Part 118
One of the pleasantest walks from Greenwich is over Blackheath, along by the park-wall to Charlton; and from thence after passing through that village, across Woolwich common and Plumstead common, along green lanes, over the foot paths of the fields, to the very retired and rural village of East Wickham, which lies about half a mile on the north side of Welling, through which is the great London road to Dover. There are various pleasant views for the lover of cultivated nature, with occasional fine bursts of the broad flowing Thames. Students in botany and geology will not find it a stroll, barren of objects in their favourite sciences.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Floccose Agaric. _Agaricus floccosus._ Dedicated to _St. Luke, Evangelist_.
[356] Hentzner.
[357] Brand.
[358] Life of Mr. William Fuller, 1703, 12mo.
~October 19.~
_St. Peter_, of Alcantara, A. D. 1562. _Sts. Ptolemy_, _Lucius_, and another, A. D. 166. _St. Frideswide_, patroness of Oxford, 8th Cent. _St. Ethbin_, or _Egbin_, Abbot, 6th Cent.
_The Last Rose of Summer._
’Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone, All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh!
I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one To pine on the stem, Since the lovely are sleeping, Go sleep thou with them; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o’er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love’s shining circle The gems drop away! When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone?
_Moore._
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Tall Tickseed. _Coreopsis procosa._ Dedicated to _St. Frideswide_.
~October 20.~
_St. Artemius_, A. D. 362. _St. Barsabias_, Abbot, and others, A. D. 342. _St. Zenobius_, Bp. _St. Sindulphus_, or _St. Sendou_, 7th Cent. _St. Adian_, Bp. of Mayo, A. D. 768.
_Migration of Birds._
Woodcocks have now arrived. In the autumn and setting in of winter they keep dropping in from the Baltic singly, or in pairs, till December. They instinctively land in the night, or in dark misty weather, for they are never seen to arrive, but are frequently discovered the next morning in any ditch which affords them shelter, after the extraordinary fatigue occasioned by the adverse gales which they often have to encounter in their aërial voyage. They do not remain near the shores longer than a day, when they are sufficiently recruited to proceed inland, and they visit the very same haunts which they left the preceding season. In temperate weather they retire to mossy moors, and high bleak mountainous parts; but as soon as the frost sets in, and the snows begin to fall, they seek lower and warmer situations, with boggy grounds and springs, and little oozing mossy rills, which are rarely frozen, where they shelter in close bushes of holly and furze, and the brakes of woody glens, or in dells which are covered with underwood: here they remain concealed during the day, and remove to different haunts and feed only in the night. From the beginning of March to the end of that month, or sometimes to the middle of April, they all keep drawing towards the coasts, and avail themselves of the first fair wind to return to their native woods.--The snipe, _scolopax gallinago_, also comes now, and inhabits similar situations. It is migratory, and met with in all countries: like the woodcock, it shuns the extremes of heat and cold, by keeping upon the bleak moors in summer, and seeking the shelter of the valleys in winter. In unfrozen boggy places, runners from springs, or any open streamlets of water, they are often found in considerable numbers.[359]
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Yellow Sultan. _Centaurea suavcolens._ Dedicated to _St. Artemius_.
[359] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.
~October 21.~
_Sts. Ursula_, and her Companions, 5th Cent. _St. Hilarion_, Abbot, A. D. 371. _St. Fintan_, or _Munnu_, Abbot, in Ireland, A. D. 634.
THE SEASON.
After a harvest with a good barley crop, a few minutes may be seasonably amused by a pleasant ballad.
_John Barleycorn._
There went three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, An’ they ha’ sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough’d him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And show’rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris’d them all.
The sultry suns of summer came, And he grew thick and strong, His head weel arm’d wi’ pointed spears, That no one should him wrong.
The sober autumn enter’d mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head Show’d he began to fail.
His colour sicken’d more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage.
They’ve taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then ty’d him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back, And cudgell’d him full sore; They hung him up before the storm, And turn’d him o’er and o’er.
They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim, They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe, And still as signs of life appear’d, They toss’d him to and fro.
They wasted, o’er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us’d him worst of all, For he crush’d him between two stones.
And they hae ta’en his very heart’s blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise, For if you do but taste his blood, ’Twill make your courage rise.
’Twill make a man forget his woe, ’Twill heighten all his joy: ’Twill make the widow’s heart to sing Tho’ the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne’er fail in old Scotland!
_Burns._
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Hairy Silphium. _Silphium asteriscus._ Dedicated to _St. Ursula_.
~October 22.~
_St. Philip_, Bp. of Heraclea, and others, A. D. 304. _Sts. Nunilo_ and _Alodia_, A. D. 840. _St. Donatus_, Bp. of Fiesoli, in Tuscany, A. D. 816. _St. Mello_, or _Melanius_, 4th Cent. _St. Mark_, Bp. A. D. 156.
_St. Mark, Bishop of Jerusalem._
The two first bishops of Jerusalem were “the apostle St. James and his brother St. Simeon; thirteen bishops who succeeded them were of the Jewish nation.” Upon an edict of the emperor Adrian, prohibiting all Jews from coming to Jerusalem, Mark, being a Gentile Christian, was chosen bishop of the Christians in that city, and was their first Gentile bishop. He is said to have been martyred in 156.[360]
THE SEASON.
They who think the affections are always in season, may not deem these lines out of season.
TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION.
_To a Mother._
In the sweet “days of other years,” When o’er my cradle first thy tears Were blended with maternal fears, And anxious doubts for me; How often rose my lisping prayer, That heav’n a mother’s life would spare, Who watch’d with such incessant care, My helpless infancy.
Those happy hours are past away, Yet fain I’d breathe an artless lay, To greet my mother this blest day, For oh! it gave thee birth; Hope whispers that it will be dear, As seraph’s music to thine ear, That thou wilt hallow with a tear, This tribute to thy worth.
And thy approving voice would be More sweet--more welcome far to me Than greenest wreaths of minstrelsy, Pluck’d from the muses’ bowers; And round this lowly harp of mine, I’d rather that a hand like thine, One simple garland should entwine, Than amaranthine flowers.
My childish griefs were hush’d to rest, Those lips on mine fond kisses prest, Those arms my feeble form carest, When few a thought bestow’d-- When sickness threw its venom’d dart, My pillow was thy aching heart-- Thy gentle looks could joy impart, With angel love they glow’d.
This world is but a troubled sea, And rude its billows seem to me; Yet my frail bark must shipwreck’d be, Ere I forget such friend; Or send an orison on high, That begs not blessings from the sky, That heav’n will hear a daughter’s sigh, And long thy life defend.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Three-leaved Silphium. _Silphium trifoliatum._ Dedicated to _St. Nunilo_.
[360] Butler.
~October 23.~
_St. Theodoret_, A. D. 362. _St. Romanus_, Abp. of Rouen, A. D. 639. _St. John Capistran_, A. D. 1456. _St. Ignatius_, Patriarch of Constantinople, A. D. 878. _St. Severin_, Abp. of Cologne, A. D. 400. _Another St. Severin._
_St. Severin._
The annals of the saints are confused. St. Severin, Abp. of Cologne, is famous in the history of the church: by him, his own diocese, and that of Tongres, “was purged from the venom of the Arian heresy, about the year 390.” He “knew by revelation the death and glory of St. Martin at the time of his departure,” and died about 400. So says Butler, who immediately begins with “_Another St. Severin_ or _Surin_, patron of Bourdeaux,” said by some “to have come to Bourdeaux from some part of the east;” and by others, to have been “the same with the foregoing archbishop of Cologne.” It is difficult to make a distinction when we find “two single gentlemen rolled into one.” Whether one or two is of little consequence perhaps: their biographers were miraculists. He of Cologne led “an angelical life,” according to Butler, who adds, that “his life wrote by Fortunatus is the best:” the latter biographer achieved as great marvels with his pen, as his namesake with his wishing-cap.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Rushy Starwort. _Aster junicus._ Dedicated to _St. Theodoret_.
~October 24.~
_St. Proclus_, Abp. of Constantinople, A. D. 447. _St. Felix_, A. D. 303. _St. Magloire_, A. D. 575.
_St. Proclus._
Besides his other perfections he was a queller of earthquakes. Butler instances that “Theophanes, and other Greek historians, tell us that a child was taken up into the air, and heard angels singing the Trisagion, or triple doxology,” which is “in the preface of the mass;” and that therefore St. Proclus “taught the people to sing it:” he says that “it is at least agreed, that on their singing it the earthquakes ceased.” Butler represents the style of this father to be “full of lively witty turns, more proper to please and delight than to move the heart.” Twenty of his homilies were published at Rome in 1630, whereof “the first, fifth, and sixth are upon the blessed Virgin Mary, whose title of Mother of God,” says Butler, “he justly extols.” He wrote upon mysterious theology and the church festivals, and was a great disputant.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Zigzag Starwort. _Aster flexuosus._ Dedicated to _St. Proclus_.
~October 25.~
_Sts. Crysanthus_ and _Daria_, 3rd Cent. _Sts. Crispin_ and _Crispinian_, A. D. 287. _St. Gaudentius_ of Brescia, A. D. 420. _St. Boniface_ I. Pope, A. D. 422.
~Crispin.~
The name of this saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs, why Crispinian’s is disjoined from it we are not informed.
“Our shoes were sow’d with merry notes, And by our mirth expell’d all moan; Like nightingales, from whose sweet throats Most pleasant tunes are nightly blown; The Gentle Craft is fittest then For poor distressed gentlemen!”
_St. Hugh’s Song._
This representation of St. Crispin and St. Crispinian at their seat of work, is faithfully copied from an old engraving of the same size by H. David. Every body knows that they were shoemakers, and patrons of that “art, trade, mystery, calling, or occupation,” in praise whereof, when properly exercised, too much cannot be said. Now for a word or two concerning these saints. To begin seriously, we will recur to the tenth volume of the “Lives of the Saints,” by “the Rev. Alban Butler,” where, on the 504th page, we find St. Crispin and St. Crispinian called “two glorious martyrs,” and are told that they came from Rome to preach at Soissons, in France, “towards the middle of the third century, and, in imitation of St. Paul, worked with their hands in the night, making shoes, though they were said to have been nobly born and brothers.” They converted many to the Christian faith, till a complaint was lodged against them before Rictius Varus, “the most implacable enemy of the Christian name,” who had been appointed governor by the emperor Maximian Herculeus. Butler adds, that “they were victorious over this most inhuman judge, by the patience and constancy with which they bore the most cruel torments, and finished their course by the sword about the year 287.” In the sixth century a great church was built to their honour at Soissons, and their shrine was richly ornamented. These are all the circumstances that Butler relates concerning these popular saints: most unaccountably he does not venture a single miracle in behalf of the good name and reputation of either.
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On _Crispin’s-day_, in the year 1415, the battle of Agincourt was fought between the English, under king Henry V., and the French, under the constable d’Albret. The French had “a force,” says Hume, “which, if prudently conducted, was sufficient to trample down the English in the open field.” They had nearly a hundred thousand cavalry. The English force was only six thousand men at arms, and twenty-four thousand foot, mostly archers. The constable of France had selected a strong position in the fields in front of the village of Agincourt. Each lord had planted his banner on the spot which he intended to occupy during the battle. The night was cold, dark, and rainy, but numerous fires lighted the horizon; while bursts of laughter and merriment were repeatedly heard from the soldiery, who spent their time in revelling and debate around their banners, discussing the probable events of the next day, and fixing the ransom of the English king and his barons. No one suspected the possibility of defeat, and yet no one could be ignorant that they lay in the vicinity of the field of Cressy. In that fatal field, and in the equally fatal field of Poictiers, the French had been the assailants: the French determined therefore, on the present occasion, to leave that dangerous honour to the English. To the army of Henry, wasted with disease, broken with fatigue, and weakened by the privations of a march through a hostile country in the presence of a superior force,--this was a night of hope and fear, of suspense and anxiety. They were men who had staked their lives on the event of the approaching battle, and spent the intervening moments in making their wills, and in attending the exercises of religion. Henry sent his officers to examine the ground by moon-light, arranged the operations of the next day, ordered bands of music to play in succession during the night, and before sun-rise summoned his troops to attend at matins and mass: from thence he led them to the field.
His archers, on whom rested his principal hope, he placed in front; beside his bow and arrows, his battle-axe or sword, each bore on his shoulder a long stake sharpened at both extremities, which he was instructed to fix obliquely before him in the ground, and thus oppose a rampart of pikes to the charge of the French cavalry. Many of these archers had stripped themselves naked; the others had bared their arms and breasts that they might exercise their limbs with more ease and execution: their well-earned reputation in former battles, and their savage appearance this day struck terror into their enemies. Henry himself appeared on a grey palfrey in a helmet of polished steel, surmounted by a crown sparkling with jewels, and wearing a surcoat whereon were emblazoned in gold the arms of England and France. Followed by a train of led horses, ornamented with the most gorgeous trappings, he rode from banner to banner cheering and exhorting the men. The French were drawn up in the same order, but with this fearful disparity in point of number, that while the English files were but four, theirs were thirty deep. In their lines were military engines or cannon to cast stones into the midst of the English. The French force relatively to the English was as seven or six to one. When Henry gave the word, “Banners advance!” the men shouted and ran towards the enemy, until they were within twenty paces, and then repeated the shout; this was echoed by a detachment which immediately issuing from its concealment in a meadow assailed the left flank of the French while the archers ran before their stakes, discharged their arrows, and then retired behind their rampart. To break this formidable body, a select battalion of eight hundred men at arms had been appointed by the constable; only seven score of these came into action; they were quickly slain, while the others unable to face the incessant shower of arrows, turned their vizors aside, and lost the government of their horses, which, frantic with pain, plunged back in different directions into the close ranks. The archers seizing the opportunity occasioned by this confusion, slung their bows behind them, and bursting into the mass of the enemy, with their sword and battle axes, killed the constable and principal commanders, and routed the first division of the army. Henry formed the archers again, and charged the second division for two hours in a bloody and doubtful contest, wherein Henry himself was brought on his knees by the mace of one of eighteen French knights who had bound themselves to kill or take him prisoner: he was rescued by his guards, and this second division was ultimately destroyed. The third shared the same fate, and resistance having ceased, Henry traversed the field with his barons, while the heralds examined the arms and numbered the bodies of the slain. Among them were eight thousand knights and esquires, more than a hundred bannerets, seven counts, the three dukes of Brabant, Bar, and Alençon, and the constable and admiral of France. The loss of the conquerors amounted to no more than sixteen hundred men, with the earl of Suffolk and the duke of York, who perished fighting by the king’s side, and had an end more honourable than his life. Henry became master of fourteen thousand prisoners, the most distinguished of whom were the dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, and the counts of Eu, Vendome, and Richmond. As many of the slain as it was possible to recognise were buried in the nearest churches, or conveyed to the tombs of their ancestors. The rest, to the number of five thousand eight hundred, were deposited in three long and deep pits dug in the field of battle. This vast cemetery was surrounded by a strong enclosure of thorns and trees, which pointed out to succeeding generations the spot, where the resolution of a few Englishmen triumphed over the impetuous but ill-directed valour of their numerous enemies. Henry returned to England by way of Dover: the crowd plunged into the waves to meet him: and the conqueror was carried in their arms from his vessel to the beach. The road to London exhibited one triumphal procession. The lords, commons, and clergy, the mayor, aldermen, and citizens, conducted him into the capital: tapestry, representing the deeds of his ancestors, lined the walls of the houses: pageants were erected in the streets: sweet wines ran in the conduits: bands of children tastefully arrayed sang his praise: and the whole population seemed intoxicated with joy.--_Lingard._
This memorable achievement on _Crispin’s-day_ is immortalized by Shakspeare, in a speech that he assigns to Henry V. before the battle.
This day is called--the feast of Crispian: He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a-tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian: He, that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly, on the vigil, feast his friends, And say,--To-morrow is St. Crispian: Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. Old men forget; yet shall not all forget, But they’ll remember, with advantages, What feats they did that day: Then shall our names, Familiar in their mouth as household words,-- Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick, and Talbot, Salisbury, and Glo’ster,-- Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered: This story shall the good man teach his son: And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England, now abed, Shall think themselves accursed they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks That fought with us upon St. Crispin’s day.
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In “Times Telescope” for 1816, it is observed, that “the shoemakers of the present day are not far behind their predecessors, in the manner of keeping St. Crispin. From the highest to the lowest it is a day of feasting and jollity. It is also, we believe, observed as a festival with the corporate body of cordwainers, or shoemakers, of London, but without any sort of _procession_ on the occasion,--except the _proceeding_ to a _good_ tavern to partake of a good dinner, and drink the _pious memory_ of St. Crispin.”
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On the 29th of July, 1822, the cordwainers of Newcastle held a coronation of their patron St. Crispin, and afterwards walked in procession through the several streets of that town. The coronation took place in the court of the Freemen’s Hospital, at the Westgate, at eleven o’clock; soon after twelve, the procession moved forward through the principal streets of that town and Gateshead, and finally halted at the sign of the Chancellor’s-head, in Newgate-street, where the members of the trade partook of a dinner provided for the occasion. A great number of people assembled to witness the procession, as there had not been a similar exhibition since the year 1789.[361]
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