-chair is far superior to a sofa; for although I bow to Cowper’s judgment, (who assigned the superiority to the sofa,) yet we must recollect that it was in compliance with the request of a fair lady that he chose that subject for praise: he might have eulogized in equal terms an arm-chair, had he consulted his own feelings and appreciation of comfort. I acknowledge the “soft recumbency of outstretched limbs,” so peculiar to the sofa--the opportunity afforded the fair sex of displaying grace and elegance of form, while reposing in easy negligence on a Grecian couch--but then think of the snug comfort of an easy-chair. Its very name conveys a multitude of soothing ideas: its commodious repose for your back; its generous and unwearied support of your head; its outstretched arms wooing you to its embraces:--think on these things, and ask yourself if it be possible to withstand its affectionate and disinterested advances.
On entering a room where there is an easy-chair, you are struck by the look of conscious self-importance which seems to distinguish it as the monarch of all the surrounding chairs; there is an appearance of regal superiority about it, blended, however, with such a charming condescension, that you immediately avail yourself of its gracious inclination to receive the burden of your homage.
There is one kind of arm-chair for which I entertain a very resentful feeling, it assumes the title of an easy-chair to induce you to believe it one of that amiable fraternity, whereas it only claims kindred on account of its shape, and is in reality the complete antipodes of ease--I mean the horse-hair arm-chair. Its arms, like those of its brethren, invite you to repose; but, if you attempt it, you are repulsed by an ambush of sharp shooting prickles. It is like a person who has a desire to please and obtain you for his friend, but who is of so incorrigibly bad a temper that attachment is impossible. If you try to compose yourself with one of these pretenders, by endeavouring to protect the back of your head with your pocket-handkerchief for a pillow, you either dream that you are under the hands of a surgeon who is cupping you on the cheek, or that you are transformed into your cousin Lucy, and struggling to avoid being kissed by old Mr. D----, who does not shave above once a week. When you awake, you discover that your face has slipped off the handkerchief, and come immediately in contact with the chevaux de frise of bristles.
As an excellent specimen of an easy-chair, I select the one I at present occupy. Its ancient magnificence of red damask silk--embossed in wavy flowers and curved arabesques, surrounded by massive gilt carving--is now shrouded with an unostentatious covering of white dimity. This, however, does not compromise its dignity--it is rather a resignation of fatiguing splendour, and the assumption of the ease suitable to retirement in old age. Perhaps a happy father once sat in it surrounded by his smiling offspring: some climbing up the arms; others peeping over the lofty back, aiming to cling round his neck; his favourite little girl insinuating herself behind him, while he gazes with affectionate but anxious thoughts on the countenance of his eldest son, standing between his knees. Perhaps two lovers once sat in it together, although there were plenty of other chairs in the room. (For fear some of my fair readers should be incredulous, I beg leave to assure them that it is quite possible for two people to sit together in an arm-chair, if they choose to be accommodating; therefore I would not have them dislike an easy-chair on the plea of its being unsocial.) Perhaps it may have been the means of concealment--in a similar way with the arm-chair in “Le Nozze di Figaro.” Often have I when a child curled myself round in it, and listened to my old nurse’s wonderful stories, till I have fallen fast asleep. Often have I since enjoyed many a delightful book, while lolling indolently enclosed in its soft, warm, cushioned sides--
M. H.
* * * * *
~Garrick’s Plays.~
No. XXII.
[From “Querer Por Solo Querer:” concluded from last Number.]
Address to Solitude.
Sweet Solitude! still Mirth! that fear’st no wrong, Because thou dost none: Morning all day long! Truth’s sanctuary! Innocency’s spring! Inventions Limbeck! Contemplation’s wing! Peace of my soul, which I too late pursued; That know’st not the world’s vain inquietude: Where friends, the thieves of time, let us alone Whole days, and a man’s hours are all his own.
Song in praise of the Same.
Solitude, of friends the best, And the best companion; Mother of truths, and brought at least Every day to bed of one: In this flowery mansion I contemplate how the rose Stands upon thorns, how quickly goes The dismaying jessamine: Only the soul, which is divine, No decay of beauty knows. The World is Beauty’s Mirror. Flowers, In their first virgin purity, Flatt’rers both of the nose and eye.-- To be cropt by paramours Is their best of destiny: And those nice darlings of the land, Which seem’d heav’n’s painted bow to scorn. And bloom’d the envy of the morn, Are the gay trophy of a hand.
Unwilling to love again.
--sadly I do live in fear, For, though I would not fair appear, And though in truth I am not fair, Haunted I am like those that are And here, among these rustling leaves, With which the wanton wind must play, Inspired by it, my sense perceives This snowy Jasmin whispering say, How much more frolic, white, and fair In her green lattice she doth stand, To enjoy the free and cooler air, Than in the prison of a hand.[229]
Loving without hope.
I look’d if underneath the cope Were one that loved, and did not hope; But from his nobler soul remove That modern heresy in love When, hearing a shrill voice, I turn, And lo! a sweet-tongued Nightingale, Tender adorer of the Morn,-- In him I found that One and All. For that same faithful bird and true, Sweet and kind and constant lover, Wond’rous passion did discover, From the terrace of an eugh. And tho’ ungrateful she appear’d Unmoved with all she saw and heard; Every day, before ’twas day, More and kinder things he’d say, Courteous, and never to be lost, Return’d not with complaints, but praise Loving, and all at his own cost; Suffering, and without hope of ease: For with a sad and trembling throat He breathes into her breast this note: “I love thee not, to make thee mine; But love thee, ’cause thy form’s divine.”
The True Absence in Love.