Part 73
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John, It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon; And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new, To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew. Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the hedgerows all are green, And the little birds are singing the opening leaves between; And let us all go forth together, to gather trefoil by the stream, Ere the face of Guadalquivir glows beneath the strengthening beam. Come, forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not away The blessed, blessed morning of John the Baptist’s day; There’s trefoil on the meadow, and lilies on the lee, And hawthorn blossoms on the bush, which you must pluck with me. Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and cool, And the violet blue far down ye’ll view, reflected in the pool; The violets and the roses, and the jasmines all together, We’ll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether. Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we’ll gather myrtle boughs, And we all shall learn, from the dews of the fern, if our lads will keep their vows If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the dew hangs sweet on the flowers, Then we’ll kiss off the dew, for our lovers are true, and the Baptist’s blessing is ours. Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John, It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon; And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new, To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew. Come forth, come forth, &c.
There are too many obvious traces of the fact to doubt its truth, that the making of bonfires, and the leaping through them, are vestiges of the ancient worship of the heathen god Bal; and therefore, it is, with propriety, that the editor of “Times’s Telescope,” adduces a recent occurrence from Hitchin’s “History of Cornwall,” as a probable remnant of pagan superstition in that county. He presumes that the vulgar notion which gave rise to it, was derived from the druidical sacrifices of beasts. “An ignorant old farmer in Cornwall, having met with some severe losses in his cattle, about the year 1800, was much afflicted with his misfortunes. To stop the growing evil, he applied to the farriers in his neighbourhood, but unfortunately he applied in vain. The malady still continuing, and all remedies failing, he thought it necessary to have recourse to some extraordinary measure. Accordingly, on consulting with some of his neighbours, equally ignorant with himself, and evidently not less barbarous, they recalled to their recollections a tale, which tradition had handed down from remote antiquity, that the calamity would not cease until he had actually _burned alive the finest calf which he had upon his farm_; but that, when this sacrifice was made, the murrain would afflict his cattle no more. The old farmer, influenced by this counsel, resolved immediately on reducing it to practice; that, by making the detestable experiment, he might secure an advantage, which the whisperers of tradition, and the advice of his neighbours, had conspired to assure him would follow. He accordingly called several of his friends together, on an appointed day, and having lighted a large fire, brought forth his best calf; and, without ceremony or remorse, pushed it into the flames. The innocent victim, on feeling the intolerable heat, endeavoured to escape; but this was in vain. The barbarians that surrounded the fire were armed with pitchforks, or _pikes_, as in Cornwall they are generally called; and, as the burning victim endeavoured to escape from death, with these instruments of cruelty the wretches pushed back the tortured animal into the flames. In this state, amidst the wounds of pitchforks, the shouts of unfeeling ignorance and cruelty, and the corrosion of flames, the dying victim poured out its expiring groan, and was consumed to ashes. It is scarcely possible to reflect on this instance of superstitious barbarity, without tracing a kind of resemblance between it, and the ancient sacrifices of the Druids. This _calf_ was _sacrificed to fortune_, or _good luck_, to avert impending calamity, and to ensure future prosperity, and was selected by the farmer as the finest among his herd.” Every intelligent native of Cornwall will perceive, that this extract from the history of his county, is here made for the purpose of shaming the brutally ignorant, if it be possible, into humanity.
To conclude the present notices rather pleasantly, a little poem is subjoined, which shows that the superstition respecting the St. John’s wort is not confined to England; it is a version of some lines transcribed from a German almanac:--
_The St. John’s Wort._
The young maid stole through the cottage door, And blushed as she sought the plant of pow’r;-- “Thou silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light, I must gather the mystic St. John’s-wort to-night. The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide If the coming year shall make me a bride.” And the glow-worm came With its silvery flame, And sparkled and shone Thro’ the night of St. John, And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied.
With noiseless tread To her chamber she sped, Where the spectral moon her white beams shed:-- “Bloom here--bloom here, thou plant of pow’r, To deck the young bride in her bridal hour!” But it drooped its head that plant of power, And died the mute death of the voiceless flower And a withered wreath on the ground it lay, More meet for a burial than bridal day.
And when a year was past away, All pale on her bier the young maid lay And the glow-worm came With its silvery flame, And sparkled and shone Thro’ the night of St. John, And they closed the cold grave o’er the maid’s cold clay.
It would be easy, and perhaps more agreeable to the editor than to his readers, to accumulate many other notices concerning the usages on this day; let it suffice, however, that we know enough to be assured, that knowledge is engendering good sense, and that the superstitions of our ancestors will in no long time have passed away for ever. Be it the business of their posterity to hasten their decay.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
St. John’s Wort. _Hypericum Pulchrum._ _Nativity of St. John._
[186] Naogeorgus by Googe.
[187] Hutchinson’s Northumberland.
[188] Grose.
~June 25.~
_St. Prosper_, A. D. 463. _St. Maximus_, Bp. A. D. 465. _St. William_ of Monte-Vergine, A. D. 1142. _St. Adelbert_, A. D. 740. _St. Moloc_, Bp. 7th Cent. _Sts. Agoard_ and _Aglibert_, A. D. 400.
CHRONOLOGY.
1314. The battle of Bannockburn which secured the independence of Scotland, and fixed Robert Bruce on the throne of that kingdom, was fought on this day between the Scots under that chieftain, and the English under Edward II.
_Franking of Newspapers._
By a recent regulation it is not necessary to put the name of a member of either house of parliament on the cover; the address of the party to whom it is sent, with the ends of the paper left open as usual, will be sufficient to ensure its delivery. This is a praiseworthy accommodation to common sense. The old fiction was almost universally known to be one, and yet it is only a few years ago, that a member of parliament received a humble letter of apology, coupled with a request from one of his constituents, that he might be allowed to use the name of his representative in directing a newspaper. To the ingenuous, pretences seem realities.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Sweet Williams. _Dianthus barbatus._ Dedicated to _St. William._
~June 26.~
_St. John_ and _Paul_, Martyrs about A. D. 362. _St. Maxentius_, Abbot, A. D. 515. _St. Vigilius_, Bp. A. D. 400, or 405. _St. Babolen._ _St. Anthelm_, Bp. of Bellay, A. D. 1178. _Raingarda_, Widow, A. D. 1135.
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 26th of June, 1541, Francis Pizarro, the conqueror of Peru, was assassinated. He was born at Truxillo, in Spain; his birth was illegitimate, and in his youth he was a keeper of hogs. Becoming a soldier, he went to America, and settled at Punama, where he projected the prosecution of discoveries to the eastward of that settlement. By means of an expedition, which he solicited, and was intrusted to command from the court of Spain, he entered Peru when the empire was divided by a civil war between Huascar the legitimate monarch, and Atahualpa his half brother. Pretending succour to Atahualpa, he was permitted to penetrate twelve days’ journey into the country, and received as an ally by Atahualpa, whose confidence he rewarded by suddenly attacking him, and making him prisoner. The exaction of an immense ransom for this king’s release; the shameful breach of faith, by which he was held in captivity after his ransom was paid; his brutal murder under the infamous mockery of a trial; the horrible frauds by which he was inveigled to die in the profession of the christian faith, without being able to comprehend its tenets; and the superaddition of other acts of perfidy and cruelty, will render the name of Pizarro infamous so long as it exists.
His assassination was effected by the friends of Almagro, his original associate, with whom he had quarelled, and whom he caused to be executed when he got him into his power.
In olden times, so high a rise Was, perhaps, a Tor or beacon ground And lit, or ’larm’d, the country round, For pleasure, or against surprise
There is a cobler’s stall in London that I go out of my way to look at whenever I pass its vicinity, because it was the seat of an honest old man who patched my shoes and my mind, when I was a boy. I involuntarily reverence the spot; and if I find myself in Red Lion-square, I, with a like affection, look between the iron railings of its enclosure, because, at the same age, from my mother’s window, I watched the taking down of the obelisk, stone by stone, that stood in the centre, and impatiently awaited the discovery of the body of Oliver Cromwell, which, according to local legend, was certainly buried there in secrecy by night. It is true that Oliver’s bones were not found; but then “every body” believed that “the workmen did not dig deep enough.” Among these believers was my friend, the cobbler, who, though no metaphysician, was given to ruminate on “causation.” He imputed the nonpersistence of the diggers to “private reasons of state,” which his awfully mysterious look imported he had fathomed, but dared not reveal. From ignorance of wisdom, I venerated the wisdom of ignorance; and though I now know better, I respect the old man’s memory. He allowed me, though a child, to sit on the frame of his little pushed-back window; and I obtained so much of his good-will and confidence, that he lent me a folio of fragments from Caxton’s “Polychronicon,” and Pynson’s “Shepherd’s Kalendar,” which he kept in the drawer of his seat, with “St. Hugh’s bones,” the instruments of his “gentle craft.” This black-letter lore, with its wood-cuts, created in me a desire to be acquainted with our old authors, and a love for engravings, which I have indulged without satiety. It is impossible that I should be without fond recollections of the spots wherein I received these early impressions.
From still earlier impressions, I have like recollection of the meadows on the Highgate side of Copenhagen-house. I often rambled in them in summer-time, when I was a boy, to frolic in the new-mown hay, or explore the wonders of the hedges, and listen to the songs of the birds. Certain indistinct apprehensions of danger arose in me from the rude noises of the visitors at Copenhagen-house itself, and I scarcely ventured near enough to observe more than that it had drinking-benches outside, and boisterous company within. I first entered the place in the present month of June, 1825, and the few particulars I could collect concerning it, as an old place of public entertainment, may be acceptable to many who recollect its former notoriety. Speculators are building up to it, and if they continue with their present speed, it will in a few years be hidden by their operations.
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Copenhagen-house stands alone in the fields north of the metropolis, between Maiden-lane, the old road to Highgate on the west, and the very ancient north road, or bridle-way, called Hagbush-lane, on the east; on this latter side it is nearly in a line with Cornwall-place, Holloway. Its name is said to have been derived from a Danish prince, or a Danish ambassador, having resided in it during a great plague in London; another representation is, that in the beginning of the seventeenth century, it was opened under its present name by a Dane, as a place of resort for his countrymen. “Coopen-Hagen” is the name given to it in the map in Camden’s “Britannia,” published in 1695.[189] It is situated in the parish of Islington, in the manor of St. John of Jerusalem, in the rental of which manor, dated the 25th of February, 1624, its name does not occur;[190] it is therefore probable from thence, and from the appearance of the oldest part of the present edifice, that it was not then built.
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It is certain that Copenhagen-house has been licensed for the sale of beer, and wine, and spirits, upwards of a century; and for such refreshments, and as a tea-house, with a garden and grounds for skittles and Dutch pins, it has been greatly resorted to by Londoners. No house of the kind commands so extensive and uninterrupted a view of the metropolis and the immense western suburb, with the heights of Hampstead and Highgate, and the rich intervening meadows. Those nearest to London are now rapidly destroying for their brick-earth, and being covered with houses; though from Copenhagen-street, which is built on the green lane from White Conduit-house, there is a way to the footpath leading to Copenhagen-house, from the row of handsome cottages called Barnesbury-park.
The latter buildings are in the manor of Berners, or Bernersbury, otherwise Barnesbury; the name being derived from the Berners’ family,[191] of whom the most distinguished individual was John Bourchier, the last lord Berners, and “the fifth writer in order of time among the nobility.” He was author of “a comedy usually acted in the great church of Calais after vespers,” of which town he held the command by appointment of king Henry VIII.;[192] he also translated several works, and particularly “Froissart’s Cronycles, oute of Frenche into our maternale Englysshe tongue.”
West of Barnesbury-park, and close to the footpath from thence to Copenhagen-house, are the supposed remains of a Roman encampment. It is a square of about one hundred and twenty feet, surrounded by a ditch, with a high embankment or breast work to the west. This is presumed to have been a position occupied by Suetonius, the Roman general, when he destroyed eighty thousand of the Britons under Boadicea, in a memorable engagement presumed to have been fought from this place in the fields of Pentonville, and terminating in the plain at Battle-bridge, from whence that place is said to have been so named.
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From Battle-bridge up Maiden-lane, and from Barnesbury-park, there are still footways to Copenhagen-house, which, from standing alone on an eminence, is visible from every open spot for many miles round. To the original edifice is attached a building at the west end, with a large parlour below for drinking and smoking, and beyond it is a billiard-room; above is a large tea-room. The engraving represents its present appearance, from a drawing made for that purpose.
About the year 1770, this house was kept by a person named Harrington; at his decease the business was continued by his widow, wherein she was assisted for several years by a young woman who came from Shropshire. This female assistant afterwards married a person named Tomes, and kept the Adam and Eve at Islington; she is now a widow; and from her information the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ gathers, that at the time of the London riots in the year 1780, a body of the rioters passed Copenhagen-house on their way to attack the seat of lord Mansfield, at Caen-wood: happily, they did not sack Copenhagen; but Mrs. Harrington and her maid were so alarmed, that they despatched a man to justice Hyde, who sent a party of soldiers to garrison this important place, where they remained till the riots were quelled. From this spot the view of the nightly conflagrations in the metropolis must have been terrific. Mrs. Tomes says, she saw nine large fires at one time. On new-year’s day previous to this, the house was broken into after the family had retired to rest. The burglars forced the kitchen window, and mistaking the salt-box in the chimney corner for a man’s head, fired a ball through it. They then ran up stairs with a dark-lantern, tied the man and the woman servant, burst the lower pannel of Mrs. Harrington’s room-door, while she secreted fifty pounds between her bed and the mattress, and three of them rushed to her bedside, armed with a cutlass, crowbar, and pistol, while a fourth remained on the watch outside. They demanded her money; and as she denied that she had any, they wrenched her drawers open with the crowbar, refusing to use the keys she offered to them. In these they found about ten pounds belonging to her daughter, a little child, whom they threatened to murder unless she ceased crying, while they packed up all the plate, linen, and clothes, which they carried off. They then went to the cellar, set all the ale-barrels running, broke the necks off the wine-bottles, spilt the other liquors, and slashed a round of beef with their cutlasses. From this wanton spoil they reserved sufficient to carouse with in the kitchen, where they ate, drank, and sung, till they resolved to “pinch the old woman, and make her find more money.” On this, they all ran up stairs again, where she still lay in bed, and by their threats and violence soon obtained from her a disclosure of the hidden fifty pounds. This rather appeared to enrage than pacify them, and they seriously proposed cutting her throat for the deception; but that crime was not perpetrated, and they departed with their plunder. Rewards were offered, by government and the parish of Islington, for the apprehension of the felons: in May following, one of them, named Clarkson, was discovered, and hopes of mercy tendered to him if he would discover his accomplices. This man was a watch-maker in Clerkenwell, the other three were tradesmen; his information led to their discovery; they were tried and executed, and Clarkson was pardoned; though, some time afterwards, he, also, suffered death, for obtaining a box of plate from the White-horse, in Fetter-lane, upon pretence that it had been sent thither by mistake.
The robbery at Copenhagen-house, was so far fortunate to Mrs. Harrington, that she obtained a subscription considerably more in amount than the value of the money and property she had lost. Mr. Leader, the coachmaker, in Long-acre, who was her landlord, remitted to her a year’s rent of the premises, which at that time was 30_l._ The notoriety of the robbery increased the visitors to the house, and Mr. Leader built the additional rooms to the old house, instead of a wooden room, to accommodate the new influx of custom; and soon afterwards the house was celebrated for fives-playing. This last addition was almost accidental. “I made the first fives-ball,” says Mrs. Tomes, “that was ever thrown up against Copenhagen-house. One Hickman, a butcher at Highgate, a countryman of mine, ‘used’ the house, and seeing me ‘country,’ we talked about our country sports, and amongst the rest _fives_; I told him we’d have a game some day: I laid down the stone in the ground myself, and, against he came again, made a ball. I struck the ball the first blow and he gave it the second, and so we played; and as there was company they liked the sport, and it got talked of. This was the beginning of the _fives-play_, which has since become so famous at Copenhagen-house.”
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A word or two on _ball-play_.
_Fives_ was our old _hand-tennis_, and is a very ancient game.
In the fourteenth century there was a game at ball, where a line, called the _cord_, was traced upon the wall, below which the stroke was faulty. Some of the players were on foot; others had the two hands tied together, or played in a hollow cask.[193]
_Hand-ball_ was before the days of Homer. He introduces the princess Corcyra, daughter of Alcinous, king of Phœacia, amusing herself, with her maidens, at hand-ball:--
“O’er the green mead the sporting virgins play; Their shining veils unbound, along the skies, Tost and re-tost, the ball incessant flies.”[194]
It is related of St. Cuthbert, who lived in the seventh century, that “whan he was viii yere old, as he _played at the ball_ with other chyldren, sodeynly there stode amonge them a fayre yonge chylde,” who admonished Cuthbert against “vayne playes,” and seeing Cuthbert take no heed, he fell down, wept sore and wrung his hands; “and than Cuthbert and the other chyldren lefte their playe and comforted hym; and than sodeynly he vanyshed away; and than he knewe veryly that it was an angel; and, fro than forth on, he lefte all such vayne playes, and never used them more.”[195]
_Ball-play_ was formerly played at Easter in churches, and statutes passed to regulate the size of the ball. The ceremony was as follows: the ball being received, the dean, or his representative, began an antiphone, or chant, suited to Easter-day; then taking the ball in his left hand, he commenced a dance to the tune, others of the clergy dancing round, hand in hand. At intervals the ball was handed or tossed by the dean to each of the choristers, the organ playing according to the dance and sport: at the conclusion of the anthem and dance, they went and took refreshment. It was the privilege of the lord, or his locum tenens, to throw the ball, and even the archbishop did it.[196]
The French _palm-play_ consisted in receiving the ball and driving it back again with the palm of the hand. Anciently they played with the naked hand, then with a glove, which, in some instances, was lined; afterwards they bound cords and tendons round their hands, to make the ball rebound more forcibly; and hence, says St. Foix, the _racket_ derived its origin.
In the reign of Charles V., _palm-play_, which, Strutt says, may properly enough be denominated _hand-tennis_, or _fives_, was exceedingly fashionable in France, being played by the nobility for large sums of money; and when they had lost all that they had about them, they would sometimes pledge a part of their wearing apparel rather than give up the game. The duke of Bourbon having lost sixty francs at palm-play with M. William de Lyon, and M. Guy de la Trimouille, and not having money enough to pay them, gave his girdle as a pledge for the remainder.