Part 133
If any man hang, drowne, stabbe, or by any violent meanes make away his life, the goods and lands of any such person are forfeit to the use of the king; and I see no reason but those which kill themselves with drinking, should be in the same estate, and be buried in the highways, with a stake drove thorow them; and if I had but a grant of this suite, I would not doubt but that in seven yeeres (if my charity would but agree with my wealth,) I might erect almes-houses, free-schooles, mend highways, and make bridges; for I dare sweare, that a number (almost numberlesse) have confessed upon their death-beds, that at such and such a time, in such and such a place, they dranke so much, which made them surfeite, of which surfeite they languished and dyed. The maine benefit of these superfluous and manslaughtering expenses, comes to the brewer, so that if a brewer be in any office, I hold him to be a very ingrateful man, if he punish a drunkard; for every stiffe, potvaliant drunkard is a post, beam, or pillar, which holds up the brewhouse; for as the barke is to the tree, so is a good drinker to the brewer.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Crowded Heath. _Erica conferta._ Dedicated to _St. Eadburge_.
[411] Some make a profit of quarreling; some pick their livings out of contentions and debate; some thrive and grow fat by gluttony; many are bravely maintained by bribery, theft, cheating, roguery, and villainy; but put all these together, and joine to them all sorts of people else, and they all in general are drinkers, and consequently the brewer’s clients and customers.
~December 13.~
_St. Lucy_, A. D. 304. _St. Jodoc_, or _Josse_, A. D. 669. _St. Kenelm_, King, A. D. 820. _St. Aubert_, Bp. of Cambray and Arras, A. D. 669. _B. John Marinoni_, A. D. 1562. _St. Othilla_, A. D. 772.
~St. Lucy.~
This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. She was a young lady of Syracuse, who preferring a religious single life to marriage, gave away all her fortune to the poor. Having been accused to Peschasius, a heathen judge, for professing christianity, she was soon after barbarously murdered by his officers.[412]
TRANSATLANTIC VERSES.
The following effusions are from America. The first, by Mr. R. H. Wilde, a distinguished advocate of Georgia; the second, by a lady of Baltimore, who moots in the court of the muses, with as much ingenuity as the barrister in his own court.
STANZAS.
My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But, ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground to die. Yet on that rose’s humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept such waste to see; But none shall _weep a tear_ for me.
My life is like the _autumn_ leaf That trembles in the moon’s pale ray, Its hold is frail, its date is brief, Restless, and soon to pass away. Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree shall mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall _breath a sigh_ for me.
My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tempe’s desert strand, Soon as the rising tide shall beat All trace will vanish from the sand. Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea; But none, alas! shall _mourn_ for me.
ANSWER.
The dews of night may fall from heaven, Upon the wither’d _rose’s_ bed, And tears of fond regret be given, To mourn the virtues of the dead. Yet morning’s sun the dews will dry, And tears will fade from sorrow’s eye, Affection’s pangs be lull’d to sleep, And even love forget to _weep_.
The _tree_ may mourn its fallen _leaf_, And autumn winds bewail its bloom, And friends may heave the sigh of grief, O’er those who sleep within the tomb. Yet soon will spring renew the flowers, And time will bring more smiling hours; In friendship’s heart all grief will die. And even love forget to _sigh_.
The _sea_ may on the desert _shore_, Lament each _trace_ it bears away; The lonely heart its grief may pour O’er cherish’d friendship’s fast decay: Yet when all trace is lost and gone, The waves dance bright and daily on; Thus soon affection’s bonds are torn, And even love forgets to _mourn_.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Cypress arbor vitæ. _Thuja cupressioides._ Dedicated to _St. Lucy_.
[412] Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.
~December 14.~
_St. Spiridion_, Abp. A. D. 348. _Sts. Nicasius_, 9th Abp. of Rheims, _and his Companions_, 5th Cent.
~Ember Week.~
This is an ancient fast, wherein monks were enjoined to great abstinence preparatory to the festival of Christmas.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Swamp Pine. _Pinus palustris._ Dedicated to _St. Spiridion_.
~December 15.~
_St. Eusebius_, Bp. of Vercelli, A. D. 371. _St. Florence_, or _Flann_, Abbot.
SEASONABLE.
There is a class of those who are said to “dearly love the lasses, oh?” by whom the verses below may be read without danger of their becoming worse.
_A Winter Piece._
It was a winter’s evening, and fast came down the snow, And keenly o’er the wide heath the bitter blast did blow; When a damsel all forlorn, quite bewilder’d in her way, Press’d her baby to her bosom, and sadly thus did say:
“Oh! cruel was my father, that shut his door on me, And cruel was my mother, that such a sight could see; And cruel is the wintry wind, that chills my heart with cold; But crueller than all, the lad that left my love for gold!
“Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in my breast; Ah, little thinks thy father how sadly we’re distrest! For, cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare, He’d shield us in his arms from this bitter piercing air.
“Cold, cold, my dearest jewel! thy little life is gone. Oh! let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle down; My tears that gush so warm, oh! they freeze before they fall: Ah! wretched, wretched mother! thou ’rt now bereft of all.”
Then down she sunk despairing upon the drifted snow, And, wrung with killing anguish, lamented loud her woe: She kiss’d her babe’s pale lips, and laid it by her side; Then cast her eyes to heaven, then bow’d her head, and died.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Pitch Pine. _Pinus resinosa._ Dedicated to _St. Florence_.
~December 16.~
_St. Ado_, Abp. of Vienne, A. D. 875. _St. Alice_, or _Adelaide_, Empress, A. D. 999. _St. Beanus_, Bp. in Leinster.
[Cambridge Term ends.]
“_O Sapientia._”
This day is so marked in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. Many have been puzzled by this distinction, and some have imagined that “O SAPIENTIA” was a saint and martyr, one of the celebrated eleven thousand virgins of St. Ursula. Mr. Audley, however, has rightly observed that, “This day is so called from the beginning of an anthem in the service of the Latin church, which used to be sung for the honour of Christ’s advent, from this day till Christmas eve.”--The anthem commenced with these words, “O SAPIENTIA quæ ex ore altissimi prodidisti,” &c.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Chinese arbor vitæ. _Thuja orientalis._ Dedicated to _St. Alice_.
~December 17.~
_St. Olympias_, A. D. 410. _St. Begga_, Abbess, A. D. 698.
[Oxford Term ends.]
_The Season._
By this time all good housewives, with an eye to Christmas, have laid in their stores for the coming festivities. Their mincemeat has been made long ago, and they begin to inquire, with some anxiety, concerning the state of the poultry market, and especially the price of prime roasting beef.
“O the roast beef of old England, And O the old English roast beef!”
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_Manner of Roasting Beef anciently._
A correspondent, who was somewhat ruffled in the dog-days by suggestions for preventing hydrophobia, let his wrath go down before the dog-star; and in calm good nature he communicates a pleasant anecdote or two, which, at this time, may be deemed acceptable.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Dear Sir,
As an owner of that useful class of animals, dogs, I could not but a little startle at the severity you cast on their owners in your “Sirius,” or dog-star of July 3d. In enumerating their different qualities and prescribing substitutes, you forgot one of the most laborious employments formerly assigned to a species of dogs with long backs and short legs, called “Turnspits.”
The mode of teaching them their business was more summary than humane: the dog was put in a wheel, and a burning coal with him; he could not stop without burning his legs, and so was kept upon the full gallop. These dogs were by no means fond of their profession; it was indeed hard work to run in a wheel for two or three hours, turning a piece of meat which was twice their own weight. As the season for roasting meat is fast approaching, perhaps you can find a corner in your _Every-Day Book_ for the insertion of a most extraordinary circumstance, relative to these curs, which took place many years ago at Bath.
It is recorded, that a party of young wags hired the chairmen on Saturday night to steal all the turnspits in the town, and lock them up till the following evening. Accordingly on Sunday, when every body desires roast meat for dinner, all the cooks were to be seen in the streets,--“Pray have you seen our Chloe?” says one. “Why,” replies the other, “I was coming to ask you if you had seen our Pompey;” up came a third while they were talking, to inquire for her Toby,--and there was no roast meat in Bath that day. It is recorded, also, of these dogs in this city, that one Sunday, when they had as usual followed their mistresses to church, the lesson for the day happened to be that chapter in Ezekiel, wherein the self-moving chariots are described. When first the word “wheel” was pronounced, all the curs pricked up their ears in alarm; at the second wheel they set up a doleful howl; and when the dreaded word was uttered a third time, every one of them scampered out of church, as fast as he could, with his tail between his legs.
_Nov._ 25, 1825.
JOHN FOSTER.
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_A real_ EVERY-DAY _English Dialogue_.
(From the Examiner.)
_A._ (Advancing) “How d’ye do, Brooks?”
_B._ “Very well, thank’ee; how do _you_ do?”
_A._ “Very well, thank’ee; is Mrs. Brooks well?”
_B._ “Very well, I’m much obliged t’ye. Mrs. Adams and the children are well, I hope?”
_A._ “Quite well, thank’ee.”
(A pause.)
_B._ “Rather pleasant weather to-day.”
_A._ “Yes, but it was cold in the morning.”
_B._ “Yes, but we must expect that at this time o’year.”
(Another pause,--neckcloth twisted and switch twirled.)
_A._ “Seen Smith lately?”
_B._ “No,--I can’t say I have--but I have seen Thompson.”
_A._ “Indeed--how is he?”
_B._ “Very well, thank’ee.”
_A._ “I’m glad of it.--Well,--good morning.”
_B._ “Good morning.”
Here it is always observed that the speakers, having taken leave, walk faster than usual for some hundred yards.
Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls Boils round the naked melancholy isles Of farthest Thulé, and th’ Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy Hebrides; Who can recount what transmigrations there Are annual made? what nations come and go? And how the living clouds on clouds arise? Infinite wings till all the plume-dark air And rude, resounding shore, are one wild cry.
_Thomson._
To a sporting friend, the editor is indebted for the seasonable information in the accompanying letter, and the drawings of the present engravings.
_Abbeville_, _Nov._ 14, 1825.
Dear Sir,
It is of all things in the world the most unpleasant to write about nothing, when one knows a letter with something is expected. It is true I promised to look out for pious _chansons_, miraculous stories, and other whims and wonders of the French vulgar; and though I do not send you a budget of these gallimaufry odds and ends, whereon I know you have set your heart, yet I hope you will believe that I thoroughly determined to keep my word. To be frank, I had no sooner landed, than desire came over me to reach my domicile at this place as fast as possible, and get at my old field-sports. I therefore posted hither without delay, and, having my gun once more in my hand, have been up every morning with the lark, lark shooting, and letting fly at all that flies--my conscience flying and flapping in my face at every recollection of my engagement to you. I well remember your telling me I should forget you, and my answering, that it was “impossible!” Birds were never more plentiful, and till a frost sets them off to a milder atmosphere, I cannot be off for England. I am spell-bound to the fields and waters. Do not, however, be disheartened; I hope yet to do something handsome for your “hobby,” but I have one of my own, and I must ride him while I can.
It strikes me, however, that I can communicate something in _my_ way, that will interest _some_ readers of the _Every-Day Book_, if you think proper to lay it before them.
Every labouring man in France has a right to sport, and keeps a gun. The consequence of this is, that from the middle of October, or the beginning of this month, vast quantities of wild-fowl are annually shot in and about the fens of Picardy, whither they resort principally in the night, to feed along the different ditches and small ponds, many of which are artificially contrived with one, two, and sometimes three little huts, according to the dimensions of the pond. These huts are so ingeniously manufactured, and so well adapted to the purpose that I send you two drawings to convey an idea of their construction.
All wild-fowl are timorous, and easily deceived. The sportsman’s huts, to the number of eight or ten, are placed in such a situation, that not until too late do the birds discover the deception, and the destruction which, under cover, the fowlers deal among them. To allure them from their heights, two or three tame ducks, properly secured to stones near the huts, keep up an incessant quacking during the greater part of the night. The huts are sufficiently large to admit two men and a dog; one man keeps watch while his companion sleeps half the night, when, for the remainder, it becomes his turn to watch and relieve the other. They have blankets, a mattress, and suitable conveniences, for passing night after night obscured in their artificial caverns, and exposed to unwholesome damps and fogs. The huts are formed in the following manner:--A piece of ground is raised sufficiently high to protect the fowler from the wet ground, upon which is placed the frame of the temporary edifice. This is mostly made of ozier, firmly interwoven, as in this sketch.
This frame is covered with dry reeds, and well plastered with mud or clay, to the thickness of about four inches, upon which is placed, very neatly, layers of turf, so that the whole, at a little distance, looks like a mound of verdant earth. Three holes, about four inches in diameter, for the men inside to see and fire through, are neatly cut; one is in the front, and one on each side. Very frequently there is a fourth at the top. This is for the purpose of firing from at the wild-fowl as they pass over. The fowlers, lying upon their backs, discharge guess shots at the birds, who are only heard by the noise of their wings in their flight. Fowlers, with quick ears, attain considerable expertness in this guess-firing.
The numbers that are shot in this way are incredible. They are usually therefore sold at a cheap rate. At forty sous a couple, (1_s._ 8_d._ English) they are dear, but the price varies according to their condition.
In the larger drawing, I have given the appearance of the country and of the atmosphere at this season, and a duck-shooter with his gun near his hut, on the look out for coming flocks; but I fear wood engraving, excellent as it is for most purposes, will fall very short of the capability of engraving on copper to convey a correct idea of the romantic effect of the commingling cloud, mist, and sunshine, I have endeavoured to represent in this delightful part of France. Such as it is, it is at your service to do with as you please.
For myself, though for the sake of variety, I have now and then crept into a fowler’s hut, and shot in ambuscade, I prefer open warfare, and I assure you I have had capital sport. That you may be acquainted with some of these wild-fowl, I will just mention the birds I have shot here within the last three weeks, beginning with the godwit; their names in French are from my recollection of Buffon.
_The Godwit._
Common Godwit, _la grand barge_. Red Godwit, _la barge rousse_. Cinereous Godwit, (_Bewick_). Cambridge Godwit, (_Latham_). Green-shanked Godwit, _la barge variée_. Red-legged Godwit, _le chevalier rouge_. Redshank, _le chevalier aux pieds rouges_.
_Sandpipers._
Ruffs and Reeves, _le combattant_. Green Sandpiper, _le bécasseau, ou cul-blanc_. Common Sandpiper, _la guignette_. Brown Sandpiper, (_Bewick_.) Dunlin, _la brunette_. Ox-eye, _l’alouette de mer_. Little Stint, _la petite alouette de mer_, (_Brisson_) &c. &c.
_Curlews._
Curlew, _la courles_. Whimbiel, _le petite courles_.
_Heron._
Common, _le heron hupe_. Bittern, _le butor_. Little Bittern, _le blongois_.
_Ducks._
The common Wild Duck, _le canard sauvage_. Gadwell, or Gray, _le chipeau_. Widgeon, _le canard siffleur_. Pochard, _penelope_, _le millovin_. Pintail, _le canard à longue queue_. Golden-eye, _le garrot_. Morillon, _le morillon_. Tufted Duck, _le petit morillon_. (_Brisson._) Gargany, _la sarcelle_. Teal, _la petite sarcelle_.
If you were here you should have a “gentleman’s recreation,” of the most delightful kind. Your propensity to look for “old masters,” would turn into looking out for prime birds. The spotted red-shanks, or barkers, as they are sometimes called, would be fine fellows for _you_, who are fond of achieving difficulties. They come in small flocks, skimming about the different ponds into which they run to the height of the body, picking up insects from the bottom, and looking as if they had no legs. They are excessively wary, and above all, the most difficult to get near. Confound all “black letter” say I, if it keeps a man from such delightful scenes as I have enjoyed every hour since I came here; as to picture-loving--come and see _these_ pictures which never tire by looking at. I like a good picture though myself, and shall pick up some prints at Paris to put with my others. You may be certain therefore of my collecting something for you, after the birds have left, especially wood cuts. I shall accomplish what I can in the scrap and story-book way, which is not quite in my line, yet I think I know what you mean. In my next you shall have something about lark-shooting, which, in England, is nothing compared with what the north of France affords.
I am, &c.
J. J. H.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
White Cedar. _Cupressus thyoides._ Dedicated to _St. Olympias_.
~December 18.~
_Sts. Rufus_ and _Zozimus_, A. D. 116. _St. Gatian_, 1st. Bp. of Tours, 3d. Cent. _St. Winebald_, A. D. 760.
THE ASS AND THE CAMEL.
Fault was found because a newspaper commenced a police-office report of one of the humane endeavours of the warm-hearted member for Galway, in behalf of the proverbially most patient of all quadrupeds, by saying, “Mr. Martin came to this office with another ass.” Ridicule, however, never injures a just man with the just-minded; Mr. Martin has been properly supported in every judicious effort by public opinion.
The notice of the all-enduring ass, in former pages, occasions a letter from a gentleman, (with his name) whose researches have been directed to the geographical and natural history of foreign countries. In this communication he refers to a work of considerable interest relative to Africa, which it may be important for inquirers regarding the interior of that region to be acquainted with.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
_November_ 29, 1825.
The facetious TIM TIMS, in your _Every-Day Book_, of the 19th of September, (p. 1309.) cites the amusing and accurate Leo Africanus, as asserting “that asses may be taught to dance to music.” This is an error. Leo, in his description of Africa, (Elzevir edition, 1632. p. 749.) says, “I saw in Cairo a _camel_ dance to the sound of a drum, and as the master told me, this is the mode of teaching: a young camel is selected and placed for half an hour in a place prepared for him of about the size of a stove, the pavement of which is heated by fire. Some one then, outside the door, beats the drum, and the camel, not on account of the music, but of the fire by which his feet are hurt, lifts first one leg then another, after the manner of a dancer, and after having been thus trained for ten or twelve months, he is led into public, when, on hearing the drum, and remembering the burning of his feet, he immediately begins to jump, and thinking himself to be on the same floor, he raises himself on his hind legs, and appears to dance; and so, use becoming second nature, he continues to do.”
The only ass described by Leo, is the ass of the woods, found only in the desert or its borders. It yields to the Barb, or Arabian, (Leo says they are the same,) in swiftness, and is caught with the greatest difficulty. When feeding, or drinking, he is always moving.
A word more about the camel. He is of a most kind and mild nature, and partakes in a manner of the sense of man. If, at any time, between Ethiopia and Barbary (in the great desert) the day’s journey is longer than ordinary, he is not to be driven on by stripes (or beating,) but the driver sings certain short songs, by which the camel being allured, he goes on with such swiftness, that no one is able to keep up with him.
When I open this highly valued book, I never know when to close it; and, indeed, the less at this time, when we are all on tip-toe with respect to Africa.
Now it does appear strange to me, that not one word has been said, either by the travellers, or those who have traced them, about this little work. One reason may be, that it has never been wholly translated into English. It is called by Hartman, (who has been deemed the ablest editor of these oriental authors,) a golden book, which had he wanted, he should as frequently have wanted light. The author, who was a man of a noble family and great acquirements, had been at Tombuto twice at least. Once he accompanied his father on his embassy from the king of Fez to that city, and afterwards as a merchant. This must have been at the very beginning of the sixteenth century, for he finished this work at Rome, the 5th of March, 1526. He describes Tombuto, as well as Bornou, and Cano, and many other of the Negro kingdoms with great minuteness, and with respect to the Niger, (which, like the Nile, rises, falls, and fertilizes the country,) he says, that its course is from the kingdom of Tombuto towards the west as far as Ginea or Jinnea, and even Melli, which joins the ocean at the same place where the Niger empties itself into the sea. He also says, that at Cabra, which is situate on the Niger, about twelve miles from Tombuto, the merchants sailing to Ginea or Melli, go on board their vessels.