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 8 of 8)
Ha! art thou there, my melancholy sister? Thou think’st thy nap was short, and art surpris’d To find night fallen already. More turf to th’ fire, till the black mesh ferment; Burn th’ oil of basilisk to fret the storm. That was a merry clap: I know that cloud Was of my Fricker’s rending, Fricker rent it; 0 ’tis an ardent Spirit: but beshrew him, ’Twas he seduced me first to hellish arts. He found me pensive in a desart glin, Near a lone oak forlorn and thunder-cleft, Where discontented I abjured the Gods, And bann’d the cruel creditor that seiz’d My Mullees,[500] sole subsistence of my life. He promised me full twelve years’ absolute reign To banquet all my senses, but he lied, For vipers’ flesh is now my only food, My drink of springs that stream from sulph’rous mines; Beside with midnight cramps and scalding sweats I am almost inured for hell’s worst tortures.-- I hear the wood-nymphs cry; by that I know My charm has took-- but day clears up, And heavenly light wounds my infectious eyes. 1st W. Now, sullen Dame, dost thou approve our works? Rag. ’Twas a brave wreck: O, you have well perform’d. 2d W. Myrza and I bestrid a cloud, and soar’d To lash the storm, which we pursued to th’ City, Where in my flight I snatch’d the golden globe, That high on Saturn’s pillar blaz’d i’ th’ air. 3d W. I fired the turret of Minerva’s fane. 4th W. I staid i’ th’ cell to set the spell a work. The lamps burnt ghastly blue, the furnace shook; The Salamander felt the heat redoubled, And frisk’d about, so well I plied the fire. Rag. Now as I hate bright day, and love moonshine, You shall be all my sisters in the art: I will instruct ye in each mystery; Make ye all Ragusas. All. Ho! Ho! Ho! Rag. Around me, and I’ll deal to each her dole. There’s an elf-lock, tooth of hermaphrodite, A brace of mandrakes digg’d in fairy ground, A lamprey’s chain, snake’s eggs, dead sparks of thunder Quench’d in its passage thro’ the cold mid air, A mermaid’s fin, a cockatrice’s comb Wrapt i’ the dried caul of a brat still-born. Burn ’em.-- In whispers take the rest, which named aloud Would fright the day, and raise another storm. All. Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!
Soziman, a wicked Statesman, employs Ragusa for a charm.
Rag.--my drudges I’ll employ To frame with their best arts a bracelet for thee, Which, while thou wear’st it lock’d on thy left arm, Treason shall ne’er annoy thee, sword and poison In vain attempt; Nature alone have power Thy substance to dissolve, nor she herself Till many a winter-shock hath broke thy temper. Soz. Medea for her Jason less performed! My greatening soul aspires to range like thee, In unknown worlds, to search the reign of Night. Admitted to thy dreadful mysteries, I should be more than mortal. Rag. Near my cell, Mong’st circling rocks (in form a theatre) Lies a snug vale-- Soz. With horror I have view’d it; Tis blasted all and bare as th’ ocean beech, And seems a round for elves to revel in. Rag. With my attendants there each waining moon My dreadful Court I hold, and sit in state:-- And when the dire transactions are dispatch’d, Our zany Spirits ascend to make us mirth With gambals, dances, masks and revelling songs, Till our mad din strike terror through the waste, Spreads far and wide to th’ cliffs that bank the main, And scarce is lost in the wide ocean’s roar. Here seated by me thou shalt view the sports, Whilst demons kiss thy foot, and swear thee homage.
Ragusa, with the other Witches, having finished the bracelet.
Rag. Proceed we then to finish our black projects.-- View here, till from your green distilling eyes The poisonous glances center on this bracelet, A fatal gift for our projecting son;-- Seven hours odd minutes has it steept i’ th’ gall Of a vile Moor swine-rooted from his grave. Now to your bloated lips apply it round, And with th’ infectious dew of your black breaths Compleat its baleful force.
* * * * *
[From the “Fatal Union,” a Tragedy; Author Unknown.]
Dirge.
Noblest bodies are but gilded clay. Put away But the precious shining rind, The inmost rottenness remains behind. Kings, on earth though Gods they be, Yet in death are vile as we. He, a thousand Kings before, Now is vassal unto more. Vermin now insulting lie, And dig for diamonds in each eye; Whilst the sceptre-bearing hand Cannot their inroads withstand. Here doth one in odours wade, By the regal unction made; While another dares to gnaw On that tongue, his people’s law. Fools, ah! fools are we that so contrive, And do strive, In each gaudy ornament, Who shall his corpse in the best dish present.
C. L.
[500] Her cows.
* * * * *
ISLE OF WIGHT
To the Editor.
HAY HARVEST CUSTOM.
Sir,--Perhaps you may deem the following singular tenure from “Horsey’s Beauties of the Isle of Wight, 1826,” worth adding to those already perpetuated in the Every-Day Book, and your present agreeable continuation of it.
At the foot of St. John’s Wood are two meadows, one on each hand, the main road running between them. These meadows are known by the name of Monk’s Meads. It is a remarkable circumstance, that the first crop of hay they produce annually is reaped, not by the owner, nor the person who may rent the land, but by the tenant of Newnham farm, which is situated upwards of two miles distant, and has no connection whatever with the land. There is a legend attaching to this circumstance. The tale is, that one of the monks of Quarr was in the habit of visiting the family that once occupied Newnham farm, and as his visits were pretty frequent, and he was accustomed to put up his horse at the farmer’s expense, he bequeathed to the tenant of Newnham farm the first crop of hay which these meadows produce annually, each meadow to be reaped for his benefit every alternate year; and the warrant for his doing so was to be the continuance of a rude image in the wall of the house. Whether this be the legal tenure or not is another question; one thing is certain, the idol is preserved in the wall, the farmer comes on the specific day for the crop, and the produce is carried to Newnham.
I am, &c.
DICK DICK’S SON.
May 17, 1827
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ORIGIN OF HAY-BAND?
For the Table Book.
Many of our origins and customs are derived from the Romans. In the time of Romulus, a handful of hay was used in his ranks instead of a flag; and his military ensign, who commanded a number of soldiers, was called a band, or ancient bearer. Thus it will appear, that a twisted band of hay being tied round a larger quantity of hay, for its support, it is, agreeably to the derivation, properly called a hay-band.
This word might serve for the tracing a variety of “bands,”--as the “band of gentleman pensioners,”--the “duke of York’s band,” cum multis, et cæt.
P.
* * * * *
BRISTOL HIGH CROSS.
For the Table Book.
The High Cross, which formerly stood at Bristol, was first erected in 1373 in the High-street, near the Tolsey; and in succeeding times it was adorned with the effigies of four kings, who had been benefactors to the city, viz. king John facing north to Broad-street, king Henry III. east to Wine-street, king Edward III. west to Corn-street, and king Edward IV. south to High-street.
After the original Cross had stood three hundred and sixty years at the top of High-street, a silversmith who resided in the house (now 1827) called the Castle Bank, facing High-street and Wine-street, offered to swear that during every high wind his premises and his life were endangered by the expected fall of the Cross!--A petition, too, was signed by several respectable citizens! to the corporation for its removal, with which that body complied with great reluctance, and saw its demolition with great regret!
In the year 1633 it was taken down, enlarged, and raised higher, and four other statues were then added, viz. king Henry VI. facing east, queen Elizabeth west, king James I. south, and king Charles I. north; the whole was painted and gilded, and environed with iron palisadoes.
In 1733, being found incommodious by obstructing the passage of carriages, it was again taken down, and erected in the centre of College-green, the figures facing the same points as before. On that occasion it was painted in imitation of grey marble, the ornaments were gilt, and the figures were painted in their proper colours.
About the year 1762 it was discovered that it prevented ladies and gentlemen from walking eight or ten abreast, and its final ruin resolved upon; and it was once more taken down by the order of the Rev. Cuts Barton, then dean, and strange to say, as if there were no spot in the whole city of Bristol whereon this beautiful structure could be again erected, it was given by the “very reverend” gentleman to Mr. Henry Hoare of Stourton, who afterwards set it up in his delightful gardens there.
The following extracts from some old newspapers preserved by the Bristol antiquary, the late Mr. George Symes Catcott, are interesting.
“August 21, 1762.--Several workmen are now employed in raising the walls in College-green, and taking down the High Cross, which, when beautified, will be put up in the middle of the grass-plot near the lower green, about thirty yards from where it now stands.”
“A.D. 1764--Epigram:--
“Ye people of Bristol deplore the sad loss Of the kings and the queens that once reigned in your Cross; Tho’ your patrons they were, and their reigns were so good, Like Nebuchadnezer they’re forced to the wood. Your great men’s great wisdom you surely must pity, Who’ve banished what all men admir’d from the city.”
“October, 1764.--To the printer (of one of the Bristol newspapers)--
“Sir,--By inserting the following in your paper you will oblige, &c.:--
“In days of yore, when haughty France was tamed, In that great battle, which from Cressy’s named, Our glorious Edward and his Godlike son To England added what from France they’d won. In this famed reign the High Cross was erected, And for its height and beauty much respected. Succeeding times (for gratitude then reigned On earth, nor was by all mankind disdained) The Cross adorned with four patron kings, So History assures the muse that sings; Some hundred years it stood, to strangers shown As the palladium of this trading town: Till in king Charles the first’s unhappy reign ’Twas taken down, but soon was raised again: In bulk and height increased, four statues more Were added to the others, there before: Then gilded palisadoes fenc’d it round-- A Cross so noble grac’d no other ground. There long it stood, and oft admir’d had been, Till mov’d from thence to adorn the College-green. There had it still remained; but envious fate, Who secret pines at what is good or great, Raised up the ladies to conspire its fall, For boys and men, and dogs defiled it all. For those faults condemned, this noble pile Was in the sacred college stow’d a while. From thence these kings, so very great and good, Are sent to grace proud Stourton’s lofty wood.
“R. S.”
Mr. Britton observes, that “the improvements and embellishments of this Cross in 1633 cost the chamber of Bristol 207_l._ Its height from the ground was thirty-nine feet six inches. After taking it down in 1733 it was thrown into the Guildhall, where it remained till some gentlemen of the College-green voluntarily subscribed to have it re-erected in the centre of that open space; but here it was not suffered long to continue, for in 1763 the whole was once more levelled with the ground, and thrown into a secluded corner of the cathedral, so insensible were the Bristolians of its beauty and curiosity. Mr. Hoare expended about 300_l._ in its removal to and re-erection at Stourton. The present structure at Stourton, however, varies in many particulars from the original Cross. It constitutes not only an unique garden ornament in its present situation, but is singularly beautiful for its architectural character, its sculpture, and its eventful history.”
1821.--A clergyman of Bristol (the Rev. Mr. Sayer) having an occasion to write to sir R. C. Hoare, bart. received in reply a letter containing the following paragraph:--“I am glad to hear that the citizens of Bristol show a desire to restore the ancient monuments of their royal benefactors; pray assure them, that I shall be very happy to contribute any assistance, but my original is in such a tottering state that no time should be lost.”
Thus the beautiful High Cross which once adorned the city of Bristol may now, through the liberality of sir R. C. Hoare, be transplanted (if we may use the expression) to its native soil, after a banishment of fifty-seven years. Its reappearance in the College-green would be beautiful and highly appropriate.
At a meeting of the Bristol Philosophical and Literary Society on the 19th April, 1827, Mr. Richard Smith read a paper from Thomas Garrard, Esq. the chamberlain of Bristol, on the subject of the High Cross, together with a brief notice of “the well of St. Edith” in Peter-street. The latter, as well as the remains of the Cross, are still preserved at sir R. C. Hoare’s at Stourton. Many other interesting particulars may be found in the Bristol Mirror, April 28, 1827.
A. B.
August, 1827.
* * * * *
ORIGIN OF THE WORD TAILOR.
To the Editor.
Dear Sir,--Bailey derives “tailor from tailler, French, a maker of garments:” but when a boy I remember perfectly well, my grandfather, who was facetious, and attached to the usages of the past, acquainting me with his origin of the word “tailor.” He stated it nearly thus:--“The term tailor originated between a botcher (a man that went from farm-house to farm-house, and made and repaired clothes by the day) and his wife--who, going to a town fair without her husband, returned in a storm at a late hour, all bespattered with mud. The wearied botcher had searched for her in vain, till meeting a neighbour, who told him his wife was gone home draggletailed, he exclaimed, ‘God be praised! she’s where she ought to be; but the De’el take the tail-’o’her.’ His brother villagers ever after called him (not the botcher) but the tail o’her--hence tailor. The Devil among the Tailors perhaps owes its origin to a similar freak.”
Speaking of a tail, the following from Bailey may not be inappropriate.--“Kentish long tails. The Kentish men are said to have had tails for some generations, by way of punishment, as some say; for the Kentish pagans abusing Austin the monk and his associates, by beating them, and opprobriously tying fish-tails to them; in revenge of which, such appendages grew to the hind parts of all that generation. But the scene of this lying wonder was not in Kent, but at Carne, in Dorsetshire. Others again say, it was for cutting off the tail of Saint Thomas of Canterbury’s horse; who, being out of favour with Henry II., riding towards Canterbury upon a poor sorry horse, was so served by the common people. Credat Judæus Apella.”
“Animals’ tails” were worn at country festivals by buffoons and sportmakers; for which, see “Plough Monday,” in the Every-Day Book; and also, see Liston, in Grojan, “I could a tail unfold!” &c.
Yours truly,
*, *, P.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
THE CLERK IN THE DARK.
“Set forth, but not allowed to be sung in all Churches, of all the people together.”
Once on a time, ’twas afternoon, And winter--while the weary day Danced off with Phœbus--to the tune Of “O’er the hills and far away”----
I went to church, and heard the clerk Preface the psalm with “Pardon me, But really friends it is so dark, Do all I may I cannot see”----
The “quire” that used the psalms to chant Not dreaming to be thus misled-- Struck up in chorus jubilant, The clerk’s apology instead!
MORAL.
“The force of habit” should not keep Our trust in other heads so sure, That reason may drop off to sleep. Or sense enjoy a sinecure.
A. X.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
CINDERELLA.
Of all the narratives either of fact or of fiction there are none, I will pledge my veracity, like the Fairy Tales of the Nursery, for interesting all the best feelings of our nature, and for impressing an imperishable and beautiful morality upon the heart. Was there ever, can you imagine--was there ever a young woman hardened and heartless enough to explore a forbidden closet, after she had perused the romantic history of Bluebeard? Would she not fearfully fancy that every box, bag, and bottle, jar, jelly, and jam-pot was grinning hideously at her in the person of one of the departed Mrs. Bluebeards? In fact, there is not a tale that does not convey some fine instruction, and, I would venture to affirm, that does not produce more salutary influence on the youthful mind, than all that Dr. Gregory and Mrs. Chapone, Dr. Fordyce and Miss Hannah More, have ever, in their wearisome sagacity, advised.
Of the whole of these entertaining stories, perhaps the best, and deservedly the most popular, is the History of Cinderella. How deeply do we sympathise in her cinders! how do we admire her patient endurance and uncomplaining gentleness,--her noble magnanimity in not arranging her sisters’ tresses amiss--for presuming to be her miss-tresses--and finally, how do we rejoice at her ultimate and unexpected prosperity! Judge then of my horror, imagine my despair, when I read the New Monthly Magazine, and saw this most exquisite story derived from the childish folly of a strolling player! The account, which is in a paper entitled “Drafts on La Fitte,” states, that the tale originated in an actual occurrence about the year 1730 at Paris. It is to this effect:--An actor, one Thevenard, saw a shoe, where shoes are frequently to be seen, viz. at a cobbler’s stall, and, like a wise man, fell deeply in love with it. He immediately took his stand by the stall all the rest of the day--but nobody came for the shoe. Next morning “Ecce iterum Crispinus,” he was with the cobbler again, still nobody came: however, to make a short story of a long one, day after day the poor actor stood there, till the proprietor of the shoe applied for it, in the person of a most elegant young woman; when monsieur Thevenard took the opportunity of telling her, he admired her foot so much he was anxious to gain her hand; to this modest desire she kindly complied, and they were accordingly married. Thus ends this pitiful account. He must have had an inventive fancy, indeed, who could manufacture the sweet story of Cinderella out of such meagre materials--it was making a mountain out of a molehill! The gentle and interesting Cinderella dwindles down into a girl, whose only apparent merit was her economy in having her shoe patched--and the affable and affluent prince melts away into a French actor. Were the prize of squeezing her foot into the little slipper only to become the bride of an actor, I should imagine the ladies would not have been quite so anxious to stand in her shoes!
Now, gentle reader, as I have told you what is not the origin of my story, it is but incumbent on me to tell you what is.--In the thirteenth book of the “Various History” of Ælian is the real genuine narrative from which Cinderella is derived--it is the twenty-third anecdote: and the similarity of the two stories is so great, that, I trust, a simple repetition of it will prove beyond a doubt the antiquity, as well as the rank, of my favourite Cinderella. Of all the Egyptians, says the historian, Rhodope was reckoned the most beautiful;--to her, when she was bathing, Fortune, ever fond of sudden and unexpected catastrophes, did a kindness more merited by her beauty than her prudence. One day, when she was bathing, she judiciously left her shoes on the bank of the stream, and an eagle (naturally mistaking it for a sheep or a little child) pounced down upon one of them, and flew off with it. Flying with it directly over Memphis, where king Psammeticus[501] was dispensing justice, the eagle dropped the shoe in the king’s lap. Of course the king was struck with it, and admiring the beauty of the shoe and the skill and proportion of the fabrication, he sent through all the kingdom in search of a foot that would fit it; and having found it attached to the person of Rhodope, he immediately married her.
P.S.--I have given my authority, chapter and verse, for my story; but still farther to substantiate it, I am willing to lay both my name and address before the reader.
MR. SMITH,
London.
November, 1827.
[501] Psammeticus was one of the twelve kings of Egypt, and reigned about the year 670 B. C., just 2400 years before the poor Frenchman’s time!--(See his history in Herodotus, book 2. cap. 2 and 3.)
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HORÆ CRAVENÆ.
For the Table Book.
HITCHINGSTONE FEAST.--COWLING MOONS.
On the highest part of Sutton Common, in Craven, is a huge block of solid granite, of about fifty yards in circumference, and about ten yards high. It is regarded as a great natural curiosity, and has for generations been a prominent feature in the legends and old wife’s tales of the neighbourhood. On the west side is an artificial excavation, called “The Chair,” capable of containing six persons comfortably, though I remember it once, at a pinch, in a tremendous thunder shower, containing eight. On the north side is a similar excavation, called “The Churn,” from its resemblance to that domestic utensil; on the top is a natural basin, fourteen yards in circumference. This stone is the boundary-mark for three townships and two parishes, viz. the townships of Sutton, Cowling, and Laycock, and the parishes of Kildwick and Keighley. From time immemorial it has been customary to hold a feast round Hitchingstone on the 1st of August, the amusements at which are of a similar nature with those of the village feasts and tides (as they are called in some places) in the vicinity, as dancing, racing, &c. At a short distance from Hitchingstone are two smaller stones, one on the east, called Kidstone, the other on the north-east, called Navaxstone; whence the three names are derived I am ignorant.
The inhabitants of Cowling, or Cowling-head, the village from which the township takes its name, are known in Craven as “Moons;” an epithet of derision, which is said to have had its origin from the following circumstance:--Cowling-head is a wild mountain village, and the inhabitants are not famed for travelling much; but it is told, that once upon a time, a Cowling shepherd got so far from home as Skipton, (six miles;) on entering Skipton it was a fine moonlight night, and the shepherd is said to have made this sagacious remark: “How like your Skipton moon is to our Cowling-head moon.” Be the story true or not, the inhabitants are called “Moons;” and in the vulgar vocabulary of Craven a silly fellow is called a “Cowling moon.” Not knowing a single inhabitant of Cowling I cannot speak of their civilization; but it does not say much for their advancement in knowledge, that the Joannites have a chapel amongst them, and remain true to their prophetess; who, as they suppose,
------is but vanish’d from the earth awhile, To come again with bright unclouded smile.
While residing a few days at a gentleman’s house in the neighbourhood, I frequently observed the Cowling Joannites, with their long beards, rambling up and down the fells. A friend likened them to the ancient Druid priests, but I thought they more resembled goats, and formed no bad substitute for that animal, which is almost wholly banished from the fells of the district.
HE’S GOT T’OIL-BOTTLE IN HIS POCKET.
This is a Craven saying, and is applied to a person, who, like the heathen Janus, has two faces; in other words, one who acts with duplicity, who will flatter you to your face, and malign you behind your back. Alas! how many are there amongst all ranks, and in all places, who have “got t’oil bottles in their pockets.”
SWINE HARRY.
This is the name of a field on the side of Pinnow, a hill in Lothersdale, in Craven; and is said to have derived its name from the following singular circumstance. A native of the valley was once, at the dead of night, crossing the field with a pig which he had stolen from a neighbouring farmyard; he led the obstinate animal by a rope tied to its leg, which was noosed at the end where the thief held it. On coming to a ladder-style in the field, being a very corpulent man, and wishing to have both hands at liberty, but not liking to release the pig, he transferred the rope from his hands to his neck; but when he reached the topmost step his feet slipped, the pig pulled hard on the other side, the noose tightened, and on the following morning he was found dead. I believe this story to be a fact; it was told me by an aged man, who said it happened in his father’s time.
T. Q. M.
Sept. 2, 1827.
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THOMAS SMITH,
A QUACK EXTRAORDINARY.
For the Table Book.
The following advertisement, somewhat abridged from the original, which must have been put forth upwards of a century ago, abundantly proves, that quackery and puffing had made some progress even at that period:--
“In King-street, Westminster, at the Queen’s-arms and Corn-cutter, liveth Thomas Smith; who, by experience and ingenuity, has learnt the art of taking out and curing all manner of corns, without pain, or drawing blood. He likewise takes out all manner of nails, which cause any disaster, trouble, or pain, which no man in England can do the like. He cures the tooth-ache in half an hour, let the pain be never so great, and cleanses and preserves the teeth. He can, with God’s assistance, perform the same in a little time.
“I wear a silver badge, with three verses; the first in English, the second in Dutch, the third in French, with the States of Holland’s crownet on the top, which was gave me as a present by the States-general of Holland, for the many cures, &c. My name on the badge underwritten, THOMAS SMITH, who will not fail, God willing, to make out every particular in this bill, &c.
“The famousest ware in England, which never fails to cure the tooth-ache in half an hour, price one shilling the bottle. Likewise a powder for cleansing the teeth, which makes them as ivory without wearing them, and without prejudice to the gums, one shilling the box. Also two sorts of water for curing the scurry in the gums; though they are eaten away to the bottom, it will heal them, and cause them to grow as firm as ever, very safe, without mercury, or any unwholesome spirit. To avoid counterfeits, they are only sold at his own house, &c., price of each bottle half a crown, or more, according to the bigness, with directions.”--Harl. MSS.
Smith is mentioned in the Tatler. He used to go out daily in quest of customers, and made a periodical call at all the coffee-houses then in London.
H. M. L.
* * * * *
DUNCHURCH, COW, AND CALF.
To the Editor.
Sir,--I am confidently assured, that the following coincidences really occur. You may not perhaps deem them unworthy of the very small space they will occupy in your amusing columns, of which I have ever been a constant reader.
T. R.
At Dunchurch, near Coventry, is an inn, or public-house, called the Dun Cow, which supplies its landlord with the milk of existence. He is actually named Duncalf; the product of his barrels may be, therefore, not unaptly termed,--mother’s milk.
* * * * *
~Discoveries~
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XIV.
THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD, &c.
Two thousand years have elapsed since the time of Hippocrates, and there has scarcely been added a new aphorism to those of that great man, notwithstanding all the care and application of so many ingenious men as have since studied medicine.
There exist evident proofs that Hippocrates was acquainted with the circulation of the blood. Almelooven, in vindication of this father of medicine not having more amply treated of this subject in his works, assigns this reason, that Hippocrates having many other important matters to discuss, judged that to enlarge upon what was so well known, and had been so well explained by others, was as needless as it would have been to have written an Iliad after Homer. It is less requisite here to cite passages as proofs of Hippocrates’s knowledge on this vital principle in the animal economy, than to state the fact of his acquaintance with it. Briefly it may suffice to mention, that Hippocrates compares the course of rivers, which return to their sources in an unaccountable and extraordinary manner, to the circulation of the blood. He says, that “when the bile enters into the blood it breaks its consistence, and disorders its regular course.” He compares the admirable mechanism of the blood “to clues of thread, whose filaments overlap each other;” and he says, that “in the body it performs just such a circuit, always terminating where it began.”
Mr. Dutens is of opinion that Plato, Aristotle, Julius Pollux, Apuleius, and other ancients, treat the circulation of the blood as well known in their time. To that end he cites passages from their writings, and proceeds to affirm, that what reduces to a very small degree the honour of Harvey’s claim to the discovery is, that Servetus had treated of it very distinctly before him, in the fifth part of his book De Christianismi Restitutione; a work so very scarce, that there are but few who can boast of having seen it in print. Mr. Wotton, in his Reflections upon the Ancients and Moderns, cites this passage of Servetus entire. In this passage Servetus distinguishes three sorts of spirits in the human body, and says that blood, “which he calls a vital spirit, is dispersed through the body by the anastomosis, or mutual insertion of two vessels, at their extremities, into one another.” Here it deserves observation, that Servetus is the first who employed that term to express the communication between the veins and arteries. He makes “the expanded air in the lungs contribute to the formation of blood, which comes to them from the right ventricle of the heart, by the canal of the pulmonary artery.” He says, that “the blood is there refined and perfected by the action of the air, which subtilises it and blends itself with that vital spirit, which the expanded heart then receives as a fluid proper to carry life every where.” He maintains that “this conveyance and manner of preparing the blood in the lungs is evident from the junction of the veins with the arteries in this viscera.” And he concludes with saying, that “the heart having received the blood thus prepared by the lungs sends it forth again by the artery of its left ventricle, called the aorta, which distributes it into all parts of the body.” Andreas Cesalpinus, who lived likewise in the sixteenth century, has two passages which completely contain all that we know about the circulation of the blood. He explains at length “how the blood, gushing from the right ventricle of the heart through the pulmonary artery to pass into the lungs, enters anastomosically into the pulmonary veins, to be conveyed to the left ventricle of the heart, and afterwards distributed by the aorta into all parts of the body.” Let it be remarked, that, according to Boerhaave, the first edition of Cesalpin’s book was at Venice in 1571; that is, almost sixty years before Harvey’s work appeared, who studied at Padua, which is not far from Venice; and spent a considerable part of his time there.
Johannes Leonicenus says, that the famous Paul Sarpi, otherwise known by the name of Father Paul, was he who discovered the circulation of the blood, and first discerned “the valves of the veins, which, like the suckers of a pump, open to let the blood pass, but shut to prevent its return;” and that he communicated this secret to Fabricius ab Aquapendente, professor of medicine at Padoua in the sixteenth century, and successor to Fallopius, who discovered it to Harvey, at that time studying physic under him in the university of Padoua.
SERVETUS.
HIS BOOKS--CHRISTIANISMI RESTITUTIO--DE TRINITATE ERRORIBUS--DE TRINITATE DIALOGORUM.
Mr. Dutens, in the course of his remarks on Servetus’s discourse concerning the circulation of the blood, observes as follows:--
“Servetus published on this subject two different books. That for which he was burnt at Geneva, in 1553, is entitled Christianismi Restitutio, and had been printed but a month before his death. The care they took to burn all the copies of it at Vienne in Dauphiny, at Geneva, and at Frankfort, rendered it a book of the greatest scarcity. Mention is made of one copy of it in the catalogue of Mr. de Boze’s books, p. 40, which has been regarded as the only one extant. I have had in my hands a surreptitious copy of it, published at London, which formerly belonged to Dr. Friend; in the 143d, 144th, and 145th pages of which occurs the passage (on the circulation.) The book is in quarto, but without the name of the place where it was printed, or the time when, and is incomplete, the bishop of London having put a stop to the impression, which, if I mistake not, was about the year 1730. Care should be taken not to confound this with another work of his, printed in 12mo. in 1531, without mention of the place where, but supposed to be at Lyons. It is entitled De Trinitatis Erroribus Libri Septem, per Michaelem Serveto, alias Reves, ab Aragonia Hispanum; and there is along with it another treatise, printed in 1532, entitled Dialogorum de Trinitate, Lib. 2. de Justitia Regni Christi, Capitula 4. per Michaelem Serveto, alias Reves, ab Aragonià Hispanum. This last, which is very scarce, and sold once for one hundred pistoles, (that is 40_l._ sterl.) is in the library of the duke of Roxburgh at London, where I have seen it, but it contains not the passage referred to, which is only to be met with in the corrected and enlarged edition of that work, published in 1553, and entitled Christianismi Restitutio.”
Dr. Sigmond, in a recent work, entitled “The Unnoticed Theories of Servetus,” speaks of a Life of Servetus in the Historical Dictionary;[502] another, ascribed to M. de la Roche, in the “Bibliothèque Angloise,” with extracts relating to Servetus’s Theory of the Circulation of the Blood; and a third, by M. D’Artigny, in the “Mémoires des Hommes Illustres,” who extracted the history of the trial from the archives of the archbishop of Vienne in Dauphine. “And I have lately read with considerable pleasure,” says Dr. Sigmond, “an Apology for the Life of Servetus, by Richard Wright; not because he adds any thing to our previous knowledge of his life and conduct, but that a spirit of candour and liberality entitles the volume to much consideration. He has evidently not met with the Christianismi Restitutio.”
In relation to this latter work by Servetus, Dr. Sigmond says, “The late Dr. Sims, for many years president of the Medical Society of London, bequeathed to me his copy of Servetus, to which he has prefixed the following note:--‘The fate of this work has been not a little singular; all the copies, except one, were burned along with the author by the implacable Calvin. This copy was secreted by D. Colladon, one of the judges. After passing through the library of the landgrave of Hesse Cassel, it came into the hands of Dr. Mead, who endeavoured to give a quarto edition of it; but before it was nearly completed, it was seized by John Kent, messenger of the press, and William Squire, messenger in ordinary, on the 29th of May, 1723, at the instance of Dr. Gibson, bishop of London, and burnt, a very few copies excepted. The late duke de Valliere gave near 400 guineas for this copy, and at his sale it brought 3810 livres. It contains the first account of the circulation of the blood, above 70 years before the immortal Harvey published his discovery.’”
“In justice to the memory of my late valued friend,” says Dr. Sigmond, “I must state my conviction that this copy is not the original one; at the same time, I firmly believe he imagined it to be that which he has described. Yet he was well known as an accurate man, as a judicious collector of books: and, indeed, to him is the Medical Society of London indebted for its valuable and admirable library.” Dr. Sigmond’s correction of Dr. Sims’s note is substantial; but it may be corrected still further. Dr. Sims mistook as to the book having brought 3810 livres at the duke de Valliere’s sale. The duke gave that sum for the book at the sale of M. Gaignat in 1769, and when the duke’s library was sold in 1784, it produced 4120 livres. There is a particular account of it in the catalogue of that collection, by De Bure, tom. i. p. 289. That copy has hitherto been deemed unique. Is Dr. Sigmond’s another copy of Servetus’s own edition?
Dr. Sigmond’s own work, printed last year, is itself scarce, in consequence of having been suppressed or withdrawn from publication.[503] This circumstance, and the curiosity of its purpose, may render an exemplifying extract from it agreeable:--
“I have quoted,” says Dr. S., “the whole of Servetus’s theories verbatim. Those that relate to the phenomena of mind, as produced by the brain, will at this time have an additional interest, when Gall and Spurzheim have attracted the attention of philosophers to the subject. With some degree of boldness he has fixed upon the ventricles of the brain, and the choroid plexus, as the seat of that ray divine which an immortal Creator has shed upon man, and man alone. The awe and veneration with which such a subject must be approached, are increased by the conviction that though we may flatter our fond hopes with the idea that some knowledge has been gained, we are still lost in the same labyrinth of doubt and uncertainty that we ever were.
“After giving his description of the passage of the blood from the right ventricle of the heart through the lungs, to the left ventricle of the heart, he gives his reasons for his belief in his doctrine of the circulation, and observes that Galen was unacquainted with the truth. He then commences that most extraordinary passage upon the seat of the mind. The blood, he supposes, having received in its passage through the lungs the breath of life, is sent by the left ventricle into the arteries; the purest part ascends to the base of the brain, where it is more refined, especially in the retiform plexus. It is still more perfected in the small vessels, the capillary arteries, and the choroid plexus, which penetrate every part of the brain, enter into the ventricles, and closely surround the origin of the nerves. From the vital spirit it is now changed into the animal spirit, and acts upon the mass of brain, which is incapable of reasoning without this stimulus. In the two ventricles of the brain is placed the power of receiving impressions from external objects; in the third is that of reasoning upon them; in the fourth is that of remembering them. From the communication through the foramina of the ethmoid bone, the two ventricles receive a portion of external air to refresh the spirit, and to give new animation to the soul. If these ventricles are oppressed by the introduction of noxious vapour, epilepsy is produced, if a fluid presses on the choroid plexus, apoplexy; and whatever affects this part of the brain causes loss of mental power.
“I have transcribed his notions on vegetable and animal life: they are more curious than correct. They are contained in the second Dialogue on the Trinity, which is remarkable from its being the best proof that the doctrines of Servetus were completely at variance with the Unitarianism of which he was accused. It is a dialogue between Peter and Michael, ‘modum generationis Christi docens, quod ipse non sit creatura, nec finitæ potentiæ, sed vere adorandus, verusque Deus.’
“He here enters very minutely into the soul, as the breath of life; and the whole of the theories he has advanced are in support of the passages in the Bible, relative to the Almighty pouring into the nostrils of man the breath of life. A long metaphysical and theological discussion, difficult to be understood, follows; but not one syllable can be found contrary to the precepts of Christianity, or to the pure faith he wished to instil into the mind. In another part of the work there is a dissertation upon the heart as the origin of faith, which he believes, on the authorities he cites from the Bible, to be the seat of some degree of mental power. The heart, he supposes, deliberates upon the will, but the will obeys the brain.”
Persons disposed to inquiries of the nature last adverted to, may peruse a remarkable paper on the functions of the heart, as connected with volition, by sir James Mackintosh; it was drawn up in consequence of a table conversation with Mr. Benjamin Travers, and is inserted by that gentleman in an appendix to his work on Constitutional Irritation.[504]
It remains further to be observed respecting Servetus, that, according to Dr. Sigmond, another of his theories was, that “in the blood is the life.” His notions “on vegetable and animal life,” are in his work “De Trinitatis Erroribus, Libri VII.” 12mo. 1531. This book appears in the “Bibliotheca Parriana,” by Mr. Bohn, with the following MS. remarks on it by Dr. Parr.
“Liber rarissimus. I gave two guineas for this book.” S. P.
“Servetus was burnt for this book. He might be a heretic, but he was not an infidel. I have his life, in Latin, written by Allwoerden, which should be read by all scholars and true Christians.” S. P.
Dr. Sigmond’s opinion of Servetus evidently concurs with Dr. Parr’s. Towards the close of Dr. Sigmond’s Introduction to his “Dissertatio, quædam de Serveto complectens,” he says, “Of his religious opinions I have but little to say: the bitter prejudices, the violent hatred, the unmanly persecutions that disgraced the early introduction of a reformed religion, have fortunately given place to the milder charities of true Christianity. The penalty of death, by the most cruel torture, would not now be inflicted on a man who offered to the world crude and undigested dreams, or the visionary fancies of a disturbed imagination; and these, to say the very worst, are the sins for which Servetus expired at the stake, surrounded by the books his ardent and unconquerable spirit had dared to compose.
A sincere love of Christianity beams forth in every page of the work I have before me. His great anxiety was to restore religion to that purity, which he believed it to have lost. The doctrine he opposed was not that of Christ; it was that of the churchmen who had established, in his name, their own vain and fleeting opinions. The best proof that Calvin and Melancthon had deserted the mild, the charitable, the peaceful religion of truth, and that they followed not the divine precepts of their gentle Master, was, and is, that they pursued, even unto death, a helpless, poor, and learned man.”
It is well known that Servetus was denounced by Calvin to the government of Geneva, and that the civil authorities referred the case back to Calvin. “At the instance of Mr. Calvin and his associates he was condemned to be burnt alive; which sentence was executed October 27, 1553. He was upwards of two hours in the fire; the wood being green, little in quantity, and the wind unfavourable.”[505] It is not now the fashion to burn a man for heresy: the modern mode is to exaggerate and distort his declared opinions; drive him from society by forging upon him those which he disclaims; wound his spirit, and break his heart by continued aspersions; and, when he is in his grave, award him the reputation of having been an amiable and mistaken man.
*
[502] Of which there is an English translation in 8vo.
[503] It is entitled “The Unnoticed Theories of Servetus, a Dissertation addressed to the Medical Society of Stockholm. By George Sigmond, M.D. late of Jesus College, Cambridge, and formerly President of the Royal Physical Society of Edinburgh. London, 1826.” 8vo. pp. 80.
[504] “An Inquiry concerning that disturbed State of the Vital Functions, usually denominated Constitutional Irritation. By Benjamin Travers, F.R.S. Senior Surgeon to St. Thomas’s Hospital, and President of the Medico-Chirurgical and Hunterian Societies of London, &c. second edition. London, 1827.” 8vo.
[505] Dr. Adam Clarke; Bibliographical Dict. vol. vi.
* * * * *
LINES,
On seeing in the Table Book the Signature of a brother, W. W. K.
Where’er those well-known characters I see, They are, and ever will be, dear to me! How oft in that green field, beneath the shade Of beechen-boughs, whilst other youngsters play’d, Have I, a happy schoolboy, o’er and o’er, Conn’d those dear signs, which now I read once more! How oft, as on the daisied grass I laid, Full pleas’d, the W. W. K. I’ve read!-- When once espied, how tedious ’twas to wait The crippled postman’s well-known shuffling gait, As, slowly creeping down the winding lane, With such a sluggish pace he onward came; Or if in school,--his ring no sooner heard, Than home, with all its sweets, to mind recurr’d; And whilst the letter’s page its news reveal’d, The gath’ring drop my boyish sight conceal’d!
Something then whisper’d, Bill, that life begun So well, the same still happily would run; That tho’ for years the briny sea divide, Or be it good, or ill, that each betide, The same fond heart would throb in either’s breast, Fondness by years and stealing time increas’d! So, as in early days it first became, Shall it in riper life, be still the same, That by and by, when we’re together laid ’Neath the green moss-grown pile--it may be said, As lonely footsteps tow’rds our hillock turn, “They were in life and death together one!”
* * * * *
DOVER PIG.
To the Editor.
Sir,--To the fact of the underwritten narrative there are many living witnesses of high respectability. Anatomists and philosophers may not think it unworthy their notice, and the lovers of the marvellous will doubtless be interested by a subject which assimilates with the taste of all.
On the 14th of December, 1810, several considerable falls of the cliffs, both east and westward of Dover, took place; and one of these was attended by a fatal domestic catastrophe. A house, situated at the base of that part of the cliffs between Moat’s Bulwark and where the Dover Gas Company’s works are built, was buried, with its inmates, consisting of the father, mother, and five of their children, and a sister’s child. The father only was dug from the ruins alive. All his family perished with the ruin of his household property.
Behind the house, which stood just clear of the cliffs’ base, in an excavation, was a pig-sty; which, when the cliff fell, was inhabited by a solitary and very fat hog, supposed to weigh about eight score. In the midst of his distress, the unfortunate owner of the quadruped forgot this animal; and when it occurred to his recollection, so much time had passed since the accident, that the pig was numbered with the dead. In the ensuing summer, on the evening of the 23d of May, some workmen of the Ordnance department, going home from labour, stopped, as they had sometimes done before, to contemplate the yet remaining ruin. While thus engaged, a sound broke the silence of the moment. It seemed like the feeble grunting of a hog. The men listened, and the sound was repeated, till it ceased to be matter of doubt. One of them immediately went to the commanding officer of the Ordnance, and returned with a party of the miners, who set to work; and as soon as they had cleared away the chalk from before the chasm, the incarcerated animal came staggering forth, more like the anatomy of a pig than a living one. Its skin was covered with a long shaggy coat: the iris had disappeared from its eyes; and the pupils were pale, and had almost lost their colour. Nothing beyond these particulars was apparent externally. With great attention to its feeding, the creature recovered from its debility, and its coat fell off, and was renewed as before. When I saw this hog in the following November, the eyes were of a yellowish tint, and the iris only discoverable by a faint line round the pupil; no defect showed itself in the vision of the organ: and, but for being told that the pig before me was the one buried alive for six months, there was nothing about it to excite curiosity. To the owner it had been a source of great profit, by its exhibition, during the summer season, at the neighbouring towns and watering-places; and, finally, it ended its existence in the way usual to its race, through the hands of the butcher.
I have stated the supposed weight of this long-buried quadruped at the time of its incarceration, to be about eight score, or twenty stone; when liberated, it was weighed, and had lost half of its former quantity, being then four score. A peculiar character of the pig is--its indiscriminate gluttony and rapid digestion. The means by which the life of this particular animal was sustained during the long period of its imprisonment, may be worth the consideration of the zootomist.
I am, &c.
September, 1827.
K. B.
* * * * *
ANECDOTES.
JURIES.
Levinz reports a case in the King’s Bench, “Foster v. Hawden,” “wherein the jury, not agreeing, cast lots for their verdict, and gave it according to lot; for which, upon the motion of Levinz, the verdict was set aside, and the jury were ordered to attend next term to be fined.”
On an appeal of murder, reported in Coke, the killing was not denied by the murderer, but he rested his defence upon a point of law, viz. that the deceased had provoked him, by mocking him; and he therefore contended that it was not murder. The judges severally delivered their opinions, that it was murder; but the jury could not agree. They however came to the following understanding--“That they should bring in, and offer their verdict not guilty; and if the court disliked thereof, that then they should all change their verdict, and find him guilty.” They brought in a verdict of Not Guilty. The court demurred, and sent them back; when, according to the above understanding, they returned again in a few minutes with a verdict of Guilty.
In 1752, Owen, a bookseller, was prosecuted by the attorney-general, on information, for a libel. The direction of the lord chief justice Lee to the jury does not appear at full length in the State Trials, but it seems that he “declared it as his opinion, that the jury ought to find the defendant guilty.” The jury brought in their verdict “Not Guilty.” The report proceeds to state, “that the jury went away; but at the desire of the attorney-general, they were called into court again, and asked this leading question: viz. “Gentlemen of the Jury, do you think the evidence laid before you, of Owen’s publishing the book by selling it, is not sufficient to convince you that the said Owen did sell this book.” Upon which the foreman, without answering the question, said, “Not guilty, not guilty;” and several of the jury said, “That is our verdict, my lord, and we abide by it.” Upon which the court broke up, and there was a prodigious shout in the hall.”
A QUESTION--MAL-APROPOS.
When Dr. Beadon was rector of Eltham, in Kent, the text he one day took to preach from was, “Who art thou?” After reading it he made a pause, for the congregation to reflect on the words; when a gentleman, in a military dress, who at the instant was proceeding up the middle aisle of the church, supposing it a question addressed to him, replied, “I, sir, am an officer of the sixteenth regiment of foot, on a recruiting party here; and have come to church, because I wish to be acquainted with the neighbouring clergy and gentry.” This so deranged the divine and astonished the congregation, that the sermon was concluded with considerable difficulty.
* * * * *
GLASS.
Pliny informs us, the art of making glass was accidentally discovered by some merchants who were travelling with nitre, and stopped near a river issuing from Mount Carmel. Not readily finding stones to rest their kettles on, they employed some pieces of their nitre for that purpose. The nitre, gradually dissolving by the heat of the fire, mixed with the sand, and a transparent matter flowed, which was, in fact, glass. It is certain that we are more indebted to chance than genius for many of the most valuable discoveries.
* * * * *
VARIA.
For the Table Book.
TOMB OF KING ALFRED.
Many Englishmen, who venerate the name of Alfred, will learn, with surprise and indignation, that the ashes of this patriot king, after having been scattered by the rude hands of convicts, are probably covered by a building at Winchester, erected in 1788 for the confinement of criminals. No one in the neighbourhood was sufficiently interested towards his remains to attempt their discovery or preservation.
OLD LAW BOOKS.
It is remarkable, that the oldest book in the German law is entitled “Spiegel,” or the Looking-glass which answers to our “Mirror of Justices:” it was compiled by Eckius de Reckaw, and is inserted in Goldastus’s Collectanea. One of the ancient Icelandish books is likewise styled “Speculum Regale.” There is also in Schrevelius’s Teutonic Antiquities a collection of the ancient laws of Pomerania and Prussia, under the title of “Speculum.” Surely all this cannot be the effect of pure accident.
CURIOUS WILL OF AN ATTORNEY.
Mr. Lambe, an attorney, who died at Cambridge in the year 1800, left about eleven hundred pounds; and directed his executors (three gentlemen of the university) to appropriate the sum of eight hundred pounds as they might think proper. For this arduous task he bequeathed them one hundred pounds each.
S. S. S.
* * * * *
~Epitaphs.~
For the Table Book.
‘These tell in homely phrase who lie below.’
BLAIR.
In Bois Church-yard, near Chesham, Bucks.
In Memory of Mrs. Elizabeth, Wife of Mr. Edward Pinchbeck, of Chesham, who departed this Life 1st Oct. 1781, aged 60 years.
Here a painful head is at rest, Its violent throbbings are o’er; Her dangerous mortified breast, Neither throbs nor aches any more. Her eyes, which she seldom could close Without opiates to give her some rest, Are now most sweetly composed, With her whom her soul did love best.
On a Rail in Chesham Church-yard.
In memory of Sarah Bachelor, wife of Benjamin Bachelor, daughter of Joseph and Sarah Barnes, who departed this life May 23d, 1813, aged 25 years.
These three lines are on the reverse of the rail in question:--
My time was short not long in this world to stay God Summon’d me and I was snatch’d away pray God to bless And friends be kind to my husband and children left behind.
* * * * *
A plain white marble slab, placed over the remains of the illustrious Boerhaven, in St. Peter’s, Leyden, bears only these four words in black letters.
Salutifero Boerhavii Genio Sacrum.
J. J. K.
* * * * *
A FILL UP.
For the Table Book.
There is nothing I find so difficult to fill up as my spare time. Talk as they will about liberty, it is after all nothing but a sort of independent ennui--a freedom we are better without, if we do not know how to use it. To instance myself:--the first thing I do on the cessation of my daily avocations, which terminate rather early, is to throw my two legs upon one chair, and recline my back against another--when, after a provoking yawn of most ambiguous import, I propound to myself with great gravity--what the deuce shall I do? A series of questions instantly occur, which are as instantly answered--generally in the negative. Shall I read Blackstone?--no: Coke upon Littleton?--worse still: Fearne on Contingent Remainders?--horrid idea!--it was recommended the other day to a young friend of mine, who before he got to the end of the first page was taken with a shivering fit, from which he has not yet recovered--no, no; confound the law! I had enough of that this morning--What’s to be done then? The Table Book does not come out till to-morrow--Scott’s novels (unfashionable wretch) I don’t like,--have read the Epicurean already twenty times--and know Byron by heart. Take up my flute, mouthpiece mislaid, and can’t play without--determined to try, notwithstanding it should be my three thousandth failure; accordingly, blow like a bellows for about half an hour--can make nothing of it, suddenly stop, and throw the instrument to the other end of the room--forgetting the glass in the bookcase, the largest pane of which it goes through with a loud crash. Still musical, persist in humming a favourite air I have just thought of--hit the tune to a T, and immediately strike up a most delightful strain, beginning “Sounds delicious,” &c., when a cry comes from the parlour, “We really must leave the house if that horrid noise is to be continued!”--Rather galled by this rub--begin to get angry--start up from my two chairs and walk briskly to the fireplace--arrange my hair pettishly--then stick my hands in my pockets, and begin to muse--glass catches my eye--neckcloth abominably out of order, instinctively untie and tie it again--tired of standing--sit down to my desk--commence a Sonnet to the Moon, get on swimmingly to the fifth line, and then--a dead stop--no rhyme to be got, and the finest idea I ever had in my life in danger of being lost--this will never do--determined to bring it in somewhere, and after a little alteration introduce it most satisfactorily into a poem I had begun yesterday on Patience, till, upon reading the whole over, I find it has nothing whatever to do with the subject; and disgusted with the failure tear up both poem and sonnet in a tremendous rage. Still at a loss what to do--at length I have it--got a communication for the Table Book--I’ll take a walk and leave it--
GULIELMUS.
Vol. II.--51.
~Note.~
Under severe affliction I cannot make up this sheet as I wish. This day week my second son was brought home with his scull fractured. To-day intelligence has arrived to me of the death of my eldest son.
The necessity I have been under of submitting recently to a surgical operation on myself, with a long summer of sickness to every member of my family, and accumulated troubles of earlier origin, and of another nature, have prevented me too often from satisfying the wishes of readers, and the claims of Correspondents. I crave that they will be pleased to receive this, as a general apology, in lieu of particular notices, and in the stead of promises to effect what I can no longer hope to accomplish, and forbear to attempt.
W. HONE.
December 12, 1827.
* * * * *
WINTER FLOWERS.
CHRYSANTHEMUM INDICUM.
To the Editor.
Sir,--While the praises of our wild, native, simple flowers, the primrose, the violet, the blue bell, and daisy, as well as the blossoms of the hawthorn, wild rose, and honey-suckle, have been said and sung in many a pleasant bit of prose and verse in the pages of your extra-ordinary Every-Day Book, as connected with the lively descriptions given therein of many a rural sport and joyous pastime, enjoyed by our forefathers and foremothers of the “olden time,” particularly in that enlivening and mirth-inspiring month, sweet May; when both young and old feel a renovation of their health and spirits, and hail the return of sunshine, verdure, and flowers; permit me to call the attention of such of your readers as are fond of flowers (and there is no one, who has “music in his soul” and a taste for poetry, that is not) to that highly interesting plant, the Indian Chrysanthemum, which serves, by its gay blossoms, to cheer the gloom, and enliven the sadness of those dreary months, November and December.
Since the introduction of the Camellia and the Dahlia, I know of no plant that produces so striking an effect upon the sight as the Chrysanthemum. We have now about forty distinct varieties of it in the country, for the greater part of which we are indebted to the London Horticultural Society. Many of the flowers are much larger than the largest full-blown Provence rose, highly aromatic, and of extremely bright, vivid, and varied colours; as white, yellow, copper, red, and purple, of all the different gradations of tint, and several of those colours mixed and blended. Some very fine specimens of this flower have been exhibited at the society’s rooms and greenhouse. Nothing, in my opinion, could equal their beauty and splendour; not even the well-known collection of carnations and foreign picotées of my neighbour, Mr. Hogg, the florist.
This flower gives a very gay appearance to the conservatory and the greenhouse at this season of the year, when there is hardly another in blossom; and it may also be introduced into the parlour and drawing-room; for it flowers freely in small sized pots of forty-eight and thirty-two to the cast, requires no particular care, is not impatient of cold, and is easily propagated by dividing the roots, or by cuttings placed under a hand-glass in the months of May or June, which will bloom the following autumn, for it is prodigal of its flowers; the best method is to leave only one flowering stem in a pot.
The facility with which it is propagated will always make the price moderate, and render it attainable by any one; there is much dissimilarity in the form of the flowers, as well as in the formation of the petals--some flowers are only half spread, and have the appearance of tassels, while others are expanded fully, like the Chinese aster; some petals are quilled, some half quilled, some are flat and lanceolated, some crisped and curled, and others are in an imbricated form, decreasing in length towards the centre. There is also some variation in their time of flowering, some come much earlier than others.
This plant is not a stranger to the country, for it was introduced about thirty-five years ago; but the splendid varieties, of which I am speaking, are new, having been brought hither, mostly from China, by the Horticultural Society within these four or five years; and as the society has made a liberal distribution of plants and cuttings to the different nurserymen and florists round London, who are members thereof, they can now be easily obtained. There is little chance of its ever ripening its seed, from its coming into flower at the commencement of winter, so that we can only look for fresh varieties from India or China.
In conclusion, I will just note down a few that particularly engaged my attention, namely:--
The pure or large paper white.
The large white, with yellow tinged flowerets, or petals round the disk or centre.
The early blush.
The golden lotus.
The superb clustered yellow.
The starry purple.
The bright red, approaching to scarlet.
And the brown, red, and purple blended.
I remain, sir, &c.
JERRY BLOSSOM.
Paddington,
December.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XLIV.
[From “Blurt, Master Constable:” a Comedy by T. Middleton, 1602.]
Lover kept awake by Love.
Ah! how can I sleep? he, who truly loves, Burns out the day in idle fantasies; And when the lamb bleating doth bid good night Unto the closing day, then tears begin To keep quick time unto the owl, whose voice Shrieks like the bellman in the lover’s ears: Love’s eye the jewel of sleep oh! seldom wears. The early lark is waken’d from her bed, Being only by Love’s plaints disquieted; And singing in the morning’s ear she weeps, Being deep in love, at Lovers’ broken sleeps. But say a golden slumber chance to tie With silken strings the cover of Love’s eye; Then dreams, magician-like, mocking present Pleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent.
Violetta comes to seek her Husband at the house of a Curtizan.
Violetta.--Imperia, the Curtizan.
Vio. By your leave, sweet Beauty, pardon my excuse, which sought entrance into this house: good Sweetness, have you not a Property here, improper to your house; my husband?
Imp. Hah! your husband here?
Vio. Nay, be as you seem to be, White Dove, without gall. Do not mock me, fairest Venetian. Come, I know he is here. I do not blame him, for your beauty gilds over his error. ’Troth, I am right glad that you, my Countrywoman, have received the pawn of his affections. You cannot be hardhearted, loving him; nor hate me, for I love him too. Since we both love him, let us not leave him, till we have called home the ill husbandry of a sweet Straggler. Prithee, good wench, use him well.
Imp. So, so, so--
Vio. If he deserve not to be used well (as I’d be loth he should deserve it), I’ll engage myself, dear Beauty, to thine honest heart: give me leave to love him, and I’ll give him a kind of leave to love thee. I know he hears me. I prithee try my eyes, if they know him; that have almost drowned themselves in their own saltwater, because they cannot see him. In troth, I’ll not chide him. If I speak words rougher than soft kisses, my penance shall be to see him kiss thee, yet to hold my peace.
Good Partner, lodge me in thy private bed; Where, in supposed folly, he may end Determin’d Sin. Thou smilest. I know thou wilt. What looseness may term dotage,--truly read, Is Love ripe-gather’d, not soon withered.
Imp. Good troth, pretty Wedlock, thou makest my little eyes smart with washing themselves in brine. I mar such a sweet face!--and wipe off that dainty red! and make Cupid toll the bell for your love-sick heart!--no, no, no--if he were Jove’s own ingle Ganymede--fie, fie, fie--I’ll none. Your Chamber-fellow is within. Thou shalt enjoy him.
Vio. Star of Venetian Beauty, thanks!
* * * * *
[From “Hoffman’s Tragedy, or Revenge for a Father,” 1631. Author Unknown.]
The Sons of the Duke of Saxony run away with Lucibel, the Duke of Austria’s Daughter.--The two Dukes, in separate pursuit of their children, meet at the Cell of a Hermit: in which Hermit, Saxony recognises a banished Brother; at which surprised, all three are reconciled.
Austria. That should be Saxon’s tongue. Saxony. Indeed I am the Duke of Saxony. Austria. Then thou art father to lascivious sons, That have made Austria childless. Saxony. Oh subtle Duke, Thy craft appears in framing the excuse. Thou dost accuse my young sons’ innocence. I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongues, Not to be metamorphosed with the view Of flattering Beauty--peradventure painted. Austria. No, I defy thee, John of Saxony. My Lucibel for beauty needs no art; Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mind Ever inclin’d to this ignoble course, But by the charms and forcings of thy sons. Saxony. O would thou would’st maintain thy words, proud Duke! Hermit. I hope, great princes, neither of you dare Commit a deed so sacrilegious. This holy Cell Is dedicated to the Prince of Peace. The foot of man never profan’d this floor; Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voice Affright these buildings. Charity with Prayer, Humility with Abstinence combined, Are here the guardians of a grieved mind. Austria. Father, we obey thy holy voice. Duke John of Saxony, receive my faith; Till our ears hear the true course, which thy sons Have taken with me fond and misled child, I proclaim truce. Why dost thou sullen stand? If thou mean peace, give me thy princely hand. Saxony. Thus do I plight thee truth, and promise peace. Austria. Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart. In vows of combination there’s a grace, That shews th’ intention in the outward face. Look chearfully, or I expect no league. Saxony. First give me leave to view awhile the person Of this Hermit.--Austria, view him well. Is he not like my brother Roderic? Austria. He’s like him. But I heard, he lost his life Long since in Persia by the Sophy’s wars. Hermit. I heard so much, my Lord. But that report Was purely feign’d; spread by my erring tongue, As double as my heart, when I was young. I am that Roderic, that aspired thy throne; That vile false brother, that with rebel breath, Drawn sword, and treach’rous heart, threaten’d your death. Saxony. My brother!--nay then i’ faith, old John lay by Thy sorrowing thoughts; turn to thy wonted vein, And be mad John of Saxony again. Mad Roderic, art alive?--my mother’s son, Her joy, and her last birth!--oh, she conjured me To use thee thus; [embracing him] and yet I banish’d thee.-- Body o’ me! I was unkind, I know; But thou deservd’st it then: but let it go. Say thou wilt leave this life, thus truly idle, And live a Statesman; thou shalt share in reign, Commanding all but me thy Sovereign. Hermit. I thank your Highness; I will think on it But for my sins this sufferance is more fit. Saxony. Tut, tittle tattle, tell not me of sin.-- Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand: I’ll look thee in the face, and smile; and swear. If any of my sons have wrong’d thy child, I’ll help thee in revenging it myself. But if, as I believe, they mean but honour, (As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim’d), Then thou shalt be content to name[506] him thine, And thy fair daughter I’ll account as mine. Austria. Agreed. Saxony. Ah, Austria! ’twas a world, when you and I Ran these careers; but now we are stiff and dry. Austria. I’m glad you are so pleasant, good my Lord. Saxony. ’Twas my old mood: but I was soon turn’d sad, With over-grieving for this long lost Lad,-- And now the Boy is grown as old as I; His very face as full of gravity.
C. L.
[506] By one of the Duke’s sons (her Lover) in honour of Lucibel.
* * * * *
~Discoveries~
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XV.
ANCIENT SURGERY.
Mr. Bernard, principal surgeon to king William, affirms respecting ancient surgical skill as follows:--
There is no doubt but the perfection to which surgery has been carried in these last ages, is principally owing to the discoveries which have been made in anatomy. But the art of curing wounds, to which all the other parts ought to give way, remains almost in the same state in which the ancients transmitted it to us.
Celsus and other ancients have described a mode of operating for the stone, although it must be owned that a method, deserving the preference in many respects, and known by the name of magnus apparatus or the grand operation, was the invention of Johannes de Romanis, of Cremona, who lived at Rome in the year 1520, and published his work at Venice in 1535. The instrument that we make use of in trepanning was doubtless first used by the ancients, and only rendered more perfect by Woodall and Fabricius. Tapping, likewise, is in all respects an invention of theirs. Laryngotomy, or the opening of the larynx in the quinsey, was practised by them with success; an operation which, though safe and needful, is out of use at present. Galen, in particular, supported by reason, experience, and the authority of Asclepiades, justly applauds it as the ultimate resource in the case of a quinsey. Hernia intestalis, with the distinguishing differences of the several species of that malady, and their method of cure, are exactly described by the ancients. They also cured the pterygion and cataract, and treated the maladies of the eye as judiciously as modern oculists. The opening of an artery and of the jugular vein is no more a modern invention, than the application of the ligature in the case of an aneurism, which was not well understood by Frederic Ruysch, the celebrated anatomist of Holland. The extirpation of the amygdales, or of the uvula, is not at all a late invention, though it must be owned the efficacious cauteries now used in the case of the former, were neither practised nor known by the ancients. The method we now use of treating the fistula lacrymalis, a cure so nice and difficult, is precisely that of the ancients, with the addition that Fabricius made of the cannula for applying the cautery. As to the real caustic, which makes a considerable article in surgery, although Costeus, Fienus, and Severinus have written amply on that subject, yet it is evident from a single aphorism of Hippocrates, that this great physician knew the use of it as well as those who have come after him: and besides, it is frequently spoken of in the writings of all the other ancients, who without doubt used it with great success in many cases where we have left it off, or know not how to apply it. The cure of the varices by incision appears, from the works of Celsus and Paulus Eginetus, to have been a familiar practice among the ancients. The ancients describe the mode of curing the polypus of the ear, a malady little understood by the moderns. They were likewise well acquainted with all kind of fractures and luxations, and the means of remedying them; as well as with all the sorts of sutures in use among us, besides many we have lost. The various amputations of limbs, breasts, &c. were performed among them as frequently and with as great success as we can pretend to. As to the art of bandaging, the ancients knew it so well, and to such a degree of perfection, that we have not added any thing considerable to what Galen taught in his excellent tract on that subject. As to remedies externally applied, we are indebted to them for having instructed us in the nature and properties of those we now use; and in general methods of cure, particularly of wounds of the head, the moderns, who have written most judiciously upon it, thought they could do no better service to posterity, than comment upon that admirable book which Hippocrates wrote on this subject.
ANCIENT CHEMISTRY.
It is agreed almost by all, that chemistry was first cultivated in Egypt, the country of Cham, of whom it is supposed primarily to have taken its name, Χημεῑα, Chemia, sive Chamia, the science of Cham. Tubal-Cain, and those who with him found out the way of working in brass and iron, must have been able chemists; for it was impossible to work upon these metals, without first knowing the art of digging them out of the mine, of excavating them, and of refining and separating them from the ore.
Potable Gold.
From the story of the golden fleece, the golden apples that grew in the gardens of the Hesperides, and the reports of Manethon and Josephus with relation to Seth’s pillars, deductions have been made in favour of the translation of metals; but to come to real and established facts, it appears that Moses broke the golden calf, reduced it into powder, to be mingled with water, and gave it to the Israelites to drink: in one word, he rendered gold potable.
It was objected within a century, that this operation was impracticable, and by some it was affirmed as having been impossible. But the famous Joel Langelotte affirms in his works, that gold may be entirely dissolved by attrition alone; and the ingenious Homberg assures us, that by pounding for a long while certain metals, and even gold itself, in plain water, those bodies have been so entirely dissolved as to become potable. Frederic III., king of Denmark, being curious to ascertain the fact, engaged some able chemists of his time to attempt it. After many trials they at last succeeded, but it was in following the method of Moses; by first of all reducing the gold into small parts by means of fire, and then pounding it in a mortar with water, till it was so far dissolved as to become potable. This fact is unquestionable; and probably Moses, who was instructed in all the learning of the Egyptians, became acquainted with the method from that ancient and erudite people, from whom the most eminent philosophers of Greece derived their knowledge.
Mummies.
The art of embalming bodies, and of preserving them for many ages, never could have been carried so far as it was by the Egyptians, without the greatest skill in chemistry. Yet all the essays to restore it have proved ineffectual; reiterated analyses of mummies have failed to discover the ingredients of which they were composed. There were also, in those mummies of Egypt, many things besides, which fall within the verge of chemistry: such as their gilding,[507] so very fresh, as if it were but of fifty years’ standing; and their stained silk, vivid in its colours at the end of three thousand years. In the British Museum there is a mummy covered all over with fillets of granulated glass, various in colour, which shows that at that time they understood not only the making of glass, but could paint it to their liking. These glass ornaments are tinged with the same colours, and set off in the same taste, as the dyes in which almost all other mummies are painted.
Painting on Cloth.
Their manner of painting upon linen was, by first drawing upon it the outlines of the design, and then filling each compartment of it with different sorts of gums, proper to absorb the various colours; so that none of them could be distinguished from the whiteness of the cloth. They then dipped it for a moment in a caldron full of boiling liquor prepared for the purpose; and drew it thence, painted in all the colours they intended. These colours neither decayed by time, nor moved in the washing; the caustic impregnating the liquor wherein it was dipped, having penetrated and fixed every colour intimately through the whole contexture of the cloth.
Imitation of Precious Stones.
The preceding instance is sufficient to prove that chemistry had made great progress among the Egyptians. History affords similar instances of extraordinary attainment by this wonderful people, who were so ingenious and industrious, that even their lame, blind, and maimed were in constant employment. With all this, they were so noble-minded, as to inscribe their discoveries in the arts and sciences upon pillars reared in holy places, in order to omit nothing that might contribute to the public utility. The emperor Adrian attests this in a letter to the consul Servianus, upon presenting him with three curious cups of glass, which, like a pigeon’s neck, reflected, on whatever side they were viewed, a variety of colours, representing those of the precious stone called obsidianum, and which some commentators have imagined to be cat’s-eye, and others the opal. In this art of imitating precious stones, the Greeks, who derived their knowledge from the Egyptians, were also very skilful. They could give to a composition of crystal all the different tints of any precious stone they wanted to imitate. They remarkably excelled in an exact imitation of the ruby, the hyacinth, the emerald, and the sapphire.
Gold--Nitre--Artificial Hatching, &c.
Diodorus Siculus says, that some of the Egyptian kings had the art of extracting gold from a sort of white marble. Strabo reports their manner of preparing nitre, and mentions the considerable number of mortars of granite, for chemical purposes, that were to be seen in his time at Memphis. They likewise, by artificial means, hatched the eggs of hens, geese, and other fowls, at all seasons.
Medical Chemistry.
Egyptian pharmacy depended much upon chemistry; witness their extracted oils, and their preparations of opium, for alleviating acute pains, or relieving the mind from melancholy thoughts. Homer introduces Helen as ministering to Telemachus a medical preparation of this kind. They also made a composition or preparation of clay or fuller’s earth, adapted to the relief of many disorders, particularly where it was requisite to render the fleshy parts dry, as in dropsy, &c. They had different methods of composing salts, nitre, and alum, sal cyrenaïc or ammoniac, so called from being found in the environs of the temple of Jupiter Ammon. They made use of the litharge of silver, the rust of iron, and calcined alum, in the cure of ulcers, cuts, boils, defluctions of the eyes, pains of the head, &c.; and of pitch against the bite of serpents. They successfully applied caustics. They knew every different way of preparing plants, or herbs, or grain, whether for medicine or beverage. Beer, in particular, had its origin among them. Their unguents were of the highest estimation, and most lasting; and their use of remedies, taken from metallic substances, is so manifest in the writings of Pliny and Dioscorides, that it would be needless, and indeed tedious, to enter upon them. The latter especially often mentions their metallic preparations of burnt lead, ceruse, verdigrise, and burnt antimony, for plasters and other external applications.
All these chemical preparations the Egyptians were acquainted with in their pharmacy. The subsequent practice of the Greeks and Romans presents a field too vast to be observed on. Hippocrates, the contemporary and friend of Democritus, was remarkably assiduous in the cultivation of chemistry. He not only understood its general principles, but was an adept in many of its most useful parts. Galen knew that the energy of fire might be applied to many useful purposes; and that, by the instrumentality of it, many secrets in nature were to be discovered, which otherwise must for ever lie hid; and he instances this in several places of his works. Dioscorides has transmitted to us many of the mineral operations of the ancients, and in particular that of extracting quicksilver from cinnabar; which is, in effect, an exact description of distillation.
[507] The ancients also understood gilding with beaten, or water gold.--Æs inaurari argento vivo, legitimum erat. Plin. Hist. Natur. lib. xxxiii. c. 3. Vitruv. lib. vii. c. 8.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORIE.
No. II.
THE WIZARD’S CAVE.
“Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. And when they shewed me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries, As any mortal body, hearing it, Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.”
Titus Andronicus.
Young Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight, Far fam’d for his valour in border-fight, Sat prattling so sweet on his mother’s knee, As his arms twin’d her neck of pure ivory.
Now tell me, dear mother, young Walter said, Some feat to be done by the bow or the blade, Where foe may be quell’d or some charm be undone; Or lady, or treasure, or fame may be won.
The lady, she gaz’d on her war-born child, And smooth’d down his ringlets, and kiss’d him, and smil’d; And she told him high deeds of the Percy brave, Where the lance e’er could pierce, or the helm-plume wave.
And she told wild tales, all of magic spell, Where treasures were hidden in mountain or dell; Where wizards, for ages, kept beauty in thrall ’Neath the mould’ring damp of their dank donjon wall.
------But list thee, my Walter, by Tinmouthe’s towers grey, Where chant the cowl’d monks all by night and by day; In a cavern of rock scoop’d under the sea, Lye treasures in keeping of Sorcery.
It avails not the Cross, ever sainted and true, It avails not the pray’rs of the prior Sir Hugh, It avails not, O dread! Holy Virgin’s care, Great treasure long held by dark Sathan is there.
Far, far ’neath the sea, in a deep rocky cell, Bound down by the chains of the strongest spell, Lies the key of gold countless as sands on the shore, And there it will rest ’till old time is no more.
Nay, say not so, mother, can heart that is bold Not win from the fiend all this ill-gotten gold? Can no lion-soul’d knight, with his harness true, Do more than cowl’d monks with their beads e’er can do?
Now hush thee young Walter, how like to thy sire! Thy heart is too reckless, thine eye full of fire: When reason with courage can help thee in need, I will tell how the treasure from spell may be freed.
Full many a long summer with scented breath, Saw the flowers blossom wild on the north mountain heath; And the fleetest in chase and the stoutest in fight, Grew young Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight.
Full many a long winter of sleet and of snow, Swept through the cold valleys where pines only grow; But heedless of sleet, snow, or howling blast, Young Walter e’er brav’d them, the first and the last.
Who is that young knight in the Percy’s band? Who wieldeth the falchion with master hand? Who strideth the war-steed in border fight? ----’Tis Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight!
Thy promise, dear mother, I claim from thee now, When my reason can act with my blade and my bow; But the lady she wept o’er bold Walter her son, For peril is great where renown can be won.
And the lady she told what to brave knights befell, Who reckless of life sought the dark treasure cell; Who failing to conquer the fiends of the cave, For ever must dwell ’neath the green ocean wave.
No tears the bold bent of young Walter could turn, And he laugh’d at her fears, as in veriest scorn-- ---- Then prepare thy good harness, my bonny brave son, Prepare for thy task on the eve of Saint John.
O loud was the green ocean’s howling din, When the eve of Saint John was usher’d in: And the shrieks of the sea-gulls, high whirling in air, Spread far o’er the land like the screams of despair.
The monks at their vespers sing loud and shrill, But the gusts of the north wind are louder still And the hymn to the Virgin is lost in the roar Of the billows that foam on the whiten’d shore.
Deep sinks the mail’d heel of the knight in the sand, As he seeks the dark cell, arm’d with basnet and brand; And clank rings the steel of his aventayle bright, As he springs up the rocks in the darkness of night.
His plume it is raven and waves o’er his crest, And quails not the heart-blood that flows in his breast: Unblenched his proud eye that shines calm and serene, And floats in the storm his bright mantel of green.
Now leaping, now swarving the slipp’ry steep, One spring and the knight gains the first cavern keep; The lightnings flash round him with madd’ning glare, And the thunderbolts hiss through the midnight air.
Down deep in the rock winds the pathway drear, And the yells of the spirits seem near and more near, And the flames from their eye-balls burn ghastly blue As they dance round the knight with a wild halloo.
Fierce dragons with scales of bright burnished brass, Stand belching red fire where the warrior must pass; But rushes he on with his brand and his shield, And with loud shrieks of laughter they vanish and yield.
Huge hell-dogs come baying with murd’rous notes, Sulphureous flames in their gaping throats; And they spring to, but shrinks not, brave Walter the Knight, And again all is sunk in the darkness of night.
Still down winds the warrior in pathway of stone, Now menac’d with spirits, now dark and alone; Till far in the gloom of the murky air A pond’rous lamp sheds unearthly glare.
Then eager the knight presses on to the flame, Holy mother!--Why shudders his stalwart frame? A wide chasm opes ’neath his wond’ring view, And now what availeth his falchion true.
Loudly the caverns with laughter ring, And the eyeless spectres forward spring: Now shrive thee young Walter, one moment of fear, And thy doom is to dwell ’neath the ocean drear.
One instant Sir Walter looks down from the brink Of the bottomless chasm, then ceases to shrink; Doffs hauberk and basnet, full fearless and fast, And darts like an eagle the hell-gulf past.
Forefend thee, good knight, but the demon fell Now rises to crush thee from nethermost hell; And monsters most horrible hiss thee around, And coil round thy limbs from the slimy ground.
A noise, as if worlds in dire conflict crash, Is heard ’mid the vast ocean’s billowy splash; But it quails not the heart of Sir Robert’s brave son, He will conquer the fiend on the eve of Saint John.
He seizes the bugle with golden chain, To sound it aloud once, twice, and again; It turns to a snake in his startled grasp, And its mouthpiece is arm’d with the sting of the asp.
In vain is hell’s rage, strike fierce as it may The Wizard well knows ’tis the end of his sway; For the bugle is fill’d with the warrior’s breath, And thrice sounded loud in the caverns of death.
The magic cock crows from a brazen bill, And it shakes its broad wings, as it shouts so shrill And down sinks in lightning the demon array, And the gates of the cavern in thunder give way.
Twelve pillars of jasper their columns uprear, Twelve stately pillars of crystal clear, With topaz and amethyst, sparkles the floor, And the bright beryls stud the thick golden door.
Twelve golden lamps, from the fretted doom, Shed a radiant light through the cavern gloom, Twelve altars of onyx their incense fling Round the jewell’d throne of an eastern king.
It may not be sung what treasures were seen, Gold heap’d upon gold, and emeralds green, And diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires untold, Rewarded the courage of Walter the Bold.
A hundred strong castles, a hundred domains, With far spreading forests and wide flowery plains, Claim one for their lord, fairly purchas’d by right, Hight Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight.
* * * * *
The tradition of the “Wizard’s Cave” is as familiar to the inhabitants and visitors of Tynemouth, as “household words.” Daily, during the summer season, even fair damsels are seen risking their slender necks, to ascertain, by adventurous exploration, whether young Walter the knight might not, in his hurry, have passed over some of the treasures of the cave: but alas! Time on this, as on other things, has laid his heavy hand; for the falling in of the rock and earth, and peradventure the machinations of the discomfited “spirits,” have, one or both, stopped up the dark passage of the cavern at the depth of ten or twelve feet. The entrance of the cave, now well known by the name of “Jingling Geordie’s Hole,” is partly formed by the solid rock and partly by masonry, and can be reached with some little danger about half way up the precipitous cliff on which Tynemouth castle and priory stand. It commands a beautiful haven, or sandy bay, on the north of Tynemouth promontory, badly sheltered on both sides by fearful beds of black rocks, on which the ocean beats with a perpetual murmur.
Αλφα
London, Dec. 4, 1827.
* * * * *
PERSONS OF DISTINCTION.
UPRIGHTNESS IN DEATH.
Of German pride we have the following extraordinary anecdote:--A German lord left orders in his will not to be interred, but that he might be enclosed upright in a pillar, which he had ordered to be hollowed, and fastened to a post in the parish, in order to prevent any peasant or slave from walking over his body.
TAKING A LIBERTY.
The most singular instance of British pride is related of a man, known in his time by the name of the “Proud Duke of Somerset.” This pillar of “the Corinthian capital of polished society” married a second wife. One day, with an affectionate ease, she suddenly threw her arm round his neck, and fondly saluted him. “Madam,” said the unmanly peer, “my first wife was a Percy, and she would not have taken such a liberty.”
ROYAL DINNER TIME.
The kham of the Tartars, who had not a house to dwell in, who subsisted by rapine, and lived on mare’s milk and horse-flesh, every day after his repast, caused a herald to proclaim, “That the kham having dined, all other potentates, princes, and great men of the earth, might go to dinner.”
SELF-ESTEEM.
Some Frenchmen, who had landed on the coast of Guinea, found a negro prince seated under a tree, on a block of wood for his throne, and three or four negroes, armed with wooden pikes, for his guards. His sable majesty anxiously inquired, “Do they talk much of me in France?”
GUINEA SOVEREIGNS.
The different tribes on the coast of Guinea have each their king, whose power is not greater than that of the negro prince mentioned in the preceding anecdote. These monarchs often name themselves after ours, or adopt the titles of great men, whose exploits they have heard of.
In the year 1743, there was among them a “King William,” whose august spouse called herself “Queen Anne.” There was another who styled himself the “Duke of Marlborough.”
This king William was a little Cæsar. For twenty years he had carried on a war against one Martin, who had dared to attempt to become his equal. At length, after a famous and decisive general engagement, wherein William lost three men, and his rival five, Martin made overtures for a cessation of hostilities, which was agreed to, on the following conditions:
1. That Martin should renounce the title of king, and assume that of captain.
2. That captain Martin should never more put on stockings or slippers when he went on board European ships, but that this brilliant distinction should thenceforth solely belong to king William.
3. That captain Martin should give the conqueror his most handsome daughter in marriage.
In pursuance of this glorious treaty, the nuptials were solemnized, and king William went on board a Danish ship in stockings and slippers, where he bought silk to make a robe for his queen, and a grenadier’s cap for her majesty’s headdress. Captain Martin paid a visit of ceremony to his royal daughter on occasion of her finery, and declared she never appeared so handsome before. This wedding ended a feud, which had divided the sable tribe into combatants as sanguinary and ferocious as the partisans of the white and red rose in England.
TITLES.
Until the reign of Constantine, the title of “Illustrious” was never given but to those whose reputation was splendid in arms or in letters. Suetonius wrote an account of those who had possessed this title. As it was then bestowed, a moderate book was sufficient to contain their names; nor was it continued to the descendants of those on whom it had been conferred. From the time of Constantine it became very common, and every son of a prince was “illustrious.”
Towards the decline of the Roman empire the emperors styled themselves “divinities!” In 404, Arcadius and Honorius issued the following decree:--
“Let the officers of the palace be warned to abstain from frequenting tumultuous meetings; and those who, instigated by a sacrilegious temerity, dare to oppose the authority of our divinity, shall be deprived of their employments, and their estates confiscated.” The letters of these emperors were called “holy.” When their sons spoke of them, they called them--“Their father of divine memory;” or “Their divine father.” They called their own laws “oracles,” and “celestial oracles.” Their subjects addressed them by the titles of “Your Perpetuity, Your Eternity.” A law of Theodore the Great ordains thus--“If any magistrate, after having concluded a public work, put his name rather than that of Our Perpetuity, let him be judged guilty of high treason.”
De Meunier observes, that the titles which some chiefs assume are not always honourable in themselves, but it is sufficient if the people respect them. The king of Quiterva calls himself the “Great Lion;” and for this reason lions are there so much respected, that it is not permitted to kill them, except at royal huntings.
The principal officers of the empire of Mexico were distinguished by the odd titles of “Princes of unerring javelins;” “Hackers of men;” and “Drinkers of blood.”
The king of Monomotapa, surrounded by musicians and poets, is adulated by such refined flatteries, as “Lord of the Sun and Moon;” “Great Magician;” and “Great Thief!”
The king of Arracan assumes the title of “Emperor of Arracan; Possessor of the White Elephant, and the two Ear-rings, and in virtue of this possession, legitimate heir of Pegu and Brama, Lord of the twelve provinces of Bengal; and of the twelve Kings who place their heads under his feet.”
His majesty of Ava, when he writes to a foreign sovereign, calls himself--“The King of Kings, whom all others should obey; the Cause of the Preservation of all Animals; the Regulator of the Seasons; the Absolute Master of the Ebb and Flow of the Sea; Brother to the Sun; and King of the Four and Twenty Umbrellas.” These umbrellas are always carried before him as a mark of his dignity.
The titles of the king of Achem are singular and voluminous. These are a few of the most striking:--“Sovereign of the Universe, whose body is luminous as the sun; whom God created to be as accomplished as is the moon at her plenitude; whose eye glitters like the northern star; a King as spiritual as a ball is round--who when he rises shades all his people--from under whose feet a sweet odour is wafted, &c. &c.”
Formerly (says Houssaie) the title of “Highness” was only given to kings. It was conferred on Ferdinand, king of Arragon, and his queen Isabella, of Castile. Charles V. was the first who took that of “Majesty;” not in quality of king of Spain, but as emperor.
Our English kings were apostrophized by the title of “Your Grace.” Henry VIII. was the first who assumed the title of “Highness,” and at length “Majesty.” Francis I. began to give him this last title, in their interview in the year 1520. Our first “Sacred Majesty” was our “Most dread Sovereign, His Highness, the Most High and Mighty Prince, James I.”
THE GREAT TURK.
This designation of the sovereign of the Ottoman empire was not conferred, as some have imagined, to distinguish him from his subjects. Mahomet II. was the first Turkish emperor on whom the Christians bestowed the title of “The Great Turk.” The distinction was not in consequence of his noble deeds, but from the vast extent of his territories, in comparison of those of the sultan of Iconia, or Cappadocia, his contemporary, who was distinguished by the title of “The Little Turk.” After the taking of Constantinople, Mahomet II. deprived “The Little Turk” of his dominions, yet he still preserved the title of “The Great Turk,” though the propriety of it was destroyed by the event.
* * * * *
AN INSCRIPTION,
Said to have been dug out of the Ruins of a Palace at Rome.
Under this monument repose the ashes of DOMITIAN, the last of the Cæsars, the fourth scourge of Rome; a tyrant, no less deliberate than Tiberius, no less capricious than Caligula, and no less outrageous than Nero.
When satiated with issuing edicts to spill human blood, he found an amusement in stabbing flies with a bodkin.
His reign, though undisturbed by war, occasioned no less calamity to his country than would have happened from the loss of twenty battles.
He was magnificent from vanity, affable from avarice, and implacable from cowardice.
He flattered incessantly the soldiery, who governed him, and detested the senate, who caressed him.
He insulted his country by his laws, heaven by his impiety, and nature by his pleasures.
While living, he was deified; and the assassins alone, whom his empress had sent to despatch him, could convince him of his mortality.
This monster governed during fifteen years; yet the administration of Titus, the delight of humankind, was confined to two.
Ye passengers! who read this inscription, blaspheme not the Gods!
* * * * *
DICKEY FLETCHER.
To the Editor.
I hastily transcribe the following, originally written for the Hull Advertiser, and printed in that paper for September 27, 1827, and subsequently in some of the London and provincial newspapers.
On Saturday, September 22, 1827, the inhabitants and visitants of Bridlington Quay, by a fatal accident, were suddenly deprived of the services of Richard Fletcher, the facetious and well-known bellman of that place, whose singular appearance, rhyming propensity, peculiar manner of pronunciation, and drawling and general originality, have so long been a source of amusement. In the forenoon of the above-mentioned day he was following his usual vocation, with that accustomed gaiety and cheerfulness for which he was remarkable, when having occasion to call at the lodging-house of Mr. Gray, he accidentally fell down the steps of a cellar-kitchen and broke his neck. The death of “poor Dickey,” and the shocking manner in which it occurred, excited much commiseration. The deceased was seventy-nine years of age, and left a widow at the age of eighty-nine, the relict of a former bellman, to whom he had been united about four years--during which period the antiquated pair formed a striking pattern of attachment. Dickey was a freeman of Hull, and the manner in which he made up his mind to vote for a candidate is deserving of mention. In the event of a contested election he was uniformly for the “third man;” as, he would say, “the other two would not think of looking after me, but for him.”
A specimen of Dickey’s rhyming eccentricities appeared in the Hull Advertiser of August 5th, 1825; a copy of which, and the paragraph accompanying it, is here given:--
“The company at Bridlington Quay are often highly amused by that eccentric little creature, yclep’d ‘the bellman.’ He is quite a lion;--being a poet as well as a crier. His poetry is uncommonly original, and if his pronunciation, when improvising, be not so too, it is uncommonly Yorkshire, which is as good. The following lines are a very faithful imitation of the ‘cry’ this singular-looking being drawled forth on Saturday morning, July 30:--
‘Tack’n oop this forenoon a pod noarth sans Two keyes, wich I ev i’ my ans;-- Wo-hever as lost ’um mus coom te mea, An they sal ev ’um agean an we can agrea.’”
“Dickey’s late marriage was one of the ‘largest and the funniest’ known in Bridlington for a long time; a barouche and pair were gratuitously provided on the occasion, as well as a wedding-dinner and other et cæteras. Since ‘they twain became one flesh,’ Dickey has been very proud of walking abroad, at fair times and public occasions, with ‘his better part,’ when they generally formed objects of considerable attraction to those to whom they were not particularly known.”
T. C.
Bridlington, October, 1827.
* * * * *
ANOTHER ODD SIGN.[508]
At Wold Newton, near Bridlington, there is a public-house with the sign of a crooked billet, and the following lines on an angular board:--
First side
When this comical stick grew in the wood Our ALE was fresh and very good, Step in and taste, O do make haste, For if you don’t ’twill surely waste.
Second side.
When you have view’d the other side, Come read this too before you ride; And now to end we’ll let it pass, Step in, kind friends, and take a GLASS.
Bridlington.
T. C.
[508] See Table Book, vol. i. p. 636.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
TO FANNY.
No, Fanny, no, it may not be! Though parting break my heart in twain, This hour I go, by many a sea Divided--ne’er we meet again.
I love thee; and that look of thine, That tear upon thy pallid cheek, Assures me that I now resign What long it was my joy to seek.
Oh! once it was my happiest dream, My only hope, my fondest prayer; ’Tis gone, and like a meteor beam Hath past, and left me to despair.
Yet may you still of joy partake, Nor find like me those hopes decay, Which ever, like a desert lake, Attract the sight to fade away.
I could not brook to see that eye, So full of life, so radiant now, I could not see its lustre die, And time’s cold hand deface thy brow--
And death will come, or soon or late, (I could not brook to know that hour,) But, if I do not learn thy fate, I’ll think thou ne’er canst feel his pow’r.
Yes! I will fly! though years may roll, And other thoughts may love estrange, ’Twill give some pleasure to my soul To know I cannot see thee change.
Then fare thee well, death cannot bring One hour of anguish more to me; Since I have felt the only sting He e’er could give, in leaving thee.
S.
* * * * *
THE PLEASURES OF ILLUSION.
To the Editor.
Sir,--I am a person unable to reckon upon the certain receipt of sixpence per annum, and yet I enjoy all the pleasures this sublunary world can afford. My assertion may startle, but its truth will be apparent when I declare myself a visionary, or, what is called by the world, “a castle builder.” Many would denounce my profession as useless and unprofitable; but the object constantly desired and incessantly pursued by mankind is happiness, which they find as evanescent and delusive as the silver of the moon upon the waters. Most men attach to certain states of existence every pleasure that the earth can bestow. Some enter these by laborious and careful steps, but find them, upon examination, devoid of the charms which their enthusiastic imaginations had painted. Others, more ardent and less calculating, rapidly ascend towards the object of their wishes, and when their hands are stretched forth to grasp it they lose their high footing by an incautious step, and fall into an abyss of despondence and are lost for ever. How different a fate is mine! I have been the conqueror of nations, without feeling a pang at the recollection of the blood spilled in raising me to my exalted situation. I have been the idol and defender of my country, without suffering the anxieties of a statesman. I have obtained the affections of an amiable girl, without enduring the solicitudes of a protracted courtship. In fact, I possess every earthly pleasure, without any of the pains of endeavouring to obtain them. True it is, that the visions I create are easily dispelled, but this is a source of gratification rather than regret. When glutted with conquest, I sink into love; and on these failing to charm me, I enter upon scenes more congenial to the desires with which I feel myself inspired. Every wish that I conceive is instantly gratified, and in a moment I possess that which many devote their whole lives to obtain. Surely the existence I lead is an enviable one; yet many calling themselves my friends (and I believe them to be such) would wish me to think otherwise. Sometimes, to gratify their desires, I have endeavoured to break the fairy spells that bind me; but when I dissipate the mist in which I am almost constantly surrounded, the scenes of misery that present themselves to my view have such an effect upon my senses, that on returning to my peculiar regions they appear doubly delightful, from being contrasted by those of the real world.
I have obtruded this epistle on your notice, in vindication of a practice which has been deprecated by many; solely, as I believe, from their powers of imagination being unable to lead them into the abodes where I so happily dwell. Should you think it unworthy a place in your miscellany, its rejection will not occasion me a moment’s mortification, as I already possess a reputation for literary acquirements, far surpassing any which has been given to the most celebrated writers that have flourished since the creation of your miserable world.
November 6, 1827.
T. T. B.
* * * * *
OLD MACARONIC POEM.
To the Editor.
Sir,--I am a literary lounger, and diurnally amuse myself, during about four hours, in poring over old poetical MSS. in the British Museum: the result of yesterday’s idle labours was the accompanying transcript from a macaronic drinking song, which appears to me a very curious amalgamation of jollity and devotion. If you coincide in this opinion, perhaps you will honour its unknown author by inserting it in your delightful miscellany, which, like the diving bell, restores to the world many interesting relics of antiquity, and rescues them from eternal oblivion.
I am, sir, your obedient servant
and constant reader,
LE FLANEUR.
Reading Room,
Brit. Mus. Nov. 22, 1827.
FROM THE COTTON MS. VESPASIAN A.XXV.
1.
There is no tre that growe On earthe, that I do knowe, More worthie praise I trowe, Than is the vyne, Whos grapes, as ye may rede, Their licoure forthe dothe shede, Wherof is made indede All our good wyne. And wyne, ye maye trust me, Cause the men for to be Merie, for so ye see His nature is; Then put asyde all wrathe, For David showde us hathe, Vinum letificat Cor hominis.
2.
Wyne taken with excesse, As Scripture dothe expresse, Cause the great hevines Unto the mynde: But theie that take pleasure To drinke it with measure, No doute a great treasure They shall it finde. Then voide you all sadnes, Drinke your wyne with gladnes, To take thought is madnes, And marke well this; And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
3.
How bringe ye that to pas Cordis Jucunditas, Is now and ever was The lyfe of man. Sithe that mirthe hathe no peare, Then let us make good cheare, And be you merie heare, While that ye can; And drinke well of this wyne, While it is good and fyne, And showe some outwarde syne Of joye and blisse; Expell from you all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
4.
This thinge full well ye ken, Hevines dulleth men, But take this medicien then, Where’er ye come: Refreshe yourself therewith. For it was said long sithe, That vinum acuit Ingenium. Then give not a chery For sider nor perrye, Wyne maketh man merie. Ye knowe well this; And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
5.
In hope to have release From all our hevines, And mirthe for to encrease Sum dele the more, Pulsemus organa. Simul cum cithara, Vinum et musica Vegetabit cor. But sorowe, care, and strife Shortnethe the days of life, Bothe of man and of wyfe It will not mis; Then put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
6.
A merie herte in cage Makethe a lustie age, As telleth us the sage, Ever for the noynes; Because we should delight In mirthe, bothe daye and night, He saith an hevie fright Driethe up the bones. Wherfor, let us alwaye Rejoice in God, I saye, Our mirthe cannot decaye If we do this, And put asyde all wrathe, &c. ut supra.
7.
Nowe ye that be presente, Laud God Omnipotent, That hathe us given and sent Our dalie foode, When thorowe sinne we’re slaine, He sent his son againe, Us to redeeme from paine By his sweete bloode, And he is the trewe vyne, From whome distill’d the wyne, That boughte your soules and myne, You knowe well this: Then put asyde all wrathe, For David showde us hathe Vinum letificat Cor hominis.
* * * * *
ANTY BRIGNAL AND THE BEGGING QUAKER.
For the Table Book.
A few years ago a stout old man, with long grey hair, and dressed in the habit of the Society of Friends, was seen begging in the streets of Durham. The inhabitants, attracted by the novelty of a “begging Quaker,” thronged about him, and several questioned him as to his residence, &c. Amongst them was “Anty Brignal,” the police-officer, who told him to go about his business, or he would put him in the kitty[509] “for an imposteror.” “Who ever heard,” said Anthony, “of a begging Quaker?” “But,” said the mendicant, while tears flowed adown his face, “thou knowest, friend, there be bad Quakers as well as good ones; and, I confess to thee, I have been a bad one. My name is John Taylor; I was in the hosiery business at N----, and through drunkenness have become a bankrupt. The society have turned me out, my friends have deserted me. I have no one in the world to help me but my daughter, who lives in Edinburgh, and I am now on my way thither. Thou seest, friend, why I beg; it is to get a little money to help me on my way: be merciful, as thou hopest for mercy.” “Come, come,” said the officer, “it won’t do, you know; there’s not a word of truth in it; ’tis all false. Did not I see you drunk at Nevill’s Cross (a public-house of that name) the other night?” “No, friend,” said the man of unsteady habits, “thou didst not see me drunk there, but I was there, and saw thee drunk; and thou knowest when a man is drunk he thinks every body else so!” This was a poser for the police-officer. The crowd laughed, and “Anty Brignal” slunk away from their derision, while money fell plentifully into the extended hat of the disowned quaker.
T. Q. M.
[509] So is the house of correction called in Durham.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
THE ORPHANS.
WRITTEN ON SEEING A SMALL LITHOGRAPHIC PRINT OF TWO FEMALE ORPHAN CHILDREN.
1.
Like two fair flowers that grow in some lone spot, Bent by the breeze that wafts their fragrance round-- Pale, mild, and lovely; but by all forgot,-- They droop neglected on the dewy ground.
2.
Thus left alone, without a friend or guide To cheer them, through life’s drear and rugged way Stand these two pensive mourners side by side, To sorrow keen, and early grief, a prey.
3.
Low in the grave, o’er which the cypress spreads Its gloomy shade, in death their parents sleep; Unconscious now they rest their weary heads, Nor hear their children sigh, nor see them weep.
4.
And see, a tear-drop gems the younger’s eye, While struggling from its coral cell to start; Oh, how that pearl of sensibility In silence pleads to every feeling heart.
5.
Not Niobe, when doom’d by cruel fate To weep for ever in a crystal shower, Could claim more pity for her hapless state, Than does, for you, that drop of magic power.
6.
Breathes there on earth, of human form possest, One who would in those bosoms plant a thorn, And banish thence the halcyon’s tranquil nest, While they its loss in secret anguish mourn?
7.
Perish the wretch! who with deceitful wile Forsaken innocence would lead astray, And round her like a treach’rous serpent coil, And having stung, relentless haste away.
8.
May you the orphan’s friend find ever near To guard you safe, and strew your path with flowers. May hope’s bright sun your gloomy morning cheer, And shine in splendour on your evening hours.
R. B.
Sept. 1827.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
JACK THE VIPER.
This is an odd name for a man, who does not bear the appearance of a viper, or “a snake in the grass.” He is a rough sort of fellow, has been at Waterloo, but did not obtain a medal. He, nevertheless, carries the hue of a triumphant soldier, wears an honest sunburnt face, and might be trusted with his majesty’s great seal, or that of another description in the British Museum. He is a lover of ringing bells and swine; but without regular employment. A singular piece of human construction, lone, and erratic in his love of nature. A shepherd lies down at ease by the sides of his flocks and fountains, listens to the plaints of injured birds, the voice of water and the music of skies, and dreams away his existence, years of youth, manhood, and old age. Jack is more tranquil even than the shepherd. He creeps silently in woods and forests, and on retired hot banks, in search of serpentine amusement--he is a viper catcher. Strange that creatures, generally feared and shunned by mankind, should win Jack’s attention and sympathy, Yet, true it is, that Jack regards them as the living beauties of solitude, the lovely but startling inhabitants of luxuriant spots in the sultry summer. Were we to look round us, in the haunts of men, we could, perhaps, discover beings as fearful and awakening. Jack has travelled, seen the world, and profited by his travels; for he has learned to be contented. He is not entirely idle, nor wholly industrious. If he can get a crust sufficient for the day, he leaves the evil if it should visit him. The first time I saw him was in the high noon of a scorching day, at an inn in Laytonstone. He came in while a sudden storm descended, and a rainbow of exquisite majesty vaulted the earth. Sitting down at a table, he beckoned the hostess for his beer, and conversed freely with his acquaintance. By his arch replies I found that I was in company with an original--a man that might stretch forth his arm in the wilderness without fear, and, like Paul, grasp an adder without harm. He playfully entwined his fingers with their coils and curled crests, and played with their forked tongues. He had unbuttoned his waistcoat, and as dexterously as a fish-woman handles her eels, let out several snakes and adders, warmed by his breast, and spread them on the table. He took off his hat, and others of different sizes and lengths twisted before me; some of them, when he unbosomed his shirt, returned to the genial temperature of his skin; some curled round the legs of the table, and others rose in a defensive attitude. He irritated and humoured them, to express either pleasure or pain at his will. Some were purchased by individuals, and Jack pocketed his gain, observing, “a frog, or mouse, occasionally, is enough for a snake’s satisfaction.”
The “Naturalist’s Cabinet” says, that “in the presence of the grand duke of Tuscany, while the philosophers were making elaborate dissertations on the danger of the poison of vipers, taken inwardly, a viper catcher, who happened to be present, requested that a quantity of it might be put into a vessel; and then, with the utmost confidence, and to the astonishment of the whole company, he drank it off. Every one expected the man instantly to drop down dead; but they soon perceived their mistake, and found that, taken inwardly, the poison was as harmless as water.”
William Oliver, a viper catcher at Bath, was the first who discovered that, by the application of olive oil, the bite of the viper is effectually cured. On the 1st of June, 1735, he suffered himself to be bitten by an old black viper; and after enduring all the agonising symptoms of approaching death, by using olive oil, he perfectly recovered.
Viper’s flesh was formerly esteemed for its medicinal virtues, and its salt was thought to exceed every other animal product, in giving vigour to a languid constitution.
August, 1827.
----
* * * * *
A SKETCH IN SPA FIELDS.
To the Editor.
Sir,--Allow me to draw your attention to a veteran, who in the Egyptian expedition lost his sight by the ophthalmy, and now asks alms of the passenger in the little avenue leading from Sadler’s Wells to Spa Fields, along the eastern side of the New River Head.
His figure, sir, would serve for a model of Belisarius, and even his manner of soliciting would be no disgrace to the Roman general. I am not expert at drawing portraits, yet will endeavour by two or three lines to give a slight conception of this. His present height is full six feet, but in his youth it must have been nearly two inches more; as the weight of about sixty-five years has occasioned a slight curvature of the spine. His limbs are large and muscular, his shoulders broad, his chest capacious, the lines of his countenance indicate intelligence; his motion is not graceful, for he appears to step without confidence, occasioned no doubt by his blindness.
Now, sir, give his head no other covering than a few very short grey hairs, and button him up close in the remains of a dragoon dress, and you have his likeness as exact as an unskilful artist can give it.
O.
N.B.--An old woman must lead him.
* * * * *
~Extracts~
FROM MY NOTE BOOK.
For the Table Book.
Moore, in his life of Sheridan, says, that “he (Sheridan) had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry; particularly to that sort which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted:” and quotes some dozen lines, entitled “My Trunk,” and addressed “To Anne,” wherein a lady is made to bewail the loss of her trunk, and rhymes her lamentation. The editor, in a note, says, “Some verses by general Fitzpatrick on lord Holland’s father, are the best specimen I know of this scherzo.” The general’s lines I have never seen, and it is probable they are only in MS.; but le Seigneur des Accords, in his Bizarrures, (ed. 1585, Paris, Richer, feuillet 27,) quotes sixty lines, rhyming on a very indecent word from “un certain hure contre les femmes,” composed by Drusac, “un Tolosain rimailleur imitant Marot;” and who is there stated to have composed 300 or 400 verses on the same subject, and to the same rhyme. And at feuillet 162 of the same work and edition, the Seigneur adduces two other remarkable instances of “difficult trifling in poetry.” Speaking of one of which, he says, “Vn Allemant nommé Petrus Porcius Porta, autrement Petrus Placentius, a fait un petit poëme laborieux le possible auquel il descrit PUGNAM PORCORUM en 350 vers ou environ, qui commencent tous par P, dont j’ai rapporté ces XVI suivas pour exemple, et pour contenter ceux qui ne l’ont pas veu.” The quotation referred to commences with
“Præcelsis Proauis Pulchrè Prognate Patrone,”
and concludes with
“Pingui Porcorū Pingendo Poemate Pugnam.”
The other instances adduced by the Seigneur of this laborious folly, is related also of a German, by name Christianus Pierius; who, says the author, “depuis peu de temps a fait un opuscule d’environ mille ou douze cēs vers, intitulé Christus Crucifixus, tous les mots duquel commencent par C.” Four lines are quoted; they are as follows:--
Currite Castalides Christi Comitante Camœnæ Concelabrature Cūctorum Carmine Certum Confugium Collapsorum Concurrite Cantus Concinnaturæ Celebres Celebresque Cothurnos.
I myself recollect seeing and copying at Notting Hill some lines written (I think) on the battle of Waterloo, (the copy of which I have however lost;) which, although short, were sufficiently curious. They were in an album belonging to the sister of a schoolfellow, (W. O. S.,) and, as far as I have ever seen, were unique in their species of the paronœmic genus. The first line began with “A,” and each subsequent one with a successive letter of the alphabet, and each word alliterated to the initial letter of the line where it was placed. The poem went through the whole of the alphabet, not even excepting X or Z, and must have required a world of Patience and Perseverance to Perfect.
* * * * *
Marot, christened Clement, the French poet, who is said, in a quotation from le Seigneur des Accords in the foregoing note, to have been imitated by Drusac, lived in the reign of Francis I., and was a Protestant. There is a portrait of him at page 161 of “Les Vrais Portraits des Hommes Illustres” of Théodore de Bèze, Geneva, 1581, whereto a short sketch of his life is attached; which says, that “par une admirable félicité d’esprit, sans aucune cognoissance des langues ni des sciences, il surpassa tous les poëtes qui l’auoient dévancé.” He was twice banished on account of his religion; and when in exile translated one-third of the Psalms into French verse. “Mais au reste,” says Théodore, “ayant passé presque toute sa vie à la suite de cour, (où la piété et l’honēsteté n’ōt guères d’audiance,) il ne se soucia pas beaucoup de réformer sa vie peu Chrétienne, ains se gouuernoit à sa manière accoutumée mesmes en sa vieillesse, et mourut en l’âge de 60 ans à Turin, où il s’estoit retiré sous la faueur du Lieutenant du Roi.” He was a Quercinois, having been born at Cahors, in Quercy.
The following lines were written after his death by Jodelle, who was famed for these “vers rapportez.”
Quercy, la Cour, le Piedmont, l’Univers Me fit, me tint, m’enterra, me cogneut, Quercy mon los, la cour tout mon temps eut. Piedmont mes os, et l’univers mes vers.
* * * * *
GUILDHALL.--Misson, in his “Mémoires et Observations faites par un Voyageur en Angleterre,” published anonymously at the Hague in 1698, under this head, accounts thus philologically for the name:--“Il est à croire que la grande salle étoit autrefois dorée, puisque le mot de Guild ou Gild-hall, signifie SALLE DOREE.” To do him justice, however, after quoting so ridiculous a passage, I must annex his note, as follows:--“D’autres disent que Guild est un ancien mot qui signifie incorporé: Guildhall; la salle des incorporez ou associez.”--p. 236.
* * * * *
Juliet was no doubt a delectable little creature, but, like most of the genus, she was but a flimsy metaphysician. “What’s in a name?” that depends now-a-days on the length or age of it. The question should be put to a Buckinghamshire meeting man, if one would desire to know the qualities of all the component parts of an Abraham or Absalom. In some parts of the country, people seem to think they have bilked the devil, and booked sure places in heaven for their children, if, at their christening, they get but a scripture name tacked to the urchins. “In proof whereof,” Esther, Aaron, and Shadrack Puddyfat, with master Moses Myrmidon, formed a blackberrying party that I fell in with a summer back near Botley, on the road between Chesham and Hemel Hempstead. At a farm-house in Bucks it is no uncommon sight for the twelve apostles to be seen tucking in greens and bacon, or for the tribes of Israel to be found drunk together in a pot-house. Some poor drunken-brained bigots would not accept even the free services of a ploughman, whose name was not known before the flood.
NOTE.--The names above seem so very ludicrous, that I have no doubt there will be many sceptics to the belief of their reality if this passage be printed; but I declare positively, on the word, honour, and faith of a man and a gentleman, that they are as true, real, and existent, as Thomas Tomkins, or any other the most usual and common place.
J. J. K.
* * * * *
WHIMSIES.
AN ESSAY ON THE UNDERSTANDING.
“Harry, I cannot think,” says Dick, “What makes my ancles grow so thick:” “You do not recollect,” says Harry, “How great a calf they have to carry.”
* * * * *
“OLD WESTMINSTER QUIBBLES.”
Toes.
A fellow did desire To warm at a fire His toes, before he went home; But the man said “No, If you put fire and toe Together, you will burn the room.”
B. C.
One did ask, why B Was put before C, And did much desire to know-- Why a man must be, Before he can see, And I think I have hit on it now.
The Red Nose.
A Man did surmise, That another man’s eyes Were both of a different frame; For if they had been matches, Then, alas! poor wretches, His nose would a set ’em in a flame.
* * * * *
“NEW WESTMINSTER QUIBBLES.”
The Soldier.
“There is one soldier less,” Exclaimed sister Bess, As a funeral passed by the door; Then said Mr. Brown, “I’ll bet you a crown, I’ll prove it is one soldier mort.”
Scilicet.
Why every silly cit Has pretensions to wit, You may learn if you listen to my ditty: The word scilicet In law means to wit, So citizens, by law, must be witty.
Vol. II.--52.
A young friend brings me from Ireland a couple of pipes, in common use among the labouring people in Dublin and Clonmel. Their shape and materials being wholly different from any in England, they are represented in the above engraving, which shows their exact size. The bowl part, formed of iron, like the socket of a candlestick, is inserted in a piece of mahogany carved, as here shown, in the shape of a violin, or a pair of bellows, or other whimsical form; and the mahogany is securely bound and ornamented with brass wire: to a small brass chain is attached a tin cover to the bowl. The tube is of dogwood, such as butchers’ skewers are made of, or of a similar hard wood; and, being movable, may be taken out for accommodation to the pocket, or renewal at pleasure. These pipes cost sixpence each.
The dudeen, or short pipe, the “little tube of magic power,” wherewith the Irish labourer amuses himself in England, is thus mentioned in a note on the “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,” by Mr. Crofton Croker:--“Dudeen signifies a little stump of a pipe. Small tobacco-pipes, of an ancient form, are frequently found in Ireland on digging or ploughing up the ground, particularly in the vicinity of those circular intrenchments, called Danish forts, which were more probably the villages or settlements of the native Irish. These pipes are believed by the peasantry to belong to the Cluricaunes, and when discovered are broken, or otherwise treated with indignity, as a kind of retort for the tricks which their supposed owners had played off.” Mr. Croker subjoins a sketch of one of these pipes, and adds, that “In the Anthologia Hibernica, vol i. p. 352, (Dublin, 1793,) there is a print of one, which was found at Brannockstown, county Kildare, sticking between the teeth of a human skull; and it is accompanied by a paper, which, on the authority of Herodotus, (lib. i. sec. 36,) Strabo, (lib. vii. 296,) Pomponius Mela, (2,) and Solinus, (c. 15,) goes to prove that the northern nations of Europe were acquainted with tobacco, or an herb of similar properties, and that they smoked it through small tubes--of course, long before the existence of America was known.”
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XLV.
FACETIÆ.
1.
Holding in Capite.
First Gent. ’Tis well known I am a Gentleman. My father was a man of £500 a year, and he held something in capite too.
Second Gent. So does my Lord something--
Foolish Lord. Nay, by my troth, what I hold in capite is worth little or nothing.
2.
Fool’s Experience.
Page. He that’s first a scholar, and next in love, the year after is either an arrant fool or a madman.
Master. How came your knavery by such experience?
Page. As fools do by news: somebody told me so, and I believe it.
3.
Modern Sybarite.
----softly, ye villains!--the rogues of chairmen have trundled me over some damn’d nutshell or other, that gave me such a jerk as has half murder’d me.
4.
Spare diet of Spaniards.
Spaniard. The air being thin and rarified generally provides us good stomachs.
Englishman. Aye, and the earth little or nothing to satisfy ’em with; I think a cabbage is a jewel among you.
Span. Why, truly a good cabbage is respected. But our people are often very luxurious, they abound very often.
Eng. O no such matter, faith, Spaniard! ’death, if they get but a piece of beef, they shall hang all the bones out, and write underneath Here hath been beef eaten, as if ’twere a miracle. And if they get but a lean hen, the feathers shall be spread before the door with greater pride than we our carpets at some princely solemnity.
5.
Foolish Form.
Servant (to my Lord Stately’s Gentleman Usher.) Sir, here’s your Lord’s footman come to tell you, your Lord’s hat is blown out of his hand.
Lord W. Why did not the footman take it up?
Usher. He durst not, my Lord; ’tis above him.
Lord W. Where? a’top of the chimney?
Usher. Above his office, my Lord.
Lord W. How does this fool, for want of solid greatness, swell with empty ceremony, and fortify himself with outworks! That a man must dig thro’ rubbish to come at an ass.
English Friar.
6.
Cast Books.
Waiting maid. I have a new Bible too; and when my Lady left her Practice of Piety, she gave it me.
Newcastle.
7.
Good at guessing
Nay, good Mr. Constable, you are e’en the luckiest at being wise that ever I knew.
Newcastle.
8.
Essays at Essays.
1. O eternal blockhead, did you never write Essays?
2. I did essay to write Essays, but I cannot say I writ Essays.
Newcastle.
9.
Hard words.
Indiscerptibility, and Essential Spissitude: words which, though I am no competent judge of, for want of languages, yet I fancy strongly ought to mean nothing.
Mrs. Afra Behn.
10.
Scandals to Atheism.
---- a late learned Doctor; who, though himself no great assertor of a Deity, yet was observed to be continually persuading this sort of men [the rakehelly blockheaded Infidels about town] of the necessity and truth of our religion; and being asked how he came to bestir himself so much this way, made answer, that it was because their ignorance and indiscreet debauch made them a Scandal to the Profession of Atheism.
Behn.
11.
Excuse for being afraid in a Storm.
Master. Courage! why what dost thou call courage? Hector himself would not have exchanged his ten years’ siege for our ten days’ storm at sea. A Storm! a hundred thousand fighting men are nothing to it; cities sack’d by fire, nothing. ’Tis a resistless coward, that attacks a man at disadvantage; an unaccountable magic, that first conjures down a man’s courage, and then plays the devil over him; and, in fine, it is a Storm!
Mate. Good lack, that it should be all these terrible things, and yet that we should outlive it!
Master. No god-a-mercy to our courages tho’, I tell you that now; but like an angry wench, when it had huffed and bluster’d itself weary, it lay still again.
Behn.
12.
Dutch Gallantry
Mate. What, beat a woman, Sir?
Master. ’Psha, all’s one for that; if I am provoked, anger will have its effects upon whomsoe’er it light: so said Van Tromp, when he took his Mistress a cuff on the ear for finding fault with an ill-fashioned leg he made her. I liked his humour well.
Behn.
13.
Dutchman.
---- sitting at home in the chimney corner, cursing the face of Duke de Alva upon the jugs, for laying an imposition on beer.
Behn.
14.
Rake at Church.
---- I shall know all, when I meet her in the chapel to-morrow. I am resolved to venture thither, tho’ I am afraid the dogs will bark me out again, and by that means let the congregation know how much I am a stranger to the place.
Durfey.
15.
Lying Traveller
You do not believe me then? the devil take me, if these home-bred fellows can be saved: they neither know nor believe half the creation.
Lacy.
16.
English Beau, contrasted with a French one.
---- a true-bred English Beau has indeed the powder, the essence, the toothpick, the snuff-box; and is as idle; but the fault is in the flesh--he has not the motion, and looks stiff under all this. Now a French Fop like a Poet, is born so, and would be known without clothes; it is in his eyes, his nose, his fingers, his elbows, his heels. They dance when they walk, and sing when they speak. We have nothing in that perfection as abroad; and our cuckolds, as well as our grapes, are but half ripened.
Burnaby.
17.
Fanciful Recipe, prescribed for sick Fancy.
The juice of a lemon that’s civil at seasons, Twelve dancing capers, ten lunatic reasons; Two dying notes of an ancient swan; Three sighs, a thousand years kept, if you can; Some scrapings of Gyges’s ring may pass, With the skin of a shadow caught in a glass; Six pennyworth of thoughts untold; The jelly of a star, before it be cold; One ounce of courtship from a country daughter; A grain of wit, and a quart of laughter.--
Boil these on the fire of Zeal (with some beech-coals, lest the vessel burst).--If you can get these ingredients, I will compound them for you. Then, when the patient is perfectly recovered, she shall be married in rich cloth of rainbow laced with sunbeams.
Strode.
18.
Beauties at Church.
Fair Women in Churches have as ill effect as fine Strangers in Grammar schools: for tho’ the boys keep on the humdrum still, yet none of ’em mind their lesson for looking about ’em.
Fane.
19.
Expedients.
I have observed the wisdom of these Moors: for some days since being invited by one of the chief Bashaws to dinner, after meat, sitting by a huge fire, and feeling his shins to burn, I requested him to pull back his chair, but he very understandingly sent for three or four masons, and removed the chimney.
Brome.
20.
Mayor of Queenborow, a Christian, giving orders for feasting Hengist, a Pagan King of Kent, who has invited himself to the Mayor’s table.
---- give charge the mutton come in all raw; the King of Kent is a Pagan, and must be served so. And let those officers, that seldom or never go to church, bring it in; it will be the better taken.
Middleton.
21.
Fat man’s device to get a dainty.
I have a privilege. I was at the tavern the other day; in the next room I smelt hot venison. I sent but a drawer to tell the company, “one in the house with a great belly longed for a corner,” and I had half a pasty sent me immediately.
Shirley.
22.
Miser’s Servant.
Friend. Camelion, how now, have you turned away your master?
Camelion. No; I sold my place. As I was thinking to run away, comes this fellow, and offers me a breakfast for my good will to speak to my master for him. I took him at his word, and resigned my office, and turned over my hunger to him immediately. Now I serve a man.
Shirley.
23.
Walking.
Fine Lady. I am glad I am come home, for I am even as weary with this walking; for God’s sake, whereabouts does the pleasure of walking lie? I swear I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I could ne’er find it.
T. Killegrew.
24.
Foolish Suitor.
Alderman. Save you, Sir. Suitor. You do not think me damn’d, Sir, that you bestow That salutation on me? Ald. Good, Sir, no. Whom would you speak with here? Suit. Sir, my discourse Points at one Alderman Covel. Ald. I am the party. Suit. I understand you have a daughter, is Of most unknown perfections. Ald. She is as Heaven made her-- Suit. She goes naked then; The tailor has no hand in her.
C. L.
* * * * *
~Stories~
OF THE
~Craven Dales.~
No. III.
He had been in Yorkshire dale Among the winding scars, Where deep and low the hamlets lie, Beneath a little patch of sky, And little patch of stars.--WORDSWORTH.
* * * * *
Proem.
In the summer of 1823 I was residing for a few days at a solitary inn amongst the hills of Craven. One afternoon I had planned an excursion to a neighbouring cave, but was prevented from going there by a heavy rain which had fallen during the whole of the day. I had no friends in the neighbourhood, and could not have procured at my inn any work worth the perusal. The library of my landlord was small, and the collection not remarkable for being well chosen; it consisted of Pamela, Baron Munchausen, Fox’s Martyrs, the Pilgrim’s Progress, and a few other publications of an equally edifying description. I should have been at a loss how to have spent the tedious hours, had I not had a companion. He was a stout, elderly man, a perfect stranger to me; and by his conversation showed himself possessed of a very considerable share of erudition: his language was correct, his remarks strong and forcible, and delivered in a manner energetic and pointed. While engaged in conversation, our ears were stunned by a number of village lads shouting and hallooing at the door of the inn. On inquiring of the landlord into the cause of this disturbance, we were informed that a poor woman, who was reputed to be a witch, had taken shelter at his house from the inclemency of the storm, and that some idle boys, on seeing her enter, were behaving in the rude manner already mentioned.
The landlord having left the room, I said to my companion, “So you have witches in Craven, sir; or, at least, those who pretend to be such. I thought that race of ignorant impostors had been long extinct, but am sorry to find the case is otherwise.”
The stranger looked at me, and said, “Do you then disbelieve the existence of witchcraft?”
“Most assuredly,” I replied.
“But you must confess that witchcraft did exist?”
“I do; but think not its existing in the prophetical ages to be any evidence of its being permitted in the present.”
“But learned works have been written to prove the existence of it in late times--You are aware of the treatises of Glanvill and Sinclair?”
“True; and learned men have sometimes committed foolish actions; and certainly Glanvill and Sinclair, great as their talents undoubtedly were, showed no great wisdom in publishing their ridiculous effusions, which are nothing more than the overflowings of heated imaginations.”
My companion seeing I was not to be convinced by any arguments he could advance, but that, like the adder in holy writ, I was “deaf to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely,” thus addressed me:--“I was like you, sceptical on the subject of our present discourse; but the doubts I once entertained have long since vanished; and if you can attend patiently to a history I will relate, I think you will be convinced that witchcraft does exist; or at least has existed in very modern times.”
The stranger then related the story of
THE WISE WOMAN OF LITTONDALE.
“In the year 17--, in a lonely gill, not far distant from Arncliffe, stood a solitary cottage: a more wretched habitation the imagination cannot picture. It contained a single apartment, inhabited by an old woman, called Bertha, who was throughout the valley accounted a wise woman, and a practiser of the ‘art that none may name.’ I was at that time very young, and unmarried; and, far from having any dread of her, would frequently talk to her, and was always glad when she called at my father’s house. She was tall, thin, and haggard; her eyes were large, and sunk deep in their sockets; and the hoarse masculine intonations of her voice were anything but pleasing. The reason I took such delight in the company of Bertha was this--she was possessed of much historical knowledge, and related events which had occurred two or three centuries ago, in a manner so minute and particular, that many a time I have been induced to believe she had been a spectatress of what she was relating. Bertha was undoubtedly of great age; but what that age was no one ever knew. I have frequently interrogated her on the subject, but always received an evasive answer to my inquiries.
“In the autumn, or rather in the latter end of the summer of 17--, I set out one evening to visit the cottage of the wise woman. I had never beheld the interior; and, led on by curiosity and mischief, was determined to see it. Having arrived at the cottage, I knocked at the gate. ‘Come in,’ said a voice, which I knew was Bertha’s. I entered; the old woman was seated on a three-legged stool, by a turf fire, surrounded by three black cats and an old sheep-dog. ‘Well,’ she exclaimed, ‘what brings you here? what can have induced you to pay a visit to old Bertha?’ I answered, ‘Be not offended; I have never before this evening viewed the interior of your cottage; and wishing to do so, have made this visit; I also wished to see you perform some of your incantations.’ I pronounced the last word ironically. Bertha observed it, and said, ‘Then you doubt my power, think me an impostor, and consider my incantations mere jugglery; you may think otherwise; but sit down by my humble hearth, and in less than half an hour you shall observe such an instance of my power as I have never hitherto allowed mortal to witness.’ I obeyed, and approached the fire. I now gazed around me, and minutely viewed the apartment. Three stools, an old deal table, a few pans, three pictures of Merlin, Nostradamus, and Michael Scott, a caldron, and a sack, with the contents of which I was unacquainted, formed the whole stock of Bertha. The witch having sat by me a few minutes, rose, and said, ‘Now for our incantations; behold me, but interrupt me not.’ She then with chalk drew a circle on the floor, and in the midst of it placed a chafing-dish filled with burning embers; on this she fixed the caldron, which she had half filled with water.
“She then commanded me to take my station at the farther end of the circle, which I did accordingly. Bertha then opened the sack, and taking from it various ingredients, threw them into the ‘charmed pot.’ Amongst many other articles I noticed a skeleton head, bones of different sizes, and the dried carcasses of some small animals. My fancy involuntarily recurred to the witch in Ovid--
Semina, floresque, et succos in coquit acres; Addidit et exceptas lunâ pernocte pruinas, Et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas, Vivacisque jecur cervi; quibus insuper addit, Ora caputque novem cornicis sæcula passæ.’
While thus employed, she continued muttering some words in an unknown language; all I remember hearing was the word konig. At length the water boiled, and the witch, presenting me with a glass, told me to look through it at the caldron. I did so, and observed a figure enveloped in the steam; at the first glance I knew not what to make of it, but I soon recognised the face of N----, a friend and intimate acquaintance: he was dressed in his usual mode, but seemed unwell, and pale. I was astonished, and trembled. The figure having disappeared, Bertha removed the caldron, and extinguished the fire. ‘Now,’ said she, ‘do you doubt my power? I have brought before you the form of a person who is some miles from this place; was there any deception in the appearance? I am no impostor, though you have hitherto regarded me as such.’ She ceased speaking: I hurried towards the door, and said, ‘Good night.’ ‘Stop,’ said Bertha, ‘I have not done with you; I will show you something more wonderful than the appearance of this evening: to-morrow, at midnight, go and stand upon Arncliffe bridge, and look at the water on the left side of it. Nothing will harm you; fear not.’
“‘And why should I go to Arncliffe bridge? What end can be answered by it? The place is lonely; I dread to be there at such an hour; may I have a companion?’
“‘No.’
“‘Why not?’
“‘Because the charm will be broken.’
“‘What charm?’
“‘I cannot tell.’
“‘You will not.’
“‘I will not give you any further information: obey me, nothing shall harm you.’
“‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘you shall be obeyed. I believe you would do me no injury. I will repair to Arncliffe bridge to-morrow at midnight; good night.’”
I then left the cottage, and returned home. When I retired to rest I could not sleep; slumber fled my pillow, and with restless eyes I lay ruminating on the strange occurrences at the cottage, and on what I was to behold at Arncliffe bridge. Morning dawned, I arose unrefreshed and fatigued. During the day I was unable to attend to any business; my coming adventure entirely engrossed my mind. Night arrived, I repaired to Arncliffe bridge: never shall I forget the scene. It was a lovely night: the full orb’d moon was sailing peacefully through a clear blue cloudless sky, and its beams, like streaks of silvery lustre, were dancing on the waters of the Skirfare; the moonlight falling on the hills formed them into a variety of fantastic shapes; here one might behold the semblance of a ruined abbey, with towers and spires, and Anglo-Saxon and Gothic arches; at another place there seemed a castle frowning in feudal grandeur, with its buttresses, battlements, and parapets. The stillness which reigned around, broken only by the murmuring of the stream, the cottages scattered here and there along its banks, and the woods wearing an autumnal tinge, all united to compose a scene of calm and perfect beauty. I leaned against the left battlement of the bridge; I waited a quarter of an hour--half an hour--an hour--nothing appeared. I listened, all was silent; I looked around, I saw nothing. Surely, I inwardly ejaculated, I have mistaken the hour; no, it must be midnight; Bertha has deceived me, fool that I am, why have I obeyed the beldam? Thus I reasoned. The clock of the neighbouring church chimed--I counted the strokes, it was twelve o’clock; I had mistaken the hour, and I resolved to stay a little longer on the bridge. I resumed my station, which I had quitted, and gazed on the stream. The river in that part runs in a clear still channel, and ‘all its music dies away.’ As I looked on the stream I heard a low moaning sound, and perceived the water violently troubled, without any apparent cause. The disturbance having continued a few minutes ceased, and the river became calm, and again flowed along in peacefulness. What could this mean? Whence came that low moaning sound? What caused the disturbance of the river? I asked myself these questions again and again, unable to give them any rational answer. With a slight indescribable kind of fear I bent my steps homewards. On turning a corner of the lane that led to my father’s house, a huge dog, apparently of the Newfoundland breed, crossed my path, and looked wistfully on me. ‘Poor fellow!’ I exclaimed, ‘hast thou lost thy master? come home with me, and I will use thee well till we find him.’ The dog followed me; but when I arrived at my place of abode, I looked for it, but saw no traces of it, and I conjectured it had found its master.
“On the following morning I again repaired to the cottage of the witch, and found her, as on the former occasion, seated by the fire. ‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘I have obeyed you; I was yesterday at midnight on Arncliffe bridge.’
“‘And of what sight were you a witness?’
“‘I saw nothing except a slight disturbance of the stream.’
“‘I know,’ she said, ‘you saw a disturbance of the water, but did you behold nothing more?’
“‘Nothing.’
“‘Nothing! your memory fails you.’
“‘I forgot, Bertha; as I was proceeding home, I met a Newfoundland dog, which I suppose belonged to some traveller.’
“‘That dog,’ answered Bertha, ‘never belonged to mortal; no human being is his master. The dog you saw was Bargest; you may, perhaps, have heard of him.’
“‘I have frequently heard tales of Bargest, but I never credited them. If the legends of my native hills be true, a death may be expected to follow his appearance.’
“‘You are right, and a death will follow his last night’s appearance.’
“‘Whose death?’
“‘Not yours.’
“As Bertha refused to make any further communication, I left her. In less than three hours after I quitted her I was informed that my friend N----, whose figure I had seen enveloped in the mist of the caldron, had that morning committed suicide, by drowning himself at Arncliffe bridge, in the very spot where I beheld the disturbance of the stream!”
Such was the story of my companion; the tale amused me, but by no means increased my belief in witchcraft. I told the narrator so, and we again entered into a serious discussion, which continued till the inn clock struck seven, when the stranger left me, saying, that he could not stay any longer, as he had a distance of ten miles to travel that evening along a very lonely road.
The belief of witchcraft is still very prevalent in Craven; and there are now residing in different parts wise men and wise women, whom the country people consult when any property is stolen or lost, as well as for the purpose of fortune-telling. These impostors pretend generally to practise divination by the crystal, as in the tale--a mode of deception which Moncrieff has very ingeniously ridiculed in his “Tom and Jerry.” Witches and wizards are not so common as they were a few years ago amongst us. The spread of education, by means of National and Sunday Schools, goes a great way to destroy superstition. Few witches were better known in Craven than Kilnsay Nan, who died a few years ago. This old hag travelled with a Guinea pig in her breast, which she pretended solved questions, and used at times to open a witchcraft shop in Bag’s-alley, Skipton: her stock of spells was not very large, for it only consisted of her Guinea pig, and about half a pack of dirty cards.
Littondale, the romantic valley which forms the scene of the above tale, is at the extremity of the parish of Burnsal, where Wharfdale forks off into two great branches, one whereof retains the name of Wharfdale to the source of the river; and the other, which is watered by the Skirfare, (sometimes called the Litton and Litton Bech,) is called Littondale. The ancient name was Amerdale; and by that designation Wordsworth alludes to it in his “White Doe,”
“The deep fork of Amerdale.”
The whole of the dale is in the parish of Arncliffe; so called, according to my great authority in Craven matters, Dr. Whitaker, from Єaꞃn, an eagle, and clyꝼꝼ, a rock; i. e. the eagle’s rock; “as it afforded many secure retreats for that bird in its ridges of perpendicular limestone.” The western side of the valley extends to Pennigent; on the skirts of which mountain are many ancient places of interment, called “Giants’ Graves,” thought to be Danish.
During the last summer I took a ride up Littondale, principally with a view of inspecting Arncliffe church, on the venerable tower of which I had frequently gazed at a distance. Alas! it is the only venerable thing about the church, all the rest of which has been rebuilt in a most paltry and insignificant style--not an ornament about it, inside or outside: as Dr. Whitaker truly says, “it has been rebuilt with all the attention to economy, and all the neglect, both of modern elegance and ancient form, which characterises the religious edifices of the present day.” It is indeed, as the same historian observes, “a perfect specimen” of a “plain, oblong, ill-constructed building, without aisles, choir, column, battlements, or buttresses; the roof and wainscotting of deal, the covering of slate; the walls running down with wet, and the whole resembling a modern conventicle, which this year may serve as a chapel, and the next as a cockpit.” The remarks that Arncliffe church leads the doctor to make ought to be thundered in the ears of every “beautifier” from Cornwall to Berwick upon Tweed:--
“Awakened by the remonstrances of their ecclesiastical superior, a parish discovers that, by long neglect, the roof of their church is half rotten, the lead full of cracks, the pews falling down, the windows broken, the mullions decayed, the walls damp and mouldy. Here it is well if the next discovery be not the value of the lead. No matter whether this covering have or have not given an air of dignity and venerable peculiarity to the church for centuries. It will save a parish assessment; and blue slate will harmonize very prettily with the adjoining cotton-mill! The work of renovation proceeds--the stone tracery of the windows, which had long shed their dim religious light, is displaced, and with it all the armorial achievements of antiquity, the written memorials of benefactors, the rich tints and glowing drapery of saints and angels--but to console our eyes for the losses, the smart luminous modern sash is introduced; and if this be only pointed at top, all is well; for all is--still Gothic![510] Next are condemned the massy oaken stalls, many of them capable of repairs, many of them wanting none: these are replaced by narrow slender deal pews, admirably contrived to cramp the tall, and break down under the bulky. Next the fluted wood work of the roof, with all its carved enrichments, is plastered over. It looked dull and nourished cobwebs! Lastly, the screens and lattices, which, from a period antecedent to the Reformation, had spread their light and perforated surfaces from arch to arch, are sawn away; and, in the true spirit of modern equality, one undistinguishing blank is substituted for separations which are yet canonical, and to distinctions which ought to be revered.”
In Littondale is the celebrated cave Doukerbottom Hole: the road leading to it is steep and difficult to travel for one unused to hilly countries; but the tourist will receive an ample recompense for the badness of the road, by the splendid views obtained from all parts of it of Whernside and the neighbouring hills. It is some years since I saw Doukerbottom Cave; and at this distance of time I fear to attempt a description of its wonders; but I remember that the entrance is steep and rather dangerous; the first chamber very spacious and lofty, and the roof starred with beautiful stalactites formed by the dripping of the limestone; that then the cavern becomes narrower and lower, so much so, that you have to stoop, and that at the end the ear is stunned by a waterfall, which discharges itself into some still lower cave. I remember, too, that I visited it in company with an amiable dissenting minister, and that we were highly amused at the jokes and tales of our one-eyed guide, Mr. Proctor, of Kilnsay. I have just been inquiring after that worthy and eccentric old fellow, and find that he is dead. I am sorry for it; and if my reverend friend should see this article, I doubt not but he will lament with me, that poor old Proctor is gone. For many years he had been guide to Doukerbottom Cave and Whernside.
In Littondale is a ridge of rock, called Tenant’s Ride, from one of the Tenant family having galloped along it while hunting. A dangerous feat truly, but not so daring as is generally supposed; for I am given to understand the ridge is seven yards wide, and perfectly level. There are fine waterfalls in the valley. I trust that a time will come when Littondale will be more frequented than at present.
T. Q. M.
December, 1827.
[510] Rylstone chapel has been “beautified” in this way.
* * * * *
HAGBUSH-LANE
From desire to afford the destroyers of Corrall’s cottage time to reflect and make reparation for the injury they had inflicted on the old man and his wife; and wishing to abstain from all appearance of strife-making, the topic has remained till now untouched.
On the 28th of November Mr. S., as the agent of a respectable clergyman whose sympathy had been excited by the statements of the Table Book, called on me to make some inquiries into the case, and I invited him to accompany me to Corrall’s shed. We proceeded by a stage to the “Old Mother Red Cap,” Camden-town, and walked from thence along the New Road, leading to Holloway, till we came to the spot at the western corner of Hagbush-lane, on the left-hand side of the road. We had journeyed for nothing--the shed had disappeared from the clay swamp whereon it stood. Along the dreary line of road, and the adjacent meadows, rendered cheerless by alternate frosts and rains, there was not a human being within sight; and we were at least a mile from any place where inquiry could be made, with a chance of success, respecting the fugitives. As they might have retired into the lane for better shelter during the winter, we made our way across the quaggy entrance as well as we could, and I soon recognised the little winding grove, so delightful and lover-like a walk in days of vernal sunshine. Its aspect, now, was gloomy and forbidding. The disrobed trees looked black, like funeral mutes mourning the death of summer, and wept cold drops upon our faces. As we wound our slippery way we perceived moving figures in the distance of the dim vista, and soon came up to a comfortless man and woman, a poor couple, huddling over a small smouldering fire of twigs and leaves. They told us that Corrall and his wife had taken down their shed and moved three weeks before, and were gone to live in some of the new buildings in White-conduit fields. The destitute appearance of our informants in this lonely place induced inquiry respecting themselves. The man was a London labourer out of employment, and, for two days, they had been seeking it in the country without success. Because they were able to work, parish-officers would not relieve them; and they were without a home and without food. They had walked and sauntered during the two nights, for want of a place to sleep in, and occasionally lighted a fire for a little warmth--
“The world was not their friend, nor the world’s law.”
We felt this, and Mr. S. and myself contributed a trifle to help them to a supper and a bed for the night. It was more, by all its amount, than they could have got in that forlorn place. They cheerfully undertook to show us to Corrall’s present residence, and set forward with us. Before we got out of Hagbush-lane it was dark, but we could perceive that the site of Corrall’s cottage and ruined garden was occupied by heaps of gas-manure, belonging to the opulent landowner, whose labourers destroyed the poor man’s residence and his growing stock of winter vegetables.
----“A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yon’ justice rails upon yon’ simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places; and handy dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?----
“Through tatter’d cloaths small vices do appear; Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw doth pierce it.”
We found Corrall and his wife and child at No. 3, Bishop’s-place, Copenhagen-street. The overseers would have taken them into the workhouse, but the old man and his wife refused, because, according to the workhouse rules, had they entered, they would have been separated. In “The Form of Solemnization of Matrimony,” it is enjoined, after the joining of hands, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder;” and though this prescription is of the highest order of law, yet it is constantly violated by parochial authority. Corrall is sixty-nine years old, and his wife’s lungs appear diseased. Were they together in the poor-house they would be as well circumstanced as they can ever hope or wish; but, this not being allowed, they purpose endeavouring to pick up a living by selling ready dressed meat and small beer to labouring people. Their child, a girl about seven years of age, seems destined to a vagabond and lawless life, unless means can be devised to take her off the old people’s hands, and put her to school. On leaving them I gave the wife five shillings, which a correspondent sent for their use:[511] and Mr. S. left his address, that, when they get settled, they may apply to him as the almoner of the benevolent clergyman, on whose behalf he accompanied me to witness their situation.----
This notice will terminate all remark on Hagbush-lane: but I reiterate, that since it ceased to be used as the common highway from the north of England into London, it became a green lane, affording lovely walks to lovers of rural scenery, which lawless encroachments have despoiled, and only a few spots of its former beauty remain. It is not “waste” of the manors through which it passes, but belongs to the crown; and if the Commissioners of Woods and Forests survey and inquire, they will doubtless claim and possess themselves of the whole, and appropriate it by sale to the public service. True it is, that on one or two occasions manor homages have been called, and persons colourably admitted to certain parcels; but the land so disposed of, a homage could not legally admit claimants into possession of; nor could an entry on the court rolls confer a legal title. Indeed the court rolls themselves will, at least in one instance, show that the steward has doubted his lord’s right; and the futility of such a title has seemed so obvious, that some who retain portions of Hagbush-lane actually decline admission through the manor-court, and hold their possessions by open seizure, deeming such a holding as legal, to all intents and purposes, as any that the lord of the manor can give. Such possessors are lords in their own right--a right unknown to the law of England--founded on mere force; which, were it exercised on the personalties of passengers, would infallibly subject successful claimants to the inconvenience of taking either a long voyage to New South Wales, or, perhaps, a short walk without the walls of Newgate, there to receive the highest reward the sheriff’s substitute can bestow.
*
[511] I am sorry I cannot remember the initials to this gentleman’s letter, which has been accidentally mislaid.
* * * * *
~Discoveries~
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XXXV.
ANCIENT CHEMISTRY, &c.
Distillation.--It has been questioned whether the ancients were acquainted with this art, but a passage of Dioscorides not only indicates the practice, but shows that the name of its principal instrument, the alembic, was derived from the Greek language. Pliny gives the same explanation, as Dioscorides does, of the manner of extracting quicksilver from cinnabar by distillation. And Seneca describes an instrument exactly resembling the alembic. Hippocrates even describes the process of distillation. He talks of vapours from the boiling fluid, which meeting with resistance stop and condense, till they fall in drops. Zosimus of Panopolis, an Egyptian city, desires his students to furnish themselves with alembics, gives them directions how to use them, describes them, and presents drawings of such as best deserve to be employed in practice.
Alcalis and Acids.--Of the substances promiscuously termed lixivial salt, sal alcali, rock-salt, &c., Aristotle speaks, when he says that in Umbria the burnt ashes of rushes and reeds, boiled in water, yield a great quantity of salt. Theophrastus observes the same. Varro relates of dwellers on the borders of the Rhine, who having neither sea nor pit salt, supply themselves by means of the saline cinders of burnt plants. Pliny speaks of ashes as impregnated with salts, and in particular of the nitrous ashes of burnt oak; adding, that these salts are used in medicine, and that a dose of lixivial ashes is an excellent remedy. Hippocrates, Celsus, Dioscorides, and especially Galen, often recommend the medical use of sal alcali. To the mixture of acids and alcali, Plato ascribed fermentation. Solomon seems to have known this effect of them, when he speaks of “vinegar upon nitre.”
Cleopatra’s Pearl.--A convincing proof of the ability of the ancients in chemistry is the experiment with which Cleopatra entertained Marc Antony, in dissolving before him, in a kind of vinegar, a pearl of very great value, (above 45,450_l._ sterling.) At present we know not of any “vinegar” that can produce this effect; but the fact is well attested. Probably the queen added something to the vinegar, omitted by the historian. The aid of Dioscorides, surnamed Phacas, who was her physician, might have enabled her thus to gain her wager with Marc Antony, that she would exceed him in the splendour and costliness of her entertainment. But Cleopatra herself was a chemical adept, as appears from some of her performances still in the libraries of Paris, Venice, and the Vatican. And Pliny informs us of the emperor Caius, that by means of fire he extracted some gold from orpiment.
Malleability of Glass.--The method of rendering glass ductile, which is to us a secret, was assuredly a process well known to the ancients. Some still doubt of it, as others have of the burning glasses of Archimedes. Because forsooth they do not know how it could be effected, they will not admit the fact, notwithstanding the exact accounts we have of it, till somebody again recovers this lost or neglected secret, as Kircher and Buffon did that of Archimedes’s mirrors. Pliny says, the flexibility of glass was discovered in the time of Tiberius; but that the emperor fearing lest gold and silver, those most precious metals, should thereby fall in their value, so as to become contemptible, ordered the residence, workhouse, and tools of the ingenious artisan to be destroyed, and thus strangled the art in its infancy. Petronius is more diffuse. He says, that in the time of Tiberius there was an artificer who made vessels of glass, which were in their composition and fabric as strong and durable as silver or gold; and that being introduced into the presence of the emperor, he presented him with a vase of this kind, such as he thought worthy of his acceptance. Meeting with the praise his invention deserved, and finding his present so favourably received, he threw the vase with such violence upon the floor, that had it been of brass it must have been injured by the blow; he took it up again whole, but dimpled a little, and immediately repaired it with a hammer. While in expectation of ample recompense for his ingenuity, the emperor asked him whether any body else was acquainted with this method of preparing glass, and being assured that no other was, the tyrant ordered his head to be immediately struck off; lest gold and silver, added he, should become as base as dirt. Dion Cassius, on this head, confirms the attestations of Pliny and Petronius. Ibn Abd Alhokim speaks of malleable glass as a thing known in the flourishing times of Egypt. Greaves, in his work on Pyramids, mentions him as a celebrated chronologist among the Arabians, and cites from him that “Saurid built in the western pyramid thirty treasuries, filled with store of riches and utensils, and with signatures made of precious stones, and with instruments of iron and vessels of earth, and with arms which rust not, and with glass which might be bended, and yet not broken, &c.” There is, however, a modern chemical composition, formed of silver dissolved in acid spirits, and which is called cornu lunæ, or horned moon, a transparent body, easily put into fusion, and very like horn or glass, and which will bear the hammer. Borrichius, a Danish physician of the seventeenth century, describes an experiment of his own, by which he obtained a pliant and malleable salt: he gives the receipt, and concludes from thence, that as glass for the most part is only a mixture of salt and sand, and as the salt may be rendered ductile, glass may be made malleable: he even imagines that the Roman artificer, spoken of by Pliny and Petronius, may have successfully used antimony as the principal ingredient in the composition of his vase. Descartes supposed it possible to impart malleability to glass, and Morhoff assures us that Boyle was of the same opinion.
Painting on Glass.--This art, so far as it depends upon chemistry, was carried formerly to high perfection. Of this we have striking instances in the windows of ancient churches, where paintings present themselves in the most vivid colours, without detracting from the transparency of the glass. Boerhave and others observe, that we have lost the secret to such a degree, that there are scarcely any hopes of recovering it. Late experiments go far towards a successful restoration of this art.
Democritus.--This eminent man, who was a native of Abdera in Thrace, flourished upwards of four centuries before the Christian æra. For the sake of acquiring wisdom he travelled into Egypt, and abode with the priests of the country. He may be deemed the father of experimental philosophy. It is affirmed that he extracted the juice of every simple, and that there was not a quality belonging to the mineral or vegetable kingdoms that escaped his notice. Seneca says, that he was the inventor of reverberating furnaces, the first who gave a softness to ivory, and imitated nature in her production of precious stones, particularly the emerald.
Gunpowder.--Virgil and his commentator Servius, Hyginus, Eustathius, La Cerda, Valerius Flaccus, and many other authors, speak in such a manner of Salmoneus’s attempts to imitate thunder, as suggest to us that he used a composition of the nature of gunpowder. He was so expert in mechanics, that he formed machines which imitated the noise of thunder, and the writers of fable, whose surprise in this respect may be compared to that of the Mexicans when they first beheld the fire-arms of the Spaniards, give out that Jupiter, incensed at the audacity of this prince, slew him with lightning. It is much more natural to suppose that this unfortunate prince, as the inventor of gunpowder, gave rise to these fables, by having accidentally fallen a victim to his own experiments. Dion and Joannes Antiochenus report of the emperor Caligula, that he imitated thunder and lightning by means of machines, which at the same time emitted stones. Themistius relates, that the Brachmans encountered one another with thunder and lightning, which they had the art of launching from on high at a considerable distance. Agathias reports of Anthemius Traliensis, that having fallen out with his neighbour, Zeno the rhetorician, he set fire to his house with thunder and lightning. Philostrates, speaking of the Indian sages, says, that when they were attacked by their enemies they did not leave their walls to fight them, but repelled and put them to flight by thunder and lightning. In another place he alleges that Hercules and Bacchus attempting to assail them in a fort where they were entrenched, were so roughly received by reiterated strokes of thunder and lightning, launched upon them from on high by the besieged, that they were obliged to retire. The effects ascribed to these engines could scarcely be brought about but by gunpowder. In Julius Africanus there is a receipt for an ingenious composition to be thrown upon an enemy, very nearly resembling that of gunpowder. But that the ancients were acquainted with it seems proved beyond doubt, by a clear and positive passage of an author called Marcus Græcus, whose work in manuscript is in the Royal Library at Paris, entitled “Liber Ignium.” The author, describing several ways of encountering an enemy, by launching fire upon him, among others gives the following receipt:--Mix together one pound of live sulphur, two of charcoal of willow, and six of saltpetre; reduce them to a very fine powder in a marble mortar. He directs a certain quantity of this to be put into a long, narrow, and well-compacted cover, and so discharged into the air. Here we have the description of a rocket. The cover with which thunder is imitated he represents as short, thick, but half-filled, and strongly bound with packthread, which is exactly the form of a cracker. He then treats of different methods of preparing the match, and how one squib may set fire to another in the air, by having it enclosed within it. In short, he speaks as clearly of the composition and effects of gunpowder as any body in our times could do. This author is spoken of by Mesue, an Arabian physician, who flourished in the beginning of the ninth century. There is reason to believe that he is the same of whom Galen speaks.
GENERATION.
There are two theories on this subject among the moderns. Harvey, Stenon, Graaf, Redi, and other celebrated physicians, maintain that all animals are oviparous, and spring from eggs, which in the animal kingdom are what seed is in the vegetable. Hartsoëker and Lewenhoek are of a different opinion, and maintain that all animals spring by metamorphosis from little animals of extreme minuteness.
The first of these systems is merely a revival of that taught by Empedocles, as cited by Plutarch and Galen, and next to him Hippocrates, Aristotle, and Macrobius. The other system, that of animalcula or spermatic vermiculi, is but a revival of the opinions of Democritus and other ancients.
Hippocrates, founding himself upon a principle universally received by antiquity that nothing arises from nothing, advanced that nothing in nature absolutely perished; that nothing, taking it altogether, was produced anew; nothing born, but what had a prior existence; that what we call birth, is only such an enlargement as brings from darkness to light, or renders visible, those small animalcula which were before imperceptible. He maintains that every thing increases as much as it can, from the lowest to the highest degree of magnitude. These principles he afterwards applies to generation, and declares that the larger sizes arise out of the lesser; that all the parts successively expand themselves, and grow and increase proportionally in the same series of time; that none of them in reality takes the start of another, so as to be quicker or slower in growth; but that those which are naturally larger sooner appear to the eye, than those which are smaller, though they by no means preceded them in birth or existence.
Polypi.--The multiplicity of animation of which the polypus is capable, supposed to have been discovered by the moderns, was known to the ancients. There are passages of Aristotle and St. Augustine, wherein they speak of it as a thing which they knew from their own experience. The latter, in his book entitled “De Quantitate Animæ,” relates, that one of his friends performed the experiment before him of cutting a polypus in two; and that immediately the separated parts betook themselves to flight, moving with precipitation, the one one way, and the other another. Aristotle, speaking of insects with many feet, says, that there are of these animals or insects, as well as of plants and trees, that propagate themselves by shoots: and as what were but the parts of a tree before, become thus distinct and separate trees; so in cutting one of these animals, says Aristotle, the pieces which before composed altogether but one animal, become all of a sudden so many different individuals. He adds, that the animating principle in these insects is in effect but one, though multiplied in its powers, as it is in plants.
The Sexual System of Plants.
Vivunt in Venerem frondes, omnesque vicissim Felix arbor amat, nutant ad mutua palmæ Fœdera, populeo suspirat populus ictu, Et platani platanis, alnoque assibilat alnus.
Claudian. de Nuptiis Honorii et Mariæ.
Claudian’s verses have been thus familiarly Englished:--“The tender boughs live together in love, and the happy trees pass their time entirely in mutual embraces. Palms by consent salute and nod to each other; the poplar, smitten with the poplar, sighs; whilst planes and alders express their affection in the melody of whispers.” This allusion to the “Loves of the Plants” was not a mere imagination of the old poet: their sexual difference was known to the old philosophers. “Naturalists,” says Pliny, “admit the distinction of sex not only in trees, but in herbs, and in all plants.”
ASTRONOMY--MATHEMATICS--MECHANICS--OPTICS, &c.
The Vibration of the Pendulum was employed, for the purpose it is still applied to, by the ancient Arabians, long before the epoch usually assigned to its first discovery. A learned gentleman at Oxford, who carefully examined the Arabian manuscripts in the library of that university, says, “The advantages recommending the study of astronomy to the people of the East were many.” He speaks of “the serenity of their weather; the largeness and correctness of the instruments they made use of much exceeding what the moderns would be willing to believe; the multitude of their observations and writings being six times more than what has been composed by Greeks and Latins; and of the number of powerful princes who, in a manner becoming their own magnificence, aided them with protection.” He affirms, that it is easy “to show in how many respects the Arabian astronomers detected the deficiency of Ptolemy, and the pains they took to correct him; how carefully they measured time by water-clocks, sand-glasses, immense solar dials, and even by the vibrations of the pendulum; and with what assiduity and accuracy they conducted themselves in those nice attempts, which do so much honour to human genius--the taking the distances of the stars, and the measure of the earth.”
Refraction of Light.--According to Roger Bacon, Ptolemy, the great philosopher and geometrician, gave the same explanation of this phenomenon, which Descartes has done since; for he says, that “a ray, passing from a more rare into a more dense medium, becomes more perpendicular.” Ptolemy wrote a treatise on optics whence Alhazen seems to have drawn whatever is estimable in what he advances about the refraction of light, astronomical refraction, and the cause of the extraordinary size of planets when they appear on the horizon. Ptolemy, and after him Alhazen, said, that “when a ray of light passes from a more rare into a more dense medium, it changes its direction when it arrives upon the surface of the latter, describing a line which intersects the angle made by that of its first direction, and a perpendicular falling upon it from the more dense medium.” Bacon adds, after Ptolemy, that “the angle formed by the coincidence of those two lines is not always equally divided by the refracted ray; because in proportion to the greater or less density of the medium, the ray is more or less refracted, or obliged to decline from its first direction.” Sir Isaac Newton subsequently deducing the cause of refraction, from the attraction made upon the ray of light by the bodies surrounding it, says, “that mediums are more or less attractive in proportion to their density.”
Astronomic Refraction.--Ptolemy, acquainted with the principle of the refraction of light, could not fail to conclude that this was the cause of the appearance of planets upon the horizon before they came there. Hence he accounted for those appearances from the difference there was between the medium of air, and that of ether which lay beyond it; so that the rays of light coming from the planet, and entering into the denser medium of our atmosphere, must of course be so attracted as to change their direction, and by that means bring the star to our view, before it really come upon the horizon.
Why Stars appear largest upon the Horizon is attempted to be accounted for by Roger Bacon. He says it may proceed from this, that the rays coming from the star are made to diverge from each other, not only by passing from the rare medium of ether into the denser one of our surrounding air, but also by the interposition of clouds and vapours arising out of the earth, which repeat the refraction and augment the dispersion of the rays, whereby the object must needs be magnified to our eye. He afterwards adds, that there has been assigned by Ptolemy and Alhazen another more reasonable cause. These authors thought that the reason of a star’s appearing larger at its rising or setting than when viewed over head arose from this, that when the star is over head there are no immediate objects perceived between it and us, so that we judge it nearer to us, and are not surprised at its littleness; but when a star is viewed on the horizon, it lies then so low that all we can see upon earth interposes between it and us, which making it appear at a greater distance, we are surprised at observing it so large, or rather imagine it larger than it is. For the same reason the sun and moon, when appearing upon the horizon, seem to be at a greater distance, by reason of the interposition of those objects which are upon the surface of our earth, than when they are over head; and consequently there will arise in our minds an idea of their largeness, augmented by that of their distance, and this of course must make them appear larger to us, when viewed on the horizon, than when seen in the zenith.
Perspective of the Ancients.--Most of the learned deny the ancients the advantage of having known the rules of perspective, or of having put them in practice, although Vitruvius makes mention of the principles of Democritus and Anaxagoras respecting that science, in a manner that plainly shows they were not ignorant of them. “Anaxagoras and Democritus,” says he, “were instructed by Agatarchus, the disciple of Eschylus. They both of them taught the rules of drawing, so as to imitate from any point of view the prospect that lay in sight, by making the lines in their draught, issuing from the point of view there, exactly resemble the radiation of those in nature; insomuch, that however ignorant any one might be of the rules whereby this was performed, yet they could not but know at sight the edifices, and other prospects which offered themselves in the perspective scenes they drew for the decoration of the theatre, where, though all the objects were represented on a plain surface, yet they swelled out, or retired from the sight, just as objects do endowed with all dimensions.” Again he says, that the painter Apatarius drew a scene for the theatre at Tralles, “which was wonderfully pleasing to the eye, on account that the artist had so well managed the lights and shades, that the architecture appeared in reality to have all its projections.” Pliny says, that Pamphilus, who was an excellent painter, applied himself much to the study of geometry, and maintained that “without its aid it was impossible ever to arrive at perfection in that art.” Pliny elsewhere says, that Apelles fell short of Asclepiodorus in “the art of laying down distances in his paintings.” Lucian, in his Dialogue of Zeuxis, speaks of the effects of perspective in pictures, and Philostratus, in his preface to his Drawings, or History of Painting, makes it appear that he knew this science; and in his account of Menoetius’s picture of the siege of Thebes, describes the happy effects of perspective when studied with care.
Optical Problem.--Aristotle was the first who proposed the famous problem respecting the roundness of that image of the sun, which is formed by his rays passing through a small puncture, even though the hole itself be square or triangular. “Why is it,” inquires Aristotle, “that the sun, in passing through a square puncture, forms itself into an orbicular, and not into a rectilinear figure, as when it shines through a grate? Is it not because the efflux of its rays, through the puncture, converges it into a cone, whose base is the luminous circle?”
Squaring the Circle.--If there remain any hope of solving this problem it is founded on that discovery of Hippocrates of Chios, called the squaring of the Lunulæ, which is said to have first put him in heart, they say, to attempt the squaring of the circle. This Hippocrates must not be confounded with the father of medicine, who was of the isle of Cos. He who is spoken of here was a famous geometrician, and lived about five hundred years before Jesus Christ.
Anaxagoras appears to have been the first who dared this enterprise, and it was when he was in prison at Athens. Plutarch says positively that he achieved it; but this must be looked upon only as a general expression. Aristotle in many places mentions the efforts of the Pythagoreans Bryson and Antiphon, who likewise flattered themselves with having found out the square of the circle. Aristophanes jeers the learned of his time for attempting to resolve this problem. One of the nearest approximations to the solution of this problem is that of Archimedes. He found the proportion of the diameter to the circumference to be as 7 to 22, or somewhat between 21 and 22; and it is in making use of Archimedes’s method, that Wallis lays down rules for attaining nearly the square of the circle; yet they bring us not fully up to it, how far soever we advance. Archimedes contented himself with what he had in view, which was to find out a proportion that would serve all the purposes of ordinary practice. What he neglected to do, by extended approximations was afterwards performed by Apollonius, and by Philo of Gadare, who lived in the third century.
The Squaring of the Parabola is one of the geometrical discoveries which has done most honour to Archimedes. It is remarked to have been the first instance of the reducing a curve figure exactly into a square, unless we admit of Hippocrates’s squaring the lunulæ to have been of this sort.
The Burning Glasses, employed by Archimedes to set fire to the Roman fleet at the siege of Syracuse, Kepler, Naudéus, and Descartes have treated as fabulous, though attested by Diodorus Siculus, Lucian, Dion, Zonaras, Galen, Anthemius, Eustathius, Tzetzes, and other eminent authors. Some have pretended to demonstrate by the rules of catoptrics the impossibility of it; but Kircher, attentively observing the description which Tzetzes gives of the burning glasses of Archimedes, resolved upon an experiment; and having, by means of a number of plain mirrors, collected the sun’s rays into one focus, he by an increased number of mirrors produced the most intense degree of solar heat. Tzetzes says, that “Archimedes set fire to Marcellus’s navy, by means of a burning glass composed of small square mirrors, moving every way upon hinges; which, when placed in the sun’s rays, directed them upon the Roman fleet so as to reduce it to ashes at the distance of a bow-shot.” Buffon’s celebrated burning glass, composed of 168 little plain mirrors, produced so considerable a heat, as to set wood in flames at the distance of two hundred and nine feet; melt lead, at that of one hundred and twenty; and silver, at that of fifty.
Anthemius of Tralles in Lydia, celebrated as an able architect, sculptor, and mathematician, who in the emperor Justinian’s time built the church of St. Sophia at Constantinople, wrote a small treatise in Greek, which is extant only in manuscript, entitled “Mechanical Paradoxes,” wherein is a chapter respecting burning glasses, with a complete description of the requisites, which, according to this author, Archimedes must have possessed to enable him to set fire to the Roman fleet. His elaborate description demonstrates the possibility of a fact so well attested in history. Zonaras, speaking of Archimedes’s glasses, mentions those of Proclus, who, he says, burnt the fleet of Vitellius at the siege of Constantinople, in imitation of Archimedes, who set fire to the Roman fleet at the siege of Syracuse. He intimates that the manner wherein Proclus effected this, was by launching upon the vessels, from the surface of reflecting mirrors, such a quantity of flame as reduced them to ashes.
Refracting Burning Glasses were certainly known to the ancients. Pliny and Lactantius speak of glasses that burnt by refraction. The former tells of balls or globes of glass, or crystal, which exposed to the sun transmit a heat sufficient to set fire to cloth, or corrode away the dead flesh of those patients who stand in need of caustics; and the latter, after Clemens Alexandrinus, takes notice that fire may be kindled, by interposing glasses filled with water between the sun and the object, so as to transmit the rays to it. Aristophanes, in his comedy of the Clouds, introduces Socrates as examining Strepsiades about the method he had discovered for getting clear for ever of his debts. The latter replies, that he thought of making use of a burning glass, which he had hitherto used in kindling his fire; for, says he, should they bring a writ against me, I’ll immediately place my glass in the sun, at some little distance from the writ, and set it a fire.
* * * * *
ERRATUM.
Col. 455, line 10 from the bottom, for “Hartley Common,” read “Startley Common.”
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
FREE TRANSLATION
OF A
DRINKING SONG, BY GOETHE.
SUNG BY THE POET AT A MEETING OF FRIENDS, TO JOIN WHICH HE AND OTHERS HAD TRAVELLED A CONSIDERABLE DISTANCE.
1.
Celestial rapture seizes me, Your inspiration merely; It lifts me to the winking stars, I seem to touch them nearly: Yet would I rather stay below, I can declare sincerely, My song to sing, my glass to ring With those I love so dearly.
2.
Then wonder not to see me here To prop a cause so rightful: Of all lov’d things on this lov’d earth To me ’tis most delightful. I vow’d I would among ye be In scorn of fortune spiteful; So here I came, and here I am, To make the table quite full.
3.
When thus we should together meet, Not quickly to be sunder’d, I hoped at other Poets’ songs My joy, too, should be thunder’d. To join such brothers who would grudge To travel miles a hundred! So eager some this day to come, Through very haste they blunder’d.
4.
Long life to him who guards our lives! My doctrine’s not learnt newly: We’ll first do honour to our King, And drink to him most duly. May he his foes without o’ercome, Within quell all unruly; And grant support of every sort, As we shall serve him truly!
5.
Thee next I give--thou only one, Who all thy sex defeatest! Each lover deems right gallantly, His mistress the completest. I therefore drink to her I love; Thou, who some other greetest, Ne’er drink alone--still think thine own As I do mine--the sweetest!
6.
The third glass to old friends is due, Who aid us when we need it. How quickly flew each joyous day With such kind hearts to speed it! When fortune’s storm was gathering dark We had less cause to heed it: Then fill the glass--the bottle pass-- A bumper!--we’ve agreed it!
7.
Since broader, fuller, swells the tide Of friends, as life advances, Let’s drink to every lesser stream, The greater that enhances. With strength united thus we meet, And brave the worst mischances; Since oft the tide, must darkly glide That in the sunlight dances.
8.
Once more we meet together here, Once more in love united: We trust that others’ toils like ours, Like ours will be requited. Upon the self-same stream we see Full many a mill is sited! May we the weal of all men feel, And with it be delighted.
J. P. C.
Vol. II.--53.
This portrait of the elder brother of Robert Bloomfield, “the Farmer’s Boy,” is here presented from a likeness recently drawn in water colours from the life, and communicated to the Table Book for the purpose of the present engraving.
The late Mr. Capel Llofft, in a preface to Robert Bloomfield’s “Farmer’s Boy,” relates Robert’s history, from a narrative drawn up by George Bloomfield. It appears from thence, that their father died when Robert was an infant under a year old; that their mother had another family by John Glover, a second husband; and that Robert, at eleven years old, was taken by a kind farmer into his house, and employed in husbandry work. Robert was so small of his age, that his master said he was not likely to get his living by hard labour; his brother George informed his mother, if she would let him have Robert, he would take him and teach him his own trade, shoemaking; another brother, Nathaniel, offered to clothe him; and the mother and Robert, who was then fifteen years old, took coach, and came to London to George Bloomfield. “I have him in my mind’s eye,” says George; “a little boy; not bigger than boys generally are at twelve years old. When I met him and his mother at the inn, (in Bishopsgate-street,) he strutted before us, dressed just as he came from keeping sheep, hogs, &c.--his shoes filled full of stumps in the heels. He, looking about him, slipt up--his nails were unused to a flat pavement. I remember viewing him as he scampered up--how small he was--little thought that little fatherless boy would be one day known and esteemed by the most learned, the most respected, the wisest, and the best men of the kingdom.” Robert developed his talents under the fostering of George, to whose protection he was left by their mother. “She charged me,” says George, “as I valued a mother’s blessing, to watch over him, to set good examples for him, and never to forget that he had lost his father.” Her injunctions were strictly observed till Robert was eighteen, when George, having housed him, and taught him his trade, quitted London, and left Robert to pursue shoemaking and playing on the violin. “Robert told me in a letter,” says George, “‘that he had sold his fiddle, and got a wife.’ Like most poor men, he got a wife first, and had to get household stuff afterward. It took him some years to get out of ready furnished lodgings. At length, by hard working, &c. he acquired a bed of his own, and hired the room up one pair of stairs, at No. 14, Bell-alley, Coleman-street. The landlord kindly gave him leave to sit and work in the light garret, two pair of stairs higher. In this garret, amid six or seven other workmen, his active mind employed itself in composing the Farmer’s Boy.” George, with filial piety and fondness, tells of his mother’s pains to imbue Robert’s mind in infancy with just principles. “As his reason expanded,” continues George, “his love of God and man increased with it. I never knew his fellow for mildness of temper and goodness of disposition; and since I left him, universally is he praised by those who know him best, for the best of husbands, an indulgent father, and quiet neighbour.”
The progress and melancholy termination of Robert Bloomfield’s life are familiar to most readers of sensibility: they may not know, perhaps, that his brother George has long struggled with poverty, and is now an aged man, overwhelmed by indigence.
Two letters, written to a friend by a gentleman of Thetford, Mr. Faux, and some manuscripts accompanying them in George Bloomfield’s hand-writing, are now before me. They contain a few particulars respecting George Bloomfield and his present situation, which are here made known, with the hope of interesting the public in the behalf of a greatly distressed and very worthy man. The following extract from one of Mr. Faux’s letters introduces George Bloomfield’s circumstances, and conveys an idea of his character: it will be seen that he, too, is a versifier.
“Thetford, Oct. 15, 1827.
“I have found the letter you allude to, regarding his application to the overseers of St. Peter’s. I was rather inclined to send you a bundle of his letters and poetry, but I hardly think it fair without first consulting poor old George, and obtaining his permission. The letter enclosed, in answer to my invitation to him to be present on the day the duke of Grafton laid the first stone of the Pump-room, will show you what a shy bird he is. His presence on that occasion would have been highly beneficial to him; but his extreme modesty has been a drawback upon him through life, leaving him generally with a coat ‘scarcely visible.’ I believe he has been always poor, and yet a more temperate man never lived.”----
The following is the note above referred to.
From GEORGE BLOOMFIELD to MR. FAUX.
“Wednesday, 3 o’clock.
“I was just folding the papers to take them to Stone, when the Master Fauxes came in, with great good nature in their countenances, and delivered their father’s very kind invitation. I feel truly grateful for the kindness: but when I can, without offence, avoid being seen, I have, through life, consulted my sheepish feelings. I have been accused of ‘making myself scarce,’ and been always considered an ‘unsocial’ fellow: it is a task to me to go into a situation where I am likely to attract attention, and the observation of men. In childhood I read of an invisible coat--I have sometimes worn a coat scarcely visible; but I want a coat that would render me invisible. I hope to be excused without giving offence, as I should be very ill at ease.
“Mr. Faux would have been presented with the enclosed papers a fortnight back, but I waited a favourable opportunity. This week I had but little work to do.--Lo, lo! here they are.”
A poem by George Bloomfield, called “The Spa,” which, being of local interest, has scarcely passed beyond provincial circles, induced the following public testimonial to his talents and virtues.
LINES ADDRESSED TO GEORGE BLOOMFIELD, BY THE REV. MR. PLUMTREE, LATE FELLOW OF CLARE HALL, CAMBRIDGE.
Hail, aged minstrel! well thine harp thou’st strong, Tuneful and pleasingly of Thetford sung; Her abbey nunnery, and her mounds of war, Her late discovered, healing, blessed, Spa; And with a skilful hand, and master’s art, Hast poured the tribute of a grateful heart. Thy talent must not sleep. Resume thy lyre, And bid it in some deeper notes respire. Thy great Creator and thy Saviour claim The emanations of a poet’s flame. Poets and prophets once were names entwin’d: Ah, why was virtue e’er from verse disjoin’d? Ah, why have Christians lent a willing ear To strains ’twas sin to sing, ’twas sin to hear? Will Christians listen to a Byron’s lay? To Bloomfield, rather, admiration pay. His simple verse, with piety enjoin’d, More grateful steal on my attentive mind; And if it thrills with less tumultuous joy, It is a pleasure free from all alloy. Then, aged minstrel, strike thy lyre again, And o’er the land be heard thy pleasing strain. And, oh! may Britain’s sons thy lay regard, And give the aged minstrel his reward: Not the cheap recompense of empty praise, Nor e’en the crown of never-fading bays; But such as may effectually assuage The wants and cares of thy declining age; And the last lay that shall thy lyre employ, Accompany a “heart” that sings for joy.
The hand of the “aged minstrel” is now too weak to strike the lyre; nor will his voice again be heard. Mr. James Burrell Faux, of Thetford, Norfolk, is anxious for immediate assistance in George Bloomfield’s behalf; and to that gentleman communications and contributions should be addressed. All that the Table Book can do, is thus to make known the necessity of the case, and to entreat pecuniary relief from those who have hearts to feel, and ability to give.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XLVI.
SERIOUS FRAGMENTS.
1.
Misery lays stronger bonds of love than Nature; and they are more one, whom the same misfortune joined together, than whom the same womb gave life.
H. Killigrew.
2.
Dying Person.
---------- my soul The warm embraces of her flesh is now, Ev’n now forsaking; this frail body must Like a lost feather fall from off the wing Of Vanity--
W. Chamberlain.
3.
------------- eternity: Within whose everlasting springs we shall Meet with those joys, whose blasted embryos were Here made abortive--
W. Chamberlain.
4.
Crown declined by a Spiritual person.
I know no more the way to temporal rule, Than he that’s born, and has his years come to him, On a rough desart--
Middleton.
5.
To a Votaress.
Keep still that holy and immaculate fire, You chaste lamp of eternity; ’tis a treasure Too precious for death’s moment to partake, The twinkling of short life.--
Middleton.
6.
The fame that a man wins himself is best; That he may call his own: honours put to him Make him no more a man than his clothes do, Which are as soon ta’en off; for in the warmth The heat comes from the body, not the weeds; So man’s true fame must strike from his own deeds.
Middleton.
7.
Adventurers.
The sons of Fortune, she has sent us forth To thrive by the red sweat of our own merits.--
Middleton.
8.
New made Honour.
------------- forgetfulness Is the most pleasing virtue they can have. That do spring up from nothing; for by the same. Forgetting all, they forget whence they came.
Middleton.
9.
Œnone forsaken.
Beguil’d, disdain’d, and out of love, live long, thou Poplar tree, And let thy letters grow in length to witness this with me. Ah Venus, but for reverence unto thy sacred name, To steal a silly maiden’s love I might account it blame.-- And if the tales I hear be true, and blush for to recite, Thou dost me wrong to leave the plains, and dally out of sight, False Paris! this was not thy vow, when thou and I were one, To range and change old love for new; but now those days be gone.
Peel.
10.
Epilepsy.
--your [Cæsar’s] disease the Gods ne’er gave to man, But such a one as had a spirit too great For all his body’s passages to serve it; Which notes the excess of your ambition.
Chapman.
11.
We are not tried but in our misery. He is a cunning coachman, that can turn well in a narrow room.
Anon.
12.
Gray hairs.
---- upon whose reverend head The milk-white pledge of wisdom sweetly spreads.--
Lodge.
13.
Ladies Dancing.
---- a fine sweet earthquake, gently moved By the soft wind of whispering silks.--
Decker.
14.
---- sharp witted Poets; whose sweet verse Makes heav’nly Gods break off their nectar draughts. And lay their ears down to the lowly earth--
Anon.
15.
Grandsires’ Love.
Old men do never truly doat, untill Their children bring them babies.
Shirley.
16.
To a false Mistress.
------ thy name, sweeten’d once the name of him that spake it.--
Shirley.
17.
Herod, jealous, to Mariamne.
Hast thou beheld thyself, and could’st thou stain So rare perfection?--ev’n for love of thee I do profoundly hate thee.
Lady Elizabeth Carew.
18.
Cleopatra.
The wanton Queen, that never loved for Love.--
Lady E. Carew.
19.
Conceit of a Princess’ love.
’Twas but a waking dream, Wherein thou madest thy wishes speak, not her; In which thy foolish hopes strive to prolong A wretched being: so sickly children play With health-loved toys, which for a time delay, But do not cure the fit.
Rowley.
20.
Changing colour at sudden news.
Why look’st thou red, and pale, and both, and neither?--
Chapman.
21.
Rich Usurer to his Mistress.
I will not ’joy my treasure but in thee, And in thy looks I’ll count it every hour; And thy white arms shall be as bands to me, Wherein are mighty lordships forfeited.-- Then triumph, Leon, richer in thy love. Than all the hopes of treasure I possess. Never was happy Leon rich before; Nor ever was I covetous till now, That I see gold so ’fined in thy hair.
Chapman.
22.
Puritan.
------ his face demure, with hand On breast, as you have seen a canting preacher. Aiming to cheat his audience, wanting matter. Sigh, to seem holy, till he thought on something.--
Anon.
23.
Sects.
Eternity, which puzzles all the world To name the inhabitants that people it; Eternity, whose undiscover’d country We fools divide before we come to see it, Making one part contain all happiness, The other misery, then unseen fight for it. All sects pretending to a right of choice, Yet none go willingly to take a part.
Anon.
24.
Man is a vagabond both poor and proud, He treads on beasts who give him clothes and food; But the Gods catch him wheresoe’er he lurks, Whip him, and set him to all painful works: And yet he brags he shall be crown’d when dead. Were ever Princes in a Bridewell bred? Nothing is sinfully begot but he: Can base-born Bastards lawful Sovereigns be?
Crowne.
25.
Wishes for Obscurity.
How miserable a thing is a Great Man!-- Take noisy vexing Greatness they that please; Give me obscure and safe and silent ease. Acquaintance and commerce let me have none With any powerful thing but Time alone: My rest let Time be fearful to offend, And creep by me as by a slumbering friend; Till, with ease glutted, to my bed I steal, As men to sleep after a plenteous meal. Oh wretched he who, call’d abroad by power, To know himself can never find an hour! Strange to himself, but to all others known, Lends every one his life, but uses none; So, e’er he tasted life, to death he goes; And himself loses, e’er himself he knows.
Crowne.
26.
Mind constituted to Goodness.
---- you may do this, or any thing you have a mind to; even in your fantasy there is a secret counsel, seeing that all your actions, nay all your pleasures, are in some exercise of virtue--
H. Killigrew.
27.
Returned Pilgrim.
To man how sweet is breath! yet sweetest of all That breath, which from his native air doth fall. How many weary paces have I measured, How many known and unknown dangers past, Since I commenced my tedious pilgrimage, The last great work of my death-yielding age! Yet am I blest, that my returning bones Shall be rak’t up in England’s peaceful earth.
Anon.
28.
Usury.
Nature in all inferior things hath set A pitch or term, when they no more shall get Increase and offspring. Unrepaired houses Fall to decay; old cattle cease to breed; And sapless trees deny more fruit or seed: The earth would heartless and infertile be. If it should never have a jubilee. Only the Usurer’s Money ’genders still; The longer, lustier; age this doth not kill. He lives to see his Money’s Money’s Money Even to a hundred generations reach.
Anon.
29.
Love defined by contraries.
Fie, fie, how heavy is light Love in me!-- How slow runs swift Desire!--this leaden air, This ponderous feather, merry melancholy; This Passion, which but in passion Hath not his perfect shape.--
Day.
30.
Good Faith.
What are we but our words? when they are past, Faith should succeed, and that should ever last.
31.
Weeping for good news.
I knew your eye would be first served; That’s the soul’s taster still for grief or joy.
Rowley
32.
Forsaken Mistress.
I thought the lost perfection of mankind Was in that man restored; and I have grieved, Lost Eden too was not revived for him; And a new Eve, more excellent than the first, Created for him, that he might have all The joys he could deserve: and he fool’d me To think that Eve and Eden was in me: That he was made for me, and I for him.
Crowne.
33.
Love surviving Hope.
’Tis a vain glory that attends a Lover, Never to say he quits; and, when Hope dies, The gallantry of Love still lives, is charm’d With kindness but in shadow.
Browne.
34.
Warriors.
I hate these potent madmen, who keep all Mankind awake, while they by their great deeds Are drumming hard upon this hollow world, Only to make a sound to last for ages.
Crowne.
35.
Life.
What is’t we live for? tell life’s finest tale-- To eat, to drink, to sleep, love, and enjoy, And then to love no more! To talk of things we know not, and to know Nothing but things not worth the talking of.
Sir R. Fane, jun.
36.
Brother, supposed dead, received by a Sister: she shews him a letter, disclosing an unworthy action done by him; at which he standing abashed, she then first congratulates him:
---- now I meet your love. Pardon me, my brother; I was to rejoyce at this your sadness, before I could share with you in another joy.
H. Killigrew.
37.
Person just dead.
’Twas but just now he went away; I have not yet had time to shed a tear; And yet the distance does the same appear, As if he had been a thousand years from me. Time takes no measure in eternity.
Sir Robert Howard.
38.
French Character.
The French are passing courtly, ripe of wit; Kind, but extreme dissemblers: you shall have A Frenchman ducking lower than your knee, At the instant mocking ev’n your very shoe-tyes.
Ford.
39.
Love must die gently.
I hoped, your great experience, and your years, Would have proved patience rather to your soul, Than to break off in this untamed passion. Howe’er the rough hand of the untoward world Hath molded your proceedings in this matter, Yet I am sure the first intent was love. Then since the first spring was so sweet and warm, Let it die gently; ne’er kill it with a scorn.
Anon.
40.
Poetic Diction.
----- worthiest poets Shun common and plebeian forms of speech, Every illiberal and affected phrase, To clothe their matter; and together tye Matter and form with art and decency.
Chapman.
41.
Author Vanity.
------ the foolish Poet, that still writ All his most self-loved verse in paper royal, Or parchment ruled with lead, smooth’d with the pumice, Bound richly up, and strung with crimson strings; Never so blest as when he writ and read The ape-loved issue of his brain; and never But joying in himself, admiring ever--
Chapman.
42.
Good wit to be husbanded.
------ as of lions it is said, and eagles, That when they go, they draw their seres and talons Close up, to shun rebating of their sharpness: So our wit’s sharpness, which we should employ In noblest knowledge, we should never waste In vile and vulgar admirations.
Chapman.
43.
Impossibility of attaining, a bar to desire.
Nothing is more ordinary, than for my Lady to love her Gentleman; or Mistress Anne, her father’s man. But if a country clown coming up hither, and seeking for his lawyer in Gray’s Inn, should step into the walks, and there should chance to spy some mastership of nature; some famed Beauty, that for a time hath been the name; he would stand amazed, perhaps wish that his Joan were such, but further would not be stirred. Impossibility would
stop more bold desires, And quench those sparks that else would turn to fires.
Edmund Prestwick.
44.
Theory of men’s choice in a Beauty.
1.--She has a most complete and perfect beauty; nor can the greatest critic in this sort find any fault with the least proportion of her face, but yet methought I was no more taken with it, than I should be with some curious well-drawn picture.
2.--That is somewhat strange.
1.--In my mind, not at all; for it is not always that we are governed by what the general fancy of the world calls beauty; for each soul hath some predominant thoughts, which when they light on ought that strikes on them, there is nothing does more inflame. And as in music that pleaseth not most, which with the greatest art and skill is composed; but those airs that do resemble and stir up some dormant passion, to which the mind is addicted; so, I believe, never yet was any one much taken with a face, in which he did not espy ought that did rouse and put in motion some affection that hath ruled in his thoughts, besides those features which, only for the sake of common opinion, we are forced to say do please.
E. Prestwick.
C. L.
* * * * *
GENERAL REMINISCENCES
OF
THREE, THIRD, AND THRICE.
“Thrice the brindled rat hath mewed-- Thrice to thine and thrice to mine, And thrice again to make up nine.”--Shakspeare.
The ordinal, cardinal, or numeral, THREE, possesses stronger power of associating application than any other figure in history, or literature. From the first notice of the Creation, Ælohim is understood to signify the Trinity. When the third day was created, the sun, moon, and stars, were set in the firmament. Christ’s resurrection was on the third day, and his crucifixion between two thieves. Noah’s sons were Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Job’s daughters were Keziah, Jemima, and Kerenhappuck; his comforters were Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. Time is divided into three parts. The ancients rose at the third hour. The Brahmins have their Birmah, Vishnu, and Siva; the Persians their Oromanes, Mithra, and Mithras; the Egyptians their Osiris, Isis, and Orus; the Arabians their Allah, Al Uzza, and Manah; the Phœnicians and Tyrians their Belus, Urania, and Adonis; the Greeks their Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto. Aristotle, Plutarch, and Macrobius, wrote on the doctrine of numbers. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, were three Fates. The children that endured the fiery furnace were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Jupiter’s thunderbolt had three forks; Neptune’s trident, three prongs; Cerberus three heads. The Pythian priestess sat on a tripod.[512] There were the three Parcæ; the three Furies; three attributes of the sun, Sol, Apollo, and Liber; of the moon, Hecate, Diana, and Luna. David prayed three times a day. The Hindoos make three suppressions of the breath when meditating on the triliteral syllable O’M. The Sabians prayed morning, noon, and night. Three bows of the head, and three prostrations are peculiar to some nations. In England, are king, lords, and commons. The ancients washed their eyes three times; drunk potions out of three cups. The Salians beat the ground three times in their dance. Three times were allowed for execrations, for spitting on the ground and sneezing. Juno Lucina was invoked three times in favour of childbirth. Three steps were allowed to ascend the throne or the altar. Persons dipped thrice into wells for cure. Persons were touched thrice for the king’s evil. Three parts of the old world only were known. The three professions are law, divinity, and physic. Three chirps of a cricket is said to be a sign of death. Coleridge makes his mastiff bitch howl three times for his Lady Christabel. The papist crosses himself three times. The raven’s croak, or the owl’s triad screech, indicates (it is said) ill omens. Three crows in a gutter betoken good to the beholder. The funeral bell is tolled thrice for the death of a man. The third attack of apoplexy is thought fatal. The third finger of the left hand bears the marriage ring. A Latin motto is tria una in juncta. The witches in Macbeth ask, “When shall we three meet again?” There are signs of the Three Crowns, Three Pigeons, Three Cups, Three Tuns, Three Brewers, Three Johns, Three Bells, and others, to an infinite degree. In the church service are the clerk, curate, and preacher; three priests serve at the papal shrine. In the courts of justice are the judge, the jury, and the culprit. In physic, the physician’s consultation is three. An arbitration is three. A dual public-house sign is, with the gazer added quaintly, “We three loggerheads be.” The three warnings are celebrated. The Jews boasted of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The United Kingdom is England, (Wales included,) Ireland, and Scotland. Who has not read of Three-fingered Jack? of Octavius, Lepidus, and Anthony? A nest of chests is three. The British toast is echoed by hip! hip! huzzah! Three signals decided the fate of Lucius Junius. In the third year of Cyrus the name of Belteshazzar was revealed to Daniel: his prophecy was, that “three kings should stand up in Persia;” and Daniel mourned three weeks by reason of his vision. The beast that he saw, had three ribs in the mouth of it. The householder went about the third hour, and saw others standing idle in the market-place. Daniel’s petition was made three times. In the Revelations, the third part of the creatures which were in the sea and had life, died. Faith, Hope, and Charity, are three virtues. The priests’ abodes in Eziekel were three chambers. In the prophecy it says, “A third part of the hair shall be burnt; a third part fall by the sword; a third part scattered by the wind.” Demosthenes says, “Three years after, he met with the same fate as Æschines, and was also banished from Athens.” History unites an Aristides, a Cimon, and a Phocion. Peter’s denial was given by the cock crowing thrice. Homer, in his Frogs and Mice, says,
“Three warlike sons adorned my nuptial bed, Three sons, alas! before their father, dead.”
Pope Alexander III., 1182, compelled the kings of England and France to hold the stirrups of his saddle when he mounted his horse. King Richard III. put an end to the civil wars between the houses of York and Lancaster, 1483. Peter III. was deposed 1762. Virgil, 565, lib. viii. says, Nascenti cui tres animas Feronia mater--ter letho sternendus erat: and again, tres ulnas--tribus nodis. Milton’s three fierce spirits were Ariel, Arioch, and Ramiel. Lord Nelson’s ship, the Victory, attacked the Trinidad.[513] Fairs are usually chartered for three days. Persons used to walk three times round Horn church. The pawnbroker has three balls. A hearth has a poker, tongs, and shovel.[514] The sentinel asks--“Who comes there?” thrice, before he dares level his firelock at the intruder. Three candles in a room are said to indicate death in the family. The bashaw wears three tails. The passion flower has three spires.
Thus, it will be readily seen, how intimately the number three has been, and is, connected with events and circumstances, hypothetical and absolute. Were the subject worth tracing further, scarcely a poetic or prose writer, but is liberal in the use of this number. Considering, however, that the adductions already given are such as to satisfy the most fastidious disciples of the square root, need I perform a triple evolution in this threefold science of pure and mixed numbers? I conclude by apologising for not having treated the subject like a lexicographer, in technical and alphabetical routine.
J. R. P.
December, 1827.
[512] A milking-stool has three legs. It is superstitiously left in the field to keep witches from injuring the cattle.
[513] The Tres Horas are explained in the Every-Day Book.
[514] For the use of which threepence, hearth money, was formerly paid.
* * * * *
For the Table Book.
DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM.
Ελευσονται (γαρ) ημεραι εν αις ουκ αφησονται λιθος επι λιθω ος ου καταλυθησεται.
Luc. Ev. c. xxi. v. 6.
1.
Hark! again to the onset--the portals gape wide-- And the warriors stream forth in the rush of their pride, The cold reckless eye of the Roman glows red, At the sound of their deathlike and trumpetless tread; For he knows that the workings of frenzy are there, The triumph of death and the might of despair. Hearts--that wildly live on but to riot in pain-- Lips--that laugh, as in scorn, at the links of the chain-- And full many a plume shall yon eagle let fall, Ere she wing her fierce flight o’er the rift of the wall; Ere she soar on the dark cloud of conquest and rest, On the rock of that temple, the strength of her hest.
2.
Thy foes are around thee, fair city of peace!-- Thy sons are fast sinking, the wicked increase-- Yet proudly, ev’n now, thy high-place dost thou hold, Girt round with the pomp of their steel and their gold; And a pearl of rich price, on thine hill-top art thou, Meet to jewel the crown of a conqueror’s high brow. Yet deem not thy sons to that haughty array, Will fling thee unheeded, unbled for away. Shall the proud heathen tread where thy prophets have trod? Shall, the Flamen exult in the “Holy of God?” No--the hearts of thy children are one,--to hurl back The merciless wrath of the Gentiles’ attack. For the home of their fathers towers yet in their eye, As they lived will they live, as they died will they die.
3.
But weak is thine armour, and worthless thy might, A fiercer than man strives against thee in fight, And in vain shall the chiefs of thy battle withstand The voice of his thunder, the bolt in his hand; His wrath knows no refuge, his might knows no bar. The stout spear he rendeth, and burns the swift car. Thou shalt crumble to nought in the day of his wrath, Like the reed trampled down in the whirlwind’s wild path.
4.
Weep, daughter of Judah! that tempest hath come, And it laugheth to scorn the mild vengeance of Rome. Weep, daughter of Judah! a vengeance so dread Is bursting e’en now o’er thy desolate head, That the stern Roman eyes it with doubt and with fear. O’er the cheek of the conqueror there steals a soft tear Aye! the heathen for thee feels a pang of regret-- --One blaze--and thy sun shall for ever be set;
5.
One short flickering blaze;--and then passeth away The glory of years in the work of a day: The fair crown of Jacob lies trod in the dust. And shipwreck’d is now the strong hold of his trust; Tho’ the foxes have holes, and the fowls have a nest, Yet the “seed of the Promised” finds nowhere to rest; And despised shall he live on, in darkness and night, Till a Salem more blessed shall gladden his sight; The courts of whose house, in their measureless girth, Shall compass the tribes and the thousands of earth; Where none, save in triumph, their voices shall raise, And no trump shall peal forth save the trumpet of praise, In a realm far above, o’er that red eagle’s nest, Where the proud cease from wrong, and the poor are at rest.
B.
* * * * *
APOSTLE SPOONS.
To the Editor.
Dear Sir,--In Roger North’s Life of his brother, Sir Dudley North, (4to. London, 1744,) occurs the following passage, which, in connection with the account you gave your readers (Every-Day Book, vol. i. p. 176,) of “Apostle Spoons,” may be acceptable to you.
Mr. North, after some opposition, was elected sheriff of London; and after stating this, his biographer thus proceeds: “When all the forms of this shrieval instalment were over, Mr. North received the honour of knighthood ... and, as the custom of feasting, lately laid aside, was now resumed, Mr. North took a great hall, that belonged to one of the companies, and kept his entertainments there. He had diverse very considerable presents from friends and relations, besides the compliments of the several companies inviting themselves and wives to dinner, dropping their guineys, and taking apostles’ spoons in the room of them; which, with what they ate and drank, and such as came in the shape of wives, (for they often gratified a she-friend or relation with that preferment,) carried away, made but an indifferent bargain. The Middle Templars, (because of his relation to the lord chief justice North, who was of that Society,) came with a compliment, and a purse of one hundred guineys, and were entertained. The mirth and rejoicing that was in the city, as well at these feasts as at private entertainments, is scarce to be expressed.”
In perusing this quaintly written volume, there occur two or three passages, which deserve to be ranked as aphorisms. For your own reading I here add them:--
“Better a loss at sea than a bad debt on land. The former has no worse consequence than itself; but the other draws loss of time and pains, which might be employed to more profit.”
“Whoever serves a community, and does not secure his reward, will meet with quarrels instead of thanks, for all the good he may have done it.”
Sir Dudley was wont to remark, “Lay nothing to heart which you cannot help.” A most useful principle of life.
I am, &c.
Whitehaven,
J. G.
Sept. 12, 1827.
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PATIENT COURTSHIP.
For the Table Book.
I knew a man that went courting his sweetheart the distance of three miles every evening for fourteen years, besides dodging her home after church, Sunday afternoons; making above 15,000 miles. For the first seven years he only stood and courted in the door-porch; but for the remaining period, he ventured (what a liberty after a septennial attachment!) to hang his hat on a pin in the passage and sit in the kitchen settle. The wedding--a consummation devoutly to be wished--was solemnized when Robert and Hannah were in their “sear and yellow leaf.” They had no family “to cry their fading charms into the grave.” Though their courtship had been long, cool, and deliberate, they were not the happiest couple in the village; to that union of temper, which is so essential in wedded life, they were strangers.
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OLD AND FAITHFUL SERVANTS.
“In their death they were not divided.”
2 Samuel i. 23.
To the Editor
Sir,--The following memorial I copied from a tablet, on the right hand side of the clergyman’s desk, in the beautiful little church at Hornsey. The scarceness of similar inscriptions make this valuable.
S. T. L.
“ERECTED to the memory of MARY PARSONS, the diligent, faithful, and affectionate servant, in a family during a period of 57 years. She died on the 22d day of November, 1806, aged 85.
“ALSO to the memory of ELIZABETH DECKER, the friend and companion of the above; who, after an exemplary service of 47 years in the same family, died on the 2d of February, 1809, aged 75.
“THEIR REMAINS, by their mutual request, WERE INTERRED IN THE SAME GRAVE.”
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~Discoveries~
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XXXVI.
Merely a cursory mention of all the important discoveries in geometry, mathematics, and philosophy, for which we are indebted to the ancients, would form a large book; yet a few of these particulars will be adverted to by way of concluding the series of articles under the present title.
ANCIENT PHILOSOPHERS.
Thales was the first we know of who predicted eclipses. He pointed out the advantages that must arise from a due observation of the little bear or polar star; and taught that the earth was round, and the ecliptic in an oblique position.
Pytheas also, by accurate observations at Marseilles, more than 300 years before Christ, determined the obliquity of the ecliptic, by means of the solstitial shadow of the sun upon a dial. He found the height of the gnomon was to the length of the shadow as 600 to 213⅛; whence he concluded, that the obliquity of the ecliptic was 23° 49′. When Gassendi was at Marseilles with the celebrated Peiresc, he reiterated the experiment, and found it very just.
Thales went to the Egyptians to be instructed in geometry, and himself instructed them in that science. He showed them how to measure the pyramids by the length of their shades, and to determine the measure of inaccessible heights and distances, by the proportion of the sides of a triangle. He demonstrated the various properties of the circle; he discovered, respecting the isosceles triangle, that the angles at its base were equal; and he was the first who found, that in right lines cutting one another, the opposite angles are equal.
Anaximander, the successor of Thales, was the inventor of the armillary sphere, and of sun-horologes, or dials; he was likewise the first who drew a geographical map.
Pythagoras was the first who gave sure and fundamental precepts in music. Struck by the difference of sounds which issued from the hammers of a forge, but came into unison at the fourth, and fifth, and eighth percussions, he conjectured that this must proceed from the difference of weight in the hammers; he weighed them, and found he had conjectured right. Upon this he wound up some musical strings, in number equal to the hammers, and of a length proportioned to their weight; and found, that at the same intervals, they corresponded with the hammers in sound. Upon this principle he devised the monochord; an instrument of one string, capable of determining the various relations of sound. He also made many fine discoveries in geometry.
Plato by his studies in mathematics was enabled to devise the analytic method, or that geometric analysis, which enables us to find the truth we are in quest of, out of the proposition itself which we want to resolve. He it was who at length solved the famous problem, respecting the duplication of the cube. To him also is ascribed the solution of the problem concerning the trisection of an angle; and the discovery of conic sections.
Hipparchus discovered the elements of plane and spherical trigonometry.
Diophantes, who lived 360 years before Jesus Christ, was the inventor of algebra. It was from this science that the ancients drew those long and difficult demonstrations which we meet with in their works. They are presumed to have aimed at concealing a method which furnished them with so many beautiful and difficult demonstrations; and to have preferred the proving of their propositions by reasonings ad absurdum, rather than hazard the disclosure of the means by which they arrived more directly at the result of what they demonstrated. We meet with strong traces of algebra in the 13th book of Euclid. From the time of Diophantes, algebra made but small progress, till that of Vietus, who restored and perfected it, and was the first who marked the known quantities by the letters of the alphabet. Descartes afterwards applied it to geometry.
Aristarchus was the first who suggested a method of measuring the distance of the sun from the earth, by means of the half section of the moon’s disk, or that phasis of it wherein it appears to us when it is in its quadratures.
Hipparchus was the first who calculated tables of the motion of the sun and moon, and composed a catalogue of the fixed stars. He was also the first who, from the observation of eclipses, determined the longitude of places upon earth: but his highest honour is, that he laid the first foundations for the discovery of the precession of the equinoxes.
Archimedes discovered the square of the parabola, the properties of spiral lines, the proportion of the sphere to the cylinder, and the true principles of statics and hydrostatics. His sagacity is evident from the means he adopted to discover the quantity of silver that was mixed along with the gold, in the crown of king Hieron. He reasoned upon the principle, that all bodies immerged in water lose just so much of their weight, as a quantity of water equal to them in bulk weighs. Hence he drew this consequence, that gold being more compact must lose less of its weight, and silver more; and that a mingled mass of both, must lose in proportion to the quantities mingled. Weighing therefore the crown in water and in air, and two masses, the one of gold, the other of silver, equal in weight to the crown; he thence determined what each lost of their weight, and so solved the problem. He likewise invented a perpetual screw, valuable on account of its being capable to overcome any resistance; and the screw that still goes by his own name, used in the elevating of water. He alone defended the city of Syracuse, by opposing to the efforts of the Romans the resources of his genius. By means of machines, of his own construction, he rendered Syracuse inaccessible. Sometimes he hurled upon the land forces stones of such enormous size, as crushed whole phalanxes of them at once. When they retired from the walls, he overwhelmed them with arrows innumerable, and beams of a prodigious weight, discharged from catapults and balistæ. If their vessels approached the fort, he seized them by the prows with grapples of iron, which he let down upon them from the wall, and rearing them up in the air, to the great astonishment of every body, shook them with such violence, as either to break them in pieces, or sink them to the bottom. When they kept at a distance from the haven, he focalized fire from heaven, and wrapped them in sudden and inevitable conflagration. He once said to king Hieron, “Give me but a place to stand upon, and I will move the earth.” The king was amazed by the declaration, and Archimedes gave him a specimen of his power by launching singly by himself a ship of a prodigious size. He built for the king an immense galley, of twenty banks of oars, containing spacious apartments, gardens, walks, ponds, and every convenience required by regal dignity. He constructed a sphere, representing, the motions of the stars, which Cicero esteemed one of the inventions which did the highest honour to human genius. He perfected the manner of augmenting the mechanic powers, by the multiplication of wheels and pullies; and carried mechanics so far, that his works surpass imagination.
MECHANICS.
The immense machines, of astonishing force, which the ancients adapted to the purposes of war, prove their amazing proficiency in mechanics. It is difficult to conceive how they reared their bulky moving towers: some of them were a hundred and fifty-two feet in height, and sixty in compass, ascending by many stories, having at bottom a battering ram, of strength sufficient to beat down walls; in the middle, a drawbridge, to be let down upon the wall of the city attacked, afforded easy passage into the town for the assailants; and at top a body of men, placed above the besieged, harassed them without risk to themselves. An engineer at Alexandria, defending that city against the army of Julius Cæsar, by means of wheels, pumps, and other machinery, drew from the sea prodigious quantities of water, and discharged it upon the adverse army to their extreme discomfiture.
The mechanical enterprise and skill of the ancients are evidenced by their vast pyramids existing in Egypt, and the magnificent ruins of the cities of Palmyra and Balbec. Italy is filled with monuments of the greatness of ancient Rome.
ANCIENT CITIES.
The finest cities of Europe convey no idea of the grandeur of ancient Babylon, which being fifteen leagues in circumference, was encompassed with walls two hundred feet in height, and fifty in breadth, whose sides were adorned with gardens of a prodigious extent, which arose in terraces one above another, to the very summit of the walls. For the watering of these gardens there were machines, which raised the water of the Euphrates to the highest of the terraces. The tower of Belus, arising out of the middle of the temple, was of so vast a height, that some authors have not ventured to assign its altitude; others put it at a thousand paces.
Ecbatane, the capital of Media, was eight leagues in circumference, and surrounded with seven walls in form of an amphitheatre, the battlements of which were of various colours, white, black, scarlet, blue, and orange; all of them covered with silver or with gold.
Persepolis was a city, which all historians speak of as one of the most ancient and noble of Asia. There remain the ruins of one of its palaces, which measured six hundred paces in front, and still displays relics of its former grandeur.
THE LAKE MŒRIS AND THE PYRAMIDS.
The lake Mœris was a hundred and fifty leagues in circuit, and entirely the work of one Egyptian king, who caused that immense compass of ground to be hollowed, to receive the waters of the Nile, when it overflowed its usual level, and to serve as a reservoir for watering Egypt by means of canals, when the river was not of sufficient height to overflow and fertilize the country. From the midst of this lake arose two pyramids, of six hundred feet in height.
The other pyramids of Egypt, in bulk and solidity so far surpass whatever we know of edifices, that we should be ready to doubt their having existed, did they not still subsist. One of the sides of the base of the highest pyramid measures six hundred and sixty feet. The free-stones which compose it are each of them thirty feet long. The moderns are at a loss to imagine by what means such huge and heavy masses were raised to a height of above four hundred feet.
THE COLOSSUS OF RHODES.
This was another marvellous production of the ancients. Its fingers were as large as statues; few were able with outstretched arms to encompass the thumb. Ships passed between its legs.
STUPENDOUS STATUES.
Semiramis caused the mountain Bagistan, between Babylon and Media, to be cut out into a statue of herself, which was seventeen stadia high, that is, above half a French league; and around it were a hundred other statues, of proportionable size, though less large.
It was proposed to Alexander the Great, to make a statue of him out of mount Athos, which would have been a hundred and fifty miles in circumference, and ten miles in height. The design was to make him hold in his left hand a city, large enough to contain ten thousand inhabitants; and in the other an urn, out of which should flow a river into the sea.
BRIDGES--GLAZED WINDOWS.
In the structures of the ancients, the hardness of their cement equals that of marble itself. The firmness of their highways has never been equalled. Some were paved with large blocks of black marble. Their bridges, some of which still remain, are indubitable monuments of the greatness of their conceptions. The Roman bridge at Gard, near Nismes, is one of them. It serves at once as a bridge and an aqueduct, goes across the river Gardon, and connects two mountains, between which it is enclosed. It comprehends three stories; the third is the aqueduct, which conveys the waters of the Eure into a great reservoir, to supply the amphitheatre and city of Nismes. Trajan’s bridge over the Danube had twenty piers of free-stone, some of which are still standing, a hundred and fifty feet high, sixty in circumference, and distant one from another a hundred and seventy.
Among the ornaments and conveniences of ancient buildings was glass. They decorated their rooms with glasses, as mirrors. They also glazed their windows, so as to enjoy the benefit of light, without being injured by the air. This they did very early; but before they discovered that manner of applying glass, the rich made use of transparent stones in their windows, such as agate, alabaster, phengifes, talc, &c.
CURIOUS MECHANISM.
The works of the ancients in miniature were excellent. Archytas, who was contemporary with Plato, constructed a wooden pigeon, which imitated the flight and motions of a living one. Cicero saw the whole of Homer’s Iliad written in so fine a character that it could be contained in a nutshell.[515] Myrmecides, a Milesian, made an ivory chariot, so small and so delicately framed, that a fly with its wing could at the same time cover it; and a little ivory ship of the same dimensions. Callicrates, a Lacedemonian, formed ants and other little animals out of ivory, so extremely small, that their component parts were scarcely to be distinguished. One of these artists wrote a distich in golden letters, which he enclosed in the rind of a grain of corn.
MICROSCOPES, &c.
Whether, in such undertakings as our best artists cannot accomplish without the assistance of microscopes, the ancients were so aided, is doubtful, but it is certain that they had several ways of helping and strengthening the sight, and of magnifying small objects. Jamblichus says of Pythagoras, that he applied himself to find out instruments as efficacious to aid the hearing, as a ruler, or a square, or even optic glasses, διοπτρα, were to the sight. Plutarch speaks of mathematical instruments which Archimedes made use of, to manifest to the eye the largeness of the sun; which may be meant of telescopes. Aulus Gellius having spoken of mirrors that multiplied objects, makes mention of those which inverted them; and these of course must be concave or convex glasses. Pliny says that in his time artificers made use of emeralds to assist their sight, in works that required a nice eye; and to prevent us from thinking that it was on account of its green colour only that they had recourse to it, he adds, that they were made concave the better to collect the visual rays; and that Nero used them in viewing the combats of the gladiators.
SCULPTURE.
Admirable monuments remain to us of the perfection to which the ancients carried the arts of sculpture and design. The Niobé and the Laocoon, the Venus de Medicis, the Hercules stifling Antæus, that other Hercules who rests upon his club, the dying gladiator, and that other in the vineyard of Borghese, the Apollo Belvedere, the maimed Hercules, and the Equerry in the action of breaking a horse on mount Quirinal, loudly proclaim the superiority of the ancients in those arts. These excellences are to be observed upon their medals, their engraved precious stones, and their cameos.
PAINTING.
Of ancient painting the reliques are so few and so much injured by time, that to form a proper judgment of it, is at first difficult. Yet if due attention be paid to pictures discovered at Rome, and latterly in the ruins of Herculaneum, the applause which the painters of antiquity received from their contemporaries may seem to have been merited. Among the ancient paintings in fresco, still at Rome, are a reclining Venus at full length, in the palace of Barbarini; the Aldovrandine nuptials; a Coriolanus, in one of the cells of Titus’s baths; and seven other pieces, in the gallery of the college of St. Ignatius; taken out of a vault at the foot of mount Palatine; among which are a satyr drinking out of a horn, and a landscape with figures, both of the utmost beauty. There are also a sacrificial piece, consisting of three figures, in the Albani collection; and an Œdipus, and a sphynx, in the villa Altieri; which all formerly belonged to the tomb of Ovid. From these specimens an advantageous judgment may be formed of the ability of the masters who executed them. Others, discovered at Herculaneum, disclose a happiness of design and boldness of expression, that could only have been achieved by accomplished artists. Theseus vanquishing the minotaur, the birth of Telephus, Chiron and Achilles, and Pan and Olympe, have innumerable excellencies. There were found also, among the ruins of that city, four capital pictures, wherein beauty of design seems to vie with the most skilful management of the pencil. They appear of an earlier date than those spoken of, which belong to the first century; a period when painting, as Pliny informs us, was in its decline.
MOSAIC.
Of this work, which the Romans made use of in paving their apartments, a beautiful specimen, described by Pliny, was found in the ruins of Adrian’s villa at Tivoli. It represents a basin of water, with four pigeons around its brim; one of them is drinking, and in that attitude its shadow appears in the water. Pliny says, that on the same pavement the breaking up of an entertainment was so naturally represented, that you would have thought you really saw the scattered fragments of the feast.
MUSIC.
The ancients have the whole merit of having laid down the first exact principles of music; and the writings of the Pythagoreans, of Aristoxenes, Euclid, Aristides, Nichomachus, Plutarch, and many others, even such of them as still remain, contain in them every known theory of the science. They, as well as we, had the art of noting their tunes, which they performed by means of letters either contracted, or reversed, placed upon a line parallel to the words, and serving for the direction, the one of the voice, the other of the instrument. The scale itself, of which Guy Aretin is the supposed inventor, is no other than the ancient one of the Greeks a little enlarged, and what Guy may have taken from a Greek manuscript, written above eight hundred years ago, which Kircher says he saw at Messina in the library of the Jesuists, wherein he found the hymns noted just as in the manner of Aretin. The ancient lyre was certainly a very harmonious instrument, and was so constructed, and so full of variety in Plato’s time, that he regarded it as dangerous, and too apt to relax the mind. In Anacreon’s time, it had already obtained forty strings. Ptolemy and Porphyry describe instruments resembling the lute and theorb, having a handle with keys belonging to it, and the strings extended from the handle over a concave body of wood. There is to be seen at Rome an ancient statue of Orpheus, with a musical bow in his right hand, and a kind of violin in his left. In the commentaries of Philostrates by Vigenere, is a medal of Nero with a violin upon it. The flute was carried to so high a degree of perfection by the ancients, that there were various kinds of them, and so different in sound, as to be wonderfully adapted to express all manner of subjects.
Tertullian mentions an organ invented by Archimedes. “Behold,” says Tertullian, “that astonishing and admirable hydraulic organ of Archimedes, composed of such a number of pieces, consisting each of so many different parts, connected together by such a quantity of joints, and containing such a variety of pipes for the imitation of voices, conveyed in such a multitude of sounds, modulated into such a diversity of tones, breathed from so immense a combination of flutes; and yet all taken together, constitute but one single instrument.”
That the ancients knew and practised harmony is evident from Plato, Macrobius, and other early writers. Aristotle, speaking of the revolutions of the several planets, as perfectly harmonizing with one another, they being all of them conducted by the same principle, draws a comparison from music to illustrate his sentiments. “Just as in a chorus,” says he, “of men and women, where all the variety of voices, through all the different tones, from the bass to the higher notes, being under the guidance and direction of a musician, perfectly correspond with one another, and form a full harmony.” Aurelius Cassiodorus defines symphony to be “the art of so adjusting the base to the higher notes, and them to it, through all the voices and instruments, whether they be wind or stringed instruments, that thence an agreeable harmony may result.” Horace speaks expressly of the bass and higher tones, and the harmony resulting from their concurrence. It is true, however, that the ancients did not much use harmony in concert. One fine voice alone, accompanied with one instrument, regulated entirely by it, pleased them better than mere music without voices, and made a more lively impression on their feeling minds; and this is what even we ourselves every day experience.
The effects ascribed to the music of the ancients are surprising. Plutarch reports of Antigenidas, that by playing on the flute, he so roused the spirit of Alexander, that he started from the table, and flew to his arms. Timotheus when touching his lyre so inflamed him with rage, that drawing his sabre he suddenly slew one of his guests; which Timotheus no sooner perceived, than altering the air from the Phrygian to a softer measure, he calmed his passions, and infused into him the tenderest feelings of grief and compunction for what he had done. Jamblichus relates like extraordinary effects of the lyres of Pythagoras and Empedocles. Plutarch informs us of a sedition quelled at Lacedemon by the lyre of Terpander; and Boetius tells of rioters having been dispersed by the musician Damon.
The delicacy of the ancient airs much surpassed ours; and it is in this respect, principally, that we may be said to have lost their music. Of their three kinds of music, the diatonic, chromatic, and the enharmonic, there exists now only the first, which teaches the dividing the notes into semi-notes: whereas the chromatic divided each note into three, and the enharmonic into four parts. The difficulty there was to find voices and hands proper to execute the chromatic kind, brought it first into neglect, and then into oblivion; and for the same reason the enharmonic, which was still more difficult, has not come down to us. All which now remains of the ancient music, is that which knows of no other refinement than the demi-note, instead of those finer kinds, which carried on the division of a note into threes and fours. The variety of manner in which the ancient music was performed, placed it in a rank of dignity superior to ours. Our modes are but of two kinds, the flat and sharp; whereas the ancients modified theirs into five, the principal of which were the Ionic, the Lydian, the Phrygian, the Doric, and the Æolic; each adapted to express and excite different passions: and by that means, especially, to produce such effects as have been just noticed, and which are incontestable from the authentic manner in which they have been recorded.
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NOTE--Here, if it were not necessary to close this series of papers, they would be extended somewhat further for the purpose of relating the long-reaching views of the ancients on other topics; but nothing can conveniently be added save a passage from the author whose volume has supplied the preceding materials. “Having received from our ancestors the product of all their meditations and researches, we ought daily to add what we can to it, and by that means contribute all in our power to the increase and perfection of knowledge.”
Seneca, speaking eighteen centuries ago, of “the inventions of the wise,” claims them as an inheritance.--“To me,” he says, “they have been transmitted; for me they have been found out. But let us in this case act like good managers, let us improve what we have received; and convey this heritage to our descendants in better condition than it came to us. Much remains for us to do, much will remain for those who come after us. A thousand years hence, there will still be occasion, and still opportunity to add something to the common stock. But had even every thing been found out by the ancients, there would still this remain to be done anew--to put their inventions into use, and make their knowledge ours.”
[515] In the Every-Day Book there is an account of the means by which this performance can be effected.
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MANNERS IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
To the Editor.
Sir,--If the following extracts should suit the Table Book, they are at your service.
J. S.
Morley, November, 1827.
1637. The bishop of Chester, writing to the archbishop of York, touching the entertainment given by the Chester men to Mr. Prynne, when on his road to Caernarvon castle, has occasion to mention the reception given to Prynne by the wife of Thomas Aldersey, the alderman, relates, “That, on her examination, she swears, that Peter and Robert Ince brought Prynne home to her house, where she was sitting with other gossips, and neither expected nor invited Prynne; neither did she send for a drop of wine for him, or bestowed any other gift upon him, but the offer of a taste of a pint of wine, which she and her gossips were then a drinking.”
New Discovery of the Prelate’s Tyranny, p. 224.
1637. There came in my tyme to the college, Oxford, one Nathaniel Conopios, out of Greece; he was the first I ever saw drink coffee, which custom came not into England till thirty years after.
1640. Found my father at Bathe extraordinary weake; I returned home with him in his litter.
1652. Having been robbed by two cutthroats near Bromley, I rode on to London, and got 500 tickets printed.
The robber refusing to plead, was pressed to death.
1654. May. Spring Garden till now had been the usual rendezvous for the ladys and gallants at this season. I now observed how the women began to paint themselves, formerly a most ignominious thing, and only used by prostitutes.
Evelyn.
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1660. Jan. 16. I staid up till the bellman came by with his bell just under my window, and cried “Past one of the clock, and a cold frosty window morning.”
When friends parted, they said, “God be with you.”
My dining-room was finished with green serge hanging and gilt leather.
Jan. 2. I had been early this morning to Whitehall, at the Jewel office, to choose a piece of gilt plate for my lord, in return of his offering to the king, (which it seems is usual at this time of year, and an earl gives 20 pieces in gold in a purse to the king,) I choose a gilt tankard, weighing 31 ounces and a half, and he is allowed 30 ounces, so I paid 12_s._ for the ounce and half over what he is to have: but strange it was for me to see what a company of SMALL FEES I was called upon by a great many to pay there, which I perceive is the manner that courtiers do get their estates.
September. I did send for a cup of tea (a China drink,) of which I had never drank before.
November. To sir W. Batten’s to dinner, he having a couple of servants married to-day; and so there was a great number of merchants and others of good quality, on purpose after dinner to make an offering, which, when dinner was done, we did; and I gave 10_s._ and no more, though most of them did give more, and did believe that I did also.
1661. Feb. Sir W. Batten sent my wife half a dozen pair of gloves and a pair of silk stockings and garters for her valentines.
May. We went to Mrs. Browne’s, where sir W. Pen and I were godfathers, and Mrs. Jordan and Shipman godmothers. And there before and after the christening we were with the woman above in her chamber. I did give the midwife 10_s._ and the nurse 5_s._ and the maid 2_s._ But forasmuch I expected to give the name to the child but did not, I forbore then to give my plate, which I had in my pocket, namely, six spoons and a porringer of silver.
July. A messenger brought me word that my uncle was dead. I rode over and found my uncle’s corps in a coffin, standing upon joynt-stools in the chimney in the hall, but it began to smell, and so I caused it to be set forth in the yard all night, and watched by my aunt. In the morning my father and I read the will; after that done we went about getting things, as ribands and gloves, ready for the burial, which in the afternoon was done; we served the people with wine and other things.
November. To church, and heard a simple fellow upon the praise of church musique, and exclaiming against men’s wearing their hats on in church.
Civet cats, parrots, and apes, sent as presents to ladies; and gentlemen lighted home by link-boys.
Pepys.
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The faire and famous comedian, Roxalana, was taken to be the earle of Oxford’s misse, as at this time they began to call lewd women.
Dined at Chaffinch’s house warming.
Evelyn.
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1663. October. To Guildhall; we went up and down to see the tables. By and by the lord mayor came into the hall to dinner, with the other great lords, bishops, &c. I set near Creed. We had plenty of good wine, but it was very unpleasing that we had no napkins, or knives, nor change of trenchers, and drunk out of earthern pitchers and wooden dishes.
1664. Home to bed, having got a strange cold in my head, by flinging off my hat at dinner.
To my lord chancellor’s (sir Orlando Bridgman, lord keeper,) in the garden, where we conversed above an hour, walking up and down, and he would have me walk with my hat on.
1665. At this time I have two tierces of claret, two quarter casks of canary, and a smaller vessel of sack; a vessel of tent, another of Malaga, and another of white wine, all in my own cellar.
1666. February. This morning came up to my wife’s bedside little Will Mercer to be her valentine; and brought her name writ upon blue paper in gold letters, done by himself very prettily. But I am also this year my wife’s valentine, and it will cost me 5_l._ I find that Mrs. Pierce’s little girl is my valentine, she having drawn me. But here I do first observe the fashion of drawing of mottos, as well as names: my wife’s motto was “Most courteous, most fair;” mine I have forgot. One wonder I observed to-day, that there was no musique in the morning to call up our new married people, which was very mean methinks.
1667. June. Find my wife making tea, a drink which her potticary tells her is good for her cold and defluxions.
A flaggon of ale and apples drunk out of a wood cup as a Christmas draught.
1669. May. My wife got up by 4 o’c. to go to gather May Dew, which Mrs. Turner hath taught her is the only thing in the world to wash her face with.
Pepys.
* * * * *
1671. To lord Arlington’s, where we found M’lle Querouaille; it was universally reported, that the fair lady was bedded one of these nights to the king, who was often here; and the stocking flung after the manner of a married bride; however, ’twas with confidence believed she was first made a misse, as they call these unhappy creatures, with solemnity at this time.
1683. I went with others into the duchess of Portsmouth’s dressing-roome within her bedchamber, where she was in her morning loose garment, her maids combing her, newly out of her bed, his majesty and gallants standing about her.
1685. January 25, Sunday. Dr. Dove preached before the king. I saw this evening such a scene of profuse gaming, and the king in the midst of his three concubines, as I had never seen before, luxurious dallying and prophaneness.
February 6. The king died. I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and prophaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God, (it being Sunday evening,) which this day se’nnight I was witnesse of. The king sitting and toying with his concubines Portsmouth, Cleavland, and Mazarine, &c. and a French boy singing love songs; whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them.
Evelyn.
Vol. II.--54.
Accompanying the portrait and papers of George Bloomfield, copied and referred to in the preceding sheet of the Table Book, was a drawing, taken in October last, of Robert Bloomfield’s birth-place. An engraving of it is here presented, in order to introduce the following memorandum drawn up by George Bloomfield, and now lying before me in his hand-writing, viz.
“THE POETICAL FREEHOLD.
“February 4, 1822, was sold at Honington Fox, the old cottage, the natal place of Robert Bloomfield, the Farmer’s Boy.
“My father, a lively little man, precisely five feet high, was a tailor, constantly employed in snapping the cat, that is, he worked for the farmers at their own houses, at a shilling per day and his board. He was a gay knight of the thimble, and as he wore a fashionable coat with a very narrow back, the villagers called him George Narrowback. My mother they called Mrs. Prim. She was a spruce, neat body, and was the village school-dame. Her father found the money, and my father bought the cottage in the year 1754. He died in the year 1766, and, like many other landed men, died intestate. My mother married again. When I came of age she showed me the title-deeds, told me I was heir-at-law, and hoped she should finish her days there. I promised her she should; but time rolled, and at length my wife, after two years of affliction with the dropsy, died, and left me with five infant children, head and ears in debt. To secure the cottage to my mother, I persuaded my brother Robert to buy the title, and give all my brothers and sisters their shares and me mine, and this money paid my debts. The Farmer’s Boy was now the proprietor; but it was a poor freehold, for he did all the repairs, and my mother paid no rent. After my mother’s death, Isaac lived in it upon the same terms,--too poor to pay rent or be turned out. Isaac died, and left nine children. Bob kept the widow in the place, did all the repairs, and she, also, paid nothing. At length the bankruptcies and delays of the London booksellers forced Bob to sell!----
“----The late noble duke of Grafton gave my mother a gravestone. This is all that remains to mark the village as the birth-place of Giles, and all that now remains in it belonging to the Bloomfields.”
G. B.
* * * * *
With a sentence or two, by way of continuation to the appeal already made in behalf of George Bloomfield, it was purposed to conclude the present article; but just as the sheet was ready for the press a packet of his manuscript papers arrived, and extracts from these will exemplify his character and his necessities. The following address to one of his old friends is a fair specimen of his talent for versifying:--
TO MR. THOMAS WISSET, OF SAPISTON, PSALM SINGER, PARISH CLERK, AND SEXTON, &C. &C.
Respectfully I would impart, In language most befitting, The sorrows of an aching heart, With care and trouble smitten.
I’ve lost the best of wives, d’ye see, That e’er to man was given; Alas! she was too good for me, So she’s remov’d to heaven.
But while her happiness I trace, Fell poverty pursuing, Unless another takes her place, ’Twill be my utter ruin.
My children’s clothes to rags are worn, Nor have we wit to mend ’em; Their tatters flying all forlorn-- Kind Providence, defend ’em.
Dear Tom, thou art St. Andrew’s clerk, And glad I am to know it; Thou art a witty rhyming spark, The merry village poet.
Make some fond woman to me fly. No matter what her form be; If she has lost a leg or eye, She still with love may charm me.
If she loves work, Oh! what delight, What joy it will afford her, To darn our clothes from morn to night, And keep us all in order.
Would some kind dame but hear my plaint, And would thou to me give her, St. Andrew!--he shall be my saint, And thou his clerk for ever.
Dear Tom, may all thy joys increase, And to thee be it given, When singing here on earth shall cease, To pitch the key in Heaven.
GEORGE BLOOMFIELD.
Nov. 3, 1803.
* * * * *
Prefixed to some MS. verses, written by George Bloomfield in 1808, is the subjoined account of the occasion that awakened his muse.
“THE APRIL FOOL.
“When on the wrong side of fifty I married a second time! My best friends declared it was madness to risk a second family, &c. &c. We married 7th of February, 1807. Early in 1808 it was discovered I should have an increase, and Charles Blomfield, Esq. asked me when it would happen. I answered, in April. ‘Sure,’ says he, ‘it won’t happen on the First!’--I felt the force of the remark--the probability of my being an April Fool--and wrote the following lines, and sent them to Mr. B., from whom I received a note enclosing another, value one pound. The note said, ‘My daughters are foolish enough to be pleased with your April Fool, and I am so pleased to see them pleased, I send the enclosed, &c.’”
Trifles like these are only of importance as traits of the individual. The next is abstracted from a letter to an overseer, with whom George Bloomfield necessarily corresponded, as may be surmised from the contents.
To Mr. HAYWARD, Thetford.
Bury St. Edmund’s, Nov. 23, 1819.
Sir,--When a perfect stranger to you, you treated me with great condescension and kindness, I therefore enclose some lines I wrote and addressed to the guardians of the poor in this town. They have assessed all such persons as are not legally settled here to the poor and church rates, and they have assessed me full double what I ought to pay. What renders it more distressing, our magistrates say that by the local act they are restrained from interfering, otherwise I should have been exempt, on account of my age and poverty. So I sent my rhymes, and Mr. Gall, one of the guardians, sent for me, and gave me a piece of beef, &c. I had sold the only coat I had that was worth a shilling, and was prepared to pay the first seven shillings and sixpence, but the guardians seem to think, (as I do,) that I can never go on paying--they are confident the gentlemen of St. Peter’s parish will pay it for me--bade me wait a fortnight, &c. The pressure of the times is so great that the poor blame the rich, and the rich blame the poor.
----There is a figure in use called the hyperbole; thus we sometimes say of an old man, “he is one foot in the grave, and t’other out.” I might say I am one foot in Thetford workhouse, and t’other out.--The scripture tells me, that the providence of God rules over all and in all places, consequently to me a workhouse is, on my own account, no such very dreadful thing; but I have two little girls whom I dread to imprison there. I trust in Providence, and hope both rich and poor will see better days.
Your humble servant,
GEORGE BLOOMFIELD.
Among George Bloomfield’s papers is the following kind letter to him, from his brother Robert. The feeble, tremulous handwriting of the original corroborates its expressions of illness, and is a sad memorial of the shattered health of the author of the Farmer’s Boy, three years before his death.
“Shefford, July 18, 1820.
“Dear brother George,
“No quarrel exists--be at ease. I have this morning seen your excellent letters to your son, and your poem on the Thetford Waters, and am with my son and daughter delighted to find that your spark seems to brighten as you advance in years. You think that I have been weak enough to be offended--there has been no such thing! I have been extremely unwell, and am still a poor creature, but I now force myself to write these few words to thank you for the pleasure you have just given me.
“My son, or my daughter, shall write for me soon.
“Yours unalterably,
“Brother, and Brother Bard,
“ROB. BLOOMFIELD.”
It may be remembered that Giles, the “Farmer’s Boy,” was Robert Bloomfield himself, and that his master, the “Farmer,” was Mr. W. Austin of Sapiston. In reference to his home at the farm Robert wrote, of himself,
“the ploughman smiles. And oft the joke runs hard on sheepish Giles, Who sits joint-tenant of the corner stool, The converse sharing, though in Duty’s school.”
Farmer’s Boy.
The son of the benevolent protector of Robert in his childhood sunk under misfortune, and George records the fact by the following lines, written in 1820:--
THE UNFORTUNATE FARMER.
When Giles attuned his song in rural strains, He sang of Sap’ston’s groves, her meads, and plains; Described the various seasons as they roll’d, Of homely joys and peace domestic told. The Farmer there, alas! no more bears rule, And no “joint-tenants” sit in “Duty’s school:” No happy labourers now with humble fare His fire-side comforts and instruction share. No longer master he of those sweet fields, No more for him the year its bounty yields, Nor his the hope to see his children round With decent competence and comfort crown’d. These scenes and hopes from him for ever flown, In indigent old age he lives to mourn.
George Bloomfield subjoins, in explanation, on these lines, “My reading in the Bury paper of the 6th of Dec. 1820, an advertisement of an assignment for the benefit of creditors of the effects of Mr. Willian Austin, gave rise to the above. Mr. A. was the young master of Giles, when Giles was the Farmer’s Boy; and the admirers of rural poetry, as well in the new as the old world, have been made acquainted with the Austin family by means of the poem of that name. Mr. A. held the farm near thirty years, and
’twas the same that his grandfather till’d.
He has ten children, some of them very young. He has been by some accused of imprudence: but the heavy poor-rates, (he paid 36_l._ last year,) the weight of a numerous family, and the depreciation of the price of produce, were the principal causes of his fall. He has been a most indulgent father, a kind master, and a good neighbour.”
Twenty years after writing the lines to the “Psalm-singer, Parish Clerk, and Sexton” of Sapiston, George again berhymed him. Preceding the effusion, is the following
MEMORANDUM.
“My old friend Wisset has now entered his eighty-third year, and is blind, and therefore cannot write; but he sent his kind regards to me by a young man, and bade him repeat four lines to me. The young man forgot the lines, but he said they were about old age and cold winter. I sent him the following:--
DEAR OLD BROTHER BARD,
Now clothed with snow is hill and dale, And all the streams with ice are bound! How chilling is the wintry gale! How bleak and drear the scene around!
Yet midst the gloom bright gleams appear, Our drooping spirits to sustain, Hope kindly whispers in the ear Sweet Spring will soon return again.
’Tis thus, old friend, with you and me Life’s Spring and Summer both are flown, The marks of wintry age we see, Our locks to frosty white are grown.
O let us then our voices raise, For favours past due homage bring; Thus spend the winter of our days, Till God proclaims a glorious Spring.
GEORGE BLOOMFIELD.
January 23, 1823.
The MSS. from whence the present selections have been hastily made, were accompanied by a letter from George Bloomfield, written nearly a month ago. They were delayed by the person who transmitted the parcel till the opportunity of noticing them in this work had almost passed. All that could be done in an hour or two is before the reader; and no more has been aimed at than what appears requisite to awaken sympathy and crave assistance towards an aged and indigent brother of the author of the Farmer’s Boy. George’s present feelings will be better represented by his own letter than by extracting from it.
_2, High Baxter Street, Bury St. Edmond’s, Dec. 5th, 1827._
TO MR. HONE,
Sir,--A gentleman desires me to write to you, as editor of the Table Book, it being his wish that a view which he sent of the little cottage at Honington should appear in that very curious work. The birth-place of Robert Bloomfield I think may excite the interest of some of your readers; but, sir, if they find out that you correspond with a superannuated cold water poet, your work will smell of poverty.
Lord Byron took pains to flog two of my brothers, as poachers on the preserves of the qualified proprietors of literature. It is thought, if he had not been wroth with the Edinburgh Reviewers, these poor poachers might have escaped; they, like me, had neither birth nor education to entitle them to a qualification.
If, sir, you ever saw an old wall blown down, or, as we have it here in the country, if the wall “fall of its own accord,” you may have observed that the first thing the workmen do, is to pick out the whole bricks into one heap, the bats into another, and the rubbish into a third. Thus, sir, if in what falls from me to you, you can find any whole bricks, or even bats, that may be placed in your work, pick them out; but I much fear all will be but rubbish unfit for your purpose.
So much has been said, in the books published by my brothers, of “the little tailor’s four little sons,” who once resided in the old cottage, that I cannot add much that is new, and perhaps the little I have to relate will be uninteresting. But I think the great and truly good man, the late duke of Grafton, ought to have been more particularly mentioned. Surely, after near thirty years, the good sense and benevolence of that real _noble_man may be mentioned. When in my boyhood, he held the highest office in the state that a subject can fill, and like all that attain such preeminence, had his enemies; yet the more Junius and others railed at him, the more I revered him. He was our “Lord of the Manor,” and as I knew well his private character, I had no doubt but he was “all of a piece.” I have on foot joined the fox-chase, and followed the duke many an hour, and witnessed his endearing condescension to all who could run and shout. When Robert became known as the Farmer’s Boy, the duke earnestly cautioned him on no account to change his habits of living, but at the same time encouraged him in his habits of reading, and kindly gave him a gratuity of a shilling a day, to enable him to employ more time in reading than heretofore. This gratuity was always paid while the duke lived, and was continued by the present duke till Robert’s death.
Could poor Robert have kept his children in their old habits of living, he might have preserved some of the profits arising from his works, but he loved his children too tenderly to be a niggard; and, besides, he received his profits at a time when bread was six or seven shillings per stone: no wonder that with a sickly family to support, he was embarrassed.
The duke likewise strongly advised him not to write too much, but keep the ground he had gained, &c. As hereditary sealer of the writs in the Court of King’s Bench, the duke gave Robert the situation of under sealer, but his health grew so bad he was obliged to give it up; he held it several months, however, and doubtless many a poor fellow went to coop under Robert’s seal. It was peculiarly unfortunate he could not keep his place, for I think Mr. Allen, the master-sealer, did not live above two years, and it is more than probable the duke would have made Robert master-sealer, and then he would have had sufficient income. The duke’s condescension and kindness to my mother was very great, he learned her real character, and called on her at her own cottage, and freely talked of gone-by times, (her father was an old tenant to the duke.) He delicately left a half guinea at Mr. Roper’s, a gentleman farmer, to be given to her after his departure, and when he heard of her death he ordered a handsome gravestone to be placed over her, at his expense, and requested the Rev. Mr. Fellowes to write an inscription. It is thus engraven:--
BENEATH THIS STONE
Are deposited the mortal remains of
ELIZABETH GLOVER, who died Dec. 27th, 1803.
Her maiden name was MANBY, and she was twice married. By her first husband, who lies buried near this spot, she was mother of six children; the youngest of whom was ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, the pastoral Poet. In her household affairs she was a pattern of cleanliness, industry, and good management. By her kind, her meek, her inoffensive behaviour, she had conciliated the sincere good will of all her neighbours and acquaintance; nor amid the busy cares of time was she ever forgetful of Eternity. But her religion was no hypocritical service, no vain form of words; it consisted in loving God and keeping his commandments, as they have been made known to us by JESUS CHRIST.
Reader, go thou and do likewise.
If ever I was proud of any thing it was of my mother, nor do I think, strong as is the praise in the above, it is overdone. For solid strength of intellect she surpassed all her sons, and had more real practical virtues than all of them put together. Kind Providence spared her to bless me till I was far on the wrong side of fifty.
I must say a word or two on her sons, because Capel Loftt, Esq., in his preface to my brother Nat’s poems, has said too much about them, viz. “Beyond question, the brothers of this family are all extraordinary men.” Now, sir, as I am the oldest of these brothers, I will tell first of myself. I wrote a little poem, when near seventy, on the “Thetford Spa;” but dreading those snarling curs, the critics, forebore to affix my name to it. Mr. Smith, of Cambridge, printed it gratuitously; but as soon as it was discovered I was the author, my acquaintance styled me the cold water poet. I think my title will do very well. Brother Nathaniel wrote some poems; unluckily they were printed and published here at Bury, and the pack of critics hunted down the book. Nat has had thirteen children, and most of them are living, and so is he. Brother Isaac was a machinist. John Boys, Esq. gave him in all twenty pounds, but he died a young man, and left his self-working pumps unfinished. Eight of his children are living.
The old cottage sold to Robert had been in the family near fourscore years. It proved a hard bargain to Robert; my mother and Isaac occupied the cottage, and could not pay rent; and after the death of my mother, poor Robert was in distress and sold it:--the lawyers would not settle the business, and Robert died broken-hearted, and never received sixpence!
The lawyers constantly endeavour to make work for the trade. I believe it to be true, as some say, that we are now as much law-ridden as we were priest-ridden some ages ago. I like Charlotte Smith’s definition of the Law Trade. Orlando, in the “Old Manor House,” says to Carr, the lawyer, “I am afraid you are all rogues together;” Carr replies, “More or less, my good friend;--some have more sense than others, and some a little more conscience--but for the rest, I am afraid we are all of us a little too much professional rogues: though some of us, as individuals, would not starve the orphan, or break the heart of the widow, yet, in our vocation, we give all remorse of that sort to the winds.” My last account from Robert’s family says, the lawyers have not yet settled the poor old cottage!
Nat and I only survive of the little tailor’s “extraordinary” children--quite past our labour, and destitute of many comforts we used to enjoy in youth. We have but one step farther to fall, (i.e.) into the workhouse! Yet in the nature of things it cannot be long ere death will close the scene. We have had our day, and night must come. I hope we shall welcome it as heartily as Sancho in Don Quixote did sleep, “Blessed be he who first invented sleep, it covers a man all over like a cloak.”
I shall indeed be agreeably disappointed if any one should bestow any thing upon Nat, or
Sir, your humble obedient servant,
GEO. BLOOMFIELD.
George Bloomfield is in his seventy-third year, and surely this fact, with the contents of the preceding columns, will be sufficient to excite commiseration in feeling and liberal minds. Mr. Faux, a respectable resident at Thetford, in Norfolk, is represented to me as being his friend. George Bloomfield’s own address at Bury St. Edmund’s is prefixed to his letter above. Either to Mr. Faux for him, or to himself direct, the remittance of a little money immediately would be highly serviceable. Something, however, beyond that is clearly requisite, and his statement of his brother Nathaniel’s equal necessities should be considered at the same time. There are names dignified by rank and talents in the list of individuals who admire the works of Robert Bloomfield, and should this sheet fall into their hands it is natural to presume that some of them may seek out and assist his surviving brothers in sorrowing old age. This, however, may not happen, and is not therefore to be relied upon.
The case of the family of the Bloomfields, altogether, is distressing. As this is a season for present-making and social-meeting, I venture to suggest that no gift can be better bestowed than on those who are in the utmost need; nor will the pleasures of a convivial party be lessened, if, while “the glasses sparkle on the board,” a subscription be volunteered towards keeping the last two brothers of Robert Bloomfield from the workhouse during their few remaining years of life. I have done my best to make their distress publicly known, and it remains with individuals to do their best to relieve it. Anything left at Messrs. Hunt and Clarke’s, 4, York-street, Covent Garden, shall be appropriated as the donors may direct. A meeting, and a few active individuals, would effect much.
1st January, 1828.
*
* * * * *
~Travellers~
EAST AND WEST.
To the Editor.
Sir,--I send you a short and plain demonstration, that by travelling eastward or westward round the globe at a given rate, (if it were practicable to do so,) a man might experience a greater or lesser number of days and nights, than if he were to remain still in the same spot. This, I may venture to say, is a fact that very few people are aware of, and few would believe, until it were proved.
As “this goodly frame, the earth,” turns round upon its own axis once in twenty-four hours, and as the circumference of the globe is divided into 360 degrees, consequently every part of the globe’s surface must travel round its axis at the rate of fifteen degrees in one hour; or, which is the same thing, one degree in four minutes. Having premised this, we will suppose that a man sets off at seven o’clock in the morning, just as the sun rises above the horizon, and travels westward in the sun’s ecliptic; one degree before it sets, he will have light four minutes longer than if he were to remain at the place from whence he set out; and his day, instead of being twelve hours long, (dividing the twenty-four hours into twelve day and twelve night,) and closing at seven o’clock, will be twelve hours and four minutes, and close at four minutes past seven. He continues to travel in the same direction, and with the same velocity, during the night, (for he must never rest,) and that also will be four minutes longer than it would have been had he remained at the place where the sun set till it again rose; because, as he is travelling after the sun when it goes down, and from it as the morning approaches, of course it will be longer in overtaking him: he will be then two degrees from the starting place or goal, which you please, for we intend to send him completely round the world, and the sun will not rise the second morning till eight minutes past seven. His travel continues at the same rate, and he again has the sun four minutes longer, which does not set on the second day till twelve minutes past seven: this closes the third day. The next morning the sun rises not till sixteen minutes past seven; then he has travelled four degrees, and his day and night have each been four minutes longer than if he had been stationary. Now we will suppose another man to have gone from the same place at the same moment, (viz. seven o’clock,) taking the opposite direction. He travels east to meet the sun, and at the same rate of travel as our westward bound wight. The sun will go down upon him four minutes sooner than if he had remained at the place from which he started, and eight minutes sooner than upon the other man: his day will close at fifty-six minutes past six. He goes on from the sun as it sinks, and towards it as it rises, and he will have light four minutes earlier than if he had stopped when the sun went down till it again rose, eight minutes sooner than he would have seen it at the starting post, and sixteen minutes sooner than the opposite traveller; this is at the end of the second day. He travels on; light again deserts him four minutes earlier, viz. at forty-eight minutes past six at the end of three degrees, and the second morning the sun will rise at forty-four minutes past six, sixteen minutes earlier than at the place he started from, and thirty-two minutes earlier than with the other man, with whom on the same morning it does not rise till sixteen minutes past seven. It is plain therefore, that while the western traveller has only seen two nights and two days, the eastern has enjoyed the same number of each, and more than half an hour of another day; and it is equally plain that if they continue to travel round the globe at the same rate of motion, the eastern traveller will have more days and nights than the western; those of the former being proportionally shorter than those of the latter. The following shows the commencement and length of each day to both travellers:--
WESTERN TRAVELLER’S EASTERN TRAVELLER’S 1st day begins 1st day begins at 7 o’clock, at 7 o’clock, morning. morning. 2 ------ 8 minutes past 7. 2 ------ 52 minutes past 6. 3 ------ 16 ------------ 7. 3 ------ 44 ------------ 6. 4 ------ 24 ------------ 7. 4 ------ 36 ------------ 6. 5 ------ 32 ------------ 7. 5 ------ 28 ------------ 6. 6 ------ 40 ------------ 7. 6 ------ 20 ------------ 6. 7 ------ 48 ------------ 7. 7 ------ 12 ------------ 6. 8 ------ 56 ------------ 7. 8 ------ 4 ------------ 6. 9 ------ 4 ------------ 8. 9 ------ 56 ------------ 5. 10 ------ 12 ------------ 8. 10 ------ 48 ------------ 5. 11 ------ 20 ------------ 8. 11 ------ 40 ------------ 5. 12 ------ 28 ------------ 8. 12 ------ 32 ------------ 5. 13 ------ 36 ------------ 8. 13 ------ 24 ------------ 5. 14 ------ 44 ------------ 8. 14 ------ 16 ------------ 5. 15 ------ 52 ------------ 8. 15 ------ 8 ------------ 5. 16 ------ -- ------------ 9. 30 degrees. 16 ------ -- ------------ 5. 17 ------ 8 ------------ 9. 17 ------ 52 ------------ 4. 18 ------ 16 ------------ 9. 18 ------ 44 ------------ 4. 19 ------ 24 ------------ 9. 19 ------ 36 ------------ 4. 20 ------ 32 ------------ 9. 20 ------ 28 ------------ 4. 21 ------ 40 ------------ 9. 21 ------ 20 ------------ 4. 22 ------ 48 ------------ 9. 22 ------ 12 ------------ 4. 23 ------ 56 ------------ 9. 23 ------ 4 ------------ 4. 24 ------ 4 ----------- 10. 24 ------ 56 ------------ 3. 25 ------ 12 ----------- 10. 25 ------ 48 ------------ 3. 26 ------ 20 ----------- 10. 26 ------ 40 ------------ 3. 27 ------ 28 ----------- 10. 27 ------ 32 ------------ 3. 28 ------ 36 ----------- 10. 28 ------ 24 ------------ 3. 29 ------ 44 ----------- 10. 29 ------ 16 ------------ 3. 30 ------ 52 ----------- 10. 30 ------ 8 ------------ 3. 31 ------ -- ----------- 11. 60 degrees. 31 ------ -- ------------ 3.
At the end of this degree, the sixtieth, the sun rises upon the eastern traveller at three in the morning, he having had thirty days and thirty nights. At the same degree it does not rise upon the western traveller till eleven in the morning, he having had the same number of days and nights. When, therefore, the morning of his thirty-first day is just breaking, the eastern traveller has had the sun eight hours. They have both then had an equal number of days and nights complete, but the eastern will have had eight hours of another day more than the western. Let us try it a little further. The
WESTERN TRAVELLER’S 32nd day will break at 8 min. past 11, morn. 33 16 11. 34 24 11. 35 32 11. 36 40 11. 37 48 11. 38 56 11. 39 4 12. 40 12 12. 41 20 12. 42 28 12. 43 36 12. 44 44 12. 45 52 12. 46 1 at noon, 90 degrees.
EASTERN TRAVELLER’S 32nd day will break at 52 min. past 2, morn. 33 44 2. 34 36 2. 35 28 2. 36 20 2. 37 12 2. 38 4 2. 39 56 1. 40 48 1. 41 40 1. 42 32 1. 43 24 1. 44 16 1. 45 8 1. 46 1. at noon, 90 degrees.
There appears to be two hours’ difference every fifteenth day.
WESTERN TRAVELLER’S 61st day will break at 3, P. M. 76 5 91 7.
EASTERN TRAVELLER’S 61st day will break at 11 at night. 76 9 91 7.
The men would now be together at the other side of the globe, and would see the sun rise at the same moment, but he who had travelled eastward would have seen a day and a night more than the other.
WESTERN TRAVELLER’S 106th day will break at 9, at night. 121 11. 136 1, morning. 151 3. 166 5. 181 7. 360 degrees.
EASTERN TRAVELLER’S 106th day will break at 5, P. M. 121 3. 136 1, noon. 151 11, A. M. 166 9. 181 7.
They will now be at the spot where they started from, the western traveller having seen two days and two nights less than the eastern.[516]
N. G. S.
[516] In this way, by hurrying the Jews round the globe at a given rate, their Sabbath might be made to fall upon the same day as the Christians’.
* * * * *
~Old Customs.~
For the Table Book.
HAGMENA.
The hagmena is an old custom observed in Yorkshire on new year’s eve. The keeper of the pinfold goes round the town, attended by a rabble at his heels, and knocking at certain doors, sings a barbarous song, according to the manner “of old king Henry’s days;” and at the end of every verse they shout “Hagman Heigh.”
When wood was chiefly used by our forefathers as fuel, this was the most proper season for the hagman, or wood-cutter, to remind his customers of his services, and solicit alms from them. The word “hag” is still used among us for a wood, and the “hagman” may be a compound name from his employment. Some give it a more sacred interpretation, as derived from the Greek ἁγια μηνη, the “holy month,” when the festivals of the church for our Saviour’s birth were celebrated. Formerly on the last day of December, the monks and friars used to make a plentiful harvest by begging from door to door, and reciting a kind of carol, at the end of every stave of which they introduced the words “agia mene,” alluding to the birth of Christ. A very different interpretation has, however, been given to it by one John Dixon, a Scotch presbyterian parson, when holding forth against this custom, in one of his sermons at Kelso--“Sirs, do you know what hagman signifies?--It is the devil to be in the house: that is the meaning of its Hebrew original.” It is most probably a corruption of some Saxon words, which length of time has rendered obsolete.
OLD ST. LUKE’S DAY.
On this day a fair is held in York for all sorts of small wares, though it is commonly called “Dish Fair,” from the quantity of wooden dishes, ladles, &c. brought to it. There was an old custom at this fair, of bearing a wooden ladle in a sling on two stangs, carried by four sturdy labourers, and each labourer supported by another. This, without doubt, was a ridicule on the meanness of the wares brought to this fair, small benefit accruing to the labourers at it. It is held by charter, granted 25th Jan., 17th Hen. VII.
St. Luke’s day is also known in York by the name of “Whip-Dog Day,” from a strange custom that schoolboys use there, of whipping all the dogs that are seen in the streets on that day. Whence this uncommon persecution took its rise is uncertain. The tradition of its origin seems very probable; that, in times of popery, a priest, celebrating mass at this festival in some church in York, unfortunately dropped the pix after consecration, which was forthwith snatched up suddenly and swallowed by a dog that laid under the altar. The profanation of this high mystery occasioned the death of the dog; the persecution, so begun, has since continued to this day, though now greatly abridged by the interference of some of the minor members of the honourable corporation, against the whole species in that city.
D. A. M.
* * * * *
CHAPMAN’S “ALL FOOLS.”
For the Table Book.
In Chapman’s “All Fools,” 1605, (as quoted, by Charles Lamb, in Table Book, vol. i. 192,) is the following passage, under the title of “Love’s Panegyric.”--
------- “’tis nature’s second Sun, Causing a spring of Virtues where he shines; And as without the Sun, the world’s Great Eye, All colours, beauties, both of art and nature, Are given in vain to man; so without Love All beauties bred in women are in vain, All virtues born in men lie buried; For Love informs them as the Sun doth colours,” &c.
Chapman might be acquainted with Italian poets, but at all events the coincidence between the above and the following canzon, by Andrew Navagero, is remarkable. Navagero was the friend of Boscan, the Spanish poet: they became acquainted at Grenada, while Navagero was there ambassador from Venice. Boscan died before 1544; and, as he himself confesses, he learnt the sonnet and other Italian forms of poetry from Navagero.
Love the Mind’s Sun.
Sweet ladies, to whose lovely faces Nature gives charms, indeed, If those ye would exceed And are desirous, too, of inward graces;
Ye first must ope your hearts’ enclosure, And give Love entrance there. Or ye must all despair Of what ye wish, and bear it with composure.
For as the night than day is duller, And what is hid by night Glitters with morning light In all the rich variety of colour;
So they, whose dark insensate bosoms Love lights not, ne’er can know The virtues thence that grow, Wanting his beams to open virtue’s blossoms.
Our version is made from the original in Dolce’s Collection of Rime Diverse, i. 98. It ought to be mentioned, that Boscan’s admission of his obligations to Navagero is to be found in the Introduction to the second book of his works.
December, 1827.
J. P. C.
* * * * *
NORWICH MOCK ELECTIONS.
To the Editor.
Sir,--At Costessy, a small village, three miles on the west side of Norwich, there is an annual mock guild on Whit Tuesday. It takes its name from the annual mayor’s feast at Norwich, being called the City Guild. The corporation at Costessy is composed of the poor inhabitants under the patronage of the marquis of Stafford, who has a beautiful seat in this village. On this day a mock mayor is annually elected; he has a proper and appropriate costume, and is attended by a sword-bearer, with a sword of state of wood painted and gilt, two mace-bearers with gilt maces, with a long array of officers, down to the snapdragon of Norwich, of which they have a passable imitation. Their first procession is to the hall, where they are recognised by the noble family who generally support the expenses of the day, and the mock mayor and corporation are liberally regaled from the strong-beer cellar. They then march, preceded by a band of music, to the steward’s house, where the mock solemnities take place, and speeches are made, which, if not remarkable for their eloquence, afford great delight by their absurd attempts at being thought so. The new mayor being invested with the insignia of his office, a bright brass jack-chain about his neck, the procession is again renewed to a large barn at some distance, where the place being decorated with boughs, flowers, and other rural devices, a substantial dinner of roast-beef, plum-pudding, and other good things, with plenty of that strong liquor called at Norwich nogg--the word I have been told is a provincial contraction for “knock me down.”
The village is usually thronged with company from Norwich, and all the rural festivities attendant on country feasts take place. The noble family before mentioned promote the hilarity by their presence and munificence. The elder members of the body corporate continue at the festal board, in imitation of their prototypes in larger corporations, to a late hour; and some of them have been noticed for doing as much credit to the good cheer provided on the occasion, as any alderman at a turtle feast. There is no record of the origin of this institution, as none of the members of the corporation have the gift of reading or writing, but there are traces of it beyond the memory of any person now living, and it has been observed to have increased in splendour of late years.
The fishermen’s guild at Norwich has for some years been kept on the real guild-day. The procession consists of a great number, all fishermen or fishmongers, two of whom are very remarkable. The first is the mayor: the last I saw was a well-looking young man, with his face painted and his hair powdered, profusely adorned with a brass chain, a fishing-rod in his hand, and a very large gold-laced hat; he was supported on the shoulders of several of his brethren in a fishing-boat, in which he stood up and delivered his speech to the surrounding multitude, in a manner that did not disgrace him. The other personage was the king of the ocean. What their conceptions of Neptune were, it is as difficult to conceive as his appearance might be to describe. He was represented by a tall man, habited in a seaman-like manner, his outward robe composed of fishing-nets, a long flowing beard ill accorded with a full-dress court wig, which had formerly been the property of some eminent barrister, but had now changed its element, and from dealing out law on the land, its mystic powers were transferred to the water. In his right hand he carried his trident, the spears of which were formed of three pickled herrings. His Tritons sounded his praise on all kinds of discordant wind instruments, and Æolus blew startling blasts on a cracked French horn. The olfactory nerves of the auditors who were hardy enough to come in close contact with the procession, were assailed by “a very ancient and fish-like smell.” The merriment was rude and very hearty.
P. B.
* * * * *
~Old London Customs.~
For the Table Book.
PAUL’S WALKERS--HIRED WITNESSES.
In the reigns of James I. and Charles I. a singular custom prevailed of the idle and dissolute part of the community assembling in the naves or other unemployed parts of large churches. The nave of St. Paul’s cathedral bore the name of Paul’s Walk; and so little was the sanctity of the place regarded, that if the description by an old author[517] is not exaggerated, the Royal Exchange at four o’clock does not present a greater scene of confusion. I carry the comparison no farther; the characters assembled in the church appear to have been very different to those composing the respectable assembly alluded to. The author referred to thus describes the place: “The noyse in it is like that of bees. It is the generall mint of all famous lies, which are here like the legends popery first coyn’d and stampt in the church. All inventions are empty’d here and not a few pockets.” “The visitants are all men without exceptions; but the principal inhabitants and possessors are stale knights, and captaines out of service; men of long rapiers and breeches.”
From the following passage in Hudibras[518] I should judge that the circular church in the Temple was the resort of characters of an equally bad description:
“Retain all sorts of witnesses, That ply i’ th’ Temples, under trees, Or walk the round, with knights o’ th’ posts, About the cross-legg’d knights, their hosts; Or wait for customers between The pillar-rows in Lincoln’s Inn.”
The cross-legged knights, it is almost needless to add, are the effigies of the mailed warriors, which still remain in fine preservation. The “pillar-rows in Lincoln’s Inn,” I apprehend, refer to the crypt, or open vault, beneath Inigo Jones’s chapel in Lincoln’s Inn, originally designed for an ambulatory.[519] It is singular to reflect on the entire change in the public manners within two centuries. If coeval authorities did not exist to prove the fact, who would believe in these days, that, in a civilized country, men were to be found within the very seats of law ready to perjure themselves for hire? or that juries and judges did not treat the practice and the encouraging of it with a prompt and just severity?
ST. THOMAS’S DAY ELECTIONS.
Previous to a court of common council, the members were formerly in the habit of assembling in the great hall of the Guildhall. When the hour of business arrived, one of the officers of the lord mayor’s household summoned them to their own chamber by the noise produced by moving an iron ring swiftly up and down a twisted or crankled bar of the same metal, which was affixed behind the door of the principal entrance to the passage leading to that part of the Guildhall styled, in civic language, the inner chambers. The custom was disused about forty years ago. The iron, I understand, remained until the demolition of the old doorway in the last general repair of the hall, when the giants descended from their stations without hearing the clock strike, and the new doorway was formed in a more convenient place. With the old-fashioned gallery, the invariable appendage to an ancient hall, which, until that period, occupied its proper place over the entrance, was destroyed that terror of idle apprentices, the prison of Little Ease. This gallery must be still remembered, as well as its shrill clock in a curious carved case. Its absence is not compensated by the perilous-looking balcony substituted for it on the opposite side, an object too trifling and frivolous for so fine a room as the civic common hall.
E. I. C.
[517] Microcosmographis 1628, cited in Pennant’s London, 5th ed. 8vo. 528.
[518] Part III., Canto III., p. 213. ed. 1684.
[519] Vide a paper by E. J. C. in Gent.’s Mag. vol. xc. p. 1, 589.
* * * * *
A DEFENCE OF SLANG.
For the Table Book.
“To think like wise men, and to talk like common people,” is a maxim that has long stood its ground. What is the language of “common people?” slang--ergo, every body ought to talk it. What is slang? Many will answer that it consists of words used only by the lowest and most ignorant classes of society, and that to employ them would be most ungenteel. First, then, we must inquire a little what it is to be genteel, and this involves the question, what is a gentleman? Etymologically, every body knows what is the meaning of the term; and Dekker, the old English play-poet, uses it in this sense, when in one of his best dramas he justly calls our Saviour
“The first true gentleman that ever breathed.”
Dekker’s greatest contemporary, in reference to certain qualities he attributes to “man’s deadliest enemy,” tells us, though we are not bound to take his word for it, unless we like it,
“The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman;”
in which he follows the opinion long before expressed by the Italian poet Pulci, in his Morgante Maggiore, (canto xxv. st. 161.)
Che gentilezza è bene anche in inferno.
Pulci seems so pleased with this discovery, (if it be one,) that he repeats it in nearly the same words (in the following canto, st. 83.)
Non creder ne lo inferno anche fra noi Gentilezza non sia.
The old bone-shoveller in Hamlet maintains that your only real and thorough gentlemen are your “gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers;” so that, after all, the authorities on this point are various and contradictory. If it be objected that slang (otherwise sometimes called flash) is employed very much by boxers and prize-fighters, teachers and practisers of “the noble science of self-defence,” one answer may be supplied by a quotation from Aristotle, which shows that he himself was well skilled in the art, and he gives instructions how important it is to hit straight instead of round, following up the blow by the weight of the body. His words upon this subject are quoted (with a very different purpose certainly) in the last number of the Edinburgh Review, (p. 279.) So that we need only refer to them. Another “old Grecian” might be instanced in favour of the use of slang, and even of incorrect grammar; for every scholar knows (and we know it who are no scholars) that Aristophanes in the first scene of his comedy, named in English The Clouds, makes his hero talk bad Greek, and employ language peculiar to the stable: the scholiasts assert that Phidippides ought to have said, even in his sleep, ω Φιλε αδιχεις instead of Φιλων αδιχεις, which he uses. However, we are perhaps growing too learned, although it will be found in the end, (if not already in the beginning,) that this is a learned article, and ought perhaps to have been sent for publication in the Classical Journal.
What we seek to establish is this:--that the language of the ignorant is the language of the learned; or in less apparently paradoxical terms, that what is considered slang and unfit for “ears polite,” is in fact a language derived from the purest and most recondite sources. What is the chief recommendation of lady Morgan’s new novel?--for what do ladies of fashion and education chiefly admire it? Because the authoress takes such pains to show that she is acquainted with French, Italian, and even Latin, and introduces so many apt and inapt quotations. What is the principal advantage of modern conversation? That our “home-keeping youths” have no longer “homely wits,” and that they interlard their talk with scraps and words from continental tongues. Now if we can show that slang is compounded, in a great degree, of words derived from German, French, Italian, and Latin, shall we not establish that what is at present the language of the ignorant is in fact the language of the learned, and ought to be the language employed by all gentlemen pretending to education, and of all ladies pretending to blue-stocking attainments? We proceed to do so by a selection of a few of the principal words which are considered slang or flash, of which we shall show the etymology.
Blowin--“an unfortunate girl,” in the language of the police-offices. This is a very old word in English, and it is derived from blühen, German, to bloom or blossom. Some may think that it comes from the German adjective blau. The Germans speak of a blue-eye, as we talk of a black-eye, and every body is aware that blowins are frequently thus ornamented.
To fib--a term in boxing. It means, to clasp an antagonist round the neck with one arm, and to punish him with the other hand. It is from the Italian fibbia, a clasp or buckle. The Italian verb affibiare is used by Casti precisely in this sense:--Gli affibia un gran ceffon. (Nov. xliii. st. 65.)
Fogle--a handkerchief--properly and strictly a handkerchief with a bird’s eye pattern upon it. From the German vogel, a bird.
Gam--the leg. Liston has introduced this word upon the stage, when in Lubin Log he tells old Brown that he is “stiffish about the gams.” We have it either from the French jambe, or the Italian gamba.
Leary--cunning or wary. Correctly it ought to be written lehry. The derivation of it is the German lehre, learning or warning. The authorities for this word are not older than the time of James I.
Max--gin. Evidently from the Latin maximus, in reference to the strength and goodness of the liquor.
To nim--to take, snatch, or seize. It is used by Chaucer--“well of English undefiled.” It is derived from the Saxon niman, whence also the German nehmen, to take. We have it in the every-day adjective, nimble. The name of the corporal in Shakspeare’s Henry V. ought to be spelled Nim, and not Nym, (as the commentators ignorantly give it,) from his furtive propensity.
Pal--a companion. It is perhaps going too far to fetch this word from the Persian palaker, a comrade. It rather originates in the famous story told by Boccacio, Chaucer, Dryden, &c. &c. of the friendship of Palamon and Arcyte; pal being only a familiar abbreviation of Palamon, to denote an intimate friend.
To prig--to rob or steal. It is doubtful whether this word be originally Spanish or Italian. Preguntar in Spanish is to demand, and robbing on the highway is demanding money or life. Priega in Italian is a petition--a mode of committing theft without personal violence. In English the word to prig is now applied chiefly to picking pockets, owing to the degeneracy of modern rogues: a prig is a pick-pocket.
Sappy--foolish, weak. Clearly from the Latin sapio--lucus à non lucendo.
Seedy--shabby--worn out: a term used to indicate the decayed condition of one who has seen better days: it refers principally to the state of his apparel: thus a coat which has once been handsome, when it is old is called seedy, and the wearer is said to look seedy. It is only a corruption of the French ci-devant--formerly; with an ellipsis of the last syllable. It has no reference to running to seed, as is commonly supposed.
Spoony--silly or stupid--is used both as a substantive and as an adjective. Some have conjectured that it owes its origin to the wooden spoon at Cambridge, the lowest honour conferred by that university, the individual gaining it being entitled to no other, rather from his dulness than his ignorance. Its etymology is in fact to be found in the Italian word saponé, soap; and it is a well-known phrase that “a stupid fellow wants his brains washing with soap-suds.”
Spree--fun, joke--is from the French esprit, as every body must be aware in an instant.
Togs--dress--from the Latin toga, the robe worn by Roman citizens. Toggery means properly a great coat, but it is also used generally for the apparel.
We might go through the whole vocabulary in the same way, and prove that some terms are even derived from the Hebrew, through the medium of the Jews; but the preceding “elegant extracts” will be sufficient. It is to be regretted that the Rev. J. H. Todd has been so hasty in publishing his second edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, or he might, and no doubt would, after what we have said, include many words not now to be found there, and which we contend are the chief ornaments of our vernacular. Perhaps it would be worth his while to add a supplement, and we shall be happy to render him any assistance.
December, 1827.
PHILOLOGUS.
* * * * *
DIVINATION BY FLOWERS.
To the Editor.
Sir,--There is a love custom still observed in the village of Sutton Bangor, Wilts--Two flowers that have not blossomed are paired, and put by themselves--as many pairs as there are sweethearts in the neighbourhood, and tall and short as the respective sweethearts are. The initials of their names are attached to the stamens, and they are ranged in order in a hayloft or stable, in perfect secrecy, except to those who manage and watch their ominous growth. If, after ten days, any flower twines the other, it is settled as a match; if any flower turns a contrary way, it indicates a want of affection; if any flower blossoms, it denotes early offspring; if any flower dies suddenly, it is a token of the party’s death; if any flower wears a downcast appearance, sickness is indicated. True it is that flowers, from their very nature, assume all these positions; and in the situation described, their influence upon villagers is considerable. I was once a party interested, now
I am
A FLOWERBUD.
* * * * *
WALTHAM, ESSEX.
To the Editor.
Sir,--The following epitaph is upon a plain gravestone in the church-yard of Waltham Abbey. Having some point, it may perhaps be acceptable for the Table Book. I was told that the memory of the worthy curate is still held in great esteem by the inhabitants of that place.
REV. ISAAC COLNETT,
Fifteen years curate of this Parish,
Died March 1, 1801--Aged 43 years.
Shall pride a heap of sculptured marble raise, Some worthless, unmourn’d, titled fool to praise, And shall we not by one poor gravestone show Where pious, worthy Colnett sleeps below?
Surely common decency, if they are deficient in antiquarian feeling, should induce the inhabitants of Waltham Cross to take some measures, if not to restore, at least to preserve from further decay and dilapidation the remains of that beautiful monument of conjugal affection, the cross erected by Edward I. It is now in a sad disgraceful state.
I am, &c.
Z.
* * * * *
FULBOURN, CAMBRIDGE.
ALL SAINTS’ AND ST. VIGOR’S BELLS.
To the Editor.
On a visit to a friend at Fulbourn we strolled to the site whereon All Saints’ church formerly stood, and his portfolio furnished me with the subjoined memoranda, which by your fostering care may be preserved.
I am, sir, &c.
Cambridge, May, 1826.
T. N.
TRINITY SUNDAY, 1766.
This morning at five o’clock the steeple of All Saints’ church fell down. An act of parliament passed the 22d May, 1775, to unite the service in St. Vigor’s church, and to enable the vicar and churchwardens to sell the materials and the bells, towards repairing the church of St. Vigor’s--the amount was 150_l._ 0_s._ 6_d._ The two broken bells were sold towards the expenses; the other three, with the two of St. Vigor’s, and the saints’ bell, were new cast by E. Arnold at St. Neot’s Hunt’s, and six new bells were put up on the 9th of May, 1776. The subscription amounted to 141_l._; the bells cost 262_l._ 2_s._ 3_d._; the frames 45_l._, the six new ropes 1_l._ 15_s._; making together the sum of 308_l._ 17_s._ 3_d._
The poor inhabitants were so attached to the old bells, that they frequently watched them in the evening, lest they should be carried away and sold; for the broken bells lay among the ruins of All Saints’ church. At last their fears subsiding, they neglected their watching, and the churchwardens set a waggon in Monk’s barn, (hard by,) and carried away two of them in the night, delivering them to the Cambridge waggon for St. Neot’s, and returning before morning, which occasioned the following
Ballad.
There are some farmers in Fulbourn town, They have lately sold what was not their own; They have sold the bells, likewise the church, And cheat the poor of twice as much. And O! you Fulbourn farmers O!
Some estate there was left, all for the poor, They have robb’d them of half, and something more, Such dirty tricks will go hard on their sides. For the d--l will have them, and singe their hides. And O! you Fulbourn farmers O!
Before the bells they could be sold, They were forc’d to swear, as we’ve been told, They forswore themselves--then they cried. For this, my boys, we shall be tried. And O! you Fulbourn farmers O!
There is old Twig, and young Twig--the whining dissenter, Says one to the other, this night we will venture; And says little Gibble-Gabble, I long for to go. But first I will call my neighbour Swing-toe: And O! you Fulbourn farmers O!
In the dead of the night this thievish crew Broke into the church, as other thieves do, For to steal the bells and sell them all, May the d--l take such churchwardens all; And O! you Fulbourn farmers O!
This ballad is said to have been the production of one William Rolfe, a labourer. It was probably written soon after the act passed. The new peal was brought home on the 9th of May, 1776, so that it was not a year from the passing of the act to the casting of the bells.
After the bill had been perused by counsel, Mr. Edward Hancock, the rector’s churchwarden, conducted it through both houses of parliament without the expense of a solicitor; sir John Cotton, one of the members for the county, forwarding it in the different stages through the House of Commons. So earnest were the populace about the bells, (when they were satisfied they were to have a new peal of six,) that after they were loaded they drew them a furlong or more before the horses were put to the waggon. The tenor was cast in G sharp, or old A. Mr. Edmund Andrews Salisbury rode on the great bell, when it was drawn up within the steeple, and his was the first death this bell was rung for; he was buried 8th July, 1776. The motto on this bell is--
“I to the church the living call-- And to the grave I summon all.”
Mr. Charles Dawson was the author of the complete peal of Plain Bob, called “The Fulbourn Surprise” with 154 bobs, and two singles, and 720 changes. The peal was opened December 7, 1789.
* * * * *
ST. THOMAS’S DAY.
MR. DAY’S SHORT DAY.
Mr. Thomas Day, of D----t, Wilts, used, when living, to give his workmen on St. Thomas’s Day a holiday, a short pint of his ale, an ounce of short-cut tobacco, and a short pipe, in remembrance of his name. “For,” said he,--in a couplet decidedly his own,--
“Look round the village where ye may; Day is the shortest day, to-day.”
PUCERON.
* * * * *
A PAGE FROM MY NOTE BOOK.
For the Table Book.
ELECTION BRIBERY.
The first instance that occurs of this practice was so early as 13 Eliz., when one Thomas Longe (being a simple man of small capacity to serve in parliament) acknowledged that he had given the returning officer and others of the borough for which he was chosen FOUR POUNDS, to be returned member, and was for that premium elected. But for this offence the borough was amerced, the member was removed, and the officer was fined and imprisoned.--4 Inst. 23. Hale of Parl. 112. Com. Journ. 10 and 11 May, 1571.
WONDER-WORKING PRECEDENTS.
“Unless,” said vice chancellor Leach, (11th March, 1826, in Mendizabal v. Machado,) “Unless I am bound hand and foot by precedents, I will not follow such a practice.”
MEM.
Blackstone, speaking of apprenticeships, says, “They are useful to the commonwealth, by employing of youth, and learning them to be early industrious.”
The same author says, “These payments (alluding to first fruits) were only due if the heir was of full age, but if he was under the age of twenty-one being a male, or fourteen being a female, the lord was entitled to the wardship of the heir, and was called the guardian in chivalry.”--Comm. book ii. c. 5. p. 67.
DOWER.
The seisin of the husband, for a transitory instant only, when the same act which gives him the estate conveys it also out of him again, (as where, by a fine, land is granted to a man, and he immediately renders it back by the same fine,) such a seisin will not entitle the wife to dower: for the land was merely in transitu, and never rested in the husband, the grant and render being one continued act. But if the land abides in him for the interval of but a single moment, it seems that the wife shall be endowed thereof.--Black. Comm. book ii. c. 8. p. 132.
The author adds in a note: “This doctrine was extended very far by a jury in Wales, where the father and son were both hanged in one cart, but the son was supposed to have survived the father, by appearing to struggle longest; whereby he became seised of an estate in fee by survivorship, in consequence of which seisin his widow had a verdict for her dower.”--Cro. Eliz. 503.[520]
AN UNINTENTIONAL IMITATION EXTEMPORE of the 196th and 7th stanzas of the 2d canto of Don Juan.
A mother bending o’er her child in prayer. An arm outstretch’d to save a conquer’d foe. The daughter’s bosom to the father’s lips laid bare. The Horatii when they woo’d the blow That say’d a nation’s blood, a young girl fair Tending a dying husband’s bed of woe, Are beautiful; but, oh, nor dead nor living. Is aught so beautiful as woman wrong’d forgiving.
For there she is, the being who hath leant In lone confiding love and weakness all On us--whose unreproaching heart is rent By our deed; yet on our cheek but fall A tear, or be a sigh but spent. She sinks upon the breast whence sprang the gall That bitter’d her heart’s blood, and there caressing. For pain and misery accords a blessing.----
Note for the Editor.--“An unintentional imitation” may sound something like a solecism, although a very little reflection will prove it to be far otherwise. I had been reading Don Juan till I had it by heart, and nightly spouted to the moon Julia’s letter and the invocation to the isles of Greece. I had a love fracas; a reconciliation, as one of the two alternative natural consequences, took place, and the foregoing were part of some propitiatory measures that effected it. At the time of writing them I had no more idea of imitating Byron, than has my Lord Chief Justice Best, in his charge to the jury in a newspaper cause, or crim. con. I wrote them rapidly, scarcely lifting my pen till they were finished, and certainly without bestowing a word or thought on any thing, except the image I pursued; but my mind had received a deep impression from my late reading, and my thoughts assumed the form they did from it, unknown to me. Some months afterwards, I was reciting the passage from Byron alluded to; I had heard something like it; I repeated it: I was more struck; I rack’d my brain and my lady’s letter-box, and made this discovery.
J. J. K.
[520] On a similar taking by the contingency of drowning, Fearne, the elegant writer on “Contingent Remainders,” has an admirable argument--a masterpiece of eloquent reasoning.--EDIT.
* * * * *
~Original Poetry.~
For the Table Book.
CHRISTMAS.
Old Christmas comes again, and with him brings, Although his visits are in times austere, Not only recollections of good things. But beareth in his hands substantial cheer: Though short and dark the day, and long the night. His joyous coming makes all faces bright.
And when you make your doors and windows fast. And to your happy cheerful hearth retire, A paradise is yours, safe from the blast, In the fair circle gathering round the fire; Whilst these, with social converse, books, and wine. Make Winter’s ragged front almost divine!
W. M. W.
* * * * *
SONNET.
AN AUTUMNAL MIDNIGHT.
I walk in silence and the starry night; And travellers with me are leaves alone. Still onward fluttering, by light breezes blown. The moon is yet in heaven, but soon her light, Shed through the silvery clouds and on the dark Must disappear. No sound I hear save trees Swayed darkly, like the rush of far-off seas That climb with murmurs loud the rocky steep. There wakes no crowing cock, nor watch-dog’s bark. I look around, as in a placid dream Existing amidst beauty, and I seem Relieved from human weakness, and from sleep, A happy spirit ’neath the boundless heaven, To whom not Day alone but Night is given!
W. M. W.
* * * * *
SEASONABLE STANZAS.
Winter, with hoary locks and frozen face, Hath thrown his naked sceptre from his hand; And he hath mended now his sluggish pace, Beside the blazing yule-block fire to stand. His ice-bound visage ’ginneth to expand; And, for the naked pine-branch which he swayed. He, smiling, hath a leaf-green sceptre planned; The ivy and the holly he doth braid, Beneath whose berries red is many a frolick played.
Now not in vain hath been the blooming spring, The fruitful summer and the autumn sere; For jolly Christmas to his board doth bring The happy fulness of the passed year; Man’s creeping blood and moody looks to cheer. With mirthful revel rings each happy dome; Unfelt within the snows and winds severe; The tables groan with beef, the tankards foam, And Winter blandly smiles to cheer the British home.
W. M. W.
* * * * *
~Original Poetry.~
For the Table Book.
The accompanying lines were written in allusion to that beautiful Gem of Dagley’s which Mr. Croly (page 21 of the vol.) supposes a Diana, and which Tassie’s Catalogue describes as such. I have, however, made bold to address her in her no less popular character of
EURYDICE.
“Ilia quidem dam te fugeret per flumina præceps Immanem ante pedes hydrum moritura puella Servantem ripas altâ non vidit in herbâ.”
Virg. Georg. IV.
Art can ne’er thine anguish lull, Maiden passing beautiful! Strive thou may’st,--’tis all in vain; Art shall never heal thy pain: Never may that serpent-sting Cease thy snow-white foot to wring. Mourner thou art doom’d to be Unto all eternity.
Joy shall never soothe thy grief; Thou must fall as doth the leaf In thine own deep forest-bower, Where thy lover, hour by hour, Hath, with songs of woodland glee. Like the never-wearied bee. Fed him on the fond caress Of thy youth’s fresh loveliness.
Youth!--’tis but a shadow now;-- Never more, lost maid, must thou Trip it with coy foot across Leafy brooks and beds of moss; Never more, with stealthy tread, Track the wild deer to his bed, Stealing soft and silently, Like the lone moon o’er the sea.
Vain thy lover’s whisper’d charm; Love can never death disarm; Hush’d the song he oft hath sung,-- Weak his voice, his lyre unstrung. Think, then, if so hard to heal Is the anguish thou dost feel. Think--how bitter is the smart When that wound is in the heart!
‘ϵ . . .
Hampstead.
* * * * *
~Notice.~
THE INDEX, &c. to the present volume of the TABLE BOOK will conclude the work.
I respectfully bid my readers Farewell!
*
* * * * *
SPORTS AND PASTIMES
OF
THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.
Perhaps I may be excused for noticing the forthcoming octavo edition of “THE SPORTS AND PASTIMES OF ENGLAND,”--a work of very curious research and remarkable information, written and published in quarto by the late MR. JOSEPH STRUTT.
THE OCTAVO EDITION will be printed in a superior manner, on fine paper, with at least 140 Engravings. It will be published in Monthly Parts, price One Shilling each, and each part, on an average, will contain fourteen engravings. Above half of the drawings and engravings are already executed, and other means are taken to secure the punctual appearance of the work. The printer is already engaged on it, and the first part will certainly appear before the first of February.
A COPIOUS INDEX will be prepared, and the work be edited by
January 1, 1828.
W. HONE.
Vol. II.--55.
INDEXES.
I. GENERAL INDEX.
II. CORRESPONDENTS’ INDEX.
III. INDEX TO THE POETRY.
IV. INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGS.
I. THE GENERAL INDEX.
Abduction, curious respite from execution for, 414. Abershaw, Jerry, 148, 149. Aborigines, 447. Abraham, heights of, in Derbyshire, 136. Accidents to one man, 127. Accompaniment to roasting, 201. Actors--acting of old men by children, 526. See Plays. Advertisements, singular, 222, 511, 616, 722. Advice. See Counsels. Age, reason for not reckoning, 352. Air, philosophy of, 503. Airay, (Tom) manager at Grassington, 247. Ale, old English, 351; antiquity of beer, 746. Alfred, tomb of, 734. Alia Bhye, East Indian princess, 520. Alleyn, actor, the Roscius of his day, 498, (note.) Amadeus, duke of Savoy, 594. “Ambitious Statesman, (The)” old play, 551. Amilcas the fisherman, 639. Amsterdam, notices of, 157, 460. Anaximander, and other ancients, 819. See Ancients. Ancients and moderns, discoveries of, 58, 83, 120, 182, 202, 214, 245, 342, 375, 406, 438, 472, 503, 632, 724, 742, 788, 819. ----; mode of writing of the ancients, 196; superiority of their music, 202; casualties among, 574. “Andronicus,” old play, 456. Animals, theories on generation of, 792. Animated nature, 216. Anne, queen, 243. Antipathies, instances of, 190. “Antipodes, (The)” old play, 361. Anty Brignal and the Begging Quaker, 761. Aphorisms, 160, 181. See Counsels. “Apostle Spoons,” 817. Apothecary or Dramatist, 411. Apprentices, to be found in sufficient wigs, 432. Archimedes, and other ancients, 821. See Ancients. Argyll, customs of, 10. Aristarchus, and other ancients, 820. See Ancients. Aristotle, former bondage to, 59. Armstrong, Dr., notice of, 109. Artists, letter of one to his son, 129. Arts and Sciences, skill of the ancients in. See Ancients. Arum, herb called, 369. Ashburton Pop, 356. “Asparagus Gardens, (The)” 363. Assignats, (French) engraving, 209. Astronomy, curious tract on, 252; ancients’ knowledge of, 794. See Ancients. Atheism, scandals to, 773. Attraction, 342. Audley, Hugh, usurer, life of, 72. Augustus, anecdote of, 231. Aurora Borealis, opinions on, 633. Authors, difficulties of, 123, 174; vanity of, 263, 811. Avarice, sorts of, 77. See Misers. Avenues of trees near Scheveling, 461. Avon Mill, Wilts, 346.
Babylon, 822. Bachelors; bachelor’s desk, 195; budge bachelors, 237; miserable home of bachelors, 269; pocket-book of one, 405. Bakewell, in Derb.; monuments, &c. in church of, 198. “Ballad Singer,” 666. Bans, happy, 116. Baptizing, customs touching, 23. Bargest, the spectre hound, 655. Barnes, Joshua, epitaph for, 33. Barrington, George, notice of, 152. “Bastard, (The)” old play, 171. Bathing, (earth) 562. Bear and Tenter, boys’ play, 364. Beards on women, superstition about, 23. Bears, habits of, 369. Beaus, English and French, 774. Beauty, ingenuous disclaimer of, 414; beauties at church, 774. Bed, (celestial) 562. Bede, (venerable) a hot spicer, 545. Beer, antiquity of, 746. Beethoven, musician, memoir of, 204. Begging Quaker, &c. 761. Bellows and bellows-makers, 603. Bells. See Ringing. “Belphegor,” old play, 552. Beverley, a strong porter, 550. Beverley, St. John of, 545. Bhye, Alia, amiable character of, 520. Bilbocquet, a royal amusement, 348. Bill of fare, 44. Birds; water-fowl at Niagara, 534; Dr. Fuller’s account of one, 287; Sandy’s method of hatching their eggs, 681. See Storks, &c. Birmingham, clubs of, 89; manufactures, &c. of, 595. Bishops; resignation of one, 103. Blacking, notices about, 435. Blackthorn, old custom of, 240. Blake, W., hostler, engraving of, 47. Blood, circulation of, notices about, 724. Bloomfield, George, poet’s brother, engraving, 801. ----, Robert, poet, notice of, 802. “Blurt, Master Constable,” old play, 739. Bodies, elements of, 214. Bolton, John, of Durham, 409. Bonaparte at Torbay, 360. Bones, advice for breaking, 511. Booker, Rev. L., notice of, 163. Books; lending of, 285, 287; my pocket-book, 403; device taken from a book of prayers, 615, (note.) Boots, importance of shape of, 512. Boswelliana, 255. Bowel complaints, receipt for, 256. Braco, Lord, and a farthing, 242. Brandon, Gregory, hangman, 699. Brass-works, 601. Bribery, in England, by foreigners, 16. Bridal, public, 374. “Bride, (The)” old play, 134. Bridlington, custom at, 582. Bristol, opulence and inns at, 243; prince George of Denmark at, 243; high cross at, 715. Bromley, bishop’s well at, 65; engraving of the church-door, 97; extraordinary ringing at, 527. Bruce, lord Edward, notices about, 225. “Brutus of Alba,” old play, 711. Brydges, sir E., epitaph on his daughter, 280. Buckles, notices of, 597. Budeus, (the learned) blunder of, 413. Budge, [Fur] notices about, 236; budge-bachelors, 237; Budge-row, 237. Building estimates should be doubled, 352. Bunyan’s holy war dramatized, 24. Burial in gardens, 460. See Funerals. Burkitt, Dan., an old jigger, 278. Bush tavern, Bristol, 44. Butler, (Hudibras,) hint adopted by, 410. Buttons, notices about, 596. Buying and selling, 211.
Cabalistic learning, 20. Cabbage-trees, vast height of, 471. Calvin and Servetus, 730. Cann, Abraham, wrestler, 499. CAPITAL extempore, 480. Capon, William, scene painter, notice of, 709. Carlisle, customs at, 373. Castle-baynard, tale of, 242. Casualties of the ancients, 574. Cataracts of Niagara, 531. Caverns, tremendous one, 541. Centenaries; medal for the centenary of the diet of Augsburgh, 321; centenary of the revolution, 515. Cesar and Amilcas, 638. “Chabot, Admiral of France,” old play, 6. Chains, hanging in, 149. Chairs, (arm) curious ones, 436, 622. “Challenge to Beauty,” old play, 498, 622. Charlemagne, misfortunes in family of, 397. Charles I. and treaty of Uxbridge, 521. ---- II., anecdote of, 33; procession on his restoration, 505; his court, 832. ---- V., bribery of English parliament by, 16. Charost, M. de, a royal favourite, 512. Chartres, duke of, notice of, 209. Chateaubriand, viscount de, anecdote of, 415. Chatsworth, 135. Chemistry of the ancients, 743, 746, 789. Chequers at public-houses, 38. Chester, custom at, 613. Chiari and rival dramatists, 11. Children, customs relating to, 21; children and mother, 441; children and split trees superstition concerning, 465; affection for children, 491. Christening, customs at, 23. Christian Malford, plague at, 553. Christmas-pie, 506. Chrysanthemum Indicum, 737. Churches, remarks on beautifying, 25; custom of strewing with rushes, 277. See Fonts. Church-yards, beautiful one at Grassmere, 278. Cigar divan of Mr. Gliddon, 673. Cinderella, origin of, 719. Circle, squaring the, 797. Circulation of the blood, 724. Cities, ancient, 822. Civilisation promoted by trade, 212. Cleopatra’s pearl, 789. Clergy, luxurious dress of, 236; weekly expenses of a clergyman, 283; devoted attachment of one to his flock, 483. Clerk’s desk, 195. Clocks, difference between, accounted for, 409. Closing the eyes, 27. Clubs at Birmingham, 89. Coachman, considerate, 146. Coats, how speedily made, 86. “Cock and Pynot” public-house, 513. Colossus of Rhodes, 823. Colours, philosophy of, 406. Comets, philosophy of, 472. Commerce, tendency of, 214. Compliment to a young laird, 256. Confession of Augsburgh, medal about, 321. Controversy, 160. Cookery aided by music, 204. Copernican system, 438. Cordon, sanitary, 493, 495. Corineus, a Trojan giant, 615, 617. Cornwall, wrestling in, 499. Corporations, fools kept by, 353. Corpuscular philosophy, 245. Corral,--a poor cottager, 784. Cottagers, singular difficulties of one, 385, &c. Counsels and cautions, 160, 181, 352, 478, 541, 817. Country, (native) 809. ---- dances, 32. Courtiers, humiliation of one, 174. Courtship, patient, 818. Coward, Nathan, glover and poet, 259. Crabbing for husbands, 465. Craven, notices of, 243, 721; stories of the Craven dales, 653, 775. Cries, old London, 431. Criticism, killing, 651. Crystal summer-house, 253. Cuckoo-pint, a plant, 369. Cumberland, customs of, 373, 559. Cup and ball, a royal amusement, 348. Cyrus, his love of gardening, 459.
Dairy poetry, 238. Danby, earl of, and the revolution, 513. Dancing; country-dances, 32; profound study of minuets, 64; dancing round the harrow, 197. Darwin, Dr., his “Botanic garden,” 459, (note.) Davy, (old) the broom-maker, 452. D’Arcy, Mr. J., and the revolution, 515. Death and virtue, dialogue between, 19; superstitions touching death, 99. “Defeat of Time, (The)” 335. Democritus, notice of, 791. Deposits, a well-kept one, 415. Derbyshire, notices respecting, 12, 135, 481, 493, 516. Descent, canons of, 63. “Desolation of Eyam, (The)” 481. Despotism, virtuous, 520. “Devil’s Law Case, (The)” old play, 131. Devil’s punch-bowl in Surrey, 145. Devonshire wrestling, 416, 499. ---- ----, earl of, and the revolution, 513. Dial, ancient, 19. Diarrhœa, receipt for, 256. Diligence (French) described, 183. Dining on Coke, 63; royal dinner time, 751. Diophantes and other ancients, 820. See Ancients. Discoveries of the ancients and moderns, 83, 120, 182, 214, 245, 342, 375, 406, 438, 472, 503, 632, 724, 742, 788, 819. Diseases, passing patients through trees for, 465. Disputation to be avoided, 160. Distillation, ancients’ knowledge of, 788. Diversions, political origin of some, 364. Doctor degraded, 640. “Dodypol, Doctor,” old play, 69. Domitian, (the emperor) inscription for, 754. “Don Quixotte,” old play, 457. Dorking, Leith hill, near, 117. Dover pig, 731. Dramatists; rival Italian dramatists, 11; dramatist or apothecary, 411. Dreams, a black dream, 126. Duddlestone, John, of Bristol, 243. Duels of sir E. Sackville and lord E. Bruce, 225, &c. Dunchurch cow and calf, 723. Durfey, Tom, notice of, 650. Durhamiana, 409. Dutch royal gardens, 460; Dutch trees, fisheries, &c., 460, &c.; Dutch customs, 563; Dutch gallantry, 773.
Earning the best getting, 160. Earth-bathing, 562. Earthquakes, opinions on, 633. East Indies, amiable native monarch in, 520. Ecbatane, city of, 822. Echo, (moral) 410. Economy, curious instance of, 78. See Misers. Edmonton, inhospitable styles of, 81. “Edward the Third,” old play, 52. Eels, (Bush) 224. Eggs, peculiar mode of hatching, 681; artificial hatching by the ancients, 746. Eldon, lord, anecdote of, 63. Electricity, 637. Elm-tree, celebrated one, 422. Emigration, Highland, 322. Emperors and kings, ill-fated ones, 395, 397. “English Monsieur,” 330. Epilepsy, disorder of great minds, 807. Epitaphs, 16, 19, 33, 104, 147, 152, 182, 198, 249, 256, 259, 273, 274, 280, 281, 295, 298, 300, 366, 410, 510, 526, 558, 754. Erasmus, notices of, 199, 340. Ether, doctrine of, 503. Esop in Russia, 457. Eternity, 808. Etiquette, Spanish, 254. Evelyn, extracts from, 829, &c. Executioner, 698. Executions, former frequency of, 151. Ex-Thespianism, 554. Eyam in Derb., notices of, 481, &c., 629. Eyes: closing the eyes, 27; guard against an evil eye, 583. Eyre, chief justice, notice of, 151, 152.
Facetiæ, 771. “Fairies, tale of the,” 335. “Faithful Shepherd, (The)” old play, 525. “Faithful Shepherdess, (The)” old play, 619. Falls of Niagara, 531. Families; ill-fated royal ones, 397; Wilkie’s picture of one, 509. Fare, bill of, 44. Farthings; one found by a lord, 242; the broad farthing, 507. Fashion, a gentleman’s, 341. “Fatal Jealousy,” old play, 579. “Fatal Union, (The)” 713. Father and son, 31. Favourites, a singular one, 512. “Fawn, (The)” old play, 424. Ferguson, sir A., letter from sir Walter Scott to, 518. Filching, cure of, 285. Filey, in Yorkshire, 637. Fill-up, (a) 735. Fire, water mistaken for, 534. Fires in London, 570; “burning the witch,” 582. Fish, royal reason for not eating, 288. Fishermen; Lucan’s description of one, 638. Fishing-towns, Dutch and English, 463. “Five days’ Peregrination,” &c., 291. Fletcher, Dickey, 765. “Floating Island, (The)” 552. Flowers; Time’s source of pleasure from, 337; mode of preserving, 604; winter flowers, 737. Fly-boat, (the Malden) 559. Fonts; Grassmere font, 272. Forces, doctrine of, 342. Forests, ancient and decayed, in Scotland, 324, 325. See Trees. Forrest, ----, author of “Five Days’ Peregrination,” 291. Fractures, singular advice about, 511. French diligence, description of, 683. Fruit, markets for, at London and Paris, 130. Funerals, customs touching, 105, 272, 373, 658; consolation from funeral processions, 479. Furniture of old times, 584. Furs; tippets and scarfs, 235.
Gage, viscount, his fête of the quintain, 175. Gallantry, Dutch, 773. Gaols. See Prisons. Gardens; summer garden of Peter the Great, 457; love of gardens, 459; Dutch royal garden, 460. Garlands, funeral, 105, 272. Garrick plays, selections from, contributed by Mr. Charles Lamb, 6, 52, 67, 106, 131, 171, 200, 232, 265, 328, 361, 393, 456, 497, 524, 551, 579, 619, 645, 711, 739, 771, 806. Genders, 284. Genius, distresses of men of, 123; genius and good temper, 414. “Gentleman Usher,” old play, 171. “Gentleman of Venice,” old play, 106. George, prince of Denmark, notice of, 243. Giants in lord mayor’s show, 609. Gibbeting, 151. Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall,” 287. Gilding without gold, 597. Gilpin (Mrs.) riding to Edmonton, 79. Gimmal ring, engraving, 1. Gin act, effect of passing, 249. Gipsies in Epping Forest, 28. Glass, discovery of, 734; skill of the ancients in, 789, 796, 824. Gleaning or leasing cake, 346. Gliddon, Mr., cigar divan of, 673. Glorious memory, (the) 480. Gluttony, instances of, 350; glutton and echo, 410. Gog and Magog of Guildhall, 609. Gold, skill of the ancients in arts relating to, 744. Goldoni and rival dramatists, 11. Good temper and good nature, 414. Goodrick, sir H., and the Revolution, 515. Goose-fair at Nottingham, 180, (note.) Gossip and Stare, the, 61; comment on literary gossip, 508. Gostling’s, Mr., account of Hogarth’s tour, 303. Gout, notices on, 652. Government, simplicity and wisdom of, 417, &c. Gozzi, Italian dramatist, 11. Graham, Dr., lecturer, 561. Grammar explained, 128. Grapes in Covent Garden, &c. 139. See also 33, 628. Grasshopper on Change, explanation of, 338, 339. Grassington theatricals, 247, 606. Grassmere, beauty of, 277. Gravity, doctrine of, 342. Greatness, tax on, 809. Green, W., artist and author, 281. Gregory, old name for the hangman, 701. Gresham, sir Thomas, a deserted child, 338. Gretna Green parsons, 125. Guildford races, 705. Guildhall, curious explanation of, 767. Guinea sovereigns, 751. Gunpowder, antiquity of, 791. Guns; air-guns, 508; notices concerning guns, 598.
Hackerston’s cow, 250. Hague, fine woods near, 460. Hammond, the poet, notice of, 111. Handkerchief, white cambric, 294. Hanging in chains, 149; inducement to hanging, 256; hanging the shuttle, 221. Hangman, and his wages, 698. Harpham, St. John’s well at, 545. Harris, James, 284. Harrow, dancing round the, 197. Harvest-catch, in Norfolk, 333. Hats; substitute for the shovel-hat, 381. Hay-band, origin of, 714. Heart, perpetual motion of, 544; case containing Lord Bruce’s heart, 225; instance of heart-burial, 230: disposal of sir W. Temple’s heart, 460. Heat, how counteracted at Siam, 253. Heaving, in wrestling, explained, 501. “Hectors, (The)” old play, 392. Hell-bridge, in the Highlands, 87. Henley, (Orator) advertisement of, 616. Henry II. character of, 154. ---- III. of France, amusements of, 348. ---- VIII. and his peers, 571. Hermits, 593. Hervé, Peter, artist, letter respecting, 20. Hervey, Rev. J., notices of, 366. “Hey for Honesty,” old play, 394. Highlands. See Scotland. Highwaymen, nearly extinct, 149, 150. Hill, sir John, physician, notice of, 652. Hipparchus, and other ancients, 820. See Ancients. Hippocrates, curious advice of, 511. History of Rome, doubt on, 413; pleasing passage of history, 422. “Hoffman’s Tragedy, or Revenge for a Father,” old play, 740. Hogarth, curious notices of, 289, &c. Holland, customs of, 563. See Dutch. Holt, John, a great ringer, 529. Holwood, seat of Mr. Pitt, engraving and notices of, 623, 642. Home, praises of, 268. Hood, T., sonnet to, 239; Plea of the Fairies, by, 340; “Whims and Oddities” of, 659. Hoppins, David, a singular parodist, 341. Horace, pious parody of, 339. Horæ Cravenæ, 721. Horns, emblems of kingly power, 420. Horsedealing, latitude of deceit in, 213. Horses, marks of age of, 357. Horsham gaol, 93. Horticulture recommended, 459. Hostler, derivation of, 49. Hotels. See Taverns. Houses and accommodations of old times, 584; country-houses lead to poor-houses, 352. Howitt, William and Mary, their Poems, 417, 481. Humour, definition of, 290. “Huntingdon Divertisement,” old play, 581. Huntsman, Mr. Woodford’s, 192. Husbandman, (The retired) engraving, 17. Husbands, a happy one, 442; crabbing for husbands, 464; evidence of affection for one, 544. See Wives. Hydrophobia, 667. Hypochondria, 91.
Ideas (innate), 120. Illusion, pleasures of, 757. Imperial fate, 395. Indians--and William Penn, 417, &c.; adventure of some, 534; Indians at Court in 1734, 693. “Infant Genius,” 659. Infants, offerings to, 21; picture of a deserted one, 338. Innate ideas, 120. Inns of the Romans, &c. 37, 39, 49; seeking lost sign of one, 410; good ones the result only of great travelling, 544; inn yards, 681. Intemperance, corrected by echo, 410. Invasion and volunteers, 55. Ireland, customs in, 23; Irish tobacco-pipes, 769. Islington, rights of parish of, 392, 787. Italian dramatists, 11.
Jack the Viper, 763. Jack Ketch a gentleman, 698. Jemmal ring, 1. Jennens, Charles, notice of, 651. Jew’s harp, 31. John, (St.) a custom on St. John’s eve, 99, St. John of Beverley’s Well at Harpham, 545. Johannites, notice of, 721. Johnson, Dr., “an odd kind of a chiel,” 255. Jones, Rev. M., Berkshire miser, 380. Jubilee, (Revolution) 515. Judges--a singular decree of one, 64; curious description of one, 255; a candid judge, 351; juries the better judges, 351. Juries, the better judges, 351; decisions of juries, 733. Justices of peace, female, 571. Juxton, bishop, notice of, 192.
Kalm, Swedish traveller, his description of Niagara, 532. Keats, John, poet, epitaph on himself, 249; notices of, 371, 430. Kelly, Miss, notices respecting, 55, 68. Keston Cross, 33. Ketch, Jack, 698. Kicking, in wrestling, barbarous, 500, 502. Kings and emperors, ill-fated ones, 395, 397; kings in Africa, 752. “King’s Arms,” 32. Kirkby, 437.
Labour and luck, 160. Lacteals in a mole, 191. Ladies. See Women. Lairds, compliment to a young one, 255. Landlady, agreeable, 285. Language, genders in, 284. Laurence Kirk snuff-boxes, 680. Law of kindness, 496. Law and poetry, 63; remark on law-books, 734. Lawyers, two, 475. Leaping, curious instance of, 279. Leaves scorched by summer-showers, 253. Lee Penny, The, engraving, 143. Leeds, duke of, [earl of Danby], vindication of, 515. Leith Hill, near Dorking, 117. Lettsom, Dr., notice of, 285. Liars, incredible, 639. Life, description of, 810. Light, philosophy of, 408, 794. Limbs, advice in case of one broken, 511. Liston, Mr., 650. Literature, foolish labour in, 28, 765. Living well, 32. Loadstone, opinions on, 635. London; fruit markets of London and Paris, 138; old London Cries, 431; a London watchman, 523; fires in London, 570; Londiniana, 587; giants in Guildhall, 609. See Islington, &c. Longevity of a Highlander, 213. Lord Mayor’s show, giants in, &c. 609. Lords and ladies, vegetable, 369. “Love Tricks,” old play, 172. Love, David, walking stationer, 177. Lovers, hostility of time to, 337. “Love’s Dominion,” old play, 456. “Love’s Metamorphosis,” old play, 265. Loyola, Ignatius, and his boot, 512. Luck and labour, 160. Lyttleton, sir George, notice of, 590.
Macdonald, John, a Highlander, 213. “Mad Dog,” 666. Magpie, anecdote of, 608. Maid of honour, curious patent to one, 413. “Maid Marian,” letter respecting, 10. Mallet, David, notice of, 110. “Mamamouchi,” old play, 231. Man, description of, 809. “Man in the Moon,” tract called, 252. Manners of old times, 584, 829. Manufactures, celerity of processes of, 86; of Birmingham, 595. Manuscripts, curious restoration of one, 415. Mariner, (an ultra) 188. Mark, St., customs on St. Mark’s eve, 99, 159, 251. Markets (fruit) of London and Paris, 138. Marlow, poet, merit of, 498 (note.) Marot, Clement, French poet, notice of, 766. Marriage, the Gimmal Ring, 1; a happy marriage, 116; Gretna Green parsons, 125; old customs at, 239, 348, 373; ungallant toll on brides, 343; marriage under the protectorate, 506. “Married Beau, (The)” old play, 622. Martin, St., and the Devil, 170. Mary, Peter and, 264. Matlock, 135. Mayor’s feast, temp. Elizabeth, 617. Mechanical power, 85; ancients’ knowledge of, 794, 822, 824. Medals; commemoration medal of diet of Augsburgh, 321. Medicine, skill of the ancients in, 743, 746. Melancthon and Calvin, 736. Melons, varieties and weights of, 141. Memory with stupidity, instance of, 571. Menage, advice of, touching poetry, 512. Mendip mines and miners, 695. Merrow, in Surrey, 705. Meum et Tuum, 250. Mice, field, for preventing injuries from, 467. Michaelmas day, customs on, 464. Microscopes, whether known to the ancients, 824. Milk, in America, 480. Milky Way, the, 375. Mill, the haunted, 476. Millhouse, Robert, his Poems, 161. Mines, descent into, 137; Mendip mines and miners, 695. Minuets, laborious study of, 64. Misers, notices of, 72, 77, 78, 118, 153, 242, 380. Misery,--a bond of affection, 806; trial through, 807. Miss, designation of, 831. Mitcheson, Tommy, of Durham, 287. Moderns and ancients, discoveries of, 58, 83, 120, 182, 202, 214, 245, 342, 375, 406, 438, 472, 503, 632, 724, 743, 788, 819. Mœris, (Lake) in Egypt, 823. Moles, lacteals in, 191. Mompesson, Rev. W., and his wife, 481, &c. Monarchs, most ancient of, 335; ill-fated ones, 395, 397; a pure and exemplary one, 520. Money, rareness of due care of, 78. Monkey, gallant comparison with, 573. Monmouth, duke of, 702. Montmorenci, Ann, anecdotes of, 174, 208. Moon, philosophy of, 473; tincture of moon, 653; moonlight view of Niagara, 543. More, sir T., 704. Mosaics of the ancients, 826. Mother and her children, 441. Mummies, 744. Music, superiority of the ancient, 202, 826, musical anecdotes, 204; memoir of Beethoven, 206; the music which old Time delights in, 336. My Pocket Book, 403. Mysteries dramatized, 113.
Nails and nail-makers, 602. Names, scriptural, &c. 767. Nationality, 331. Nature, animated, 216. Navarino, description of, 513. Newspapers; newspaper orthography, 222; classification of readers of newspapers, 570. See Advertisements. Newtonian philosophy and the ancients. See Ancients. Niagara, cataracts of, 531. Nixon’s prophecies, notice of, 224. Norfolk, custom in, 333. Northumberland, custom in, 21. Norwich Guild, 617. Nottingham, custom at, 180 (note); Nottingham and the revolution, 513.
Oaks, fine ones in Holland, 460. “Oddities, Whims and,” by T. Hood, 559. Offerings to infants, 21. Offices, estimates of value of, 76. Oglethorpe, general, notice of, 693. “Old England forever,” pamphlet called, 353. Opinions, former authority of, 59. Opium-eater, the, notices of, 277, 278. “Oranges, The Three,” play called, 11. Orleans, duchess of, ingenuous disclaimer by, 414. Ostler, derivation of, 49. Oyster cellars, entertainment of, 40.
Page’s Lock, near Hoddesdon, curious chair at, 436. Painting on cloth and glass, by the ancients, 745, 789, 825. Palindrome, explanation and instance of, 169. Parents’ affection, 441, 491. Paris and London, fruit markets of, 138. Parishes, abuses in, 25. Parliament, bribery of, by Charles V., 16. Parodies, pious, of Horace, 339. Parr, Dr., early model of, for style, 369. Parsimony. See Misers. Party of pleasure, interesting, 289. Pastoral and tragi-comedy, definitions of, 621. Pavy Labathiel, 526. Pawning, valuable resource of, 78. Peak’s hole, 14. Peal (dumb) of Grandsire Triples, 527. Pearce, Dr. Z., anecdote of, 103. Pearl, Cleopatra’s, 789. Pegge, Rev. S., revolution centenary sermon of, 516, 517, 697. Pemberton, sir J., lord mayor, 19. Penn, William, and the Indians, engraving, 417. Penny, (The Lee) an antique, description of, 143. Pentheney, Anthony, a miser, notice of, 118. Pepys, extracts from, 830, &c. Perfection, the steps of, 222. Peter the Great, summer garden of, 457. Peter-house college, anecdote touching, 264. Philadelphia, origin of, 419. Philippos, 705. Philosophy; of ancients and moderns. See Ancients. Philosophy of a fairy, 339. Physicians, a benevolent one, 285; two physicians, 475. Pickpockets, 232. Pickworth, Mr. C., letter to, 605. Pie, Christmas, 506. Pikeman, or turnpike-man, 684. Pine apples, 138. Pipes, Irish tobacco, 769. Piscatoria, 638. Pitt, Mr. W., notices of, and of his seat at Holwood, 627. Plague at Eyam, 481, &c., 629. Planets, material of one, 252. Planting in Scotland, 326; planting recommended, 459, 470. Plato, mode of studying, 174; Plato and other ancients, 820. See Ancients. Plays at Linton and Grassington, 247; play-wrighting, 411; acting of extraordinary children in plays, 526; performance of plays at Christian Malford, 553; definition of pastoral and tragi-comedy, 621; expedients and difficulties of players, 554; selections contributed by Mr. C. Lamb from the Garrick plays, 6, 52, 67, 106, 131, 171, 200, 232, 265, 328, 361, 393, 456, 497, 524, 551, 579, 619, 711, 739, 771, 806. “Plea of the Fairies,” 340. Pleasures of Illusion, 757. “Plotting Parlour, (The)” 514. Plurality of worlds, doctrine of, 375. Poaching, vindication of, 115. Pockets, pickpockets, and pocket-handkerchiefs, 231, 232. Poetry, thou and you in, 232; rule for criticism of, 512; diction of, 811. Poets, distresses of, 123; an athletic poet, 279; reward of an ingenious one, 231; encouragement to poets, 691. Politeness, 414. Polkinghorne, a famous wrestler, 499. Polypi, 793. Pope, Alexander, notice of, 109. Portraits, picture of taking, 452. Portuguese mysteries, 114. Preacher, (Puritan) 808. Prescription of money, instead of physic, 286. Presents, to infants, custom of, 21; at weddings, 373. Pride, remarks on, 600; instances of, 751. Princesses, mode of carrying, 174. Prisons, ancient and modern, 92. Processions at funerals, 479; at the restoration, 505; on centenary of the revolution, 518. Public-houses, 37, 39, &c., 51. Puddle-dock, duke of, 291. Pulpits; pulpit desk, 195; pulpit in the rock, 495. Punch bowl, Devil’s, 145. Punctilio, Spanish, 254. Purple of the ancients, 636 (note.) Pyramids of Egypt, 823. Pythagoras, power of his music, 203; Pythagoras and other ancients, 819. See Ancients. Pytheas and other ancients, 819. See Ancients.
Quakers; The Three Quakers, 50; quakers under William Penn, 417, &c.; origin of the term quaker, 429. Queenborough, curious account of, 297. Qualities, sensible, doctrine of, 182. Quid pro quo, 31. Quin, notices of, 111, 589. Quintain, the, 175, 239. Quipoes explained, 112.
Rain, effect of, 254. Rainbow at Niagara, 537, 542. “Ram Alley,” old play, 497. Ravensbourne, sources of the, engraving, 641. “Rebellion, (The)” old play, 525. Request, modest, 639. “Return, The Soldier’s,” 576. Rhodian Colossus, 823. Rhodope and Cinderella, 720. Ridicule, 174. Ringing, memorial of, at Bromley, 527; anecdotes of ringers, 529. Rings; the Gimmal ring, engraving and notice of, 1. Rivers, opinions on, 697. Roasting, musical, 204. Robertson, J., a friend of Thomson, 379. Romans, customs of, 37; fatality of Roman emperors, 395; doubts on Roman history, 413; Roman remains, 626, 629, 641. Romuald, St., 593. Rope-riding, at Venice, 251. Royal families, ill-fated ones, 397. “Royal King and Loyal Subject, (The)” old play, 497. Ruptures, curious application for, 466. Rushes, houses and churches strewed with, 277, &c. Russia, Esop in, 457. Rutty, Dr., a quaker, confession of, 510. Rydal Mount, seat of Wordsworth, 276.
Sackville, sir E. and lord Bruce, duel between, 225. Saddles, rules touching, 357. Sailors, 298. Saint Giles’s bowl, 702. ---- John’s Well, at Harpham, engraving, 545. ---- Romuald, 593. “Sally Holt,” a story, 669. Sandy, James, an extraordinary artist, 680. Sanitary cordon, 493, 495. “Sappho and Phaon,” old play, 265. Satellites, 377. Saville, sir G., letter to, 492. Sawston Cross, 81. Saxons, customs of, 38. Scandal, picture of, 61. Scarfs and tippets, 235. Scheveling scenery, 460. “School of Adults,” 662. Schools, chastisement in, 174; schoolboys’ anticipations of home, 268. Sciences and arts, skill of the ancients in.--See Ancients. Scotland, customs in, 23, 40, 143; Scotch lairds and judges, 255; Highland emigration, 322; forests of Scotland, 324. Scott, sir Walter, letter of, to sir A. Ferguson, 508. ----, Thomas, shepherd, anecdote of, 510. Sculpture of the ancients, 825. Sects, exclusiveness of, 808. Selden, notice of, 572. Self-devotion, clerical, 536. Self-esteem, 751. Selling and buying, 211. Sensualist and his conscience, 410. Servants; servant maid’s pocket-book, 404; old and faithful servants, 818. Servetus and his works, 726. Session, court of, satire on judges of, 255. “Shakerley, my aunt,” 663. Shakspeare, Time’s rival, 339, 340. Sham-fights and invasion, 55. Sheep, their injury to young woods, 324; superstition touching sheep and mice, 467; sheep-shearing in Cumberland, 559. Sheepshanks, Whittle, 267. Sheriffs, female, 571. Ships, descent of one over Niagara falls, 531. Shirley Common, broom-maker’s at, 449. Shirts, wearing two in travelling, 352. Shoeblacks, notices respecting, 435. Shoemakers, an ambitious one, 341. Shoes, old, curious application of, 318. Shorland, Lord, old legend and monument of, 300, 317. Showers, summer, 253. Shuttle, hanging the, 221. Siam, summer-house in, 253. Signs; sign-seeking, 412; curious signs, 448, 504, 756. Silchester, Hants, Roman station, 556. Simcoe, general, notice of, 422. Singing, test of excellence of, 210. “Sir Giles Goosecap,” old play, 329. Skimmington, procession called, 360. Skipton in Craven. See Craven. Sleeves, pockets formerly in, 231. Smith, Thomas, a quack, 722. Smoking and snuffing, oriental temple for, 673, 679; antiquity of smoking, 771. Snitzler, an honest organ-builder, 26. Snuffing and smoking, 673, &c.; Laurence-kirk snuff-boxes, 680. Soames, Dr., master of Peterhouse, 264. Soldiers; a soldier’s age, 352; a soldier’s return, 576. Somerset, proud duke of, 751. Son, father and, 31. Sophia Charlotte, sister of Geo. I., 479. Southey, poet, residence of, 282. Spa-fields, sketch in, 764. Spaniards, spare diet of, 772. Spanish mysteries, 113; punctilio, 254. Speculation, folly of, 352. Spinning, tenuity of, 85. Spit, movement of to music, 204. “Spoons, Apostle,” 817. Stanley, Rev. T., rector of Eyam, 629. Starch-wort, an herb, account of, 369. “Stare and Gossip, the,” 61. Stars, fixed, the, 375, 795. Statesmen, model of, 429. ----, small farming proprietors called, 378. Statues, stupendous, 823. Steam-engines, 85. Steel manufacturers, 600. Stones, (precious) ancients’ imitation of, 745. Stories, (long) 210. Storks, habits and treatment of, 464, 564. Strutt, Mr., new edition of his “Sports and Pastimes,” &c. by editor of the Table Book, 177. Stuarts, (The) unfortunate line of, 398. Summer; summer-house at Siam, 253; summer showers, an effect of, 253; summer garden of Peter the Great, 457. Surgery, skill of the ancients in, 742, 746. Sweetheart-seeing, 159. Sympathy, supposed effect of, 334.
Table Book, editor of about to publish a cheap edition of “Strutt’s Sports and Pastimes,” 177; editor’s severe domestic afflictions, 737. Table rock at Niagara, 541. Tailor, origin of the word, 717. Talbot inn, Borough, 45. Talkington, George, casualties that befell, 127. Tanner, Dame, gleaning cake of, 346. Tasting days, 447. Taverns and inns, notices of, 41, &c. 49, &c. Taylor, John, of Birmingham, notice of, 595. Temple of Health, Dr. Graham’s, 561; for smoking, Mr. Gliddon’s, 673. Temple, Sir W., disposal of his heart, 460. Tenter, (Bear and) boys’ play, 364. Thales and other ancients, 819. See Ancients. Theatres. See Plays. Thunder, opinions on, 632. Tippets and scarfs, 235. Thomson, poet, notices of, 108, 378, 588. Thou and you, in poetry, 332. Thread and thread-makers, 603. “Thyestes,” old play, 645. Tides, opinions on, 634. Tie and bob wigs, 434. “Time, the defeat of,” 335. Titles, 752. Tobacco, or a substitute, ancient use of, 771. See Ancients. Toll, ungallant, 243. Tours, a curious one, 291. Townsend, (Bow street) evidence by, 149. Trade, good and ill of, 211. Tradition, picture of, 366. Tragi-comedy and pastoral comedy, 621. “Traitor, (The)” old play, 580. Transmigration, explanatory of antipathies, 191. Trashing, 348. Travelling, precautions for, 352, 364. Treasure-digging, patent for, 413. Treaties; one between W. Penn and the Indians, 417, &c.; treaty of Uxbridge, 521. Trees; skeletons of, 325; a memorable elm, 421; noble trees near Amsterdam, 461; superstition about passing patients through a split ash, 465; trees poetically and nationally considered, 469; height of the cabbage tree, 471. Tricks of the Fairies, 339. “Triumphant Widow, (The)” old play, 232. Troller’s Gill, (The) 653. Tromp, Van, gallantry of, 773. “True Trojans, (The)” old play, 328. Turk, the Great, 754. Turnpikeman, (The) 684. Tuum et Meum, 250. “Twins, (The)” old play, 329.
Ugliness, naif admission of, 414. Umbrella, clergyman’s, 101. Usurers; life of one, 72; a liberal one, 808. Utopia, (sir T. More’s) blunder about, 413. Uxbridge, town and treaty of, 521.
Vega, Francis de la, adventures of, 188. ----, Lopez de, mysteries of, 113. Venice, 251. Venison, potted, curious notion about, 334. Vines, notices about, 33, 628. See Grapes. Viper’s poison, 764. Virtue and Death, dialogue between, 19. Voice, restoration of, by anchovy, 544. Volunteer reminiscences, 55. Vortices, doctrine of, 377.
Wagstaff, Mr. E., 185. Wake-Robin, a plant, 369. Wakefield, custom near, 21. Walker (Willy) and John Bolton, 409. Waller, sir E., his tomb at Beaconsfield, 469. Walpole, sir H., and Hogarth, 290, 291. ---- sir R., notice of, 192. Walls of plaster advised for fruit, 141. Wards, court of, abuses of, 76. “Wars of Cyrus,” old play, 621. Warwickshire, custom in, 466. Watchmen, (London) 523. Water having the effect of fire, 535. Wedding. See Marriage. “Weston Favel History, &c.,” remarks on, 366. “Whims and Oddities,” by T. Hood, 559. Whittington, revolution house at, 513. Wight, Isle of, custom in, 714. Wigs, formerly general, 434. Wilson, Rev. Mr., curious tract by, 252. ----, professor of moral philosophy, notices of, 279. Wiltshire, custom in, 197. Winter flowers, 737. Witchcraft, decree against, 144; “burning the witch,” 582; guard against witchcraft, 583; the wise woman of Littondale, 776. Wives; Mr. E. Wagstaff’s, 185; lively letter from one, 442; consolation for loss of one, 479; evidence of affection in wives, 544; a wife taking liberties, 751. Wizard’s Cave, 747, 750. Wolves; forests burnt in Scotland to exterminate them, 324. Women; customs at lying-in, 23; former freedom of society with men, 40, 41; Egyptian compliment to, 405; ingenuous admission of ugliness by one, 414; a young one’s pocket-book, 404; women sheriffs and justices, 571; antiquarians’ supposed dislike to, 572; dower of women, 573; an amiable woman described, 682; “The Wise Woman of Littondale,” 777. See Wives. Wood feast, 455. Wood, Antony à, his dislike of women, 572. Wood, Nicholas, a glutton, 350. Wordsworth, (poet) notices of, 273. Worlds, plurality of, 375. Wrestling, 416, 499. Wright, (Mrs.) her description of Niagara falls, 538. Writing, Peruvian substitute for, 112; writing-desks, 193, 196. Wye Dale, 13.
Years, reason for not counting, 352. York, and the revolution, 514. Yorkshire customs, 99, 144, 348, 505. Young, (Mr. S.) of Keston Cross, 36.
II. CORRESPONDENTS’ INDEX.
A. B., 715. A. W., 709. A. W. R., 559. Alpha, 747. Auctor, 411. Barley Mow, (The) 220. Bob Short, 437. C. D., 604. C. L., 10, 68. C. W. P., 212. City Volunteer, (A) 55. Curio So, 411. D. A. M., 505. Dick Dick’s Son, 714. E. J. H., 12, 135. Elia, 335. F. C. N., 239, 512. F. S., jun., 20. G., 177. G. B., 617. G. H. I., 588. Gaston, 436. Gilbertus, 559. Gulielmus, 735. H*****, 19. ☞, 673. H. B., 321. H. L., 19. H. M. L., 723. I. V., 353. J. G., 817. J. J. R., 765. J. R. J., 521, 556. J.R.P., 27, 219, 220, 684, 812. J. S., 829. Jehoida, 197. Jerry Blossom, 737. K. B., 731. L. V., 416. M. H., 193, 209, 268, 403. M. N., 629. Milo, 21. N. S., 364, 584. Nemo, 185. O., 764. O. Z., 395, 430. Old Correspondent, 347. P., 19, 222, 224, 455. Pinchard, John, 690. ΠΡΙ, 284, 553, 574. Puceron, 464. R. N. P., 145. S. R. J., 6. S. S. J., 116, 734. S. T. J., 818. *, *, P., 221, 818. *, *, *, 558. Sam Sam’s Son, 124, 350, 499, 561, 570. Smith, Mr., 719. So and So, 387. Sojourner at Enfield, 79. T. B. H., 333. T. C., 545, 559, 582, 583, 637, 638, 755. T. Q. M., 235, 247, 267, 271, 287, 606, 721, 761, 775. T. R., 81, 257, 723. T. T. B., 757. W. C., 373. W. H., 445.
III. INDEX TO THE POETRY.
Contributed by Correspondents under the following Signatures.
A. X., 718. Alpha, 399, 747. B., 815. C. J., Frontispiece. Cole, C., 384. E. E., 575. Gaston, 371. Hezekiah Hulk, 480. J. J. K., 735. J. K. P., 199. J. P. C., 799. Le Flaneur, 763. M. W., 238. Moxon, Edward, 239. P., 288. Phœnix, J. F., 592. Pulci, 191. R. B., 762. R. W. D., 25, 159. S., 757. S., 250, 284, 286. S. N. Y., 223. * * *, 87. T. N., 82. T. Q. M., 412, 640, 653. Vérité, 156.
By the Editor.
Past, present, and future, 287. The Broom-maker’s at Shirley Common, 449. The Source of the Ravensbourne, 641.
AUTHORS QUOTED.
Allan. J. Hey, 322, 326. Cowper, 79. Cunningham, Rev. P., 520. Heywood, T., 560, 662, 664, 671. Howitt, W. and M., 417, 481, &c. Jodelle, 767. Jones, sir. W., 471. Lamb, Charles, 55. Millhouse, R., 161, &c. Pearce, bishop, 103. Pierius, 766. Plumtree, Rev. Mr., 806. Pope, 416. Roscoe, 423. Thomsom, J., 379, 380. Wordsworth, 280, 775.
WORKS CITED.
Garrick Plays, selections from, contributed by Mr. C. Lamb, 6, 52, 67, 106, 131, 171, 200, 232, 265, 328, 361, 393, 456, 497, 524, 551, 579, 619, 645, 711, 739, 771, 806. Morning Chronicle, 607. New Monthly Magazine, 29.
ANONYMOUS.
6, 19, 63, 96, 119, 180, 262, 264, 270, 283, 448, 479, 480, 522, 572, 594, 608, 650, 651, 652, 716, 731, 768.
IV. INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGS.
Augsburgh, (Diet of) commemoration medal of, 321. Blake, William, ostler, 47. Bloomfield, George, 815. Bromley, Bishop’s well at, 65. ---- church door of, 97. ---- ---- ---- key, 101. ---- memorial of a peal rung at, 527. Broom-maker’s at Shirley common, 449. Bruce, lord Edw., case containing his heart, 225. ------ ---- appearance of the heart, 329. Burnsal Lich-gate, 271. Cigar Divan of Mr. Gliddon, 673. Cooke, John, saddler, of Exeter, 353. Coward, Nathan, 257. Desk, (my) 193. French assignat, 209. Gilpin, Mrs., riding to Edmonton, 79. Gimmal ring, 1. Grassmere font, 272. Hagbush-lane, Islington, view in, 385. ---- ---- ---- a last look at, 785. Harpham, St. John’s well at, 545. Hervey, (author of Meditations) birth-place of, 367. Hogarth embarking at Isle of Grain, 289. Holwood, seat of Mr. Pitt, 623. Husbandman, the retired, 17. Keston Cross, 33. Lee Penny, (the) 143. “London Cries, (old)” 431. ---- ---- ---- another figure, 432. Millhouse, Robert, 161. Mompesson, Catherine, her tomb at Eyam, 481. ---- ----’s pulpit in the rock, 495. North, Robert, of Scarborough, 687. Penn, W., and the Indians, 417. Quintain, (the) 175. Ravensbourne, source of the, 641. Revolution-house, at Whittington, 513. “Running horse, (the)” at Merrow, 705. Shorland, lord, monument of, 317. Sketch, (A.) 129. Tobacco-pipes, Irish, 769. Tree, (ash) used as a charm, 465. Velocitas, (the) fly-boat, 559. Watson, George, Sussex calculator, 577.
Transcriber’s Notes
General remarks
Where possible, corrections have been verified with later editions and/or with other sources.
The spelling in this text follows that of the source document, including the spelling of proper names and place names, non-English words, and the use of accents and diacriticals. Inconsistent, erroneous and unusual spelling have been retained, except as mentioned below.
Depending on the hard- and software used and their settings, not all elements may display as intended.
The source document consisted of an introduction, followed by two sets of weekly instalments, numbered I.-1 through I-27 (page numbers I-1 through I-860) and II.-28 through II.-55 (page numbers II-1 through II-888). Both sets have their own indexes.
The indexes are not always in full alphabetical order, and some page numbers in the indexes may be wrong. Neither have been corrected, except as indicated below.
Not all quote marks are paired properly with an opening or closing one; these were lacking in the source document, and it was not obvious where they should have been placed.
The numbering of repeating subjects (for example, Discoveries of the Ancients and Moderns) is not always contiguous.
Volume I and Volume II are available at Project Gutenberg as well (www.gutenberg.org).
Specific remarks
Page I-69, worthy insertion: possibly there is a word missing.
Page I-386/387, Errata: the corrections mentioned have already been made in the text.
Page I-562, Some merchants do the rather desire ...: as printed in the source document.
Page I-579/580: the first sub-total (331_li._ 0_s._ 8_d._) does not agree with the items listed; this error is continued in the other (sub-)totals.
Page I-621: Captain and Colonel O’Kelly: as printed in the source document.
Page I-642, Philippe Gualtier: probably an error for Philippe Gaultier (Philippus Gaulterus).
Page I-745, the Earth: ⊖ as printed in the source, rather than the more usual symbol ♁.
Page II-128, footnote [292]: 1892 as printed in the source document.
Page II-228, ... which will be inserted at a future time: not in this volume.
Page II-294 ff., references to drawings (the 2nd, the 3rd, etc.): these drawings were not present in the source document, except Drawing the 5th.
Page II-333/334, ~G. H. J.~: the contribution in vol. II has ~G. H. I.~
Page II-440, he mentions Pythagoras ... in their time.: as printed in the source document, not changed.
Page II-480, Errata: correction for page II-397 already made in text; the second erratum had apparently already been corrected in the source.
Page II-512, Nay, doubtless; ...: as printed, although the punctuation seems wrong.
Page II-626, coins, &c. discovered ploughed up: the blank space in this text is deliberate, a word is missing in the source (possibly or or and).
Page II-653, with his own dear maid: the last two letters are invisible in the source document; other sources give maid.
Page II-799, erratum: the correction has already been made in the text.
Page II-682/683, claret ground, and burnishe The four beautiful ...: the blank space in this text is deliberate, one or more words are missing in the source.
Page II-852, footnote [519]: the volume number is partly illegible; there may have been one or more characters after xc.
Page II-871, (the Malden): possibly an error for Malton, one of the places served by the fly-boat.
Changes made
Footnotes have been moved to directly under the section to which they refer. In the footnotes, Ibid. has been replaced with the relevant title, and the title has been changed to Ibid. where appropriate.
Obvious minor typographical errors and missing punctuation have been corrected silently.
Miss Plumptre/Plumtree/Plumtre has been standardised to Miss Plumptre; à/a Wood has been standardised to à Wood; Caolchairn and similar spellings have been standardised to Caölchairn; Petheny/Penthany/Pentheny has been standardised to Pentheny.
Page I-58, footnote [12]: not even myself changed to not even to myself
Page I-60: ” inserted after Apply, &c. &c.
Page I-142: ) added after (dreadful charm,
Page I-153: “ inserted before How much is this?”
Page I-222: “ inserted before most musical
Page I-255: To deek their Night-piece changed to To deck their Night-piece
Page I-291: spendour changed to splendour
Page I-297: barley it scones,” changed to barley “scones,”
Page I-298: in a “A Sing-Song changed to in “A Sing-Song
Page I-312: ... in gratitude ing a theatre. changed to ... in establishing a theatre.
Page I-357: Blush forth changed to Blushing forth; attain’d is sweet, changed to attain’d is sweet. (both cf. errata page I-386/387)
Page I-371/372: last lines of poems 11 and 12 indented as in poems 1-10
Page I-470, footnote [104]: col. 263 changed to col. 264
Page I-504: les Jacobins seront hébêté changed to les Jacobins seront hébêtés
Page I-615: nsecum reddentes changed to censum reddentes
Page I-660: middle age of live changed to middle age of life
Page I-665: indifference’ dull throne changed to indifference’s dull throne
Page I-835: Coŭloŭr changed to Coulour as in text; page number 9 changed to 90 (Country, Bleeding for)
Page I-859/860: leading numbers and some illustrations added to the list
Page II-10: Turnament changed to Tournament
Page II-22: Ibid. p. 13 changed to Ibid. ii. 13
Page II-30: ON ’CHANGE changed to ON CHANGE
Page II-33: ” inserted after Crooked Billet
Page II-40: “ inserted before it dissipates
Page II-57: ton of military distinction changed to tone of military distinction
Page II-72: ” added after ... to draw in more.—
Page II-174: quote marks deleted after ... Esprit, and before has been caught ...
Page II-176: were fashionable quadrilles changed to where fashionable quadrilles
Page II-178: comma inserted after ... died shortly after
Page II-199: monument to sir John Maners changed to monument to sir John Manners
Page II-204: Baun changed to Bonn
Page II-215: ” added after ... things corporeal.
Page II-236: furura changed to fururâ
Page II-282: polytheutic changed to polytheistic
Page II-356: receipe changed to recipe
Page II-397: modern Europe changed to northern Europe (cf. erratum page II-480)
Page II-398: kinded changed to kindred
Page II-410: Tho’ conquerd changed to Tho’ conquer’d
Page II-428: Spirit like changed to Spirit-like
Page II-455: Hartley Common changed to Startley Common (cf. erratum page II-799)
Page II-464, footnote [378]: Outhaden changed to Outheden
Page II-498, footnote [387]: Roscian changed to Rosscian
Page II-528: incription changed to inscription
Page II-558: second correspondent’s name changed to *, *, P.
Page II-570/571, footnote [423]: Bauar changed to Bauer
Page II-653: Furetiere changed to Furetière
Page II-661: ” added after ... earthquake and eclipse
Page II-697: dry Goof changed to dry Groof
Page II-779: ” inserted after ... good night.’
Page II-833/834: entry I. I. P. I. deleted, and page references moved to entry ΠΡΙ
Page II-834: T. B. D. changed to T. B. H.
Page II-843/844: ... ecliptic one degree ... changed to ecliptic; one degree ...
Page II-845, table row 8th day: 57 changed to 56
Page II-847/848: 91 added to table row
Page II-865, entry Alleyn: 648 changed to 498
Page II-883-888: spelling of some names changed to correspond with the names used in the body of the text.