Part 86
Lions, with other beasts of prey and curious animals presented to the king of England, are committed to the Tower on their arrival, there to remain in the custody of a keeper especially appointed to that office by letters patent; he has apartments for himself, with an allowance of sixpence a day, and a further sixpence a day for every lion and leopard. Maitland says the office was usually filled by some person of distinction and quality, and he instances the appointment of Robert Marsfield, Esq., in the reign of king Henry VI.[223] It appears from the patent rolls, that in 1382, Richard II. appointed John Evesham, one of his valets, keeper of the lions, and one of the valets-at-arms in the Tower of London, during pleasure. His predecessor was Robert Bowyer.[224] Maitland supposes lions and leopards to have been the only beasts kept there for many ages, except a white bear and an elephant in the reign of Henry III. That monarch, on the 26th of February, 1256, honoured the sheriff of London with the following precept:--“The King to the Sheriffs of London, greeting: We command you, that of the farm of our city ye cause, without delay, to be built at our Tower of London one house of forty feet long, and twenty feet deep, for our Elephant.” Next year, on the 11th of October, the king in like manner commanded the sheriffs “to find for the said Elephant and his keeper such necessaries as should be reasonable needful.” He had previously ordered them to allow fourpence a day for keeping the white bear and his keeper; and the sheriffs were royally favoured with an injunction to provide a muzzle and an iron chain to hold the bear out of the water, and also a long and strong cord to hold him while he washed himself in the Thames.
Stow relates, that James I., on a visit to the lion and lioness in the Tower, caused a live lamb to be put into them; but they refused to harm it, although the lamb in its innocence went close to them. An anecdote equally striking was related to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ by an individual whose friend, a few years ago, saw a young calf thrust into the den of a lion abroad. The calf walked to the lion, and rubbed itself against him as he lay; the lion looked, but did not move; the calf, by thrusting its nose under the side of the lion, indicated a desire to suck, and the lion then slowly rose and walked away, from mere disinclination to be interfered with, but without the least expression of resentment, although the calf continued to follow him.
On the 13th of August, 1731, a litter of young lions was whelped in the Tower, from a lioness and lion whelped there six years before. In the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for February, 1739, there is an engraving of Marco, a lion then in the Tower.
On the 6th of April, 1775, a lion was landed at the Tower, as a present to his late majesty from Senegal. He was taken in the woods, out of a snare, by a private soldier, who, being attacked by two natives that had laid it, killed them both, and brought away the lion. The king ordered his discharge for this act, and further rewarded him by a pension of fifty pounds a year for life. On this fact, related in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for that year, a correspondent inquires of Mr. Urban whether “a lion’s whelp is an equivalent for the lives of two human creatures.” To this question, reiterated by another, it is answered in the same volume, with rectitude of principle and feeling, that “if the fact be _true_, the person who recommended the soldier to his majesty’s notice, must have considered the action in a military light only, and must totally have overlooked the criminality of it in a moral sense. The killing two innocent fellow-creatures, _unprovoked_, only to rob them of the fruits of their ingenuity, can never surely be accounted _meritorious_ in one who calls himself a christian. If it is not _meritorious_, but contrary, the murderer was a very improper object to be recommended as worthy to be rewarded by a humane and christian king.” This settled the question, and the subject was not revived.
THE LION’S HEAD.
Because the inundation of the Nile happened during the progress of the sun in Leo, the ancients caused the water of their fountains to issue from the mouth of a lion’s head, sculptured in stone. The circumstance is pleasant to notice at this season; a few remarks will be made on fountains by-and-bye.
The _Lion’s Head_, at Button’s coffee-house, is well remembered in literary annals. It was a carving with an orifice at the mouth, through which communications for the “Guardian” were thrown. Button had been a servant in the countess of Warwick’s family, and by the patronage of Addison, kept a coffee-house on the south side of Russell-street, about two doors from Covent-garden, where the wits of that day used to assemble. Addison studied all the morning, dined at a tavern, and afterwards went to Button’s. “The Lion’s Head” was inscribed with two lines from Martial:--
Cervantur magnis isti Cervicibus ungues: Non nisi delectâ pascitur ille fera.
This has been translated in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ thus:--
Bring here nice morceaus; be it understood The lion vindicates his choicest food.
Button’s “Lion’s Head” was afterwards preserved at the Shakspeare Tavern, where it was sold by auction on the 8th of November, 1804, to Mr. Richardson of the Grand Hotel, the indefatigable collector and possessor of an immense mass of materials for the history of St. Paul, Covent-garden, the parish wherein he resides. The late duke of Norfolk was his ineffectual competitor at the sale: the noble peer suffered the spirited commoner to gain the prize for 17_l._ 10_s._ Subsequently the duke frequently dined at Mr. Richardson’s, whom he courted in vain to relinquish the gem. Mr. R. had the head with its inscription handsomely engraved for his “great seal,” from which he has caused delicate impressions to be presented in oak-boxes, to a few whom it has pleased him so to gratify; and among them the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, who thus acknowledges the acceptable civility.
* * * * *
In the _London Magazine_ the “Lion’s Head,” fronts each number, greeting its correspondents, and others who expect announcements, with “short affable roars,” and inviting “communications” from all “who may have committed a particularly good action, or a particularly bad one--or said or written any thing very clever, or very stupid, during the month.” By too literal a construction of this comprehensive invitation, some got into the “head,” who, not having reach enough for the “body” of the magazine, were happy to get out with a slight scratch, and others remain without daring to say “their souls are their own”--to the reformation of themselves, and as examples to others contemplating like offences. The “Lion” of the “London” is of delicate scent, and shows high masterhood in the great forest of literature.
~St. Anne.~
Her name, which in Hebrew signifies gracious, is in the church of England calendar and almanacs on this day, which is kept as a great holiday by the Romish church.
The history of St. Anne is an old fiction. It pretends that she and her husband Joachim were Jews of substance, and lived twenty years without issue, when the high priest, on Joachim making his offerings in the temple, at the feast of the dedication, asked him why he, who had no children, presumed to appear among those who had; adding, that his offerings were not acceptable to God, who had judged him unworthy to have children, nor, until he had, would his offerings be accepted. Joachim retired, and bewailed his reproach among his shepherds in the pastures without returning home, lest his neighbours also should reproach him. The story relates that, in this state, an angel appeared to him and consoled him, by assuring him that he should have a daughter, who should be called Mary, and for a sign he declared that Joachim on arriving at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem should there meet his wife Anne, who being very much troubled that he had not returned sooner, should rejoice to see him. Afterwards the angel appeared to Anne, who was equally disconsolate, and comforted her by a promise to the same effect, and assured her by a like token, namely, that at the Golden Gate she should meet her husband for whose safety she had been so much concerned. Accordingly both of them left the places where they were, and met each other at the Golden Gate, and rejoiced at each others’ vision, and returned thanks, and lived in cheerful expectation that the promise would be fulfilled.
The meeting between St. Anne and St. Joachim at the Golden Gate was a favourite subject among catholic painters, and there are many prints of it. From one of them in the “Salisbury Missal,” (1534 fo. xix) the annexed engraving is copied. The curious reader will find notices of others in a volume on the “Ancient Mysteries,” by the editor of the _Every-Day Book_. The wood engraving in the “Missal” is improperly placed there to illustrate the meeting between the Virgin Mary and Elizabeth.
It is further pretended, that the result of the angel’s communication to Joachim and Anne was the miraculous birth of the Virgin Mary, and that she was afterwards dedicated by Anne to the service of the temple, where she remained till the time of her espousal by Joseph.
In the Romish breviary of Sarum there are forms of prayer to St. Anne, which show how extraordinarily highly these stories placed her. One of them is thus translated by bishop Patrick:[225]
“O vessel of celestial grace, Blest mother to the virgins’ queen, By thee we beg, in the first place, Remission of all former sin.
“Great mother, always keep in mind The power thou hast, by thy sweet daughter, And, by thy wonted prayer, let’s find God’s grace procur’d to us hereafter.”
Another, after high commendations to St. Anne, concludes thus:--
“Therefore, still asking, we remain, And thy unwearied suitors are, That, what thou canst, thou wouldst obtain, And give us heaven by thy prayer. Do thou appease the daughter, thou didst bear, She her own son, and thou thy _grandson_ dear.”
The nuns of St. Anne at Rome show a rude silver ring as the wedding-ring of Anne and Joachim; both ring and story are ingenious fabrications. There are of course plenty of her relics and miracles from the same sources. They are further noticed in the work on the “Mysteries” referred to before.
SUMMER HOLIDAYS.
A young, and not unknown correspondent of the _Every-Day Book_, has had a holiday--his first holiday since he came to London, and settled down into an every-day occupation of every hour of his time. He seems until now not to have known that the environs of London abound in natural as well as artificial beauties. What he has seen will be productive of this advantage; it will induce residents in London, who never saw Dulwich, to pay it a visit, and see all that he saw. Messrs. Colnaghi and Son, of Pall-mall East, Mr. Clay of Ludgate-hill, or any other respectable printseller, will supply an applicant with a ticket of admission for a party, to see the noble gallery of pictures there. These tickets are gratuitous, and a summer holiday may be delightfully spent by viewing the paintings, and walking in the pleasant places adjacent: the pictures will be agreeable topics for conversation during the stroll.
MY HOLIDAY!
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
My dear Sir,
The kind and benevolent feelings which you are so wont to discover, and the sparkling good-humour and sympathy which characterize your _Every-Day Book_, encourage me to describe to you “My holiday!” I approach you with familiarity, being well known as your _constant reader_. You also know me to be a _provincial_ cockney--a transplant. Oh! why then do you so often paint nature in her enchanting loveliness? What cruelty! You know my destiny is foreign to my desires: I cannot now seek the shade of a retired grove, carelessly throw myself on the bank of a “babbling brook,” there muse and angle, as I was wont to do, and, as my old friend Izaak Walton bade me,--
“watch the sun to rise and set, There meditate my time away, And beg to have a quiet passage to a welcome grave.”
But, I have had a holiday! The desk was forsaken for eight-and-forty hours! Think of that! I have experienced what Leigh Hunt desires every christian to experience--that there is a green and gay world, as well as a brick and mortar one. Months previous was the spot fixed upon which was to receive my choice, happy spirit. Dulwich was the place. It was an easy distance from town; moreover, it was a “rustic” spot; moreover, it had a picture-gallery; in a word, it was just the sort of place for me. The happy morning dawned. I could say with Horace, with the like feelings of enraptured delight--
“Insanire juvat. Sparge rosas.”
Such was the disposition of my mind.
We met (for I was accompanied) at that general rendezvous for carts, stages, waggons, and sociables, the Elephant and Castle. There were the honest, valiant, laughter-loving J--; the pensive, kindly-hearted G--; and the sanguine, romantic, speculative M--. A conveyance was soon sought. It was a square, covered vehicle, set on two wheels, drawn by one horse, which was a noble creature, creditable to its humane master, who has my best wishes, as I presume he will never have cause to answer under Mr. Martin’s Act. Thus equipaged and curtained in, we merrily trotted by the Montpelier Gardens, and soon _overtook_ the “Fox-under-the-Hill.” To this “Fox” I was an entire stranger, having never hunted in that part of the country before. The beautiful hill which brought us to the heights of Camberwell being gained, we sharply turned to the left, which gave us the view of Dulwich and its adjoining domains in the distance. Oh, ecstacy of thought! Gentle hills, dark valleys, far-spreading groves, luxuriant corn-fields, magnificent prospects, then sparkled before me. The rich carpet of nature decked with Flora’s choicest flowers, and wafting perfumes of odoriferous herbs floating on the breezes, expanded and made my heart replete with joy. What kind-heartedness then beamed in our countenances! We talked, and joked, and prattled; and so fast did our transports impulse, that to expect an answer to _one_ of my eager inquiries as to “who lives here or there?” was out of the question. Our hearts were redolent of joy. It was our holiday!
By the side of the neat, grassy, picturesque burying-ground we alighted, in front of Dulwich-college. Now for the picture-gallery. Some demur took place as to the safety of the “ticket.” After a few moments’ intense anxiety, it appeared. How important was that square bit of card!--it was the key to our hopes--“Admit Mr. R--and friends to view the Bourgeois Gallery.” We entered by the gate which conducts into the clean, neat, and well-paved courtyard contiguous to the gallery. In the lodge, which is situate at the end of this paved footpath, you see a comely, urbane personage. With a polite bend of the head, and a gentle smile of good-nature on his countenance on the production of the “ticket,” he bids you welcome. The small folding doors on your right hand are then opened, and this magnificent gallery is before you. This collection is extremely rich in the works of the old masters, particularly Poussin, Teniers, Vandyke, Claude, Rubens, Cuype, Murillo, Velasquez, Annibal Caracci, Vandervelt, Vanderwerf, and Vanhuysem. Here I luxuriated. With my catalogue in hand, and the eye steadily fixed upon the subject, I gazed, and although neither connoisseur nor student, felt that calmness, devotion, and serenity of soul, which the admiration of either the works of a poet, or the “sweet harmony” of sound, or form, alone work upon my heart. I love nature, and _here_ she was imitated in her simplest and truest colourings. The gallery, or rather the five elegant rooms, are well designed, and the pictures admirably arranged. We entered by a door about midway in the gallery, on the left, and were particularly pleased with the mausoleum. The design is clever and ingenious, and highly creditable to the talents of Mr. Soane. Here lie sir Francis Bourgeois, and Mr. and Mrs. Desenfans, surrounded by these exquisite pictures. The masterly painting of the _Death of Cardinal Beaufort_ is observed nearly over this entrance-door. But, time hastens--and after noticing yonder picture which hangs at the farther extremity of the gallery, I will retire. It is the _Martyrdom of St. Sebastian_, by Annibal Caracci. Upon this sublime painting I could meditate away an age. It is full of power, of _real_ feeling and poetry. Mark that countenance--the uplifted eye “with holy fervour bright!”--the resignation, calmness, and holy serenity, which speak of truth and magnanimity, contrasted with the physical sufferings and agonies of a horrid death. I was lost--my mind was slumbering on this ocean of sublimity!
The lover of rural sights will return from Dulwich-college by the retired footpath that strikes off to the right by the “cage” and “stocks” opposite the burying-ground. On ascending the verdant hill which leads to Camberwell Grove, the rising objects that gradually open to the view are most beautifully picturesque and enchanting. We reached the summit of the _Five Fields_:--
“Heav’ns! what a goodly prospect spread around Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams.”
This is a fairy region. The ravished eye glances from villa to grove, turret, pleasure-ground, hill, dale; and “figured streams in waves of silver” roll. Here are seen Norwood, Shooter’s-hill, Seven Droog Castle, Peckham, Walworth, Greenwich, Deptford, and bounding the horizon, the vast gloom of Epping Forest. What a holiday! What a feast for the mind, the eye, and the heart! A few paces from us we suddenly discerned a humble, aged, wintry object, sitting as if in mockery of the golden sunbeam which played across his furrowed cheek. The philanthropy of the good and gentle Elia inspired our hearts on viewing this “dim speck,” this monument of days gone by. Love is charity, and it was charitable thus to love. The good old patriarch asked not, but received alms with humility and gratitude. His poverty was honourable: his character was noble and elevated in lowliness. He gracelessly doffed his many-coloured cap in thanks (for hat he had none), and the snowy locks floating on the breeze rendered him an object as interesting as he was venerable. Could we have made _all_ sad hearts gay, we should but have realized the essayings of our souls. Our imaginings were of gladness and of joy. It was our holiday!
* * * * *
Now, my holiday is past! Hope, like a glimmering star, appears to me through the dark waves of time, and is ominous of future days like these. We are now “at home,” homely in use as occupation. I am hugging the desk, and calculating. I can now only request others who have leisure and opportunity to take a “holiday,” and make it a “holiday” similar to this. Health will be improved, the heart delighted, and the mind strengthened. The grovelling sensualist, who sees pleasure only in confusion, never can know pleasures comparable with these. There is a moral to every circumstance of life. One may be traced in the events of “My holiday!”
I am, dear Sir,
Yours very truly,
S. R.
WEATHER.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
The subjoined table for foretelling weather, appears strictly within the plan of the _Every-Day Book_, for who that purposes out-door recreation, would not seize the probability of fixing on a fine day for the purpose; or what agriculturist would decline information that I venture to affirm may be relied on? It is copied from the Rev. Dr. Adam Clarke. (See the “Wesleyan Methodist Magazine,” New Series, vol. iii., p. 457, 458.) Believing that it will be gratifying and useful to your readers,
I am, &c.,
O. F. S.
_Doctors Commons._
THE WEATHER PROGNOSTICATOR
_Through all the Lunations of each Year for ever._
This table and the accompanying remarks are the result of many years’ actual observation; the whole being constructed on a due consideration of the attraction of the sun and moon in their several positions respecting the earth; and will, by simple inspection, show the observer what kind of weather will most probably follow the entrance of the moon into any of her _quarters_, and that so near the truth as to be seldom or never found to fail.
+-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+ | Moon. | Time of Change. | In | In Winter. | | | | Summer. | | +-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+ | |Between midnight and two in |Fair |Hard frost, unless | | |the morning | |the wind be S. or | | | | |W. | | | | | | | | ---- 2 and 4 morn.|Cold with |Snow and stormy. | | | |frequent | | | | |showers | | | | | | | | | ---- 4 and 6 |Rain |Rain. | | | | | | | | ---- 6 and 8 |Wind and |Stormy. | |If the | |rain | | |new | | | | |moon-- | ---- 8 and 10 |Changeable|Cold rain, if wind | |the | | |W.; snow if E. | |first | | | | |quarter| ---- 10 and 12 |Frequent |Cold and high wind.| |--the | |showers | | |full | | | | |moon-- |At twelve o’clock at noon and|Very rainy|Snow or rain. | |or the |to two P. M. | | | |last | | | | |quarter|Between 2 and 4 Af- |Changeable|Fair and mild. | |happens| tern. | | | | | | | | | | ---- 4 and 6 |Fair |Fair. | | | |Fair if |Fair and frosty if | | | |wind NW. |wind N. or NE. | | | | | | | | ---- 6 and 8 |Rainy, if |Rain or snow if S. | | | |S. or SW. |or SW. | | | | | | | | ---- 8 and 10 |Ditto |Ditto. | | | | | | | | ---- 10 and midnight|Fair |Fair and frosty. | +-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+
OBSERVATIONS.
1. The nearer the time of the moon’s change, first quarter, full, and last quarter, is to midnight, the fairer will the weather be during the seven days following.
2. The space for this calculation occupies from ten at night till two next morning.