Part 116
Bishop Bruno awoke in the dead midnight, And he heard his heart beat loud with affright: He dreamt he had rung the palace bell, And the sound it gave was his passing knell.
Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain He turned to sleep and he dreamt again He rung at the palace gate once more, And Death was the porter that opened the door.
He started up at the fearful dream, And he heard at his window the screech owl scream! Bishop Bruno slept no more that night;-- Oh! glad was he when he saw the day light!
Now he goes forth in proud array, For he with the emperor dines to-day; There was not a baron in Germany That went with a nobler train than he.
Before and behind his soldiers ride, The people throng’d to see their pride; They bow’d the head, and the knee they bent, But nobody blest him as he went.
So he went on stately and proud, When he heard a voice that cried aloud, Ho! ho! bishop Bruno! you travel with glee-- But I would have you know, you travel to me!
Behind, and before, and on either side, He look’d, but nobody he espied; And the bishop at that grew cold with fear, For he heard the words distinct and clear.
And when he rung the palace bell, He almost expected to hear his knell And when the porter turn’d the key, He almost expected Death to see.
But soon the bishop recover’d his glee, For the emperor welcomed him royally And now the tables were spread, and there Were choicest wines and dainty fare.
And now the bishop had blest the meat, When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat,-- With the emperor now you are dining in glee, But know, bishop Bruno, you sup with me!
The bishop then grew pale with affright, And suddenly lost his appetite; All the wine and dainty cheer Could not comfort his heart so sick with fear.
But by little and little recovered he For the wine went flowing merrily, And he forgot his former dread, And his cheeks again grew rosy red.
When he sat down to the royal fare Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there; But when the masquers entered the hall, He was the merriest man of all.
Then from amid the masquers’ crowd There went a voice hollow and loud; You have passed the day, bishop Bruno, with glee! But you must pass the night with me!
His cheek grows pale and his eye-balls glare, And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair; With that there came one from the masquers’ band, And he took the bishop by the hand.
The bony hand suspended his breath, His marrow grew cold at the touch of Death; On saints in vain he attempted to call, Bishop Bruno fell dead in the palace hall.
_Southey._
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Lateflowering Feverfew. _Pyrethrum Scrotinum._ Dedicated to _St. Bruno_.
[343] Comp. to Almanac.
~October 7.~
_St. Mark_, Pope, A. D. 336. _Sts. Sergius_ and _Bacchus_. _Sts. Marcellus_ and _Apuleius_. _St. Justina_ of Padua, A. D. 304. _St. Osith_, A. D. 870.
_Purveyance for Winter._
After the harvest for human subsistence during winter, most of the provision for other animals ripens, and those with provident instincts are engaged in the work of gathering and storing.
Perhaps the prettiest of living things in the forest are squirrels. They may now be seen fully employed in bearing off their future food; and now many of the little creatures are caught by the art of man; to be encaged for life to contribute to his amusement.
_Squirrels and Hares._
On a remark by the hon. Daines Barrington, that “to observe the habits and manners of animals is the most pleasing part of the study of zoology,” a correspondent, in a letter to “Mr. Urban,” says “I have for several years diverted myself by keeping squirrels, and have found in them not less variety of humours and dispositions than Mr. Cowper observed in his hares. I have had grave and gay, fierce and gentle, sullen and familiar, and tractable and obedient squirrels. One property I think highly worthy of observation, which I have found common to the species, as far as my acquaintance with them has extended; and that acquaintance has been by no means confined to a few: yet this property has, I believe, never been adverted to by any zoological writer. I mean, that they have an exact musical ear. Not that they seem to give the least attention to any music, vocal or instrumental, which they hear; but they universally dance in their cages to the most exact time, striking the ground with their feet in a regular measured cadence, and never changing their tune without an interval of rest. I have known them dance perhaps ten minutes in _allegro_ time of eight quavers in a bar, thus:
[Music]
then, after a pause, they would change to the time of six quavers divided into three quavers and a dotted crotchet, thus:
[Music]
again, after a considerable rest, they would return to common time divided by four semiquavers, one crotchet, four semiquavers and another crotchet, in a bar, thus:
[Music]
always continuing to dance or jump to the same tune for many minutes, and always resting before a change of tune. I once kept a male and a female in one large cage, who performed a peculiar dance together thus; the male jumped sideways, describing a portion of a circle in the air; the female described a portion of a smaller circle concentric with the first, always keeping herself duly under the male, performing her leap precisely in the same time, and grounding her feet in the same moment with him.
___________________________ A/ _____________________ \B C/_____________________\D
While the male moved from A to B, or from B to A, the female moved from C to D, or from D to C, and their eight feet were so critically grounded together, that they gave but one note. I must observe, that this practice of dancing seems to be an expedient to amuse them in their confinement; because, when they are for a time released from their cages, they never dance, but reserve this diversion until they are again immured.”
Mr. Urban’s correspondent continues thus, “no squirrel will lay down what he actually has in his paws, to receive even food which he prefers, but will always eat or hide what he has, before he will accept what is offered to him. Their sagacity in the selection of their food is truly wonderful. I can easily credit what I have been told, that in their winter hoards not one faulty nut is to be found; for I never knew them accept a single nut, when offered to them, which was either decayed or destitute of kernel: some they reject, having only smelt them; but they seem usually to try them by their weight, poising them in their fore-feet. In eating, they hold their food not with their whole fore-feet, but between the inner toes or thumbs. I know not whether any naturalist has observed that their teeth are of a deep orange colour.”
This gentleman, who writes late in the year 1788, proceeds thus, “A squirrel sits by me while I write this, who was born in the spring, 1781, and has been mine near seven years. He is, like Yorick, ‘a whoreson mad fellow--a pestilent knave--a fellow of infinite jest and fancy.’ When he came to me, I had a venerable squirrel, corpulent, and unwieldy with age. The young one agreed well with him from their first introduction, and slept in the same cage with him; but he could never refrain from diverting himself with the old gentleman’s infirmities. It was my custom daily to let them both out on the floor, and then to set the cage on a table, placing a chair near it to help the old squirrel in returning to his home. This was great exercise to the poor old brute; and it was the delight of the young rogue to frustrate his efforts, by suffering him to climb up one bar of the chair, then pursuing him, embracing him round the waist, and pulling him down to the ground; then he would suffer him to reach the second bar, or perhaps the seat of the chair, and afterwards bring him back to the floor as at first. All this was done in sheer fun and frolic, with a look and manner full of inexpressible archness and drollery. The old one could not be seriously angry at it; he never fought or scolded, but gently complained and murmured at his unlucky companion. One day, about an hour after this exercise, the old squirrel was found dead in his cage, his wind and his heart being quite broken by the mischievous wit of his young mess-mate. My present squirrel one day assaulted and bit me without any provocation. To break him of this trick, I pursued him some minutes about the room, stamping and scolding at him, and threatening him with my handkerchief. After this, I continued to let him out daily, but took no notice of him for some months. The coolness was mutual: he neither fled from me, nor attempted to come near me. At length I called him to me: it appeared that he had only waited for me to make the first advance; he threw off his gravity towards me, and ran up on my shoulder. Our reconciliation was cordial and lasting; he has never attempted to bite me since, and there appears no probability of another quarrel between us, though he is every year wonderfully savage and ferocious at the first coming-in of filberts and walnuts. He is frequently suffered to expatiate in my garden; he has never of late attempted to wander beyond it; he always climbs up a very high ash tree, and soon after returns to his cage, or into the parlour.”
For what this observant writer says of _hares_, see the 17th day of the present month.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Indian Chrysanthemum. _Chrysanthemum Indicum._ Dedicated to _St. Mark_, Pope.
~October 8.~
_St. Bridget_, A. D. 1373. _St. Thais_, A. D. 348. _St. Pelagia_, 5th Cent. _St. Keyna_, 5th or 6th Cent.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Sweet Maudlin. _Actillea Ageratum._ Dedicated to _St. Bridget_.
~October 9.~
_St. Dionysius_, Bp. of Paris, and others, A. D. 272. ST. DOMNINUS, A. D. 304. _St. Guislain_, A. D. 681. _St. Lewis Bertrand_, A. D. 1581.
~St. Denys.~
This is the patron saint of France, and his name stands in our almanacs and in the church of England calendar, as well as in the Romish calendar.
St. Denys had his head cut off, he did not care for that, He took it up and carried it two miles without his hat.
“The times have been that when the brains were out the man would die;” they were “_the times_!” Yet, even in those times, except “the Anthrophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders,” men, whose heads grew _upon_ their shoulders, wore them in that situation during their natural lives until by accident a head was taken off, and then infallibly “the man would die.” But the extraordinary persons called “saints,” were exempt from ordinary fatality: could all their sayings be recorded, we might probably find it was as usual for a decapitated saint to ask, “Won’t you give me my head?” before he walked to be buried, as for an old citizen to call, “Boy, bring me my wig,” before he walked to club.
St. Denys was beheaded with some other martyrs in the neighbourhood of Paris. “They beheaded them,” says the reverend father Ribadeneira, “in that mountain which is at present called _Mons Martyrum_ (_Montmartre_), the mountain of the martyrs, in memory and honour of them; but after they had martyred them, there happened a wonderful miracle. The body of St. Denys rose upon its feet, and took its own head up in its hands, as if he had triumphed and carried in it the crown and token of its victories. The angels of heaven went accompanying the saint, singing hymns choir-wise, with a celestial harmony and concert, and ended with these words, ‘_gloria tibi, Domine alleluia_;’ and the saint went with his head in his hands about two miles, till he met with a good woman called Catula, who came out of her house; and the body of St. Denys going to her, it put the head in her hands.” Perhaps this is as great a miracle as any he wrought in his life; yet those which he wrought after his death “were innumerable.” Ribadeneira adds one in favour of pope Stephen, who “fell sick, and was given over by the doctors in the very monastery of St. Denys, which is near Paris; where he had a revelation, and he saw the princes of the apostles, St. Peter, and St. Paul, and St. Denys, who lovingly touched him and gave him perfect health, and this happened in the year of our Lord, 704, upon the 28th of July; and in gratitude for this favour he gave great privileges to that church of St. Denys, and carried with him to Rome certain relics of his holy body, and built a monastery in his honour.”
It appears from an anecdote related by an eminent French physician, that it was believed of St. Denys that he kissed his head while he carried it; and it is equally marvellous that a man was so mad as not to believe it true. The circumstance is thus related:
“A famous watchmaker of Paris, infatuated for a long time with the chimera of perpetual motion, became violently insane, from the overwhelming terror which the storms of the revolution excited. The derangement of his reason was marked with a singular trait. He was persuaded that he had lost his head on the scaffold, and that it was put in a heap with those of many other victims: but that the judges, by a rather too late retraction of their cruel decree, had ordered the heads to be resumed, and to be rejoined to their respective bodies; and he conceived that, by a curious kind of mistake, he had the head of one of his companions placed on his shoulders. He was admitted into the Bicétre, where he was continually complaining of his misfortune, and lamenting the fine teeth and wholesome breath which he had exchanged for those of very different qualities. In a little time, the hopes of discovering the perpetual motion returned; and he was rather encouraged than restrained in his endeavours to effect his object. When he conceived that he had accomplished it, and was in an ecstasy of joy, the sudden confusion of a failure removed his inclination even to resume the subject. He was still, however, possessed with the idea that his head was not his own: but from this notion he was diverted by a repartee made to him, when he happened to be defending the possibility of the miracle of St. Denys, who, it is said, was in the habit of walking with his head between his hands, and in that position continually kissing it. ‘What a fool you are to believe such a story,’ it was replied, with a burst of laughter; ‘How could St. Denys kiss his head? was it with his heels?’ This unanswerable and unexpected retort struck and confounded the madman so much, that it prevented him from saying any thing farther on the subject; he again betook himself to business, and entirely regained his intellects.”[344]
St. Denys, as the great patron of France, is highly distinguished. “France,” says bishop Patrick, “glories in the relics of this saint; yet Baronius tells us, that Ratisbonne in Germany has long contested with them about it, and show his body there; and pope Leo IX. set out a declaration determining that the true body of St Denys was entire at Ratisbonne, wanting only the little finger of his right hand, yet they of Paris ceased not their pretences to it, so that here are two bodies venerated of the same individual saint; and both of them are mistaken if they of Prague have not been cheated, among whose numerous relics I find the arm of St. Denys, the apostle of Paris, reckoned.” The bishop concludes by extracting part of a Latin service, in honour of St. Denys, from the “Roman Missal,”[345] wherein the prominent miracle before alluded to is celebrated in the following words, thus rendered by the bishop into English.--
He fell indeed, but presently arose, The breathless body finds both feet and way, He takes his head in hand, and forward goes, Till the directing angels bid him stay. Well may the church triumphantly proclaim This martyr’s death, and never dying fame.
Several devotional books contain prints representing St. Denys walking with his head in his hands. One of them, entitled “Le Tableau de la Croix, represente dans les Ceremonies de la S^{te.} Messe,” consists of a hundred engravings by J. Collin,[346] and from one of them the “lively portraiture” of the saint prefixed to this article is taken.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Milky Agaric. _Agaricus lactiflorus._ Dedicated to _St. Denis_.
[344] Pinel on Insanity.
[345] Paris, 1520, folio.
[346] Imp. a Paris, 4to.
~October 10.~
_St. Francis Borgia_, A. D. 1572. _St. Paulinus_, Abp. of York, A. D. 644. _St. John_ of Bridlington, A. D. 1379.
1825. Oxford and Cambridge Terms begin on this day.
AUTUMN.
There is a fearful spirit busy now. Already have the elements unfurled Their banners: the great sea-wave is upcurled: The cloud comes: the fierce winds begin to blow About, and blindly on their errands go; And quickly will the pale red leaves be hurled From their dry boughs, and all the forest world Stripped of its pride, be like a desert show. I love that moaning music which I hear In the bleak gusts of autumn, for the soul Seems gathering tidings from another sphere, And, in sublime mysterious sympathy, Man’s bounding spirit ebbs and swells more high, Accordant to the billow’s loftier roll.[347]
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Cape Acetris. _Velthemia Viridifolia._ Dedicated to _St. Francis Borgia_.
[347] Literary Pocket Book
~October 11.~
_Sts. Tarachus_, _Probus_, and _Andronicus_, A. D. 304. _St. Gummar_, or _Gomar_, A. D. 774. _St. Ethelburge_, or _Edilburge_, A. D. 664. _St. Canicus_, or _Kenny_, Abbot in Ireland, A. D. 599.
_St. Ethelburge._
In ancient times, on the festival of this saint, furmity was “an usual dish.”[348]
~Old Michaelmas Day.~
On this day it was a custom in Hertfordshire for young men to assemble in the fields and choose a leader, whom they were obliged to follow through ponds and ditches, “over brake and briar.” Every person they met was taken up by the arms and bumped, or swung against another. Each publican furnished a gallon of ale and plum-cake, which was consumed in the open air. This was a septennial custom and called _ganging-day_.[349]
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Holly. _Ilex aquifolium._ Dedicated to _St. Ethelburge_.
[348] Fesbroke’s Ency. of Antiq.
[349] Brand.
~October 12.~
_St. Wilfrid_, Bp. of York, A. D. 709.
_Seasonable Work._
Now come the long evenings with devices for amusing them. In the intervals of recreation there is “work to do.” This word “work” is significant of an employment which astonishes men, and seems never to tire the fingers of their industrious helpmates and daughters; except that, with an expression which we are at a loss to take for either jest or earnest, because it partakes of each, they now and then exclaim, “women’s work is never done!” The assertion is not exactly the fact, but it is not a great way from it. What “man of woman born” ever considered the quantity of stitches in a shirt without fear that a general mutiny among females might leave him “without a shirt to his back?” Cannot an ingenious spinner devise a seamless shirt, with its gussets, and wristbands, and collar, and selvages as durable as hemming? The immense work in a shirt is concealed, and yet happily every “better half” prides herself on thinking that she could never do too much towards making good shirts for her “good man.” Is it not in his power to relieve her from some of this labour? Can he not form himself and friends into a “society of hearts and manufactures,” and get shirts made, as well as washed, by machinery and steam? These inquiries are occasioned by the following
LETTER FROM A LADY.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
I assure you the _Every-Day Book_ is a great favourite among the ladies; and therefore, I send for your insertion a calculation, furnished me by a maiden aunt, of the number of stitches in a plain shirt she made for her grandfather.
Stitching the collar, four rows 3,000 Sewing the ends 500 Button-holes, and sewing on buttons 150 Sewing on the collar and gathering the neck 1,204 Stitching wristbands 1,228 Sewing the ends 68 Button-holes 148 Hemming the slits 264 Gathering the sleeves 840 Setting on wristbands 1,468 Stitching shoulder-straps, three rows each 1,880 Hemming the neck 390 Sewing the sleeves 2,554 Setting in sleeves and gussets 3,050 Taping the sleeves 1,526 Sewing the seams 848 Setting side gussets 424 Hemming the bottom 1,104 ------ Total number of stitches 20,646 in My aunt’s grandfather’s plain shirt, As witness my hand, GERTRUDE GRIZENHOOFE.
Cottenham,
Near Cambridge,
Sept. 1825.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Wavy Fleabane. _Inula undulata._ Dedicated to _St. Wilfred_.
~October 13.~
_St. Edward_, King and Confessor, A. D. 1066. _Sts. Faustus_, _Januarius_, and _Martialis_, A. D. 304. _Seven Friar Minors_, Martyrs, A. D. 1221. _St. Colman_, A. D., 1012. _St. Gerald_, Count of Aurillac, or Orilhac, A. D. 909.
~Translation King Edward Confessor.~
This, in the church of England calendar and almanacs, denotes the day to be a festival to the memory of the removal of his bones or relics, as they are called by the Roman church, from whence the festival is derived.
_Corpulency._
On the 13th of October, 1754, died at Stebbing in Essex, Mr. Jacob Powell. He weighed nearly forty stone, or five hundred and sixty pounds. His body was above five yards in circumference, and his limbs were in proportion. He had sixteen men to carry him to his grave.[350]
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Smooth Helenium. _Helenium autumnale._ Dedicated to _St. Edward_.
[350] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~October 14.~
_St. Calixtus_, or _Callistus_, Pope, A. D. 222. _St. Donatian_, Bp. A. D. 389. _St. Burckard_, 1st Bp. of Wurtsburg, A. D. 752. _St. Dominic_, surnamed _Loricatus_, A. D. 1060.
THE YEAR.
The year is now declining; “the sear, the yellow leaf” falls, and “dies in October.” There is a moral in every thing to moralizing minds; these indications of wear on the face of the earth, induce moralities on the use and abuse of time.
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_The Hare and Tortoise._
In days of yore, when Time was young, When birds convers’d as well as sung, When use of speech was not confin’d Merely to brutes of human kind, A forward hare, of swiftness vain, The genius of the neighb’ring plain, Would oft deride the drudging crowd: For geniuses are ever proud. He’d boast, his flight ’twere vain to follow, For dog and horse he’d beat them hollow; Nay, if he put forth all his strength, Outstrip his brethren half a length.
A tortoise heard his vain oration, And vented thus his indignation: “Oh puss! it bodes thee dire disgrace, When I defy thee to the race. Come, ’tis a match, nay, no denial, I’ll lay my shell upon the trial.” ’Twas done and done, all fair, a bet, Judges prepar’d, and distance set.