Part 79
According to captain Starkey’s narrative, when “learning to walk alone,” he unfortunately fell, “and so hurt his left arm, that it turned to a white swelling as large as a child’s head.” The captain says, “my poor parents immediately applied to two gentlemen of the faculty, at the west end of the town, named Bloomfield and Hawkins, physicians and surgeons to his then reigning majesty, king George the Second, of these kingdoms, who declared that, _they could not do any more than cut it off_; unto which _my tender parents_ would not consent.” A French surgeon restored to him the use of his arm, and gave him advice “not to employ it in any arduous employment.” “I, _therefore_,” says the captain, “as my mother kept a preparatory school, was _learned_ by her to read and spell.” At seven years old he was “put to a master to learn to write, cipher, and the classics.” After this, desiring to be acquainted with other languages, he was sent to another master, and “improved,” to the pleasure of himself and friends, but was “not so successful” as he could wish; for which he says, “I am, as I ought to be, thankful to divine providence.” With him he stayed, improving and not succeeding till he was fourteen, “at which age,” says the captain, “I was bound apprentice to Mr. William Bird, an eminent writer and teacher of languages and mathematics, in Fetter-lane, Holborn.” After his apprenticeship the captain, in the year 1780, went with his father, during an election, to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, his parents’ native town. Returning to London, he, in 1784, went electioneering again to Newcastle, having left a small school in London to the care of a substitute, who managed to reduce twenty-five scholars to ten, “although he was paid a weekly allowance.” Being “filled with trouble by the loss,” he was assisted to a school in Sunderland; “but,” the captain remarks, “as the greatest success did not attend me in _that_, I had the happiness and honour of receiving a better employment in the aforesaid town of Sunderland, from that ever to be remembered gentleman, William Gooch, esq., comptroller of the customs, who died in the year 1791, and did not die unmindful of _me_: for he left me in his will the sum of 10_l._, with which, had I been prudent enough, and left his employ immediately after his interment, I might have done well; but foolishly relying on the continuance of my place, continued doing the duties for nine months without receiving any remuneration; and at last was obliged to leave, it not being the pleasure of the then collector, C. Hill, esq., that I should _continue any longer in office_.” Great as the sensation must have been at Sunderland on this important change “_in office_,” the fact is entirely omitted in the journals of the period, and might at this time have been wholly forgotten if the captain had not been his own chronicler. On his forced “retirement” he returned to Newcastle, willing to take “office” there, but there being no opening he resolved once more to try his fortune in London. For that purpose he crossed the Tyne-bridge, with two shillings in his pocket, and arriving at Chester-le-street, obtained a subscription of two guineas, by which, “with helps and hopes,” and “walking some stages,” and getting “casts by coaches,” he arrived in the metropolis, where he obtained a recommendation back, to the then mayor of Newcastle. Thither he again repaired, and presented his letter to the mayor, who promised him a place in the Freemen’s Hospital, and gave it him on the first vacancy. “In which situation,” says captain Starkey, “I have now been twenty-six years enjoying the invaluable blessing of health and good friends.” So ends his “Memoir written by himself.”
To what end captain Starkey wrote his history, or how he came by his rank, he does not say; but in the “Local Records, or Historical Register of Remarkable Events in Durham, Northumberland, Newcastle, and Berwick,” a volume compiled and published by Mr. JOHN SYKES, of Newcastle, there is a notice which throws some light on the matter. “Mr. Starkey, who was uncommonly polite, had a peculiarly smooth method of obtaining the _loan_ of a halfpenny, for which he was always ready to give his promissory note, which his creditors held as curiosities.” Halfpenny debentures were tedious instruments for small “loans,” and Starkey may have compiled his “Memoirs,” without affixing a price, for the purpose of saying, “what you please,” and thereby raising “supplies” by sixpence and a shilling at a time. It is to be observed to his credit, that had he made his book more entertaining, it would have had far less claim upon an honest reader. It is the adventureless history of a man who did no harm in the world, and thought he had a right to live, because he was a living being. Mr. Ranson’s portrait represents him as he was. His stick, instead of a staff of support, appears symbolical of the assistance he required towards existence. He holds his hat behind, as if to intimate that his head is not entitled to be covered in “a gentleman’s _presence_.” He seems to have been a poor powerless creature, sensible of incompetency to do; anxious not to suffer; and with just enough of worldly cunning, to derive to himself a little of the superabundance enjoyed by men, who obtain for greater cunning the name of cleverness.
QUATRAINS TO THE EDITOR OF THE EVERY-DAY BOOK.
[_From the London Magazine._]
I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone! In whose capacious, all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition’s shown; And all that history--much that fiction--weaves.
By every sort of taste your work is graced. Vast stores of modern anecdote we find, With good old story quaintly interlaced-- The theme as various as the reader’s mind.
Rome’s lie-fraught legends you so truly paint-- Yet kindly--that the half-turn’d Catholic Scarcely forbears to smile at his own saint, And cannot curse the candid Heretic.
Rags, relics, witches, ghosts, fiends, crowd your page; Our father’s mummeries we well-pleased behold; And, proudly conscious of a purer age, Forgive some fopperies in the times of old.
Verse-honouring Phœbus, Father of bright _Days_, Must needs bestow on you both good and many, Who, building trophies to his children’s praise, Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any.
Dan Phœbus loves your book--trust me, friend Hone-- The title only errs, he bids me say: For while such art--wit--reading--there are shown, He swears, ’tis not a work of _every day_.
C. LAMB
QUATORZAINS TO THE AUTHOR OF “QUATRAINS.”
In feeling, like a stricken deer, I’ve been Self-put out from the herd, friend Lamb; for I Imagined all the sympathies between Mankind and me had ceased, till your full cry Of kindness reach’d and roused me, as I lay “Musing--on divers things foreknown:” it bid Me know, in you, a friend; with a fine gay Sincerity, before all men it chid, Or rather, by not chiding, seem’d to chide Me, for long absence from you; re-invited Me, with a herald’s trump, and so defied Me to remain immured; and it requited Me, for others’ harsh misdeeming--which I trust is Now, or will be, known by them, to be injustice.
I _am_ “ingenuous:” it is all I can Pretend to; it is all I wish to be; Yet, through obliquity of sight in man, From constant gaze on tortuosity, Few people understand me: still, I am Warmly affection’d to each human being; Loving the right, for right’s sake; and, friend Lamb, Trying to see things as they are; hence, seeing _Some_ “good in ev’ry thing” however bad, Evil in many things that look most fair, And pondering on all: this may be mad- ness, but it is my method; and I dare Deductions from a strange diversity Of things, not taught within a University.
No schools of science open’d to my youth; No learned halls, no academic bowers; No one had I to point my way to truth, Instruct my ign’rance, or direct my powers: Yet I, though all unlearned, p’rhaps may aid The march of knowledge in our “purer age,” And, without seeming, may perchance persuade The young to think,--to virtue some engage: So have I hoped, and with this end in view, My little _Every-Day Book_ I design’d; Praise of the work, and of its author too, From you, friend Lamb, is more than good and kind: To such high meed I did not dare aspire As public honour, from the hand of ALLWORTHY ELIA.
As to the message from your friend above:-- Do me the favour to present my best Respects to old “Dan Phœbus,” for the “love” He bears the _Every-Day Book_: for the rest, That is, the handsome mode he has selected Of making me fine compliments by you, ’tis So flatt’ring to me, and so much respected By me, that, if you please, and it should suit his Highness, I must rely upon you, for Obtaining his command, to introduce me To him yourself, when quite convenient; or I trust, at any rate, you’ll not refuse me A line, to signify, that I’m the person known To him, through you, friend Lamb, as
_Your Friend_
WILLIAM HONE
[208] “Memoirs of the Life of Benj. Starkey, late of London, but now an inmate of the Freemen’s Hospital, in Newcastle. Written by himself. With a portrait of the Author and a Fac-simile of his hand writing. Printed and sold by William Hall, Great Market, Newcastle.” 1818. 12mo. pp. 14.
~July 10.~
_The Seven Brothers_, Martyrs, and _St. Felicitas_, their Mother. 2nd Cent. _Sts. Rufina_ and _Secunda_, V. A. D. 257.
_Spider Barometers._
If the weather is likely to become rainy, windy, or in other respects disagreeable, spiders fix the terminating filaments, on which the whole web is suspended, unusually short. If the terminating filaments are made uncommonly long, the weather will be serene, and continue so, at least for ten or twelve days. If spiders be totally indolent, rain generally succeeds; though their activity during rain is certain proof that it will be only of short duration, and followed by fair and constant weather. Spiders usually make some alterations in their webs every twenty-four hours; if these changes take place between the hours of six and seven in the evening, they indicate a clear and pleasant night.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Speckled Snapdragon. _Antirrhinum triphyllum._ Dedicated to _Sts. Rufina_ and _Secunda_.
~July 11.~
_St. James_, Bp. of Nisibis, A. D. 350. _St. Hidulphus_, Bp. A. D. 707, or 713. _St. Pius_ I., Pope, A. D. 157. _St. Drostan_, A. D. 809.
_Sun-set._
Soft o’er the mountain’s purple brow, Meek twilight draws her shadowy grey; From tufted woods, and valleys low, Light’s magic colours steal away.
Yet still, amid the spreading gloom, Resplendent glow the western waves That roll o’er Neptune’s coral caves A zone of light on evening’s dome.
On this lone summit let me rest, And view the forms to fancy dear, ’Till on the ocean’s darkened breast, The stars of evening tremble clear; Or the moon’s pale orb appear, Throwing her light of radiance wide, Far o’er the lightly curling tide.
No sounds o’er silence now prevail, Save of the murm’ring brook below, Or sailor’s song borne on the gale, Or oar at distance striking slow.
So sweet, so tranquil, may my evening ray, Set to this world--and rise in future day.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Yellow Lupin. _Lupinus flævus._ Dedicated to _St. James_.
~July 12.~
_St. John Gualbert_, Abbot, A. D. 1073. _Sts. Nabor_ and _Felix_, Martyrs, A. D. 304.
In the “Poems” of Mr. Gent, there are some lines of tranquillizing tendency.
_To Mary._
Oh! is there not in infant smiles A witching power, a cheering ray, A charm that every care beguiles, And bids the weary soul be gay?
There surely is--for thou hast been Child of my heart, my peaceful dove, Gladd’ning life’s sad and checquered scene, An emblem of the peace above.
Now all is calm and dark and still, And bright the beam the moonlight throws On ocean wave, and gentle rill, And on thy slumb’ring cheek of rose.
And may no care disturb that breast, Nor sorrow dim that brow serene; And may thy latest years be blest As thy sweet infancy has been.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Great Snapdragon. _Antirrhinum purpureum._ Dedicated to _St. John Gualbert_.
~July 13.~
_St. Eugenius_, Bp. A. D. 505. _St. Anacletus_, Pope, A. D. 107. _St. Turiaf_, Bp. A. D. 749.
How soothing is a calm stroll on a summer’s evening after sun-set, while the breeze of health is floating gently over the verdure, the moon ascending, and the evening star glistening like a diamond.
Diana’s bright crescent, like a silver bow, New strung in Heaven, lifts high its beamy horns Impatient for the night, and seems to push Her brother down the sky; fair Venus shines Ev’n in the eye of day; with sweetest beam, Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood Of softened radiance from her dewy locks. The shadows spread apace; while meek-ey’d eve, Her cheeks yet warm with blushes, slow retires Thro’ the Hesperian garden of the west, And shuts the gates of day.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Blue Lupin. _Lupinus cœruleus._ Dedicated to _St. Eugenius_.
~July 14.~
_St. Bonaventure_, Card. Bp. A. D. 1274. _St. Camillus de Lellis_, A. D. 1614. _St. Idus_, Bp. in Leinster.
WARMTH.
The heat of the season, unless patiently endured, has a tendency to inflame the mind, and render it irritable. On some infants its effects are visible in their restlessness and peevishness. Parents, and those who have the care of childhood, must now watch themselves as well as their offspring.
A father’s voice in threat’ning tone The storm of rage revealing, His flashing eye and angry frown, Would rouse a kindred feeling. But where’s the child his sigh can hear, When grief his heart is rending? And who unmov’d can see the tear, A parent’s cheek descending.
Oh, yes! a child may brave the heat, A father’s rage confessing, But, ah! how sweet his smile to meet, And, oh! how dear his blessing! Then let me shun with shrinking fear, The thought of not conceding, I could not bear affection’s tear, When parent’s lips were pleading.
_The Cross Bill._ (_Loxia curvi rostra._)
In July, 1821, at West Felton, in Shropshire, this rare and beautiful bird was seen, in a flight of about eighteen or twenty, alighting on the tops of pine trees and larch; the cone of which it opens with adroit neatness, holding it in one claw, like a parrot, and picking out the seeds. They were of various colours, brown, green, yellow, and crimson, and some entirely of the most lovely rose colour; hanging and climbing in fanciful attitudes, and much resembling a group of small paroquets. Their unusual note, somewhat like the quick chirp of linnets, but much louder, first attracted attention. The observer had repeated opportunities of viewing them to the greatest advantage, by means of a small telescope. They also eat excrescent knobs, or the insects formed therein by the _cynips_, at the ends of the young spruce branches. These birds are natives of Germany and the Pyrenees, and are very rarely seen in England. It was remarked, that the same mandible of the bill crossed on the right side in some birds, and on the left in others.[209]
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Red Lupin. _Lupinus perennis._ Dedicated to _St. Bonaventure_.
Sir, ’tis the Bastile, Full of such dark, deep, damp, chill dungeons of horror and silence. Young men shut therein oft grew gray-haired in a twelvemonth; Old men lost their senses, forgetting they had not been born there; Thumb-screws, weapons of torture, were found, most shocking to think of! Fetters still lock’d on the limbs of unburied skeletons starved there, Curses engraved with a nail in the stone walls.
_Hexameters_, _in Annual Anthology_, vol. ii.
The Bastile of Paris, the great state prison of France, was stormed and destroyed by the populace on the 14th of July, 1789. This extraordinary event took place during the sitting of the national assembly convened by Louis XVI. under great exigency. The French government at that time afforded no security to life or property. Persons offensive to the state were arrested under arbitrary warrants, called _Lettres de Cachet_, consigned to the dungeons of the Bastile, remained there without trial, often for life, and sometimes perished from neglect, or the cruelties incident to imprisonment in the fortress.
Louis XVI. was surrounded by advisers, who insisted on the maintenance of the royal prerogative, in opposition to the growing and loudly expressed desires of the most intelligent men in France, for an administration of public affairs, and the formation of a government, on principles of acknowledged right and justice. The king refused to yield; and, to crush the popular power, and overawe the national assembly in its deliberations, troops were ordered to approach Paris. At this juncture the assembly addressed the king, praying the removal of the troops; he refused, the troops prepared to enter Paris, the people flew to arms, the Bastile was taken, and fatal ills prevailed in the cabinet, till popular fury arrived at a height uncontrollable by public virtue, and the king himself perished on the scaffold, with several of his family.
In recording the destruction of the Bastile on this day, it is necessary to remark, that on the morning of the day before, (the 13th of July,) the populace marched in a body to the _Hotel des Invalides_, with intent to seize the arms deposited there. The governor, M. de Sombreuil, sensible that resistance was vain, opened the gates, and suffered them to carry away the arms and the cannon. At the same time, the curate of the parish church of _St. Etienne du Mont_, having put himself at the head of his parishioners, invited his neighbours to arm themselves in their own defence, and in support of good order.
By the interception of couriers, the grand plan of hostility against the city was universally known and understood. It was ascertained that marshall Broglio had accepted the command of the troops; that he had made dispositions for the blockade of Paris; and that considerable convoys of artillery had arrived for that purpose. These facts occasioned violent agitation, and eager search for arms, wherever they could be found. Every one flew to the post of danger; and, without reflection, commenced perilous attacks, seemingly reserved only for military science and cool reflection, to achieve with success.
On the 14th, there was a sudden exclamation among the people, _Let us storm the Bastile!_ If they had only said, let us attack the Bastile, the immense walls that surrounded the edifice, the broad and deep ditches that prevented approach to its walls, and the batteries of cannon placed on them, would have at least cooled their resolution. But insensible of the danger and hazard of the assault, all at once, and with one voice, a numerous body of men, among whom were many of the national guards, exclaimed, _Let us storm the Bastile!_ and that instant they proceeded towards it, with such arms as they happened to be provided with, and presented themselves before this tremendous fortress, by the great street of St. Anthony. M. de Launay, the governor, perceiving this insurrection, caused a flag of truce to be hung out. Upon this appearance, a detachment of the patriotic guards, with five or six hundred citizens, introduced themselves into the outer court, and the governor, advancing to the draw-bridge, inquired of the people what they wanted. They answered, _ammunition and arms_. He promised to furnish them, _when any persons presented themselves on the part of the Hotel de Ville_; meaning by that, from Des Flesselles, _Prevot des Marchands_. The people, little satisfied with this answer, replied by menaces, threats, and great appearance of violence. De Launay then caused the draw-bridge to be raised, and ordered a discharge of artillery on the persons who by this means he had cut off from the main body, and enclosed within the court. Several soldiers, and a greater number of the citizens, fell, and the cannon fired on the city threw the neighbourhood into the greatest disorder. The besiegers, burning to retaliate the loss of their comrades, applied to the districts for reinforcements, sent for the artillery they had just taken from the invalids, and obtained five pieces of cannon, with six gunners, who offered their services, and brought ammunition for the attack. Two serjeants of the patriotic corps, M. Warguier and Labarthe, at the head of a party of their comrades, supported by a troop of citizens, headed by M. Hulin, whom they had unanimously chosen for their commander, traversed on the side of the _Celestins_, all the passages near the arsenal, and with three pieces of artillery which they brought into the court _des Saltpetres_, contiguous to the Bastile, immediately commenced a brisk fire, the besiegers endeavouring to outdo each other in courage and intrepidity. M. Hely, an officer of the regiment of infantry (_de la Reine_,) caused several waggons loaded with straw to be unloaded and set on fire, and by means of the smoke that issued from them, the besieged were prevented from seeing the operations of the besiegers. The governor, knowing that he could not hold out against an incessant fire on the fortress, and seeing that the chains of the first draw-bridge were carried away by the shot from the besiegers’ cannon, again hung out a white flag, as a token of peace. The besiegers, determined to revenge the massacre of their comrades by the perfidy of De Launay, were deaf to all entreaties, and would look at nothing that would lessen their resentment. In vain the governor made a second attempt to pacify the assailants. Through the crevices of the inward draw-bridge, he affixed a writing, which a person went in quest of, at the hazard of his life. The paper was to this purport: “_We have twenty thousand weight of gunpowder, and we will blow up the garrison and all its environs, if you do not accept of our capitulation._” The besiegers despising the menace, redoubled their firing, and continued their operations with additional vigour. Numberless spectators of all ages, of all conditions, and many English, were present at this wonderful enterprise; and it is recorded, that a British female, unrestrained by the delicacy of her sex, accepted a lighted match on its being offered to her, and fired one of the cannon against the fortress.